#just let me get over my religious trauma man

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter three

the red circle

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the truth.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, mentions of rape/SA, cars, bill is here, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, hitman!joel finally hitmans, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST (still unresolved oopsie), we're getting there though, exposition, conflicting emotions, joel's tattoos are sexy but they're also plot-relevant, Sleeping Together, but not like That, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.6k a/n: this chapter marks this fic being halfway done already, which is madness. also, can i just say that i'm loving the amount of people who've specifically been watching john wick because of this fic?? this is my agenda!! as always, thank you so fucking much to mya baby @cavillscurls for beta reading this fic and being, idk, generally the loml. i hope you enjoy chapter 3, my friends! i'm sorry it's been such a long time coming, but life lifed, y'know?? prev | next

“How much?”

“Two million. For now, at least. It’s open.”

“Goddammit, Tommy.”

“I told you to be careful, brother. Now look at you. You’re a loose end.”

Joel resisted the urge to toss his phone. The shower continued running in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door. 

He couldn't lose you. He didn't know life without you. Love had no name until he knew you. He'd christened it with that first kiss, maybe even in the first breath he'd shared with you.

If there was a chance Cabrera’s kid could come back for you, even if just to hurt Joel, he needed to see this to its end. There was no choice. 

“He tried to rape my wife,” said Joel. “He's lucky I’m only tryin’ to kill him.”

Tommy only sighed, and the call ended.

I married you, Joel.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he watches you doze. The sunlight shines neatly through the break in the curtains, and you squint against it in your sleep, turning over with a little huff and bringing the duvet over your head. You’ve always needed total darkness for a half-decent sleep. 

You’ve been crying. The tears leave remnants on your cheeks, a dryness at the outer corners of your eyes, salt seeping moisture from your skin. He’s never known a thing so soft as the drag of his hand down your back. 

I loved you.

You lied to me.

You will never understand. There are reasons—too many to count—that civilians cannot know. He may have gotten you to relative safety in the Continental, but there are a hundred dangerous people in this building who have a long-standing grudge against Joel Miller or the man he worked for. A hundred people who would take you as collateral the moment you stepped outside the grounds. But as long as you remain inside, you’re safe.

He just needs to finish the job. He needs to see it through, and he’ll be out. You’ll realise he’s done it all for you.

I loved you.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets. He broke your heart last night. He watched you turn in on yourself, your eyes so cold, so far away. He listened to you scream, and inside he pleaded: Keep hitting me, baby. Keep shouting. Be mad. He wanted you loud and furious and spitting fire. If you were angry, you still cared. He could work with that. 

And to see you walk away, the fire frozen over, the fight in your marrow sucked out… 

The anguish of losing your ire still stirs in his chest. The guilt peels him away in layers. Acid. 

She’ll understand, he tells himself, you, anyone who’ll listen. She’ll get it someday—why I did it, why I lied. She’ll forgive me.

Forgive me, baby. Don’t let me live the rest of this life never seeing you smile.

“Stop looking at me,” you grumble, your eyes still closed.

Joel averts his eyes. His throat feels tight. “You sleep okay?”

You haul yourself upright and stretch out your back. Joel studies the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck. You’re the muse painters rave about. The reflections of sunlight on water at dusk. The pond of water lilies. 

“You didn’t. Your sheets haven’t even moved.”

“I can’t sleep without you.”

You give him a heavy look, your eyes bleary with sleep. “You managed all those years before me, Joel. Let’s not do this.”

“What if I want to do this?” he says, dropping to the floor next to your bed and taking your hands in his. You try to pry yourself free, but he drops his head and traps you in his rapt vigil. 

“Joel…” Your voice is still groggy, but there’s agony in the way you say his name.

“You’re my wife,” he says against your skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. You’re the girl I saw that night in the restaurant with the pretty eyes and you’re the girl I called every night just so I could hear your voice, and you’re always gonna be the only fucking girl for me. You’re my reason for everything, baby. I need you. Please… please just understand. You have to know that.”

You’re silent for a long while, your legs curled under you as your own husband kneels as if in prayer. Your throat burns with more tears you have little energy left to shed. You whisper his name.

He looks up and you find you cannot meet his eyes. So you stare at one of the patches of skin that disrupt the brown-grey of his beard. “That first night at the restaurant,” you say, trepidation colouring your voice blue, “you disappeared after the second course. When you came back, you told me you had to take a call. Was that the truth?”

Joel’s eyes are frantic in their search for an answer. “Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t lie to me again. Was that the truth?”

“There—” His voice cuts off, his eyes shuttering. “There was a target. That’s… why I was there in the first place.”

Your sob dies in your chest. It doesn’t even make a noise. You wrench your hands out of his, and he lets you, still kneeling at your bedside like a lost sinner. “Love has never been the problem. You might love me, but you’ve never told me the truth. Not from the first day.”

One of his hands wraps around your ankle. “I wanted out. I wanted out my whole life, and you’re the one who made me find the way. Cabrera, he… He gave me an impossible task. I completed it. And I gave you this ring.” He brushes his thumb over the knuckles of your third finger where your bands are still secure. “You said yes. You married me. Doesn’t this mean something?”

The sound of your hollow laugh hurts more than any words you could use to cut him. “It did,” you confess, “when I knew exactly who my husband was.”

He shakes his head, his lips parting in another desperate cast, but you’re standing up and crossing the room, gathering your toiletries for the bathroom. “What happens now?” you ask. 

Joel stares at the ring on his finger. “I’m going to talk to the Manager. You have to stay here.”

“Okay,” you say softly. Your back is rigid. “Just tell me something.”

“Anything,” says Joel. 

“If I asked to leave,” you whisper, “would you let me go?”

Joel feels his heart crack in two. He remembers the small outdoor wedding, in the heart of May, when he’d seen you walk down the aisle toward him and struggled to find the words, as he always did, that would be good enough. 

I vow to love you, he'd said, his hands trembling as he took yours. I vow to be your partner in all things. I vow to show you every piece of my soul, the way you've given me yours, and to be gentle with your heart. 

I vow to be the man you want, the man you need, and the man you love. 

He’s failed. He knows that. But you smiled at him that day, your eyes brimming with tears that turned black from your mascara, and you kissed him before the officiant said the words. 

I loved you.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he says, “but not that.”

Joel made a stop at the Continental Tailor before he went to find the Manager in the lounge. He paid the Tailor a bit too much for the new suit, he realises now, the sleeves a bit too tight, the pants not quite tapered. He was dressing a different body than the one he knew all those years ago. 

Joel weaves through the darkness as a crooning voice sings something about evil men up on the stage. The band is playing along, a smooth jazz tune, and the bodies around him smell of expensive cologne and perfume and vodka. He remembers with a start why he hated this place so much. 

Adjusting his jacket, he finds the Manager sitting in the VIP section on a long curved booth upholstered in crimson velvet, sipping a dry martini. 

“Joel,” he says, lifting his glass in toast. 

“Bill.”

The Manager doesn't look particularly thrilled. “You know there’s an open contract on your head. Who did you have to kill to end up back here?”

“Just a couple people.” Joel sits opposite him. “I need information.”

“And you're here on more business. Does your consort have anything to say about that?”

Joel curls his fingers into a fist atop the table. “I’m invoking my guest privileges. And she is my wife.”

Bill sniffs in amusement. “So, you did end up marrying the gal. Good for you, Joel. She's a stunner.”

“Fuck you, Bill.”

A short, booming laugh. “Nobody will so much as look her way. You have my word and all it means.”

“Doesn't mean much,” says Joel. “I’m just visiting.”

“Don't be the idiot I know you aren’t,” says Bill, leaning forward and setting his glass aside. “You dip so much as a pinky back in this pond, and you won’t get out so easy. Sometime, somewhere, someone’s going to come to you with another impossible task.”

“And I’ll complete it,” says Joel. “Emiliano Cabrera. Where is he?”

“You really wanna do this, Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife may be safe now, but she won’t be forever.”

“That’s why I’m going to finish it. That’s why I’m going to kill him.”

The Manager sighs, polishing off his martini. “You know damn well business will not be conducted on Continental grounds, Joel. You may as well go have a drink at the bar, take a load off. I can’t tell you anything while you’re inside my hotel.” 

Joel suspected as much. “Then tell me something you can.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and Joel feels some satisfaction knowing he can still push the old man’s buttons. “I’ll tell you what: the game has changed since you left it. Your only chance is to get out now, while you still can. What could possibly warrant the Boogeyman reentering the fold?”

Joel licks his teeth. Your eyes blurring with tears as your skull connected with the ground, your body going limp as he stood above you. The clink of a belt buckle echoes still in his head. If he hadn’t been fast enough—

“It’s personal.”

Bill’s gaze dips. “Well,” he says, “then, unofficially, I wish you the best of luck. But, as a former friend”—Joel snorts —“let me give you a piece of advice. Take your wife home and forget about all of this. I like you, Joel, but for her sake and yours, I’d rather never see you again.”

Joel doesn’t take it personally. “Tell Frank I said hello.”

Bill grabs a full glass from a passing server. “Fuck you, Joel.”

He nods his head, closing the lapels of his jacket and slipping the first button through the opposite slit. As the singer on the stage transitions into the next song, Joel orders a glass of bourbon and watches the bartender slide his drink over on a pristine white napkin. 

“On the house, per the Manager’s request,” says the bartender. “Welcome back, Mr. Miller.”

Pristine—save for the small red circle drawn with marker on the centre. Across the bar, Bill raises his glass in another toast, and Joel leaves the lounge, his drink untouched. 

It’s a Tuesday night, and the Red Circle is lined up around the corner. One must know someone to get inside, and that someone must be a paying member. Joel had a membership by default, being contracted under Cabrera, but it was revoked along with his other privileges once he had completed his task. 

You would hate this place. It’s throbbing bass and flashing neon lights and sweat-slick bodies rubbing up against one another. It’s brick and industrial metal and glass and the people don’t mix, either. 

Maybe part of him is hedonistic, too. He doesn’t think he ever used to be. The job gave him wealth to spend that he never cared to; when he met you, he began to understand the pleasure of material things. Gold shone when it hung around your neck and wrapped around your fingers. Diamonds glittered like the jewels in a crown when you wore them on your ears. And when he pulled you close to him for the first time, undressing you slowly, hooking his fingers in the lace panties he’d bought for you and bringing his mouth to the heat between your legs, Joel began to understand the draw of pleasure. 

It isn’t that he’d never had sex before you. He’d just… never been interested before you. Bodies always felt… too cold. They were complex. They were things to be followed, things to be killed. They were names on a piece of paper. They would bleed all their warmth and light into his palms and he would return, limping, to a house he never cared about and absolve himself of red. He’d never known the thrill of a body until he tucked his hand under the soft swell of your naked breast and put his mouth on yours and felt your heartbeat bleed into his hands. He never wanted to wash it off. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

After the orphanage, Joel visited a church only once. 

He hadn’t meant to find it. He’d heard an organ humming from within. The cathedral was taller than it was wide, built for a small gathering. He’d slipped inside during a sermon, delivered by a pastor with white hair and a pair of wilting hands. Joel watched the tremors pass through his face, the agonising pulse of the vein in his throat, the way he would gulp down mouthfuls of water. He spoke with rhythm, with melody, and when he was finished, he grasped the edges of the pulpit, his head bowed in silent prayer. Joel thought he had never seen a more devoted man in his life. 

When the sermon was over, he waited his turn to speak with the pastor. He did not know why. He hadn’t felt a stirring in his chest at the word of God; he never had.

I’ve never seen you in here before, my son.

Joel shook his head, frowning at the ground. I… left the faith, in a way. When I was young. I’m… sorry.

Devotion is a choice, said the pastor, taking Joel’s hands in his own. They were wrinkled, speckled with age spots. Joel lifted his gaze to find the pastor smiling. As with all things in life. Devotion, my son, is not a birthright. We must find it. Though it may not be His word, you will know someone’s word. And you’ll find it will move you enough that you choose to follow it. To whatever end. 

Joel has been slashed, burned, drowned, whipped, beaten, strangled. He could count the telltale black spots in his eyes like dreamers count sheep. He developed a reputation because he was good at what he did. He was efficient, fast, lethal. He once killed three men in a bar with a pencil, they whispered. A fucking pencil. Word in the Underworld spread of a boogeyman who would take your life in your sleep if you wronged the wrong person, if you were just an unlucky bastard.

Their word never mattered. He’d never knelt in the blood of a victim and prayed for absolution. He would never find it, anyway. His soul was black. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

No word has ever cut so deep as yours. How could he wake up every single day next to the love of his life and lie so easily to your face? How could he put a ring on your finger knowing damn well he’d betrayed your trust every second of your time together and you never even knew about it?

How could he wear the mask of your husband and dream of blood on the very same hands that touched you each night?

Joel checks his watch. It’s one o'clock in the morning. You’ve been sleeping since breakfast. You won’t sleep a wink tonight if this keeps up, but it seems you’d rather do anything in the world than speak with him. 

He doesn’t blame you.

He found his word that night in the restaurant. He’d followed it, followed you, wherever you took him. And he will follow you, his almighty word, beyond the grave, to whatever end you decide. 

He will not abandon his faith. His purpose. He will not throw up his hands and let you walk away. He’s made mistakes he cannot mend. He can’t go back to the day you met and tell you all he should have, rules be fucked. He cannot fix what he’s already broken. You cannot put a piece of tape over fractured glass, a bloodied hand over wounded skin. 

He made his fucking vows. It’s time he lived up to them.

Across the street, Joel watches, turning over the knife in his pocket by the hilt. Emiliano Cabrera and his lackeys step out of Joel’s Mustang and toss the keys to the valet. They skip the line, smacking one another around and jeering at the ladies in line, and Joel feels the hunger pull at his teeth. 

His first target is posted by the east entrance. Joel takes the alley, stepping aside trash bags brimming with used needles and slipping the Glock from the lining of his jacket. The weight of it is formidable in his hand. Under the cover of dark, he slides into a second skin, black as the names they call him. Bringing the gun to the back of the guard’s head, he watches those huge shoulders stiffen.

“Francis,” he says politely.

“Joel,” says the guard. 

“Workin’ late?”

“Why?” says Francis. “You want in?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I do. You lost weight.”

“Twenty-seven pounds, if you’ll believe it.”

Fuck. 

Twenty-seven guards tasked with protecting the little shit. Joel may have a reputation, but it’s been years. He was ambushed in his own home last night. And after it all, he’d let the bastard slip between his fingers. 

“Why don’t you take the night off?”

Francis lowers one meaty hand to the piece in his ear and takes it out. Turning his head, he says, “Can you at least lower the gun?”

Joel does. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Word’s going around. They say you’re back.”

“I’m just passin’ through.” 

“Sure, Joel.” Francis offers his hand, and Joel shakes. “You better make it quick. I don’t feel like getting fired.”

“Understood.” Joel slips inside, letting the door click shut behind him. 

Even from afar, the music lives in his chest, a writhing thing that seeks departure by way of his throat. He tries to swallow and it wriggles back up again. The bass throbs hard against his ribs. 

There’s a bathroom on the VIP floor. As he sneaks by the frosted glass partition that separates him from the public, Joel hears the squeak of locker doors. He puts his palm on the door and pushes inside.

Did you see the tits on that girl? says one man in Spanish. Emil got a pretty one.

Another lets out a booming laugh. Shut the fuck up, man. Good pussy and you tuck your tail and run.

Yeah? And you're in here because you scored? 

I’m in here because bitches prefer to choke on clean dick. What's your excuse?

Neither feels the breeze of the shadow slipping behind them. Neither of them sees the man in black lock his arm around one of their necks and squeeze until there's no air left. By the time the other has turned on the porcelain sink and begun to splash his face, the boogeyman has him by the scruff of his neck, fisting the collar of his fluffy white bathrobe. The sink continues running, and he’s choking on the warm water as Joel holds him down.

“Jesus! Fuck!”

“Where is Emiliano?”

“Vete a la mierda,” he splutters. “Let go of me, motherfucker!”

Joel takes one of the man’s fingers and bends it all the way back. His screams are muffled by Joel’s hand.

“Where is Emiliano?”

“The bathhouse, downstairs,” he groans. “Fuck, let me go, pendejo!”

Joel bares his teeth, breaks the man’s neck, and leaves him slumped over the sink, the water still running. 

The bathhouse is doused in red and blue. The water is illuminated from within, and the whites in his victim’s eyes glow where he stands half-submerged, toasting a bottle of champagne to his rowdy friends. Joel flattens himself to the wall, listening for the tread of dress shoes. The music pounds too loudly for him to hear, but he can see the shadow before he sees its owner. 

“Clear,” says the voice. 

When he rounds the corner, Joel drives his knife into the man’s throat and silences his gurgling moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. He slides down the wall, and Joel holds his gaze while the light slowly dims in his eyes. 

One. 

Two more men are waiting behind the partition, hands folded in front of them. Joel does not recognise them. Their suits are pressed, Italian; it seems Cabrera has made some alliances. Joel lies his first victim on the ground and prowls toward his next two. 

They go easily: unsuspecting, they bleed out under his blade, choking on their blood, and he leaves them lying by the foggy partition. Three. 

The music is dreamy, the crooning of two voices set to a throbbing track. In the bathhouse, he hears the sloshing of water and the singing of a group of men nearby. They're singing an old folk song, Joel realises. A song about a ghost. 

Hurry, fall asleep, or the Boogeyman will come for you…

They don't sound particularly frightened by the spectre haunting them. Joel watches them toast their bottles of champagne and grab the waitresses’ asses. It's Emiliano and his friends, all right. Joel spots another five guards around the waist-deep water and another two by the doors upstairs. 

There's a childlike self-assuredness about him—this kid. He thinks he's protected, safe, almighty as God. He sings about Joel and smiles. 

A guard leans over him and sneers. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?” jeers the kid. “I’m not! Hijo de puta.”

The guard plucks the bottle from his hand and passes it off. “You wanna vomit while you run away? Or would you just prefer to get shot in the head?”

Emiliano’s haughty sniff makes Joel wonder if a bullet in the head is retribution enough. “Get me another fucking bottle!” he says to his friend. 

Joel picks up a bottle of complimentary cologne and tosses it. The glass shatters, potent liquid pooling on the shiny floor. Three guards flank the partition. The music is too loud to let the sounds of his blade in flesh seep through. 

Six. 

On the other side of the glass, coloured blue and red and slick with humidity, the singing continues. 

From the swamp he will come…

He feels the wet splash of blood on his face. 

… and take the children that don't behave. 

Another man rounds the corner as Joel is tearing the knife from the last guard’s throat. He doesn't have enough time to slash his throat, so he pulls the handgun from his holster and shoots. He crumples to the floor, but Joel’s cover is blown. 

“He’s here! Miller’s here!”

The partition explodes. Glass rains on him as he rolls to evade the gunfire, raising his barrel to strike at the remaining guards. 

Seven. Eight. 

The men by the stairs are shouting some Spanish, some Italian. The music carries on, but the song they're singing has ended. 

Joel finds the man he's been looking for: hiding behind a petrified waitress, Emiliano Cabrera looks like a goddamn child. He's wrapped himself hastily in a bath towel around his waist, and his eyes are wide as saucers. Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m going to enjoy this a little. 

He locks eyes with Emiliano for only a moment. The guards at the top of the stairs begin to fire at Joel. He ducks behind the wall as shots chip brick from the wall or plunk uselessly in the water. By the time he flanks them around the other side of the wall and brings them tumbling down the stairs—ten—the kid has already run. Joel growls at the loss of the kill and follows him into the club. 

With an eruption of deafening music, Joel bursts into the crowd. Behind him, a gigantic LED screen is illuminated with spirals in red and blue and white. Women dance in elevated cages while the crowd below becomes a sea of skin and sequins and sweat. Joel reloads, checks the clip, and resumes his hunt. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Joel feels the punch of the barrel into their chests as he fires, again and again and again. The commotion is lost in the din of the music and dancing. Bodies connect and grind and Joel kills. 

Fourteen. A guard by the wall. Fifteen. Another lurking by the LED spirals. Sixteen, seventeen—two men rushing him in an attempt to ambush, eyes wild with rage and a bit of fear. Joel puts them down like sick dogs and continues to push through the crowd, his eyes locked on the retreating Emiliano, who's waving a gun about like a white flag. 

But it's no surrender. It's a beacon, a sign that the deer is spooked. Joel feels his lip curl. So frightened, he thinks. 

Eighteen, nineteen…

Your bleary eyes, blinking through the pain, limbs limp and helpless as he unbuckled his belt above you. A cut on your face, barely bleeding. The red still consumes him. 

You were so afraid that night. 

Twenty. 

Twenty-one. 

He's getting closer. The crowd parts down the centre as Joel marches toward his goal. But the music is loud and he does not hear the approach from behind. 

The gunshot grazes his shoulder, but he feels the flare of pain ooze its way down his arm. Joel grunts, knocked askew from his path, and turns to forge at his assailant. 

The man is fast, though, and rushes him. The tackle brings him down to the ground, winding him just enough to briefly stun, to send his Glock spinning along the floor. He’s taller, broader, madder. 

But he shoots one-handed. 

Joel knocks the gun aside and it misfires into the gap in the crowd. In the dispersing, he sees more guards closing in his periphery. The only protection he has is the hulking body on top of him. So Joel uses it, bringing his elbow to the man’s throat and bunching the lapel of his jacket in his fist. The guard attempts to reach for the blade in his thigh holster, but Joel reaches down and bends his arm backward until the crunch crackles in his ear. The man howls, and Joel grasps the hilt of the knife. 

Twenty-two. 

He picks up his gun and fires a shot into each of the three approaching guards, but Emiliano has fled to the first floor. Joel grimaces as he stands, blood on his fingertips where he's prodded the wound in his arm. “Goddammit,” he mutters, following his target upstairs. 

The air is dizzying. Hot. Joel never liked clubs. He hated the closeness and the bodies in cages and the way skin felt so sticky, too tight, like he needed to step outside of it. He hated the feeling of being suffocated by strangers, as if any of them could be lurking low in the darkness, waiting to strike. 

He didn't understand the lure of the scantily-clad body until he saw you wrapped in a tight black dress. He didn't know the pleasure of dancing until you took his hand one night, his old vinyl player crackling out Frank Sinatra, and lay your head on his shoulder. It felt like stepping over the threshold into consecrated territory. He should not be touching you. But you were touching him. 

Joel spots Emiliano running for the back entrance, shoving another guard in Joel’s path. 

Twenty-six. 

The final man, approaching Joel from the lounge, pulls his gun in time to shoot, but not in time for Joel to notice. The bullet shatters a glass of wine and topples a waiter’s tray. Joel fires. 

One to go. 

He has no choice but to lunge for the kid before he can run out into the street. Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, his blood electrified. The take-down is sloppy and his ankle rolls, but Emiliano Cabrera is pinned beneath him and yelping like a kicked dog. 

“My father will kill you,” he gasps, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Your father knows exactly why I’m here,” says Joel, “and he knows how stupid you are.”

“Hijo de puta, it was just a fucking car,” he spits. “I was just going to have some fun with your bitch. I would've given her back.”

