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thischickwritessometimes · 5 months

Text

daydreams

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, Post-Outbreak Jackson Era

Summary: It's been years since Joel's kissed anybody, and your lips are all he can think about.

Tags/Warnings: Soft, Touch-Starved, Pining Joel. Grumpy x Sunshine. Resolved Tension. Mentions of alcohol and food consumption. Brief mentions of sexual desire. Entirely in Joel's POV. No mention of Reader's age or appearance other than wearing lipstick in one scene.

Wordcount: 6.4k

A/N: Really enjoyed exploring an entire Joel x Reader fic all in his head, focusing on how he falls in love with Reader. Big thank you to @joelsgreys who was excited about this idea with me, and @cupofjoel who always inspires me with her own amazing work (and that Clicker joke she made that ended up in this fic hehe)!

Here's my Kofi if you're interested in supporting my work further💜

Beautiful dividers by @saradika

Masterlist

People fucking love you.

It was the first of many things that Joel was burdened to discover about you, small facts and inconsequential incidents about who you were as a person that floated around in his subconscious until they burrowed under his skin, much like you did.

He could remember checking his patrol schedule on the board one chilly autumn day. A scarf that was decades old but new to him, too soft for his rough skin, was wrapped around his neck and keeping him warm while he peered over the heads of two men crowding in front of the arranged names.

Despite Joel’s size, he had always been good at not being seen if he didn’t want to be, at least when it counted. It was a harder habit to keep up with in Jackson, a place where everybody wanted to know anybody at all. The feeling of at least one set of eyes on him at all times when he walked the streets was an odd juxtaposition to the foreign comfort that radiated inside the town’s tall walls.

Not a watch kept on him, but curiosity that peered at him around every corner. He had thought it would die down eventually, but it lingered with a stubbornness even years later.

Now though, both men didn’t have a care in the world for his presence behind him, crowding around the board and a pair of names he couldn’t quite glimpse until one of them turned, jumping at the sight of the unintentionally imposing figure at their back.

“Oh!” the man let out a noise of surprise before recomposing. He was a newer patrolman, his name starting with a C, Chuck or something. “Joel, hey man. Didn’t see you there.”

The familiarity in the way his name is spoken makes Joel bristle for a moment, but he calms his raised hackles before it can be noticed.

Back in Boston, his name had been a familiar one spoken too. But hints of apprehension, even fear crept around the syllables of those who knew it, those who had heard it whispered in the alleys of where he’d left somebody’s blood splattered against the dilapidated brick walls.

“Hey,” the other patrolman offers in greeting when he notices the pair aren’t alone anymore, and Joel nods, glancing towards the two names their heads had been bent down around when they moved out of the way.

There’s a name he doesn’t have a face to place to it, another person new to patrol. He’d only seen the name in passing on the board each time he checked assignments recently, though this time it's right above his own, listed as his partner on his next route.

“Lucky man,” the other patrolman says with a clap to Joel’s shoulder, and he hates it, jaw setting tight enough that the first patrolman gently nudges his friend away with a wary look.

“I’m always stuck with Willy,” the first one says, and Joel glances back towards the board, searching for that name and seeing it paired with Chad. Names for faces, a common courtesy in the settlement, one he still had a hard time keeping up with sometimes, even years into being here. “Been dying for a chance to head out with her.”

There’s a gesture back towards the name paired with Joel’s, and he stares at the letters written into the thin wooden plaques that are used to arrange assignments on the board. Stares so much even as his fellow patrolmen leave, chattering amongst themselves about Joel’s new partner as he frowns in confusion over why it wasn’t his brother’s name.

“You could use some friends,” Tommy explains with a jovial smile when Joel shows up on his doorstep to question him about the change, though there’s an undertone of ribbing to his tone that makes Joel glare at the younger man. “I figure she’s the perfect one to bring you out of that stubborn shell.”

Joel scoffs at that, brows still knitted together in frustration as he gets ready for bed the night before he’ll have to wake up early to head out with this unknown person on patrol. He’s annoyed over the idea of something as irrelevant as socialization trumping protection on his route, frustrated that he’d have to watch his own back for the dangers only a human could pose, as much as the trail ahead of him for Infected.

But then he meets you, and he understands.

At least, Joel understands why those men had been jealous of his patrol partner when he shows up at the assignment board the next morning, hoping to grab a hot drink in one of the thermoses provided before heading out. He prays for at least the last dregs of some coffee when he sees a small gathering of other patrolmen, including the two from before. All smiles and laughter, until one turns their head towards him.

Joel meets your eyes for the first time, a smile gracing your face as he does so, and he understands.

“Joel Miller,” is the first thing you ever say to him by way of greeting, uttering the syllables in near disbelief, like he’s some fabled myth you’ve finally caught a glimpse of. There’s an infectious, positive energy in the way you say his name to him, in the way you say everything, he’ll come to find. Like there’s things in the world still worthy of being spoken with such excitement. “Good to finally meet you.”

He just nods, eyes flickering to the disappointment on the faces of those gathered around you as your attention focuses solely on him. You move closer, holding up two thermoses in hand, Joel’s gaze narrowing down to them as you gesture with each and ask, “Coffee or tea?”

With a blink, he stares at each before looking back up into your face, noticing the hint of amusement across your features as his lips part, and the first thing he utters in your presence is an awkward hedge of, “Uh.”

Your lips quirk up into a wider smile, and Joel notices then that for all its brightness, it's almost half a smirk. There’s humor in your gaze, and he feels those sharp hackles of his start to rise again until you clarify kindly, “Which do you prefer?”

His brows knit together, looking back down into your hands, and he realizes you’re offering him the choice of which one he wants for the morning.

“Coffee,” he says instantly before his mind can catch up, and the point of your teeth peek past your lips now in a grin when you pass the thermos to him.

“Smart man,” you comment in passing, oblivious to how the two simple words will stick into his mind and replay themselves in the exact tone of your voice for weeks to come. “I prefer tea, anyway.”

You raise your own thermos to his, eyes twinkling with that same good humor, that warm mirth that suddenly makes Joel’s stomach flip when you add, “Looks like the start of a beautiful partnership.”

It is.

Joel hates to admit it, but you work startlingly well together.

He’s paranoid at first, glancing back over his shoulder at you every now and then, but your eyes are always trained on the area around you, keeping diligent watch. Except for when he’s staring at you for too long, for reasons he doesn’t know yet, or is too stubborn to believe.

You somehow always catch him in those stolen moments, smiling at him when he whips his head back around to refocus on the trail in front of him. Sometimes there’s a soft chuckle under your breath when he does so, and those are the times he stubbornly faces ahead for the rest of patrol, so you won’t see the heat creeping into his face that he curses every time you bring it out of him.

He’s too goddamn old to be blushing like a schoolboy, but around you, his body betrays his age and does it anyway.

Sometimes you talk to him. Joel can’t figure out for the life of him why. You certainly aren’t the type to ever be searching for conversation, a whole host of willing participants to speak with you gathering around you every morning before you set out for patrol with him.

But you talk to him anyway. Offer things about yourself and ask him questions in return, ones he hardly answers with more than a few words, if he even replies at all.

That doesn’t bother you. You continue the conversation, and though he barely says a thing, you manage to make him still feel involved. Like you’re not just talking at him, but with him.

It’s just something about you, Joel eventually realizes. There’s a charm about you that goes beyond just a natural charisma. It’s a force of gravity, as inexplicable as it is irresistible, pulling in those around you, and they don’t even care. They want it.

Because you’re not simply bubbly and friendly, but you’re warm. Warm and bright, pure sunshine that brighten up the shortening days, and at some point through that fall of patrolling with you, Joel finds himself riding beside you instead of in front of you.

He nods more to what you say, following along better to whatever stories you’re sharing that morning, tales you never seem to run out of. He starts to answer your questions with sentences instead of words. Sometimes, he sneaks glances at you, and he’s always shocked in the moments when you’re already looking at him.

