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eddiesghxst · 4 months

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PRICE OF FAME (PART 12/12)

AHHH !! friends, we've come to the end of my first fully done series, and she's not perfect in a lot of ways but she's mine and I'm so happy and thankful to have shared it with you lovely folks

i hope I've done them justice, enjoy <3

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you decide to visit eddie for a chat

contains: enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of anal, mentions of death (readers relative), sexual themes, angst, heavy mutual pining, fluff, and eddie being so head over heels that it's hot <3

word count: 10.6k

| previous part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

“So, from the new album— Wasting Love.”

Over time, Eddie’s learned that he can’t stand interviews— especially interviews with questions aimed towards nothing but tabloid gossip and headlines. The first big interview that Corroded Coffin booked was exciting because— well, it was their first one! Maybe the questions weren’t as intricate and thought-out as the ones they gave David Bowie on TV, but it was something.

That excitement wore off quickly, though, and unfortunately, interviews are one of the top ways to spread publicity so— “Wasting love,” Eddie huffs, tipping his hips forward as he shifts on the couch. He’s bored out of his mind, aching to leave and be done with the shitty questions about his love life or the people he hangs around or whatever. He taps the heel of his foot into the ground, lips twisting as he chews at the inside of his cheek, “What about it, man?” Eddie asks.

The rest of the band is in the fucking clouds— why would they answer a question about a song entirely unrelated to them? Plus, Eddie’s 99.9% sure they did a few lines without him, which, fucking assholes.

The interviewer shrugs, “Well, why didn’t it make it to the final cut? And what’s it about? Tell us more about that track.”

What a bullshit fucking question.

Wasting Love is one of the most, if not the most, straightforward songs Eddie’s ever fucking written. The only reason why he’s asking about this is because, well, there’s been rumors of Eddie and his most recent love affair— none of which are true, but Eddie doesn’t bother to come out and tell the truth because what’s the point? What’s the point in telling the truth if it will get twisted anyway?

Either way, Eddie shrugs, blinking behind his dark sunglasses, “I mean…” He purses his lips and tips his head side to side as if thinking, “Kinda self-explanatory with the lyrics, man.” He finally responds.

And in the background, Eddie can see Richie practically constructing his next ‘I know you hate it, but it’s good publicity’ lecture. So, Eddie relents— “It’s about… meaningless sex basically. And it didn’t make the cut because it was a shitty song.”

It wasn’t, actually, Eddie thinks it was a great fucking song, but the intentions behind it— not quite so.

“I think the fans would disagree on that.” The interviewer jokes.

Jeff takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, “I mean, part of it was because it just didn’t flow with the essence of the album.” He adds, and Eddie mentally thanks him for taking over and so easily diverting the topic to something else. For the rest of the interview, Eddie’s mind is elsewhere, thinking about everything outside of this room, thinking about what he’ll eat later, thinking about the show tonight, thinking about you.

Yeah, you haven’t left his fucking mind in the past six months you’ve been apart from one another. It’s been six months, and Corroded Coffin has released two albums and started their second leg of tour since he last saw you— and you’re still all he thinks about.

You’re still in his dreams, still dancing behind his eyelids when he shuts his eyes, still vomiting all over his fucking journal when he writes. It’s madness, really. Eddie can’t remember the last time he was this hung up on someone— he wasn’t even this distraught when Chrissy left him.

Sure when he and Chrissy ended, he wallowed in it for a month or two, but it wasn’t long before he got fixed on uppers and groupies. Chrissy was heartbreaking in the sense that she was his first love, his first real relationship— but this… this is different. Eddie doesn’t know why it’s different, can’t really pinpoint where the colors change, and the memories start to jab at his chest differently, but he feels it.

He feels it when he’s sitting backstage before a show, feels it when he steps into a new hotel room every night, feels it when he’s ruffling through his suitcase and comes across that journal that’s been haunting him for ages now, and he definitely feels it when he reads the fifth page in the Rolling Stone magazine where the description of Eddie resides, the one where you’d crafted and molded Eddie into a shape he’d never been able to see before, the one where Eddie first came to terms with the true sight of you and your intentions.

Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in this predicament, but by god, he would never fucking recommend it because— fuck, you won’t even talk to him!

And sure, you don’t owe Eddie anything, you don’t owe him a call or a chance to visit or anything of the sort, but Eddie was holding onto that sliver of hope you gave him before you left.

He asks about you when he can, because, unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s quite familiar with your boss, Anna, and she’s like an annoying older sister to him. Anna tells Eddie how much of an idiot he is occasionally, but she always cracks and tells Eddie that you’ve been good and how you sometimes mention him, but it’s always quick, and nobody ever has room to pry about it. And when Anna tells Eddie about how you crossed paths backstage with a certain red-headed girl and read her to filth, Eddie chuckles and mumbles something along the lines of, “That’s my girl.”

Anna nearly gagged then.

Still, Eddie only catches glimpses and whispers of you, never really getting the full fix to last him a day, but it’s enough to keep him alive and wanting.

“Maybe she doesn’t get your calls, man.” Gareth shrugs, leaning into the mirror as he ruffles his hair. It’s been hours since the interview now, and showtime is in… Eddie doesn’t know when because he didn’t listen when Richie was rambling on about tonight’s schedule.

“She gets my calls, dude; Anna said she does,” Eddie grumbles.

“Okay, well, then maybe she’s just, like, over it. I don’t blame her; you're a pain in the ass.”

Eddie kicks his boot into Gareth’s shin, and the boy hisses, tossing a red Rillos wrapper at him. “Ow, asshole. It’s not my fault she hates your music.” He snips. Eddie makes a face, “It’s your music too, dumbass.”

Gareth scoffs, “Yeah, but you wrote an entire fucking album about her. Our album is literally about her, you know that, right?” And Eddie thinks he should just kick Gareth’s teeth in at this point, maybe that’ll get him to shut up. “How would you know it’s about her if I never told you it was?” Eddie prods.

Gareth rolls his eyes, dark eyeliner casting a shadow on his face as he turns to glare at his friend. “Is there another chick you’ve been fucking that’s got you by the balls that we seem to have forgotten about?” Gareth sarcastically asks. Eddie glares at him, reaching for the cigarettes on the vanity table and sparking up.

He speaks around a cloud of smoke when he answers, “No.”

Gareth makes a face, eyebrows raising in an ‘I rest my case' manner. “And she’s not a chick,” Eddie adds.

Gareth hums with a tight grin, reaching out to poke at his friend's face, causing Eddie to grimace and bat him away, “You’re in love, Munson. Fix it or get over it,” He says shortly before making his way toward the door. Eddie can hear the dull scream of fans when Gareth opens the door, and Eddie thinks about the tickets he’s sent you every show— prays to whatever false god there is that you decided tonight is the night before he decides hope is useless and you’ve gotten over him. Gareth cuts through Eddie’s thoughts, “Come on, I can hear Richie’s bitching from here.”

Eddie’s mind is never in the game until he steps onto the stage, with bright lights blinding him, screaming fans, and his adrenaline at an all-time high. He comes back to earth then, comes back, and does the fuck out of his job— because this is the best part. The best fucking part, and it’s always been that way.

And it gets better when Eddie scans the crowd, coming down from the first song of the night and finally taking a look at his audience, and there he sees it— he sees you. There you are under flashing lights, drowning in a sea of people with that glint in your eyes.

Eddie thinks he’s imagining it because, fuck, he’s been dreaming of this for weeks on end; surely his delusion can reach the heights of hallucinations, right? But no, you’re real.

You’re so fucking real. So fucking insanely real beneath Eddie’s fingertips when he reaches out, ignoring the screams and clawing of fans as his fingers loop around your wrists and he says your name.

God, you’re really fucking here.

Eddie looks prettier than you remember when you first see him— curly mane draped over his shoulders and dark tattoos glistening on a bare torso, white lights framing him like he’s some kind of fucking archangel.

He’s gotten thicker in the few months, beefier around his arms and chest, and the long chains and pendants he wears from his neck rest down the valley of his torso, smeared in sweat and sin. You want to drag your tongue across his chest, taste the salt and his cologne, tug the silver cross between your lips, and suck and make him whimper.

His eyeliner is smudged and dark, and his smile when he gets a moment to take in the crowd makes your chest ache. He’s so pretty it hurts. He’s a dream and a nightmare all at once.

You missed him. God, you missed him so much.

His smile falters when he sees you, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but his eyebrows pinch like he’s in pain, and you only want to wrap yourself around him and breathe in that scent that’s been haunting for nights on end.

He’s insane for jumping down to the barricade, like, completely-lost-his-fucking-mind, down-in-the-gutter, insane. But you can’t find it in you to protest when he steps up to the fence, reaching out and looping his warm finger around your wrist. “What the fuck?”

Your lips twitch into a smile at his words, but the crowd is getting rowdy with their beloved rockstar so up close and an elbow is being shoved into your side and Eddie moves quicker than you can comprehend, tugging you forward to the very front and motioning you to jump over.

“You’re insane!” You yell over the noise of the crowd. Eddie grins, damp curls dangling over his eyes as he peers down at you, “Unless if you wanna get crushed, be my guest.”

It’s slightly difficult, and there are a lot of gangly limbs and yearning hands reaching out everywhere, but Eddie eventually gets you over the barricade, and you’re gazing up at him with a warm grin when you sway on your feet. You wish you and Eddie could just walk away and have each other like you’ve been imagining for months, but Eddie has a job, and he’s working.

His eyes are blown wide, and his lips are so kissable, and his warm hand is squeezing your hip as he nods toward a security guard. “Keep an eye on this one, Rob,” He shouts over the screaming fans. You’re eyeing Eddie as he steps back toward the stage, sinking his in-ear back into place with a sly grin as he winks, “She’s real sneaky.”

The show is great, as it always is, and Eddie tries to be deft about it, but it’s evident to just about everyone how he practically clings to the side of the stage where you’re standing in front of. It’s cute, you’ll admit, but you feel bad for the fans, so you try to move around a bit.

The last song comes, and the show ends with Eddie and Jeff practically climbing over one another as they shred their guitars and the crowd goes insane when Eddie leans forward to drag his tongue up the side of Jeff’s face, grinning when the other boy rolls his eyes and walks off.

You’re being pulled backstage quicker than you know it, just in time to meet the group as they jog off the smokey stage with big grins on their faces.

Jeff is smothering Naomi in a sweaty hug and smattering kisses all over her face, and you’re glad to see they’re still together. Gareth is twirling his drumstick between his fingers and scanning the room for someone, but you don’t have time to try and figure out who because the one person you’ve been waiting for steps out next, and he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he practically jogs up to you.

You’re smiling and giggling out a greeting as he steps up to you and grasps your face between his hands, “No kisses!” You warn before he can lean in, and Eddie’s too excited to even pout about it. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?”

You reach up to slink your fingers around his wrists as his thumbs caress the soft skin beneath your eyes, “Got enough life left in you to talk?” You ask. Eddie’s eyes dance across your face, taking you in like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to before he nods. “Always.”

The dressing room seems to be the altar of truth for you and Eddie.

It’s dawning on you that most of the pivotal moments between you and Eddie have been in a dressing room, so it’s not irrational for you to feel a bit uneasy when you step in, and Eddie closes the door.

He’s like a kid in a candy store, trying not to touch what he sees. His eyes are so bright, but you can tell he’s holding himself back from doing and saying the things he wants, and you appreciate that he’s giving you the space, waiting for you to give him your yes or no.

Eddie plops onto the couch in the middle of the room and looks at you with a glint in his eyes. You deeply breathe, shifting in your spot before leaning back against the door, tipping your head as you study him; thighs comfortably spread, inked stories fluttering to life with each rise and fall of his bare torso. He’s a dream.

“I thought you’d be way more upset.”

Eddie’s lips tug like he wants to smile at the sound of your voice, or maybe it’s the sight of you, and he shifts in his seat with a shrug, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and when you see him pat himself down, you’re already moving like it’s muscle memory.

You pick up the lighter on the coffee table and walk over to Eddie, sparking the flame as you speak, “You’re allowed to be upset, you know?” You remind him. Eddie’s gaze flickers in color as he looks up at you, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that rise up on your skin when his hand reaches up to rest on your hip, thumb caressing you over the material of your skintight dress. Streams of fire are licking up your spine as he leans forward to burn the end of the paper stick, and your center aches when he gently squeezes the fat of your hip. All throughout this, Eddie never lets his eyes fall from you.

He mumbles a short thank you once the cigarette lights, leaning back to rest against the seat as he looks up at you. You fight the urge to comb your fingers through his hair or do something dumb like climb into his lap. No doubt talking would fly out the window then.

You gently toss the lighter onto the coffee table and sit on the loveseat across from the pinnacle of your thoughts from the last six months. Eddie speaks around a cloud of smoke, “Do you want me to be upset?” He asks.

You shrug, trying your hardest not to break beneath his unwavering eye. “I don’t know.”

Eddie smiles then, and the strings of your heart play a symphony to the notes of his voice when he speaks, “I was for a little bit,” He admits, tapping ash onto the carpet, “But then Wayne told me to get my head out of my ass.”

You huff out a laugh at that, and Eddie grins. “How is he?” You ask. Eddie tips his head back and forth like he’s thinking, “Same old man as before. Think he’s got a girlfriend now. He’s being an asshole about the details, though.” He rolls his eyes, and you snort. You’re happy to hear Wayne has a person for himself now; if anyone deserves it, it’s him.

You shift, like you can’t seem to get comfortable enough, and you know you’re stalling, and you can see Eddie fighting to not call you out, so you try to ease into it; “Is that when you stopped calling?” You ask.

Eddie stiffens under the question, and you know the answer. He grimaces and runs a hand over his face with a soft groan, “Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck, yeah, it was.” He answers. “I’m sorry, I’m a fuckin’ hothead. I had made it a goal to call every night and then—” “I upset you.”

Eddie’s eyes are soft, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, “It wasn’t fair what I did, Eddie; I’m sorry—”

Eddie shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes as he waves you off, “Nah, fuck that. You don’t need to apologize—” “But I do. I told you I wanted space, and then a week later, I’m plastered on a fucking cover with Baine fucking Carter.”

Baine Carter is a well-known songwriter within the industry. He’s got tracks spread all over the top charts, and he has a way of talking that can make just about anyone fall into a trance until you realize most of what he’s saying is just made-up bullshit. In hindsight, Baine wasn’t much different than most people in the music industry— it was a moment of weakness and pure vodka-weighted thinking. And, of course, it’s the moment when cameras find you.

“Kinda my fault too,” Eddie shrugs, “Camera’s wouldn’t have found you if I didn’t have press riding me.” And he’s right, but shitty press isn’t his fault, so how much of that can you really blame him for?

Eddie snickers at the memory of you painted on the cover of several magazines, “Think you’ve got a type, sweetheart.” He teases. Your face screws up in defense, and you scoff, “What does that mean?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “Come on, you’re gonna tell me you didn’t say my name when he—” “We didn’t do anything— firstly— and even if I did say your name, I would never in a million years admit it.” You point out with a raised eyebrow.

Eddie smirks with a playful glint in his eye and he deeply breathes as he ashes his cigarette and rises to his feet. “I don’t care that you hooked up with Bain fucking Carter,” Eddie softly admits with a hint of a mocking grin, “Did it deeply wound me to the point where I almost thought I was gonna die? Yes.” He jokingly says, to which you want to roll your eyes at, but he’s stalking over to you like he’s some lion on the prowl, and all you can muster is a small huff with a mumbled, “You’re dramatic.”

Eddie stands in front of you and leans over to press his palms onto each side of your seat, leaning down until his face hovers above yours, “I’m kinda known for it, darling.” He winks.

Your core stirs at the proximity, and you can feel his breath against your top lip. “I will admit, though,” Eddie lets his hand drop to round over your bare knee, callused fingertips caressing your soft skin, “It gave me a huge ego boost seeing you with a literal replica of me.” He snickers, fingers dancing into the inside of your thigh. You huff, a playful glint in your eyes as you run your tongue across your teeth, “Yeah, I imagine your head couldn’t fit through the door for at least a month, huh?”

Eddie shrugs, “Depends. Which head we talking about, honey?”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes when he gently squeezes at the warm skin of your thigh. You tip your head lower, holding your gaze on Eddie as you lowly speak, “I’m not having sex with you tonight, Eddie.”

Brown eyes flash with a familiar look you’d missed before they drop to your lips. “What about a kiss? Just one.” He presses. Your eyes narrow, “I doubt you could ever do just one.”

“You’ll never know if you never try.” His lips twitch up into a sly grin, taunting you and pushing you until your brain is just a muddled mess of yes, no, yes, no, yes, n— fuck it.

It’s like a sigh of relief to have Eddie’s lips on yours after such a long time. Weeks of nights and days spent trying to remember how it felt having his plump lips pressed onto yours, how he tasted, how warm his tongue was when it slunk into your mouth. None of those times you’d try to remember, none of those phantom feelings that would breeze through your body could ever amount to how it actually feels— it’s as if you’re seeing color for the first time.

It’s a fucking kiss, that’s for sure.

It’s long, and it takes you both a second to relearn the kinks and maneuvers you both favor, but then it’s as if time never passed between your bodies— you’re moving like one unit, like every second of your lives has built up to this moment.

Unfortunately, air is a necessity to living, so you’re pulling away sooner than you’d wanted to. Eddie’s other hand is digging into the cushion beneath you, and you can practically hear his thoughts spinning as he wills himself to pull back. You shiver as his fingers squeeze your thigh one last time before slipping away.

“How's that for a kiss?”

Brown eyes with pools of liquid gold, you missed the searing pain it gave you each time you reached out and touched. You purse your lips, tasting him on your tongue as you tip your head in thought— menthol and whiskey. “Care to answer a few questions? Pick up on our game?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, breath tickling your nose as he snickers with a glint in his eyes. He studies you for a moment, like you might pull out and say never mind, but you only raise an eyebrow as you await an answer. “Your place or mine, honey?” He drawls.

You preen at the open door he’s lent you, “It’s your city, isn’t it?”

You don’t take the same car with Eddie to his place.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take the same car, but something about that look in Eddie’s eyes said that he absolutely wouldn’t be behaving on that car ride, and you immediately suggested separate vehicles. You’re unsure if you trust yourself to hold your promise in a confined space with Eddie… or maybe you don’t trust him… or— yeah, it’s both of you. Eddie wasn’t ecstatic about it, but you don’t care because you swear to god you aren’t going to fuck Eddie before you talk— like, really talk.

There are things that you both need to say, uncover, and express feelings about, and god forbid you get dicknotized before the words can come out correctly.

Eddie’s home is everything you thought it would be: chaotic in taste, lively, musical, whimsical, and all things that scream Eddie. The entryway is open and vast, with a clear view into the living room, where you can see a sunken living room build with guitars and papers strewn about.

Eddie’s ushering you further into his home before you can look deeper into the entrance, but you don’t mind because his living area is like an artist's wet dream. There are comfy couches, red, cream, and colors alike, and there’s a rug in the middle that looks like a psychedelic trip of dark colors, and along one of the walls is a long shelf of endless records.

“I moved in like a year ago, so it’s not perfect, but… this is me,” Eddie says. You hadn’t been paying attention, but now that he walks into your line of vision, you can see his shoes are off, and his loose blouse is fully open. He looks like a fantasy; lean body dripped in expensive clothes and clinking jewelry, shoulders broad and sculpted beneath his wavy hair. Fuck.

You slip your shoes off and let your feet sink into his home's fluffy, deep red carpet, never once dropping your gaze from him as you walk over to the couch. “It’s beautiful, Eddie. It’s very you.”

You sink into his couch, turning so you can face him with your arms crossed over the back of the sofa as you watch him pick a record and set it up. Through the surround system of his home, the familiar riff to Tommy Bolin’s Shake The Devil rings. You watch Eddie sink a hand into his hair, shaking out his messy curls before pausing. The guitar is loud and you’re leaning forward when he snaps his head to dramatically look over his shoulder. You stifle a laugh, intrigued to see where he’s going with this— and you hate to admit that you begin enjoying the show when he turns around, fingers crafted and messily playing an air guitar to the track.

His stomach and chest flex with each of his moves, the buckle and button to his jeans open to flash you a dangerously low view of his happy trail leading to sinful places. He’s walking sex; head tilted back as he shreds the imaginary guitar, hips moving with the song as he walks toward you. He sinks to his knees in front of you, and with his living room being sunken and him still being on the higher level, you’re just in line with the view of his spread legs, crotch on full display. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gazes at you, switching to air drums before the words kick in. You can’t hide the smile that graces your lips as he dramatically sings along, leaning forward until his face is just inches in front of yours, ringed fingers reaching to cup your face. Standing face to face with the devil, huh?

Your hands have a mind of their own apparently because they reach out and coast up Eddie’s jean-clad thighs, nails scratching up against the material until your fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans. You lean forward on your knees, sharing a breath with the pretty boy, and you smile. Eddie groans low in his throat, the breakdown of the song blasting in both your ears and your heart racing. His teeth dig into his lips like he’s trying to physically hold himself back, and you softly laugh. “Laughin’ at my misery?” He asks.

You shrug, “Maybe. You look fuckin’ hot.”

Eddie groans again, eyes rolling back into his head before he dives forward, nuzzling his face into your neck and faking a bite as you squeal. “Can’t say shit like that to me, princess. Wanna fuck the shit out of you.” His teeth drag against your pulse, and you squirm with a louder squeal, causing him to tumble forward, collapsing onto the couch with you, and your limbs mix like one big painting as he dramatically grunts on impact. He shifts until he’s laid on his back, head resting in your lap as he peers up at you.

“You staying the night?” He asks.

You snort, brushing a strand of hair from his face, “Didn’t I tell you we’re not having sex?” You remind him. Eddie huffs and digs his head into your lap as he shuffles in his spot, “Did I ask for sex just now?” He challenges. You raise an unconvinced eyebrow, “So, you want me to spend the night just to spend the night?”

Eddie’s eyes gleam as he looks up at you, “It’s been my dream.”

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him off you with a huff, “Get me a drink, and I’ll think about it?”

Eddie hops up as if second nature, padding over to the stereo and turning it down just enough to hear you as he talks over his shoulder, “Sure thing, honey; what would you like?”

Honey, honey, honey.

You want to drown in it.

You’re not listening as Eddie lists off the drinks he has, busy swirling in sticky, sweet, golden lakes and admiring the shift of Eddie’s hips and ass beneath his jeans. “Surprise me.” You respond.

“Copy that, madam.”

He doesn’t go far because there’s a built-in bar on the other side of the room, so you have the perfect view of him working his magic, mixing liquor and dropping ice cubes into a crystal glass. When he finishes making your drink, he turns and walks over to you with this glint in his eyes, and you feel your body heat under his gaze. “This one's on the house,” He says with a wink, handing you the drink. You thank him, taking the glass as he sits back onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and watching you gently sip before pulling a sour face.

He laughs, “Too strong?” He asks. You grimace with a shake of your head, smacking your lips, “No, no, it’s good. Thank you.”

Your legs are kicked up on the couch, and Eddie finds his fingers slinking around your bare ankle, gently squeezing, “Want something comfy?” He asks.

God, he’s relentless.

You laugh, “You really want me to stay,” You tease. Eddie sinks like he’s letting all inhibitions go as he answers, “Desperately.”

He can tell you’re cracking, and you have to hide your grin behind the glass as you shake your head in disbelief at yourself, “Fine. Go, before I change my mind.”

And Eddie’s sprinting up, holding his jeans up from falling as he jogs up the stairs with a happy cheer.

A half-hour passes, and you find yourself sitting on Eddie’s comfy living room floor, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt of his because, in Eddie’s words, ‘there’s no need for pants in a home setting, sweetheart.’ You think he just wants easy access and an eyeful of your bare legs.

Eddie’s licking up the crease of a blunt and your body is warm with whiskey and the shrill of a jazzy melody from the radio. He’s so pretty, leaned over the glass coffee table, bare shoulders flexing, curly hair draping as a curtain as he works. He clicks his tongue when he’s done, and you raise an eyebrow, pressing your bare toes into his thigh when he scoots closer. “Up for a smoke?” He asks.

You don’t smoke much, not that you don’t enjoy a nice high, but you find yourself more appreciative of your highs when they’re spaced out and random. You nod, and Eddie grins, “Atta girl. Here, honorary first hit,” He passes the blunt to you, and you snicker, grasping it between two fingers and holding it up to your lips. Eddie helps you with a lighter, leaning forward to burn the end of the paper, and you take one good drag before pulling the bunt away, rolling the smoke into your lungs to settle as best as you can handle before you sputter out in a small coughing fit.

Your eyes water, and Eddie grins as you pass it to him, leaning forward to kiss your temple, “That was good, baby.”

You watch as he takes a hit of his own, huffing out a few coughs of his own, and jesus christ, why do rockstars always smoke devious shit? It’s strong, whatever Eddie has you smoking, and it only takes you three hits before you already feel a buzz coming, and Eddie looks so pretty with low eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Ready to play our game?” He rasps out.

“Mm.” You agree, reaching out to take another hit.

“Did you listen to the albums?”

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Oh my smile was taken long ago

If I can change I hope I never know

God, did you listen to the albums? Sure, you have it ingrained into your fucking mind, and it burns.

You smile, slowly blinking because, of course, that’s Eddie’s first question. You breathe out clouds of fairy dust as you speak, “Yes, I did. Did you read the magazine?” You ask.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the couch, extending his legs out as he eyes you, “I did. Which song did you like best?”

