#Maybe its time to take a step back or somethin

[ritoryb]

did god still love you at the end?

second part of this which was meant to make things a bit clearer. i feel like it came out ok but it just seemed awkward with two. well take both but pretend you only saw the first one.

#my drawing #egil #xenoblade chronicles #xenoblade #meyneth #fiora #i think everything i draw is starting to be a bit Too Much. take this as a cutscene redraw if you will #like i think this is getting too into my Brain Goo #Maybe its time to take a step back or somethin #also while finishing this off i just watched a crack creep menacingly across my phone screen #also sorry for making meyneth Small. i wish i could have a little meyneth floating around and following me though #idt oomfie who's playing this for the first time follows me on here so we may be OK!

[softlyspector]

The second crow

Summary: There's not much in your tiny town, and Joel doesn't expect to stay long.

Pairing: coal miner!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~13.5k

Warnings: once again writing about grief, mentions of suicidal ideation, small town setting and drama, past death of a parent (reader), past death of a child (joel), avoidant reader, mentions of natural disaster, anxiety, brief smut, smoking, alcohol mention

A/N: She wrote another long ass fic! This took months to write and then collected dust in the drafts because I'm scared. This is the kind of thing I post and run away from because there is so much of myself in it. This is probably the most me you will ever get. Please allow me this little moment to be sappy about it in the author's note. I don't know if anyone even reads these but I'm going to shove my love in here anyway. This fic is very special to me for a lot of reasons. It deals with a lot of personal issues I've been grappling with, and it is very much a love letter to where I'm from. I hope you enjoy this fic, can find something in it to relate to, and can appreciate the little slice of idealized love for home I've indulged in here. Thank you for reading! And as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have.

And, he will never, ever know it, but this fic is very much dedicated to my best friend, who was the first person to hang on and say I won't let you go this time.

The door clatters back in the wind; the glass rattles in the frame. Snow swirls into the front foyer before it slams shut again.

A man you don’t recognize steps through the archway, and into the front room. A layer of coal dust lays fine and thin over his coveralls, settled into the creases in his face. He carries a battered miner’s helmet, a duffle bag, a rifle, and nothing else.

“Hi,” you say, surprised from your place behind the kitchen counter, plucking down holiday decorations that had long overstayed their welcome. “Somethin’ I can help you with?” 

“Sure,” he nods and approaches, eyes flicking around the small front room, overcrowded with furniture that was in style thirty years ago, peeling patterned forest green wallpaper that you’d love to be able to replace one day, or at least fix up. 

You can’t be bothered to feel anything but curiosity. 

Strangers are a rare thing.

Rarer are strangers that come from so far away that they do not know not to come inside covered in coal dust and snow, before they have cleaned off. It sloughs off him in minute, shimmering waves, fine lines of black that sparkle in the white, winter light. 

Rivulets of sweat cut through the dust on his face and neck, and pools at the base of his throat. Snow melts in his hair and along the shoulders of his coat from the blizzard outside.

A chunk of ice falls off his boot with his final step toward you. You watch it slide across the floor and under the edge of a battered bookshelf. “I’m lookin’ for a room. Guy at the bar pointed me here.” 

His accent is a drawl and not a twang, the syllables of his words hang long in the air. Not quite southern. It takes you a long second to pin-point its origin. “Tell me, do they have coal mines in Texas?”

He blinks at you, fingers tightening on the rim of the hardhat in his hands. “Yes ma’am.” 

“And did you mine coal there?” 

“Can’t say I did.” 

“And you didn’t get much snow either, I take it?” 

He huffs out a surprised, exasperated chuckle. “Not like this.” 

“I figured so,” you smile. “With that way you’re trackin’ dust and ice across my floor. You’d know better than to come in the front door like that. Or at least to stomp off the snow a little.” 

The stranger looks back at the mess he tracked across the room and then turns back to you, looking sheepish, maybe a little horrified. “I apologize, I shoulda realized—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shake your head. “It’s all right. But most folks along this street will feel the same, except the bar, so keep that in mind.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“A room you said?” 

He nods, then shakes his head. “Well, if I didn’t offend you too bad, that is.” 

“You didn’t. But you should know we got a miner’s shower in the basement.” 

He just nods again, glancing around the room. You didn’t think someone could get culture shock from your little town, but you think you see all the fixings of it on this stranger’s face. The coal dust and the slushy streets aside, the miner’s shower and kicking snow off his boots seems to have done it. 

He looks lost, in more ways than one. Down on his luck, melancholy but different to the kind of sadness you usually see. Tired. Like there's something missing about him.

You go through the motions of asking how long he’ll be staying with you, figuring which room to put him in — end of the hall, you decide, the least drafty of the two. Not like you ever had many guests.

You can’t help feel a little sympathy for him, standing uncomfortable in the middle of the room because you’d pointed out his mistake. 

“So, Texas, what brought you to our little town?” You ask and pull on your coat, motioning for him to follow you back outside. 

The front steps are slick with ice, in need of another layer of salt. You step carefully over it, the stranger offering you an arm to hang onto as you descend, and lead him around the side of the house, the path already dug out from the snowfall of the previous night. 

Dark is falling quick, the sun sinking below the mountains, layering the valley in its usual early darkness, the crests of the hills in the distance cast in an eerie golden orange even through the snowfall. 

Texas doesn’t answer you, the tread of his footsteps quiet behind you. When you reach the back of the house, snow up to your ankles padded in from the yard, you turn to face him, snow battering at both of you. “Just work.” 

“Why here?” 

You like knowing strangers. They’re easy to know, because there’s no chance of them turning and knowing too much, of looking behind your questions and smiles and seeing anything important. You are anonymous to them as they are to you, and that's how you like it. Nothing you might reveal means anything.

He doesn’t answer you and so you leave it. “Well, whatever brought you here, we’re glad to have you. We don’t get many folks from other places.” You turn to the door you’ve led him to, “Now, when you get in from the mines, you come in this way.” You hold up the proper key and let both of you in. “Just to rinse off, y’know? Won’t make you clean up down here, too cold. But otherwise, you can come on through the front door as long as you kick the ice off your boots. All right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He sounds so serious and polite, brow lowered over his eyes. 

“Well, okay,” you smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Yours is the first place Joel lands in a long time that he feels comfortable. 

Everything has a worn, lived in feel to it, like generations of families and visitors and travelers have passed there before him, like the warmth of their ghosts still linger in the walls and beneath the floorboards.  

The front room is cluttered with books and all kinds of knicknacks, postcards that look like they were sent by people who passed through or visited before the town stopped getting so many visitors. The wallpaper is peeling and the floors groan no matter where he sets his feet. 

It reminds him of somewhere he’s been before, or something he used to know, and can’t say exactly what. 

Maybe it just reminds him of all the comfortable places he’s ever been, that very particular small town intimacy that he’s tried to remain anonymous and separate from for the last year or so. 

He means to stay just until the snow storm passes. 

And then it does and he keeps on staying. 

It’s funny, how quick he takes to you, feels the ache of something settled just at the bottom of his chest, echoed back at him in your eyes. A kind of loneliness and seeking that he tramps down any time it dares raise its head. 

“You know,” you had said the second evening he was there. He had been thinking about getting something to eat, and instead found himself letting you pour him a cup of coffee. “You can stay for dinner. We used to feed everybody who stayed here. But that was before the passenger trains quit running. Before my time, nearly. Now it’s just those guys that pass through and wanna go over to the bar anyway.” 

“I don’t want ya to go outta your way—”

“Please,” you’d scoffed. “I’d be glad for the company.” 

“All right,” he’d found himself agreeing to that smile, the invitation of company he hadn’t wanted or needed in a long time. “Anything I can help you with?” 

You’d shaken your head and he sat when you’d gestured at the table. “Very kind of you to offer, though, Joel.” 

He hadn't been sure what to say either, that second night, because he’d been alone for so long, and talk had come at a minimum since he left Texas. 

The house sighed and Joel sipped his coffee, watching the points of your elbows, the jut of your hip, as you cooked. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been sure what to say, because you had; well versed in quiet strangers it seemed, which would come to bother him. 

He would come to hate how easily you get on with strangers and push everyone else away. 

But he hadn’t known that the second night. 

Maybe he just hadn’t realized how starved for company he’d really been. But he liked you right away and the way you just talk, every thought you ever had floating up and right out of your mouth without a filter.

It takes his mind off the things he tries to forget anyway.  

So, he had eaten with you that second night and every night that he can afterwards. 

A week passes and you expect Joel to move on, like everyone does. But he doesn’t, he asks for the room for another week, and then another, and another. 

Joel clips steadily into your life, until he’s part of your everyday routine. 

He gives you extra money for the dinner appointment he keeps with you each night, though you tell him he doesn’t have to. 

He makes himself helpful in the evenings even though you suspect he’s always exhausted but never able to get any shut eye. He drinks coffee by the pot full, and though you wonder what it is that keeps him up at night, you don’t ask. You don’t ask anything of him, because it isn’t your place, though your curiosity burns hot.

The stranger is becoming not a stranger and you don’t know how to feel about that. Maybe this time you would manage to let someone in without feeling like the world might cave in on you. 

The stranger, Joel, is kind and sometimes funny. He’s handsome and it’s hard not to like his company. He doesn't talk much but you don't mind.

The dark shadow that hangs behind his eyes has nothing to do with you. But it gets hard to remember that when you end up spending so much time with him. 

It isn’t long before your neighbor, and friend, starts in on teasing you about him. Each time Janie comes to the back door with fresh bread from the bakery she makes eyes at you and asks after your handsome boarder. 

You claim to know nothing of him, despite knowing so much and so little all in one. 

You start to worry every Sunday that he goes out on his own into the woods that he’ll never come back, and that all you’ll have left are the footprints he left in the snow, and even those will be long gone when the year eventually and inevitably warms up. 

It scares you that it worries you at all. It shouldn’t matter at all if he suddenly disappeared into the snow. 

But he always comes back, never with any game even though you told him nobody cares about the no hunting on Sundays rule, and with a look in his eye that says he did kill something, just not something you could see. 

When you figure out he’s carrying nothing to work with him to eat, you insist he go next door and get some pepperoni rolls from Janie. “What is it?” 

“What’s it sound like?” You ask and roll your eyes. “They’re good to take into the mines with you. You can’t work thousand hour shifts and not eat. Don’t you have a lunch bucket or somethin’?” 

“Thousand hour,” he scoffs. Then, “No, I don’t.”

“Jesus, Joel.”

He laughs and it’s the first time you’ve heard it. It’s nice, and sounds surprised in the air, punched out of him in a short burst. “All right,” he agrees. “All right. I’ll figure somethin’ out.” 

But he leaves before the sun comes up and comes back long after it’s set and so you can’t just let it go. His whole days are set in perpetual darkness, and the very least he needs to do is eat proper.

You know you shouldn’t, but you worry about him. 

“Just do it,” you grouse at him, shooing him away from the coffee pot. “She makes ‘em fresh everyday and it would make me feel better. It’s common, anyway. It’s what a lot of guys take down there. And you wouldn’t want me dying of worry over you, would you?” 

Joel grumbles about it, but he does as you ask, and when he comes in in the evenings, he doesn’t look so pale anymore. The bruises under his eyes never go away, the puffy bags of sleeplessness that he supplements with coffee at all hours of the day, morning and night, but he doesn’t look so wan and so it’s better.  

Even quiet as he seems to be, he looks at you when you talk and always says thank you when you put a plate down in front of him, and makes it out to be a great ordeal when he asks if he could trouble you for a cup of coffee.

One evening, a couple weeks on, he slumps down at the table with an unusual amount of heaviness. His shoulders are damp with a thousand snowflakes, coal dust rubbed haphazardly off his face, the weight of a heavy sky on his shoulders. 

Joel asks for a cup of coffee but he looks like he’s been sleeping even less than usual. 

He looks exhausted, purple bags beneath his eyes, and even though it’s none of your business, you ask, “Sure? Might be you won’t sleep.” 

“I’ll be all right.” His voice doesn’t leave room for argument, a tad dismissive. 

“You’ll eat with it,” you snap. “Or you can go find it somewhere else.” 

He blinks up at you, surprised at your tone. “I can be mean, too, Joel Miller.” 

It takes a second but he nods. “I’m sorry. I was raised with better manners than that.” 

“I know it. It’s all right.” 

Almost like an apology, he tells you about Texas that night, about his brother, about what he’s found he actually misses from home, how he used to be a carpenter before he did this, how he can play the guitar.

“What is it you’re lookin’ for?” You ask softly when he stands at your sink with bowed shoulders, washing the dishes, meticulous about it. 

He shrugs. “That’s just it,” he says without looking at you, hands reddened with the heat of the water. “There's nothin’ to look for.” 

“You’re that Mr. Miller, aren’t ya? Lives over at the inn, right? Have all winter long?” 

Joel is in the tiny general store. It’s mid-March and you asked him to get milk. There’s about five shelves total, a freezer, and a refrigerator. He’s been in and out plenty of times without any kind of trouble. 

He glances at the man leaning against the cooler door next to the one he has propped open and gives a vague nod. “Sure.” 

“Well, we was just wantin’ to know what’s got you hangin’ around over there for so long.” 

It ain’t phrased like a question. 

Joel glances over his shoulder, finds two women and the owner of the store looking over at them from the front counter. 

“Mister?” 

He turns back to the man attempting to intimidate him. “That so?” 

“Sure do.” 

“Well, she don’t seem to have a problem with my stayin’ there,” he grabs the milk you’d asked him for, the least he could do after all those dinners you cooked. He tries to repay you, do things around the place but you’re resistant to it, independent and sometimes angry, and damn stubborn about it. “So I really don’t see what that has to do with you, anyhow.” 

The hostility bleeds red in the air. He pays for the milk and doesn’t wait for the change, figuring he wouldn’t get it anyway, and that a few coins didn’t matter anyway. 

When he opens the backdoor, snow and ice and street grit knocked carefully off his boots at the bottom of the steps that led up to the porch, you smile at him. 

“You got some protective friends.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He tells you what happened, lets you put a cup of coffee in front of him on the table and press a friendly hand to his shoulder. 

And, Jesus, it shouldn’t, but it makes something deep in him ache. If your hand lingered, if it rubbed the top of his spine and between his shoulder blades, he’d be all right with that; he’d lean into it. 

But your hand disappears just as quick. 

“Oh, honey, they’re just suspicious of anyone that hangs around town for too long.”

“Why’s that?” 

“You ain’t noticed? We don’t get people from other places around here, and the ones we have take everything. With not a lot to go around. They just don’t know you.” You smile wryly at him over your shoulder, mouth twisted crookedly. Your gaze flicks over him, lingering for a second, but then you shrug and turn away.

“Make an effort, if you care to. They’ll come around. They just don’t know you, it’s not like you get out,” you rib lightly. 

“Cute.” 

“Can’t help you go from here to the mines and back and that’s it.” You’re smiling when you say it, the curve of your cheek visible to him even though your back is turned. 

He rolls his eyes and you laugh when you catch him doing it. 

He can’t figure why it matters to him, but it does. 

So, Joel makes the effort, or does his best to. 

He makes his way over to the neighbor’s place and offers to fix their front step he noticed was loose, wood rotting through. He fixes someone’s leaking roof. Runs deliveries of groceries to the old folks who can’t get out and regale him with stories that take at least two hours to tell. He shovels snow until he’s so exhausted he does actually pass out at night. 

It gets around that he’s handy and not asking for anything in return and a nice young man according to the older people and so he finds he has something to do each evening for almost a week straight. 

Maybe that was a mistake, but if Joel knows anything it’s that small, poor towns run on favors. He knows that you smile when he tells you why he’s back so late each evening. 

A week or so after the general store incident, he receives a parcel of muffins, and overhears one of the neighbors commending him in your kitchen. “Maybe he’s not so bad. We was worried. No one ever sees him. You should bring him over to the church sometime.” 

It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You laugh and say, “I don’t think either of us are the church goin’ type. But I always know a good man when I see one, you should know that by now at least.”

“You sure do. Think he could fix our porch swing before spring comes?” 

“Don’t see why he couldn’t.” 

He makes an effort to be seen. It’s nice, he guesses, that people know his name again. It’s nice to feel needed somewhere, even if it smarts a little. It’s nice to feel like maybe he isn’t looking for nothing anymore. 

Joel tells himself that it just makes things easier for him, just so he can get goddamn milk without being accosted. Milk for you, for dinner. 

No, it has nothing at all to do with you, or the way you called him a good man, or the way the tips of his ears went hot with it.

Not getting to talk to you for a week straight in the evenings almost becomes worth it. 

It has nothing at all to do with that big lonely hole in his heart, or the memories that snagged like sharp teeth at the edge of that wound. 

The mines are way out past the edge of town. 

It’s a long damn walk there and back. The morning is pitch black when he sinks into the cold earth, and only dregs of light are left when he comes back up in the evenings. 

But the town, when he draws near, sparkles with light, bright with moonlight reflected on the snow that won’t seem to melt, even as April begins to creep in. 

Spring should be well on its way, but the world still smells frozen and bruised, like pine needles and coal dust and the enduringly brutal cold. 

Most that stay in town are just passing through town, on their way to somewhere else. He finds he doesn’t mind being the only permanent fixture at your place. 

Some of them are all right, most of them really, but a few make him wary. He worries about you, though you don’t seem concerned about being alone. He supposes you did it long before he got there, and you’ll do it after he leaves. 

They’re gone within days, anyway, so he doesn’t say anything about it. But he wants to, the words like bubbles that want to pop in the back of his throat. He wants to tell you to be careful and not so friendly. 

He’s exhausted by the time he makes his way to the basement door, folds away his coal encrusted oversuit and rises off the worst of the sweat and dust quick. He’ll take a proper shower later. 

You and him have fallen into a routine the last couple months, the fine sharp edge of April waiting just around the corner, and with it the hopes for warmer weather, that the temperatures will rise and the wind won’t bite quite so harshly. 

There’s always something hot waiting for him on the table, even if you aren’t there to see to it. Most nights you’re there, but you are busy. More times than not lately, you’re somewhere else, doing something else, maybe like you’re trying to unstick yourself from him just a little. But you’re just busy, popular in town as a local, a regular nearly everywhere. 

He always sits with you when he gets the chance, eats with you. He likes to. It keeps his mind off of what he’d left behind, what he lost.

Just like working himself to death all day does. It’s hard to think beyond the physical, backbreaking pain of the labor to what lay in back in Texas. 

You and him create a routine together, solid and steady. 

When it’s interrupted, he hates to admit it burns. 

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that you are profoundly lonely, despite the plethora of people in and out of your life—the visitors and guests, but the townspeople, too. You’re a regular everywhere, and somehow always alone. 

You’re friends with the baker next door, at least. As far as he can tell, she’s the only person you’re really close with in the town. 

The baker has started coming to the back door in the morning, a sly smile on her face that he’s not particularly keen on. He has started taking the basket from her, answering the knock that never waited to be answered, the door always pushed in before either of you could get to it, a basket of fresh bread and the pepperoni rolls he’d started buying off her weeks before to appease you.  

He forgets to eat more than he ever has before. It just doesn’t seem to matter. 

A couple times a week, you sit down to cards and cigarettes and drinks with the baker. He listens to the gossip from the front room, a book with words that blur and never sink in propped on his knee. To hear the two of you together, it makes something in his throat close. 

He usually has Sundays off, days where he’d climb out into the great unknown of the valleys and hills that surround the picturesque town, almost village-like with all its holiday lights still strung up to keep the long dark days of the enduring winter season at bay, and, rifle in hand, go hunting. 

It’s illegal to go hunting on Sundays, but you assure him no one cares as long as it’s after the church services are over.  

He never manages to get a shot off anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. 

Everytime he thinks he’ll be able to lift the gun to his shoulder and pull the trigger at the creature sighted in the scope, he doesn’t, he can’t. He sees his daughter instead. He sees Sarah’s closed coffin; he sees her bloodied face, shards of glass spread around her like a halo of sparkling snow; he sees her blonde hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, tubes crawling in and out of her mouth and chest and arms.

And all Joel has to show for it is a scar across the bridge of his nose, a tight pinch in his right shoulder that hadn’t been there before.

There are a lot of deer around, but birds, too, ducks and geese, rabbits, foxes. All of them remind him of his kid and so the rifle remains unused. He can’t help but feel like he might be killing his kid all over again. 

The basement is dark and chilled when he gets in, but not cold or damp. Snow crumbles from his boots and leaves an icy shine behind. There’s a broom beside the door and he does his best to sweep the mess to the drain in the center of the basement floor. 

Something weary weighs on him. He feels heavy all the time, tired beyond belief, and like a hole might open up in his chest at any moment, like the heart of him might slip out, bloody and mangled, right onto the floor. 

This isn’t the first town he’s stumbled onto, lost and wandering, unable to stay in Texas without thinking of his girl. It is the first town he’s stayed in longer than a week. 

It’s been near a year since she passed in that hospital, machines turned off, chest ceasing to rise and fall. 

He thought he could take it, be strong, be there as his child died right in front of him. 

He’d had to agree to it after all, sign all the right papers and talk to all the right people, and get a thousand and one second opinions from all kinds of doctors to be sure. 

No brain activity. No chance of ever waking up. Hung in limbo forever, and he couldn’t abide that, that maybe she was in pain and trying to move on and leave and find rest and he wasn’t letting her. 

They assured him that she would not feel a thing, and that was good, but no one warned him that he would be the one taking it all on. It felt like being carved open, split down the middle, like he was raw and turned inside out and someone was holding a hot needle to his lungs. 

He hadn’t been able to help the way he fell to his knees and howled, sobbed. 

So, after the funeral, he sold his house and left. Did odd jobs and backbreaking seasonal work for almost a year, a different town every week, until he stumbled on this mining town, deep in the hills of some place long forgotten. 

By the looks of the buildings, it might have been busy once, trains and visitors and people, but the mines feel like they’ve been there since the beginning of time. There’s something ancient in the air and down in the deep earth. 

Maybe he stays because he got into town on the anniversary of the accident. 

He’s goddamn stupid if he doesn’t think it has nothing to do with you, though. 

Joel should have already moved on when he heard about your little inn, in the bar down the street, but snow had moved in, so thick and white, he couldn’t see more than an inch in front of his face. The roads would be bad for days after, the least he could do was get away from that shitty company housing while he waited, and get a few more days of pay. 

But the roads cleared, and a week passed, and then another, and another, and he still hasn’t met that urge to keep moving, to put space between him and Sarah. He only thinks of her when he’s trying to sleep, and those fateful Sundays. 

The kitchen is empty and cold when he closes the basement door behind him, a thin wind spiraling in from the cracked open back door. 

The porch is dark but the outline of you is clear, sitting on the plastic-covered porch swing with a cigarette between your fingers. “Those things’ll kill ya they say,” he says by way of greeting, leaning against the siding. 

“And what exactly do you go breathing in everyday down in them mines that’s so healthy?” There’s a snap in your voice that usually isn’t there, that mean streak that lashes out from time to time. 

Joel pulls the door almost shut, shuts the little bit of light leaking outside away. “Are you all right?” 

“Sorry.” 

“S’okay,” he says. “Should I leave ya?” 

It takes a minute for you to answer. “Get a coat and come sit.” After a second you add, “If y’want.” 

So he gets a coat and sits next to you on the swing. The plastic crinkles under his thighs. “Do you smoke?” 

“I used to.” He should leave it at that but more words follow that he doesn’t intend. “Stopped years ago, a couple months before my - my daughter was born.” He falters a little on the words.

Joel braces himself, stiffens, all the bone and muscle inside of him going deadly tight, waiting for the inevitable questioning. Maybe you don’t care to ask or maybe you feel him tense or hear something in his voice because you don’t ask. 

Something pricks at him, disappointment maybe. 

“Well, it’s just us here,” you say simply. “You want one?” 

Sarah never knew he smoked. 

He takes the one you offer and the packet of matches. 

“I don’t usually,” you say without prompting. “Smoke, that is. Sometimes when I drink.” 

Joel takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs for a long minute. It feels good and tastes as bad as he remembers. “Card night.” 

You smile at him, cigarette slowly brought to your lips. “That’s right.” 

He almost asks what it is that has you smoking without your friend, but he figures you’re about to tell him anyway. You talk a lot. He likes that about you. 

So he waits. 

And you don’t say anything. 

There’s just a long melancholy silence where your words normally are. 

On a usual evening, he comes upstairs and bothers you about letting him help you some way. You don’t like letting people help you, like it even less when he just does it anyway. 