Joel isn't quite satisfied. He turns the kid onto his back and grasps him by the jaw, forcing him to meet Joel’s incendiary gaze. 

“Everything has a price.”

The knife goes in smoothly, the flat of the blade glinting in his gaping mouth. No light flees his eyes. There is nothing but cold slate-grey. And although Joel feels no happiness feeling the pulse slow to a crawl beneath his palm, he does not pull the knife out. 

Your body, sacred, helpless, lying on the floor. A predator’s gaze. The clink of a belt buckle. Joel steps over the body and leaves, limping to the valet and slipping him a golden coin. He slips back inside his Mustang, turns on the engine, and drives back to the hotel. 

You’re tucked in the alcove by the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Your chin rests on your knees as you hug yourself close. The lamp between your respective beds colours the room orange. 

“You’re limping.” 

You haven’t even turned to face him.

“How—”

“I know how you sound when you walk.” Your temple is cool where it rests on the windowpane, your breath frosting the glass. Joel staggers to the small table and braces himself on the back of a chair as he watches you. 

You’re as warm and bright as the day he found you that night in the restaurant. Your eyes may be a little older, but the glow is the same. He folds his bleeding hands around the back of the chair. Everything around you curls in, darkens, and wilts when it confronts your beauty. 

“I’m all right.” He doesn’t deserve your concern. He’ll swallow any bullet to keep you from worrying.

You stand at last and cross the room to face him. His heart jumps like it’s the first time you asked him on a date. Like the first time he kissed you, his chest taut with tension and nerves and the assumption that you’d reject him. 

“You can lie to me about lots of things, Joel, but I know this face.” The pad of your thumb ghosts over the crease between his brows. “I’ve painted it a hundred times. It doesn't lie.”

It's the first time you've touched him in days. Joel closes his eyes. Part of him, the part that jolts back to life under the tender weight of your soft skin, means it when he says, “I’m okay.”

You seem to ponder him for a moment. “This wouldn't be the first time I patched you up,” you say, as if resigned. “Go on. Bathroom.”

He winces. “You don't have to—”

“Go. And afterward, you can tell me everything.”

The pads of your fingers memorise the ridges on the gold coin. The time is close to dawn. 

He’s no longer bleeding, and although you have nothing close to the Doctor’s prowess, you’ve managed to disinfect and wrap the wound in his arm. You can’t do anything about his ankle, but it’s a sprain; he’ll heal in time. The mangled black and blue on his tender skin reminds you of a night sky without the stars. It doesn’t seem to pain him. It only makes you wonder what sorts of agonies he’s faced—ones you never knew about.

The hurt has festered in your time away from him. He’s an open wound in the shape of a hand on your back, searing cold through to your heart. The hand sports a golden band, and it reflects in the one you still wear. You don't quite know what to make of it now. 

He looks exactly like the man you knew. Not a part of him has changed—he's still scruffy, still tired, still jaggedly gorgeous. You paint him with blurred edges, with blues and greys. Your heart still pulls when you look at him. Your chest still gapes wide open, and he digs his thumbs into the bruises. He lied to you. He broke your trust. And there's still so much of your Joel in him, from the skin to the bones. 

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, turning the coin over. 

“Technically, it’s not money,” Joel says. “It is currency. They can be exchanged for favours, information, relationships.”

“A hotel room,” you add. “Good to know I don’t have to move any savings around. Where have you been keeping these?”

“There’s a safe in the basement,” he says, “under the floorboards. When I left, I buried all of it. Weapons, coins, contacts, anything I had from the Underworld.”

The Underworld. A fitting name, if you’ve made any sense of it at all. “Do the police know about all of this?”

“Most of them are in the pockets of High Table members. Those are the ones who control how it all works. Rules and consequences,” says Joel, “is how they operate. They're what separate us from the animals.”

You lift your brows. “And who sits at this High Table?”

“Twelve leaders. They're the ones who run most of the major crime families and organisations. They control police, politicians, banks—”

Your shuddering sigh makes him stop in his tracks. He watches you lean back in the chair and bends forward slightly, as if tied to you by an invisible thread. 

“So… the girl who serves me coffee on the corner by my office could be part of it.” You frown at the coin in your hand. “She could be a witness, a runner, a messenger. She could be like you.”

“She isn't,” says Joel, “but that is the general idea.”

“But civilians are immune.”

“More or less,” says Joel. “There are… heavy penalties for harming them.”

“Penalties like death.”

“Most of the time,” he says. “And there are rules here, too. No business can be conducted on the grounds of any Continental hotel.”

“Any? You mean—”

“There's a Continental in every major city in the world. It's where we go to remind ourselves we’re civilised.”

“Civilised,” you scoff. “Civilised murder, sure. I’m buying it. And now that you’re back—”

“Visiting.”

You just glare at him, and he ducks his head. 

“—there's a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “Two million.”

You curl your fingers over the coin in your palm as your stomach bottoms out. “That's a lot of incentive to put a bullet in your brain.”

“They won't,” he says. “Cabrera holds the contract, and he only opened it because of Emiliano. He’d pull it the second I agreed to stop looking for his son. He doesn't want me owing him.”

“I don't know if I’d call that a debt.”

“Considering everything I did for him,” says Joel, a bite to his voice, “anything short of killin' his kid is a favour.”

Despite yourself, you open your hand and slide the coin toward him. “Tell me what you did.”

His head shoots up, his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Tell me what you did to get out. Tell me about this ‘impossible task.’”

“Baby, that’s…” He rubs his hand across his jaw, and it strikes you then how deep those half-circles colour the space beneath his eyes. 

“Stop,” you whisper. It never used to hurt when he called you baby. “Tell me how much blood you thought I was worth.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. His knees barely touch yours under the table. “You don't wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Then start here. What did you do, Joel?”

The sigh he releases feels heavy. “I came to Cabrera, asking him to release me from my contract. He told me he'd let me out, no strings attached… if I hunted down his enemies.” 

Your mouth drops. “Which enemies?”

He picks up the coin and turns it over in his palm. The silence drops an anchor on the ground. Your belly churns with the movement of the golden piece as it catches the light. 

“All of them,” says Joel. “All of ‘em, in one night. That was his impossible task.”

The scrape of your chair legs across the floor is grating. But you stand anyway, your head vaguely stirring with the beginnings of a headache. 

“Oh my God.” 

You barely feel your own hand on your cheek, barely smell the iron tang of blood on him, barely see the red cutting through his pressed white shirt. “How many people?”

Joel shakes his head, his shy eyes lowered, still as the paintings you've made of him. “I… I don't know.” 

I lost count, he means. There were too many, he means. 

Your throat is just wide enough to let your breath escape. The air you take in feels poisonous. He killed every single one of them. All because he wanted to marry you. 

All because he wanted peace. 

“Is there anyone in the Underworld who doesn’t know your name?”

Joel’s repentant silence, head ducked as if in prayer, is all the answer you need.

“How did this happen?” Your voice is uniquely quiet. 

“When I was a kid,” he says, and your heart sinks, “I lived on the streets. Lived like a rat, mostly, but I survived. You know that much.”

You nod solemnly, lowering yourself into the chair once more. “The Sisters reunited you with your brother.”

His dark eyes reflect the lamplight and it resembles a flame igniting in the depths of the iris. “Found me on Canal Street, runnin’ drugs for a mobster I don't even remember. Tommy was only five, but he must've told them about me. They took me to the orphanage and started my training.”

You swallow, your temples pounding. Deep in your gut, something wild and dry begins to kindle. “They were the ones who taught you all of this?”

“They teach the word of God above everythin’ else, but yeah. They train children to thrive in the Underworld. We were taught knives, guns, hand-to-hand. Hell, they even taught us how to dance—how to move faster than the opponent. I knew how to kill someone before I could read.” Joel chuckles, and part of you thinks he actually thinks it's funny. “Probably why I’m so slow.”

You aren't slow, you want to say. You've never been slow, not from the first day. 

The kindling curls and you can feel your mouth pull at the corners. He had only been a child. An orphan. A child had no way to choose, to resist how they were raised. He hadn’t been given a choice—his life in exchange for a roof over his head. 

“Those fucking bastards.”

Joel’s laugh is mirthless. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You angrily swipe the tears that warm your cheeks. “No adult should have that power. They should nurture and comfort and protect, not—” Your breath hitches. “You were a child. You didn't deserve that.”

Your fingers have curled into a fist atop the table. With both hands, he gently lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. You expect it to feel foreign, wrong. It just feels like Joel. 

“The Sisters were cruel,” he says softly. “But I made myself into a weapon. It was the only way I would survive.” He reaches out as if for a wounded deer and brushes his thumb over your jaw. “They never made me believe, sweetheart. That was all you.”

You sniffle, your head bobbing absently. You don't know what to think. You don't know how to feel. Your own husband has been through the seven circles and crawled back out only to teeter back over the pit once more. There’s an ancient weariness in the black of his eyes, an old hurt, a mansion slowly crumbling at the edges. 

“You hid this all from me, and never told anyone,” you say, the ache widening. You find you want to assume, consume, even a modicum of the pain that he's felt. 

One of his shoulders lifts in a mild shrug. “I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make something of the new life I’d killed for.” He meets your gaze and you swear part of the open wound in his pupils has sealed. “I didn't want any of it to touch you.”

And you remember lying in bed with him that first night, after that first time, tracing a scar on his back. White and ridged, it spread like lightning feelers from the middle of his spine to the dimples in his lower back. 

You'd put your mouth to his shoulder blade and felt him melt into you. 

What happened? 

The silence that followed could have heard the brush of a feather over skin. 

I was raised in an orphanage. In a church. They weren't kind. 

And that was that. You'd prodded and fussed and he'd said I’m fine. It was a long time ago. 

“But that's what you do, Joel,” you tell him. “You hide your hurt and you bury your feelings and you do it all because you're afraid it'll make everyone leave you.” 

Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, heaving, tossing aside the sheets, but he would never make a sound. You'd see him, pretending to sleep, and place your hand over his chest. His fingers would grasp yours as if marooned on the water, seeking driftwood, his hand suffocating yours. He'd keep it pressed to his heart until the beats slowed. 

You regret those times you never pressed. In a way, you were afraid, too. If you opened your eyes, if you asked him to confess, he would close the lattice and turn his back to you. You didn't want to lose him, either. 

But you did. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it doesn't hold the weight you want it to. It doesn't blow out the candles in the cathedral. It doesn't pluck the scared little boy from the streets or give him a warm bed. It doesn't stop the beatings and the lashings and the pain. 

It does not pry the pain from his heart and bury the shrapnel in your chest instead. It is something he bears, as he always has, and must. It is something you cannot take from him. And you feel more helpless than you ever have. 

He shakes his head. “I know we can't go back,” he says, tracing one of the little daisy charms on your bracelet. “But it feels… good. It feels good to finally tell you. Even if we were too late.”

The sound of his voice breaking shakes your heart loose from your rib cage. 

“Come to bed.” Your voice is raw and used. “Just… come to bed, and sleep.” 

He doesn't dare look hopeful, though you can see the tremor that courses through his hand. He wants to take yours, the way he did the day he proposed, dropping to one knee with your palms flush. 

He looked a little hopeful that day, too. With rapt attention, he'd taken hold of you and said, I love you. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me? Will you let me be your husband?

You realise now why he'd let himself hope. He'd gotten out. He'd started his new life. With you. 

You can see his old scars, even in the dark. You think, in all your time together, you've learned his body as you learn the earth you tread upon. The praying hands of Dürer lie beneath the name inked in small black lettering. 

Your name. 

You gingerly reach out and place your hand on his back. Joel shudders. He does not turn to face you where you both lie on your sides. 

“If you bleed on the bed sheets,” you say to the darkness, “will management make us pay?”

He chuckles. “Strongly worded phone call at best. I’ll take the hit.”

You frown, ghosting your fingers over the tender skin around the makeshift patch job on his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?” 

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch, “not anymore.”

“You never told me about this scar on your back.” You touch the edges of the puckered skin. “I never stopped wondering. But I should never have stopped asking.”

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Don’t say any of that like it's your fault.”

The silence bleeds as viscous as an open gash into the dry air. His watch broke the day of your wedding. He told you it was all right, that we've got all the time in the world, and you'd kissed him and laughed. He’d replaced the battery since then, but sometimes the little hand lags behind, as if afraid to chug forward. Afraid to let time, of all silly, trivial things, consume your world. 

“Do you remember your vows?” you ask him. 

“‘Course I do.” 

“Do you remember mine?”

His head bows slightly on the pillow. “‘I vow to be your partner in all things,’” he recites. “‘I vow to protect your heart like it's my own. I vow to take your pain, and to shoulder it so you don't have to.’” 

The tears saturate the pillowcase beneath your cheek. You fall asleep with your arm around his waist, your hand next to his, not touching, but nearly. 

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller fic #john wick au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

[balletfilmss]

HOME TO HER

✸ pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hera! reader smau

✸ notes: requested by @aryxchse!! i tried out tweets with this one bc i think they’re SO fun so lmk what you think 😚

…now playing: you & i — one direction

itsyn: dear camp jupiter, you can’t keep him, he’s mine 🤍🫶

tagged: itspercy

view all comments

itspercy: they couldn’t keep me away from you even if they wanted to

╰┈➤ itsyn: they better not try again bc i have a bow and arrows and ik how to use em

╰┈➤ itspercy: use them next time your mom tries to square up w me

╰┈➤ itsyn: 🤺🤺🤺

wise.girl: HEY I (unfortunately) TOOK THAT SECOND PIC, WHERE’S MY PHOTO CRED???

╰┈➤ itsyn: pic creds to my amazing sweet gorgeous angel spectacular best friend annie 🫶

╰┈➤ wise.girl: thank you 😌

pipermcqueen: third pic is the best photo i’ve ever seen of percy

╰┈➤ wise.girl: because his face is covered?

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: YES MAAAAAM

sunshinesolace: yall they got matching users, ain’t NOBODY separating them

╰┈➤ itsyn: damn straight 😤

╰┈➤ sunshinesolace: damn HUH?? WHO?? WHERE?? LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

╰┈➤ itsyn: AJSHSK THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT

itspercy: i look fly as hell in that first pic 😮‍💨

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: someone humble this man rn

╰┈➤itspercy: PIPER LET ME LIVE

praetor.reyna: girl TAKE HIM PLEASE

╰┈➤ itsyn: don’t worry rey, i’ll keep him on a leash or smth and away from you <3

╰┈➤ itspercy: HELLO??

╰┈➤ itsyn: the leash can be blue, now shush

╰┈➤ itspercy: 🫡

…now playing: work song — hozier

itspercy: sorry future mama-in-law, but you could never make me forget her

tagged: itsyn

view all comments

jaygrace: hera throwing a temper tantrum over that caption rn i just know it (i don’t mean it, queen, pls don’t hurt me 😇)

╰┈➤ itspercy: hoes mad 🤷‍♂️ (hoes is obviously jason…just in case anyone was wondering)

╰┈➤ itsyn: shut up rn, both of you

itsyn: im not crying, you’re crying

╰┈➤ itspercy: NO BABY DONT CRY

╰┈➤ itsyn: IT’S TOO LATE TO SAY THAT 😭😭

wise.girl: WHO TOLD THIS MAN ABOUT HOZIER???

╰┈➤ itsyn: um, guilty?

╰┈➤ itspercy: hozier is me in disguise bc that song WAS written about my sweet girl yn

gman_: why do you always have THE MOST INTENSE EYE CONTACT W THE CAMERA LIKE???

╰┈➤ itspercy: fabulous genetics, courtesy of the queen (MY mom)

itsyn: i love you water boy ☹️

╰┈➤ itspercy: i love you more angel

╰┈➤ itsyn: IMPOSSIBLE

╰┈➤ itspercy: POSSIBLE

╰┈➤ itsyn: WE’RE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN

jaygrace: IMAGINE getting all your memories back

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: JASON STOP TRAUMA DUMPING IN THE COMMENT SECTION 🗣️🗣️

╰┈➤ itspercy: it’s okay bro, all you’ve gotta remember is me

frank.zz: if juno comes for your ass over that caption, i am NOT helping this time

╰┈➤ itsyn: haven’t you been observing, frank? if she tries again imma get her, obviously 🙄🤺

╰┈➤ itspercy: problem SOLVED

praetor.reyna: imma get you a shirt that says “if lost return to yn” so we don’t have this problem again

╰┈➤ itspercy: and i will wear it religiously, give

itsyn: NO GRAVE COULD HOLD MY BODY DOWN

╰┈➤ itspercy: I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HER (you)

╰┈➤ itsyn: 🤭🤍

#୨୧ love letters #୨୧ sealed with a kiss! #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo smau #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson x y/n #pjo fandom #pjo thoughts #percy jackson smau #smau

[peterparkersnose]

Feeling You

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: david’s episode and themes along with that, reader is chained up, david is literally creepy and disgusting, reader kills a person, description of death, angst, joel cannot physically feel anything, trauma description, ellie’s aftermath of david, religious trauma, mentions of weapons

a/n hi season finale my life is over at least we got mando still 💪

summary Y/N confesses something to Joel she shouldn’t have when she saw him awake for the first time in weeks after his accident

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read time: 13 mins 10 seconds

The feeling of panic woke you up. The strange dream you couldn’t remember faded as your senses came back to you. It was cold and your head was pounding. The cold air nipped your nose. Your clothes felt like there was space between the fabric and your skin, you could feel the stinging cold prick your skin. You lay flat on what you could only imagine was a bed. It wasn’t comfortable whatsoever and only made your back stiff. Joel’s flannel from the night before had kept you warm enough to survive. Gaining the muster to move, you tried to yank your feet on the floor. Your right leg was cuffed to the bed pole.

“She’s awake,” you heard someone call, and commotion started around you. Blinking your eyes and trying to adjust to what was happening, the noise of a padlock being opened distracted you. “Good morning,”

You recognized that voice. The man that you and Ellie encountered in the woods. What was his name…David? How did you even get here?

“I’m glad to see your up.”

You scuffled on your hands, propping yourself up in bed. “Where is she?” you shivered, moving your free leg up to your chest. The only other thought that consumed your brain was the little girl you were protecting.

“You must be cold. Here,” David said, snapping his fingers. One of his friends fed a blanket through the bars that were currently entrapping you. He draped the blanket over you. You hated it, but had no choice but to accept it.

“Where is she?” you reiterated. “She’s fine.” David ensured to you. “All comfy like you.”

“This is far from comfortable.” you hissed at him. “Just, tell me a few things and I can make you feel real comfortable.” David said. His tone made your stomach drop.

“Where is he?” David asked, mimicking your insistent question.

You knew he meant Joel. That’s all they wanted. Joel. You and Ellie were just the sad accessories that came along with him. “With the rest of the group.” you lied. David sucked his teeth. “Tell the truth,” he said, standing up over you. Scooting over in the small bed, you tried to put as much distance between you and the man.

“God doesn’t look down well on liars,”

‘What a freak’ you thought to yourself. You remembered reading old stories about cults that mimicked his teachings, or what he had preached at you the night he found you and Ellie.

“What kind of god makes our world a living hell?” you taunted. “Why would you believe in some shit cause? Have you seen what is out there?”

A subtle but dark smile came to David’s face. He brought up his hand and promptly slapped you on the cheek. Hard. The all too familiar needle like feeling seeped in on your cheek. The taste of blood slowly began to form in your mouth.

“We all need a father. We all need some guidance.” David said, bringing his hand up to your face again. You winced, hoping he wouldn’t strike you again. Instead, his fingers grabbed your chin. “There’s always time to repent,”

He inspected your face, forcing it to turn in whichever angle he would like. Blood filled your gums and began to dribble down your face as he squeezed your cheeks together. “Such a pretty thing,” he sighed. You spat in his face. He sighed and wiped the blood and spit mixture from his forehead with his sleeve.

He let go and stepped back. “I see your confidence, I see your leadership, I see myself in you.” he explained, taking another step back. “We could lead, you know. Bring greatness to this group. I could give you a future. A future with me.”

A new kind of fear began as you slowly began to realize what he truly wanted from you. The only thing you were good for in his eyes, maybe besides your flesh. His eyes seemed to undress you under the few layers of clothes you had on. They had taken your coat the previous night and you were left in your jeans and one of Joel’s flannels you stole from his pack to stay warm.

“Just give him up and I’ll give you the world.”

You sat silently. It was obvious that David was getting annoyed. “He’s just your old dad. It’s probably better if my guys get to him before the-”

“He’s not my dad.” you said harshly. “Well,” David laughed. “My apologies.”

He dragged the stool from the corner of the cell to the side of the bed. He straddled the stool and got a little too close for comfort. “Is he her dad?” he asked. You shook your head no. “Uncle, brother, cousin…? I’m trying to understand the relationship so I don’t hurt the little girl too much.”

You looked away and focused on the painted white brick wall. He was searching for leverage, an advantage you were not about to give him. The breathing exercises were not working when you could smell David’s rancid breath on you. “Oh,” he said with a smirk. “I get it.”

“Your with him.”

Closing your eyes, you moved your hand over your face. “Aren’t you a little young for such an old geezer?” he asked. You shook your head no. What a fucking narcissist. This man had to be Joel’s age, and from the looks of how much hair he had left I would say, maybe, older.

The age gap was the one thing keeping you from going the extra step and pursuing Joel. The mutual attraction had been present for a while, but you both were too afraid to face the facts. And now that he was as good as dead, the mere thought of what could have been stung harder than it should have.

“If your not gonna talk, then I’m just going to move to your little friend.” David sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get what he wanted out of you without some sort of leverage. His original plan hadn’t worked.

“No,” you called out, wanting to swallow your words back down. David’s back turned around again. “Then tell me pretty girl,” he said, each step echoing in the jail cell as he got closer to you. “Are you fucking him?” he asked, his nose almost touching yours. With lips pursed and your eyes tightly closed, you shook your head no. Your face rose with heat at the mere implication. 

“Liar.” he spit at you. He left you once again and sat outside your cage with his friends.

You began to doze off. Caged to the bed like a dog and freezing wasn’t the best headspace to stay in. You tried to imagine the penicillin Ellie came back with had some sort of super power and resurrected Joel so he could come kill this red headed motherfucker that wouldn’t stop staring you down. So that he could rescue you and Ellie and you could return to Jackson to get proper treatment and then take Ellie to the lab that was supposedly in Salt Lake City. So Joel could return to you and just be there and be alive. You missed Joel endlessly, even though you were just with him hours prior. And the last time you saw him, he was as good as gone.

As you were dreaming about the unlikely future, the men began to stir. One left, and another followed. There was muffled arguing down the hallway. David was getting angry about all the commotion and went to see what was happening.

“She what?” you heard him yell down the hall. “You mean to tell me she’s escaped?”

Your lungs caught your breath too hard when you heard him say that. She’s escaped? Ellie?

“Watch her.” David commanded, poking his head in the room and yelling at a man who you believed to be named James. He sat down in David’s stool and stared at you. You slowly began to get up, your leg chain dangling off the bed. James didn't say a word. 

