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writerseclipse1 · 19 days

Text

rewarded [joel m.]

inspo: somewhere only we know (keane)

summary: does death look you in the eye before you die? or does life flash your memories in your mind? aka: joel's on death's doorstep; he reminisces your time together

warnings: angst (flashback fluff), canon-typical violence, blood and gore, dialogue follows joel's death scene, vivid descriptions of joel's death, major character death, flashbacks, abby (if u hate her ig), guns, knives, and a golf club as a weapon, crying ellie, cursing, no use of y/n. pls tell me if i missed anything!

word count: 2.7k

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: am so excited to be back into writing! ik i promised a 505-inspired fic w joel but i couldn't help it!

“Joel Miller.” The sadistic sneer in her voice is what causes him to look up at her, groaning in pain as his leg throbs. He can feel the bullet she lodged into his skin.

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you’ve got rehearsed and get this over with.” He said, annoyance evident in his tone, anger flooded his veins as he stared at her with a look that made it clear he was in no mood to mess around. Neither was Abby and she made that clear, especially when she barked out orders to tourniquet Joel’s leg.

He groaned, eyes shutting tight and tilting his head back. He cursed under his breath, leg pulsing and hurting like a bitch. “God damn it!” He started seeing spots of black in his vision, the figures in the room turning into dull, blurry colors.

His chest heaved, trying to regain control of his breathing and his entire being, seeing Abby flip the handle of her weapon in her hands, his blood ran cold, colder than the metal of the golf club she raised in the air.

Her chuckle was a deep rumble in her chest, the corner of her lip twitching upwards as she murmured. “You don’t get to rush this old man.”

Whack.

“Hey!” The plastic material of the frisbee dug into his palms slightly as he caught it. Jackie, one of the bigger kids in town, inched carefully to Joel and he handed the disc back, but not without a pointed look. “Watch where you’re throwin’ next time.” She uttered out a meek apology, all but running back toward her friends and almost instantly resumed their game.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, his feets leaving tracks in the snow. The sound of children laughing and birds chirping filled his ears, a beautiful memory he had come to love. The wind whipped at his face as the chilly air bit his skin but he paid it no mind. Not when she was right there, full of warmth even in just the palm of her hand.

His hand reached out to grasp hers once more as they continued walking, his grip a slight squeeze but if she noticed anything, she said nothing. His eyes were restless, occasionally sneaking a glance to get a glimpse of her, in all her glory. The way her eyes rivaled the stars in the clear night sky, the way she graced passersby with her smile, the way her presence warmed up his heart, the heart he once thought was trapped under all these layers of ice, only to be melted by an unexpected yet welcome gift.

His train of thought derailed once he was pulled back, almost colliding with a child who looked no older than seven. After muttering out an apology and a small ‘I told them to watch it”, his eyes rolled and glared at her playfully when he heard her get engulfed in a fit of giggles that she tried hard to control.

“Think that’s funny, do ya?” He pretended to be offended, turning around to poke her in the ribs and smirking as she let out a squeal.

“Joel!” He laughed as she tried to chase him down the street, his longer legs taking him further and her voice getting distant. It wasn’t until his legs slowed down to a step that she caught up, wrapping an arm around his waist as she saw his somber expression. Following his gaze, you saw Ellie on Dina’s front porch, the two focused on each other. Ellie had her arms wrapped around Dina, her head atop the girl while Dina’s nose brushed the skin of Ellie’s neck, her sniffles being muffled by the material of Ellie’s sweater.

From the corner of his eye, he could see your lips spread out into a grin, closing his eyes with a sigh when he felt your lips brush his cheek, muttering a small “Thank you.”

“For what? You got nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’.” Eyes now on the woman beside him, he noticed your focus stray from the two girls back to him, your walking only slowing down but not stopping.

“For being a lover,” you whispered back, pulling back to look up at him. “Maybe your fighter days are over.”

He shook his head as they passed Ellie and Dina yet his eyes never left her once. “I ain’t stoppin’ my fightin’ days, baby. ‘Cause I fight for you everyday.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled when he heard you laugh, not noticing that the attention of the two girls moved to you and him, watching as you walked further away.

Good thing Dina buried her head in Ellie’s shoulder just in time for you to look back and send Ellie a wink, a soft pink hue spreading on her cheeks as yours and Joel’s footfalls started to fade.

Thud, thud, thud.

It was all that echoed in his ears as his heart pounded in his chest, his ribs taking the damage Abby’s boot was inflicting on his body, all while he lay helplessly on the floor. He felt bile crawl up his throat and out his mouth when the girl kicked his stomach. His eyes widened slightly when he realized that it wasn’t bile, but blood.

Abby let out a huff, pacing in front of his body and if Joel could let out a sigh of relief, he would, but it hurt to even breathe. He choked on his own blood, his head lolling to the side as he spat out blood, the red liquid coating his lips and dripping to the floor. She looked at him with a mixture of anger and disgust, the former more evident as she readied her weapon again.

Yet her intentions were the farthest thing from his thoughts, feeling a familiar warmth spread across his body as his mind brought him back to a time of safety, of care, of arms wrapped around him and lips pressed to his skin.

Before he could feel the shattering impact of the metal club, he closed his eyes and thought—

“This is stupid,” he muttered and you only shook your head. The two stood on the front porch, in front of the wooden column on the right. Digging your hand into your pocket, you flipped open your pocket knife and he watched you flip it in your hands. He still remembers the time you first held it in your palm.

There was nothing to your relationship at first, with the exemption of watching each other’s backs during patrols outside the walls. He took the reins during missions and when he first saw it, untouched and sitting pretty in a gardener’s shed they passed by, his first thought was to give it to you to make sure you had a weapon that “didn’t let you shoot your goddamn ass off.”

Never would he expect that the same sharp blade that has sliced a man’s throat and lodged itself in an infected’s chest would be the same blade that would carve your initials on his front porch.

“Come on, Joel, stop being such an old grump,” you pouted, taking his hand and wrapping it around the hilt before your own came up to rest on his. He let out a chuckle when you guided his hand, from the curve of the J to the lines of your own initial. Both of you stepped back slightly to admire your work but he tilted his head at you when he heard you hum.

“Something’s missing,” you murmured, eyes casting downward as you thought. He always admired you when you were deep in the recesses of your mind, how your eyebrows pinched together and how your lips pursed. He fought the urge to kiss your lips until you were giggling against his. “Aha!”

He watched you move forward, your body covering most of the carving as you added a detail. When you stepped back, he couldn’t contain his chuckle. You had added two hearts that sat beside each other, one bigger than the other. Your eyebrows furrowed again, this time not in thought but in mock indignation. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothin’ honey, it’s cute!” He reasoned but you only huffed, facing the opposite way. He let out an audible scoff but he licked his lips, a mischievous smile taking over his expression. Wrapping his arms around you, he carried you into the house, ignoring your protests and your wriggling motions as he laid you down on the couch, kissing you deeply.

It shut you up for the rest of the afternoon.

“What? Cat got your tongue now?” Abby scoffed, hitting him again and again without abandon. Joel didn’t speak, every inch of his face covered in blood. He felt like he was drowning, swimming in a pool of his own blood with each drop of the weapon.

BANG!

At first he thought it was the club, striking his head hard that his skull cracked open but when he opened his eyes, he saw Ellie, a hand wrapped around her gun tightly as she tried to shoot but to no avail. Pinned down, the girl could only watch as Joel struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

A man who was certainly younger than him started talking, barking out orders to people in the room but Joel couldn’t hear a single thing with the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. But he could guess what it was when Abby snarled down at him, her hands wrapping tightly around the club as she raised it. And just as quickly as it rose, it fell.

“JOEL!

“Joel!” He turned his head, closing his eyes as he tried to gain his composure, breathing in like how he was taught by his momma when he got mad. Slowly in, slowly out. In through the nose, out through the—

“Joel Miller! Don’t you dare walk away from this conversation!” So much for composure.

“And what? Huh? I’ll let you go out there on a stupid horse with a stupid partner Tommy paired you up with and then what? What if you get hurt, what then? What’ll I do? Beat ‘ em up for not keepin’ an eye on you? It wouldn’t be his fault, wouldn’t it? No it wouldn’t, because you,” he pressed his finger against your chest, “Didn’t listen to me!”

“Why are you already assuming I’ll get hurt? Do you think I’m that helpless?” Your jaw ticked and from the corner of his eye, your hand twitched and balled itself into a fist. Everything was going so well for him but he had to hit a bump in the road somewhere. “I asked you a question.” His thoughts were out of order but Joel was a patient man to the right people, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“No! No I don’t but—”

“Then why are you so—”

“Because if something happened to you, I dunno what I’d do with myself!” He yelled and his heart froze when you stepped back, surely taken aback from what he did. He didn’t mean to do that, he didn’t mean to yell.

“I know.” His eyes locked with yours, scanning your expression. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Seeing the guilt in your unshed tears he sighed, shaking his head. His fists unclenched and he stretched his fingers as he took in a breath, closing his eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the—

Arms snaked around him, like vines creeping around an abandoned brick house that has definitely seen better days, fingers interlocking behind him so that he couldn’t escape. Like I want to leave in the first place, he thought as he felt your cheek fall against his chest and your ear press against his heart.

When Joel would encounter danger and violence, his heart wouldn’t beat like a sinner’s caught in church, fast and swift, no. His heart followed a rhythm. Du dum, du dum, du dum, always steady and strong. It reflects how he is, always biding his time, saving his energy until he’s ready to strike.

