[mimi-miller]

mi / mimi :> ── she/her , radiohead , esha tewari , art , stars , end of the f*ing world , eighteen , ratbag , hannibal , ponyo , hunger games , narnia , moomins , pitbulls , searows , infp .

── disclaimer: just while im starting this blog im using some of my old fics that i wrote for a different fandom on my other blog ( @mi-co-uk ) , if u know me from my other blog, come say hi but pls keep this one a secret :>

masterlist :

"Lamb"

── joel miller meets a broken and confused girl and is forced to take care of her. when he acts out harshly and pushes her away, will he be able to save her a second time? alternate version.

"Expired"

── expired reader has been told shes dying, but how much does it matter if shes always wanted to anyways? joel miller is heartbroken to be losing the woman he never shared his feelings for - until now.

"Rat"

── patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her? chapter one // chapter two.

[wheresarizona]

he feels like home part 2

summary: All Joel Miller wanted was a cake from you, the town baker. Now he has a girlfriend young enough to make some townspeople wonder if he’s having a late midlife crisis, and others jealous of his luck.

“I’m eatin’ you out tonight,” he states. “For as long as I want.” ​“Are you?” ​“Yes. Then I’m takin’ my time fuckin’ you ‘til there ain’t a chance in hell you forget a single inch of me.” ​“Promise?” ​“I promise.” ​“Good. Now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it.” ​His eyes narrow, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Good boy? We’ve talked about that smart mouth of yours.” There wasn’t much talking—he fucked you within an inch of your life, though. “You wanna try that again?” he asks. “Ummm, now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it, please?” You blink up at him innocently.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (baker, no physical descriptions aside from hair that's long enough to grab)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, porn with plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, Kinda Dommy Joel Miller, big-juicy-legal age gap, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), oral sex (m receiving), face-fucking, deepthroating, orgasm denial, edging (until you cry), begging, breeding kink (finally), come eating, vaginal fingering, dirty talk (so much), praise (a ton), he talks you through it, (1) pussy slap, overstimulation, aftercare, (1) spank, Joel’s a lil mean sometimes, first date, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, banter, feelings, Good Parent Joel Miller, pregnancy mention, getting caught, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, therapy session with Gail, a panic attack, suicide mention (not reader or Joel), takes place a day before Ellie’s fifteenth birthday)

word count: 20.6k+ (6.7k+ smut)

a/n: Remember me? I really wanted to do another chapter with these two because I had so much fun with the first and thought, what about their first date and everything goes wrong. So, there will be some miscommunication and angst, but it ends on a happy note. I hope you enjoy it! Big thank you to @juletheghoul for giving it a read through.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

First - Main Masterlist

The story of how you met Joel Miller is a wholesome one—until it isn’t. He’d come to your apartment the previous day to see about having a birthday cake made for his kid—that’s your side hustle, making cakes and other pastries people request in exchange for goods and favors. Joel was willing to get you anything you wanted for your services, and isn’t that just the sweetest thing? A father going out of his way to ensure his new, adopted child gets to experience a real birthday with cake and presents for the first time in their life? See? Wholesome. Then came your price, which was practically a steal given the order and the timeframe he needed it by. He got lucky older, single dads are your kryptonite, and that he’s a sweetheart. All you asked in return were a few easy-to-find items and to have a drink with him. This is when things escalated from an innocent PG-rated flick to an X-rated amateur porno, and you discovered Joel Miller can fuck.

In the span of a few hours of knowing him, he made you come multiple times, rightfully ruined you for anyone else, broke your bed, and was so good you asked him to marry you and offered to have his babies.

You’re his now. You belong to him, and the best part? He’s yours.

Joel came to your apartment for a cake and left with a girlfriend young enough to make some townspeople wonder if he’s having a late midlife crisis, and others jealous of his luck.

It’s just past five a.m. on a Wednesday, the sun still hours from rising. The chill outside has the tip of your nose numb, but you’re warm in Joel’s jacket that he wouldn’t let you leave his house without wearing. You stayed at his place last night, secretly, without Ellie knowing, and were very surprised when he got up to walk you home. Why are you up so early? You’re one of the town’s few resident bakers, and you need to get to the community kitchen to start baking the bread for the day. But before that, you’re making a quick pitstop at your apartment to change your clothes.

How was your secret, impromptu sleepover with Joel? Well, it didn’t go the way you expected…

See, when men invited you to their homes in the past, it was usually for one reason. So, it didn’t surprise you when Joel got you alone in his bedroom, locked the door, and stripped you both of your clothes. Seemed pretty par for the course, and to be honest, you were down to have another go with him between the sheets.

But something unexpected happened: absolutely nothing.

No groping, no grinding, no impatient, wandering hands beneath the covers. Instead, you were treated to a warm arm around your waist, holding you close, with his nose buried in the hair on the back of your head. He didn’t have any intention to fuck you in his bed that night. He just wanted you there with him, like your presence was something comforting, that he needed, and that kind of tenderness had felt far more intimate than sex ever could.

You’d never slept so soundly.

It scares you how much you liked it.

Here you are silently walking down the dark road with Joel, the stars above, and porch lights you pass offering some light to guide your way. You told him you were fine in just your long-sleeved shirt and leggings, but his protective nature wouldn’t let you leave his house without putting his jacket on you first. Was Joel bundled up, too? No, you suspect his hotness—his literal hotness—the man’s body is like a furnace, makes him immune to the cold, so he’s only wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

He's beside you, walking a bit slower than his normal gait to match yours, and he’s so close that his hand keeps brushing yours. You’re pretty sure he wants to hold it, and confused why he isn’t, unless maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move. That’d be silly, but you test the waters anyway, trying to hook your pinkie around his—you smile when he grabs it instead.

“You can hold my hand.” You glance his way, inviting him.

He huffs, meeting your eyes and giving your digit a small squeeze. “Was tryin’ to be respectful and not assume.” He finally threads your fingers together, his hand so much bigger and warmer than yours.

His response makes you giggle.“Trying to be respectful? Babe, within a couple of hours of knowing each other, you had me face down, ass up, screaming your name. I think we’re past the point of handholding etiquette. But, it’s fucking adorable, that’s where you didn’t want to overstep.”

He lifts his eyebrow. “What? Because I fuck you silly, I can’t be a gentleman, too? I respect you.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Even if it might not seem like it when I’ve got you pinned to the mattress, makin’ you beg.”

“You’re a menace.”

He gently knocks his shoulder against yours, looking ahead. “Your menace.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m also rusty with all this datin’ stuff, and don’t wanna press my luck.”

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, hugging his arm. “I love that you’re pro-PDA.”

Joel kisses your hair. “I’m pro-touchin’ you, and if anyone sees, then so be it.”

“Even Ellie?”

“Pigs would be flyin’ if she were up at this hour. She sleeps in until at least seven-thirty. We don’t have to worry about runnin’ into her.”

“You really enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”

With you staying over while Ellie was home, and now walking with him, it certainly seems that way.

“I wouldn’t say I’m playin’ with fire. I just know my kid.”

“Who, you’re very cute with, by the way.”

When he snuck you into his house, you overheard a sweet conversation between him and Ellie that gave you a glimpse into their relationship. The way he spoke and looked fondly at her made it clear how much he adores and loves her as his own.

“You think so?”

“Yep. I’m not kidding when I say it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”

“And why's that?” You can hear the smile in his voice, and you see it when you turn your head toward him, finding he’s already looking at you.

“Why does it turn me on that you’re a loving and caring father who puts in the effort to have a relationship with your kid and wants nothing more than for them to be happy? Hmmm, why would that turn me, a woman who wants to have her own children one day, on?”

“One of life’s great mysteries.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

You fail to keep yourself from smiling and playfully swat his arm. “Shut up. You know exactly why I’m into it.”

Joel chuckles, lifting your hand he’s holding to kiss the back of it. “Maybe. But I like hearin’ you say I turn you on. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about myself.”

Your eyes roll. “Glad I could stroke your ego, babe.” You pat his chest.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He kisses your hand again, then lowers it. There’s a lull in the conversation, the two of you focusing forward, continuing to walk. A minute passes, and Joel breaks the silence. “It really gets you all hot and bothered that I care about my kid…?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s sexy.”

“Huh. Never thought of it as bein’ panty-droppin’ behavior.”

“It definitely is for me.” You wonder something. “You don’t have to answer this question, but back in the time before—” The outbreak. “—were you in a relationship?”

“No. I raised Sarah alone and had a hard time datin’.”

“It’s absolutely none of my business, and again, you don’t have to answer. Why did you have a hard time dating?”

“Well, for one thing, I didn’t really have the time. I was a single dad workin’ my ass off to make ends meet. Then there was Sarah bein’ my top priority, and women—at least back then—weren’t too keen to play second fiddle to her. So, I gave up tryin’ when she was about five.”

“If you're going to date a single dad, you have to know his kid is the most important person to him. At least that's how it should be, and honestly, if Ellie weren't your top priority, I wouldn't have even considered a relationship with you.”

“Gotta add that to your list.”

Your head turns his way to look at him, your eyebrows pulling together. “What list?”

“For what you’re lookin’ for in a man.”

When you first met and told him you were romantically interested in him, he didn’t understand why and even tried to convince you to find someone your own age. It took some explaining that you had a thing for older men, particularly in their fifties—you’ve found they’re the best in bed—and that he checked all of your boxes for what you were looking for: caring, fun to talk to, handsome, strong, not creepy, and he’s fifty-six.

“Oh, being a good dad has always been on the list.”

“I really do check all your boxes, then.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He smiles. “Thank Christ for that.”

The apartment complex where you live has six units—three downstairs, three upstairs. Yours happens to be the first you reached when you led Joel up the stairs. At your front door, you let go of his hand to dig your house key out of his jacket pocket, unlocking the deadbolt.

You sense Joel behind you, finding his tall, broad presence comforting. You turn around to face him, hesitating as you try to figure out what to say. "So…" you start.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So.”

“Definitely my favorite customer of all time.”

He chuckles. “And you’re definitely my favorite baker. You’ve got a customer for life.”

“Because I fucked you?”

The look he gives you says you know that’s not why. “No.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you’re a great baker. I wasn’t tryin’ to butter you up when I said the apple pie you made was really fuckin’ good.” Yesterday, for dinner in the mess hall, you made apple pie for dessert. “Did you hear Ellie talkin’ about it last night?” You did overhear her saying how much she liked it.

You smile. “Yes. My peach cobbler is her favorite.”

He mirrors your expression. “Should’ve known you made that, too. Ellie fuckin’ loves peaches, and I had to tell her to slow down eatin’ it so she didn’t choke.” He huffs a small laugh, then he’s smirking, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It makes you wonder what’s got him so tickled. “Now, keep your clothes on for this next part,” he says. “We’re out in public.”

You squint in confusion. “What…?”

“You’ll understand in a second. The peach cobbler?”

“Yeah?”

“I gave Ellie my bowl. I always give her my share when we’re together, and there’s somethin’ sweet.”

Your eyes widen. “You always give her your dessert?” you whisper.

Dessert doesn’t happen all the time. It depends on supplies and usually occurs when there’s an excess of something that needs to be used before it spoils, such as fruit.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Makes me happy to see her happy.”

Your breath catches a little.

Of course he does.

Of course, Joel Miller would hand over his portion of dessert just to see Ellie smile. And why is that so goddamn sexy? It’s not just those broad shoulders or that voice that drives you wild; it’s the way he loves. Quietly. Steadily. Without expecting anything in return.

“God, that’s so hot,” you admit.

His expression is a mix of delight and amusement. “I knew it’d get you.”

“First of all, rude of you to exploit my weaknesses.” He laughs. “Secondly, yeah, it got me. I think you can’t get any dreamier, and then you prove me wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Keep it up, and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I better not stop, then, ‘cause I don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”

His words hang there between you. I don’t want you goin’ anywhere. And you know he means it from the sincerity in his eyes. This is new. You’re used to men wanting your body—a night, maybe a few—but they never want you. Not all of you, at least. But Joel? He wants it all, the good, the bad, and everything in between. He wants you, and truth be told, it frightens you. Why? Because you know you’re going to fall in love with him, and that, being so completely at the mercy of a man, is fucking terrifying.

But the scariest part?

You’re willing to risk it.

You know this thing between you and Joel isn’t a fling or some temporary distraction; he was upfront that he didn’t do casual. This is something serious that’ll eventually lead to marriage and children.

It’s what drew you to him.

With Joel, you have a chance at stability, at having the comfort and security you’ve missed after losing your family. He’s your shot at finding that kind of love you’ve longed for since your world got turned upside down. But even with all of that hope, you still have doubts. You’ve been burned in the past, let down, and abandoned, and those fears linger at the edges of your mind. Still, you trust him. You believe what he says, and when he tells you he doesn’t want you going anywhere, it makes you go so soft you practically melt into goo.

There’s no thought, you act on impulse, gripping the open collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you to crush your smiling mouth against his. He grunts in surprise, but in an instant, he has his hands on your waist, stepping forward, his body crowding yours, backing you up until your spine hits the cool surface with a soft thud. This kiss isn’t as frantic as the first from the previous day. It’s soft, lingering, full of all the hope you have, and the things you can’t find the words to say. He kisses you back with a kind of patience that feels like a promise, as if he’s got all the time in the world if it means he’s with you.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispers. Then he's kissing you like he means it—slowly, consuming you, his tongue slipping into your mouth, swallowing the moan you can't hold back.

Joel presses closer, his chest solid against your front, sliding his thigh between your legs. You're so worked up that your body moves without permission, rocking your hips, chasing the friction of the rough denim that ignites heat at the base of your spine.

He groans when you grind down, the sound vibrating into your mouth. He’s got one hand firm on your hip, the other cupping your face, the kiss turning dizzying with how his tongue intertwines with yours. Feeling his heat, smelling his scent, tasting his lips, having him surrounding you makes it impossible to think of anything else except him, and you need more. At this point, your panties are soaked, and you’re worried there’s going to be a wet spot on his jean-covered thigh.

When the kissing ends, you’re both panting. “Come inside,” you tell him.

His thumb strokes your cheek, and you can see it on his face that he wants to. “You gotta get to work.”

“I will—after my boyfriend fucks me.”

His brow lifts. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that, big guy?”

“I’m too damn old to be called that.”

“Then pick a title. Are you coming in or not?” You reach behind you to turn the doorknob and push the door open.

He doesn’t give you a verbal response. Instead, his lips are suddenly on yours again, walking you backwards into your apartment, making you smile into the kiss. He kicks your front door closed, both of you ignoring that your key is still in the deadbolt—Jackson’s a relatively safe place. His hands drag his jacket you’re wearing down your arms until it falls to the floor, followed closely by your long-sleeved shirt and sports bra, while you toe off your shoes.

The kiss turns messy, his mouth slanting over yours with a quiet hunger. He gets you to the couch, his lips leaving yours as he coaxes you to lie down, the soft, familiar cushions giving under you. Joel’s kneeling between your legs, and within seconds, he has your leggings and underwear discarded unceremoniously onto the ground.

“Just look at you.” His big hands push open your thighs before he rolls up his shirt sleeves. The only light comes from above the stove in the kitchen, but you can make out his pupils, blown pitch-black, staring at your glistening pussy, the front of his jeans bulging. He licks his lips like he wants to taste you, his free hand squeezing his hard cock. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

God, you want him inside you. You’re a little sore from last night, but you don’t care. You have no self-control when it comes to him, and you’ll happily feel the ache all day, to keep him fresh on your mind.

He seems to understand that time is of the essence, and this needs to be quick—he’s unbuckling his belt and getting his pants undone. His gaze rises to yours with a frown, shoving down his boxer briefs to release his dick—he’s thick with a nice length, precum leaking from the flushed tip. “I’m eatin’ you out tonight,” he states. “For as long as I want.”

His declaration sends a shock of excitement to your center. You smile. “Are you?”

He nods, giving his length a few strokes. “Yes. Then I’m takin’ my time fuckin’ you ‘til there ain’t a chance in hell you forget a single inch of me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it.”

His eyes narrow, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Good boy? We’ve talked about that smart mouth of yours.” There wasn’t much talking—he fucked you within an inch of your life, though. “You wanna try that again?” he asks.

Earlier, you questioned if he enjoys playing with fire, and you’re starting to think it’s you who does.

“Ummm, now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it, please?” You blink up at him innocently.

His jaw ticks. “You’re lucky you have work.” He shuffles back enough to bend forward, his palms on your open thighs.

“Why?”

He spits, a hot, wet wad of saliva landing on your clit, and your brain short-circuits. Why is that so fucking hot? Is it that he’s marking you, claiming you as his? Saying, ‘This is mine and only mine.’ His head lifts, and you meet his dark gaze, feeling as he drags two fingers through the mess he made to spread it over your entrance. “‘Cause, I would’ve edged you ‘til you cried for that shit.” You don’t have a chance to respond—he pushes his thick digits into you, his other hand pressing down on your belly, right above your mound. The stretch burns for half a second before melting into pure pleasure when Joel curls his fingers just right, zeroing in on that one magical spot that makes your vision blur.

“Joel,” you gasp, your hips twitching, eyes closing, “oh, fuck—”

“Yeah?” He has the audacity to sound smug. “I know how to touch you, don’t I?” Each push and pull of his digits is rough and deliberate, hitting your g-spot so perfectly you’re unable to stop squirming. “Answer me,” he orders.

“Yes.”

Your thighs threaten to close around his hand as an orgasm forms in your core, the tension rising with each passing second.

He’s using his fingers for good and evil—the good, preparing you to take him. The evil, how he’s not going to let you come yet. He’ll draw it out, torturing you with every press of his digits, but you’re not finishing like this. No, you’re at his mercy; he’s entirely in control of how close you’ll get and when you’ll fall.

“Who owns this pussy?”

Your body is screaming for release, the coil twisting tighter. You both love and hate that he knows exactly how to work you up. It’s hard to think, let alone answer. You don’t want him to stop, so you force out, “You.”

The obscene wet squelch of his fingers working in and out of you fills the room, your body wound tight, legs trembling. Maybe you were wrong, and he will let you come—it’s highly unlikely, but a girl can dream. You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more.

“Yeah, I do, and don’t fuckin’ forget it.”

You’re right on the cusp of falling apart, and that’s when he stops. You knew it was coming, yet when he removes his hands, your eyes fly open, groaning in frustration. “You’re so mean.”

He rolls his eyes, wiping your juices onto his cock, then spitting in his hand to slick it up even more. “I’m not mean.” Joel inches forward, one palm on your thigh, holding you open as he drags the fat tip of himself through your wetness. “I’m teachin’ you manners.” He teases your opening. “Now, we don’t have much time, so this is gonna be quick and dirty. Got it?”

“Yes.”

He smiles. “That’s my girl.” Without another word, he’s thrusting into you with one hard stroke, bottoming out with a rumbling groan—you cry out, clawing at the couch cushions for something to hold onto, the sudden fullness knocking the air from your chest. He’s so big it feels like you’re being split in two, savoring the burn.

For a moment, he stays buried deep, his hand spreading over where he’s inside you, low in your belly. “You feel that?” he asks in a deep husk. “That’s all me.”

When Joel said this was going to be quick and dirty, he didn’t mince words. As soon as he starts moving, he’s fucking into you hard and fast, the brutal pace stuttering your breath.

“Oh, god,” you moan. He has your tits jiggling, something you know he’s loving.

“He’s got nothin’ to do with this,” Joel grits out. He licks the pad of his thumb, pressing it to your swollen clit, the added pressure making your back bow, gasping his name. “Yeah, I know, baby. That’s it.” He doesn’t let up, thrusting hard while he circles your bundle of nerves with practiced, filthy precision that’s driving you crazy.

“Joel, oh fuck. Joel—”

“I’ve got you.” His free hand palms your breast, brushing his calloused thumb over your stiff nipple, before pinching it. You mewl, writhing under him. “This what you wanted? This how you wanted me to fuck you?”

​ Yes, you think, but can’t say out loud. The fast, punishing rhythm combined with the attention to your tits and clit has you dizzy with pleasure. He’s hitting you everywhere, inside and out, and it borders on too much, your body trembling uncontrollably. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly he builds you right back up to the edge.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks. His hand comes off your breast to brace himself when he leans over you, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck. “Are you? You gonna give it to me?”

His thumb continues rubbing tight, fast circles in sync with the steady strokes of his cock.

“Yes, don’t stop—oh god—please, don’t stop.” Your arms go around his back, your nails digging into the flannel over his shoulders.

“We’re not done ‘til you soak me, baby. Come for me, let me have it.” He sucks hard on your pulse point.

It all boils over—the rough pad of his thumb, the heat of his mouth on your neck, his dick railing into you—the tension snaps, and you’re coming, crying out as pleasure wracks through you, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice.

“There we go,” Joel groans, his pace faltering. “My good girl—my good fuckin’ girl.” He doesn’t let you come down; his hips keep moving, drawing out every tremor, every helpless gasp until you’re boneless and shaking under him, completely wrung out.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “You did so good for me.”

His praise is a balm and a brand, soothing and burning all at once.

He leaves you no chance to recover; he’s chasing his own high now. His arms are on either side of your head, his thrusts turning rough, almost frantic, the wet, slick sound of him working into you mixing with his harsh breathing. He wants it, and you can feel it in every hard, punishing stroke.

Something you’ve learned about Joel is that he likes to kiss when he comes—he likes to kiss in general, but especially when he’s coming. So, you’re expecting it when his mouth crashes onto yours, kissing you deep and messily. His hips snap faster, his breath turning hot and ragged against your lips.

“Gonna come,” he mutters into your mouth. “Gonna fuck you full of me, baby. Fill you up. You want that? You want my come?”

You moan ‘yes’ into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him as deep as he’ll go, and that’s it for him. Joel slams into you to the hilt and stays there, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his chest as his cock throbs hard inside you. You feel it—every hot, thick pulse flooding you, spilling into your inner depths. He grinds, rolling his hips to fuck it deeper, kissing you like he's starving for you and can't get enough. Once he's milked himself of every last drop, he collapses, shoving his face into the crook of your neck with a happy sigh.

Another thing about Joel is that he gets very cuddly after sex and loves it if you play with his hair. Your fingers go into the sweat-damp waves on his head, lovingly scratching his scalp. He hums in the back of his throat, nuzzling your skin.

“Tha’s nice,” he slurs.

You smile. “Please don’t pass out. I really do need to get to work.”

He sighs. “Gimme a minute.”

“Okay.” You’ll give him five and work a little later—you live in the apocalypse, no one will care if you’re forty-five minutes late to your shift.

God, this is nice—it’d be better if he were naked, still, his flannel shirt isn’t uncomfortable against your skin.

His weight on you is grounding, like nothing bad can reach you here. But that’s how it always is with Joel. He makes you feel safe and wanted. Maybe a better word is cherished—he makes you feel safe and cherished. Your body is warm, your limbs heavy, and your mind swimming in a soft haze. Is it ridiculous to think that you could stay like this forever? Tangled up with him, breathing him in, your hearts beating in sync. Is that too much to wish for?

Probably.

You’re not naive. You know he’s not as perfect as he seems. You just haven’t known him long enough to figure out his flaws. Hell, odds are, all of this is too good to be true, and he’ll have his fun with you before he decides to settle down with a woman of a more appropriate age. He wouldn’t be the first man to do that to you. Even with that in the back of your mind, you’re falling harder for him than anyone else, and you’re hoping he doesn’t break your heart. But if he does, and worst comes to worst, you’ve got Gail, the town’s therapist, who’ll help you get over him. Wouldn’t be the first time, and she’d be pretty excited to start getting those shortbread cookies she loves again.

Joel shifts slightly on top of you, kissing the side of your neck. He drags his lips across your sweaty skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“I’m wonderful.” You slide your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair.

“Good.” He kisses your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat. “Was it everythin’ you wanted?”

The question makes you snort. “Are you asking me to review your performance?”

His head pops up to give you a look. “Are you tellin’ me you didn’t enjoy it?”

Your eyes roll. “It was mindblowing. It’s always mindblowing. Five out of five stars.”

He nods once. “That’s what I thought.”

“Wow, I’m deducting half a point for your smugness. Four and a half stars now.”

He frowns, his expression turning grumpy. He mutters under his breath as he starts to move off of you, “Four and a half stars my ass… “ Your giggle evolves into a whimper at the sudden emptiness of him pulling out. Of course, Joel notices, his lips lifting into a smirk. “Miss me already?” he asks.

“Why do I like you?”

“I check all your boxes, and sweetheart, you don’t just like me, you wanna marry me.”

The day before, after he rocked your world the first time, you proposed marriage when you discovered you both shared the same desires for the future, one of them being children—it’s rare for a man his age to actually want a baby, and with people moving fast these days due to the uncertainty, it wasn’t too crazy a proposal. It’s not uncommon to marry someone you barely know, but Joel is from a different time, and politely declined, simply because he wants to date you properly, which is very sweet. He also said that if you’re still together in six months, he will marry you, so you’ve got something to—hopefully—look forward to.

You sit up on your elbows. “I’m second-guessing that right now.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, you agreed to marry me… in six months.”

“Or if I knock you up first.” He says it so nonchalantly that it leaves you speechless. His dark gaze is on yours as his hand goes between your thighs, two thick fingers catching his come as it drips out of you, and when he slowly pushes it back inside, you just about lose your fucking mind, unsure whether to shiver or melt. “So, keep that in there for me. Every drop.” Why is that so hot? “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He smiles. “That’s my girl. I also like knowin’ you’ll have some of me with you today while we’re apart.” Why is that romantic? How can come be romantic? What is he doing to you? Joel removes his two soaked fingers from you, glistening with both of you, and holds them up to your mouth. “Open.” That brings you back to yourself, things feeling normal again. You don’t hesitate, parting your lips for him to push them in. You grab his wrist with one hand, holding it still, keeping eye contact as you swirl your tongue, sucking his digits clean.

“You like how we taste?” he asks. You hum an affirmative.

This is where you show him that two can play this dirty little game.

You press forward, taking his fingers all the way to the back of your throat, your lips touching his knuckles, moaning for the hell of it. His eyes round, a sharp breath escaping him, which delights you.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers. "You keep showin' off like that, and you're not leavin’."

You pull off of him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, tugging him down for a quick kiss, and push him back. “I need to take a quick shower, get dressed, and go to work.” You get off the couch and stand up. His come leaks down your inner thigh—yeah, a shower is a must. “Feel free to hang or let yourself out,” you tell him. Turning around, you start heading to your bedroom at the end of the hall. “Thanks for the quickie! Can’t wait to see you tonight!”

You’ve barely made it three steps when out of nowhere, a big hand latches around your arm, stopping you. You yelp in surprise, spinning round to find Joel standing there, with flushed cheeks and his jeans hastily pulled up, looking like you just insulted him or something.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

"That's not how you say goodbye to your boyfriend," he firmly answers.

You blink, caught off guard. “I thought you were too old to be my boyfriend?”

“I am, but that’s beside the point.”

“Is it, though? ‘Cause you seem pretty upset I didn’t give you whatever the fuck a boyfriend goodbye is. The kiss wasn’t enough?”

“That wasn’t a goodbye kiss. That was a fuckin’ drive-by. You don’t give a man a quick peck and walk off like that.”

“Okay? Then explain to me what the proper way is to say goodbye to my title-pending not-boyfriend.”

“Like this—” His hands frame your face, his rough palms warm against your cheeks, and then his mouth is on yours. Oh, this is one of those kisses. The kind that steals every coherent thought, that you’ll replay in your head later while impatiently counting down until you can have another. The kind that makes your knees go weak and leaves you dazed, smiling like an idiot all day—a solid five out of five stars, maybe the best you’ve ever had.

When you finally break away, you’re breathless. “Better?” you whisper.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, his gaze hungry. He, honest to god, pouts. “Yeah, but now I don’t wanna go. I’m gonna miss you too much.”

His response makes you smile, and you throw your arms around his neck. “You’re adorable. You’ll see me tonight. What time are you coming over?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how long it’s gonna take me for Ellie’s present.” He’s putting together a guitar for her birthday tomorrow. “Then, if she wants to have dinner with me or watch a movie, it’ll be after all that. I’m hopin’ seven or eight. Earlier, if I can make it happen.”

“God, it’s such a turn-on when you talk about being a good dad.”

He chuckles and kisses you. “Is that okay?” he asks when he leans back.

“Is what okay?”

“That I won’t be able to come over until later tonight?”

“Oh, yeah. Ellie comes first. Always. I can make her cake this afternoon when I get off work.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“It’s a date.”

“Now, kiss me goodbye correctly.”

Work was uneventful, or so you thought. You were distracted, replaying the last twenty-four hours on repeat in your head like one of those old sports highlight reels your dad used to watch on cable (before the world ended and he, you know, died). It was hard not to think about Joel and all the things he did to you, especially with how you could still feel him, the soreness between your legs, and the come he left behind.

You finished in the community kitchen around one in the afternoon, picking up eggs and a glass bottle of fresh milk on your way home. Once you got back to your apartment, you tidied up, then got to work on Ellie’s birthday cake, which Joel requested to be chocolate. Where does a person get chocolate in a post-apocalyptic North America where cocoa beans don’t grow? Traders. It’s the same way you get coffee beans. Traders brave the wilds to bring the highly sought-after goods up from Central and South America—there’s a reason they’re so expensive.

There are a couple of traders who come through town every once in a while, you’ve hooked up with. They were sweet and gave you discounts on your stash of cocoa powder and coffee beans—not that you slept with them for the deals. It was just an added perk you’d be stupid to turn down.

Now, it’s later in the evening, sometime after seven. Ellie’s cake was made hours ago, carefully frosted and covered, waiting in your fridge. That’s something you’ve been doing, too—waiting. Waiting for Joel. Waiting for that knock on your door. Waiting for him.

An hour passes. The movie you put on has ended, and the credits are over. You stare at the black screen into the void for a moment, then sigh, getting up to start another, something to fill the silence. To keep yourself from looking at your front door every five minutes, you grab your pile of holey socks and start darning them.

9 p.m.

You’ve moved on from socks to patching up other clothes just to keep your hands busy. Your thoughts keep circling back to Joel, to Ellie, how he lights up when he talks about her. That’s a good thing, you remind yourself. You love that. You love that she’s his world. She should be. But there’s a thought that’s crept into your brain that won’t go away: Is that why he’s with you? She has friends now and prefers to hang out with them rather than with Joel, and he’s lonely? Are you filling the space she’s leaving behind? That’s fine if you are. You don’t mind it. Hell, you’re lonely, too. You can be two lonely people finding happiness in each other. It makes you wonder, though, if he would’ve even looked at you twice if he weren’t lonely.

10 p.m.

You’ve run out of clothes to patch up and are now on your knees, scrubbing the hell out of the inside of your oven. Joel still hasn’t shown up, and that is totally okay. Truly. The man is busy, and you’re well aware of how devoted he is to his kid, a quality you love so much. These are things you keep telling yourself, over and over again, needing to believe them. You’ve put on a record because you were driving yourself insane thinking every tiny noise you heard was him, because when it ended up not being him, it just made you feel a little bit sadder. A little bit more foolish.

11 p.m.

The doubt starts to sink its claws into you. So, what do you do? You reorganize your kitchen cabinets to try to drown it out. Does it work? No. The thoughts are louder than the clinking of dishes and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” playing on your record player. What bothers you most is that if Joel wanted to be here, he’d be here, and if he couldn’t make it, he would’ve had the decency to stop by and let you know—there are no phones, and that’s just what you do. That’s the kind of man he is… isn’t he? Do you have it all wrong? There's a voice in the back of your head, feeding your doubt, reminding you that you hardly know Joel at all.

12 a.m.

Midnight comes. You don’t know what else to do, so you put on another movie. It was a random VHS you plucked from the shelf, not bothering to look at the title. Even with your heater on, your apartment is cold. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders to try to stave off the chill, but it's useless. They say never to trust how you feel after 9 p.m., and yet here you are, feeling pathetic that you're still holding out hope he'll knock on your door. You keep glancing at it, trying to will him there. He would’ve come by now for your date, or to tell you he needed to cancel, and even with knowing that, you still hope.

1 a.m.

He didn’t come over.

With the way the world is, your first instinct is to think something happened to him. People don’t show, and it sometimes means they’re hurt, or worse, dead. But Joel? He’s fine. You know where he was. He had the day off and was at home working on Ellie’s gift. Nothing happened to him, which leaves the only other reason for his absence:

He didn’t want to be here.

Knowing that he didn't want to be here—that he didn't want you—is a knife to the heart.

Then you start spiraling, wondering if you misread things or if it all meant more to you than it did to him. Did all of the time you spent together, the promises, and hopes for the future mean nothing?

You don’t know, but tonight shows you he never cared about you, because if he actually gave a damn, he would’ve come. He would’ve done something, anything, to ensure you knew he was okay and that he wasn’t blowing you off.

And he didn’t.

That silence? It tells you how he really feels.

It pisses you off that he led you on like that, then didn’t have the decency to cancel or break up with you. Instead, he left you wondering where he was for hours, like a dog whose person isn’t coming home.

"Fuck him," you say it out loud, like speaking it into existence will ease the tightness in your chest. It doesn’t.

You had a feeling this was all too good to be true, and you should’ve listened to your gut. You shouldn’t have let yourself get so attached. It annoys you that you’re so upset. You hate that you want to cry. Your anger won’t let you—he doesn’t deserve your tears.

And to think you let him come inside you, risking pregnancy, something you’ve done your best to avoid, all because you trusted him and thought you had a future with him. Why? Why did you trust him so easily? He was different, at least different from anyone else in your past. He made you think he wanted something real by being upfront about not having any interest in anything casual. You fell for the sincerity in his eyes. Was it all a game to him? What was the point of all of this?

What you know for sure is that you are never trusting a man again.

And your bed. Your broken bed that sits in your room, reminding you of your stupidity for thinking someone like Joel would want anything more from you than sex. He’s like all the other men who don’t see you as partner material—you’re just the good time they have before they settle down with someone different.

God, it’s embarrassing how late you stayed up hoping he’d show. Well, fuck him.

You don’t have the energy to do anything about your bed, so you curl up on the couch under a blanket, and as you drift off to sleep, one question won’t leave your mind:

Why am I unlovable?

It’s half past five the next morning. With how heated you feel, you barely register the cold, or maybe it’s the jeans and sweater you’re wearing doing their job to keep away the chill. You’re almost to Joel’s house, carefully carrying Ellie’s small cake, protected in a plastic container—you never even considered not delivering it. The whole walk over here, you’ve been thinking about what you’ll say to him, each step amplifying the anger in your chest.

You’re not sad, you’re mad. You’re pissed off that you let your guard down and allowed a man into your heart, only for him to break it. You don’t want to hear his excuses. You don’t want to hear his apologies. You want this to be over and to never talk to him again.

Stepping up onto his porch, your heart pounds. You knock on the front door.

He must’ve already been downstairs; the door opens almost immediately, and there he is, Joel Miller. He’s got dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep—good. When you stayed with him the other night, he told you he struggles with sleeping, and that having you in bed with him was the best rest he’d gotten in a long time. It cheers you up a little to see that he looks like shit.

When he sees you, his shoulders relax, a breath leaving him like he’s been holding it in all night.

“Thank Christ you’re here.” He sounds relieved. You assume he was freaking out that you weren’t going to bring over the cake.

“Of course, I’m here. I’m not going to ruin an innocent child’s birthday because their father is an asshole. Here.” You carefully shove the container into his chest. “I hope Ellie has a great birthday, and us?” You point between you. “We’re done. Don’t talk to me again. Don’t come near my apartment. Don’t even fucking look at me.”

His brow furrows. “Now, hold on—”

“No,” you cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Your silence last night said enough.”

“Baby—”

“I’m not your baby. I’m nothing to you.”

His jaw clenches. “Let me talk,” he growls.

“No!” you snap. “I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuses.”

His voice rises. “Let me fuckin’ explain!”

You don’t flinch at his outburst. “No!” you say just as loudly. “I’m done. Goodbye, Joel.” You turn around, your boots thudding as you walk down the porch step.

“You’re makin’ a mistake!”

The door slams behind you. Or maybe it doesn’t. Either way, you don’t look back.

What do you do?

There’s no way in hell you’re going home to cry over a man who couldn’t be bothered to show up. You’re better than that. Stronger. Smarter. Done. It doesn’t matter if he made you feel seen and cherished, or if you could imagine a future with him. Nope. No tears for that asshole.

So, you go to work.

You bake bread.

You bake too much bread.

More than is needed for the day, and probably tomorrow, too. Just means you don’t have to be in as early in the morning. With everything that happened over the last couple of days, you can use the extra sleep.

While helping prep lunch, you overhear two workers whispering about the dishwashing kid from yesterday burning themselves badly on a pot of boiling water after you left–skin sloughed off their arm. Had to be rushed to the clinic. You didn’t catch their name or whether they were male or female. You try to remember who had dish duty, and you can’t, because they rotate out the teens in town for the job daily, so it’s always a different kid each day.

After work, you go home for a little while. You don’t sit still; instead, you keep yourself busy, then shower, changing into jeans and a t-shirt before leaving.

The house you go to, you’ve been to more times than you can count. You knock on the front door. “One second!” comes the familiar voice.

The door cracks open. Then it opens wider.

“What happened?” Gail asks in a knowing tone.

“You got time?”

“You got the stuff?”

You hold up the cookie tin. “Two dozen ‘cause I’m fucked up.”

She takes the container, opens it, and nods in approval. “A man?” She moves out of the way for you to come inside.

“Isn’t it always?” You walk past her, knowing exactly where to go.

“Sometimes we talk about your childhood. Who’s the guy?”

In the living room, you flop back on Gail’s couch, shifting the pillows behind your head and being careful to keep your boots off the old upholstery.

“Have you met Joel Miller?”

“Tommy’s brother?”

Gail takes a seat in her chair across from you, the cookies in her lap. She leans forward to grab her ancient kitchen timer on the coffee table between you, cranking it to your allotted sixty minutes, and sets it down again. Then she sits back, popping the tin’s lid to grab a shortbread cookie, and takes a bite, humming her enjoyment.

“Yeah.”

She swallows. “Briefly. We’ve been introduced. Handsome. Definitely your type.” You hear her crunching.

“We fucked.”

She finishes her cookie and closes the container, putting it on the end table beside her. “I figured. Cookies are amazing as always.”

“Thanks. He wasn’t like the others. Or at least I thought he wasn’t. He talked about serious stuff like marriage and kids. It really felt like we could have a future together. Not only that, I felt so comfortable with him, I didn’t tell him to pull out.”

Usually, with older men, you didn’t have to because they were careful and didn’t want children. With the younger men, you were the cautious one, telling them to pull out.

“That’s interesting,” she muses. “You’re usually careful, or as careful as you can be. Why him?”

“Because he’s a dad. A really good dad. He’s solid, attentive, hot—obviously—but also sweet. Funny, when he wants to be, and the sex. My god, is it truly the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“And you’ve had a lot of sex, so that’s saying something.” There’s zero judgment in her tone.

“Right? I just thought he might be—it’s too fucking cheesy to say out loud.”

“The one?”

“Yeah…”

“Sorry, kiddo, but this circles back to your favorite subject.”

You groan. “Ugh, not the childhood trauma. Why is it always the childhood trauma?”

“It’s a real bitch, isn’t it? Crazy how a single, life-altering event during brain development haunts you into adulthood.”

“I hate it,” you mutter. “But, whatever. Go on.”

“You lost your family in the worst way. It was violent, sudden, and you had no chance to say goodbye. Then came Seth and Rita, who took you in, but we both know you never really felt like you belonged with them. That’s left you chasing that feeling of real, unconditional love, you just have shitty taste in men.”

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong? You go after guys twice your age, who are emotionally constipated, and are only interested in fucking you, when you need someone you can build a life with. This is where Joel comes in. He looked good on paper. Older, handsome, has a kid, and knows how to use his words sometimes. With him, you saw your chance at finding that love you lost.”

“Well, Joel was a bust.”

“Let’s dig into that. What happened?”

Taking a deep breath, you tell her everything that happened over the last seventy-two hours. “—and I went to this house this morning to drop off the cake and refused to hear what he had to say.”

“If you didn’t let him speak, how do you know he stood you up?”

“Because he didn’t come over or stop by to tell me what was going on.”

“What if he wasn’t able to contact you? It’s not like communication is easy these days without phones. Maybe he couldn’t go to your apartment.”

You frown. When you look at her, she’s got her glasses on, busy scribbling something into her black notebook. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Her eyes meet yours. “You got to find out early that people can just be gone with no warning. So, now your default is the worst-case scenario. But here’s the thing: this time, you knew Joel was safe at home. He wasn’t dead or dying in a ditch. What you did instead of worrying he got hurt, is you jumped straight to 'he doesn't care about me' and 'he was just using me.' I hate to break it to you, kid, but I don't think that's what happened here.

“Then why didn’t he show up?” you quietly ask.

“He has a daughter, right? What if something happened to her?”

You gasp, sitting up. “The kid who got burned!”

You’ve never met Ellie, but you know what she looks like. You’ve seen her with Joel around town. Were you really so distracted that you didn’t notice she was the dishwasher?

How did you miss that?

“Is that what happened to her? She was hopped up on some good shit when I saw Tommy walking her home from the clinic yesterday.”

“Dammit, Gail! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“You needed clarity.” She shrugs. “And to know your brain is an asshole.”

This is when it hits you like a truck: you've jumped to baseless conclusions and ruined the best thing to ever happen to you. You feel sick to your stomach as your heart rate doubles. You get up because you feel you need to leave, but you end up pacing instead.

“Oh my god.” Your vision blurs from watery eyes. “I didn’t let him speak. I told him not to talk to me. He tried to explain, and I shut him down.” Tears begin falling down your cheeks. “I thought—I really fucking thought he didn’t care, and the poor man was probably just taking care of his kid.” You stop in your tracks, remembering how he told you Sarah died in his arms. He must’ve been beside himself with worry over Ellie’s injury. The relief on his face when he saw you at his door this morning wasn’t because of the cake; it was because you were there. How could you be so cruel?

The weight of what you did is closing in, your breaths coming out quick and shallow. Sending you on the verge of hyperventilating, your vision tunneling, the edges going dark as the world caves in all around you.

Gail is suddenly up and in front of you, gripping your arms. "Hey, breathe. Look at me and breathe."

Your wide eyes go to hers, and you try, but your throat is too tight, the panic pressing in everywhere.

“Come on, kid, just breathe. You made a mistake. It happens. Nobody’s perfect. What you did isn’t unforgivable. Let’s focus on your breathing—you got this—in through your nose.” She does it with you. “There you go. Now let it out.” You do. “Again.” She coaches you to breathe, little by little, the heaviness in your chest easing, and your vision clearing, until you’ve calmed down. “There we go. You good?” she asks.

“Yeah.” You nod. “What do I do?” You sound desperate, your bottom lip wobbling. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“You talk to him. You own up to your shit. Tell him you assumed the worst because your brain’s an asshole, and you were heartbroken. If he’s worth a damn, and I have high hopes he is, he’ll forgive you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then at least you tried and did all you could.”

What you feel like you need to do is head to Joel’s immediately to apologize and explain, but you can’t. It's Ellie's birthday, and you do not want to intrude on her special day.

The air outside is warm, the sun shining with hardly any clouds in the sky. The weather doesn’t reflect what you’re feeling inside, regret rolling through you like a thunderstorm, consuming you. You’re walking home, thinking of what you could possibly say to fix what happened.

Hey, so I may have overreacted over a misunderstanding. I didn’t know that your kid got hurt, and that’s why you missed our date, which is totally my bad. Please forgive me.

Yeah, he definitely won’t accept that.

Every idea you’ve had since leaving Gail’s has sounded pathetic. To be honest, you don’t even know what would right your wrongs and earn Joel’s forgiveness. You’re beyond angry at yourself for not giving him a chance to speak; not only that, but you also feel so fucking guilty. He looked like he hadn’t slept when you saw him, and instead of checking how he was, you treated him like shit.

What’s worse is that you knew Joel wasn’t playing games, and you treated him like he did anyway. But as Gail said, your past still haunts you, and it sabotaged your best chance at happiness.

Fuck.

What are you going to do?

What can you do?

Nothing until tomorrow.

You have the night to figure out a plan that will hopefully earn Joel’s forgiveness. Or maybe you’re being too optimistic, and nothing can be done to repair what you ruined.

You’re starting to spiral again, when loud laughter stops you in your tracks. You look toward the noise, spotting three teenagers heading your way down the road. What has your stomach somersaulting is who's in the middle of the trio—it's Ellie, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that reveals her bandaged forearm. You’re glad to see that her injury isn’t keeping her from having fun.

Your thoughts start to race. If Ellie is hanging out with her friends, then that means Joel should be at home… alone.

Your heart is thudding a mile a minute.

You don’t remember deciding to turn. It’s your body that makes the call before your brain can talk you out of it.

You’re going.

Do you know what you’ll say? No. Do you know if he’ll even listen? Also, no. But you have to try. You have to do something if there’s any chance to make this right.

You’re back on Joel Miller’s porch. Same day. Same door. But where this morning you were fire and fury, now you’re just… scared.

It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, then finally, you suck in a deep breath and knock, three raps against the door.

Now comes the worst part: the wait. The time when you’re stuck in a limbo of whether or not Joel is going to answer the door. It’s nerve-wracking enough to make you a little queasy and your hands sweat, as the seconds seem to stretch on for an eternity.

Enough seconds pass that make you wonder if he’s not home.

Or, the likelier reason he hasn’t answered yet is that he saw you and doesn’t want to talk to you. That thought is like a punch to the gut.

But then the deadbolt clicks.

The door opens, and there’s Joel, the picture of a man who’s just been awoken from a nap. His hair is messy, and he’s squinting a little at the bright sunlight, wearing a white t-shirt and comfy-looking gray sweatpants.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“You were right, I made a mistake.”

“No shit. So what is this? You here to make yourself feel better?”

“I’m here to apologize and explain. I thought you stood me up.”

“Yeah.” His tone’s sharp. “I got that part.”

“I was hurt. I lashed out when I shouldn’t have. I’m so fucking sorry, Joel.”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry, huh?” He scoffs. “Well, sorry don’t cut it. Not with the way you treated me.”

He starts to close the door, but your hand hits it with a thud to stop it. “Joel, please.”

He doesn’t budge. “Don’t. Don’t give me that shit, standing there and acting like you care now.”

“I do!” You say it too quickly, too loudly. “I do care. I was wrong, and I fucked up.”

“Well, I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuses,” he snaps.

It’s a slap to the face hearing your own words thrown back at you.

The door starts to move again, and you panic.

“You know how your world ended when Sarah died?” you blurt out.

He freezes, his expression darkening. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

"My world ended when I lost my family." You don't want his sympathy. You don’t even want to talk about this, but telling him about your past will give him a better understanding of who you are. "I was twelve,” you continue. “It was me, my parents, and my two little sisters traveling. We were trying to reach a safer QZ. The day before, we had a close call with some infected. My dad took care of them, so we thought we were fine, but…” Your throat tightens. “I like to believe my mom didn’t know she’d been bitten.”