On a usual evening, he’s threatened with expulsion from the kitchen, and then gets caught up on local dramas, some of which he is beginning to understand, while he sits at the table with a cup of coffee and you pretend to never need help. 

The snow makes a sound as it hits the piles of the stuff that has yet to melt, frozen hard and unforgiving everywhere. 

He’s never been around snow, much less sat outside as it fell. 

The whole world goes quiet with it, like he got sucked into a black hole and sound got swallowed up around nothing. 

And in the silence, he can hear the individual plunks of each flake settling onto the frozen ground. He wouldn’t have thought it made a sound at all.

“You sure you’re all right?” He asks and slips one arm across the back of the swing, realizing that you never answered him in the first place. 

You just draw in another long breath and inch closer to him on the swing. 

Maybe he’s not as crazy as he thought. When you look at him, there’s something in your eyes, a grief that he feels reflected back in your eyes, sharp like a tack shoved into the delicate skin between thumb and forefinger. 

The ache in his chest is present on your face. 

“Just one of those days,” you say and smile. “Sorry I’m not myself.”

You’re plenty yourself, just muted. Quiet. 

He does quiet pretty well, so you just sit there and listen to the snow, breathe it in, shudder against his arm until he just wraps it around you, trying not to put too much thought into it. 

You don’t look at him. “Thanks.” 

“Mhm.” 

He’s not sure how long you sit there. He just knows he’s numb when your hand covers his, your fingers feel hot against the freezing ache that’s set in.

“My dad was a miner. Pretty much everybody is around here, I guess. Those mines,” you say and shake your head. “They give. We wouldn’t exist without ‘em, but they take too. They take what they think they’re owed in the end. You can’t take that much out of Earth that old and expect nothin’ bad.” You hesitate for a long moment but when Joel squeezes your hand, you continue. “My dad died in a mine collapse around this time a couple years ago. So I guess that’s what I'm thinkin’ about today.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and, slowly, your head tips against his shoulder. The cigarettes are stubbed out, the butts deposited in an ashtray. “Usually, this time of year all the snow is already gone. And then the rains come and everything floods. And that spring, the mine collapsed with it.” 

He thinks of telling you of his own grief, his own loss, and the way he ran away from it. The way he’s still trying to run away from it. But something sharp twinges in his chest and he stays silent. Layering his grief over yours wouldn’t help no one, least of all you. 

Telling someone about her, someone who didn’t know her, having to describe her — he wants to, and can’t imagine doing it, all in one. 

Maybe it isn’t right to, anyway. 

Instead, he squeezes your hand, tilts his chin against your forehead. “You always run this place?” 

“No. Back when there were people still passing through, my aunt did. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here so I just decided to keep it going when she left.” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Think so? One day it’ll be a five star hotel.” 

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt it. Almost too rich for my blood now.” 

“Honorary guest,” you disagree. “Always. Room reserved for you, just in case.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” you laugh and relax fully against his shoulder; the tension bleeds out of you, the curve of you spilling softly into him.

You sit like that for a long time, until the snow stops coming down.   

It’s then that the world does go silent as a grave, like the two of you are the last people alive. 

“It’s been real nice havin’ you here,” you say suddenly and quietly, like someone might hear, like you might disturb him. The puff of your breath clouds, crystalizes in front of him like something physical he might pluck from the air and put in his pocket.

Glad to have been here, glad to be here, he wants to say and doesn’t. It feels wrong to be glad to be anywhere at all. 

When you tilt your face up, your eyes are soft. He doesn’t even think about it. 

He just kisses you. 

You taste like blackberries, dark sweet and sour. The cigarette on your tongue is only an afterthought. The sound you make when he cups your head in his hands and tips it back, rehomes itself in his chest. 

When he pulls you into himself, you sigh. 

Five days later, it’s a Sunday. Another snowstorm is passing through the hills, and any snow that had managed to melt that week comes right back. 

Joel only realizes when he’s brushing his teeth—preoccupied with thinking about maybe not going hunting for once, and cleaning the damn rifle instead—that it’s unusually cold. He rinses his mouth out and goes to find you. 

The steps creak and crack as he descends them, like they’re covered in a spiderwebbed ice that might split and send him into some achingly cold depth if he isn’t careful.  

He finds you bundled up in a coat by the backdoor, a scarf wound halfway up your face, just your eyes visible above the fabric. 

“I’m sorry,”  you say, voice muffled and eyes wide. “The heating went out and there’s nothin’ to be done about it until the snow clears up a little and it ain’t supposed to until tomorrow.” You shake your head. “Never snows this goddamn much or this late in the season,” you gripe, a bitterness in your voice. 

“Well, that ain’t your fault,” he says, watching you wiggle your fingers into a pair of gloves. He thinks you’re just layering up, but when you reach for your boots by the back door it becomes apparent that you intend to go outside. “And just where do you think you’re goin’?”

You pick up a basket next and reach for the doorknob. “I need wood for the fireplace—”

“Then let me get it for ya,” he says, stepping into his own boots, tugging the basket out of your hands as he goes. “You’ll freeze out there.”

“No, Joel, you’re a guest here—”

“C’mon,” he says. “It ain’t like that now and you know it.” You don’t say anything but when he looks up, you’re frowning at him. “We got anyone else around?” 

“Just—it’s just me and you.” 

He doesn’t know why you sound so upset about it. “Good. Now where’s the wood?” 

You blink and glance away, pulling at your gloves nervously. “In the shed. Should be enough little pieces but the ax is by the door if some of it needs broken up.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll have some coffee ready for you.” 

“You don’t gotta do that.” He opens the door, snow swirls in. 

“I’m doin’ it anyway.” Then. “Joel?” 

He turns. 

“Thanks.” 

He’s not sure what he’s being thanked for and you still aren’t really looking at him, so he nods and plunges into the white blur that is the back yard, the whip of blizzard wind harsh against his face.

Inside the shed he finds that more of the wood does need axed.

He can’t get the way you looked at him out of his mind. You’ve been busy the last couple days, always out or taking care of something, pushing away any of his attempts to. . .what? He isn’t sure. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he made things complicated, messed something up along the way.

He fears that pushing has nothing to do with the grief that had made a home on your face that evening you spent on the porch together, but what came after and what he hadn’t said. 

You have been different too. Like something wary and stiff.

He chops the wood, feels every lift and swing of the ax. It seems to ache more in the cold. Everything does. 

Joel shoves the wood into the basket and stacks the extra pieces back onto the pile. The house is marginally warmer than outside without the brutal slice of the wind. He leaves his boots by the back door and finds you poking around in the grate of the fireplace. 

You back away when he approaches and it stings that you do. 

“Somethin’ the matter?” 

“No. ‘Course not.” 

But there is. Some kind of wall went up between you the other night. He should have said something. “All right. I’m, uh, I’m gonna get outta your hair for a while.” 

He doesn’t think of being in a blizzard, just that he needs to get out of your house before you ask him out of it, before you kick him out of it.  

The only thing he can think is that he doesn’t mean shit to you. Somewhere along the way, things got messed up, like they always do. His ex-wife’s face flashes behind his eyes, all that happened with her, all of it that always seemed to be his fault. 

Joel grabs his gear and goes out into the blue-white of the snow and makes his usual trek to a spot up in the hills. He sits with his back to a tree and listens to the way the weather beats down. The metal of the rifle goes ice cold between his knees, the bluster of the wind coats him in a perfect white. 

He might just be the only living thing out. The world is quiet apart from that brutal, beautiful shush of wind through trees and snow through air. 

He’d be ashamed to admit it, but the only thing he thinks about that day, is you. 

Joel’s hair is still damp and curling lightly against the back of his neck when he finds his way to the kitchen. 

He’d come back frozen to the bone, ice in his hair and eyebrows and the webbing of his lashes. It’s all melted now, and you have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him there, the back of his neck where you know his skin is soft, the feathery thick hair that grows a little long these days. 

“You have a minute?” Joel asks, right hand toying with the strap of his watch. He’s looking at you the way he always does lately, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A stab of guilt rakes pointed talons along your belly. 

You did that, you always do that. 

Stop it, you think. Don’t do that this time. 

“Hey,” you nod, trying. “Sure, I do. Was gonna ask you to come sit with me anyhow.” 

He pauses, takes the cup of coffee when you extend it to him, fresh brewed, a peace offering of sorts. Peace over what, you don’t know. “Y’were?” He sounds surprised, takes the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours. 

“Sure,” you answer, swiping your hand over your thigh. His gaze follows. “It’s just s’cold upstairs. Electricity’ll be out ‘til tomorrow probably. At the earliest. So.” 

He nods and looks down into his cup and you feel bad about the last week again. Of how you’re pushing again and don’t know how to stop. You held him at arm's length, made sure you were out and busy and away, watched him stop smiling at you again, replaced instead by uncertainty. 

It’s unfair. 

He should probably hate you over it. 

You wonder why he’s still here. 

When he looks up at you, you smile and his shoulders relax marginally. “All right. I’m gonna get more wood, then I’ll be there.” 

You show him the bottle of whiskey when he comes back inside, smelling of frozen air and pine. “Just to stay warm,” you promise. 

He doesn’t say no to the drink you pour him, or the way you inch closer to him. 

Because it’s cold, you tell yourself, just like it had been on the porch that other time.

The pull of longing in your chest hasn’t eased since then. You shouldn’t have let him, you’re bad at hanging on to people and afraid they’ll disappear, and you’d rather hurt by choice. You’d rather be alone and ache. 

But Joel is here and real and still in front of you, still looking at you.

It’s terrible because he wants you to know things about him and you want to run away. You want to push him away, until he leaves or hates you or both. He brought up his daughter and even though you think it might have been an accident, you think he might have wanted you to ask about her. 

And you hadn’t. 

He doesn’t make it any easier on you by being warm and solid and pressing an offering open arm along the back of the couch. 

Just like the other time. 

You accept it, because it's cold. Just because it’s cold. 

It has nothing at all to do with the way he strokes your shoulder and tugs you close to him, the way his head tilts down over yours when you press the cold tip of your nose into his neck by accident and then leave it there on purpose. 

You aren’t expecting him to say anything. The guttering of the candles lulls you to sleep, the pepper of white snow against the black swirl outside soothing. “You know,” the sound of his voice rumbles against your ear. “I didn’t know snow made noise.”

You blink. “What?”

“That sound it makes. When it’s real quiet, you can hear it land.” 

“Suppose you can, yeah.” 

“My daughter,” he starts and your breath hitches. The broken eggshell of memory delicately being pressed into the palms of your hands. You’re being trusted with something. “She only saw snow once, I think. Real slushy and wet. Not like you get around here. And I don’t remember it makin’ a noise.”

You swallow the instinct to change the subject, to say something dismissive, to push and push. 

“Did she like it?” You ask after a moment. “The snow?” 

“Yep. Got off from school. Made the world’s tiniest snowman. Maybe only a foot high. Made snow angels that turned out to be more mud than snow. My brother thought that was real funny.” 

You laugh and lean into his shoulder. He smells like snow and damp cotton and gun oil. “What’s her name?” 

Assuming. No, hoping. You are hoping that he’s just missing her, that the chipped china memory in your palm is of a girl he misses and doesn’t mourn. But you could tell the other day, you could tell by his voice and the way he isn’t with her. If he had a choice, he’d be with her. 

Joel isn’t like you. 

He’s not the kind to leave someone behind. 

He clears his throat. “Sarah. She was, uh, she was twelve.” 

“Oh. Oh, Joel. I’m sorry.” 

And you are. That is a loss no one should ever know, and Joel is not the kind to carry it well. It leaves those purple circles under his eyes, burrows deep ruts into the arteries to his heart, half his blood just drained away. It leaves the coffee pot empty, it whispers fourteen hour work days, and still no sleep. 

It pushes a rifle into hands that always come back without game. 

“Anyway, I think she would have liked this shit,” he gestures to the snow beyond the window with the mug in his hand, coffee and whiskey. “Think she would have liked it here.”

“It’s okay, when you get to know the place.” You follow his eyes. “It’s home, anyway.”  

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.” 

What part he’s agreeing with, you aren’t sure you want to know. 

He looks at you again, and you can’t bear to meet his gaze through the dark that’s fallen on the room, to see too deeply into what lay there. Sharing his daughter with you, that she died so young. A lot of things about him suddenly fall into place in your mind. 

The grief and the love with no place to go. It makes sense why he’s there, running away from something that could never be ignored. 

You take the cup from him and pull him up by the hand. 

He fits against you, pulled in tight, so easily. You feel the brush of his mouth against your cheek, his fingers against your back.

You sway, and there’s no music. You want to say that you’re sorry again. Not for his daughter, because he wouldn’t want to hear it, but for everything else — the running you’re both doing, the snow and the cold, and how clear it is that everything in the world looks like grief and loss and the big hole in his chest. 

“I think you should ask Joel to get a drink.” 

Janie pauses mid-chop, knife hanging in the air. Your friend the baker turns to look at you over her shoulder. “What did you just say?” 

You wince and fiddle with the edge of your sweater. “Joel. You should ask him.” 

“Now why,” she starts, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Would I go and do somethin’ like that?” 

“Well, I think y’all would be good together—”

She sighs heavy and long, rolling her eyes as she sits down across from you and takes your hand in hers, still wet from rinsing the vegetables off. “You’re doin’ it again, you know.” 

“Doin’ what?” You snap, yanking your hand back, accusatory. 

“As soon as you think somebody is getting too close you push ‘em away. I know you know what you’re doin’. And I know if I hadn’t had the sense to hold onto you so hard all them years ago, you woulda done the same to me. And we’d just be neighbors.” 

She raises a brow at you when you sputter. But it’s true. You know it’s true. 

It happens all the time, with everyone. It always hits you so hard, the sudden smothered feeling, the scared, confused, cornered animal feeling, when hanging onto something seemed impossible and wrong. 

“You know that man don’t want nothin’ to do with me.” 

“He always answers the door to you in the mornings,” you defend weakly.  

“As a favor to you. He does everything for you, and I know you noticed or you wouldn’t be trying to pass him off on me. You don’t gotta be so avoidant. Not everything disappears.”

You know, but you what you don’t know is how to stop it. The sharp talons and fangs that spring out whenever someone gets too close are always a surprise. You hate it when people care about you, when you care about them. 

It’s like there’s a box around you, growing smaller with each passing second. So, you flee, before the box crushes you, or before the thing trapped in there with you gets to do it first.

That’s what you’re really afraid of, after all, not that someone might care about you, but that they one day might stop.  

“I told him about my dad,” you admit.

Janie freezes, blinks, and then looks over at you. You look back at her, miserable about it. “Oh, honey.” 

“And he. . .you shoulda seen the way he—” The way he looked at you. You almost tell her about Sarah, but don’t. That loss isn’t yours to tell, no matter what, even if it would tell her exactly how close he’s drifted to you. 

You don’t know what to call it, anyway. The way he looked at you the night of the snowstorm, the air chilled and the whole world cold except for the two of you pressed together. His hand in yours, the mocking remembrance that you had forgotten in that moment to feel trapped. 

No, that had come later. When you couldn’t breathe before going to bed, when your skin felt pinched and tight. That moment is tinged in your mind with the heaviness of a hand pinching the back of your neck, instead of the gentle press of fingers to your spine, his mouth against your cheek but not your lips, not again.

“He’ll leave soon and it won’t matter,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “He’s got to be goin’ soon. I know it.”  

She pats your hands again, pity in her gaze. “It will matter, and you know it. But it seems to me he’s stuck. And it isn’t this town or those mines that are keeping him here. He wants to hang on. You should, too, for once. He’s looked like nothin’ but a kicked dog lately, and one that might bite at that.” 

The snow melts over the next couple of weeks, temperatures rise rapidly. For a while, the sun shines, the weather is nice; the skies a purest bluest blue. 

Joel doesn’t leave. 

He smokes more on the back porch, his eyes far away and haloed with something distant. He stops hunting on Sundays, and starts going fishing at the lake instead, and unlike before he brings back a haul. 

For a minute, it seems like things might be okay. You don’t allow yourself to have any more quiet, secret moments with him, but you don’t push either. You try not to push. 

But you wonder if he wants that, if he might have wanted to kiss you again when the heat went out and you were stupid enough to let yourself reel him back to you. 

Then, one day, the rains come. Clouds so black they appear blue roll in and sit heavy in the sky for a day, winds whipping the leaves of the trees back so their bellies show. Old warnings about just how bad the weather was about to get. 

The skies open up, and the rain doesn’t stop. 

For weeks. 

Suddenly all anyone can talk about are the floods and the landslides that are likely to happen any day. 

You wish they wouldn’t, or at least not to you, or have the decency not to look at you with pity when they talk about it. What if there’s a mine collapse? Well, you think, that too is likely. 

The creeks swell until they look like rivers; the rivers glut themselves with so much rainwater the levees threaten to bend and break, the banks of the lake disappear, silt stirred so deeply that the whole lake goes brown with it. 

Joel stops fishing. 

You expect them to close the mines, at least for a while. But the coal companies have never cared about any of you, and they weren’t about to start. 

“Mornin’,” he says, his voice a soft grumbling rumble. 

“Hi,” you say, not turning away from your spot by the window, watching the rain pour down seemingly harder. 

The rain and all it could wash away, makes you anxious. Makes the whole town anxious. Flooded river plains and lake shores, mountainsides crumbling down to sweep everything away. It’s embedded in you, something your body learned generations before you were born. 

A generational curse, a landscape that could steal everything, that had and would again. 

“You okay?” 

The sound of the coffee pot sliding out of place, liquid being poured, ceramic clicking down onto the counter. 

“Yeah. The rain makes me anxious.” 

“All anyone talks about are the floods.” 

“Same way every year,” you shrug, like it doesn’t keep you awake at night. Like you haven’t stopped sleeping and pace all night long. “Hard thing to forget, once it happens to you.” 

Joel makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and joins you at the window. “It’s gettin’ lighter every day, at least.” 

You think he means it to comfort you. 

“The sound, though.” 

The sound of rain tapping at the window is like nails on a chalkboard — warning. 

He covers your hand with his for just a second, the squeeze of his fingers around yours barely felt. “I know.”  

Too close. 

It’s too close. 

You don’t want him to know that. 

You move your hand before his skin has fully left yours, jerking away like you’ve been stung.  

He clears his throat and shifts, floorboards squeaking awkwardly beneath his socked feet. 

Socked feet. Hand on yours, rough skin against yours. Tender words, gentle tone. 

It all feels like he knows too much, wants too much. You take a step away from the warmth he radiates under the guise of reaching for the handle of the dishwasher. “You think you’ll be movin’ on soon?” 

A surprised silence follows your words. “What?”

“It’s just you been here awhile.” 

He doesn’t answer and you start to unload the dishwasher, carefully stacking the ceramic on the counter even though you’d normally just put them up in the cabinets. “Big waste of money, stayin’ somewhere like here for so long. If you’re waitin’ for better pay or something, I can tell you it won’t happen. Not even if you talk to the union.” 

A long silence follows your words. It’s a buzzing, angry silence. “You ain’t even gonna look at me?” 

You shrug and your body continues on autopilot, still not looking at him, stacking dishes one after another. 

Clink, click, clink. 

The door to the basement doesn’t exactly slam, but it shuts much harder than usual.

You sit the mug in your shaking hands down on the counter and stare at it without seeing. 

The pressure in your chest isn’t gone. It never is, after. You push and push and push, until they finally let go. And then the loneliness and pain rub their hands together and slip back into their comfortable home in your chest. It’s almost a relief to have it back. 

God, why does someone knowing something about you, caring about you, feel like getting your arteries ripped out, one fine line at a time? Why does it feel like your skin is shrinking and your throat is closing up? 

Your eyes sting and you wish you wouldn’t have said it. 

But you did and he’d be on his way soon enough and everything would be simple again. 

You can remain in your little box all alone with carefully constructed walls that push everyone to the periphery of your life. They belong at arms length where you believe it won’t hurt you when they leave, where you convince yourself you’ll have enough time to recognize the signs and do it first. 

He can’t get any closer, can’t see anymore than he already has. 

Joel has to leave. You have to push him away, before he makes the choice himself and leaves you bleeding. 

But Joel isn’t like you, you think again. He’s not the kind to leave someone behind. 

The rain comes down harder. 

The house rattles with it.

You think about the mines flooding, and finally cry.  

Joel doesn’t leave, but you can tell he’s trying to figure out how to. He’s trying to leave because you want him to, and that’s what matters. 

You don’t know how he picks where to roam next and you don’t care. You’re glad he’s going to leave. 

He doesn’t eat dinner with you anymore, barely nods at you when you see him though you try to be busy with something else when he comes in in the evenings, or not in the kitchen at all, not in the house at all. 

Joel leaves so early in the morning that you don’t see him then either. The ache that slices like a knife through the ventricles of your heart tears open a little wider each day. He makes the coffee now, and always makes enough for you, too, the pot left on to keep it warm for you. One morning you find an envelope in the center of your kitchen table.

Panic overcomes you, until you open it and find a week’s worth of money. Scrawled on the outside, I’m sorry to keep imposing. 

You rip the envelope up, angry, because you don’t want to think about what it means that you got scared. Fear that he had already been gone. 

Near a week later, late in the afternoon, when the sky is a deep purple, Janie knocks on your backdoor. Her voice is frantic. She smells like raw flour and sliced apples. 

There’s mud on her boots and that’s the only thing you can think of as she talks at you, her voice far away. 

You think about the mud on her boots and her boots on your floor and how she always takes them off on the porch no matter what. 

She’s still talking, words flowing a million miles an hour, and you just think about the smell of bread and how she normally, always, takes her boots off.  

She shakes you by the shoulders suddenly, hands clamped tight against your skin. “Did you hear me?” She asks urgently. “One of the mines collapsed.” 

“Which one?” You snap, reality snapping sharply into relief. “Which one? They're all shut down but one. Which one?” 

One that is empty, or not? The one with people, or not? The one with Joel, or not?

“I don’t know. Nobody seems to know but—” 

You pull your raincoat off the hook by the door and shove your feet into the first pair of shoes you see, and dart out and into the rain, the hale of it cold against your skin and your face. 

It’s been a cold year. This time last year, it was warm and sunny already, things like a mine collapse a far off, unreal, non-possibility. 

The mud sucks at your boots but soon enough you’re on the road and running. 

You run and run and don’t feel the burn in your lungs or the pain in your thighs. There’s nothing that will keep you from getting there. The town is small and built in relation to the mines. 

You’ve always been a mining town and so it’s not far. It shouldn’t take you long to get there. 

Joel walks in the mornings. It’s not far. 

But time moves slow, and your body seems to move even slower than that. 

Shouldn’t you have known? Shouldn’t you have felt something? The beating heart of the earth tearing something away; that primordial, knowing pit taking back what had been taken from it? What it was owed in return?  

Not him. Not him. 

He didn’t owe this stretch of Earth anything. And it is not owed him. 

The hills and mountains rise up around you, the comforting presence of them, like ancient, silent sentries, suddenly loom a little more sinister. Crumbling and old and vengeful, just waiting to swing a fist down on something you cared about, something you loved, something you always try to push away. Because it would always be destroyed. The town, or a neighbor’s house, or the banks of the swollen river and lake eating up precious farmland. 

That’s one thing, though.

Towns and houses can be rebuilt, the banks of rivers and lakes and the sides of mountains reinforced — other things, well, you can never get back. 

He has to be okay. When you wanted him to leave, this is not what you meant. This is not what you wanted. 

You move backwards in your mind, mapping out all the times Joel has come home. Where he’d usually be in his journey to your house after work. 

It used to be he only came home after dark, but spring has arrived and the sun stays longer each day, and you think you should meet him on the road. You should find him at any moment; unless the mine collapsed and he was unlucky, trapped and lost and suffocating; or lucky and already dead. 

The road twists and turns. You have to slow because you live in the hills, everything and everywhere is steep. Your chest starts to burn and you wish the trees hadn’t started to get their leaves yet even though it's so late in the season because then you’d be able to see further, you’d be able to spot him earlier. 

Maybe it’s too early for him to already be along the road. 

Your coat is soaked and so is the little house dress you’re wearing. Your shins and ankles feel cold from the rain and the chill in the air. 

But then you bolt around a bend, and there he is. 

His name jumps out of your mouth, careens across the gravel road, and echoes around the valley through the din of the still falling rain. It sounds lush against the leaves. It sounds horrible against drain pipes and gravel. 

He looks surprised right before you crash into him and lock your arms around his neck. He drops his backpack and catches you, arms circling you tightly. 

“Joel.” 