At first, Joel thinks he’s caught you in those moments. But you just smile at him when his eyes meet yours, unbothered by him noticing your attention on him, and he’s the one turning away yet again, facing the trees away from you so you won’t notice what that soft laughter of yours does to him.

You’re also more than capable in a fight, proving yourself time and time again in sticky situations, and soon enough, Joel doesn’t really mind waking up those early mornings when he knows you’ll be waiting for him with a thermos in each hand. He looks forward to an unnecessary apology on your lips if there’s no coffee that day, and the way you make him take a hot drink anyway—sometimes a pastry too, gently chiding him on taking better care of himself.

“I need you all big and strong for patrol,” you teased him once, but you still glance up and down his body with an appreciation he doesn’t think should be for him, even as he greedily drinks it in anyway.

Then you wink, and he finds himself unable to make eye contact with you for the rest of the day.

Even then, he knows you’ll have his back, as he has yours.

Yeah, you work well together.

So well, in fact, that he finds his mood takes a sharp decline when he checks the assignment board months into being on patrol with you, and sees Tommy’s name paired with his again.

It makes sense. Winter arrives in Jackson, and with it, increased numbers of Infected on patrol. Joel needs to work with Tommy to clear out the routes hit the worst by hordes, for the good of the settlement.

Joel had never hated practicality before, but he does in that moment he first sees your name paired with Chad.

Chad, the young man with a stupid grin on his face while his buddy expresses jealousy over the “luck” of his assignment, and Joel hates the feeling of the same jealousy curling in his gut.

He hates it when you’re not waiting for him in the mornings. Hates it when your smile isn’t for him, when he’s not listening to your voice express every emotion imaginable in whatever story you’re telling him.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s feeling, doesn’t know that he’s lonely until he’s waiting for Tommy one morning when his brother kisses Maria goodbye before going on patrol.

It only hits him then, with the warm, open affection Tommy gazes at his wife with before leaving, and how she watches him with fondness as he goes. Only then does he feel the hollow ache in his chest, a gaping hole that’s only caved in deeper when your presence came and went.

He’s still thinking about it that night when sleep won’t come to him. Rubbing together his lips, chapped from the cold winter air from being outside all day, he wonders when the last time he’d had another mouth pressed to it.

Jesus, when’s the last time he kissed someone?

It’s a stupid thing to think, an embarrassing thought that has him turning onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. His arms outstretched beneath it, he groans into the fabric, trying to shove away the emptiness even as it continues to ache.

It fucking aches, and it shouldn’t. He was too old, had gone through too damn much to even care about kissing anybody.

So he tells himself he doesn’t. Convinces himself he couldn’t give less of a fuck about not being able to remember the last time he’d kissed somebody. Pretends he doesn't care about holding another person in his arms, lips pressed together just for the sake of it.

Joel likes to think he does a pretty good job of not caring about it, up until the next time he sees you.

You’re standing at the table of food and drink before patrol, eyes scanning over the pastries available with an intense look of deliberation for what you were craving that morning. When you find what you want, your lips part, tongue darting out to lick them in anticipation of your treat, and Joel’s blood runs hot in a way he thought himself no longer capable of.

He watches with rapt attention as you bring the scone to your mouth for a bite, how crumbs of it flake off onto your lips while you nod in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s a taste Joel wants to capture for himself. He wants to find the sweetness of the pastry on your lips, to press his mouth to yours and have you fill that emptiness, to have you soothe that ache in him with the exploration and discovery of you.

“Joel Miller!”

He blinks, hazy vision refocusing on the tantalizing soft look of your lips to see them curved up into a smile, and his eyes flicker up to see you looking right at him as you call to him, speaking his name like he’s still some legend you can’t believe exists until you see him again.

Yet again, he’s caught right in the center of your web—so many times now, that he almost starts to wonder if he willingly walks into it. Merciless to whatever you intend to do with him now that you have him right there, right where you want him.

But you just smile, head tilted with your gazes locked together, and suddenly he doesn’t care if you trap him or if he’s giving himself to you. You have him, and that’s enough.

Then, your lips part, tongue catching those crumbs still stuck to the corner of your upper lip, and Joel’s own lips part, breath hitching through them.

You notice.

You have to notice, because the edge of your smile curls up even more, eyes striking with the joy of a newfound discovery about the stoic man you’d found steadfast by your side for months of patrol, a silent presence now outright ogling you the same way everybody else did.

Everywhere you went, you were sure to find people lazing about in the warm rays of sunlight you cast from your very soul.

Joel wondered if you ever got tired with how much you gave.

How much everyone took.

And now here he was, taking just the same. Your stunning vision reduced to an idle daydream, one you’d caught him in the very first moment he’d had it.

Joel thought about what he must look like to you then. Just a lonely old man, longing for a touch. Like a mangy stray turning up at your doorstep, desperate just for the offhand chance of an ounce of kindness you had made the grave mistake of showing him before.

Because now he would always be back, aching for more.

Pathetic.

He turns from you at the sharp voice of self-hatred in his mind, walking away at the same moment you take a step forward. Joel brushes past those other souls just as eager, just as desperate for your attention as he tries to get far away from what you make him feel.

But it stays knotted up in his chest, ever more evident in your absence, the memory of your smile like a pain throbbing in his bones, ringing in his mind when he brushes off Tommy’s concern with a gruff “doesn’t matter” before heading out.

Because it doesn’t.

It doesn’t matter.

But it does.

Jackson had not only brought safety and comfort, but the luxury of wanting.

And, dear Lord, he wanted.

He hasn’t stopped wanting, not since that first morning when he really noticed the curve of your lips, the shape of them taunting and tempting him.

Now he notices them every time he sees you. The slight quiver of them in a brush of cold winter wind, and how you pull a tube of homemade chapstick out of the pocket of your jacket to run over them. How you rub your lips together to spread it along each gorgeous line and indentation before popping them out with a smack, and Joel nearly fucking moans at the sight the first time.

God, he wants so badly.

He needs, he thinks sometimes, on the coldest, darkest nights. Thoughts of your mouth and what it would be capable of plaguing his mind as he breathes hotly into his pillow and tries to stay still, tries not to rut into the mattress just from the thoughts of what a simple kiss from you would feel like, giving and taking until it was impossible to tell where he ended and you began.

Because it was you.

It was always you.

Some days, it’s all Joel can think about. Your eyes, your hands, your laughter, but most of all, every bend and curve of your lips.

It’s embarrassing how much just the mere thought of you consumes him.

And it’s frightening, the power you would have over him if daydreams ever became reality.

What makes it even worse, is that he thinks you know. Joel’s almost sure of it, the way your eyes linger on him whenever you pout or purse your lips together at something especially grumpy that he says.

It’s like you’re doing it on purpose now, and he falls for it anyway, gazing at the fullness of your mouth, the most beautiful color he’s ever seen, with an aching want that he pretends never happened when it turns up into a smile.

Time and time again, you catch him wanting.

And you let him.

You never make a move to stop him, to call him out on it. Instead, you feed the fire, with a kindness in your smile and a mischief in your eyes that Joel is fucking addicted to.

If all you’re doing is stringing him along, he’s more than willing to let you do it, if it only means that the joy that lights up your face whenever you see him never dies out.

He sees it again one afternoon when he runs into you on the street, a bundle of produce from the greenhouses tucked underneath one arm that he almost offers to carry for you by some forgotten reflex, manners he used to have, when you distract him with a question of, “Are you going to that dinner for the patrolmen Maria is putting on?”

“Uh.” Joel winces at how he always finds himself hedging around you. He doesn’t think the things he’s said in your presence is enough to fill a page, even though you’ve plagued his thoughts enough that he could write a whole fucking book on you.

There’s already a little smirk on your face as he hesitates, and he clears his throat, shifting on his feet with startling uncertainty you always drag from him as he finally responds gruffly, “Yeah, I s’pose so.”