“Anyways, we stayed the night in an abandoned house. The next morning, I was doing a perimeter check with my dad when we heard screaming. We ran in—” You pause to swallow around the lump in your throat. “We ran in,” you try again, “and there was blood on the floor. My sisters were already gone. They didn’t stand a chance, and my mom… she wasn’t my mom anymore. In that moment, my dad didn’t just lose his wife; he lost his will to live. It didn’t matter how much I needed him, there was no way he’d keep going without her, so I lost him, too. He made me leave before he…” You don’t want to say what he did to himself out loud. It’s bad enough that you can remember the sound of the gunshot. With the back of your hand, you wipe away the tears in your eyes. “So… Yeah…”

For half a second, his eyes flicker with something—recognition? Maybe pain? His gaze drops to the space between you, silence falling over you both. You hate the quiet. It's filled with too much unknown—will he give you a chance to explain the reason you acted the way you did that morning? Is he going to shut the door in your face? Is he going to tell you off, then shut the door in your face? Joel isn't a man of many words, and even less so, someone who openly shows their emotions. It makes sense that he doesn't offer you his condolences or welcome you into his home. It is very Joel when he clears his throat and steps back for you to walk in, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“My brain is an asshole,” you say, your eyes on the floor. “Gail says it’s the childhood trauma. It makes me jump to the worst-case scenario.”

“Gail the therapist…?”

“Yes.” You lift your head. “She’s the one who told me Ellie got hurt. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“That’s good.” You nod. “She looked happy with Dina and Jesse when I saw her after my session.”

He walks past you toward the kitchen and doesn’t look back. “You want a drink?”

“If you don’t mind.”

If he’s getting you a drink, then maybe you should go into the living room. You head that way, stopping beside the leather couch in the middle of the room.

When you stayed over the other night, the house was too dark for you to see much of anything. Now, the late afternoon sunlight leaks through the window’s curtains to softly illuminate the area. You take in your surroundings, the blanket hastily thrown over the back of the sofa, the throw pillow near one of the armrests, indented with the shape of a head—he’d definitely been napping.

You’re an intruder in his space with no idea what you should do, so you stand there awkwardly.

A few moments later, he’s returning, holding a small glass in each hand. He offers you one that you take, raising it to your lips immediately, but pausing when you get a whiff of the liquor. It isn’t the harsh, homebrewed shit most people choke down these days. You take a sip. Yep, this is old-world whiskey. Smooth, warm, and extremely rare. Another perk of being a smuggler, you suppose.

He doesn’t sit right away; he just gestures toward the couch with his chin. “Sit down.”

You’re not sure if he’s ordering you or just being gruffly polite. You sit down anyway.

Joel sinks into the old armchair in the corner. He sits there, silent, pensive, turning his cup slowly in his hand as if to buy time to figure out what to say. “So…” he starts. “What happened to you. What’s that got to do with this mornin’?”

A valid question. Personal tragedies are a dime a dozen these days. Everyone who’s survived this long is bound to have losses. Look at Joel. It’s just a part of life.

When he finally looks at you, the anger in his eyes is replaced with exhaustion.

“‘Cause for the life of me,” he says, “I haven’t been able to make sense of where I went wrong for you to think so little of me.”

“That’s the thing, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were beyond perfect. A gentleman, a good guy, it was me and my fucked-up brain.” You sigh. “With how I lost my family, I kinda just expect everyone to leave, one way or another. So, when you didn’t come over, my first thought wasn’t a sane, ‘maybe something happened.’ It was a dramatic, ‘he’s gone like the rest of them.’ And that fucking destroyed me. It was worse than anything I’ve ever felt.”

He doesn’t say anything; he only hums his acknowledgment as he takes a slow drink of his whiskey.

You press on. “I coped by lashing out. I ended it before you could, thinking it’d hurt less, but it didn’t. It was worse. Nothing can excuse how I treated you, Joel. I fucked up. I majorly fucked up and hate myself for it. If there were any way for me to take it back, I would. All I can do now is beg for another chance. Let me prove it to you. Let me prove that I won’t run again.”

It's hard to tell from his demeanor what he’s thinking.

He rubs a palm over his jaw, the scrape of his stubble loud in the quiet. “Let me get this straight,” he starts. “You thought I was fuckin’ perfect and you still had the gall to treat me like that?” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, taking another sip of his drink.

That’s not a good start—you shoot back the two fingers of liquor in your cup, appreciating the burn as it slides down your throat and warms your belly.

His glass rests on his thigh. He gazes into the amber liquid before his eyes meet yours again. “I get it,” he says, “the world is fuckin’ cruel. People leave, they die, they disappear, but aren’t you sick of that shit? Don’t you want to be happy? I was offerin’ to stay, to marry you, to have children with you, and you just threw me away like I was nothin’.”

“Joel—”

“No,” he cuts you off, making you flinch. “It’s my turn to talk, and you’re gonna fuckin’ listen to what I have to say.” Your gaze drops to the empty cup in your lap, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s clear as day that you’ve never been in a real relationship. You’ve had flings and men who strung you along, the bastards. Never anythin’ that lasted, and because of your inexperience, I will give you some grace.” Your eyes return to his, feeling the tiniest inkling of hope. “But even with that, I’m too fuckin’ old to be chasin’ a girl as young as you, who runs so easy. The smart thing for me to do is nip this in the bud and end it now.”

The admission makes your heart sink. He averts his eyes, rubbing at his chin again, thinking.

Dread has you feeling sick as you wait for him to kick you out.

His hair is already messy, but still, he runs his fingers through it and takes a deep breath. His gaze lifts to yours. “However,” he starts, “against my better judgement, I wanna give you another chance.” The hope is back, you perk up in your seat. “I don’t need you to be perfect. What I need is for you to meet me halfway—that’s it—you’ll get everythin’ I’ve got, but you can’t be boltin’ or shuttin’ me out when things get tough. I need to know that if I let you into my life—into Ellie’s life, that you plan to stick around. So, how do I know I can trust you?”

A great question that you don’t have the answer to.

What could you say or do to regain his trust?

“You can speak now,” he says softly, gently nudging you.

“You won’t know until I prove it to you, and I’m asking that you please give me a chance to show you. You were right that I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I’ll figure it out, because I want you, Joel, and everything you’re offering. Losing this, losing you, is worse than anything imaginable, and I swear that even if things get tough, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t run. I won’t shut you out. I’ll talk to you like I should’ve done in the first place. Just please give me the chance to prove that I’m worthy of your love.”

It's palpable how the tension between you loosens. He nods his head once, then lifts his drink to his lips, downing it all in one gulp, the empty glass getting set onto the table next to him. "You've always been worthy of love." He pushes himself up from the chair with a pained grunt.

You’re not sure how to respond. He stands there, his eyes slightly squinting, studying you, searching your face for any signs of deception. You assume he’s found none when he steps your way, gently prying your cup from your hands, that he puts down onto the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Up." He reaches for your hands and helps you to your feet. As soon as you're standing, he pulls you into his arms in a full-body hug, practically wrapping himself around you like he never wants to let you go. You smile when he presses his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin. He lets out a contented sigh, his body relaxing. “I missed you,” his voice is muffled. “Don’t fuckin’ do that again.”

“I won’t.” The promise leaves your mouth before you even think.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. He’s holding you, keeping you as close as possible, reminding yourselves of what this feels like. You press your face into his shoulder, getting a faint trace of his thyme soap, earthy with a hint of mint.

To think you almost walked away from this—from him—from these arms that feel like home and a man willing to love you with no plans to leave. Insane.

His palm smooths up your spine to cradle the back of your head. “Needed you last night,” he softly admits.

Your chest aches. From the look of him this morning and the nap you interrupted, he must’ve been up half the night. “I’m here now.” Your head turns, trailing your lips across his prickly jaw, as you whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He leans back just enough to see your face, his big hand cupping your cheek. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, moving lower to trace the corner of your mouth. “Good,” he says, his gaze flicking to your lips. “‘Cause you’re mine.” It’s not up for debate. It’s stated as a fact, and all you can do is nod before the space between you disappears, and he’s kissing you.

At first, it’s slow, tentative; he’s reacquainting himself with the shape of your lips.

It’s not enough.

The dam breaks, Joel deepening the kiss. His arm around your back, drawing you flush against him, moaning when he licks into your mouth. His tongue intertwines with yours, tasting the whiskey—warm, smoky with a slight bite, that melts into something sweeter. Your arms circle his neck, giving in to all of the feelings washing over you—relief, want, drowning out that fear of losing him.

He pulls away long enough to say with his lips brushing yours, “Missed this.” Then his mouth is on yours again, rougher now, hungrier, kissing you like he’s staking his claim.

When your lungs begin to ache, you finally come up for air, panting. Joel peppers kisses along the line of your jaw and lower down your neck, your eyes rolling back when he sucks over your pulse.

The words stumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can I make it up to you?”

His head rises to meet your gaze. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Let me suck your dick.”

His face is unreadable, his pupils blowing wide. “On your knees.”

The command has your breath hitching, your cunt clenching hard around nothing.

“Here?” you ask, surprised he doesn’t want to go somewhere more private. “What if someone comes home?”

“Someone is spendin’ the night at their friend’s. Knees,” he orders.

You obey, dropping without hesitation to kneel on the rug at his feet. He looms over you, tracking your every movement with a burning gaze as you look up at him. “Good girl,” he purrs, rubbing his thumb across your wet bottom lip. “Get me out.”

Here’s the thing, you could do exactly as he says—you should do exactly as he says, but where’s the fun in that?

Instead of your hands going to the waistband of his sweatpants, you plant them on his thighs, and lean in, pressing your cheek against where he’s beginning to bulge. Heat radiates through the cotton as you nuzzle your face over his half-hard cock.

“Is that what I told you to do?” he asks.

Locking your eyes onto his, you ensure he's watching as you finally reach to curl your fingers into the stretchy waistband, pulling his pants down agonizingly slow. You get them down his thighs until all that separates you from his straining length are his blue boxer briefs.

“That’s it.” His voice deepens.

Keeping your gaze on his, you’re blatantly disobedient, slowly mouthing along his shaft through the material covering him, your lips mapping him, darkening the fabric with your saliva. Joel’s frown deepens, his jaw flexing. The warning’s clear on his face; his patience is wearing thin. Any second now, he’ll take back control.

“The longer you keep teasin’ me,” he says, “the longer I keep you from comin’.”

There it is. You expected him to stop you sooner.

You sit back on your heels and smile up at him. “I love when you threaten me.”

“What you love is pushin’ my buttons.”

“You’re not wrong.” You hook your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down just far enough for his cock to spring free—he’s thick, the tip reddened, and bobbing between his legs, making your mouth water at the pure perfection. You wrap your hand around the base, slowly pumping him, “Better?” you ask with a smirk.

His throat works as he swallows, eyes growing darker. “Almost. Tongue out.”

Arousal flares low in your belly. You let go of him and do as you're told, sticking it out, wide and waiting, resting your hands on his thighs again.

​ “Good girl.” He guides his length forward, laying it heavy across your tongue for you to feel the full weight of him, reminding you of just how big he is. He teases you, tapping the tip of his dick against your tongue, once, twice, a low groan slipping from him when you moan.

You don’t wait for his next command—you close your lips around the swollen head and suck, slow at first, letting him feel you working him into your mouth. Joel’s jaw goes tight, his hand finding the back of your head, threading his fingers into your hair.

“Christ,” he mutters. “That mouth.”

You swirl your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, then come off him with a wet pop. You look up at him through your lashes. “I told you I wanted to make it up to you. So, use me. Fuck my mouth. I want it.”

For a beat, he just stares down at you, a flush rising up his neck. His hand in your hair tightens. “Open wider.”

A thrill moves through you as you do as he commands, opening as wide as you can. Joel doesn’t hesitate, pushing his hips forward, filling you even deeper. He slides hot and heavy along your tongue until he’s hitting the back of your throat—you don’t gag, you never do, and that makes him lose it a little bit, his pace quickening.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, and the way he says it makes your pussy throb.

He pulls back only to thrust in again, finding a rhythm. It’s rough, his grip firm in your hair, guiding your head, watching himself fuck his cock into your mouth. It turns you on, being on your knees for him, drool slipping down your chin, your eyes watering while he uses you how he wants.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” His voice is ragged. He’s got one hand in your hair, the other wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “Look at this mess you’re makin’ for me. All mine.”

His hips snap harder, the back of your throat taking a pounding. You moan around him, making him groan even louder. His eyes are hooded, his cheeks rosy, and he looks wrecked. “My perfect girl, bein’ so good to me.”

Your cunt feels achingly empty, wetness pooling between your thighs. Your panties had to be drenched.

Trailing your hand down, you go to slip your fingers beneath your pants to quell the need that’s been building since the moment you kissed. Joel notices and comes to a halt. He growls down at you, “Don’t. Hands stay where they are.”

Your eyes lift to his, big and pleading, but he just feeds himself further into your mouth. “You don’t get to come until I say you can,” he says.

The denial makes it hotter, your body trembling with want. You return your palm to his thigh.

With his hand on the back of your head, he urges you forward, sliding his dick deeper and deeper, until you’re having to swallow around him, taking him into the tight space of your throat.

“That’s it, baby,” he sounds strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Just like that.”

Your nose bumps the coarse hair at his base, smelling the soap he showered with and his natural musk. Your eyes water, but you don’t gag around the stretch, you won’t, and the fact that you take him so easily drives him wild. “Fuck,” he rasps, his hips jerking. He free-hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where drool spills over. “That’s my girl, takin’ it all the way down.”

God, you shouldn’t love this as much as you do—drooling, crying, your throat stretched full, but you do.

Your nails dig into his thighs, the slick mess dripping from your lips, keeping him buried until your lungs scream for air. He lets you come off him, gasping in a big breath, a string of spit connecting you to his cock, before he shoves you down again, moaning when you swallow him whole.

His dark eyes are on your watery ones. “Good girl,” it comes out ragged, his lips parted. His hands cup your cheeks as he stares down at you with a surprisingly tender gaze. ”You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. You like bein’ ruined by me, don’t you?”

You hum around him, ‘yes.’

“Yeah, you do. You like bein’ mine.” He pulls out of your mouth, curling his fist around his hard cock. His other hand catches your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. “But do you deserve to come?” Your eyes round, your chest heaving. “After the way you treated me?”

“Joel,” you whimper—it’s pathetic how desperate you sound, but you are desperate. He’s got you wound up tight, your pussy aching, throbbing with need. Now terror rears its ugly head, splashing over you like ice-cold water because he has every right to deny you. He could leave you hanging, keep you here without ever allowing you to come, and you’re not sure you’d survive it. “Joel, please.”

“Don’t ever doubt me again. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He lets go of your face, grunting when he hauls you to stand. He’s on you, ducking his head to spread open-mouthed kisses up your throat. “I hated bein’ mad at you,” he murmurs into your skin. Joel grabs your jaw, holding you still as he licks a slow stripe through the spit on your chin, then up the tear tracks on your cheek. A startled gasp leaves you. The filthiness of it makes you ache. Joel catches your noise and smirks. He ghosts his mouth over yours. “Mess or not, you’re mine. All of it, mine,” he declares, sealing it with a kiss.

He claims your lips, hard and searing, stealing the breath from your lungs, before he breaks away. “Take off your clothes.” You’re too slow for his liking; he’s already grabbing the hem of your shirt, stripping you with little patience. Your boots thud across the floor—socks flying after, your jeans and panties roughly yanked down your legs. Your bare skin prickles in the cold air. You squeak in surprise when he spins you, forcing you to kneel on the worn leather sofa, bracing yourself against the back of it.

You feel him behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see he’s still dressed. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked,” you tell him. “Strip.”

His gaze burns, his lips downturned. “You really think you’re in a position to order me around?”

“What? Are you saying you prefer to be clothed? Don’t tell me you’re a sex-with-socks-on guy.”

He actually looks offended. “Who the fuck only wears socks?” His shirt’s gone in one motion, pants and boxers shoved down.

“You’d be surprised.” He does the awkward balancing act to remove each sock. “They did not get a second date.”

“Gotta add that to your list.” Of what you want in a man.

You smile, laughing breathlessly. “It’s already on the list, I just don’t broadcast it to catch the guys that do.”

Joel’s on you in seconds, the front of his body pressed to the back of yours, his skin hot, his cock thick and heavy against your ass. He holds your hips, his lips brushing your ear. “Better?”

You reach behind, pushing your fingers into his hair. “Mhmm, much better.”

He kisses a spot below your ear, then again on your neck. “Here’s how this goes,” he rasps. “I’m gonna fuck you, but you don’t come ‘til I say you can. You do, and I pull out. I won’t touch you again the rest of the night. Am I clear?”

The warning has heat curling low in your core, your thighs squeezing tight together. “Yes.”

His lips graze your shoulder. “Good girl.”

The praise has you biting your lip, rocking your hips back against the heft of him.

Joel chuckles low in his chest, “So needy for me.” He surprises you, slipping his hand down to tease along your inner thigh. “You want my fingers first? Or do you think you can take me?”

You shake your head. “No. I can take it.”

A little pain didn’t hurt anyone. Plus, you know he’ll make it worth it.

“That’s my girl.” He presses his palm between your shoulder blades, and that’s all of the instruction you need—automatically, you’re bending forward and arching your back to stick out your ass.

His length is still covered in your saliva, but Joel is extra cautious. He spits in his palm and works it over his dick, the obscenely slick sound it makes causing your insides to clench in need. He notches himself at your sopping entrance before he starts to nudge in, the thickness of his cock prying you open and stealing your breath.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

He pushes in slowly, your body resisting, the stretch burning sharply enough to make your inner walls clamp helplessly around him.

“Easy,” Joel rasps, in a tone that’s low and tender, like he’s breaking a wild horse. “I got you.” He inches in deeper, then retreats a little, before pressing in again, slowly working himself into you. “That’s it.” He’s cupping your hip, steadying you while sinking in further. “Doin’ so good for me.” You whimper, caught between the sting and the overwhelming relief of finally being filled. “Just a little more.”

He bottoms out, burying himself to the root. “Christ,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to your shoulder. “Nothin’ in the fuckin’ world like bein’ inside you.”

You’re stretched to your limits and beyond full, every nerve in your body screaming. He doesn’t move right away. He stays still, his mouth kissing anywhere he can reach—your shoulder, the side of your neck, behind your ear. His lips are everywhere as you get used to the fullness. “My good girl, takin’ all of me,” he says into your skin. “This pussy is mine. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

You’re thankful he’s gracious enough to give you time to adjust to what feels like him splitting you open.

What you expect is for him to fuck you hard, to work out all the anger you caused him. What you get is slow—torturously slow. His thrusts are shallow, grinding his pelvis into your ass, savoring you like he’s afraid to waste even a second of it. It makes you whine, your nails digging into the back of the couch, desperate for him to just take you the way you thought he would. It has you pushing back, trying to speed up his pace.

He doesn’t like that.

A sharp smack lands on your ass before his hips slam forward, knocking the wind from your lungs. His other hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you to stay put. “Quit it,” he growls. His tone is rough, but his touch is gentle when he rubs a comforting palm along your side. “You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll love every fuckin’ second. Understand?”

“Yes.” Your voice trembles.

“Good girl.”

If you thought his leisurely pace was maddening, that was only the beginning.

Joel pulls you upright, your spine colliding with his solid front, his cock stretching you open as he cages you in. He’s got one arm locked across your chest, squeezing your breast with his calloused hand, his free palm sliding down to the apex of your thighs. He rubs your clit in slow, merciless circles that sync with the lazy roll of his hips, your arousal dripping down his shaft to coat his balls.

His lips are at your ear. “You were hopin’ I’d fuck you, mean, weren’t you? Wanted me to take out my frustration on your greedy little pussy.”

The heat in your core gets hotter with every drag of his cock and swirl of his fingers. You don’t answer him quickly enough—he slaps your cunt, soothing the sting, by stroking his palm over it right after.

“Is that what you were hopin’?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He chuckles darkly. “Too bad. I want you to feel every inch of me—every fuckin’ inch of what you almost threw away.” His teeth graze the shell of your ear. “And then I wanna hear the sweet sound of you beggin’ me to come.”

No words leave your mouth; you just moan.

Joel’s hand moves down your swollen sex, spreading his fingers around where he’s sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, “you’re soakin’ me.” He smears the slick before gathering it onto his fingertips to circle your clit—you jolt, his cock grinding in deeper. “I love how wet you get for me—how your body knows who it belongs to.”

You’re fluttering around him, clenching at what he says because he’s right, your body does belong to him, you belong to him. He has ownership over you and your pleasure, filling you so completely that there isn’t any space inside you he hasn’t claimed.

He’s moving slowly, languidly as if he has all the time in the world, and it’s a special kind of hell. It doesn’t matter that every swirl of his fingers and every shallow thrust winds you tighter; you want more. You want the hard, fast, feral, fucking you within an inch of your life pace he had the first time he put his cock in you. That didn’t mean his slow, steady strokes were any less devastating—he has you at the cusp of combusting. Your thighs tremble, fighting with everything you’ve got against the sharp heat swelling in your belly, because Joel’s threat of pulling out if you come before he gives you permission is at the forefront of your mind, but you’re close, you’re so close it hurts.

Tears form in the corners of your eyes, your body begging to let go. A broken sob tumbles from your mouth. Joel’s hand moves from your chest, gliding up your throat to grab your jaw, turning your head. He catches your earlobe between his teeth, tugging it just enough to make you gasp. “Can feel how close you are,” he growls in your ear. “Can feel you fightin’ it. My good girl knowin’ she’s not gettin’ off easy.” He drives into you hard, burying himself balls deep inside you where he stays, unmoving, while his hand abandons your aching clit.

The sudden loss is a welcome respite. Still, all of your nerves are on fire, your body quivering at being so close to the edge, now with nowhere to go. Your eyes are closed, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, making you stick to him wherever you touch.

“Joel,” you whimper.

“I know, baby.” He kisses you at the awkward angle, your lips misaligned, with his wet fingers splayed on your stomach. “You can take it.” He lets go of your jaw, bracing his arm across your chest again like he knows you’ll need the extra support. “Gotta ruin you before I let you come.”

You’re already ruined, and somehow he’s going to ruin you even more? Jesus. What have you gotten yourself into? You’re about to find out.

He starts moving again, his hips keeping to that same slow, savoring pace as before. It’s juxtaposed by the perfect strokes of his fingers on your clit, circling the needy bundle of nerves until your body quakes and shakes for release, bringing you to the precipice before stopping once more.

“Please, Joel,” you try, but you know he isn’t going to give in—it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Not ‘til I say.”

You gulp, your pussy squeezing him as electricity dances just below your skin.

He may not let you come, but he isn’t cruel about it. You’re still stuffed to the brim with his thick cock, his chest pressed against your back, his touches softer now—his thumb strokes little arcs over your hip bone, his lips mapping the slope of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, and the damp skin just below your ear, soothing you, grounding you.

Joel begins again, slowly thrusting while his fingers work you to the point of snapping, only to deny you of your orgasm again. He does that once, twice, three times, edging you until you’re a mewling, crying fucked out mess. Your nails claw at his forearm, locked over your chest, your cunt clenching down on him helplessly, every nerve in your body raw.

Tears spill freely down your cheeks. “Please, Joel,” you beg. “I can’t—I can’t. Please, I need it. I need to come. Please.” If you didn’t, you were sure you’d die. That’d be a new one. Dying of sexual frustration. What a way to go out.

His movements have ceased again, staying buried to the hilt inside you. He groans in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s it. My perfect girl, beggin’ so prettily. You’ve earned it.” His fingers return to your clit, and finally—fucking finally—his hips snap harder, faster, pummeling your pussy just the way you wanted. “Come for me, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his other hand pinching your stiff nipple. “Give me what’s mine.”

There’s no other way to describe it: the permission is like a match to gasoline, it has pleasure exploding out from your core so violently, you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, Joel fucking you through it with a drawn-out moan, your body convulsing around him.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that,” his words come out strained, probably from how your cunt chokes his dick. “My good girl, my good fuckin’ girl.”

And then things go fuzzy, your brain short-circuits. Do you lose consciousness? Maybe. All you know is one minute you are experiencing the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your entire life, and the next you’re coming to, sucking in a big gulp of air as if in those lost seconds you forgot to breathe.

His fingers on your clit are too much. It feels like he’s touching a live wire inside you, the overstimulation causing you to yank your hips back, his hand coming off in reflex. This is when you register that he’s still slowly rocking in and out of you, while your pussy continues spasming with aftershocks, drooling your arousal along his cock. His arm is locked firmly around your middle, keeping you up because your legs are too shaky to hold your weight.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low. His mouth ghosts over the hollow of your shoulder, leaving soft kisses, as his palm slides down your side in comforting strokes.

You’re still clutching his forearm that’s across your front and let go, reaching your hand back to press your fingers into his sweaty hair, smiling dreamily. “Yes,” you croak.

His head turns, kissing the inside of your wrist, and you can’t help thinking about how much you love how affectionate he is. It’s not something you’d expect from someone who’s lived the life he has. You’d think that after all these years, the softness inside him would’ve hardened, and yet it hasn’t. Or maybe it had at one point. He did tell you he was a shell of a man before Ellie, and maybe you have her to thank for softening him up—maybe you have her to thank for the tenderness no one before him ever cared to show you.

His nose nuzzles the side of your neck, followed by the gentle press of his lips. “Think you can give me another?” he asks.

The fact that he’s giving you a choice warms your heart. Not that you dislike when he’s in charge and you’re at his mercy. That’s great, too. But his asking shows he has your comfort in mind and doesn’t want to overstimulate you further.

“Later,” you answer, your nails lightly scratching his scalp. “When we christen your bed, and you eat me out to your heart’s content.”

A groan rumbles from his chest, his cock twitching inside you, making you smile. “God, I fuckin’ missed you,” he tells you.

“I missed you, too.”

He slowly withdraws from you, and the sound you make is a half-sigh, half-whimper. It only takes a few seconds for him to move from behind you to sit down on the couch cushion, and tug you to straddle him, the leather creaking under your knees that bracket his hips.

For a moment, he just stares at you, his big hands coming up to caress your cheeks. He’s got that expression on his face, the one where he looks upon you with a sort of awe, almost like he can’t believe you’re real, and actually there. Then his eyes turn hungry as they take you in, roving over your face and body, before they flick up to meet yours. “How’d I get so lucky?” he asks. You’re the lucky one, but you don’t get a chance to say it because as soon as the words leave his lips, he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours.

This kiss is much more fervent than the last, feeling his need, his desperation, his relief. You take it upon yourself to lift your hips, lining his straining cock up with your entrance, then start to lower yourself, taking him inch by glorious inch until you’re flush against him. The two of you moan into the kiss. Even with how much he’s worked you open and your orgasm loosening your muscles, there’s still a slight stretch that feels so fucking incredible, it has a shiver crawling up your spine.

You can feel him throbbing inside you as you stay still, reveling in how right it feels to have him buried in you again, filling you so perfectly. The kiss melts into something deeper, your tongues tangling, his hands roaming down your back, grabbing the globes of your ass. Now that you’re cognizant, having come down from your peak, Joel consumes your every thought; he’s taken over your senses, feeling him everywhere. Nothing exists outside this moment with him. He’s everything. He’s all that matters, and you want him to feel as good as he makes you feel.

Joel gets to a point where kissing while you sit on his dick isn’t enough—his feet are planted on the floor, his back pressed into the cushion behind him, giving him the leverage he needs to start moving, slowly thrusting up into you. He keeps himself fully sheathed, his grip on your backside helping you grind down on him. You’ve got your arms around his neck, your fingers in his hair, rolling your hips in sync with his movements.

The kiss turns sloppy as the rhythm builds, feeling the tension coiling through his muscles—he’s close. His lips break away from yours, panting as his mouth trails down your throat, lavishing open-mouthed kisses lower over your collarbone. You bite your lip. “You gonna come for me, baby?” you ask through heavy breaths.

He roughly groans into your skin, and you take that as a yes, smiling. His head dips, closing his lips around a pebbled nipple, circling his tongue. Between that and how his strokes have gotten faster, you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Yes,” you moan. “Come, I want it. Fill me up, make me yours.”

You thought you were spent after coming so hard, but the attention Joel is giving your tits and how amazing his cock feels inside you has pleasure blooming at the base of your spine. He switches from one breast to the other, sucking and teasing your nipples, his teeth grazing over the hard buds, then soothing them with his tongue.

You’re a little surprised how quickly the heat is building in your gut. Now, you’re bouncing in his lap to keep up with his thrusts, each movement growing needier.

“Come inside me.” You sound breathless, a bead of sweat rolling down your forehead. You’re getting lost in how good he makes you feel, and it loosens your lips, words spilling from your mouth. “Give it to me, Joel. Claim me, ruin me. I want it. I want your come, want you to fuck it deep and get me—” Your eyes fly open as you suck in a breath, completely caught off guard by what you were about to say.

Where did that even come from?

Wherever you had it buried in your subconscious, now it’s come to light, and for the first time in your entire life, the thought that someone—Joel—could get you pregnant has you coming undone. Your orgasm is sudden, all of your muscles pulling taut as sweet euphoria spreads through your body. It’s softer this time, a ripple instead of a crashing wave, which you’re thankful for with how worn out you already feel.

When your cunt clamps down on him, Joel groans loudly. It has him finally looking up at you, and it’s clear on his face how fucking gone he is—his eyes glazed over, his cheeks pink, and his jaw slack. He’s so far gone, you don’t think he’ll last even a minute longer. He captures your lips, hungrily kissing you as the rhythm of his hips stutters, his fingers digging hard into your asscheeks.

“You can have it,” he murmurs into your mouth. “‘M gonna give it to you. Fuck my come deep. Give your greedy little pussy what it wants.” And that’s it for him—he didn’t even make it thirty seconds before he’s coming. He pulls your ass down, burying himself all the way to the root as he follows you over the edge. The sound that tears from his throat comes from somewhere deep in his chest. It’s rough and strangled. It’s what losing control sounds like, and it’s so unbelievably hot that your pussy clenches, bearing down on him, keeping him in place. He thickens inside you, his dick jerking with each spurt of his come, feeling the warmth of him filling the deepest depths of you. When you’ve wrung him of every last drop, his body goes lax, and his head falls, face planting between your breasts—it makes you smile, your nails lightly scratching at the nape of his neck, while you rest your cheek on his sweat-damp hair. You don’t move as you both come down from your highs. Your breaths evening, your hearts slowing, closing your eyes as you bask in the afterglow.

Maybe it’s because you only slept a handful of hours the night before, or the emotionally charged day. It could also be the result of getting thoroughly fucked, but you find exhaustion has seeped into your bones, your eyelids feeling weighed down.

You’re about to ask Joel if he wants to head up to his bedroom and take what you know would be an amazing nap, when you’re silenced by a loud snore against your chest. In any other circumstance, you’d giggle. Instead, it reminds you that he’s probably beyond tired from staying up, worrying all night about Ellie. Guilt and shame creep up the back of your throat at the memory of how you treated him that morning, and you hug his head closer, kissing his hair.

Seconds pass, maybe a minute ticks by, with Joel still asleep. You don’t want to wake him, but you also like the idea of getting some shut eye yourself, so very carefully you push his upper body back against the cushion, pausing to see if he wakes—he snores. You let out a relieved breath, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around you both as you lean into him, getting comfortable with your face tucked against his neck.

Now that you’re relaxed and cozy, you find yourself wondering why in the world it got you off thinking about getting knocked up, when you did everything you could to prevent it with past partners. That’s it, your partner. Joel isn’t like the men before him. You know for a fact he’s dependable and a damn good father. You know that if you have his child and things don’t work out between you, you wouldn’t have to parent alone; he’d still be there. You trust Joel. Not only that, but he also checks all your boxes. He’s everything you could dream of in a partner and father to your future children. You got off at the thought of getting pregnant, because for the first time, you had nothing to fear—it doesn’t hurt that you’d love to have his kid, too.

And even feeling that trust and security, there’s still a whisper of doubt in the back of your mind, that all of this is too good to be true—you squash it down as best you can, relishing in the comfort and safety of right now.

Between the warmth and the knowledge that you have nothing to worry about, you fall asleep in record time.

Time goes by, minutes, an hour, two, safe in your cocoon, the house quiet.

A side effect of surviving an apocalypse is a sensitivity to sound. At the faintest noise, you can go from sleeping deeply to fully alert in a second flat. The scrape of metal in the front door’s deadbolt cuts through your dreamless sleep. Your eyes widen, sitting up immediately with your heart pounding in your chest.

There’s only one other person who lives here.

“Joel,” you harshly whisper, shaking his shoulder.

His eyes blink open, all bleary-eyed and confused, but when he registers it’s you, his lips quirk up in a lazy smile, his big hands sliding along your sides. “Yeah?” he groggily asks.

“Ellie’s here.”

That wakes him up, his expression turning panicked. “Shit,” he whispers, looking side to side like he’s trying to figure out an escape plan. You don’t think, you move because your first interaction with your boyfriend’s daughter is not going to be scarring the poor girl at finding you both naked. Thankfully, there’s a wall separating the living room from the entryway that buys you some seconds—quickly you unwrap the blanket from around you, ungracefully dismounting Joel, and ignoring his come leaking down your leg, as you scoop up your clothes.

Well, fuck. Where can you hide?

It’s your turn to look around to figure out your escape plan, spotting a closet door on the other side of the room that you quietly rush to, and manage to slip inside just as you hear from the foyer, “Joel?” You catch a glimpse of the man in question as you close the door, impressed that he was able to get his sweatpants on, before lying across the couch with the blanket covering himself from the neck down to make it look like he’d been napping. The closet door clicks shut, the small space going dark, save for the sliver of light coming through the crack near your feet.

Your ears perk at the young girl’s muffled words. “Oh, shit,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” Joel replies, through a yawn. You can hear him sit up, the sofa’s leather complaining under his movements. “What are you doin’ home?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep. “I thought you were stayin’ the night at Dina’s.”

Carefully, so as not to make any noise, you set your clothes on the floor and start dressing as you listen, pulling on your panties first.

“Is that why you’re not wearing a shirt?” You want to laugh at how disgusted she sounds.

He sighs. “I got hot while sleepin’, and there was no one here to complain.” He grunts, before asking a handful of seconds later, “Better?” You think he grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it back on.

“Much.”

“Did you forget somethin’?” he asks.

“No—I found out Jesse and Dina have never played Monopoly, and I’m pretty sure I can kick their asses.”

“By goin’ bankrupt twenty turns in ‘cause you buy every property you land on and put houses on the shittiest ones?”

“Hey, if you had landed on one of those blue ones, I would’ve owned your ass.”

“But I didn’t, and you wasted your money and the money I loaned you.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’ve got a better strategy that will make me unbeatable,” she says, sounding very confident in herself.

“Right,” Joel replies flatly, clearly unconvinced. “And what’s this unbeatable strategy?”

She scoffs. “Like I’d tell you. You’ll find out next time we play.”

At this point, you’ve gotten your jeans on and are now working on getting your sports bra over your head and down to cover your chest.

“If you say so,” he says. “Let me grab you the game. Do you need anthin’ else from the closet?” He emphasizes the last word, your stomach dropping—the board game is in here with you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you’re frozen in your spot listening. Leather creaks loudly—he must be standing up.

“I’m fine, Joel,” Ellie insists. “I don’t need your help. I can get it myself.” You can hear the light thump of her shoes on the hardwood floor getting closer. “I wanna see what else we have anyway—definitely gonna grab that Twister game you refuse to play.”

The doorknob jiggles and starts to open. “NO,” Joel says a little louder than necessary, his body thudding against the door, slamming it shut.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ellie asks, the words laced with annoyance. “Why won’t you let me in the closet?”

Joel lets out a defeated sigh and mumbles something you can’t make out.

“What?” Ellie replies. “What did you say?”

He says it softly, but you hear him this time. “There’s someone in there…”

“What do you mean there’s someone in there?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters. “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet.”

“Meet, who? Who the fuck’s in the closet, Joel?”

This seems like a good time to finish dressing. You lean down to snag your shirt off the ground, but when you do, you find nothing there.

Where’s your shirt?

Did you drop it when you rushed to the closet?

You crouch, feeling all around on the floor, touching shoes, a box, a metal baseball bat, but nothing that resembles your shirt—fuck.

“The woman I’m datin’...”

Even though you’re now panicking at being shirtless, that admission makes you smile.

“The woman you’re dating…?” she asks, drawing the words out like she doesn’t quite comprehend. “There’s someone who likes you, like romantically…? You…?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just you’re an old, grumpy asshole and your face looks like that.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“I mean, have you looked in a mirror?”

This time when Joel sighs, it's that of a father at his wits’ end with his child’s bullshit—you can admit they’re adorable.

“Yes, I have looked in a mirror, and yes, there is someone who likes me romantically. If you will be polite and stop embarrassin’ me, I will introduce you to her.”

“Chill, Joel. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “I doubt that.” The pressure of his body lifts from the door, and you’re next met with two soft knocks. “You can come out—that is, if you’re ready,” he quickly adds. “If you need us to give you a minute, that’s fine, too.”

There’s no point in dragging this out. You’re going to have to bite the bullet. You stand back up. “Um, Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you, uh, please, grab me my shirt? It’s somewhere out there…”

“Oh. Yes. Gimme a second.”

He pads away.

“Wait,” you hear Ellie say. “Why isn’t your girlfriend wearing a shirt?”

“She got hot while sleepin’.” He returns and softly knocks again. “I’ve got it, sweetheart.” You crack the door open and close it after he hands you the t-shirt, which you immediately put on.

“Sweetheart?” Ellie questions. “Did you just call her sweetheart?”

Joel sighs. “Yes.”

“Ew.”

Now that you’re dressed, you quickly comb your fingers through your hair to try and make yourself look a bit more presentable—thankfully, the tears and spit have dried on your face, so it isn’t too obvious to Ellie that you fucked her dad earlier. At least, you hope it isn’t.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door a little. Joel’s standing there, blocking your view of the rest of the room with an apologetic look on his face. You give him a reassuring smile and open the door wider. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “You would’ve introduced us eventually, and this is totally fine.”

“I appreciate you bein’ so understandin’, but I’m still sorry.”

“You really don’t need to be.” Pointing at your face, you mouth ‘Do I look okay?’

Joel smirks—he fucking smirks. His hand comes up and ever so gently brushes some stray hairs off your cheek, tucking them behind your ear as he nods, saying for only you to hear, “You look beautiful.”

Your mouth opens to respond when another voice chimes in, “Holy shit, she’s pretty—” You see Ellie peeking around Joel with wide eyes. “—and young. Was not expecting someone that young.”

“Uh, thank you?” you reply.

“Ellie,” Joel warns, his attention going to her. His hand fell from your face.

She steps to the side of him, unaffected by his pointed stare. “What?” she asks, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t say anything rude. They were compliments!”

“I’m not offended,” you add.

She smiles. “See, I didn’t offend her.” Joel takes a deep breath, and the young girl looks at you again. “I figured someone interested in this old fucker—” She juts her thumb his way. “—would be closer to his age, but you definitely are not. Are you sure you like this dude? You know, someone who looks like you can do a lot better than him—no offense, Joel.” She pats his arm.

He presses his fingers to his brow, grumbling, “You’re not wrong.”

Ellie has no filter, and you find it delightful. Her father, on the other hand, looks as though he wishes the ground would swallow him whole—poor guy.

You smile and introduce yourself to Ellie. “—It’s nice to finally meet you, and yes, I am sure that I like him. It might not make much sense to you, but I like him quite a lot.”

“Yeah, I don’t get it, but whatever.” She shrugs. “If Joel’s happy, I’m happy.”

Joel’s eyes go to her again, but this time they’ve softened. His fond expression shows how much he loves her, even if she’s a pain in his ass. And Ellie loves him, too. You can tell by how her ribbing is laced with affection and void of any malice. She just gets immense joy from eliciting a reaction from him.

“So,” Ellie continues. “How long has this been a thing?” She points back and forth between you and her dad.

Joel glances your way, and you give him a look that says, ‘You’re taking this one.’

“Uh, it’s pretty recent,” Joel replies, scratching the back of his neck.

“Cool.” She focuses on him. “Is it serious?”

“Yes.”

You love hearing that.

“Is she moving in?”

“Not right this second.”

“You’d tell me if she was moving in, though, right?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What? Yes. Of course I’d tell you. That isn’t somethin’ that’d happen without talkin’ to you first.”

“Okay.” She nods. She turns to you, pointing past your head. “Can I get in there to grab my games? I gotta get going. My friends are waiting for me.”

“Oh! Right,” you reply, pushing the door fully open and moving out of her way to stand beside Joel. You watch as the girl rises on her tiptoes to go through the collection of game boxes on the upper shelf—they have just about every board game you can think of. She tucks Monopoly, Twister, and The Game of Life under her arm, but ends up putting The Game of Life back, grabbing Hungry Hungry Hippos and Mouse Trap instead.

You’re not entirely sure what to do. Should you go sit on the couch? Excuse yourself to take a much-needed trip to the bathroom? Head to the kitchen for a cup of water? You end up staying beside Joel, resting your head against his arm. You smile when his pinkie slides along the side of your hand to loop around your smaller one—he wants to hold your hand, but probably isn’t sure if you’re okay with Ellie seeing. You give him what he wants, twining your fingers together.

“I’m impressed by how many games there are,” you whisper. “None of them are missing pieces?”

“If they were, I found replacements—at least, the majority of them I did. Still haven’t been able to find a fucking wishbone for Operation.”

You snort. “People probably wanted the good luck. Plus, the wishbone was always a bitch to remove anyway, so I’m sure it’s not missed.”

“Maybe, but I’d like the game to have all its parts.”

“Then I will keep my eye out for the ever-elusive wishbone.”

He huffs out an amused breath and kisses your hair. “Thank you.”

Ellie takes a couple of minutes to make her final decision. Monopoly and Twister never leave her arm. She keeps Hungry Hungry Hippos, but switches out Mouse Trap for Clue—solid choices. Once she’s finished, she shuts the door, turning in place.

“Well, guys,” Ellie says, addressing you both. “This has been fun—weird, but fun. I’m gonna head out.” She looks at Joel. “I promise I won’t be back home until tomorrow. I’ll meet you for breakfast. Will she be joining us?” She nods your way.

“No,” you answer for him. “I’ll be working. I’ll be helping make the breakfast.”

Her eyes meet yours. “A cook. That’s rad.”

You smile. “Actually, a baker. I made your cake, which I hope you liked. Happy Birthday, by the way.”

That has her face lighting up. “No shit, that was you?! That was the best fucking cake I’ve ever had.”

You giggle. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“She also made the apple pie from the other night,” Joel adds. “And that peach cobbler you wouldn’t shut up about.”

Her eyes widen. “No fucking way, and you’re dating Joel? Does that mean you’ll bake me stuff if I ask?”

“Within reason. I promise if I can get my hands on some peaches, I’ll definitely make you a peach cobbler, though.”

“Fuck yeah!” She turns her attention to Joel. “I have no fucking clue how you got her to date you, but good job. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, I guess,” he replies.

“Okay, I really have to leave. Bye!” She briskly walks past the two of you. “Oh, and Joel?” You both turn around to see her standing at the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m cool with you having a girlfriend, but the shit that happens in your bedroom stays in your bedroom. I don’t want to hear it, I definitely don’t want to see it, I don’t want to fucking think about it.” She shudders in disgust. “God. I’m never sitting on that couch again.”

“Fuck,” Joel says under his breath. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he tells her. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“You better not. Glad that’s over. Bye, guys!”

And with that, she left the room, and the house, the front door slamming shut behind her.

“Told you that you liked to play with fire,” you tease.

“She probably knew somethin’ was up the moment she stepped foot in here.”

“Probably. I mean, your boxers are over there on the floor.” You gesture to where they are crumpled under the coffee table. “You were shirtless, I was shirtless, and hiding in the closet, plus your lame ass excuse that we were undressed because we—” You do air quotes. “—’got too hot,’ it’s very obvious what we were getting up to. But look on the bright side.” You turn your head to look at him, meeting his eyes. “At least she didn’t walk in when your dick was down my throat. I don’t know about you, but I count that as a win.”

“You’re right. It could’ve been worse.”

“Much worse. Now, you wanna take a shower with me?” You really want to clean up the mess between your legs.

He smiles and pulls you into his arms. “Yeah, I wanna shower with you,” he says, punctuating the sentence with a toe-curling kiss—it ends, Joel’s lips brushing yours as he quietly asks, “Will you stay the night?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He nudges the tip of your nose with his own. “Because you’re mine?”

“Because my bed is still broken and my back is killing me from sleeping on the couch last night.” He stills, and you can tell he’s frowning. “And yes,” you continue in exasperation, “because I’m yours, you ridiculous man. I’ll always be yours.”

He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are, and you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m yours. I can promise you that, I’ll always be yours.”

“Say it again.”

Part 1 - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[mimi-miller]

Hey, hi, hello. I would like to formally thank you for writing "Rat". I was enraptured the entire time. Your writing style is beautiful. I felt the grief, confusion, anger, and hurt as if they were my own. 100/10.

(P.S. LOVED that ending. 😘😘)

THANK YOU SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️ I was so worried people wouldnt like the ending tbh im glad you did !!! ☺️☺️ ur so sweetie thank you :3

[mimi-miller]

PART TWO (final)

𖦹 synopsis: patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

𖦹 warnings: human experimentation, hallucinations, Stockholm syndrome, blood, fighting, SUICIDE ATTEMPT !! (attempted drowning and self smothering), medication/drug usage, anger, heavy confusion, vomit, depression, lots of suicide idealation, mentions of SH and scars, numbness, dissociation, use of needles, nightmares, paranoia, psych wards, aggressive reader due to emotional instability, use of knife to threaten joel, lots of cursing, unprofessional behaviour by joel, slight comfort ending.

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @daddieslittleladie @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @rhaenassance @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

no pressure tags: (interacted with my other posts so u might like this one !!) :> : @luvp1nk @starrynightsarise @rad4bean @nourlh @raebabexo @ghulmayhem @fishingforpike @babielli @lucymmiller @pleurspetal @ainhoetaaa @urmomsmattress @secretlettersfromyourlove @soflipped @blackwidow-carter @inalovemazeloop @keylimebeag @idkhhhhi

chapter one // chapter two.

𖦹 wc: 8.3k ( two part series )

You wouldn't describe your relationship with Joel as a relationship - you wouldn't describe it as anything really. 

In spite of that, Joel implied a lot that you were something. Ironically, even he didn't know what to class it as.

Maybe you let him get close for a sense of control. You had a feeling of secret knowing from the fact you were more reluctant than you let on. An inner monologue convincing yourself that you were doing it for safety, letting him feel like this ‘connection’ was reciprocated so you felt he was the naive one. It helped a little to make up for the fact you didn't really understand anything that was happening to you.

Joel stayed close. Clearly concerned, which didn't ease your anxieties. 

It was several weeks of pure agony. He refused to give you medication for it; resulting in many occasions where you would pass out from the pain. Sometimes the talking was comforting, Joel muttering (basically to himself) about the drugs he was working on. He’d describe it to you, explaining it, letting you know how it worked and what it did. When the pain started to wear off, you wished you'd paid more attention to his speeches. Now you were back to square one of not knowing what the fuck you were even here for.

Cheery seemed a weird word but was the most accurate for describing Joel's mood change when he noticed the longer absences of pain in your body. A part of you thought you should act, pretend you were still unbearably sick so he wouldn't make you leave the bed. You didn't want the trials, the feeling that you were constantly watched and overheard. Just Joel and him only sometimes was easier. 

He fed the rat. Also told you to name it. Naming a rat when Joel refused to tell you your own felt like a mockery. So you just dismissed his request every time he brought it up. You liked having a lack of self in common with the animal. 