“Hey—” The sound of his voice makes your knees weak and you’re afraid for a moment you might slip to the ground, into the graveled mud, and dissolve along with the rain. 

“The mine collapsed,” you say, feeling the grit of coal dust beneath your cheek, the warmth and weight of him leaning back into you, strong arms tight around you. His palm slides against the back of your neck, thumb stroking slowly. 

“I know it.” His voice is gentle, like you’re a startled, feral dog that might turn on him at any second. “S’why I’m on my way back now.” 

You start to shake and cry and he just rubs your back and tugs you more firmly into his chest. He seems to understand what’s wrong. His palm settles against the back of your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his chest as the rain continues to siphon down over you. It’s all right. I’m all right. He repeats and repeats and repeats. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. 

“Hey,” he pulls back eventually, the cups of his palms cradling your face, pushing the tears away. “I’m gettin’ you all dirty.” 

“I don’t care,” you grip his sleeves, press your hands over his. His face is streaked with gray so deep it appears purple, like there are bruises latticed over his face. “I don’t care. And I’m sorry.” 

“All right.” 

It’s too late, you think. Too little too late, pushed too far, and by your own hand, so you have no one to blame but yourself. 

But he’s alive and he’s okay and something precious has not been reaped by the Earth. 

You try to step back but he steps with you, not letting you go. Apologies swim to the back of your throat again, heavy on your tongue, but he’s already shaking his head at you. 

Hazel eyes stare deep into yours, rivulets of water snaking down the side of his face, tracing through the coal and dirt. You don’t look away from him this time. 

Your words get trapped, congested and clogged, sticky and stuck together. 

“Joel—”

“Let’s get outta the rain.” His hands slide down your face, briefly slot against your throat, and then trail down your shoulders and arms. “Let’s do that at least. Before you catch your death.”

“Okay.” 

You bend down to scoop his backpack off the ground, surprised because he lets you keep it and keeps his hand threaded with yours. His skin is wet against yours, the crinkle of your fingers together just a little uncomfortable. 

The rain comes down harder, lightning sparks, the angry slash of violence through the sky, thunder crackling right after. 

The walk goes quicker than your run. Time is moving at a normal pace again, you can breathe again. 

“I’ll meet ya in the kitchen,” he says when the town and your street resolves itself. He turns and takes his pack from you, pinches your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilts your face up. “All right?” 

You nod and release his other hand, and watch him walk away. You know the moment he reaches the back of the house because you hear the clatter of the basement door opening.

You just stand in the front yard for a long moment as shadow fall, as the rain continues down harder than ever.

The rain pounds against the side of the house, the windows when you step inside. The tree your neighbors have been telling you to cut down for years sways ominously, lashing the front window and the siding. The noise of it is awful. 

You stand there, dripping pools of water onto the kitchen floor, anxiously waiting for Joel to come up the steps, like you’d gone and pulled a ghost right up out of the ground. He’s all right, you tell yourself. He’s all right. Real and not some ghost. 

When he comes up the steps, his gaze flicks slowly over you. He holds a hand out. “C’mon. ‘S get you cleaned up.” 

You’re shivering. The material of the dress clings to your skin like webbed silk. 

It’s so pathetic, the way he comforts you and the way you want him to. You shouldn’t let it happen. You feel stupid, all that worry after all that pushing. 

He follows you up two sets of stairs, to the third floor, the loft where you reside even though so many of the rooms below always remain empty. 

Joel settles you on the edge of the bathtub in your little bathroom and fishes around in the cabinets until he finds what it is he’s looking for. He doesn’t ask you where anything is and you don’t offer. 

He smells like earth and pine. He doesn’t complain or pull away when you touch that hollow place in his cheek, when you stroke his beard and watch the muscle jump, jaw clenching and releasing.  

“Joel,” you say when he kneels in front of you with a washcloth in his hand, a first aid kit open on the bathroom counter. “I’m not hurt.” 

He just pats the water away from your face and hands and arms. “Y’are. Musta ran through brambles or somethin’. Legs are all torn up.” 

The surprise is muted when you look down and find you have been scratched all to hell. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer. 

He shrugs. “Nothin’ to apologize for.” 

The way he takes care of you is meticulous. Disinfectant and ointment and bandages wrapped around and around. You probably would have just rinsed the cuts out and slapped the biggest band aid on and called it a day, but that’s not good enough for him and that makes you want to cry.  

There’s only so long you can handle sitting there, shivering, feeling the press of his very warm hands into your cool, bruised skin, before you’re slipping to the floor too, kneeling with him, asking for forgiveness for something that doesn’t deserve it. 

“I’m sorry. And that’s not enough.” 

“No.” Hands cupped around yours, stilling the anxious twist of them. “Shouldn’t’ve got so comfortable. I ain’t anyone to you—”

“But you are.” 

The words bleed. They are red and bone white and raw and drop like stones between you. He thinks he means nothing. He doesn’t know. “You are. You are. And that’s why.” 

Thunder rumbles, and this time, you kiss him. 

There’s only a brief second of hesitation. 

But then he pulls you in and doesn’t let go, doesn’t complain of the cool tiles and your cooler hands or the way you pull at his clothes. 

Joel does jump when you press your hands to the small of his back, when your iced over fingers skim his belly, when you finally get to rake your nails against that coarse chest hair that makes your mouth go dry. 

“Hey,” he’s cradling you to him, mouth desperate and eyes wild. “I’m here.” 

Go easy with it, his voice asks. Go easy with me. 

You knock your forehead against his. “I know.” 

Joel nods and his fingers skim up your thighs, beneath the clinging material of your dress. He’s so warm, even though he’d been in the rain too, and his skin feels like it's burning, like the tips of his fingers might sink right down into your flesh. 

Cloth parts beneath desperate hands. He cups your breasts in his palms, follows with his lips. Fingers tug your underwear down your legs, and then slide through the core of you, circling and stroking. 

It should be a surprise that he’s so delicate with you, but it isn’t. 

He kisses you again, his beard scratching pleasantly along your skin. You gasp into him and let him lie you back against the bathroom floor. 

The rain continues outside, the lashing the house is getting a far off dream. 

The only real thing in the world is Joel, his shoulders beneath your thighs, the clench of your belly, the ache that spreads everywhere. 

He presses his forehead to yours when he’s inside you, eyes closed, jaw clenched. 

Joel’s mouth parts, he groans into you. 

It’s enough. 

“Did you know that crows mate for life?”

Joel looks over at you. 

Morning is sitting heavily on the windowsill, watching. 

His limbs are heavy, sleep pulling at the corners of his vision, darkening the room and dampening the sound of the still falling rain. Your bed is comfortable, and your naked skin pressed to his even more so. “No,” he answers after a minute, just looking at the picture of you, plush curves, the soft spill of softer skin. “Do they?” 

You roll onto your side, watchful eyes riveted to him. Slowly, maybe a little shyly, you stretch your arm across his belly. Your fingertips brush his side, and you use the grip to pull yourself even closer. The light is kind to you. You glow in it, lips swollen, the discoloration on your throat from his lips and beard highlighted. 

Joel touches you there. You close your eyes for a moment. 

“They do. They’re real social creatures, and when their mate dies they make this god awful noise. Sometimes they’ll carry sticks and stones and stuff to leave with the body, like a burial.”

“Mm. Not so different from people.” He thinks of Sarah, the last rise and fall of her chest, the noise that came out of him like something wrenched out of the bottom of his soul. He clears his throat but his voice still cracks a little. “Yeah, reckon we’re the same that way.” 

You prop your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say, voice soft. “There used to be a flock that came around. Or, whatever they’re called, a murder, I think.” 

“Murder?” He chuckles and you smile and it’s enough. 

“Never heard of a murder of crows? Well, it’s true. The backyard was full of ‘em. For a long time, I fed ‘em. And they’d bring presents to me. Eventually they musta moved on, but a pair stayed. I know I sound crazy but I could tell they were in love. They were mated anyhow, even if they don’t feel love like people do.” You lean into his hand when he presses it to your cheek, like his skin isn’t rough and dry from working so hard, from the long, bitter winter; you lean in like it means something, like the pass of his thumb against the crest of your cheek means more to you than he can know.

He doesn’t know a thing about crows. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t, he has a feeling he already knows what you’re going to say. 

The limbo he’s been in for weeks has finally ended, of knowing you wanted him to leave but not able to figure out how to give you what you wanted and feeling guilty for it. Just another person he couldn’t figure out how to love right.

Maybe this time hanging on was the right thing to do.

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilted close to his on the pillow, the swell of your body pressed to his. “It went on like that for years. I fed them and they brought me little gifts and everything was fine. And then one morning, there was only one. They mate for life. I never saw the other one again, and it was only a couple weeks, before the other one was gone too. It died.” 

Joel leans in, presses his forehead to yours, the rain a painful tattoo against the roof and the windows and the whole wide world. You push into him, returning the comforting pressure, your skin still tacky with sweat. “So you see, I try to avoid being the second crow. But it just means I end up alone and wondering why there was never another crow in the first place.” Your eyes flick open and search his. “So, I’m sorry about everything. I never realize I’m — I don’t know I’m pushing until it’s too late. And I’ve never been good at holdin’ on.”

“I guess I’ve never been too good at lettin’ go,” he admits. “I’m the second crow.” 

“I don’t want you to be,” you say. “I don’t want you to be the one left behind. And I don’t want you to leave.” 

He nods and looks up at your ceiling. Carefully, you slide closer, until your head is heavy against his chest.  

Things change a little. 

The rain stops and with it you stop pacing through the nights. Before, he’d listen to the pace of your footsteps against his ceiling, the crack of old floorboards and the snaking sound of water down window panes. 

You make every pretense of things being the same until night comes along and you ask him to stay with you. “I just won’t be able to stand it,” you say, nervous hands fisting around the edges of your sleeves. “If you go back to being just a guest. You mean more than that.”

He’s embarrassed to hear it, and likes to hear it all the same.  

So, now, he listens to the long overdue hum of springtime insects nestled down into long sweet grass and between the branches of gently swaying trees, like all that snow and rain and blizzards and flooding never existed in the first place. 

Most of all he listens to your breathing, slow and even, to replace the sound of your footsteps. The curve of your spine rests against his bicep, the ridge of it like the comforting heel of the mountains beyond your windows. 

When he turns and tucks his arms around you, you relax and melt into him so easily it’s like it’s always been done. 

So it goes, every single night. 

Winter is over, spring arrives quiet.

Joel agrees to go to the town festival with you. Tiny, even by your standards, apparently. 

Just some drinking and dancing and live music from a local band. A few games, for which the prizes are all donated.

Things go fine. 

He doesn’t mind crowds, though he does prefer to hang on the edges of them. 

The night is mild. Your arm repeatedly brushes his. 

Joel finds he doesn’t mind that either, the way you stand so close and look at just him. There’s no shortage of eyes on either of you. And when you kiss him, he can practically feel the small town gossip sparkling and wasping in the air like lightning gold, like a thousand bees. 

You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t much care. Maybe you’re used to it. 

Either way, you’re happy, and that matters to him. It matters to him that you’re happy, and safe, and that you feel those things with him.

“If you’re still here when its warm enough,” you say, “you’ll have to go swimming in the lake. It’s real nice down there.” 

It already feels like summer. The air is balmy, the sinking, fading sun he feels like he hadn’t seen in months a red blaze on the horizon. 

“Where else would I be?” 

You give him a funny look and sip your drink, enthusiastically greeting a couple who approaches. Joel nods at them, takes a swig of his beer, and thinks of his kid. Sarah would have loved this kind of thing, all the people and noise. 

He hasn't been hunting in weeks.

“You wanna dance with me?” You smile at him. “Just for one song.” 

“Think I’ll say no?” 

“I’m actually sure that you’ll say no, Joel.” 

He just sets his drink down and offers you a hand. You grin so wide, it looks like it must hurt your cheeks. You don’t dance so much as sway together, pressed tightly together.

“Where else would I be?” He asks again. 

“Somewhere else, I guess. Back home.” 

Home. He hasn’t had one of those since Sarah died. 

This place, as brutal an introduction as he’s had to it, is starting to feel like home. He wants to see the lake in the summer and the trees thick with leaves. The hills probably look beautiful, emerald forests not yet torn up for the things that laid beneath. 

It only feels a little like a push. 

Instead, he just says, “Yeah. Sure.” 

You tip your chin heavily against his shoulder, the weight of your head comforting in its press there. 

You aren’t always good about it. There’s a mean streak in you when you feel trapped. Today, you try. 

“I’d like it if you stayed.” You say it against his throat, your fingers tangled into his hair, the movement of your hand fond. “If you wanted this to be home for a while.” 

He nods, squeezes your hips. “And you should come see Austin. Instead of hearin’ about it. Reckon you might like it.” 

“I think I probably would.” 

The next morning, he calls his brother for the first time in over a year. 

If you read this far, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Thank you for reading and being here, and as always would love to hear anything you have to share. 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[eelnoise]

paradigm shift

zoro x afab!reader c/w: jealous zoro, he raises his voice/yells at reader, possessive behavior, fwb to lovers, semi-public sex, piv sex a/n: inspired by a conversation @sunfloworcs and i had. meant to post this last night but i forgor! anyway here's wonderwall

Zoro watches you smile at the man attempting to court you at the bar. He watches as you laugh at something he says before replying in a manner that's a little too enthusiastic for the brooding swordsman in the corner.

He grits his teeth and tightens the grip on his drink, frustrated at the sight across the tavern.

The way your cheeks flush with mild inebriation makes Zoro clench the hand on his knee into a fist. His leg doesn't seem to stop bouncing as he glares in your direction, the tick going unnoticed due to his annoyance at the patron you're speaking with and himself for even caring.

You're not exclusive. The length of your shared relationship had been long decided as friends who just fuck on the side for a little stress relief, so why the hell does he care that some nobody is trying to coax you into their bed?

He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth in what ultimately proves to be a feeble attempt at calming himself. It almost works, but as he brings the mug of ale to his lips he notices you lean in a little closer to the man, that undeniable look of desire flickering in your heavy-lidded expression that Zoro knows all too well.

Before he can even think to stop himself, Zoro stands from his seat and makes his way toward you, heavy boot steps trudging against the wooden floor of the tavern.

You don't notice his approach, far too lost in the music and conversation to really pay attention. It's only when his large hand envelops the small of your back that you pay him any mind.

"Yeah, if you wanna get out of here maybe we could fin-" the hopeful patron begins, the remainder of the sentence lost to time as Zoro rudely interrupts.

"We're leavin'," the pirate states bluntly, pulling you away from the man without hesitation.

"But-" You call out, a hand reaching in hopeless desperation toward the bar where your soon-to-be abandoned drink sits. "The others?"

"Fuck 'em," Zoro snaps, not looking in your direction as he leads you through the door and out into the humidity of the island. "They'll catch up."

"What's wrong with you?" Your voice wavers with uncertainty as you try and fail to wriggle from his tight grip upon your forearm. "Why're you so pissed at me?"

"I'm not pissed at ya!" Zoro shouts back defensively, stopping short to face you. "But I don't want some random asswipe tryin' to sweet talk my shipmate!"

You nearly trip over yourself when he suddenly comes to a halt in the middle of the street, the once lively town now having fallen into a slumber of its own. "So you just get up and leave?" You reply, managing to keep your balance before staring up at him angrily, a slight tilt to your head in mild confusion. "And what do you care if someone wants to 'sweet talk' me?"

"Because I care about ya!" Zoro barks, feeling his heart race in his chest. "I don't want anyone else touchin' what's mine!"

Your eyes widen, paralyzed in place as the words hang in the air somewhat awkwardly. Zoro's expression is still one of anger, brows furrowed and mouth twisted into a harsh frown. "I-" you swallow, shaking your head in an attempt to be rid of the butterflies threatening to form in your belly. "What's yours?" You finally echo, tone wavering between frustration and disbelief.

"You!" Zoro yells, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to look directly into his eyes. "Me and you, we've got somethin' special goin' on! We don't need anyone complicatin' things!"

You part your lips as if wanting to speak before averting his gaze with an unreadable expression. Your brows are raised and your hands tremble at your sides. "I thought we decided to just keep it casu-" Zoro cuts you off with a firm grip to your chin, forcing your gaze upon him once more.

"That doesn't matter!" He huffs, the hand on your shoulder twitching slightly as he fights off the urge to move it to the back of your neck. "Fuck," Zoro groans, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He looks around quickly, and before you can say anything you feel him start to pull you along by the arm again and down a stray alleyway.

You hurry along behind him as best you can, accepting your fate within his iron grip. He stops and you hear him sigh heavily, his shoulders tensing in irritation. "Zoro...?"

"Shut up." He commands harshly as he releases your aching wrist, turning to face you with a fierce scowl etched into his features.

You let out a sound akin to a squeak, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as if you had done something wrong. Suddenly you feel vulnerable. Small. Your eyes dare not leave his, unsure and anxious emotions swelling in your mind. You feel your mouth go dry.

"I can't keep pretendin' that this is just a casual thing between us," Zoro declares, taking a step closer to you. "I know what we agreed on, but I can't help it. I want more."

You heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest. "Zoro-" you whisper, but the swordsman holds up a hand to stop you, not done speaking just yet. If he's going to do this, to expose how he feels, he needs you to shut up and listen.

"I don't want to share ya," He continues, his voice and words blunt. "I already told ya, I don't want anyone else touchin' what's mine." He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your earlobe.

Your back clashes with one of the outer walls of the two shops you're tucked in between. Zoro's hand finally finds the nape of your neck, leaning in even further until his lips ghost over yours. "Truth is," he murmurs, thumb caressing your soft skin. "I'm crazy about ya."

And at once, Zoro's lips crash onto your own, engulfing you in an open-mouthed, somewhat messy kiss. Your arms find purchase around his shoulders, eagerly reciprocating the gesture without a second thought. As your tongues dance together, Zoro's hand reaches down to cup your ass, pulling your body flush against his.

A surprised gasp is muffled between a mess of lips and tongue and teeth, the hands on his broad shoulders tightening their grasp at the newfound contact. With a low groan, Zoro breaks away from the kiss, panting heavily. "Now let's get one thing straight," he growls, running his fingers through your hair. "Ya belong to me."

You nod, a huff of what sounds like a breathless whimper of an 'Mhm!' falling from your parted, wet lips.

Grinning triumphantly, Zoro pulls you into another deep, passionate kiss. This time there's no hesitation, no holding back - it's pure desire and hunger and everything else that comes with wanting someone more than anything else in the world. And while your tongues continue to duel and your bodies pressed firmly together, Zoro's hand moves to cup your cheek before trailing down your neck to rest upon the exposed skin of your collarbone. He bites lightly at your jawline, his mouth leaving yours to taste your flesh and leaving a trail of fire wherever he goes.

When he reaches the hem of your shirt, his large, warm hand slides beneath the fabric and meets the soft skin of your torso. A soft moan escapes your throat at the intimate touch, and though he's heard your symphony many times, this note is different. It sends an unfamiliar, but not unwanted jolt to his heart. As if something tugs at his very soul.

Zoro stops in his tracks, thumb just brushing the underside of your breast. His mouth leaves your skin, and you mourn the loss of his touch until he raises his head to look upon the whole of you once more. He scans your face as if committing to memory, and in what seems like an instant, he locks you into another kiss that takes your breath away.

It's tender and careful, each touch working as wordless confessions.

It's almost romantic.

His arms wrap around your middle, lifting you and pressing you flat against the wall. His lips never leave yours either, it's as if you're quite literally glued to one another. When he finally pulls away, he's breathless, and there's a glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before. "You're mine," he repeats, smirking almost wickedly. "And I'm not lettin' go."

Zoro's hand resumes its tour of your body, sliding back under your shirt and grazing over your breast. Your legs wrap around him and he rolls his hips into you, watching as you writhe for him. "You're always on my mind," he admits, his voice heavy and rough. "Even when we're apart."

He descends down your neck, trailing kisses and nibbles and licks to your tender skin. "I can barely keep my hands off ya," Zoro murmurs into you. "If I had my way you'd be in my bed every single night."

"But," Zoro says firmly, breaking away from your neck to look into your eyes. "I won't settle for less than all of ya. I want your heart too."

You exhale as if you'd been holding your breath in for days. You'd be denying yourself truth if you say that you aren't interested - that you're content with just being crewmates once again. But you're not content with it; for at some point in the circumstance of your relationship, what had started as a quick means to an end had indeed grown into something more raw and real.

Something more than just infatuation, more than just lust.

"You have it," you whisper, a flood of warmth bathing your heart. "Zoro, you've had it for a while." The confession is soft, and your tone is a little rasp and hoarse from the intensity of the moment.

Zoro smiles, the gesture reaching all the way to his eyes. He leans down to capture your lips again in a yearning kiss, and as your lips lock together, his hand moves lower still, sliding up your thigh and beneath your skirt. He teasingly skims along the edge of your panties before dipping beneath the fabric. A breathy gasp falls from your lips, the sound thankfully swallowed by Zoro's hungry kiss.

He groans, feeling your wetness against his fingers. "Damn, ya drive me crazy, y'know that?" he mutters against your lips. You whine as he touches you, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure and clutching him ever closer to you. "But I love it," he adds, pulling away from the kiss to gaze down at you with a smirk. "Love how much ya need me."

"Always need you," you reply, lips swollen and glossed over with saliva. "All of you."

With a wicked grin, Zoro pulls back slightly, giving you a better view of his erection straining against his pants. He pulls his hand out from beneath your skirt just long enough to free his aching length from its confines before wrapping it around himself, stroking his cock lazily while watching your face contort in anticipation.

He aligns himself with you, carefully sliding your panties to the side. With a hiss, he pushes himself into you. Zoro's slower than usual, but still just as needy and desperate as ever. He buries himself to the hilt within your warm, plush walls, filling you completely until there's no room left for doubt or denial.

You cry out in surprise and ecstasy, back arching off the wall as Zoro begins to fuck you relentlessly. He holds nothing back, diving into you with all his strength as if trying to claim every inch of your being. His free hand digs into your hipbone, keeping you anchored to him while he pounds into you mercilessly. "Nobody else can have ya," he growls into your ear. "Nobody else can fuck ya like this either, isn't that right, princess?"

You nod wordlessly, unable to find the breath needed for anything more than short gasps of air. Your whole body quivers with each thrust, desperate to take everything he has to offer. Zoro seems determined to make sure you remember exactly what it feels like to be taken by him - and to show everyone within earshot just how much he owns you.

The sound of footsteps echo through the alleyway behind you, causing you both to stiffen momentarily before relaxing again. Clearly, whoever it was didn’t stick around to see what was going on. Zoro doesn’t let go of you though, continuing to fuck you with unrelenting force even as you both know they could come back at any moment.

And you're lost in him once again, completely bent and shaped to his will. Breathless and broken attempts at speech mix in between gasps and moans and sighs of pleasure. He moans softly into your ear, feeling your submission wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It fuels his desire even further, pushing him to go harder and faster until there's no thought left beyond the primal need to fuck you senseless.

It seems like his pace won't ever let up, soon losing any cadence to his motions as his eye closes tightly. A wild light burns within him as he loses himself completely in the act of taking you. The sounds of the village fade away, replaced by only the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh and the ragged breath shared between you both.

Your inner walls flutter around him wildly, moans befalling into frantic whimpers that tell him just how close you are to cumming around his cock. You feel yourself reaching the brink, and without warning, Zoro suddenly pulls out of you.

For a brief moment, he leaves you empty and aching - before shoving himself back inside you with a ferocity that makes you cry out in shock. His movements become frantic, almost violent as he tries to bring you over the edge with him.

As your orgasm washes over you, Zoro lets out a near-animalistic growl deep in his throat. His hips piston forward relentlessly, driving himself deeper and deeper into you with each pulse of euphoria. You scream his name, the blissful sensations coursing through your body as waves of pleasure crash over you again and again.

Zoro's moans into your ear grow more erratic, feeling his own peak building rapidly. With one final surge of power, he drives deep into you one last time before releasing himself fully inside and filling you to the brim with his spend. The sensation sends shockwaves through you, leaving you a shuddering and panting mess around him.

Zoro holds you tightly as your head lolls into his shoulder, body twitching slightly as you recover from his harsh fucking. He pulls out from you slowly, giving you a moment to catch your breath before withdrawing completely. Once he does, he helps you straighten up and adjust your clothes before leading you out of the alleyway.

Despite the roughness of your encounter, there's an underlying sense of tenderness in his movements - a reminder that he truly does care for you deeply. And as you walk toward the port where the Sunny is anchored, neither of you speak; instead, you revel in the afterglow of what just conspired between the two of you. There's something incredibly intimate about it now, knowing that you both feel the same way for one another, and it leaves you feeling closer than ever before.