He could practically feel your shoulders slump as you heard his heart beating, steady and strong. Du dum, du dum, du dum.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and he only realized the tears that dripped like water from a broken faucet; dripping one-by-one yet loud and clear. His body moved on autopilot, arms wrapping around you before he could even clear his head and rubbing his hand up and down your back, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“I know.” He smothered kisses into your hair and he felt your shoulders lighten and your chest rumble with a sniffle before a chuckle. He could feel your pout through the thin material of his button-up, putting a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up, staring into your soul like it was a window without blinds. “I only want you to be safe. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning, why I sit on the porch and wave to people I barely give a damn about, why I water the flowers outside our house because you love it when the house looks so lively even from the outside. You’re the reason why I care about the little things. I don’t want you, my reason to come back home, not come back home.”

He felt you sniffle into his chest, nodding as you pulled slightly back. “I get it. I just…”

“Hey, let’s talk about it in the morning, yeah? We got plenty’a time,” he whispered, brushing back a strand of hair wet from your tears, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “We got plenty’a time.”

For the first time in Joel’s life, he lied to you that night. He just didn’t know it yet.

He was sorry.

He’ll always be sorry.

Even after his dying breath, he knew that sorry can’t reverse his mistakes. That was like trying to put a bandaid on a porcelain plate. He was an idiot.

A Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.

He thought it was safe.

It was winter, it shouldn’t’ve even been there. It should have been freezing in one of the fucking rivers or something.

It was his fault.

All of it.

“Baby?” His breath caught in his throat as he watched your body, his figure as unmoving as you were. He inched closer, crouching down to you, looking away from the infected he killed with its mouth open and brains splattered everywhere. He saw red, maybe it was the blood on his shirt. Whose was it? He didn’t want to know.

“Baby?” His voice echoed, asking again and foolishly enough, he expected an answer. He only saw your eyes staring back at him, distant, unwavering, unmoving.

Gone.

He shook his head and shut his eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to believe. “Baby? You–you gotta wake up for me, honey. No, no, you can’t—” He choked, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as his eyes filled with tears. Tears you’ll never get to wipe with the pad of your thumb. He cradled your face gently, like you were still sleeping but with your eyes open, like you didn’t see the infected coming at you and he didn’t see it too, like you were lying in a pool of your own blood, like he was the cause of it.

Like he didn’t know what he was going to do.

His chest was engulfed in wracking sobs, sobs that would make the merciless merciful, sobs that would make the follower the leader, sobs that would make the dead live.

He prayed that was the case. It wasn’t.

And it never will be.

Not even when Ellie cried at his chest, her eyes screwed tight and muttering apologies, recounting old memories, anything to get Joel back, yet even the man knew he himself was already gone. Ellie was wrapped up in her anguish and her pain to notice the distant but hopeful look in Joel��s eyes, shaking his body like it would shock him back to life. But life rewarded the patient, not the vengeful.

Joel had been a patient man all his life and he knew it.

And when he saw you, surrounded by a circle of light and an arm outstretched, he knew he had been rewarded.

#tlou #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #tlou part 2 #joel tlou #the tipsy bison #tlou hbo #tlou joel #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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buryustogether · 1 year

Note

plssss viktor vektor smut, maybe after female v got injured and had to be rushed to him?

mr doctor man

viktor vektor x f!reader (v)

wc: 5.2k

summary: an argument with your ripperdoc/friend with benefits leads to a distraction during an important street fight. luckily, he’s not going to hold it against you.

warnings/tags: friends with benefits, allusions to sex and hook ups, swearing, blood, reader gets the absolute shit beat out of them, fighting, angst, vomiting, gun violence, love confessions, allusions to smut

author’s note: ask and ye shall receive

partially inspired by mr doctor man by palaye royale

“ mr doctor man

questions his hands

lost his mind

clinically fine ”

Viktor was sure he was out of his mind.

When he’d become a ripperdoc, he did so with one goal, one job, in mind; helping the injured, making sure everyone in this city had a fair chance at facing whatever was waiting out there for them. He was supposed to protect his patients, make sure they were fit and safe from the very things he installed deep within their muscles and memories.

He was supposed to take care of his patients, not fuck them into oblivion.

You couldn’t help but admire the raised red scratches your nails had inflicted upon Viktor’s back as he sat tinkering with the new piece of chrome he was about to put into your open forearm. Sweat was still in the process of drying on the back of your neck, cooled by the hum of conditioning that eased out of the grates overhead. Sure, you’d come in this afternoon to grab some new tech - but you could have done that over in Kabuki. Corpo Plaza. Arroyo. Anywhere you passed on your way here. But those clinics didn’t have Vik, didn’t have the glint of his glasses when he glanced your way, didn’t have the ‘tats inked into his arm that you held onto for dear life when he was railing into you hard enough to make you see stars.

No, this was your favorite clinic by far. And it wasn’t just because you lived only five minutes away.

“So tell me, kid,” said Viktor as he gingerly placed the reinforced piece of chrome into the meat of your arm. You held your breath at the strange sensation as his expert hands slowly adjusted the metal. “You’ve never exactly expressed interest in physical combat gear. Thought you were more of a gun steel gray kind of girl.”

He talked to you like you weren’t a thing, like you weren’t a couple.

Because you weren’t. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn’t know exactly what you were. You’d been friends, of course, when Jackie had first brought you in with him to get his nose popped back into place after a bar fight tilted away from him. You would come over in the evenings with dinner after he closed the clinic and watch fights. You would help clean up when he needed the extra hands. And when friendly banter turned more and more flirtatious, you hadn’t been obliged to stop it.

When slaps on the shoulders turned into kisses, and those turned into finger fucks, and those turned into full-on poundings on his table or against the wall, you hadn’t protested one bit. You wanted there to be something more to it all, wanted him to think about you the same way you did him - when you were alone eating breakfast by yourself, when you were driving across town, when you were in bed at night, anywhere and everywhere all at once.

But you’d never said a word of it.

You didn’t want to cross a line you knew you couldn’t see, take whatever this was one step too far and lose one of your best friends. So you left everything where it was - don’t fix what’s not broken, right? Don’t meddle with things doing just fine on their own, right?

So you kept your mouth shut and your legs open.

“Oh, yeah,” you said and stared up at the ceiling above your head. Across the room, the low sounds of a match beginning to start murmured from the television. “I’ve got a fight in Heywood coming up in a couple of days. Guy’s known for being built like ‘Saka Tower, so I figured I’d steel myself up before going to get my ass handed to me.”

You expected Viktor to smile, for him to chuckle and for his bare abs to tense up like they did when he found something amusing. But he didn’t. Instead the corners of his mouth tilted downward as he pulled the machine that would hotwire your skin back together over to the table. “What’s this guy’s name?” he asked offhandedly.

His sudden change in tone irked you slightly. “I don’t know. Heard he goes by Decard. Big in the Badlands, apparently, and he came into town looking for competition that wasn’t walking on four legs or eating after the four-legs.”

“Hmm.”

Pursing your lips awkwardly, you drummed your fingers on your bare sternum - you were both still in the bare minimum after your little late afternoon romp - and pulled your focus back overhead. You took a breath and pushed it out. “Got a problem with me fighting or something?”

Viktor looked up at you over the rims of his glasses - fuck, that steely gray of his irises were something else - and fixed you with a warning stare. “Don’t bring your attitude now, kid,” he said and rotated the machine patching you up. Even as the conversation was going south, he was still intent on giving you the best treatment he was capable of.

“Well, I mean - sorry, but it suddenly seems like you’d rather be literally anywhere else than here.”

“I will be, if you keep running your tongue like that.”

Your stare turned into a glare as you looked up at the ceiling above your head. What the fuck was this? You and Viktor hardly ever fought - and if you did, it was over who was going to win the match you were streaming. Fuck all, you just sucked his dick until he whimpered, and now he was giving you some weird kind of cold shoulder?

You waited until the machine had done its job and your arm was back together before shoving off the table and gathering your clothes that had been scattered across the clinic floor. You could feel him - sitting in just his pants on his stool - watching your movements like a hawk. “You know what,” you said, bristling as you tugged your clothes back on, “if you’re going to go full blown hermit on me out of the blue for no fucking reason at all, I have no reason to be here.” You angrily yanked your shoes over your feet, not bothering to tie the laces. “Don’t bother showing up to the fight. I’ll have Jackie there if I get my spleen shot out.”

“Didn’t know there was an extended invite,” Viktor said as he pushed away from the table on his stool and rolled over to his desk.

“There would have been if your stage four terminal dickery hadn’t ruined the party.” Snatching up your holsters from his side table, you stopped for a moment while you clasped them over yourself. “What was that, anyway? What’s your deal? One minute we’re hot and heavy, and the next you’re acting like you want to be rid of me.”

Viktor rolled his eyes - you saw it in the reflection of the dirty mirror hung opposite his desk. He picked up that damned screwdriver he was always tinkering with and began to adjust the calibrations of his mechanical fingers. “Maybe if you got your head out of your ass for once, V, you’d see that it’s just the opposite. I don’t think you should be sticking your neck out more than you already do for a couple extra eddies. You and Jack already run around pulling enough shit. Street fighting when you should be resting isn’t exactly the move you’d pull if you’re playing with a full deck of cards.”

Fuck, he was good. He could roll five different insults into one and make it sound like he was actually worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you said and cocked your head at him pointedly, “this coming from one of Night City’s greatest ring fighters?”

He shook his head in that way he did when he was getting ready to put something to rest - an argument, an idea, a patient… It made something in your gut twist. It made you feel small and childish - like you both knew he was right about this. Like he was talking to a little girl who refused to give up the fight just for the sake of fighting. “You’re stubborn, kid, and that’s a good thing most of the time. I’m not going to tell you what you can or can’t do. Go on. Kick some ass and prove me wrong.” He paused his tinkering for just a moment, and you thought he was going to rise and kiss you goodbye like he always did - but he just turned up the volume on the television. “I’ll be here either way.”