The withdrawals from the drugs had an unbearable amount of not only symptoms but humiliating ones. Constant runny nose and sweat made you feel disgusting, not at all like someone who could use emotional tactics against Joel to get him on side to set you free from this place. Joel kept bringing you the same cloth, cleaning it in between days but the repetition seemed to bug you. You knew you were trapped in a place, and similar days made it feel like a fucking time loop that was hopeless to daydream about escaping from. 

Something sick happened the day you woke up painless. 

Usually you'd have a pulse thumping in your skull, even a little was enough to know you were still suffering. Now there was nothing. Physically. 

You stared at the ceiling from when you woke up and until Joel came in. It could've been hours and you wouldn't have known. Not a single part of you cared to keep track, usually would have called out for him specifically, alerting him you were awake. Alerting him you wanted him there, taking care of you. 

No part of you wanted him. No part of you wanted anything. Again, there was nothing. Nothing painful but purely nothing at all. Emotionally and physically empty. 

He must've assumed you were hurting. Logical assumption due to previous days of living in so much torture that all you could do was nothing. Now you were laying, wishing to see, hear, feel nothing, live as pure nothing. That or to be able to scream and kill everyone that was involved in you being here. 

Turns out the only skill you had was consistent not knowing. You would somehow always miss important details he told you - dissociating from either pain or pure emotional exhaustion so everything just happened to you. Now you just let it. 

Joel pulled you out of bed, gently, guiding every movement. He led you out the room, lights blaring through your eyes making everything virtually invisible. You didn't really want to leave your room, but not a single limb decided to take action.

Yet. 

With the way your feet dragged from your almost lack of consciousness, Joel took the initiative to pull you into his grasp. Supporting you, making your legs instinctively wrap around his torso and your head rest on his shoulder as he carried you. You let your eyes rest. 

You didn't want to relax into him. You didn't want to be near him or anyone or any kind of tool he had prepared to test you. You realised your only true wish in that moment was to be dead. But you weren't, and you couldn't make that happen with Joel's constant surveillance. 

Yet.

He set you down on your bare feet, the cold surface sending a rush up your spine. The most you’d felt that day so far; and it was just cold. It felt like a waste of a feeling. 

Joel was reluctant to let go of you, walking you backwards while your eyelids remained heavy and almost closed. His hand remained on the small of your back, touching the fabric of the hospital nightgown you tended to forget you had on. It was less intimidating to imagine yourself in typical clothing since it gave you faux confidence in knowing you weren't actually someone insane.

Yet. 

A cold surface pressed against your back, Joel seemingly securing you in place in front of it. He kissed your cheek, sparking the first urge to actually do something you had that day: punch him. Another part of you competed, a part of you that didn't mind him doing it - which kind of made you want to punch him more, then maybe hit your head against the wall to punish yourself. You didn't move to hurt him.

Yet.

Joel was still. Hands twitching like he was waiting for the right moment to do something. To move. But he didn't. Not yet. 

Maybe you knew. Maybe your brain had temporarily become connected to some power after your suffering. It sparked you into action but it didn't surprise you. Like you knew it was going to happen. As if it had happened before. Maybe it had. 

Your body made the move before you even formed the thought for it. 

Joel jolted back, hand hesitant to touch his face as he felt the blood begin to spill out his nose. His eyes were wide, confused. You didn't feel the muscles in your face form a reaction so you were sure you didn't show one at all. It definitely didn't ease the fear in his eyes. 

You flattened your gown back down, holding the hem protectively and moving it back to where it was before he moved it as you held eye contact with Joel.

“I wasn't- i-i didn't think you were, i don't know, awake.”

You just stared. Mouth closed, body waiting. Numb. still numb. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything bad.”

His voice sounded increasingly muffled, like your brain didn't want to listen - wanting to shut him out, ignore him, be away from him the only way you could.  

“I-i get that you're upset, okay?” he held his hands to his side in surrender, still standing a couple meters away from you for a mix of his safety and your comfort. “But I need you to turn around.”

He started to walk sideways, around the centre of the room where you only now processed you were standing. You followed his movements, in turn appearing to turn around just as he requested. 

The cold surface behind you had been a tub. The material cold but the water warm as evident from the steam. Out of instinct you dipped your hand in, the heat didn't spark anything in you like you hoped. Maybe hope was a strong word. You didn't feel or want anything. Maybe you just expected it - and expected it wrongly. 

“I was gonna help you get in.” your eyes met his again. “You get like this a lot. Quiet. I thought maybe it was the meds. You've kind of always been on them. But there's none left in you.”

‘None left in you’ felt like a very non-specific sentence that could apply to a number of the ways you felt or didn't feel in that moment. You weren't even angry at him despite the fact you hit him. You weren't much of anything. There really was nothing left. 

You stepped in, holding the edge and putting your left foot into the water first. With both feet in, you kneeled down, shifting around to start laying on your back. You didn't look at Joel. Maybe your mind forgot he was there out of the wish that he wasn't. 

The water pushed up to cover your ears, working on submerging you fully as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the tub. Your fingers worked slowly, gripping the hem of your gown, suddenly pulling it up harshly, sending water splashing as you finally gained adrenaline. 

You covered your face with the mass of fabric, covering it like a full head mask, wrapping over and over, tighter and tighter. You tried to breathe in as much water as you could, beginning to choke and hoping you’d secured yourself enough to compete with your body’s natural impulses to try and survive.

Body shaking, choking, switching, kicking and fighting. Mind versus body. Joel rushed to the smothering material over your face, hopelessly pulling, attempting to rip. You fought him off as much as you could, convincing your brain he was the true enemy you needed to fight off. Your back arched now, dying quicker now, but less able to try. The moment your hands could no longer push and slap him away, he gripped your shoulder and tugged you up. 

The fabric only got heavier, weighing down your head from how tight you'd secured it around you. 

You choked and sputtered, feeling Joel hurry with every strength he had to find an end to the gown. You heard the tear before you felt it release you. As soon as you felt air, you coughed loudly, a burning in your throat urging your head to tip over the bath to vomit outside of the water you were still laying in. 

All you could do was rest your head on the edge, working on your breathing. You felt the cold air of the room on your back, processing your nudity. You were faced away from Joel, hearing his sniffles and cries from behind you. 

Now you rested your forehead on the ledge. You felt the thin flat top of it, shifting your head to feel its slightly sharp corner. In the next moment you didn't think. You just pulled back quickly and smashed your head against it. 

When you moved your head back again to repeat the action, you felt your face grabbed forcefully, restrained. 

His mouth was moving, probably yelling at you. You didn't hear it. You watched the way the corners of his lips were tilted down, he was speaking through his sobs, tears streaming down his face that joined the smeared blood by his nose. 

But you didn't hear it. You didn't know what he was saying. You didn't know anything. You didn't feel anything emotionally - all you had was the pulsing heat in the centre of your forehead and the liquid that started to spill from it. And you had Joel. His hands were secure against your face but not harsh. How he managed it, you didn't know. 

Your eyelids felt heavy again. You weren't tired. You felt dead. You wanted to be. 

You didn't know it in the moment. 

You relaxed into his grip, finding the slightest comfort in being held enough to fall asleep - unaware that this was another of those ghost events. Phantom scenes of your life. Not that they didn't happen, but moments you wouldn't remember. 

Now you were sure you were somewhere else. 

Wooden floors, wooden panelling on the walls, barely functioning lights. The animal you felt equal to was no longer your ‘roommate’. 

For some reason it felt like a punishment. Removed from a cell that, despite the fact it filled you with anxieties and bad memories, it was clean. It didn't mirror your stained mind and soul. This room did. 

Crooked dirty steps led up to a door, one you didn't feel inclined to leave at all. As much as you felt like you were buried into a roomy coffin, it was your own. Leaving made room for monsters, pain, accidents. Curling yourself into a ball was the safest you felt.

The last thing you remembered was throwing up. Collapsed on the floor, whether it happened here or the other place, you weren't sure. 

Joel had been there - soothing you, taking care of you. 

Just as your wish had turned from needing him next to you now, into guilt for giving in, he cracked open the door.

He walked down cautiously. Maybe he didn't want to wake you. Maybe he was carrying a needle. Your thoughts spiralled, picturing him evil and carrying the new medication he reminded you over and over he was making. 

You knew it was pathetic but you truly wanted him. Just to feel like you weren't dying, you weren't alone, you weren't abandoned and you only felt that if Joel was there.

His hands were empty. 

it felt quite pure, hands in general usually reminding you of pain and threat while Joel came to you with no such monster attached to him. 

you processed your thoughts. resulting in deciding to deem yourself truly crazy for feeling this way about him.

your mind needed a barrier, emotional protection to prevent yourself from falling even easier into the safety he had to be faking. 

a level of pity for him remained though. He must've cared but was all this your will? Was it what you wanted? 

if you couldn't tell then surely it wasn't. 

you wanted to shove that empathy down, until you noticed the damage and bruises on his face. 

you practically leaped out of your bed in an attempt to cradle his face. 

none of your movements were balanced, knees giving out from a lack of practice in moving due to your previous sickness. 

Joel caught you in his arms, enough for you to manage to hold his face in your hands - your desperation to analyse his wounds had been allowed, partially.

“Hey, no no, stay in your bed.” 

“What happened?!”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, slowly walking you backwards to place you back onto your bed. When he tried to step away, you held his shirt to prevent him. 

All he could do was avoid your gaze, sighing gently in a lack of want for this conversation. You didn't understand why. It motivated you to push further. 

“a-are you in trouble? Who hit you?” 

“its not important, im here to-”

“What? of course it is.” 

As much as he appreciated your concern, it worried him. You needed to improve and the need to switch medication had already been a big enough set back. 

“I can't talk to you about this.” 

Joel used a harsh tone and he hated every second of it. 

He watched the light of concern die in your eyes, the rudeness of his words had been enough for you to no longer care who hit him, maybe even want to hit him yourself a little bit.

You pushed him a step away from you gently, letting go of his shirt. 

Joel knelt to the floor in front of your bed. you mocked him in your head - a second of your rejection and he went back to begging you for something. 

“Hey. You okay if we go to the session room and do our questions?”

“No meds?”

“Gotta see if you need them first.”

“What? you mean i might not?”

“if you're okay, you don't need meds. Means the treatment worked. But I have to make sure you really are okay.”

You were full of energy now, excited for the possibility of this psychological torture ending. 

“You mean I might be okay? Fixed? Does that mean I get to leave?” 

The joy in your voice at the idea of leaving him cut Joel deeply. Despite your painful memories gone, good ones of him were the price. You didn't care about him. You didn't want him. 

A selfish thought flickered in his mind, wanting you just a little sad, a little broken, just enough for you to still need him. 

What responsibility came first was a conflicted conversation in his mind, his love for you or his job he needed to fulfill. 

“We can figure that out later.” he stated with a lack of emotion, somehow revealing everything he was feeling to you nonetheless. 

Joel took your hand as he walked you to the steps; you let him.

Just as you became accustomed to walking again, the lights behind the door disturbed your comfort. 

The sight was only half what you expected. 

It looked to be a relatively small house, white sheets placed over furniture like the objects wanted to remain anonymous, floors relatively empty to give you a clear pathway. 

You didn't entirely understand why you had been taken to this other place. Had he got in trouble?

“Where are we?” you braved the question, quite sure he wasn't going to give you the answer. 

“I still can't tell you.” he dismissed calmly. 

“How long have I been here? And dont tell me you can't tell me or I'm going back down those stairs.” you partially joked.

“stairs?”

“what?”

he peered down at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he kept walking you down the hall. “nevermind.”

“soooo?”

“about a year and a half.” 

“no, I mean here.” you corrected him. 

“yeah, a year and-” 

“Here, Joel. here.” you stopped the both of you, gripping his shirt to make him halt and face you as you questioned him. “This place is different, we haven't been here the whole time.” 

His eyes slightly widened in realisation of something, but in such a way that you felt you were missing something. It angered you, rising heat up your spine. 

Then you realised you weren't feeling angry, you just felt unsafe. You felt your heart pump like it wanted to escape your chest. 

“We haven't been here the whole time. right? th-this place is different, w-we were at a hospital before. this is a house.” he refused to speak, or maybe wasn't able to. “Joel, tell me we haven't been here the whole time.” 

The fear in his eyes and hesitancy to speak was all you needed.

You breathed out deeply, shoving him away from you with all the force you could manage. Your heartbeat echoed throughout your blood, making you increasingly unbalanced. 

Steadying yourself by following the walls with your hands, you managed to find a doorway. Your eyes blurred from the tears caused by adrenaline. Desperate to ignore the lump in your throat, you pushed it open. 

If there was ever a room you shouldn't be in when you felt violent, it was a kitchen. 

How could so much exist right in front of you? How did you never see it? Why did Joel go along with it? 

You felt his presence behind you, motivating your body to move further into the room, pulling every drawer open with force. Every empty outcome felt like yourself reflected back at you, empty, draining the life from you, making you more angry, more likely to end up just cracking your own neck because there was nothing here for you. 

“Listen!” he called out, sending anxiety flooding your blood and all you could do was yell out, screaming, crying, sobbing while you tried not to process the fact you were going to have to go through this defenceless. 

Finally you were given something, enough to shut you up and freeze your body in realisation. Enough forks, knives, spoons for two people. The extra knife is what possessed you, taller, bigger, sharper and screaming at you to take it.

“Wait. Please, let me explain,” your ears were numb to his words, your entire mind focusing on the weapon now in your hands.

Turning back to him, red eyed, shaking from the fear which was all you really had anymore. 

“Put it down, please. I-”

“What did you do to me?” your voice cracked around your words, tears streaming down your face.

“I am trying to help you, I didn't lie about that.”

“Well you lied about everything fucking else!” you weeped, pointing the knife in his direction despite the large table in between you two, Joel choosing not to step closer than just inside the doorway. 

“J-just ask me questions and ill answer truthfu-”

“I already asked a question.” you spat out plainly, still shaking where you stood and breathing like a crazed animal.

“Can you put the-”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed deeply, hands open to his side in surrender. “Okay. I'm just doing what you wanted. You begged me to do this so i-”

“Who even are you?” Joel's heart broke even further. “And why do you get that stupid look on your face when I ask you that?”

Joel cradled his face in his hands, clearly trying to settle down his emotions for your sake. To be honest, you found it insulting, as if any other reaction would've been the more ‘correct’ one.

“I wasn't your real doctor.”

“Fucking clearly.” you laughed psychotically as you cried. 

“I wasn't yours long term. But after the time I was, you wanted me to stay yours.”

“You,” you tried to calm your emotions and your tone. “You are a doctor? A real one?”

“Yes.”

“So, I wanted you to be my doctor so just you took me here?”

“I guess close to that. I don't know how much I can say without ruining your progress, i-”

“Fuck progress. I want the truth.”

“NOO, NO NO!” 

Your throat was sore, body heated in terror while your eyes refused to separate your dream from the world in front of you.

The shadow monsters had morphing faces in your sleep, turning into every enemy, traitor and memory of pain. Self made torture you were here to get rid of. 

Here, you knew your name, who you were and even believed yourself most of the time. 

This was when you knew it all, everything you’d later been injected to forget - Joel with the needle in hand. 

Without taking your eyes off the threat, you crawled your hands to the table beside your bed, reaching for any blocky object before firing it in your enemy’s direction.

With a blink, the faceless shadow left seamlessly. 

You hadn't had an episode in a while. Previously recommended to stay in the quiet room, now encouraged to try activities and venture out of your routine of zombie walking. 

Everybody pissed you off. You were not crazy. How is it insane to react to whats right fucking in front of you? Whether it's real or not real. Whether other people see it or don't.

It would be more insane to act normal when your brain treats you the way it does.

You hated your mystery pills. Yes, the ones that had been explained to you countless times while you were too busy thinking of ways to irritate the staff. What's the harm of being crazy if you could make everyone else go a little of the same way?

Obviously not the exact same way though. Yelling at you for being a fuck up isnt the same experience of yelling at invisible monsters. Regardless, you felt less of the monster yourself when you weren't the only angry person in the room.

Every time you said no, they would write it down. God, they write every fucking thing down. Like you were a movie to analyse, a book to annotate, a fucking muse to paint with harsh motions that say “she’s a psycho” accompanied with red paint splashes. 

You wanted to do it yourself. So you write down how you felt, you drew the monsters to expose their real flesh. The flesh you wanted to kill over and over so you could finally so simply just breathe. But they never left. Practically posing for you to recreate. 

You wanted the shadows to bleed. So you broke the black crayon from the pressure you used, digging into the canvas the way they'd stained your mind and memories. Creating them through your own choice for once. 

The next thing got you in trouble.

As much as you didn't care for the other patients, admittedly, they didn't deserve you around. They didn't deserve to watch every crash out. It's not like it was for them, it wasn't for anyone except yourself. 

Maybe you wanted to be scary so that those demons would just leave you alone. You were weak when they came around. Freezing you in half sleep, forcing out sobs and pleas for a life apart from them. You didn't get to be angry when you were petrified that they'd actually finally reach you - touch you in a way you couldn't wash off. A way you couldn't down pills for. A way that would actually kill you this time.

Obviously there were moments you wished they'd just get it over with.

Grabbing a paintbrush you hadn't even used, you flipped the canvas and used the blunt wooden end to stab through the material. Throwing everything you could reach around the room. You must've been screaming too otherwise it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. 

Anyways, it bothered people. Bothered them enough to question their ability to judge your sanity.

‘She was better, we really thought so! She was okay!’

Constant whining and complaining over your uncontrollable and unpredictable behaviour. A babyish part of you did wish it wasn't crazy to consider you to be okay.

Loving him felt pathetic. Thinking he loved you also felt the same.

You could go on and on about his kind eyes and gentle words. Every violent part of you felt like it never existed when he so easily understood you. 

He was also a little mysterious. The special, independent doctor. Came in to be in charge of consenting to all the medical bullshit for you. He had to check first of course, see if you were insane or you could decide these things for yourself. Joel was clearly doing a little more than just that though. 

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“You always ask that so casually.”

“What do you mean?” he smiled simply.

“Like it's a clear yes or no? It's never gonna be that.”

“Of course it isn't. How you feel isn't simple, it isn't simple for anyone to answer.”

“Anyone? You mean normal people.” you mocked, not even knowing what you were testing him for.

“You can argue no one is normal but that would logically mean everyone was normal. You-”

“Logically, why do you always talk fancy?”

“Well, you know, serious job. And I’m just trying to be clear.” he shrugged, changing his professional composure to ease you the way you were asking him to.

Joel didn't make you feel insane. You felt normal, you felt logical. Like the way you worked was so clear to him. 

He felt clear to you too. You could tell he knew he was good at his job. Not in an egotistical way, more like he found relief in doing it well which is why he was so calm all the time.

Patients weren't a process to him, they were people with problems he wanted to help. You were glad you got to be his person. Additionally, you were fully aware you'd stab through countless paintings if Joel came around after. 

“What is it about them that triggers you?”

“The shadows?” he hummed in response. “Well, they don't."

Joel blinked for a second. “Help me understand.”

“It's not the shadows, it's what they remind me of. It's not even seeing them that triggers me, it's the fact I just have them. When the shadows are around I'm back to being that defenceless kid again. I'm weak again. I hate feeling weak - I hate that they just get to happen to me and I can't do shit.”

“You don't get angry at the shadows?”

“Not when they're in front of me. I guess I throw shit but that's out of fear.”

“You don't feel strong when you, in your way, fight them?”

“No. You can't beat something that's not real. I don't feel strong when I'm crying like a baby because of them, even if I throw something at the same time.”

“I understand that.” real understanding. Not the ‘I read that in a textbook’ style understanding. “But you see that they're not real?”

“In a way they are real.”

“Because they remind you what was real, of, how would you put it, your past?”

“My memories i guess? But maybe I'd even say they don't remind me of it, they are my memories. Embodied nightmares if that's not a dramatic way to put it.”

“The way you feel about your experiences isn't dramatic. No one has been through the exact same thing so your responses are the only ones a person could have. It's not whether you are responding correctly, it's the safety of them. That's what we wanna help with.”

You felt your watery eyes. Choosing to laugh at yourself and wipe them away dismissively. “Care to tell everyone else around here that?”

“You don't like how you're treated?” Joel was visibly genuinely concerned now. 

“Thats the thing though. I’m like a lab rat. I’m treated, I'm not helped.”

You could tell his worries unnerved everybody else too. Having you for more meetings than was usual. Sanity checks shouldn't take so long. If he was responsible for consenting for your treatments, Joel explained to you hushedly, he wanted a word in on what treatment that was. 

He didn't want to be like the other people that you hated. He was going to genuinely help. You must've got inside his head somehow - because he stopped acting like the guy that said logically because he wanted to be professional. That had left him. Desperation remained. 

“Sleep okay?”

“Never.” you laughed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its ironic because I'm taking my meds. I'm doing what they say and it isn't working.”

“How does following their advice make you feel?”

“Like a mockery.” you scoffed. “I spent ages not wanting to see if it worked and then I tried and it didn't. So I've got nowhere.”

He fiddled with his papers, reading back past notes more obviously than he usually did. 

Joel sighed to himself. Seeing the eyebags, the bruises on your arms from throwing yourself into walls. You'd had episodes again but in the privacy of your room. You were tired after, but there was relief in them. 

They should've been reported once Joel had first figured out it had happened. He didn't. You'd transferred your lack of care of cooperating into him.

“If you could, let's say, wish to a star. If you could wish for a way to help you, no matter how impossible, what do you think would help?” The fantasy framing of the question made you laugh. Ensuring you knew this was a pure hypothetical. 

“I guess lose my memories.”

“All of them?”

“I don't have many good ones.”

“And the bad ones take up too much space to really have good ones.” he continued your thought for you.

“Clean slate.” you stated. Finishing Joel's hypothetical. 

You watched his eyes flick to your bruises. To your healed scars. The tortured yet persevering look in your eye. 

It was almost scary to see his expression show exactly what he was thinking for once. No doctor mask. 

Joel framed it like a hypothetical but the glint of focus in his eye told you it wasn't like that to him. Getting you better wasn't a dream scenario. He was going to do it.

Lights out. Locking your room for a partial comfort boost as you always did. 

You couldn't sleep before they did their check ups, unlocking your door, red lights to not wake you but enough to see you, locking again on the way out. You curled up like a baby to give them false hope.

You sniffled, wiping at your tears when you were sure they weren't standing outside listening.

It pushed open again, real? Was this fucking real? Oh god you’ve finally fully fucking lost it-

“I, um.” he shut the door behind him. Dark hoodie covering him to contrast the suit you only ever saw him in.

“What the fuck?” you whisper yelled, crawling out from your covers to approach him.

“I know, i shouldnt be here, i, oh my god this was such a bad idea.”

You watched Joel flail over his words, scratch the back of his neck to reveal his nervous habit you’d never seen before. His face was heated, stressed out, practically terrified, and - blushing?

“I shouldn't be here.” he repeated.

“You shouldnt.” you parroted back at him, watching his heart crack hearing it from you. “So why are you?”

His chest rose rapidly with his breaths, but slightly easing when he saw tension leave your face. 

“I wanted to help.”

“You gonna stab my shadows that you can't see?”

“No, I thought I could, uh.” God, did you love having the advantage in a conversation with him for once. “I thought I could make you feel safe. You said I did.”

“You do.” You spoke gently, calming Joel's nerves.

“Can I?”

He settled on your bed, you taking the initiative to move closer - what Joel clearly wanted, you figured, hearing his heartbeat race when you laid against him but settled once you had.

It was wrong. The way he soothed you to sleep, caressing your warm cheeks as he watched your eyelashes flutter then still once you’d drifted off. Joel was giving you a new memory. A good one, a safe one.

The shadows left you that night. They left you every time you slept thinking about that night too. Even when Joel left early in the morning, waking to let you know before so that you didn't feel abandoned. It was quiet.

They didnt try to torture you. You barely even cared for your improvement. All you cared about was the way Joel had shown how he felt about you. The way maybe, you were one and the same. In your own way.

Joel kept his desperation hidden. A practised mask - perhaps a shield as it wasn't as far as fake. He said how he truly felt, he was just less emotionally put together than he showed on the surface.

Calm ‘I'm here to help’ spoken in session, heavy breathed ‘I'll do anything and everything I can for you’ when out of reach from monitoring eyes and ears. 

Affective desperation needs sleep - and Joel became restless. 

“I’m serious, this treatment will work.”

“How do you know?” you tried to be a voice of reason.

“I know it.”

You snuggled closer into his arms, thinking loudly but silently. “Clean slate?”

“Clean slate.”

He was frantic. Unorganised, utterly desperate and no longer able to keep up his facade.

With a deadline forcibly approaching for him to make a decision on your sanity and needs, he pushed himself far now. Pushing his disregard for the treatment process to as far as hating it - mentally spitting on it. 

“So, her mental status is good enough?”

“Yes, but-”

“It is or it isn't." the clinician interrupted, unknowingly fueling Joel's plans.

“Incorrect. If you don't change her treatment plan then her mental stability will only decrease. It's increased since my involvement.”

“Its not your place to tell us how to do our jobs.”

Joel held his breath before sighing quietly, defeated. “I know.”

You didn't get to say goodbye.

Joel disappeared for several weeks. Leaving you confused, growing angry at the company of everyone else because they could never be him. Your episodes came back. The inescapable nightmares came back.

You prayed that he missed you. You prayed that you'd live so permanently in his mind that he’d come back and save you.

Freedom would redeem your sanity, you thought. Love would. Joel would.

Breaking things got you more dismissal. Eye rolls while you sobbed, barely able to be angry anymore because you were so entirely abandoned. They let you act out - waited until your body gave out and you cried kneeling on the floors. 

The security guards would grip your arms tight, bruises undoubtedly forming. Feet sliding across the smooth floors as they put you in a room that prevented you from being a threat.

You sobbed by yourself, gripping your face, aggressive holding while your thoughts reminded you of every way you’d ever been hurt. Left. Hit. Lied to. Used. 

If you could never escape it then you were the only one truly at fault. How dare you be born? How dare you breathe?

You knew yourself better than them. Locking you away didn't actually prevent pain. Your brain couldn't be locked up, and that had always been your worst source of pain.

Going back to your room didn't provide any additional comfort, mind numb and body aching. You laid under covers, staring into the dark and waited for it to kill you. 

The red lights passed by, letting you escape to under the bed, rocking yourself back and forth so the shadows couldn't take over your sight. 

You didn't want to see them. You couldn't bear it anymore. They were ingrained into you, sewn into your mind and skin. Maybe you trapped the monsters inside you yourself. These scars were your willing permanent reminders and the dark figures were your punishment for your self inflicted torture.

The silence of your room wasn't noticeable, screaming and crying blasting inside your mind. Until the door creeped open once again, the way he’d done before.

“Hello?” he whispered, heavy breathed, lost and confused from his lack of sight on you.

You crawled out desperately, chasing the sound of his voice that sent your heart racing in the only positive way you’d ever experienced. Eyes meeting his, you let out a harsh sob. 

Joel rushed down to the floor, cradling your face as tears streamed. The small night light that you had for comfort was the only thing showing him to you, reminding you of how many little things actually helped you. One of them being the man in front of you - and he was here to rescue you.

“I’m so sorry, I'm sorry, i-"

You shook your head dismissively. You didn't care anymore, he was here now. He came back. No one ever came back.

He breathed out harshly, panicked. “Hey, listen to me. We have to go. Like, now.”

Out of confusion you stopped crying. “What do you mean?”

“I have somewhere we can go. I can get you out of here. And I know how to help you.” 

“You-, Joel, I don't understand.”

“I can help you. I know how to stop the monsters.”

“How?” you spat out, blood hot from the fear that this was a mockery.

Those shadows were so ingrained in you that this felt like a hallucination to crumble you down further. Joel calmed his breathing, settling down in front of you more comfortably to ease your worry. 

“I made something. A medicine and treatment scheme that can get rid of your memories. No memories, no monsters. But I can help you regain the necessary ones, ones that don't hurt you. A-and we can make more ones, good ones. Clean slate, remember?”

Clean was never a word you thought you'd be able to describe yourself with. This life also wasn't one you wanted anymore. Your previous attempt to leave this world is what got you here in the first place.

Joel was offering to take you away from this building, he was offering to fix you. Any concern for risk wasn’t present. 

You took his hand, following him, trusting him practically blindly. 

Surely it's not like you could get any worse, could you?

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m n-”

“What about the people I saw? The cameras? The documenting of everything, the rules you followed that you didn't want to? You were obeying someone, Joel."

“You! I was obeying you!”

Your breath hitched, anger and confusion filling you. 

“Your patient code? That was how many fucking times we had to repeat the process. You couldn't handle it, I tried everything, I tried telling you, I tried not telling you. You were so lost, you couldn't take it.”

A glassy layer covered his eyes, feet unsteady from heartbreak. There was only hatred in your eyes.

“The only time you responded calmly was with the act I learnt I had to go along with. You assumed I was your doctor, you assumed you were stuck here. You assumed that you’d get better and then you would leave and that was comfort enough. I followed along because you needed it. I never wanted to lie to you.”

The grip on the knife was forceful, enough to make your hand shake from the pressure. You refused to remove its point from towards Joel, unable to let go of your anger. This wasn't the time to be weak.

“You saw what you wanted to see. I just let you.” he continued. 

The stunned doctors in the surveillance room were your own voiceless stuffed animals. The abusive guards were your episodes where you threw yourself into walls, desperate to escape the shadows that haunted you. The rat was your own fucking pet. 

Was anything fucking real?

Were those broken moments where you begged your room’s emptiness for company, those moments where your wishes were granted, was Joel ever actually there? 

Those hours you spent crying because Joel ended your sessions was because of you? 

Your insanity forced him to leave you, forced him to follow out this emotionless act that only in health could you see through it. 

Your instability had endlessly tortured you, even in times you were ‘better’, it was the very reason you were here now. 

You couldn't escape the monsters. Cursed into your fucking blood, monsters were enough that human experimentation was an easier life to live with. 

Joel couldn't fix you. Love couldn't fix you. 

The knife fell from your hands, tired of listening to Joel explain every detail of how corrupted your mind had unknowingly become.

He ran towards you, catching you in his arms as your body tried to collapse to the floor. Tears and loud sobs heaved out of you. Tears for the lies, the pain, the scars, the lost memories explaining your sewn on pain, tears for your entire self.

You were exhausted. You couldn’t bare it, you hated everything and everyone and you hated yourself for the fact you were still in this fucking place, this fucking world. 

Out of instinct, you clung onto Joel. Listening to how he tried to soothe you, waiting for his suggestions to simply heal you. 

Your heart stung inside your chest. A heavy tumour you wanted to cut out. 

“We can stop. Just live now.” he whispered delicately. 

Your cries stopped. The idea of moving away from all this was the only chance you had - but not with him. You didn't trust him, you couldn't bear him anymore.

You placed your hand on his chest gently, little force but pushing him away from you. His eyes were wide and afraid but he followed your command. You let go of him, of the only person that had ever hoped in you, the person who was an embodiment of twisted hope and patience. 

You were sick. You craved hope, you craved love. This wasn't love. This was sick. He was sick.

“Get out.” you spat out.

“W-what?”

“Go.”

“You can’t do this-”

“I need to get better. Not getting my mind and body contorted to go with your fucking experiments.”

“Yes, we can do that, but it's not safe to do that alone,”

“I don't care.” Tears kept falling. 

Joel breathed heavily. “Please.”

“No. I will work on myself. Alone.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

Your mouth formed a deep frown as you thought. “Then you bring me food. And anything I want. But we don't talk. I don't see you. I’ll leave a note on the door and there's no other contact.”

“I don't understand, i-” he choked sobs, “I did this for you, it's what you wanted.”

“You did it for you. I was sick.”

“I did this to help you! I want to help you! I want to take care of you - I need to!”

“And you can do that by leaving me the fuck alone!” you yelled out as you began sobbing again. “For once in my fucking life, i dont want to be sick. If I leave you in my life, it makes me an idiot, it makes me sick. Letting you treat me means I'm sick.”

“But- but I love you!” he cried out.

“I don't want you!” you yelled. 

You sobbed and he watched. You curled your body into itself and he watched. Your breaths stopped and started, hyperventilating as your body grew fearful of yourself. 

“Get OUT! GET OUT!” you screeched, noticing the way Joel was now afraid of you too.

Clean.

You made the house your own. Throwing out everything that disgusted you - everything fake, everything of Joel’s. Adding new wallpaper, new paintings of your own, making your house for the version of you that you wanted to be.

The shadows didn't leave you alone. You learnt to cope. Learning to fear them less took time, but it helped. They simply became a factor in your life, ones you dealt with as they came.

The peace was loud sometimes. The ability to do whatever you wanted was a heavy concept, but you learnt to cope. 

Your rat died. Naturally, happily. You’d spent time together beforehand, enough to feel the emotions of the memories you and your pet must've shared in your previous life. You lived together, and your sick selves died together. 

The tv and phone gave you the outside world. In a way that was compact, a way you could simply remove yourself from by letting go. You did the same when it came for Joel. Learn to lose the lump of guilt in your throat that you got when you peered out your window, watching Joel while he dropped off your shopping. He never knew you watched, he only hoped you did. He hoped you saw how he was trying, following orders, the way he thought he was doing for you before.

This time you knew it was truly what you wanted. You let him take breaths at your doorstep, let him approach the door to knock but stop himself before breaking the silence. 

You let him walk away. You needed him to walk away.

Then he didn't.

Your body froze in the doorway to the front room, eyes wide and staring daggers into Joel.

“I’m sorry, it was late, you uh, you asked for frozen food and i thought you were asleep so i-i wanted to put it away for you.”

You didn't doubt it was the truth. It was just the knowledge he chose to get the food this late, deliver it at a time that gave him the excuse to come in. 

“Okay.” you calmly stated, watching as he did what he told you he was doing.

Joel looked over to you, eyes gentle. “Hey uh, can i cook for you? You can say no, I just, I miss you. I want us to be okay, I want us to be normal.” Your face didn't change. Emotionless. Flat. 

“Tommorow. Dinner.” Your tone had a lack of indication to any kind of feeling, but your words were enough for him.

“R-really?”

“Yeah.”

“I-, what do you wanna eat?” he chucked, feeling relief for the first time in months and months

“I don't mind.” you smiled simply. “You pick.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

He had finished packing things away, smiling wide and feeling close to you again despite the three metres between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Joel spoke up gently.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You leaned into the doorframe. Showing calm, letting him let his guard down completely. 

He smiled to himself as he left. Smiling on the way home, laughing at the imaginary ways he thought the next night could play out. 

Joel was nervous walking back in, smoothing out his picked out clothes, fixing his hair. He needed it to be perfect. 

You weren't around, making Joel decide to get started on cooking, hoping it would alert you of his presence. But then the quiet got deafening. The lack of lights in the hallways as the sun set. The lack of noise, the lack of you.

His fearful steps were light, searching every room he was less convinced you were in, until he reached your bedroom. He pushed the half open door, breaths heavy as blood rushed through his body.

Evidence of you was all that was left. Your possessions, the way you’d shifted the house to the life you wanted, every reminder that you existed was there. But you weren't. 

No body. No face. No smile, no laugh. No love left for him.

The love for yourself and the you that you wanted to be was soaking in the air. Joel breathed your air one last time, picturing you a thousand miles from here by now. 

Joel was left with the memory of you. Your life was now your own. 

im so so proud of this I think :3 please let me know what you guys think !! and let me know if you want to be added onto my taglist for future works :>

[mimi-miller]

someone reblogged a fic from here and I thought omg did someone copy mi, cus the description was practically identical and then oh the title too, just to find out it’s still you LMAO, well I’m glad you’re not being plagiarized at least, that wouldn’t have been fun news

lols yes its just me !! but I only have this account and @mi-co-uk so if u see it anywhere else its not me lols :3 im glad theres people who still look out for that stuff, some people dont take it serious :c

[finco99]

December Reads | Fic Rec List

Aaaand we’re closing out the year with yet another massive list of fic recs! Okay, here comes me getting a little sappy on main — but end-of-year vibes are exactly like this, y’all. I can’t help it 😭

But yeah—I’m so, so grateful for the friends, mutuals, and authors I’ve gotten to know through my silly little reblogs. With how toxic some fandom spaces have (inadvertently) become, I originally created this blog as a way to appreciate and engage with authors, to let them know just how deeply their writing stays with lil ol’ me, long after I’ve finished reading.

I’m genuinely grateful for each and every author/creator who puts work out into fandom spaces! Y’all do this for the love of the craft, for the love of the characters I’ve also come to adore, and for the love of community—and that’s precisely why I’ve stuck around in fandom for as long as I have. Fandoms and fan media have taught me about self-improvement, self-reflection, kindness, and empathy far more than most of the media I consume! There’s a reason I immediately go looking for fanworks the moment I finish a piece of canon media.

I am truly nothing without the interactions I’ve had through our shared love of the stories we consume. So, sincerely—thank you for writing, for sharing, and for building community the way you do. Some of my darkest days have been made lighter by your fics, and I can only hope that next year brings even more kindness and warmth back your way 💛✨

And as always, please let me know (gently, I beg you—my soul bruises easily) if I’ve messed up a link, tagged something incorrectly, or anything of the sort 🌺

Massive shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the insane number of dividers I'm obsessed with.

Key: A - Angst | F - Fluff | S - Smut | C - Comfort | HC - Hurt/Comfort

Other Monthly Lists: Sept | Oct | Nov | Dec

Clark Kent | Superman 2025:

> The Bed Budget by @kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, Wife!Reader, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 9k Description: Every quarter, you and Clark, this time with baby Viola gnawing on a teether, sit down for the 'Kent Financial Wellness Check': groceries, bills, your daughter's essentials… and the Bed Budget. You and Clark have to admit it might be time to invest in sturdier furniture. Because you’ve broken the same frame so many times, the delivery guys know you by name, and your reputation as the "Metropolis bedframe couple" is cementing itself in stone. Because you can't help being wildly, enthusiastically in love without bankrupting yourselves on platform beds.

> Ironclad Devotion by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, Wife!Reader, 2nd POV, F + S Word Count: 3k Description: Series of moments, Clark proves that “in sickness and in health” is his favourite part of the vows.

> Husband!Clark Kent X Wife!Reader by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, S Word Count: 300 Description: wc 300 smut bc I'm ovulating and just gotta get it out of my system?

> A Choice Made by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, Wife!Reader, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 4k Description: Fic where Clark helps the reader through an abortion. Clark is written as compassionate and protective of life. Literally meaning one person should not die to preserve another.

> The X-Files AU Imagines by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: Imagine, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 817 Description: A little thing I thought about because I think Clark and Mulder would be friends? Maybe?? If anyone cares for this enough, I can continue!

> Pilot!Clark Kent x FlightAttendant!Reader by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: Imagine, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 949

> Paging Superman by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, Pregnant Wife!Reader, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 8k Description: December in Metropolis is brutal enough when you’re a day shift ER nurse—being pregnant on top of it is another story. When Superman makes a surprise holiday visit to the pediatric unit, you fall even deeper in love watching him bring hope and joy to sick children and their families… and you’re trying not to glow too hard knowing the hero everyone’s swooning over is your husband and the father of your baby.

> Lapsus Linguae by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: One Shot, Wife!Reader, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 8k Description: Postpartum brain is cruel: one filthy dream, one wrong name, and suddenly you’re rotting from the inside, comparing yourself to Lois. A Daily Planet visit backfires. Clark doesn’t do jealousy. He does devotion—and he’s about to make it very clear who he belongs to.

> The Secret Life of Miss Honey by @sc3ptre

Tags: Series, Teacher!Reader, 2nd POV, F + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 Description: A child’s silent cry for help forced you to confront the limits of what you can do alone, and it showed Clark just how fiercely your heart beats for the people you protect. What followed was a rescue that cracked your heart open in ways you didn’t expect.

> Let Me Carry It by @satellite-evans

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, C Word Count: 1.8k Description: As someone with chronic migraines, I need a “reader trying to hide a migraine x concerned and crushing on them clark kent story. If possible, could reader be a super independent person who has a hard time asking for help? I just love stories where the LI just forces them to stop and take care of themselves.

> So Easy (To Fall in Love) by @/satellite-evans

Tags: One Shot, Golden Retriever x Black Cat, 2nd POV, C + F Word Count: 7k Description: Clark makes it so easy to fall in love with him (fluff, black cat!reader)

> Untouchable by @onlyasteelmancanbealover

Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 3.8k Description: Clark has always been very protective of you, because he adores you… and because you’re a baby when it comes to pain. But he can’t anticipate every threat, and maybe, just maybe, both of you could benefit from seeing that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. particularly clark (especially clark.)

> What You Don't Know by @mayfieldss

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 4k Description: Where the reader has a crush on Superman and Clark at the same time, unaware they are the same person.

> Something Like A "Yes" by @iipxilf

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 4k Description: You’re quiet, awkward. Not used to being liked—especially not by someone like Clark Kent. But he’s warm, patient, and always smiling at you like he sees something worth waiting for.

> Save The World (or Go To Work) by @pinksplace

Tags: One Shot, EMT!Clark, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 5.4k Description: Armed with dimples and a hero complex, Clark Kent has taken it upon himself to drive you insane. He’s always there, on the radio, in the breakroom, and in your mind. Despite your very sound reasoning for not dating him, he refuses to take no for an answer. Will a close call change everything or will your fears get the better of both of you?

> Kisses From Your Past Lover by @finelinevogue

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1k Description: You were kissed a lot in your last lifetime, but Clark takes that as a competition.

> I've Got You by @/finelinevogue

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 2.5k Description: Clark saves you just in time, but you don't make him aware of the extent of your injuries.

> Clark Kent x Reader by @maiamore

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 826

> Sugar Talk by @marwrite

Tags: One Shot, Fashion writer!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.7k Description: Clark Kent is shy, bashful, and impossibly sweet, and despite barely being friends, he splurges on extravagant gifts for you daily. So naturally, you repay him by getting his initials on the set of acrylics he paid for, sending his entire world into freefall.

> Jealousy Jealousy by @/marwrite

Tags: One Shot, Best Friend!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 3.5k Description: Superman doesn’t get jealous- but Clark Kent does. He lets it linger, lets it fester, lets it shape months of almosts and maybes- until a harmless lie turns into shared routines, soft touches, and feelings neither of you were meant to fall into.

> You're a Good Boy, Krypto by @redd-blushing-roses

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 25.9k Description: A lot can happen in nine months. You and Clark learn to navigate your ever-changing lives, balancing the calm of awaiting your new family member and the chaos Krypto somehow always manages to cause.

> Losing You by @icybarness

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 3k Description: Being held hostage, you waited for Clark to come get you. Until the unimaginable happened for the both of you.

> Clark Kent x Reader by @vigilanteenjoyer

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, C Word Count: 644 Description: Short drabble😋

> I Would've Died For You Again by @blairsxx

Tags: One Shot, Cupid!Reader, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 905 Description: After you died, you go to heaven. The angels there make you a cupid, and when you complete the amount of people to make fall in love. You can go back to earth, so you can go back to the love of your life. Until.. you get his name for one of your assignments?

> Clark kent, I'll Always Love You by @batbugenergy

Tags: Series, 2nd POV, HC + F + A Chapter Count: 10 Description: Once, he saved you from a collapsing building. Now you only see him in headlines and holy light. Superman—metropolis's angel, your own personal god—keeps showing up with soot on his hands and your name on his tongue. The problem is, when he’s just Clark Kent, you can’t bring yourself to care.

> Santa, Tell Me! by @/batbugenergy

Tags: Series, 2nd POV, HC Word Count: 3.9k Description: You were hurt once, long before the snow felt gentle again and Christmas stopped meaning safety. he is not the man the world believes in, not a promise wrapped in red and gold—he is just Clark, and you are trying to trust that this time, he will stay.

> Unlucky in Love by @blank-tato

Tags: One Shot, Metahuman!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 11k Description: No matter what you do, love doesn't seem to agree with you, despite your matchmaking powers. The same goes for your best friend, Clark, who you may or may not be in love with. When you get a taste of your own medicine, your Cupid powers start getting out of hand.

> North by @alovelikeyouandi

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 3.7k Description: Clark Kent has been entirely too nice to you lately. The only plausible explanation is that he wants something from you. You’re going to get to the bottom of it— before he fucks you over.

> We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night by @stargazsblog

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 3.9k Description: Being with Clark Kent is harder than you ever imagined. He’s never around, always off saving the world, and you fight—every single day, almost breaking up by night. But no matter how many times the arguments hit, no matter how messy it gets, you know you’ll always find a way to stay together.

Joel Miller | The Last of Us:

> Aftercare With Joel by @ezraispunk

Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1k Description: Cute little oneshot about Joel being a sweetheart and treating his women real good after sex :(

> You Rock!! by @/ezraispunk

Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, Neurodivergent!Reader, 2nd POV, F + S + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: Joel sees an unusually dressed girl singing at a bar and is immediately drawn to her. He comes back every week until he gets the chance to ask her out.

> Timeless Beauty by @/ezraispunk

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + S Word Count: 3.5k Description: You and Joel have been together for 29 years. Two kids and two decades later, you wonder if he still looks at you the same?

> Joel Miller x Reader by @mybvalentine

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + S Word Count: 280 Description: Joel isn’t good at saying “I love you”, but he shows it in ways that words can't express.

> Threadbare by @autrytonic

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 731 Description: fluff with suggestive material 🫶🏽, post coital bliss.

> Tender Payment for Our Sins by @3pirouette

Tags: Series, 2nd POV, HC + A + F + S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... Pt. 55 | Pt. 56 Description: Jackson is less idyllic than it seems, as is everything post-infection. He doesn't want to see you tossed out, and can’t take the way you flinch when the men come sniffing around, so he does the only thing he and Ellie can think of to keep you around.

> The Savage and The Sanctuary by @justagalwhowrites

Tags: Series, OFC!Reader, 2nd POV, HC + A + F + S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 18 Description: After the death of his daughter, Joel Miller fell apart. But when searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and within his own rage doesn't fix it, he resigns himself to working for his brother in private security. It's a job that starts him down the path to stability and a semblance of a life, even if it's not one he particularly wants. At least it does until you show up. The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

> Crossing The Line by @catoooooo

Tags: Series, 2nd POV, HC + A + F Chapter Count: 5 Description: In the quiet town of Jackson, Reader and Joel are inseparable—friends who share everything, yet neither realises how close they’ve really become. When someone from Joel’s past comes back into town, their easy rhythm is disrupted, and feelings neither expected begin to surface. As jealousy, secrets, and unspoken attraction weave through their days, Reader starts to wonder if friendship has always been something more.

> All There Ever Is by @majestyeverlasting

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 4k Description: After a dangerous patrol choice, joel gets a harrowing glimpse of what it would be like to lose you, and it haunts him following your return.

> Joel Miller x Reader by @uchigosc (Deactivated)

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 422 Description: Awkward pre-outbreak Joel Miller asking you out.

> Ma'am by @mssalo

Tags: One Shot, Sub!Joel, 2nd POV, S Word Count: 11k Description: Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshipping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

> I'm Empty Without You, So Come Grow Within Me by @chronically-ghosted

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 9k Description: With winter approaching, Joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. He wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. Joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.

> Rat by @mimi-miller

Tags: One Shot, Scientist!Joel, 2nd POV, A Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: Patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. She's monitored by scientist Joel Miller, who knows much more than he'll tell her. How dedicated can Joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

Batfam | DCU:

> Jason Todd x Reader by @classygumi

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1k Description: Nothing but a really hot one-shot of Scare Actor Reader and Jason Todd.