Suddenly, two gunshots rang out. You grabbed for the white painted bars blocking you from leaving, and tripping on your leg chain. “No!” you screamed, pulling yourself back up. “No,” you said quieter, the reality of Ellie’s death started to become a little too real for your comfort. 

James had arisen, his hand rested on his gun in it’s holster as he anxiously stared at the door. He took a step back, contemplating what he was going to do. His back was turned to you. Another shot rang out, and James jumped backwards. In the hassle, the keychain holding your key to freedom was conveniently sticking out of his back pocket and was accessible to you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the keys and along fell out his knife. 

James was quick to react, grabbing your hand with the keys interlocked in your fingers. He grunted as your other hand met the set of keys and started to pry his cold, lanky fingers off the keys. James was hesitant to drop his gun, it would have been in reach for you. He was clueless that his knife was in reach where he couldn't see. 

“Fine,” he said, giving up. He let go and let you have the keys. “The second you try anything…” 

He looked over at his gun. He was still level with you on the ground. Sliding the keys behind you, you quickly grabbed the knife from behind him. Panic flashed in his eyes as you grabbed his neck and swiftly impaled his neck with the knife. He began to choke, and you pushed it in once again. His gun fell from his hand as he uselessly pawed at his neck. 

After a few tries with the various keys, you finally unlocked your leg from the chain that had been wrapped around your ankle all night. Quickly, you escaped your jail cell. You grabbed James’s knife from his neck and wiped it off on your jeans. Also, you stole his gun. 

You were shaking. Freezing and adrenaline wasn't the best combination at the moment. You were unsure of where to go. Where was Ellie? Where would Ellie go? You were all she had left. The cold hallway with a door with light pouring out under it seemed like the smart choice. 

When you opened the door, you were hit like a brick wall with a gust of wind blowing snow in your direction. Your arm immediately came to cover your eyes as you hastily made your way through the snow cloud. Just as it was about to clear, two arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you out in to the open. 

After grunting and fighting what you prayed wasn’t David or one of his associates, your hands were held behind your back tightly. Screaming and wriggling, you couldn’t hear the voice of your new partner in crime trying to calm you. 

“Y/N!” you finally heard. The haze around you seemed to settle. “Hey! It’s me,” 

You opened your eyes from the struggle and thought you were hallucinating from the evident dehydration and starvation. His hands now rested on your shoulders as he looked at you with the first inkling of real fear you had ever seen behind his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Joel asked in a gutted tone, staring at the formation of a red handprint on your face. The fear turned into rage behind his eyes. All you could do was stare in to his face and enjoy the safe feeling once again. An unintentional sob came from you. Joel quickly embraced you. 

His hand shook as he cradled your head in his hand. “I got you,” he whispered, holding your body tight against his. “T-they still have her.” you whispered in his ear. 

Joel’s body stiffened. 

“Where?” he asked, letting you go. He reached for his coat, sliding it off his arms. “I don’t know I was trying to find her and—”

Joel noticed your hands and grabbed for them. They were covered in fresh blood. “Fuck,” he whimpered. “Go find her.” you said, pulling your hands away from his. “But—”

“Go,” you trembled. 

Joel’s longing look was one you were never going to forget. He saw the gun tucked in your pants and gave you a nod. “Hide,” he said in a hushed voice. 

As he was about to leave, you called out his name. He turned to you with a hurtful sigh. He was limping. Swallowing, you spit out the words to the man you had fallen for across this journey across the country. “I love you,” 

He was taken aback. It was definitely sudden and unexpected. His lips parted slightly in shock. Joel’s need to protect Ellie was strong at the moment. He didn’t have time to give in to these childish antics at the moment.

“I…”

His feelings for you wanted to stay, but his duty to Ellie, his duty to Sarah was more important than a silly crush on a silly girl. This whole time he thought he was just being delusional. All the little things, little moments the two of you shared he thought was just out of pure alliance and survival. 

Nausea filled you as you as you realized he had to go. He wasn’t going to say it back; from everything you knew about Joel Miller, you should have expected this exact reaction. He was unable to love, unable to just say it back to someone who was significantly younger than him and was a stranger just six months ago. Joel would regret this moment for the rest of his life. He stared at you in disbelief, unsure of what to do. He watched as your lips pursed and your hands wrap around your stomach, trying to keep yourself warm. 

“I’m sorry.” he muttered, turning away from you. 

You watched as you zipped his coat up as another gust of wind threw snow around the open space and he was gone.

Quickly, your eyes darted for a hiding spot. The survival instinct came in and tried its best to shut out the hurt you had just caused yourself. An old heat radiator stood a few feet to your left, in the direction Joel was. A produce crate covered in snow was another foot away and you picked it up, placing it next to the radiator. You sat on the freezing ground, clutching the gun and praying for something to go right today. 

A terrible scream erupted in the town’s square. You recognized that scream anywhere. Ellie, the little girl you had been with practically since her birth was in trouble. Your heart pounded in your chest as you jumped from your hiding space and ran towards the screaming. When you arrived, you stopped a few feet behind them. Joel was holding Ellie just as he was holding you moments before, moments before you had just fucked everything up. A lump rose in your throat as you feared the worst. 

“Ellie!” you yelled loudly and clear, catching the little girl’s attention. She looked up at you and wailed, her face was covered in blood. Almost falling on your knees mid run to her, she left Joel’s arms and collapsed in to yours. 

“Oh, baby.” you murmured, brushing her hair our of her face. She held on to you and sobbed in to your chest. You offered soft words of assurance, unaware of what monstrosities Ellie had just survived. Slowly rocking her back and forth, your hand intertwined with hers as you tried to calm her down. Brief words through the sobs Ellie let out broke your heart. 

“Y/N-” Joel said with a raspy voice. You shot him a look of hurt as you rested your chin on Ellie’s head. You slowly shook your head in disappointment. “It’s okay, Ellie.” you whispered in her ear. “Your safe now.”

“We really should go,” Joel urged, anxiously looking around. You closed your eyes, ignoring him. Ellie’s wails had subsided, but her grip on your waist hadn’t let up. 

“Let’s go,” you whispered to her, using the sleeves of Joel’s coat to wipe some of the blood off of her face. Joel was right. You all were heavily exposed at the moment. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

--

It was now night. The horse was gone, and Joel was barely able to keep upright for long. You had found a cave while trying to hunt down a rabbit. The three of you were going to rest there for the night. 

Ellie hadn’t left your side. Her hand was in yours as you made your way up the cold mountainside. Slowly, the three of you trudged upward. 

The rabbit you had caught for dinner was average. Joel was hurt, but still useful. He made a fire and helped Ellie get comfortable. She was in dire need for a good night of sleep. Hell, you all were in dire need for a good night of sleep. No words had been spoken between you and Joel since the small town. 

Ellie’s head rested in your lap. You sat against the wall of the cave and watched Ellie as she slowly took in breaths. Joel was fixated on the flames, making sure they were still roaring strong. 

“You should get some sleep,” Joel said, breaking the tension. You shrugged. “I-I can take first watch,” he offered. “No.” you said back bitterly. 

“Y/N,” Joel sighed, adjusting his tone to yours. “Are you going to be bitter the rest of this trip?” he asked bluntly. Your head snapped to look up at him. Joel raised an eyebrow. 

“I just need some time, Joel.” 

“Well, you kinda said it at the worst time possible.” he muttered, using the ground to stand up and fetch another log of wood for the fire. “Well,” you seethed. “I thought you were dead. When I saw you…I had to.” 

You sighed and closed your eyes as you heard him toss the wood on the fire. 

Joel’s shoulders slumped as he slid down back against the wall. “Yeah, I know.” he said heavily. “It’s just hard for me to hear things like that.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have been more… considerate.” you apologized, searching for the right word. Joel was right; wrong time and wrong place. Stretching your legs out towards the fire, Ellie stirred in her sleep. You and Joel stared at the girl, waiting for her to calm. Her grasp on your hand tightened, but she seemed to fall back into her hazy state.

“I failed her,” Joel said, a tinge of sadness backed up his tone. “Joel, no.” you sighed. “I-I should have been there. I should have been more careful and…”

His face scrunched as he placed his hand on his forehead, shielding his eyes. Was he… no. Was he?

Slowly, you moved Ellie off your lap. She let out a few grunts of protest, but you placed your backpack under her head. You scuffled next to Joel. He seemed to jump at your touch. “Joel,” you whispered, grabbing his hand in yours. Tears welled in his eyes. “I failed her Y/N.” 

The definition of her was falling on a fine line between Ellie and Sarah. 

“No you didn’t. You saved us, Joel. You saved her.” 

The two of you stared at Ellie. She was sound asleep. Ellie was now clean, you had helped her clean up in a freezing stream. It almost felt like a proud parent moment in some odd, fucked up way. The two of you staring at your miracle kid. She had survived and endured so much for her age. It was almost odd to see her resting so peacefully. The knowledge that the two of you got her there safely was enough to keep the hope flowing.

Your other hand fell over the one you had holding on to his, and your head rested on his shoulder. 

“I love that kid so fucking much,” Joel blurted out, his free hand moving to wipe a tear out of his face. “I know.” you said, feeling the emotions in you begin to rise. “I love her too,” you whispered, your eyebrows falling soft. Joel tried to keep it in, but a sudden gasp for air made it evident that he was crying. 

Sitting with him was the best thing you could do. Your hand rubbed over his knuckles that had healed from the events of leaving the Boston QZ. Slowly, testing your limits, your arm wrapped around his shoulders. He moved his head in to the nape of your neck and sighed. He was hiding behind you from his feelings and the world. You were his metaphorical escape. 

Joel’s mind wandered to all the previous moments the two of you had shared. Awkward, brief stares at each other in the Boston QZ periodically before you two actually knew each other. When you bandaged him up after a bullet graze. Your hands were so soft and you worked so carefully, making sure the process was as painless as you could make it. Or when you shared your last meal with him. You ripped the disgusting piece of jerky up and insisted he ate it. The two of you were sitting in what used to be a park and was watching Ellie play on the fragile equipment when it happened. One of the few moments she actually got to live like a kid. 

“Y/N?” Joel whispered in your ear. Turning to look at him, his eyes were red and puffy. “I do love you, you know.” 

A thin lipped smile rose to your face. You nodded. “I’m not very good at these kinds of things… I’m sorry.” he sighed.

You rejected his apology and rested your head back on his shoulder. “I know. Me too,” you managed to say, with a slight chuckle at the end. Your hand wrapping over his slowly turned in to his hand intertwining with yours. “We’ll get through this. Together.” you assured him. Joel nodded, leaning in to kiss you softly on the forehead. You felt a rush of happiness fill you at this small gesture. 

Joel was a hard man to crack, you had known that since the first day you met him. His stubbornness was relentless. This meant the world to you. 

Now as the two of you lay side by side, you felt him wrap his arms around you. Joel was so warm, it was comforting. He pulled you close, not caring what Ellie would think when she awoke. You both closed their eyes, praying this remote cave was safe enough to not stay up and watch for any danger. And it was. 

Joel was healing physically, but the shattered man inside began repairs as the night moved on. He knew he could do anything, feel anything, and try to be even an inkling of the man he used to be with you at his side.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy

#peterparkersnose #peterparkersnosework #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #joel miller headcanon #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller age gap #joel miller age gap fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #joel the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #ellie williams #joel tlou #joel x reader

[best-overplayed-song]

As someone who never understood the hype around Take Me To Church and keeps forgetting that song even exists, can I ask the fans what exactly it is you like about that song? Because my current hypothesis is that yall were around 14 when it came out and music just hits different when you're 14. What else is there to like, genuinely

I try to stay unbiased here but Hozier is one of the only musicians I allow myself to be pretentious about, so before i info dump about why i love take me to church here's some other hozier songs you should give a shot:

francesca [i'd go through hell again just to hold you one more time], nina cried power [song about activism and black activists], swan upon leda [about the violence of colonialism, misogyny, and religious bigotry], eat your young [about the violence of war, capitalism, and generational trauma], movement, to noise making (sing), shrike, NFWMB [sexy], sunlight

anyway take me to church is so much more than just “loving you is like church”. he starts off by telling us how happy his lover makes him, despite constantly being told by The Church he was born sick and his happiness is a result of sinful behavior. he rejects the religion being forced on him, because unlike christianity, his church doesn't force him to accept absolution to reach heaven ("my church offers no absolutes / she tells me, 'worship in the bedroom' / the only heaven I'll be sent to / is when i'm alone with you"). the last two lines of the first verse-- "i was born sick, but i love it / command me to be well"-- questions why a god would create us to be inherently sick only to punish us for being sick.

i see the the chorus as a smart-ass comparison of his relationship to christianity. The Church expects him to blindly worship their lies and confess his sins, which he knows will be used against him ("take me to church / i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife"), but he's supposed to accept this and devote his life to God so he can get to heaven ("offer me that deathless death / oh good god, let me give you my life"). by offering to do this for his lover, he's equating their love to religion.

in the second verse, he reiterates that he worships his lover with a metaphor ("if i'm a pagan of the good times / my lover's the sunlight"). the subtle remark of referring to the ancient practice of paganism as "the good times" comments on the colonization and forced conversion of ireland by christian england, which criminalized paganism. immediately after stating how his lover demands a sacrifice, he hungrily eyes the high horse The Church sits on, and questions what power they have over him and his people ("that's a fine lookin' high horse / what you got in the stable? / we've a lot of starving faithful"). this could also be a reference to the irish potato famine, which was not a result of drought, but of english lords forcing the irish to turn over their entire crop to send to england.

then we get the most poetic description of sex i've ever heard: "no masters or kings when the ritual begins / there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin / in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene / only then, i am human / only then, i am clean". fuck man

a lot of gay people with religious trauma love this song bc of everything i described above. also, it's a fuckin banger.

and yes i was 14 when it came out. what about it

#asks #song propaganda #hozier

[lowkeyrobin]

MCYT ; songs that they associate with you

includes tommyinnit, tubbo, freddie badlinu, ranboo, quackity

warnings ; horrible music taste. Did a few for each of them lmaooo. also let's act like dmca doesn't exist on twitch or whatever. if schlatt can play Fleetwood Mac on stream then who cares yk

masterlist

BADLINU

Kiss From A Rose ; Seal

You guys watched Batman Forever together and this song came on during credits. Life changing experience.

You had the DVD version with the music video bonus, that was being replayed for like twenty minutes

He has it on almost every playlist he has

He seems like the type of person to make a private, bad quality edit/music video of you two to it

Goosebumps ; Sorana

Dude this song perfectly reflected how he felt before you guys got together 🙏🙏

Plays this on stream when you're streaming with him for background noise.

Before you get together, he still plays it, just makes sure to not let you know that he feels that exact way about you.

Little inside joke between you two, it's kinda your song in a way

Editors love editing you guys to this song omg. They're always cute as hell too

TOMMYINNIT

FaceTime with my Mom (Tonight) ; Bo Burnham

You guys karaoke-d the shit out of this song on stream with Jack and Freddie.

It became a core memory for him. You were only friends at the time but it kinda made him realize that he wanted to be more than just your friend.

He actually FaceTimed his mom afterwards and she said hello to chat and everything

Little funny moment that he loves to think about

Someday (Remastered) ; Sugar Ray

He found this song on your older music playlist

He plays it a lot and thinks about you

Like daydreams that you're on a warm beach with all your friends and stuff

The song has like a warm, summery vibe to it so all summer he makes sure this comes up on your queue when streaming or in the car or whatever.

You guys probably dance around the living room to this song idk

TUBBO

Where The Lines Overlap ; Paramore

"No one is as lucky as us" REAL.

He cherishes you in his own special way yk?

He thinks he's so lucky to have you when you're surprised you could even pull someone, let alone him

Before you guys started dating, he saw an edit of you two to this song and he religiously watched it LMAO

You're both Paramore fans so this worked out perfectly.

Orange Show Speedway ; Lizzy McAlpine

the guitar sounds exactly how you feel to him if that makes sense

the happy nostalgia/dopamine rush kind of feel makes him all smiley and makes him think of you

he literally fell in love at a car speedway show that you two went to together for a little "first date" vlog so 🙏🙏🙏

it's just perfect idk man

RANBOO

Already Over ; Mike Shinoda

this song reminds me a lot of genloss so yk I had to include it here

but yeah, genloss vibes

reminds them a lot of yours and his genloss characters and their relationships and whatnot

when on set for s2 they listen to this on repeat bc your dynamic is so cool

although the viewers r desperately trying to kill you bc you're kind of at fault for genloss! rans trauma/predicament

they'll figure out that's not totally true tho

White Noise ; James Marriott

"I'd quite like to go home now" mother fucker you are his home :(

you're the "What's the point of having a friend when you're on your own in the end" outlook and they're the "I'll make an attempt knowing that I'll fuck it up" in a /pos outlook

you two go perfectly together

like two puzzle pieces, straight the fuck up

the cutest of dynamics

QUACKITY

Le Jardin ; La Femme

you guys watched Fresh together (10/10 btw)

this song came on halfway through and you soundsearched it and quickly dove into the la femme rabbit hole

he thought it was adorable cause you kind of understood the music but he understood completely

honestly got you into learning Spanish more

he literally only sees you listening to la femme to the point where he's a little concerned

you're just addicted to the paradigmes album you're fine

but he does play this on stream a lot just for you

editors go crazy after figuring out its always being played for you omg

Don't Want It ; Lil Nas X

holy shit this song goes hard

anyways yall always play this to get hyped up

he found an edit of you guys to this song and he thinks about it 24/7

literally the "people in my life should know I am not the old me" and the "wanted happiness, wanted forgiveness" duo

I can't explain it it's just vibes

#lowkeyrobin #badlinu x reader #ranboo x reader #quackity x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #mcyt oneshot #mcyt preferences #mcyt x reader

[sweet-chimera]

TW: Call out post, drama

// Damn we were going to keep it quiet and respectful until this point. because like always. Spork, aka Shiloh can't take accountability and Never does anything wrong despite the fact that this is the what? 6th group of people enmass to cut contact with them? Spork we were being quiet about it for YOUR sake. Cause you're a bad person and we wanted to be done with you. But fine. We'll do it your way. We blocked you because you're a toxic person who threatens to harm yourself when we don't comply to you. Not because of a fake wedding rp event. Content and stories under the cut. Long post trigger warning

And because he named dropped us, potentially to potentially insight violence on us. We'll return the favor. We were willing to just soft block and call it a day but then you do this? We knew you were a karen but come on spork. This is low even for you. For those of you that don't know, Spork aka:

patchiesdoodles, decipheringmadness, cxpescxwlsandcrxmes, ifyouwouldloveme, thegreeksknewthescore, fxllen-cne, thxpatriarch, unforgivendivine, AND the-blackened-dove.

Likes to block evade, exhibit controlling tendencies towards their rp partners, leverage marginalization's to groups that he doesn't belong to to white knight and get his way, tone police, sexually harass people mainly on voice call, guilt trip, bully those that speak out against him, use his partners to harass people who block him, vague posts, gives ultimatums, and threaten self harm when he doesn't get his way.

Lets get this out of the way, My experience with spork

I met spork in the muntain june 2023. And it was one of the most grating experience of my life. At every chance they got they spoke over people, talked openly about their sexual trauma when no one has consented to hearing it. And tone policed me, a cambodian/afro indigenous person from baltimore, for using language that was "Offensive to black people." Only to then lay off after yelling at me for a few minutes. When he found out I was black. (Screen shot of me talking to the mod of the muntain afterwards)

I was off put, and upset. That someone who is this complexion

is tone policing me, AN AFRO INDIGENOUS PERSON WHEN I MAKE NO ATTEMPTS TO HIDE IT. IM BLACK.

But seeing as we're a vastly neuro divergent community. I forgave and forgot because it wasn't worth the fight. it didn't stop them from constantly bringing up sexual or traumatic topics. But at the very least. They were upset at me for using AAVE and saying the N word. A SLUR I CAN USE.

But then later down the line. I talked to the muntain mod about introducing my partners to the rp community and to help the transition go smoothly.

I EVEN WENT INTO VOICE CALL AND BEGGED THEM, SPORK SPECIFICALLY. TO BE ON THEIR BEST BEHAVIOUR.

My girlfriend joined on the 30th and my boyfriend joined on the first.

During the first call on the 30th. Spork dominated the conversation and flirted with my girlfriend infront of me upon finding out we were polyamourus. But for the most part was respectful.

On the voice call on the second. They were racist and immflamatory to my boyfriend. Tao. A native mexican man. Spork claims to be indigenous themself but I have no proof of this. But as we all know, Abrahamic religions have decimated the indigenous populations and caused Alot of harm.

On voice call. Spork brings up their LITERAL JESUS CHRIST muse. And talks about their religious trauma. Tao, also talks about his in the form of a joke. "Oh Jesus sure liked to wash feet huh?" A TRUE FACT. NOT THAT BAD. WE ALL HAVE MADE FUN OF IT.

Here comes white knight Spork, yelling at my partner to not make fun of jewish traditions. Its insensitive and blastephemous. Only to then dominate the conversation to talk about their trans jesus muse who openly talks about being abused by god

(Recap of the voice call i had with the mod)

So spork, a white passing person AT BEST, told my darker complexion NATIVE MEXICAN BOYFRIEND. That he shouldn't make jokes about judaism? When spork is a white satanist? And all abrahamic religions not just Catholicism has caused damage to our populations? You didn't even let him say more then that one joke, you didn't even give him 10 seconds to say is name before dominating the conversation again

Sweetie. 1.) Anyone can criticize and make fun of the bible, the torah, or the Quran. 2.) SAYING JESUS WASHED FEET. WHICH IS TRUE. IS NOT AS INFLAMMATORY. As making a gay trans jesus blog AS A ROLEPLAY CHARACTER. To talk about how god abused him.

And these are just my personal experiences with spork.

WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THEIR FRIEND POLITELY ASKED TO STOP SHIPPING BUT STILL BE FRIENDS?

HMMM. THATS WEIRD. THATS A PRETTY POLITE WAY TO GO ABOUT HAVING A CONVERSATION. BECAUSE CONSENT TAKES TWO PARTIES. WHAT WAS YOUR RESPONSE TO ONE PARTY NOT CONSENTING SO YOU DONT GET YOUR WAY?

OH YEAH.

YOU VAGUE POST ON THE DASH, GUILT TRIP PEOPLE FOR STILL ASSOCIATED WITH VOID (gin-n-chthonic) and get upset when you saw them on your dash because you keep block evading them to see if they were talking about you. YOURE MENTAL HEALTH WAS MESSED UP BECAUSE YOUR FRIEND HAD A POLITE CONVERSATION WITH YOU? ABOUT NOT REAL CHARACTERS? AND YOUR RESPONSE WAS A PUBLIC CALL OUT POST. And then you go around to people like slurk.

Who've you've been codependently abusing for a long time. And try to guilt trip them into blocking void.

Because thats a sound response. AS WELL AS BITCH AND MOAN ABOUT IT IN CALL FOR DAYS. THIS ISN'T EVEN INCLUDING THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE A HABIT OF GETTING YOUR FRIENDS AND PARTNERS TO ATTACK AND OSTRICIZE PEOPLE FOR YOU. Remember when jessica was sick with covid. But you wanted an answer so bad. That you sent your boyfriend after her? CAUSE WE DO.