"Zoro," Your voice catches him off guard, the swordsman seemingly lost in thought.

"Hm?" He replies, looking down at you with a raised brow.

You entwine your fingers with his, holding his much larger hand tightly within your own as you point in the opposite direction.

"The ship is that way."

#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader smut #zoro x reader smut #roronoa zoro x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #opla zoro x reader #zoro smut #opla zoro

[mournings-stars]

i loved the adam with a fat!reader 🥹 so cute, id love to see lucifer with a reader similar? like maybe shorter like him and a bit on the chubby side 🙏

AHHH THATS SO CUTE

imagine you’re like a chef or baker or something, maybe hellborn, maybe a sinner, and you meet him at an event that he’s just required to go to, so he’s staying by the catering tables and just busying himself with food so he doesn’t have to talk to anyone

“i know it’s a buffet, darlin’, but you’re milking my lil’ supply dry.” and imagine you have the cutest lil accent like maybe it’s southern if you’re hellborn or soft, 50’s movie-type transatlantic if you’re a sinner (i kinda wanna write this now actually so tell me what u prefer…)

first he’d look up, just expecting you to be taller than him, but then he’d look down and see you and immediately try to hand his plate back because how could he take your business for granted when you’re standing right in front of his and so sweet… and beautiful — like he’s not blind, he can see that you’re gorgeous. and if he’s honest the food isn’t good enough to get so many plates, but your restaurant would certainly be popular when you’re the precious little face of it

but he has to stop himself because his thoughts are certainly bordering on rude now, so he’s scrambling to apologize like, “i’m sorry — i see why your food’s so popular now, HAHA, you’re gorgeous — i mean, your food is amazing, but—“

“but?” and then he just shuts up. “no keep going, but what, your majesty?” and he is fumbling, because he can’t tell you he thinks the food is mediocre when he’s been shoving it down his throat all night, but then you say, “i know it’s not my best; they had me here last minute, frettin’ over twenty trays each of my best dishes, which can’t be the best if they’re repeated twenty times,” and even though you’re talking on and on, he’s listening and nodding on and on because because you’re just speaking to him so naturally

“am i talking to much?” “yes — i mean, no! i could listen to you talk all night!”

the rest is literally history, like you tell him to come to your restaurant to see what your cooking is really like, and when he finds out its just a small little restaurant with a couple tables and an old kitchen, he’s amazed because it tastes even better than it did at the event

once he decides to ask you out, and he decides quick, he knows he can’t ask you out to eat, or to an event, or to his house, or to the movies, or—

“you wanna get somethin’ to eat sometime?” and you’re literally asking him before he can even think to ask. “maybe you could cook for me?” you suggest slyly and he’s too flustered to say anything so he just nods. “i’ll make sure i dress fancy for you then, majesty.” and this man is MELTING

and if there’s one thing he learns about you that night its that you are not insecure about anything — your first conversation of you doubting your cooking skills might’ve made him think otherwise, but now he knows it’s just not the case

and you have no reason to be insecure; about your cooking, about anything — hell, you look amazing all dolled up just to come to his home for his 8-minute spaghetti… at least he made homemade meatballs. and those were pretty good! you even complimented them, which gave him a very much needed ego boost to get through the night confidently

and when his confidence finally shows, you’re sure he’s what you want, so you don’t bother taking your time with leading up to kisses or anything past that. you take what you want, with permission, and give him what he wants

and he loves it about you, like, you’re so sure of yourself, confident, and carry yourself with so much charm that people just step out of your way, even with your short stature, which he also loves about you — it’s nice having someone shorter around for once, but he’d definitely shape-shift and let himself be shorter than you for a day or so if you wanted

along those lines, he would give you any and everything you wanted. even if you didn’t ask, he’d give it to you — he’ll get you a new restaurant, new equipment, appliances… hell, he’ll even get you a new apartment… that is, if you don’t move in with him

and he would ask, a million times he’d ask because he just loves being with you that much. whenever you come over, or he goes to your place, he’s stuck to you. he watches you cook, helps if you let him — he bakes! he can bake, but of course he finds out you can too, and he insists you’re much better, but you insist that you do it together since this was much less dangerous than letting him rummage through your spice cabinet

if he’s not helping you, he’s hugging you from behind and watching what you do, hands running all over you, feeling the soft plush of your thighs and hips, your stomach, anything you’ll let him touch which he kisses your cheeks and neck and shoulders — literally anything you’ll let him do because he just loves listening to your precious laughter as he loves on you, or your sighs when he marks your neck or shoulder

this man LOVES lying with his head on your lap or in between your thighs. literally anything to do with your thighs or resting his head on your stomach, like, he’s fully back in heaven

he also loves you on top of him, straddling him while you comb your fingers through his hair, legs across his lap as you read, cuddled up to him as you watch a movie or sleep, he can’t get enough of you

and don’t get me started on the nsfw like… head between your legs all fucking day, squeeze his head with your thighs — like actually do it because he will come undone

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer headcanons #lucifer fluff #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer

[wileys-russo]

Could we please have some Millie bright content, if you still write for her? 🥹🥹🥹

somethin short and sweet for you nonny! masterchef II m.bright

"mills? babe i'm home!" you called out as the door clicked shut behind you, kicking off your shoes and hanging your jacket up, the house feeling a hundred degrees warmer than the bitter frost of outside you'd just trudged through.

you heard her before you saw her, footsteps making their way toward you as you were halfway done unwrapping your scarf when the blonde appeared.

"hello baby!" the familiar comfort of her northern accent warmed you just as much as the ac, her hands grabbing the scarf you were trying to untangle and using it to tug your body into hers making you laugh.

"i missed ya." the defender exhaled, wiggling your bodies as she squished you tightly before one hand grabbed your chin, tilting your head back as she ducked her own and sweetly pecked your lips a few times.

"is something cooking?" you questioned with a frown as you sniffed the air, stepping back as your girlfriend made quick work of removing your scarf and hanging it up for you. "yes! i have been cooking." millie beamed happily as you gave her a look of uncertainty.

ever since she'd felt a twang in her knee and been benched the poor girl was going absolutely stir crazy, only really leaving the house to attend games or rehab. which had lead to her trying to find any and every way to occupy herself while you weren't home to capture her attention and focus.

"okay..." you trailed off, your girlfriend scowling unhappily at your lackluster response. "whats that sposed to mean!" she huffed crossing her arms over her chest and staring you down. "you just aren't normally the cook in the relationship love, thats all." you replied gently, trying to approach it in the nicest way possible.

"thanks for the vote of confidence babe!" millie grumbled with a roll of her eyes. "i just have a big meeting tomorrow that i can't miss due to a case of mild to severe food poisoning, thats all." you smiled slyly ducking around her.

"oi! come here." you tried to take off but you weren't fast enough as her strong arms wrapped around your waist and tugged you off the ground. "millie your knee! put me down." you smacked her shoulder as she easily held you under her arm.

"its fine! you stress more than emma and thats saying something." her free hand connected with your bum as she carried you into the kitchen and dropped you down into a stool by the island.

"i stress because i care and i care because if you do your knee again and i have to play nurse for another few months i fear our relationship may not survive because you are a terrible patient!" you shook your head at the memory, trying to crane your neck up to see what she was cooking but to no luck as her body blocked the stovetop.

"i was not!" "oh yes you were. for the first couple weeks you refused to sit still, refused to do your exercises, drove your teammates up the wall with your sideline coaching, drove me up the wall with your inabiity to listen, you-" "yeah alright alright! jesus what is it pick on millie day?" your girlfriend scoffed and turned back to whatever was on the stove with a shake of her head.

"thats every day my love." you bit back with a grin as she turned to wag a finger in your direction. "cheeky girl." the blonde tutted grabbing you a glass of wine which you thanked her for with a kiss.

"you know i didn't mind that little nurses uniform you had, maybe i might have to hurt my knee again." millie grinned wolfishly as you smacked her shoulder. "maybe for your birthday if you're lucky bright." her face brightened at that as she darted back to the stove.

"so do i get to know whats on the menu? need to be able to tell the doctor the cause of death." you sipped at the wine with a smirk as millie turned around hands on hips.

"i slave away all day on a hot stove to cop this ungrateful soppy attitude, you're looking the right way to be dropped!" the defender waved a wooden spoon at you only furthering your grin, enjoying this switch in power dynamic as normally it was millies little teasing comments which grated at you.

"i'll make sure my next girlfriends a chef then." you continued to poke at her with a smile, the blonde now choosing to ignore you as she checked on something in the oven.

"go get out of my face and shower then!" the taller girl waved you off as you grinned, darting over to kiss her sweetly before retreating to the bathroom, still in the dark about what it exactly was you'd be eating.

showered and feeling much more relaxed you sent a message to rachel warning that if you and millie weren't heard from again the cause of death was her cooking. the girl sending back a series of concerned emojis promised to come up and visit soon as clearly if millie was cooking she was much more bored than originally thought.

"baby! foods done!"

tucking away your phone you tugged on a pair of uggs and wandered downstairs. "oh mills it looks lovely!" you complimented with a smile, the blonde having set the table up with candles and flowers.

"always five star service for you my girl." the defender beamed charmingly, pulling out and pushing in your seat for you, your hand balling her top and tugging her mouth down to meet yours for a moment.

"baby you really cooked all of this?" your eyes widened as millie brought the food to the table. "yes. this is garlic and cheese pull apart bread, this is a creamy tomato and chorizo rigatoni and i made sticky date pudding for later." millie recounted as she took her seat and your mouth formed a small o.

"how did you even-" "well most of the time when i'm home by myself its the middle of the day so the only thing on is cooking shows! so i've been watching a bunch of episodes and making myself lunch most days." millie started to explain as she dished you both up a portion.

"i've been doing my stretches by walking up to the corner store for anything i need, physio approved, and i've been trying to push myself out of my comfort zone and improve." the blonde pushed your plate back toward you with a shrug.

"millie, baby thats fucking amazing. why didn't you tell me!" you laughed in surprise as the girl shoveled in a mouthful of pasta with another shrug.

"wanted to surprise you with a nice meal and i know you've got that big meeting tomorrow and i didn't have rehab today, so seemed the right day to do it." your girlfriend swallowed her food and shot you a soft smile that made your heart melt.

"go on! eat it, see if its edible." the girl mocked with a roll of her eyes already nearly halfway through her own bowl. with much less hesitation than before you stabbed up a forkful and slipped it into your mouth.

your eyes widened even further as you chewed and swallowed, millis smile turning smug at your obvious reaction as you quickly took up another large mouthful and groaned happily.

"good then?" "delicious mills holy shit!"

"you know my love if football doesn't work out i think we've worked out your backup career." you complimented sincerely making her laugh as the oven dinged and she pushed her chair back.

"making you happy makes me happy gorgeous." the defender ducked down to kiss your cheek before hurrying to the oven to pull out her puddings as you shook your head in disbelief.

"you know baby i think i'll take my apology in the form of that little nurses costume tonight. all this cooking and cleaning suddenly has my knee playing up!" "you keep cooking like this for me masterchef and i'll wear whatever you want."

#woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #millie bright x reader #millie bright #woso blurbs #woso community #engwnt

[moonybug444]

toxic thoughts with connie<33

tw toxic relationships/lowkey abuse?? | connie grabs you by your hair n threatens ya | mean connie☹️☹️

thinkin about connie n you being in a toxic lil on and off relationship. calling it quits every other day cuz youre just so bad for eachother.

you guys are screaming n throwing shit at eachother every chance you get. but its never your fault, no its always connies.

“youre a fuckin idiot (y/n),” he takes another drag from the blunt in his hand, “‘nd you’ve got one more time to raise your voice at me before i come over there and beat the shit outta you.”

its just a threat. an empty fucking threat, you know it is, but glancing up at him shirtless, muscles bulging with nothing but his plaid blue boxers on and a mean glare on his face. you cant help that chilling shiver that goes down your spine.

“m’not—dont call me that!”

“maybe than, lets see…” he lets out a mocking loud laugh, “dont fucking act like one?” you hate how he wants to make you cry. how he wants to see you act a mess. how he does everything in his power to upset you. and you hate he he almost always wins. always pulls a reaction out of you.

you feel the tears spill over your cheeks before you can even try n hold em in and you do everything in your power to not just flop down on his clean grey carpet and roll around and curse him. thats what connie springer does to you.

“‘m so fuckin done with you,” you pull up the strap of the lightpink nightgown silk dress connie gifted you as a im sorry for fucking up, again gift that just flops right back off your shoulder, “nd m’serious hic this time, you wont every hear from me again.”

bullshit. you know its bullshit. and it pains you to admit, but you dont think you’ll ever truly be done with connie springer.

connie sits up at that. intrigued. “oh really?” he’s putting his joint out in the ass-shaped ashtray he stole from jean and scratching his hickey covered neck (from guess who) and you can tell hes not taking you seriously. he never does.

his tone is mocking when he huffs out, “go ‘head, y’know where the fucking door is dum-dum.” he’s grabbing the remote, just about to turn on somethin other than the lame shit playing on tv before your throwing one of your bunny slippers directly at his face.

atleast you tried hitting direct. it barely grazes his ear but youre still satisfied when you see his scrunched up face.

and you know hes real mad. his handsome face is turning red at the minute and hes grabbing the slipper from his side before heading towards you.

you try to get away quick, little feet making it maybe two steps out the room before hes grabbin you by the hair and pulling you towards the ground. “ow—connie,” here come the tears again, “s-stop..! let go of me!”

“stop all that fucking crying before i really give you some shit to cry about,” hes letting go of your hair and turning around before your shoving him from behind, trying to get even. “dont fucking touch me! i dont fucking care—” he cuts you off, “shut the fuck up. my gosh.” and hes turning around, grabbing you by your now scrunched up nightgown and pulling you real close to his face.

he can see how upset you are. the tears streaming down your puffy face, your brows all furrowed and all the hiccups coming from your swollen, wobbly lip. sometimes yeah, he does feel bad for how he treats you. the random disappearing days when he knows how much you depend on him, the name-calling even though he knows you cry over every-fucking-thing, the pushes and the shoves knowing your barely half his size. all of it.

still he cant help it. maybe theres something wrong with him. he doesnt know and he doesnt really care. he knows you wont leave so what the fuck, why would he stop?

“look at you,” he takes the hand that isnt practically raising you up to your tippytoes and cups your face, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “your the prettiest girl in the world y’know that? too bad your a crazy bitch.”

>_<

its only like an hour later n youve forgotten all about the petty fight with your boyfriend. forgot that you threw the slipper at him cause he was being sneaky with his phone nd refused to let you see it. dont care tho. you love him again.

“feels so good baby,” he groans, pushing in n out of your slippery pussy with his thick cock, “i love you so much…y’know that?”

you’re being shuffled down towards his standing form some more, ass hanging off of the bed and pushing against fat balls that are pat, pat, patting against your squishy thighs.

“yesyesyes, love you—i-i love you!” you dont even know what the fuck your saying—cant process anything but the feeling of his fat cock stuffing you full. hes so deep n you and its hard to even breathe. feel like hes up your nose.

“s’deep connie ngh…m’cummin again,” youre looking up at him. watching his pretty eyes open n close again n again. watching him bite his saliva covered lips and waching his button nose scrunch up in pleasure. your eyes flick down to obvious bulge in your tummy and you mewl wrapping your legs around his moving hips. trapping him.

your pussy is so fucking greedy, suckin him in again n again and she still cant get enough. connies bringing his hand down and pushing right on that bulge in your pretty tummy that has you both whining. looking you right in the eyes, “go ‘head princess,” and he giggles when you let out the sluttiest little moan, “that feel good huh?”

youre whining out the loudest connnieee follwed by some praise before your squirting all over him, getting both your tummies soaked up and making a mess all over his dark blue bedsheets.

hes following close after with an annoyingly sexy, fuuuck baby and coming right in your swollen pussy.

youre so tired. can hardly open your eyes when you feel connie already pulling out of you to go clean you up. grabbing one of his freshly cleaned sweat towels usually reserved for basketball, crouching down and dabbing it around your messy pussy.

“there you go princess,” hes speaking not to you, but to your cunt, “good as new.” hes leaving a big wet kiss to your pussy like he always does, standing right after and hovering over you to leave an even wetter kiss to your abused lips, throwing the towel somewhere across the room.

>_<

your cozily straddling connie in his bed, being lulled to sleep by his fingers smoothing over your hair.

hes smoking again, cautious enough to not blow it in your face though—he knows you hate smoke—thats only for when he wants to piss you off. you hear him clear his throat.

“m’gonna stop this baby,” hes smoothing over the same roots of your hair he tugged on earlier, “m’serious, no more of this arguing shit,” he grabs your face, pushing your lips into a pout. “ill do better.”

yeah fucking right. you both know thats bullshit. you guys ‘ll be back at all the screaming n yelling tomorrow.

#can you tell im not that good at smut #connie smut #connie springer #connie x reader #aot smut #tw toxic relationship #tw toxicity #connie springer smut #toxic!connie

[elliespet]

if you’re up for it, could you maybe write somethin ab camping with Ellie?? I just know she’d love to stargaze with you and point out planets and tell you her nerdy facts ab them. dtf her in a tent too tbh👀

pairing: modern farm!ellie x gf!reader

summary: on your anniversary, ellie sets up a special date. how sweet of her! no way she’ll act like a feral dog out here right.. right?

warnings: smut 18+, cursing, LIGHTLY based on my own girlfriend’s mannerisms! not proof read :•]

a/n: heyyy.. hey. its been so long sorry love you guys heres something to feed you while i answer some other requests :•) slight self inserting my personality!! other than that, enjoy!

Today was your 2nd anniversary and ellie had something planned.

She spent the past week preparing everything for this day to be absolutely perfect for you. She got all your favorite snacks, books, prepared a lineup of your favorite movies on her laptop. Ellie was excited and hoped you’d feel the same, if not more. This day was your day — well, yours and ellie’s, but especially yours. She did everything in her power to cater to you today and if anything goes wrong you might end up with a crying girlfriend.

“Babe..” Ellie whispered as loud and quiet as possible. She wanted to wake you but not startle you too much. “Baby,” She called out again, setting down whatever it was she had in her hands before climbing onto your shared bed, rubbing your back softly. “C’mon. Time to get up.” Ellie leaned in and placed the smallest butterfly kisses on your face as you slowly became aware of your surroundings. You smiled — almost impossible to see considering it was so small. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, blinking a few times before finally making contact with the girl next to you. “Morning pretty girl.” She slid off the bed with ease, grabbing the item she had set down previously.

“You hungry?” Her voice was as sweet as honey and as soft as the freshness of a new blanket. The words slid out of her throat with a slight rasp, indicating she had woken up herself not too long ago. With a slight nod, you sit up properly, fixating into a comfortable position. Ellie placed the tray on your lap filled with food of all kinds. She had fruits, both pancakes and waffles, dependent on your mood, eggs and amongst other things your favorite strawberry smoothie. She made it just for you, just how you like it. “Thank you.” Chapped lips from the long slumber making contact with her reddened freckled cheek, you placed a light kiss on the skin. “You ate too, right?” Your voice cracked a little as you spoke, this being the most you’ve spoken all morning. “I’ll eat whatever is left, you first.” Fully aware she made enough for the both of you, you’re her angel and she wanted you happy and healthy before herself. “I’ll be back, eat well.”

Presumably to go clean the kitchen, you nodded once more at her and watched as her stature grew smaller the farther she got, descending down the stairs. You ate, just enough to fill you up until lunch, making a nice plate for ellie to eat too when returned. It was almost as if she was summoned just by the creation, she came back up the steps and settled down next to you. “How was it?” Ellie questioned and carefully took the tray from you, placing it elsewhere before eating whatever you had made for her on the plate. “It was really good!” After eating, naturally you felt ten times more energized and awake, your reply sounding just as alive as your body felt. “I’m happy,” She mumbled, her mouth filled, making one cheek bigger than the other. “Don’t eat with your mouth full, ellie.”

She mumbled a quick sorry before finishing her chewing and swallowing, allowing her to talk freely. “You should go get ready, big day ahead. Big plans. Lot’s of stuff to do!” Ellie patted your exposed thigh, taking another bite. You obliged and got up from the bed, heading to the bathroom. “When do these big plans start?” Loud enough for her to hear, you ask from the bathroom while releasing your hair from its protection. “Around 12, maybe? It’s only 10:33 right now!” She shouts back. “Okay!” And you shout back, stripping off your clothes and hopping into the shower. Ellie joins you not too much later, helping you wash your hair and back as you did hers.

The rest of the morning was spent getting ready and packing to go on the adventure Ellie had planned. She appeared more happy than usual. Perhaps it was due to the anniversary or maybe she was just highly anticipating your reaction to her gift, I guess you could say. It really was more like a date, of course she got you something but it was mainly a date. At least thats what ellie thought. She led you out the house, making sure to lock everything up before opening the gate for you and leading you into the woods. It was a tad bit creepy considering you tended to stay put on the farm and when you did go out, it was never that way. Often by car in the opposite direction.

“We’re not going too far out, don’t worry.” Ellie noticed how tense you were entering the unfamiliar territory. “You’re not planning on killing me, are you?” Teasing the taller woman, you squeeze her hand softly and relax slightly, looking around at the small flowers blooming from the ground. “Course not.” She replies, coming to a full stop to hand you the basket she had packed earlier. Placing her large hands over your eyes, she positions herself to help you walk. “Only a little further..” Ellie informs you, guiding you carefully. The sounds of crunching leaves finally start to dissipate. Your senses are heightened enough for you to be aware of your surroundings, focusing on the almost inaudible sound of wind and a softened muffled sound of what you assume to be grass. Finally the warmth of her palms lift and your eyes adjust to the beaming sun. A soft gasp passes your lips as you take in the serene view.

Ellie had set up a place on the edge of the woods, trees still nearby yet not nearly as surrounded. A tent, not too big and not too small. It surely has more than enough room for the both of you. You set the basket down in one swift move before turning on your heel and almost tackling her to the ground. Placing what felt like thousands of kisses on her face and thanking her multiple times, you pulled back again to look around. Along with the tent she had prepared another area for you two to do art, pre-drawn sketches already made for you. She had brought her most expensive art equipment that she keeps locked away in a safe place. A new guitar, polished and carved so prettily sat perfectly next to the tent. Sometimes if you have a hard time sleeping, ellie would play something that would lull you into, probably, the best sleep you’ve ever had. Of course in the basket she had brought snacks of all sorts. There was candy, fruit, chips. Inside the fort contained a soft bedding and some pillows, obviously. Between all the pillows and soft linen adorned a new plush. Maybe the cutest one you’ve ever seen, resembling your favorite animal. Lastly, her laptop, clearly meant for a movie before bed.

“Do you like it?” Her voice came out a bit worrisome. Ellie would’ve probably lost her mind if it turned out you hated it. She worked so hard and even took a day off work to make sure everything was flawless. “Like it? Do I like it?” You stare at her with eyes so wide they seemed as if they’d fall out of your head. “I love it, ellie. Seriously.” Your soft hands on her cheeks caused all the fear she had to dissolve and she could only smile at you in return. “So.. what do you wanna do first?” Ellie finally spoke, breaking from the silence between the two of you. “Maybe.. we should paint first.” You decide to do this first, considering it’s one of the longer activities and you wanted to get it out of the way. The two of you settled down at the stations your girlfriend created and started. Ellie had drawn the cutest animal for you. As usual, it was your favorite. Hers was as expected — you. Once ellie talked you through using her good paints properly and how to keep the brushes from bending out of shape, you started. After about an hour and a half, you finished, showing off your painting proudly. Ellie wasn’t half done but maybe that’s due to the fact she is the more artistic in the relationship.

The rest of the night you did whatever else it was she had planned. As the sun began to set, you could already feel yourself growing tired. “Let’s go for a walk, before it gets too dark.” Ellie suggested, wanting to take you out more to properly see the field in all its glory and the clear sky. She took you out far enough and you talked along the way about how work was going for her, the small renovations you’ve made to the farm. It seems she prepared a spot for this too as a blanket laid in a mostly clear spot, in an attempt to avoid crushing a large amount of flowers in the area. The once colorful sky faded into a gorgeous shade of dark blue, decorated with the radiant gazes of the stars. The moon was just as lively, allowing the light to illuminate your faces as much as possible. There wasn’t much conversation left in either of you as you were being held so safely in her arms. You thought this has to be the best thing she’s ever done for you. Who can really say when this is only your 2nd anniversary?