“Mm, the one with the drums.” You smile.

Eddie laughs, and you pass the blunt back to him before leaning back on the opposite couch, toes almost touching when you extend your legs across the carpet. “You’re a kiss-up, you know that?” He gestures to you, to which you only shrug.

Eddie crawls across the living room, and you fight the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his hair as he plops himself right next to you, leaning against the couch as well. Your thighs are touching, and you can feel the warmth of him, and the smell of weed is wafting through the air, and you just want to nuzzle into Eddie’s chest and never leave.

“Miss me?” You teasingly ask. You can hear the slight smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds, “Negative. You?”

You snort, “Negative.”

You shuffle to lean against Eddie, and he can’t seem to help it when he reaches out to push your hair back gently. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” You ask.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch in confusion, no doubt lost by what you mean, considering he already has his lifetime job figured out, “What do you mean?”

You sigh, wriggling as you fight the urge to wrap your body around him, “I mean,” You shrug, “Well, you’re not gonna do this forever, right? Like, at some point, you’re going to have to throw in the towel, age, and whatnot,” You dismissively wave, “What will you do then?”

Eddie pauses and thinks for a moment, and if you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you would think he vanished into thin air. “I, uh…. Well, you’ll think it’s stupid.” He mumbles.

You frown, turning your head to look at him, “I won’t. Tell me. Please?”

He looks at you with these soft, fond eyes before nodding, “I wanna start a music school in Hawkins— maybe, like, a creative arts school, you know, something for the weirdos. Not just music geeks.” He admits. His tone is so soft, maybe the softest you’ve ever heard, and he’s fiddling with his rings like he’s nervous, and it’s the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not really celebrated there. Creativity, I mean.” He adds.

You stay quiet, allowing him to speak, “Everybody just lives to work dead-end jobs. Being creative is like… a sin or something, I don’t know. I just want to give the kids somewhere where they’ll feel… safe. Seen. Something I never got for myself.”

It’s… it’s fucking brilliant. It’s so brilliant it makes your chest ache, and you decide that you would do just about anything to make sure Eddie’s dreams of a music school come true.

“I told you it’s stupid. No one ever thinks it’s good.” He mumbles after a moment with your silence. You frown and shake your head, sitting up straight to look at him. “No. No, Eddie, it’s amazing…It’s fucking amazing, and you should do it. You have to do it.”

“You’re just playing nice.”

“No, seriously. Fuck whoever said it wasn’t a good idea, it’s brilliant.” You press on, and you want to lean in and pepper kisses all over his face because— seriously, who the fuck told him it was a shitty idea?

“I grew up in a small town too, and— shit, it was not fun wanting to be something other than a nurse or a teacher. Got a lot of shit trying to ‘reach for the stars’,” You huff out a laugh. Eddie’s eyes are so gentle as they gaze at you that you almost melt. “I would’ve appreciated something like that. Munson’s School of Arts.”

Eddie snorts at that, pink lacing with yours as a smile spreads across your lips, “Not bad actually, I might name it that.”

It’s a back and forth of that for a while, silly questions amongst genuine ones until you find yourselves sat next to each other, arms pressed together, bodies yearning to wrap around each other as you fiddle with the strings of Eddie’s carpet. And there’s something, you know. Eddie feels something that he’s not telling you, and it’s killing you because it’s what you need to hear before you take the plunge. “Are you angry with me?” You softly ask.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, and the blunt was snuffed out a while ago, so he’s not taking a drag but instead just stalling. “I mean,” he pauses, “I already told you, Birdie. What’s the point in going back on it?”

You frown, glancing at him, “Because I want you to tell me how you feel, Eddie.” You respond.

Eddie’s silent again for a longer moment, and you want to whine when he shifts away to sit in front of you. He folds his legs up, resting his elbows over his knees as he sits face to face with you, “Do you want me to be angry with you?” He steadily asks.

Your blink, “I— no?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and you huff, “Honestly, a little bit, yes. It’s okay to be angry with me, Eddie; that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Eddie’s demeanor is unwavering as he blinks at you, but his tone is accusing, “Do you want me to be angry with you so you can feel justified?”

And, ouch.

That’s not the truth at all. Or maybe it’s some truth, but in your true feelings, that’s not what you mean. It’s only a fleeting thought because you’re human, after all, right?

“That’s not fair,” You frown with a small shake of your head. Eddie raises another eyebrow, and you tilt your head, “I’m only trying to be as transparent as possible, Eddie. That was the main issue.” You remind him.

Eddie turns to the coffee table, grabs your forgotten glass of Jack Daniels, and takes a swig for himself. “You wouldn’t tell me how you felt, and I was always left in the dark.” You say.

“And I’m telling you right now that I’m not angry.” He’s teetering on the edge of irritated now, and you tilt your head. “I listened to the album, Eddie. I listened to the song; you’re seriously gonna tell me you’re not angry?”

Eddie can only glance at you then, and your frown deepens. “That’s… different.”

“How, Eddie? It’s about me—” “Yeah, because you fucking walked out on me on closing night,” Eddie exclaims. “How was I supposed to feel?”

Your chest tightens as you look into the eyes of your dreams, lyrics swirling in your mind because you’ve fucking memorized every word. You listened to it until you felt sick, dizzy with a whirlwind of regrets and what-ifs.

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Your chest aches when the lyrics echo in your mind.

“I just want you to be honest with me. If I made you feel that way—” “No, that’s not—” Eddie shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and cringes like it's painful. “That’s not it at all— fuck.” He puts the glass down and scoots back over to you; knees pressed into the fluffy carpet beside your thighs as he leans in and cups your face, eyes darting over your pretty features. “I was angry, and I was a shithead, and I had people talking in my ear and— shit. Please don’t think you ever blame yourself for that, please.”

Your fingers are cold, but Eddie’s wrists are warm beneath your fingertips as you frown up at him, “Just tell me how far out you are, Eds.”

Eddie looks at you with soft eyes, a callused thumb running under the delicate skin beneath your eye. He leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead, and you preen, nuzzling forward and sinking into his warmth and scent that you’ve missed for so long.

“Not far,” He responds, lips brushing over your skin. “You?”

You hum, body reeling as Eddie slinks his arms around you, “Not far.”

Forty minutes and another blunt later, and Eddie’s floating in the fucking sky.

Eddie can’t believe it really, having you in front of him, next to him, limbs pressed to limbs with your laugh ringing in his ears— Eddie thinks this is some sick, realistic dream.

It’s tender, the space you’ve both created. You’re both fragile and reactive in the best way, like a healing exposed nerve, and Eddie will be forever in your debt for how patient you are with him. He’s not good at talking about real shit, but he’s trying to fix that, and you make it easier because you push him in the way he needs to be— you encourage him to say what he feels even if he’s afraid he might end up shooting himself in the foot and chasing you away again because— ‘It’s the only way things will get better.’

But you’ve always been patient. You were patient six months ago, and you’re patient now. You know exactly what you want, and you’re firm in what you say and feel, and it makes Eddie feel safe.

He’s never had this kind of thing— he’s never had a relationship where someone talks and leaves room for him to speak as well— two-way communication or whatever the fuck Robin says. It’s different, and it’s good, and Eddie thinks he must have shit taste if it’s taken him this long to realize it.

Chrissy never really cared for what Eddie wanted or preferred, or how something she did would make him feel. Eddie, at the time, didn’t think much of it and was more than happy to ride along with her ‘low maintenance’ nature, but it only cut him off from growth more than anything.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore because Chrissy is in the past, and you— you’re so pretty standing on Eddie’s couch in just his shirt with a blunt hanging between your fingers. You’ve just returned from changing the record— Surrealistic Pillow; Eddie knew the second you dropped the needle and watched you spin around with a shit-eating grin.

“Hippie shit,” Eddie mutters as you hop down from his couch. Your eyes narrow, “Hey,” you nudge your foot against his thigh, “Don’t be an asshole. It was on your shelf anyway.”

Eddie slinks his hand around your calf, blinking up at you as you stand over him. You reach down, the burning blunt standing between your fingers, and Eddie happily parts his lips to let you slip the tip in. Burning sativa licks up the sides of Eddie’s brain, and he melts when your other hand sinks into his hair, gently pressing his bangs back as his eyes flutter. You hum, and Eddie’s lips tip into a smile as the smoke churns in his chest. Your knuckles curl into his roots, and Eddie could fucking cum right now, no questions asked.

He’s harder than a rock, and he’s not ashamed when he sinks his hand down the open fly on his jeans to palm himself, lowly groaning as he tips his head up, playfully blowing clouds of smoke up your shirt and grinning when you squeal. He chuckles, hand slinking further up your leg to grip the fat of your thigh as he tilts his head to nip his teeth at the inside of your knee.

He turns to let his chin rest on your thigh, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, “Let me in, baby.” He pleads.

You sink to your knees until you’re face to face, and Eddie’s hands glide under your shirt, warm and itching to explore as he feels the flutter of your lungs beneath his fingertips. “No funny business, Munson.” You remind him, swatting him away when his fingers prod at the cup of your bra. Eddie grins, brain fuzzy and warm, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and planting a quick kiss against your lips.

“I have something for you.” He says. Your eyebrows raise, and Eddie smiles, standing up with a grunt and shaking out his stiff limbs. “Don’t move,” He points to you before padding off.

The gift Eddie has for you has been with him since the fourth week he knew you. He’s been holding onto it for so long because he’s been a coward and didn’t know how to form the words ‘I’m sorry’ with his tongue— but now, Eddie’s riding on a high, and he needs you and wants you all the time and there’s no better time than now, right?

He’s holding the gift behind his back when he steps into the living room, and he smiles at the sight of you laid out on his floor, eyes closed as you sink into the music. You’re on cloud nine, Eddie can tell.

He drops to his knees over you, pressing his free hand into the floor beside your head, and his hair creates a curtain over you when you look up at him. “You look… tempting, to say the least.”

Your eyes playfully narrow at Eddie, and you squirm beneath him, “What’re you hiding behind your back?”

There are tears in your eyes as you blink down at the gift in your hands, and you know Eddie must think you’re insane for crying over a book— a journal at that. It’s a pale yellow colored leather, with two leather straps that are tied into a neat bow, and in the corner, your name is stamped in tiny cursive gold letters— your real name.

It’s a replica of your old journal, the one that had gotten ruined when you tore the pages out to prove a point. But you don’t understand— “How did you get this?” You ask in a soft voice.

Eddie grins, reaching out to thumb at your bottom lip, eyes soft as he watches your eyes dance over the journal. “Called in a favor from Michigan.” He jokingly says. Your chest aches, and you frown when you look up at him, fingers tight around the binding of your gift, “You talked to him?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah. Got a lot of shit from him first, I’ll tell you that,” He pauses and scratches at the back of his neck, “He told me he hates my music.”

You laugh at that, body warm with adoration because, yeah, that sounds like your grandfather. You sniffle, wiping under your eyes, “How did you know?” You ask.

Eddie shrugs as he sits next to you, “The cover of your journal had his name on it, so I kind of pieced it together since you share a last name.”

You don’t know what to think, what to say. It’s the kindest thing Eddie (or anyone) has ever done for you. Your grandfather had been in the business of handmaking journals for as long as you can remember; he was part of the reason why you took such a liking to journalism. He had a brief history in journalism himself, and he would sit and go through his best works with you when you struggled to fall asleep— he helped you see the world through the lens of an artist, and you never looked back.

You’re elated as you run your hands over the pages, imagining what the phone call between Eddie and your grandfather was like. You wish you could’ve been there to hear it; you wish you could’ve brought Eddie to meet him in person because even though your grandfather acted tough and mighty, he had the softest heart you’ve ever known, and he would’ve adored Eddie.

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you put the journal on the coffee table. You huff, turning to clamber onto Eddie’s lap, glaring at him as your hands dig into his shoulders, “I hate you so much.”

Eddie grins at you, and you drop your head to his chest, snuggling further into him when he wraps his arms around you. You grumble against his chest, turning your head to speak, “You’re making it so hard.” You complain.

You feel the rumble of Eddie’s voice in his chest as he hums, “Hm?”

Eddie shifts beneath you, and you sigh, turning your head up to nuzzle against the base of his throat. Your teeth drag across his skin, red lines left in their wake before you let your tongue coast up his pulsing vein, mouth kissing and suckling at what you can reach— and Eddie whimpers.

“You know…It’s past midnight.”

“Fffuck–”

Eddie’s dead.

He’s gone. Six feet under. In the next life, body turned back to dust, never coming back, dead. This must be the seventh circle of heaven— is that a thing? Or is that only hell?

Either way, Eddie’s on an entirely different plane of heaven as you press your body against his, knees tightening around his waist as he pulls you close and smears his lips against yours. He can feel the heat of your core through his pants, and his hips have a mind of their own when they buck up into you.

Your fingers are blind and eager when they wriggle through the tight space between you and Eddie, but it sends shivers up Eddie’s spine when you drag your nails down the soft skin of his lower pelvis.

Eddie’s lips part against yours, and he’s licking into your mouth, tongue flicking at your top lip as you shakily moan. “What happened to no sex tonight?” He lowly teases. His hands sink beneath your shit, squeezing at your hips and guiding the roll of your hips.

“Shut up, Eddie.” You whine, fingertips digging into his shoulders when he rubs against your covered clit. Eddie smiles, watching as your face twists in pleasure, and his chest nearly bursts because you’re so fucking pretty.

“You want me?” He asks.

Your lips twitch into a smile, and your hands slide down his arms to rest over his wrists that flex as they work you back and forth over his crotch. “Yeah,” You breathe, tipping your head down to hover your lips over Eddie’s, “I do. I want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s tongue runs over his lips, and he catches your bottom lip, and you lick out to catch his tongue before pressing your lips together. Eddie uses one hand to cup your face, “You’re not curious where my dick’s been while we were apart?” He teases.

And if you weren’t practically humping Eddie right now and thinking straight, you probably would’ve choked Eddie out or something— but you only mewl and grind down harder. “Not funny.”

Eddie hums, fingers dancing across the band of your panties before dipping past the barrier. He feels like a pirate who’s finally found the hidden treasure, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to ground himself because, Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.

His cock feels strangled and achy in his jeans, and he imagines how good it’ll feel to sink his cock into you as he swirls a gentle finger around your entrance. “For the record,” He drawls, watching your lips part when he dips his finger into you, “It’s been nowhere. My dick, I mean.”

You breathlessly laugh, hips wriggling, your pussy eager for more. “Been beating it with my fist for the last six months, so. Just want you to know— it’s only you, baby.”

You mewl, leaning forward to press your forehead against Eddie’s as you grind against him, shivering when he finally sinks a finger into you, drawing out to circle your clit with sticky arousal before sinking back in with two fingers.

You’re sharing each breath, taking each other in and out; Eddie watches with low eyes as your face twists in pleasure.

“Take it off,” He grumbles, “Take your shirt off.”

You’re moving like it’s second nature. Shaky hands reaching down to loop around the loose shirt, dragging it up and over your body— and Eddie’s head tips back with a groan. “Jesus fuck,” He curses, one hand busy working you as the other reaches down to palm your breast, “When did you take your bra off, you fuckin’ minx?”

You whimper against Eddie’s lips when he kisses you, the force of his eagerness pushing you back. Eddie keeps pressing you back, shuffling and moving around so he can press you down onto your back and hover over you. “Wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” He begs.

You shake your head, lips messily smearing against his, “No. No, you said—” god, Eddie can’t stop fucking kissing you, “You said you’ll let me have you next time, Eds.” You whine.

Fuck, you’re so fucking cute. You’re a goddamn dream pouting up at Eddie, grinding against his fingers as he ticks them up against your walls. “Yeah? You want me?” Eddie breathlessly asks. Your lips are pouty and swollen as you nod, “Already told you I did.” You say.

It takes everything in Eddie to pull away from you, and he thinks he’s gonna marry you when you reach out for him. Thinks he wants to just whisk you away and live on the side of a secluded mountain or some shit. Thinks he wants you to be the mother of his kids when you smile up at him as he rises to his feet, gazing down at you over the apple of his cheeks as he removes his jeans. You’re so pretty, hair spread out beneath you, tits on full display, tummy fluttering with each drag and push of your breaths. You’re lightly dragging the tip of your finger down your stomach, a teasing glint in your eyes as Eddie throws his hair into the shittest bun known to man, and fuck, you’re dipping your hand between your thighs.

Yeah. This is heaven, and you’re god.

Eddie thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life on his knees worshipping you.

Eddie’s body is warm when he crawls back over you, his body now bare, save for the chains that dangle from his neck. One cross, one guitar pick, one pentagram. They’re cold when they drag up the valley of your chest, and your body perks up with chills.

You slink your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, titling your head up to kiss him as your fingers curl into his messily tied hair. “Give me what I want, Eds.” You softly say against his lips. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

Eddie curses, rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh, and he nods, “Yeah. Fuck. Okay, yeah. Just lay here and look pretty, baby.”

The lasting effects of the three blunts you’d shared with Eddie are swirling through your body, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine as Eddie straddles your hips. He’s the prettiest sight to ever reach your eyes, toned arms, and chest working in tandem as he reaches down to wrap a fist around his cock— and god; you forgot how pretty his cock was. The tip is ruddy and flushed, and your core twists when he angles himself up, and you see the piercing beneath his tip. You definitely hadn’t forgotten about that little detail these past months.

Eddie’s chest is rising and falling quickly and stray pieces of hair cling to his lips when he licks them. You watch with wide, eager eyes as Eddie strokes himself, ringed fingers running against the soft skin of his shaft, pretty hisses curling through his teeth when he thumbs the slit of his tip.

“Quit teasing,” You whine, squirming beneath him. Eddie grins, breathlessly panting as he looks at you, “So impatient.” He mumbles, shifting further up your body until the inside of his thighs press against the side of your tits. You can feel the cool drag of his rings against your sternum, and it sends licks of fire through your core. “My baby’s so impatient, hm?” He taps his cock against your chest, and your frown, fingers digging into his thighs.

“Lucky you’re cute.”

Eddie’s then shuffling and moving around so you’re both comfortably positioned as he kneels over your face, pretty cock glistening above your lips. You open your mouth and let your tongue hang out, ready for Eddie to feed his cock to you, and he chuckles, tapping his swollen tip against your tongue before dragging it to tease you.

It’s good. It’s so good. The taste of him, the feel of him, the pretty noises he makes. You can feel the cold barbell dragging across your tongue with each slow thrust he gives you, and you can’t wait to feel it inside you again. You’ve been dreaming about it for weeks on end now.

He pulls out with a slick pop, tapping his tip against your lips as he hums, “Ready? Gonna give you what you want now.”

You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He’s thrusting in and out of your mouth at a mind-numbing and thigh-clenching rate for just under five minutes before he starts to break. You can feel it in the stutter of his hips, the twitch of his cock on your tongue, the shuddered moans and grunts. You reach up to drag your nails down the soft skin of his stomach, and Eddie whimpers for the second time, and you think it might be your favorite sound— you want more.

He’s pulling out with a curse, squeezing at his tip, and you’re such a fucking tease; you lean forward to kitten lick at his aching tip and hum when he hisses. He shuffles back just enough to lean forward and press a messy kiss to your lips, humming at the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie. Please. Want it so bad it hurts.”

“Jesus fuck— turn around.”

You’re shaking, and Eddie’s touch feels like fire as he helps you flip over to lean on all fours. His hands coast up your back and into your hair, and you push your body back into him, ass pressing against his wet cock as you moan when his fingers curl into your hair.

His other hand smooths over your ass, heavily slapping it once before gripping the warm skin as he speaks beside your ear, “Wanna fuck your ass one day, hm? Gonna let me? Say you’ll let me.” “Oh my god,” You roll your eyes with a smile, tipping your head to the side when Eddie kisses your neck before nipping at your ear. You can feel the curve of his smile against your skin, and it makes your chest flutter as he pulls you up to press your back against his chest.

He’s reaching down between you to grasp his cock and paint it against your wet cunt, and you lose your breath. “Come on. Say you’ll let me fuck your pretty ass.” He practically begs.

You moan when he slips his head in, teasing you with what he knows you want. Your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder, and he hums, slinking his other hand up to cup your throat as he continues teasing himself in and out of your pussy.

You smile, lazy and high and blissed out, “No.”

Eddie groans at that, fingers tightening around your throat as he sinks in deeper. “Not even a finger?”

You push your fingers through his hair, his curly strands nothing but a tangled mess within his hair tie. Your legs tremble as you wriggle back into him, but your voice is steady as you speak, “Fuck me first, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Eddie takes that as a challenge, apparently, because next thing you know, he’s slamming into you and pressing in to the fucking hilt— all big and pierced and toe curling to the point where your moans turn flat, and all you can do is lace your fingers through his that rest on your hip and hold on for dear fucking life.

He’s pressing you face-first into the carpet, making sure your cheek rests against the couch pillow that had been thrown aside earlier. His fingers are clenched around yours, digging into your hip as you whine and moan into his floor, sobbing out his name with each groundbreaking thrust he gives you.

It’s all-consuming; the way Eddie’s fucking you, the filthy words slipping from his mouth, the lingering effects of weed— god, you feel like an exploding star.

Supernova shit or something like that.

Eddie’s cursing and spilling dirty words of encouragement when you come, leaning over to press his chest against your back and coo into your ear.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Keep squeezing me like that, baby. You’re so good.”

“Y’sound so pretty when you’re coming on my cock.”

You’re breathless and quivering, and a pitiful whine slips from you when Eddie pulls out, but you can feel him as he wraps his hand around his cock and finishes off, pretty moans pressed into the skin on the back of your neck. The feeling of his sticky release dripping onto your ass makes you want to go at it again already.

He’s peppering kisses across your neck and shoulders, and your body slumps onto the ground in exhaustion, but you smile when he presses his lips to yours.

“So, was that good enough? Have I been granted access to the holy grail?”

You glare at Eddie from where his chin is hooked over your shoulder. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and you huff. “I’ll tell you what,” You start, shifting and purposely rubbing your ass back against his sensitive cock, smiling when he hisses.

“Make up for the last six months first, and I might be able to cut you a deal.”

“Now you’re just stringing me along.”

You hum, “Oh, like you did with me some months ago?”

Eddie pauses at that, eyes narrowing at you, and you think— fuck, maybe that was too soon. But then a smile cracks across his face, “Touché.”

He sighs and sits up, peeling himself from your sticky skin before gently patting your hip. “Ass up, baby. Got a lot of making up to do, and we’re on a tight schedule.”

And you think to yourself, with the scent of Eddie whirling around you and his touch all over you and his pretty voice in your ear, that yeah, you can work through this together. Even if the process will tear you to shreds all over again.

After all, that’s the price of falling for a rockstar, isn’t it?

————

the end.

————

a/n: HOLY SHIT GUYS

if you've made it to the end of this long-winded (and incredibly late, I'm so sorry) ending to this story i can not thank you enough. these two have been so fun to write and i don't plan to leave them completely in the dust so they're not gone forever, but thank you so much to everyone who read and shared and commented. this story has allowed me to meet the most beautiful, kind, funny, and loving people I've ever had the pleasure of talking to and that will be my biggest takeaway from this journey🥹

the biggest thank yous to my pretty mutuals who have been here the whole way, ilysm and want to shrink you guys and put you in my pocket <3

anyway, i'll shut up now, i hope i was able to do these two justice with their ending!! i love and appreciate all kinds of feedback, and as always, thank you for reading, ily <3

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn

@mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking @mysteris-things @amazingori @honey-eyed-munson @saintlike78 @eddieslooneymoonie @alexa4040 @yujyujj

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eff4freddie · 19 days

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Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

Sunday nights were dead. Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift.

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You��re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #joel miller x female reader

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pacifymebby · 1 year

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You know what would be funny, the peaky boys with a gf who looks Innocent and shy out in public but fucks like a porn star, tommy would be so confused at first 'wtf did this come from?? You blushed not an hour ago bc i called you pretty' and poor Bonnie, he really had no idea, he might be in shock after getting the best head he's ever received just trying to figure out if he's dreaming or not while looking up at the ceiling

Tommy

🌿 Tommy would be so confused, but very impressed...

🌿 He'd hoped there was a secret, darker side hiding behind your shyness and now he sees he was right.

🌿He hadn't been expecting it though, it had taken him so long to get you to even look him in the eye... He wasn't even expecting you to actually let him touch you...

🌿But here you are on your knees, looking up at him from under your thick long lashes, licking the tip of his cock... Teasing him. He can't believe you're actually teasing him!

🌿 You have always been so shy, you litterally blush and look away when he tells you you're pretty but now he thinks he knows why...

🌿 Maybe its because when he calls you "my pretty girl" your mind wanders to places it shouldnt.

🌿 He definitely embraces this new, naughty side to you, he wants to take advantage of it and will constantly be testing your limits to see just how much of a little slut you can be for him.

🌿 Somehow you always manage to surprise him, like every time you take your clothes off he's expecting you to be all shy and blushy but you never are... Its like your own thoughts and desires cloud your head and make you do the most depraved things.

🌿 He's pretty certain you'll do whatever he asks you to and still find a way of surprising him.

🌿 His favourite thing is to fuck you hard and fast up against the wall. He likes hearing the moans and whines which escaped you, he likes it when he fucked you so hard he steals your breath away.

🌿 He also loves the fact that he now knows something about you that nobody else does. Everybody else thinks youre a virginal, good girl, innocent but he knows different.