Overwhelmed with that sickening, roiling feeling in your belly, you threw up a hand and stalked toward the gates of the clinic. “Whatever, old man.”

As you stormed up the stairs leading into the alleyway between Viktor’s clinic and Misty’s shop, a coil of guilt turned itself about in the hollows of your chest. Maybe he was right - about your head being stuck up your ass. Your entire life you’d been fighting for your fair share in this city, being raised in the shadows of those who proved themselves time and time again to be bigger than you. From the time you knew how to properly hold a gun and throw a punch and speak your mind, you hadn’t let anything stop you - which hadn’t always been a good thing. A couple broken bones and black eyes had taught you that much.

But fighting - whether it was for your life or not - was all you knew. Arguing, and challenging, and defying… it felt as if it were in your blood like part of your DNA. The feeling of desperate survival never went away, no matter how much money you had or how full your belly was. Once it was there, it never went away.

This was what you told yourself two evenings later, when the stars and the moon were blocked out by the smog and the nighttime air was disrupted by thumping music and excited shouts and the wails of sirens in the distance. It was what you told yourself when you popped out the cricks in your neck and accepted pats on the back from those who had bet their monthly rents on you. And yet despite the fight about to happen in a few minutes’ time, despite the dozens of people surrounding the basketball court where it was to take place, your mind was stuck back in the clinic. Your ears still rang with the words both you and Viktor had hissed, your chest still stung with the venom laced between breaths. He had not called you, despite having a little get-together-date-night-come-over-and-let’s-fool-around-thing set up for last night. You had not called him, despite desperately needing encouragement for this fight, because you had caught a glimpse of Decard, and you’d almost choked on your own spit.

“Aye, V,” said a voice in your ear, and you were pulled back to the sidelines of the basketball court, where a crowd had gathered to watch the smackdown. You looked up at Jackie when he clasped your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing your attention up to his face. “You doin’ okay, choom? You nervous?”

Swallowing thick, you furrowed your brows and waved a feeble hand. Your knuckles had already been wrapped in bandages - something Viktor usually did before your fights, because he knew the best ways to keep them tight when you threw your punches. You had wrapped them yourself, and they were already falling loose. “M’fine,” you answered over the radio blaring across the lot. “Just… mind’s somewhere else.”

There came a look across Jackie’s face that told you he already knew exactly what you were talking about. You didn’t want to think about how he did. “Listen,” he said and grasped your other shoulder. “Worry all you want after, chica, but when you’re out there?” He used his knuckle to shove your chin in the direction of the court, where the fixer who had arranged the fight was arguing over bets with a corpo. “Your mind’s got’ta be out there, too. Otherwise you’re goin’ to get your ass handed to you and your brain won’t catch up ‘til you’re hurtin’ tomorrow.” When you looked back at him, mouth stretched into a taut line, his gaze softened a bit. He jostled you. “These kind’a things don’t last forever, choom. Trust me - Misty’s been on my ass enough times that she knows it better than I do, and we always come around. Just… let it go for a few minutes, yeah?”

Steeling your heart and sharpening your expression, you nodded your head slightly and took a breath. Just for a few minutes. Nothing but left hooks and dodges and roundhouses for just a few minutes. “Okay,” you said and shook yourself out. “Okay.”

“Atta’ girl.” Jackie clapped your hand in his own, then spun you around and shoved you in the direction of the court. “Now go and kick some ass. Drinks on you at the Afterlife to celebrate your victory, aye?”

Rounds of both cheers and taunts followed you as you walked onto the court to meet the fixer and your competition. Upon facing your opponent, you found your neck craning up. And up. And still up. Decard was fitted with an entire body of chrome and tech, more cyber than human in every sense of the word. Nearly seven feet tall. Fists of collapsable nanotech. Cybernetic eyes pixelated red that made his pupils look as though they were bleeding from the inside out. You’d be lying if you told yourself he didn’t intimidate you to the point that if you weren’t being watched by hundreds of eyes, you’d probably have pissed yourself just a little bit.

“Alright, people,” said the fixer as he tallied up a number of bets. A quick glance at the pad in his hand told you that the onlookers’ faith lay more at Decard’s steel-toed feet than yours. “Please don’t turn this into a crime scene. I’m already on a watchlist for these kinds of things, so let’s keep this quick and clean. Hopefully I don’t have to tell you both that no cybernetic advancements are allowed. Gorilla arms, thermal knuckles, mantis blades, the whole shebang. No killing - perioud. ‘Kay?”

“Sure,” you said.

Decard growled from low in his throat.

Once the fixer had left the court and motioned for the pair of you to get ready, you took a moment to assess your opponent. As you dug your toes into the dirty tarmac, you looked him over. His head, of course, was an option, throat exposed over the collar of his tank top. But you doubted you’d have much time to grab at it, even if you got past those mechanical arms of his. You were scrambling to find a weak spot, to find some way this didn’t end in you limping away with a broken arm and a shattered ego, when your gaze shifted slightly behind him and into the crowd after catching a subtle glare of glass.

Fuck - he’d shown up. There he was, standing with crossed arms and a wide stance amongst the young onlookers streaming on their phones and squealing with excitement. Viktor met your eyes across the distance.

Then an earth-shaking, rib-crushing blow landed to your sternum, sending you tumbling over yourself in a heap of flailing limbs to the feet of the crowd. Pain like thunder blossoming violently across the sky expanded from your chest where Decard struck you, but you weren’t given much time to process what had just happened before the crowd was pulling you to your feet and pushing you back onto the court.

You had barely regained your breath before Decard came charging at you, steel teeth bared like some kind of animal as he barreled in your direction. Turning on your heel, you just barely managed to miss him - then took a running leap up onto his back and sat yourself on his hulking shoulders. The crowd erupted in surprise. Clenching your jaw and fighting with everything you had to stay on top of him while he bucked and pulled at your legs with a grip that would surely leave bruises in their wake, you locked an arm around his neck and began to squeeze. It wouldn’t take more than maybe twenty seconds for him to start getting lightheaded, even with all those implants. Maybe fifteen if you were lucky.

But it turned out you weren’t lucky. Very, very, very unlucky, in fact.

Decard backed up across the court as you tried to choke him out, heading straight for the rusted old hoop on a metal pole that creaked when a breeze blew it the wrong way. With a great roar and a heave, he slammed you back into the pole. Howling, searing, thundering pain overtook you, spreading from your spine to your shoulder blades to your hips, all throughout every nerve ending and fiber inside of you. Your vision whited out for just a moment as you slipped off the man’s shoulders and dropped to the warm tarmac. Goddammit, that hurt. That hurt like a bitch. That hurt like your vertebrae had cracked and one wrong move would put you six feet under.

With a low groan that you felt echoing in your very bones, you slowly propped yourself up on an elbow. You coughed and spat out a bit of saliva mixed with blood that pooled from where you’d bitten your tongue after being slammed into the pole. You knew after a blow like that you wouldn't be able to finish. As much as you fucking hated it, you were going to have to forfeit. All those cameras on you, all those eyes and bets… all fucking wasted.

And Viktor… fuck, he wouldn’t ever let you hear the end of this. If he spoke to you again outside of emergency clinic visits and checkups.

Sucking in a shallow breath, you stretched out a hand and patted the ground once, twice, three times. Those who saw it groaned at the fight having been so short. Eddies were being passed around, deposited into accounts as you began to make your way to your feet to slink off the court with your tail between your legs. But you didn’t quite make it.

Before you could find your footing, Decard’s large cybernetic hand snatched up the vulnerable skin of your throat and lifted you off the court into the air. Panic flooded your systems as your eyes widened and you gasped, trying to pull in air around the blockage on your neck. A few people cheered, thinking the fight was still on. No matter how much you kicked and flailed, they didn’t seem to get the hint that you had forfeited. You didn’t want to fight anymore.

They said you don’t always get what you want.

“Some shitshow for a merc I’ve heard so much fuss about,” Decard said, just inches from your face as he lifted you closer to him. Up close, you were able to see his cybernetic gaze flashing back and forth between your suddenly terrified eyes. “I was hoping I’d get a run for my money.”

You gasped around his iron-knuckled grip, uselessly kicking your feet against his chest plates. “M’done!” you wheezed out, listening to your heart pound wildly in your ears. “Y’win! Let me go!”

Decard grinned a sickening smile and brought his lips to the shell of your ear, so close you swore you felt his tongue brush against your lobe. “Come on and show me what you’re really made of, mercenary.” Then he turned and threw you across the court, sending you sprawling over yourself for the second time that evening. Another roar went up from the crowd as the cameras began filming again and new bets were placed.

Vision hazy and your spine screaming in protest, you scrambled out of the way just in time to miss Decard’s boot cracking the concrete where you just lay half a moment ago. You weren’t lucky enough to evade his next blow, a backhand that had you careening to the ground once more. Smack after punch, blow after kick, you were slowly losing the ability to raise your arms to even cover your face as he followed your pathetic little parade around the court.

The crowd seemed to be loving your beatdown. They cheered for more, for you to just give up, not knowing that you already had.

Upon coming to rest on your aching back from a roundhouse that had knocked you off your feet, you tilted your bloodied and bruised face to catch a glimpse of two figures arguing violently with the fixer who organized the whole event. Through the blur twinging the edges of your vision, you recognized Viktor and Jackie practically screaming at the man, gesturing wildly back and forth between you and the man approaching to possibly finish you off. Without your permission, your vision screen kicked in to read their lips and translate what they were saying.

“He’s fuckin’ killing her, idiota!” Jackie said and raised a hand to your form cowering on the ground.