“Great!” you chirp, your free hand patting him on the chest as you move to brush past him, fingers idling on the buttons of his flannel, gliding down along them in a way that sets all his nerve endings alight. “Save me a seat, would you?”

His body turns with the motion of you stepping past him to watch you go, breath caught in his throat as he wonders if you’re joking or not.

Regardless, he saves you a seat when that night comes.

It’s not like anybody wants to sit with him anyway. Most of the others seem to avoid him like the plague. Even years into being in the town, and Joel still feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He doesn’t blame them. Even with his rough exterior growing softer than it had been in decades, he was a shit conversation partner. Joel just didn’t know how to do the things that they did anymore, not amongst strangers. He was happy enough with his own people, and he wishes that he was back home, playing guitar or watching movies with Ellie instead of sitting here alone, reminded constantly of everything he was lacking in.

When he’s asked if the seat next to him is taken so somebody can sit with their friend, Joel hesitates, resisting the urge to just get up and leave altogether when a familiar voice rings out, “It is!”

His head turns, and there you are, face aglow with a warm smile when you round the table towards him, and Joel is already halfway up out of his seat before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Your smile turns to him, eyes brightening with a spark at his quick movement that makes his heart pound in his chest, before you’re taking the back of the chair from the other patrolman’s grasp with a sweet, “Thanks, Astrid.”

When you start to pull the chair back further to sit, Joel takes it from you to do it for you, and it’s the first time he sees genuine surprise flash through your eyes. Still, you smile, and there’s a quiver of excitement to your lips that turns his aching into a yearning the longer he looks at them.

It’s also then when he notices that they’re painted, a shade of lipstick that fills them out further, complimenting your beauty with the way you had dressed so finely for the occasion tonight.

To sit next to him?

The question of futile hope echoes in his mind as you sink into the chair with a grin you’re trying to hide, and his hands are shaking as he pushes the chair in and takes his seat next to you again, something he also tries to hide as he folds them together and tucks them under the table.

When a bottle of wine is offered around, Joel can’t hold in a quiet chuckle at the way you jump in excitement for a glass. It's tilted in your fingers, the liquid swirling gently around the glass before you take a sip, and he’s enraptured by the sight of your lips wrapping around the rim, unable to glance away from the mark you leave on it once you set it back onto the table.

He’s fixated on that lipstick stain, can’t fucking look away from the shape of your lips painted onto the glass, and Joel starts to vividly imagine you leaving that mark on him instead. He wants evidence of your kiss all along his skin, down the collar of his shirt, smeared across his own lips as he takes your mouth in his, again and again.

He wants those marks trailing down, down, wants those painted lips teasing him until it smears all across that pretty face, wants them wrapped around his—

“Joel.”

His head snaps up, catching the gaze of his brother across from him. Tommy’s brow arches in question as he asks, “You good?”

“Yeah.” Joel clears his throat when his voice comes out thick, shifting in his seat while his folded hands move into his lap, shifting the napkin to help his new…issue. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, his gaze one of suspicion, and maybe a bit of amusement as he drawls, “‘Cause I asked you if you wanted a glass of wine about three times, and you didn’t respond.”

Joel pales at being caught, jaw ticking with annoyance at the glee in his brother’s eyes when they snap to you sitting beside him, and he reasserts roughly, “I’m fine.”

Tommy backs off then, turning his attention somewhere else, and Joel almost relaxes until you hold your glass out to him and offer with a smile, “Want to try some of mine?”

The look in your eyes when the blood rushes back into Joel’s cheeks is nothing but goddamn trouble, and he fucking loves it.

You watch him as he stares at the mark of your lips on the glass. He imagines what it would be like to wrap his own lips around it, wondering if he’d taste you with the wine, and he quickly clears the lump that tightens in his throat before mumbling, “No, thank you, ma’am.”

A grin plays on your lips at that, and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his life than to kiss you at that moment. He wants to grab your face and pull you into him so fucking bad, wants your mouth to claim him, bruise him, make him hurt until he heals.

Instead, he keeps his hands to himself, still folded in his lap in a vice grip over his napkin now when you tease, “Ma’am, huh? I think I like that one.”

You wink, and all the blood flooding into his face suddenly rushes south.

Without a doubt, you had him completely fucked.

You talk to Joel the entire night.

Your head is turned to him throughout dinner, and you ask him more questions than ever before. Unlike your patrols, where you were content to tell stories, and he content to listen, you gently prod him to tell you his own.

Joel’s voice is quiet when he assents, the low, gentle timbre hardly audible over the din of conversation around the long table. He’s sure he must be boring, a drab collection of colors long washed out in comparison to your blinding vibrancy, but you may as well have been the only two in the room with the way you listen to him.

You’re leaning in with your chin resting on a closed fist, nodding along to what he says with eyes dancing over his face so intently, as if to memorize him the same way he did you.

He’s surprised that he wants you to.

At the end of the dinner, when everybody’s bellies are full and they’re filtering out the door, Joel isn’t even shocked that he’s unwilling to leave your side. Though he is startled when the question slips quietly past his lips, “Mind if I walk you home, darlin’?”

You look back from where you were grabbing your jacket with wide eyes, stunned at the unexpected question and the pet name that had escaped him without a second thought. For a moment, he’s worried he finally scared you away, but then you smile.

“I’d like that.”

Joel nods, trying to calm the racing of his heart as he gently tugs the jacket from your grip and helps you put it on. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through you when his fingers brush against your skin, and suddenly there’s a feeling of anticipation simmering low in his belly, a warmth that spreads through his chest when the two of you stroll under the streetlights and eventually reach your doorstep.

You don’t let him turn away.

Somehow, he ends up on your couch. His boots and coat are left by your front door as he sits next to you, a glass of wine finally in his hand to ease the strain of his nerves. Your legs are tucked comfortably underneath yourself, the side of your face resting on the back of the couch, gazing up at him as you talk about nothing in particular.

You never seem to run out of questions for him. He answers the ones he can, and you’re not offended when he avoids the others.

Tonight, Joel asks you questions too. Things he once thought didn’t matter anymore, but right now, he wants to know them all—where you grew up, your favorite movie, the concerts you’d been to before the world went to hell.

It becomes a back and forth—you ask him a question, he answers. Then it’s his turn to ask a question, and you answer.

Hours go by, wine is refilled, and when it’s your turn again, you ask him with such startling gentleness, “How long has it been since you kissed someone?”

Joel freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. He knows that when he does, he’ll see for sure that you’ve been aware of his pining, his fantasies, all along, and he doesn’t think he can face that.

Instead, he takes another long sip of wine, swallowing down the liquid courage before he answers lowly, “It’s, uh...been a while.”

Silence falls between you then, with more weight to it than any before in that night, and he has to fill it. So he does with the first thing that springs to his mind, “What about you?”

You hum thoughtfully, even as his heart lurches in his chest when the question spills from his lips. He can’t believe he actually fucking asked that, and then you actually answer it, “A couple months ago.”

Joel’s head snaps up, eyes glancing over your face as you trace the rim of your glass with a thoughtful expression.

“Was it…” he hesitates, before deciding he may as well say whatever he wants now that he’s already gone ahead and fucked it all up by asking about it in the first place, “good?”

“Nah,” you sigh, shrugging casually as you smirk in amusement at the recollection, “it’s like he was eating my face.”

Joel snorts at that, brow arching as he retorts dryly, “You go on a date with a Clicker or somethin’?”

You laugh then, head tilting back with the joyful sound, and he realizes it’s something he wants to hear for the rest of his life, even as you playfully nudge his shoulder and mutter, “Shut up.”

He chuckles along with you, looking back down into his glass as a sigh falls from his lips, and he mumbles more to himself than you, “Not sure I’d be much better, at this point.”

Suddenly, you shift beside him, pulling his attention back to you as you sit up straight. There’s a spark of interest kindling in your eyes, one that makes his throat go dry as your eyes slowly scan over his face, down to his lips.

They part under your attention, and your pupils dilate in the darkness of the room, pulling a soft exhale from Joel’s mouth at the sight of you wanting.