🌿 Invites you into his office when he can tell you're feeling very needy, he'll hide you under his desk and have you cockwarm him whilst he finishes his work.

Alfie

🐻 Alfie could tell from the very first time you held his gaze, that beneath that quiet, timid persona there was a little devil waiting to be unlocked.

🐻 Because some women are just like that see, some women like to pretend to be innocent and pure because deep down they have all these terrible cravings that they can't control

🐻 He could tell from the haze you got in your eyes sometimes when he was talking to you, that your mind had drifted to places it shouldnt.

🐻 So he knew that all he had to do was unlock it. He spent a long time being patient, chipping away at you bit by bit, trying to uncover what he knew was hiding behind that outer shyness

🐻 It happened painfully slowly and then suddenly all at once... You seemed to change in a second, blushing and timid as he undressed you to suddenly shameless, mewling and whining as you ground down on his cock in desperation

🐻 He likes the noises you make... They're filthy, and completely shameless... They start off as quiet, shy little sighs but by the time hes finished with you theyre loud, drawn out, moans, full of sin.

🐻 When you ride him you always start out shy and a little self concious, but alfie knows he only has to push you a little before you fall off the edge and your own desire for pleasure overpowers you. You go ferral, your animal instincts controlling you, and Alfie just gets to sit back and enjoy the view.

Arthur

🍂 Arthur would be surprised but he wouldn't falter. He'd adapt immediately and fuck you twice as hard.

🍂 "Al-fuckin-right then," him grinning as he looks over you, the first time to check that you are real, he isn't dreaming, and the second time to admire the view.

🍂 You went from being intimidated by him, blushing, unable to look him in the eyes, barely raising your voice above a whisper to speak to him

🍂 And suddenly youre licking your own juices off his fingers whilst he fucks you from behind like a hungry little slut

🍂 Its a dream come true for arthur thats for sure.

🍂 He loves to talk dirty to you... Seeing you get desperate, fucking like an animal, brings out the animal in him and the two of you end up havinf the most intense, hot and rough sex.

🍂 He'd degrade you, but in a cute way, "Fucking pretty little slut, the prettiest fuckin slut in the whole world..."as he's fucking you so hard you can barely breath.

🍂 He loves this side of you, can't get enough of you when you're feral and desperate for his cock. So he likes to remind you how much you love his cock.

🍂 He would want to brag to his brothers about it but they just won't believe him, every time he tells them about your wild side they just smirk "in your dreams brother," and laugh at him. Arthur gets so annoyed but theres nothing he can do.

🍂 Sometimes he wonders if they are right, did he dream all this up?

🍂 But when he doubts himself and tries to approach you more gently, he's quickly reminded that he hasn't dreamt you up at all, that you really are his cock hungry little slut.

🍂 His favourite thing to do is bend you over furniture, especially if theres a mirror near by so he can pull your hair and force you to watch him fucking you. You go so wild when you can see yourself and you practically dregrade yourself for him... "Fuckk Arthur, harder please Arthur need you deeper..." "I'll let you do anything to me, fuck me however you want I just need you so bad I'll do anything..."

John

🌼 John would be so confused. He would have been completely taken in by how sweet and innocent you seemed, he'd have been enjoying teasing you, enjoying how blushy and flustered you got... And it wouldn't have occurred to him for even a second that beneath those rosy cheeks and doe eyes, hid a darker, naughtier side to you...

🌼 He'd find out when he was already fucking you, his cock hitting deep inside you... Youd let out the filthiest moan he's ever heard and start begging him to fuck you faster. It would be such a sudden change, such ab unexpected one that he'd stop for a second.

🌼 He'd stop, with his cock twitching inside you, and he'd just look down at you blinking... Then he'd hear you whining beneath him, feel you trying to grind against him, desperate for the friction and he'd chuckle realising how much fun he could have...

🌼 "Sorry baby what was that i didnt quite hear you?" he'd hover over you, that cheeky smirk making you self concious again as he remained still, not giving you what you wanted.

🌼 He would definitely tease you, trying to push you to the edge, wouldn't give in until you were begging, crying because you want him to fuck you So Bad.

🌼 Then he would, and he'd embrace this darker side of you, fucking you fast and hard and mercileasly. This man would over stimulate you until you were seeing starts just so he could hover over you and call you all these pretty but degrading pet names.

🌼 He will tease you about this slutty side you have at the most inappropriate times, often making dirty comments to you in public, never loud enough for other people to hear but loud enough to embarrass you

🌼 He enjoys making you beg for him, making you drool over his cock, making you so desperate for him that by the time he touches you youre begging him to let you suck his cock, shaking before he's even touched you.

Bonnie

🍀 Would not see this coming at all, he'd be in complete shock... Not just shocked that you're such a dirty girl, but also shocked at your stamina!! Its like you're never worn out, you always have the energy for one more orgasm...

🍀The first time you give him head he swears he literally sees god. He doesn't know what to do with himself just lies there, chest rising and falling, mouth slightly open, eyes on the ceiling as you crawl back up his body kissing his chest. You kiss him and he can taste the salt of his cum on your tongue.. He doesnt know what to say but he can feel himself getting hard for you already as you suck his tongue and moan into his mouth.

🍀 Honestly he goes to sleep that night and when he wakes up the next day he's convinced the whole thing was just a really vivid dream

🍀 But when you wake up in the same needy mood, begin tracing your hands over his body, pressing your bum against him and grinding against his crotch, he realises it wasn't a dream

🍀 And it unlocked an animal instinct in him so that this time he takes control and rises to your naughty side, fucking you hard into the mattress, spreading your legs and stretching you out. He's definitely a soft dom type, grunting and growling the cutest, sweetest praises in your ear. Kissing you and calling you a good little dove.

🍀 Like John his favourite thing is to overstimulate you, he's fascinated watching how you lose all your inhibitions when you fall apart. It makes him feel really proud?

🍀Definitely encourages his breeding kink

🍀 He would get worried that he'd fucked you too hard and will always have a moment of doubt afterwards wanting to make sure you're okay. "You will tell me if i hurt you won't you dove?"

🍀 "What if i like it?" you ask, partially because its true and partially because you want to see him blushhhhh

Isaiah

🐀Is surprised that someone as quiet and mousy as his sweet shy little darling could be so fucking filthy behind closed doors.

🐀 But he thanks his lucky stars that you are because the sex is incredible.

🐀 The first time you come out of your shell making him turn the light back on so that you can see everything he'd smirk, he wasn't expecting you to be that kind of girl.

🐀 "it's always the quiet ones fuck me..."

🐀 He loves the fact you ride him with such confidence and pride, he grips your thighs and tries to control your movements as he watches you come undone on top of him.

🐀Boy is hypnotised by your tits when youre riding him.

🐀When you tip your head back and the moans start tumbling out of you, when you start touching yourself right there in front of him...

🐀Loves to degrade you, loves to tell you what to do and then watch you become more and more disobedient the closer to coming you get.

🐀Will tell you to be as loud as you like, loves making you s c r e a m

🐀He will brag to his friends about how fucking crazy you are in the bedroom and if anyone so much as tries to laugh or disbelieve him he'll get defensive of you and threaten them with his peaky cap. He'll also threaten anyone who dares reply with "so shes a whore then ain't she..."

Michael

☘️ He isn't shocked by it actually, these days he thinks he's seen it all.

☘️ He finds out because he comes home from work one day and catches you masturbating. He hears you moaning his name and when he goes to the bedroom he is met with the (frankly gorgeous) sight of you on top of the bed sheets, legs spread, cunt making sucking noises as you cum with your fingers pumping in and out of your hole, your other hand furiously rubbing your clit.

☘️ He'd try to embarrass you with a slow clap, "bravo love, marvellous show..." but then he'd see the burning shameless look of desire in your eyes and be unable to resist you.

☘️ "No such thing as a good girl these days i suppose..."

☘️ Will degrade you and get off on degrading you. Definitely into spanking you and definitely gets off on how much you enjoy being spanked.

☘️ Will become addicted to your sex very very quickly. Basically brings you to work with him every day so that youre there for him to fuck whenever either of you gets the craving.

☘️ Loves hiding you under his desk, having you suck his cock for hours on end.

☘️ If you ever make out like youre tired of going into work with him every day he'll remind you what happened last time he left you unsupervised.

☘️ He likes to make you watch yourself in the mirror when he fingers you. He also likes to make you look at yourself when he's smeared his cum all over you, so he can show you what a nasty girl you are.

Sorry these weren't very long lovely, i hope you liked them!!!

#peaky blinders imagines #bonnie gold x reader #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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dreamsclock · 1 year

Text

“So let me get this straight,” Techno deadpans, face perfectly straight, “you’re layin’ eggs.”

( HAPPY VERY BELATED CHRISTMAS @kenjo-arts !!! you wanted emeraldduo and dream interactions or one of your aus so i combined both ^_^ i Hope You like it AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I LOVE U <333)

(THANK YOU @the-final-sif FOR RUNNING YHIS :])

Dream scowls. Under the glare and the shadow of his mask, his face is flushed. “Look,” he says, “I’m not— I didn’t even want to tell you. But–”

“But you did,” Philza jumps in, bemused, “I don’t really get why, though.”

If looks could kill, both members of the Syndicate would be dead thrice over. Instead, they remain unaffected as Dream’s cheeks turn warm enough to fry an egg – bad choice of words, Techno thinks, all things considered. He sure hopes Dream doesn’t actually fry his eggs: he really doesn’t want to get into the logistics of egg-infanticide with his dubious ally-turned-bestie.

Said bestie, however, is pulling out a clutch of eggs he holds protectively to his chest as if he expects Techno and Philza to snatch them away and begin jumping on them in malicious glee. When Philza moves closer in curiosity, Dream has a sword out before either of them can blink, unwavering and firm.

Philza raises his hands in surrender and lets out a little clucking noise. Techno thinks it’s supposed to be soothing. It sort of just sounds like a chicken. “Easy, mate,” he reassures, “I’m just looking. They’re pretty.”

“Obviously,” Dream says, half-preening, “they're mine.”

And they are pretty, Techno supposes, not that he cares much about eggs. They’re pale green and freckled with darker shades, five of them huddled in Dream’s arms. It’s impossible to tell what will hatch from them, though he sure isn’t thinking too hard about it. He’ll find out in due time, probably: one of them already has feather-light cracks speckling its side, while the others are pristine, unmoving.

…He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dream so proud and protective over something of his before. He can’t decide if this is positive character development or not.

“I… wanted you guys to… like, hold onto them for me. For now.” Dream looks uncertain, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. In the pale light of the snow, his face is pale and drawn. “I will… come and get them. After tomorrow is over.”

“You mean the shit you’re pulling with Tommy.” Philza surmises, his expression flattening and tightening just slightly. He’s not forgotten the state Tommy had come to them in after exile: neither has Techno, who notices the way Dream’s shoulders straighten and his face grows deliberately impassive, when Philza’s anger makes itself known in the shape of one ruffling wing. “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah, it is.” Dream allows, and says nothing more about his plans or his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he very gently and very carefully wraps the eggs in a blanket, swaddling the five of them so that only the tips of them are visible, before handing them over to Techno. His expression tightens into one of wistful yearning for a fraction of a second, before it disappears entirely behind that white porcelain mask. “I can’t take them with me, and… I don’t have any other allies. So. You know. We’re not exactly friends, but… I can pay you for it.”

Techno wants, for a wild moment, to pry the mask from his face and unearth Dream’s feelings about the eggs. His kids, he supposes.

He doesn’t do anything so lame or uncharacteristic. Rather than that, he accepts the bundle of eggs, handling them carefully, and– oh god, he cringes when one of them wiggles inquisitively. They’re warmer than he’d thought, thrumming with a quiet energy he faintly recognizes from the deepest, most inner parts of the server: which makes sense, considering they’re eggs from the admin of the SMP. Expecting anything less than slightly magical is dumb.

The aforementioned admin of the SMP shifts from foot to foot. He looks like he might grab the eggs back and make a run for it.

Taking pity on him, Techno clasps the bundle a little more securely, and offers his ally a firm nod and shrug. “Ehh, don’t worry about paying,” he says easily, “I just re-retired. I could do with somethin’ occupying my time. Even if it is five eggs.”

Philza squawks a laugh. “Never took you for a babysitter,” he teases, even as Dream relaxes fractionally, “what a career change. Never would’ve expected it.”

Techno shoots his friend a mock-glare. “I’ll have you know I have the credentials,” he says, haughtily, “you should’ve seen me before the Empire, Phil. You should’ve seen me. I was the pinnacle of babysitting, man. The pinnacle.”

“I bet.”

Dream whispers to you: so you’ll look after them for me??

When he turns to Dream, the man isn’t looking at him. He’s toying with the edge of his cloak, gloved fingers thin and shallow, and that’s when Techno realizes with a terrible clarity that Dream doesn’t plan on coming back for a long, long time.

His grip on the eggs tighten.

He’s hardly paternal, but he is loyal, to a fault.

You whisper to Dream: you have my word

And when Dream pearls away, leaving Techno with five eggs and a wonkily hand-stitched blanket, he knows it’s the last time they’ll see each other like this.

***

“Do you still have them?” Dream croaks in prison, throat slick with blood and voice hoarse from screaming. Techno wonders how long it’ll last before it gives out completely. Wonders if Dream’s voice might disappear entirely overnight. He barely uses it anymore.

“The eggs?” Techno asks, and his lips press when Dream nods. “I mean, not— not with me, Dream. Listen, I’m no Dad Of The Year, but I know not to bring five hatching eggs into a prison, alright. Jeez.”

Dream misses the rest of his ramble. His eyes light up for the first time when Techno speaks. “Hatching?” He repeats, as if he hardly believes his own words. “Like— You mean hatching hatching. Actually hatching.”

“No, no, the fake hatching.” Techno can’t keep the amused grin off his face despite his sarcasm. “I mean, they were pretty cracked when I left for here. They’re not about to start dancin’ around, but there’s not long now. Probably.”

The expression on Dream’s face is one he’s never seen before. It’s strange, wild. Hopeful.

“Okay,” his ally-turned-friend says, “okay. My eggs are hatching. So we’ve gotta get out of here.”

The firm tone is a switch from the hollow desperation he’d yelled at him before. (You were my only way out of here!) There’s determination, now, there’s reason to escape: reason, Techno knows now, for Dream to fight.

So he pushes an empty book across the scorch-marked obsidian to Dream, and offers a nod and an instruction. “Write down everything you can about this prison, Dream. I’m gonna need it if we’re breakin’ out of here.”

Dream flashes him an almost-grin, and it’s thin and exhausted and bright, and Techno watches him pick up the pen, and start to write.

***

“So.”

Dream doesn’t even look up from his dead-eyed staring contest with the wall. He just flips his middle finger in Techno’s vague direction, a silent shut up, before letting his arm fall limply at his side again.

“Soooo.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “So what?”

“I feel like we should discuss naming rights.”

“We— what?”

“Well,” Techno reasons, “it’s kind of joint custody of the eggs at this point. Sure, you birthed them—”

“That’s not how—”

“You birthed them, but I stopped Steve from eatin’ them. And believe me, that was a hard task, Dream. Almost impossible. Steve put up a valiant fight. He almost had them.”

That gets Dream’s attention. Eyes narrowing, mouth thinning into an annoyed scowl, he shuffles closer to Techno. Techno gets the impression he’s supposed to feel intimidated by Dream’s pout. “You let my eggs near a polar bear?” He demands, horror in his voice. “Techno. Seriously.”

“You remembered,” Techno beams, “you remembered Steve. Listen, you say we’re not friends, but this feels pretty friendly. I dunno. I’m just saying.”

“This— That’s not the point!”

“But no, I didn’t.Like I said, I won the battle. Steve fought hard, but I won. Good thing I’d been trainin’ so much recently. Any less and I think the eggs would’ve been breakfast.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “I don’t know why I even trusted you with them,” he mutters, antsy, “anything could happen to them.”

Techno scoffs, and offers Dream a trustworthy, reassuring look. “Dream, do I look like the kind of guy to let anything bad happen to your children?”

Dream stares dubiously back. “Yeah,” he says, “you do.”

…That doesn’t hurt his feelings, nope, not at all. He shoots his friend a pensive look. “When I get home, I’m gonna give your eggs to Philza,” he threatens, “he’ll put them in his nest. Don’t push me.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Pass me another potato, nerd.”

The potato Dream throws at him bounces against his arm and clatters on the floor next to a splatter of blood. Techno wrinkles his nose. “Dude,” he says, “prison is lame.”

“Keep the eggs far away from Philza’s nests,” Dream warns, “or prison will get worse for you.”

***

You whisper to Philza: btw where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: Why

You whisper to Philza: just answer the question phil

You whisper to Philza: where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: They’re not in my fucking nest

You whisper to Philza: phil

Philza whispers to you: I’m taking them out of my nest and putting them back

Techno breathes a sigh of relief, and glances over at a fitfully sleeping Dream. “Crisis averted,” he mutters out loud, and then, “Chat, don’t be snitches. What Dream doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

***

And Techno’s not hurt when the eggs are the first thing Dream checks when he gets to the Syndicate. Pft, why would he be? It’s not like he’s the one that helped free him or anything, nah, course not.

“All I’m saying,” he grumbles to a cackling Philza, “is that the eggs didn’t sit in prison for three months with him. I’m not jealous, Phil. I’m not jealous. That would be crazy. They’re eggs. Not even that cool. But—”

“For fuck’s sake,” his friend laughs at him, “go inside and show him where his eggs are. He’ll be tearing the house apart looking for them.”

And Philza’s right. Dream is already pulling the chests apart searching for his eggs, as if Techno hadn’t stored them somewhere safer the very moment he’d escaped Pandora’s Vault the first time.

“Where are they?” Dream demands.

Techno nods to the wall. “I’ve been callin’ it the Baby Backrooms.” He says, proudly. “Though it’s kind of more of a Baby Hideout. Doesn’t sound as cool, though.”

A couple of swift strokes with his pickaxes tears open the wall, and reveals four large eggs, cracked but safe, huddled together in the corner of a light blue room. Dream’s gaze softens when he sees them, and steps inside, narrowly missing the bedtime story Techno’s been reading them most nights. Sun Tzu isn’t light reading, but hey, Techno’s determined to make incredible battle strategists of them yet. One of the eggs likes it the most: it wriggles whenever he pulls the book out, and he hates playing favourites, but he has to say, he’s got the most faith in that one.

“I’m back,” Dream breaks the silence to say to his eggs, kneeling down beside them and gently tracing the thick fractures along the curve of the darkest green one, “hey, hi, hi! Did you miss me?”

Techno doesn’t point out that eggs can’t talk for two reasons. The first is that he thinks Dream might actually murder someone if his moment with the eggs is disturbed. The second, slightly more alarming reason is that one of the eggs are missing.

When he’d left the room before, there had been five eggs in that room. The four now aren’t exactly inspiring him with confidence. Dream is really going to kill him if he’s lost a whole egg in the space of, like, four hours.

Dream scoops up the eggs, and turns to face Techno. There’s a look of relief on his face that’s so raw and unfiltered that it takes Techno a moment to recognise what he’s seeing. It’s like a part of Dream that had been missing during prison has been returned to him: Techno realizes with a pang that that’s exactly the case.

“I have a question,” Niki chimes in from behind them, “I have lots of questions.”

When Techno turns, she’s holding a tiny miniature version of… Dream himself.

“Mama,” it squeaks, reaching out to Dream, “Mama.”

Dream melts, right there and then.

***

“So… you laid this.”

Even someone blessed with the patience of a saint would have snapped by now. Dream, who is neither blessed nor patient, seems to be on the verge of murder someone: specifically, Tommy, who hasn’t stopped asking questions since he’d appeared at Techno’s door with questions. Four months had been enough time to solve the conflict between the server (…mostly), but it seems like Tommy’s boundaries don’t include tiny little green blobs like Dream’s newly hatched eggs running about the SMP.

“I already told you,” Dream says, “I didn’t lay them. They just appeared as eggs.”

“So you… make eggs,” Tommy says, “and then you like, you black out, and then you like wake up and find the eggs. Egg amnesia. Egg-nesia.”

Dream very visibly counts to ten in his head. Techno can’t stop himself from smirking and joining in.

“Yeah, Dream, I’m not gettin’ the science behind this whole thing,” he drawls, “can you explain it again?”

“You—” Dream splutters. A tiny version of himself with a green cloak travels by on one of the dogs, and throws himself into Dream’s arms. Dream cradles him absentmindedly. “We live in a world with a revive book and a randomly implemented three life system, and you’re confused about eggs?”

“I get it,” Tubbo says wisely, “sometimes every man reaches an age where he must lay an egg.”

“…That’s… actually not true,” Dream says, “most people don’t produce eggs randomly from thin air.”

“Who did you produce them with?” Tommy asks. “Was it George Not Found? Oh, that’s so weird. You’ve made it weird, Dream.”

“How have I made it weird? I—” Cutting himself off, Dream’s head perks up. “Hang on,” he says, “Philza’s trying to take one of my new eggs.”

Tommy’s face drops into total stupefaction. “It happened again?!” He demands. “When will the horror end?”

“What is wrong with you?” Dream groans, pushing himself to his feet and very carefully handing over his baby to Techno. “Look after Ray for me. I swear to God, if Philza is building a nest around my eggs again…”

He doesn’t finish his threat. Nevertheless, his warnings of violence are clear. Techno silently wishes Philza luck, and shifts his hold so that he’s juggling both the baby and the book in his other hand.

“I still think we should think about naming one of your eggs after me,” he says, “I was such a great babysitter. That’s why they turned out so great.”

Dream, halfway out the room, turns slowly, and gives him a very incredulous look.

“You think you were a good babysitter? So you think letting my babies play with Steve was a good idea?”

“They didn’t die,” Techno protests. “They were fine.”

“There comes a time where every man must fight a polar bear.” Tubbo says solemnly

“Tubs,” Tommy tells him, “that’s just not true. Wilbur just told you that because I wanted to see you be mauled horrifically by a bear.”

“Oh.”

“You could call one baby Blade,” Techno calls over Tubbo and Tommy. Dream laughs. “It’s not very creative, and a little hurtful, but hey, it sounds pretty cool, alright, it sounds pretty awesome. Or— Tech. I’d be fine with Tech.”

“I’m not naming a baby after you.”

Dream rolls his eyes as he walks out, but there’s a grin on his face.

You whisper to Dream: can i at least be godfather

Dream whispers to you: only if you gaslight tommy into thinking he was an egg once

You whisper to Dream: you drive a hard bargain

You whisper to Dream: it’s a deal

“Hey Tommy,” Techno calls out, “you remember being an egg? I still have pictures of you somewhere from before you were hatched.“

The look of absolute horror on Tommy’s face is priceless, and the knowledge of the title godfather makes him grin all the brighter.

#dreblr #c!dream eggs monday

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half-bakedboy · 2 months

Note

For bucktommy! “For some reason, I’m attracted to you.”

read on ao3

Buck knows objectively that dating a guy is much different than dating a girl. He’s done enough research—if a lot of articles like Dating Advice for Gay, Bi, and Pansexual Men count—about how dating someone new is supposed to be exciting and nerve-wracking, and dating men isn’t going to feel any different than dating a woman.

If that’s all true, then why has he never felt so awkward in his life?

He’s sitting across from Tommy at this quaint Italian restaurant that Maddie once mentioned wanting Chimney to take her to and all he feels is unsettled. The table is too small between them and Buck worries that if either of them moves, their knees will knock over everything on top of it. Buck ordered white wine because it seemed like the classy choice but he hates wine, and Tommy ordered a red wine that makes him wince every time he swallows.

The butter is as hard as a rock and Buck refuses to eat bread without it ever since his first date with Abby. Somehow, this date almost rivals Abby performing a tableside tracheotomy because Buck choked on the dry bread he’d shoved in his mouth to tame that awkwardness.

He catches himself glancing down consideringly at the basket of bread rolls before him but looks away abruptly when Tommy breaks the silence.

“So, this is a nice place,” Tommy decides. Buck nods and grabs both sides of the small table with a white-knuckled grip. “How’d you find it?”

“Maddie! My sister,” he says, unsure how much their mutual friends have told him. “Chim’s girlfriend. Fiance actually, but uh, my sister. She suggested it to me.”

“As a place to grab drinks?” Tommy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Buck shook his head. “As a place for a date,” Buck says proudly, tipping his chin up a little, challenging anyone to say a damn word about it. A small smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s lips at the words.

“You told your sister you had a date? Did you tell her…” The rest of the question is obvious, but Tommy pulls back like he’s unsure whether he should ask.

“That this is my first date with a dude?” Buck finishes for him. Tommy chuckles and takes a sip of his classic red wine. He presses his lips together as he swallows and nods. “Not necessarily, but Tommy isn’t exactly a gender-neutral name.”

“Hey, it’s a big step. I’m proud of you either way,” Tommy says softly.

He reaches for Buck’s hand across the table like he’s testing the waters. It should be a cute moment, but Buck panics—an obnoxious casualty of his sexuality crisis—and turns his palm up to welcome the first public sign of affection between them, knocking over both of their glasses of water, drenching the aforementioned bread rolls.

Buck immediately thinks it’d be hard to choke himself with them now.

“God, I am so sorry.” Buck panics, stands up too abruptly, and the knees he was so previously concerned about hit the edge of the table painfully, sending Tommy’s almost empty plate onto his lap along with the remnants of water on the table.