“She tapped out fair and square,” snarled Viktor and poked a mechanical finger in the fixer’s chest. “Call it off before it goes any further.”

The fixer raised his hands in defense, shrugging a shoulder to prove his point. “Listen, chooms, just because you lost your bets doesn’t mean you’ve got to take it up with me.”

“She forfeited!” Viktor said. “Everyone with their eyes in their head saw her call for mercy.”

The fixer grinned sadistically. “I didn’t see anything.”

Snapping back to the court, you raised your gaze to the tall, sinewy mass of a man who towered over you with a heaving chest and a sick emotion of satisfaction sitting upon his stupid fat lips. For the second time, he raised you into the air by your throat and held you up like a trophy for all to see. You didn’t have the energy to fight back this time, couldn’t even if you thought it would do something. You simply gasped for air and gripped his forearm, hoping you’d black out sooner than later so you wouldn’t have to keep enduring this torture.

“Too bad no one’s going to remember your name,” Decard said to you over the noises of the onlookers. “V, was it?”

Through the blood spilling over your lips and the ache in every damn inch of your body, you snarled and spat, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied. “To the image of you begging for mercy like a fucking dog.”

The words had barely escaped his lips when a miracle graced the old basketball court. A deafening gunshot like a firecracker went off just feet from your ear and an instant later, you were dropped from being suspended in the air. Forcing yourself to look up from the dirt digging into your cheek, you watched as Viktor, now standing on the court before a kneeling Decard as he screamed and cradled the blown-apart junction of his knee, leveled his handgun with his opposite shoulder.

“Don’t bother showing your face to any ripper in this fucking city,” Viktor warned, then cracked off another bullet into Decard’s shoulder. The man howled over the sounds of the crowd stampeding for their vehicles and the streets, then collapsed in on himself. “They won’t have any mercy on you.”

It was the last thing you saw before you rolled onto your side and vomited, allowing yourself to fall into that everlasting darkness behind your eyelids.

The first thing that hit you when your senses returned was the faint smell of cleaning alcohol, the kind that docs used to sterilize equipment before they dug deep into your chest. The second thing was the familiar sound of a television playing the sounds of a boxing match; the ringing of the bell and the commentator’s voice would have lulled you back to sleep, had it not been for the ache that thrummed like fire beneath your skin all across your body. From your toes to your scalp it hurt, pulling a low moan from the back of your throat.

Your brow scrunched, you opened your eyes and blinked a few times before recognizing the ceiling overhead as the same one you had glared at while fighting with Viktor two days ago. You were in his clinic, propped up on the operating chair with an IV stuck in your arm and bandages wrapped around your torso. Your spine bitched at you as you sat up and swept your gaze across the clinic. Viktor was nowhere to be found.

Fuck, you wanted to go home. Go home and take the longest nap in the history of time. How long had it been since the fight - since you got your ass almost literally handed to you on the internet for thousands of people to see? Your vision screen told you it had been almost twelve hours.

With a grunt, you carefully pulled the IV from your arm and swung your legs over the side of the chair - only to crumple to the floor the moment you tried to stand on your own two feet. Just a few seconds later, you heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you prayed it would be anyone except your doc. You couldn’t face him, not after he had to save your ass after telling you not to fight. Hell, you almost wished it would be Decard coming to finish you off.

But you recognized the bottoms of the shoes rushing toward you as Viktor’s, and you could do nothing but whimper and groan as he gingerly lifted you off the ground and back onto the chair.

“Jesus, kid,” he said as he carefully stuck the IV back into your skin. “Only just came to and you’re already trying to walk out like nothing happened.”

You said nothing as he sat back on his rolling stool beside you and brought up your vitals on his tablet. You couldn’t bare the thought of looking into those eyes of his as he chastised you for being so fucking stupid, for not heeding his advice. He probably thought you were an idiot, a naive kid so blinded by chasing glory she didn’t realize she was running straight into the sun.

But it seemed that Viktor didn’t get the this-is-supposed-to-be-awkward memo. “Hate to say it,” he said as he scrolled through his device, “but you had a close call, kid. Popped a vertebra out of place in your spine, fractured four of your ribs, dislocated a finger or two… I could go on, but I’d like to save time where I can. In other words, I’ve never had a patient come in quite as fucked up as you.”

“Gee, thanks.” You exhaled a painful breath, unable to push down the bubble forming in the bottom of your throat. Just when you thought you’d be able to ignore it, it ruptured. “Why don’t you just tell me off for being so stupid and send Misty to take me home?”

Viktor didn’t look at you. And that made you all the more furious. “I’m not doing this again, V,” he said and rolled away to deposit his tablet on his workbench. “Shut up and take a rest from it, will you? You’re fogging up the place with that hot head of yours.”

“In case you forgot,” you shot back, struggling to sit up straight in the curved operation chair, “you’re the one who started this shit. So don’t you try and pin it on me.”

He stood and remained there on his feet for a moment, hands placed firmly on his hips and nodding his head with pursed lips - like he was preparing himself to have this same spat again. A pang of guilt shot through you, but you beat it back.

“You know what?” he said and finally looked at you through his glasses. He threw out a hand and let it smack against his thigh. “Fine. I did start this. I’ll own that. But I only started it because - and this may come as a surprise to that thick skull of yours - but I actually care about you, kid. I do really give a shit if some shady bastard you decide to throw hands with over a few eddies manages to get the better of you and leave you bleeding out in a dumpster on the wrong side of Pacifica.” He ran his good hand through his hair - and over his temples, which were just beginning to show through his dark tresses with a few streaks of gray - and began to tread closer. “Maybe what we’ve got between us is a fun way to kick off a bit of stress for you, and I’ll keep myself in check if it is, but goddammit, V, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you got yourself gutted in a fucking streetfight!”

You realized he had gotten closer to your chair and raised his voice only when you flinched at his sudden outburst. He seemed to understand, too, just how close he had come, because he at once stood straight again and began to back off.

You reached out your hand and grabbed his wrist. “It’s not,” you found yourself whispering when he glanced at you over the rims of his glasses. You swallowed thick and forced the words up and out. “Just… just some outlet. I… I love you, Vik.” A wave of tears threatened to overtake your vision, turn your eyes watery and your voice wavering. “I know it doesn’t really seem like it a lot of the time, but I promise I do.”

There were a long, silent few moments in which neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You squeezed your eyes together, suddenly afraid you had gone too far. That’s what you always did. You either went so far the line wasn’t even a line anymore, or you fell short enough that you didn’t even know there was one to begin with. You started to release his wrist, feeling as though you had fucked up yet another one of the good things in your life, when you felt his fingers angling your chin up so that he could press his lips to yours.

It was just like the millions of other times he had kissed you, when you were both in a rush to get your clothes off and climb on top of the other, and yet it was different all at the same time. This kiss was deep and genuine, relieved and thrilled. Sweet. Loving. He tasted like a faint twinge of whiskey, and when you grabbed his shirt collar to pull him closer and he grunted, a fan of breath swept across you like a ghosting whisper.

When you finally pulled apart, Viktor rested his forehead against yours and gently kissed the slope of your nose. “You better rest up quick, kid,” he murmured against your lips. “Because when you do, I’m going to spread those legs of yours and show you just how much I fucking love you.”

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 video game #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk viktor #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x you #viktor vektor #viktor vektor x Reader #viktor vektor x you #cyberpunk viktor vektor

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floralcyanide · 4 months

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⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒: 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: christmas and new year's eve are spent with coriolanus. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: kissing, innuendo ⊹ word count: 3216 ⊹ author’s note: apologies for being so late with this! it was my birthday and then I've been on new depression meds so I've been super tired from them ): but here's chapter three!! I hope everyone enjoys (:

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

You dive into your work full force on the 23rd, finally finishing Profiles in Courage and asking Jack your endless questions. All of which you scribble down in every available spot in your journal pages. Coriolanus has begun mapping out a campaign and slips the small pocket journal of ideas under your door late that night after the kiss. The two of you have shared looks with one another since but have yet to speak a word directly to your counterpart. For now, it seems your likenesses of each other’s goals are intertwined in the fact you are still working together for a common purpose. You had stayed up late that night, too. I delicately folded the golden rose in some tissue paper and wrapped it in a small box with string. Christmas Eve crawled through your window with the winter wind, and the taste of something metallic and sweet still lingered in your mouth.

“Do you think Santa will give Mister Coryo coal or a gift?” John Jr. asks you later that evening, briefly looking up from his figurines on the den floor where he sits beside Bobby Jr.

You try not to laugh at the outright question as Coriolanus is sitting across from you in his spot in that same chair he sits in, puffing his pipe with a playfully threatening look in his eye at your possible answer. You tread carefully, but not carefully enough.

“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we, John John?”

Jack is in the joining area of the main floor, where the grand piano sits by the entryway, softly playing the notes to Carol of the Bells. Caroline is next to him on the piano bench, swinging her legs. Bobby is next to you, his nose deep in the newspaper from the morning as his wife Ethel shakes her head at her nephew.

Jackie approaches the sitting area with some cider, setting the tray down on the coffee table before the fireplace, “I’d hope Coriolanus has known to be good this year.”

You raise your eyebrows subtly as you pick up a teacup of the warm liquid, already knowing his gaze is on you, “Thank you for the drink, Jackie.”

“Not a problem. Thank you for being such a dear guest and being so dedicated to Jack’s legacy. We all appreciate it very much.”