You.

Wanting.

“I don’t know about that,” you murmur as you set your glass down on your coffee table, then do the same with his, tugging it easily from his grasp before leaning in towards him. “But we could find out.”

Joel licks his lips, and you’re on your hands and knees now, crawling towards him on the couch as his eyelids flutter and he rasps out, “I—darlin’, I don’t think I—”

“You don’t want to?” you whisper, stopping instantly at the idea of going too far, and horror rushes through him at the thought of you believing he didn’t want you.

“No, that’s not—” he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He exhales heavily into his palm, trying to find the words before he removes it to admit, “I just…don’t think it’d be that enjoyable for ya.”

You scoff, leaning forward to settle on your knees right beside him, fingertips finding the edge of his jawline. They run across it, and Joel’s eyes fall shut, sighing from the sensation of being touched after so long, of it being your hands on his face when you cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones so softly.

You stroke his skin like you were holding something delicate, and not a living, breathing instrument of death with the scars to prove it right under your palms.

What did you see in him?

“Joel,” you breathe, and a whimper gets caught in his throat, his eyes blinking back open, struggling to refocus on you under the heavy heat of the moment. “Do you want to?”

He doesn’t have to think twice, doesn’t even want to as his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, a desperate beg of, “Yes.”

Your lips are on his then, and his hand finds the small of your back, tugging you into him as he groans into the mouth he’s been dreaming of, day and night, for months on end.

Joel tries to be gentle with it, but it feels so fucking good, and God, now his hands are shaking. He has to grip onto your waist tightly to anchor himself to the moment, to remind himself that you’re there. This isn’t one of his vivid daydreams, or images that taunt him in his sleep that he’ll wake up painfully hard from.

No, you’re here, lips pliable and just as wanting as his when his tongue tentatively traces the shape of them, knowing the curve of your mouth from long stolen glimpses even with his eyes closed, even through just the touch of his lips to them alone.

Your mouth opens eagerly, and he licks into it, moans deeply into the sweet taste of you. His hand slides up your back to cup your neck, fingers tangling into the back of your hair as he tugs you forward by the waist until you’re settled in his lap, so he can wrap you up and pull you into him completely.

When your lips leave his, he tries to chase them with a whine stuck in the back of his throat, and he can feel that pretty smile pressed to his skin when you kiss along his bearded jaw and down the strength of his neck as it strains under your attention.

Joel’s head falls back, sinking into the couch with the feeling of your lips descending, until there’s a sweet bite of pain that pulls his lips apart. It tugs a throaty grunt straight from the pit of heat building in his lower stomach, his hips bucking up hard into your own.

His hands are clutching your waist, the sweet syllables of your name pouring from his mouth like a prayer. The sound of his desperation, his need for you vibrates against your lips as you suck a mark on his neck, your tongue flattening against it and pulling another weak bucking up of his hips.

Your head lifts, gazing down at him with lidded eyes and a giddy smile at this mountain of a man you’d pulled apart and wrapped around your finger so easily, before you tap that very finger against the same spot on your own neck.

Joel’s jaw drops.

“I—sweetheart, I—”

He can’t find the words, can’t explain how he’s afraid he’s far too rough to do such a thing. It’s been too long, he’s out of practice, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

You just smile down at what he leaves unspoken, some look in your eyes that makes him tremble as you brush your hands through his hair and whisper, “You’re capable of much more softness than you realize, Joel Miller.”

A warmth eases his concern at your words, and he lets you guide his face to your neck, his lips finding your skin for a tentative kiss there. You’re putting yourself in his hands now, trusting him not to break you, just as he trusts you to lead him through this forgotten territory until it was familiar to him again.

Joel breathes you in, large hands grasping at your back as he pulls your body firmly against his, tongue darting out to taste your skin before he bites down softly.

There’s a moan that floats from your lips then, the most sweet, seductive music to his ears that’ll replay in his mind for nights to come, and Joel sucks at the skin, eager to leave his mark on you as you did him. He’s grasping desperately at your body now as you grind down into his lap, unwilling to ever let you go now that he has you.

Heavy breaths fill the air as you bring his face back up to yours, and you just kiss. Lips swelling from the attention, and Joel never wants to stop, even though he knows he’ll have to eventually.

When he does, the two of you finally needing to actually catch your breath, your forehead rests against his with a quiet sigh. It sounds dangerously like contentment, and it takes a moment before Joel realizes that such a thing isn’t so dangerous anymore.

Your nose bumps against his, and he whispers hoarsely, “How was that?”

You laugh, sounding just as breathless and raspy as him, and he can’t stop the goofy smile that stretches across his face when you hum, “Mm, I’ll need more evidence before I draw any conclusions.”

Joel’s lips meet yours again, a softer kiss shared this time, leaving the promise of more that he’d never thought he’d be able to make before he pulls back, and your smile returning his own tells him all he’s ever needed to know.

“That can be arranged.”

#joel miller x reader #this chick recs #this is so sweet #joel just wants to be kissed and loved a little and it's so wonderful #beyond delightful read

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thischickwritessometimes · 5 months

Text

Luke Skywalker in Star Wars (1977)

#luke skywalker #star wars #he's so pretty and for what #i love him your honor

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thischickwritessometimes · 5 months

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Something about FNAF 3 and Fazbear Frights taking place in 2023 in our current social media landscape

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #oh my gosh #imagine finding out about the horrors of your job from a tumblr post

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thischickwritessometimes · 5 months

Text

paper rings (mike's version)

my masterlist.

entry 2 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary: despite the recurring hardships, you and mike make a vow to stay together through it all.

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

fandom: five nights at freddy's

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, yall. :')

notes: based on "paper rings" by taylor swift. has been beta read. yall, i swear i'm going to leave the josh hutcherson tag alone for a bit after this, i promise lmao. i also know i need to update my masterlist. i'm going to do this soon!

word count: 3k

At this point in your life, you did not need an alarm clock. 6:30 in the morning started at 6:20 when you’d hear the tell-tale honk of your boyfriend Mike’s car being locked. You technically didn’t have to be up until 7:00 to get Abby up and ready so that she’d be on the bus right at 7:45, but you always liked to greet him when he walked in since work had never been something he’d regard as an easy part of his life.

You’d known Mike since high school. You’d been chemistry lab partners, occasional study partners, and then prom dates. It was as cliche as a “will they/won’t they” situation could be until you two separated after graduation. You’d gone off to college and Mike had stayed local. You didn’t reconnect until you ended up back home working as a nurse in the local hospital and one of Mike’s various work (fight) related injuries landed him in the ER. After reconnecting there and exchanging numbers, you began casually seeing Mike whenever you could. Sometimes he’d flake due to job and schedule changes, not feeling up to it, or needing to meet Abby's needs. That was until the dates became more frequent and it wasn’t so casual anymore. You then moved into his small home with him and Abby, sticking by him despite his numerous job changes.

You got up, putting your discarded pair of Hello Kitty pajama shorts back on despite the black t-shirt of Mike’s falling to a point where they were almost covered. You then wandered into the living room, still a little sleepy, but glad to see Mike after spending all night sleeping on your own.

“Hey, you…” You said with a yawn, reaching to take his vest and keys from him to hang them up.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, sounding rather groggy himself.

“You ask me that every single day…” You laugh, leaning in to gently kiss his lips, “I just want to be there for you as soon as you get home, because I’ve been on graveyard before and it’s the longest, shittiest night you can have.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, his lips curving up into a slight smile, “Thanks, baby…as always.”

You take his hand and begin to walk with him back towards your shared bedroom, knowing you only have about twenty minutes or so to lay with him before you have to get back up for Abby. Mike strips down to his boxers and then crawls into bed with a heavy sigh and you follow suit, not even bothering to take off your pajama pants knowing what little time you had was going to pass by in what felt like an instant.

“Things still super weird down there?” You ask, referencing the pizzeria where Mike had taken his security position.