The warm breeze settled into one that gave you goosebumps as it danced along your skin. “It’s cold els.. can we go back now?” Without a word, she helped you up and led you back to the tent. Of course being the amazing girlfriend she is, ellie already picked out the matching pajamas she wanted you to wear. The blanket you were previously laying on was draped over you in an attempt to keep you as warm as she could while still being able to change for bed. You did the same for her before you both entered the tent to rest for the night. As planned, she had put on your favorite movie to watch until you fell asleep. And you did just that. Your day was perfect and you were prepared to have the best sleep of your life. As quickly as you had fallen asleep, you woke up.

Blinking a few times to clear your blurry eyesight, you sat up on your elbows to look around. Surprisingly, ellie wasn’t next to you. The minute you notice, she had already been climbing into the tent again. “Morning babe. Went to clean up while you slept.” Your question had been answered before you even asked it. “Thank you for yesterday,” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat to continue on. “I had a lot of fun!” Adding an emphasis on the sentence to show your sincerity, she smiled and pushed some of the pillows out of her way. “I’m glad. That’s not all, though.” A mischievous look was plastered on her face and within seconds you were straddling her lap.

Ellie has always been the touchy type, yet it was still so early in the morning. Sure, it caught you by surprise. You reciprocated, wrapping your arms around her neck. You softly dragged your nails up the back of her neck with your right hand, making her shiver against you. Your fingers tangled into her hair while you stared right back at her. Ellie already knew what she wanted the day before. She had prioritized your happiness and anniversary over fucking your brains out, obviously. I guess you could say this was apart of your anniversary gift. You could easily do it on any day, but since you’ve successfully passed another milestone in your relationship, it was different. Her main goal is always to please you. Ellie wanted to do it differently this time. She wanted to experience you in another environment. Somewhere calm and pretty, just like you.

Although she had planned everything else before this, she truly had no idea how to go about this. Of course, initiating it is one thing. She had already done that, but what now? She didn’t want to do the normal make-out, get naked, fuck, sleep. It wasn’t always like that.. more often than not, though. Work makes things a tad bit harder for her and shes so grateful she’d been given the days off. “You’re so pretty.” Her voice came out so softly and made you smash your lips onto hers. You have always been in love with ellie’s voice and being on her lap only added fuel to the fire. The kiss was messy — desperately grabbing at one another as if you would slip away. One thing led to another and thats how you got into this position.

Ellie’s head was buried between your thighs and you were tugging on her hair for dear life. Her tongue was flat against you, fitting between your folds like a puzzle piece. Your girlfriend had been teasing you for what felt like eternity. Her fingers danced around your hole so many times, never slipping in. In reality, it’s only been five minutes. You already felt like you could cry. “Please-“ your voice was small. Whining out to her, she mumbled against you. “Please what, baby?” Her words were clear despite the fact she hadn’t moved from your clit one inch. She was so focused, her tongue moving almost too easily against the bundle of nerves. You weren’t going to give in just yet. You wanted more. You needed more. Ellie knew that, she was just having fun. “Hmm?” She hummed against you making your body jerk slightly as she anticipated your answer.

“Use your fingers, please..” You’ve been begging her since she started. Upon getting the reply she wanted, her fingers slid into you with ease. Before this all you could bear to say was ‘please’ or ‘your fingers’. Clearly that wasn’t enough for her. She needed the whole thing. Your voice was a drug to her, it’s not like she wanted you to have to beg her to touch you, it just happened! If you ask Ellie about it now, she’ll swear up and down it wasn’t intentional. Though it took you thousands of tries to get that sweet voice of yours unstuck from your throat, you were relieved she finally gave in. Of course, as gentle as always, her fingers slid across your thighs painfully slow. You could cry out if you had it in you. Truthfully, you didn’t. It was still early in the morning. Your brain already felt foggy. You laid there, just how she had you.

Your right arm was swung over your eyes in an attempt to stay calm. Your free hand was tangled in her hair, tugging on it every time she’d suck on your clit. Ellie carefully slipped her middle finger into you, acting as if she’d injure you if she wasn’t cautious. As soon as you felt her finger press up against you, you unfolded against her almost immediately. If you weren’t relaxed before, you definitely were now. Her tongue moved too skillfully for you to even comprehend and you were trying your absolute best to keep everything inside of you. Ellie knew and she stopped. Everything she was doing halted and her head lifted ever so slightly. “C’mon.. you’re louder than this..” She hummed out. Ellie could read you like a book and frankly she’s done this enough to know when you’re holding back. You only nodded in response, too overwhelmed to open your mouth to reply.

She seemed satisfied with this, pushing her head right back in between your thighs. She added her ring finger, curling them just where you needed it. You cried out, tangling your hands in her hair and tugging on it so hard you could’ve literally scalped her. She wasn’t phased, though. In fact, she chuckled against you, only speeding up. Her fingers slipped in and out of you effortlessly. The tip of her tongue flicked your bud at an inhumane pace, forcing an arch in your back and your thighs to squeeze around her head. If this was your girlfriend’s cause of death, she’d die happy. You could feel your orgasm creeping up on you. It all felt too fast, one minute you’re cuddling and the next you’re a mess under her. Your voice came out in a whine, choking on your own breath. “Ellie-“ She ignored your warning, not easing up from you one bit. Your mind was already fuzzy and your whole body jolted, growing sensitive at every tiny movement. Eyes hitting the back of your head and the most gorgeous moans that seemed to be bouncing off the fabric right back to her, Ellie was literally in heaven just listening to you. You didn’t even have to touch her for her to want to ruin her brand new jeans. Your lower stomach tightened again and you were still speechless, letting her praise wash over you.

She’d breathe out “You’re so pretty,” or “you taste so good,” every now and then, smiling to herself at every little whimper you let out. “You’re almost there baby,” her voice came out almost too soft for you to hear and it pushed you just a little closer to that feeling you’ve been aching for. Her lips wrapped around your clit and she sucked harshly, only drawing you closer. Those moans made her drag your orgasm out as far as she could, just to hear you a little while longer. Ellie took her time and decided she had played with you enough, you deserved to come. She pumped her fingers inside of you a few more times, curling them perfectly against your walls and finally you let go. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck-“ You blurted out, repeating it as many times as your throat would allow you. Ellie was already cleaning you up with her tongue. You were sensitive as it is and this only enhanced it. The way she dragged her tongue across you slowly was excruciating. How she pulled her fingers out, feeling the warmth inside you disappear the more she removed them. “Did so good for me babe.” Ellie leaves a few small kisses on your thighs before sitting up, keeping eye contact while licking her fingers. She wouldn’t dare waste any of you.

This wasn’t ever about her pleasure, just yours. You were her whole world and everything revolved around you. Ellie let you compose yourself before she finished cleaning everything else. She passed you water, knowing you’d need it wayyyyy before. She was so caring towards you, which was the bare minimum, but most people don’t give a fuck as much as she does and you knew that. You were grateful. Once collected, you helped her clean and reorganize everything. It took no longer than 10 minutes and you both had gotten ready to go back, leaving everything at the spot to clean later. This might’ve just been your favorite anniversary to date. Who knows what the future holds?

a/n: sorry guys this was kinda blegh poopy butt. i’ve been writing it for days likee my writers block is so bad for no reason! ive got to get a grip.. anywaysss i hope u enjoy i’ll be filling other requests shortly (i hope) love u guys baiiii 🧺🐰

#tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou

[stinkygirl009]

could you maybe possibly do darry w a super hyperfem reader and like the gangs reactions n stuff

A/N: STOP I LOVE DOING HYPER!FEM READER!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS AMAZING IDEA<3

Tulsa Princess𝜗𝜚

Darry always adores how y/n would dress, always showing off her outfit with a bright smile. The gang always thought he would get together with a soc but damn, she was spoiled rotten! Wearing her brand-new light pink, expensive button up shirt with lace complimenting the fabric beautifully, along with her signature gold hanging earrings with small diamonds on them. Sure, plenty of people were jealous of y/n, always being the “Princess” around Tulsa, but no one expected her and Darry Curtis were together, Especially the gang! When they first saw her, they thought she was there for tutoring from ponyboy but, low and behold she was looking for her Darry<3

“Hi, don’t mean to interrupt,-“ The soft bubbly voice from Y/n was announced its self into the ears of the boys, where she smiled walking up to the front of the DX, where Steve, Two-bit, Soda, and Dallas where splayed near or leaning against the soda icebox. “But have any of y’all seen Darry around? I went over to Curtis house and no one was there.” She asked curiously. The gang thought she was crazy for walking all the way down to the greasers side of town just to find Darry. She was way too pretty to be walking alone on this side of town, even though it was still a bright Sunday morning she could’ve gotten jumped. “You crazy or somethin’?” Steve blurted out, soon to be nudged by Soda to stop him from running his mouth. Y/n gave a small laugh, For someone as pretty as her she’s one tough girl to not be afraid of the males that were in front of her. “Hey, Sorry for the bad manners!” Soda said apologized and grabbing a small dirty towel off the icebox trying to wipe away the oil grease off his stained hands. “What’s the reason you’re lookin’ for him?” Ponyboy asked almost shyly. “Well, he forgot his ring last night, jus’ wanted to give it back to him incase he was lookin for it.” The girl explained with a smile remaining on her face, ponyboy took in what she looked like, her hair styling a lace ribbon tied in a bow and her hair curled, he noticed she wearing a long skirt she would normally wear to school, with a light pink blouse with a small white cardigan and wearing ankle high socks with the lace pinched at the top with her Oxford black and white shoes. And damn she was gorgeous. She noticed Dallas was eyeing her up and down with a slight smirk on his face. (of course he wasn’t actually gonna try to get with one of his friends supposed girlfriend, for all he knows she could be a hookup-)

“Watcha’ doin’ here, Sweetheart?” Darry said walking out the front door of the DX The guys turned to see the voice of Darry seeing his face smiling at the pretty girl. Her eyes lit up when her eyes fell on him and her lips tugging into a smile. “Hi,” Y/n said walking up to him and going up the small steps and looking up at him, “You forgot this.” She said and opened her small bag and looked through it to find his ring and placed it in his open hand once she found it. He look down to look at what she gave him. “Shit, I forgot again?” He lifted it up and groaned at himself thankful that you had it instead of someone else, plus she knew how important that ring was to him, his father passing it down to him before he got killed.

“Third time, Darry!” She said, “think you need to put it around a chain when you take it off next time.” He looked up at her and sighed with a smile on his face. “Next time I won’t forget it, doll.” She smiled and pushed back a small strand of hair behind her ear. “Good.” She smiled and he leaned down to give her a sweet but short kiss. “You got your blade on ya’?” He asked making sure she would be alright on her own. “Yup, I got it with me.” She said and gave him one last kiss on the cheek before they both say a quick goodbye and letting him get back to work trying not to take too much of his time. She started walking back on the path she was walking on before quickly stoping and turning around. “It was nice to meet you guys!” And gave a small wave and continued. Everyone gave her a small smile, and Soda tilting his hat down to her as a bye.

“Since when did you get together with the ‘princess’?” Dallas joked.

#fypage #stinkgirl009’s silly little writing<3 #x reader #x y/n #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #darry curtis #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis imagine #the outsiders darry #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade x reader #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

[bookshelf-dust]

you gonna let me keep her?

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 1,713

warnings: swearing, brief smoking, billy being a flirty little shit

a/n: i can't get over the idea of billy having a cat, so here you go. i hope you like it!! <33 (would you look at that curl??!!)

————

Tugging the key free from the ignition, you moved to pull up on the door handle, pushing it open. It was chilly out, the time of year where fall has just begun and it's getting darker a bit earlier, but some days are still warmer than others.

Billy let you drive the Camaro to work today, and you should've known that meant he was up to something. It wasn't something that happened often, although you did revel in the rare occasion that it did.

Sitting on the steps to the little home you shared, Billy snubbed out his cigarette when you started in his direction. He stood, walking to meet you.

"Hi," he said, before pressing his lips to yours once, twice. One more for good measure.

He pulled away, grasping for your hand. "Come with me. Gotta show you somethin,' okay?"

Billy took his keys from you, slipping them into the front pocket of his jeans. "Okay."

You tried not to be worried about whatever he was going to do, but it didn't work. Holding your hand, callouses rubbing against your palm, he led you slowly and quietly around to the side of the house.

He'd planted rosebushes there on a whim a while back, so you wondered if maybe that was where you were heading. "You gotta be quiet, okay baby?" Nodding your head at him, you only grew more nervous.

Billy crouched toward the end of the row of rosebushes, pulling you with him. Looking at him, there was a shift in his features—he looked soft, younger maybe. He pointed at a shallow sort of opening in the stems, and you lowered your head to look.

There was a kitten nestled in between the leaves and the brick of the house. It was small, and couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. Small enough that it most definitely still needed nursing. Your heart warmed at its calico fur, having always liked those colors.

It was mostly dark brown, with patches of black and white along with this warm caramel color. It was precious.

"How long's she been down here?" You looked up at Billy, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as you knelt, dropping your bag on the grass beside you.

"I saw her out the window the other morning, but she's been here since yesterday. I thought mama would've come back for her, and I didn't wanna bother her. But I'm starting to think maybe she won't. She hasn't moved. What do you think, sweetheart?"

You'd had cats when you were younger, multiple, and had always loved it. Billy knew this, and that's presumably why he was asking.

You get down on your elbows, leaning in to look at her. She opened her eyes, blinking up at you slowly. They were the prettiest shade of blue. Kind of like Billy's. You stuck out your index finger, moving it towards her to see if you could gauge a reaction.

"Hi, baby. You okay in there?" She sniffed the tip of your finger, little nose scrunching and head bobbing in the process. You dared to graze your finger against her head, and she took to it, purring loud enough for Billy to hear and laugh.

Billy's hand found your back, rubbing up your spine. "Where's your mama gone, huh baby?" You ask, as if waiting for a response. She squeaks at you, not even a meow. "I see."

Billy was enamored by you, and slipped his hand under your shirt, rubbing the skin of your back now. You ran your finger under chin, drawing out a deeper purr. "I think we ought to leave her tonight. Wait just a little longer to see about mama. No dice, then we take her to the vet. We can bring a towel out, though. I'm not sure she's old enough for soft food, and I don't wanna chance messing up her tummy."

"I trust you," he said.

————

True to plan, you'd tucked her in with a towel for the night, but she was still there the next day, and mama hadn't come.

You could tell that Billy was attached to her, but you weren't sure that keeping her was a good idea.

You'd called the vet that morning, and had an appointment set up to get her checked out. "How about I get her out, and you can hold her on the way? You can let me drive your car again."

Keen on sucking up in hopes you'd let him keep her, Billy agreed, and you now found yourself driving into town, Billy holding the kitten in his lap. She was sitting up, rubbing all over his hands, licking his fingers, meowing up a storm. Shit, you thought. She likes him too.

The vet took her back, and Billy took your hand, kissing over the back of it. "You gonna let me keep her, princess?"

He was giving you his very best, watery and pleading eyes.

"I don't know, Billy. I don't know if that's the right thing to do. We'd have to buy food, and the tech said she's got to be hand-fed for a while, and then a litter box, and if we ever went anywhere, someone would have to watch her."

None of this bothered Billy, but he could see it was worrying you. "Don't sweat it, baby. I'll feed her as often as I need to. And Max could watch her! She'd be a great aunt."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm sure she'd love that you're volunteering her for this. And please stop treating this cat like it's our child."

He laughed at you, almost maniacally.

————

You'd agreed to keep her. There was no way in hell you were going to deny Billy of this. He looked over the fucking moon when you'd given him the okay, picking you up and spinning you around.

The two of you had decided that you didn't want kids, and this was the closest you were going to get.

"C'mon, Mal. Let's go find mama." Billy lifted the kitten up from her place on the couch, setting her high up on his chest heading off in search of you. "What do you think mama's doin' Mallory? Avoiding us?" He'd spent a week trying to choose a name, but finally settled, claiming that one felt right.

Billy found you washing dishes, even though you'd said you were just going to put a sweatshirt on. "Hey, mama."

You rolled your eyes, looking down at the soapy water your hands were buried in. "You can't keep callin' me that, Hargrove." You could feel his presence behind you, and could hear the purring of the guest he'd brought along with him.

"Why's that baby? 'Cause you like it?" Your cheeks burned, and you refused to look at him.

You did like it, actually. You couldn't get over how it sounded coming from his mouth, lazy and drawn out. And you were practically beaming considering it was because you were the "mother" of a fur ball rather than an actual human.

But really, you denied him because you were jealous. Mallory was taking Billy from you, and as much as you liked her, as sweet as she was, you were kind of hurt.

He'd spent hours hand-feeding her from a little milk bottle given to you by the veterinarian, picked out a little collar with a bell so he'd know where she'd run off to, bought her a tiny bed to put in your room.

The other night he'd been sprawled out on the couch, bare-chested, and she'd taken the spot on his chest that you wanted. You felt betrayed after she'd been so nice to you at first.

She sat on the counter while he brushed his teeth, on the rug while he showered, came barreling down the hall when he got home from work.

But you were happy that he was happy, glad that he had something to occupy his time, take care of and nourish. It was just the kind of thing he needed. But you couldn't help but feel as though a cat had stolen your boyfriend.

"No. I hate it," you told him, though he didn't believe you in the slightest.

Billy set the cat down, telling her to go play, which she did, sliding across the floor and attacking a mouse full of catnip. "Stoner," he mumbled, turning back to you where you were draining the water from the sink.

His hands found your sides. "You're avoiding me."

"Am not."

"Is it the cat?"

"No, Billy." You tried to move out of the kitchen, but he caught you and pressed you up against the counter, so you wiped your cold wet hands across his face.

"You little shit." He rubbed his cheeks across your face trying to get the water off, but also trying to make you laugh.

"Tell me what it is, baby." Billy kept touching you, rubbing his hands up your arms, over your neck, your back, trying to love on you and coax out an answer.

"I'm jealous of the cat," you tell him.

"I knew it." He kisses you then, firmly. "Don't gotta be, princess. I'll always love you more. Just don't let her hear that. Is it 'cause I've been givin' her so much attention?" You nodded your head, him copying the motion. "Yeah?"

"How about I let you feed her more often? I just get excited is all. You're a real good mama. We. Will. Be. The best. Kitty parents. Ever." He punctuated each word with a kiss, making you warm all over. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"'Mama' doesn't really bother you, does it? I kinda like it. It's kinda hot." You played with a curl hanging in between his eyebrows, ran your thumb over the slit in his right one.

"No. It's just fine." You said it like a whisper, making him smirk at you, run his tongue along his teeth.

"Good. Now c'mon, mama. Wanna lay down."

————

Billy walked down the hall, and into the living room, spotting you on the couch with Mal on your chest. You caught his eye and shook your fist in victory.

He knew she'd win you over. They were very good accomplices.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove needs a kitten #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #savannah’s fics

[pinkdaisies9285]

Flyboy and the Florist-3

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: None except our nervous WSO, Fluff

Word Count: 830

Author's Note: Here's the next part! This one is a little longer than the others but its one of the most important moments for our little couple! Also, I hid another hint of how reader feels about Bob in here and her nickname/callsign! Again I love talking with you guys so please reblog/comment/ask about this story!

Maybe taking his two best friends to meet his crush was a bad idea. Bob was already sweating bullets about finally asking her out and maybe bringing two people known to embarrass Bob was not the way to do this. It was too late anyway. Natasha was driving, Bob was in the passenger seat, and Bradley was in the back. Honestly, Bob felt like he was going to throw up. The butterflies in his stomach had become aggravated. Would he be successful this time? Or would he come home with another bouquet of blush tea roses and what she calls dwarf sunflowers? He wasn’t sure.

Natasha noticed the grey storm cloud that was hovering over Bob. She knew that whoever this florist was, she was making her backseater question his every decision. “Bob, I’m sure you’ll get her number this time. Okay?”

This made him turn his head to face his partner. “Are you sure? For the past two weeks, I’ve tried to conjure up the words and instead, I just word vomit in front of her.”

“Is it that bad Bobby boy?” Bradley asked while leaning on the center console. He didn’t think anything could rattle the WSO except Jake’s jabs at him during a drunken round of pool. “Is this florist that daunting? Is she scary or somethin’?”

The question made Bob think about her. She wasn’t at all daunting. She was alluring and beautiful in ways that Bob couldn’t explain. It made Bob feel like a complete fool. How could he go for a girl who is so beautiful and kind like her? Either way, he knew that if he got her number and asked her out on a date, he would feel more successful than what happened with the uranium mission.  A curt stop shook him out of his thoughts. Natasha had parked in the of the shop. The sign hung in the window. It said “Apotheca Blooms” with botanical and celestial motifs surrounding it. “Is this the place?” asked Bradley while stepping out of Nat’s car. He was surprised that the “supposed” daunting florist had a shop that looked warm and cozy. He was expecting something entirely else. “Yep. Let’s hope today is the day.” Bob said with a somewhat hopeless sigh. He was going back to the thought that this was a bad idea. Would his friends be great wingmen/wingwomen? Or would they make the situation worse? Well, it was too late to figure that out because Nat and Bradley were already through the door. Bob quickly followed after the chaotic duo hoping that everything would go smoothly.

Walking in, the three of them started looking around. Natasha found a whole section of bath salts and bath bombs that were already calling her name. Bradley was taking everything in from the flowers to the table of crystals. Bob was looking for the reason he came. 

“Are you finding everything okay?” said a voice coming from behind the table full of bouquets.

“Ahhh!” Bradley yelped while searching for the voice. The florist came around the table to greet everyone. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said while looking at the trio. She was surprised to see two new faces alongside Bob. 

Bradley at that moment decided to get a look at the woman that was haunting Bob. What he saw was a woman that he didn’t think Bob would for based on appearances but he knew that appearances can be deceiving. “More surprised than scared. I didn’t see you hiding in all that flora and fauna.” Bradley answered back while chuckling.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I surprised a customer. I’ve been told a have quiet footfalls.”She said while showing her captivating smile. “Either way, how can I help you folks?”

“Well I’m here for some bath salts which I already found and this guy is just here for the ride,” Nat replied while pointing her thumb over to Bradley. The florist nodded when she looked over to Bob.

“Hi, Bobby. How are you?”

“I’m-m great! How are you? Did you ever get that new tea blend figured out?”

“I did! You should definitely try it, I think you’ll like it.” She immediately answered the WSO’s question with delight.

This is when Nat and Bradley realized something that Bob didn’t. The florist already liked him and he was missing all the signs. Nat decided to elbow Bob in the side to get him to stop avoiding the main reason they were there. Bob recognized this so he decided now or never. “Umm, actually I came here for something else.”

“Oh? What is it Bobby?” she asked while tilting her head.

Taking a deep breath, Bob thought out his next words carefully. He knew he couldn’t keep buying more flowers for zero reason. He had to make you see that he could treat you right and more.

“Well, I was wondering if I could take you out for a date.” 

Tag List: @attapullman @seresinhangmanjake @3tabbiesandalab @nerdgirljen @bobgasm @muddwheelz123 @tgmavericklover @jessicab1991 @havlindzk @tgmreader @charactersimp08 @just-in-case-iloveyou @theamuz

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Divider Credit @cafekitsune

#flyboy and the florist #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd fanfic #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd fic #robert floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd fanfic #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd fanfiction #bob top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun #top gun fic

[miller-n-morgan]

And I Feel Fine (.i)

Joel Miller x Jackson!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: Random selection on weekly patrol is a completely normal occurrence. A coincidental raid on the Jackson dam generator by Tommy’s older brother (and a little stranger) is absolutely not.

Warnings: there's a lot to unpack here, bear with me; mentions of death, violence, gore, blood, mentions of sex abuse and trafficking. Mentions of teenage pregnancy. Mention of drugs and substances. This one literally has ✨️the works.✨️

Word Count: 5.7k

Hi everyone! Thank you guys for the likes and shares and encouragement of my work before I even posted it! I appreciate you guys so much and I hope you enjoy (if that's even possible yet this is so messy for a first chapter)

The man is tall, his face looks worn and tried by the tests of time. It’s not a bad face, you reason. It’s just older, seen more things. You recognized him, though he doesn’t look the same now as the source material from which you know him. He used to wear a smile, you’re pretty sure. “Have we… met?” He seemed confused, trying to meet your wandering stare. Tommy stepped in, thinking he’d better introduce you both. “This is my brother, J-” “Joel,” you nodded, turning back to Tommy for only a second. “I remember from those pictures you brought back.”