The rest of the family resides near the cellar, where there’s a small table dedicated to poker and cigarette smoking, trying their best to keep it down as the game of cards progresses. It’s nearing bedtime for the children and much-needed adult time for the elders. Today and tomorrow are a little hard for you, but being around others makes it easier to bear. Being without family on Christmas can dampen the mood, and you wonder if Coriolanus feels the same way. You subconsciously let yourself look over at him to answer your question. He’s sitting with his leg crossed over the other, his foot relaxedly bouncing slightly as he stares into the fireplace. Coriolanus doesn’t have a book in his grasp for once as he absentmindedly takes a rather deep hit of his tobacco, letting himself exhale as his eyes flutter to yours. Almost as if he’s wondering how you’re doing and what you’re thinking, too. Your stomach flips as you place your teacup on its saucer respectively.

Ethel finally rounds the kids up for bed, and they all protest without surprise. Bobby Jr. demands a Christmas bedtime story, to which the others mutually agree. With a sigh, Ethel gives in. Jack rallies everyone, even those playing poker, to come gather around the fire in the den. You decide to offer your spot to Kathleen and opt for the arm of the chair that Coriolanus is perched in. His arm still rests where it was on the fabric, dangerously close to your back. Jack sits in the larger chair beside the fireplace, opening up The Night Before Christmas. All the kids lay or sit before him, chins on their fists as they listen closely. The family chuckles occasionally when Jack chides in a sound effect or makes a joking comment to the side. Jackie looks over to you and Coriolanus with an almost knowing look. You feel tense about it until she gives a soft smile before returning her focus to her husband. The story draws closer to the end as the children grow sleepy, and Coriolanus’ hand grows curious. His fingertips slowly draw up your hip and softly grasp it, hidden under your shirt enough to where others can’t immediately see it. You look behind your back subtly, your eyes cast down at Coriolanus as he stares ahead, unwavering.

The brothers and their father scoop up the boys and girls and carry them to their bedrooms, most of them half asleep or fighting it. Some of the adults oblige to their own beds calling, while others disperse elsewhere or remain in their respective spots. You’re one of the ones ready to call it a night, so you carefully move yourself from Coriolanus’ touch and off the arm of the chair. It feels cold where his hand had been when you stand up. The rest of your night is spent journaling at your desk until your eyes grow too heavy to remain open any longer. It feels like you closed your eyes for only a second before there’s a near pounding at your bedroom door. You peel your eyes open reluctantly to see the sun barely hovering over the horizon from behind the sheer curtains. With a sigh, you hear the pounding again, but this time upstairs and slightly to the right. Sliding on your slippers, you rub the sleep from your eyes before opening the door to reveal some of the Kennedy kids beaming up at you.

“And why didn’t you wake your parents first?” you raise an eyebrow, to which they argue that they knew you’d actually get up first.

You’re exiting the bathroom when you bump into Coriolanus, who has just come fumbling down the stairs.

“They got you up too, I see?”

You nod, “Yeah. I guess we’re the fun ones.”

Coriolanus turns his lips up into a smile before allowing you to walk in front of him to the den, where the kids wait patiently for the two of you to approach.

“How about we start some breakfast for everyone and then open gifts when they’re all awake? Sound good?” you ask.

Some of the kids groan, but most of the boys eagerly race to the kitchen at the sound of breakfast. Coriolanus lets you take the reins in the kitchen as he does whatever you ask of him on the side, obeying your orders. Slowly, the family trudged into the kitchen and dining room one by one until everyone was seated. The family grows louder with chatter and clattering of dishes, excitement filling the air.

“What do we say to our guests who made us this wonderful breakfast, kids?” Jackie asks, looking around at the children expectantly.

A jeer of thank-yous comes from everyone around the table, to which you and Coriolanus shrug off.

“The real deal is the one who brought the presents,” you wave your hand dismissively, “So let’s go see what he brought, shall we?”

The kids need no more to be said before they all bound over to the den, taking their spots on the floor as Jack and Bobby move to assign everyone their gifts. You and the other ladies agree to clean up after gifts, so everyone is busy with something then. As you walk toward the group of kids tearing into their gifts, Caroline runs up and hugs your legs, beaming at the books you got her. John Jr. does the same, delighted he has another comic to add to his collection. Before you can find somewhere to sit, Coriolanus pulls you to the side of the den and away from the others. He ushers a box into your hands.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Coriolanus.”

“Sure I did,” he says, nearly cutting you off.

You sigh, returning the box to him as you weave through to the mantle, where your gift for him sits. You hand Coriolanus the neatly tied box as you take your gift back from him. You open it to reveal a leather journal with your initial stamped in the middle, with quills and an inkwell in a smaller container along with it. You gasp at the color of the leather and how it feels under your touch.

“I can’t accept this-” you say, shaking your head as you look up at Coriolanus in shock.

Before you can carry on with your protest, you notice him holding the golden rose brooch in his hand as if it’d shatter if he dropped it. Coriolanus has an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes take in the simplicity of the accessory.

“It’s not much, but I thought of you when I saw it.”

“Thank you,” he says lowly, standing closer to you, “It’s just like the one my mother had.”

A solemn smile settles upon your features at his comment, and you reach out a gentle hand to place on his bicep, “The journal is beautiful, Coryo. Thank you. I’ll write in it properly.”

To that, Coriolanus laughs softly. Jack and Jackie approach you both with gifts from them and the family soon after. You all exchange gifts and soon begin cleaning up, preparing for the day of activity. Family photos had to be done, and dinner had to be prepped. More family is to come in, and so a nanny is brought in for the kids. You and the other women could handle only so much; plus, the New Year’s gathering would also be happening around the corner. Not to mention, you still have so much work to do before returning to D.C. in the New Year- your dissertation still needed to be worked on endlessly, and a presidential campaign had to be run quickly. Coriolanus had to return to D.C. for a few days to organize his campaign before returning to The Compound. You already know the next few days will be dull, but you were fine before Coriolanus was here, and you’ll be fine when he’s gone.

Watching him leave made you feel melancholic. In just a few days, you’ve grown close. You aren’t sure how you’ll acclimate the nanny when she arrives without the help of Coriolanus. But you’re sure you’ll manage. The rest of the day is spent attempting to start one of Jack’s other books. Your mind keeps wandering to what Coriolanus could be up to. When you’ve grown tired of writing notes for Why England Slept, you decide to review Coriolanus’ campaign ideas. While he has some really viable points, you still add some of your thoughts and plans. Coriolanus mentions he is unsure of where to start campaigning and talking to people. So, you make a note to go to places where the working class resides. Places most campaigners wouldn’t think of visiting- like rural Pennsylvania and coal mining areas in West Virginia. The corn farms of Ohio, the orchards of Florida, or the backwoods of Georgia. The votes of the majority of the United States are where the wins will come in. But before any of that comes the Iowa Caucus and the New Hampshire Primary. So you begin to pen your ideas for that.

Before you know it, it’s dinner time. And after that, bedtime. And the days begin to drag along gradually. On the 30th, Jackie and Ethel decide to go out for lunch in Boston and make a day of it. They invite you to come along, and you don’t hesitate to say yes, especially since you’ve been cooped up for a while. Jackie suggests you buy a dress for the New Year’s Eve party. You decide to get something classy yet attention-grabbing, especially since that night will be the first time in a few days you’ve seen Coriolanus. And boy, have the last few days without him made you grow frustrated in numerous ways. Every time you go to read, you grow distracted with thoughts of him. And every time you go to write for the campaign, you think of Coriolanus and how life would be like if he became president. You also wonder how your friendship will grow and if it’ll go any further. You try to push away these thoughts while you’re out with Jackie and Ethel.

“So,” Ethel drawls from beside Jackie as the three of you stroll down the sidewalk, “What’s with you and Coriolanus?”

You must compose yourself briefly before answering, “I’m unsure of what you mean?”

Ethel and Jackie chuckle, “Oh, don’t be daft,” Jackie jokes, “We see how you are with each other. Everyone does.”

You gulp nervously at the revelation, hoping you hadn’t made a fool of yourself, “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, ladies.”

“We know young love when we see it, dear,” Jackie says, placing a hand on your bicep briefly, “But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wish to.”

On your walk, you eventually find a dress shop and begin looking around there, searching for something golden and shimmery yet simple. You spot a dress that’s exactly what you’re looking for and go to try it on. It fits perfectly, so you buy it and some heels to match. Patiently, you wait until Ethel and Jackie have finished shopping. You all decide it’s best to go home and get ready for tomorrow, as it will be a hectic day. And it is busy from the second you wake up. John Jr. and Caroline wake you early to go play in the freshly fallen snow. After that, soup and a sandwich are served for lunch, and then you spend the day reading and writing. The party is growing nearer, so you decide to shower and get dressed. You wear a deep shade of red lipstick, one similar to blood, with your gold eyeshadow and light blush. Your hair falls loosely around your face as you study yourself in the mirror. Hopefully, you’ll catch Coriolanus’ attention with your looks tonight.

You hang around Kathleen and some of the other Kennedy ladies as hors d'oeuvres are set out and drinks are served. You don’t hesitate to have a glass or two of vodka crans with small amounts of food to sample. Everyone is loosening up as more people begin to show. A large turntable has been turned on with some Frank Sinatra playing throughout the house, and Bobby finds you to dance after having his turn with Ethel.

“Care to dance?” he asks with his charming Kennedy smile.

“Of course, I don’t mind, Bobby,” you smile back, accepting his outstretched hand.