“As fuckin’ always…” He mumbled as he scooted into your side, hiding his face in the side of your neck.

“I wouldn’t get too comfy, babe…I’ve gotta get Abby up and situated in like ten minutes.” You warned, only to get a passive ‘Mhm’ in response. “I’m just warning you.” You rolled your eyes affectionately, wrapping one arm around him, lacing it into his hair, and running your fingers through his hair as you picked up one of the random books he had on the bedside table. This was a book with photos of nature and wildlife in the mountains of Wisconsin. As you flipped through the pages, you were trying your best to avoid falling back to sleep. As much as you wanted to lay there with Mike, you knew that if you fell back to sleep it’d mean that Abby would miss the bus. You’d either have to take her to school yourself, causing your morning to be shot or she’d miss school altogether, ruining any chance at having a day at home with just you and Mike on your day off.

Right at 7:00, you carefully slid out of bed, putting a pillow in your place. This didn’t seem to phase Mike, who was sound asleep when you walked out of the bedroom to head across the hall to wake up Abby.

Abby was already awake, sitting up in her bed. She was still in her pajamas with a sketchbook in her lap and a crayon in her hand. She was drawing a very abstract-looking yellow rabbit when she looked up at you.

“Do I have to go?”

“Yes…Please get up and get the outfit we picked out last night, okay?”

“Is that Mike’s shirt?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Gross”

With only short instances of protest over what shoes to wear, brushing her hair, and the lack of orange juice in the house, Abby was ready for school. She collected her backpack and gave you a tight hug before running out the door towards the yellow vehicle. Once you were certain she got on safely, you headed back to the bedroom, yawning as you crawled back into the warm bed. You settled under the covers and then moved over next to Mike, who was now turned with his back towards your side of the bed. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the back of his neck gently.

He stirred slightly, moving to rest his hands against yours before lacing them together. “Welcome back…” he murmured, “Abby on the bus?”

You nodded, “Mhm…even ate two bowls of cereal this morning.”

“Good work, baby.” he chuckled before turning towards you, wrapping both arms around your waist to snuggle into you. “I try.” You replied with a soft laugh, kissing his forehead. It wasn’t much longer before Mike was sound asleep again and you were starting to drift yourself. The blankets were just too soft and warm. Factor in Mike’s body heat and you were a goner from the start. Sleep took you over sooner rather than later and you found yourself snuggled up into Mike as you finally got to go back to sleep.

Roughly three hours later, you were woken back up by the sound of the trash truck coming to collect the garbage from the cans placed by the curb. You groaned, wanting nothing more than your peace back as you slept next to your boyfriend, but instead, your eyes didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

You turned to Mike, letting out a sigh of relief when you noticed how soundly he was sleeping. It wasn’t a normal occurrence by any means. Normally, he’d sleep for an hour or two before being jolted awake by nightmares from his past and whenever you could be there, you’d try to hold him and coax him back into what you hoped would be a more relaxing sleep.

Today, he was lying in your arms with his head on your chest, breathing slow and steady and his expression was peaceful. You stayed next to him, attempting to fall back to sleep to no avail for around an hour before deciding to slip out of bed and head to the kitchen. You began to prepare breakfast, despite it being almost noon, turning on the small radio in the kitchen so that music would softly begin to pour out of the speaker without being loud enough to wake Mike.

You were focused on the food, trying to make sure nothing burnt, blissfully unaware of Mike leaning against the wall in the entrance to the kitchen. “You know, I’ve told you before you don’t have to do all of this for me.” He sounded both sleepy and amused, but his sudden presence still caused you to jump, emitting a small gasp as your hand came to rest on his chest.

“Michael, I swear to God…”

He fully laughed this time as he watched your reaction with a smirk, “Cute”

“Not cute, you scared the shit out of me. How many times do I have to tell you to stop sneaking up on me?”

“What can I say? Maybe those creepy ass animatronics at work are rubbing off on me because I swear I’ve seen them move without anyone pushing the button…” He spoke, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning into you. He knew you were a bit of a scaredy cat. You’d made it known several times how you could handle all the real-life gore of a lifetime at work, but horror movies…let alone being in an abandoned building for five nights a week…were an absolute no-go for you.

A chill ran through you, partially due to what Mike said and partially due to the kisses he kept casually pressing against your neck, “That’s so weird. I hate that. I hate that. Maybe they just kind of settle…like how the house settles and makes weird noises.”

“Or they’re possessed..” You could feel him shrug from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Like that happens…who’s going to pull a Chucky and voodoo their souls into a giant animatronic bear?”

“The world’s full of freaky people.” he said, letting go of you to go sit down at the table. You promptly turned on your heel and leaned back against the counter, prepared to drop the sarcastic comeback that immediately popped into the forefront of your brain.

“Oh, I know that for sure. You should meet my boyfriend.”

“I’d love to. He sounds like a winner. He’s probably pretty hot too.”

“You’re a loser.” You laughed.

“Please, at least your first jab was original. Your mother calls me a loser like that’s my actual job title.” He was also laughing despite the awful reality of his statement.

You sighed, “And that’s not true and you know that. She and your aunt are just shitty people and when we get our shit situated to the point that we do not need them…then, no contact and we live stress-free.”

You turned back to the stove and started plating the food as Mike replied, “I genuinely don’t think stress-free is ever something in my future.” Your heart sank as it always did whenever Mike would make a statement like this. He’d made one mistake, as a child nonetheless, and it’d started a chain of events that consumed his entire life. He deserved better and a much brighter future than the present you two were currently situated in.

“You know I love you, right?” you said, turning, and putting some of the plates on the table.

He nodded, looking a bit confused by your question, “Yeah…”

“So, let it be known, that if it’s the last thing I do…We’re going to have the best life. You, me, and Abs and we’re going to be fine..” You sat the rest of the food out and then walked over to his chair, nudging it with your foot so he’d scoot back from the table, allowing room for you to sit on his lap.

“I mean…If this is where I think it’s going, I’ll be more than fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking a deep breath before putting both hands on each side of his face. His hands were on your thighs, trailing upwards very slowly as if you wouldn’t notice. “Mike…focus…what I’m saying is…I’m with you. I’m with you no matter what and even if things are shitty and could be better, you’ve still got me and you’ve still got Abby at the end of the day. I know you’re going to tell me no…but again, if we got married the benefits would be there for you and possibly Abby and…”

He shook his head, “I’m not marrying you for benefits. That’s just…shitty. That's beyond my levels of shitty. I want to marry you, but not like that. You talk about me deserving better all the time, but you deserve better than that. You take care of all of us and haven’t ditched me even after I beat the ever-loving shit out of some guy at the mall. You’re a saint. If I can’t properly propose with like..a ring, candles, Abby not harassing me about when I’m going to do it like she’s been doing for the past…I don’t know…six months…then, I’m going to put it on hold.”

You chuckled at his comment, “You think too highly of me, baby boy.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and raised an eyebrow, “Do I, though? You do all of this on the regular and I don’t even ask you, and in fact, I’ve told you to stop.”

You shrugged, still laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Just accept the love, Mike.”

You leaned in and kissed him gently. “You could do so much better, you know?” he stated. You kissed him again.

“How can I do that when I’ve already got the best?”

You spent the rest of the day with Mike, relaxing at home, watching TV, and napping off and on until Abby got home from school. Once her homework was done and everyone had dinner, Mike had gone to lay down for a bit to prepare for his nightly shift at Freddy’s and you were sitting at the table with Abby. Abby was drawing, per usual, and you were trying to finally put some of the pictures of Abby, you, Mike, and all three of you that you’d gotten developed placed into the frames you’d thrifted a few days prior.

“Why do we have to look at Mike any more than we have to?” she stated, eyeing a frame you’d just shut and were putting to the side containing a picture of the three of you on Abby’s last birthday.

You looked at her and then eyed the picture that she’d been drawing for the past hour. “That’s pretty bold coming from someone who puts him at the center of all of their artwork.” You laughed, causing her to immediately flip the paper over and act like nothing was there to begin with.