Buck feels his face heat up like a furnace and he closes his eyes in hopes that this is all some fever dream born out of his fears of his newfound sexuality. But Tommy is chuckling and a waitress is apologizing like this is somehow her fault and Buck has to accept that he really is just bad at this.

He has his hands white-knuckled on the back of his chair and he’s considering just running away when a gentle hand rests over his. When he looks up, Tommy is still grinning—Buck doesn’t understand how he just keeps smiling through it all—like he isn’t covered in all of Buck’s mistakes.

“Evan,” Tommy mutters. There’s humor in the voice and Buck feels like he might actually die if Tommy makes fun of him. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Tommy asks. Buck’s eyebrows pull together and he sees the moment Tommy reads his mind. “C’mon, Kid.”

Tommy somehow unglues Buck’s hand from the chair to maneuver them toward the door. Buck apologizes to every waitstaff he sees, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all looking at him with so much pity that Buck feels like one of the patients on his calls. It’s a feeling he really hates, especially when Tommy must notice the stares, too.

Once they’re outside, Buck blurts, “Please don’t tell Eddie how bad this is going.”

Tommy snorts out his laughter like he’s been holding it in for hours. Buck should be mortified, but Tommy’s hand is still gripped in his and it’s firm and warm and much larger than his own.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Tommy promises. Buck attempts to pull his hand away but Tommy only squeezes tighter. “Evan, c’mere.”

This time, Tommy pulls him into a warm hug while they stand in the cool night air. Buck breathes him in, eyes closing as he relaxes into the touch. He’s rarely smaller than those he hugs, and he’s never been smaller than someone he’s hugged like this. It’s almost like Tommy is ensuring Buck knows he’s still interested. Even after the awkwardness and tragedy, Tommy knows Buck has more to offer and is willing to find out.

It means so much to Buck that when Tommy pulls away, he has to stop himself from gripping even tighter at Tommy’s broad shoulders. He doesn’t move far, though, and keeps one hand on Buck’s waist, playing with the fabric there like he’s somehow more nervous than Buck. When he starts walking, Buck follows, finding no reason not to trust wherever Tommy is taking them.

“Are you… okay with all of this?” Tommy asks. Buck blanches because he never once considered his inability to remain calm around this man to come off as some sort of internalized homophobia.

“Y-Yes! I’m—Are you okay with this? With me?” Tommy tilts his head inquisitively, cocking an eyebrow up like he doesn’t know exactly. “C’mon, don’t pretend that this wasn’t the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

“I’ve been on a lot of bad dates, Evan,” Tommy says.

Though, it’s not as reassuring as Buck thinks he meant it to be.

Tommy sighs. “I think that we both wanted this to be perfect. For some reason, I’m attracted to you,” he teases, “and I wanted to woo you on your first ‘date with a dude’,” he mocks, earning a smack from Buck. “I remember how terrifying my first public date with a man was, so I can imagine how you were feeling leading up to this.”

“It was scary for you, too?” Buck asks shyly. He’s more reassured by that fact than anything else. In his attempts to not be weird about the date, he tried to hide his fears—this is something so new and important to him but it might not be a singular experience.

“Oh my God, yes!” Tommy laughs. “It was with a dancer. A small guy who looked like he walked straight out of the magazines I used to keep under my bed when I was a teenager.”

“I forgot you grew up in the 80s,” Buck teases. Tommy pinches his waist in retaliation and Buck squirms just a little closer to him.

“Since he was a dancer, I tried to find us a club. You know, dancing at a club was a stereotypically gay thing I could do to prove to this guy I was, in fact, gay. Like the asking-on-a-date part wasn’t explanatory enough.”

“Dancing’s a good first date!” Buck argues, not yet seeing the downside to this conversation.

“Oh, it can be! Except I was terrified to fuck it up, so trusted some stranger on the internet to recommend a spot.”

“Oh no,” Buck mutters.

“Oh, yes,” Tommy agrees. He winces like the memory has been repressed for a little too long. “It was a swingers, leather club. Needed a password to get in.”

“The stranger didn’t give you the password, did he?” Buck guesses.

“Worse. My date knew it and ditched me almost the second we got inside.”

“Oh no,” Buck repeats, though he’s holding back laughter. Tommy waves him on.

“Go ahead, go ahead. Get your laughs out.”

Buck does, throwing his head back for a moment before looking back over at Tommy. He’s staring at Buck like he’s made of sunshine and Buck has never felt brighter.

“So, is this your way of telling me you're into leather, then?” Buck jokes.

“It’s my way of telling you,” Tommy stops, turns, and makes sure he’s looking directly into Buck’s eyes, “that first dates are terrifying no matter who you are with, but how you feel about someone at the end is all that matters.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks. He feels small with Tommy’s eyes on him, with Tommy’s hand around his waist, sliding to the small of his back where he’s unused to being touched so gently.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. Buck waits until Tommy glances down at his lips before he smiles.

“And how do you feel about me?” Buck asks. He brings his hands up to put one of Tommy’s broad shoulders and the other brushes a strand of Tommy’s hair back. The red that blooms on Tommy’s cheeks makes Buck’s heart sore.

“I feel…” Tommy begins to lean forward and Buck’s ready for the kiss this time. He isn’t going to be surprised. He knows what to do with his hands. He’s ready to show Tommy that he knows how to kiss better than he knows how to date.

But then Tommy’s gone, and when Buck realizes it, they’re already a few feet apart, Tommy walking backward down the street.

He shouts, “I feel a little damp and sticky. Come back to my place so we can fix that?”

Buck runs after him, shouting, “Is that an innuendo? I don’t get them all yet!”

Contagious laughter echoes through the almost empty streets, and joy thrums through Buck’s entire being. Awkwardness aside, he thinks he could easily get used to this.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #kinkley #911 on abc #911 spoilers #911 #911 fic #long post #answered #anonymous #this turned so long so i put it on a03 first alskjdf;lasd #i just love bucks awkwardness #should've put in an ally mention tho a;lsdjkfl;as #lmao

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morallyinept · 8 months

Text

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Slightly longer chapter as we start to get into the meat of this story as you and Joel are finally on your own together. Nothing too heavy to note. Teeniest, tiniest mention of self-harm.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

Sleep evaded you cruelly for most of the night. Lucid dreams that were unbidden, clawed at your subconscious mind and were unrelenting in their droves, and attempt to crush, what is left of your fragile mind.

Joel’s youthful face and his hands, ageing right before you until he was a pile of dust at your bloodied boots, blowing away through your fingers in the wind, haunted the delicate membranes of your sleep void inertia.

The sounds of his shaken voice echoed in your ears as he called your name to come back as you slammed hundreds of different coloured doors behind you. Feeling your heart, as it was pulverised into mush in your chest by a sledgehammer that he wielded, with sharp diamonds pouring out of his eyes.

You’re already irritable when you wake fully; your eyes feeling raw like sandpaper has been rubbed over them all night each time you blink. But you suck it up bravely despite the tension making your stomach ache and churn - you have to.

Endure and survive...

Once suitably awake and clean, outside in the commune the masses are gathering in a buoyant hubbub about the mission. Horses are stacked with supplies, groups are running over their parts to play in meticulous fashion.

You pass Tommy speaking with a bunch of guys and he nods, tipping his stark, yet grubby, Stetson as he regards you with a tight look. You’re still rocked by his rupturing revelations about Joel.

They still bite ceaselessly at your ankles.

You catch up with Kelper and the others, sharing a gentle but lingering hug with Guthrie, who's remaining behind with Maria and her fort going on lockdown, due to his injuries.

Taking your hand, he prays silently for you all to return unscathed and you indulge him in his plea to God out of respect; it carries a bleak, yet somewhat reassuring nihilism to some degree. If there is a God up there - although you're sceptical after the stunts He's pulled over the last twenty odd years - but if there is one, you hope he's really listening to Guthrie right now.

This is your family, and losing them is not an option anymore.

You squeeze Kelper’s hands in your own, then pull him into a binding embrace, choking back faceted tears that threaten to fall and rip down your face with their own jagged edges. But you’re steely in your grit not to let them.

Endure and survive.

He places a lingering kiss on your forehead and then another on your cheek.

"For God's sake, be careful." You plead, your hands refusing to uncoil from his; twisty, bony knots that crush.

"I'm coming back. I promise. So are you." Kelper assures you, and you know that stubborn bastard means it.

"I love you." You breathe.

"I know you do. I'm awesome." He replies, and you smile the way you always do when he comes back at you with that overused quip.

You glance back at Max and Sal - at the remains of your small, tattered clan, before you all separate into your assigned teams. Maybe Guthrie’s faith is rubbing off, but you silently pray to God yourself that they all return safely.

Even if it means that you don’t. It's a fair trade.

You reluctantly approach Joel, taking a sharp intake of breath that chills your teeth, despite the warmth of the sun this early in the morning. The knot in your gut weighs heavier somehow.

It stalls you for a moment; Tommy’s words rattling around your bruised skull, but you push it all down. If Joel wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself.

He's loading up a couple of horses; his broad back stretching out his green, plaid shirt, boosting up the worn leather knapsacks and belting the buckles tightly to the saddles.

It's abstractly peculiar to just observe him, how his hands work; how they're deft, yet seem so much bigger now than you remember. The horse brays, snuffling as you approach, and Joel pats it gently with those swamping hands.

"Easy, easy."

Joel shifts as he sees you, greeting him with a wary hello that sounds as small as you suddenly feel.

“Mornin’,” he replies dully, carrying on with the task at hand robotically. He doesn't look at you, you notice.

The whiskey he drank in abundance last night was a bad idea; his head feels like crushing lead, and despite fading into oblivion for a few measly hours, he’s still tired and jangled. Yammering thoughts of you kept him awake, staring at the ceiling as he willed them to give him some peace.

It’s like he could make you out, clear as day, floating above him and taunting him even though your apparition never spoke to him. It just stared at him for most of the fucking night; pulling out all of his demons to side with you, and it’s why he can’t look you in the eyes much this morning.

“He seems like a good man, Tommy says so.” He juts his chin over his broad shoulder to Kelper, startling you a little with the gruff tincture of his voice.

“He is." You smile. "Saved my ass countless times. And vice-versa.” You explain watching Kelper fade into the crowd with a heavy gut. “Want me to get that?” You point down at the other knapsack and Joel shakes his head.

“I got it.” He lifts it up, stepping around to the other side of your horse.

You pet and stroke the horse’s mane; a black mare that nudges her large head into your hands affectionately and you click and coo at her in return.

"She got a name?" You ask Joel. He shrugs and continues loading up.

She’s a beauty, and it makes you melt that there are still some things that are left untarnished by the fungal rot in the world.

“How’d ya cross paths?” Joel asks as he attaches the bag onto the saddle. He seems a little disinterested, like conversation with you is hard. But you regale him nonetheless.

“We had a group. Or rather, he did. And soon it became our group. He trusted me enough to let me make decisions, and mistakes, but it grew. We became a family. There were about sixty of us at one point. And now there’s five.” You remark bitterly.

You swallow thickly as you hear the screaming again inside your ears. The mare butts her head against yours as if she can hear it too.

Joel doesn’t say anymore, pausing to listen to you before he carries on loading up the tan stallion that’s his to ride.

But the tidal wave of the screaming, the panic, drowns you. The teeth coming at you as you shoot your way through the hysteria. But there are too many to boldly take on and your gun jams.

Run! RUN!

You remember Kelper's hand on yours, dragging you away. You grab a hold of Guthrie, exchanging the gun for his hand as you let it clatter to the ground that's filling with blood.

You're scrambling through the mottled tree bark. You spy Max and Sal bringing up the rear; white eyes and red faces, as Kelper takes you all deeper into the woods. Infected follow you, hot on your heels as you run; the oxygen waning and setting light to your papery lungs.

Your legs are giving out. Your ankles on fire…

“That can’t happen here.” You shake your head defiantly as you look around the commune coming back to a bleak reality. “What you guys have built and achieved here? Kelper, he won’t let you lose what we did. That's why he’s a good man.” You conclude, speaking as if in a trance.

“S’not enough of them around anymore.” Joel replies stoically.

“No. There is.” You say, looking at him and he turns away after he catches your intense gaze like it scalds him.

“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that.” He mutters, leaving you to pull apart his toneless words.

After a time of readying the horses, time spent in awkward silence for the remainder between the both of you, Tommy announces for everyone to move out.

You shoot Kelper a small, reluctant wave and he returns it.

Five days. You can get through five days without him. Endure and survive.

You realise in all the time you’ve known Kelper, you’ve not once been separated from him, and those thoughts grow teeth and start to chomp with all the other gnarly, unsettling thoughts.

“Y’need a boost?” Joel offers as you attempt to get up on the mare.

“No, I got it.” You hook your foot in the stirrup and swing your other leg up and over, mounting the mare confidently. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”

You smirk down at Joel who doesn’t smile back. Just shakes his head full of greying tufts, and mounts his stud with a little bit more of an aggrieved effort to get on the damned thing.

"Do you need a boost?" You smirk as you untangle the reins.

"Don't be a smartass." He grumbles with a deep frown.

You used to love it.

You wait, with pursed lips, steadying your horse as Joel hacks up beside you.

“Ya ready?” He asks you and you know inside that you’re anything but.

“Let's do this.” The weight in your gut still weighs you down in there. You're drowning right before him and he's completely oblivious.

You both watch as the other riders head out the gates first.

“Listen, I don’t suffer fools easily.” He says it coldly, as though you don’t know him, never knew him; as though you’re a stranger to him and you realise that's exactly what you are now.

It’s how he sees you. And the line couldn't be anymore clear as it is thick.

It’s a frank warning that rolls out of his dull, chapped lips and in a baritone that you don’t think you’ve ever heard in his voice before.

This Joel Miller is a complete stranger to you. He's wary of you, suspicious as he eyes you now, finally. That prominent frown creased in at the centre of his brow with brown eyes, that were once warm and inviting, that now coat a layer of ice over your skin.

You shudder as the prickles tear down your spine.

“We gotta communicate, work together. Don’t be foolish n’ take any risks, y'hear me? Ya do what I say when I say it.”

“I hear you, Joel.” You reply, staring straight ahead, teeth grinding. Your grip tightens on the reins.

“Just lay it on the line. That’s all I ask.” Joel says.

You wonder if he notices his double entendre. “Unscrupulous honesty it is then.” You smile.

You gulp. You think that he might regret telling you that.

“We gotta trust each other out there. I know it's been…" he sighs, or runs out of breath; you're not sure which as he trails off.

Then he looks back at you and it pierces you right down to the very core.

"Y’think you can do that?” He asks, with blown out curls billowing in the summer breeze, and you look back at him; at those deep chocolate eyes that are so familiar, yet so alien.

“I can.” You always trusted him back in the day when trust seemed so frivolous a thing. “I got your back, Joel. You got mine?”

Joel nods once, a small clip of his chin and starts on forward.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the sides of the mare gently with your heels as she trots forward, following after his tan stallion and out of the gates.

Riding on horseback it would take half a day to reach outpost three at a steady pace.

Joel rides slightly ahead; a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol in his belt holster. You've been afforded a gun of your own, a Glock, which is tucked in a similar holster on your own belt that Joel had handed to you once out of the gates of the commune.

You remembered turning back, one last look at Guthrie as those wooden gates locked and wouldn't open again until the threat was taken care of. Maria was battening down the hatches. If the infected got past you, if something went wrong, those gates were all that were left stopping them.

The knapsacks are loaded with supplies; food, water, ammunition, and yours bumps continually against the side of your thigh as the mare trots along.

The summer heat of a late June beams down on you, warming your scalp and you squint upward, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

Stolen moments like this, a few seconds amongst the bloodied chaos, where you could remember to stop and appreciate the small things, is what kept you going throughout all of the carnage, the constant fighting for survival.

So you breathe in the morning air, feel the sun bake your face and appreciate that you're alive for a few seconds, even though some days you wish you weren’t.

When you open your eyes, Joel is glancing over his shoulder at you, scrutinising carefully; eyebrows pulled together. He turns away when you catch him.

You bristle, feeling the prickles on the back of your neck rise again and you rub them away.

“So, this is weird, huh?” You challenge with a coy smile.

“Ride on my left, will ya? I can’t hear what you’re sayin’ to me when ya mumble under ya breath.” Joel replies and you take up position on his left side.

“Jesus, you’re getting old.” You smirk again.

“Crept up on me too fast.” Joel agrees with a sharper frown. His hips jut forward and backwards, balancing his weight on the stallion as you both ride on.

“I was joking.” You snicker.

“I wasn’t.” He states rather po-faced. “Besides, gun shots. Not age,” he explains pointing to his right ear.

“And the scar?” You query gently. You’d noticed it on his temple; a faded, spiky flower in stark contrast compared to the caramel tan of his face.

“S’a story for another day,” he announces, flatly. His voice is as rigid as his posture now becomes.

But he didn’t need to tell you, not really. You already know what it is.

You recognised it because there had been a moment when you’d wanted to make it all stop too. You have your own scar hidden away under your sleeve which you now tug around your wrist discreetly.

You hadn’t met anyone yet without a story like that, not really. You swallow thickly, pushing down your own painful memories and carrying on.

Endure and survive.

"I'd ask ya how you've been, but y'know…" Joel mumbles a little while later.

"You can ask me," you smile.

Joel sighs, his face remaining a harsh angle of lines. "How've you been?"

"Joel, what a stupid question." You smirk and he sighs, shaking his head. Like he knew you would say that.

Like he knew you once well enough to know you'd say something like that.

"Still a smartass." You think you hear him mutter.

You shrug. "I've been… better. I think we all have, right?"

He nods slowly as the horses clip-clop along languidly, side by side. You don't say anything else. Everything seems futile and pointless.

A little while up the way, Joel's horse starts to bray and resist.

"Easy," he ushers to it, but glances up ahead as yours does the same, to see a shadow on the abandoned route.

"Infected." You confirm. You skin stands on edge.

"I got it," Joel's already dismounting and drawing his rifle around his front as you reach for his horse's reins and shush it gently.

"You need a hand?" You call.

"I said, I got it." He growls back as he walks forward taking aim.

The infected spots him and starts to run. Joel fires, but misses.

"Shit," he grunts as he takes aim again.

He misses once more, fingers shaky on the trigger as he glances down the length of the barrel to the rabid screeching coming closer.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" You tease. "Quit dancing and shoot it already."

"M'fine! Stop talkin'!" He calls back as his lips curl over his teeth. He shakes the irritation off, closes his eyes and then takes aim once more.

The infected falls to the ground before he can press on the trigger; the loud pop from behind startles him.

He turns to see you now stood a few steps back with the smoking barrel of your Glock at arm's length, and a wily smirk cocked at him.

"Best shooter in Jackson, huh?" You tease him.

"I said, I got it!" He bites at you, storming back to his horse.

"Mmhm," you simply reply, trying not to laugh, but the murderous look clouding his features warns you off. "Just took the shot," you shrug.

But his glare burns you out from the inside.

"Didn't need ya interferin'. Been doin' just fine all this time without ya!" Joel bites.

He mounts and rides away furiously, leaving you to dissolve completely away under the acid of his snarls.

Fuck.

Time rides with you both and you don’t talk.

Just an uncomfortable, suffocating silence that grows bigger, expands wider like a chasm. It hovers around you pushing against your skull.

You want to fill it with something, anything. But words don’t come.

Everything you want to say sounds stupid, futile even. You wish you knew a good joke to break the ice, but don’t. He probably wouldn't laugh anyway.

Lips pursed, teeth gnashing, Joel stares icily ahead. A unbroken and insurmountable presence beside you that seems unconquerable.

But then after a while, when it’s been almost an hour since he last spoke to you, or acknowledged your existence, still clearly sulking, you decide to be brave.

Or stupid.

“Do you… remember?" You begin keeping your eyes on the route ahead.

"'Member what?" He mutters.

"Us. What we were like back then?” You ask tentatively.

Stirring up the ghosts of your past probably isn’t a wise idea, but faced with the prospect of being cooped up with Joel for the next five days, as daunting as it is, is a chance to say some things that are so unspoken.

Even if they would re-open wounds long sealed shut.

Joel sighs and it's a long one. It feels heavy, even to listen to it. It pulls you under, face first and holds you down, ensuring that you won't ever resurface as your lungs fill with swamp water.

"Let's not talk 'bout that. Just get to the outpost."

"Fine." You say despondently.

Evidently, he's still mad at you for taking the shot. Some primal pride of his was wounded no doubt, but equally you're hurt that he probably thinks you're too gung ho.

And you probably are; gotta get them first before they get you, right? It's the embedded mantra on how you've survived for so long, and what makes you a good shot - you've had plenty of practice.

But then, you always were impulsive to some degree. Slapdash. Making decisions before you'd really thought through any consequence. Even the ones that still haunt your blood now.

You run your tongue around your teeth and reach for the water bottle tucked in the knapsack.

"You thirsty?" You ask him as you offer it out to him and he shakes his head vehemently. Again you sigh.

"I'm sorry, okay? I saw a chance and I took it."

"Stop talkin'." Joel grunts.

You shrink back, falling a few paces behind as he rides on forward, determined and with a tension that winds his broad shoulders tight, hunched.

You stare at his back, zoning out for a few minutes, your mind wandering in territories that it's not welcome in. Remembering, unwillingly, as you'd nuzzle into his back after he'd had a hard day at work; his hands blistered and sore.

How you'd wrangle the tension and knots out of those shoulders, and he'd throw his head back so you could get to his scalp. Weaving and raking your fingers across his head and listening to all the sounds he'd emit, the low groans and the throaty gasps as he melted under you.

Mmm, just like that, darlin'. Yeah...

Joel would melt like hot butter poured in your lap.

"Wait here," he says, snapping you out of your recall. He dismounts and you see him wander off the path.

You take the reins of his horse, trekking up beside it. "Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer. You watch him disappear off the road, bleeding into a small copse of trees until his shadow disappears fully out of sight.

Sighing, you look up to the sky, thinking that being paired up with Joel was probably the worst idea.

These five days are going to be absolute Hell.

He returns a few minutes later, wiping his hands at the back of his jeans and stepping through the underbrush with eyes focused like a laser beam on the ground.

You both carry on, with your mouth zipped firmly shut.

But Joel can hear your forced silence like it's deafening his one good ear. Feel you, like you're jabbing him constantly in the gut.

And he can't turn it off.

The same as he can't turn off those hazy, sepia memories rearing their ugly heads as they flood through his aching muscles, feeding them with pink fleshy life.

You've polluted him again, ripped a hole in his head, and he's forced to confront it, even if every compulsion in his body wills him to just ride away from you.

Because it's better than the alternative that pulls at his longing curiosity. Better than letting you seep in through the tiny, hairline cracks.

“Y'were fast." He says suddenly and you glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead as you continue to trot along together.

"Everythin’ was so fuckin’ fast with ya. I couldn’t keep up."

You smile; a supernova bursting inside your chest and rendering your vital organs to dust.

"Y'were right to leave me behind.” He concludes bitterly.

You feel relieved that he does remember you. It makes that weight in your stomach feel lighter somehow. But the end of his sentence adds salt into the weeping wounds.

“I wanted the world.” You muse. At one point, you believed you would conquer it. You failed.

“How’s that workin’ out for ya?” He side-eyes you with warm mocha browns that you want to dive head first into.

“I mean, the world is still here. Just looks different now.” You say, glancing down at dandelions and overgrown shrubs that are slowly taking back the path.

“You’ve not slowed down.” He observes. "Still fuckin' impatient." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head again.

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” You reply.

"You’re different.”

You look at him as he looks back at you, studying you carefully.

"I've gotten old too." You smile.

“No. Not that." Joel says, looking away. "You’re exactly the same as I ‘member, but just...”

“You remember me, huh?” Your breath catches in the back of your throat.

“Ya kinda made it impossible to forget ya, darlin’."

The warmth engulfs you and you smile wider at this, cheeks on fire, remembering the whimsy in the pet name that he always used for you. Remembering how it made you feel all that time ago, and how it still makes your chest flutter even now as it rolls off his lips like the decades haven't existed between you.

How he can carelessly toss affection at you, despite everything.

“You were never mine, back then. Not really." You say flippantly.

"No, I was." Joel corrects as he clears his throat and frowns again. "But we were young n’ stupid.” He surmises with a shrug of his own. He keeps his eyes in front still.

You nod in agreement. “We thought we knew a thing or two about love, didn’t we? We were arrogant. But it still broke my heart to lose you back then, Joel.” You admit, your voice is a strangled whisper, barely surviving.

Your fingers relax a little on the reins, realising you’ve been twisting them this whole time tightly and your palms burn. "I'm sorry. That must sound weird after all this time. After everything…"

You trail off when Joel doesn't speak.

The two of you continue along like the last few minutes of conversation hasn't happened. Both mulling it over quietly. Probably regretting it.

Joel knows he has said too much, and he's frantically wishing he could cram the words back into his mouth and swallow them down again. But he can't. And neither can you. The admissions are out there now, battering you both around the skulls.

"What was it like for ya?" He asks tentatively. "When it happened?"

"The outbreak?" You query.

"Yeah."

"Tough." You reply, willing your mind not to relive it, but it does anyway just to spite you. "I was in Waco, visiting mom. Didn't plan on staying too long, but I got a call. She'd passed before I got back though. Dementia."

"M'sorry."

"No it's… it was better that she went that way, considering. Peaceful... I was packing back up to leave a few days later. And then it all went to shit. It happened so damn fast. I barely got out."

Joel's question pulls it all out of you with dripping, red threads.