Fall leaves are on the ground, on your front porch, and practically everywhere you look this morning. Other houses wear the orange and red upon their rooftops and over their outdoor furniture. It’s your favorite season while it’s in motion, while the leaves are still falling. It’s romantic somehow, after waking up from the nightmares. The rainbow after the rain, or something like that. 

In a few weeks, you know the best of it will be over, and the wind will carry the leaves to the middle of the street, into the town area, and it will be impossible to see anything else but the dead color bursts. That is when you hate fall, when its leaves need to be raked up and out of the way. By then they are crisp and dry beneath your feet, a reminiscent sound of something else that isn’t as pleasing. You will be loathing when that time rolls around, but for now you are at peace, and savoring the momentary beauty. Nothing is permanent, including your ability to sit in the warmth of your house, sipping the hot coffee you’d brewed before patrol.

You’ve only rotated twice in two weeks, which doesn’t make a damn lick of sense considering you are one of only three people that knows the western route. 

Tommy’s put you on for this morning, he and Maria are to accompany you and a few others around the power plant by the dam. There’s been some noise going on the past few weeks, and with the livelihood of the commune on the line, it’s best to sort these things out, nip them in the bud. 

You take your mug to the kitchen sink and give it a quick rinse, grabbing the two lonely carrots in your fridge on the way out, stuffing them in the pocket of your jacket. 

By the time you’ve actually laced up your boots, and tripped on your doorway’s crooked ridge - a morning tradition, no matter how many years you’ve lived here - the sun is cresting over the mountains, the light barely shining over the homes and their leafy crowns of orange and red and yellow and brown. 

It’s still only seven-thirty by the time you reach the stables. You know Maria’s probably got something to eat packed away for later, you never got too hungry in the morning anyways. Tommy un-hatches the gate for you, walking up with half a smile on his face.  

“Provoker is living up to his name just now, kicked my ass right out of his stall,” he shook his head, throwing an annoyed hand behind him to spite the horse. “And here I was tryna do somethin’ nice for ya.”

You huffed a laugh, trying to seem apologetic for your stallion’s bad behavior. He always teased you, ‘your old horse wasn’t like this,’ and ‘maybe I’ll shoot him and claim self defense.’ But of course, Maria wouldn’t stand for that. Casper, or as Tommy so lovingly has taken to calling him, ‘Provoker’ was found several miles south of the commune, just a scared and hungry horse. He was strong and sturdy and learned the routes quickly. Tommy was just an ass because the horse didn’t seem to like men.

“What did you do this time?” 

“Ain’t done nothing, swear it. Keith saw me, was just passin’ through,” he defended, his hands in the air. 

“With you, that can be enough,” you shouldered passed him into the stables, hearing him follow on your trail. 

“You callin’ me fat?” 

“Absolutely.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing his bridal from the wall and handing you yours. The horses are usually saddled early in the morning, all except for Casper. Maria does good with him, and when you get to his stall you can see she’s already prepared the tall stallion for the ride. 

“Good mornin’, handsome…” you pulled a carrot from your pocket and fed it up to the horse, his grateful blow of air a signal that he was in a better mood now.

“Can’t believe you’re rewardin’ his bad behavior.”

Tommy’s voice is not upset, but vaguely annoyed over your shoulder.

“Maybe I’m rewarding his good behavior,” you say it smugly, giving him a narrowed gaze as you turn your head. “You’re higher in rank than me, if I dispose of you I get all the power.” 

Maria heard you from the next stall down, snickering under her breath. 

“Oh, so that was an assassination attempt, then?” 

“No, you have to be someone of high importance for it to be considered an assassination,” Maria replied, leading her bronze mare from the stalls. Elsie, the horse’s name was. 

You were still fixing the bit for Casper before adjusting the bridal. 

“She just admitted I was higher in rank,” he argued, pulling his own horse forward now, leaving only you to catch up behind them. 

“Still lower in rank to me, bud,” she teased, nudging his shoulder and smiling in his direction. He smiled back, and by witnessing it alone, you mirrored both expressions. 

You’d been here since before they were even together. Almost ten years since you’d met Tommy, and eight since you’d met Maria. You saw them meet each other, saw them interact before this was ever the norm. You swore back then they hated each other’s guts, hated whatever one had to say to them. With time the hatred melted to a dull dislike, and by the time the Jackson commune was established, they seemed to have forgotten any ill feelings they ever had. It was like watching a movie over the span of four years, the personal threats and arguments turned into strange and somehow meaningful compliments or encouragements. They were married three years ago, and it was the first wedding you’d ever attended. You remember it so well because you imagined that maybe someday you’d get a shot. You would have a chance at loving someone the way Tommy adored Maria, heart and soul. 

“There’s a few boys still stationed out at the generator. I reckon they kept clear any danger during the night, but we should still be vigilant.”

Tommy’s warning brought you back, allowing you to pick up time from where you left it. The three of you lined up in front of the commune’s entrance point, mounting your horses and waiting for the go ahead from the men guarding the gates. It’s been a rough season, dealing with raiders, hunters, and even on the odd occasion, children in need of shelter. 

Casper took off before you even had to tell him, because he’s gone out enough times to know the drill. Maria follows closely behind, with Tommy lagging slightly. His horse, Dakota, was an old girl… probably one of the oldest in town. But she was smart, reliable, and got where she needed to be… eventually.

The ride was quiet this morning, no animals in the trail or clickers wandering the premises. It was actually nice and serene, matching the beautiful scenery of the fall ambers. 

It wasn’t long before your horse’s legs slowed, trotting to the checkpoint and coming to a halt when the watchers spotted you. 

You recognized one of the guys in the tower, Billy. He was a little younger than you, but closer in age than most of the company you keep. Nice guy, but not a thought behind those eyes.

“Top of the mornin to ya,” he called out, leaning over the edge of the rail with a cheesy grin. 

“Morning,” you called up, dismounting Casper and leading him around the wall now. “Heard you boys had some trouble last night.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. How about you, princess, you sleep okay?” 

You snorted, looking up to him with a bright expression. 

“Like a baby.”

You tied the reins by the makeshift trough that had been half assed and reconstructed over the years, looking out over the dam where the checkpoint sat upon. Everything was running smoothly, so either they actually did dispose of last night’s threats, or they were keeping them hidden extremely well. The water flowed, the power ran. 

You weren’t really paying attention to what Tommy said when he came around the corner, just hummed along to his words and hoped he didn’t notice. 

You liked this checkpoint more than the rest. The water was beautiful, the nature around it even prettier of a sight. You wished you could have seen it under better circumstances, without a gun on your hip and a knife in your pocket. 

You wish that in another life you could come here, lay a picnic blanket down, and just sit by the water and the trees behind it in the distance, the mountains over and above framing them like a painting. What a shame for something to lose its beauty on the technicality of implication. The men stationed at every point on the river implies it isn’t safe. The weapons in their arms imply that the dangers are not few, and the way they look to each other implies they would rather not be here, with Jackson’s commune being the only place they can really feel at home anymore. 

“Hey,” Tommy’s direct call to the back of your head made it turn. “You listenin’?”

“Huh?” 

He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he repeated his words. 

“Can you go check the bridge and see about damages?” 

You nodded, a small ‘yeah’ rolling off your lips when you started into that direction. 

You passed by Billy going up the stairs, giving him a small smile and a nod before turning the corner. You liked him, really, you did… but you were too tired and too hungry to interact with a guy who thought a great point of conversation was mentioning the different soups of the week in the dining hall. 

“Come to inspect my handy work?” Terry, an older man with a strange wit about him, had been waiting for you on the bridge when you got there. 

“Yep, Tommy just wants to make sure all the bases are covered.”

You peeked around one of the smaller generators, seeing the body of a dead raider that had been dragged aside from the walkway. He was already starting to smell, the rotten odor making you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“You just left him here all night?” You asked, kicking the boot of the stiff, cold man. He had a bullet hole in his neck, and you figured, Terry was awfully proud of putting it there. The man had a good aim, one of the better shots in town. 

“Didn’t know exactly where to put ‘im until the shift was over. Guess that’s your job, now,” he grinned devilishly, jabbing you in the ribs with his elbow. You tried to get him back but he just caught your arm and left it loose. “Easy now, don’t hurt your arm… gonna need it to carry him.”

You sighed, walking around to where you could get a good grip on his boots, picking them up one by one before dragging him from that corner. 

“Was he the only one?” 

“As far as we know, we called it in as soon as we shot him. There haven’t been any other surprises since then.”

“Good to know,” you let out, getting him around the corner and to the stairs. Billy didn’t seem to be as chatty now that you were accompanied by a dead body, but he stared the entire time you got him positioned at the staircase. 

“Need some help?” he finally offered, but at this point, you had it covered. 

“I’m good.”

You kicked hard enough to roll him over, letting his body topple over the stairs until he reached the bottom. Years ago, doing this may have bothered you. Disrespecting the body of someone who died in this cruel world would have turned your stomach. But again, that was years ago. Now, this body was just some jackass who tried to ambush your family of survivors, and you had to dispose of him. 

“Well that looks… fun.” 

His dry attempt at humor made you huff a single laugh through your nose, following down the stairs a moment later. You got back to the work of pulling the guy’s tattered boots, dragging him through the dirt and leaving a muddy trail of blood from where it seeped out his neck. 

Tommy was coming around the corner with some tools, probably on his way to fix something important, but he stopped a moment to watch you and your unfortunate task. 

“Gonna lend a hand?” You asked him, the pace of your backwards steps slowing when you passed him. 

“No, I think you got it,” he joked, moving on with a smile the next moment. What an ass. He was like a big brother that you never had. You knew that man would kill for you, and has before, but still found every opportunity to mess with or tease you. What an ass.

Just wait till Maria hears about this, you think. Then he’ll be in for it.

You roll the body into the river once you get far enough away from the dam, making sure he won’t cause any harm to the flow or energy. Once you’re sure he’s completely out of the way and taken care of, you turn back to the checkpoint, walking over to Maria as she finished speaking with the main watchguard from last night. You figure you should blame him for your task, since he could have done it… but that’s petty, and you only have room to be petty when you know it’ll get you somewhere. 

“Guess what I just did?” you asked in a mocking tone, a fake smile plastered on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Probably something to earn the sandwich I brought you,” she returned, knowing you well enough by now to recognize your sarcastic behavior. 

“I dragged a body from the bridge to the river, it better be a fucking good sandw-”

“Turkey and cheese.”

“God bless you,” you folded, following her to her backpack inside.

As soon as the food was in your hands, you gave her a genuine smile, sitting down at an old abandoned desk almost immediately. The woman chuckles under her breath. She remembered too many times you’d skipped breakfast before a patrol… it was by now a part of the routine to make you something to eat when she got scheduled alongside you.

“Save some for later, we might be here a while.” She pat your shoulder, leaving without a response from your end. You were far too occupied to give her one, anyways. 

The town’s butcher was a nasty man, but everyone loved him dearly, and this was why. You imagine that before the outbreak he was probably some big time deli owner, one of the best around. It’s just a fucking sandwich, you think… but it’s so damn good.

You saved about half, knowing that now you were fed, you could tie yourself over until the next meal in the hall this evening. It was Wednesday, so the menu would probably consist of soups and salads. 

You get a bit caught up in wrapping your leftover food until you hear a bit of confused banter from outside. It sounds like Maria, but you can’t be sure. Whoever she’s just finished yelling at isn’t an imminent threat, you can tell that much, but you still worry. You take enough time to put the sandwich away and start to leave the warehouse, pulling the gun from its place at your hip. You don’t raise it, but having it close is better, you’ve learned. The noise outside has ceased but after a moment, the door opens.

“Maria?” You don’t even make it out of the hallway when you bump into Tommy, side by side with a stranger. He catches your eye in a familiar way. “Hey, I know you.”

The man is tall, his face looks worn and tried by the tests of time. It’s not a bad face, you reason. It’s just older, seen more things. You recognized him, though he doesn’t look the same now as the source material from which you know him. He used to wear a smile, you’re pretty sure.

“Have we… met?” He seemed confused, trying to meet your wandering stare. Tommy stepped in, thinking he’d better introduce you both. 

“This is my brother, J-”

“Joel,” you nodded, turning back to Tommy for only a second. “I remember from those pictures you brought back.”

“Right,” Tommy mumbled, stepping closer to you. “He’s brought a girl with him. Maria took her to get some of those rations in the back section, but I think you still have the keys on your chain. You might wanna head over there.”

“Alright,” you started in the direction of the exit, walking backward to give Tommy a warning. “I left half a sandwich in there, don’t touch it.”

-

You stood outside of the Boston QZ, fourteen years old and scared as hell. It was hard enough to get in without being caught, but once you were inside, you’d have to remain invisible for the next month, or at least, until you could settle your predicament. 

“This way,” echoed a voice in your head, the young man that accompanied you, trying to sneak you under the city tunnels. You followed him until you were in a sewer, having trouble making your way through given that your body specifications had changed over the last eight and a half months.

The man ahead of you didn’t bother to help or to make the path easier, but kept yelling for you to keep up. 

“I’m trying,” you trudged on, your swollen feet making you stumble along the sludgy water. “It’s really hard.”

He huffed, his face invisible to you as you blocked it out of your mind. “You have to move faster, we can’t get caught down here.”

Your eyes formed tears at his flippant tone, impatient and completely ridiculous about how fast you were moving when you clearly could only strain yourself so much. You let a hand fall subconsciously to your swollen stomach as you climbed out of the sewer, following the man ahead at an impressive speed given your condition. 

You hated him, wanted to leave him… but you knew you would die without his direction. 

“Alright, coast looks clear. If we linger around here a while we can blend with the crowd as we move down.”

He didn’t pay any mind to your state, the tears streaming down your face or the pain in your back and hips. The way you waddled just to meet him around the corner, watching for people passing by. 

“Once we find the contact, you know what to do.” Flat tone, flat words, unfeeling. You still couldn’t see his face, but his voice is strong. It plagues you.

“Yes…” and you turn to the dirty window beside you. Your appearance is appalling at best, scruffy and unbrushed hair pulled back in a ponytail, tear stained cheeks. Your torn jacket and ripped pants barely cling to you, now wet and sagging around you from the water in the sewer. The only thing left to stare at is your too thin body, struggling to hold the weight of what grew inside you. The face that looks you back in the eye… it’s young, too young for this. It has a dark history, and doubts about the future. It wants more than anything to be at peace, to relax and be settled… but it looks to you as is, not as it should be.

“Are you okay?” Maria asks, taking the key you were about to give her, your hand now frozen in mid air as you stare down the kid before you.

“Yeah, I’m good I just-” You can’t seem to move, breathing out shakily. You manage to lift a finger in her direction. “Who is-?”

“Ellie. She’s with Joel, they’ve been traveling together.” She finishes unlocking the storage base, shouldering the door open. When she turns back you haven’t barely moved. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“No…” 

And finally you beg your muscles to move, to turn your head away. Your eyes moving from the girl’s face causes a chain reaction, and you regain full motion again. You wait for Ellie to follow Maria, make sure there’s a good chunk of distance between you, then walk into the building, your head to the ground in deep thought. That face, it’s you… no. It’s her. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Ellie whispers to Maria, turning back to watch the way you struggle forward, trying everything in your power to avert your eyes from her, but she’s still there. 

“I don’t know,” Maria puts her hands on her hips, genuine concern arising.  “What's wrong with you?” 

Give an answer. Give a realistic answer that doesn’t raise more questions. Not the truth, though.

“She just reminds me of someone, that’s all.”

The girl seems angsty given your state and how shaken you seemed. Like you saw a ghost. You still aren’t sure she isn’t one.

“A dead someone?” She asks, louder than her last words.

“No,” You shake your head. Not a lie. You’re not dead yet, and you don’t think she is. Can’t be a ghost, especially not mine. Maria wouldn’t see her. “Sorry if I’m bein’ weird, you just… how old are you?”

“Fourteen... And a half.”

Fourteen was bad enough, but the little witty ‘and a half’ gave you a very good estimate of her birthday, or at least, birth month. You gasped lightly, whatever air you could take in was coming in small doses. You suddenly can’t take a deep breath, your head running in circles and repeating dates, times, names, places. Faces, even.

“Maria, I think I’m gonna sit down a while.”

You fell against the closest table, scooting back on it until your back hit the pole it was against. 

“Take your time,” She muttered, nodding and pulling Ellie along to the lockers.

She pried one open, pulling a few cans of food from the containment and giving them to her. Peaches, baked beans, chicken soup, all were pretty good options in comparison to the hunted and gathered rations she and Joel had been surviving on. She would have been far more excited had she not been focused on the woman sitting down, her eyes closed and hands raised to her head from the other side of the room. 

“Does this happen to her a lot?” She couldn’t stop staring either, the fear about the woman lingering as something familiar.

“Never.”

Maria wasn’t sure what had gotten into you. She had to look through the files of her mind to try and come up with an answer to your madness. The most stoic and brave faced person she’d come across, now sitting in shambles of thought. 

“Do you know who I remind her of?” 

Maria shakes her head, handing Ellie a can opener and a spoon. “No.” 

For a moment she thinks that maybe it could be your sister, deceased… but you said the specific someone wasn’t dead.

“Her whole family died a while ago, and I don’t know anyone back home that looks like you.” 

“She’s on her own?” Ellie dug into the chicken soup can first, her hunger now distracting from the conversation.

“She’s got us, but yeah I guess so.”

All alone. No family left, all gone to cordyceps and raiders. Mother, Father, young brother, baby sister. No one made it. 

“That’s sad. I hope I don’t make her upset or anything.”

Maria shook her head, sitting next to the girl. This poor kid has probably been through a lot. Knowing what she does of Joel, she thinks he can’t be a pleasant traveling companion. Ellie doesn’t need anything else to worry about, least of all a total stranger.

“No, that’s not it. I think she might just be remembering someone she forgot about. Life’s been tough on her.”

The girl nodded, spooning into the can of soup now that it had finally been opened.

-

The woman was tall, dark hair cropped higher than her shoulders, her face was stiff and unexpressive, like most people in this QZ. 

“You got the pills?” She asked, her voice low as she looked around to make sure no one watched on. No Fedra officers or anything of the like.

“Yeah,” the faceless voice spoke, a hand reaching out with the pill bag. It was half full, probably more than one bottle. “Vicodin, hospital standard. You can try 'em, they’re still good.”

“Alright,” she took them, inspecting the sides of the bag. She’s done this enough times, she can tell they’re real. “I found a family that’s willing to take another baby. Had to pull some strings, but they’re open to it.”

“Where are they?” he asked, and you turned to him, the forceful tone he had made you jump a little. The woman before you noticed, and didn’t seem thrilled about it. She turned to you, slightly more compassionate than when she was scowling at the man by your side. 

“How old are you, kid?” 

You looked to him first, and he looked apprehensive. You needed an out, this is it. “Fourteen.”

She took a sharp inhale, turning to the man, her arms crossed. Her face was again ruthless, the glare she sent him was unrelenting. 

“And how old are you?” 

He didn’t answer for a moment, feeling cornered. “That’s not really your business. You got the pills, just tell us where to go.” 

The woman shook her head, dropping it as a chuckle escaped her. 

“I’ll take her,” she answered, eyes flitting back and forth between you. Your body language when she spoke told her you were relieved.”Without you.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

And before you knew it, she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. You gasped, standing back, and the man grabbed at your arm, but you shrugged it away. This is where you get off the train, away from the way it’s been carrying you along the long and winding tracks, only making stops in the most complicated of stations. 

“The deal is I find a safe place for her to have a kid, and someone to hand it off to. Those are the terms, and I intend to keep my end.” 

You stepped closer to her, watching as she placed her finger on the trigger. “I didn’t agree to what I didn’t know.”

“Look, I know where to find more pills, just take us where you’re supposed to and I can get you more,” he raised his hands, trying to beg, trying to argue, but the woman didn’t budge. She knew that you’d either been forced into this companionship, or trafficked into it. She wasn’t a good person by any means, but she wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to something she wouldn’t condone herself. 

“I’m about to ask her a question, and if the answer isn’t no… you’re gettin’ your head blown off, ya hear?” She turned to you, looking you up and down. She wants to be wrong, wants to find out this guy is just a nice companion that happened to be helping you out of the kindness of his heart. But she’s doubtful, call it an apocalyptic mindset. “Is that his kid?”

You chanced a look at the faceless man, feeling his eyes on you though you could not place them. He was expectant, waiting for you to lie so that he could go back to being your keeper, telling you what to do.

“Yes,” you nodded, the tears from earlier returning to your eyes and making the stains on your cheeks even darker than before. 

“Just stop, I can get you more!”

The woman raised her gun more steady, her finger beginning to pull back on the trigger before you stopped her, a hand at her arm. 

“Wait,” you breathed, the rapid inhales were evening out as you asked her: “Can I do it?” 

“Honey, you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t do this,” he begged, the reverberation of his words like a whirring siren in your head. You remember sirens, from before the outbreak. Cops cars, ambulances, fire trucks. You remember them. They always signaled help was on the way, and that’s what this felt like. 

The woman was shocked, but didn’t hesitate to hand you her gun. You’d been through hell with this asshole, and you couldn’t let someone else have the satisfaction of dealing with him. She understood your mindset well, as others in her past brought about the same feelings. 

You raised the gun to him, and heard one more cry of your name pass from his lips before pulling the trigger. The tears stopped flooding your cheeks almost instantly, and you breathed out in relief. The woman didn’t wait for you to hand it back, she took the gun from you and placed it back in her pants. 

“You okay?” She asked. 

“I’m better…”

And then she nudged you out of the alleyway, beginning to lead you in the direction of your next steps. You weren’t out of the woods, yet. 

You don’t even know what happened during the attack, just that you went into autopilot and started shooting from the first sign of intruders. It was more of those fuckin hunters. The ones who killed whole groups of people at a time in order to steal the most trivial items off their bodies. Too bad not one of them survived. 

You tossed up a look and your eyes met the familiar stranger. Joel, Tommy’s long lost brother. Your head was foggy, but you’re pretty sure he just saved your ass from getting shot. Not like it was your fault, you weren’t at your best, and you probably wouldn’t be until you figured shit out.

“Are you alright?” Tommy came up beside you, his arm on your shoulder, sleeve torn where the bullet just missed. 

“Physically.” You turned to see Ellie run up to Joel. 

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

You froze again, watching how she interacted with the older man, the way she was so expressive. Tommy hadn't ever seen you like this. So… affected.

“Means I’m all over the place. Not really sure what’s real right now.” You turned back to him, following him around, trying to find Maria.

“Well, maybe you should ride back with Billy, he’s about to head out. You can go home, rest.”

“No, I don’t-” You cut yourself short, trying to recouperate your words. “I don’t need rest, I need some clarity.”

“On what?” His exasperation was not due to annoyance, but rather the fact that he knew… it had something to do with his brother and Ellie.

“Where did Joel find that girl?” You crossed your arms, trying to broach the subject without just telling him yet.

“Probably back in Boston, why?” 

You’ve known Tommy for ten years, since right after he left his brother. Since he’d gone off on the trail of the fireflies, a trail you’d gone down a while, too. He knew practically everything about you. Knew about your family, about the hunters you used to run with as a kid, the guy who basically kidnapped you… and yeah, he knew about the baby you gave up.

“You remember that one story I told you? From when I was younger?” 

He stopped in his tracks, not turning around fully, but tossing a look over his shoulder at you. It was unsettled and confused, but not upset. He knew you had good reason to believe what you did… but still. It was a one in a million chance, right?

“C’mon… you can’t possibly think that’s her.”

“Tommy…” you knew he was trying to keep your hopes down, that he didn’t want you to over excite yourself on a whim… but what if? You’d prayed for this day, to find her again. You went back for her once and she wasn’t there, neither was the family you left her with. You hoped she was alive, but until now you were never sure… you’re still not sure but you hope, you hope.

“There could be a hundred other kids out there that look a bit like you, you know that.” The chances are a million to one… but he can’t stand to look at you, your eyes so full of something he hasn’t seen there before. Not just hope, but something else, something full of a happiness that is only at its most basic potential, unknowing. “Did you ask her anything? Check for the birthmark?” 

You shook your head, arms tightening as you looked back to Ellie in the distance. 

“No, I was terrified. Kept thinking I was gettin’ haunted by the ghost of my past self.” 

It was meant as a joke, but it was partially serious.

He sighed, following your line of sight and tilting his head. Yeah, he saw the resemblance. He’d met you at age eighteen, but he pictured you younger. Cheeks still a little puffy from the unlost baby fat, eyes still bright and twinkling despite the things you’d seen. Probably quite a bit shorter, too. He figured that she’s the spitting image of you from that age.