The current Sinatra song is quick-paced, so Bobby tests your swing dance skills. The vodkas are doing their thing, and you’re trying your best not to giggle too much at Bobby and his antics. The song ends, and you allow Jackie to have her dance with the younger Kennedy. Taking a moment to step outside as it’s nearing midnight, you realize you’ve yet to see Coriolanus. Maybe he hasn’t gotten here yet, or he’s sneaking around as usual, not saying anything as he observes. Some other folks are outside smoking, wrapped in shawls or peacoats and discussing random things. You join in the conversation until everyone eventually dwindles away. You find a spot by the balcony, staring out at the moonlit ocean as the sound of icy waves crashes onto the beach. A waiter offers you a glass of champagne as it’s almost time to ring in the New Year. You take it despite being heavy with sadness. You had hoped you wouldn’t spend another New Year’s Eve alone, yet here you are. You swirl the champagne around the glass, hoping Jackie or the other ladies won’t find you out here and ask a million questions. When it’s finally ten minutes until midnight, you’re readying yourself to head back inside when a soft hand places itself on your waist. You turn quickly to see Coriolanus Snow behind you, clad in a pressed and prim suit, the golden rose brooch upon his lapel.

“Good evening,” Coriolanus smiles subtly, a glass of champagne in his hand as well.

“Good evening,” you say back, letting your eyes settle on his, “In pretty late?”

“I got here a few hours ago; I just haven’t been able to get away from talking to everyone here before finally getting to you,” Coriolanus sighs.

“Saved the best for last?” you joke, hoping you’re hiding your nerves well enough as he steps forward to you until he can no longer be any closer.

“Of course I did,” Coriolanus deadpans, reaching a hesitant hand up to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I like your brooch, by the way,” you say, eyes darting to the shiny accessory.

“An absolute dear gifted it to me,” Coriolanus says, “I like the color of your lipstick,” he runs his thumb over your bottom with the hand he had to your face moments before.

Thankfully, the lipstick was matte drying, so it doesn’t come off when Coriolanus touches your lips. You try your best not to physically shudder as he doesn’t let his hand fall to his side but rather cups your cheek with it. Coriolanus pulls out his timepiece to check the time, and it’s a minute until twelve. The crowd inside begins counting down as you and the tall blonde before you hold eye contact without exchanging words. And as the clock strikes and the people inside the house cheer, the two of you neglect your champagne and connect lips. Coriolanus pulls you to him roughly by his hand on your jaw, his fingers sprawled on your ear, in your hair, and on your face. Your back is pressed to the balcony railing as your free hand glides through Coriolanus’ straightened and slicked-back blonde hair, pulling him closer to you. His tall figure looms over you despite the heels. Coriolanus moves his lips to your jaw and ear, leaving a trail of kisses along there. He unknowingly nips at a sensitive spot of yours, causing your breath to hitch. Coriolanus chuckles into your skin as he does it again on purpose, relishing in the sound you make.

“Meet me upstairs, second door on the right next to Jack’s office. I’ll be there in a little while- can’t be too obvious,” Coriolanus pulls away from you, his knuckle tracing along your jaw.

You look him in the eye, “Your room?”

Coriolanus stares at you wordlessly, his intense stare confirming that, yes, he wants you to meet him in his bedroom. You down the glass of champagne and put on your dazzling smile for everyone who bids you a Happy 1964 as you try your best to go upstairs unscathed. You finally do, and you close the door with a sigh as you brace yourself against the wood. What are you about to get yourself into? You aren’t sure, but nothing about this past year has been expected or sane in any way, so why not?

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black-klok-youth-pastor · 1 year

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Okay I am definitely listening to it live on my Walkman. Wish me luck that it’s not a dead end like last time.

#full metal jackie #brendon small #live blogging

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look-at-the-soul · 1 year

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Straight to the heart

Tommy Shelby x reader (Nurse)

After spending day and night for two weeks with nurses in the house while taking care of my grandma I couldn’t stop this idea running around my head.. this is set around S3E6… sending love and blessing to all the medical staff out there! Edit: Granny is doing so much better now, she can’t wait to go out already lol and now she says she misses us being with her all the time 🥺

Please note I’m not related to the health department, just what I read/watch.

Gif credit to @thesoldiersminute thank you for always keep up with my ideas!!! ☺️

Walking into the intensive care unit, Y/N was asked to immediately attend a new patient who arrived recently, she would only cover the night shift. He had surgery a few days ago and the doctors didn’t know yet how his body would react.

Y/N felt bad for the poor man, he was severely beaten, the damage in his brain still unknown, he was under high doses of medication. Most of his levels were out of proportion.

Right there he looked so helpless, vulnerable even. And even though the bruises and lightly swollen skin, she could see he owned some kind of privileged looks; thick lashes fanning over his cheeks, sharp cheekbones made him look like he was sculpted by a generous Greek God. If it wasn’t for the metal helmet on his head, she would swear he was only sleeping.

Sighting, she wrote down his records, adjusted his medication and left to attend her next patient. For the rest of the day, Y/N repeated the same actions without anything extraordinary or out of normal happening.

“Good luck on the night shift, Y/N” Jackie wished as she picked up her belongings.

“Why would I need luck?”

“You don’t know about that man at the 32?” Jackie squinted her eyes at her colleague.

Y/N shook her head as she organized the paperwork of the day. How would she know? She barely knew this area of the hospital. She wanted to stay out of any gossip or saying that was going around, but Jackie still decided to share the piece of information she heard in the hall. Letting Y/N know he was the infamous gánster from Birmingham known for cutting people’s eyes.

“His sister said he’s a war hero, but I know he’s a criminal, he deserves it.” Shaking her head she added; “his family requested a private room.”

But to Y/N all patients deserved to be treated equally, not taking into consideration their past, mistakes or anything else.

“Have a safe walk back home.” Y/N wished Jackie, hoping the other nurse would leave soon so she could resume the night visits to every patient, she had a long night ahead, starting with a young boy who had an accident at one of the factories.

Walking into Mr. Shelby’s bed close to midnight, Y/N noticed him sweating, shaking a little. Touching his forehead, she realized that he had a high fever. Rushing back to her unit, she grabbed towels and a bowl that she then filled with water.

Checking on his temperature, the thermometer showed 40ºC, so without wasting any more time, Y/N proceeded to provide medication to bring down his temperature. With a damp cloth, she pressed his neck, chest and forehead.

He was mumbling something she couldn’t understand, it was probably something that didn’t make sense, or another language she didn’t know… but as she moved to wet the washcloth one more time, his words were clear;

“Don’t leave me.” His hands got tense. “I need you.”

His frown grew deeper and when he opened his eyes abruptly, one of his hands accidentally hit Y/N above her right eye.

Y/N removed the covers from his body, as well as the upper part of the hospital gown.

Pressing the wet cloth against his hot skin Y/N got lost in the freckles on his chest, it reminded her of the previous night full of shining stars.

“Mr. Shelby, you’re alright, take a deep breath for me.” His breathing was erratic, his gaze lost, nothing he was saying made sense, he was talking about saving his mother and a Prussian boy, he then mentioned the name Charlie. “You’re at the hospital Mr. Shelby, take it easy.”

As Tommy looked around, he took in his surroundings, the pale skin of the nurse attending him contrasted deeply with the small crimson river of blood coming out from her eyebrow.

“There you go, that’s it, deep breaths.” Y/N smiled relieved that the fever was going down. Checking his eyes, his reflections seemed to be perfect, as well as the rest of his vitals. He tried to touch the metal around his head, but Y/N moved gently his hand down.

She helped the man to sit up slowly in the bed and after adjusting the pillow in his back, she offered him some water, to help his system fight the temperature.

“Are you feeling better?” Y/N asked after a few more minutes.

Tommy nodded, still altered by the mixed nightmare he just saw, his mother asking for help, she was dangerously close to the river and when he tried to grab her arm to move her away, he saw Charlie drowning, as he was about to save his son, the Prussian boy appeared from nowhere and sent him to the ground.

“It’s late, you might want to have some rest.” Y/N announced gently changing the pillow since it was soaked.

“I can’t go back to sleep.” He murmured after a few seconds. “My head ‘s pounding.”

“I can give you something for the pain.” But his hand stopped Y/N’s intentions to walk away. Gently and in a caressing motion, she placed his hand between hers, one on top and one under. “Is going to be alright.”

“Can you stay here? With me?”

And with that Y/N was able to see the bluest eyes she had ever crossed paths with, so transparent, so full of fear, so vulnerable. He locked his eyes with her and she got lost in a deep ocean, soft waves crashing against her.

So broken.

Empty even.

In the war she had seen endless horrors, men without a leg or an arm, people who lost their eyes, but nothing compared to what Y/N saw in this man’s eyes.

“Right, just let me call the doctor and I’ll stay here for a little longer, all my other patients are sleeping.” Y/N took the empty chair resting close to the door and brought it closer to the bed.

“Lucky they can.”

Y/N chuckled and in the process, she found the ghost of a smirk in his lips.

“I could give you something to sleep.”

“Oh, so you don’t have to deal with me?”

Y/N looks at him scandalized. “No, I meant it so you can rest.”

“That’s for the weak.” Tommy stated taking a deep breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want something for the pain?” Y/N tried again suppressing a yawn.

“I’ve the heart of a horse.” Tommy winced as her cold hand came to circle his wrist, she looked at her watch and then wrote down something in a chart. She then checked again his temperature. “How long have you been a nurse?”

Her features turned into a bittersweet expression.

“I volunteered as a nurse during the war, to be close to my husband.”

Tommy fixed his gaze on her. “The Somme?”

Y/N nodded. “Blackwoods, but he never came back.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Tommy offered Y/N his handkerchief, which she found on top of the cabinet with the rest of his clothes.

“Thank you, I hear you’re a hero.”

Tommy chuckled tilting his head.

“That’s overrated, I saw more men dying than I saved. Now you, on the other hand are a real hero, Miss?”

“Y/N Y/LN.” She smiled gently.

“Pleased to meet you, Thomas Shelby.” He extended his hand with a groan.