And how you admitted in voice call that you would type from Boogies account to send people things, speak for him. OR ADMITTED THAT ROLEPLAYING IS A SPIRITUAL THING FOR YOU. How these characters are extension of yourself and if they feel pain or rejected you do? So every time someones muse doesn't want to interact with them. YOU A REAL HUMAN BEING FEEL THE PAIN?

cause we do.

SO LETS RECAP. TLDR;

you give ultimatums

guilt trip

block evade

were openly racist to a mexican indigenous man

hit on my girlfriend infront of me

can't read a room socially

send mobs after people

talk about traumatic shit without peoples consent

overly sexual even when we say we're uncomfortable

fly off the handle and go on public tirades when we try to talk to you, then get surprised when no one wants to talk to you and just quietly exits your life

use your loved ones accounts to talk to people who go nc with you

only white knight and virtue signal when its convenient to you

want to control everyones character and insert your muse into everything but when they don't comply you guilt trip, bitch, give ultimatums, or post publicly about not being loved

you weaponize your marginalization as a trans man but are clearly white passing and command alot of social power from your social media presence

sexually harass people around you

and you tone police the people of color around you when we speak up

WE DIDN'T BLOCK YOU OVER A FAKE RP EVENT. WITH FAKE PEOPLE THAT YOU INSIST ARE REAL. WE REFUSE TO BE AROUND YOU BECAUSE YOU REFUSE TO GET HELP FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH. WE BEGGED YOU TO. AND YOU GUILT TRIP PEOPLE WITH THREATS OF OSTRICHCIZATION AND SELF HARM.

YOU'RE A BAD PERSON SPORK.

#tw: drama #tw: call out post #call out post #drama #patchiesdoodles

[eddywoww]

eddywow masterlist

Hi, I'm Eddywow. I write mainly kink related smut fics, so please read the tags and proceed with caution. This is a comprehensive list of all my stuff, so have fun! (all steddie)

18+ ONLY PLS

Join my patreon for exclusive writing!

The Dom Eddie Series Steve downloads a dating app and meets a tattoo artist named Eddie, who just might introduce him to a whole new lifestyle.

Secrets, Secrets Eddie glanced at the username and memorized it. You know, just in case. NotYourBoy22.

Pornstar/Popstar AU Steve (popstar extraordinaire) meets Eddie at a party. He recognizes him but can't quite recall from where...

Ghost Stories Steve pushed away the guilt, the feeling of unease, and kept digging. (monster!eddie au)

Consummate Professional Why couldn't the hot metalhead hit on Steve for once? (nerdy steve and boss eddie)

A Chainsaw and Community Service It's gonna be a weird month, Harrington. (haunted house community service au)

Digging A Grave (That I Can't Fit Into) Eddie didn't like this. It looked fucking bad. (religious trauma au)

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me It'd been 5 years,for fucks sake. (exes au)

Lonely But You Can't Let It Go "Besides, someone has been checking you out for like...the last twenty minutes. Won't stop staring at your legs."(older teacher steve)

Flashbacks "Why's it a secret?" Eddie asked slowly. (childhood friends au)

Uneducated Guesses Verse Eddie meets a receptionist at a kink club that his best friend drags him to. Remember, you're only weird interaction away from some self discovery. (virgin dom eddie au)

I Made Loving You A Blood Sport Mafia Alpha/Omega toxic romance

Such A Fucking Pretty Girl Wlw steddie au

In A Parking Lot Somewhere Omega Eddie/Alpha Steve AU

In My Boxers, Half Stoned Eddie calls a very interesting and demanding phone sex operator. (dom steve/sub eddie)

Maybe Eddie, Maybe Not "I won't tell anyone," Eddie reassured Steve gently, glancing around. "You're pretty convincing. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't been looking for signs." (Alpha Eddie/Omega Steve AU)

Baby Boy, Boy Toy "“Your skin is very skin,” Eddie blurted out, face heating immediately as he realized what he said. “I meant nice. Your- it’s nice. You have nice skin. I sound like a serial killer, oh my god.” (sub eddie/dom steve with age gap)"

First Face That I Saw "Eddie was used to seeing sad people. Sad families, sad parents, loved ones torn up over the ever-moving cycle of life. (funeral director eddie)"

Tentative "Oookay," The woman drew out, one ringed hand sweeping at Stevie's hair. "Hey there, Uhh. You're kind of in my lap. Can you get up?" (wlw steddie popstar/assistant au)

Impressionable Young Minds "Number one rule. Don't talk to strangers. Don't even look at them. (major trigger warnings: horror fic about kidnapping and abuse)"

Bubblegum Girl "F/M steddie fic. Bartender Eddie/Sorority girl Stevie"

And If I Got Your Name Tattooed On Me, Would You Care? “Is this your dad?” The guy asked out of pure confusion and a hint of fear. (moms best friend, age gap au)

A Man In His Church "I know you more than you know yourself, Steve." (demon/religious au)

Vile Things “Again, it’s your choice,” Craig gestured wide with his hands. “No man that isn’t a creep is gonna do what you want them to do, Steve. You know that. That’s why you’re here.” (dead dove bdsm gone wrong)

#my fic #here have a masterlist! #about me

[violettaskies]

To Share A Kiss The Devil Has Known

(ch. 3)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x you // Eddie Munson x f!reader // perv!Eddie Munson x innocent!reader

Genre: romance, mild smut, Catholic trauma, religious trauma, friends to lovers, slow burn

Notes: the final part!! hope you enjoy // Eddie is kinda pervy lol // he’s kinda dark but also not // i tried to write him to be as much of a consent king as possible // please read chapters 1 and 2 if you want some more context and details, but if u just want smut then i totally get it lol this chapter is the one for u

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // talks of religion, reader's parents are religious, light manipulation, pillow humping, humping, first times, dacryphilia, corruption kink, praise kink, masturbation, smut, slight dubcon //please let me know if there should be more added, thank you!

ao3 // chapter one // chapter two // masterlist // series masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

It was a kiss only the Devil knew: fierce and decidedly unvirginal, tasting like cigarettes and salty tears the moment Eddie’s mouth was on yours. What had only been a fantasy to him for years, just became reality, and he didn’t know how to react. This was something he would think about nearly every second of the day — from times you would apply lip gloss on while looking in your locker mirror, to the way you bit the same shiny lips during the day if you found something he did funny. Getting to kiss you was a blessing and Eddie was going to let you know that. 

His lips were soft, only moving gently at first so you could get used to the feeling. You swear the kiss took over your entire body, because now you were grabbing Eddie’s hair to pull him closer. Everything within you wanted more, but the lingering guilt from your confession came back just as you felt his soft tongue lick your bottom lip. 

“E-Eddie,” you breathed out, letting go from his vice grip for a moment. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing,” the man teased before stroking your neck to guide you towards his lips again. You nearly gave in, but the guilt took over. 

“We can’t, this is wrong my parents are upstairs and they might —”

“Do you want to stop?” Eddie cut you off, and the deepness of his voice resonated through your body. 

“No, I don’t.” With that, you made the first move to kiss him now, tilting your head upwards to join your lips together. No matter how wrong this was, no matter how many times your family and friends said that there was no dating or kissing boys ever — you didn’t care. The Angel on your shoulder wanted this too. 

Eddie’s lips lingered on yours for a few moments, peeking his tongue through to see if you would understand what he was trying to do. Then, with one stroke down your spine, where he knew you would tingle, you gasped, letting his tongue in. It felt strange, but soft, as he explored for a few seconds before you tried to follow. 

“Is this French kissing?” you whimpered between kisses. 

“Yes, it is.” Eddie began to leave a trail with his mouth from your cheek down to your neck. “How do you know about that? I thought you were a good girl.” 

“I am, a-aah good girl,” you moaned loudly as he started to lick and suck against your pulse. “I read it in a magazine accidentally.” 

“Accidentally?” he whispered into your neck with a slight chuckle, while holding your body so he could guide you to lay down with your head on the left armrest. 

You started to feel lightheaded as he continued kissing your neck and stroking up and down your body. “Yes, it was at my friend’s house during a sleepover.”

“Did you like it?” he teased, looking you straight in the eye again. You nodded, then grasped the front of your friend’s shirt to pull him down to kiss you again. 

Eddie could see that you were nervous, but the talking was helping you relax as each moment passed. So much so, that the new position of you laying down made it so your legs had more of an opportunity to unknowingly rub against each other. He wondered if you realized just how much you were whimpering and moaning into his mouth, and especially if you recognized the denim-clad hardness rutting against your thigh. 

After a few minutes of sweet kisses between the two of you. Some where he would need to hum into your mouth to get you to slow down, Eddie went to shift both your bodies slightly so he could lay on his side with his head on the arm rest with you — his back to the plush of the sofa. He couldn’t help but smile at the heat that kept rising to your cheeks as you eagerly tried to deepen the kiss. 

“This feels so nice, Eddie,” you tried to whimper as quietly as possible so your parents still thought you two were working on the project. With soft lips, Eddie tried to get you to slow down and loosen the grip on his shirt. 

“Yeah?” he slowly kissed the side of your mouth then moved his head back to look you in the eye while stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“And we aren’t sinning right now, right?” You look up at him nervously. 

“No, nothing too naughty is happening right now,” he chuckled while going down to meet your foreheads together. 

“But, I’m feeling the same way I did all those nights, Eddie. What if—”

He tilted his head towards you again, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. “Don’t feel guilty for such a beautiful thing you can’t control.”

His words were always so kind to you. Even now as you began to release a tear or two out of your nervousness, Eddie was able to wipe them and soothe the shivers you did in his arms. “I w-want more. But, we shouldn’t — I shouldn't — Eddie, please help me with my sins.” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he smiled as he saw the way you kept clenching your thighs together at the pleasure only a few minutes of kissing gave you. Eddie went to linger on your lips again, drinking your moans, and tasting the remnants of the strawberry lipgloss you enjoyed so much. While you tugged the hair on the back of his head every time you felt a strong wave of pleasure. 

As you opened your lips to draw a breath, he took that chance to taste you with his tongue quickly, before moving down to whisper sweet nothings into your neck. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that? How I longed for the moment I got to kiss an Angel, only to find out she’s been making herself come every single night for weeks?” Eddie said on your pulse as his hands roamed your back and thighs. “Maybe I do believe in God.” 

“What do you mean?” You whispered, not realizing how his mouth was leaving marks all over your neck. 

“I’ve dreamed about this for years. Now that I have you in my arms, begging for me to sin with you — there’s a part of me that thinks I’m still asleep,” he recited as he kissed his way up to your mouth again, wanting you to inhale his love through the words. Then, he moved his hands on your left knee, before trying to stroke his way up your inner thigh. 

“Sometimes I dream about you too,” you blushed at the thought that the basement confessional was still ongoing. “Then I think of your nice touches all over my body and how it makes me tingle because I want more. Just like how you’re doing now.” 

Eddie touched the sides of your thighs, massaging slowly, only going underneath the hem of your skirt for a moment before going back down to the already exposed skin. “Like this?” You nodded with a whimper in response. “How about something like t-this?” He said through gritted teeth, right as he squeezed the plush of your bottom. 

“Y-yeah, once in a while,” you shyly admitted. “I thought it would feel good if you touched me there. It does.” 

“Good to know, sweetheart.” Eddie smiled to himself. “Do you want me to do more?” Although every cell in his body wanted to commit a plethora of sins with you, he knew this was probably the most traumatic and overwhelming past few days for you. He wanted you to say that you needed to do this with him. 

“What were you thinking? I think if you helped me like I help myself, it would be weird.” He tilted his head out of confusion. “I don’t want you to move a pillow beneath me,” you said the words with such innocent eyes that Eddie couldn't help but kiss your nose before speaking again. 

“Like I said before, I could do all the work on your pretty little pussy. I can do so much more than a pillow, baby. That’s what friends — best friends — are for, to help each other when they need it.” Eddie began to move his fingers to the front of your thighs, right underneath your skirt, inching his way closer and closer to your cotton panties. “We can pretend that I’m your pillow.” 

You giggle at the idea, heat flooding in your face out of sheer embarrassment. “But pillows are soft, you’re hard.” 

“Y-yeah, so fucking hard,” Eddie giggled alongside you, but he found your unknown innuendo cute. After one last kiss to your lips, he left you alone at the armrest to lay above your stretched out figure. His hands were moving everywhere, nearly distracting you from the way his leg was stroking yours as you slowly opened them. 

The plush of your thigh brushed up against his hardness when you felt Eddie squeeze your butt again. He groaned into your mouth then shot up to sit in front of you — your right leg in between both of his knees. As he looked at you with fire in his eyes and swollen lips, something awoke in you. Eddie, your friend for the past few years was basically eating you alive, and you didn’t want it any other way. As his eyes made a trail from your panting lips all the way down to your thighs, you started to feel self-conscious at the fact that he might be able to look up your skirt. 

Even if his hands have been up them for half the night. 

To him though, you looked like an Angel looking up at him: lips quivering, thighs unknowingly squeezing together, and your eyes brimming with tears at the pleasure you’re feeling. Even your voice sounded equally as beautiful and Angelic to his ears. 

“So, Eddie, are you gonna help me?” you looked at him whilst biting your lip and pushing your skirt down at how exposed you feel. 

“Am I going to help you sin?” he waited for you to nod slightly before continuing. “Of course I am. But I’ve been helping you this whole time, haven’t I? Making your body tingle just the way you like it before you start to sin in bed, huh?” Eddie never looked away from your eyes as he said the words while trying to pry your thighs apart by leaving featherlight touches on them. Once they were spread wider than they have tonight you gasped. 

“It’s too much now, everything feels a lot more intense than when I’m alone though,” you whimpered out as you let go of holding down your skirt, and let Eddie trace patterns in your inner thigh underneath the tartan pattern. 

“Trust me, that’s a good thing,” his hand squeezed your thigh tightly before he brought himself lower to kiss you. While you found yourself sitting up, craving his lips on yours, and meeting him in the middle. As Eddie kissed you deeply and started to rock his hardness on your thighs lightly, he moaned at the feeling. It wasn’t the right angle though, so the man held you tightly before pushing your back onto the armrest so you were sitting up at an angle. 

“Are you feeling that way too?” You question him between kisses since he started moving so much quicker than before. “Eddie?” The moan came out involuntarily. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m definitely feeling that way.” An idea popped inside his head. “You said you put your pillow right here, huh?” The Dealer lifted your skirt slightly so his fingers could find a wet spot on your cotton panties; but Dear Lord, the whole thing was nearly drenched as he felt it. “And that feels good right?”

You nodded, looking back and forth from his eyes to where his hand was placed. “Y-yes, it feels nice every time I—” a loud yelp left your throat as Eddie started to stroke slow circles right above where your hardened nub was. “What are you doing?” you whispered while biting your lip to stop you from moving your hips forward for more. 

Eddie swooped down to capture your lips with a smile one last time before placing himself to sit between your legs, ensuring both of your thighs were on top of his before speaking. “This, my sweet girl, is what you’ve been rubbing against, it can make anyone scream if you hit it just right.” He continued rubbing slow circles on the cloth-covered clit, making you mewl at the touch. 

“It feels different now, with your f-fingers,” you felt Eddie lift your skirt up fully, showing him the baby blue panties you put on this morning. The exact same colour he saw you wear during that homecoming dance years before, and swore you were an Angel sent to earth for him. 

Heat flooded to your face out of embarrassment of being so much more exposed to your friend now more than ever. “Look how wet you are, if we aren’t careful, we’re gonna ruin your dad’s nice couch.” 

“Let’s ruin it then,” you couldn’t think before speaking, all you could focus on was how nice Eddie’s fingers felt, adding more pressure every time you bucked your hips forward at him. 

“Such a bad girl, sinning in your parents' house every night. Now you’re doing it with the Devil, begging him to commit the sins for you — does that make you feel good?”

“You make me feel good.”

If Eddie knew you had such a mouth on you, he would’ve been playing with you in this way so much sooner. 

He decided to forget that thought, and memorize how you looked in the present. He was enchanted by all of you and the way his Angel could be so bad, just for him. Only for him. Eddie wanted to see you come undone in the same way you’ve been doing yourself for nights — only this time, he wanted to be the one to help get you there. 

So he continued playing with your clit over the cotton panties, flicking up and down, or using two fingers to pinch it: which he found out you really enjoyed. While the other hand played with the waistband, snapping it to get you out of your blissful haze. “Do you ever take these off when you really can’t sleep?” 

“Sometimes, b-but not all the time. I find the pillow gets too wet if I do.” No man has ever wanted to be an inanimate object so bad in their entire life, until Eddie heard those words come out of your lips. 

“F-fuck,” he muttered at the thought, the tightness of his jeans making itself known because of his growing hardness. “Can we take it—”

“No,” you exclaimed while sitting yourself up to grab his shirt’s neckline. “That would be bad, my parents said I should never show it to anyone.” 

“I’m not just anyone, am I?” Eddie kissed you sweetly while holding your face with the hand that was on your panty’s waistband a moment ago. Then guided you back down to lay on the couch again, whilst he followed. “But, that’s okay, we are still going to have fun, if you still want to.” 

“I-I do, please. Can you do that thing some more?” you begged while moving your hips towards the hand of his that was still locked on your wetness. 

Eddie couldn't take it. You were begging, squirming, and whimpering below him for so long that every small movement was felt from his hand to the front of his jeans. So he let go of his hold on your core, causing a whimper of sadness to escape your throat, before he spoke again. “There’s something I want to try. I promise it’ll help you and I feel so good.” 

You could see the desperation in his eyes for the first time tonight. Eddie was going to help you tonight by helping you fall asleep soundly after he does the sinning for you — so why not help him in return? It’s a nice thing to do, right? “Will it be anything bad?” 

“No, Angel, nothing bad at all, it will just be me. Just like I said before, your pretty little pussy won’t need to do a thing — you’ll be sinless tonight, pinky promise.” Eddie holds out his finger in front of your face, knowing full well he lied; however, if it means that you could be happy at least once today, he would do anything. 

“Then, alright,” you join your own pinky with his, before you both kiss your hands simultaneously. “What did you want to try?” 

Eddie coughed loudly making you both giggle then shush him. “Well, tonight I could be your pillow in a way. Just imagine we’re in your bed in the middle of the night and you grab that big stuffed bear I know you have.” 

“I don’t see how that could possibly help you though. Normally, I just use Mr. Honey’s button nose or leg.” The confession came out of you so easily that it even shocked you for a moment once it was blurted out. “Does that mean you’re going to look at my —”

“No, no, no, you said you didn’t want to show me so that’s alright. I was thinking you could use a different part of me than that toy,” Eddie took a moment to stroke your sides as he went to sit up again. Your panties were still on display to him, the wetness still seeping through. If only he could be your bear and use his nose on you too. 

But now, he started to unbuckle his belt, the silver metal making echoing noises through the basement. Then when Eddie untucked his white shirt from his grey jeans, you saw a glimpse of the defined stomach, and hair leading towards the bottom. Something deep down began to throb, just like how you felt those nights right before you had to sin. Unsure of what to do, you moved your hips so your thighs would squish together and offer you some relief. 

Eddie was just about to start pulling down his denim, when he heard you moan. He looks away for one second, and your body was already begging for more. 

“You naughty girl, I haven’t even taken off any clothing yet and you’re turned on.”

“What do you want to do, Eddie? Please, tell me.” You ignore his comment and reach for his thigh to help him in his conquest of trying to give you a seductive strip tease.

“Needy, needy. I thought you said you don’t want to sin, sweetheart?” 

“B-but I haven’t sinned in three days,” you quietly started to sob. “You need to do it for me, I need you, Eddie.”

His cock was really about to peek out of his boxer brief waistband now. Your friend could feel the precum leaking on the cotton, wondering how it would feel to get your wetness on it instead. So he ripped off his pants quickly before diving down to kiss your tears. “I know, we’ll get you there soon, promise. Can you open your legs a bit more for me, pretty girl?”

You did as he asked, your sobs subsiding as you felt pleasure again from the feeling of his fingers circling your clothed clit again. “Why did you take off your pants?” You breathed out. 

“You see how you’re so wet now, huh? Practically dripping all over my fingers just from one touch?” Eddie grabbed your right hand to gently place it on his stomach then drag it down to his achingly hard cock. “Well, this is how my body reacts to you and everything you’ve been doing tonight. So fucking beautiful, laying here in your pretty skirt — moaning my name any chance you got. It’s music to my ears, and my cock,” he chuckled out. 

The heat rose to your face quickly at the words, but then curiosity took over your mind, as you released your hand from his to squeeze the top of what he said you did to him. “We learned about this in health class,” you giggled as he started to groan above you. 

Eddie had to balance himself on the back of the couch since you were squeezing and rubbing your thumb against his head at all the right angles. The man could have finished right there if he didn’t remember that you were the one who really needed the help here. 

“What you’re touching r-right now, is the head, a-and fuck,” he wasn’t able to contain his moans now, nearly thrusting into your hand with each word. “It will feel good for you too if w-we just move positions a little.” 

“Are you in pain, Eddie?” 

“No, baby, your hand just feels really nice, like how you reacted to my own.” Truly, the man was in pain, the blood rushing through his cock was unbearable at the moment. So Eddie quickly held your face to start kissing you again, a feeling you both missed over the past few minutes. Then he moved his body downwards slightly, ensuring that your skirt was flipped up, and your cores were touching. The drenched cotton barrier added more pleasurable friction than you both would have thought. 

The stark contrast between your baby blue panties, to his black and red boxers, was such a beautiful juxtaposition. Representing the both of you, so different, yet still so complimentary. There was a reason why the Devil and Angel always stood at people’s shoulders, telling them what was right from wrong. They couldn’t stay away from one another — like you and Eddie have been since you began this friendship. 

“So this is what I felt earlier, I thought it was your leg,” you smiled into the kisses as your hands made a trail to reach for his mane. 

“That big, huh?” Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle before placing his lips on your pulse to make more marks. 

“Is it supposed to be this big? Is that a good thing?” 

“For some people, it’s a good thing. What about you?” He thrusted his hips upwards, applying pressure to your needy clit — making you gasp at the pleasure. 

After a momentary shock, you moved your hips like you normally do every night. But instead, it was on something that felt so much nicer against your folds than the sometimes too-soft pillow. “I think I like it big. So it fits on m-my sensitive place like a puzzle piece.” 

“You like how it feels, huh? It’s like your pussy is begging for more, Princess.” Eddie continued to rock against you, trying to find the rhythm that made you whimper louder with each move. 

“I do want more, please,” you moaned loudly as you felt Eddie’s hands move beneath your sweater. 

“So polite for me,” he said with gritted teeth, thrusting onto you harder. “Remember, baby, I said I would do all the work so you don’t need to do any sinning yourself, right?” 

You nodded quickly — only wanting him to continue talking to you with his teasingly deep voice, and use his hard cock on you all night. “S-sorry, I forgot. It just feels so-ahh.” Your friend started to massage your breasts under your sweater with one hand, flicking and squeezing your nipple to make you whimper more. 