“You really think it’s her?”

You threw your hands up in the air. How many times did you have to say it? Try to convince him? No, you weren’t sure… but you had every reason to believe it. 

“Same age, same face, same QZ-”

“Look… talk to her. Ask her some questions. See if anything matches up.” He ran a hand over his face. He’d made up his mind about something only a minute ago, and it was plaguing him even more now that you came to him. “Now, I gotta go talk to Maria, and after that I’m gonna take her off of Joel’s hands. She’s gonna go to the fireflies. You’re more than welcome to join me, I’ll need the help.”

You used to make runs with Tommy all the time. No problem… but this also meant more time with Ellie, possibly your Ellie. You could ask her more, find out the answers you’ve been longing for since you left her. 

Tags: open

“Okay…” 

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #Joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #reader insert #the last of us

[lovingmayday]

STREET RACER! HOBIE x STREET RACER! READER

warnings : illegal street racing, gambling, cursing, suggestive

notes : this one's not that much focused on street racing anymore. im so very normal about him, cant you tell?

part 1 ☆ part 2

first off, street racer hobart brown is a menace. did i mention that or was i too busy gushing about him last time?

street racer hobie loves getting a reaction out of you, commenting on things he knows would rile you up. and he can read you absurdly easily

street racer hobie and you make seperate bets aside from the main one. like if you win, he does whatever you tell him and if he wins, you do whatever he tells you. and if neither of you win, its a draw and its boring so either of you have to win

if you won, you'd probably ask him to let you drive his car around for a week or so. and if he won,, well...

"What?" you ask, though it was more of a rhetorical question, if anything. You heard him loud and clear, you just couldn't believe it.

He had his distinct smug grin on his face as he takes steady steps backward to his car. "'Said I'll pick you up at 8. Wear somethin' nice and casual, yeah?" he says with his back finally against his restored vintage on wheels, smirking at your heated face.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and opened your mouth, your words delaying by a bit. "You're not gonna stick around for my answer?"

"Won the bet, didn't I? It's set in stone," he muses, switfly entering his car. "Later."

he took you to a gwen stacy concert (gwen is a referred to as "maybe the most influental musician – the greates artist – of our generation" in earth-138) and you both had a great time

pretty obvious when you woke up that morning in your apartment and in the comfort of his arms

it was another date, then a third and a fourth then the next until you both just couldn't stay away from one another anymore

you know how in wwe, fights are rehearsed and they don't act the same behind the camera? it's half something like that. your races are genuine but your behavior with each other isn't

all hostile and aggressive near crowds and never ending insults and mockery from both sides. none of the audiences knew how much street racer hobie loved eating your face behind the curtains

"Hob–" you manage to gasp out between kisses. Your was hand clutched on his vest as his hand behind your head deepens the kiss. A surprised moan escapes past your lips when you feel his knee between your thighs.

You start to become more light-headed. He starts trailing the kisses down to your neck and you reward him with a few soft mewls.

"H-Hobie, we're late. Stop." You try to push him away, your hands on his shoulders but he intertwines them with his' and pins them against the wall.

His lips return to yours' once again, exhaling contently before he departs. "I don't think you want me to stop either, love," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. You slowly open your eyes to see him smiling.

It wasn't his usual smile — there wasn't an ounce of teasing in it. It was gentle with affection and intimacy. You sigh and plant a short kiss on his. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if we bailed at the same time?"

"Would you care if they did?" he asks, moving your hands to rest around his neck as he puts his' around your waist, pulling you both unbelievably closer. You consider it and give him a small peck before shaking your head. "That's my girl."

#atsv hobie #hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #spider punk #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider punk x reader #hobie fluff #hobie x you #hobie brown x you #hobie atsv #hobie brown atsv #atsv hobie brown #spider punk x you

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N = 😐 So, this is my first time writing about Rengoku. And I'm ngl, this shit had me a little hot and bothered. @peachdues You're an angel for reminding me how much I love this song. It just does somethin' to me 🤷‍♀️.

CW = Implied y/n. Iiii mmmeann ... just ... nothing too, too graphic. But to be safe, MDNI NSFW 🔞.

Bedtime is the Best Time

"Babe? Are you coming?"

"Y-yeah. Be right there."

● Kyojuro walks into the room where you lay on your stomach in bed. Scrolling through your phone watching the most recently posted kitten videos.

● "You watching kitten videos again," he asks. Knowing full well you are. But he doesn't blame you. They're so damn cute.

● "Come to bed."

● "Yeah, yeah, for sure. Jus' g'na brush my teeth." He left you to finish the video about the kitten playing with its moms tail. One of his personal favorites.

● You slipped out of his t-shirt that you always wore to sleep in and laid back down.

● "Do you need anything before I come in there?" You landed a good man.

●"Nope, jus' want you."

● Kyojuro came into the bedroom and threw his shirt in the dirty laundry, glancing over at you. He felt like something was maybe up with you. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. So he went about bedtime as usual.

● "Well, get ready, my little firecracker, for I have arrived!" He spread his arms and jumped to the bed, landing abruptly on you.

● The man is 95.999% muscle. He was heavy but in this utterly delicious way.

● You're both laughing at his dumb sense of humor, swiping away stray hair from each other's face. Thoroughly enjoying the sweet moment.

● But you look at each others' lips for a second too long and then back into each other's eyes.

● Looks of playfulness are quickly being replaced by a serious lust for the other person you just shared such a whimsical moment with.

● Smiles easily give way to a darkness as you stare down your lover.

● Your breathing and heart rates increase as the touching between you becomes more needy. It's no longer fun, funny, carefree.

● Kyojuro stands up resolutely and takes off his clothes. His cock springs to his abdomen. Precum already glistening in his slit.

● His hair is bright and wild around his face as he starts to wrap his hand around the leaky tip. Looking at you in such a way, you find yourself a little scared.

● The noises he's making are animalistic.

● Grunts.

● He wraps his whole hand around himself.

● Growls.

● His head drops as he looks up at you from under his barely dewy brow.

● He takes a step closer to the bed.

● He takes a step closer to you.

● Kyojuro is on you before you can say anything. His lips haphazardly cover every inch of your burning flesh.

● His fingers explore every opening that will succumb to his findings.

● "You're so tight," he says, as he struggles to control himself. "S'tight everywhere. Let me inside of you. Pl-please. I must get inside of you."

● You feel your pussy gush with an oasis that only he could draw from you.

● You nod your head fast, and you nod hard.

● "Kyo ... fuck me. N- now. *God*, please now."

● He falls at your feet. Worshipping you the best way he knows how.

● Kissing the tops of your feet as he holds your calves in his large hands, sliding them further up.

● He kisses your knees. All the while never taking his eyes off of yours. Reducing you to a trembling mess beneath his observance and his touch.

● He slides your legs together and darts his tongue in and out of the thickest part of your thighs. Moaning into them how much he fucking loves you. Your smell. How he wants to eat you alive.

● He nudges your legs apart and tells you "I love you, my wildfire," before he pushes you down and leaves one hand on your sternum while the other spreads you open for him in every sense of the word.

● He lays you out on the bed and tongues your folds apart so he can see how wet you are for him. Under him. Around him.

● His scalding eyes hold your attention as he kisses your clit and his rough fingers ease their way into your sleek core.

● "My god," he whispers as he slides his fingers back out. Admiring the gooey juices from your cunt that are now coating his skin.

● Kyojuro buries his face in your pussy so far you wonder how he'll breathe. "You are my life. I will breathe you. Now stay down, little inferno."

● You give yourself over to him wholly, and you are not now, nor have you ever been, disappointed.

● He knows just what you need and is ever voracious in his delivery.

● You're so close now. He feels this escalation before you're even fully aware. The tightrope he has you walking is about to snap out from underneath this precarious balance.

● His hands come up under your ass and he rests your thighs on either side of his ears. Your legs slam over his temples. Muffled cries are what he's here for.

● Kyo will hold you down tighter until you're sobbing. Promising the God's that next time your prayers involving this man won't be so greedy.

● But the God's and Kyo know those are lies you shout in vein. You overestimated your tolerance for orgasm after orgasm to be dragged from your body.

● The God's won't hear your sobs anymore. Only Kyojuro, as he licks around his mouth and sucks his fingers clean of you. Only Kyojuro will give you what you need now.

● He runs his fingers over your drenched pussy and then starts rubbing his cock slowly. Padding you with his full length.

● Your body jerks up at his arrival. You're still sensitive from him eating you out. But he fills you so perfectly.

● Kyo rolls his hips into you over and over. Tearing the most sinful and downright filthy noises from your body.

● You say his name under your breath like he could be the one to save you from yourself.

● But he just continues to bring your bodies together like he, himself, would cease to exist if he did not share himself with you ... only you.

● Your release is fast approaching. He is not far behind.

● You squeeze and suck his cock into you. He loses focus over who's fucking who here.

● You feel so perfect to him. He likes to think that he's doing you the best he can for you. That he's your best boy.

● But how you look so undone as he loses control of his body and thrusts into you a few more times.

● Leaving you both with a completely fucked out and impassioned expression on your drooling faces.

●The remaining part of him in you blankets you in a small flood of white. And what manages to escape, he will rub on your clit, once again testing his theory about what your body can endure.

● Oh yes. You can be sure that Kyojuro talks to the God's, as well. And every day he wakes up to you next to him, is one more orison actualized.

#rengoku #demon slayer kyojuro #demon slayer rengoku #kny rengoku #kny demon slayer #rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku smut #Spotify

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Chapter 8: Future Stuff

Note: Hellooo! Thank you all once again so much for all of the love I'm getting on this story. Everyone is so sweet I could actually throw up so thank you. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. All of the reblogs, notes, comments, messages really motivate me, and I'm so thankful. It's so fun writing this. The only warnings are implied sexual content and strong language but MDNI fr fr. This story is not for the children. Alsooo, I think I figured out the tag list situation, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. So its down below, anyone else who would like to be added, please let me know <3

Taglist:

@th3h0nkz @yezzyyae@comeonatmebruh

Ian and Mickey stare forward at the TV as Lip continues to bounce his leg and blow a cloud of smoke into the air. Mickey irritably fans the air in front of him, cutting his eyes to Ian who silently pleads to him not to say anything. A few more seconds pass and the cheap couch continues to rattle and Mickey gets fed up.

“Fuck! Gallagher, go, don’t go, cheat, don’t cheat, we don’t fuckin’ care!” He yells, ignoring Ian’s glare. “I mean, I’ll fuckin’ tell the princess in a heartbeat, but you sittin’ hear, shittin’ your pants over a phone call is makin’ me wanna kill you.”

“Fuck off Mickey.”

Mickey turns to the blond, only to have his boyfriend place his hand on his chest, shoving him lightly into the other direction, gesturing for him to go upstairs. Ian huffs as Mickey flicks him off before storming up the steps to his room, taking his beer with him. 

The redhead sits back down next to his brother, sighing as he opens his own drink. “Are you gonna?”

Lip looks up, hand buried in his hair for probably the fiftieth time that night. “Gonna what?”

“Cheat. On Charlotte with that old bitch Helene.”

Lip shakes his head quietly, taking a drag from his blunt before passing it over to Ian. “No.” he sniffs. “And uh, Helene didn’t get me kicked out, alright?”

“Okay.” Ian shrugs, grabbing the blunt. “But she didn’t help.”

“Nah.” Lip nods, blue eyes surrounded by red, bloodshot from the lack of sleep he got over the past few days. “She didn’t. But uh, she didn’t say much on the phone. Just that she needs to talk to me. Figured I should see what it’s about. Not a big deal.”

“Is that why you’re pullin’ your hair out and hotboxin’ our living room?” Ian asks, releasing the smoke from his nose.  “Did you tell her?”

“No.” Lip sighs, scrubbing his hand down his face. He reaches over and snatches the blunt from Ian before he could take another pull. “And you won’t either, alright? It’s not a big deal and I’m just gonna tell her to fuck off. Don’t need to freak Bunny out for nothin’.”

Lip had been lamenting over Helene’s call for the past few days.He’d gone silent on the phone in shock when she confirmed it was her and was even more surprised when she asked to meet with him to discuss something. The last time he’d talked to her, she’d ended things and ignored him while he screamed and pleaded for her back outside of her house. It was fucking humiliating. He wanted to show her he was better now. He wanted to show he wasn’t some desperate loser and he didn’t fucking need her, her leaving didn’t fucking faze him. 

He knew he could do that and stay loyal to Charlotte. 

But apparently Ian and Mickey had no faith in him. He didn’t know why he fucking told them in the first place. 

Maybe because he’d hoped it would help get rid of the rock in his stomach he felt every time he spoke to Charlotte and didn’t tell her his sort’ve ex/professor had hit him up to meet.

Lip is used to the feeling of guilt and shame, it comes with the Gallagher territory. A low hum of those two feelings stay with them always. But this feeling was worse. It was loud and aggressive. It was pounding in his ears each time his girlfriend’s sweet voice came through the phone. So, he already felt like shit. He doesn’t need Ian and his cling-on fucking riding him.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s for nothin’ Seems like somethin’ she should know.” Ian shrugs, snatching it back.

“Yeah, just because you’re Mickey’s bitch, doesn’t mean I’m Charlotte’s. Alright? I’ve got it-”

“Fuck you.” Ian frowns, shoving his brother, looking affronted when he shoves him back. 

The two boys begin pushing and shoving at each other, standing from the couch to get into each other’s faces. Voices raising and carrying throughout the house. The front door swings open and a tired Fiona storms through, Liam in her arms, shoving between the two of them. “Uh uh, I just worked for 8 hours with no break while tryin’ to watch Liam. I do not come home to you fighting.” 

The older girl places Liam on the steps, patting his back and telling him to go upstairs and wait for her to tuck him in. She turns back to her other brothers, watching them glare at each other. “What the fuck is the issue?” Lip clenches his jaw irritably, looking away from his sister. He knows that Ian isn’t going to say anything and he does not feel like hearing Fiona bitch about Helene or make some smart ass comment about him already fucking up with Charlotte. “Fuck, fine, whatever. I don’t care what you have going on, Christmas is in two days, you’re not gonna fuck up the vibe in the house for Carl, Debbie and Liam. And make sure you have your shit together on the gift front.” 

Ian pushes past Lip, knocking his shoulder and heading toward the stairs, “I’ve got my shit covered.”

Fiona watches him go up the stairs before looking back to Lip with an expectant expression. “And you?”

The blond huffs out a breath, “I’m handling it.” 

And at the time, he really thought he was.

“It was really nice to see her.” Charlotte smiles, pouring water onto one of the plants on her parent’s patio before moving on to the next. The other side of the line is quiet and she pauses in her motion, pushing her phone closer to her ear. “Bub?”

“Huh?” there’s shuffling on the other end of the line for a few moments before the sound of her boyfriend returns. “That’s good, bunny.”

The woman rolls her eyes, setting down the watering can onto the table and pulling out a seat to sit in. “You’re not listening, Phillip.”

“Yeah I am.”

“Yeah? What’d I say.”

He hums for a moment before raising his voice lightly, attempting to mimic hers. “Phillip, I miss you so much, I can’t wait until I can see you again and climb on top of your big, hard-”

“Yeah, I don’t talk like that. That must be your other girlfriend.” She laughs. Charlotte waits to hear the deep chuckle that she’s grown to love and is only met with awkward silence. “Phillip?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve actually got to go.”

“Oh.” Charlotte frowns, biting at her thumbnail nervously. She doesn’t like the sound of his voice. He’d been being weird for the last couple of days and she didn’t know where it was coming from. Was it because of that one phone call? Was it too much? Too little? Did she do something wrong? The reasonable side of her told her that the distance might be just getting to him. Their relationship had started with her leaving for an undetermined amount of time. They began with a goodbye, it definitely was wearing on her, it would be reasonable for it to be affecting Lip as well. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later? And um, please remember to get the presents I got for everyone out of my room at V’s okay? S’not much-”

“Okay, so uh, you’re definitely not gonna be back for Christmas?” he asks. 

Charlotte sighs, leaning her chin on her hand and toying with the fabric of her shirt. “I dunno. M’sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll call you later. Bye, baby.”

As the line goes dead Charlotte groans to herself. As much as she’s enjoyed being home with her parents, she was starting to get antsy. Putting aside how badly she misses Lip, she misses everyone else and her freedom too. Being back in her parents home made her feel like a child again, unable to make decisions about anything. What time to wake up, what to eat, what to wear. She needs a break from her break.

And honestly, she wants the chance to take her new relationship seriously. And she can’t do that while they’re however any miles apart. 

Settled into her new resolve, Charlotte pushes out of her seat and opens the screen door to her house. She looks around the lower level, finding that no one is there and heads up the stairs to look for her mother. She finds her mother in the office and knocks on the heavy wooden door before entering. “Hi, Mom.” 

Charlotte’s mother looks up from her laptop, pausing to push her glasses up on her nose. “Hi, honey, what’s up?”

“Um,” Charlotte shifts on her feet uneasily, running a finger along the paint on the door frame. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Lip takes a deep breath as he stands outside of the café, pocketing his phone as he weighs out the different ways this scenario can play out in his head. 

Best case scenario, he goes in there, Helene looks fuckin’ awful, he tells her where she can shove it and maybe throws in a picture of his new sexy ass girlfriend that he’s fucking obsessed with, conveniently leaving out that he’s unsure if she’s ever coming back to Chicago.

Worst case scenario, she looks amazing, he doesn’t even get to mention Charlotte and this was some kind of sick test that he failed by showing up. His girlfriend emerges from some back room or something and dumps him on the spot for even showing up to talk to his ex. And she…he doesn’t know, starts fucking Helene’s husband or something. 

That last part can’t happen. Lip is pretty sure he’d kill him.

Another minute passes by before he decides to finally go into the shop. Quiet, boring cafe music is softly playing and the smell of coffee fills his nostrils. 

“Lip, over here.” a voice calls over to him.

Lip follows the voice over to a table in the left corner of the restaurant and finds Helene, seated, already sipping a coffee, an untouched mug on the opposite side of the table. He makes his way over and slowly slides into the seat opposite of her. “Uh, hey.”

The older woman offers him a kind smile, drumming her fingers on her cup. Lip absently notices that her wedding ring is not on her finger. “Hi. How are you?”

He looks up, dragging his eyes away from her hand. “Fine, I uh, can’t complain. How have you been?”

“Overall I’ve been well.” Lip nods quietly at her response and starts scanning the room, looking everywhere but her. He hadn’t accounted for this being so weird. A couple beats pass before she speaks again. “Okay, well I think we’re a little too familiar for this to be so uncomfortable. That coffee is for you by the way. It’s black with no sugar the way you like it.”

“Actually,” Lip cuts in, glancing down at the cup. “I don’t take it like that anymore. I, uh, like it sweeter now.” 

Helene’s eyebrows shoot up, “Oh. Okay, we could send it back-”

“Nah, I’ll drink it.” He shrugs, trying to hide his grimace as the bitter liquid fills his mouth, briefly wondering how he used to chug this shit when he was with her. 

“Okay.” Helene shifts in her seat a little, leaning forward. “Tell me what else has changed since we last spoke.”

Lip licks his lips, looking around before letting his blue eyes land back on her. “I uh, left school, or they kicked me out for something…unrelated. So yeah, I’m working. Moved back to Southside.”

“Do you like what you do?” 

“It helps pay bills. Nothing in my field but, it works.” he shrugs again. “Are you, uh back at the school?”

Helene smoothes her left hand over her hair, and his eyes drift back to her empty ring finger. “Yes, I’ve returned as an adjunct, but they’re keeping a close watch on me so you can understand that’s a little bit awkward. But um, I’ve been working through some things since the last time I spoke to you-”

“Right, that was a contingency for you to get your job back, right? The therapy?” Lip bites. He doesn’t know where the comment comes from but he shocks himself and Helene.

“Yes…it was. And I think I owe you an apology.” she says softly.

Lip sits up straighter in his seat. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, I should have spoken to you, and allowed you to explain what happened. I requested for you to communicate and exhibit maturity throughout our relationship and didn’t extend the same respect to you.” Helene waits for Lip to react, to accept, say something, but all he offers her is another quiet nod. “I’ve learned I have a habit of having high expectations for what people should do for me and very low tolerance for error. It’s likely what caused this relationship to fail and certainly what ruined my marriage.”

The blond looks up at that, immediately alerted by the news she’d snuck into the conversation. She’s divorced. She’d gotten divorced. Despite the fact that he was refusing to acknowledge it, back when they were together he used to dream about it. The day she said fuck her husband and left him completely, chose him entirely. On darker days when he would watch her climb out of bed to go find her spouse, or see them kiss especially intimately in front of him, or she would leave to shower with him just after she and Lip had sex, he would think about how happy he’d be if the older man just disappeared. Went missing. Dropped dead, he didn’t fucking care. 

But the knowledge now that Helene was single brought Lip no feeling at all. He’s shocked at how numb he is to the news. “I’m uh, sorry.” he offers awkwardly. 

“I’ve made my peace with it. Now, I’m trying to make my peace with you.” she smiles, placing her hand on top of Lip’s across the table, smoothing her thumb on his knuckles. 

“Oh, shit-” he jolts, taking his hand back and feeling himself turn red as the table rattles at his jerky movement. “I actually have a girlfriend. And we’re…monogamous.” 

“Oh.” Helene sits back, seemingly startled by his very large reaction before adjusting herself. “I’m sorry, well congratulations. Who is it? That mousy girl who is fascinated with posting pictures of other people’s naked forms?” 

Lip doesn’t bother offering her a fake laugh, instead choosing to open his phone and show her his favorite picture of him and Charlotte together. It’s one that Ian had taken at the Alibi when Lip had been pretending to teach her how to play pool to both get close to her and piss off Kev as the girl bent over the table in front of him. The picture perfectly captures Charlotte’s pretty smile and reminds him of when she was close enough to touch. He holds his phone up for Helene to see and watches the woman’s expression. “This is Charlotte.”

Her face is unmoving as she looks at the girl. “Well, I suppose it’s double congratulations. She’s gorgeous. Is she in school?”

“Um,” Lip takes the phone back and pockets it, “No, she just moved here. She’s working at a restaurant for now, saving up money. I’d have brought her with me but she’s visiting family back where she’s from.”

“And where’s that?”

“Virginia.”

Helene hums, lifting her coffee to take a sip. “That’s far.”

“772 miles.” Lip sniffs, leaning back in his chair. “But she’ll be back.” As he says it his brain wonders if he’s telling Helene or reminding himself.

“I see. And it’s serious?” 

That question gives Lip pause. Because is it serious? He can acknowledge that when he first saw Charlotte he hadn’t hoped for much more than getting her prissy ass into bed and then doubling back once in a while, but not frequently enough for her to get attached. Her stubbornness and Mandy’s existence put a little wrench in his plans but he’d always liked a challenge. But after a while, it was more than that. He’d fucked around and learned things about her. Charlotte is sweet, kind, and funny. She makes him relax and feel less fucking irritated all of the time. She makes him feel needed without making him feel trapped. She cared about his interests, making him happy. His family. She’d made his life better in such a short period of time. 

“To me.” 

Helene nods, offering him a soft smile. “I can tell. It’s the look in your eyes. It’s different now. A good different.” she lets out a sigh and places her cup down again. “Well, I’m happy for you. Though I came here to tell you I miss you and apologize, I also wanted to make up for the part I played in your education ending early.”

“It was unrelated.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t help.” It’s good that she knows that, he thinks. “I want to offer you an internship, not with me, but with a research center I collaborate with. They were looking for someone with an interest and background in science and technology and I immediately thought of you.”

“You didn’t think of one of the hundreds of people majoring in that at the university?” Lip scoffs.

“I didn’t used to sleep with them.” she jokes, rolling her eyes when Lip appears unamused. “I’m kidding. I truly believe you’d be a good fit for this.” 

“Look um, like I told Youens, I can’t really afford to work for free right now, I understand you guys say it’ll lead to something-”

“It’s a paid internship, Lip.” Helene cuts in. She observes the young man, watching as the wheels turn in his brain as he tries to think up more excuses as to why he can’t accept this opportunity. She grabs her purse from where it is hanging on the back of her chair and pulls out a card, placing it down on the table. “Look, I have another meeting to get to, but this is a really good opportunity, if I were you I’d take it. Work in your field and make some decent money. Serious relationships aren’t as free as we’d like them to be, you know.” she says, nodding her head toward the pocket where he’d placed his phone. Helene stands, walking past, briefly placing her hand on Lip’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’d only have to see me around sometimes, we’d be in different departments.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” He says, grabbing the card.