“How did you end up here with an injury like that?”

“I stumbled.”

Y/N didn’t believe that for a second, but she was glad to see that even in a situation like that, he felt like joking, it was a good sign.

“The door must’ve been heavy.” She joked, immediately regretting her own words. ”Sorry.”

“Bad choices brought me here.” Tommy admitted, his hands instinctively looking for a cigarette. “Can I have a smoke?”

Y/N stood up to take a cigarette and light it for him. “Hopefully you won’t make those again, you were very lucky this time.”

“You’d be surprised, sometimes I think trouble simply enjoys following me around.”

“You’re like a magnet then.”

She then decided to stay silent as she saw him with his eyelids closed, maybe tiredness took him finally in, that would be good, because then she would be able to close her eyes momentarily and…

“Has anyone came…?”

His deep voice pulled her from snoozing. Y/N nodded and informed him that his sister visited the previous day. And his aunt the day he had the surgery.

“Do you want me to let someone know?”

Tommy shook his head at first, closing his eyes. Who would give a damn about him?

“Jeremiah, Jimmy he’s a preacher.” He whispered after a few minutes.

“I know him, we’ve worked together helping people in need.”

Why that didn’t surprise him?

“That tells me I’m in good hands.” He ran his cigarette over his lower lip, while a light shade of pink covered her cheeks and neck.

“Thank you for helping me keep my eyes open.”

Tommy then winked. “Anytime love, you know where to find me.”

Y/N told him she would get him a new gown and take a quick look at the other patients, but she would be back before he could realize she was gone. In her absence, a doctor entered and after evaluating the information in his chart, asked a few insignificant questions and left him alone. Tommy wondered if she would be back soon.

“How was your round?” Tommy asked eyeing her by the corner of his eye.

“Fine, most patients are fast asleep except for one.”

“Sorry to keep you up, it gets boring here.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. “What are you talking about? The fun has just begun, you need to stay for a few months.”

But Tommy being Tommy, he had another ideas.

“I’ll be out of here this week.” He stated firmly.

They stayed in a comfortable silence, until Tommy saw the nurse leaning forwards, at the end of his bed, close to his feet, within seconds, he realized her breathing changed and she was fast asleep, forehead resting on one arm, at some point, she turned her head to the side, so her features were facing him, and he finally noticed the mole close to her lips…

The following morning, Jeremiah entered the hospital room, a beaming smile on his face, Tommy motioned him to be quiet, pointing at the sleepy nurse.

The poor thing worked the previous night taking care of a patient at home, then her regular shift at ER and finally she was asked to cover the intensive care unit as well.

Looking at the feet of his bed, Y/N was peacefully sleeping in an uncomfortable position that would probably hurt her neck and back, she assured him over five times she wasn’t tired first, then that she didn’t need a pillow, she wasn’t going to fall asleep, but in the end, her body claimed some rest. Her lips were partially open, her features relaxed, she exuded calmness through every pore.

A peace he would kill for.

“Looking good Tom.” Jeremiah whispered, walking around the bed, to the opposite side were the nurse was sleeping.

“Now everyone will shave the side of their head too.” Tommy joked.

Before Y/N fell asleep, she got her pocket mirror, helping Tommy to take a look, it disgusted him to see the helmet, and the dark circles under his eyes, paler than he usually was, but Y/N assured him, nothing of that mattered, he was alive.

But Jeremiah couldn’t hold back the laugh at Tommy’s comment, and Y/N woke up.

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep!” Y/N quickly apologized and walked out from the room, returning a few minutes later after a quick trip to the bathroom to refresh herself and as she walked over to the bed to check one more time for Mr. Shelby’s vitals, she overheard a conversation that concerned her.

“Jimmy, I need you to bring me some papers, the keys to the first drawer are on-”

“Mr. Shelby you can’t work right now.” Y/N looked between her patient and his friend, her whole body protesting for sleeping in that position.“You need bed rest, physical therapy and nothing that stresses you.”

Tommy chuckled and his head hurt from the effort.

“I’m sure Polly can manage for a while, you need to follow her orders.” Jeremiah stated before touching Tommy in the arm, followed by a wink. “He’s a bit stubborn, just so you to know.”

He thanked then Y/N for taking care of his friend and left them after that.

“I didn’t mean to sound bossy, sorry Mr. Shelby.”

“Call me Tommy, please.” Making an effort to look at her, he found a deep frown. “What’s the matter?”

“The doctor prescribed Morphine to your own judgment?”

“It’s for the pain.”

She knew this kind of high dosis could represent a big threat for the patients, it should be administered by someone who knew what they were doing, but it wasn’t her place to discuss that, so she only shook her head.

“Thank you, for not letting my nightmares hunt me last night.” Tommy whispered. “And sorry for that.” He then pointed out to the now clear cut on her eyebrow.

Y/N smiled brushing it off and left to do a quick check on her patients. Later, when she returned, she found Tommy sleeping, and just like he did the previous night, she let him sleep, hoping the nightmares would leave him alone.

***

When Tommy woke up again, he didn’t found Y/N back, no, there was a rude and grumpy, old nun making noise, disturbing the small peace he was able to reach.

After a heated argument, Tommy didn’t hesitate to point the revolver at her, he just wanted to scare her though, in that condition he wouldn’t be able to shoot properly, but it worked, because she mumbled he would be burned in hell and left. A doctor came in shortly, sweating, worried he would kill him there.

“Where’s Y/N?” Tommy asked cleaning his weapon with the sheet covering his lap.

“She has the day off, until tonight, she covers the ER Night Shift.” His apple bobbed up and down. “I’ll ask the nurse to check on you.”

“I don’t want anyone but Y/N.” Tommy resisted the urgent feeling to press his forehead, the headache was unbearable.

“She attends the emergency un-”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Doc… Y/N is from now on my personal nurse.” He removed the security button of his gun. Feeling dizzy, he could see the doctor moving towards the door.

The intensive care unit looked oddly quiet that night, she shouldn’t be here without permission but there was no one to ask around, so she’d only stay for a couple of minutes and go to work at the other side of the building.

“Ah, I see you’re awake now Mr. Shelby, I brought you some tea that will help you with the pain, is strong so I added some milk and sugar.” Y/N smiled.

But the smile soon was followed by a shock, when the Director informed her she would now work as private nurse for Mr. Shelby, but she didn’t even try to gainsay against the new instructions, she just asked a few minutes to move her belongings over the intensive care unit.

“I hope you understand, the other nurse didn’t think I was a nice patient.”

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. “You pointed a gun at her, Tommy.”

“Yeah, yeah, she mentioned I was going to hell.” He retrieved the cigarette case and match from under the blanket, motioning for her to light it for him.

“How are you feeling?” She noticed the helmet was gone, and he could move freely now, slow but better.

“Like shit.”

Y/N looked at the cigarette between her fingers, Tommy cleared her she could smoke in her shift now. “Last night, when you had that nightmare… you mentioned someone… Charlie.”

Tommy ran his tongue over his lips, blinking at the thought of his son.

“I was trying to save him, he’s my son, now it’s just the two of us… his mother passed away.”

The air abandoned her lungs, her heart sank down, the worst pain this man was going through wasn’t for the head injuries, the emotional felt deeper.

“Everything I do, is for him, ‘cause I don’t want him to suffer what I went through.” He admitted.

Tommy threw the covers to the side, determination in his eyes.

Scandalized, Y/N rushed to his side, “what are you doing?!”

“I can’t stay in bed, have things to do.”

But her hands on his chest, held him firmly.

“You need to take it easy, it takes time to heal and recover.” Shaking her head, Y/N covered him again. “You hired me to be your nurse, and as such you’ll have to follow my orders.”

With an evident groan, Tommy allowed her to adjust his pillow, taking the revolver in the process.

“And I’m keeping this somewhere safe.”

“Fucking hell.” He scoffed.

***

Of course, he wasn’t out in a week like he said, Tommy needed medical attention and professional equipment to monitor his progress, the doctors didn’t even care he was using his pipe when the pain was too much.

During the following days, Y/N stayed by Tommy’s hospital bed day and night, helping him to stand up once the doctor cleared him out to walk around, she read out loud endless books and news to him, somehow she was his eyes and ears.

She earned completely his trust, he talked to her about things he didn’t dare to say to anyone else. And never complained about how difficult and headache he was as her patient, he lost all his dignity when she had to clean him up in the beginning when he couldn’t move, and kept his nightmares at bay some nights.

Staring into the ceiling, he didn’t even remember what day it was, memories were a bit blurry, but he had enough time to plan, to think, to realize things.

In the loneliness of those cold walls, it was all silent. Just him and his thoughts.

Where was his family? He had gave them all; everything they needed, everything they wanted… money, stability, power, luxuries, properties.

And they had only be around a few times for short and sporadic visits.

No one offered to spend the night with him, just in case he needed something during the night. All he heard was excuses to leave as soon as possible. They had other things to do.

The obscene amount of money he spent with whores to warm his bed for a moment and for what? They wouldn’t even dare to look a man ill in a hospital bed. They were empty, it was nothing more than a chore for them.

Not a single whore was appealing enough the effort now.

Deep down, he felt disappointed.

And heartbroken. If he ever had a heart.

All of the people he helped down the road, weren’t able to pay him a ten fucking minutes visit.

A knock on the door pulled Tommy away from his thoughts.

Y/N entered brightening not only the room, but his life as well.

“Good morning sleepyhead.” She chirped.

“You kept snorting, I had to recover my sleep-hours.” He lied.

“I did not.” Her voice faked indignation towards his words, touching his arm playfully with the package of the gauze.