> Jason Todd x Reader by @luvlypresley

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 399 Description: He never learned how to tie his tie.

> Matching for Christmas (Jason Todd) by @shisuni

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 14.6k Description: You get kidnapped and branded by the Joker on Christmas. The bat-family sees Jason unravel.

> You Know I'd Pick You Every Time, Right? (Jason Todd) by @njghtiee

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 10.3k Description: You and Jason are just two teenagers in love, who nothing seemed to be able to change, no Bruce, no Robin missions. Except something does when he dies, though you never stopped loving him.

> Slow and Steady (Jason Todd, Dick Grayson) by @tacticaldiary

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 866 Description: I hope you’re doing good! I have seen the post about caving so would you be able to do some headcanons or a small blurb about Dick and Jason with a touch shy reader? Like the reader wants to kiss and hug but it’s as if they’re too flustered or overwhelmed to keep going. I hope you have a good start of your week! Monday Monday Monday

> Like Winning The Emotional Lottery for You! (Dick Grayson) by @/njghtiee

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.4k Description: Dick accidentally falls in love with the quietest, most expressionless person he’s ever met. You don't smile, don't emote, don't react much at all… but dick notices every tiny shift in your body language like it’s a love letter written just for him.

> Dick Grayson X Reader (Dick Grayson) by @babyurlovebitten

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + HC Word Count: 625 Description: Dick accidentally falls in love with the quietest, most expressionless person he’s ever met. You don't smile, don't emote, don't react much at all… but dick notices every tiny shift in your body language like it’s a love letter written just for him.

> Dick Grayson x Reader (Dick Grayson) by @autnmun

Tags: One Shot, Kryptonian!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 567 Description: Dick Grayson and a Kryptonian reader who floats in her sleep

> Oh, come on! (Dick Grayson) by @bleuesupes

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 556 Description: Dick Grayson and a Kryptonian reader who floats in her sleep

> You're A Queen Nonetheless (Damian Wayne) by @shisuni

Tags: Stand-alone/part of a series, WOC!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 3.8k Description: Your college is having a small market, and Damian finds a little taste of home.

> Matching (Different) Scarves (Damian Wayne) by @fromrory

Tags: One Shot, Hijabi!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1k Description: ''Wanna hear a joke?'' ''I guess'' ''Me and you are in the car,who's driving?'' ''who?'' ''THE POLICE!''

> Sand, Tea and Homesickness (Damian Wayne) by @/fromrory

Tags: One Shot, North African!Reader, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 912 Description: ''How do you even eat all of that without vomiting?'' ''Fast metabolism Jason'' ''This is the greed they talked about on the bible''

> 102.9 Degrees (Damian Wayne) by @edawgz

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 3.8k Description: Damian Wayne loves how strong-willed you are, except when you decide not to tell him you're feeling sick. But once he finds you sickly and asleep, he won't let you lift a finger.

> Half Awake, Wholly Yours (Damian Wayne) by @latedeparture

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F + C Word Count: 6.5k Description: Damian gets knocked out during a mission and wakes up post-surgery with enough pain meds in his system to dissolve every wall he’s ever built. You’re supposed to be secret, but he exposes your relationship, obliterated by narcotics and his complete inability to hide how deeply he’s attached to you.

> He Learns Your Name by Heart (Damian Wayne) by @ur-so-mine

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 1.2k Description: Soft romance, fluff, Batfamily chaos, quiet yearning.

Miscellaneous:

> Babydoll (Scott Miller) by @marwrite

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 2.5k Description: Scott Miller is all sharp edges and short tempers, a man built from long days and clenched teeth. And yet he ends up with you- warm, bright, goodness personified- and suddenly he’s saying things like babydoll, his disciplined hands forgotten, greedy for every inch of the only softness he ever lets himself have.

> Blood Upon The Snow (Bucky Barnes) by @cheekybarnes

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 17.4k Description: You’re bleeding out alone in the snow, and your brain does the only mercy it has left: runs every version of Bucky Barnes you’ve ever known in hopes that the real one makes it in time.

> Scenes from a Failing Marriage (Miguel O'Hara) by @mocktopus

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A Word Count: 583

> Love Language (Adrian Chase) by @mrsriddlenott

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 10.4k Description: A stressed Adrian gets overwhelmed with his touchy girlfriend and blows up, only to immediately regret it. Reader becomes closed off and hurt, feeling like she’s too much and not good enough. Hiding behind walls that Adrian needs to try and break down again and again.

> Tub Idiots (Santiago Garcia) by @beefrobeefcal

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, F Word Count: 584 Description: Shower sex can be great... or it can be this.

> Hope Bite (Robert Robertson III) by @e1dritchjackal0pe

Tags: One Shot, Ex-villain!Reader, 2nd POV, F + HC + S Word Count: 22.2k Description: You've got a problem: you want your sort-of-boss. He has a terrible name, he's a retired hero, and you're pretty sure that your actual boss might have feelings for him, and yet you can't manage to get him out of your head. And the unexpected friendship you've made with him over lunch certainly isn't helping your case, either.

> Slow Motion (Frankie Morales) by @berryispunk

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, A + HC Word Count: 8k Description: Best friends. Always there, never quite enough. He broke your heart without ever knowing he held it—until everything fell apart, and the only person he wanted was the one he pushed away.

> Kept (Frankie Morales) by @/berryispunk

Tags: Series, 2nd POV, F + C Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: In the dark hush before dawn, a sleep-deprived you and newly-dad Frankie sit with your baby girl and realise the life you once fought to earn is now something you’re choosing to keep.

> More Than Enough (Frankie Morales) by @/berryispunk

Tags: One Shot, 2nd POV, HC + S Word Count: 4.7k Description: You were used to being too much. Until the one man who knew you best showed you you never were.

> Dear Desperado (Harry Castillo) by @damneddamsy

Tags: Series, 3rd POV, F + HC + A + S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 Description: She’s made a life out of stealing from men like Harry Castillo—influential, arrogant, freshly tailored to fuck and wealthy enough to believe they control the game. But when a diamond heist turns into a filthy rendezvous in a penthouse suite, her night gets complicated fast. See, Harry might’ve come undone under her, but he’s not done playing with her. Now, her biggest crapshoot isn’t the con… It’s falling for the man she’s robbing blind.

[mimi-miller]

PART TWO (final)

𖦹 synopsis: patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

𖦹 warnings: human experimentation, hallucinations, Stockholm syndrome, blood, fighting, SUICIDE ATTEMPT !! (attempted drowning and self smothering), medication/drug usage, anger, heavy confusion, vomit, depression, lots of suicide idealation, mentions of SH and scars, numbness, dissociation, use of needles, nightmares, paranoia, psych wards, aggressive reader due to emotional instability, use of knife to threaten joel, lots of cursing, unprofessional behaviour by joel, slight comfort ending.

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @daddieslittleladie @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @rhaenassance @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

no pressure tags: (interacted with my other posts so u might like this one !!) :> : @luvp1nk @starrynightsarise @rad4bean @nourlh @raebabexo @ghulmayhem @fishingforpike @babielli @lucymmiller @pleurspetal @ainhoetaaa @urmomsmattress @secretlettersfromyourlove @soflipped @blackwidow-carter @inalovemazeloop @keylimebeag @idkhhhhi

chapter one // chapter two.

𖦹 wc: 8.3k ( two part series )

You wouldn't describe your relationship with Joel as a relationship - you wouldn't describe it as anything really. 

In spite of that, Joel implied a lot that you were something. Ironically, even he didn't know what to class it as.

Maybe you let him get close for a sense of control. You had a feeling of secret knowing from the fact you were more reluctant than you let on. An inner monologue convincing yourself that you were doing it for safety, letting him feel like this ‘connection’ was reciprocated so you felt he was the naive one. It helped a little to make up for the fact you didn't really understand anything that was happening to you.

Joel stayed close. Clearly concerned, which didn't ease your anxieties. 

It was several weeks of pure agony. He refused to give you medication for it; resulting in many occasions where you would pass out from the pain. Sometimes the talking was comforting, Joel muttering (basically to himself) about the drugs he was working on. He’d describe it to you, explaining it, letting you know how it worked and what it did. When the pain started to wear off, you wished you'd paid more attention to his speeches. Now you were back to square one of not knowing what the fuck you were even here for.

Cheery seemed a weird word but was the most accurate for describing Joel's mood change when he noticed the longer absences of pain in your body. A part of you thought you should act, pretend you were still unbearably sick so he wouldn't make you leave the bed. You didn't want the trials, the feeling that you were constantly watched and overheard. Just Joel and him only sometimes was easier. 

He fed the rat. Also told you to name it. Naming a rat when Joel refused to tell you your own felt like a mockery. So you just dismissed his request every time he brought it up. You liked having a lack of self in common with the animal. 

The withdrawals from the drugs had an unbearable amount of not only symptoms but humiliating ones. Constant runny nose and sweat made you feel disgusting, not at all like someone who could use emotional tactics against Joel to get him on side to set you free from this place. Joel kept bringing you the same cloth, cleaning it in between days but the repetition seemed to bug you. You knew you were trapped in a place, and similar days made it feel like a fucking time loop that was hopeless to daydream about escaping from. 

Something sick happened the day you woke up painless. 

Usually you'd have a pulse thumping in your skull, even a little was enough to know you were still suffering. Now there was nothing. Physically. 

You stared at the ceiling from when you woke up and until Joel came in. It could've been hours and you wouldn't have known. Not a single part of you cared to keep track, usually would have called out for him specifically, alerting him you were awake. Alerting him you wanted him there, taking care of you. 

No part of you wanted him. No part of you wanted anything. Again, there was nothing. Nothing painful but purely nothing at all. Emotionally and physically empty. 

He must've assumed you were hurting. Logical assumption due to previous days of living in so much torture that all you could do was nothing. Now you were laying, wishing to see, hear, feel nothing, live as pure nothing. That or to be able to scream and kill everyone that was involved in you being here. 

Turns out the only skill you had was consistent not knowing. You would somehow always miss important details he told you - dissociating from either pain or pure emotional exhaustion so everything just happened to you. Now you just let it. 

Joel pulled you out of bed, gently, guiding every movement. He led you out the room, lights blaring through your eyes making everything virtually invisible. You didn't really want to leave your room, but not a single limb decided to take action.

Yet. 

With the way your feet dragged from your almost lack of consciousness, Joel took the initiative to pull you into his grasp. Supporting you, making your legs instinctively wrap around his torso and your head rest on his shoulder as he carried you. You let your eyes rest. 

You didn't want to relax into him. You didn't want to be near him or anyone or any kind of tool he had prepared to test you. You realised your only true wish in that moment was to be dead. But you weren't, and you couldn't make that happen with Joel's constant surveillance. 

Yet.

He set you down on your bare feet, the cold surface sending a rush up your spine. The most you’d felt that day so far; and it was just cold. It felt like a waste of a feeling. 

Joel was reluctant to let go of you, walking you backwards while your eyelids remained heavy and almost closed. His hand remained on the small of your back, touching the fabric of the hospital nightgown you tended to forget you had on. It was less intimidating to imagine yourself in typical clothing since it gave you faux confidence in knowing you weren't actually someone insane.

Yet. 

A cold surface pressed against your back, Joel seemingly securing you in place in front of it. He kissed your cheek, sparking the first urge to actually do something you had that day: punch him. Another part of you competed, a part of you that didn't mind him doing it - which kind of made you want to punch him more, then maybe hit your head against the wall to punish yourself. You didn't move to hurt him.

Yet.

Joel was still. Hands twitching like he was waiting for the right moment to do something. To move. But he didn't. Not yet. 

Maybe you knew. Maybe your brain had temporarily become connected to some power after your suffering. It sparked you into action but it didn't surprise you. Like you knew it was going to happen. As if it had happened before. Maybe it had. 

Your body made the move before you even formed the thought for it. 

Joel jolted back, hand hesitant to touch his face as he felt the blood begin to spill out his nose. His eyes were wide, confused. You didn't feel the muscles in your face form a reaction so you were sure you didn't show one at all. It definitely didn't ease the fear in his eyes. 

You flattened your gown back down, holding the hem protectively and moving it back to where it was before he moved it as you held eye contact with Joel.

“I wasn't- i-i didn't think you were, i don't know, awake.”

You just stared. Mouth closed, body waiting. Numb. still numb. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything bad.”

His voice sounded increasingly muffled, like your brain didn't want to listen - wanting to shut him out, ignore him, be away from him the only way you could.  

“I-i get that you're upset, okay?” he held his hands to his side in surrender, still standing a couple meters away from you for a mix of his safety and your comfort. “But I need you to turn around.”

He started to walk sideways, around the centre of the room where you only now processed you were standing. You followed his movements, in turn appearing to turn around just as he requested. 

The cold surface behind you had been a tub. The material cold but the water warm as evident from the steam. Out of instinct you dipped your hand in, the heat didn't spark anything in you like you hoped. Maybe hope was a strong word. You didn't feel or want anything. Maybe you just expected it - and expected it wrongly. 

“I was gonna help you get in.” your eyes met his again. “You get like this a lot. Quiet. I thought maybe it was the meds. You've kind of always been on them. But there's none left in you.”

‘None left in you’ felt like a very non-specific sentence that could apply to a number of the ways you felt or didn't feel in that moment. You weren't even angry at him despite the fact you hit him. You weren't much of anything. There really was nothing left. 

You stepped in, holding the edge and putting your left foot into the water first. With both feet in, you kneeled down, shifting around to start laying on your back. You didn't look at Joel. Maybe your mind forgot he was there out of the wish that he wasn't. 

The water pushed up to cover your ears, working on submerging you fully as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the tub. Your fingers worked slowly, gripping the hem of your gown, suddenly pulling it up harshly, sending water splashing as you finally gained adrenaline. 

You covered your face with the mass of fabric, covering it like a full head mask, wrapping over and over, tighter and tighter. You tried to breathe in as much water as you could, beginning to choke and hoping you’d secured yourself enough to compete with your body’s natural impulses to try and survive.

Body shaking, choking, switching, kicking and fighting. Mind versus body. Joel rushed to the smothering material over your face, hopelessly pulling, attempting to rip. You fought him off as much as you could, convincing your brain he was the true enemy you needed to fight off. Your back arched now, dying quicker now, but less able to try. The moment your hands could no longer push and slap him away, he gripped your shoulder and tugged you up. 

The fabric only got heavier, weighing down your head from how tight you'd secured it around you. 

You choked and sputtered, feeling Joel hurry with every strength he had to find an end to the gown. You heard the tear before you felt it release you. As soon as you felt air, you coughed loudly, a burning in your throat urging your head to tip over the bath to vomit outside of the water you were still laying in. 

All you could do was rest your head on the edge, working on your breathing. You felt the cold air of the room on your back, processing your nudity. You were faced away from Joel, hearing his sniffles and cries from behind you. 

Now you rested your forehead on the ledge. You felt the thin flat top of it, shifting your head to feel its slightly sharp corner. In the next moment you didn't think. You just pulled back quickly and smashed your head against it. 

When you moved your head back again to repeat the action, you felt your face grabbed forcefully, restrained. 

His mouth was moving, probably yelling at you. You didn't hear it. You watched the way the corners of his lips were tilted down, he was speaking through his sobs, tears streaming down his face that joined the smeared blood by his nose. 

But you didn't hear it. You didn't know what he was saying. You didn't know anything. You didn't feel anything emotionally - all you had was the pulsing heat in the centre of your forehead and the liquid that started to spill from it. And you had Joel. His hands were secure against your face but not harsh. How he managed it, you didn't know. 

Your eyelids felt heavy again. You weren't tired. You felt dead. You wanted to be. 

You didn't know it in the moment. 

You relaxed into his grip, finding the slightest comfort in being held enough to fall asleep - unaware that this was another of those ghost events. Phantom scenes of your life. Not that they didn't happen, but moments you wouldn't remember. 

Now you were sure you were somewhere else. 

Wooden floors, wooden panelling on the walls, barely functioning lights. The animal you felt equal to was no longer your ‘roommate’. 

For some reason it felt like a punishment. Removed from a cell that, despite the fact it filled you with anxieties and bad memories, it was clean. It didn't mirror your stained mind and soul. This room did. 

Crooked dirty steps led up to a door, one you didn't feel inclined to leave at all. As much as you felt like you were buried into a roomy coffin, it was your own. Leaving made room for monsters, pain, accidents. Curling yourself into a ball was the safest you felt.

The last thing you remembered was throwing up. Collapsed on the floor, whether it happened here or the other place, you weren't sure. 

Joel had been there - soothing you, taking care of you. 

Just as your wish had turned from needing him next to you now, into guilt for giving in, he cracked open the door.

He walked down cautiously. Maybe he didn't want to wake you. Maybe he was carrying a needle. Your thoughts spiralled, picturing him evil and carrying the new medication he reminded you over and over he was making. 

You knew it was pathetic but you truly wanted him. Just to feel like you weren't dying, you weren't alone, you weren't abandoned and you only felt that if Joel was there.

His hands were empty. 

it felt quite pure, hands in general usually reminding you of pain and threat while Joel came to you with no such monster attached to him. 

you processed your thoughts. resulting in deciding to deem yourself truly crazy for feeling this way about him.

your mind needed a barrier, emotional protection to prevent yourself from falling even easier into the safety he had to be faking. 

a level of pity for him remained though. He must've cared but was all this your will? Was it what you wanted? 

if you couldn't tell then surely it wasn't. 

you wanted to shove that empathy down, until you noticed the damage and bruises on his face. 

you practically leaped out of your bed in an attempt to cradle his face. 

none of your movements were balanced, knees giving out from a lack of practice in moving due to your previous sickness. 

Joel caught you in his arms, enough for you to manage to hold his face in your hands - your desperation to analyse his wounds had been allowed, partially.

“Hey, no no, stay in your bed.” 

“What happened?!”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, slowly walking you backwards to place you back onto your bed. When he tried to step away, you held his shirt to prevent him. 

All he could do was avoid your gaze, sighing gently in a lack of want for this conversation. You didn't understand why. It motivated you to push further. 

“a-are you in trouble? Who hit you?” 

“its not important, im here to-”

“What? of course it is.” 

As much as he appreciated your concern, it worried him. You needed to improve and the need to switch medication had already been a big enough set back. 

“I can't talk to you about this.” 

Joel used a harsh tone and he hated every second of it. 

He watched the light of concern die in your eyes, the rudeness of his words had been enough for you to no longer care who hit him, maybe even want to hit him yourself a little bit.

You pushed him a step away from you gently, letting go of his shirt. 

Joel knelt to the floor in front of your bed. you mocked him in your head - a second of your rejection and he went back to begging you for something. 

“Hey. You okay if we go to the session room and do our questions?”

“No meds?”

“Gotta see if you need them first.”

“What? you mean i might not?”

“if you're okay, you don't need meds. Means the treatment worked. But I have to make sure you really are okay.”

You were full of energy now, excited for the possibility of this psychological torture ending. 

“You mean I might be okay? Fixed? Does that mean I get to leave?” 

The joy in your voice at the idea of leaving him cut Joel deeply. Despite your painful memories gone, good ones of him were the price. You didn't care about him. You didn't want him. 

A selfish thought flickered in his mind, wanting you just a little sad, a little broken, just enough for you to still need him. 

What responsibility came first was a conflicted conversation in his mind, his love for you or his job he needed to fulfill. 

“We can figure that out later.” he stated with a lack of emotion, somehow revealing everything he was feeling to you nonetheless. 

Joel took your hand as he walked you to the steps; you let him.

Just as you became accustomed to walking again, the lights behind the door disturbed your comfort. 

The sight was only half what you expected. 

It looked to be a relatively small house, white sheets placed over furniture like the objects wanted to remain anonymous, floors relatively empty to give you a clear pathway. 

You didn't entirely understand why you had been taken to this other place. Had he got in trouble?

“Where are we?” you braved the question, quite sure he wasn't going to give you the answer. 

“I still can't tell you.” he dismissed calmly. 

“How long have I been here? And dont tell me you can't tell me or I'm going back down those stairs.” you partially joked.

“stairs?”

“what?”

he peered down at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he kept walking you down the hall. “nevermind.”

“soooo?”

“about a year and a half.” 

“no, I mean here.” you corrected him. 

“yeah, a year and-” 

“Here, Joel. here.” you stopped the both of you, gripping his shirt to make him halt and face you as you questioned him. “This place is different, we haven't been here the whole time.” 

His eyes slightly widened in realisation of something, but in such a way that you felt you were missing something. It angered you, rising heat up your spine. 

Then you realised you weren't feeling angry, you just felt unsafe. You felt your heart pump like it wanted to escape your chest. 

“We haven't been here the whole time. right? th-this place is different, w-we were at a hospital before. this is a house.” he refused to speak, or maybe wasn't able to. “Joel, tell me we haven't been here the whole time.” 

The fear in his eyes and hesitancy to speak was all you needed.

You breathed out deeply, shoving him away from you with all the force you could manage. Your heartbeat echoed throughout your blood, making you increasingly unbalanced. 

Steadying yourself by following the walls with your hands, you managed to find a doorway. Your eyes blurred from the tears caused by adrenaline. Desperate to ignore the lump in your throat, you pushed it open. 

If there was ever a room you shouldn't be in when you felt violent, it was a kitchen. 

How could so much exist right in front of you? How did you never see it? Why did Joel go along with it? 

You felt his presence behind you, motivating your body to move further into the room, pulling every drawer open with force. Every empty outcome felt like yourself reflected back at you, empty, draining the life from you, making you more angry, more likely to end up just cracking your own neck because there was nothing here for you. 

“Listen!” he called out, sending anxiety flooding your blood and all you could do was yell out, screaming, crying, sobbing while you tried not to process the fact you were going to have to go through this defenceless. 

Finally you were given something, enough to shut you up and freeze your body in realisation. Enough forks, knives, spoons for two people. The extra knife is what possessed you, taller, bigger, sharper and screaming at you to take it.

“Wait. Please, let me explain,” your ears were numb to his words, your entire mind focusing on the weapon now in your hands.

Turning back to him, red eyed, shaking from the fear which was all you really had anymore. 

“Put it down, please. I-”

“What did you do to me?” your voice cracked around your words, tears streaming down your face.

“I am trying to help you, I didn't lie about that.”

“Well you lied about everything fucking else!” you weeped, pointing the knife in his direction despite the large table in between you two, Joel choosing not to step closer than just inside the doorway. 

“J-just ask me questions and ill answer truthfu-”

“I already asked a question.” you spat out plainly, still shaking where you stood and breathing like a crazed animal.

“Can you put the-”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed deeply, hands open to his side in surrender. “Okay. I'm just doing what you wanted. You begged me to do this so i-”

“Who even are you?” Joel's heart broke even further. “And why do you get that stupid look on your face when I ask you that?”

Joel cradled his face in his hands, clearly trying to settle down his emotions for your sake. To be honest, you found it insulting, as if any other reaction would've been the more ‘correct’ one.

“I wasn't your real doctor.”

“Fucking clearly.” you laughed psychotically as you cried. 

“I wasn't yours long term. But after the time I was, you wanted me to stay yours.”

“You,” you tried to calm your emotions and your tone. “You are a doctor? A real one?”

“Yes.”

“So, I wanted you to be my doctor so just you took me here?”

“I guess close to that. I don't know how much I can say without ruining your progress, i-”

“Fuck progress. I want the truth.”

“NOO, NO NO!” 

Your throat was sore, body heated in terror while your eyes refused to separate your dream from the world in front of you.

The shadow monsters had morphing faces in your sleep, turning into every enemy, traitor and memory of pain. Self made torture you were here to get rid of. 

Here, you knew your name, who you were and even believed yourself most of the time. 

This was when you knew it all, everything you’d later been injected to forget - Joel with the needle in hand. 

Without taking your eyes off the threat, you crawled your hands to the table beside your bed, reaching for any blocky object before firing it in your enemy’s direction.

With a blink, the faceless shadow left seamlessly. 

You hadn't had an episode in a while. Previously recommended to stay in the quiet room, now encouraged to try activities and venture out of your routine of zombie walking. 

Everybody pissed you off. You were not crazy. How is it insane to react to whats right fucking in front of you? Whether it's real or not real. Whether other people see it or don't.

It would be more insane to act normal when your brain treats you the way it does.

You hated your mystery pills. Yes, the ones that had been explained to you countless times while you were too busy thinking of ways to irritate the staff. What's the harm of being crazy if you could make everyone else go a little of the same way?

Obviously not the exact same way though. Yelling at you for being a fuck up isnt the same experience of yelling at invisible monsters. Regardless, you felt less of the monster yourself when you weren't the only angry person in the room.

Every time you said no, they would write it down. God, they write every fucking thing down. Like you were a movie to analyse, a book to annotate, a fucking muse to paint with harsh motions that say “she’s a psycho” accompanied with red paint splashes. 

You wanted to do it yourself. So you write down how you felt, you drew the monsters to expose their real flesh. The flesh you wanted to kill over and over so you could finally so simply just breathe. But they never left. Practically posing for you to recreate. 

You wanted the shadows to bleed. So you broke the black crayon from the pressure you used, digging into the canvas the way they'd stained your mind and memories. Creating them through your own choice for once. 

The next thing got you in trouble.

As much as you didn't care for the other patients, admittedly, they didn't deserve you around. They didn't deserve to watch every crash out. It's not like it was for them, it wasn't for anyone except yourself. 

Maybe you wanted to be scary so that those demons would just leave you alone. You were weak when they came around. Freezing you in half sleep, forcing out sobs and pleas for a life apart from them. You didn't get to be angry when you were petrified that they'd actually finally reach you - touch you in a way you couldn't wash off. A way you couldn't down pills for. A way that would actually kill you this time.

Obviously there were moments you wished they'd just get it over with.

Grabbing a paintbrush you hadn't even used, you flipped the canvas and used the blunt wooden end to stab through the material. Throwing everything you could reach around the room. You must've been screaming too otherwise it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. 

Anyways, it bothered people. Bothered them enough to question their ability to judge your sanity.

‘She was better, we really thought so! She was okay!’

Constant whining and complaining over your uncontrollable and unpredictable behaviour. A babyish part of you did wish it wasn't crazy to consider you to be okay.

Loving him felt pathetic. Thinking he loved you also felt the same.

You could go on and on about his kind eyes and gentle words. Every violent part of you felt like it never existed when he so easily understood you. 

He was also a little mysterious. The special, independent doctor. Came in to be in charge of consenting to all the medical bullshit for you. He had to check first of course, see if you were insane or you could decide these things for yourself. Joel was clearly doing a little more than just that though. 

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“You always ask that so casually.”

“What do you mean?” he smiled simply.

“Like it's a clear yes or no? It's never gonna be that.”

“Of course it isn't. How you feel isn't simple, it isn't simple for anyone to answer.”

“Anyone? You mean normal people.” you mocked, not even knowing what you were testing him for.

“You can argue no one is normal but that would logically mean everyone was normal. You-”

“Logically, why do you always talk fancy?”

“Well, you know, serious job. And I’m just trying to be clear.” he shrugged, changing his professional composure to ease you the way you were asking him to.

Joel didn't make you feel insane. You felt normal, you felt logical. Like the way you worked was so clear to him. 

He felt clear to you too. You could tell he knew he was good at his job. Not in an egotistical way, more like he found relief in doing it well which is why he was so calm all the time.

Patients weren't a process to him, they were people with problems he wanted to help. You were glad you got to be his person. Additionally, you were fully aware you'd stab through countless paintings if Joel came around after. 

“What is it about them that triggers you?”

“The shadows?” he hummed in response. “Well, they don't."

Joel blinked for a second. “Help me understand.”

“It's not the shadows, it's what they remind me of. It's not even seeing them that triggers me, it's the fact I just have them. When the shadows are around I'm back to being that defenceless kid again. I'm weak again. I hate feeling weak - I hate that they just get to happen to me and I can't do shit.”

“You don't get angry at the shadows?”

“Not when they're in front of me. I guess I throw shit but that's out of fear.”

“You don't feel strong when you, in your way, fight them?”

“No. You can't beat something that's not real. I don't feel strong when I'm crying like a baby because of them, even if I throw something at the same time.”

“I understand that.” real understanding. Not the ‘I read that in a textbook’ style understanding. “But you see that they're not real?”

“In a way they are real.”

“Because they remind you what was real, of, how would you put it, your past?”

“My memories i guess? But maybe I'd even say they don't remind me of it, they are my memories. Embodied nightmares if that's not a dramatic way to put it.”

“The way you feel about your experiences isn't dramatic. No one has been through the exact same thing so your responses are the only ones a person could have. It's not whether you are responding correctly, it's the safety of them. That's what we wanna help with.”

You felt your watery eyes. Choosing to laugh at yourself and wipe them away dismissively. “Care to tell everyone else around here that?”

“You don't like how you're treated?” Joel was visibly genuinely concerned now. 

“Thats the thing though. I’m like a lab rat. I’m treated, I'm not helped.”

You could tell his worries unnerved everybody else too. Having you for more meetings than was usual. Sanity checks shouldn't take so long. If he was responsible for consenting for your treatments, Joel explained to you hushedly, he wanted a word in on what treatment that was. 

He didn't want to be like the other people that you hated. He was going to genuinely help. You must've got inside his head somehow - because he stopped acting like the guy that said logically because he wanted to be professional. That had left him. Desperation remained. 

“Sleep okay?”

“Never.” you laughed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its ironic because I'm taking my meds. I'm doing what they say and it isn't working.”

“How does following their advice make you feel?”

“Like a mockery.” you scoffed. “I spent ages not wanting to see if it worked and then I tried and it didn't. So I've got nowhere.”

He fiddled with his papers, reading back past notes more obviously than he usually did. 

Joel sighed to himself. Seeing the eyebags, the bruises on your arms from throwing yourself into walls. You'd had episodes again but in the privacy of your room. You were tired after, but there was relief in them. 

They should've been reported once Joel had first figured out it had happened. He didn't. You'd transferred your lack of care of cooperating into him.

“If you could, let's say, wish to a star. If you could wish for a way to help you, no matter how impossible, what do you think would help?” The fantasy framing of the question made you laugh. Ensuring you knew this was a pure hypothetical. 

“I guess lose my memories.”

“All of them?”

“I don't have many good ones.”

“And the bad ones take up too much space to really have good ones.” he continued your thought for you.

“Clean slate.” you stated. Finishing Joel's hypothetical. 

You watched his eyes flick to your bruises. To your healed scars. The tortured yet persevering look in your eye. 

It was almost scary to see his expression show exactly what he was thinking for once. No doctor mask. 

Joel framed it like a hypothetical but the glint of focus in his eye told you it wasn't like that to him. Getting you better wasn't a dream scenario. He was going to do it.

Lights out. Locking your room for a partial comfort boost as you always did. 

You couldn't sleep before they did their check ups, unlocking your door, red lights to not wake you but enough to see you, locking again on the way out. You curled up like a baby to give them false hope.

You sniffled, wiping at your tears when you were sure they weren't standing outside listening.

It pushed open again, real? Was this fucking real? Oh god you’ve finally fully fucking lost it-

“I, um.” he shut the door behind him. Dark hoodie covering him to contrast the suit you only ever saw him in.

“What the fuck?” you whisper yelled, crawling out from your covers to approach him.

“I know, i shouldnt be here, i, oh my god this was such a bad idea.”

You watched Joel flail over his words, scratch the back of his neck to reveal his nervous habit you’d never seen before. His face was heated, stressed out, practically terrified, and - blushing?

“I shouldn't be here.” he repeated.

“You shouldnt.” you parroted back at him, watching his heart crack hearing it from you. “So why are you?”

His chest rose rapidly with his breaths, but slightly easing when he saw tension leave your face. 

“I wanted to help.”

“You gonna stab my shadows that you can't see?”

“No, I thought I could, uh.” God, did you love having the advantage in a conversation with him for once. “I thought I could make you feel safe. You said I did.”

“You do.” You spoke gently, calming Joel's nerves.

“Can I?”

He settled on your bed, you taking the initiative to move closer - what Joel clearly wanted, you figured, hearing his heartbeat race when you laid against him but settled once you had.

It was wrong. The way he soothed you to sleep, caressing your warm cheeks as he watched your eyelashes flutter then still once you’d drifted off. Joel was giving you a new memory. A good one, a safe one.

The shadows left you that night. They left you every time you slept thinking about that night too. Even when Joel left early in the morning, waking to let you know before so that you didn't feel abandoned. It was quiet.

They didnt try to torture you. You barely even cared for your improvement. All you cared about was the way Joel had shown how he felt about you. The way maybe, you were one and the same. In your own way.

Joel kept his desperation hidden. A practised mask - perhaps a shield as it wasn't as far as fake. He said how he truly felt, he was just less emotionally put together than he showed on the surface.

Calm ‘I'm here to help’ spoken in session, heavy breathed ‘I'll do anything and everything I can for you’ when out of reach from monitoring eyes and ears. 

Affective desperation needs sleep - and Joel became restless. 

“I’m serious, this treatment will work.”

“How do you know?” you tried to be a voice of reason.

“I know it.”

You snuggled closer into his arms, thinking loudly but silently. “Clean slate?”

“Clean slate.”

He was frantic. Unorganised, utterly desperate and no longer able to keep up his facade.

With a deadline forcibly approaching for him to make a decision on your sanity and needs, he pushed himself far now. Pushing his disregard for the treatment process to as far as hating it - mentally spitting on it. 

“So, her mental status is good enough?”

“Yes, but-”

“It is or it isn't." the clinician interrupted, unknowingly fueling Joel's plans.

“Incorrect. If you don't change her treatment plan then her mental stability will only decrease. It's increased since my involvement.”

“Its not your place to tell us how to do our jobs.”

Joel held his breath before sighing quietly, defeated. “I know.”

You didn't get to say goodbye.

Joel disappeared for several weeks. Leaving you confused, growing angry at the company of everyone else because they could never be him. Your episodes came back. The inescapable nightmares came back.

You prayed that he missed you. You prayed that you'd live so permanently in his mind that he’d come back and save you.

Freedom would redeem your sanity, you thought. Love would. Joel would.

Breaking things got you more dismissal. Eye rolls while you sobbed, barely able to be angry anymore because you were so entirely abandoned. They let you act out - waited until your body gave out and you cried kneeling on the floors. 

The security guards would grip your arms tight, bruises undoubtedly forming. Feet sliding across the smooth floors as they put you in a room that prevented you from being a threat.

You sobbed by yourself, gripping your face, aggressive holding while your thoughts reminded you of every way you’d ever been hurt. Left. Hit. Lied to. Used. 

If you could never escape it then you were the only one truly at fault. How dare you be born? How dare you breathe?

You knew yourself better than them. Locking you away didn't actually prevent pain. Your brain couldn't be locked up, and that had always been your worst source of pain.

Going back to your room didn't provide any additional comfort, mind numb and body aching. You laid under covers, staring into the dark and waited for it to kill you. 

The red lights passed by, letting you escape to under the bed, rocking yourself back and forth so the shadows couldn't take over your sight. 

You didn't want to see them. You couldn't bear it anymore. They were ingrained into you, sewn into your mind and skin. Maybe you trapped the monsters inside you yourself. These scars were your willing permanent reminders and the dark figures were your punishment for your self inflicted torture.

The silence of your room wasn't noticeable, screaming and crying blasting inside your mind. Until the door creeped open once again, the way he’d done before.

“Hello?” he whispered, heavy breathed, lost and confused from his lack of sight on you.

You crawled out desperately, chasing the sound of his voice that sent your heart racing in the only positive way you’d ever experienced. Eyes meeting his, you let out a harsh sob. 

Joel rushed down to the floor, cradling your face as tears streamed. The small night light that you had for comfort was the only thing showing him to you, reminding you of how many little things actually helped you. One of them being the man in front of you - and he was here to rescue you.

“I’m so sorry, I'm sorry, i-"

You shook your head dismissively. You didn't care anymore, he was here now. He came back. No one ever came back.

He breathed out harshly, panicked. “Hey, listen to me. We have to go. Like, now.”

Out of confusion you stopped crying. “What do you mean?”

“I have somewhere we can go. I can get you out of here. And I know how to help you.” 

“You-, Joel, I don't understand.”

“I can help you. I know how to stop the monsters.”

“How?” you spat out, blood hot from the fear that this was a mockery.

Those shadows were so ingrained in you that this felt like a hallucination to crumble you down further. Joel calmed his breathing, settling down in front of you more comfortably to ease your worry. 

“I made something. A medicine and treatment scheme that can get rid of your memories. No memories, no monsters. But I can help you regain the necessary ones, ones that don't hurt you. A-and we can make more ones, good ones. Clean slate, remember?”

Clean was never a word you thought you'd be able to describe yourself with. This life also wasn't one you wanted anymore. Your previous attempt to leave this world is what got you here in the first place.

Joel was offering to take you away from this building, he was offering to fix you. Any concern for risk wasn’t present. 

You took his hand, following him, trusting him practically blindly. 

Surely it's not like you could get any worse, could you?

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m n-”

“What about the people I saw? The cameras? The documenting of everything, the rules you followed that you didn't want to? You were obeying someone, Joel."

“You! I was obeying you!”

Your breath hitched, anger and confusion filling you. 

“Your patient code? That was how many fucking times we had to repeat the process. You couldn't handle it, I tried everything, I tried telling you, I tried not telling you. You were so lost, you couldn't take it.”

A glassy layer covered his eyes, feet unsteady from heartbreak. There was only hatred in your eyes.

“The only time you responded calmly was with the act I learnt I had to go along with. You assumed I was your doctor, you assumed you were stuck here. You assumed that you’d get better and then you would leave and that was comfort enough. I followed along because you needed it. I never wanted to lie to you.”

The grip on the knife was forceful, enough to make your hand shake from the pressure. You refused to remove its point from towards Joel, unable to let go of your anger. This wasn't the time to be weak.

“You saw what you wanted to see. I just let you.” he continued. 

The stunned doctors in the surveillance room were your own voiceless stuffed animals. The abusive guards were your episodes where you threw yourself into walls, desperate to escape the shadows that haunted you. The rat was your own fucking pet. 

Was anything fucking real?

Were those broken moments where you begged your room’s emptiness for company, those moments where your wishes were granted, was Joel ever actually there? 

Those hours you spent crying because Joel ended your sessions was because of you? 

Your insanity forced him to leave you, forced him to follow out this emotionless act that only in health could you see through it. 

Your instability had endlessly tortured you, even in times you were ‘better’, it was the very reason you were here now. 

You couldn't escape the monsters. Cursed into your fucking blood, monsters were enough that human experimentation was an easier life to live with. 

Joel couldn't fix you. Love couldn't fix you. 

The knife fell from your hands, tired of listening to Joel explain every detail of how corrupted your mind had unknowingly become.

He ran towards you, catching you in his arms as your body tried to collapse to the floor. Tears and loud sobs heaved out of you. Tears for the lies, the pain, the scars, the lost memories explaining your sewn on pain, tears for your entire self.

You were exhausted. You couldn’t bare it, you hated everything and everyone and you hated yourself for the fact you were still in this fucking place, this fucking world. 

Out of instinct, you clung onto Joel. Listening to how he tried to soothe you, waiting for his suggestions to simply heal you. 

Your heart stung inside your chest. A heavy tumour you wanted to cut out. 

“We can stop. Just live now.” he whispered delicately. 

Your cries stopped. The idea of moving away from all this was the only chance you had - but not with him. You didn't trust him, you couldn't bear him anymore.

You placed your hand on his chest gently, little force but pushing him away from you. His eyes were wide and afraid but he followed your command. You let go of him, of the only person that had ever hoped in you, the person who was an embodiment of twisted hope and patience. 

You were sick. You craved hope, you craved love. This wasn't love. This was sick. He was sick.

“Get out.” you spat out.

“W-what?”

“Go.”

“You can’t do this-”

“I need to get better. Not getting my mind and body contorted to go with your fucking experiments.”

“Yes, we can do that, but it's not safe to do that alone,”

“I don't care.” Tears kept falling. 

Joel breathed heavily. “Please.”

“No. I will work on myself. Alone.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

Your mouth formed a deep frown as you thought. “Then you bring me food. And anything I want. But we don't talk. I don't see you. I’ll leave a note on the door and there's no other contact.”

“I don't understand, i-” he choked sobs, “I did this for you, it's what you wanted.”

“You did it for you. I was sick.”

“I did this to help you! I want to help you! I want to take care of you - I need to!”

“And you can do that by leaving me the fuck alone!” you yelled out as you began sobbing again. “For once in my fucking life, i dont want to be sick. If I leave you in my life, it makes me an idiot, it makes me sick. Letting you treat me means I'm sick.”

“But- but I love you!” he cried out.

“I don't want you!” you yelled. 

You sobbed and he watched. You curled your body into itself and he watched. Your breaths stopped and started, hyperventilating as your body grew fearful of yourself. 

“Get OUT! GET OUT!” you screeched, noticing the way Joel was now afraid of you too.

Clean.

You made the house your own. Throwing out everything that disgusted you - everything fake, everything of Joel’s. Adding new wallpaper, new paintings of your own, making your house for the version of you that you wanted to be.

The shadows didn't leave you alone. You learnt to cope. Learning to fear them less took time, but it helped. They simply became a factor in your life, ones you dealt with as they came.

The peace was loud sometimes. The ability to do whatever you wanted was a heavy concept, but you learnt to cope. 

Your rat died. Naturally, happily. You’d spent time together beforehand, enough to feel the emotions of the memories you and your pet must've shared in your previous life. You lived together, and your sick selves died together. 

The tv and phone gave you the outside world. In a way that was compact, a way you could simply remove yourself from by letting go. You did the same when it came for Joel. Learn to lose the lump of guilt in your throat that you got when you peered out your window, watching Joel while he dropped off your shopping. He never knew you watched, he only hoped you did. He hoped you saw how he was trying, following orders, the way he thought he was doing for you before.

This time you knew it was truly what you wanted. You let him take breaths at your doorstep, let him approach the door to knock but stop himself before breaking the silence. 

You let him walk away. You needed him to walk away.

Then he didn't.

Your body froze in the doorway to the front room, eyes wide and staring daggers into Joel.

“I’m sorry, it was late, you uh, you asked for frozen food and i thought you were asleep so i-i wanted to put it away for you.”

You didn't doubt it was the truth. It was just the knowledge he chose to get the food this late, deliver it at a time that gave him the excuse to come in. 

“Okay.” you calmly stated, watching as he did what he told you he was doing.

Joel looked over to you, eyes gentle. “Hey uh, can i cook for you? You can say no, I just, I miss you. I want us to be okay, I want us to be normal.” Your face didn't change. Emotionless. Flat. 

“Tommorow. Dinner.” Your tone had a lack of indication to any kind of feeling, but your words were enough for him.

“R-really?”

“Yeah.”

“I-, what do you wanna eat?” he chucked, feeling relief for the first time in months and months

“I don't mind.” you smiled simply. “You pick.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

He had finished packing things away, smiling wide and feeling close to you again despite the three metres between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Joel spoke up gently.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You leaned into the doorframe. Showing calm, letting him let his guard down completely. 

He smiled to himself as he left. Smiling on the way home, laughing at the imaginary ways he thought the next night could play out. 

Joel was nervous walking back in, smoothing out his picked out clothes, fixing his hair. He needed it to be perfect. 

You weren't around, making Joel decide to get started on cooking, hoping it would alert you of his presence. But then the quiet got deafening. The lack of lights in the hallways as the sun set. The lack of noise, the lack of you.

His fearful steps were light, searching every room he was less convinced you were in, until he reached your bedroom. He pushed the half open door, breaths heavy as blood rushed through his body.

Evidence of you was all that was left. Your possessions, the way you’d shifted the house to the life you wanted, every reminder that you existed was there. But you weren't. 

No body. No face. No smile, no laugh. No love left for him.

The love for yourself and the you that you wanted to be was soaking in the air. Joel breathed your air one last time, picturing you a thousand miles from here by now. 

Joel was left with the memory of you. Your life was now your own. 

im so so proud of this I think :3 please let me know what you guys think !! and let me know if you want to be added onto my taglist for future works :>

[mimi-miller]

PART TWO (final)

𖦹 synopsis: patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

𖦹 warnings: human experimentation, hallucinations, Stockholm syndrome, blood, fighting, SUICIDE ATTEMPT !! (attempted drowning and self smothering), medication/drug usage, anger, heavy confusion, vomit, depression, lots of suicide idealation, mentions of SH and scars, numbness, dissociation, use of needles, nightmares, paranoia, psych wards, aggressive reader due to emotional instability, use of knife to threaten joel, lots of cursing, unprofessional behaviour by joel, slight comfort ending.

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @daddieslittleladie @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @rhaenassance @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

no pressure tags: (interacted with my other posts so u might like this one !!) :> : @luvp1nk @starrynightsarise @rad4bean @nourlh @raebabexo @ghulmayhem @fishingforpike @babielli @lucymmiller @pleurspetal @ainhoetaaa @urmomsmattress @secretlettersfromyourlove @soflipped @blackwidow-carter @inalovemazeloop @keylimebeag @idkhhhhi

chapter one // chapter two.

𖦹 wc: 8.3k ( two part series )

You wouldn't describe your relationship with Joel as a relationship - you wouldn't describe it as anything really. 

In spite of that, Joel implied a lot that you were something. Ironically, even he didn't know what to class it as.

Maybe you let him get close for a sense of control. You had a feeling of secret knowing from the fact you were more reluctant than you let on. An inner monologue convincing yourself that you were doing it for safety, letting him feel like this ‘connection’ was reciprocated so you felt he was the naive one. It helped a little to make up for the fact you didn't really understand anything that was happening to you.

Joel stayed close. Clearly concerned, which didn't ease your anxieties. 

It was several weeks of pure agony. He refused to give you medication for it; resulting in many occasions where you would pass out from the pain. Sometimes the talking was comforting, Joel muttering (basically to himself) about the drugs he was working on. He’d describe it to you, explaining it, letting you know how it worked and what it did. When the pain started to wear off, you wished you'd paid more attention to his speeches. Now you were back to square one of not knowing what the fuck you were even here for.

Cheery seemed a weird word but was the most accurate for describing Joel's mood change when he noticed the longer absences of pain in your body. A part of you thought you should act, pretend you were still unbearably sick so he wouldn't make you leave the bed. You didn't want the trials, the feeling that you were constantly watched and overheard. Just Joel and him only sometimes was easier. 

He fed the rat. Also told you to name it. Naming a rat when Joel refused to tell you your own felt like a mockery. So you just dismissed his request every time he brought it up. You liked having a lack of self in common with the animal. 

The withdrawals from the drugs had an unbearable amount of not only symptoms but humiliating ones. Constant runny nose and sweat made you feel disgusting, not at all like someone who could use emotional tactics against Joel to get him on side to set you free from this place. Joel kept bringing you the same cloth, cleaning it in between days but the repetition seemed to bug you. You knew you were trapped in a place, and similar days made it feel like a fucking time loop that was hopeless to daydream about escaping from. 

Something sick happened the day you woke up painless. 

Usually you'd have a pulse thumping in your skull, even a little was enough to know you were still suffering. Now there was nothing. Physically. 

You stared at the ceiling from when you woke up and until Joel came in. It could've been hours and you wouldn't have known. Not a single part of you cared to keep track, usually would have called out for him specifically, alerting him you were awake. Alerting him you wanted him there, taking care of you. 

No part of you wanted him. No part of you wanted anything. Again, there was nothing. Nothing painful but purely nothing at all. Emotionally and physically empty. 