“Shhh, keep your voice down. Your parents might hear that you’re sinning with the Devil. I don’t want you getting in more trouble this week.” Your pussy was sopping now, pulsing against the underside of his cock every few moments. The things he would do if he was able to be inside of you now. 

His voice, his fingers on your hard nipples, his mouth leaving kisses from your lips to your neck, his member hitting you at every perfect angle imaginable — you swear it was overwhelming. The feelings were so intense that you could nearly see stars as everything worked in tandem to get you closer and closer to your climax. No pillow would do you justice now. If you could have Eddie over every night to help sin for you, so that you would sleep like a rock afterwards: then you would be the most well-rested individual on this planet. 

“I like it when you tell me what to do,” you thought out loud. “That’s what I thought about all those nights I sinned,” if he said he was going to be your pillow, then you were going to tell him what it was like to be the feathery case. 

“Oh yeah?” He wasn’t able to comprehend the music in his ears. 

“Y-yes, like the voice you use when you ask me to pick something up for you, or to get into the car quickly. It’s so sweet but stern.” Eddie began to kiss you again, distracting you so he could easily bend your left leg higher, changing the angle he was thrusting against you with. The new position allowed his sensitive head to go from your entrance to your clit, so much better than what any pillow could do.

“Did you imagine that I was telling you what to do while you rode that pillow?” 

Eddie kept looking between your eyes and the place where your bodies met, making you look down as well. You moaned at the sight, everything was so slippery, and the pressure on your heat was so strong. You wished you could roll your hips with him, but it was too overwhelming to think about sinning some more. 

“Uh-huh,” you whimpered out. “And your hands too, guiding me to move faster and faster — just like now. I imagine all those times you helped me fix my skirt. You’re so nice to me, Eddie.” You kept your eyes on his as he smiled while drinking up your moans with his lips. “I wish you were there to help me get rid of my body aches every time.” 

“I do too, sweetheart. Every night I could’ve made you live out those fantasies. Like holding your hips to make you slow down,” Eddie did with his own movements in real life. “Or maybe I could grip even harder and move your pussy so much faster for you. It would leave bruises that will probably never heal.” 

“That’s okay,” you screamed as he started to kiss the tears that unknowingly left your eyes, while rubbing the head of his cock right against your clit. “I don’t want them to.” 

“You’re so wet for me, soaking your panties all this time, and you never told me. No pussy this beautiful should ever go deprived of what it wants most.” Eddie kissed down your neck and sat up on his knees again, anchoring himself a lot better now to massage your legs — a move you’ve been loving all night. 

He goes to touch your wetness with his fingers too, in between thrusts. Collecting some of it, then licking his fingers to get a taste of the sweet nectar he has always craved. “What are you doing?” You ask, his movements causing your insides to throb around nothingness. 

“Just having a taste,” Eddie nearly moans his words, memorizing the look of lust that filled your eyes as you watched him lick his fingers. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since the day our lockers were placed next to each other. You were so beautiful with your hair that smelled so sweet, and t-these fucking skirts,” he said through gritted teeth, thrusting onto you slowly so he didn’t climax before you did tonight. 

“Your favourite is the one I have on now right? You always told me at some point during the day.” But, not today — you wanted to add. But everything he was doing to you now was more than compliment enough. 

“So short, so bouncy. I would ask you to pick things off the floor just so I can get a glimpse of whatever panties you were wearing.” 

“You're a pervert,” you giggled and moaned, trying to stroke your fingers up and down his stomach.

“And a sinner, baby, that’s why we’re here.” 

The man began to lift your sweater to show the planes of your stomach, making you gasp in the process once the cold air hit you. “Eddie, don’t take it off, please,” you pouted. 

“Sorry, I just want to see them quickly, is that alright?” You nodded before he continued his movements. “Do you ever touch these, all those nights you sinned?” 

You bit your lip at the topic of sinning again. “Yes, but only sometimes when I was lying down.” Right then, Eddie lifted your sweater just above your breasts, while simultaneously pushing the cups of your bra down so he could get a look at the hardened nipples. This is going to be an image he would remember forever: your heat nearly swallowing his hardness, your whimpers as you spoke, and the bounce of your tits with each one of his thrusts. Then there was the small crucifix that found its way between your breasts from all the twisting and turning tonight — you really were about to become the death of him. 

Your self-consciousness came back as you saw him pause to stare at you for a few moments, so you moved one of your arms to cover up. 

“You look so pretty like this, don’t be shy now.” He placed a hand on your wrist to shift it to the side, as he wanted to massage your breasts slowly again tonight. Your moans only became louder, not caring if your parents would hear. But, Eddie cared, so he kissed you to simmer down your noises. 

“Eddie,” you breathed out between a kiss. “Your mouth feels so nice on my neck, do you think it would feel good on my —”

You didn’t get the chance to finish the question of your curiousty before Eddie latched his lips on your left nipple. He licked and sucked one with his mouth, while he massaged the other with his large hands. It always felt best when he bit your nipple harshly every time you thrust your hips upwards to grind in tandem with his — he would say it’s your mini punishment for not letting him do all the sinning for you. But, you ask yourself again for what feels like the millionth time tonight: how could something that’s supposed to be bad feel so good? 

“You have the most beautiful tits, fuck,” Eddie breathed out while licking the pebbled nipples. “I always knew they would be gorgeous,” right then, he sucked on the skin hard enough to leave the newest mark on your skin, claiming you as his. 

“I think something is happening,” you moaned out, grasping on his hair to pull him closer to your flesh. 

The new combination of his lips on your chest, both of your cores rubbing against each other at the perfect angle, and one of his hands stroking up and down your sides to your thighs — made for your insides to start clenching towards something familiar. 

“You gonna come? I know you can do it, sweet girl. This is what you wanted for the past three days,” Eddie tried to contain himself, the excitement of your impending orgasm overtaking his body. He knew it was coming, since you would squeeze your thighs together and your cunt would throb every few thrusts. Your crying only made him want to release alongside with you. 

“Do you feel good, too, Eddie? I want to—” tears were streaming down your face now at the pleasure. 

“Don’t worry about me, trust, f-fuck,” he whimpered at how you got even wetter around him. So he focused his head on your clit again, going up to kiss your lips as you were about to reach your bliss. 

Once his hands were on your hips, gripping so hard that it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow, you felt yourself moan loudly into his mouth. The familiar feeling of relief was slowly getting to you now. Eddie moved faster and faster, finding the perfect rhythm where the friction of the fabric and his cock was massaging your folds beautifully. Then there was the way the fabric of his shirt felt against your sore breasts — adding to the way he was making your entire body shake.

With one last searing kiss, and you both moving your hips in tandem to the other, you came. Your pussy throbbing harshly, causing a loud whimper to escape your throat. For so many weeks you’ve been moaning into your pillow, biting your lip until it bled, or breathed deeply instead of making a noise. But with Eddie, you were able to let go, letting him hear just how much you loved his sinning for you. 

“Such pretty noises, baby,” Eddie says between kisses. “Does my cock feel good on you? Did I make you come?” 

“Y-yes, Eddie,” you cried out before whimpering again at the feeling of him above you moving with more pressure. With the sound of his name leaving your lips, it was time for Eddie to come undone.

So he did.

Moving harder against your now overly sensitive clit and folds. He knew you could take it, after relieving yourself multiple times a night in the past. The Dealer hissed as he released his seed inside his boxers, thrusting slowly as he let go completely. 

“So good for me, fuck, I’ve dreamed about this moment for so damn long.” Eddie’s voice was deep as he touched his forehead on yours. 

You both moved your hips slowly as you got down from your highs. He moved his hand to your face, wiping away some tears that he loved so much. “That was so much better than every single time I’ve used my pillow combined,” you breathed out quietly, your eyes nearly closing at the exhaustion of the entire day. 

“Next time, you’re gonna show me how you sin. Are you gonna invite me into your bedroom, sweetheart?” he teased. 

“N-no, that’s not allowed,” you said in slight panic, “I promised not to sin anymore, and my parents don’t let anyone come in my room.”

Eddie chuckled at your words, since you didn’t realize how you would have confessed to a priest about your transgressions if you weren’t so convinced that he did all the sinning for you; and the innuendo you added in at the end. “That’s too bad,” Eddie pouted with big eyes, jokingly. 

“Uh-hm, but maybe, if I ever feel the urge to want to be naughty then I’ll ask you to help me, since it helped you so much too, and that’s what friends do,” you sweetly repeated his words from earlier tonight. It made his heart feel warm, while it made Eddie’s brain and cock think about the next time this would happen. So, with a wide smile on his face, he kissed your lips deeply before making a trail of soft kisses down your neck and crumpled sweater. 

“So you want to do it again?” Eddie emphasized his question by fixing your clothing, but also thrusting up slowly one last time. 

You nodded, biting your lip while whimpering slightly at the movement. “Yes, I do,” you both wanted so badly to continue what just happened — whether it was tonight or for everyday for the rest of your lives, you didn’t care. 

“I’ll help you sin any time, sweetheart,” Eddie continued to place chaste kisses all over your face and neck. But just as you were about to moan as a response, the worst thing that could happen, did. 

The door to the basement opened loudly, with the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs following. You and Eddie looked at each other in a panic. He jumped off you quickly, grabbing his pants to throw on, not knowing where his belt was; but he didn’t care, there was no way your mother was about to catch him half-naked. She would probably throw holy water on him if she had the chance. 

On the other hand, you stood up from the couch after him, your legs feeling extremely wobbly as you began to walk towards the table you both were working on all night. Each step made you feel wetness that accumulated throughout the night, and you were so sensitive that the movement would make a quiet squelching sound. Once you finally stood at the table, whilst fixing your hair and reapplying lip gloss to your swollen mouth — your mother appeared, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking out to you.

Her eyes darted from you standing at the table, looking slightly exhausted, to Eddie seated at the couch, his back to her and it looked like he was rummaging through his backpack. What hardworking students these two are, she thought — since it looks like you two were finished with the project and just wanted to wrap it up for the night. 

“How’s the project? I was just getting ready for bed and I saw Mr. Munson’s van still in the driveway,” she said with a slight yawn. 

“Yes, mom, we just finished working. Eddie and I just had to help each other on one thing before he had to go.” It wasn’t exactly a lie — but he was smirking from the couch to see how easily the little cover up was flowing out of your mouth. “Because that’s what friends do,” you whispered to yourself, but Eddie was able to hear the giggly tone. 

“Alright then, why don’t I help you clean up?” 

“No it’s alright, it should only take a few minutes—”

Eddie coughed once he got his pants quietly secured. “Honestly, I’m very good with my hands so it should be quick,” he said with a teasing smile and a wink in your direction. Although you were easily able to cover up the activities you two did a few minutes ago, there was no hiding how heat rose to your face at Eddie’s words. 

“Well, if the two of you are alright, then I guess I’ll just head to bed then,” your mother looked at you one last time to confirm if you needed help or not. 

“I’ll see him out when we’re finished, thank you, mom.” The sweet smile on your face was enough to make her head to bed with contentment. But, the smile quickly became more and more sinister as each step up the stairs got quieter. When the door was finally shut again, your legs were shaking out of anticipation, unsure if you were able to say the next set of words. So you turned to face Eddie again, thighs squeezed shut to subdue the ever present ache after your orgasm. 

The Devil and Angel on your shoulders were resting hand in hand now. Not nagging or taunting you every second in your head, telling you what was right from wrong, teasing you with what you should and shouldn’t want. Now, it was clear that there was a fine line between what was the holy thing to do and what wasn’t, because why would God make something so bad feel so good?

And so, with lust in your eyes and sinister swollen lips, you whispered loudly enough for it to echo along the walls of the basement and into Eddie’s eager ears, as he casually sat on the arm rest whilst staring at your ever-glowing figure. 

“Do you want to sin for me one more time before you go?” 

It was that night you realized: Sundays were for confession, Mondays were for committing your sins all over again.

-:-:-:-:-

taglist: @bbyhargrove // @delightfulwinnerdiplomatpalace // @littlemrsmunson // @lolalanaie // @nope-thanks

#eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female character #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson x innocent!reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie munson x innocent!reader #friends to lovers #dacryphilia #slight dubcon #ST fics #ST fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #ST #Catholic!reader #catholic trauma #religious trauma #Eddie munson x Catholic!reader #Eddie munson x religious!reader #my fics #my writing #best friend!eddie #to share a kiss the devil has known

[atinylittlepain]

Ptolemaea - the Prologue

rust cohle x f!oc

series masterlist

the case was closed and they parted ways. but time has a way of eating itself, and turning back to where they began.

series warnings | 18+ smut, dark themes surrounding crime investigations including murder, child abuse, religious trauma and corruption // marital infidelity, boy-man go to therapy challenge, familial trauma

wordcount | 2.5K

.........................................................................

“We’re not doing this if you’re on something right now.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“My point stands.” There’s a heat, a heaviness that passes from skin to skin when he steps closer. Familiarity, and a surprising openness when he widens his eyes and lets her look for the swim and spread of his pupils. She doesn’t find it, only an unwavering stillness, his eyes that won’t leave hers even as she holds the hilt of his jaw in her hand and turns his face this way, that. The slightest curl of her fingers into bone stitching to feel the way he’s grinding his teeth, waiting for her with a thin patience. 

“Am I sober enough for her righteousness?” 

“What have you been taking?” She rubs her thumb over the knot of tension that furls high in his cheek, jaw stilled, and she knows she’s flirting with the thin line of too much, of him flinching and flickering away. But he stays for now, still held in her palm, mutters a low answer to her question, usual stuff, nothing new. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“When I’m not sober, sure.” Half a smile pulls muscle taut, his words cracking and shimmering in that slow, low melt he tends to. It has taken work, practice, for him to be so quiet, so slow, she knows. She’s heard him get loud, get quick, and she thinks that is his more natural state, distilled. He’s a man who’s meant to be a hair, a tooth, a nail out of control, and he muscles all of his effort into avoiding that, when he can.

“Marty said you showed up drunk to his house, again.” And he doesn’t like that, finally too much, shaking his head out of her grip, curled honey hair slipping sweat damp into his face. Livewire man, all shock and simmer.

“He keeps inviting me to dinner. You’d think he’d learn not to do that by now.”

“He’s trying to be nice, Rust.” And he is, she knows that. Marty trying to extend an olive branch, an anything that might get Rust to soften. She had told Marty to forget it after he told her about the last dinner attempt, a worn down and wan Rust showing up with an unfortunate sway in his gait and a thousand-yard stare that turned dinner as silent as a funeral. He seems easy enough around you though, and she had schooled her face at that comment, no chance to respond anyways as Rust sat down at his desk alongside them. 

“Don’t have much use for nice, do we?” That we is everything, she knows. Rust has decided she is like him, and she can’t really argue with that. Something beneath the skin, more animal than human, a shared grief understood, similar but parallel. At the very least, she thinks she understands him. At the very least, she lets him think he understands her. 

“If you want this case to move you’re gonna have to throw him a bone. He doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re weird.”

“Weird.” A little flicker of amusement as he steps back into her orbit. She doesn’t flinch, gives nothing away when his fingers press into the nape of her neck, sticky heat blooming beneath the skin. 

“You smell.”

“I mowed your lawn.” 

“And you smell like it, come on.” 

He would never admit it, but she’s near certain he continues to show up on Sundays because he knows he’ll get this. Care, simple and plain and without expectations of what that care means. They get into the shower, wordless, body knowing body, making space for body. She places index, middle, and ring over the three raised snarls of skin along his ribs, presses in just a little until he grunts, makes it hurt just a little, catch and release, a sigh when she smooths her palm over tan, wet skin. 

She makes him smell like her, soap and shampoo and enough pressure behind her hands to make muscle move, to make his eyes heavy, watching her work with his chin tilted down. It is some of the best silence she gets from him, the gentlest she gets from him when he returns the favor, a particularity in his hands. Something aches inside of her when he curls over himself to soap her ankles, fingers working over bone and ligament, a meticulous accounting of her body that works up and up and up until his fingers are playing the highest vertebra of her spine again. 

…

“What about Cohle and Reed?”

“What about them?”

“They were close, were they not?”

“Well, they worked pretty damn good together. Sometimes I felt like they were in on a joke I didn’t know about, if you get what I mean.” 

“Were they romantically involved?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t think she would’ve gone for that, but I always thought he had a little crush on her, in his own way, I suppose.”

“In his own way?”

“Rust wasn’t exactly a romantic, but he liked her, seemed different around her, more at ease.”

…

“Maggie says she wants to set me up with someone.” 

“Oh yeah?” It’s stifling in the bathroom, the warm afternoon haze mingling and crushing with the remnant steam from the shower, tacky skin and cloistered lungs, a faint breath of relief stepping out into her bedroom, box fan whining and kicking up more hot air. He sits down on the edge of her bed, towel loose around his waist, watching her make nothing out of the movement of opening and closing dresser drawers, turning the fan up another notch. A pretense of disinterest, though there’s a held breath in her chest.

“I told her no.”

“Why? You should go, do a double date with mister and missus normal.” Eventually, when there’s nothing left for her to fret with, she steps between his legs, water drying cool on bare skin. His hand curls at the hilt of her hip, a little bit of hurt behind the pressure that she tries not to give away, though she knows he sees the quick catch of an inhale that holds high in her sternum, his eyes dragging over muscle and matter. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, you are pretty shit company.” 

“And here I thought you liked my company.”

“You make up for your faults with your dazzling sense of humor.” Something always softens, his brow settling, mouth drawn in the slightest smile, more muscle twitch than anything else. She runs her hand back through his hair, still damp, and he lets her, leans into the touch, the heavy drop of his lashes over hollow cheeks. He murmurs into the lines of her palm, come here, come here, and she does, hitches one knee up onto the bed, the other, thighs draped over his hips and him leaning back, muscles jumping and folding to make room. She’s already wet, already wanting, but theirs is a game of patience, this she knows, so she settles around him, arms hanging loosely over his shoulders, little tilt of her head. 

“Has Maggie tried that with you?”

“What, playing matchmaker? Mmm, she gave up a while ago after I kept saying no.” They touch each other with an unwavering certainty, her palm at his chest, curling over his shoulder blade, and his finding the line of her thigh, over her ass to the base of her spine, splayed, fingerprints kneading at the skin. 

“Not interested in a double date with mister and missus normal?” Always give and take, faking and feinting in and out, her chin tilted down and the line of her nose brushing his, the graze of her top lip against his before she pulls away, just a little, just enough to make him show his own hand of want with the way he ducks forward, lips parted and eyes wide. She gives him what he wants the next time, no teasing, open mouths, open sighs, licking at each other’s teeth. 

…

“Rust was comfortable around me, yes.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“Well, we had both lost someone. Someone young, you know. I think we understood each other because of it.”

“It was your little sister, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And anyways, Rust’s was worse than mine.”

“His daughter.”

“Do you know about it?”

“He told us the details.”

“So you’re talking to him too?”

“We are, yes.”

“How is he?”

“It would be imprudent for us to discuss that with you.”

“No, right, right, that was a stupid question.”

…

“Marty told me something else.” Salt on her tongue, open mouth against warm skin, she has him how she likes him, splayed in rumpled sheets, and here, and here, heat pressed across his chest, teeth to clavicle and his sigh hitches, halts high in his throat, making her mouth curl into a grin.

“Marty sure tells you a lot.” She unfurls her spine, sitting back on his thighs, taking in the amused tilt of his head.

“Must be my womanly nature.”

“Right, that’s what it is.” He follows after her, curling up, mouth meeting the dip between her breasts before letting his chin drag up to look at her. Hands wander, ribs expand and contract in an easy choreography, easy synchronicity.

“He said you got a little fresh in the locker room.” She punctuates her point by taking one of his hands in hers, fingers working between his fingers, bending them in a way that she wants to hurt a little, and she thinks it does when she sees him wince, quick to school his face even though he’s been caught. 

“He had it coming.”

“Everyone knows he’s fucking that girl, it’s better to leave it alone.”

“Maggie doesn’t know.” 

“No.”

“She should.” She sighs at that, finally smoothing out the hurt she caused, her palm fitting against his.

“No, I don’t think she should.”

“Why?”

“Because if she did, then they wouldn’t be mister and missus normal any more. And they need that, they both do.”

“How do you know what they need?”

“They aren’t like us, they need simpler things.” Easy like this, ease like this, both of them deciding that they’ve toyed with one another enough, waited enough, she takes him inside her with a sigh, with stillness, both of them settling into each other’s warmth. Curled into and around each other, still seated so deep, shared respiration, where she breathes in, his forehead against the inhale rising in her sternum, and his exhale pulling her closer into him.

“And what do we need?” Breathed out on a sigh, his words starting to syrup and stick together thick, close heat against her skin.

“I don’t think either of us know the answer to that, do you?” He gives her no response, hands coaxing movement, coaxing hips. They pull pleasure taut and strung from between each other’s ribs and hold it between their teeth, aching jaws, soft jaws, each other’s names resounding in their throats. 

…

“What happened between you two?”

“When Marty and I parted ways, we did too, it’s not really a difficult equation to sum up.”

“But you two were close, that’s what Marty said.”

“We were partners, sure. I liked her better than Marty, I’ll tell you that much.”

“So you and her never?”

“No, no, we weren’t the type. Passing ships, wandering souls, whatever it is that people call souls anyways.”

“Was she satisfied with the way that case ended?”

“Think you oughta ask her that question, seeing as you’re talking with her and all.”

…

On Sunday nights he sleeps in her bed. There are no pills, no drugs, no drinks, and yet he sleeps. Bare, on his stomach, face softened like a child’s in sleep, scrunched to one side by how his cheek rests on her pillow. Nothing seems to wake him when he’s like this, even when she slips out from under the heavy weight of his arm draped across her stomach. 

She makes it through half a cigarette before he stirs, surprising her with a questioning sigh of her name. She leaves the window cracked, a still warm breeze and the drone of crickets filtering in, gets back into bed. And in the darkness, in the faint wash of night sounds, they have no need for pretense, for faking anything, being too cool, too cold for anything. Their want, and maybe even their need, is young and unashamed. 

The weight of him settling over her, his face tucked into the stitching of her throat, is a relief, the soft give and press of her ribs against his body with each breath slowing everything down, simple, and just this, and only this. Her palm settles between his shoulder blades, running a circuit over muscle and bone, feeling his own inhales and exhales. 

“You really think I should take Maggie up on it?” At first she isn’t sure what he’s referring to, a beat, a blink of silence within which she remembers. No, feels good threatening in her throat, but she swallows it, her hand curling at the nape of his neck, taking something for herself in some other small way.

“I think it could be a good bone to throw. You only have to do it once. It’d get them off your back, at least.” His fingers are running up and down her side, razing something deep and warm in the nonsense patterns he’s drawing. She wonders how many people have seen him like this. She doesn’t think very many.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Suit yourself then.” Nothing left to say, sleep returns easily to the both of them, pale darkness washing over the tangle of their bodies. They will wake up in the morning and forget this closeness, this care for another week, a sort of cyclical amnesia, and an eventual returning and remembering every Sunday.