“Why do you keep sleeping in the chair, when I asked them to bring in a couch for you?” He smirked accepting the biscuits she made for him.

“Trust me, if I take the couch, you’ll never wake me up.”

As she leaned to clean the spot of his surgery, Tommy turned his head and stared into her beautiful eyes, straight to her heart and soul. Wondering if she would allow him to kiss her, almost asking for permission. His hand came to rest to the side of her head, fingers intertwining in her hair… closing his eyes, he let his lips fan over hers, barely touching, teasing, burning and waking up every nerve in her body.

And when their mouths finally collided, time stopped and the fucking world could’ve exploded and they wouldn’t have noticed.

“Just what the doctor ordered.” The corner of his lips turned upwards and small lines formed around his blue eyes as he pulled in his nurse for another kiss.

“Tommy…” she whispered trying to catch her breath, easier than trying to ask her heartbeat to normalize.

“Tell me this isn’t a one side feeling?”

The feeling of his hands cupping her face close to his, made ir harder to shook her head. “No, it’s not that… is just that this isn’t professional. I’m your nurse.”

“Perfect, you’re fired then.” He joked, pulling her down for another kiss.

He would be forever grateful with her for those days when she was all the company he got, for the long talks, and making his most miserable time feel lighter. For encouraging him to walk again and do his exercises.

For being there for him.

He never imagined tragedy would take him to the place where he would meet love and compassion in the same person. He would get his head smashed a hundred more times just to be with her.

After getting more kisses, because he swore the doctor prescribed them, Tommy gave her the envelope with her payment and she almost fainted she saw it. It was more money than she could expect to see in months of working non stop.

“This is too much, I can’t accept it.”

“Y/N you stayed with me when I needed it the most, didn’t ask questions… no amount of money could ever really pay what you gave me.”

He was determined to go back home, promised the doctors he would take it easy and after watching his health improvement, he was discharged earlier than expected. But of course he was planning to have someone taking care of him.

***

Y/N couldn’t believe this was the correct address she was given. Taking a double look at the mansion before her, she swallowed hard.

But the address written on the paper Tommy gave her, was correct. After finishing her shift at the Hospital that day, she would be joining him at home.

Knocking on the heavy door, Y/N waited smoothing her uniform a petite woman in a black and white uniform opened the door. The look the woman gave her up and down made Y/N feel uneasy, worried there was something wrong with her.

“Mr. Shelby hired me to.-”

“I know who he is, I don’t understand why they sent someone lik-” shaking her head, she moved to the side as Polly approached them.

“Thank you so much for showing up earlier, he has been asking for you, I’m Polly.” She gave the nurse a candid smile and looking then at the maid, she added; “Mary please prepare her something to eat.”

“That won’t be necessary Mrs. Gray, I had breakfast after finishing my shift, but thank you.”

Polly guided her around the house, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Thank you for taking care of our Tom all of this time…” Showing her where was the kitchen, the bathroom, everything she might need.

“Is alright, don’t worry about that.”

“I’ve work to do, but I’ll give you a phone number where you can find me if anything urgent comes up, there’s also a driver and a car outside in case you need to use it.” They both walked a long hall, the house was decorated immediately. “My nephew has been talking about you.” She gave the nurse a knowing look. “Something changed, but not something physical, something inside, you gave him his heart back.”

As Polly opened the door to Tommy’s bedroom, Y/N found him playing with his son in bed, bare chest moving the child up and down in the air, his small giggles echoed through the room.

The image didn’t only made its way through her eyes, it went straight to the heart.

*******

And sorry it got long! I couldn’t stop writing for these two… your feedback is always highly appreciated and treasured ♥️ it means the world to me! Thank you for reading.

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @gypsy-girl-08 @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @the-forest-witchh @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @zablife @peakyscillian @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @ange-thoughts @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik

#That’s what Cill said #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #peaky blinders imagine #modern tommy shelby imagine #tommy Shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fan fiction

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pedrotonin · 1 year

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B R I N G T H E W H I S K E Y

Summary: Joel catches you stealing from his brother. He ensures the punishment fits the crime.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

Rating: R

Warnings: Minors DNI! 18+ Joel is not a nice person. Smut.

Word count: 1200+

You arrived at Jackson only a few days ago. A group of men on horses scared the living shit out of you while you were hunting for some much needed food. You tried to hide, but they found you, or rather their dog did. It growled and barked, and you had no choice but to show yourself. They'd screamed and pointed their guns at you and threatened to let the dog attack. While you cowered in front of them, thinking your last minute on this godforsaken planet had finally arrived. It hadn't. Once they made sure you weren't infected, they brought you over to their settlement. They took your gun and knife, but you got to keep the rest of your belongings.

A guy named Tommy told you you were welcome to stay, but also free to leave. That was after they held you hostage in a prison like building for a couple of days. Wanting to make sure nobody would come for you. Nobody did, so Tommy took you under his wing. He said he was going to get you your own house, but until then, you were welcome to stay in one of his spare bedrooms. That's where you were currently sitting on the bed, looking at raindrops cascading down the window.

Tommy and his wife had been really kind to you. They'd not only let you stay at their house, but also shared their food and clothes with you. It was nice. They were nice. But you didn't like being here. Actually, you hated it.

You hated people in general. Being let down so many times in your life, you trusted no one anymore. Not easily anyway. That's why you lied when you told them your name.

Jacky. That's what you came up with. It popped in your brain while you were ogling their whiskey collection. Some of it original and some home brewed. You had a couple of good night sleeps and a full stomach, so it was time to leave.

You would wait until midnight and then sneak out. Taking an original bottle of Jack Daniels with you.

When they retire for the night, you wait an hour before you sneak out the front door. Goodbye Jackson.

You hear the soft snorting sound of horses coming from the stables. Horses, how could you forget. You'd steal one of those as well.

You slink towards the stables as quietly as possible. Inside, you grab a saddle and throw it on the first horse that comes into view.

The sound of a trigger being pulled freezes you, and you feel the cold metal of the gun against the back of your head.

"The fuck you think you're doin'."

A deep, male voice, just behind you.

You don't immediately answer him, and he pushes the gun harder against your head.

"Fuckin' answer me!"

You raise your hands and slowly turn around. He is tall, and very, very angry.

"You're that kid living with Tommy," he states.

"I'm not a kid, old man. I'm fucking 25 years old," you hiss. Earning you a backhanded slap across the face.

"Give me the bag," he snarls.

You don't.

"Give.me.the.fucking.bag" he punctuates each word while taking a step towards you. Jezus, is he going to kill you?

You hand it over, and he opens it. Pulling the bottle of Jack Daniels out. Raising his eyebrows.

"What's this? You fuckin' stole this from my brother?"

Brother? Interesting.

His hand curls around your throat. Walking you backward until your back hits the wall. Then he forcefully turns you around, putting your arms behind your back, holding them with just one of his hands. The other pushes your face against the cold, wet wood.

"Ouch, you son of a bitch!" you howl. The sharp wood poking into your cheek.

"You're going to pay for this," he hisses in your ear. "They hung people for less around here."

"No. No! Take the booze! I will leave this place and you'll never see me again! I'll do anything, please!"

He stays quiet for a second. You can feel his large body hovering behind you.

"Anythin' darlin'?"

What? What is he playing at. Well, you sure as hell aren't getting yourself killed over a bottle of whiskey. So yes:

"Anything."

He smirks. His hand leaves your face to tangle in your hair, and he pulls. Hard. Your head snaps to the side.

He kicks your feet apart and moves your arms above your head. He steps closer and nudges his thigh between your legs.

"Be careful what you wish for," he breathes in your ear. You can't help yourself, you outright moan.

"You like being manhandled like this, sugar? Just my luck."

He presses his whole body against your back, pushing his hard cock against your ass.

"Feel that?"

You lower yourself on his thigh a bit more and start grinding it. Hell, it's been so long.

"Fuckin' slut," he whispers.

His hand opens the button of your jeans and he reaches inside to cup your pussy through your underwear. Finding you wet. He tuts.

"If you run, I'll kill you." He lets go of your arms and grabs your shoulders to turn you around.

You take a better look at him. His mustache and beard are streaked with grey. His hair is curly, also greying. Eyes brown, dark, filled with anger and lust. He's much older than you, but handsome. Tall, strong.

"On your knees."

You do as you're told. He opens his jeans and pulls his cock out. It slaps against your chin. Christ, he's big.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out and he wastes absolutely no time, putting his leaking cock inside. You close your lips around him and begin to suck him off.

He grabs your head and fucks your face. You choke and gasp for air. He lets you for a moment but then he pushes himself back inside, hitting your troat. Strings of saliva run down your chin and your eyes water while you struggle to breathe.

"Fuck!!" he moans and without warning he comes. Thick, white ropes of his cum hit your tongue and your troat. You swallow all of it.

You think he'll maybe let you leave now, but he's not finished with you yet. He pulls you to your feet and pushes you against the wall again. He rips your jeans and panties down and drops to his knees behind you.

"What are you d-"

His tongue licks a fat stripe over your dripping cunt. Words fail you, only a loud gasp escapes.

He grabs your thighs and burries his whole face between your legs. Eating you out like a man starved. Pushing one, two and even a third finger deep inside you. Fingering you hard and assaulting your clit with his tongue. It doesn't take very long until you feel your orgasm crash over you. You scream while your pussy contracts around his fingers. He takes them out of you and starts to lick them clean. Slurping as he does. Your eyes widen at the sight.

"I have a better idea," he says while he pulls your jeans up and puts his cock back inside his own.

"You come live at my place. I'll keep you safe and you keep my cock warm."

You stare at him. Is he for real?

"Bring the whiskey," he says as he walks out.

You smile and follow him. Yes, this could work.

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