He must've assumed you were hurting. Logical assumption due to previous days of living in so much torture that all you could do was nothing. Now you were laying, wishing to see, hear, feel nothing, live as pure nothing. That or to be able to scream and kill everyone that was involved in you being here. 

Turns out the only skill you had was consistent not knowing. You would somehow always miss important details he told you - dissociating from either pain or pure emotional exhaustion so everything just happened to you. Now you just let it. 

Joel pulled you out of bed, gently, guiding every movement. He led you out the room, lights blaring through your eyes making everything virtually invisible. You didn't really want to leave your room, but not a single limb decided to take action.

Yet. 

With the way your feet dragged from your almost lack of consciousness, Joel took the initiative to pull you into his grasp. Supporting you, making your legs instinctively wrap around his torso and your head rest on his shoulder as he carried you. You let your eyes rest. 

You didn't want to relax into him. You didn't want to be near him or anyone or any kind of tool he had prepared to test you. You realised your only true wish in that moment was to be dead. But you weren't, and you couldn't make that happen with Joel's constant surveillance. 

Yet.

He set you down on your bare feet, the cold surface sending a rush up your spine. The most you’d felt that day so far; and it was just cold. It felt like a waste of a feeling. 

Joel was reluctant to let go of you, walking you backwards while your eyelids remained heavy and almost closed. His hand remained on the small of your back, touching the fabric of the hospital nightgown you tended to forget you had on. It was less intimidating to imagine yourself in typical clothing since it gave you faux confidence in knowing you weren't actually someone insane.

Yet. 

A cold surface pressed against your back, Joel seemingly securing you in place in front of it. He kissed your cheek, sparking the first urge to actually do something you had that day: punch him. Another part of you competed, a part of you that didn't mind him doing it - which kind of made you want to punch him more, then maybe hit your head against the wall to punish yourself. You didn't move to hurt him.

Yet.

Joel was still. Hands twitching like he was waiting for the right moment to do something. To move. But he didn't. Not yet. 

Maybe you knew. Maybe your brain had temporarily become connected to some power after your suffering. It sparked you into action but it didn't surprise you. Like you knew it was going to happen. As if it had happened before. Maybe it had. 

Your body made the move before you even formed the thought for it. 

Joel jolted back, hand hesitant to touch his face as he felt the blood begin to spill out his nose. His eyes were wide, confused. You didn't feel the muscles in your face form a reaction so you were sure you didn't show one at all. It definitely didn't ease the fear in his eyes. 

You flattened your gown back down, holding the hem protectively and moving it back to where it was before he moved it as you held eye contact with Joel.

“I wasn't- i-i didn't think you were, i don't know, awake.”

You just stared. Mouth closed, body waiting. Numb. still numb. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything bad.”

His voice sounded increasingly muffled, like your brain didn't want to listen - wanting to shut him out, ignore him, be away from him the only way you could.  

“I-i get that you're upset, okay?” he held his hands to his side in surrender, still standing a couple meters away from you for a mix of his safety and your comfort. “But I need you to turn around.”

He started to walk sideways, around the centre of the room where you only now processed you were standing. You followed his movements, in turn appearing to turn around just as he requested. 

The cold surface behind you had been a tub. The material cold but the water warm as evident from the steam. Out of instinct you dipped your hand in, the heat didn't spark anything in you like you hoped. Maybe hope was a strong word. You didn't feel or want anything. Maybe you just expected it - and expected it wrongly. 

“I was gonna help you get in.” your eyes met his again. “You get like this a lot. Quiet. I thought maybe it was the meds. You've kind of always been on them. But there's none left in you.”

‘None left in you’ felt like a very non-specific sentence that could apply to a number of the ways you felt or didn't feel in that moment. You weren't even angry at him despite the fact you hit him. You weren't much of anything. There really was nothing left. 

You stepped in, holding the edge and putting your left foot into the water first. With both feet in, you kneeled down, shifting around to start laying on your back. You didn't look at Joel. Maybe your mind forgot he was there out of the wish that he wasn't. 

The water pushed up to cover your ears, working on submerging you fully as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the tub. Your fingers worked slowly, gripping the hem of your gown, suddenly pulling it up harshly, sending water splashing as you finally gained adrenaline. 

You covered your face with the mass of fabric, covering it like a full head mask, wrapping over and over, tighter and tighter. You tried to breathe in as much water as you could, beginning to choke and hoping you’d secured yourself enough to compete with your body’s natural impulses to try and survive.

Body shaking, choking, switching, kicking and fighting. Mind versus body. Joel rushed to the smothering material over your face, hopelessly pulling, attempting to rip. You fought him off as much as you could, convincing your brain he was the true enemy you needed to fight off. Your back arched now, dying quicker now, but less able to try. The moment your hands could no longer push and slap him away, he gripped your shoulder and tugged you up. 

The fabric only got heavier, weighing down your head from how tight you'd secured it around you. 

You choked and sputtered, feeling Joel hurry with every strength he had to find an end to the gown. You heard the tear before you felt it release you. As soon as you felt air, you coughed loudly, a burning in your throat urging your head to tip over the bath to vomit outside of the water you were still laying in. 

All you could do was rest your head on the edge, working on your breathing. You felt the cold air of the room on your back, processing your nudity. You were faced away from Joel, hearing his sniffles and cries from behind you. 

Now you rested your forehead on the ledge. You felt the thin flat top of it, shifting your head to feel its slightly sharp corner. In the next moment you didn't think. You just pulled back quickly and smashed your head against it. 

When you moved your head back again to repeat the action, you felt your face grabbed forcefully, restrained. 

His mouth was moving, probably yelling at you. You didn't hear it. You watched the way the corners of his lips were tilted down, he was speaking through his sobs, tears streaming down his face that joined the smeared blood by his nose. 

But you didn't hear it. You didn't know what he was saying. You didn't know anything. You didn't feel anything emotionally - all you had was the pulsing heat in the centre of your forehead and the liquid that started to spill from it. And you had Joel. His hands were secure against your face but not harsh. How he managed it, you didn't know. 

Your eyelids felt heavy again. You weren't tired. You felt dead. You wanted to be. 

You didn't know it in the moment. 

You relaxed into his grip, finding the slightest comfort in being held enough to fall asleep - unaware that this was another of those ghost events. Phantom scenes of your life. Not that they didn't happen, but moments you wouldn't remember. 

Now you were sure you were somewhere else. 

Wooden floors, wooden panelling on the walls, barely functioning lights. The animal you felt equal to was no longer your ‘roommate’. 

For some reason it felt like a punishment. Removed from a cell that, despite the fact it filled you with anxieties and bad memories, it was clean. It didn't mirror your stained mind and soul. This room did. 

Crooked dirty steps led up to a door, one you didn't feel inclined to leave at all. As much as you felt like you were buried into a roomy coffin, it was your own. Leaving made room for monsters, pain, accidents. Curling yourself into a ball was the safest you felt.

The last thing you remembered was throwing up. Collapsed on the floor, whether it happened here or the other place, you weren't sure. 

Joel had been there - soothing you, taking care of you. 

Just as your wish had turned from needing him next to you now, into guilt for giving in, he cracked open the door.

He walked down cautiously. Maybe he didn't want to wake you. Maybe he was carrying a needle. Your thoughts spiralled, picturing him evil and carrying the new medication he reminded you over and over he was making. 

You knew it was pathetic but you truly wanted him. Just to feel like you weren't dying, you weren't alone, you weren't abandoned and you only felt that if Joel was there.

His hands were empty. 

it felt quite pure, hands in general usually reminding you of pain and threat while Joel came to you with no such monster attached to him. 

you processed your thoughts. resulting in deciding to deem yourself truly crazy for feeling this way about him.

your mind needed a barrier, emotional protection to prevent yourself from falling even easier into the safety he had to be faking. 

a level of pity for him remained though. He must've cared but was all this your will? Was it what you wanted? 

if you couldn't tell then surely it wasn't. 

you wanted to shove that empathy down, until you noticed the damage and bruises on his face. 

you practically leaped out of your bed in an attempt to cradle his face. 

none of your movements were balanced, knees giving out from a lack of practice in moving due to your previous sickness. 

Joel caught you in his arms, enough for you to manage to hold his face in your hands - your desperation to analyse his wounds had been allowed, partially.

“Hey, no no, stay in your bed.” 

“What happened?!”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, slowly walking you backwards to place you back onto your bed. When he tried to step away, you held his shirt to prevent him. 

All he could do was avoid your gaze, sighing gently in a lack of want for this conversation. You didn't understand why. It motivated you to push further. 

“a-are you in trouble? Who hit you?” 

“its not important, im here to-”

“What? of course it is.” 

As much as he appreciated your concern, it worried him. You needed to improve and the need to switch medication had already been a big enough set back. 

“I can't talk to you about this.” 

Joel used a harsh tone and he hated every second of it. 

He watched the light of concern die in your eyes, the rudeness of his words had been enough for you to no longer care who hit him, maybe even want to hit him yourself a little bit.

You pushed him a step away from you gently, letting go of his shirt. 

Joel knelt to the floor in front of your bed. you mocked him in your head - a second of your rejection and he went back to begging you for something. 

“Hey. You okay if we go to the session room and do our questions?”

“No meds?”

“Gotta see if you need them first.”

“What? you mean i might not?”

“if you're okay, you don't need meds. Means the treatment worked. But I have to make sure you really are okay.”

You were full of energy now, excited for the possibility of this psychological torture ending. 

“You mean I might be okay? Fixed? Does that mean I get to leave?” 

The joy in your voice at the idea of leaving him cut Joel deeply. Despite your painful memories gone, good ones of him were the price. You didn't care about him. You didn't want him. 

A selfish thought flickered in his mind, wanting you just a little sad, a little broken, just enough for you to still need him. 

What responsibility came first was a conflicted conversation in his mind, his love for you or his job he needed to fulfill. 

“We can figure that out later.” he stated with a lack of emotion, somehow revealing everything he was feeling to you nonetheless. 

Joel took your hand as he walked you to the steps; you let him.

Just as you became accustomed to walking again, the lights behind the door disturbed your comfort. 

The sight was only half what you expected. 

It looked to be a relatively small house, white sheets placed over furniture like the objects wanted to remain anonymous, floors relatively empty to give you a clear pathway. 

You didn't entirely understand why you had been taken to this other place. Had he got in trouble?

“Where are we?” you braved the question, quite sure he wasn't going to give you the answer. 

“I still can't tell you.” he dismissed calmly. 

“How long have I been here? And dont tell me you can't tell me or I'm going back down those stairs.” you partially joked.

“stairs?”

“what?”

he peered down at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he kept walking you down the hall. “nevermind.”

“soooo?”

“about a year and a half.” 

“no, I mean here.” you corrected him. 

“yeah, a year and-” 

“Here, Joel. here.” you stopped the both of you, gripping his shirt to make him halt and face you as you questioned him. “This place is different, we haven't been here the whole time.” 

His eyes slightly widened in realisation of something, but in such a way that you felt you were missing something. It angered you, rising heat up your spine. 

Then you realised you weren't feeling angry, you just felt unsafe. You felt your heart pump like it wanted to escape your chest. 

“We haven't been here the whole time. right? th-this place is different, w-we were at a hospital before. this is a house.” he refused to speak, or maybe wasn't able to. “Joel, tell me we haven't been here the whole time.” 

The fear in his eyes and hesitancy to speak was all you needed.

You breathed out deeply, shoving him away from you with all the force you could manage. Your heartbeat echoed throughout your blood, making you increasingly unbalanced. 

Steadying yourself by following the walls with your hands, you managed to find a doorway. Your eyes blurred from the tears caused by adrenaline. Desperate to ignore the lump in your throat, you pushed it open. 

If there was ever a room you shouldn't be in when you felt violent, it was a kitchen. 

How could so much exist right in front of you? How did you never see it? Why did Joel go along with it? 

You felt his presence behind you, motivating your body to move further into the room, pulling every drawer open with force. Every empty outcome felt like yourself reflected back at you, empty, draining the life from you, making you more angry, more likely to end up just cracking your own neck because there was nothing here for you. 

“Listen!” he called out, sending anxiety flooding your blood and all you could do was yell out, screaming, crying, sobbing while you tried not to process the fact you were going to have to go through this defenceless. 

Finally you were given something, enough to shut you up and freeze your body in realisation. Enough forks, knives, spoons for two people. The extra knife is what possessed you, taller, bigger, sharper and screaming at you to take it.

“Wait. Please, let me explain,” your ears were numb to his words, your entire mind focusing on the weapon now in your hands.

Turning back to him, red eyed, shaking from the fear which was all you really had anymore. 

“Put it down, please. I-”

“What did you do to me?” your voice cracked around your words, tears streaming down your face.

“I am trying to help you, I didn't lie about that.”

“Well you lied about everything fucking else!” you weeped, pointing the knife in his direction despite the large table in between you two, Joel choosing not to step closer than just inside the doorway. 

“J-just ask me questions and ill answer truthfu-”

“I already asked a question.” you spat out plainly, still shaking where you stood and breathing like a crazed animal.

“Can you put the-”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed deeply, hands open to his side in surrender. “Okay. I'm just doing what you wanted. You begged me to do this so i-”

“Who even are you?” Joel's heart broke even further. “And why do you get that stupid look on your face when I ask you that?”

Joel cradled his face in his hands, clearly trying to settle down his emotions for your sake. To be honest, you found it insulting, as if any other reaction would've been the more ‘correct’ one.

“I wasn't your real doctor.”

“Fucking clearly.” you laughed psychotically as you cried. 

“I wasn't yours long term. But after the time I was, you wanted me to stay yours.”

“You,” you tried to calm your emotions and your tone. “You are a doctor? A real one?”

“Yes.”

“So, I wanted you to be my doctor so just you took me here?”

“I guess close to that. I don't know how much I can say without ruining your progress, i-”

“Fuck progress. I want the truth.”

“NOO, NO NO!” 

Your throat was sore, body heated in terror while your eyes refused to separate your dream from the world in front of you.

The shadow monsters had morphing faces in your sleep, turning into every enemy, traitor and memory of pain. Self made torture you were here to get rid of. 

Here, you knew your name, who you were and even believed yourself most of the time. 

This was when you knew it all, everything you’d later been injected to forget - Joel with the needle in hand. 

Without taking your eyes off the threat, you crawled your hands to the table beside your bed, reaching for any blocky object before firing it in your enemy’s direction.

With a blink, the faceless shadow left seamlessly. 

You hadn't had an episode in a while. Previously recommended to stay in the quiet room, now encouraged to try activities and venture out of your routine of zombie walking. 

Everybody pissed you off. You were not crazy. How is it insane to react to whats right fucking in front of you? Whether it's real or not real. Whether other people see it or don't.

It would be more insane to act normal when your brain treats you the way it does.

You hated your mystery pills. Yes, the ones that had been explained to you countless times while you were too busy thinking of ways to irritate the staff. What's the harm of being crazy if you could make everyone else go a little of the same way?

Obviously not the exact same way though. Yelling at you for being a fuck up isnt the same experience of yelling at invisible monsters. Regardless, you felt less of the monster yourself when you weren't the only angry person in the room.

Every time you said no, they would write it down. God, they write every fucking thing down. Like you were a movie to analyse, a book to annotate, a fucking muse to paint with harsh motions that say “she’s a psycho” accompanied with red paint splashes. 

You wanted to do it yourself. So you write down how you felt, you drew the monsters to expose their real flesh. The flesh you wanted to kill over and over so you could finally so simply just breathe. But they never left. Practically posing for you to recreate. 

You wanted the shadows to bleed. So you broke the black crayon from the pressure you used, digging into the canvas the way they'd stained your mind and memories. Creating them through your own choice for once. 

The next thing got you in trouble.

As much as you didn't care for the other patients, admittedly, they didn't deserve you around. They didn't deserve to watch every crash out. It's not like it was for them, it wasn't for anyone except yourself. 

Maybe you wanted to be scary so that those demons would just leave you alone. You were weak when they came around. Freezing you in half sleep, forcing out sobs and pleas for a life apart from them. You didn't get to be angry when you were petrified that they'd actually finally reach you - touch you in a way you couldn't wash off. A way you couldn't down pills for. A way that would actually kill you this time.

Obviously there were moments you wished they'd just get it over with.

Grabbing a paintbrush you hadn't even used, you flipped the canvas and used the blunt wooden end to stab through the material. Throwing everything you could reach around the room. You must've been screaming too otherwise it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. 

Anyways, it bothered people. Bothered them enough to question their ability to judge your sanity.

‘She was better, we really thought so! She was okay!’

Constant whining and complaining over your uncontrollable and unpredictable behaviour. A babyish part of you did wish it wasn't crazy to consider you to be okay.

Loving him felt pathetic. Thinking he loved you also felt the same.

You could go on and on about his kind eyes and gentle words. Every violent part of you felt like it never existed when he so easily understood you. 

He was also a little mysterious. The special, independent doctor. Came in to be in charge of consenting to all the medical bullshit for you. He had to check first of course, see if you were insane or you could decide these things for yourself. Joel was clearly doing a little more than just that though. 

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“You always ask that so casually.”

“What do you mean?” he smiled simply.

“Like it's a clear yes or no? It's never gonna be that.”

“Of course it isn't. How you feel isn't simple, it isn't simple for anyone to answer.”

“Anyone? You mean normal people.” you mocked, not even knowing what you were testing him for.

“You can argue no one is normal but that would logically mean everyone was normal. You-”

“Logically, why do you always talk fancy?”

“Well, you know, serious job. And I’m just trying to be clear.” he shrugged, changing his professional composure to ease you the way you were asking him to.

Joel didn't make you feel insane. You felt normal, you felt logical. Like the way you worked was so clear to him. 

He felt clear to you too. You could tell he knew he was good at his job. Not in an egotistical way, more like he found relief in doing it well which is why he was so calm all the time.

Patients weren't a process to him, they were people with problems he wanted to help. You were glad you got to be his person. Additionally, you were fully aware you'd stab through countless paintings if Joel came around after. 

“What is it about them that triggers you?”

“The shadows?” he hummed in response. “Well, they don't."

Joel blinked for a second. “Help me understand.”

“It's not the shadows, it's what they remind me of. It's not even seeing them that triggers me, it's the fact I just have them. When the shadows are around I'm back to being that defenceless kid again. I'm weak again. I hate feeling weak - I hate that they just get to happen to me and I can't do shit.”

“You don't get angry at the shadows?”

“Not when they're in front of me. I guess I throw shit but that's out of fear.”

“You don't feel strong when you, in your way, fight them?”

“No. You can't beat something that's not real. I don't feel strong when I'm crying like a baby because of them, even if I throw something at the same time.”

“I understand that.” real understanding. Not the ‘I read that in a textbook’ style understanding. “But you see that they're not real?”

“In a way they are real.”

“Because they remind you what was real, of, how would you put it, your past?”

“My memories i guess? But maybe I'd even say they don't remind me of it, they are my memories. Embodied nightmares if that's not a dramatic way to put it.”

“The way you feel about your experiences isn't dramatic. No one has been through the exact same thing so your responses are the only ones a person could have. It's not whether you are responding correctly, it's the safety of them. That's what we wanna help with.”

You felt your watery eyes. Choosing to laugh at yourself and wipe them away dismissively. “Care to tell everyone else around here that?”

“You don't like how you're treated?” Joel was visibly genuinely concerned now. 

“Thats the thing though. I’m like a lab rat. I’m treated, I'm not helped.”

You could tell his worries unnerved everybody else too. Having you for more meetings than was usual. Sanity checks shouldn't take so long. If he was responsible for consenting for your treatments, Joel explained to you hushedly, he wanted a word in on what treatment that was. 

He didn't want to be like the other people that you hated. He was going to genuinely help. You must've got inside his head somehow - because he stopped acting like the guy that said logically because he wanted to be professional. That had left him. Desperation remained. 

“Sleep okay?”

“Never.” you laughed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its ironic because I'm taking my meds. I'm doing what they say and it isn't working.”

“How does following their advice make you feel?”

“Like a mockery.” you scoffed. “I spent ages not wanting to see if it worked and then I tried and it didn't. So I've got nowhere.”

He fiddled with his papers, reading back past notes more obviously than he usually did. 

Joel sighed to himself. Seeing the eyebags, the bruises on your arms from throwing yourself into walls. You'd had episodes again but in the privacy of your room. You were tired after, but there was relief in them. 

They should've been reported once Joel had first figured out it had happened. He didn't. You'd transferred your lack of care of cooperating into him.

“If you could, let's say, wish to a star. If you could wish for a way to help you, no matter how impossible, what do you think would help?” The fantasy framing of the question made you laugh. Ensuring you knew this was a pure hypothetical. 

“I guess lose my memories.”

“All of them?”

“I don't have many good ones.”

“And the bad ones take up too much space to really have good ones.” he continued your thought for you.

“Clean slate.” you stated. Finishing Joel's hypothetical. 

You watched his eyes flick to your bruises. To your healed scars. The tortured yet persevering look in your eye. 

It was almost scary to see his expression show exactly what he was thinking for once. No doctor mask. 

Joel framed it like a hypothetical but the glint of focus in his eye told you it wasn't like that to him. Getting you better wasn't a dream scenario. He was going to do it.

Lights out. Locking your room for a partial comfort boost as you always did. 

You couldn't sleep before they did their check ups, unlocking your door, red lights to not wake you but enough to see you, locking again on the way out. You curled up like a baby to give them false hope.

You sniffled, wiping at your tears when you were sure they weren't standing outside listening.

It pushed open again, real? Was this fucking real? Oh god you’ve finally fully fucking lost it-

“I, um.” he shut the door behind him. Dark hoodie covering him to contrast the suit you only ever saw him in.

“What the fuck?” you whisper yelled, crawling out from your covers to approach him.

“I know, i shouldnt be here, i, oh my god this was such a bad idea.”

You watched Joel flail over his words, scratch the back of his neck to reveal his nervous habit you’d never seen before. His face was heated, stressed out, practically terrified, and - blushing?

“I shouldn't be here.” he repeated.

“You shouldnt.” you parroted back at him, watching his heart crack hearing it from you. “So why are you?”

His chest rose rapidly with his breaths, but slightly easing when he saw tension leave your face. 

“I wanted to help.”

“You gonna stab my shadows that you can't see?”

“No, I thought I could, uh.” God, did you love having the advantage in a conversation with him for once. “I thought I could make you feel safe. You said I did.”

“You do.” You spoke gently, calming Joel's nerves.

“Can I?”

He settled on your bed, you taking the initiative to move closer - what Joel clearly wanted, you figured, hearing his heartbeat race when you laid against him but settled once you had.

It was wrong. The way he soothed you to sleep, caressing your warm cheeks as he watched your eyelashes flutter then still once you’d drifted off. Joel was giving you a new memory. A good one, a safe one.

The shadows left you that night. They left you every time you slept thinking about that night too. Even when Joel left early in the morning, waking to let you know before so that you didn't feel abandoned. It was quiet.

They didnt try to torture you. You barely even cared for your improvement. All you cared about was the way Joel had shown how he felt about you. The way maybe, you were one and the same. In your own way.

Joel kept his desperation hidden. A practised mask - perhaps a shield as it wasn't as far as fake. He said how he truly felt, he was just less emotionally put together than he showed on the surface.

Calm ‘I'm here to help’ spoken in session, heavy breathed ‘I'll do anything and everything I can for you’ when out of reach from monitoring eyes and ears. 

Affective desperation needs sleep - and Joel became restless. 

“I’m serious, this treatment will work.”

“How do you know?” you tried to be a voice of reason.

“I know it.”

You snuggled closer into his arms, thinking loudly but silently. “Clean slate?”

“Clean slate.”

He was frantic. Unorganised, utterly desperate and no longer able to keep up his facade.

With a deadline forcibly approaching for him to make a decision on your sanity and needs, he pushed himself far now. Pushing his disregard for the treatment process to as far as hating it - mentally spitting on it. 

“So, her mental status is good enough?”

“Yes, but-”

“It is or it isn't." the clinician interrupted, unknowingly fueling Joel's plans.

“Incorrect. If you don't change her treatment plan then her mental stability will only decrease. It's increased since my involvement.”

“Its not your place to tell us how to do our jobs.”

Joel held his breath before sighing quietly, defeated. “I know.”

You didn't get to say goodbye.

Joel disappeared for several weeks. Leaving you confused, growing angry at the company of everyone else because they could never be him. Your episodes came back. The inescapable nightmares came back.

You prayed that he missed you. You prayed that you'd live so permanently in his mind that he’d come back and save you.

Freedom would redeem your sanity, you thought. Love would. Joel would.

Breaking things got you more dismissal. Eye rolls while you sobbed, barely able to be angry anymore because you were so entirely abandoned. They let you act out - waited until your body gave out and you cried kneeling on the floors. 

The security guards would grip your arms tight, bruises undoubtedly forming. Feet sliding across the smooth floors as they put you in a room that prevented you from being a threat.

You sobbed by yourself, gripping your face, aggressive holding while your thoughts reminded you of every way you’d ever been hurt. Left. Hit. Lied to. Used. 

If you could never escape it then you were the only one truly at fault. How dare you be born? How dare you breathe?

You knew yourself better than them. Locking you away didn't actually prevent pain. Your brain couldn't be locked up, and that had always been your worst source of pain.

Going back to your room didn't provide any additional comfort, mind numb and body aching. You laid under covers, staring into the dark and waited for it to kill you. 

The red lights passed by, letting you escape to under the bed, rocking yourself back and forth so the shadows couldn't take over your sight. 

You didn't want to see them. You couldn't bear it anymore. They were ingrained into you, sewn into your mind and skin. Maybe you trapped the monsters inside you yourself. These scars were your willing permanent reminders and the dark figures were your punishment for your self inflicted torture.

The silence of your room wasn't noticeable, screaming and crying blasting inside your mind. Until the door creeped open once again, the way he’d done before.

“Hello?” he whispered, heavy breathed, lost and confused from his lack of sight on you.

You crawled out desperately, chasing the sound of his voice that sent your heart racing in the only positive way you’d ever experienced. Eyes meeting his, you let out a harsh sob. 

Joel rushed down to the floor, cradling your face as tears streamed. The small night light that you had for comfort was the only thing showing him to you, reminding you of how many little things actually helped you. One of them being the man in front of you - and he was here to rescue you.

“I’m so sorry, I'm sorry, i-"

You shook your head dismissively. You didn't care anymore, he was here now. He came back. No one ever came back.

He breathed out harshly, panicked. “Hey, listen to me. We have to go. Like, now.”

Out of confusion you stopped crying. “What do you mean?”

“I have somewhere we can go. I can get you out of here. And I know how to help you.” 

“You-, Joel, I don't understand.”

“I can help you. I know how to stop the monsters.”

“How?” you spat out, blood hot from the fear that this was a mockery.

Those shadows were so ingrained in you that this felt like a hallucination to crumble you down further. Joel calmed his breathing, settling down in front of you more comfortably to ease your worry. 

“I made something. A medicine and treatment scheme that can get rid of your memories. No memories, no monsters. But I can help you regain the necessary ones, ones that don't hurt you. A-and we can make more ones, good ones. Clean slate, remember?”

Clean was never a word you thought you'd be able to describe yourself with. This life also wasn't one you wanted anymore. Your previous attempt to leave this world is what got you here in the first place.

Joel was offering to take you away from this building, he was offering to fix you. Any concern for risk wasn’t present. 

You took his hand, following him, trusting him practically blindly. 

Surely it's not like you could get any worse, could you?

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m n-”

“What about the people I saw? The cameras? The documenting of everything, the rules you followed that you didn't want to? You were obeying someone, Joel."

“You! I was obeying you!”

Your breath hitched, anger and confusion filling you. 

“Your patient code? That was how many fucking times we had to repeat the process. You couldn't handle it, I tried everything, I tried telling you, I tried not telling you. You were so lost, you couldn't take it.”

A glassy layer covered his eyes, feet unsteady from heartbreak. There was only hatred in your eyes.

“The only time you responded calmly was with the act I learnt I had to go along with. You assumed I was your doctor, you assumed you were stuck here. You assumed that you’d get better and then you would leave and that was comfort enough. I followed along because you needed it. I never wanted to lie to you.”

The grip on the knife was forceful, enough to make your hand shake from the pressure. You refused to remove its point from towards Joel, unable to let go of your anger. This wasn't the time to be weak.

“You saw what you wanted to see. I just let you.” he continued. 

The stunned doctors in the surveillance room were your own voiceless stuffed animals. The abusive guards were your episodes where you threw yourself into walls, desperate to escape the shadows that haunted you. The rat was your own fucking pet. 

Was anything fucking real?

Were those broken moments where you begged your room’s emptiness for company, those moments where your wishes were granted, was Joel ever actually there? 

Those hours you spent crying because Joel ended your sessions was because of you? 

Your insanity forced him to leave you, forced him to follow out this emotionless act that only in health could you see through it. 

Your instability had endlessly tortured you, even in times you were ‘better’, it was the very reason you were here now. 

You couldn't escape the monsters. Cursed into your fucking blood, monsters were enough that human experimentation was an easier life to live with. 

Joel couldn't fix you. Love couldn't fix you. 

The knife fell from your hands, tired of listening to Joel explain every detail of how corrupted your mind had unknowingly become.

He ran towards you, catching you in his arms as your body tried to collapse to the floor. Tears and loud sobs heaved out of you. Tears for the lies, the pain, the scars, the lost memories explaining your sewn on pain, tears for your entire self.

You were exhausted. You couldn’t bare it, you hated everything and everyone and you hated yourself for the fact you were still in this fucking place, this fucking world. 

Out of instinct, you clung onto Joel. Listening to how he tried to soothe you, waiting for his suggestions to simply heal you. 

Your heart stung inside your chest. A heavy tumour you wanted to cut out. 

“We can stop. Just live now.” he whispered delicately. 

Your cries stopped. The idea of moving away from all this was the only chance you had - but not with him. You didn't trust him, you couldn't bear him anymore.

You placed your hand on his chest gently, little force but pushing him away from you. His eyes were wide and afraid but he followed your command. You let go of him, of the only person that had ever hoped in you, the person who was an embodiment of twisted hope and patience. 

You were sick. You craved hope, you craved love. This wasn't love. This was sick. He was sick.

“Get out.” you spat out.

“W-what?”

“Go.”

“You can’t do this-”

“I need to get better. Not getting my mind and body contorted to go with your fucking experiments.”

“Yes, we can do that, but it's not safe to do that alone,”

“I don't care.” Tears kept falling. 

Joel breathed heavily. “Please.”

“No. I will work on myself. Alone.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

Your mouth formed a deep frown as you thought. “Then you bring me food. And anything I want. But we don't talk. I don't see you. I’ll leave a note on the door and there's no other contact.”

“I don't understand, i-” he choked sobs, “I did this for you, it's what you wanted.”

“You did it for you. I was sick.”

“I did this to help you! I want to help you! I want to take care of you - I need to!”

“And you can do that by leaving me the fuck alone!” you yelled out as you began sobbing again. “For once in my fucking life, i dont want to be sick. If I leave you in my life, it makes me an idiot, it makes me sick. Letting you treat me means I'm sick.”

“But- but I love you!” he cried out.

“I don't want you!” you yelled. 

You sobbed and he watched. You curled your body into itself and he watched. Your breaths stopped and started, hyperventilating as your body grew fearful of yourself. 

“Get OUT! GET OUT!” you screeched, noticing the way Joel was now afraid of you too.

Clean.

You made the house your own. Throwing out everything that disgusted you - everything fake, everything of Joel’s. Adding new wallpaper, new paintings of your own, making your house for the version of you that you wanted to be.

The shadows didn't leave you alone. You learnt to cope. Learning to fear them less took time, but it helped. They simply became a factor in your life, ones you dealt with as they came.

The peace was loud sometimes. The ability to do whatever you wanted was a heavy concept, but you learnt to cope. 

Your rat died. Naturally, happily. You’d spent time together beforehand, enough to feel the emotions of the memories you and your pet must've shared in your previous life. You lived together, and your sick selves died together. 

The tv and phone gave you the outside world. In a way that was compact, a way you could simply remove yourself from by letting go. You did the same when it came for Joel. Learn to lose the lump of guilt in your throat that you got when you peered out your window, watching Joel while he dropped off your shopping. He never knew you watched, he only hoped you did. He hoped you saw how he was trying, following orders, the way he thought he was doing for you before.

This time you knew it was truly what you wanted. You let him take breaths at your doorstep, let him approach the door to knock but stop himself before breaking the silence. 

You let him walk away. You needed him to walk away.

Then he didn't.

Your body froze in the doorway to the front room, eyes wide and staring daggers into Joel.

“I’m sorry, it was late, you uh, you asked for frozen food and i thought you were asleep so i-i wanted to put it away for you.”

You didn't doubt it was the truth. It was just the knowledge he chose to get the food this late, deliver it at a time that gave him the excuse to come in. 

“Okay.” you calmly stated, watching as he did what he told you he was doing.

Joel looked over to you, eyes gentle. “Hey uh, can i cook for you? You can say no, I just, I miss you. I want us to be okay, I want us to be normal.” Your face didn't change. Emotionless. Flat. 

“Tommorow. Dinner.” Your tone had a lack of indication to any kind of feeling, but your words were enough for him.

“R-really?”

“Yeah.”

“I-, what do you wanna eat?” he chucked, feeling relief for the first time in months and months

“I don't mind.” you smiled simply. “You pick.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

He had finished packing things away, smiling wide and feeling close to you again despite the three metres between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Joel spoke up gently.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You leaned into the doorframe. Showing calm, letting him let his guard down completely. 

He smiled to himself as he left. Smiling on the way home, laughing at the imaginary ways he thought the next night could play out. 

Joel was nervous walking back in, smoothing out his picked out clothes, fixing his hair. He needed it to be perfect. 

You weren't around, making Joel decide to get started on cooking, hoping it would alert you of his presence. But then the quiet got deafening. The lack of lights in the hallways as the sun set. The lack of noise, the lack of you.

His fearful steps were light, searching every room he was less convinced you were in, until he reached your bedroom. He pushed the half open door, breaths heavy as blood rushed through his body.

Evidence of you was all that was left. Your possessions, the way you’d shifted the house to the life you wanted, every reminder that you existed was there. But you weren't. 

No body. No face. No smile, no laugh. No love left for him.

The love for yourself and the you that you wanted to be was soaking in the air. Joel breathed your air one last time, picturing you a thousand miles from here by now. 

Joel was left with the memory of you. Your life was now your own. 

im so so proud of this I think :3 please let me know what you guys think !! and let me know if you want to be added onto my taglist for future works :>

[finco99]

Holy. Fuck.

Reading through this was so overwhelmingly disorienting. This two parter had me GRIPPED. I'm so fkn glad you tagged in the first part of of this fic, cuz I had zero idea what I was nosediving into.

Ngl, the way felt her panic and anxiety ramping up while reading through this part. I felt like I was forgetting how to breathe and had to actively remind myself to take a breathe at multiple points in the story.

No joke, I've never come across anybody who's written a psychological thriller this real for me to experience. The way you've freaking structured this, holy SHIT. Like ofc, fair warning to anybody reading this, but my god was powering through this one rewarding.

I'm literally in awe of how this fic had shaped up.

[mimi-miller]

I could literally cry with how much you appreciate my writing, ur the sweetest ever 😭😭 thank you SOOOO MUCH for reading !!!!

[mimi-miller]

PART TWO (final)

𖦹 synopsis: patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

𖦹 warnings: human experimentation, hallucinations, Stockholm syndrome, blood, fighting, SUICIDE ATTEMPT !! (attempted drowning and self smothering), medication/drug usage, anger, heavy confusion, vomit, depression, lots of suicide idealation, mentions of SH and scars, numbness, dissociation, use of needles, nightmares, paranoia, psych wards, aggressive reader due to emotional instability, use of knife to threaten joel, lots of cursing, unprofessional behaviour by joel, slight comfort ending.

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @daddieslittleladie @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @rhaenassance @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

no pressure tags: (interacted with my other posts so u might like this one !!) :> : @luvp1nk @starrynightsarise @rad4bean @nourlh @raebabexo @ghulmayhem @fishingforpike @babielli @lucymmiller @pleurspetal @ainhoetaaa @urmomsmattress @secretlettersfromyourlove @soflipped @blackwidow-carter @inalovemazeloop @keylimebeag @idkhhhhi

chapter one // chapter two.

𖦹 wc: 8.3k ( two part series )

You wouldn't describe your relationship with Joel as a relationship - you wouldn't describe it as anything really. 

In spite of that, Joel implied a lot that you were something. Ironically, even he didn't know what to class it as.

Maybe you let him get close for a sense of control. You had a feeling of secret knowing from the fact you were more reluctant than you let on. An inner monologue convincing yourself that you were doing it for safety, letting him feel like this ‘connection’ was reciprocated so you felt he was the naive one. It helped a little to make up for the fact you didn't really understand anything that was happening to you.

Joel stayed close. Clearly concerned, which didn't ease your anxieties. 

It was several weeks of pure agony. He refused to give you medication for it; resulting in many occasions where you would pass out from the pain. Sometimes the talking was comforting, Joel muttering (basically to himself) about the drugs he was working on. He’d describe it to you, explaining it, letting you know how it worked and what it did. When the pain started to wear off, you wished you'd paid more attention to his speeches. Now you were back to square one of not knowing what the fuck you were even here for.

Cheery seemed a weird word but was the most accurate for describing Joel's mood change when he noticed the longer absences of pain in your body. A part of you thought you should act, pretend you were still unbearably sick so he wouldn't make you leave the bed. You didn't want the trials, the feeling that you were constantly watched and overheard. Just Joel and him only sometimes was easier. 

He fed the rat. Also told you to name it. Naming a rat when Joel refused to tell you your own felt like a mockery. So you just dismissed his request every time he brought it up. You liked having a lack of self in common with the animal. 

The withdrawals from the drugs had an unbearable amount of not only symptoms but humiliating ones. Constant runny nose and sweat made you feel disgusting, not at all like someone who could use emotional tactics against Joel to get him on side to set you free from this place. Joel kept bringing you the same cloth, cleaning it in between days but the repetition seemed to bug you. You knew you were trapped in a place, and similar days made it feel like a fucking time loop that was hopeless to daydream about escaping from. 

Something sick happened the day you woke up painless. 

Usually you'd have a pulse thumping in your skull, even a little was enough to know you were still suffering. Now there was nothing. Physically. 

You stared at the ceiling from when you woke up and until Joel came in. It could've been hours and you wouldn't have known. Not a single part of you cared to keep track, usually would have called out for him specifically, alerting him you were awake. Alerting him you wanted him there, taking care of you. 

No part of you wanted him. No part of you wanted anything. Again, there was nothing. Nothing painful but purely nothing at all. Emotionally and physically empty. 

He must've assumed you were hurting. Logical assumption due to previous days of living in so much torture that all you could do was nothing. Now you were laying, wishing to see, hear, feel nothing, live as pure nothing. That or to be able to scream and kill everyone that was involved in you being here. 

Turns out the only skill you had was consistent not knowing. You would somehow always miss important details he told you - dissociating from either pain or pure emotional exhaustion so everything just happened to you. Now you just let it. 

Joel pulled you out of bed, gently, guiding every movement. He led you out the room, lights blaring through your eyes making everything virtually invisible. You didn't really want to leave your room, but not a single limb decided to take action.

Yet. 

With the way your feet dragged from your almost lack of consciousness, Joel took the initiative to pull you into his grasp. Supporting you, making your legs instinctively wrap around his torso and your head rest on his shoulder as he carried you. You let your eyes rest. 

You didn't want to relax into him. You didn't want to be near him or anyone or any kind of tool he had prepared to test you. You realised your only true wish in that moment was to be dead. But you weren't, and you couldn't make that happen with Joel's constant surveillance. 

Yet.

He set you down on your bare feet, the cold surface sending a rush up your spine. The most you’d felt that day so far; and it was just cold. It felt like a waste of a feeling. 

Joel was reluctant to let go of you, walking you backwards while your eyelids remained heavy and almost closed. His hand remained on the small of your back, touching the fabric of the hospital nightgown you tended to forget you had on. It was less intimidating to imagine yourself in typical clothing since it gave you faux confidence in knowing you weren't actually someone insane.

Yet. 

A cold surface pressed against your back, Joel seemingly securing you in place in front of it. He kissed your cheek, sparking the first urge to actually do something you had that day: punch him. Another part of you competed, a part of you that didn't mind him doing it - which kind of made you want to punch him more, then maybe hit your head against the wall to punish yourself. You didn't move to hurt him.

Yet.

Joel was still. Hands twitching like he was waiting for the right moment to do something. To move. But he didn't. Not yet. 

Maybe you knew. Maybe your brain had temporarily become connected to some power after your suffering. It sparked you into action but it didn't surprise you. Like you knew it was going to happen. As if it had happened before. Maybe it had. 

Your body made the move before you even formed the thought for it. 

Joel jolted back, hand hesitant to touch his face as he felt the blood begin to spill out his nose. His eyes were wide, confused. You didn't feel the muscles in your face form a reaction so you were sure you didn't show one at all. It definitely didn't ease the fear in his eyes. 

You flattened your gown back down, holding the hem protectively and moving it back to where it was before he moved it as you held eye contact with Joel.

“I wasn't- i-i didn't think you were, i don't know, awake.”

You just stared. Mouth closed, body waiting. Numb. still numb. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything bad.”

His voice sounded increasingly muffled, like your brain didn't want to listen - wanting to shut him out, ignore him, be away from him the only way you could.  

“I-i get that you're upset, okay?” he held his hands to his side in surrender, still standing a couple meters away from you for a mix of his safety and your comfort. “But I need you to turn around.”

He started to walk sideways, around the centre of the room where you only now processed you were standing. You followed his movements, in turn appearing to turn around just as he requested. 

The cold surface behind you had been a tub. The material cold but the water warm as evident from the steam. Out of instinct you dipped your hand in, the heat didn't spark anything in you like you hoped. Maybe hope was a strong word. You didn't feel or want anything. Maybe you just expected it - and expected it wrongly. 

“I was gonna help you get in.” your eyes met his again. “You get like this a lot. Quiet. I thought maybe it was the meds. You've kind of always been on them. But there's none left in you.”

‘None left in you’ felt like a very non-specific sentence that could apply to a number of the ways you felt or didn't feel in that moment. You weren't even angry at him despite the fact you hit him. You weren't much of anything. There really was nothing left. 

You stepped in, holding the edge and putting your left foot into the water first. With both feet in, you kneeled down, shifting around to start laying on your back. You didn't look at Joel. Maybe your mind forgot he was there out of the wish that he wasn't. 

The water pushed up to cover your ears, working on submerging you fully as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the tub. Your fingers worked slowly, gripping the hem of your gown, suddenly pulling it up harshly, sending water splashing as you finally gained adrenaline. 

You covered your face with the mass of fabric, covering it like a full head mask, wrapping over and over, tighter and tighter. You tried to breathe in as much water as you could, beginning to choke and hoping you’d secured yourself enough to compete with your body’s natural impulses to try and survive.

Body shaking, choking, switching, kicking and fighting. Mind versus body. Joel rushed to the smothering material over your face, hopelessly pulling, attempting to rip. You fought him off as much as you could, convincing your brain he was the true enemy you needed to fight off. Your back arched now, dying quicker now, but less able to try. The moment your hands could no longer push and slap him away, he gripped your shoulder and tugged you up. 

The fabric only got heavier, weighing down your head from how tight you'd secured it around you. 

You choked and sputtered, feeling Joel hurry with every strength he had to find an end to the gown. You heard the tear before you felt it release you. As soon as you felt air, you coughed loudly, a burning in your throat urging your head to tip over the bath to vomit outside of the water you were still laying in. 

All you could do was rest your head on the edge, working on your breathing. You felt the cold air of the room on your back, processing your nudity. You were faced away from Joel, hearing his sniffles and cries from behind you. 

Now you rested your forehead on the ledge. You felt the thin flat top of it, shifting your head to feel its slightly sharp corner. In the next moment you didn't think. You just pulled back quickly and smashed your head against it. 

When you moved your head back again to repeat the action, you felt your face grabbed forcefully, restrained. 

His mouth was moving, probably yelling at you. You didn't hear it. You watched the way the corners of his lips were tilted down, he was speaking through his sobs, tears streaming down his face that joined the smeared blood by his nose. 

But you didn't hear it. You didn't know what he was saying. You didn't know anything. You didn't feel anything emotionally - all you had was the pulsing heat in the centre of your forehead and the liquid that started to spill from it. And you had Joel. His hands were secure against your face but not harsh. How he managed it, you didn't know. 

Your eyelids felt heavy again. You weren't tired. You felt dead. You wanted to be. 

You didn't know it in the moment. 

You relaxed into his grip, finding the slightest comfort in being held enough to fall asleep - unaware that this was another of those ghost events. Phantom scenes of your life. Not that they didn't happen, but moments you wouldn't remember. 

Now you were sure you were somewhere else. 

Wooden floors, wooden panelling on the walls, barely functioning lights. The animal you felt equal to was no longer your ‘roommate’. 

For some reason it felt like a punishment. Removed from a cell that, despite the fact it filled you with anxieties and bad memories, it was clean. It didn't mirror your stained mind and soul. This room did. 

Crooked dirty steps led up to a door, one you didn't feel inclined to leave at all. As much as you felt like you were buried into a roomy coffin, it was your own. Leaving made room for monsters, pain, accidents. Curling yourself into a ball was the safest you felt.

The last thing you remembered was throwing up. Collapsed on the floor, whether it happened here or the other place, you weren't sure. 

Joel had been there - soothing you, taking care of you. 

Just as your wish had turned from needing him next to you now, into guilt for giving in, he cracked open the door.

He walked down cautiously. Maybe he didn't want to wake you. Maybe he was carrying a needle. Your thoughts spiralled, picturing him evil and carrying the new medication he reminded you over and over he was making. 

You knew it was pathetic but you truly wanted him. Just to feel like you weren't dying, you weren't alone, you weren't abandoned and you only felt that if Joel was there.

His hands were empty. 

it felt quite pure, hands in general usually reminding you of pain and threat while Joel came to you with no such monster attached to him. 

you processed your thoughts. resulting in deciding to deem yourself truly crazy for feeling this way about him.

your mind needed a barrier, emotional protection to prevent yourself from falling even easier into the safety he had to be faking. 

a level of pity for him remained though. He must've cared but was all this your will? Was it what you wanted? 

if you couldn't tell then surely it wasn't. 

you wanted to shove that empathy down, until you noticed the damage and bruises on his face. 

you practically leaped out of your bed in an attempt to cradle his face. 

none of your movements were balanced, knees giving out from a lack of practice in moving due to your previous sickness. 

Joel caught you in his arms, enough for you to manage to hold his face in your hands - your desperation to analyse his wounds had been allowed, partially.

“Hey, no no, stay in your bed.” 

“What happened?!”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, slowly walking you backwards to place you back onto your bed. When he tried to step away, you held his shirt to prevent him. 

All he could do was avoid your gaze, sighing gently in a lack of want for this conversation. You didn't understand why. It motivated you to push further. 

“a-are you in trouble? Who hit you?” 

“its not important, im here to-”

“What? of course it is.” 

As much as he appreciated your concern, it worried him. You needed to improve and the need to switch medication had already been a big enough set back. 

“I can't talk to you about this.” 

Joel used a harsh tone and he hated every second of it. 

He watched the light of concern die in your eyes, the rudeness of his words had been enough for you to no longer care who hit him, maybe even want to hit him yourself a little bit.

You pushed him a step away from you gently, letting go of his shirt. 