…

“I’m not really sure why you’ve called me in when I haven’t touched this case in nearly twenty years.”

“We’re just trying to be thorough, get as much information as we can.”

“I had a feeling, you know, back when we thought we closed it. It felt too easy, too simple. Marty didn’t believe me, but Rust, well, yeah, you’ve talked with him.”

“You both had doubts then?”

“Are you gonna show me the new file?”

“We’d like to hear your accounting of events first.”

“Right, well, there’s not much to tell that you don’t already know. Case was closed in 1995, I worked in Vermilion Parish for seven more years with those two, and I left in 2002.”

“Can you tell us what happened in 2002?”

“There was– a disagreement between myself and my partners, and it became clear we could no longer work together, so we parted ways.”

“What exactly happened between you three?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to this current investigation.”

“So you haven’t had any communication with Rust since you parted ways, as you said?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to Rust since 2002, and I imagine I won’t be speaking to him any time soon.”

#rust cohle #rust cohle fanfiction #rustin cohle #rustin cohle fanfiction #rust cohle smut #rust cohle angst #rust cohle au #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle story #rust cohle fic

[jeridandridge]

Atomic

Jacob takes Melissa to a gay bar.

CW: Implications of religious trauma, internalized homophobia.

In the break room at Abbott Melissa sits tapping her boot on the floor while Janine jabbers on about the newest situation she wants Barbara’s guidance on. While the kid goes on and on the redhead sits at the table looking over her shoulder every so often at Jacob.

The younger teacher sits at the table with Janine nervously nibbling his sandwich. No one wants Melissa Schemmenti looking at them like they have a target on their back that they don’t know about.

“What?!” He shrugs almost irritated looking at the redhead.

Melissa shakes her head going back to her phone. “Nothin, kid. Just uh, come to my room after the bell.” With that she grabs her stuff and goes back to her class for the afternoon.

Dropping his sandwich the young teacher looks to Barbra with an agape mouth. The older woman holds up her hand gathering her things.

“I don’t know a thing, Jacob.”

In her classroom, Melissa sits at her desk getting back to the grading she was doing before lunch. She has five minutes until she has to get her kids from the lunch room, and in those five minutes she has to talk herself out of a panic attack.

She doesn’t know why she’s this way but she hates it. Her thoughts run wild about the topic. She’s old. She’s divorced. She’s not as thin as she once was. Who could want her? Who could want her when she’s not sure what she wants. The cross around her neck feels like it weighs a ton, enough to pull her down and down further and further into her somber thought. The thoughts only stop when her watch chimes alerting her it’s time to get the kids from the lunch room.

At the end of the day Jacob contemplates shimmying down the side of the school from his window so he doesn’t have to go see Melissa. He paces back and forth before he finally gives in. “I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go!” He huffs grabbing his bag and leaving his room.

The young teacher is too nervous to even give Mr. Morton a fake friendly smile as the man says hello to him, too afraid for his own life. Keeping his shoulders back he holds onto the strap of his bag tightly as he pokes his head into the redheads classroom.

“What’s your deal over there?” Melissa nods looking up from her desk as Jacob looks side to side and up at the ceiling.

“Just checking, making sure there aren’t any traps or surprises.”

“What are you talkin about, kid?” She rolls her eyes, “I just wanna talk to ya.”

Noting the serious tone shift in her voice, he comes in leaning against the kids desk across from Melissa. He’d never seen her look nervous like she does now, fingers fidgeting and no eye contact.

“Melissa, whatever you need to say, you can and I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to tell me.” He explains gently. In reality he expected her to snap at him and say forget it, instead the redhead lets out a breath and motions for him to come closer as she gets up closing her classroom door.

The two teachers are quiet as they both stand closer to each other. Melissa can feel her heart beating against her ribcage and she gathers up the courage.

“Listen kid, I might give ya a hard time and tease and all that, but I do respect you.” She tells the young man. “And I think you can help me figure some things out.”

Jacob, for once, is at a loss for words.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinkin, after breaking it off with Gary and all,” she waves her hand, “and I think I also like women.” She finally lets it out, feeling instantly better.

Jacob smiles at his co worker feeling honored.

“Well first off thank you for telling me this very personal, inspirational info. Saying something like that out loud, it feels good doesn’t it?”

“It actually does,” she smiles. “It feels airy. But I guess I just wanna know how to start. I mean, I ain’t young anymore and catholic guilt is a bitch.” She shrugs.

“Let me ask you this,” he starts, “Do you want to explore, and get to know the real Melissa?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “That’s the point ain’t It?”

Jacob has to hide his smile, grin growing on his face. “Tell you what, Zach and I are going out this weekend, nothing crazy, just a bar. Why don’t you come with us?”

Melissa tries to come up with an excuse, she really does, her stomach is in knots at just the thought of a gay bar.

“Okay, but we ain’t telling anyone about this.” She points at him in a warning.

“But what abou-“

“No one, kid.” She cuts him off shooting him a look.

Jacob nods comparing himself. “I’ll email you the details.”

Saturday comes all too quickly for Melissa. After a day of trying to distract herself with cleaning and cooking, her house is spotless and she has four different dishes in her fridge big enough to feed a small army and even that doesn’t slow the clock down.

At nine o’clock she finds herself walking arm in arm with Jacob to the bar, Zach the sweet guy he is, behind them.

“Honey! They’re doing karaoke already!” He smiles looking over at the crowded karaoke stand in the corner.

Melissa looks around the dimly lit bar, spotting black lights, rainbows, and plenty of decor on the walls.

“Go on, honey, I’m sticking with Melissa tonight.” Jacob squeezes his hand before Zach goes off with a smile.

Melissa stands with her hand on her hip, her leather jacket, her armor not even able to give her the confidence she needs. feeling totally out of place in a bar like this not because it’s a gay bar, but because everyone’s so young she pats Jacob’s arm. “G’head, kid. I’ll be at the bar.”

If there’s one thing Melissa knows it’s where to find a nice bourbon or a crisp glass of wine. When Melissa saddles up to the bar she quirks a brow at the pretty woman behind it, toned arms on display and long hair in a pony tail.

“Hi gorgeous, what can I get for ya?” The bartender gives Melissa a smile that makes her stomach flip. The redhead knows how it works, she bartended in college herself, she knows bartenders flirt to get more tips.

“Bourbon neat, hon.” She orders with a friendly smiles.

Grabbing a glass the bartender fixes her drink sliding it over. “So, are you friends with Jacob? I saw you come in with him and I’ve never seen you before.” She smiles.

“You know Jacob?” Melissa quirks a brow, “That Jacob over there?”

“Yeah,” the bartender laughs with a nod. “Jacob Hill. We’re friends, sorta.”

“I give him crap, but he’s a good kid.” Melissa nods. “I’m surprised he’s friends with a,” she trails off looking at the woman, “toned, tattooed, twenty something.”

The bartender tips her head back in a laugh, leaning forward with her arms on the bar to get closer. “Thirty something actually. This is my bar.” She smiles. “What about you, gorgeous? How do you know Jacob?”

There’s that word again. It’s catches her off guard once more and this time the stunning woman is even closer, a warm, raspberry vanilla smell hits her nose. Suddenly the blaring music and the sounds of glasses clanking and chairs moving become too much on top of her thoughts.

“Woah, hey, you okay?” The bartender asks gently resting her hand on the redhead’s.

At the touch of the woman’s hand Melissa pulls away almost like a flame has grazed her skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shakes her head, “I’m-“

“Don’t sweat it,” the bartender smiles. “Hey maya!” She calls over her shoulder, “cover the bar for me. You, come with me,” she waves Melissa over as she comes out from behind the bar.

Melissa stands and follows the woman, almost drooling when she sees the tightest jeans known to mankind.

The bartender reaches back gently grabbing her hand. “I don’t normally do this, but since you’re Jacob’s friend I’ll make an exception,” she smiles leaning in towards Melissa’s ear.

Melissa’s breath hitches in her throat at the closeness of the woman. Through a hallway the woman opens up an office door revealing a pretty normal room with a few posters and a pride flag on the wall behind a desk.

“It can be a little too rowdy out there,” the bartender smiles handing her a cold water bottle from the fridge.

Sitting on a black leather couch Melissa sips the water hearing a muffled Blondie song from the outside, the beat almost as fast as her heart drumming against her ribcage.

She eyes the bartender who sits at her desk, arms above her head in a stretch.

“Sorry, hon. It’s been a weird time recently.” Melissa apologizes.

“No need to an apologize, gorgeous. I’m a bartender, I might as well be a therapist.” She jokes. “If you weren’t Jacob’s friend I wouldn’t have brought you back here to my secret lair.”

This gets a laugh out of Melissa. “Some lair, it’s not dark and mysterious or anything. And you don’t have to keep calling me that. I’m Melissa.” She finally shares.

“Nah, I’ll still call you gorgeous.” She smiles yet again, making Melissa’s heart jump. Sipping the water she shakes her head.

“I knew it’d be a gamble coming here.” She sighs. “I can’t even handle talking to a woman.” This makes the bartender frown.

“First time in a gay bar?” She asks, not a single note of judgement in her voice.

“Yeah,” Melissa nods. “Jacob convinced me to come even though I’m noneya business years too old to be here.”

The bartender sits back in her desk chair almost examining the redhead, making Melissa shift in her seat. She knows the woman sees right through her, soft eyes meeting hers.

“You know, one night I was here, it was a Tuesday,” the bartender starts softly, “There wasn’t much happening yet, it wasn’t even seven, and this old woman comes in with her great granddaughter. They both take a seat at the bar so I come over like always, and we start talking. The woman was 93 years old and you know what she said to me?”

Melissa sits with a small smile playing on her lips as she listens closely, shaking her head no, enthralled by the story.

“She said she just turned 93 and finally, after decades, had the courage to be her authentic self. Isn’t that beautiful?”

The question makes Melissa think. Really think. All her life she did her best to please others, stuck with tradition, and did her best to make her family proud despite trying to go against the grain as best she could.

“Yeah, it is beautiful.” She hums quietly parting her lips to speak again, only to be interrupted by the door opening.

“Hey, boss the ice machine is jammed again.” The other bartender pokes her head in.

“Alright,” the woman sighs, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

When the door closes again Melissa stands up, following the woman back into the hall towards the music and crowd.

“Listen, I’m pretty new at this sorta thing,” Melissa says shyly, not like herself. “But I’d like to talk to you more, get coffee or dinner sometime? doesn’t have to mean anything.” She adds quickly.

The bartender gives her a soft smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “When you’re ready, Melissa, you know where to find me.”

With a wink and a gentle squeeze, Melissa’s left standing in the doorway of the hall with a ridiculous smile on her face watching the woman spring into action.

She’d have to thank Jacob.

#we need more Melissa x Jacob content ok #melissa schemmenti x jacob hill #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti x you

[oweninadaydream]

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 || 𝐂𝐇.𝟏

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Hangman is the certified ladies' man and everyone thinks they can read him like a book, but what neither the Dagger Squad nor anyone else can even begin to imagine is where the hell Jake has been going every Saturday night for the last few months…

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x male!character

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 : mentions of alcohol, some making out but nothing too smutty, emotional distress lmao, age gap relationship (27-35), some religious trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, post Top Gun : Maverick, the Dagger squad is stationed together.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2k

𝐚/𝐧 : Gif by @tay-swifts , M/N (Male Name). Hello beautiful people!!! I'm so exited about posting this project I've been working on for a while. I just wanted to say that since it's my first time writing for Jake this might be a bit OC Jake but I do hope I got it right hehe. Enjoy the fic and stay tuned for the next parts!!!

It was well after midnight when Jake arrived at the club’s entrance. The throbbing bass emanating from inside made the whole building shake, making his mind wonder what it would be like to live on top of such an obnoxiously loud place, contrasting with the quietness of the accommodations the Navy offered. The reflection of the neon sign reading  “Mon Ange” turned his natural olive-toned skin into a vivid dark azure that matched perfectly with the baby blue in his eyes. The smokers (all with stamps on their hands) were all gathered some feet away from the door to get back in after dragging a final puff from their cigarettes. The queue was not very long, mainly because everyone who was meant to be there had arrived way earlier than him. He reprimanded himself for getting there so late ; in less than two hours the nightclub would shut its doors and Jake would feel like he wasted four hours of his life for nothing. Well, his journey would not be in vain if he caught a glimpse of- 

“Jake”

This was L.A, a city 118 miles away from the Marine Corps Air Station located in Miramar, which is a two-hour long drive away from everything he knows. He had to remind himself of those facts to avoid spiraling  at the sound of his name in such a place; he hated how his body kept reacting to these kinds of situations, but not even a skilled lieutenant like himself could take the reins of these unnamed emotions that coursed through his entire being.

"What are you doing here by the door? I was worrying about you not showing up today, I was just about to send a search party. C'mon , let's grab a drink. Perhaps I can even convince you to dance this time" A wide playful smirk accompanied the flirty comment exquisitely and, even though Jake was more than used to these antics, his heart skipped a beat. Trying to compose himself, he answered while staring at the concrete floor. 

"I don't belong on that dance floor and y'know it, darlin' "

“Oh don’t say that, the 30s are the new 20s! … Even if you’re not planning to dance, you must’ve driven all the way over here for something, right?”

The damn question hit him like a truck. He could try to think of the right answer, but putting something into words made it terrifyingly real, and that was exactly what he'd been avoiding for months. The breeze made them both shiver, as the party outfits didn’t properly protect them from the chilly weather. 

“You're right” he muttered “Okay, lead the way. Make it worth the while, mh?" he teasingly replied. Even if what he was doing was definitely outside of his comfort zone, something about the constant banter between them calmed him.

"Don't you always have an amazing time with me? I thought that was why you only talk to me" a fake pout appeared on the face which Seresin couldn't help but to stare intensely in awe. Their hands intertwined and the pilot quickly melted into that comforting touch. His companion briefly exchanged some words with the bouncer and the doors opened for them. 

"Thankfully it was Joseph working tonight, I don't think Marcus would have let you in for free just like that" “I’m sure you would've charmed him into doing whatever you wanted anyway”

The thick air of the room embraced him as soon as the doors closed and the familiar feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach almost instantly; it seems like it was yesterday when he first stepped into the nightclub he now knows like the back of his hand, but in reality, that day was what it feels like ages ago. Still, the contradictions that manifested within him every time he returned persisted and only grew each day.

“I’ll go to the bar while you stay here and look pretty, okay? Same drink as always?”

It was because of moments like these that Hangman felt comfortable enough to let his guard down and be his usual extroverted self. Grabbing his wrist to stop him from going any further, he raised his voice so his words could be heard even though the music was top volume. “ Don’t you even dare to try to pay for those drinks, they’re on me.”

“Here it is, the Texan charm of Jake Seresin. I didn’t know you could apply those rules to this situation. Are you trying to imply I’m the girl in this whole affair? Shouldn't we at least draw lots for it?”

"Very funny, M/N'' the hostility that emanated from his rolling eyes made the other man realize his comment had affected Jake on a deeper level than intended. “Hey I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t hav- I know it’s  a touchy subject and I’m extremely sorry, please forgive me” the regret was visible in his expression and it also could be detected in the stuttering caused by the words rushing their way out of his mouth trying to obtain his forgiveness as fast as possible. Jake took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. 

Hangman was no saint, he didn’t go to church every Sunday or tried to look for a good christian wife to have kids with like his father did in his day. He knew God was not exactly pleased with the way he was running his life but he used to think that when the time came, He would welcome him with open arms (after having apologized profusely, that is). But now that he had fallen for the most vile trick in the book, he couldn't trust that previous statement anymore. Lust was a capital sin, pretty serious if you asked any priest from the church the Seresin family attended back in Texas, but sodomy? Say goodbye to eternal salvation, son. If Jake was being honest, the promise of heaven or the threat of hell didn't scare him. It was the destruction of all the life lessons that made him act the way he acted,  of his purpose as a son, as a man. The thing that truly haunted him at night  was the thought of a deity (and his father)  designing him to be this flawless individual with a very clear life path , only to end up as a filthy, disgusting f-

“Hey, are you okay? Would you like me to leave you alone for a bit?”

The thought of M/N walking away while he sank deeper and deeper in the sea of guilt and fury frightened him. “Please don’t” he begged “everything’s fine, I promise. Let’s down a couple shots and , who knows, maybe I’ll be in the mood to dance for a bit” the last comment was a futile attempt to hide the everlasting agony that clouded his mind. M/N moved so they were a few inches away and raised his hand to caress his cheek. His next step consisted in resting his arms around his shoulders and starting kissing him delicately in the neck and in the whole face in general, in hopes to kiss the discomfort away. 

How could something so delicate and sweet be so dirty? Was it even dirty to begin with? What about the women he had dated? He was attracted to them but now he- Too many questions Jake was not willing to answer that night. He only wanted one thing, and he was about to claim it. 

After regaining control of himself, Jake put his right hand on the younger male’s back to guide him to the counter where people were piling up fighting to get the barman’s attention. Being as attractive and well-built as he was, he obtained the alcoholic beverages rather quickly. After the last drop of tequila had made its way down their throats, Hangman took control and led him onto the dance floor. His mind was only filled of the smell of M/N’s cologne mixed with his natural scent enhanced by their bodies crashing against each other while swaying to the 2000s pop remixes, his eyes fixed on his partner’s hypnotizing movements and his hands focused on feeling what they can reach, testing if they can go further in their journey through M/N’s body. Jake was simply standing close and moving according to the song's beat but in a subtle way, just like he would do at the locals he frequented with his coworkers ; manly enough to keep his dignity intact but provocative enough to awake that lustful hunger in the other person’s soul.

‘Mon Ange’ had finally closed down and the two men were still all over each other on the angelino streets. The tingle settling in his chest could only be compared with the adrenaline rush he had previously experienced on those wild nights spent in college, the farewell by the porch of the first girl he had taken on a date or the night out after his first deployment; if he closed his eyes he could swear he was 20 again, but reality made sure to remind him of those fifteen more years that had passed. 

M/N had this juvenile thing about him, Jake couldn’t guess confidently his age from afar and his curiosity was finally satiated after befriending him and asking him about it directly ; he was 27, even though he looked some years younger. His bold character combined with his kindness and humor made M/N resemble a butterfly flying around collecting the pollen from every flower in the garden and making it seem effortless. That was one of the many things that hooked Jake on him as if he were the most addicting drug out there, making him throw away his plan of not getting attached and limiting this experience with sporadic hookups that would end then and there, never with the same person twice. That was the problem, he appeared and started moving his hips to some song, making the whole room turn around him and ever since then (even if Jake was still in denial), he was a goner.

The next thing he knew, he was laying down on M/N’s bed, a king size mattress close to a very big window that allowed him to take in the beautiful sight of the sleeping city. He had only been to the apartment twice, but he had always  left before the sun had made its appearance in the sky, moved by remorse and skepticism. This time though, he had stayed the whole night that was filled with passionate sex and heart to heart conversations and finally some cuddling that lured him to rest for a while. Now he was wide awake, sitting against the headboard, resting his eyes on the sunrise and on the slumbering figure facing him. He looked so calm, so peaceful. In that moment, turning his gaze away, he tried to repress a sob that came with a single tear falling through his left cheek. 

M/N had always known he was queer, embracing his bisexuality in childhood. Jake had never had any problems with people who were not straight, even if the people around him growing up did, but everything was different when it came to himself. For fuck’s sake, he was closer to being 40 than from his teenage years, what was he doing? He could only paralyze at the idea of anyone seeing what he was doing. It was definitely too late for him. Risking his life everyday up in the sky felt like a minor burden compared to the endurance of the dilemmas he carried with him everywhere, just like Christ had carried the cross all the way to Calvary.

He could feel himself falling for the person right next to him, and that was the worst thing that had ever happened to Lieutenant Jacob Seresin. His calloused hand cupped M/N’s soft face, making the other man lean in closer in search of that delightful warmth. Jake’s lips burned in desperate need to say something out loud. His heart started palpitating at a dangerous speed, as he knew the thing trying to escape from his mind was a cruel thing to say and that he was a horrible being just by thinking that. It was no one’s fault and it had no solution, yet the idea popped up in his mind like an unwanted ad appearing on your phone. His chest ached at the possibility of M/N hearing the words, so he tried to whisper as quietly as it was humanly possible. 

“I wish you were a girl”

#oweninadaydream #top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x male reader #male oc #male reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom #jake seresin x oc #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman fanfiction #hangman x male reader #hangman x oc #jake hangman fic #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x reader

[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt8}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: angst, descriptions of a crash, mentions of religious trauma Word count: 1246 Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @topguncultleader@vellicora @ystrolllll 

Part 8 of the Mamma Mia series

After Japan, you operate on auto-pilot, the days all blurring into one. At work, your colleagues leave you be, however, your best friend sees right through you, especially after you cancel on her for a third day in a row. So Jasmine does what any best friend would do: she lets herself into your apartment with the key you had given her, only to find you curled up on the couch, staring into space as the sun sets, drowning you in twilight. She forces you to get changed out of your work clothes while she puts the kettle on.

“Talk to me. This is not like you,” Jasmine says, putting a mug in front of you.

“I don’t even know where to start..” you mumble.

“Start with what’s got you so heartbroken that you’ve become a recluse,” Jasmine offers. You shrug, feeling another wave of tears threatening to spill.

“I broke my own heart. I should never have agreed to their plan,” you say. You tell her all about the last couple of weeks, about the dates they had been taking you on. About how you tried so very hard to not fall in love.

“But I did. I fell harder than I think I ever have.”

“How does that lead to you breaking your own heart? Shouldn’t you be over the moon and disgustingly in love with your man?” Jasmine asks you.

“How can I be happy when I love all three of them?” you throw out, a sob wrecking through your body as you bury your face in your hands, “I am such a greedy whore for wanting all of them,” you whisper.

“No. Stop that right now,” Jasmine says, moving her chair next to yours and pulling you against her chest.

“Sometimes I really curse your parents for the religious trauma they subjected you to. Babe, we’ve talked about this. There is nothing wrong with being a slut or a whore, as you put it, as long as it is your choice to be called that term. Nothing wrong with a little consensual degradation in the bedroom. But loving more than one person does not make you a whore. It makes you polyamorous,” Jasmine responds, rubbing a hand down your back. 

“P-poly-what now?” you ask as you look up at her.

“Polyamorous. Oh babe, for someone with a double master’s degree, you really are clueless sometimes. It means someone who’s in a relationship with more than one person at a time. It just means you love differently than the heteronormative norm.”  

You’re quiet for a moment, letting your friend’s words sink in. She’s hit the nail on the head with her comment about your parents. You went no contact years ago, but your religious upbringing sometimes still haunts you even now that you’re an adult and no longer believe in the church as an institution. A tiny spark of hope flickers alive in your heart at the knowledge that there is a world in which you don’t have to choose between them, before it gets squashed by the realisation that you might have burnt that bridge before you even got to cross it. 

“What if it’s too late?’ you voice your biggest worry out loud, “What if they don’t want me anymore?” 