You swallow hard and you feel it graze. "When I think about it now, it's like… I'm watching someone else. Someone with my face. Someone who did-" You take in a deep breath, catching at the back of your throat before you swallow it down. "-Someone who did some questionable things to get here, to get to today."

Joel nods, but doesn't add his own recall of that day. From the look on his face you decide not to ask him about it either.

"But I remember what it was like before that. Life. What it could be again someday." You shake your head despondently. "I remember you." You say with a thin smile offered in repentance.

“We were together n’ sometimes I forget the rest of it.” Joel mutters.

You feel that heated warmth creep over your cheeks and nose. “Me too.”

A small, tight smile tugs at the corner of his pale pink lips. “Y'could barely stand me in the end.”

“Eh. I can barely stand you now.” You remark with a grin.

He shakes his head, chuckling inward silently. “Don’t matter. You’re here. Y'made it. I always knew ya had some brass cajones.”

Joel glances you from the side, turning his head slightly. Those lips of his stretched a little further, on the verge of a full beam which he keeps restrained from fully breaking free.

“Bigger than yours."

He scoffs.

"You made it, too. But, you’re stuck with me for the next five days, Joel.” You tease.

The smile dips back into his cheeks, a crescent moon dimple forms on the left side. “I think I’ll manage. I've endured far worse.”

You smile and continue to ride beside him. Those hot prickles on your neck are covering your whole body now.

“S’fuckin’ crazy world, right?" He mumbles it, sharpshooting the words into the wind as they circle back and blow in your face.

"Amen to that." You smile and you see the flash of that crooked smirk you remember widening on the side of his mouth as he finally loses all restraint to keep it at bay.

There he is.

“Should be there soon,” Joel announces a few hours later.

The grasses are longer, more unruly and nature has taken back the land fully here it seems.

It's eerily beautiful and your eyes fall onto all the wild flowers swaying in the breeze and getting tangled in the brambles; the scents of them tickling your nose.

You lower your hand through them as the mare crosses through the grasses. Plucking one or two on your way and bringing the petals to your nose to inhale before letting them fall free again. You plant some of them affectionately in the mare's silken mane, enthused in your handiwork.

“Y'always did like flowers,” Joel says, remembering.

He remembers the bunches he would pick for you each week just because they were pretty and reminded him of you; the pink expensive ones he brought on your birthday and you cooed gratefully, planting smackers over his cheeks enthusiastically.

You throw a soft beam back at him, remembering too.

You travel on the back roads, deserted highways where the forests have encroached over the tarmac fully. Places where the past ills of humanity have been eaten up by Mother Nature and regurgitated into something wildly free and lushly green.

Perhaps the way it was always supposed to have been.

Your journey has remained free of anymore roaming infected. But you’re keeping a furtive look out; scanning the tree lines beside you as you both ride along in some more stoic silence.

But it seems less daunting and sharp now.

You stop for a while to eat, to let the horses rest. Joel picks around a couple of burnt out cars on the road as he keeps busy and refuses to be still. A constant hurricane swirling.

But Joel surprises you, a little later, speaking more freely when you probe gently about his life prior to Jackson. Thinking he would shut you down, yet he tells you about Ellie. Mostly about Ellie.

Very briefly and with no detail about someone he knew for a long time called Tess, with a gritted jaw that doesn't unclench, so you ask no further about it. He tells you nothing detailed, and strangely in not so many words.

But you sense she meant more to him that he reveals. The way his eyes mist over, as he dwells alone in the darkness of his thoughts, pulls at your gut.

He never mentions that night; the outbreak. Never mentions Sarah. And you don’t bring her up either, even though you know more than you think he'd want you to.

It feels intrusive somehow, holding this terrible secret over him, even if he's not aware of it's strength that you unwittingly possess. A part of you resents Tommy for filling you in so dutifully.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

“Where's Ellie now? Sounds like you two have quite the bond.” You ask as you eat with your legs drawn under yourself.

“She has a girlfriend. Can’t keep her in one place for long these days. She visits. S’not far from Jackson, in another place they've set up. Think I was startin’ to cramp her style.” The frown returns. “She should have her independence… A normal life.” Joel explains, although you can see it pains him in some way to be apart from her, as his brow furrows further until it swallows most of his face.

“Nothing is normal anymore, Joel.”

“Y’know what I mean.” He lances a stare at you, like you're immature and don’t know shit about this world, just like Ellie doesn’t. And in some ways he’s probably right about that.

“Young love, huh?” You surmise, wistfully.

“S'kinda beautiful.” He says, recalling a private memory as he stares off into the distance.

You secretly hope that it’s one of you both together, wondering which one he would pick as his favourite. Yours is when he first told you he loved you; his sweaty face above yours after an intense mutual climax, and he just blurted it out into your face, and inside of his deep brown eyes, you knew he meant it.

He told you again in the morning over breakfast. And when he dropped you off home in his beat up car.

And everyday after that, until he stopped.

“What about you, have you met anyone special in Jackson?” You pry on with numbing fingers through the dirt.

Joels snorts rather pugnaciously. “No. S'’better that way.”

He finally approaches and sits on the ground adjacent to you but keeps a subtle distance; you hear his knees creak.

“What ‘bout you? You n’ Kelper… Y’have some history or present?” Joel asks curiously after a while.

He can’t help himself. Not when he remembers catches you glancing forlornly as Kelper walked away with Tommy that morning, and he feels the stagnant whiskey toss around in his squally gut.

“You’re more Kelper’s type than I am.” You remark back with a wry smirk. “He likes 'em rugged.”

"Ah." Joel nods and you think you see him blush for a second.

You shake your head. “There was someone, years ago now, nothing serious, but it’s hard to hold onto something in this world when it’s constantly trying to rip you apart, right?”

Joel picks idly at the grass, wrenching blades from their roots with his gnarled, thick fingers. You watch him do it, remembering what those fingers felt like as they danced upon your skin in an era long since departed.

“D’you believe in fate?” Joel asks later as you’re both saddled back on the horses, and you're taken back by the question that is so out of character for him.

You recall a memory of you trying to convince him to have a tarot reading at a fairground, and him telling you in no uncertain terms that all that chick, crystal shit was bullshit. We make our own damn fate, darlin'.

You smile, as you can hear him now, echoing somewhere in the back of your head.

You ponder for a second and realise that in this world, a world that has taken so much, that fate and destiny still weave their magic realism through the murk and rot.

How else can you explain finding Joel again like this?

“Yeah. I do. Explains why we've found each other again, right?”

Joel nods back. “Would have found ya regardless.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” You scoff.

“‘Cause, you’re not somethin’ that's so easy to lose.” Joel states, carelessly throwing words at you again. “Broke my heart back then too.”

You stop riding as it sucker-punches you.

The mare slows down as you pull on the reins, and it takes him a few trots to realise you’re not following before he stops and turns back to you on his stallion with a blank face.

“I looked you up, you know?” You admit with watery eyes.

“Y'did?” He baulks.

“Yeah. Heard you’d relocated back to Austin. I drove for hours to your house one day. I… I wanted to knock on your door so fucking badly. Beg you to take me back. Tell you that you were right. That I was an idiot. But I couldn’t.”

You recall it in all its vivid, scaly form; gripping the steering wheel so tightly at the time, amping yourself up to knock and tell him you were an idiot, that you didn’t want the world if he wasn’t in it exploring it with you.

It had been a while since you’d walked away from him. Calling him immature, indecisive and holding you back. But seven years later and you were the one crawling back, trying to plug that gaping hole where you’d pushed him out of your life, and for what? Everything you’d left him for hadn’t been worth it.

It was all hollow somehow without him.

Your eyes focused on the muscular body that came out of the house that day. A late-twenties, early thirties-something Joel, with darker facial hair; a more stockier build. He'd filled out in all the right places. You'd reached for your car door latch with your blood thumping in your ears.

And then a small girl, with wild curls, followed out after him. Dancing around his legs with a lilac backpack as he loaded her up in the car after terrorising her with smooches as she squirmed away giggling.

Her laughter still haunts your blood.

Your heart had sank, drowning in your stomach acids and being burned up by them until there was nothing of it left. Joel was a father now and you couldn’t intrude on that.

How could you dare to try to invade his settled life and expect him to put you first? You were so fucking selfish.

You drove away that day, vowing not to look back as hot tears seared your cheeks as they fell in abundance. To let yourself move on. But you never really did. He was the one who got away.

Correction; the one who you stupidly let go of.

Joel’s mouth dips. “Wasn’t the right time.”

“No, it wasn’t. We had our time.” You tap the mare lightly with your heel and she trots forward. You wipe your eyes. discreetly, refusing to let him see. He can't know how it tore you to shreds to see that he’d moved on and was happy without you.

But it was your own doing.

“Maybe I should’ve fought harder to keep ya around. Perhaps if I had, things would've been different…” You hear Joel surmise into the air.

You shake your head. “No, the world was always going to end, Joel.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he gruffs.

“I know.” It’s bittersweet, but you know. Even if it lacerates you and leaves you bleeding, dying.

“But y’were happy, ya had a happy life, before all this?” He queries. Something shines inside his own eyes, something hopeful.

“As happy as it could be.” You confirm. You recall pockets of feeling content for a short time. But it never lasted. No-one could replace him, not really.

“Good. Y'deserved that.” Joel says.

“So did you.”

He was the one that you’d let slip away whilst you chased your own idle, selfish dreams. The one who haunted you throughout life. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he happy wherever he was?

Did he miss you like you missed him?

Joel Miller would have given you the world that you were so desperate for, but you never gave him the chance to. It only pained you now that it was too late. So much time and energy wasted for too long, and for what?

Now Joel was just another rupture in your life, a clot that would be your ultimate undoing.

He carries on trotting as do you, riding beside him as his broad shoulders obscure the sun that’s blinding you and suddenly burning you up, eviscerating your being.

“Fate knew somethin’ we didn't.” Joel mumbles.

You don’t say anything else.

You just ride, feeling more and more empty, as you and Joel both carry on forward in a silent agreement that fate, is indeed, a fucking cruel sadist.

To be continued...

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lxvvie · 2 months

Note

OKAY LEMME ELABORATE

‘Road, down these old dirt roads

How far does it go?.’ And

‘We've been at it all night long

At each other throats’

Reminds me of Simon when he comes back to fix his family… Tommy’s drug problems and obviously his shitty dad, it makes me visualise the fighting, the self righteousness of both Tommy and his father when they realise Simon isn’t there to play fiddle to their habits.

‘Lived a lot of life and my biggest mistake

Is leaving my town with a pretty lady

Shredded my heart like a day old paper

Ran me wild and drove me crazy’

Reminds me of when Simon realises he’s falling in love, the panic, the stress and frustration because when Simon falls it’s scary; it’s paralysing and when Ghost falls it’s carnal and borderline erratic, it’s a battle between two sides of him on who will be buried at the doorstep of your shared home and who’ll have the privilege of loving you.

‘Lived my life like it was one big Vegas’

The ‘big Vegas’ implies loneliness and isolation which Simon is used to, he’s used to the 5 minute highs and lifetimes of regret that come from hookups, drugs etc which is what Vegas is mostly associated with.

‘I pour my shame inside my cup and drink myself to sleep

If I make it through the night then it's a sweet dream

I got demons, devils calling me

Came out the gutter covered in dirt, got it all over me’

I feel like this speaks to Simon because of his past, the ptsd, the trauma from his father AND from being buried alive, from being in the 141 and from simply surviving takes a toll and sometimes it’s easier to sink into ghost than to be Simon, so much so that Ghost could be the ‘devil’ calling him in the sense that his persona tempts him to avoid and suppress things he so clearly needs to deal with and escape into somewhere where his past will never get him.

I'm sipping on whiskey, I'm feeling it now

Tell momma I'm sorry for letting her down

I feel like this is self explanatory 😭✋🏾 Simon misses his ma.

I hope this all made sense 😭

-drama nonnie

Fuck, this tugs at my heartstrings but let's talk about it, Drama Nonnie.

Simon who fuckin' loves you, shit that burns brighter than any resentment that he held for his family and the loneliness that came after their deaths.

Simon who is torn between wanting to be near you and wanting to stay the fuck away because what he feels is so consuming that he fears it'll consume you, too, even though that's what he wants. And he loses himself in the next best thing but what else does it do besides make him feel worse?

Simon who yearns for his mother and her guidance, a shining light so caught up in her husband’s and sons' misery, who made him swear once in a rare moment of defiance that he never do to his future spouse what his father did to them.

Simon who calls you once when the walls around his heart crack and crumble into tiny pieces, the loneliness prevails, and he sounds seven ways into hell and misery, and if you didn't know better, you'd think he was choked up the way he was talking. But fuck, maybe he is.

Simon who wants to hear you speak, wants to hear your voice, and he swears he could be a better man—a good man—for you.

Simon who thinks himself a coward, because no matter what he feels, he can't bring himself to tell you three simple yet painful words that sit on the tip of his tongue.

Simon who misses his mum, misses her wisdom and wonders what she thinks of her darling boy now.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern angstfare.#simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #x plus size reader #x poc reader #x black reader #task force 141

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moonlight-prose · 6 months

Text

EVERGREEN WASN'T SUCH A BAD DREAM

➝ A HURT DRABBLE

a/n: this first started out as a small idea jotted down in my notebook way back in august. i was trying to write hurt and it was being put on hold cause honestly i was scared to continue it. i didn't think i'd ever write it and honestly it didn't make much sense to me given the way the fic played out. but i couldn't get over the idea that these two got a little bit of joy in their lives. it's pre-chapter six so i hope y'all enjoy! divider by the incredibly talented @saradika.

summary: in the middle of destruction nature continues to follow the same path as before. starting with the first snowfall of the season. you just happen to be there to witness it with him.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, soft joel, cold weather antics, fluff, a tad bit of romance, angst, grief, talk of the future in a hopeless world.

SERIES MASTERLIST

A blanket of white covered the world, turning everything brighter. The sun reflected off the snow, practically sparkling. You heard the crunch beneath your boots—the sound familiar and inviting. It called to the small fractured piece of joy that still remained in your body; begged you to finally let go and have some fun. Even as the world went to shit, the first snowfall never failed to make you smile.

Your breath collected in the air in front of you. Showing you just how cold it really was. Which only made you smile more—your nose practically numb with the frigid air.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slipping on the heavy gloves that he found in an old shop a few towns back. “It’s too cold.”

You shrugged, taking in a deep breath that burned on its way in. ‘Yeah but…it snowed.”

His eyes narrowed at your overjoyous smile. “It’s a pain in the ass to travel through snow.”

That was true.

Yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset about such a beautiful thing. Snow has always been attuned to joy in your life. The start of fun spent outdoors with your brother. Hot drinks with friends as your university began to set up for the worst. And sure there were the annoyances and hardships that came with this weather. But you had always found that the positives far outweighed the negatives in this case.

Joel couldn’t necessarily say the same. A bitter feeling of grief began to build in his chest—Sarah’s face entering his mind. They spent holidays in the snow. Holed up in the house as they watched a movie—usually a Christmas movie with a predictable script—often inviting Tommy for the night. It was a time he’d give anything to return to.

The weight in his chest pressed down painfully—attempting to drag him down. Back into the darkness he was so used to residing in.

Except something bright broke through its walls. As if sunlight was once again shedding its light over him. Warmth consumed him; offering him hope with a soft press to the agony that splintered him half. Only when he tore himself out his mind did he realize what it was.

The sound of your laughter.

Small flakes began to fall from the sky, catching on his hair and jacket. They stung his face slightly. He couldn’t focus on that though. Not when you were smiling, your bare hands trying to catch each snowflake—your tongue sticking out. For the first time he saw a childlike wonder in your eyes. The cloud of grief he’d grown so accustomed to—now dissipated as you played in the snow.

“Havin’ fun?” he asked as his lips pulled up at one side.

You laughed again and Joel felt a bolt of lightning go through his heart. Even though it was freezing outside, that warmth spilled into his chest, spreading out to the tips of his fingers. He understood what love felt like. How it affected a person, but this…this was more. This was the missing emotion he thought he’d never see again in this lifetime.

“As a matter of fact—I am having fun.”

You stepped closer to him, letting your freezing nose press against the hollow of his throat. He jolted, eliciting another small giggle from your lips. But he refused to move. Simply shifting slightly to open his jacket in order to pull you closer until his body heat seeped into yours. He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you until your feet were pressed between his.

“Gonna get sick,” he muttered under his breath.

A puff of cold breath left you, caressing against his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “C’mon Joel, it’s fun.”

“Boston—”

“Don’t you remember fun?”

He stiffened, hands frozen on your back. Only this time you didn’t immediately apologize for possibly saying the wrong thing. You remained silent. Gave him a chance to process the pain that was no doubt overtaking his body, a grief you would never be able to understand. Each of you carried your own demons—dragged down by the weight of them daily, and only for a brief moment did you see him allow them to lift.

“I do,” he replied, his voice thick with torment.

You shut your eyes, ran your hands up his back and let out a breath. “Tell me about it.”

Tell me about your past. Tell me about her.

Joel rarely mentioned anything when it came to his past. That continued to be a locked door you held no key to and you accepted that. You took what you could with him. But standing there in the middle of a snowy serene winter, you finally wanted to see each broken part he hid from you. You wanted to watch the sunlight glint off them like glass and catch their beauty in the palm of your hands.

You wanted to know him.

“We’d celebrate Christmas,” he said softly, lips pressed to your hair. “Nothin’ fancy. Nothin’ big. But we’d get a tree.”

He never told you who Sarah was to him, never revealed what happened to her. You were just happy to finally hear about something joyous in his life. That once upon a time…he might have smiled. Hell he might have even laughed often. You could tell by the lines around his eyes, proof that this man had experienced more than just this.

“In Texas?” you pressed, face peeking up to see his gaze already on you.

He nodded. “My brother usually joined us.”

Surprise lingered in your body, but you pushed past it. “You never told me you had a brother.”

And there it was, that small hint of a smile showing through the heartbreak on his face. “Yeah…Tommy.”

You tried to conjure up a picture of the other Miller. Did he have brown eyes like Joel? Was he older or younger? Was he still alive? Something told you with the way Joel reacted simply by saying the man’s name, that he remained okay. That somewhere on this Earth he was alive. You wanted to ask more, see if he’d let you in on a life you were never meant to be a part of. But pressing Joel to do anything—especially talking about his past—was not something that would go over easily.

“Did you play in the snow?” you asked, a smirk pulled at your lips.

He sighed, glancing up at the sky, a soft red stain flushing across his face. “We did.”

“I knew it.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, fingers pinching at your hip. Only to feel his heart flutter at the echo of your laugh being pressed to his chest.

He swore his heart responded to the sound, twisting in a way that he didn’t know was possible. It wasn’t wracked with pain, it wasn't threatening to drown him beneath his grief. It simply just existed.

Perhaps that’s what he could do for this one moment.

Stand in the snow as a man, holding a woman he loved, and exist.

“Hey Texas.”

He ran a soothing hand up your back, fingers lightly tracing the hem of your jacket. “Hm?”

“Will you play in the snow with me?”

Something lit up his eyes, the brown suddenly a lighter gold that struck a chord in your heart. He played you like a fucking guitar and with that one look, you’d let him. Joel took a breath, mouth parting, and did the one thing you longed to see. He smiled. Nothing small or minor, but a full blown smile that made your heartbeat cease to exist. For the first time…he looked happy. As if the man from before had shoved his way forward to finally give you a proper look at who he once was.

At the man he longed to be again.

“Yeah Boston,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours. “I will.”

A laugh escaped your mouth when he shoved you back lightly, hands reaching for the freshly fallen snow on the ground. You did the same. Digging your fingers into the freezing icy ground, pulling up a small amount to make a ball. Only for Joel to throw one at you, hitting you square in the shoulder.

“I wasn’t ready!”

He chuckled, heading for you. “Move faster.”

“Ironic you’re telling me that.” He stuttered, eyes flashing dark at the memory of having you the day before, but that faded with another grin. One that taunted you with something more.

A promise of a life that could be.

His arm wrapped around your waist, the snow falling from your hands as he hauled you backwards. A yelp escaped your mouth when he fell, your body landing on top of his—snow sticking to his hair and yours. The sun still burned bright in the sky, flakes continued to rain down around you, but for this one single moment…you existed in a space that felt good.

That felt normal.

“We’ll have a tree,” you said softly, rolling over to lay beside him.

He turned to look at you, eyes tender. “A tree huh?”

You nodded. “One day.”

“Okay,” he murmured, hand cupping your cheek. “We’ll have a tree.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #my writing

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jjsmaybank20 · 1 year

Text

Watching You

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: your sons want to be just like you, so they copy your mannerisms as best they can.

Warnings: all fluffy family shit

Word Count: 1.4k

navigation marvel masterlist

---

You had just picked Tommy up from school, McDonald’s Happy Meals in the car ready for him. Billy was home sick with Wanda, so you were in charge of picking Tommy up. You buckled him in and got back in the driver's seat, chatting idly about his day with him as you drove him home.

You watched the 7-year-old scarf down his nuggets, knowing that he couldn’t have the toy till they were gone. You glance forward and a traffic light that had been green turned straight to red. You hit the brakes, making everything in the car pitch forward. You mumble curses under your breath, hoping that your son can’t hear you.

Tommy’s fries go flying towards the front, and his drink tips over into his lap. He looks down at his now soaking wet pants and says, “Shit!” You look at him, surprised and concerned, but he just grins right back at you. The light turns green again and you continue driving, still worried about where your son had learned that word.

“Hey, buddy. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” Tommy just smiles at you before saying, “I’ve been watching you, mama! I wanna be just like you. I’m gonna eat all my food, and grow as tall as you are. We both have Yankees baseball caps, and- and Lakers jerseys! We're just alike. I wanna do everything you do.”

You tear up slightly as you pull into the driveway of your house. “Yeah, buddy. We’re just alike. Now run inside and go check on your brother.” He nods and runs towards the front door, leaving you standing by the car, thinking over your life choices.

Wanda comes out and sees you with a slightly pained expression on your face. “What's up, babe?” You shake your head and pull your wife into a hug. “It’s just… Tommy said he wants to be just like me in the car. He also said shit, which he apparently learned from me. I’ve done so many awful things in my life, and I don’t want him to turn out the same way I did. Please Wanda, help me help my stupid self.”

She chuckles slightly, smiling up at you. “He said shit?” You groan and nod, looking up at the sky. “Yes! God, I need to stop cursing.” Wanda nods in agreement. Suddenly, your other son runs out the door and jumps into your arms. You let out a quiet ‘umph’, swinging him around as he giggles.

“Mama, mama! I feel so much better. Can we work on our project?” You hike him up in your arms, laughing at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course kiddo. Go grab the tools.” He drops from your hold and hits the ground running. You watch him take off before turning back to Wanda. She is looking at you with an indescribable look of love in her eyes. “You’re a wonderful influence on the boys, and the best mom and wife a woman could ask for. Now go build a treehouse with your son.”

You grin at her and you place a kiss on her lips before chasing after Billy. He had gone into the garage and brought out the toolbox that held all of the things you needed to put together the treehouse of his dreams. You make your way into the back yard, watching him get the drawing that he had made of what he wanted his fort to look like. You noticed that he had put on a baseball cap that you recognized, and as you came up behind him you asked, “Is that my hat?”

You watch his eyes go wide and he practically rips it off and holds it out towards you, muttering apologies profusely. You watch him panic for a second before letting a smile spread across your face. You reach out and push the hat into his chest, saying, “Keep it. It suits you. Looks better on you anyway.” He frowns slightly, answering, “But I wanted to look like you.” You can’t help but think about how much he sounds like Tommy in the car, and you pull him into your arms.

“Have you and your brother been conspiring together again? Y’all are saying the same shi-,” Billy gives you a stern look, and you fix your language. “Stuff. Stuff. And yeah, we look exactly the same. Guess who you got your ruggedly handsome looks from?” Billy pretends to think about it for a second before answering, “Mommy.” You gasp in offense and Billy takes off running while you chase after him.

When you catch him, you tickle his sides until he relents and wheezes, “Okay, okay, fine, I got it from you, Mama!” You nod, feeling accomplished. “That’s what I thought. Now go clean up, your mom will come after me if you track dirt through the house.”

---

Later that night, you sat yourself down between the two boys beds and turned on their Scooby-Doo night light that they had insisted you buy for them. It took you a couple of tries to get them to settle down, but you eventually tucked them both in. Almost immediately after the covers went over him, Tommy hopped out of bed much to your annoyance.

That annoyance quickly melted away as he shyly handed you a paper that he had just pulled from his backpack, murmuring, “I made this for you, Mama.” You glance down at it, not knowing what to expect. As you read further and further down the page, you couldn’t help the tears that formed in your eyes. Tommy looks at you worriedly, thinking that he had done something wrong to make you cry.

“It’s okay, Mama! Why are you sad?” You shake your head and wipe your eyes. “I’m not sad, buddy. These are happy tears. I love you both so much.” You glance at the paper, having to look at the sky so that you don’t start crying again. “God, you guys are both growing up so fast.”

Tommy wraps his little arms around you, and they are quickly joined by Billy’s. “You know, Mama, even when we’re big we’ll still know what to do, cause you taught us.” Tommy nods enthusiastically, adding, “You taught us to eat all our food so that we can grow as tall as you are, and if we work hard we can be just like you. When we’re all grown up, we’ll be able to do everything that you do.”