Joel knelt to the floor in front of your bed. you mocked him in your head - a second of your rejection and he went back to begging you for something. 

“Hey. You okay if we go to the session room and do our questions?”

“No meds?”

“Gotta see if you need them first.”

“What? you mean i might not?”

“if you're okay, you don't need meds. Means the treatment worked. But I have to make sure you really are okay.”

You were full of energy now, excited for the possibility of this psychological torture ending. 

“You mean I might be okay? Fixed? Does that mean I get to leave?” 

The joy in your voice at the idea of leaving him cut Joel deeply. Despite your painful memories gone, good ones of him were the price. You didn't care about him. You didn't want him. 

A selfish thought flickered in his mind, wanting you just a little sad, a little broken, just enough for you to still need him. 

What responsibility came first was a conflicted conversation in his mind, his love for you or his job he needed to fulfill. 

“We can figure that out later.” he stated with a lack of emotion, somehow revealing everything he was feeling to you nonetheless. 

Joel took your hand as he walked you to the steps; you let him.

Just as you became accustomed to walking again, the lights behind the door disturbed your comfort. 

The sight was only half what you expected. 

It looked to be a relatively small house, white sheets placed over furniture like the objects wanted to remain anonymous, floors relatively empty to give you a clear pathway. 

You didn't entirely understand why you had been taken to this other place. Had he got in trouble?

“Where are we?” you braved the question, quite sure he wasn't going to give you the answer. 

“I still can't tell you.” he dismissed calmly. 

“How long have I been here? And dont tell me you can't tell me or I'm going back down those stairs.” you partially joked.

“stairs?”

“what?”

he peered down at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he kept walking you down the hall. “nevermind.”

“soooo?”

“about a year and a half.” 

“no, I mean here.” you corrected him. 

“yeah, a year and-” 

“Here, Joel. here.” you stopped the both of you, gripping his shirt to make him halt and face you as you questioned him. “This place is different, we haven't been here the whole time.” 

His eyes slightly widened in realisation of something, but in such a way that you felt you were missing something. It angered you, rising heat up your spine. 

Then you realised you weren't feeling angry, you just felt unsafe. You felt your heart pump like it wanted to escape your chest. 

“We haven't been here the whole time. right? th-this place is different, w-we were at a hospital before. this is a house.” he refused to speak, or maybe wasn't able to. “Joel, tell me we haven't been here the whole time.” 

The fear in his eyes and hesitancy to speak was all you needed.

You breathed out deeply, shoving him away from you with all the force you could manage. Your heartbeat echoed throughout your blood, making you increasingly unbalanced. 

Steadying yourself by following the walls with your hands, you managed to find a doorway. Your eyes blurred from the tears caused by adrenaline. Desperate to ignore the lump in your throat, you pushed it open. 

If there was ever a room you shouldn't be in when you felt violent, it was a kitchen. 

How could so much exist right in front of you? How did you never see it? Why did Joel go along with it? 

You felt his presence behind you, motivating your body to move further into the room, pulling every drawer open with force. Every empty outcome felt like yourself reflected back at you, empty, draining the life from you, making you more angry, more likely to end up just cracking your own neck because there was nothing here for you. 

“Listen!” he called out, sending anxiety flooding your blood and all you could do was yell out, screaming, crying, sobbing while you tried not to process the fact you were going to have to go through this defenceless. 

Finally you were given something, enough to shut you up and freeze your body in realisation. Enough forks, knives, spoons for two people. The extra knife is what possessed you, taller, bigger, sharper and screaming at you to take it.

“Wait. Please, let me explain,” your ears were numb to his words, your entire mind focusing on the weapon now in your hands.

Turning back to him, red eyed, shaking from the fear which was all you really had anymore. 

“Put it down, please. I-”

“What did you do to me?” your voice cracked around your words, tears streaming down your face.

“I am trying to help you, I didn't lie about that.”

“Well you lied about everything fucking else!” you weeped, pointing the knife in his direction despite the large table in between you two, Joel choosing not to step closer than just inside the doorway. 

“J-just ask me questions and ill answer truthfu-”

“I already asked a question.” you spat out plainly, still shaking where you stood and breathing like a crazed animal.

“Can you put the-”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed deeply, hands open to his side in surrender. “Okay. I'm just doing what you wanted. You begged me to do this so i-”

“Who even are you?” Joel's heart broke even further. “And why do you get that stupid look on your face when I ask you that?”

Joel cradled his face in his hands, clearly trying to settle down his emotions for your sake. To be honest, you found it insulting, as if any other reaction would've been the more ‘correct’ one.

“I wasn't your real doctor.”

“Fucking clearly.” you laughed psychotically as you cried. 

“I wasn't yours long term. But after the time I was, you wanted me to stay yours.”

“You,” you tried to calm your emotions and your tone. “You are a doctor? A real one?”

“Yes.”

“So, I wanted you to be my doctor so just you took me here?”

“I guess close to that. I don't know how much I can say without ruining your progress, i-”

“Fuck progress. I want the truth.”

“NOO, NO NO!” 

Your throat was sore, body heated in terror while your eyes refused to separate your dream from the world in front of you.

The shadow monsters had morphing faces in your sleep, turning into every enemy, traitor and memory of pain. Self made torture you were here to get rid of. 

Here, you knew your name, who you were and even believed yourself most of the time. 

This was when you knew it all, everything you’d later been injected to forget - Joel with the needle in hand. 

Without taking your eyes off the threat, you crawled your hands to the table beside your bed, reaching for any blocky object before firing it in your enemy’s direction.

With a blink, the faceless shadow left seamlessly. 

You hadn't had an episode in a while. Previously recommended to stay in the quiet room, now encouraged to try activities and venture out of your routine of zombie walking. 

Everybody pissed you off. You were not crazy. How is it insane to react to whats right fucking in front of you? Whether it's real or not real. Whether other people see it or don't.

It would be more insane to act normal when your brain treats you the way it does.

You hated your mystery pills. Yes, the ones that had been explained to you countless times while you were too busy thinking of ways to irritate the staff. What's the harm of being crazy if you could make everyone else go a little of the same way?

Obviously not the exact same way though. Yelling at you for being a fuck up isnt the same experience of yelling at invisible monsters. Regardless, you felt less of the monster yourself when you weren't the only angry person in the room.

Every time you said no, they would write it down. God, they write every fucking thing down. Like you were a movie to analyse, a book to annotate, a fucking muse to paint with harsh motions that say “she’s a psycho” accompanied with red paint splashes. 

You wanted to do it yourself. So you write down how you felt, you drew the monsters to expose their real flesh. The flesh you wanted to kill over and over so you could finally so simply just breathe. But they never left. Practically posing for you to recreate. 

You wanted the shadows to bleed. So you broke the black crayon from the pressure you used, digging into the canvas the way they'd stained your mind and memories. Creating them through your own choice for once. 

The next thing got you in trouble.

As much as you didn't care for the other patients, admittedly, they didn't deserve you around. They didn't deserve to watch every crash out. It's not like it was for them, it wasn't for anyone except yourself. 

Maybe you wanted to be scary so that those demons would just leave you alone. You were weak when they came around. Freezing you in half sleep, forcing out sobs and pleas for a life apart from them. You didn't get to be angry when you were petrified that they'd actually finally reach you - touch you in a way you couldn't wash off. A way you couldn't down pills for. A way that would actually kill you this time.

Obviously there were moments you wished they'd just get it over with.

Grabbing a paintbrush you hadn't even used, you flipped the canvas and used the blunt wooden end to stab through the material. Throwing everything you could reach around the room. You must've been screaming too otherwise it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. 

Anyways, it bothered people. Bothered them enough to question their ability to judge your sanity.

‘She was better, we really thought so! She was okay!’

Constant whining and complaining over your uncontrollable and unpredictable behaviour. A babyish part of you did wish it wasn't crazy to consider you to be okay.

Loving him felt pathetic. Thinking he loved you also felt the same.

You could go on and on about his kind eyes and gentle words. Every violent part of you felt like it never existed when he so easily understood you. 

He was also a little mysterious. The special, independent doctor. Came in to be in charge of consenting to all the medical bullshit for you. He had to check first of course, see if you were insane or you could decide these things for yourself. Joel was clearly doing a little more than just that though. 

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“You always ask that so casually.”

“What do you mean?” he smiled simply.

“Like it's a clear yes or no? It's never gonna be that.”

“Of course it isn't. How you feel isn't simple, it isn't simple for anyone to answer.”

“Anyone? You mean normal people.” you mocked, not even knowing what you were testing him for.

“You can argue no one is normal but that would logically mean everyone was normal. You-”

“Logically, why do you always talk fancy?”

“Well, you know, serious job. And I’m just trying to be clear.” he shrugged, changing his professional composure to ease you the way you were asking him to.

Joel didn't make you feel insane. You felt normal, you felt logical. Like the way you worked was so clear to him. 

He felt clear to you too. You could tell he knew he was good at his job. Not in an egotistical way, more like he found relief in doing it well which is why he was so calm all the time.

Patients weren't a process to him, they were people with problems he wanted to help. You were glad you got to be his person. Additionally, you were fully aware you'd stab through countless paintings if Joel came around after. 

“What is it about them that triggers you?”

“The shadows?” he hummed in response. “Well, they don't."

Joel blinked for a second. “Help me understand.”

“It's not the shadows, it's what they remind me of. It's not even seeing them that triggers me, it's the fact I just have them. When the shadows are around I'm back to being that defenceless kid again. I'm weak again. I hate feeling weak - I hate that they just get to happen to me and I can't do shit.”

“You don't get angry at the shadows?”

“Not when they're in front of me. I guess I throw shit but that's out of fear.”

“You don't feel strong when you, in your way, fight them?”

“No. You can't beat something that's not real. I don't feel strong when I'm crying like a baby because of them, even if I throw something at the same time.”

“I understand that.” real understanding. Not the ‘I read that in a textbook’ style understanding. “But you see that they're not real?”

“In a way they are real.”

“Because they remind you what was real, of, how would you put it, your past?”

“My memories i guess? But maybe I'd even say they don't remind me of it, they are my memories. Embodied nightmares if that's not a dramatic way to put it.”

“The way you feel about your experiences isn't dramatic. No one has been through the exact same thing so your responses are the only ones a person could have. It's not whether you are responding correctly, it's the safety of them. That's what we wanna help with.”

You felt your watery eyes. Choosing to laugh at yourself and wipe them away dismissively. “Care to tell everyone else around here that?”

“You don't like how you're treated?” Joel was visibly genuinely concerned now. 

“Thats the thing though. I’m like a lab rat. I’m treated, I'm not helped.”

You could tell his worries unnerved everybody else too. Having you for more meetings than was usual. Sanity checks shouldn't take so long. If he was responsible for consenting for your treatments, Joel explained to you hushedly, he wanted a word in on what treatment that was. 

He didn't want to be like the other people that you hated. He was going to genuinely help. You must've got inside his head somehow - because he stopped acting like the guy that said logically because he wanted to be professional. That had left him. Desperation remained. 

“Sleep okay?”

“Never.” you laughed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its ironic because I'm taking my meds. I'm doing what they say and it isn't working.”

“How does following their advice make you feel?”

“Like a mockery.” you scoffed. “I spent ages not wanting to see if it worked and then I tried and it didn't. So I've got nowhere.”

He fiddled with his papers, reading back past notes more obviously than he usually did. 

Joel sighed to himself. Seeing the eyebags, the bruises on your arms from throwing yourself into walls. You'd had episodes again but in the privacy of your room. You were tired after, but there was relief in them. 

They should've been reported once Joel had first figured out it had happened. He didn't. You'd transferred your lack of care of cooperating into him.

“If you could, let's say, wish to a star. If you could wish for a way to help you, no matter how impossible, what do you think would help?” The fantasy framing of the question made you laugh. Ensuring you knew this was a pure hypothetical. 

“I guess lose my memories.”

“All of them?”

“I don't have many good ones.”

“And the bad ones take up too much space to really have good ones.” he continued your thought for you.

“Clean slate.” you stated. Finishing Joel's hypothetical. 

You watched his eyes flick to your bruises. To your healed scars. The tortured yet persevering look in your eye. 

It was almost scary to see his expression show exactly what he was thinking for once. No doctor mask. 

Joel framed it like a hypothetical but the glint of focus in his eye told you it wasn't like that to him. Getting you better wasn't a dream scenario. He was going to do it.

Lights out. Locking your room for a partial comfort boost as you always did. 

You couldn't sleep before they did their check ups, unlocking your door, red lights to not wake you but enough to see you, locking again on the way out. You curled up like a baby to give them false hope.

You sniffled, wiping at your tears when you were sure they weren't standing outside listening.

It pushed open again, real? Was this fucking real? Oh god you’ve finally fully fucking lost it-

“I, um.” he shut the door behind him. Dark hoodie covering him to contrast the suit you only ever saw him in.

“What the fuck?” you whisper yelled, crawling out from your covers to approach him.

“I know, i shouldnt be here, i, oh my god this was such a bad idea.”

You watched Joel flail over his words, scratch the back of his neck to reveal his nervous habit you’d never seen before. His face was heated, stressed out, practically terrified, and - blushing?

“I shouldn't be here.” he repeated.

“You shouldnt.” you parroted back at him, watching his heart crack hearing it from you. “So why are you?”

His chest rose rapidly with his breaths, but slightly easing when he saw tension leave your face. 

“I wanted to help.”

“You gonna stab my shadows that you can't see?”

“No, I thought I could, uh.” God, did you love having the advantage in a conversation with him for once. “I thought I could make you feel safe. You said I did.”

“You do.” You spoke gently, calming Joel's nerves.

“Can I?”

He settled on your bed, you taking the initiative to move closer - what Joel clearly wanted, you figured, hearing his heartbeat race when you laid against him but settled once you had.

It was wrong. The way he soothed you to sleep, caressing your warm cheeks as he watched your eyelashes flutter then still once you’d drifted off. Joel was giving you a new memory. A good one, a safe one.

The shadows left you that night. They left you every time you slept thinking about that night too. Even when Joel left early in the morning, waking to let you know before so that you didn't feel abandoned. It was quiet.

They didnt try to torture you. You barely even cared for your improvement. All you cared about was the way Joel had shown how he felt about you. The way maybe, you were one and the same. In your own way.

Joel kept his desperation hidden. A practised mask - perhaps a shield as it wasn't as far as fake. He said how he truly felt, he was just less emotionally put together than he showed on the surface.

Calm ‘I'm here to help’ spoken in session, heavy breathed ‘I'll do anything and everything I can for you’ when out of reach from monitoring eyes and ears. 

Affective desperation needs sleep - and Joel became restless. 

“I’m serious, this treatment will work.”

“How do you know?” you tried to be a voice of reason.

“I know it.”

You snuggled closer into his arms, thinking loudly but silently. “Clean slate?”

“Clean slate.”

He was frantic. Unorganised, utterly desperate and no longer able to keep up his facade.

With a deadline forcibly approaching for him to make a decision on your sanity and needs, he pushed himself far now. Pushing his disregard for the treatment process to as far as hating it - mentally spitting on it. 

“So, her mental status is good enough?”

“Yes, but-”

“It is or it isn't." the clinician interrupted, unknowingly fueling Joel's plans.

“Incorrect. If you don't change her treatment plan then her mental stability will only decrease. It's increased since my involvement.”

“Its not your place to tell us how to do our jobs.”

Joel held his breath before sighing quietly, defeated. “I know.”

You didn't get to say goodbye.

Joel disappeared for several weeks. Leaving you confused, growing angry at the company of everyone else because they could never be him. Your episodes came back. The inescapable nightmares came back.

You prayed that he missed you. You prayed that you'd live so permanently in his mind that he’d come back and save you.

Freedom would redeem your sanity, you thought. Love would. Joel would.

Breaking things got you more dismissal. Eye rolls while you sobbed, barely able to be angry anymore because you were so entirely abandoned. They let you act out - waited until your body gave out and you cried kneeling on the floors. 

The security guards would grip your arms tight, bruises undoubtedly forming. Feet sliding across the smooth floors as they put you in a room that prevented you from being a threat.

You sobbed by yourself, gripping your face, aggressive holding while your thoughts reminded you of every way you’d ever been hurt. Left. Hit. Lied to. Used. 

If you could never escape it then you were the only one truly at fault. How dare you be born? How dare you breathe?

You knew yourself better than them. Locking you away didn't actually prevent pain. Your brain couldn't be locked up, and that had always been your worst source of pain.

Going back to your room didn't provide any additional comfort, mind numb and body aching. You laid under covers, staring into the dark and waited for it to kill you. 

The red lights passed by, letting you escape to under the bed, rocking yourself back and forth so the shadows couldn't take over your sight. 

You didn't want to see them. You couldn't bear it anymore. They were ingrained into you, sewn into your mind and skin. Maybe you trapped the monsters inside you yourself. These scars were your willing permanent reminders and the dark figures were your punishment for your self inflicted torture.

The silence of your room wasn't noticeable, screaming and crying blasting inside your mind. Until the door creeped open once again, the way he’d done before.

“Hello?” he whispered, heavy breathed, lost and confused from his lack of sight on you.

You crawled out desperately, chasing the sound of his voice that sent your heart racing in the only positive way you’d ever experienced. Eyes meeting his, you let out a harsh sob. 

Joel rushed down to the floor, cradling your face as tears streamed. The small night light that you had for comfort was the only thing showing him to you, reminding you of how many little things actually helped you. One of them being the man in front of you - and he was here to rescue you.

“I’m so sorry, I'm sorry, i-"

You shook your head dismissively. You didn't care anymore, he was here now. He came back. No one ever came back.

He breathed out harshly, panicked. “Hey, listen to me. We have to go. Like, now.”

Out of confusion you stopped crying. “What do you mean?”

“I have somewhere we can go. I can get you out of here. And I know how to help you.” 

“You-, Joel, I don't understand.”

“I can help you. I know how to stop the monsters.”

“How?” you spat out, blood hot from the fear that this was a mockery.

Those shadows were so ingrained in you that this felt like a hallucination to crumble you down further. Joel calmed his breathing, settling down in front of you more comfortably to ease your worry. 

“I made something. A medicine and treatment scheme that can get rid of your memories. No memories, no monsters. But I can help you regain the necessary ones, ones that don't hurt you. A-and we can make more ones, good ones. Clean slate, remember?”

Clean was never a word you thought you'd be able to describe yourself with. This life also wasn't one you wanted anymore. Your previous attempt to leave this world is what got you here in the first place.

Joel was offering to take you away from this building, he was offering to fix you. Any concern for risk wasn’t present. 

You took his hand, following him, trusting him practically blindly. 

Surely it's not like you could get any worse, could you?

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“I’m n-”

“What about the people I saw? The cameras? The documenting of everything, the rules you followed that you didn't want to? You were obeying someone, Joel."

“You! I was obeying you!”

Your breath hitched, anger and confusion filling you. 

“Your patient code? That was how many fucking times we had to repeat the process. You couldn't handle it, I tried everything, I tried telling you, I tried not telling you. You were so lost, you couldn't take it.”

A glassy layer covered his eyes, feet unsteady from heartbreak. There was only hatred in your eyes.

“The only time you responded calmly was with the act I learnt I had to go along with. You assumed I was your doctor, you assumed you were stuck here. You assumed that you’d get better and then you would leave and that was comfort enough. I followed along because you needed it. I never wanted to lie to you.”

The grip on the knife was forceful, enough to make your hand shake from the pressure. You refused to remove its point from towards Joel, unable to let go of your anger. This wasn't the time to be weak.

“You saw what you wanted to see. I just let you.” he continued. 

The stunned doctors in the surveillance room were your own voiceless stuffed animals. The abusive guards were your episodes where you threw yourself into walls, desperate to escape the shadows that haunted you. The rat was your own fucking pet. 

Was anything fucking real?

Were those broken moments where you begged your room’s emptiness for company, those moments where your wishes were granted, was Joel ever actually there? 

Those hours you spent crying because Joel ended your sessions was because of you? 

Your insanity forced him to leave you, forced him to follow out this emotionless act that only in health could you see through it. 

Your instability had endlessly tortured you, even in times you were ‘better’, it was the very reason you were here now. 

You couldn't escape the monsters. Cursed into your fucking blood, monsters were enough that human experimentation was an easier life to live with. 

Joel couldn't fix you. Love couldn't fix you. 

The knife fell from your hands, tired of listening to Joel explain every detail of how corrupted your mind had unknowingly become.

He ran towards you, catching you in his arms as your body tried to collapse to the floor. Tears and loud sobs heaved out of you. Tears for the lies, the pain, the scars, the lost memories explaining your sewn on pain, tears for your entire self.

You were exhausted. You couldn’t bare it, you hated everything and everyone and you hated yourself for the fact you were still in this fucking place, this fucking world. 

Out of instinct, you clung onto Joel. Listening to how he tried to soothe you, waiting for his suggestions to simply heal you. 

Your heart stung inside your chest. A heavy tumour you wanted to cut out. 

“We can stop. Just live now.” he whispered delicately. 

Your cries stopped. The idea of moving away from all this was the only chance you had - but not with him. You didn't trust him, you couldn't bear him anymore.

You placed your hand on his chest gently, little force but pushing him away from you. His eyes were wide and afraid but he followed your command. You let go of him, of the only person that had ever hoped in you, the person who was an embodiment of twisted hope and patience. 

You were sick. You craved hope, you craved love. This wasn't love. This was sick. He was sick.

“Get out.” you spat out.

“W-what?”

“Go.”

“You can’t do this-”

“I need to get better. Not getting my mind and body contorted to go with your fucking experiments.”

“Yes, we can do that, but it's not safe to do that alone,”

“I don't care.” Tears kept falling. 

Joel breathed heavily. “Please.”

“No. I will work on myself. Alone.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

Your mouth formed a deep frown as you thought. “Then you bring me food. And anything I want. But we don't talk. I don't see you. I’ll leave a note on the door and there's no other contact.”

“I don't understand, i-” he choked sobs, “I did this for you, it's what you wanted.”

“You did it for you. I was sick.”

“I did this to help you! I want to help you! I want to take care of you - I need to!”

“And you can do that by leaving me the fuck alone!” you yelled out as you began sobbing again. “For once in my fucking life, i dont want to be sick. If I leave you in my life, it makes me an idiot, it makes me sick. Letting you treat me means I'm sick.”

“But- but I love you!” he cried out.

“I don't want you!” you yelled. 

You sobbed and he watched. You curled your body into itself and he watched. Your breaths stopped and started, hyperventilating as your body grew fearful of yourself. 

“Get OUT! GET OUT!” you screeched, noticing the way Joel was now afraid of you too.

Clean.

You made the house your own. Throwing out everything that disgusted you - everything fake, everything of Joel’s. Adding new wallpaper, new paintings of your own, making your house for the version of you that you wanted to be.

The shadows didn't leave you alone. You learnt to cope. Learning to fear them less took time, but it helped. They simply became a factor in your life, ones you dealt with as they came.

The peace was loud sometimes. The ability to do whatever you wanted was a heavy concept, but you learnt to cope. 

Your rat died. Naturally, happily. You’d spent time together beforehand, enough to feel the emotions of the memories you and your pet must've shared in your previous life. You lived together, and your sick selves died together. 

The tv and phone gave you the outside world. In a way that was compact, a way you could simply remove yourself from by letting go. You did the same when it came for Joel. Learn to lose the lump of guilt in your throat that you got when you peered out your window, watching Joel while he dropped off your shopping. He never knew you watched, he only hoped you did. He hoped you saw how he was trying, following orders, the way he thought he was doing for you before.

This time you knew it was truly what you wanted. You let him take breaths at your doorstep, let him approach the door to knock but stop himself before breaking the silence. 

You let him walk away. You needed him to walk away.

Then he didn't.

Your body froze in the doorway to the front room, eyes wide and staring daggers into Joel.

“I’m sorry, it was late, you uh, you asked for frozen food and i thought you were asleep so i-i wanted to put it away for you.”

You didn't doubt it was the truth. It was just the knowledge he chose to get the food this late, deliver it at a time that gave him the excuse to come in. 

“Okay.” you calmly stated, watching as he did what he told you he was doing.

Joel looked over to you, eyes gentle. “Hey uh, can i cook for you? You can say no, I just, I miss you. I want us to be okay, I want us to be normal.” Your face didn't change. Emotionless. Flat. 

“Tommorow. Dinner.” Your tone had a lack of indication to any kind of feeling, but your words were enough for him.

“R-really?”

“Yeah.”

“I-, what do you wanna eat?” he chucked, feeling relief for the first time in months and months

“I don't mind.” you smiled simply. “You pick.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

He had finished packing things away, smiling wide and feeling close to you again despite the three metres between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Joel spoke up gently.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You leaned into the doorframe. Showing calm, letting him let his guard down completely. 

He smiled to himself as he left. Smiling on the way home, laughing at the imaginary ways he thought the next night could play out. 

Joel was nervous walking back in, smoothing out his picked out clothes, fixing his hair. He needed it to be perfect. 

You weren't around, making Joel decide to get started on cooking, hoping it would alert you of his presence. But then the quiet got deafening. The lack of lights in the hallways as the sun set. The lack of noise, the lack of you.

His fearful steps were light, searching every room he was less convinced you were in, until he reached your bedroom. He pushed the half open door, breaths heavy as blood rushed through his body.

Evidence of you was all that was left. Your possessions, the way you’d shifted the house to the life you wanted, every reminder that you existed was there. But you weren't. 

No body. No face. No smile, no laugh. No love left for him.

The love for yourself and the you that you wanted to be was soaking in the air. Joel breathed your air one last time, picturing you a thousand miles from here by now. 

Joel was left with the memory of you. Your life was now your own. 

im so so proud of this I think :3 please let me know what you guys think !! and let me know if you want to be added onto my taglist for future works :>

[mimi-miller]

PART ONE

𖦹 synopsis: patient reader doesn't know who she is, where she is or how she got there. she's monitored by scientist joel miller who knows much more than he'll tell her. how dedicated can joel stay to his cause when he falls in love with her?

𖦹 warnings: human experimentation, handcuffs, guards (implied and discussions of mistreatment by them), lack of privacy, surveillance, lots of crying, Stockholm syndrome, hallucinations, panic attacks, arguing, use of needles, suffering from withdrawal, extreme pain, yelling at animals, metaphors for struggling with addiction.

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @sexiedeemedfreak @natanielkovack @saymony

no pressure tags: (interacted with my other posts so u might like this one !!) :> : @mcthsman @littledes1re @annastasia2055 @glittergrenade @foxispunk @moonlitsmile @bemyluvr @isabella-rose-trastamara @beardropascal @miss-celestial-being @ainhoetaaa @finco99

chapter one // chapter two.

𖦹 wc: 5.8k ( two part series )

FILE #365

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION]

- "This is Doctor code zero zero one, this is file three six five. Can you please state your name for the record?"

- 

- "Can you please give a response for the record?" 

- [incoherent]

- "Please raise your voice for the records." 

- [pause] "I don't know my name."

- "This is patient code zero zero four version six five. Assessment begins at timestamp eighteen hours and one minute." 

- "This assessment will be a series of non provoking questions to test your general knowledge and memory. Score to proceed?" 

- [pause] "What?" 

- "Score to proceed?" 

- "Score?" 

- "The subject's memory has seemingly decreased since the last assessment.

- "Score for the records. How would you rate your memory and mood before we proceed with the assessment? Ten is a perfect score, zero is the opposite. Score to proceed?" 

- "How would you define perfect?"

- [pause] "I'm sorry?" 

- "Is perfect a healthy memory or a lack of one?" 

-

- "What are you testing for?" 

[REMAINING AUDIO LOST]

File 365

Patient code 004 version 65

Doctor code 001

“Is perfect a healthy memory or a lack of one? what are you testing for?” you persisted. 

He gathered back up his papers, dropping them down on the surface to straighten them out. 

“That is your question to answer.” He was being dismissive, not wanting to sway you towards one answer more than another. 

Maybe it was your question. What were you even here for? Maybe the test is to see what you think is happening?

“What’s my name?” you wanted to know everything you could, choosing to start off with the easier questions. 

“Your patient code is zero zero four version-”

“My name. Not my code.”

He must've thought of you as stubborn. This version of you was much more curious and a lot less knowledgeable. Various commands were likely muttering through his ear piece, alternative phrases of how to further avoid the question. 

“Like freya, daisy, mia. Real names.”

“What made you list those names?” 

“Is one of them my name?”

“That is your qu-” “my question to answer, i know.”

He cleared his throat. You had never been this verbal before. You weren't afraid like you used to be and he didn't know how to handle it. 

There was a new glint in your eye, a sense of hatred. It wasn't directed at him necessarily, maybe it was the machine recording the conversation that you hated. Maybe it was the security cameras or maybe it was the note paper.

You were convinced your name was written down somewhere. It was easier to try and steal the paper and find it than it was to pull it out of your subconscious. 

“what about you?” you inquired. 

“I'm assuming you don't mean my doctor code.”

“You know what I'm asking.”

He smirked at the passive aggression. This was also new. “If i tell you my name can you tell me yours?”

“But I don't know my name.”

“Lie.”

The machine’s whirring was a little louder. Maybe it was from the lack of noise you considered, but it felt different - like it wasn’t doing its job properly. You strained yourself to not look towards it, to not investigate. The session would end if you did and you had plenty more questions to ask. 

“Lie? You mean I choose my name?”

“You can choose what I call you.”

“Are you going to tell me your real name?”

“If you like.”

The atmosphere had changed. 

You felt as if you were going to gain an advantage which was a tell tale sign that you didn't actually have one. You were missing something, but you were far more curious about the information you were going to gain than try to get a proper read on the situation. 

You stared in a request for him to do so, he gave you a small smile and a quick sigh. 

“Joel.”

“Joel?”

“Yes.”

It felt harmless. You could tell he was somewhat embarrassed, a pinkish tint in his cheeks that wasn't there before. He clearly hadn't expected to like hearing you say his name as much as he did. 

“And your name?” he questioned, making the deal you had even. 

“Can you choose?” he shook his head in response, but it wasn't enough for you to give up. “But I want you to.”

“I can't do that.”

“Well, why not?”

“It is for you to tell me.”

He saw a glint of anger in your eyes, maybe it was just vague irritation and he was reading too far into it, he thought. 

“I'm your lab rat but you won't give me a name.” or maybe he thought wrong.

He wasn't supposed to upset you. He had rules to limit the information you had and received which unfortunately came before your happiness. The last thing he wanted was for you to hate him, but he had a role to fulfill. 

“I don't know which would be worse, if you called me a rat or a bunch of meaningless numbers.” 

The resentment was building up. It was overwhelming even for you, the quick snaps between emotions but the consistent confusion, the consistent lack of information you had.

“What would you like me to call you?” he interrupted your spiralling train of thoughts. 

“My name.”

He smiled in answer, fueling your upset further. It was a single piece of information and he couldn't even give you that. Did he enjoy your confusion that much?

“I’d have to think about it.”

The tension faded out, relaxing the furrowing of your eyebrows from a small sense of hope. 

He saw your change in emotion, boosting his own enjoyment in the process. That was until he heard the static of the machine. The small red light was flickering unevenly, clearly no longer fulfilling its purpose. He hadn't noticed it the whole time.

Joel looked towards you to notice a hint of uneasiness, you knew the session was going to have to end before he even processed it himself. A frown formed on his face.

“Session end time at eighteen hours-”

“Stop!” you interrupted.

“I have to end the session for today.”

“That's not fair, I'm not done! I still don't know anything!”

“You know my name.”

“Thats not enough, i have more questions!”

He arose from his seat, you wanted to mimic his action until you felt the tug of handcuffs attached to your wrists. You hadn't even noticed that you were tied to the metal bars poking out from the middle of the table. Your emotions once again were rapidly switching. 

“Session end time at eighteen hours and twenty six minutes. Abrupt ending due to technical malfunction.” 

Joel made a note of it and you pictured a team of people listening in from a viewing window doing the same. He gathered all belongings and tucked his chair in.

The guards stormed into the room abruptly, heading directly towards you to remove handcuffs and pull you out of the room so that Joel could follow along after you. 

He felt more guilty than he usually did. You typically didn't convey fear of anger, now you showed every emotion possible. You even wanted to keep talking, so did Joel. 

The last thing you remembered of that day was calling out his name as you were dragged out, his attempted emotionless demeanor faltering as a guilty frown settled on his face. 

File 366

Patient code 004 version 66

“How are you feeling today?”

There was obvious tension in the room, your glare gave Joel a twisted sense of pride. You'd wanted him to stay last session but he couldn't; you’d genuinely missed him. He shouldn't have felt happy with himself the way he did, but he held back a grin regardless. 

“You want a score?” your passive aggressiveness shone through your words vividly. He nodded in response. “I still don't understand what I'm scoring.”

“Your mood, your memory. Everything overall.”

You watched the corner of his mouth twitch, gleeful with anticipation. The machine was whirring, working to full capacity unlike yesterday. His grip on his pen was slightly tighter, he was a little happier but much more tense. Was he nervous?

“Can I read your notes?”

“Can I have a score?”

You cocked your head a little to the side and let out a quick laugh. “Are you sassing me now?”

“I just asked a question.”

You lunged for the papers. ‘Patient code 004 version 65’ - last session. ‘Patient shows elevated signs of anger, confusion and memory loss. Persistent requests for personal information-’ He gripped it back off you. 

“I wasn't done reading.”

“I am aware.”

You fiddled with the cuffs, a little tighter today than you remember them being.

It was probably your apparent ‘heightened emotions’ that caused them to take extra precautions. It sucked to be tied to a stupid table altogether, it felt demoralising. The whole thing did, and you still didn't understand a single thing that was happening. 

In contrast, Joel stared at you expectantly, but it softened your guard just a little. The idea of being some kind of special gave you a sick kind of warm feeling, he found you interesting. He was curious. You wanted to feed into that. 

“Can I ask you questions?”

“You may but I can't guarantee the answers you want.” he answered carefully and cautiously.

“Can you guarantee the truth?”

“I cannot.”

You bit your lip a little in thought before continuing. “Can you at least take these off me?” 

You pulled up your hands, the rattle of the handcuffs against the table’s metal bar sent Joel's attention to them, probably waiting for an answer in his ear piece you guessed, as he scanned your eyes to figure out your aim. 

The door opened abruptly, a guard walked through hurriedly. He looked exhausted, irritated. You sat yourself on the edge of your chair as much as you could, with full fear and heavy breathing you feared the worst. You yelled at him to stop, that you weren't done with the session. You felt a different hand on your shoulder. 

“It's okay.” he whispered, standing over you.

You turned your head towards him, watching Joel give you a small smile and watched as he placed the separated handcuffs that must've been handed to him, onto the table.

You felt kind of pathetic, misreading the situation. Joel's hand didn't move, he wouldn't until he was sure your emotions were stable. 

“Thought he was gonna take me.” you mumbled, sniffing and looking away from Joel, almost zoning out as you looked to the corner of the room. 

“The session isn't over yet.”

“Well, it wasn't last time as that didn't stop you.”

He moved his hand, leaving a colder feeling than you started with. He sat himself back down, across from you and staring. You mindlessly stared, your words felt harsh but they weren't untrue. 

“Do you dislike when the sessions end?”

Your mind brought you back to every time a guard had walked into a room, the dragging and pushing into walls, the yelling. The way they threw you around. More aggressive than they would be with even a science rat. They treated you worse than an animal. 

Joel’s words were calming, sometimes irritable but there was still a lack of malice. He showed you different values than everyone else did.

You could only nod at him, the full extent of truth to the statement couldn't be expressed in a simple answer, especially when you'd just learnt that they were always listening in. 

Joel arose from his seat once again, a hint of anger or determination in his eyes. He somewhat marched to the door and unlocked it. You had to turn in your seat to look towards him. 

“Come with me.” he gestured towards the hallway. 

“Am i in trouble?”

He shook his head. 

The corridor felt a little different now that you weren't as terrified. However, the cracks in the aging ceiling didn't help to maintain your calm. 

“The walls are blue.”

Realising he hadnt responded, you turned around to see him as usual staring blankly and confused.

“You didn't know?”

“I don't really get time to appreciate the scenery when I'm being dragged.”

Joel hummed quietly, more to himself. “Where would you like to go?”

You whipped your head around quickly in shock. “I can pick?”

“You may.”

You peered down either side of the hallway, no obvious indicators on what led to where. You were still too confused to revel in the new opportunity. Weren't you supposed to be monitored? Isn't that exactly why the session had ended last time - because they weren't able to monitor you properly? You couldn't verbalise this confusion. 

While it was doubtful he had forgotten they needed to have a record of the conversation, you weren't going to point out an error in case it once again would put a halt to the session. 

You stepped a little closer, using your tiptoes to reach and whisper into one of his ears that you noticed didn't have an earpiece, shielding your mouth as you did.

“Are they listening?”

He hesitated but nodded.

“Where?” 

He opened the door to a room you could barely call a door with how it blended into the walls.

By the look of everyone's faces, this had not been approved. The looks of horror, confusion and intimidation. For once you weren't the one scared. 

“Introduce yourselves.” Joel commanded the various workers.

There were computers, lots of headphones and obnoxiously large ear pieces that they'd begun taking out slowly as the conversation it played was now right in front of them.

You looked to the window on the left wall, showing the meeting room that you and Joel had just been in. you knew they could hear but you weren’t sure if they could see it all. The uneasiness refused to settle in your stomach. 

Joel shot everyone a glare at their hesitancy, choosing to take initiative and introduce everyone to you himself. 

Doctor White had white hair, Anderson was the only woman, and clearly the eldest in the room. Jones stared too much for comfort, causing you to lean into Joel and he held you closer in acknowledgement. He sensed your overwhelm after the one sided conversation, walking you back out of the room. 

He absent-mindedly shut it harshly, leaning down to stare directly at you.

“See? You don't have anything to worry about. There’s no robots or aliens, we aren't here to hurt you.”

You couldn't respond, overstimulation creeping in.

“We monitor you. You know what that means? We look out for you, yeah? We take care of you.”

You shook your head, mental images of all the pain flicking through your head.

“No you don't. You leave. That's what you do. You care as much as you have to and then you leave.”

He reached his hand towards your face in an attempt to caress and comfort but you smacked his hand away.

“It's like I don't matter when I'm not talking to you. I feel like-”

“A rat?”

You nodded, tears brimming your waterline. He reached his hand back to wipe your tears, this time you let him. 

“Do you want to see them?”

“See who?” you sniffed.

“The rats.”

They looked far more innocent, and much less free. Walking back and forth between their limited walls just as you had, until today. Pale white and loud as they squeaked in harmony with each other. One of them peered up at you, as if it could read your mind and feel your emotions. 

Joel reached towards its cage as he stood behind you, unlocking the hatch and pulling it out.

You watched him stroke the rat, it showed no fear or hatred, it wasn't afraid of him either. 

“Hold out your hand,” he instructed.

You followed his command, slightly shocked at the unfamiliar texture of its fur. 

“You've met this one before.”

“I have?” you didn't look away from the animal, entranced by its movements from the palm of your hands and up the length of your arm. 

“A long time ago. We did different types of sessions then.”

“What types are there?”

“That guy was involved in the sensory sessions. Various new objects each time to see how you responded and-”

“He's not an object.” your eyes squinted from his slight insult. Joel chuckled at your defensiveness. 

“You're right, I should’ve rephrased.” 

You nodded to acknowledge his apology.

“Would you like to keep him?”

You nodded profusely, finally a genuine wide grin on your face that Joel reciprocated. 

“Our session does have to end-”

“No!” you halted, bringing the rat closer to you as if he had attempted to snatch it away. You stepped further away from Joel also.

“It has to-”

“No! This is exactly what i said! You leave me! Thats all you do!”

“Listen to me.” he put his hands out to his side in an attempt to ask for forgiveness. “It's not permanent. It's never permanent. If i always leave i always come back right?”

“You don't understand.” you choked a sob. “They hurt me, Joel. When they take me away from you, they hurt me-”

“I understand. I know-”

You scoffed, staring with complete disgust.

“You know? You let them do it-”

“No, but I'm not going to let it happen again.”

You tried desperately to blink away your tears before they fell. 

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Please don't lie to me-” you let out a harsh sob, reaching your free hand to your mouth in an attempt to hold back the noise. You fell to the floor, kneeling as you cried rivers. 

The rat was somehow unfazed, only looking up at you to see the source of the noise. Eventually it crawled out your hands, walking slowly across the tile floors as you continued sobbing.

Joel crouched down to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and reach your arms behind his neck.

He held you close, letting you sob against him as he tried to calm his anger at the events that had unfolded in his lack of constant surveillance. 

Once you settled down a little more, you rested gently against him. He retrieved the rat back and handed it to you, letting you continue admiring it while your final tears fell. 

“I'm not going to lie to you anymore. I truly promise you that.”

File 367

Patient code 004 version 67

A hand startled you awake. 

You pushed the shadowy figure away, scrambling around to push off the heels of your toes to reach the corner where your bed and the wall met. You braced yourself - forearms shielding your face and cradling yourself in the fetal position. 

The silence was loud. no second contact or voices, just the sound of your own heartbeat. 

You flattened your palms over your face, slowly turning to face the other side of the room blindly. you cautiously parted your fingers and peaked through the gaps. the same blank walls you'd been left with the night before.

nothing had moved or changed; unless you counted the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

you tried to pull the covers tight around yourself. swallowing down the frog in your throat as you tried to maintain your calm despite the frustrating uncooperative behaviour of the material. 

you pulled it out from under your limbs where it was stuck, beginning to rush your movements without being entirely sure why. 

the abrupt sounds froze you in fear. 

it repeated again, two knocks on your wooden door. do you open it? do you hide? do you-

he pushed it open and stared blankly at you. 

“you okay?” 

Joel was carrying a tray of various breakfast foods, stood awkwardly, letting the door shut itself. he placed everything down on the floor by your bed, movements slow as if you were a spooked animal. 

his confusion turned to concern. your unresponsive wide blinking eyes held his as he sat beside you. 

your chest rose with your deepening breaths, desperate to ask questions but an inability to do so. Joel didnt push, eyes gentle and patient. 

you parted your lips to speak but its as if you had swallowed them, forcing only a choked sob out. pressing your lips together and gripping Joels shirt sleeve, you tried to regain control. 

your blood ran hot. infection running through your veins like acid, melting you down and killing you in a split moment. 

he placed his palm gently against your cheek, the same hand you were gripping the wrist of. 

you punched at your own chest. 

nothings working. fix it. please fix it. fix it. 

Joel grabbed your other hand, protecting you from yourself. 

his mouth moved but you couldnt hear him. you choked on your own breaths. 

Joels chest rose in exaggerated movements, eyes focused solely on you as he tried to encourage you. 

he shifted your hand onto his chest. very subtle but nonetheless there, you felt his heartbeat. you subconsciously mimicked his breathing. 

“you're okay,” you finally heard him. and it broke you. 

tears streamed down your face as you mumbled your way through an explanation. 

“someone was here” you cried out. “he grabbed me- he grabbed me-” 

Joel cradled your face in his palm, catching your tears with his thumb. 

“No one was here, i promise.”

“I felt it.”

He tilted your head to look at him. “You’re safe. No one was here, okay? Its just me. Its just me.”

“I didnt see him but i- i felt it- i dont wanna feel it-”

He pulled you close to him to cradle you, to held onto him tightly. Joel was a little shaky, a hint of guilt in his grasp. 

“I thought we had time- i thought it was working.” he whispered out.

Your body froze. Now feeling entirely claustrophobic as opposed to protected. 

You pushed at his chest - just enough to separate yourself. 

“Its your fault.”

Joels eyes widened in fear, occasionally darting to view the door. He hadn't locked it. 

“Im helping you. Im protecting you.”

Everything moved fast. Your grip on the tray of food Joel had discarded on the bed and losing it happened in a second. 

“Its not working!” you yelled out as everything dropped to the floor. Food and drink mixing as it ran down the surface, fitting into all the creases. 

Your hands locked in the shape of claws. As if you were holding something, or about to scratch or fight. 

“It will, it will-” he tried to reassure you. 

You stared shell shocked at the mess you made, the way it went closer and closer to the door; leaving the room. It left the room. You didnt realise you were following it until you felt him grab the back of your neck.

A sharp prick before you fell to your knees, into his arms, his control. 

“What did you do-” 

“I had to.”

“No.” you slurred your words, vision sparkling as Joel tried to calm you, gently holding your face.

“Its too early, i didnt want to.”

“What.. what a-are you,” you sobbed once again. “Whats happening to me?” tears followed their routinely path. Joel stuck to his self proclaimed role of catching them. 

“Im gonna get rid of them, okay?”

You could only shake your head. He was a liar. He had to be. 

“I promise.”

“W-why?” opening your eyes was too painful, beginning to feel them swell in your skull. 

“They said it wouldnt work. I-i knew it would. They said to leave you a-and i couldnt.” Joel began swallowing down his own sobs. A man melting from guilt as you layed feeling like you were dying because of him. 

You mouthed the movements a few times before sound escaped you. “F-fix it. Fix m-me.” 

**DIV

File 370

Patient code 005 version 01

“Can you state your name?”

The lights were too bright, burning an imprint in eyelids. You stared at the tiles. You couldnt really think of what else to do.

You heard buzzing. Maybe that was the light too. Or maybe it was the machine.

“Do you know your name?”

You looked at the table. It looked rusted, the metal bars you were usually cuffed to were gone. So was the machine.

You finally met his eyes. You mustve looked dead, body tilted in the chair as if you were fully willing to fall from it. Joel hadnt shaved, eyes red from exhaustion and fear. He was still scared. 

“‘m not supposed to, arent i?”

Empty. You felt empty, and drained. Joels expectant eyes didnt fill you with betrayal anymore. You didnt care. You just wanted it all to end.

“What? You want a fucking score?” you spit out. He barely gave you a reaction when you wanted one. “no cuffs this time either?” 

the muscles in his face twitched, clearly trying to hide any hint of emotion but doing the exact opposite. he didnt answer. 

you shifted around to rest your head in the crook of your elbow, peering up at Joel.

You felt desperate to talk Joel's ear off rather than spend time in that dark room you knew you'd be left with.

he'd tried to remain stoic, following the idea of repetition to avoid spoiling the process. it was hard to maintain that idea when youd stopped staring directly through him. 

“what file is this then?”

Joel hadn't done his usual robotic talking to the machine; ‘code blah blah blah’. he gave you full control of the conversation - which was frustratingly boring. 

“file 370.” 

you hummed in response. again, boring. 

“can i.. see your notes?”

Surprising, he pushed them over to you instantly. plain. you searched across the files and the pages of his notebook but there was purely nothing. he'd taken precautions this time. 

you met his eyes once again. practically shaking in his seat, eyes darting across various places in the room and table to avoid yours. had he always been this emotive? 

“what is your problem?” 

he refused to respond. 

“what's going on?” 

he took a deep breath, leaning forward in his chair causing you to jolt back in vague defense. 

“how much do you remember?”

“I remember you fucking stabbed me with a needle and i-”

“you're not supposed..” his voice faded out seeing your expression shift again. 

“what?” you pushed him to continue.

“You're not supposed to remember anything.”

File 372

Patient code N/A

You woke up to burning.

Eyes, limbs and blood. Malfunctioning as if you were a machine. 

You crawled off the bed, sheets triggering every nerve on your body. The tiles were the only thing that provided comfort - a complete contrast from the acid layer you were supposed to wear as skin. 

It was a humiliating need to press yourself so far into the floor, tears running down your face from the agony. Your hands clawed at the material.