“Unfortunately there is only one way to find out. You gotta talk to them.”

Jasmine made it seem so easy, but finding the time to do so is proving difficult during the next race weekend. Due to the sprint race, the weekend is even busier than normal. By the time Sunday comes around you are convinced it won’t happen. Kevin seems to be avoiding you —and you can’t blame him for that—, Lewis is busy preparing for two races, and Mark is filming for Channel4. You throw yourself into your work, trying your hardest not to think about how your chest constricts every time you catch a glimpse of any of them on the screens in the garage. It’s not until Sunday’s race has well and truly started that you can’t use work as an excuse anymore. The latest bits of sim data have already been analysed so you really have no reason to stay in your office. You hide away in the back of the garage, out of sight for most of the cameras but you have a clear view on the screen with the F1 world feed. Your chest feels tight with anxiety for this race; the heat has been brutal for everyone involved and the tyre management put in place by Pirelli doesn’t fill you with confidence either. 

The first 30 or so laps go by relatively smoothly, but just as you allow yourself to exhale for the first time in what feels like an hour, things go horribly, horribly wrong. Logically you know the whole thing won’t have lasted for much longer than several minutes, but it feels like everything slows down as you watch one of the RedBulls collide into Lewis’ car while trying to overtake in the straight between corners 15 and 16, sending the latter spinning into the barrier on the right before getting bounced to the other side of the track like a ping pong ball before it comes to standstill against the wall. The RedBull tries to correct its own course but can’t help losing control again and sends the Haas that was behind them into the gravel where something seems to snap from the back of the car, causing the driver to lose complete control and slamming sideways into the barriers. Miraculously, the RedBull remains on the track, although it’s obvious the car has some major front wing damage, and makes it into the pitlane without much of a fuss. You keep watching the screen breathlessly, hoping for any signs of movement while you vaguely hear Lewis’ engineer ask Lewis if he’s okay. Instead of confirmation, it remains quiet. Your chest feels too tight to catch your breath as panic claws its way up your throat when you realise that the Haas currently in the barriers is Kevin. Ripping your headset off, you make your way outside and into the pitlane. Air, you need air. Leaning against the wall, you inhale deeply, trying to use the breathing techniques from yoga to calm down. They’re gone, your brain very unhelpfully supplies and you cover your mouth with a hand to stifle the scream that’s threatening to come out. You hear someone talking to you but the words don’t register as his body blocks you from view. Looking up, you see Mark’s concerned face looking back at you and the realisation that Lewis and Kev got hurt hits you all over again. A sob wrecks through you as your knees buckle.

“I’ve got you,” Mark murmurs, pulling your body against his. “They’re gone and I-.. I will never get to tell them-.. Mark-..” you sob into his chest. Mark rubs a hand down your back, letting you cry into his shirt as he tries to sooth you. You thought the heartache you felt after Suzuka was bad, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You can’t breathe, can’t think; the only thought going through your head is how this baby will never get to see their dads, how you lost the loves of your life and that you will never even get the chance to tell them that, how it’s all your fault. And that thought rips you apart all over again.

For maximum emotional damage, may I suggest playing Gracie Abrams' Cedar on loop while reading this? Because that song broke me

@curiousthyme this chapter would not be what it is without you, so thank you

Please let me know what you think. Your comments, tags and likes mean the world to me 💜

#f1 fanfic #kevin magnussen x reader #kevin magnussen x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #mamma mia fic

[ravennaortiz]

Could I get 3 and 14 with Happy, please? I think he deserves someone to protect him for a change 💜 whether he likes it or not. Maybe angsty with a happy ending?

P.S. I love your works. I am always happy to see your posts! I haven't even watched Mayans yet (I don't know if I will. I got spoiled about what happens to Happy and I don't know if I can take it. He's my favorite.) but I still read the stories anyway. Keep up the awesomeness I will be around!

Thank you so much for your kind words! That means so much to me!

Oh no! I'm sorry that it was spoiled for you! Why don't we serve a little justice for Happy while we force him to let us protect him!

Prompt 3 Why did you save me & Prompt 14 Please, be okay. *I am so happy you paired these together!!!!*

The last few days had been a blur. You looked and felt like a zombie as you sat vigil next to the hospital bed of the only man you had ever truly loved. You blinked rapidly as the burning sensation of tears threatened to spill forth once more. Regret crushed you like waves in the ocean as you thought on how you had kept him a the distance. Looking over his prone body with tubes and lines going here and there and bruises that painted his skin you bowed your head as the tears trickled down. Please, be okay, you silently prayed.

You had never been very religious and always shook your head and rolled your eyes whenever you you heard or saw "thoughts and prayers" in the face of immense tragedy. You had become jaded over the years working in a Level 1 trauma hospital in a city riddled with violence. What does a prayer do to repair the damage done by bullets that ripped through the brain and body? How does a thought help revive the baby you are fruitlessly performing CPR on after it was abused for the only crime of crying?

A hand on your shoulder had you jumping and grabbing for your pistol. "Easy Lass" soother Chibs as he put his hands up. "Just coming to check in and see if I can get you to go home and get some rest" he continued as he sat in the empty chair on Happy's other side. "I wanna be here when he wakes up" you stated firmly as you wiped your tears away. Chibs nodded in understanding and the two of you sat silently each lost in your own thoughts.

"Did you use your own gun?" asked Chibs quietly as he kept his eyes glued to Happys face. You tensed slightly. You knew it was only a matter of time before word of the two dead Mayans made it back to Charming. "Yes" you replied looking down at the hands that had went from saving lives to taking lives so easily. You hadn't even thought of the danger you would be in nor did you care. They had hurt your Happy and you couldn't let them live. Chibs sighed as he rubbed his face. "Tig and I will take care of it going forward" he stated firmly waiting for you to nod before looking back to Happy.

*1 week later*

"Lay back down" you scolded for the hundredth time as you gently pushed Happy back onto the couch. The scowl on his face would have most people melting into a puddle but you just simply crossed your arms. "You're not a nice nurse. Kind of shitty to be honest" muttered Happy as he pulled the blanket back up pouting slightly. "Maybe don't be a shitty patient and I'd be a better nurse" you snapped back with a smirk as you handed him a glass of water and his medication.

Happy rolled his eyes to hide his smile. Once he took his medicine he grabbed your hand as you went to take the glass from him. "Why did you save me? I'm a killer, what happened to me was deserved" he questioned his eyes piercing your soul. "Because I'm in love with you" you replied with a gentle smile. "You deserve to be saved forever" you added before leaning down and kissing him.

Want more Happy? Click Here

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#sons of anarchy #ravennasmasterlist #soa fanfiction #soa fanfic #ravennasrequest #soa happy #happy lowman #happy lowman fanfic #happy lowman x reader #happy lowman fanfiction

[fan-goddess]

Hello my love!! For your kinktober event, could I request modern!Aemond with religious guilt?? 👁️🫦👁️

Authors Note: Oooh I will definitely try for you baby! I don’t know much about the topic of religion due to me being raised in a non-religious household, but I will certainly try my best!

I’ve made merged Christianity and the religion of the seven together and I talk about religion a lot in this, but like I said I don’t know a lot about the topic, so if I get any certain terminology wrong or anything like that, please don’t hesitate to let me know so I can try and do my best to correct myself and add it into the one-shot! I will not be offended at all!

Warnings: Religious guilt, m masturbation, blasphemy, a lot of religious guilt, sort of religious trauma maybe???, lying to a priest, most likely incorrect quotes from the bible, I think I got Adam and eves story wrong on that last bit, (if I miss anything like I know I probably will or if just you want me to add anything let me know!”

Taglist: @valeskafics, @sofiyathecunt , @marvelgirl123 , @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

Please read the authors note before reading if you haven’t already!

Ever since Aemond could remember, it had been customary for him and his family to go to church every Sunday, without any arguments.

Each time Aegon, Helaena and himself would be dressed in their Sunday bests, which all held some variation of green in them, and greet the pastor with only pure respect.

His mother though also expected him and his siblings to go into the confession box, and confess their sins weekly to the pastor.

One time when Aemond was seven, he wanted an extra cookie after dinner, but his mother has said a firm no and told him off. However, ignoring his mothers advice, Aemond decided to climb onto the counter later that evening to sneak another from the tin, even when his mother said no.

When she found him, she smacked him three times on his rear with her hand for a punishment and when Sunday came about, she all shoved him inside the confession box, where he was forced to confess his sins to the man on the other side.

The moment stayed with him for years. It imbedded something inside of him. A fear of god. A fear of those sins the pastor would preach about confessing over.

That fear at the current moment seemed to be very directed at you. It had been years since the cookie incident, as he was a college boy now. A man even. Studying the philosophical and physical history of the world.

He thought they were safe subjects to pick to satisfy his ever hungry mind. Yet the safety vanishes when he locked eyes on you in a gorgeous light blue summer dress one innocent morning.

The straps were thinner than the dresses he’d seen before, and the one you wore went well above your knees, stopping closer to the middle of your upper thighs.

When you crossed your legs during class, Aemond had seen so much skin that he practically felt lightheaded at the sight, his fist curling so much his knuckles turned white from how tighty he clenched them.

He could feel the sinfulness of his thoughts curling up into one large glutinous monster begging for scraps.

The thoughts of being with you as a married couple do. Him coming home to you where you would greet him at the door, pregnant with his child. Taking you on his and your wedding night on the bed, naked as the day you were born.

It made his head spin dreadfully. As he’d never even spoken to you before that day, let alone noticed you. But maybe, maybe this was some sort of test by the seven? A temptation he must resist to prove himself faithful to what he believes.

The thought comes to him that night as he fucks his fist to the thought of you.

Aemond had never done so before. It never felt right thinking about the sinful women online who paraded their bodies for the world. Yet why did it feel so good when he thought of you?

The thought stayed with him constantly over the couple months. He’d see you in class. Now devoted to sitting behind you when possible to get a glimpse of you where you couldn’t see him.

Only his plan to stay in the dark didn’t go to plan. When one Sunday after church, and his family’s eating dinner together, he gets a text from an unknown number on his phone.

His eyebrow raised on its own in surprise, and as he texts asking who it, and gets an swift answer back not even a minute later, he can feel his heart practically going into cardiac arrest. Because it’s your name that responds to his question.

Aemond doesn’t answer your question though till early next morning. It had felt strange to text you that day. For him to talk to this temptation of his on a holy day. So he waited for it to turn 00:01 so the weighing on his conscious would leave him for now.

And when he saw your text the next morning agreeing on the time, the strange feeling that blooms in his chest gets pushed back as much as it could.

Yet the feeling only came back even quicker and harsher when he met you in the library that day.

His hands would find themselves clenching by his side whenever you folded your arms in annoyance, and his eyes would find themselves drawn to your accentuated boobs. His nails would dig into his palms so harshly a couple times Aemond felt as though he needed to check for fresh blood. Yet even if he did draw blood, he wouldn’t care. It was his penance for his sins.

When you finished the homework, he can remember the feeling of your body on his as you hugged him suddenly. Too shocked and surprised to even think about hugging you back. Not that he felt like he even deserved it in the first place.

“Thank you so much Aemond! I seriously was thinking I was gonna fail this on my own! How can I make it up?” You asked, looking up at with shining eyes.

“You don’t need to do anything for me. I was just being a good classmate.” Aemond learnt the hard way as a child to not bring up anything to do with religion when this sort of stuff came up.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t need to be big! You could make me give you another hug if you wanted? Or I could maybe bake you something? Seriously if you don’t want anything now I’ll probably end up doing all these things trying to make it up to you!” You beg, your eyes looking unusually stern at him.

He feels torn.

On the one hand, he feels as though if he took anything in return, he will be seen by the gods as being eager to be righteous. In the holy book, it was said "Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them.” There is always the possibility that this is one of your tests. Testing his willingness and eagerness for recognition from the gods.

But there is a sense of greed within him that urges for him to accept this temptation. A horrible greedy think that wants to take and take and take until there is nothing left.

It’s a horrible war inside of him. But in the end, the devil has his arm locked tightly.

“Fine. I’ll take a hug or something.” It’s said with so little emotion, and yet when he feels your arms around him the warmth in his chest reminds him of the flames of hell.

Where he belongs after what he did that night.

That night, Aemond held his erect cock in his hand and thrusted into it until his hot seed spilled all over his stomach. It felt sinful as when he was fondling himself, only images of you filled his head. The feeling of your warmth as you held him earlier that day fresh in his head as he couldn’t contain himself.

It felt so wrong afterwords, and yet whilst he was on the verge of cumming, the thought of you being there whilst he did this and helping him to complete himself was what sent him over the edge. And afterwards, the shame hit him hard.

He confessed it all when he went to confession that Sunday, and yet the pastor did little to help him achieve the advice he wanted. The penance in Aemonds mind was not enough.

Aemond remembers what he said to the man well. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession, and I have been lead to temptation. I have been thinking of a person who belongs not to the church, and I have been thinking of her sexually. The thoughts do not stop father, how do I make the temptations stop?”

“My son,” The priest began, “The sins you tell me of I have seen before. Please, tell this woman of your thoughts so you can confess to her of your challenge, and in the meantime, pray to the gods for forgiveness every night before then. Give thanks to the Lords and ladies for They are good.”

Aemond hated to respond and end this moment, but he couldn’t stop the automatic response. “Their mercy endures forever.”

“Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace.”

Aemond was not in peace, and if anything the war inside of him was as hardening as ever.

“Thanks be to the Gods…” Aemond murmurs before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Aemond that night sins again. And again the next night, and even the night after that. Aemond fists his hard cock and cums to the thought of your body every night till his next confession, where Aemond for the first time in his life lies to his priest about his sins. He does not mention that he never talked to you about him fucking himself to the thought of you, even when the priest mentions it, asking Aemond whether he has asked for your forgiveness. The lie felt like tar on his tongue when he uttered yes.

Everything within him in fact felt like there was a war inside him, a war that raged between the good and the bad.

When he talks to you innocently enough asking if you wanted some more help with the subject, Aemond makes use of each syllable you say and how you say it to complete himself later that day.

It’s sinful, it’s wrong, and yet it feels so fucking right when he does it.

One night whilst Aemond reread his worn down bible, he got to the section of Adam and Eve and though with a sick thrill that he was Adam, and you were his Eve. He was living in innocent bliss whilst you tried to tempt him with your apple of sins.

Aemond reads the verse thoroughly, and in the place of Adam and Eves faces he sees his and your own. It’s a horrible thing, but he imagines the scenario of you tempting him under the apple tree while his hand is on his cock.

Your back is to the tree, and Aemond is taking what is his from you whilst you moan at the feeling. Him and you experiencing pleasure and desire for the first time in yours’ lives and you can’t get enough of it as you whine and moan for more.

He even imagines afterwards, when him and you wonder earth whilst your stomach is swollen with his babe. It’s what makes him spill himself all over his stomach and hand, and what makes him realise what a sinner he is.

He will never tell you, he will never tell his priest, and Aemond is certain he will never tell the Gods on what he has done. Yet he doesn’t have to, for the Gods are omnipresent and omniscient.

They already knows where he belongs.

#modern aemond targaryen x you #modern!aemond targaryen smut #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x you #modern aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x reader #modern aemond #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond targaryen #modern! house of the dragon #house of the dragon #modern!house of the dragon #kinktober 2023 #my kinktober #kinktober #my works #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen/reader

[ofthecaravel]

Heaven In Time

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Am I A Con Man Or A Brother?

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Summary: A year or so after meeting, Sam and Danny are on the road again and hope to get through Sam's home state of Alabama with no trouble. Easy enough, right?

Tags: Religious trauma, hella guilt tripping/mentions of religious upbringing, Fighting, sauciness but no outright smut, healthy ass relationship

Words: 5.6k

A/N: Welcome back! Sorry! Let me know what you think. Chap 3 is in progress 👀 Also this is kinda random but would any of y'all be interested in a playlist for this fic? Do people still do that?

~~

“You gonna be good while I go in?”

“Ye of little faith.”

“You, mister, of chatting mouth and wayfaring legs.”

“Since when do you complain about my legs? You didn’t seem to mind ‘em when they were over your sh-”

“Hey now, hey now, okay. What did I just say about behaving yourself? Jesus Christ.”

Sam laughed brashly as he hopped up on the hood of the truck and made a show of crossing his legs with an angelic smile. Danny, standing over Sam with a firm grasp on his chin, rolled his eyes with the beginnings of a smile spreading over his tan face. It had turned out that Danny’s initial baseless accusations of Sam’s rebellious attitude had proven to be mostly accurate, with the only difference being that Sam’s tendency to wander around fell more on the side of striking up friendships with random strangers and impeding their errands schedule rather than picking fights with vagrants and ending up in the back of sketchy white vans. Over the last year they’d spent on the road, Sam’s increasing confidence and grasp on individuality had given him a smart mouth and big opinions. Gone were the days of the meek, awkward preacher’s son with a guilty conscience that sat on his chest like a rock. Now he stood tall with a proud demeanor and, more often than not, in cut off denim shorts with a cigarette hanging from his bitten lips. 

Sam settled on the hood in that same fashion then, pulling a cigarette from the pack bulging in the front pocket of his tiny shorts and sticking it in his mouth, pleadingly pushing it out towards Danny with a calculated batting of his lashes to get the point across. Danny rolled his eyes again but quickly pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it up, secretly very pleased to be the one to dote on Sam. Despite Sam’s drastic change in personality making him a far cry from the dusty hitchhiker Danny had picked up back in Texas, Danny’s affection only grew as the months passed them by. It was weird for him to look back on how this trip had begun: alone and directionless, setting off from his family farm in Florida with no one at his side. Sometimes when they were driving, Danny found it hard to recall a time without Sam’s passenger side chatter. How did he get as far as Texas without it? Silence was distressing to him now. Still, he found great fun in requesting it of Sam.

“Just stay here and be quiet,” Danny requested with faux exasperation. “I’m only gonna be in there for a few minutes for snacks and paying for gas and the bathroom. I don’t want to come out to you preaching to your huddled masses like that time in Santa Ana.”

“I know,” Sam whined. “How many times do I have to tell you those guys came up to me?”

“Watch your tone,” Danny whispered as he leaned in, his grasp returning to Sam’s jaw. “What you should know is that I want to get us through Alabama as fast as possible, okay? For you, Sammy, remember that.”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled, removing the cigarette from his lips with a guilty frown. “I do know. Sorry, daddy.”

Sam batted his lashes again and watched Danny’s face flicker at his words. It was a cheap trick, but it certainly didn’t hurt to slip in Danny’s favorite nickname every once in a while to win his favor in a matter of seconds. 

“It’s okay,” Danny instantly assured him, melting like he always did at the title Sam had appointed him. It only ever trickled into their daytime conversations when Sam was being truly appreciative. He gave Sam a quick kiss before letting him go and taking a step towards the gas station itself. 

“5 minutes max, I promise.”

“Go already,” Sam grinned, waving with a royal flourish as Danny tossed him a wink and went through the chiming doors of the gas station, leaving Sam to take a drag from his cigarette and watch its smoke unfurl into the clear sky above. It was a still, sweltering summer day, the kind of familiar weather that kept Sam aware of their presence in his home state. There was no way to get to their destination of Danny’s Floridian hometown without going through Alabama, which Sam kept swearing up and down would be no issue to him, despite the both of them knowing that Sam would no doubt have at least one instance of grief. So far he was having no problems, and as he absently bounced his shoe and closed his eyes against the comforting sun, Sam started to actually feel optimistic.

After a minute, Sam became aware of the creeping feeling that he was being watched. With his eyes closed it felt unfounded, but when gut instinct and a rolling chill over his otherwise sweaty skin told him to peek and assess his surroundings, he realized that he had good reason for it. 

Outside the gas station standing on the ledge of sidewalk facing the last pump was a young man dressed in a short sleeved, cream colored button down staring directly at Sam. His features were blurry because of the distance and because Sam only had one eye open to assess him, but Sam could see that he had his dark, shoulder length hair pulled into a neat, low ponytail and that he grasped a stack of pamphlets in his hands. This tidy, modest appearance hit a little too close to home for Sam and he scowled remembering when something similar used to be his daily attire. Danny had joked about Sam’s preaching, but he and his brothers really did used to stand on sidewalk corners like the guy in front of him now, waving their hands and crying out with adolescent passion. His scowl deepened and he closed his eyes.

Great, Sam thought in annoyance, pursing his lips against his cigarette. Rookie mistake to actually make eye contact with the guy. Now he’s gonna be over here any minute now asking me about my relationship with God. That’s gotta be the last thing I wanna think about right now. No, thank you.

Another few minutes passed and the creeping unease remained in the pit of Sam’s stomach and kept his ears perked uncomfortably. With an irritated sigh, he opened his eyes again and saw that, sure enough, the sidewalk preacher was still staring him down. He had even moved up a couple pumps, now only a few feet away from Sam. Doing his best not to look at the guy, Sam groaned and slid off the hood of the car, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under the rubber sole of his Converse. The man took this as an opportunity to hastily approach. Sam couldn’t help but give a theatrical sigh at the sight, leaning his head back to stare at the sky for another moment as a last ditch effort to ground himself before the inevitable nonsense. 

He must have seen me and Danny, Sam concluded mentally. And now he’s here to save my soul from our sinful ways. Whoopee.

“Listen, man, I don’t want any trouble,” Sam started, already frustrated. “I know the spiel, okay? God didn’t work for me, it’s nothing personal.”

“Sammy?”

Sam’s head immediately jerked forward to properly face the man in front of him. In an instant, he was drowned in cold and felt his knees threaten to buckle. He struggled not to disassociate, breathing urgently through his nose as his lips shut and refused to part. 

How could he have stared right into this face and not seen who it was in an instant? There was no else whose voice would crack with such specific inflection over his nickname; a nickname never given freely, mind you. 

The round brown eyes constantly shadowed from worry and late night prayer. The combed dark hair and disciplined posture. 

It was Jake, his brother, a thousand times over.

“Sammy,” Jake repeated. He sounded worn down and nearly pleading, seemingly just as baffled as Sam about seeing his brother before him.

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. His thoughts were thick with shame and gave no more room for that last little spark of hope that he could make it through Alabama unscathed. All he could do was gawk at Jake, who gawked right back at him with what he knew was a near identical expression to his own. He had always felt he existed as some warped mirror of Jake, and here he was, pressed up against the glass yet again when he thought he’d shattered it long ago.

“What are you doing here?” Sam whispered. With their hometown miles out from the provincial rest stop they were at, Sam was becoming increasingly convinced that Jake’s presence was a mirage brought on by the heat.

“What are you doing here?” Jake countered. His eyes were wild and darted over Sam head to toe. A hand came up to grasp his forehead, a nervous tic that Sam remembered (of course) and found oddly comforting to see after all this time.

“Gas,” Sam answered dumbly. It was true, but obviously not the answer Jake was looking for. Sam felt close to tears in a manner of seconds when hurt flashed over Jake’s face, clearly from Sam’s cold brevity and…well, everything.  

“So, you have a car now?”

“I-”

“Come on, babe, what’d I say? No mingling!”