You give them a watery smile before sighing and concluding, “You two are already so much stronger than I’ll ever be. Your mom and I are so proud of you, and we are so lucky to have you as our kids.” You look at them lovingly before sitting them down on their individual beds and pushing their heads towards the pillows by their faces.

They giggle at you and you place kisses on their foreheads before turning their light out and exiting the room. As you make your way downstairs, you think over what your sons had told you. You find your wife in the kitchen making the two of you dinner.

You wrap your arms around her from behind, and almost instantly, she melts into them. You stick your face in her neck and place feather-light kisses on it. Wanda sighs shakily, trying to stay focused on the food so that it doesn’t burn. You pull away slightly, before randomly saying, “You know, both boys want to be like me. How much do you wanna bet Billy will turn out like you?” Wanda laughs, and the sound makes your heart flutter and creates a giddy feeling in your stomach. She turns around in your arms and wraps her arms around your neck. “I don’t doubt it. Tommy definitely shares your personality more.” You chuckle and lean in to press a kiss to her lips.

She chases after you when you pull away, and you almost let her suck you back in, but then you smell a burning scent. You look behind her, seeing the food is burnt to a crisp. You move quickly to turn off the burner, and Wanda looks at the stove apprehensively.

You glance at her before asking, “Pizza?” She nods and smiles at you before going to order it. As you watch her go, it hits you that you finally have the family that you had always wanted, and you had it with a woman that you love more than anything in the world.

You couldn’t be more grateful for such a wonderful family, and you would love them until the day that you die.

—

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dandelionprints · 1 year

Text

How Tommy Would Show Affection ❤️‍🔥 - Tommy Shelby Headcannon

I’ve written some ways I think that Tommy would show you affection and idk I think they’re cute lol. Please don’t come at me if you don’t agree with them or think that they don’t relate to canon, this is a fun space for ideas and different opinions! I hope you enjoy💛

Warning: mentions of smut but no actual smut included

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

💘 kissing you on the forehead while you’re still asleep as he gets up to start the day

💘 telling you how beautiful you look, whether it’s when you’re fresh faced or dolled up, you always look perfect to him

💘 likes to have some form of touch on you whenever possible; holding your hand, an arm around your waist, a hand gently resting on your knee when sitting, an arm linked with yours

💘 getting out of the car first and coming round to open yours for you

💘 the same goes for doors in buildings, he’ll always open them for you to walk through first

💘 buying you things he thinks you’ll like, a new dress, jewellery, an item of furniture you’ve fallen in love with

💘 sex. Lots and lots of sex.

💘 passionate sex. Hand holding. Hungry kisses. Teasing. Making you wait until you simply can’t hang on any longer. Watching as your body quivers from the rush

💘 making time in his day, whether it’s for half an hour or hours on end, to spend with you

💘 wanting to know all your hopes and dreams and doing anything possible to make them happen

💘 protecting you at all costs. You come first before anything and anyone.

💘 telling you he loves you at the end of each phone call

💘 sending flowers to the house while he’s away on business, your favourite flowers in abundance

💘 making sure you always have some form of protection with you when you have to go out in public, whether that’s a gun or a blinder

💘 complimenting you when you’re all dressed up, but excited to take your clothes off at the end of the night

💘 cupping your face when he kisses you, tender and loving every time

💘 pulling you in tightly for a hug when you’re upset, wanting to comfort you

💘 buying you a filly, knowing how much you adore spending time outside riding through the fields with the wind rushing through your hair

💘 sitting on the sofa with you at the end of the day, pulling you into him so that your head rests in the crook of his neck

💘 making sure the maids have your favourite foods requested for the cooks at every meal

💘 always making sure you have a seat in the snug at The Garrison, he’ll stand if he has to, more often than not he’ll make John or Arthur stand instead

💘 drinks and cigarettes on demand, you never go without

💘 your needs come before his, always

💘 being the big spoon in bed

💘 he loves when you lay on his chest, circling the tips of your fingers on his skin. One arm draped around you.

💘 not feeling the need to always fill the silences between you, content in the moment

💘 taking you out to dinner at your favourite restaurant

💘 the simple, “I love you’s” as he kisses you in bed

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Tagged: @peakypoet @moral-terpitude @lyarr24 @cillmequick @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @alasya16 @tommystargirl @elenavampire21 @adaydreamaway08 @bluesongbird @zablife @cljordan-imperium @look-at-the-soul @rangerelik

MASTERLIST / TAG LIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby headcanon #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #cillian murphy

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look-at-the-soul · 11 months

Text

Peaky Blinders letter exchange

Arthur Shelby x Heaven

Letters master list

💌 So I’m beyond thrilled for this brilliant idea, @raincoffeeandfandoms thank you for creating this project I almost stick to the deadline… not going to lie it was quite a challenge since I’ve never wrote for other than Tommy, but just as in life, I’m always up for a challenge 😉

The first letter was written by @call-sign-shark as the OC, Heaven 🤍 I have to admit this letter made me dream about their encounter, the response as Arthur was written by me, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After S3c Heaven and Arthur live a peaceful and happy life in their house in the forrest and they are trying for a child. But when Arthur got the mafia’s black hand, he came back to Small Heath. At first he asked his wife not to come to protect her, but their love is so strong, so drug-like, that they kinda withered without each other. So she decides to join him no matter the danger of Changretta’s threats. Arthur receives the letter the day Tommy told him everyone should stick together for safety reasons.

*****

Mon amour, Bleak Winter and brass knuckles, My heart burns in the steel Of your saddened eyes. Night fell upon the city and I’m alone in our house, our big dog lying at my feet and flickering candle lights as sole company. As I watched the moonlight and stars, I felt the urge to write down these words for my heart aches with your absence. I know you asked me to stay away from Small Heath until things are better with Luca Changretta, but I’m becoming crazy between these walls. I can’t stand the idea of you risking your life and not being able to take you in my arms at night to give you comfort, nor to wash away the blood from your face and hands. Admittedly, it sounds like I am writing this in pure emotions and I am pretty sure that’s what Thomas will say, but I have thought the matters for nights and days before taking this decision: I am coming back to Small Heath, and we will fight as we have always done since we have met: together. As long as you’re with me, I know that nothing can happen — and if Death brings its cold and bony fingers around my neck, know that I’ll forever be by your side. But Arthur, I can’t go on without you. Each day without your presence is not worth living: I would rather hold your hand and bath in blood with you than being locked up away from you, safe but decaying. As I impatiently wait for our “retrouvailles” in three days, I keep brushing the golden ring your offered me with the tips of my fingers. Your gravel voice still echoes in my head, the words of your proposal bringing me comfort in my darkest and coldest nights. I remember how pained you looked when Tommy told us to wait for this gang war to be over before getting married but I think this is not a good idea. Quite the contrary, this is one rule we should disobey. Even in the midst of battle, I am ready to wear my white dress and deliver my vows, flowers crowns on my head and razor blade in my hand. If sky fall apart and hell breaks loose, at least we’ll leave this world as husband and wife — but don’t get me wrong, I am pretty sure no one will make you bow. Don’t forget that you’re a strong man. Stronger than you can imagine, stronger than everyone thinks. I believe in you, and always will. In the meantime, keep me in your heart and I promise I’ll soon be in your arms, Forever yours, Your angel Heaven.

My dear Heaven,

There’s no more room for sadness for me since the day you walked into my life. Last night I had a dream, it was already dark and I was sitting alone, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere and everything changed; it was a sunny day and we were walking hand in hand around the forest that surrounds our home. I just wish it could be true and you could be by my side, you can’t even imagine how much I dream of you…. Finding your letter early today gave me peace, but the day has been a fucking nightmare and I just got the chance to answer your words in the middle of the night. How I wish it was me lying next to you, feeling your warm body calming my busy mind. Don’t let out dog get used to it, though as I intend to take my spot back once this war is over. If only you knew how much your love means to me… you saved me from the darkness. It’s been lonely nights without you darling, but the sacrifice will be worth it, we will be able to go back to our routine and start the family your heart desires, but your love is giving me the strength I need at this moment, that’s what keeps me going. I need you to stay away from this mess, that’s the only way I have to protect you. Oh no, you bloody what?! Heaven, love that’s the craziest idea, I miss you so much yes, but there’s no way I can put you in danger, Small Heath isn’t a good idea right now… and please don’t even think about it, I’d never let anything bad happen to you. But as I know, once you make a decision there’s no way to convince you otherwise, so just let me make adjustments and prepare the way you’ll get in so it’s the safest, at least give me that peace eh? I cannot wait until we get married, but again if you already decided you don’t want to wait, we’ll do it right away. You’ll be the prettiest bride, you’ll look like an angel…and later after all of this passes we’ll have a bloody big celebration. Don’t worry about Tommy, he’ll understand. Your words mean so much, I treasure it so close to me heart my dear. I’m looking forward to our “retrouvailles”. I just know having you close will give me peace. Always in my head and heart soon to be Heaven Shelby. Always yours, AS.

****

Tag list:

@runnning-outof-time @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @raincoffeeandfandoms @there-goes-thefighter @dandelionprints @zablife @cljordan-imperium

I don’t know if you read for Arthur, if not that’s okay!

@lyarr24 @esposadomd @elenavampire21 @stevie75 @babaohhhriley @fastfan @forgottenpeakywriter @mrkdvidal1989 @shaddixlife @moral-terpitude @pono-pura-vida @ange-thoughts @onlydeadcells @lespendy @sloanexx

#that’s what Cill said #arthur Shelby #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby x oc

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howaboutcastiel · 11 months

Text

That Good Old Way

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Picking up right where The Robe and Crown left off, Joel has decided to stay with you.

Words: 4100

Content Warning: hurt/comfort, non-sexual touching, wound tending, talking about trauma and trauma responses. Joel is concussed. Religious talk, no smut this time (but stay tuned?)

~~•~~

Joel crumpled the note on the table before throwing it in the fire.

No one needed to read it. Now that things were sorted out, Joel didn’t need to explain himself to anyone. And it was an odd feeling—expecting to die, or to run away at the very least, and seeing nothing change in the end. He felt at peace about it, the same way he had felt at peace about whatever else could have happened when he entered your room. It seemed silly in hindsight, Joel expecting you to take a stab at him, but he had been ready for it.

Now, he didn’t know if he was ready for anything that was coming next.

You were in the shower now, and the rest of the household was finally starting to stir now that the sun was firmly above the horizon. Joel couldn’t be sure that anyone had slept last night at all. He knew that he hadn’t. After all, a member of his raiding party had just been brutally murdered in front of all of you. Colin had bonded with Tommy and the lovebirds over the last few months, and his death was sure to leave a hole. At the very least, it was sure to leave the group in shock for a couple of days.

It was hard to say how they felt about Joel now. They had seen him do plenty of brutal things. Hell, Joel had woken Tommy up from dozens of nightmares just to find that Joel was the big bad monster that was chasing him in his dreams. Joel knew he was scary and, usually, he liked that fact. He wanted to be intimidating—he wanted to run off any potential danger that might come to him or his brother, or the young couple he’d also come to consider his family. Joel was satisfied with the way he instilled fear in those around him. It grounded him. It gave him hope of somehow holding everyone together for just a little while longer. Now that he had killed one of their own, Joel was sure the fear would only expand. It wouldn’t bother him so much, except for the fact that he was scaring you, too.

In just two days, you’d managed to make Joel question everything about himself, mostly because you were so different from everything he was used to. He hadn’t figured out much about you—two days wasn’t enough time for that—but he knew that you were unlike anyone he’d met in his life. Joel also knew that you were scared as hell. Scared of lots of things, some he knew about and some he didn’t. He suspected he had only seen the tip of the iceberg, but Joel knew at least that on the long list of things you feared, he was close to the top.

You told him you weren’t scared of him, but he didn’t believe it for a second. Maybe you weren’t scared for the reasons he thought you should be, but Joel could plainly see that he terrified you. For whatever reason, you were putty in his hands. Desperate to please him, and utterly paralyzed by the mere thought of his disappointment. It wasn’t like the fear was new to Joel, but for some reason, he wanted to make you less afraid.

He hated that you were scared. Joel hadn’t cared about a single person’s feelings but his own in almost four years, and yet he was desperate to make all your fear go away. He didn’t understand it—he’d only just met you. Joel had no reason to give a damn about you at all, and every logical thought in his head only reinforced the idea that he shouldn’t, but Joel couldn’t help himself. If you were upset, then he was upset.

He didn’t know how it had happened, but Joel had found some sort of renewed purpose in protecting you. I’m keeping you safe, and even in helping you heal. Joel found himself wanting you to be happy.

Joel knew he was crazy. He must be crazy, right? This whole thing was crazy, but he didn’t really care. He had some kind of goal in his head that mattered. Something that mattered, for the first time in years. If it meant he’d gone crazy, then so fucking be it, but Joel was going to learn what made you tick. He was going to rid the world of every little thing that had ever hurt you before. He was going to clear the way for you to do whatever you pleased in life.

The sound of the water shutting off drew him out of his head. Joel realized he’d been staring at his mug of coffee for almost ten minutes. He hadn’t so much as blinked, judging by the dryness in his eyes.

Maybe he did have a concussion.

After the fight last night, a quick once-over from Isabelle had alerted Joel to his bruised ribs and his probable head trauma. It was the last thing he was worried about, though. He had just killed a man. A man that, until about a half-hour previous, Joel had considered to be one of his best friends. Now, Joel couldn’t bother to mourn the bastard, nor could he regret cracking his head apart on the kitchen counter. Colin wasn’t a friend, he was a predator. And not the kind of predator that Joel was, not a wild animal desperate to survive. Colin was the kind of man that Joel knew all too well—a man’s man who took whatever he pleased no matter who it hurt, and who had no doubt been shielded from consequence by the other sleazy men in his life. Colin had wanted to take from you.

He hadn’t cared if he hurt you in the process, Colin wanted to have you. Joel couldn’t let that happen, and he didn’t let it happen, and now the bastard was dead. Joel had no room for any emotion but relief. He sure as hell wouldn’t mourn him. Maybe the others would. Maybe not.

If he didn’t concentrate, Joel’s coffee was going to get cold.

He definitely had a concussion.

Joel started to sip from his mug slowly, thankful to be drinking something other than iodized creek water for a change. He always preferred his coffee black anyway, but now it somehow tasted even better. He thought maybe Isabelle was right. It was the little things, wasn’t it?

The bathroom door crept open and Joel turned to face you.

“Could you help me?” Your expression was shy, and Joel nodded before you could even explain what you needed. Your towel was wrapped around your chest. “Isabelle says I need to keep these bandages on unless I want to scar. Well, I had no problem unwrapping them, but…”

“You need me to change ‘em for you,” Joel finished. That would certainly be better than staring at his coffee for the rest of the morning.

You nodded meekly. “Yes, please.”

“You don’t want to wait for Isabelle to wake up? Or Mateo? They got all the medical training and such.”

In response, you brandished a lopsided smile that made his heart jump. You shook your head. “I can’t put my clothes back on until they’re bandaged. But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

He shook his head. “It’s no problem, sweetheart.”

When Joel lowered his mug to the table again, his hands were shaking. He stepped forward into the bathroom and the tension in your shoulders dropped a little. You knelt on the floor in front of him, and Joel’s heart skipped several beats before he realized you wanted him to sit on the toilet seat behind you for better access to your wounds. He sputtered out a quiet breath and settled there, parting his knees to make room for you between them. You rearranged your towel to expose your shoulder blades and keep the rest of you covered.

“They don’t look as bad as I thought,” Joel muttered, mostly to himself. While your back was covered in welts, bruises and thin lines of broken skin, you were in relatively good shape after the beating you’d received. He could recall the sound of the whip against your back—the reverend hadn’t been remotely gentle. It was a good thing the man was old and sickly, then, as even his best attempts at damaging your skin had little lasting effect. Joel grabbed the antibiotic cream from the medical bag on the vanity.

“I know. I'm thankful.” Despite your words, your voice was hollow. Joel’s best guess as to why was that the words were a routine to you, like a mantra. He sure as hell didn’t see much for you to be thankful for around here.

He pressed the antibiotic tube until an inch of gel slid onto his fingers. The feeling of it on his hands brought him back to a place he couldn’t recall. Usually, it was the lovebirds handling injuries like this. You shivered when his fingers grazed your back. Joel worked the ointment into the broken skin, careful not to put too much pressure on any sensitive places. Judging by the black and blue across your back, it was all sensitive. He hadn’t seen your bare skin since the first moments he’d met you and, even then, he had tried not to ogle.

“This something they do to you often?” Joel’s voice rang in his ears when he asked the question, and your spine tugged underneath him as it made you tense up. Heat flooded across his face. He knew he shouldn’t have asked such a prying question, but he couldn’t help himself. Joel backtracked to ease the tension. “It’s just that, some of these marks aren’t fresh ones. And I noticed… how you didn’t fight ‘em at the chapel. Seems it wasn’t your first run-in with it.”

“It wasn’t,” you confirmed with discomfort in your voice. Joel moved to wipe the remnants of the cream from his hands, surveying the bandages in the pack for what would fit you best. “It used to happen a lot more often, you know? Right when I got to their camp. It wasn’t that I liked to rebel or anything, I just had a hard time with directions.”

Joel nodded before realizing you couldn’t see it. He cleared his throat. “I don’t much like followin’ directions. Never put much thought to whether I’m good at it or not.”

His hands returned to your back and the both of you shuddered as Joel took his time exploring your skin with the pads of his fingers. You didn’t lean to or away from the touch, but he noticed tiny bumps appear on your arms in response.

“Seems you’re the one giving orders around here anyway,” you observed. Joel would have cracked a smile normally, or even laughed, but he only felt himself blushing again. His heart was heavy in his chest.

“I just want to make sure we all stay alive.”

Again, you flinched at the defensiveness of his tone. Joel moved a hand to your shoulder, hoping the weight would be reassuring. He pulled a bandage from the pack and broke the wrapper with his teeth.

“I’m better at listening now,” you whispered. He wished he could see the expression on your face. Joel hoped he was misunderstanding your sentiment. “When I can help it, I mean. I can follow directions. Whatever you need.”

“I don’t need a damn thing,” Joel heard himself insist. He tried to lighten his tone. “Except for these lashes to heal up right. Almost done with the bandaging now, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

Joel pressed a little too hard against the worst of the welts and you hissed at the contact. He muttered an apology, and you an ‘it’s alright,’ and Joel felt that burning feeling in his throat again.

“I still don’t understand how this was meant to be your fault.”

This, of course, referring to the reason you’d been whipped in the first place. From Joel’s understanding, your husband had been trying to get you pregnant for some amount of time, but to no avail. That’s why you had been at the altar when he and Tommy went to raid your village. You were receiving retribution, Joel remembered him saying. The man had hoped that the beating would somehow change things, so you could give him a child.

“‘Give me children or else I die’,” you droned as an answer. It was Joel’s turn to tense up, and you could feel the way his hands had frozen against your back. “It’s not exactly the way that the story goes, but Rachel said that to Jacob at some point or another. She was infertile.”

Joel didn’t know exactly what he was meant to say. “Who’s Rachel?”

You laughed. Actually, really laughed. Joel’s whole body went hot. “You know, like the one from the Bible? It’s the story about the handmaid.”

“I’m not big on reading,” He managed to choke out. You sighed as he zipped the pack closed.

“Yeah, well, the village didn’t exactly have an abundance of women. There wasn’t a Bilhah for him to go have his way with. All the other girls my age are already bearing children for their husbands.”

He was taken aback by your explanation, but Joel was also just plainly taken aback. You hadn’t spoken more than a sentence or two at a time to him since you’d arrived here. And he had certainly never heard you laugh before.

Joel felt the bile in his throat. “What if it was him that was fallin’ short, though? What if he was the one that should’ve been beaten?”

You turned to look at Joel. He dropped his hands to his lap, giving you space to move. Your smile dropped.

“I know it wasn’t him.”

He could feel that the conversation was at its end then. Joel helped you to your feet and exited the bathroom to let you get dressed in privacy.

~~•~~

For someone who had plans to be a doctor, Isabelle didn’t much like playing nurse. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mateo and Joel to get better, and not that she minded tending to their wounds and checking their vitals. Iz didn’t know how to play house, exactly. She wasn’t keen on waiting on her husband hand and foot, and certainly didn’t have the patience to stay at Joel’s side and assure he could stay awake while the worst of his concussion symptoms ran their course.

And to be fair, Joel wholly despised being down for the count. He wasn’t allowed to do much of anything, really, but he wasn’t allowed to sleep much either. There was ringing in his ears still, but that didn’t much bother him now. He’d had tinnitus for months after outbreak day, and this was nothing in comparison. Joel knew his reflexes were shot for the time being, as was his balance and memory. It made him feel sick to think that he would have to be dependent on his party for a little while, but he knew if he tried to take charge now he’d only be putting you all in more danger.

Isabelle and Tommy traded a lot of the heavy lifting. Cutting firewood, hunting deer and rabbits, and keeping watch was what they handled the most of. They never ventured more than a few miles, even as the need for more supplies started to grow closer. Every twelve or so hours, Iz would check up on the injured members of the group. Your back was healing up quickly, except for the gash at your shoulder blades that you kept reopening by moving too much. Before long you were picking up your fair share of duties, too.

It wasn’t surprising that you could cut firewood with ease, but that didn’t stop them all from ogling you anyway. You just seemed so meek, even with your strong frame. The mental whiplash of watching you chop log after log with no hesitation was wild for them. Beyond that, though, you mostly stayed inside the house. You helped Matt get around on his busted leg and sat with Joel at odd hours of the day when he would get confused or have a dizzy spell. And, of course, every night you made dinner. The five of you ate at the dining table each evening at dusk.

For three weeks, that’s how things went. You regained your ability to lay on your back, and Mateo quickly found it bearable again to put weight on his leg. Joel wasn’t as quick to recover, though, much to the worry of all of you. He would act like his normal self for hours at a time, then episodes of weakness and disorientation would hit at random.

“I just need a minute,” he argued after nearly falling face first into the lit fireplace. Tommy managed to pull him backwards before he could burn himself, but Joel hadn’t allowed anyone to help him up off the floor. “Don’t want you all coddlin’ me anymore. I can do things myself.”

“You can’t even walk in a straight line,” Mateo scolded.

Isabelle was less accusatory. “Some people take longer than others to heal from concussions. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep pushing so hard.”

“It’s okay to rest, Joel,” you tried to remind him.

“I’m fine,” Joel insisted.

“You’re not fine,” Tommy countered. He rolled his eyes. “But you are fuckin’ stubborn.”

Joel rested his head against the wall, looking annoyed with himself.

Then Iz put on her physician voice. “You need to eat something soon. Not too sugary or greasy. Don’t do anything strenuous for a few hours, and don’t try to go up or down stairs until the dizziness has passed completely. You understand?”

He made a dissatisfied grunt.

“Joel?” She tried again in what was closer to a mom voice.

Finally, he gave in. “Whatever you say, doc.”

Matt and Isabelle left from there to go tend to the horses. Tommy rolled his eyes again, then nodded at you before finding something else to do. You lingered nearby while Joel stayed in his place on the floor, panting quietly.

You didn’t dare offer him your help. Tommy was right—he was stubborn as hell, and he would only refuse it. If he tried to get up on his own and he stumbled, you’d be there to catch him, but you only waited until then. His eyes kept flicking up to you, and you only half-smiled reassuringly when they lingered.

Finally, it was Joel who broke the silence.

“Never taken this long before to get over a concussion.” His voice was resigned, like he was somehow failing himself and his party. “I didn’t even hit my head that hard. Don’t know why it’s takin’ so long to heal up.”

You hoped a joke might help to ease him. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”

He chuckled, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

There was a beat of silence. Joel tried to push himself up, but his backside didn’t make it more than an inch off the ground before he gave up. He brought his hands up to his face with a sigh.

“How old are you anyway?” He raised his eyebrows at the soft timbre of your voice.

Joel swallowed a breath. “Not as old as I probably look.”

“You don’t look old,” you countered. He grimaced when you added, “Just tired.”

“Just tired,” he repeated.

Joel let out another heavy sigh.

“‘M thirty-nine.”

For whatever reason, you seemed discontent with the answer he gave you. He shook his head, rolling onto his knees to hopefully push himself to his feet. It was shaky and slow, but it worked. Joel swayed as he gripped the wall for balance. Stars and black splotches danced in his vision.

You moved to support the weight that he couldn’t, your hand under his arm. When he steadied, Joel looked up to see a shy grin on your face.

You scoffed. “Guess that’s it, then. You’re old and tired.”

“It feels like it,” he laughed breathily.

You helped him into the La-Z-boy. Joel still hadn’t managed to catch his breath and he threw his head back into the recliner like he’d just run a marathon. He nodded at you in place of a ‘thank you.’

When you walked away after patting his shoulder, Joel couldn’t help the way his breath caught and his heart leapt in his chest. “You heading out?”

“I’m not,” you hummed. He let go of his breath. “Just getting you something to eat, like Isabelle said.”

Joel huffed, craning his neck to watch you in the kitchen. “You don’t have to do that. “

You smiled a wry, cheeky smile.

“Yes I do,” you insisted. “Doctor’s orders.”

By now there were fresh herbs and picked fruits stocked in the refrigerator. You’d planted radishes and wild grains in the back lot, and even managed to harvest sap from walnut trees nearby. Nothing too sugary or greasy, you recalled the directions. That didn’t leave many options, but you managed to find a can of chili in the stack of shelf goods that would do the trick. Both you and Joel winced at the sound as you used a spoon to scrape it into a bowl.