It seemed to shift under your touch. Feeling like marble one second and wood the next. Regardless, it was cold. It was helping.

At least for the moment. Your body’s heat built up once again, limbs tightening, skull closing in on itself. 

You yelled out in pain - as if exhausting yourself would lessen its power. 

A faint squeaking was sharply poking at your eardreams, straining the pain in your head further. 

You turned, eyes blurry. 

The rat was yelling out at you, scratching slightly at the walls of its enclosure. Its noises were practically screeches, begging for help when you were the one dying out on the floor. 

“Shut up.” 

It was supposed to sound clear. A direct order, yet your voice failed you. Coming out as a mumble and slight drool leaving your mouth from the lack of feeling in your face.

The rat persisted - so you did too.

“Shut up! Stop!”

It was almost as if it got louder, to the point you needed to clamp your hands over your ears. The only thing you could do now was cry. Wail loudly like it would be of any physical help. You were still trapped in this stupid room. 

It felt bigger now, more hollow but spoiled, dirty. Nothing like how it felt before. 

The walls shifted. Cold, clean and close to you but now ruined, stained and distant. You pressed the heel of your palm into your eyes, forcing darkness and for your brain to make up its mind on where you were. 

Footsteps creaked, light practically raced its way to your head in order to increase the pressure when he opened the door.

You rolled onto your side, facing away but still calling his name out. Even if you had to turn to the person keeping you here for help, it was help. Surely he could do something. 

“Joel?” you sniffled, only now processing your running nose.

The moment you felt him begin to cradle you into his lap was when you wiped your running face, staring down at your hand and noticing the blood. 

You sat up to face him, watching his worry practically triple from the look in your eyes. 

He cradled your face. “It's okay, it's okay.”

You shook your head in refusal. “‘m bleeding, ‘m not - not okay.”

Your skull still felt like it was exploding, leaning down to rest on Joel's chest as you tried to mentally accept your fate.

“Bleeding? Hey -” he lifted you, interrupting you as if it was merely a sulk to have to face him. “Where are you bleeding?”

“My face, l-look.” you tilted your head up a little, thinking maybe that would make it clearer for him to see. 

He caressed your cheek but just stared into your eyes with hesitant concern.

“Theres no blood, you're not bleeding.” His voice was soft, spoken at a low level like it was a secret. Or a lie.

“I am.” you whined, not happy he was keeping up with his usual antics of making you feel crazy.

He started ruffling through a bag you’d barely noticed he had brought with him.

He pulled out tissues, covering your nose a little too quickly, you jolted back from shock. You settled as he cleaned your face. 

“See.” you commented. Joel cleaning your face while denying the presence of blood felt plain stupid.

He pulled back when he was done, presenting the tissue to you.

“I don' t wan’ that.” you mumbled, nose blocked up making it sound sickly.

“Look at it.”

It was damp from snot and tears. It took a second to process what he was showing you. 

“You’re not bleeding.”

“I was. I was. There was lots i-i i’m not a liar, i’m-”

You closed in on yourself - body shrinking from expecting pain, covering your face so you weren’t witness to it.

Joel sympathetically pulled you to his chest, feeling your body shake as you cried heavily. Maybe even crying more when you felt him comfort you. It was unfamiliar. A physical embrace, one that didn't come with a punishment. 

“You hurting?” 

You nodded against his chest, clawing at his shirt. Noticing now that it was a thin material instead of his usual suits. 

“It won’t be long. I promise.”

“Why?” you sobbed out, feeling your nose begin to run again with a liquid more runny than usual. Out of embarrassment, you pulled back. 

He quickly placed a new tissue to your face, not questioning the state of you. It eased your insecurity a little. 

“Can’t explain.” 

“Why?” you repeated, tone more irritated. 

You blinked heavily, the pain still persistent. 

Joel's jaw clenched, eyes holding yours. “Don’t want you to hate me.”

Your throat tightened. You weren't sure if you already did. You also weren't sure if saying that to him would help or make the situation worse. 

“Please?” you pleaded, watching as his chest rose deeply in fear of the words on the tip of his tongue. 

For some reason, Joel’s body language was less hesitant, less cautious of you. You let him do it. Part of it was comforting but most of it was out of necessity. You needed answers. Being hostile had left you suffering clueless over everything that was happening to you. 

Joel sat up to look directly into your eyes. You didn't bark or bite, you just held it. Like you weren't praying for the second you could leave him. He caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Your memory,” he whispered delicately. “It's my fault.”

All your body let you do was shake your head. You knew there was more going on. 

“I'm trying to help you. That's all I'm doing.”

“Why does it have to hurt?” a sharp sob escaped you, no longer able to filter out the pain. 

You sobbed, hands holding over Joel's as he held your face. You forced a somewhat tight grip, you felt as if your only way out was to squeeze your skull - break the bones - to die at his hands. 

“It hurts ‘cause I stopped it. I stopped it all.”

Guilt formed a lump in his throat as he couldn't look away from the red tint in the edge of your eyes. You were so truly suffering and he couldn't do anything to help you now. Not yet. 

“Make it stop. Please.” you murmured.

“I want to - so bad.” he shook his head, eyes now watering. “I have to wait. It's the medication i-i have to let it flush out. You have to be clean of it all and then I can help you again. I've been working on new meds, I promise, it's not long.”

“I just want the pain to stop!” you cried out, feeling tears run down your neck.

“You have to stay clean.”

“Idontcare-idontcare I want it gone. Make it stop.” 

“I-”

“I was happy before, right? Not always, but sometimes.” you sniffled, barely able to stay conscious, let alone care about your appearance. “I don't care if it doesn't work. I don't care that it won't fix me. I just want this - this pain to stop.”

“Listen to me.”

“No.”

“Listen.”

You shook your head, leaning down to place yourself against his chest. No longer able to hold yourself up, you gave Joel the role of keeping you together.

“I made you a promise when I took you here. I said I wasn't gonna be like everyone else. I was going to help you. I wasn't gonna give up - I'm not.”

He rocked you back and forth gently, hoping to ease you into sleep.

“You were happy. You were happy with me, you trusted me.” he sniffled, choking down sobs or failing to, you couldn't tell. “You loved me.”

- omggg im super proud of it so far, pls comment if you wanna be added to my taglist and pleeeaseee lemme know what u think !!

[mimi-miller]

posting rat in a few hours !! im so excited :3

posted here !!

[littledes1re]

As 2025 comes to a close, I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on this wild, wonderful year—my very first as a writer in this fandom.

I started writing this year, and to be honest, I didn’t have much confidence. I was scared of how my writing would be received—worried it wouldn’t measure up to all the incredible fanfic writers out there. But this community welcomed me with open arms🥹 Every kind reblog, every sweet comment, every message in my inbox—it all meant the world to me (and it still does). I’m so glad I found my people: the delightfully unhinged ones who love perverted stories and an old man named Joel Miller hehe. I’ve made some truly lovely friends here, even tho I’m still socially awkward and not always the best at interacting it meant everything when people reached out to me. To all the writers out there: thank you for sharing your brilliant, beautiful stories. Whether you just started, whether you’re writing out of passion or boredom—I appreciate every single one of you. I’m so excited to show you all what fics I have in drafts and what chaos I plan to unleash in 2026–more daddy, more filth, more old man!joel Miller and more angst hehehe

So here’s a little fic rec list—just a handful of stories that stayed with me this year. Some I reblogged, some I read in silence. I’m sure I’ve missed some, and i’m sorry if i did. But just know that i’m always reading and loving every word you put into your work💕

-> another one couldn’t hurt…right?* [series], Blessed with Beauty and Rage [series] all the wrong ways to know you [series] by @forthelorewick

-> Daddy!joel masterlist [series], Nurse roleplay with Joel, Poke the Bear [series] by @cinnxmxngxrl

-> Grandpa!Joel -Roger, Roger, Fox, Bravo?, Four eyes and a Soft spot by @graveyardofemotions

-> Make it better*, Your way or Mine?* by @ess-evo

-> All I wanna do I make Love to You*, The twelve days of kinkmas* [small series], Cowboy take me away* by @bemyluvr

-> Throat fucking with Joel* by @mytearsricochetm

-> show me* by @millermami

-> Rise and shine*, man’s best friend*, rules* by @hauntedinkk

-> Lover, you should come over* [three parts], tell me n’ it’s yours*, Make it all worth it* by @carbonfiction

->Just a bad dream*, Mine All Mine, Sunday Ride* by @joelmillerswife9

-> thirty pages*+ second part: Goodnight kiss* by @toxicanonymity

-> Family matters*, Cherry picker* by @millermouth

-> Teeth marks*, Achilles Heel by @monamedeiros12

-> Joel loves his women bigger*, You rock!!* by @ezraispunk

-> there is no shaking you* by @majestyeverlasting

-> till we’re food for the worms to eat* by @cruelfvkingsummer

-> Birds & Bees*, Taste*, by @gutsby

-> Life after Love (and after the Apocalypse) by @claredevee

-> His good girl* [series], Cowboy Casanova* [series], Show me what it’s like*, Fuck you better* by @easybbgrl

-> into temptation* [small series], The right person will stay*, your sweet divine* by @littlcdarlin

-> picture to burn by @darknight3904

-> little by little* by @mirrormauve

-> the devil you do*, who’s your daddy?* by @studioghibelli

-> daddy is here*, everybody knows that i’m a good girl officer* by @millers-angel

-> lamb* by @mimi-miller

-> Eight ball corner pocket* by @thechaoticcherub

-> Helplessly Hoping* [series] by @ireneadlerwrites

-> More* + part two: Saturday Poetry & chocolate ice cream* by @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

-> The girl from the bar*, House Tour*, lil brat* by @paulyenvol6

+Some of my favourite ones that I made this year:

-> Cherry pie*, @/coffeguitar* [series], His to Keep*, Like a Stray Cat* + Like a Stray Cat pt. 2*

And to all my lovely people on the taglist—but especially @millersweetheart, @umadirectioner, @pleurspetal, @afyreinjuly, @shivispunk, @brittmb115, @wildthyng, @glitterspark, @blueberryfruittart, @armandispunk, @marisemonteiroo, and so many more—thank you for being there and supporting every single one of my fics from the very beginning. I’m endlessly grateful for you. I hope you all have the most beautiful Christmas💕

Love, Mel.

[mimi-miller]

ive finally conquered writers block !!

rat chapter two (final chapter) very soon 😋

tags: @hauntedbymiller @daddieslittleladie @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @rhaenassance @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

trying to summon everyone back coz ive been gone so long </3

[reedispunk]

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆?

You find a stray kitten during patrol and can't resist bringing him home to a grumpy Joel a/n: didn’t plan to post this so might delete, but it’s just a little fluff that wouldn’t leave my thoughts at midnight. contains: fluff, dad Joel, protective Joel, established relationship, not proofread wc: 2k

“No.”

“Joel, you haven’t even said hello.”

“I don’t care, baby; it’s a no.”

“But look at his little face; how can you say no to that?”

You look down at the kitten's big eyes staring up helplessly at you. You’re standing next to Joel as he sits at his workbench, glasses on the tip of his nose as he fiddles with something he's working on. During your evening patrol shift, you found the kitten looking scared and desperate not far from the town. Despite being more than aware that Joel would not appreciate such an addition to the family, you couldn’t just leave this helpless little being out in the snow all alone. So there was only one solution: hide him in your supply bag where it was warm and safe, and bring him home with you.

“Take it to Maria or that old lady down the road; we can’t have that thing running round ‘ere. Probably carrying enough disease to wipe out the town too.”

“Don’t be crazy, we’ll have the vet check him out.”

“I’m sure he's got more pressing matters than this.”

“Well, that was not the welcome I promised you, was it, huh?” You say down to the tiny bundle of innocence in your arms. “Think you caught him on a grumpy day.” Joel rolls his eyes as he continues carving the wooden object in front of him. “We’re not sending him back out into the cold, Joel.”

“He’s an animal; he’ll survive.”

“He’s too tiny; another night out in the snow would kill him, Joel.”

“Well darlin’, I don’t know what you want me to do, but he isn’t staying under my roof. And whatever you do, don’t let Ellie see him.”

Almost perfectly timed, you hear the front door close in the distance and soon the approaching footsteps up the wooden stairs.

“Great. Here we go.” Joel mumbles, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Turning around, you’re greeted with a rosy-cheeked Ellie, back from her night with Dina at the Tipsy Bison. Her eyes instantly go wide with affection as she takes in the sight before her.

“Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me?? Heyyy little one!” She comes forward, taking the kitten from your arms and holding it up to her face, letting the tiny being sniff at her face. “She’s so small! Where did you find her?”

“It’s a boy.” Joel grunts from behind you. You smile then; at least you know he paid attention.

“Found him by the old barn about a mile out from town. Poor thing was shivering, alone and hungry. Checked the area for Mom and any siblings, but there was not trace. Will check again next patrol to make sure.”

"Jesus christ," Joel mutters under his breath. "I hope not, we'll have a whole goddamn zoo before we know it."

"Joel," You laugh at his words.

“What are you going to call him?” Ellie asks.

“Not calling him anything El'. He ain’t staying,”

“What?! No, we have to keep him!” She protests, worry spreading across her face at the thought of giving him away, or worse, letting him loose back into the harsh mountains surrounding Jackson.

“He should stay here, he knows us now, anyone else would only frighten him.”

“Yeah, right. Kids been out there in the wilderness by himself this long; if he can survive out there, he ain’t afraid of nothing.” Joel bites.

Ellie moves around you over to Joel sitting by his workbench. Without giving him a choice, she hands the kitten to him. Instinctively, he holds the kitten close to his chest, his protective nature kicking in. She turns to you with a wink. The kitten reaches up, his little paws coming up to rest on Joel’s chin. Joel’s a big guy, and seeing this tiny little vulnerable creature in his hands, you’d expect the kitten to be frightened, but he isn’t. Instead he seems taken to Joel more than you and Ellie as it licks at his beard.

“He loves you already.” You say in a soft voice.

“How do you get him to stop doing that?” Joel shuts his eyes in disgust, wanting to pull away but not wanting to hurt the baby.

Ellie laughs. “You don’t. He’s just telling you he likes you.”

“Hmmm.” He grunts. Moving the kitty away from his face gently, Joel rests him down on the bench in front of him. The kitten bounces across the table quickly, and the look of panic on Joel’s face amuses you. He might not want to keep him, but that look certainly tells you he cares. As the three of you watch him, the kitten begins to flick his tiny paw against a small tool laid on the surface, making it roll along the top.

“Like father, like son.” You tease.

"Don’t start with that." Joel's shakes his head.

“He could be your workshop buddy!" Ellie suggests excitedly.

"No. I’d never get any of these things complete. Besides, it’s too dangerous.”

"okay, well..." Ellie looks up trying to think of ideas, anything to try persuade Joel. "You could train him up and take him on patrol, your own little protector!”

“I don’t need a protector, El'. Besides, how would a thing smaller than my hand protect me? I'd probably just end up accidently standing on him and that would be the end of it. Look, he’s not going to be anything, ok?." The kitten then begins playing with a large piece of wood, making it spin off the surface and onto the floor. “Hey, stop that.” Joel says, picking the ball of fur up in one hand and holding it close to his chest again. “Damn things a liability. Just take him somewhere else.”

“But it’s so dark and stormy now. Tomorrow?” You ask. You know Joel too well, he might not want him right this second, but just keeping the kitten in his company tonight, he’ll be attached before he knows it.

He sighs. “Fine. He can stay here tonight, but that's it. I mean it, he’s not staying.”

"Awesome!" Ellie looks at you with a cheeky smirk. When it comes to you two, Joel may put up a fight, but he almost always gives in.

“Oh, and he’s not staying in your room, Ellie." he turns looking up at you. "There’s a box in the garage; put him in that.”

“Right, sure.” You nod in agreement, but have no intention of leaving the poor thing in a dark and scary box alone in the cold garage all night.

Two hours later as the snow falls and the wind howls outside, you snuggle up under the covers and rest your head on the pillow, waiting for Joel to come out of the bathroom and join you. When he finally plods around the bed, he climbs in and pulls you close into him with a kiss on the top of your head. He smells clean and feels a little damp from his shower, but he’s warm and always makes you feel so safe in his arms. You know he’s tired, he’s been complaining most of the night, so it isn’t long before you feel him starting to drift off. As he does, there's movement underneath the covers, something soft against both of your legs. His eyes open wide.

“What is that?” He asks, though you know he knows exactly what it is.

“What?”

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whisper, playing innocent.

He untangles from you, reaching over to the nightstand to turn the lamp back on, and you both watch the small lump under the covers moving up towards you.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he exhales as the kitten’s face pokes out from under the covers. “You’re not supposed to be in ‘ere,” Joel mumbles, looking down at the fur ball as though he’s expecting any kind of response. He picks the kitten up in his hand and holds him up above you both, watching him make biscuits in the air. “Didn’t I tell you to put him in the garage?”

“Somehow I don’t think he wants to be in the garage…” you whisper.

“I don’t have time for this, darlin’. Got a busy day tomorrow, I need sleep.” He leans over and puts the kitten down on the floor beside the bed. “You, stay down there; don’t even think about jumping back up here.” The kitten just looks up at him, a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He switches out the light and turns back over to you, wrapping his arms back around you to pull you in again. But of course, within seconds, you hear the tiny persistent thud of the kittens' paws on the floor as he continuously fails to jump back up onto the bed.

“You know he’s not going to stop that, don’t you? He wants to be with us.” You smile.

“Oh, he’ll stop when he gets tired, give it five.” He mumbles into the pillow.

Your heart starts to break at the thought of the kitten not being able to reach up as you lie there listening for a while. As you're about to move to get out of bed to rescue him from the floor, you see those little familiar ears climbing up the mountain of Joel’s back, over his shoulder and jumping down off his arm to land in the very small gap between your heads, the soft fur tickling Joel’s nose.

“Urghhhh. This goddamn child.” Joel groans deeply, but he doesn’t attempt to move, accepting defeat. You watch in the darkness as the kitten curls up just underneath Joel’s chin.

“He likes you, baby, I think you’re his favourite already.” You watch the kitten settling down to go to sleep in the safety beside Joel.

“Just for tonight then. Tomorrow, you find him another home.” His eyes are closed, and the sight before you is adorable. Joel, so big, so broad, so protective with the tiniest, most vulnerable little ball of cuteness buried close against him.

When you wake the next morning, your heart melts. Joel, the same Joel who told you this kitten couldn't stay, is lying on his back with the kitten curled up on his chest, both sleeping peacefully. You watch them both for a while until the kitten turns to stretch and wakes Joel. He breathes in deeply, his long limbs moving under the covers until his leg rests up against yours again and his hand reaches out to stroke and down the bare skin of your thigh.

“Morning, you two.” You say softly, head resting on your palm.

“Morning, my love.” He says half asleep.

“Hate to ruin the moment, boys, but someone’s given me the task of finding a new home for this one.”

“Talking to me or him?” Joel jokes, and it makes you chuckle. He opens one eye to look at you. “He’s resting. Let him stay for another hour, then you can take him.”

“Whatever you say, mister.”

Two nights later when you curl up into bed again, Joel walks in, the kitten balancing on his shoulder, clearly still not taken to another home.

“Ellie said I’m a cat dad now.” Joel says with a shake of his head.

You grin. “I think she might be right.”

“Jesus Christ.” He sighs, coming over to the bed.

“Don’t pretend like you hate it.” You giggle. He rolls his eyes as he climbs under the covers, and the kitten jumps down to curl up in the small space between you both.

“We have to find him a different bed tomorrow, though; he can’t sleep in ‘ere anymore, keeps stealing my spot next to you.” He sighs. “Kid needs to respect his parent’s privacy, gonna have to teach him some boundaries...” Joel reaches down underneath the covers, letting his palms roam up and down your body.

“Sure, baby.” You smile to yourself knowing full well Joel isn’t ever going to be able to let this kitten out of his sight for too long.

[cozymochaa]

What a year it's been, oh my lord. Back in February, I got into reading fanfics. I was a lurker up until September when I decided to start a new blog and write up my own story 'When Did You Get Hot?' It's not the best thing I've written, but we all have to remember where we started. Since then, I've interacted with so many amazing people on this app, and I want to thank them for welcoming me into this community. I truly do appreciate each and every one of you. As we approach the new year, I want to remind everyone that putting yourself out there is not an easy thing to do, but so many people greatly appreciate your work. Whether it's writing, art, edits, or crafts, you are seen. And I want to remind people that the hurtful things you say about peoples' creativity, does effect them. There are real people behind these stories, and all they want to do is express themselves. Do not stoop so low as to comment on how you didn't like their writing style, or you don't think their art is good. If you don't like it, don't interact with it. The people on this app do not create their work for you. ⤷ Anyway, enough rambling, here are my 2025 Fics of the Year:

Javier Peña

✩ Inertia by @half-moon16

Series Summary: Psychological Law of Inertia: a person will tend to maintain the status-quo unless compelled to alter the status-quo by a psychological motive. So...between you and Javier Peña, who will move first?

✩ Learning to Live by @wheresarizona

summary: While grocery shopping, you happen across a handsome man confused by some produce. Coming to his aid leads to an invitation for drinks, and next thing you know, you’re falling head over heels for Javier Peña—a good man who has trouble believing he is. Sparks fly when you meet and ignite an insatiable need that you both try to fight for the sake of taking things slow; Javi determined to do things right by you. The problem is, the two of you only have so much self-control.

✩ Thoroughfare by @gothcsz

SUMMARY: After being reassigned from Colombia to a small town in rural Texas, former DEA agent Javier Peña takes on the role of Deputy Sheriff to tackle a series of mysterious murders plaguing the community. As rumors swirl about a sacrilegious group lurking in the shadows, tension mounts among the townsfolk. Amidst the chaos, Javier finds himself drawn to Paloma, the sheriff's daughter, who captivates him entirely. As the former agent delves deeper into the investigation, he becomes increasingly entangled in the complexities of the case and his relationship with Paloma. Inspired by Ethel Cain's album 'Preacher's Daughter,' Javier navigates a web of deceit and intrigue, uncovering shocking truths about the town and its inhabitants.

✩ Undercover by @milla-frenchy

Summary: specialized in surveillance, you work at the DEA as a field agent, and despite being your colleague, Javi can’t get you out of his head

✩ With You I Fall Down by @joelsgreenflannel

summary: another day in colombia, another bomb orchestrated by narcos. but this time, it hits the street near your workplace. javi doesn't what happened to you, he rushes back home to find out.

✩ Velvet Crowbar by @wiitchesterr

summary: you came to Colombia from New York with a badge, a mission, and no intention of getting attached. but months later when you’re scarred, restless, and unable to forget what you and javier peña went through—you’re not sure what’s left to hold onto. until one night, he shows up at her door, and nothing feels like duty anymore.

✩ Complicated by @ovaryacted

SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.

Joel Miller

✩ Ghosts of a Past by @shadowqueen2024

Summary: You and Joel grew up together in your town in Texas. But because of your father, you were forced to leave Texas and Joel behind. You continued writing but eventually stopped. 20 years after the outbreak happened, you land in the Boston QZ, where you see that the ghosts you thought you buried came back.

✩ Life Goes On by @the-sophverse (TW)

Summary: When things go wrong Joel has to do what you ask him. But how could he continue to live on?

✩ Keep You Warm by @majestyeverlasting

summary wandering hands on a chilly morning in bed with the love of your life

✩ I'll Be Home For Christmas by @punkshort

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

✩ Feral by @mcthsman

summary: Part man, part beast, Joel Miller lives in solitude a few miles away from Jackson. At fifty-seven years old and without a Soulbond, Joel can't coexist with others— a man without his mate crazed by time and age. Until the day he sees her, the girl with tangerine blossoms in her hair and a laugh that echoes through the trees. So, he tracks her down. Hunts her through the woods, and brings home a girl that is not the wilting flower he expects.

✩ Spittin' Teeth by @hollyseb

summary: joel overhears men talking about you at the tipsy bison

Harry Castillo

✩ Then Came You by @pedroscurls

series summary: after lucy, harry believed he was destined to be alone. he had given up on his dream to be a father and husband. that is, until he met you who gave him hope for a future he thought was lost.

✩ Somebody to Love by @/punkshort

Summary: Harry finds someone who wants him for something other than his money.

✩ His Type, Her Font by @/wiitchesterr

Frankie Morales

✩ literally everything that @berryispunk writes

✩ Sizzlin' by @sunshinehaze1

Summary: Your friend convinces you to attend a BBQ at her boyfriend’s friend’s house. The last thing you expected was meeting Frankie.

✩ Saved by You by @/pedroscurls

series summary: escaping a toxic and abusive relationship, you book a one-way ticket across the world to start new life. and along the way, you meet a pilot named Frankie, and his group of friends, who leaves a lasting impression on you.

✩ Flying High by @/the-sophverse

Summary: After you die, Frankie is left behind to pick up the little pieces. And in the process, he finds something you left just for him.

Author's Picks (my own work)

✩ La Mentira - Javier Peña x OFC

series summary: Angelina follows her father's footsteps in the DEA after his death with her new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. She can't entirely be trusted, and she doesn't want to be.

✩ Western Nights - Joel Miller x fDoctor!reader

series summary: You'd go to great lengths to protect the people you care about, and so will Joel. Regardless of how he feels about you, that's one thing the both of you can agree on.

✩ Snooze - Harry Castillo x f!reader

summary: neither you or Harry want to face the world just yet.

✩ I Know The End - Frankie Morales x f!reader (TW)

summary: it's harder around the holidays now that you're gone...

some more lovely creators: @cherrycokeispunk , @bratfrag , @reedispunk , @rosharanfiction , @kokoluwie , @mytearsricochetm , @bemyluvr , @time-for-my-weekly-spanking , @maroonpascal , @mysterious-musings , @missadangel , @mimi-miller , @dallianceangelx , @amourflores , @pearlessance

MASTERLIST | Other Fic Rec Posts

Please show some love by reblogging and commenting on your favorite fics. This app does not thrive off of likes, it lives off of reblogs. Your positive feedback is what keeps us creators motivated.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[littledes1re]

Like a stray cat 

⤷ check out my masterlist ── .✦ ⤷ Taglist ── .✦

Pairing: Old!joel miller x female!reader

Summary: you tiptoe into Joel Miller’s home like a stray cat, always giving him a heart attack, always flashing those doe eyes, tear-spilled and aching, and making his heart twist. So he protects you—cares for you, cooks for you, calls you pet names. But that night feels different. Heavy. There’s an ache crawling through your body, one you don’t understand and can’t quiet. You try. You fail. And when you get caught—by the same man who just called you “kiddo”—you can’t help but ask him for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut, MDNI, age gap! (60s and 20s), pillow grinding, masturbation, really inexperienced!reader, one (1) light thigh spank, fingering, joel teaches you how to touch yourself with a mirror, soft!joel, like the sweetest Joel, he is super flustered, fluff, pet names, lot’s of praise, joel calls reader kiddo/kid, implications of abusive household, implications of abusive father, drunk father, outbreak, kind of dbf!joel but not really

A/N: if anyone can still remember this from the poll i made monthsss ago, you are a real one🤞🏻 but i loved writing this, it’s filthy but also so incredibly soft, sweet and joel is just a sweet old man :((( (he is alive and well) anyways, i hope yall enjoy this!!🫶🏻

“Jesus Christ, girl. Told ya not to scare me like this.” He huffs out, boots creaking on the old wooden floor as he turns to face you. “Sneakin’ up on me like a damn cat.”

The light outside is slowly fading, as his eyes scan you—quick, instinctive. He takes in the flushed skin, the way your dress hangs crooked on your frame, the tremble in your fingers. Then his gaze lands on your tear streaked cheeks, and something shifts.

His whole face tightens in worry.

“Did ya daddy say mean things again?” He pinches your chin in his hand, making you look up to him.

You can only nod, unable to speak—because if you did, you were sure the knot in your throat would unravel, and you’d sob, just like you did hours before coming to Joels house.

He softly coos, one arm wrapping around your body as he pulls you into his chest. “Oh, babygirl,” he whispers, resting his chin gently on top of your head. “I’m sorry.” Then he presses a kiss there, steady and long.

His words sink deep into your bones, steadying your heart—not with judgment, but with understanding and care.

“S’okey.” You mumble, burying your face into his flannel shirt further, taking in his musk.

“Hell, I probably stink, don’t I?”

Joel just came back from chopping wood. His hands were rough—calloused, streaked with dirt as usual. Sweat clung to his skin, glistening along his neck and brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. The scent of him was musky, edged with pine and smoke, but also of course, a hint of sweat lingering behind.

You loved burying your head into his chest.

“Not really,” You mumble. “Can I stay here tonight?” You ask, pulling away from his embrace and locking eyes with him—the question making your cheeks all flushed, a hint of embarrassment behind them.

“We can’t keep doin’ this, bug.” Joel murmurs, finger twirling a strand of your hair. “You come back every single time, like a damn stray cat.”

You roll your eyes at that, but a smile tugs on your lips.

“What? it’s true. I feed her, give her some milk and she always tip toes into my house back and gives me a near damn heart attack.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it all began.

Maybe it started when your dad and Joel, being neighbors, began visiting each other—trading food, clothes, medicine like good old friends. Or maybe it was when you and Joel started talking about everything and nothing, while you found yourself trusting him with things you hadn’t told anyone else. Then again, it might have been that night you tiptoed into his house without asking, desperate for a place to stay after your dad had been cruel to you again.

Even then, he never asked questions. Even then, he knew what you needed in that moment, as if he could read you.

They all say in town: Joel Miller is a rough, stern, stubborn, and gruff man. But you always saw the opposite. You saw the way his fingers shifted patterns on your skin, careful not to let his dry hands scrape you. The way he’d place a cold hand on your forehead and leave it there—steady and quiet—until your migraine melted away. You heard his voice becoming softer when he talked to you.

And then there were the quiet actions. Like replacing the kitchen clock with a quieter one, just because you once told him—without meaning to—that the ticking reminded you of the one in your father’s room: loud and fast.

Or how he never locks the door anymore. Always leaves the porch light on, so you know—you can come in, even if it’s the middle of the night.

You sometimes wished he was your father.

“I tell ya what. You help me with bringing those logs inside and then you can stay here.”

You nod, eagerly.

So, he gestures towards a pair of worn boots by the step—his, clearly too big for you, but the only option he’s got.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Slip into those. Ground’s cold.”

You glance down at the boots, then back up at him, one brow raised.

He sighs, already exasperated. “Why ya always gotta come barefoot anyways? Ya gonna catch a cold.”

You roll your eyes, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m fine.”

And before he can argue, you step past him, bare feet brushing over the cool stone, then the grass, then the packed dirt of his garden path.

Joel watches you go, but then shakes his head, chuckling. He can’t stay mad at you. Never.

The wood’s already stacked neatly near the shed, thick logs piled in a criss-cross pattern. You bend to grab one, arms wrapping around the weight of it, and carry it back towards the house. Joel moves the same, grabbing two—instead of one—and moving them into his house.

You come back for another, but as your foot shifts on the ground, something sharp presses into your sole. You hiss, stumbling slightly, and glance back at him.

He’s already shaking his head.

“Told ya to wear the boots, honey bun.”

You stick your tongue out at him, giggling as you hobble a step, then straighten and scoop up the log anyway. Joel smirks, eyes accidentally lingering on your legs as you walk back towards the house, the hem of your dress swaying with each step.

You’re halfway through stacking the last of the wood before Joel disappears into the hallway. You don’t think much of it—just keep moving, barefoot on the cool floor, arms full of logs that leave little flecks of bark on your dress.

When you place them down, and turn around, he’s back. Holding something.

A pair of thick, worn, brown socks.

He tosses them onto the couch, then goes to close the door to his garden. He jerks his chin towards his couch. “Sit.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sit down, kiddo.” His voice is calm, but firm. “You been runnin’ around barefoot like a damn forest sprite. Floor’s cold. You’re gonna catch somethin’.”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed. “I’m fine.”

Joel gives you a look—that look—the one that says, “I could bend you over and spank you,” and you know better than to argue. With a huff, you drop onto the couch, legs swinging slightly.

He kneels in front of you, knees popping—followed by that quiet dad groan he always makes as he lowers himself. His hand comes up, wraps around your ankle real gentle but firm.

You try to pull back, but he doesn’t let you.

“Quit squirming. Let me take care of you.”

You go still, cheeks flushing.

He slips the first sock over your foot, slow and careful, as if you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your ankle, your calf. He doesn’t look up, his eyebrows are pinched, concentrated

“Can’t have you gettin’ sick. Cold floor like this’ll mess with your stomach. You’ll be cryin’ to me about cramps in a day or two.” He murmurs.

You snort. “You sound like an old man.”

He smirks, sliding the second sock on. “Yeah, well. Old man knows how to keep you warm, bug.”

When he’s done, he pats your knee, then leans in—just a little and presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle. Soft. Barely there.

Your stomach does a small flip. And your toes curl against the rug, like your body’s reacting before your mind can catch up. It’s just a kiss, soft and low on your ankle, but it sends something warm skimming up your spine.

Then he stands up slowly, “There. All better.”

You wiggle your toes in the socks, quiely recovering from the kiss. They’re too big, smell like cedar and laundry soap—just like Joel smells whenever he changes clothes. You don’t say thank you. You don’t have to.

Joel’s already watching you with that quiet, unreadable look—the one that says he’d do it all over again, every day, just to keep you safe.

Then he clears his throat, voice low and lazy.

“Whatcha want to eat, huh, hon?” You glance up. “We can make some pasta,” he adds, already turning towards the kitchen.

You hop off the couch, socks slipping slightly on the floor, and trail after him. “You always make some pasta.”

Joel shrugs, pulling open a cabinet. “It’s easy. And you love my pasta.”

You climb onto the counter, legs swinging, watching him move m—sleeves pushed up, hands steady, the taught rhythm of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. He grabs a pot, fills it with water, sets it on the stove.

“You gonna help or just sit there lookin’ all cute?” he mutters, not looking at you.

You grin. “I’m moral support.”

Joel snorts, tossing you a clove of garlic. “Then start peelin’, bug.”

So, you do. Slowly. While watching him out of the corner of your eye as he moves around the kitchen and hums under his breath. The silence between you isn’t awkward…it’s warm. Familiar.

And when he brushes past you to grab the salt, his hand grazes your knee. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t even look at you.

But you feel it. And so does he.

Slowly, the air starts to smell like olive oil and tomatoes. The kitchen, warm now, feels like home—the kind you never had, but Joel made for you.

He glances over his shoulder at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re gettin’ more garlic on the floor than in the bowl, bun.”

You shrug, grinning. “You’re the one who made me help.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he stirs the sauce.

Then—suddenly—a knock on his door.

Your heart jumps. The garlic slips from your fingers, forgotten. You freeze, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat.

Joel looks up, brows furrowing. “Relax,” he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “It’s probably just Tommy.”

But you’re already sliding off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, knowing what it could mean if your father finds you. You duck behind the counter, heart pounding, curling in on yourself like instinct. Joel watches you for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“Alright,” he mutters, more to himself now. He walks to the door, slow and steady, and opens it just a crack. And the smell hits him first—sharp, sour, unmistakable. Then the voice.

“You’ve seen my girl, Miller?”

Joel’s jaw tightens. Your father stands on the porch, swaying ever so slightly, eyes glassy, breath thick with liquor. His shirt’s half untucked, belt askew, like he got dressed in the dark.

Joel doesn’t blink. “Nah,” he says, voice flat. “I was home all the time.”

Your father squints at him, leans in too close.

“You sure?”

Joel’s eyes narrow. His voice drops, low and dangerous. “You callin’ me a liar?” And hell, he could punch the shit out of him if you weren’t behind the counter.

There’s a beat of silence. Then your father scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and stumbles back down the steps, disappearing into the dusk.

Joel watches him go, jaw clenched, hand still on the doorknob, trying to calm himself down from the anger he is feeing. Only when the sound of retreating footsteps fades does he shut the door, slow and deliberate. The lock clicks into place.

He turns around.

You’re still crouched behind the counter, peeking up with wide, sad eyes. Your hands are clenched in your lap, shoulders drawn tight.

Joel’s face softens instantly, the anger washing away as fast as it came. He crosses the room in a few strides and kneels besides you, his knees popping as he lowers himself down.

“You stayin’ here tonight,” he says gently, “Maybe even tomorrow.”

You don’t answer. You just throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest. He catches you so easily, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your hair. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you here. I got you.”

You nod against him, breath shaky, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing a thumb under your eye. “It’s alright now. Let’s keep cookin’, yeah? My tummy’s grumblin’”

You manage a small smile. He helps you up, steadying you with a hand on your back, and guides you gently back to the counter.

The garlic’s still there, waiting. The water’s boiling. And Joel—Joel is right beside you, like he always is, and always be.

—

The pasta’s gone cold, but neither of you seem to notice.

You’re sitting across from Joel at his little wooden table, legs tucked under you, fork still in hand.

Joel leans back in his chair, watching you with that unreadable look. You can feel it—the way his eyes linger, the way his fingers tap slow against the rim of his glass.

You set your fork down. Swallow hard.

“You know…” you start, voice soft. “I don’t really trust people. Not anymore.”

Joel’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But I trust you.” You look up to meet his eyes. “With everything.”

He shifts in his seat, like the words hit somewhere deep. He looks away, jaw tight.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters. “Don’t go puttin’ that kind of faith in me. I ain’t no good man, baby.”

You shake your head, voice steady now.

“Well… you’re better than my father.”

That lands like a stone in the room. Joel’s eyes snap back to yours, something raw flickering behind them. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say that won’t break the moment.

Finally, he leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “That ain’t sayin’ much.”

You smile, sad and small. “It’s sayin’ enough.”

Joel exhales, long and slow. Then he reaches across the table, rough fingers brushing yours. He doesn’t grab your hand—just lets his rest there, close enough for you to choose.

And you do.

You slide your hand into his, and he closes his fingers around yours tightly. You expect him to let go, to change the subject.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts your hand slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss to your knuckles—soft, sweet, delicate, like he’s done it a thousand times in his head but never dared to do it for real.

Your heart warms.

It started with safety. With wishing he was the kind of man who could’ve raised you. But now, when he looks at you like that, and kisses you— you know it’s something else entirely.

And then there is another thing. The one where Joel makes you feel different. Not in your heart but rather…down there. Deep in your belly, where butterflies loom whenever you look at his calloused hands, whenever he stands in front of you—broad shoulders and as a big man who could handle anything.

A giggle slips out before you can stop it.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”

You shake your head, cheeks warm. “Nothin’. Just… your hands are so big.”

He laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper. “Yeah? That a problem?”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but your tummy does a little flip as his thumb brushes over your knuckles again, slow and absentminded.

The room is dim now, the outside fully dark. And if it weren’t for the gentle brushes of his thumb over your knuckles, it would be the silence that let’s you a yawn slip. Stretching your mouth wide before you can stifle it.

Joel catches it instantly.

“Looks like somebody’s tired already?” he says, voice low and teasing.

You blink at him, eyes heavy, lips curved in a sleepy smile. “M’not.”

He chuckles, his hands leaving yours before standing up and offering the same hand. “C’mon, honey bun. Let’s get you tucked in before you fall asleep on my damn table.”

You take his hand without hesitation, letting him guide you down the hall—his thumb beginning to brush over your knuckles again.

He stops in front of the small door and pushes it open with a quiet grunt. The hinges groan slightly, like they haven’t been used in a while. The room beyond is cozy, if a little dusty—a twin bed tucked against the wall, a faded quilt folded neatly at the foot, and a big mirror leaned against the other side of the room.

Joel steps inside first, flicking on the light. Dust motes dance in the glow.

“S’been a while since you were here,” he murmurs, running a hand along the edge of the mirror. His fingers come away gray, and he wipes them on his jeans with a quiet huff. “Should’ve cleaned up better.”

You smile, stepping in behind him. The room is small, but it’s yours. Always has been. He never says it out loud, but he keeps it ready—just in case.

Joel walks over to the bed, pulls the blanket back with a dramatic flourish, and pats the mattress. “Alright, bug. Hop in.”

You climb in, the sheets cool against your skin, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. Before you can settle, Joel grabs the edge of the blanket and throws it over you, tucking it in tight around your sides.

Then, with a grin, he starts rolling you—gently, playfully—wrapping you up like a burrito, like a cocoon. “There we go,” he mutters, half to himself. “All wrapped up. Ain’t goin’ nowhere now.”

You giggle, squirming a little under the snug weight of the blanket. “Joel!”

He chuckles, crouching beside the bed, one hand braced on the mattress, the other smoothing your hair back from your face.

“You always do this,” you murmur, eyes soft.

Joel grins. “You always giggle.”

You peek up at him, voice quieter now. “You always kiss my forehead.”

Joel’s expression shifts—something tender flickering behind his eyes. His voice drops, warm and low. “And I always will.”

He watches you for a beat longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead—slow, gentle, lingering just a second too long. A silence settles between you, thick with something unspoken. Then he clears his throat gently.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he says, softer now. “Still need to work on somethin’. If ya need anythin’, just come down, yeah?”

You nod, cheeks warm, eyes already heavy.

“Okay.”

“Night, honey bun,” he whispers.

And then he stands, walks to the door, and slips out without another word, closing it behind him with a soft click.

—

It hits you just minutes after the door clicks shut. A slow, pulsing ache deep in your belly. A thrum of want, right where your hands have never wandered before.

You shift on the bed, the sheets cool beneath your thighs, the air still holding the warmth of where he was. Your fingers twitch at your sides, unsure. You glance towards the door, half-expecting him to come back. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

The silence stretches.

You sit up, then lie back down. Pull the blanket up, then push it off again. Your skin feels too tight, like it’s holding something in. Like something wants to release, but it can’t.

Your eyes flick to the mirror across the room. You don’t recognize the girl staring back—flushed cheeks, parted lips, pupils wide like she’s seen something she wasn’t supposed to.

You think of Joel.

His voice…low, steady, rough. The kind that settles in your chest and stays there.

His hands—big, calloused, careful. The way they brushed over your hand, the way he kept you wrapped up around his chest. The way he looked at you—not like you were fragile, but like you were worth protecting.

You close your eyes and breathe him in, even though he’s gone. The scent of him still lingers—soap, cedar, something with wood.

Your hand moves without thinking. Just resting. Just curious.

You’re not sure what you’re doing. But you know what you’re feeling.

You never touched that place. But today, something in your body wants more. Something aching to be touched, something that makes your pulse go faster, your breathing deeper.

So your hand starts moving—slow strokes over your damp panties. Your cheeks burn as the first waves of pleasure stir beneath your skin, soft and startling.

It feels good.

Too good.

A spark flares, sharp and sweet, and for a moment you think—maybe this is it. This is what your body wants. But it fades too fast. Dissolves before it can crest. You’re left with a pulse that won’t settle and a need that won’t quiet.

So you try again.

Stroking up and down. Left and right. Your body responds—hips shifting, breath catching. It’s good. More than good. But it’s not enough. Like trying to drink from a glass that’s just out of reach. You taste it, but you’re still thirsty. Your breath comes out in sharp waves and your hand moves faster, chasing something that’s there something you are not quite sure how to reach.

But you fail. The burning sensation on your cheeks grow, and you’re breathless when you let your hand fall.

You shift again, restless. Your thighs press together, trying to chase that feeling. Your gaze drifts across the bed, landing on the pillow near your hip. You hesitate. Then, slowly, you pull it between your legs, the fabric cool against your skin and the now, more dampened fabric.

You close your eyes, hips rocking against that feeling.

You don’t know what you’re doing—only that it feels good. You sit up, straddling it. The pillow is soft beneath you, and your hips begin to move faster without permission. You bury your face in the sheets, breath catching, heart pounding.

And somewhere in the dark, his name flickers on your tongue.

Joel stands at the kitchen sink, cleaning the dishes from the pasta. He should’ve gone to bed by now, leave all of that and just relax. But something’s keeping him up—a restlessness in his chest he can’t shake. If it’s guilt, or love—he can’t decide.

He thinks of you. The way you looked at him tonight, the way your eyes peaked from behind the counter. The way you wrapped your arms around him like he is the only person that can save you.

He runs a hand down his face, exhales slow. “Get a grip,” he mutters to himself. “She’s just a kid.”

Still, it lingers. He folds the same dish towel twice. Stares out the window like it might give him answers.

And when he finally heads to the hallway, to wash his face, put on his something more comfortable—he hears it.

Upstairs, Joel freezes.

He’s halfway to his bedroom when he hears it—your voice, muffled but clear, calling his name in a tone that makes his stomach twist. It’s not loud, but it’s enough. Enough to make his heart lurch.

He doesn’t think. Just moves.

Two long strides and he’s at your door, pushing it open with a sharp breath.

“Baby?” he calls, voice tight with worry. “You okay—”

Then he sees you.

You’re on your knees, straddling the pillow, frozen mid-motion. Your breath catches. Your eyes go wide. Your mouth is parted, lips swollen, cheeks flushed a deep, blooming pink.

Joel stops dead in his tracks.

His heart drops straight into his boots.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice low and stunned. He turns his head, suddenly aware of what he’s walked into. “Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to barge in like that.”

But then you say it again.

“Joel,” you breathe, voice trembling, needy. “Please.”

He doesn’t know what you’re asking for. Doesn’t know if you know. But the sound of it—the way you say his name like it’s the only word you’ve got left—hits him like a punch to the chest.

His cheeks flush hard. His hands find his hips, like he needs something to hold onto.

“Gosh,” he says, voice rough. “The hell are ya doin’, bug?”

He doesn’t even know why he asks. He sees it. Clear as day. But his brain’s still catching up to his heart, and his heart’s caught somewhere between panic and something he doesn’t dare name.

You sink down on the pillow slowly, heart pounding, shame already rising in your throat. “I… I can’t help myself,” you whisper, voice thin and breathless. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flick back to you, going soft. “S’alright,” he says, voice low. “I’ll just—”

“Will you help me?”

The words tumble out before you can even stop them.

Joel freezes. Really freezes. His whole body goes still, like the air’s been knocked out of him. He looks at you, disbelief written on his face, and something shifts. His mouth parts, but no sound comes out. He’s searching for words and finding none.

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” you whimper, voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Joel’s hands fall from his hips. He rubs his forehead, dragging his palm down his face like he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “Nah. Not happening.“

“Please, Joel.”

He shakes his head, backing towards the door. “No, baby. I— I can’t. You can just… do whatever you need. I’ll leave ya alone.”

He turns, hand on the doorknob, already halfway out.

And then you say it.

“It hurts…”

Just two words. Barely a whisper. But they hit him like a bullet.

Joel stops.

His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut. He curses under his breath—not at you, god, never at you—but at himself. At the way his heart twists. At the way his body responds, his cock wakes up in his pants. At the way he wants to help you, even while he knows he shouldn’t.

So, he turns back around.

Steps into the room again, slow and quiet. He walks awkwardly and sits down besides you, careful not to touch.

His eyes land on your flushed skin, sweat on your forehead, the way your hands are gripping the pillow as if it’s going to run away from you. And then the small wet spot you left—on his pillow. His. Joel’s head turns into mush.

“W-what do ya want me to do, bug?” he asks, voice almost broken.

You should be embarrassed. You should be hiding your face, pretending it didn’t happen. You shouldn’t be asking him for help. But you don’t feel shame anymore. Because it’s Joel. And with him, you don’t feel ashamed. You feel safe.

You look at him, eyes glassy, lips parted. “Touch me.”

Joel flinches. His jaw tightens. He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. “God, baby… it ain’t right to do things like that when you’re visitin’ someone.”