Sam had hardly registered the crisp bell of the gas station doors cheerily bursting open, revealing Danny with an armful of beers and wrapped sandwiches. He wore a bright smile as he usually did when he was with Sam, and Sam watched helplessly as it fell at the sight of Sam’s face painted with frozen desperation. Never taking his eyes off of Sam, Danny set his treasures down on his seat through the truck’s open window and was at Sam’s side in a second, a protective hand already up to shove Jake back if need be. 

“Can I help you, man?” Danny asked curtly, glaring down at Jake with his dark eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

“Who is this guy?” Jake asked Sam in an amused tone, as if he truly couldn’t believe that Sam would go anywhere near Danny. When Jake had known him, it would have been a fair assumption for him to make, but now there was nothing further from the truth.

“Who are you?” Danny shot right back, adjusting to stand partly in front of Sam. His shield and sword all rolled into one. Sam felt grateful for his protection but knew it was unnecessary. 

“Danny, this is, uh, my brother,” Sam introduced nervously, putting a hand on his bare arm and giving it a calming squeeze. “Jake, this is Danny.”

Jake held out a polite hand for Danny to shake, which he obliged with a mistrustful squint of his hazel eyes. In Sam’s stories about his childhood, Jake had never really been the enemy in any of them, save for silly childhood disputes. But his compliance never made him a hero either, and Sam knew that Danny was recalling all he could remember of Sam’s brothers from the rude way he pulled his hand back from the handshake. Jake didn’t appear to care at all, turning his gaze on Sam once more with a weak laugh.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Jake asked. “We read your note, of course, but forgive me for beginning to think the worst had happened when there was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. Mom started reading the news all the way up in Montgomery just in case there was mention of you.”

“No, uh, I’ve been traveling,” Sam explained, incapable of making eye contact. “Mostly stuck to the Southern states, but, yeah. We’re actually not staying, we’re headed to Danny's place in Florida right now.”

“Wow,” Jake remarked blankly, nodding thoughtfully. “Okay. We, huh?”

“Danny was kind enough to pick me up in Texas,” Sam clarified, nodding towards Danny. “We’ve stuck together since then.”

“Somebody had to keep him safe,” Danny said in a clipped voice, looking Jake up and down with an accusatory glare. Jake continued to not acknowledge Danny’s obvious distaste for him and pressed onwards. He gave another nod that turned into a disbelieving shake of the head.

“How in the world did you get to Texas with no ride? I have about a million questions, Sammy, forgive me for my impatience. I mean, for starters, you look…”

Jake gestured vaguely to Sam’s bare bones outfit composed of a maroon band tee more suited to Danny’s frame than his (which made sense, considering it was Danny’s), meaning it fell so low it almost entirely covered Sam’s very short shorts. It was a standard outfit for him now, but the last time Jake had seen Sam, he’d been dressed in something nearly identical to the outfit Jake wore, complete with the long tweed pants in the blistering heat. Sam’s hair, kept long to compliment his newfound appreciation for his androgynous features and to serve as something extra for Danny to pull when they were caught up in motel bedroom devotions, was pulled into low frizzy pigtails that Jake no doubt found bizarre.

 For the first time in a long time, Sam began to feel self conscious.

“Different?” Sam asked, putting a hand on his hip. “Is that cool with you?”

“I…of course, it’s just…definitely different,” Jake agreed, a hint of venom finally tinting his words. “I hoped maybe you’d gone off to, you know, spread the good word, but I can tell from your outf-”

“You wouldn’t have thought that if you’d actually read my note like you said you did. You know why I left, Jake.”

“Were things really so terrible?” Jake prodded, his condescending tone now entirely betraying his bright attitude. “So horribly bad that you just had to leave behind your entire family who has done nothing but love you, just by the way, and an entire church that you had responsibility in? I can’t think of a single person in Shady Grove that doesn’t pray for you each and every day. I can tell you didn’t have faith in us, Sam, but we had faith in you. Still do.”

“I wasn’t happy,” Sam hissed, tears finally stinging his eyes as he stepped forward and got in his brother’s face, still clinging to Danny’s arm as he waited for his chance to intervene. “Nobody listened to me! Or, yeah, maybe I didn’t speak up enough, but even if I did, you all would’ve just heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Come to dinner, Sammy,” Jake begged, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder with a firm grip. “Come to my place. I won’t even tell Mom and Dad, but you’ve got to see Josh, at least. He talks about you in every single sermon, he-”

“You’re not listening,” Sam groaned defeatedly, flushing hot with frustration and humiliation. He felt Danny’s anxious eyes on him while his brother’s thick skull and saccharine words regressed Sam into a childlike tantrum. Jake shook his head as if it weren’t true, as if Sam was behaving completely out of line. That was something Sam really did hate about his brother sometimes; he could make him feel so stupid for nothing at all.

“Why can’t you ever admit that there are things about home that don’t work?” Sam raged on. “Just ‘cause they work for you doesn’t mean they work for me. I had to go, Jake. I, I have to go.”

“Let’s go,” Danny urged, his voice uncharacteristically cool and tense. “Ready when you are.”

“I’m ready,” Sam snarled, glaring at Jake one more time before turning on his heel and stomping to the side door. Jake followed with a frustrated huff through his nose, grabbing Sam’s wrist and yanking him so hard he stumbled.

“I love you, Sam,” Jake said firmly, passion flashing in his amber eyes. “That’s why I’m tough on you, okay? Mom and Dad love you. Josh loves you. Come home.” 

“No,” Sam barked, pulling his wrist away. “Get off, Jake, I’m fucking leaving.”

Jake stood and watched Sam climb into the passenger side and slam the door, pointedly staring through the windshield and ignoring his fuming brother as Danny hurriedly tossed the food and drink from his seat into the back. Jake smacked his palm against the door and won Sam’s attention again, who now saw that Jake’s furious expression had begun to devolve into tears.

“So, that’s it? That’s all you got to say?” Jake cried. “So high and mighty you can’t even say you love us anymore?”

“Of course I love you, stupid!” Sam yelled, grabbing an empty plastic water bottle out of the cup holder and smacking it on Jake’s head. “I just can’t love you here!”

Jake grabbed the water bottle out of Sam’s hand and tossed it right back at him, ducking when Sam fully threw it through the window. Jake crouched out of Sam’s reach as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something urgently on one of his many disheveled pamphlets. Despite Sam’s flurry of smacking hands, Jake managed to shove it through the window and onto Sam’s lap. 

“That’s the address and that’s what time I’ll have dinner on the table,” Jake explained, his teary eyes flashing as he pointed at the pamphlet with vigor. “There will be two places set for you and your, your Danny, and I really hope to see you both!”

“I really hope you like disappointment!” Sam hollered, heart hammering like a jackrabbit as he and Jake launched into a new round of arguing.  

Unable to stand back and watch anymore, Danny rolled up Sam’s window for him and finally began to pull out of the gas station. Jake yelled something as they sped out of the lot, and Sam let out a frustrated scream in response. He was unable to look back at his brother, instead electing to fold at the waist and let out another muffled scream against his bare legs. 

Danny, frazzled from the sibling explosion that had just set off in front of his eyes, was honestly unsure on what the hell to do. He settled for a soothing hand on Sam’s back, rubbing calming circles and asking Sam to breathe and settle down in the most serene voice he could manage. Sam listened and managed to subdue his roaring need to shriek out his frustrations, but he stayed crumpled over with his head between his thighs. As always, Sam’s complete and utter silence was a million times worse to Danny, and he debated whether or not to ask him something just to get both their minds on a new track.

“So, you wanna go to that dinner, or…?”

Yeah, Danny regretted that the second it left his mouth. 

Sam’s silence persisted and Danny swallowed nervously, trying to appreciate the sparse scenery that surrounded the highway so that his brain had something else to do. 

-

5 entire minutes passed without Sam saying anything, which was probably the longest he had ever gone in the year Danny had traveled with him. He was never this quiet, not even in his sleep. But frankly, Danny couldn’t blame him. Danny’s heart broke for Sam, and he bit back regretful tears thinking of how he should’ve just stepped between them and pulled Sam into the truck before Jake got a chance to say anything at all. After another excruciating minute, he figured there wasn’t much use in spiraling, so Danny decided to pull over on the side of the empty road and turn off the truck.

“What can I do to help you, Sam?” Danny asked in a hushed voice, his hand returning to Sam’s back and tilting his head to try and catch a glimpse of Sam’s face.

Sam thought for a second, sniffling wetly before finally turning from the valley of his legs to miserably look up at Danny. Danny’s heart sank at the sight of his lashes heavy with tears and his nose and cheeks painted poppy red. 

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered, throat scratchy from exertion. “Take me out behind the barn and shoot me.”

“Sam,” Danny sighed at his dramatics, reaching over Sam’s head to click open the glove box and pull out a clean handkerchief. He presented it to Sam, who made no move to grab it, so he rested it on top of his head with a little smile. 

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, still unmoving and sniffing pathetically. His gaze was blank and defeated and his face was still dotted with tears, which Danny lovingly swept away with a curled knuckle. 

“That was a lot,” Danny commented steadily, still trying to pry a productive conversation out of the ever stubborn Sam. “Definitely wouldn’t have picked that station if I had known your people would be anywhere near it.”

“He really shouldn’t have been,” Sam complained. “Shady Grove is, like, 10 miles out closer to the coast. But it’s not completely unheard of for him to go to the most random fucking places for his sidewalk preaching. Divine timing, I guess. Great.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Danny whispered, mirroring Sam’s posture as best he could to try and meet Sam’s eye. When he did, Sam’s bottom lip quivered and he clasped a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated groan that filled the entire cabin of the truck.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam apologized, his voice shaking with frustration. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that. Fuck, he just makes me so crazy, it’s like I don’t even know what happens.”

“Don’t apologize,” Danny insisted, running his fingers along the soft hair at Sam’s temples to try and ground him. “He came at you pretty hard. I know he’s your brother and everything, but if you gave me the go ahead, I would’ve knocked him upside the head with the way he was talking to you.”

“I wish you had,” Sam grumbled. There was a sore pang when he said it, and Sam found himself falling quiet and staring into space again. “But, like…”

Danny had spent enough time with Sam to feel confident in his ability to read his mind, and from the mournful, longing glaze over Sam’s eyes, he made an educated guess as to where Sam’s head was at.

“But, like…you still kinda want to go to dinner tonight?” Danny asked, attempting to finish Sam’s sentence. 

Sam let out another theatrical groan and answered by gently banging his forehead against the pamphlet on his lap, which doubled as a nod in the affirmative. Despite the anxiety that the prospect of a dinner with Sam’s brothers stirred in Danny’s chest, he was happy to do whatever it took to get Sam through the night without trying to throw himself out of the truck. 

“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that,” Danny assured him, brushing his fingers against Sam’s flushed cheek. “And the second you say we need to go, we’ll go. Does that sound good?”

“Mmhm,” Sam hummed against the paper.

Danny watched Sam’s dejected body language for another minute before taking action again. With a quick jerk of the reclining lever, he laid his seat back and scooted until he was sitting in the backseat. After landing with a bounce on the leather, Danny shifted the beers and sandwiches once again while Sam sat up and gave him a quizzical look.

“What?” Sam asked simply, a confused smile very slowly seeping into his expression as Danny settled in the middle of the backseat and opened up his arms.

“Someone needs a hug,” Danny determined, beckoning Sam into his lap with a cheeky grin.

“You are so goddamn corny,” Sam whined. Despite his rolling eyes, he quickly scrambled out of his seat and clumsily landed in Danny’s embrace. Danny’s arms wrapped around him in an instant and Sam unraveled completely at the comfort, throwing his arms around Danny’s neck as he sank into his broad chest and nuzzled against Danny’s freckled shoulder. Danny held him tight and pressed kisses to the crown of Sam’s head as he felt the erratic cadence of Sam’s heart beating against his own begin to even out into a stable thrum.

“Feeling a little better?” Danny asked tentatively. Sam replied with a muffled hum against his skin and Danny laughed, smoothing the loose hairs that had escaped Sam’s pigtails and were waving wildly in the humidity. Sam pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Danny let out a happy hum of his own. Danny gave one of Sam’s pigtails a gentle tug to tilt his head back and met him halfway, closing his eyes with a smile that he pressed against Sam’s already puckered lips. While they got caught up in a lazy kiss, Danny carefully worked to slide the elastics from Sam’s hair and combed through his impressive tresses with his long fingers. Sam sighed into Danny’s mouth at the relaxing sensation, cupping Danny’s face and slipping his tongue into the equation while Danny indulged in a smug smile.

“I feel better,” Sam finally admitted, giggling when Danny mapped a trail of kisses from his jaw down his neck. “Much better, actually.”

“Yeah? You feel as good as you did last night?” Danny purred against his neck, grinning and bearing his teeth against his skin when Sam scoffed. Danny had found that this was another surefire way to keep Sam’s mind out of a dark place; tease the hell out of him. 

“Danny!” Sam squealed, batting his shoulders and squirming in his lap. “Shut up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, who was the one talking about legs over shoulders no less than an hour ago?”

“I-”

“It was definitely you.”

“Hearsay!” Sam laughed. “Tell it to my lawyer.” 

When Danny lifted his head from his throat to smile at him, he could see the rosy glow had already returned to Sam’s face. Danny’s heart fluttered at the thought that he could be the person to do that to someone, much less someone as wholly deserving of joy as Sam.

“You wanna hear something funny?” Sam chuckled while Danny leaned back against the leather seat, one hand on Sam’s waist and the other still fussing with his hair.

“Hm?”

“We didn’t even get gas.”

Danny froze and blinked blankly. 

“...Fuck, you’re right!”

Sam’s raucous laugh filled the truck as Danny shifted and looked out the back window, staring longingly at the pump somewhere in the distance behind them despite it being entirely out of his sight.

“Damn. There goes my 15 bucks,” Danny grumbled. 

“You only put 15 bucks on the pump? Cheap bitch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have anything you’d like to contribute to the gas fund? Or would you like to keep dipping your sticky little fingers into it and spending it on cigarettes and cotton candy?”

“Absolutely,” Sam smiled triumphantly. “I mean, worse comes to worse, we can always stop in some seedy little town and get me a job working the pole. We’d have gas money for a year.”

“Fuck no,” Danny blurted. Sam cackled again when Danny bulged his eyes at the idea, his grip subconsciously tightening on his waist. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Jealous?” Sam flirted, tapping the tip of Danny’s nose and winking. He rolled his hips as if he were straddling a stripper pole and Danny let out a suffocated groan at the sensation. Not allowing himself to dive into the salacious imagery Sam had conjured, Danny used his leverage on Sam’s hips to hold him still. 

“No, Sam, I’m super into the idea of you being half naked on stage in front of a bunch of podunk perverts,” Danny replied sarcastically, swatting his ass. “Of course I’m jealous, you little shit.”

“Well, you don’t have to be, ‘cause I’d never,” Sam cooed, clearly still delighted by Danny’s knee jerk reaction. “You know damn well I’m all yours.”

“Yeah, you are,” Danny hummed, chasing another kiss and mumbling against Sam’s lips. “And you know damn well you’re safe as long as you’re with me, right?”

“Since the day we met,” Sam confirmed, heart fluttering and racing as he recalled the first time he’d seen Danny. This was something he did almost every night to soothe himself to sleep, a practice that had replaced the psalm recitations he’d done for years after he steadily found them less and less effective at calming him. He’d picture Danny, nothing short of drop dead gorgeous in a ratty flannel and his combed out curls pulled into a ponytail, with his head tilted to the side as he regarded Sam and his pathetic little suitcase. Frozen in place, Sam’s thumb had stayed pointing up in the air for a beat too long as he assessed the amusing contrast of the gorgeous stranger in such a beat up hunk of junk. In the same way that something had urged Danny to drive through the thoroughfare in the first place, something had given Sam complete assurance that if he got into the truck with this total stranger, it would be the start of his life as opposed to the end. 

Despite the fact that they were far from being on speaking terms, Sam couldn’t help but thank God for it.

“Good,” Danny smiled. “Remember, the second you want out tonight, we’re outta there. You call the shots.”

“Don’t I always?”

Danny raised an eyebrow at Sam and Sam smiled with faux innocence, tucking a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear while Danny sighed fondly. Without the other knowing, both of them felt a sudden urge to tell the other one something. Something that had been on both of their minds for a long time. While it didn’t really need to be confirmed when the time they spent together spoke volumes about how they felt, it still had yet to be said. But Danny was worried Sam was a little too vulnerable at the moment to process the impact it might have, and Sam was worried Danny wouldn’t say it back, so they let the next few minutes pass with quiet chatting and kissing instead. Not that they could complain about that.

“What time is it?” Danny eventually asked, answering his own question by looking over Sam’s shoulder at the radio’s clock. “4:30ish? How long do you reckon it’ll take to get to Jake’s?”

“Only like 20 minutes if we backtrack and take some shortcuts,” Sam explained. “I’ll be our fearless navigator, of course.”

“That’ll be a first,” Danny muttered, which earned him a light slap on the arm. “Well, shit, what should we do for an hour? Anything fun to do in glorious Baldwin county, Mr. Navigator?”

Sam stared off into space for a moment, seemingly deep in thought as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pushed out into a focused pout. However, when Sam’s eyes eventually fell on the space between their bodies and his eyebrow arched suggestively, Danny realized that he had fallen for an act. 

“Unbelievable,” Danny groaned as Sam smiled flirtatiously and pawed at his belt. “I thought maybe you knew some roadside attractions nearby we could go to. I should’ve known better.”

“I mean, we’re already back here,” Sam purred, sliding a hand up the front of Danny’s muscle tee. “And no one’s driven by since we pulled over.”

“Unbelievable,” Danny repeated, shaking his head slightly but obliging entirely when Sam’s lips found his and his hands made quick work of pulling off Danny’s shirt. 

This reckless nerve and seeming insatiability was one of many side effects of Sam’s newfound confidence. Ever since that inciting night at the motel where Sam had stayed under Danny until the sun came up and writhed nonstop from nothing more than kisses and hands on his hips, he had become hopelessly addicted to Danny’s touch. It was fully Danny’s fault for indulging him as often as he did, but he really had tried to take it as slow as he possibly could. Danny knew that Sam had no prior experience and very little knowledge of the body when it came to the pleasure it could provide, and he had wanted to give him a low stakes, enjoyable education.

However, this had become increasingly more difficult when he found Sam crawling into his lap time and time again with professedly innocent questions, all of which were whispered into his ear with hot breath that sent chills down his spine. Sam had insisted on hands-on demonstrations and begged so sweetly, which made it nearly impossible for Danny to continue the patient pace he had planned for him. This eventually cultivated in a “celebration” their first night in Los Angeles where Danny had caved entirely and awarded Sam his sacrament. He’d crossed the line between the divine and the Earth, called Sam his little lamb, and awoke the next morning with Sam’s head on his chest and his virginity (however conceptual that may be) locked up safe in the parts of his mind reserved for the most sacred sentiments. Deep down, Danny knew he’d be trying in vain for the rest of his days trying to replicate the ecstasy of truly feeling Sam for the first time. Fingernails dug so deep in his biceps he’d emerged with a single crescent moon scar, Sam’s hips bucking to accommodate Danny’s stuttering push into him, a pounding fist on the wall from outraged neighbors being drowned out from the rattle of the bedposts…that was a high Danny was going to chase to no avail. But he was more than happy to try. 

Plus, how could he ever say no to Sam? Maybe someday he’d regret letting Sam get whatever he wanted, but from the way Sam looked unbuttoning his jeans with his rosy bottom lip tucked triumphantly between his teeth, Danny was pretty sure regret was the last thing he was feeling. 

They were in for a hell of a night, so why not get as close to heaven before then? 

~~

Taglist: @holdingup-fallingsky @milojames16 @spark-my-nature

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[your-mom-friend]

hey rem, I’m just curious, no judging—what’s the reason you left your religion? I found that you’ve been struggling more since you started to lose your faith, so I just wondered what made you take that decision?

Well, since you asked so kindly

I left my religion slowly, over a long time, for a lot of reasons.

The easiest one that most people accept is that I do t like Islam’s treatment of queer people, since being queer is a huge part of my identity and people are usually ready to accept that answer.

But it is not so cut and dry

The reason is that I do not believe in the concept of an all-powerful, all-knowing, and completely passionate and caring deity that presides over the universe.

If Allah exists, then he allowed a five year old child to be groomed and abused, by a man that styles himself as an Islamic Scholar, for almost nine years. He allowed that trauma to happen and allowed that man to die before he could face any justice for his crimes.

And for what? Because it’s part of his plan? If an omniscient and omnipotent being needs an innocent child to suffer like that for his plan to come to fruition, he is either not as compassionate as he claims or not as powerful as he claims.

People will tell me that he will burn in Jahannam for eternity for his crimes, but why was the crime allowed to happen at all?

Do you know why Muslims pray five times a day? The Quran tells the story, saying that on the night of Al Isra wal Miraj, the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) ascended to Jannat (heaven) and was able to speak to Allah, who told him that every Muslim was to pray to him 50 times a day. He accepted, and as he descended through the layers of heaven, the prophet Musa (Moses, peace be upon him) told him to go back up and negotiate it lower. 50 to 45 to 40 and so on until it went to 5. That’s why there are five daily prayers.

What sort of God is so egotistical that he needs every single believer to pray to him 50 times a day to prove they love him? If he is all knowing, why start with 50 and not just command it be 5? Why do you need 5 at all? Why do you need people to constantly tell you that they love you?

I have my own religious trauma, from things taught in classes to the fucking pedophile calling himself a priest who came to my home 90 minutes a day 6 days a week for 8 and a half years, who was too religious to celebrate a birthday or let anyone else do so but apparently not enough to avoid abusing children

There are many arguments to be made about why I dislike Islam, most of them can be boiled down to something someone or the other will argue to be “misinterpretations of the text” or “a cultural thing” or “personal choice”

But in the end, at my core, I do not believe in the concept of a perfect, unerring God. The “Perfect” god of Islamic and Christian faith, insofar as I have seen, has allowed untold carnage, depraved abuse, and unspeakable violence to occur with the promise that one day, if you’re good, if you follow the rules, and pray every day, things will eventually, some day, somehow, turn out fine.

I respect Muslims. I respect Christians. I respect every single religion and every person of faith because I believe they all want to be good and do good because I think that is the nature of humanity. Who they choose to attribute that good to is none of my concern. I believe that everyone is human before they are their religion. Neither goodness nor badness can be attributed to a religion. They all have supremacists and extremists and people that will give their lives away trying to do good and make the world a better place. But if a god comes and declares that they are responsible for all of that, including the bad, and are just letting it happen for “divine purpose”? I reserve the right to question that.

And for the record, sweetheart, I am not suffering more since I’ve left my religion. I’ve been suffering the same for a very long time, and it’s only now that I’m in college, away from home, that I’m getting the space to process all of it. And sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Right now it’s just worse than usual because the holiest month of the Islamic year is about to start, and it is always tough on me.

#rem rambles #ask and ye shall recieve #anon asks #ex religious #religious trauma #ex muslim