Not that you couldn’t make a meal on the fire, or even on the stove, but you were grateful that Tommy had managed to fix the microwave.

You pressed the button and watched it spin. The water filtration system wasn’t the grandest, but none of you had managed to get sick from the tap water yet, so you grabbed a tall glass from the cabinet and pulled some ice from the tray in the freezer. You let the tap run until the stream was clear, then the microwave had beeped that it was done by the time the glass was full.

You folded a fork in a napkin and headed toward Joel.

“Mm, thank you, chef.” His voice was high and soft. Joel tended to be in a better mood after coming down from his disoriented spells, like the drop in energy and strength had taken his anger with it. His eyes were bright and wide as you carefully transferred the bowl to his hands. You balanced the glass of water on the coffee table and took a seat across from him.

“Don’t eat it too fast,” you warned as he dug in. He raised an eyebrow at you, deliberately slowing his hand in dramatic fashion. When you rolled your eyes, his lips stretched around the fork into a smile. “Food’s no good if you choke and die.”

“It’d be a damn good last meal, though.” He swallowed over a bite. One corner of his mouth pulled up to reveal a dimple. “You wouldn’t let me choke to death, would ya? You’d save me. Right, sweetheart?”

You huffed. “I’d try. I don’t know the Heimlich, though, so I couldn’t guarantee you’d make it out.”

“Just punch me in the stomach and we’ll hope for the best.” Joel instructed dismissively. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Both of you laughed, his more absent-headed and yours slightly shocked.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

He took another few bites of his food. You watched as it warmed him from the inside, steadying him and softening him. Joel’s makeshift meal brought him back to himself, clearing his head for him.

“Thank you,” he said after a beat.

You lifted your eyes. “You already thanked me for the food, Joel.”

“For everything,” he shook his head. “Thank you for takin’ care of me. You really don’t have to do it.”

“Of course I do,” you countered.

He frowned. “I mean it. I don’t want you feelin’ obligated to wait on me.”

The two of you stared at each other for a second. You weighed your words carefully to not make them dismissive.

“I don’t feel obligated. I feel motivated.” Your tone was serious, but he let a soft laugh.

Joel scoffed. “That sounds very poetic.”

“I mean it,” you insisted. His grin dropped from his face. “It makes me feel good to do things for you. Not because I have to.”

He took another bite of food, unable to think up a response.

You let the silence drag on before adding a point.

“Unless you don’t like my help? I can let you do it yourself.”

He missed the humor in your tone. Joel shook his head, eyes widening. You almost wanted to laugh at his misunderstanding, but then he muttered and your breath came to a stop.

“I would do the same thing for you in a heartbeat.”

~~•~~

Next Chapter

@frogers @daughterofthequeen @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @rmoonstoner @theaussiedragon @romanarose

#Joel Miller #the last of us #the robe and crown #masterlist #joel Miller x reader #joel tlou #tlou hbo

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fandom-blackhole · 2 years

Text

Northern Attitude

AN: Hannah writing?? Hell honestly must have frozen over for this to have happened, which I can neither confirm nor deny. This was supposed to be done sooner but well you're all getting it now, a gift from me on my bday. I will not make any promises for the future, but I hope my writing stump has passed. I hope you enjoy this and are as excited as me for the HBO show! As always all REBLOGS and COMMENTS are super appreciated!!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no Y/N, no physical description, does have a nickname)

Rating: Mature 16+

Words: 11k

Summary: Joel has always been a pain in your side since he moved into Jackson. The two of you butt heads often and avoid each other the best you can, but what happens on a patrol during a snowstorm may lead to some realizations. Reader's backstory inspired by Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan

Warnings: reader is really snippy towards Joel, foul language, canon typical violence (can be disturbing for some readers so feel free to message me for more descriptive warning), reader has nightmares, descriptive headache pain, Joel and reader get snowed in for a bit, no sexual content rating purely for violence, reader has no described gender but does have mention of a past family (as always, I'm sure I missed something so feel free to tall me so I can add it)

Fear.

Panic.

Running.

Lungs burning.

Trembling.

Heart ache.

Adrenaline.

Panic.

Cold.

.--. .- -. .. -.-.

Gasping, you bolt upwards. Bed, you’re just in bed, it was only a dream. You stare at your ceiling for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm your still racing heart, before letting out a deep sigh. Closing your eyes once more as you rub your forehead feeling the aches of a headache coming on, sighing out to no one but yourself, “It’s going to storm today.”

You only allow yourself a few more seconds to sit there quietly before pulling away the thick covers, allowing the chill of the air to settle across your tired body despite the darkness still enveloping the outside world. You don’t linger in your bedroom long, just staying long enough to pull on your warmest clothes, making sure to put on multiple layers for what is to be a bitter and biting day, making sure to finish off with the thick knitted sweater you loved so much, the cream color of it long faded and stained brown for reasons you’d rather not think of at the moment, but the wornness always bringing you comfort.

Leaving your room, you find that the rest of your little home feels just as suffocating as your bedroom. Unable to take the suffocation, feeling the clawed hands of the need to scream grip your throat, you turn to your door making quick work of lacing up your boots and pulling on your coat before pulling your door open and leaving your home. You don’t think, just walk, allowing the cold to numb both your body and mind as you trekked your way through Jackson, watching as the sun slowly crept over the horizon, grazing the tips of the houses in gold.

Once it was light enough out you steer your feet towards Tommy’s office, or what he liked to call his office even though everyone in town knew it to be Maria’s, his wife’s office. You figured it’d be nice to get your patrol assignment early enough to be able to get through the path with you whoever your partner was in time to beat the storm that you could now see making its way towards the town, hoping to whatever cruel god out there that you weren’t up to do the Haywood patrol because it was certain that the poor bastards on that path, the longest of the patrols, were going to by caught in the storm.

When you finally made it to the building you weren’t at all surprised to find yourself to be the first one there, so you just sighed and let yourself lean against the cold brick of the wall beside the door. Closing your eyes, you take in a lung full of the cold air, feeling it burn your throat in a way that you have long since found comforting. What comforts you most though is the fact that your brain is too tired from your tossing and turning all night, so you don’t have to deal with the thoughts that you usually find rattling around, instead you find silence, of which allows you to enjoy listening to the birds slowly wake, enjoying their sweet songs.

You’re not sure how long you stand there for, but eventually you hear someone clear their throat. Opening your eyes slowly, you find Tommy standing beside you, opening the door with a smile on his face.

“You gotta stop showin’ up here before me, North. Maria’s gonna notice one of these days and give you my job,” he says as he lets you walk in first. You shake your head and roll your eyes, even though your back is to him, and he can’t see, before plopping down in the metal chair you’d long since dragged to the corner of the room.

“Maybe she should, bet it’d be good for you to be placed on patrols for a while, humble you up just a bit.”

You smirked as Tommy laughed and looked up from the desk he was now behind, sorting through papers, before picking one up, saying, “Hey now, I do patrols about once a month, usually with you. So, keep your voice down before the walls get any ideas.”

That makes you laugh, a smile forming on your lips. Tommy’s incessant jokes that Maria always seemed to hear things through the walls always got to you. You find yourself envious of their relationship sometimes as it reminded you of a simpler time. You looked back to Tommy after a second of looking around, asking, “Can I see the patrol list today? Woke up feeling a storm coming on and I’d rather get an early start.”

You watch Tommy’s eyes flicker over to you for just and second, his jaw clenching and a look of hesitation crossing his features just briefly enough for you to catch it before he cleared his throat, making his face neutral, faking a quirk of his lips before looking over to you fully as he sat down behind the desk. In his hands, the paper he was holding now folded over as if you could some how see behind him, as he met your eyes, making his tone light as he said, “That so? Well let’s hope that storm isn’t too bad, rather not have to go searchin’ for anyone once the storm clears.”

You make sure not to break eye contact feeling lightness in your attitude drop, knowing that Tommy caught your change in demeanor as your eyes harden against his gaze. He was avoiding your question, trying to hide something from you.

Leaning forward in your chair you patiently call his name, to which he only responded by breaking the eye contact, looking back down at the desk, and busying himself with the papers in front of him. You let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl while rubbing your forehead, this morning’s headache back to taunt you. You find your patience thin already.

“You might as well as rip the bandaid off because I’m too tired to be playing games right now, Tommy.”

You look back up as Tommy sighs and leans back in the chair, giving up on his attempt to seem busy. He doesn’t fully look at you as he finally says, “You’ve been assigned Haywood today. Last week’s patrol of the area reported sounds of infected, but they couldn’t pinpoint the location and you know that path well, I figured you’d be the best to track them down an’ flush ‘em out.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you sigh and nod. He unfortunately had a point, as much as you hated it.

“Ok, ok so I’ve got Haywood. There’s no way I’m doing that patrol on top of tracking down some infected and still be able to make it back before that storm gets here. Depending on where the infected are and how long it takes to get to them, I should be able to hole up in either the old mortuary or that college dorm check-in point on the trail.”

Tommy nodded, interlocking his fingers, resting them on his stomach. It’s quiet in the room as you start building up a plan, figuring what building or areas would need to be checked, making sure to plan a path that intersects all of the check-in points so you could sign the books, but you find yourself pausing brows still furrowed in thought as you ask, “Who’s the unlucky person I’m partnering with today?”

You find yourself met with silence once again, so you repeat yourself again, thinking you may have just mumbled the question before, to caught up in thought to notice, but as you focus on Tommy once more you find him avoiding your eyes once more.

“Tommy Nathaniel Miller, who. is. my. partner?”

“First, my middle name is not Nathaniel. Second…… Joel was assigned to be your partner,” you find yourself clenching your jaw, getting readying to say something, when Tommy jumps back in, his voice calm, “Maria and I decided that you’d both be the best for the job. We really need those infected taken care of before winter truly sets in.”

You shook your head the entire time he spoke, standing up, a scowl etched deep onto your face now. You start stomping over to the door, but Tommy calls out your name, rushing out, “Where ‘re you goin’, North?”

Whipping around, you take a deep breath, glaring at him, before saying, “To get my horse and guns. If I want to get this patrol done, I am leaving now. Without your brother.”

Tommy says your name again, more exasperation in his tone this time as he walks around the desk, “Listen, between the two of you, you’ll be able to get it done the quicke-“

“No, I refuse. We both know I could do this patrol with my eyes closed. So, either I leave now, by myself, or I won’t be doing the patrol at all. Fuck it, I’ll quit patrols and go work with Shelia. She’s always trying to recruit people to help with all the kids.”

Tommy lets out a frustrated sigh, opening his mouth to retort when the door opens behind you and you see him deflate just a second before a feminine voice asks, “You spill the beans too soon?”

Tommy responds by rubbing a hand down his face as he leans back against the desk. Maria walks out from behind you and over to Tommy before turning to you. Maria has always been one to call the shots, and you’ve always listened because she’s always respected your boundaries, but in that moment, you level her with the same hard look you’d been giving Tommy, trying to make it clear that you were not budging. To which Maria in turn crosses her arms with a sigh, leveling you with a hard look of her own.

“Listen, just for this one time we need the two of you to do this. Think of it as a favor.”

“No, not happening.”

Tommy gave you a pleading look, “Please, North.”

Resisting the urge to slam your head against something, you closed your eyes taking a few deep breathes, telling yourself it’s too early in the morning to start yelling. So instead, when you opened your eyes, your piercing look still sharp, you replied, “I’m not even sure why the two of you are even trying. We all know he won’t agree to this either.”

Your words sat there for a second, enough that you think that they may bend, but you didn’t notice Maria’s gaze flicker behind you until after a gruff voice spoke up, “I already agreed.”

Looking over your shoulder, you’re met with Joel’s stoic, hazel gaze. You just roll your eyes and scoff. Looking back to Tommy and Maria, you straightened your back making sure to look them both in the eye before turning around and walking to the door, not bothering to even look at the older Miller sibling. Tommy started to call your name again, but you just interrupted him, saying without turning around, gripping the door handle, voice colder than the air outside, “You better be at the gate and ready when I get there or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

With that you walked out the door.

-. --- .-. - ....

Much to your chagrin, Joel had been at the front gate when you arrived not fifteen minutes after storming out of the office, and just from giving him a once over you could see that he had everything he needed and more. You had just walked past him with your horse as the boys on the wall opened the gate, you not even sparing a glance at Joel as you walked past him. The second you were clear of the wall, you pull yourself up onto your horse, not waiting for Joel, not caring if he was following you, as you steer your horse to start towards Haywood.

Things continued in silence for a while, Joel steering his horse to follow behind your own keeping a decent amount of distance between the two of you. For some reason, the silence felt both perfect and deafening. You didn’t care to make small talk- or any talk, really- with the man trailing after you, but the silence always seemed to echo around your tired skull, causing a deep aching across your forehead. Then again that was only when you didn’t already have pain rattling around in your head much like you did now. Instead, at this moment as you made your way through the trees, it felt like hot nails were being hammered into your head, creating and invisible crown that only you could feel.

You rubbed at your eyes as the pain blurred them slightly, wishing now more than ever that being able to have the luxury of a pharmacy was still an option, or better yet the luxury of being able to spend the day in bed, sleeping the pain away. But luxuries no longer existed and those who did take part in them found themselves not lasting long in this new way of life.

As you exited the cluster of trees, nearing the first checkpoint, you paused and looked at the sky. They were easy to spot, the dark encroaching clouds heavy and rolling with moisture, ready to let it drop and cover the earth in a soft, blinding white blanket. You let yourself pause for only a second more, watching the clouds darken a corner of the bright sky, letting yourself feel the wind whip and bite at your face. Then you pulled your horse to follow the short path to the old watch tower turned checkpoint.

Gently you slid from your mount, patting her side as you tied her up, humming gently as she nudged you. Smiling you rubbed the side of her face, before turning to walk up the stairs to the small lookout. The room really wasn’t much, though you suspect it never really was, its purpose to serve not really for comfort. There was a small cot in the corner that would barely fit one person, piled with a few spare blankets. Next to it, there was a desk holding the check in book where you walked over placing your own initials and a small note of no infected having been encountered.

After signing in, you turned to find Joel in the opposite corner of the small room, crouched and running his fingers along the tattered books taking up the small bookcases that sat along the wall, most of them sun faded, and weather beaten. You watched him for a moment, taking in the soft way his rough, calloused finger trailed along the fragile spines. Though you found yourself sighing and crossing your arms, turning to look out the window behind you as his gruff voice finally broke the silence, “So am I goin’ to be made privy to whatever plan you’ve cooked up, or am I jus’ supposed to follow your lead?”

You close your eyes for a second, closing them off from watching the dark swirling clouds, as you raised your left hand to rub against your temple. Sighing again, you turn and find that Joel had silently made his way across the tiny space towards you. Watching his face for a second before you look away, wincing just slightly at a sharp pain against your temple, deciding that you truly weren’t in the mood for hostility today.

“How well are you acquainted with Haywood?”

“Well enough to know where the check in’s are situated.”

Nodding, deciding that was a good enough answer, before turning to look out the window again, crossing arms, letting your hands cup your elbows. “Well, I hope you’re looking forward to coming to know this area on more personal terms. Tommy said that the last patrol could hear infected somewhere but couldn’t track them down. So, our priority is to find them and dispose of them, meaning we are veering off path. I was thinking of a zigzag pattern throughout the area, make it so that no stone will be left unturned or unchecked. That also means that our patrol is going to take nearly three times as long to complete.”

Swallowing, you turn to face him once more, catching his hazel eyes with your own hard gaze. Joel gave you a nod, a sign of approval. You didn’t need nor want the approval, knowing you were going to go about this your way no matter what anyway, but the sign of neutrality, of no anger or arguing was a bit relieving at that moment.

“We also aren’t going to be able to make our way back to Jackson before that storm hits, so just….be ready to have to hunker down until it passes. I have a few good safe spots that will be good to ride out a storm in, but if we can I’d prefer to be in that college dorm, one of the checkpoints on the patrol, or the mortuary as they have the most room for us both and room to bring the horses in with us.”

The old watch tower gave a clear view of the surrounding area, so you made sure to point out the places you mentioned as you spoke and noticing Joel’s gaze following along and nod when you finished. You kept your gaze on the small dorm building, the last of what once was a small community college still standing as you continued.

“With luck, we’ll find and clear out the reported infected before the storm and not have to search for them after everything settles and this will only take us two days at most.”

Joel let out a gruff hum at your words, “And without luck?”

You turned to him, face deadpan and tired and replied, “Well if we don’t find the infected before the storm that’ll add at least another half a day, and that’s given the storm lets up through the night,” pausing you turn towards the dark, foreboding clouds once more and finished, “But by the look of those clouds there is a strong chance we’re going to be huddled up somewhere for anywhere from a half a day to possibly three, its looking to be bigger than I first anticipated.”

With that said, you turned to leave the small watch tower, not waiting for Joel to reply, not that you were expecting him too anyway.

... - --- .-. –

The two of you managed to hit the second of the four check-in points around midday. In all honesty, you were content with your progress so far, having managed to cover about a fourth of the area already while keeping ahead of the storm just slightly, the skies yet to fully darken, only sitting at a dreary grey so far. You couldn’t be too happy with your progress so far however, because you both have yet to hear or find any traces of the reported infect and with the longer it was taking to find them, the more the encroaching storm was pressing against forward and making the headache you woke up with pound, your thoughts turning sluggish and warbled together.

Sliding from your horse you rub at your face with both hands- your fingers numb and stiff from the cold- and sighed before turning to your companion, none too thrilled to find his eyes already on you. Reaching out, you grab his horse’s reigns from his hand and motioned to the old stone house with your head.

“Go sign us in, I’ll take the horse around back to the pond. Give them a chance to get a drink.” Joel watched you for a second, his eyes in the moment felt like he was seeing through every mask and wall you’ve built, seeing you for you as he all too often seemed to do, and you hated it. So, you levelled him with an annoyed, cold look and snipped, “We don’t have all day if you would so kindly remember,” before tugging both horses away as you heard an unimpressed grunt and footsteps fading into the building.

Once in the old stone cottage’s backyard, you lead the horse to the small garden pond. Both thankfully taking the opportunity to drink, which you gladly followed suit with your own canteen while scanning the area. Things have been quiet so far, as they usually were on Haywood as there was almost never any activity in the area. The quiet on this patrol usually comforted you, allowed you a sense of reconnecting with nature without having to be on edge the entire time, bringing you a small amount of peace in a world with none left in it. However, knowing that there was something lurking in the quiet this time made it unsettling, tense as opposed to the comfort you’d become familiar with.

Watching the horses drink, you fiddled with the lid of your canteen, screwing it, and unscrewing it as you dredged through your thoughts trying to make a list of the most possible places the infected could be hiding. There was the old corner store towards the back of town, covered in brush and secluded away in such a way that many who patrolled Haywood either forgot to check it or didn’t bother to. Or the sun-bleached Lutheran church, the building rotting and unstable as the rains have rotted the wood and heavy snows have collapsed most of the roof, leaving behind an unstable steeple and a basement that has been almost entirely collapsed upon. The small-town museum was also an option, the building a few stories tall and full of pioneer artifacts that may have once been interesting but have long since lost value with everyone’s need for survival becoming more important. There was also a number of houses that would need to be searched, a small log cabin, a two-story brick house, the 4 still standing cookie cutter houses, the old six-bedroom bed and breakfast, the house turned apartments behind the post office, and so many other places.

Your fingers found themselves rubbing at your eyes attempting to clear the blurriness from your vision before pressing against your temples, eyes closed you tried focusing on the sound of the wind, the horses at the edge of the water, the slight rustle of the tall dried dead grass. Allowing yourself to focus on the soft, calm for only a moment.

“We don’t have all day if you would so kindly remember,” you heard your own words echoed back to you, huffed through Joel’s thick southern accent.

Clenching your jaw you turn your head to glance over your shoulder, more upset that he was able to sneak up on you rather than the fact that your few seconds of peace had been interrupted. You made sure to shoot him a glare before walking over to lead your horse back around the house, mumbling to yourself, honestly not caring if Joel heard you or not.

“For someone with a fat ass ego you sure are a sneaky fucker.”

A huff behind you told you that he had heard your comment, and as you swung yourself onto your saddle, you caught his reply, “I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve managed to spit in my direction, North.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it, South.”

-.-. .- .-.. –

The fucking daycare. Peeling, smiling and freckled yellow sun tormented you as your eyes stung, as your chest tightened, as red soaked the aged and mildew cover giant foam puzzle pieces, pooling around your boots as you just stared into the tacky sunglasses that fucking smiling sun was wearing. Your blood was rushing too loudly in your ears, adrenaline settling in your veins as you clenched and unclenched your jaw, your chest staggering with stunted breaths. Tracing the sun’s freckles you swallowed, willing moisture to return to your mouth and throat. Freckle, freckle, freckle, drip…... not freckles, there were no freckles only dark splatter. Blood splatter put there by your hands, hands that were still wet and slick, hands covered in thick blood yould feel, both present and long since washed away. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, it wasn’t fair, what had they done to deserve this?

You and Joel had been nearly to the third checkpoint, a small squatty building that’d been renovated into a diner, when the storm finally caught up to you. Large, fluffy snowflakes started falling, drifting softly on the wind, and finally, finally the thick pressure on your head started to lift, feeling almost clear headed for the first time that day. The sky had yet to fully darken, and the snow was floating to the ground almost lazily though, so the two of you continued to push ahead, intent on moving forward until forced to stop.

Ten minutes, ten short minutes from when it started snowing to when you first heard the first high pitched cry. It was still quiet enough that you pulled your horse to a stop, holding a hand up so that Joel would follow suit. The quiet echoed around you, birds already having taken shelter from the storm, the only sound was the wind and the horses’ breaths as white fluff collected on you both in your stillness. Just as you were about to shake it off as wind in the trees or some other bullshit you wouldn’t have fully believed, you heard it again. Turning to Joel to see if he heard it too, you found him pulling a revolver from his bag and leading his horse in the direction both cries had come from.

It took too long in your opinion to finally pinpoint where they were, the cries fading and quieting all too often, the sky continuously darkening and the temperature dropping each minute you continued this tiring and tense version of Marco Polo. Eventually you did figure out what building the sounds were coming from though. A sharp cry carried out the slightly ajar front door of the overgrown daycare as Joel and you turned the corner holding a crumbling building.

The two of you made quick work of jumping from your horses and tying them to trees sprouting from the broken concrete in front of the building. Cautiously you both in tandem approached the ajar door, crouching and listening carefully. Closing your eyes, you focus on your hearing, waiting with bated breath as you quietly heard one pair of feet shuffle then slowly another followed by a quieter shriek. Judging from the sound of the footsteps it seemed as if the infected, two or possibly three if one was holding still, were congregated in the back of the building together.

Opening your eyes, you looked to Joel and held up two fingers. In response he nodded, shuffling forward to press the door open wider to allow the two of you to creep in while still crouched. Luck was on your side for once as the door opened silently- a miracle considering the rusted state of the hinges- and the two of you split off after passing the front desk area, you taking the right as Joel took the left.

With the predicted amount of infected, you only pulled out your hunting knife, hoping to have the chance to do this quickly and quietly, both to conserve ammo and ever present need to stay quiet as possible and not draw any other possibly unwanted attention. You cleared two rooms quickly, both small and just full of old toys and colorful cubbies. Next was a kitchen and breakroom area which you paused in long enough to check the few drawers and cabinets, find a few rags and a pair of scissors which you stowed away in your bag. You paused once more to listen, still only managing to hear two pairs of quietly shuffling feet as well as Joel’s quieter sifting through rooms opposite to your own.

Quickly as you allowed, you moved on, watching as Joel slipped from one room to the next fluidly, gun raised in his hands as he ducked in. Two more rooms were left on your side, one large one left for Joel. Your next room looked a bit more aged up than the previous two rooms you’d been through. There was a bookshelf full of thin books, the walls had the alphabet and corresponding animals or items painted circling the room, one corner held play kitchen gear and an art easel, while the next held a stack of old cots, in the center of the room three longer tables sat pushed together in a U formation, and in the back of the room there was a door leading to an outside play ground so overgrown and fallen apart you weren’t sure you’d be able to tell the difference between what was once a slide or a see-saw. The room held nothing of value, so leaving you moved to the last and final room. The door to this room was in two parts, the top portion was open while the bottom was shut tight. As you approached you could hear that this is where the two infected had cornered themselves. They were quiet, feet shuffling lightly around the room. If you had to judge, you would guess that the two were in the latter half of the runner stage of being infected, the infection progressed into their dead rotting bodies so that they were slowed not as quick as freshly turned, but not having yet sat long enough for the cordyceps to take their sight and cause the ever-present clicking sound of the next stage of infection, clicker stage.

Not wanting to give away yourself as the two infected were both calm at that moment, you didn’t risk looking over the half door, simply turning the knob fully on the door, holding your breath as you heard both pairs of feet shuffle towards the back of the room, both sounding like they were headed to the same part of the room. Only then did you press the door open and made your way into the lion’s den. Right next to the door you found a wall of cubbies which you ducked behind, hoping that you could stay there long enough for one to wander your way and make it easier for you to sneak up on the second.