He rubs his face, voice cracking. “You’re young. You’re hurtin’. And I’m supposed to be takin’ care of you, not—” He stops himself, breath shaky. “Not this.”

You look at him, heart breaking a little, eyes wide and wet, voice barely a whisper. “But you said you would help me with anything.”

Joel freezes. That line hits him like a punch in the ribs. And he swallows hard, jaw clenched, eyes flicking away. “I did,” he murmurs. “I did say that.”

Why did he have to say that, for fuck sake.

He rubs his palms together, like he’s trying to scrub the guilt off of his skin. “Didn’t think it’d be this, bun. Didn’t think you’d be askin’ me for somethin’ like this.”

Silence stretches between you two. His eyes on you. On your skin. On your dress that’s hitched up. And on the small bit of your underwear that he can see. He lets out a shaky breath, seeing the way the fabric is completely soaked. He huffs, soft and low.

“Y’really are needy, aren’t you, huh?” His voice is deep, but soft.

You nod your head silently, shifting your hips to show him the mess you made. He swallows, muttering something under his breath that comes close to “christ.”

“Ain’t gonna touch you,” he says, finally. “But you can listen to my voice, yeah? Let me take care of you like that.”

You blink at him, confused. Lips parted, brows drawn.

Joel sees it immediately—sees the flicker of doubt, the question in your eyes—and his heart damn near cracks. He knows you’re just needy, just desperate to feel something. And he feels like a real bad man for denying you.

“I just…” he starts, then stops. Rubs a hand over his mouth. “I don’t wanna mess this up, bun.”

You tilt your head, still quiet. Still waiting. Like a cat.

“You’re all soft right now, all sweet. All needy.” he rambles, “and I know you trust me. I know you feel safe. And I ain’t gonna take that and twist it.”

He shifts, nervous. His hands twitch like they want to reach for you—but fhey don’t. They can’t.

“So I’m gonna talk you through it. Just my voice. You’ll still feel good. I promise. But this way… you’ll know I ain’t just takin’ advantage.”

You nod, slow, understanding what he is trying to say. You see it in his eyes, guilt written on them. You don’t want to make him feel bad. So, the tension in your shoulders eases, and you trust Joel to make the ache go away.

“Okay,” you whisper. Joel exhales, shaky and repeats: “Okay.”

“Alright then,” he murmurs. “Do what you were doing before I came into the room.”

You hesitate, eyes flicking to his. He nods, just once. “Go on. I’m right here.”

He shifts where he’s sitting, his body turning towards you. Now, his whole attention is on you.

So you move—just like before. Still unsure, still not a damn clue what you’re doing. Your hips begin to buck in that familiar rhythm, slow and searching. A soft whine slips from your lips as the now cool, damp pillow brushes against your aching heat. The sensation is new, startling, and you want to chase it.

You glance at him, eyes wide, waiting.

He sees it—the unsureness in your gaze. The need. And his voice comes low, steady, like a hand on your spine. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You’re doin’ good. So damn good.”

You inhale sharply. The words settle over your skin. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this—how his voice alone could make your body respond, how praise could feel like touch. You move again, tentative. His voice follows you, steadying.

“Go slow, baby. No rush. Let yourself feel it.”

Each slow grind of your hips draws a quiet squeak from the mattress, rhythmic and raw. Your breath stutters, a whine escapes your mouth.

He hears it, so his voice dips lower. “You’re so beautiful like this. So sweet. Look at you.”

And Joel feels guilt in his chest rising from the words that leave his mouth. He swallows hard, jaw clenched. His voice is steady, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you.

You glance at him, always. Only at him, awaiting something. Cheeks flushed, lips bitten bloody.

He gives you a nod, eyes warm but careful—not trying to let you see the guilt. “Keep goin’. I’m right here, bun.”

You move faster, shaky, needy, guided by his voice.

The tension starts to build, hips stammering in that rhythm he coaxed from you with nothing but words. You’re right there, teetering, the edge rising up to meet you—

And then it’s gone.

The pressure breaks, not into release, but into absence. A gasp tears from your throat, sharp and helpless. You freeze, blinking hard, chest heaving.

Frustration prickles at your skin.

“I—I can’t,” you whisper, voice cracking. “It’s not working.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, he sees the frustration. Sees the way your hips messily buck, your chest rising up and down quickly.

“I wanted to,” you whisper. “I really tried.”

He nods, brushing a hand down his face, like he’s trying to steady himself. Then, quieter: “I know. I saw you.”

Your breath hitches, frustration bubbling up in your chest. You blink fast, trying to swallow it down, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I—I never did it.”

Joel stills. His brow furrows. “What?”

You look away, cheeks burning.

“Touched myself I mean,” you whisper. “I tried before, but… I don’t have any privacy in that goddamn house. Someone’s always around. I never—” You shake your head, voice cracking. “I never got there.”

Joel’s face softens. He nods, slow and quiet, like he’s piecing it all together.

“That’s why you’re so worked up, huh?”

You nod, eyes downcast, lips trembling. You feel embarrassed for making such a scene tonight—keeping him up, begging him to touch you. But you don’t know any better. You don’t have anyone else.

He hesitates, then shifts closer, voice low and careful. “Can I… can I try somethin’ else?”

You look up, confused. He swallows hard.

“Still not gonna—” He stops, starts again. “Still not gonna take more than you give me. But maybe if I just…”

He lifts his hands, palms open, hovering over your hips.

“Just here,” he says. “My hands. That’s all. I’ll guide you. Help you move. Nothin’ more.”

You whisper, “please,” and reach for him without hesitation, your fingers curling around his hands like you need him to stay grounded. Joel exhales hard by your reaction, as if the wind’s been knocked out of him. His hands settle on your hips, warm and trembling.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re going to fuckin’ ruin me, bug.”

You blink up at him, breath catching, feeling the throbbing get worse now that his hands are on you.

He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours. “Always fuckin’ using those eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Always knowin’ you get what you ask for, don’t you?”

You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you squeeze his hands.

“I just look at you.”

Joel huffs a breath, something like a laugh but heavier. “’Course you do, baby.”

His gaze drops, catches on the slow, unconscious roll of your hips on the pillow—like your body’s still chasing the rhythm, even if your mind hasn’t caught up.

He swears under his breath, voice thick.

“C’mon then,” he says, shifting closer, hands squeezing gently on your hips. “Let’s get you there.”

You start moving your hips again, while Joel’s hands guide you, slow and sure now, his voice a low hum in your ear. And every time you falter, his grip reminds you: he’s here. He’s watching. He wants this for you.

And somehow, that makes it easier. Makes it deeper.

The friction is good, but it’s his hands that make you tremble. His hands that coax the heat higher. His hands that tell you it’s safe to fall apart.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “Movin’ so good for me.”

You whimper, chasing that edge again, feeling it coming closer and closer. He leans in, lips brushing over your cheek.

“Sweet little thing,” he breathes, “So fuckin’ good for me.”

Something in you breaks open at that—soft and aching. You can’t help it. You lean forward, forehead pressing to his shoulder, breath hot against his neck.

Joel stills, just for a second. Then his hands tighten firmer on your hips.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You rest right there, baby. I got you.”

You nod against him, breath trembling. He keeps talking, voice low and steady, every word a touch. You feel more wetness soaking the pillow, more mess forming between your legs. And he notices it.

“Didn’t know you had all that in you, honey bun.”

You bury your face further into his neck, heat rushing to your cheeks. You don’t say anything—can’t. Your body’s trembling, and his words only make it worse. Or better. You’re not sure anymore.

And he also notices the way your hips go faster, the way your thighs clench, the way your breath hitches.

“You’re shaking, baby. You gonna make another mess for me?”

And it hits you right in the chest. You whimper, barely, and lift your head. Your eyes meet his—wide, glassy, desperate. You nod. Just once. Small. Needy. Like you’re asking permission and giving it all at once.

Joel groans, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You’re doin’ so good. So proud of you. Let it come, bun. Let it take you.”

“J-joel.” You whimper out.

“M’right here. M’right here, baby.” He whispers, gently squeezing your hips and moving you against the pillow faster.

“I think—it’s coming, Joel.” You whimper, breathless.

Joel nods, his hands guide you on the pillow with a steady, fast rhythm, with the right amount of pleasure. You fall back to his neck, releasing a hiccup, hands holding down on the sheets, feeling that coil in your tummy finally about to snap and then—

…It’s gone again.

You freeze, breath caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief. Your face stays buried in his neck, hot with frustration, your breath hitching in little gasps.

“It’s gone.” you whisper, voice cracking.

Joel holds you tighter, one hand smoothing slow circles down your back. He doesn’t say anything at first—just breathes with you, steady and warm.

“What am I gonna do with you, bug, huh?” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, almost crying lips parted.

“Please,” you whisper. “Do something. I don’t care what. Just… please.”

Joel’s jaw flexes. He looks at you, then away, scanning the room like he’s searching for an answer. That’s when his eyes land on the mirror. On the long, full-lengthed one, leaning against the wall. He stares at it for a beat, then huffs a breath.

“Your father’s gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You blink, trying to figure out what he is thinking. “No,” you say, voice trembling but sure. “You’re stronger than him.”

Joel lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “You got no idea what you’re sayin’, baby.”

Then, you put your hand on top of his again, squeezing gently. “I do. I trust you.”

Joel’s mind spins with possibilities—how this idea could play out, how it might shift the shape of your relationship, how it could make him look like something he’s not. Like he’s crossing a line. Like he might ruin you. He looks at you for a long moment, searching. Then he nods. Slow. Decisive.

“Alright,” he says, voice almost broken. “Let’s try somethin’ different.”

He stands up, the bed dipping as he rises. Then he turns, reaches a hand out to you.

“Let me show you somethin’.”

You blink up at him, confused, but you take his hand. He pulls you up slowly, the pillow that just sat between your legs, now completely wet and ruined laying there in the corner. He steadies you when your knees wobble, and pulls down your dress again.

Together, you walk across the room, his hand warm around yours. The mirror looms ahead—tall, full-length, catching your reflection in the dim light.

He steps behind you, his hands resting on your hips. You meet his eyes in the mirror.

“You trust me?” he asks.

You nod, almost too quickly. Because you do. You trust him with everything you have.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Then let me see you, baby.” A shiver runs down your spine. “Can I take your panties off?”

Your breath catches. No one’s ever asked you that before. No one’s ever seen what lies behind the fabric.

And for a second, you freeze. Not because you don’t want it—but because it’s him. Because it’s real. Because this isn’t about being used. It’s about being seen. Because you trust him.

You nod. Slow. Careful. Then whisper, “Okay.”

Joel nods, pushing your dress up and hooking into the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate. He kneels as he draws them down your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours in the glass.

His eyes land on your pussy, and he licks his lips without even noticing.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “So god damn pretty.”

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in your hands. “Joel…”

“What?” he says, looking up and grinning. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

You peek down at him through your fingers, cheeks burning, but your cunt still pulses. Still asking. Still open for him.

“Sit,” he says softly, guiding you down.

You lower yourself onto the floor, the plush rug cool against your thighs. Joel kneels behind you, his presence a wall of heat at your back. Then he shifts, legs sliding out on either side of yours, bracketing you in.

You’re nestled between his thighs now, your back against his chest, his arms resting loosely around your waist.

He leans in, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

“There we go. You okay?”

You nod, breath catching, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Then, with slow hands, he reaches down, his palms gliding over your thighs. He nudges your knees apart, spreading you gently until your legs rest over his.

“Just like that,” he says. “Let me hold you open.”

You glance at the mirror, at your swollen pussy, then to Joel. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. Not this time.

“I don’t want you to just feel it. I want you to watch how your body moves. Watch how it wants this. You ain’t broken, bug. You’re just learnin’.”

You nod, but your voice is small. “I don’t even know where to touch.”

Joel’s hands settle on your thighs, grounding you. He leans in, his voice a low hum in your ear. “Then I’ll show you, baby. Just once. So you know where to start.”

Joel’s hand hovers just above your center, not touching yet.

“Before we get there,” he murmurs, “you gotta learn how to tease yourself. Build it up slow. That’s how you make it last.”

“I know you’re already worked up with two ruined orgasms…” his eyes softly find yours in the mirror. “But I want you to also learn it for other times, yea?”

You nod before you even realize it, breath catching in your throat. You don’t fully understand what he means—not quite yet—but you trust him. You trust that whatever he’s teaching you, it’s not just about your body. It’s about you.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’ll try.”

He smiles, just a little. “That’s my bun.”

And when his hands return to your hips, guiding you again, you let go of the fear. You let him lead. You let yourself feel. He brushes his fingers along the inside of your thigh, featherlight. You shiver.

“Start here,” he says. “Skin’s soft. Sensitive. You touch yourself here, you’re tellin’ your body what’s comin’.”

He drags his fingertips up, tracing the curve of your thigh, then across your hip, your lower belly.

“Then here,” he whispers. “Your mound. Just a little pressure. Not too much. You’re not tryin’ to rush it—you’re sayin hello.”

You watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the way his hands move, by the way your body responds.

“You feel that?” he asks, his palm resting just above your center. “That heat?”

You nod, lips parted.

“Good,” he says. “Now we go lower.”

His fingers dip between your folds, still avoiding your clit, just gliding through the slickness there.

Joel’s fingers glide through your slick, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t rush—just lets himself feel you, lets you feel it.

He groans, low and wrecked.

“Goddamn, baby…” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You squirm, cheeks burning, but you don’t look away. Not this time. You watch how his big fingers explore your cunt, how the pleasure feels tingly.

He pulls his fingers back, glistening with your arousal. Then, without a word, he brings them to your mouth.

“Open,” he says, voice rough.

You do. Lips parting, breath trembling. He slides his fingers past them, slow, letting you taste yourself.

His eyes stay locked on yours in the mirror.

“Tastes sweet?” he asks, voice low and wrecked.

You nod, your heart beating faster, your tongue curling around his fingers. His fingers are big, and you need quite a while until you suck your arousal off.

He groans, deep in his chest. “Good.”

Joel watches you suck his fingers, slow and shy, your tongue curling around the taste of yourself. His breath is ragged behind you, chest rising and falling against your back.

Then, he pulls his fingers free again, slick and warm, and you gasp like you’ve lost something.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you and mutters, almost to himself: “Hang on.”

He reaches for his glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Slips them on with one hand, slow and deliberate. You catch his reflection in the mirror—the way his eyes narrow behind the lenses, the way his jaw tightens.

“There,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “Now I can see exactly where she is.”

His hand slides down, slow and deliberate, until his fingers hover just above where you ache. Then, just when you least expect it; his fingers part you gently. The cold air meeting your slick coated cunt.

You shift in front of the mirror, thighs trembling, eyes flicking up to meet his in the glass.

“See this right here?” He taps on the little nub once, featherlight. You jolt. “That’s your clit, baby. That’s where all that ache’s comin’ from.”

“This little thing’s what makes you fall apart. You ever touched it like this before?” he asks.

You shake your head, quietly, your cheeks flushed.

“That’s alright,” he taps on your little clit again. “You feel that? That little twitch? That’s your body beggin’ for more.”

A gasp leaves your mouth when he gives you one rub. You squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back against his chest. And suddenly, Joel lands a spank on your thigh making you jolt against him and open your eyes wide. “Keep your eyes on the mirror. I want you to see what I see.”

His hand smoothes over the spot. “Easy bug,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. Just want you here with me.”

His hand stays steady between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick, slow and reverent. You’re trembling, breath shallow, eyes locked on the mirror like he told you.

Joel’s voice is low, almost hypnotic.

“Slow circles,” he murmurs, brushing over your clit with the lightest touch. “Not too fast. Not too hard.”

You twitch, hips jerking, but he holds you still.

“Just like this,” he says again, rubbing in a lazy rhythm. “Slow circles. That’s how she likes it.”

You whimper, your head falling back again on his shoulder. You feel the pleasure in your tummy slowly building—just from feeling his middle finger on top of your clit. And he doesn’t stop.

“There she is” he whispers. “All swollen and pulsing.”

He keeps rubbing, patient and precise, and your body starts to melt into his.

“She’s real sensitive,” he says. “You rush her, she’ll shut down. But you take your time…”

He presses just a little firmer, and you gasp.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s the spot. You keep her there, she’ll take you all the way.”

His fingers never stop moving, and his voice keeps repeating, grounding you in the rhythm.

“Slow circles. Soft pressure. Let her talk to you.”

Joel’s fingers keep working you in slow, deliberate circles, never rushing, never faltering. The pleasure builds like a storm, tight and trembling in your belly. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

You can’t hold it in anymore.

“Joel,” you whine, the sound broken, desperate. “I—please—”

He stills. Just like that.

You cry out, hips jerking, chasing the friction he’s stolen. But his hand stays still, warm and maddening between your legs.

He leans in, “Now you continue,” he says. “Let me see if you listened.”

You blink, dazed, your whole body buzzing.

“Wha—?”

He guides your hand down, curling your fingers over your clit, still slick from his touch.

“You’re so close, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop now. Show me you remember.”

Your hand trembles, but you start to move, mimicking the slow circles he taught you. Your breath catches. It’s not the same as his touch—but it’s yours. And it’s working.

Joel watches you in the mirror, his hands resting on your thighs, grounding you.

“That’s it,” he says, voice thick. “Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty like this. Wrecked and tryin’ so hard.”

You whimper again, your body arching, chasing the edge he left you on.

“Keep goin’,” he whispers. “You’re almost there.”

Joels hand circle your thigh and before you even notice it, his other hand is gently rubbing on your nipple over the fabric. You gasp, trying to keep the rhythm of the circles on your clit, but it’s hard to do when you feel his hands and his gaze watching you.

Your breath stutters. Your legs shake. Your vision blurs.

“Joel,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I—I think—”

And then it hits.

Your body arches, a cry tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you—sharp and deep and endless. You collapse back against him, your whole body trembling, your hand falling away from your center.

Joel catches you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. A hand sneaks down to cup your cunt, pressing his palm on your clit to make you ride out your orgasm. You bury your face in his shoulder, breath ragged, heart pounding.

“There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “That’s it, baby. You did so good.”

You whimper, still shaking, overwhelmed. Your first orgasm.

“Shh,” he soothes, rocking you gently. “I got you. I got you.”

He presses a kiss to your hair, his voice warm. He slowly removes his hand, making sure that the throbbing slowly fades away.

“First one always hits hard,” he says. “You held on so long. Now you let it out, bun. You earned that.”

You’re still trembling, your body boneless and warm, your breath slowing in Joel’s arms. He doesn’t rush you. Just holds you there, your back pressed to his chest, his hands gentle on your thighs.

One of them drifts up to your waist, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin. The other stays low, massaging the sore muscles of your inner thigh, where you’d tensed so hard.

You melt into him, your head resting on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “So proud of you, bug.”

You hum, barely awake, your voice a sleepy whisper. “Thank you.”

Joel smiles, soft and warm.

“’Course, baby,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you.”

You sigh, content, your fingers curling around his wrist where it rests on your belly.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the weight of his arms, and the quiet hum of something new blooming between you.

And then your voice comes out, soft and sweet, but bold.

“Now I want one from you.”

He stills, breath catching. Joel looks at you in the mirror, searching for your eyes. Then a low chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“That so?” he says, voice rough with restraint. “You really bringin’ me to my limits today, aren’t you, bug?”

You smile into the mirror, still dazed, still glowing. Joel’s always been careful. Too careful. He’s guided you, watched you, whispered praise—but never let himself touch you the way you crave. And you understands why. You know he’s afraid of taking too much, of being too much.

“You said you’d do anything for me,” you whisper, the words soft but sure.

Joel groans, tipping his head back with a quiet curse.

“Y’gonna always play that card now?” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. Just awe. Just surrender. So, this time—Joel does not argue, he doesn’t let guilt take over him. His fingers find their way down, on your clit and resume their slow, sweet rhythm, just like before. You twitch beneath his touch, still sensitive, still trembling.

“You still sensitive, hm?” he murmurs, watching your body react, watching your eyes flutter in the mirror.

He spreads your pussy lips, creating a v-shape with his fingers. Your cheeks flush again, looking at your aching cunt—your hole clenching.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs, then goes back to rubbing your clit.

But you wonder. What does it feel like? When something is inside, when the pleasure comes from there instead of your clit. And then you wonder: how would his big fingers feel in you, and you can’t help but arch your back, a whine escaping from your throat.

“Inside.” You mumble out before you can stop yourself.

Joel stills, his breath catching. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, dark and steady.

“You want it inside?” he asks, voice low, reverent.

You nod again, cheeks flushed, body aching.

Joel leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“You sure, baby?” he asks, “It might hurt a little. First time always does.”

Your breath stutters. You hadn’t thought about that. Not really. But you nod anyway. Because it’s him. Because you want to learn. Because you want it to be him who teaches you.

Joel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs. “Real slow. You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You nod again, more certain this time. Your body aches, but your heart is louder—beating with trust, with want, with the quiet hope that this will be different. That he will be different.

He nudges his middle finger against your opening, and your breath hitches.

“Relax for me, bun.” He gently coaxes. “I wanna feel you take me in soft.”

You try to breathe, slow and deep, but your body’s tight—nerves coiled, thighs trembling. You’ve never done this before. Never let anyone in.

But Joel’s voice is there, smooth, wrapping around you like a blanket. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe. You’re doin’ so good.”

His finger presses again, gentle but sure, and this time your body yields—just a little. Just enough.

It’s strange at first. Not painful, not really. Just… full. New.

You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, but Joel’s hand is on your hip, grounding you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, still. Waiting.

You nod, breath shaky. “Yeah. Just… it feels weird.”

“First time always does,” he says, voice warm. “But you’re takin’ me so well, bun. So fuckin’ sweet for me.”

And with that, he eases in a little more, slow and careful, watching your face in the mirror the whole time. When his whole finger is in, he hums.

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” Kissing your temple, he presses in just a little deeper, slow and careful. “You’re makin’ it real hard not to lose my mind here, bun. You feel what you’re doin’ to me?”

Your body jolts when he curls his finger just right, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat before you can stop it. Your thighs twitch, your breath stutters, and your eyes fly open—wide, startled, overwhelmed.

Joel’s watching you in the mirror, gaze dark and steady, lips parted like he felt it too.

“There,” he murmurs, voice thick. “That little spot right there?”

He presses again, slow, and your hips buck before you can stop them.

“That’s your G-spot, bun.” He kisses your temple again, his free hand stroking your side. “Feels good, don’t it?”

You nod, breathless.

Joel’s fingers start working you slow and sweet, in and out while rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your body trembles, your breath catching with every stroke. You’re close again, the pleasure building fast, and you can’t hold it in.

Your body arches into him, still trembling, still so sensitive. The second wave is building fast—hotter, sharper, like your body’s been waiting for this all along.

His voice right at your ear. “That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You whimper, your hips rolling into his hand, chasing every stroke.

“You’re gonna soak my hand, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over me.”

You nod, breathless, your fingers digging into his thigh. You can’t even process all the dirty things he is saying into your ear. It feels like you’re floating.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His breath catches, and his hand stills for just a second—just long enough to feel the way you clench around him, desperate and trembling.

He murmurs, voice thick. “You beg so fuckin’ sweet.”

He curls his finger again, slow and deep, dragging it right over that spot that makes your thighs shake.

“Oh, bun… you’re right there, huh?” He asks, “So close I can feel it. You’re flutterin’ around me, squeezing me so tight. Cunt’s begging to come.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t rush. Just keeps that steady rhythm, dragging his finger over that spot again and again.

“Come on, baby. Let go for me. Wanna feel you make a mess on my hand.”

Your breath catches—then breaks. The pressure snaps, and you fall.

Your whole body seizes, thighs clamping around his wrist, a cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you—hot, blinding, endless. Your cunt pulses against his finger, and wetness gushes out of you.

Joel holds you through it, one hand on your belly, the other still deep inside you, grounding you as you ride it out.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “So good. So fuckin’ good. You’re perfect. You hear me?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body limp and warm. He kisses your temple, his voice soft now, reverent.

“You did so good for me. My sweet girl.”

Slowly, carefully, he begins to ease his finger out. You whimper at the drag, the sudden emptiness making your body clench around nothing.

“Shh, I know,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re so so good.”

Joel wipes his finger on his jeans as you sag against him, your legs barely holding you up. He catches you without a word, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest.

Your heart’s still racing, but his hands are warm, his voice soft, and you feel yourself start to come back—slowly, gently, safely.

You’ve never felt this way before. Not just the pleasure, but the after. The way he holds you like you’re something fragile and precious. Like he’s proud of you. Like he’s not going anywhere.

The room slowly begins to fill with silence, the kind that hums with everything unspoken.

And then you shift, just slightly, and feel it—wetness, warm and unexpected, seeping through the fabric of his jeans where you’re sitting in his lap.

You blink, dazed, and glance down. Then up. You turn around.

Joel’s face is flushed, his jaw tight, eyes flicking away like he’s been caught.

You tilt your head, lips parting. “Joel…?”

He exhales, low and rough, then meets your gaze.

“Couldn’t help myself, bun,” he murmurs, voice thick with something between awe and apology. “You—watchin’ you like that… callin’ out for me… I just—”

He shakes his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You undid me.”

You blink, lips parting, and then something soft blooms in your chest. You reach up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing the stubble there.

“You came… just from me?” you whisper, wonder in your voice.

He nods, eyes searching yours.

“Yeah. Just from you.”

You smile, slow and sweet, your heart fluttering. You lean in, pressing your forehead to his.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you whisper, and it’s not a joke—it’s the truth.

Joel lets out a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You nuzzle into his neck, your voice barely a breath.

“I like that I can make you feel good too.”

He kisses your temple, ”You do. More than you know.”

Then he murmurs, voice low and a little rough: “C’mon, let’s get us both cleaned up.”

You nod, barely awake, but you don’t move. You just hum and nuzzle into his chest. Joel chuckles softly, his hand smoothing over your waist. Then, after a beat, he adds—almost shyly:

“And then… maybe you’d like to sleep in my bed tonight?”

You blink up at him, eyes soft, lips parting.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Joel exhales, something easing in his chest. He presses a kiss to your temple, his voice low and steady.

“Good,” he murmurs. “’Cause I ain’t gonna let you go back to your father anyways.”

You look up at him, and he’s already watching you, jaw tight, eyes soft.

“You’re safe here,” he says. “With me. Always.”

okey so this is HALF proofread…if you find mistakes or something doesn’t make sense, just ignore or let me know🥹 I feel like i’m using the word “like” too much…

Well anyways, i know this took a hot minute…i’ve been sick. forgive me pookies 😩 If you liked this, i’d love to hear your thoughts! Comments, messages, little keysmashes…i cherish all of it. you make it worth it 🫶🏻

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @easybbgrl @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[mimi-miller]

𖦹 synopsis: joel miller meets a broken and confused girl and is forced to take care of her. when he acts out harshly and pushes her away, will he be able to save her a second time?

𖦹 warnings: no outbreak au, memory loss, blood, confusion, isolation, loneliness, breaking and entering, use of guns (by joel) to threaten reader, yelling, gun shot wound, joel is lowkey really mean, gun violence, crying, description of cleaning injuries, self hate by joel.

this is an alternate version - original version here !!

𖦹 taglist: @hauntedbymiller @sexiedeemedfreak @natanielkovack @saymony @beardropascal @vickie5446 @finco99 @eviispunk @billionairecowgirl @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @umadirectioner @sprigsofhazel @7-w0rds @cureforthedolls

no pressure tags: (interacted with the original post so u might like this one !!) :> : @littledes1re @mcthsman @saymony @ultrasafecake-reblogs @natanielkovack @moonlitsmile @isabella-rose-trastamara @glittergrenade

𖦹 wc: 4.3k ( one shot )

LAMB

Tiptoed wandering and humming; a song she didn't know the name of. 

Sweat lined her forehead, she thought, wiping to reveal its redness. It didn’t indicate danger as it used to. 

The branches helped for balance while the twigs on the forest floor sent sparks of pain from her bare feet then up her legs. She winced each time, not attempting to consider an alternative. Eventually, she was glad to be rid of all the foliage, pushing past the last layer of greenery to see a stretch of land. White layers upon layers was all she could see. It was good that time wasn't something she could process, for anyone else would’ve turned back when confronted with those seemingly endless miles of snow. 

JOEL

It was likely he had overromanticised it. Seclusion. It felt like comfort at the time but was now infested with mites of loneliness. Joel also had a bad case of the inability to admit when he was wrong. 

Some days it was a little nice to bathe in all the pity he had for himself, getting the concerned, “are you okay?” messages from his brother. Just enough to remind himself he existed. 

Nothing else really existed out there. Any animals that braved it were quickly shot down, becoming simply a warmth in Joel's stomach after dinner. On particularly bad days, he swore he could taste the animal's loneliness, turning into nightmares where he was the same animal he shot down. Joel chose never to read too much into it. 

The scene in front of him didn't add up. 

Footprints - not track marks. Snow tinted with blood. 

Joel scanned the area but as was typical, there was nothing. He didn't know if he should be scared for himself. It wasn't usual for there to be ambushes this far out, no one could make it this far without enough equipment that would take up so much space you'd lose stuff trying to commit a robbery. It was unheard of - but so was what had appeared on the floor in front of him. 

Aimless wandering felt like the only productive thing he could do. Looking out for tracks, blood, listening out for snaps or any sign he was looking for something real.

It truly was aimless - finding nothing but the growing shadows of the trees from the movements of the setting sun. 

He scuffed off the bottom of his shoes mindlessly, not noticing all the anomalies surrounding him. 

Joel didn't notice the partially open door, the cold wet feet prints on the smooth kitchen floor. He didn't notice the opened cupboards, opened drawers. The one thing he did notice was the sound of soft snoring, finally firing up his instincts upon realising the intrusion in his house. 

Her eyebrows were furrowed, tense as if concentrating to ensure the blanket covering her would do its job to warm her. Apparently all Joel was capable of doing was looking around - staring at different corners in his room begging for something to tell him how to handle this situation. 

The rifle was heavy over his shoulder, the weight drew his instincts towards it. He gripped it securely, yelling out ‘hey’s to wake up the stranger. With her still laying still, he poked her form with the end of the barrel - not enough to hurt but enough to disturb. 

The eyes opened delicately, staring up at Joel with a lot less fear than he was expecting. 

“Get up.” He commanded, gun pointed at her face.

She sat upright, moving the blanket in a way to ensure it still provided her with the warmth it was supposed to. 

“What are you doing here?” his tone remained harsh.

Joel watched as she stared blankly. Not even confused, just feeling and knowing nothing. 

He groaned, irritated. “Stand up. Fully, all the way.” he mirrored the movement he wanted with the gun, intending to intimidate but clearly not doing so. 

She stood straight, flattening out her clothes as if an attempt to look respectable. She let out a small cough, covering her mouth as she did.

For a reason Joel really couldn't wrap his head around, he was the stunned one - yet he was the one aiming the gun at her face.

“Did you take anything?” she was zoned out, face looked as if she assumed he wasn't even talking to her. “Hey! Did you steal?”

This time she met his eyes, shaking her head ‘no’. Joel scanned her frame, not seeing any obvious lumps to imply objects hidden in her clothing.

Joel gestured his head towards the front door. “Go.”

The girl followed his gesture - looking over but not yet budging. He used the side of the rifle to push her in the right direction. 

She only wobbled a little, looking - well, not looking with any emotion really. 

“Get out!” he couldn't maintain his anger, voice coming out in an irritated voice he’d more likely use if his brother was being annoying - not trying to get an intruder to leave his house. 

She eventually understood - finally. There was a vague attempt to grab the blanket before stepping away, Joel forcing out a sharp ‘no’ to get her to stop. Her mouth formed a frown, holding her arms to chest protectively as she walked slowly to the front door. She occasionally looked back, checking to see if Joel was still behind her. 

She stood to the side of the door, looking down at her feet - refusing to let herself out. 

Joel sighed loudly, reaching past her for the handle to pull it open. The cold breeze came rushing past them into the house, the girl looked up at him, a slight begging in her eyes for the first time. 

“Out.”

All she did was stare. Stood aimlessly in the snow that had settled on his front porch, holding herself for warmth; and still staring. 

Joel wanted to hold onto his refusion to wish he had more sympathy for her. Regardless, he hesitated - holding the door open for just another couple seconds. He commanded her to go once more, letting out a groan and wiping at his face aggressively when she didnt.

He realised it didn't feel like he was doing the wrong or the right thing.

“Why are you here?”

The girl gave a blank expression, like he’d broken a script. 

“Why?” he commanded a response. 

She didn't move much, hand hesitant but moved slowly towards her head. 

Joel squinted his eyes, looking towards where she was reaching near but too afraid to touch. Oh he was a fucking idiot. 

“You hurtin'?”

He moved closer cautiously, reaching to hold her head delicately, before shifting her hair to reveal a gruesome line on the side of her skull.

Joel sighed (again), ignoring the guilt creeping up his throat. Placing his arm around to support her lower back, he walked her back inside. 

As soon as her feet touched the inside floors, she pulled herself out of Joel's grasp and ran to the couch. Pulling the cozy blanket back over herself, she finally smiled. 

“You need to wash.” 

She met his eyes for a split second, before pulling the material up to cover herself almost fully. 

“C’mon, I'm trying to help. It could get infected, your hair could get like stuck in the dried blood-” she comedically grimaced at his words, “i- exactly, uh, bath or shower?”

A lack of response - again.

He began filling the tub, worrying about how quickly the bubbles had started to form - he’d poured a little too much soap in out of stress. 

The girl began to shake with growing anxieties, Joel's emotions mirroring into her. He began rambling, asking if she knew how to have a bath, how to clean, how to dry, how to change - as much as he didn't want to come across condescending, he’d much rather explain in case she didn't know than monitor her every move. 

Joel made up the bed in the spare room, he laid out clothes, put the blanket she clearly loved over the sheets and left her some warm soup on the side table.

He wasn't used to being the kind of person that did things for other people, especially not to this extreme. There were so many aspects he didn't know about this girl, yet he disregarded that, because she was hurt. He still refused to enjoy it, sighing deeply as he chose to give her all these things. 

The upstairs floorboards creaked later on, enough to tell Joel she had left the bathroom and headed to her room - the spare room. She didn't come out after, so he could only assume she’d headed to sleep. He wouldn't let himself care enough to check on her. 

Air left him once again, before he scurried around the house to put away his things. His steps felt louder now, reminding him he was alone. Reminding him that a moment ago, he hadn't been. 

Once again, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He headed back to the kitchen, planning to occupy himself with his own food. 

He noticed something he hadn't before - crumpled up tissues scattered all over the marble surface. At first, he marched forwards irritated, yelling out ‘I knew it’ internally. He expected her to leave him with some kind of bad result and look - here it was. 

The ‘half’ victory didn't last long, seeing the red stains covering the tissues. 

He woke up to his face being prodded. 

Joel jolted back, forgetting all of the events of the previous day until he saw her face. She also seemed shocked, probably due to his frantic reaction. 

“What?” he spat out. 

“‘M hungry.”

This time Joel had the non-verbal reaction, at least for a second. “You talk?”

She nodded, not exactly phased by the question.

“Right. Well,” he sighed dramatically. “Jesus.” 

Joel pulled himself out of bed, running his fingers through his hair while he searched for a shirt to put on. He turned back to find her snuggled in his warm covers, eyes innocently following Joel's movements around his room. 

“Wha- get out, you have your own bed!” he whined, sighing over and over as per usual which made her laugh softly. 

She sprinted out of the room and by the time Joel had left it too, she was standing in the hallway with her blanket wrapped around her. Joel rolled his eyes, gesturing his hand out for her to be the first to walk down the steps.

He followed not too closely behind. 

“No, I'll do it!” he whined like a child possessive over his toy. 

“I wanna help!” she mirrored his tone, earning the millionth eye roll she’d received from Joel. 

The front door pushed open, the sound of the wind filling the room. Upon seeing who it was, Joel groaned into his hands and wiped his face. He could barely handle one disturbance let alone handle three. 

They stepped in, his brother laughing at his own probably unfunny joke and clumsily set their things down. 

The girl was now increasingly uncomfortable, choosing to hide behind Joel and grip at his shirt. 

Tommy was the first to notice her, eyes darting from Joel's irritated expression (which was very typical) to the girl's anxious standing position. 

“Joel? There's a girl behind you.” Maria followed Tommy's eyes upon hearing his words.

“I’m clearly aware.”

The couple waved timidly, giving small ‘hi’s to not spook her too much. She waved back, finally smiling a little and taking a mental note of the similar looks the two men shared. 

“Whats her name?” Maria spoke up gently.

Joel sighed and preoccupied himself with making breakfast, now for four people. The girl didn't answer the question either, seemingly upset over Joel's anger that refused to settle down. 

Maria and Tommy shared confused expressions. 

The bottom floor of the cabin had an open plan. Meaning as Joel worked in the kitchen, there were no walls in between to prevent him seeing and hearing what was happening in the front ‘room’. 

The three more cheerful ones sat on the couch together, making enough jokes that the girl was now comfortable with their company. Her eyes often darted to see what Joel was doing - most of the time his expression was tense, as he treated making pancakes and waffles like it was the most serious task a person could do. Other times, they locked eyes and she noticed the hint of sadness in his eyes. As was his favourite defence mechanism, he didn't let it last long - face turning away hurriedly each time. 

“So, when did you uh, move in?” Maria wanted to ensure she felt fully included but also knew that Joel would refuse to answer these questions. 

She didn't respond - nibbled at her lip out of nervousness as she looked to Joel for support. He had finally finished in the kitchen, heading over as he took two plates at a time. 

“Is she staying here?” Maria spoke to ease the tension.

“Till she gets better. After, not my problem.” he spoke up roughly. His actions contrasted his words, handing her the first plate of food. It held perfectly cooked pancakes and half a large waffle, while the plate he handed to Maria had the slightly messier pancakes and no waffle to be seen. 

Everyone looked over to the girl, who rested the plate on her knees atop her blanket and ate timidly. She formed a small timid frown, eyes somewhat glassy from upset, making Maria and Tommy turn to Joel in a mix of disappointment and anger. 

“If Joel kicks you out, you can stay with us if you want? We live together but we have a spare room you could stay in. As long as you need.” Maria focused on the matter at hand, making sure the girl knew she had somewhere safe she could be. 

“Yeah and we’re nicer.” Tommy scoffed, insulting Joel but still muttering an excited ‘thank you’ when his brother handed over the breakfast he had made. 

“Obviously no pressure, but the offers there.” Maria added.

“Good.” Joel muttered, placing himself on the patch of floor closest to the girl, preventing her knees from touching Tommy's. To her, it felt defensive - making her again confused on Joel's refusal to admit he cared about her wellbeing. 

She dragged the fork over her food, entirely grateful for it but her body had closed up from both embarrassment and sadness. 

They hugged each other goodbye, the girl clung onto Maria for a few seconds too long but she didn't mind. She rubbed her back soothingly, reminding her of the offer she and Tommy had made earlier. 

The house was uncomfortably quiet when they left - they seemingly chose to head off earlier than intended due to the amount of tension. 

The girl fiddled with her fingers on the couch, knees pressed to her chest.

“So what is your name?” Joel broke the silence, weirdly much cheerier. 

She shrugged dismissively. A mix of still being upset and genuinely not knowing.

“You don't know?”

Her head shook in agreement with the question. 

“Well, pick something.” He placed himself in the space next to her. 

“I- i dont know what.”

“You can pick anything. Within reason I guess.”

“You pick for me.”

“No, I can't do that. It's a personal thing.”

“What would you pick - for yourself?”

Joel thought to himself for a second, staring down at his lap. “Wow, I guess it is hard.” to that, she finally let out a small laugh. “What feels like you?”

“Something confused and scared.”

Joel gave her a sympathetic expression before resting his head back, staring at the ceiling instead. 

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Thats your name?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I didn't know.” she spoke softly, “until your brother said.”

“I guess I didn't think we needed to get personal.”

“I’m not upset-”

“Neither am i.” he dismissed, enough for the fight inside of her to die a little, relaxing the same small amount that Joel did.

“Can, can i stay here?”

Joel looked down at his lap, sighing out of instinct. “Till you're better. Not forever.”

Her heart cracked a little more. Feeling as if the mixed signals were worse than if he was to be completely mean.

These conflictions had more control over the girl when she was alone. Joel now occupied with a shower, only warning the girl before he left to not go near the kitchen in case of somehow causing herself an injury. 

His words and actions echoed in her mind. She wanted him to care. Not purely do things out of pity. Pathetic was the word she now gave herself, a burden too. 

She ripped the blanket off herself, throwing it down to the side of her on the couch as if she had grown to hate it. She hurried to the kitchen, putting on her boots that still had drops of her dried blood on. Covering herself with her coat that she didn't have a memory of buying, she stormed out the front door, slamming it behind her.

For once, Joel was thankful for the age of the house. 

The slam of the door thumped the entire cabin, filling his blood with confusion before entirely adrenaline, rushing out the bathroom and hurrying on all the clothes he could find within close distance. 

Joel looked towards the couch for a moment, walking slowly and picking up the abandoned blanket she cared for so much. A part of him was hurt over the fact he thought she cared about him too. This was a selfish and childish thought, he convinced himself.

He felt it in his hands for a second longer, holding the blanket more gently than he’d ever spoken to her. 

He couldn't escape the image of the wound on her head. He’d lived in that area for years now and had never managed to get himself in enough trouble that he got wounded like that. 

Now he thought back to how she got here. By chance, hopeless wandering, dripping blood. She could've died. She would've died especially if Joel had fully kicked her out like he initially planned.

Joel focused back on the floor - she left the same way she came in.

What if he’d doomed her to relive the fate she had the day before?

She left the same way she came in. 

Joel hurried to gather clothes to keep him warm, loading his rifle too. Worst case scenario, he had to use it. He thought.

The wind smacked snow into his face, freezing the tip of his nose. A hat covered his ears, which probably would’ve fallen off from the cold without it. She definitely hadn't dressed warm enough. Layers upon layers and Joel was still freezing.

The snow seemed to endlessly crunch under his foot. Hoping and hoping to reach the forest she was most likely hiding out in. 

The weight of the risk started to hit him fully. Making Joel's legs move for him, sprinting despite the heavy weight he was with everything he wore and carried. He wanted to tear all of it off him, desperate to reach her faster. He had been naive to think the worst case was he had to use his gun when in truth it would be that someone else used their own on her. 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, Joel panted pathetically to regain his breath. 

She was stumbling back up the path in his direction, face down to watch her feet in a pouting manner as well as ensure they walked as they needed to. She finally looked up, meeting Joel's eyes and he could see a glint of recognition in hers. 

Joel finally ran towards her, the cold relentlessly biting at him, but he ignored it. He marched forwards, he had to, before frantically taking off his own coat to place it over her.  She stared up at him a little dazed.

“‘m cold.” she stated, frowning deeply. Despite the tension, it made Joel let out a quick laugh. The danger he feared must've been long gone. 

“You’re the one that ran out on me.”

Her frown only deepened. “Thought you didn't want me.”

“I want you back to being healthy and-”

“But not me around? You don't want me?”

The loud gunshot rang through both of their ears. The girl tried to grab onto Joel's arm, grip failing her as she began falling to the snow beneath them. He managed to cradle the back of her skull before she hit the surface, panting out hurried breaths as he processed what had happened. 

“W-what? No, no!”

“Joel?” she mumbled, eyes wide in pure horror. He refused to look away from her.

“No, no, you're okay, this isn't happening, it's not, you're okay-”

“Hurts, i,” she choked out, body shaking as she began crying.

Joel reached under her form, feeling for the wetness and finding the bleeding, covering the wound and applying pressure. “Let’s, let’s go home, okay?”

“I, i got cold i, i wanted to go home, I was walking home,” she sobbed out, body shaking as Joel supported the girl to carry her in his arms. 

“We’re goin' home, baby, we’re goin'.”

The snowy surface made walking difficult, feeling like trying to run under water. After a mile, his house was finally in view. He looked down at the wounded girl he carried, noticing the blood trail they were leaving in the snow.

Joel laid her down by the fireplace, rushing to grab her blanket and a pillow. He turned her onto her stomach gently, caressing her face lightly when he noticed her tense expression.

“Hey, you gotta stay awake, okay?” he spoke in a tone that seemed calm which he obviously wasn't.

She hummed quietly, blinking gently at Joel. Now he was one step more satisfied, he rooted through the cupboards for things to help her wounds. 

He used various fabrics to soak up the blood and avoid more spilling out. Joel was desperate to focus his thoughts, her dependency on him was enough motivation to make sense of the frantic worry and screaming that was occupying his mind. 

Joel had lived so long impure. A role he gave himself, tainting his own soul with hate just because he refused to be reliant. He didn't want to need like other people, like she needed him. Could a man so dirty take care of someone so tortured yet so clean, so pure? 

Clean. He needed to clean the wound. 

Joel rushed up, filling a glass with water and retrieving a towel. A delicate warning slipped his lips, before spilling the liquid over the open wound. The girl cried out in pain, partially motivating Joel further, knowing she was awake, living, but maintaining this was in his hands.

He wiped up the wetness, focusing back on applying pressure. Desperate to fulfill every need at once, he struggled using his free hand to tug at his shirt, only removing the pressure on her back's wound to rip at the material. 

A sigh of relief let him as the blood didn’t attempt to escape further, more and more things compelling him to trust he was doing the right thing. Action was the right thing. Caring about her was the right thing. 

He wrapped it around her like a bandage, realising the flaw in its thinness before scurrying up his stairs with haste to retrieve more clothes to rip as if worthless. They were now - unimportant compared to her life. Joel believed himself to share a level of importance with these clothes. 

The fire was still on, but he placed the pillow then the girl herself onto his lap hoping to provide just a little more warmth. 

His breathing hadn't been steady for hours, still hyperventilating as she laid still in front of him. Joel wiped the hot tears that were still streaming down his face, the only comfort he received was her eyes looking up at him. He hadn't failed completely miserably as long as she was there, wounded but healing. 

He woke up to his face being prodded. This time it felt much more comforting. 

“You look messy.” she stated blankly, clearly unaware of the relief her voice filled Joel's body with. 

He laughed a little - he wasn't the one that had a near death experience. “Doesn't matter.” he mumbled. 

She messed around with his hair, fixing it to look more respectable. Joel watched closely as she did, feeling a heavy lump form in his throat. Guilt was chewing him inside out. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispered delicately, as if it was a secret. “I’m so sorry.”

She stopped her attempts at fixing his hair, now nibbling at her lip.

“I never wanted you to get hurt, I just can’t deal with people like you can. Like my brothers can.” he felt water brim his eyelids, "I just got too used to my own place, to being alone and I guess I assumed people didn’t want to be in my space anymore. And then you needed it and I was an asshole about it - and I'm sorry. Really.”

“Joel?” he blinked a little confused. “Thank you.”

He blinked at his glassy eyes, putting his emotional wall back up, just enough to feel a little less pathetic. “I want you to stay.”

She tried to bite the inside of her cheeks, worried about looking too overjoyed and making him regret his decision. Joel noticed her small smile regardless. 

“I don't trust no one else to look after you. I- is that okay?”

She leaped into his arms grinning, though after wincing and mumbling out an ‘owww’ which made Joel laugh before he shifted her positioning to a safer one. 

Some mistakes can't be undone. But maybe Joel wasn't one himself anymore. 

I hope this made everyone a little happier than the other version lols !! and I hope you liked the nods to the original version :> if anyone has any requests for fics feel free to send me your ideas !!