“You say that like you don’t pick on Mike too!” The younger girl rebutted. You shrugged in response. She had you there.

“You both just gang up on me. I’m outnumbered here. Two girls against me.”

You looked up and smiled, seeing Mike standing against the wall in a very similar stance as he’d appeared in the kitchen that morning.

“If you two have a baby and it’s a boy, we’ll all be even.”

“Abby!” You and Mike called her name in unison causing her to look up at the both of you as she flipped her drawing back around and grabbed a black crayon. No matter how long you and Mike spend informing Abby that she can’t just share whatever thought crosses her mind, all efforts seem to be futile. The comments should be expected at this point, but they still never ceased to shock not only you and Mike but her teachers and peers as well.

“What? I’m right.” she said, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the picture.

You let out a long sigh, sinking into your chair a little more as you went back to finishing the frames and Mike made coffee as part of his routine before work. He sat back at the table and took a sip, looking at what you were doing before looking at what Abby was doing. He sat his coffee mug on the table and took a piece of paper from Abby.

“Hey!”

“You’ve got like…twenty more pieces. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve had twenty-one!”

You rolled your eyes at the banter between the two siblings before putting the photo frames into a box so that you could start putting them out after Abby went to bed. You set the box aside and then turned your attention back to Abby and Mike. Abby was delicately coloring in the sky in her picture and Mike was ripping a small square out of the paper. You watched him carefully as he started folding the small square in a few different directions, his brows knit together in concentration.

You let your head come to rest on your hand as you watched Mike. He remained completely oblivious to your observations of him and kept working until the square of paper had been transformed into a small circular shape. He reached over and grabbed Abby’s red crayon, drawing something on top of it, and then put the crayon back before the girl even noticed its absence.

“What are you…”

Before you could finish your sentence, Mike had gotten out of his chair and dropped to one knee right in front of you, holding up a paper ring with a small misshapen heart drawn on top. Abby abruptly turned her attention to her brother’s action, the dark blue crayon in her hand falling to the floor as her jaw dropped slightly.

“Y/N L/N, I love you more than life itself…which doesn’t sound like it’s saying a lot coming from me, but I promise it is. You talk about giving me a good future, but I just want to do the same for you. You deserve so much more than I’ll ever be able to give you, but I promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you…one day…let me replace this with an actual engagement ring…and marry me?”

You couldn’t help the way your face heated up at his words, your hands coming to cover your face to try to hide your reaction.

“Are you serious? Is this real? Do you really want to marry her? Is this finally happening?” It all left Abby’s mouth in a string of what felt like run-on sentences.

“It’s not up to me anymore, Abs.” Mike said, nudging your leg with his free hand that wasn’t holding the ring.

You laughed, shaking your head as you removed both hands from your face and held your left hand out, earning a gasp out of Abby. “I’d marry you whether you replaced the ring or not. I just want you.”

Mike grinned and then slid the paper ring onto your finger, “Then, I’m yours.”

You grinned back before leaning in to kiss him, your left hand coming to rest on his cheek as he smiled into the kiss.

“Oh gross…no…let’s skip to the part where I get to pick out a pretty dress.”

“Abby!”

In paper rings, in picture frames, and all my dreams

Oh, you're the one I want

#this chick recs #mike schmidt x reader #five nights at freddy's #this was SO CUTE #i love him #and i love their relationship so much #this was genuinely so sweet and tender and just very domestic and i loved it #12/10 rating for sure

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thischickwritessometimes · 5 months

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chicken soup for the soul

You can also read this on AO3!

It wasn’t like you’d necessarily been waiting for Mike to come home. That would be weird and wrong and also far overstepping your bounds as his neighbor. Spying out your window for his car to come back from work would absolutely be taking it too far. So you had your blinds more-or-less closed (they were actually just barely peeking open so that you could get some sun and that was definitely the only reason), your headphones on to blast music (one side of them was hanging off your ear so you could listen to the ambient sounds of your house and not the sound of a car pulling into a driveway), and your mind buried in a good book (you hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes).

Okay, so maybe you were waiting. But you had made too much chicken noodle soup for dinner tonight and you knew that he liked it. And Abby liked it too, so it was basically a triple win for you: make Abby happy, get rid of your extra soup, and see Mike for a few minutes. Everyone would be happy overall—you just had to wait for the babysitter to leave after Mike got back.

You liked their babysitter well enough—her name was Max, you thought—but it wasn’t really her that you wanted to see tonight. So even though you absolutely could drop off the soup to her and leave, you were here at your window, waiting. Like a normal person.

You were worrying your lip and going to check the clock again when the sound of an old car pulling in came from your half-cracked window.

Which. Was also normal. It was stuffy in the house, okay?

You were trying to justify your own actions to yourself now, and that’s how you knew it was bad. As if the fact that you brought over food at least once a week wasn’t a big enough sign. Honestly, if Mike didn’t know that you were head-over-heels for him by now then he was either incredibly oblivious or just plain not interested, and you weren’t sure which would be worse for you. You sighed and rubbed your forehead before standing up and heading over to the fridge. You grabbed the bigger container of soup to bring over, then paused for a minute, waiting to see Max’s pickup truck pull out of the Schmidt’s driveway.

Once it was gone, you pulled on your shoes, paused to check that your hair hadn’t done anything weird in the past few hours, and then headed over. You paused in front of their door for a second, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto your container again and knocking.

There was nothing for a second, then footsteps.

“Max, did you forget something…?” You heard as Mike opened the door, rubbing his eyes before he recognized you.

“Hey,” you said with a little smile, feeling nerves explode in your stomach, even though you saw him semi-frequently. “I made too much food tonight and was wondering if maybe you and Abby would want some?” You raised the container like an offering.

Mike looked at you for a second, then exhaled a little. A faint smile appeared on his tired face, and he backed away from the door, leaving enough room for you to slide past him. “Yeah, come on in.” You slid past him carefully, feeling the heat from his chest on the skin of your arm. He smelled good, which really should be impossible for a man who just got done with a security shift. Mike Schmidt managed to once again defy all your possible expectations in the best way.

“You keep bringing over food and I’m gonna start to expect it,” he said as you traipsed over to his kitchen, setting the container down on the table before turning to look at him. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I’m just bad at portioning stuff out,” you said with a shrug, lying through your teeth. You’d been cooking for yourself for a long time, you could definitely make one-person meals. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Sure,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not complaining, I guess. Abby will love it too.”

“It’s been too long since I’ve actually seen her,” you said, tipping your head to the right. “She doing alright?”

“Same as always. Drawing lots of pictures, talking to her imaginary friends. Normal things.” He shrugged a little.

“I’ll have to stop by on a Saturday and bring her a treat or something,” you mused. “I’ve got to hear all about her new drawings.”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” he said, and you could see him eyeing the soup on the table.

“You been home long?” You asked, even though you knew the answer, and he shook his head. “Let me get you some of this, then. You’re probably starved.”

“I can dish it out—” he said, but you’d already grabbed a bowl. You gave him a little smile and a wink.

“Go sit down, Mike,” you said while starting to pour the soup into the bowl. “You look beat.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he said, you rolled your eyes.

“I know. I just want to.”

He didn’t say anything after that, but he did give you a nod, looking up at you with his big brown eyes before looking back down to his hands, which were tapping out the rhythm of some silent song that only he could hear. You watched his fingers for a minute while the soup spun circles in the microwave, the faint hums from the machine filling the empty air. His hands were strong, with thick fingers calloused from the various jobs he’d worked at over time. Short nails, not necessarily trimmed nicely, but rather kept short out of necessity. Probably bitten—you’d caught him biting them once or twice when he was thinking or stressed. They looked like the perfect size to hold—

And then the microwave went off, making you scramble to turn it off before the beeping bothered Abby, who you assumed was asleep. Probably for the best that it’d gone off when it had, even if you wouldn’t have minded just looking at Mike for a little longer.