You got your wish after a few tense aching moments that felt like hours, clutching your knife tightly, ready to use it as the shuffle of feet came closer and closer to the door. Distinctly as you focused on the infected approaching your hiding spot, you hearded the other shuffle as well, but not close enough to stall your actions. Within seconds, the infected was within sight, acting quickly you lunged forward aiming for the twitching thing’s throat, realizing only as your knife sunk in and it dropped to the floor that it was small, too small. You didn’t get time to process though, as the sound of its fellow dead collapsing drew the attention of the second and last infected, its footsteps rushing towards you. Giving up you hiding spot, you jumped up, launching over the half wall of cubbies, meeting the second one have way as it turned to you, smaller than the first but teeth still bared in instinct and hate, leaving you to react much the same, driving your knife once more into its neck, effectively killing it as the tiny body dropped onto pieces of blue, yellow, and green foam.

You were frozen, eyes on the wall in front of you, watching a demeaning yellow fucking sun smile at you as all your eyes could really seen were small hate filled eyes, pig tails, a pink jacket with strawberry pockets, and blood, blood that you had spilt. Minutes or seconds, it had all only happened in the span of a few minutes or seconds, too quick, fight-or-flight and adrenaline took over your body trapping your slow to process brain behind a wall as survival instincts took over, watching your hands move of their own accord, not hesitating as your brain screamed to do too late and too muffled by the walls encasing it.

Minutes or seconds, maybe hours, you were too frozen to know, ears too full of ringing and the rush of blood to hear the footsteps, eyes too focused on the judging eyes hidden behind painted sunglasses to see the approaching figure. Only broken from your shock, thrust into the present like surfacing after jumping into deep waters, as a hand grasped your shoulder and turned you.

“-orth! North, come on, come back to the fucking present,” Joel’s voice muffled through the rushing, the static noise clearing when you met his eyes, and he said your name. You felt groggy, like you weren’t quite in your own skin just yet, both an observer and a participant. So, you found yourself fluttering your eyes, control slipping back to your own hands as your survival instincts faded away. Your chest still shuttering, you pulled away from Joel’s grip, not acknowledging his gaze or words, interrupting whatever he was saying, as your ears weren’t really hearing any of it anyway.

“We need to leave, storm’s getting worse,” walking away as you talked, your own voice sounding dead and hollow even to yourself, “We’ll skip the third checkpoint, we’re closer to the fourth one anyway, the..the college dorm is the best place to be during the storm anyway.”

You could hear Joel repeating your name, voice laced with emotion your brain too thick with shock at this point to be able to decipher, choosing instead to make your way to your horse and untie her even as Joel’s voice got louder. By the time you’d swung yourself up onto your horse Joel had given up, instead he climbed up onto his own horse with a clenched jaw, frustration rolling off of him just as thickly as the snow was now falling. You didn’t care though, just steered your horse in the direction of the dorm, moving her into a run as your brain circled one question, and one alone.

What had they done to deserve this?

.. -. ..-. . -.-. - . -..

The fire burned at your back, scorching after a day of nipping bitter cold. The horses were cozy downstairs in the lobby turned stable, hay and water and away from the raging storm happening outside. In your hands, you picked what was supposed to be your dinner, a cold roll and a handful of pieces of jerky. You couldn’t eat it though your mind too far away and unfocused. Your eyes stared out the window in front of you, trying to focus on watching the snowfall in thick droves, obscuring everything but what was visible a few feet in front of the glass, which was nothing at all. The lanterns lit around the room along with the small fire built in the small metal fire pit in the middle of the room cast glares of light against the window, the white backdrop making the window a near mirror. You could see the few couches drug into the room, circling the firepit, with old, weathered blankets draped along the backs for comfort in cases like these where groups got stuck on patrols during bitter nights. You could see the back of Joel’s head, leaning toward the fire, having chosen to sit on the couch facing away from your current lurking, giving you space and quiet after finding you quiet and unresponsive after settling in for the night, he hadn’t even said a word to you as he pressed your dinner into your now clean, but still heavy, hands. The worst part of the reflection though is attempting to avoid the empty, dead eyes and the tired and numb face that you were forced to realize were your own. No matter how hard you tried, your eyes always seemed to drift back to the unseeing reflection’s, you couldn’t pull yourself away from the person who watched you back wearing your own face.

You broke eventually, after who knows how long, letting the reflection win. The longer you had stared the less numb your eyes seemed to be, and the creeping sadness was not something you were yet ready to acknowledge, so you turned and walked quietly to the fire. As you passed Joel’s hunched figure, you emotionlessly pulled one of his hands from his face and shoved the roll that you’d nearly picked apart into it. He looked like he wanted to say something, the thoughts pressing against his tongue, but you turned away, grabbing a green and white checkered knitted blanket from the back of the couch you’d thrown your bag on top of hours earlier and reached for your rifle. Glancing through the scope to see if you needed, or wanted, to wipe it clean, as you said, “I’m taking first watch, sleep.”

“You really sure you’re up for that, North?”

You paused, back to Joel and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath quietly. You had hoped that Joel’s silence would continue, that the man would take the chance to sleep and let you leave to go downstairs with no fuss or argument, but unshockingly your hopes were dashed. So, you turned, throwing your rifle over your shoulder, gripping at the strap, and schooling your features into being numb and uncaring once more. “I won’t be sleeping for a while, South, so I might as well be fucking useful.”

Quiet surrounded you both for a few seconds, finding yourself once again locked in a staring contest, this time with eyes that were alive with frustration and were very much not your own. Joel gave in first, a tired sigh as he stood digging something from his bag’s side pocket. “I found this at the daycare…. figured you’d care to read it as well,” Joel levelled you with an unreadable look as he paused and handed the paper over to you. You looked over the folded, water stained and yellowing paper as you gave a small nod, turning to leave. You got a few steps away before his gruff accent had you pausing once more, “An’ North, wake me in a few hours for my watch.” Without turning, you just hummed acknowledging that you’d heard him, before leaving the room for good, scooping up the lantern by the door as you walked past.

The cold hit you immediately once again as you left the vicinity of the fire, and you welcomed it. The nip brought forth comfort almost, as it pushed away the unfeeling numbness for an aching cold instead. You breathed in and let the cold air burn at your throat as you descended the stairs and entered the old security office situated right next to where the horses both slept, the quiet allowing you to hear their quiet breaths.

Settling into the chair, you set the lantern on top of the desk and leaned your rifle next to you. It was going to be a quiet night, not much happened during these storms unless provoked, and with the added insurance that there was most likely nothing left lurking in Haywood, you allowed yourself to relax just a little, allowing the knowledge that you were now alone to let the emotions you’d been pushing back slowly wrap around you. The pain and disgust in yourself but also the world you lived in flowed through your body and down your cheeks. You bit your lip, forcing back the growing need to scream and muting the noises you were making. Wiping furiously at the burning trails down your face with the sleeve of your jacket, you curse every man and god responsible for making your world turn into this hellscape, for forcing your hands all in the name of survival, and for putting you through situations that have broken you time and time again, tiring you down and making it harder to keep getting back up everytime.

You cried your frustrations out, sitting there after a while just letting wetness flow as you glared forward, clenching and unclenching your jaw and hands until both hurt. You didn’t care how long you sat there, it could be an eternity and you still wouldn’t care, but eventually the tears stopped, and their tracks dried, and you could tell that you’d been there for a while as you finally took in the shaking of your hands and numbness of your feet from the cold creeping throughout your body.

Pulling the knitted blanket closer around your frame, you glanced down at the desk and your eyes caught the paper that Joel had handed you. Flexing your fingers to push away the stiffness of the cold, you reached forward and unfolded the thin sheet of notebook paper. What first caught your eye, past the shaky dark handwriting, was the drops of water that had smudged the words in places. Tears most likely. Then you noticed that it seemed as if whoever wrote the note had taken care and time, making sure no mistakes marred the page, folding it nicely and with love. The whole thing made your heart ache feeling the desperation and deep love of the writer’s words and actions. So, after taking a small breath for a bit of strength as you let your eyes trail over the carefully penned words:

I’m sorry, so so sorry.

I couldn’t do it, how could I? They are my babies, my children and I have let them down, failed them in the worst ways possible. I tried, so hard, I tried, but there was too many. I couldn’t take them all myself, not alone, not with what little ammo I had. It took everything, every instinct, every bit of strength, every act of survival just to get the three of us out and not let those things tear us apart. But at what cost? I gave everything to get us out, but it took everything from me in return. My little Lily only 7 and my brave Liam 12, my babies, my children, my last reasons left. Both were infected in the fight to escape, Liam got bit on his upper arm, the fear in his eyes when he noticed once we were to safety, and Lily, her mask broke is the panicked shuffle, forced to inhale toxins and let out wheezing coughs. I’m not sure if it was because they were younger, or what really, but they both managed to hold up for a few days, allowing us to get far away from that basement of hell, but it caught up to us, of course it did. Here though, surrounded by toys and memories of once happy childhoods they were content, Lily smiled, and I broke. I told myself that I would do it, that I would take the few bullets I had left, and I wouldn’t let them turn, that I’d go with them. But as they slept, and as I held the gun up, I couldn’t do it. They’re my children, how could I bring myself to do it? So, I am sorry. I know they won’t wake, not as themselves, come morning, so I just ask of whoever finds them, please grant them the mercy I couldn’t bring myself to give them, let them find me in whatever comes after. I am a coward, and I have failed my children, and I am sorry.

Tears once again dripped freely as you folded the paper and set it aside, wondering if this would be the last time you cried tonight as you knew it was going to be long and you weren’t planning on sleeping, nor planning to wake Joel until morning.

.-. . -- --- .-. ... .

Panic.

Blood.

Smoke.

Fire.

Screaming.

Fighting.

Death.

Blood.

Panic.

..-. . .- .-.

You jolt awake, gasping for air. The air that filled your lungs burned, the cold sending spikes of ice through your body after feeling like you’ve run a marathon. Your head was groggy and thoughts slow as you sat up from your slumped position in the office chair. Your back popped at the movement and your neck was stiff from the odd angle you’d fallen asleep in. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you couldn’t have been asleep for long at all, you remember watching the skies darken throughout the night and then start to lighten as the sun rose, the snowstorm never letting up and falling continuously through the night. As you glanced outside now, it was obvious that there was a thick blanket of snow covering every surface and was continuing to grow thicker with each passing minute.

Sighing, you pushed yourself away from the desk and stood with a groan, joints aching from sitting in one position without moving for hours on end. You took a second to regain more feeling in your legs and feet, before scooping up the dimmed lantern and your rifle and making your way slowly up the stairs.

At the top, you could hear the crackle of a dying fire in the room you’d left hours earlier. Quietly you entered hoping to find your companion still asleep, not quite ready to deal with his frustrated and angry comments, knowing that Joel, the pain in the ass that he is, is going to rip into you for never waking him and staying awake all night instead of trading off for watch. It looked like some god was looking in your favor as when you walked over to the couches, the fire small, nearly burnt itself out and Joel was reclined on a couch, one hand pillowed beneath his head, his other covering his eyes.

You set your items down, making sure to double check the safety on your rifle before taking a second to hover your hands over the fire. Your hands and front warmed slowly after sitting chilled for so long, but once it felt like the ice that’d formed in your veins had melted, you gathered a couple of logs to add into the fire, careful not to suffocate what was left of the flames when you placed them in the firepit.

Stepping back, you sank onto a beaten couch, watching the flames lick over the wood, the embers slowly igniting the new wood. Sighing, you rubbed at your face, rubbing your eyes as bright spots danced in your vision from staring at the fire, hearing the faintest whisper of a voice long lost to time in the back of your head, don’t stare at the sun, you’ll ruin your eyes. An ache formed in your heart as you pushed the voice and its words back into the darkness of your mind, locking them away so they couldn’t hurt you.

Joel let out a deep breath in his sleep, drawing you to glance at him for a moment. He looked relaxed, something you’d never seen on his frame as he was always wound tight, tension so ingrained into his muscles that you’d thought it’d be impossible that he’d be able to relax anymore. But here he was, nearly melted into the couch lips slightly part and chest rising softly with each sleep induced breath. You were almost jealous of his ability to sleep so peacefully, but you didn’t dwell on it, everyone had nightmares nowadays, it could just be that Joel didn’t show his outwardly. Or he really could be the sociopath you’d thought he was when you first became acquainted, and what he’s seen, what he’s done, doesn’t bother him. Maybe the asshole was guilt free and not haunted by memories, unlike yourself.

Ripping your gaze away from him, you shook your head, your thoughts drifting too close to places you’d rather them not go having only a few hours ago managed to school your mask into place and patched the cracks that’d formed in your walls. It seemed the bricks and mortar were still too wet for your liking.

Grumbling, you dragged your fingers down your cheeks, mumbling to no one but yourself, “I’d amputate my left leg and pull out all my bottom teeth for a fucking cup of coffee right now.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you’d woken me like you ‘re supposed to,” Joel’s voice grumbled, gruffer and his accent deeper from sleep. You didn’t even turn your head, just sunk back into the couch fully, huffing glaring at the man through the corner of your eye.

“Maybe I tried, and your grouch ass didn’t wake, South.”

“Bullshit, you never came back up those stairs, North.”

Grunting, you shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest, turning your gaze to the fire once more. Joel sat up and stared at you, his face blank but you could feel him taking in every discrepancy in your appearance, his eyes looking straight into the walls you’d just rebuilt, pushing against the cement, and frustrating you to no end. You ignored him, at least you tried to act like you were, but his gaze soured you, your face twisting in bitterness minutely but enough that you know his keen eyes picked up on expression.

“Still snowin’,” Joel grunted in question, and you just nodded. He hummed and dug in his bag and pulled out a can, tossing it to the cushion next to you. Picking up you saw it was just a can of creamed corn. Lifting your glaring gaze to his own hard gaze, Joel continued before you could say anything, “Good, eat that and sleep.”

He had tried to sound authoritative and tried to leave no room for arguments, but that tone always was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Scoffing, openly showing your disgust now, gripping the can so tight your fingers ached. Your gaze turned icy, and you bit out, “And why the fuck would I do that? Didn’t realize I gave you the authority to order me about, South.”

If Joel was a man to roll his eyes you imagined they would have gone to the back of his head with your retort. Instead, his face just went deadpan, and his gaze tinged with frustration.

“Goddammit, are you a fuckin’ teenager? Fuck, Ellie fights me less than you do,” he pauses just enough to let out a sigh, leaning forward before continuing, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and I doubt you slept downstairs. I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of things for a few hours while we wait for the storm. So, eat and go to goddamn sleep.”

Standing, you stomped over to Joel, leaning down until you were near nose to nose, leveling him with the most ‘go to hell’ look you could manage and slammed the can back into his hand. You glanced over his face before meeting his eyes, the hazel lit with burning emotions.

“I did sleep, South, just as well as I would have up here and just as fucking well as I do in my own bed back in Jackson,” something flashed in his eyes, a recognition, a knowing, but you ignored it in favor of continuing your tirade, “Some of us don’t fucking sleep, Joel, and I am not hungry, so keep that shit to yourself. I am not going to “eat and go to goddamn sleep.””

Just as quickly, you stood up straight again, anger coursing through your veins, and moved to turn away, to slink off back to your window from last night, maybe go back downstairs, wanting to be anywhere just as long as it was away from Joel who had you blood boiling. Joel’s reflexes were just as quick though, managing to snag your wrist and pull you to face his now standing stature, a growl in his throat as he said, “What is your problem? Is it what happened yesterday? Didn’t realize it only took two random infected to shake you, North.”

White, blinding white surrounded you, your actions taken away from your control, barely seeing as you felt your free arm swing up and slam against Joel’s cheek, his facial hair prickling your palm and the smack echoing around the quiet room. Joel stared at you, his barely contained anger written all over his face as your own wrinkled in disgust, ripping your wrist from his hand. Instead of walking away, you pushed into his space, driving the pointer finger of your now free hand into the center of his chest.

�� “Some random infected? You act like they weren’t fucking children. Children! I’m sorry if I am a little shaken after having to kill two children, infected or not doesn’t matter, not when they were the same age as my children were,” anger clouded your words, words that flowed with no filter as all walls came tumbling down. You weren’t seeing Joel, no you were flashing through memories. Viewing the smiling faces of your kids running around a play ground in a small military quarantine zone in Montana, seeing the foggy eyes of the infected little girl as you plunged a knife into her neck, watching as the quarantine zone fell around you trying to escape, reliving the moment that the anti-military group attacking your home set off a bomb causing a building to collapse and take everyone you loved from you, watching your hands bloody themselves digging through fallen bricks before being ripped away as you scream and fought.

When your gaze cleared, memories faded away, you found Joel’s eyes staring back into your own, his anger gone, replaced with a look of someone who understands your pain, who has lived through your pain. Your own anger simmering down, disappearing nearly completely, replaced with pain, and hurt so deep you wondered how you still stood upright. You could immediately feel tears cascading down your cheeks once more. You took a step back and shook your head, closing your eyes slowly as you whispered, “They weren’t just some random infected and you know that, South. You read that damned letter too.”

Stepping back again, you opened your eyes and turned away, making your way to the window. You paused when Joel’s voice echoed around the room, too loud but quiet all the same. “I was there, just outside the city, when the infected took over the first major city down in Texas,” he paused, and you glanced over your shoulder seeing his gaze staring blankly at the wall in front of him, you turned yourself to watch him better as he continued, “was with Tommy and my daughter…Sarah. We were trying to get out, away from the city, but to many fuckers had the same idea and near every path was blocked by other cars. A car crashed into our own and Sarah broke her leg. The three of us had to run, infected were everywhere running down people, killing ‘em. We did finally get away from them but walked into somewhere just as dangerous. There was a soldier, he shot at us. Tommy killed him, I was fine, but Sarah…she…she wasn’t, she died there and so did a big part of myself.”

Joel went quiet after that, still not looking at you, eyes fixed on the wall unmoving, unblinking. Your throat felt tight, tears still cascading down your cheeks. Casting your own gaze down, you picked at your nails. You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath.

“I was in college when that happened. I was married and we already had a son. We were far enough north that by the time the infected reached us the military had already herded us all into quarantine zones, QZs. We were shipped off to Montana and it was peaceful. I found myself with a second kid, a little girl this time with a smile that was infectious and devious to her very roots,” you paused, focusing on digging dirt from under your nails. Swallowing you continued, “An anti-military, anti-QZ, group showed up and started fighting with the soldiers. Each fight escalated until one day the group went too far. It was a warzone, gun fire, fires, explosions…. My husband was trying to get us all out, running through alleys to avoid getting hurt, trying to steer away from the fighting…. But then a bomb went off, or, or something, I’m not sure, but the building next to us collapsed. My husband had been carrying our youngest, holding our oldest’s hand so he didn’t lose him, and I was behind them. It….it was only because I was a few steps behind that I survived. They all went down with the building.”

Looking up, you found Joel watching you, his eyes tired and knowing. “The Fireflies?”

You huffed a watery laugh, swallowing as you quoted, “Look for the light… bunch of fake fuckers claiming to be fighting for the greater good while killing people they said they were trying to help.”

The two of you were quiet for a long time, not moving, both just standing there numb and worn from sharing such raw and painful memories that both of you had told few others. It was you that moved first, walking over to Joel, a tired smile on your lips, probably the first smile you’d actually shown Joel. A shaky breath filled your lungs when you stopped and stood in front of the man once more and whispered, “It was Tommy. He found me ripping my hands apart trying to dig through the rubble. He pulled me away as I kicked and screamed and he made sure I didn’t do anything rash, guided me away from what was once my home and together we found Jackson.”

The two of you looked at each other for a few more seconds, the shift in your dynamic nearly palpable. An understanding formed, a realization. The two of you were one in the same, each recognizing this now and realizing that is why you both shared so much hatred, each other’s trauma to raw and similar to the other’s that you couldn’t stand to come to close, knowing it would hurt, would bring things up the two of you would rather stay hidden.

Sharing a look, gazes meeting, a second realization formed. The two of you both found yourselves with a bond, now drawn together rather than repelled. Both of you content in knowing that there was another nearby that could understand them.

Joel’s gaze broke from yours, eyes looking behind you as he nodded behind you, “Storm’s breaking, should start to head back while we can.”

-... --- -. -..

The rest of your patrol passed in a blur. Both you and Joel finding nothing of interest, no more infected was heard or seen, houses and buildings cold and empty. You both took a turn signing into the last two checkpoints. It continued to snow, but only a slow fluttering, never falling faster, and the wind was near nonexistent. It was quiet between the two of you, peaceful now as you both worked as extensions of the other, whereas before it was quiet but the tension and frustration deafening.

By the time Jackson was in sight once more, it was night had fallen, the sun having set a few hours earlier. You both were ushered through the gate, and your horses were taken from you to be taken back to the stables and to be looked over and taken care of. You yawned deeply as you checked all your guns back in, signing off that they’d been returned and giving the girl working a quiet smile and a thank you. Joel followed you like a shadow, leaving behind his own weapons, before you both turned to move to the office to give your patrol report. Chances were Tommy had retired back home, or possibly out getting food or a drink, but Maria almost always worked late, and you’d rather give your report tonight than have to wait until tomorrow morning.

As the office came into view slowly, lights shining through the windows as you approached. Joel managed to grab the door first, opening it for you as you nodded a tired thanks as you entered, only pausing to knock your boots against the doorframe and kick off the snow sticking to them. Maria glanced up, setting her pen aside when she saw it was the two of you.

“Tommy was starting to place bets on if you’d both managed to kill each other and that was what was taking so long for you to return. I think he’ll be both glad and disappointed he was wrong.”

Shaking your head, a tired smile echoed your amusement. Joel stepped up beside you, grunting, “Did you smack him upside the head to bring ‘em some sense? He’s old enough now to know gambling ain’t any good.”

Maria chuckled and smiled, leveling the two of you with a curious look, “The two of you seem to be in good spirits. A bit surprised to see you both whole, though the looks of that bruise on Joel’s face says things didn’t go completely smoothly.”

You hummed and glanced at the mark left from your hand, turning back to Maria with a shrug. “He deserved it.”

Joel stayed quiet, neither arguing nor agreeing, and that seemed to intrigue Maria more. Instead of saying anything just yet though, she just looked back down at her desk and started shuffling through the papers. “So how did the patrol go? Did you find the infected?”

Your breath stuttered a bit, throat tightening. Thinking about the two was still a bit too much for you, but as you opened your mouth to speak, Joel beat you to it, “North found ‘em, perfect timin’ too, just before the storm really hit. North also took care of them by their self while I checked the rest of the building.”

Clearing your throat, you added, “There were only two. The rest of the area was clear.”

Maria eyed the tension in your stance, the pain in your face that you were just barely masking. She saw Joel shifting on his feet, his uncomfortableness nearly pouring off of him. Humming, she stayed quiet looking between the two of you for a few seconds, before sighing and standing, walking around her desk to stand in front of it.

“Well there is obviously things you aren’t mentioning, and I won’t push for all the details only because I trust the two of you when you say the area is clear and that’s really all I need to hear,” she paused and after a second gave the two of you a smile finishing with, “I can also see that the two of you have managed to squash whatever fight that’s been keeping you at each other’s throats. Good, I have a feeling that the two of you are going to be an invaluable team in the future. Now go on, go get food, get some rest.”

.-. . ... -

Jolting up in bed, you first noticed the light seeping in between your curtains of your room. Confused, as it wasn't a sight you'd seen often, the sunbeams nearly foreign. You weren't given a chance to really realize that you'd somehow managed to sleep in and to sleep through the night, before a series of sharp knocks echoed through your home, confusing you more.

Jumping from bed, you grabbed an oversized green flannel and quickly threw it on. Pulling your door open, you tried to look presentable and not like the person on your doorstep had managed to wake you.

Joel stood there on your doorstep as you opened the door cautiously, confusing you as he was obviously awkward and uncomfortable. In his hands he held a thermos and two mugs, only one visible to you and you only caught the edge of what seemed to be an owl print on the side. Looking back up at him, your eyebrows pinched together in confusion and curiosity, as Joel cleared his throat, holding up his hands. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Just knock the snow off your boots on the rug please," you mumbled, stepping aside.

Joel came in slowly, carefully getting the snow off his boots and wiping them dry, before you led him to your kitchen. The two of you were quiet, Joel setting his things on your small kitchen island, glancing at you before saying, "I didn't have to pay for this with any teeth or an amputated leg, but I did trade a lot more than I should have."

As he spoke, Joel unscrewed the thermos, letting out an aroma you'd not smelled in more than 20 years. Your eyes jumped to his, as he handed you a mug, the one you couldn't see earlier, this one decorated with an array of wildflowers. Carefully, you took the mug from Joel, smiling brightly as you wasted little time sipping the darkened liquid from the mug with a content sigh. Sipping from his own mug, Joel watched you, taking in the happiness that drifted off of you.

Meeting his gaze once more, you groaned after another sip and said, "South, I would kiss you right now but this coffee is a little more important to me right now."

Joel, coughed mid sip when you said that, his own coffee going down the wrong pipe in his surprise. Rounding the island, you left your mug in favor of smacking his back a few times, worried asking if he was okay. When the coughing finally subsided, you gently rubbed his back a couple of times, giving him a smile as he cleared his throat and took a breath.

Joel met your gaze as you smiled at him softly, hand moving to squeeze his bicep, letting yourself enjoy the muscle there for a second, sharing the touch itself was nice in of itself in all honesty. Then quickly your smile turned into a smirk as you moved away, grabbing your mug once more. "By the way, now that I know you have coffee, South, you should know I will be showing up at your house every morning bright and early."

Joel eyed you for a second, face unreadable before he got a soft grin looking down at his mug, glancing up at you again and replied, "I think I can live with that, North."

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