He was pretty. Handsome in ways that made you think that he could have been some big-name actor in a different life. It was always tempting to just keep your eyes on him, even though you knew you really shouldn’t.

“Soup is done,” you said, pulling out a spoon and testing the broth and a noodle to make sure that it’d warmed up evenly. It was warm all the way through, so you stuck the spoon in and slid it over to him, pausing for a second. “Shoot, I put my mouth on that one—let me get you a new spoon. Sorry, Mike.”

“Nah,” he answered, grabbing the handle of the spoon and bringing it up to his mouth, “it’s fine.” He swallowed, and you watched the way his neck moved, having to forcefully wrench your mind away from the thoughts that started to creep in. He was too attractive, it just wasn’t fair. A hardworking guy who was strong, kind, a good big brother, and handsome? It was like putting a marshmallow in front of a kid and telling them not to touch it. Pure torture.

Especially when you were basically having an indirect kiss because he ate with your spoon—

You had to remind yourself that you were a fully grown adult and that you didn’t need to get excited about indirect kisses. You had to draw a line somewhere, after all.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” you said after a second. Mike finished another bite of soup and then looked at you again. He roughly swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and then cleared his throat.

“You can stay,” he said and gestured to the seat next to him. “Abby is asleep, not like I’ve got much else to do tonight.”

“Didn’t you just get off of work? I don’t want to keep you awake if you’re tired.”

“I think I can survive staying awake for a little longer,” he said with a wry smile. “‘sides, I think I found a show you’d like.”

You looked at him carefully, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Alright, if you insist. I can’t turn down a good movie, after all. But if you feel tired at all, you tell me and I’ll leave.”

He waved you off and then went back to his soup, quickly finishing it off before standing up, bowl in hand. You held your hand out to take it from him, but he gently nudged your arm down with his elbow. “You made dinner, you don’t do dishes,” he said as he walked past you. “It’s a rule in this house, you know.”

You were ignoring the way that comment made you feel, but you were glad that he was facing the sink now and not you because your face was bright red. “You have rules in this house? Crazy.”

You heard the sink turn on as he rinsed the bowl off, and then a brief clatter as it landed in what you assumed was the dishwasher. “And here I was thinking that Abby was the only smart aleck here,” he called to you as he walked back in, casually wiping his hands on his jeans. He looked at you just standing in the kitchen and a small smile crept across his face.

“Well?” He asked, smile fading to just the edges of his lips, “you going to sit down to watch the show or are we just gonna end up standing around all night?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you sat down on his couch. There was a blanket folded next to you and you grabbed it. “Yeah, yeah. What are we watching, anyway?”

“New show I found called The Immortal and the Restless. It’s trash, but it’s nice to relax to.” He sat down next to you, so close you could feel the heat from his skin on yours. You let your leg relax a little, falling closer to his as you unfolded the blanket and spread it across both of your laps.

“Can’t have a movie without a blanket,” you said when he raised an eyebrow at you. “It’s practically a crime if you don’t.”

“I’d hate to run into the police tonight, so I guess I’ll accept it,” he said, tugging a little more towards him. The blanket was big enough that you both fit pretty comfortably beneath it, unfortunately.

Not unfortunately. Shut up, brain.

He flicked on the show, and you let your mind wander as the story of a vampire and his scorned lover, Clara, played on the TV. Mike was right. It was trash, but in a kind of fun way. The cliffhangers were a little hamfisted, but they did pique your interest for the next part of the story. It was interesting enough that you could tune in if needed, but you could also let your mind wander when you were bored. Like now. Because Mike was next to you, and he was clearly more invested in the story than he’d let on before, his head concentrated on the TV, eyes darting back and forth between the characters as they interacted. Which just made it easier for you to watch him, to observe the way faint expressions crossed his face, spelling out what he was feeling through minuscule details.

Your eyes traced over the line of his jaw, which was dotted with soft stubble, and then up to where his broad nose sat, slightly crooked, like it’d been broken and re-fixed when he was younger. His hair hung over his forehead, curling slightly at the edges and sticking up messily in the back. You wanted to run your fingers through it, flattening the particularly egregious parts—or maybe making it worse, mussing the faint curls into a nest of something partly untangleable.

You were just about to turn away from your careful observation of his face when he huffed a little and slung his arm up to the top of the couch, not quite over your shoulders but so close you could feel the warmth of his arm radiating over your back. Your face flushed, and you abruptly turned to look at the show, where Vlad the vampire was once again denying that his son was actually his.

He wasn’t even touching you, but the closeness made your heart beat faster and the butterflies in your stomach start their wingbeats. You let them flutter as you tuned back into the show, paying attention to the chaos that was happening onscreen. Minutes passed, and just as you were tempted to look back at Mike, you felt something fall onto your shoulder. Confused, you turned to see Mike asleep in what was quite possibly the least comfortable position ever. His neck was craned at an uncomfortable angle with his arm still on the top of the couch, meaning that he was partly asleep on his own shoulder and partly asleep on yours.

“Oh, Mike,” you said quietly, and carefully shifted yourself to make him more comfortable, pulling his arm down from the top of the couch so that he could rest his head more comfortably against you. He let out a quiet murmur of something that you couldn’t catch and buried his head into your shoulder, exhaling lightly before stilling again, his breathing deep and even. Unable to resist, you carefully leaned over and dropped a soft kiss on the top of his head before looking back to the TV for a second, relaxing in the warmth of him next to you.

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You woke up slowly, blinking several times as your vision slowly cleared up. Your mouth was dry, and you swallowed a few times, trying your best to gather up some moisture. The TV in front of you was playing something loud, and you narrowed your eyes at it, mind slowly trying to take in what had happened.

That was when you heard a deep groan from behind you and felt a hand on your stomach pulling you closer to the warm body behind you. You just accepted it at first, snuggling backward into them, but then you heard a young voice from in front of you that had you sitting bolt upright.

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were going to have a sleepover?” Abby asked, standing in front of you, her arms crossed. “I want to have a sleepover too, no fair.”

“Abby!” You gasped, and from behind you there came a quiet groan from who you now knew had to be Mike.

“Abs?” He said, his voice deep and husky with sleep. His hand was still on your hip, fingers lightly tightening as he pulled himself from the depths of sleep. You ignored how good his voice sounded and how much the touch of his hand had you flustered in favor of trying to smooth your hair down from where it was undoubtedly a mess. “What’re you talking ‘bout…”

You could tell when he noticed you because his voice cut off quickly as he pulled his hand off you and you heard a rustling noise behind you as he sat up as well. You also noticed him quickly grabbing the blanket that you guys must have fallen asleep under and placing it over his lap, which only made your embarrassed blush brighter.

“Sorry Abby,” you said running your hands through your hair nervously, “we didn’t mean to have a sleepover without you—I must have just fallen asleep by accident.”

She gave you a look that only a ten-year-old could give, and you gave her what you hoped was a winning smile. “Fine,” she said eventually, and then just sat down in front of the TV, near your feet. She didn’t say anything else to you, which was pretty much typical for her. She did, however, let you lean forward and card your fingers through her messy hair, content to watch whatever cartoon had turned on in the night.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said as he shifted around, looking at you. “Didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”

“I mean, I fell asleep too,” you said with a little laugh. “Not just your fault, Mike. Maybe the blanket was tempting fate.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shake of his head and a hint of a smile on his face. “Well…can I offer you breakfast to make up for it? And for you making dinner last night?”

Abby turned to look at you from the carpet, eyes big. You gave her a smile and a huff of your breath. “Well, only if Miss Abby is okay with it.”

“Yes,” she said, and that was it. But she did scoot a little closer to your feet so you could play with her hair more easily.

“Guess you’re staying then,” Mike said and hauled himself up, letting the blanket fall to the floor. “I’ll get started.”

“You need any help?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head, “Wouldn’t be much of a repayment if I made you help me cook.”

“If you say so,” you responded and pulled Abby’s hair back to start braiding it. “Do you want two braids?”

She nodded, and you started separating the sections and crossing them over each other, Abby pulling out a hair tie she’d apparently been keeping on her wrist to hand up to you. Little girls and their collections of hair ties.

As you hummed quietly and Abby watched her show, you heard Mike puttering around in the kitchen, pots clanging and the smell of bacon beginning to drift over to where you sat. After you finished off Abby’s hair —it didn’t take long, her hair was fairly short— you tied it off and tossed it lightly over her shoulder. You gave her a little tap on the shoulder. “There you go, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” she said, and then looked at you. “Do you want to see my drawings?”

“Of course I do,” you said, and she stood up excitedly, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards her room, already talking about her imaginary friends.

You weren’t sure how long it’d taken her to show you all her new drawings, but by the time Mike was calling you for breakfast, she was starting on a new one. She pointed out how she was drawing you standing next to her, holding hands with her as she held hands with Mike as well. Beside you was a child wearing a yellow striped shirt, and next to Mike was a kid in blue wearing a top hat. She was starting on another kid when Mike yelled for you to come and get food.

“Come on Abs,” you said with a smile, “let's grab breakfast real quick, and then we can come back to drawing. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Can my friends come too?” She pointed to the empty space next to you. You nodded.

“Absolutely they can.”

You walked into the kitchen, where Mike had laid out plates and cups that were filled with orange juice. He was just placing a pile of pancakes on the table when you walked in, Abby instantly beelining to what must have been ‘her’ seat. You looked over the spread and smiled.

“I didn’t realize you were such a cook, Mike! I would have stopped bringing stuff over ages ago if I knew.”

“You better not,” Abby said, “You make good food. Mike sucks at making soup.”

“You didn’t have to call me out, Abs,” Mike said with a huff of laughter. “But you’re right. Pancakes are about where my cooking skills begin and end.”

“Well I’m excited to partake in your five-star dish,” you said with a little laugh as you sat down next to Mike, brushing arms. “It looks great. Thank you.”

“Any time,” he said with a shrug. “ ‘s not a big deal.” He nodded to the food, and you saw Abby pile pancakes on her plate, digging in quickly. “You gonna eat or what?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t dignify him with a response, instead pulling up your chair and grabbing your own pancakes which, upon further investigation, you realized had chocolate chips in them. You bit into them with relish, letting out a happy noise at the taste. “Oh, those are good.”

Mike just watched you with a fond smile on his face before he looked down to his plate. You felt your cheeks color slightly at the look on his face before you looked down yourself, focusing on the food. You ate in contented silence for the rest of the meal until Abby pushed her plate away.

“I’m done,” she said and stood up. “Thanks, Mike. My friends say thanks too.” She looked at you and then gave you a little smile. “Thanks for doing my hair.”

“Any time, Abs. You’ll have to show me your drawings at some point when you get them finished.” She nodded solemnly and then ran off to her room, which made you laugh.

“Well, Mike, thanks for the impromptu sleepover and the breakfast. I’ll have to make it back up to you at some point.” You stood up from the table and grabbed your plate. “I can start by doing the dishes.”

“I got it,” he said, standing up as well, and you held up a hand and waved a finger in his face.

“No way, Michael. Do you recall your rule from last night?”

He gave a little chuckle. “Should have known that’d come back to bite me. Can I at least help a little?”

You looked at him skeptically but relented easily enough. “Just because I like you,” you said, heart fluttering as one side of his mouth raised into a half-grin. “But you’re on drying duty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, lazily raising one arm to give you half a salute. You smacked him on the arm in retaliation, which just made him drop it back down to his side, where he nudged you lightly on your own side before grabbing the plates stacked on the table and heading over to the sink. You followed suit, scooping up forks and knives in one hand while stacking cups with the other. You placed them in the sink and then pulled out the soap and started scrubbing, Mike next to you, your arms brushing with every dish you washed and he dried. It was peaceful, and you ignored the way that your heart threatened to beat out of your chest with every contact.

You also ignore the way that your eyes kept falling onto his biceps, which were strong and also unnecessarily toned for someone who was just doing the dishes. Seriously. How did he manage to make them look so good? It wasn’t like he was the biggest guy ever, but here he was, with the arms of some higher being. Unfair. Also very nice to look at, so maybe you were just lucky?

Either way, you finished cleaning the dishes far too soon for your liking. Reluctantly, you wrung out the sponge you were using and placed it in the now-empty sink, taking a step back as Mike finished wiping off the last glass.

“Thanks for helping,” you said and huffed a little. “And letting me sleep over, feeding me breakfast, and showing me a fantastically trashy show. I’m sure there’s more I could thank you for too, but overall it’s been a really great start to the weekend.”

“I think I should be thanking you,” he said. “I slept better last night than I have in…months, probably. Not to mention dinner.”

Your face flushed at the mention of how you two had fallen asleep together. It had been unbelievably comfortable—and honestly, it just felt right. You wished you could wake up that way every day, surrounded by his warmth and with his large hands cradling your sides gently. Mike was still looking at you, and you grasped for a response. “I, uh, any time?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Absolutely wrong. Why did you even bother opening your mouth if stuff like this was going to come out of it? Honestly, couldn’t you go more than five minutes without shoving your foot down your throat?

“I mean! The dinner! Or the sleeping if you really need it but that would be weird of me to say except I totally already said it and oh my gosh I just need to shut up.”

You buried your face in your hands. You could feel the heat from your cheeks radiating onto your palms.

“I might have to take you up on that,” Mike said, and you peeked up from your hands. There was a light flush on his cheeks as well, and he wasn’t really looking you in the eye. “On the second account. I think it’s probably my turn to get you dinner.”

You froze, then looked up at him fully. Was he really asking what you thought he was?

“What about it? Just you and me, we can go get dinner sometime.” He looked at you for a second, and then his eyes darted away for a second as you watched the blush spread down his neck.

“Like, as a date?” Your heart pounded in anticipation; your question hung in the air, waiting for his response. You bit the inside of your lip as you waited for his answer.

“Yeah,” he finally said, nodding. “A date.” He looked you in the eyes as he said it, and you could see the sincerity written in them.

You felt a wide smile start to cross your face as you started nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I would love that so much, oh my gosh.”

“Awesome,” he breathed out. “Okay. I’ll call you? And we can set up a time then?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, still smiling at him, cheeks hurting with how large your grin was. “Or, you know, come over.”

“I forgot I could do that,” he said sheepishly, eyes darting away from yours for a second before returning to meet your gaze. “Yeah. I’ll come over.”

You both stood there, smiling at each other for a while. His brown eyes shone, and you were starting to notice little flecks of green in their depths—but then you spotted the clock behind his head and realized that you were about to be late for a meet-up with your friends.

“Shoot,” you said and pulled away from him as you started looking around for your shoes. “I have to go. I’m gonna be so late—I mean, it’s unbelievably worth it to be late, but still.”

Mike helped you look, and when he found your shoes hidden underneath the couch, he handed them over. You carefully tugged them on and stood up straight as you looked at him again. “I’d better hear from you tonight, Mike Schmidt. I’ve waited way too long for you to ask me out already.”

“Don’t worry,” he said as he guided you to the front door and held it open for you, “I don’t think I could wait any longer either.”

You gave him a giddy grin and took a step outside before halting and pivoting back towards him. “Oh shoot, I totally forgot something.”

“Oh, what?” He asked, and that was when you carefully cradled his cheek in your hand and leaned up to deliver a soft kiss on his cheek. You pulled back after a second to see his bright red face, and that was when you let out a little laugh, a quick “Okay, bye!” and ran to your home.

When you got back inside your house, you saw Mike carefully touch his cheek as he closed his front door, face still red.

You couldn’t wait until later.

(a/n: I love this guy so much oh my gosh he's so cute and such a good brother and AAAAHHHHH!!! Also sorry its been so long since i posted I'm much more active on ao3)

#this chick writes #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #fnaf #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #abby schmidt #i love this guy so much #a beautiful beautiful man

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