“Good. Give my regards to Charlotte will you?”

Lip sits quietly as the older woman leaves the cafe, attempting to process what just happened. He looks down at the card one more time before shoving it in his pocket and standing to leave himself, mumbling under his breath, “‘Give my regards’ to my fuckin’ girlfriend. Like hell I will.”

“Okay, Liam, open this one next.”

Lip stands with his arm around Fiona as they watch Debbie help Liam open her present with a bright smile on her face. It’s tradition in the Gallagher household. For the whole month of December, the older three kids hide all of their money that they earn, same as usual, and put it toward the rent and bills. They work extra shifts at their jobs so that Carl and Debbie don’t have to chip in for the month, that way they can get each other and Liam presents. The older three also use anything they have left over to get each younger kid an additional gift. Finally, being the two older siblings they are, sometimes Fiona and Lip scrape together a little something extra to try and get something for Ian. This year, Mickey was here.

At first Lip had found the male Milkovich’s damn near constant presence in their home irritating, but he made Ian happy, and more stable so he tolerated it. As more time went by, Mickey became part of their routine, helping out, hanging out, pitching in money, and then Lip didn’t mind him. But now, watching the fucking thug who’d threatened to bash both his and Ian’s faces in not long ago for one reason or another roll his eyes and pretend to be in different as he offers a messily wrapped army knife to Lip’s younger brother, blushing as Ian pulls him into a brief kiss, Lip thinks he might not hate having him around. Maybe even likes it. 

“Who wants eggnog?” V calls as she carries the pitcher into the room, balancing a stack of empty cups in her other hand. 

“Me!” Carl calls trying to snatch a cup, groaning when the woman pulls it away. 

“Sorry, who’s grown and wants spiked eggnog?”

“Fuckin’ me.” Lip grunts, pouring a glass full and taking a long swig. He’d been in a shit mood all day. Watching his younger siblings open their gifts made him feel a little better, but he’d been hoping that Charlotte would be home by now. It’d been weeks since she’d left and he was starting (had been the whole fucking time) to worry that she wasn’t coming back. He couldn’t imagine that the short time they’d gotten together before she left was all he was gonna get. But then again, that was just his luck.

Fiona’s eyes land on V, a small smile on her face as she widens her eyes in silent communication. Her friend rolls her own in response, nodding exasperated, and nudges Kev. “Huh? Oh.” the man leans down and takes Liam from Debbie and lifts the boy’s bottom to his nose, sniffing his nose. “Um…Lip, man, I think Liam took a shit.”

The blond’s brows furrow as he takes another sip of eggnog. “So change him?”

“He’s uh, not my brother.”

“Oh, for christ sake,” Fiona snatches Liam back, smiling at the little boy’s giggle and shoving him into Lip’s arms. “Go change him will you?” 

Lip narrows his eyes at his sister before sighing out a ‘whatever’ and taking the boy, blowing raspberries against Liam’s cheek as he makes his way to the steps. 

As they get to Liam, Carl and Ian’s room Lip starts undoing Liam’s diaper, holding the clean one under his arm. “You having a good Christmas buddy? Huh? Is it fun? Should we play in the snow later?”

“Lip!” the boy claps, kicking his legs, antsy. 

Lip frowns in confusion as he finds a completely empty and clean diaper as he looks down at his brother. “The hell? What’re they talkin’ about? I knew you didn’t stink to me. Maybe it’s Kev, huh?” he coos, buttoning his brother back up. “Maybe he’s the one who took the shit.”

The blond fumbles around in his pocket and pulls out his phone, figuring hearing his girlfriend’s voice might put him in a better mood. “Should we call Charlotte? We miss her, don’t we buddy.”

“Lottie!” Liam screams, kicking more, giggling loudly. 

“Alright alright, keep your pants on, she’s my girlfriend, kid.” He jokes, dialing her number. The phone rings once before going to voicemail. “And I guess she’s busy. That’s okay, buddy, she’s probably just enjoying Christmas with her parents.” Lip reassures, unsure if it’s for Liam or himself. He grows even more irritated at the painful ache that forms in his chest at the thought that he won’t be hearing from her at all today. He’d called twice earlier too, only to be sent to voicemail twice. 

Hoisting the little boy up, Lip jogs back down the stairs, bouncing his brother as he goes, slowing to a halt when he enters the room and everyone seems like they just rushed back to their seat. “Why the fuck are you all being so weird? And he didn’t shit.” He says placing his little brother into Carl’s arms and going to sit again.

“Wait!” Fiona calls out, fighting back a grin. “Don’t sit down, you have to get your present now.”

“The fuck? You got me a present? Why? We could’ve used that on one of the kids-” Guilt floods him as he thinks about the fact that he hadn’t gotten Fiona anything.

“Will you stop being such a prick and go get your present? We left it in the kitchen.” Ian interrupts, kicking at Lip’s leg. “Go.” 

“What would you even get me-” Lip pauses as a thought crosses his mind. But no. No, that’s not it. It’s no fuckin’ way. He lets his eyes trail over to V who offers him a small shrug before nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen. “No fuckin’ way.” 

Lip all but sprints into the kitchen, ignoring his family’s laughter when he trips a little over the leg of the coffee table and again on one of Liam’s singing toys as he swings into the room.

“Hi, boyfriend.”

And there she is. In the flesh. Bouncing excitedly on her feet once, twice before squealing and jumping into Lip’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lip catches her easily, wrapping his own arms around her waist and squeezing tightly as he buries his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Charlotte, what the fuck?”

“Merry Christmas.” she chirps, putting her legs down and pulling back slightly, Lip follows suit, holding his arms around her loosely but refusing to fully let go.

“Yeah it fuckin’ is.” he breathes, tugging her forward into a kiss. He feels like his eyes could fucking roll back in his head. It feels so good. Touching her. Feeling her touch him. Kissing her soft lips. When he finally lets her up for air he leans his forehead against hers, matching her smile with his own. “Merry Christmas, Bunny. Uh, thanks for coming back.”

“What?” the girl scoffs, reaching up and tugging the hair at the back of his head lightly, “Are you joking? I had to.” she leans forward, rubbing her nose against his. “You’re here.”

“Fuckin’ missed you, baby.” Lip connects their lips again, hand cupping her cheek to guide her into a deeper kiss as he walks them until her lower back hits the counter.

“Alright, lovebirds, enough of that, I only promised Fiona I’d give you two minutes, it’s been five and a quarter.” Kev calls from the other room. 

Lip pulls back again, letting Charlotte walk ahead of him as he rests his hands on her shoulders following not far behind as they re-enter the room. He watches as she greets all of his siblings, hugging Debbie tightly and kissing Carl on the cheek. Tickling Liam and placing him on her lap as she leans into an embrace from Ian before Mickey reaches over and pinches her cheek. 

She’s back. She’s actually back. Lip didn’t realize how little hope he’d had that she’d come back to him until she’d actually done it. She was here, in his living room, with his family. With him. And the room feels like it has oxygen in it again. He only lets the thought of how scary it is that he feels like he’s breathing for the first time in weeks pass through the front of his head for a moment, though it still rings pretty loudly as he pushes it to his subconscious. 

Hours later the two older Gallagher siblings are cleaning up after the holiday mess. Charlotte had offered to help the younger kids to get ready for bed while Ian and Mickey went to spend some time with Mandy so she wasn’t by herself on Christmas. Kev and V returned home after being over all day, Charlotte promising to spend all day the next day with them, and them giving in with very minimal complaint when she and Lip asserted that they’d be spending the night together. 

Fiona eyes her brother as she scrubs a dish clean, watching as he continuously looks over his shoulder up the stairs. “Just go. I’ve got it.”

“Huh?”

“Go be with her, I can handle clean up, if anything you’re slowing me down, checkin’ every two seconds to see if she’s comin’ down.” She laughs, wiping hair out of her face with her forearm. 

Lip chuckles too, putting down the drying towel and squeezing his sister;s shoulder. “Thanks, Fi.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t be loud, I don’t need any of the littles gettin’ traumatized on Christmas.” She says, placing a clean plate on the rack. Fiona turns to catch her brother before he heads up the steps. “Hey, she’s a good one. And this…this looks good on you so…don’t Gallagher it up.” 

Lip pauses, thinking back to the card in his jacket pocket and the call he’d made earlier that morning. “I won’t.”

Charlotte turns as the door to Lip’s room creaks open, a wide smile spreading across her face as her boyfriend enters the room. “Hi.” she whispers.

“Hey.” he repeats back softly, closing the door quietly so as to not stir his younger siblings. Lip glances down on the floor at the discarded clothes and mess, and tries to kick it aside as he makes his way over to where Charlotte is standing. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Neither can I, if it was up to my dad I would’ve never come back out here, but Mom took my side.” she meets him the rest of the way, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulls her in by her waist. “Missed you. But, it was good to see them. Any updates here?”

Lip has to force himself to look away from her big, brown, expectant eyes. He absently thinks to himself that he’d forgotten how hard it is to be a piece of shit when she’s aiming her soft, affectionate looks at him, as if he was something good. But despite the fact that this surprise was literally all that he’d wished for, he hadn’t had time to prepare to tell Charlotte about Helene or the job. He could already picture the doubt that would form on her face as he told her that he’d be working in somewhat proximity to his professor that he’d fucked for several months, convinced himself he was in love with, and briefly attempted to stalk. He can’t even picture admitting to her he’d gone to get coffee with her.

But the alternative isn’t much better. Having Charlotte look up at him with that wide-eyed, starry look, rose petal lips smiling brightly at him. Showing him that fuckin’ dimple. And all of that being fake? Lying to her face? He couldn’t imagine being able to sleep, sure he can lie on the phone, but holding her afterward is a whole different ball game. 

So Lip chose the only intelligent option. 

Half stories and fuckin’ deny, deny, deny.

“I uh, got a new job, a paid internship. I’ll get to work in science which is cool.” he says dismissively, moving down to kiss her when she stops him.

“What?” she squeaks, smile spreading even wider. “Phillip! That’s so great! M’so happy for you, bubba!” she says bouncing where she stands and clapping her hands together. “We have to celebrate! We…we should go out some night this week. Like, get dinner or go to a bar or…” Charlotte pauses, the look on her face changing. 

“Or…?”

The woman leans forward then, kissing Lip’s nose, cheek, and jaw before dragging her way to his neck. Lip groans, mumbling a ‘fuck’ under his breath as Charlotte presses open mouthed kisses down his neck, tugging aside the collar of his shirt as she moves to the top of his chest, rubbing her hands along his abs. 

It feels good. So good, her soft hands pushing his shirt out of the way. Her lips dragging along his skin. He was immediately hard, clenching his jaw in focus as he watches his sweet girl drop to her knees in front of him, looking up at him through her long dark lashes as she began to pull his belt from its buckle.

Lip’s dreamed of this shit. Hell, he came to this thought for almost all of the nights she’d been gone. 

But there’s this fucking nagging thought in his brain. Fucking telling him over and over how he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve his beautiful, sexy, kind, loving girlfriend. He doesn’t deserve her using her money she saved from her job to take him to the fucking Chicago Sciene Institute Museum. He doesn’t deserve her begging her parents to let her come back to this shithole so they can give their relationship a real try. He doesn’t deserve the way she looks at him. 

He damn sure does not deserve to have his dick that he used to put where the fuck ever in her mouth.

“Baby, baby, wait-fuck-” he hisses as her hand pauses as it wraps around him in his boxers. “Shit, um, I don’t think we should do this right now.”

Charlotte immediately retracts her hand from him, placing them both in her lap as she sits on the floor looking at him. “Oh. Okay, did I hurt you…or like…do something you didn’t like?”

“No, no you’re” Lip joins her on the ground, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her palms repeatedly. “Perfect. You’re perfect. It’s me, I’m just…” he hesitates, wracking his brain for an excuse and also cursing himself for quite literally talking his way out of getting his dick wet. “Don’t wanna traumatize the kids on Christmas you know? Plus uh, we should probably wait for a time Carl isn’t home. Did you know he has a crush on you?”

Releasing a nervous breath Charlotte relaxes again, giggling. “Oh yeah, I kinda got that when I was walking up the street one day and he tried to get me to ride on the handlebars of his bike. He tried to push up on his tip toes and whisper ‘wait for me, baby girl’  in my ear.”

Lip chuckles, moving to sit on his butt slowly, silently willing his erection to go down and leaving his arms open for Charlotte to sit in his lap. “He’s a Gallagher, it comes with charm.” he pokes the dimple in her cheek, jolting her in his lap lightly when she snorts. “What you don’t think so?”

“Please, Ian and Liam are carrying the family name on their god damned backs.” she jokes, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “Mm and Fiona, she’s got game too. Pretty sexy.”

“Yeah? You think my sister’s hot, why don’t you go downstairs and sit on her lap, huh?” 

Charlotte turns a little to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “You think she’ll let me?”

Lip’s mouth falls open for a moment before he lets out a breathy laugh of disbelief. “Fuckin’ brat, okay, up you go.” he grabs Charlotte at her middle, pushing off of the floor and putting her over his shoulder before dropping her softly on to the bed, climbing over her and pinning her to it. “Went to Virginia and lost your fuckin’ mind. It’s funny?” he says lowly at her giggles, leaning down closer to her face. “You know what’s funny, Bunny? I still have your Christmas gift.”

Brown eyes go wide and immediately Charlotte is giggling out apologies. “Wait, wait, stop, m’sorryyy.” she hiccups as she continues to laugh, Lip’s fingers tickling her sides. “I want my gift!”

“Ask your girlfriend.” Lip jokes.

“She’s busy-” she whimpers, yelping when he intensifies his fingers movements. “You’re my boyfriend! Sorry! Please!” she laughs, kicking her legs. “Pleaseee” she pouts up at him between unhinged squeals and laughter. 

Lip stares down at the beautiful girl beneath him and can’t help put give her what she asks. Placing his hand loosely around her neck, he pulls her up to meet him halfway, pressing their lips together in a deep, brief kiss. “Need to remember who you belong to, brat.” 

He grunts as he pushes off of the bed and goes to his larger dresser, easily pushing the heavy furniture slightly away from the wall and opening what looked to be a small door to a non-functioning vent. Charlotte sits up on the bed, brows furrowing as she watches her boyfriend pull a huge jar from the opening in the wall behind his dresser, miscellaneous pieces of money, change and what appeared to be checks at the bottom. The jar wasn’t very full, only making it to the first little ridge at the bottom of the jar. As he moves closer, a serious look on his face, Charlotte immediately begins shaking her head. “Phillip you better not be trying to give me money.”

Lip places the jar on the floor in front of her before taking a deep breath and sitting next to her on the bed. “No, I’m not. Or, not really. You remember how my family has the Squirrel Fund that we hide from Frank, so we can pay our bills and eat and shit.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says softly, eyeing the jar. “I told you before I left that I think I should kick some money in if I’m gonna sleep over.”

“Yeah, over my dead fuckin’ body.” He dismisses. “This is…uh, shit this is embarrassing. I didn’t think about that part, it’s fuckin’ stupid.”

Charlotte watches as her beautiful boyfriend turns a pretty shade of pink as he stares at the floor. She slides her arm under his, intertwining their fingers and grinning when he brings his always intense blue eyes up to her face. “Go ahead, bub, I’m not laughing.”

“Shit, fuck it, okay.” he sighs. “This is the Bunny Bank.”

Charlotte’s mouth opens and closes again as she struggles to follow. “Bunny like me, Bunny?”

“Uh, yeah. I um, started to set aside money to put in this jar I fuckin’ found when you started talking to me again after that Mandy shit because, I dunno, you said we’d start hanging out and I started thinkin’ I wanted to take you to nice places. You deserve to go to nice places.”

“You,” Charlotte tilts her head to look at him better. “You started saving money to take me on dates when I was still friendzoning you?”

“Yeah?” Lip shrugs, laughing to himself softly. “I knew that I was gonna keep trying and I guess I wanted to be ready when it started working. But uh, you beat me to the first date thing, huh?” he says, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

“You deserve to go to nice places too.” she says in a small voice, leaning into his hand.

“Well, I started putting more in there over time, and uh, you know, one day I’m gonna fill it. And we can use it on dates. Or get you a nice gift like I dunno, a purse or somethin. Or we could…” Lip looks at her intently, scanning her face. “We could save it. Put it toward, you know, future stuff.”

He damn near cringes as he waits for her to pull away. Lip fully expects for Charlotte to recoil away from him, for her to wake up the second he mentions the future and remember that she’s way too fucking good for him. Hell, he’s never even thought beyond fucking a girl for a couple months outside of Karen, and even then, what he felt was nothing like this. She was like a toxic friend that he was sexually attracted to. And even with her he didn’t plan. She was satisfied with a couple of free beers and a quick fuck in the bathroom at the school. Lip knows that shit isn’t good enough for Charlotte. And he’s learned in his time with her that he wouldn’t want her to settle for that. 

He wants to be able to provide things for her, beyond a decent date once every couple of months. That’s why he started the pseudo bank and that’s why he has to lie to her so he can take this job. It’s for her. 

But he knows this is fast. Just because he can see a future with her and his feelings hit him like a fucking truck doesn’t mean she feels this way. She has a nice home away from here. She’s accustomed to nice things and guys who don’t have to take a chunk of their check and save it up to give them to her months later. She should know that she can do better, laugh at his pathetic attempt at romance and walk away. Tell him she’s not some chick from the hood he can impress with a free popsicle, his quick wit and good looks.

Lip is fully prepared to backtrack what he said, saying that any mention he made of the future was a fucking joke and distracting her by eating her out or something. But he doesn’t get the chance. 

He watches in awe as Charlotte reaches down her own shirt, digging in her own bra and producing what appeared to be two twenty dollar bills, folded up and warm from her skin. Manicured hands drop the money into the jar before the girl places her hand back in his, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Charlotte nudges Lip’s arm with her own, and looks at him as if he fucking hung the moon and stars. “I like the last thing. Let’s save it. For future stuff.”

Lip doesn’t even get a chance to stop it. He doesn’t know if it's the confirmation that she sees a future with him too, now matter how long that is. Or maybe it’s the pretty way she’s staring up at him or him still reeling from the fact that she’s here. Or the fact that his pretty little prissy thing literally just produced forty dollars from her bra for them to save as a couple. Hell, he thinks it's probably all of it. But it comes out like fuckin word vomit.

“I love you.” 

#oc #fiona gallagher #ian gallagher #kevin ball #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x oc #lip gallagher x reader #shameless #veronica fisher #gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #charlotte fisher #phillip gallagher

[selineram3421]

An Ansgty fic about Platonic!Angel Dust with a 13 y/o fem!reader that has very bad trust issues but they somehow manage to form a strong big bro <--> lil sis bond??? Maybe he comes back to the hotel all bruised up thanks to Valentino (ugh, how I hate that man 👌👁👄👁) and when reader tries to help him he snaps due to the stress of the situation and yells at her/throws something her way and now the reader is scared that Angel might hurt her, so he reaches out slowly trying to make it up for his error but the reader flinches away from him, running stairs down to lock herself in her room and to not came out for 1 week only letting Charlie and Nifty enter her room??

I agree, Valentino is literal garbage.

You Ok?

Angel and Child (T) Fem Reader

Platonic Oneshot

Warning! ⚠

⚠ using she/they for reader, trust issues, trauma/ptsd, Valentino being a piece of shit, injuries-blood/bruising, yelling/throwing things, mentions of murder, hurt/comfort ⚠

~

"I'm gonna head to work.", Angel says, picking up his bag with work items and putting on his jacket.

"Ok.", you nod, carrying Fat Nuggets.

"If ya go out, make sure you ain't followed. Keep an eye on your surroundings, be sure ta take your phone and a weapon.", your older brother says and pats the top of your head.

You nod again with a smile.

"Good. You have my number and the hotel staff is around, 'kay? Make sure ta tell 'em somethin' if some guest is being an asshole to you.", he says and kisses Fat Nuggets on the top of their head. "There's a twenty in my vanity drawer, bye!"

Once he leaves, you and Fat Nuggets look at each other.

"Wanna raid the candy pantry?", you ask, earning an oink in return. "I didn't hear a no!"

Putting the pig down, you go out of Angel's hotel room and close the door behind you two.

"Ok, on three.", you get ready to run. "One, two.."

The pink little pig also readies himself.

"Three!", you shout.

Both of you race down the hall.

.

"What did I say Angel baby?"

The spider demon backed up till he hit a wall, having no where to run. Valentino steps closer, placing a hand on his employee's cheek.

"I told you not to talk when dancing. You know how much costumers like quiet pretty things.", the moth demon coos softly.

Its a false sense of security.

The soft touch turns into a violent one when Valentino clutches onto the spider's jaw tightly.

"Ack!", Angel gasps and tries to push the demon's hand away.

"Let's teach you again, yes?"

🕸

Hours have passed.

You and Fat Nuggets lay on the lobby couches, bored out of your minds.

There was not much to do.

You were sitting at the bar with your pig companion, playing find the broken glass. But Husk quickly told you to beat it and that he didn't want to deal with anyone today.

"He deals with random demons all the time! Dang cat works at the bar for Satan's sake!", you huff.

"Oink oink", Fat Nuggets snorts.

"Yeah, yeah. I know.", you reply and turn to lay on your side. "Charlie is doing whatever, Vaggie is with her, Niffty is..somewhere, and the red guy doesn't like being around me or Angel.", you list of with a groan. "And Pentious is annoying."

The pig rolls onto his stomach and sniffs at you with little snorts.

"I just wish there was more fun around here. I can't really do anything.", you mumble.

The sound of the lobby doors opening catches your attention, making you sit up from the couch and look to see who walked in.

Its your brother, covered in bruises and blood. He wears a pained grimace as he limps into the lobby.

"Angel!", you shout, rolling off the couch and run up to him. "Are you ok? What happened? Oh god, your eye is swelling. Let's get you some ice and-", you reach out to him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!", he snaps, hitting you away with his bag and letting it go.

The bag slams into the wall and falls to the floor, the room becoming deadly silent.

.

Angel just got back from work and everything hurt. Valentino kicked him out for the day since the bruises wouldn't look too attractive to costumers.

All he saw was red but his other senses were on high. So the spider demon reacted on instinct when there was a loud voice and a hand coming toward him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

He knows the bag hit someone before flying to the wall. When he takes a second to calm down and looks at the small demon backing up, he realizes who it was.

"Oh shit-", Angel gasps, letting your name slip out with guilt. "Kid, I didn't mean to-", he moves forward with a hand lifting up towards her.

She flinches back clutching their arm, shivering in fear as tears roll down their cheeks.

"Don't touch me!", she manages to get out before running off.

"Wait, kid!", he tries to go after them but hisses at the pain coming from his leg.

Stumbling over to the wall, Angel leans against it and slowly lowers himself onto the floor. The spider demon doesn't notice he's crying until Fat Nuggets comes up to him to lick off the tears that have fallen on his hands.

"I'm sorry.", he whispers before closing his eyes tightly and sobbing, covering his face with two of his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!", his other set of arms wrap around his legs as he balls himself up before whimpering out another apology.

🕸

You locked yourself up in your hotel room and the little door for Fat Nuggets. Not wanting to risk it, you also angled a chair under the doorknob. Just the thought of Angel kicking down your door and beating you was terrifying.

Not again. I don't want that to happen again. You think of how your living life was and close your eyes. They're dead! I killed them twice! They're gone!

There was some comfort from holding the pillow and burying your face into it. All you wanted to do was stay hidden away until he forgot about you.

A knock on the door made you jump.

"Hey, you ok in there?", the voice of the princess comes through. "I brought dinner."

You slowly get off the bed and quietly make your way over to the door. Taking a peak through the gap on the bottom of the door and feeling the vibrations on the floor, you confirm that its only her outside.

Upon the door opening slowly, Charlie smiles at you in relief.

"Alastor made your favorite.", the blonde says.

"Thanks Ch-Charlie.", you stutter and quickly take the plate, widening the door gap for a second to bring the food inside, closing the door and locking it.

"Oh. I wanted to talk, is that ok?", she asks.

"I don't really want to go out and talk right now.", you say, moving the chair back.

"How about just talking like this? You don't have to leave your room or open the door.", the princess offers. "I just want to make sure you're ok."

"I'm..ok.", you say, rubbing your arm.

"Mentally?", she asks.

You stay quiet for a few seconds.

"Is anyone mentally ok in Hell?", you answer her question with a question.

She sighs and you hear her shift outside the door. You sit down, leaning your back against the wall and pick at your food.

"That is a really good question.", Charlie says. "However the answer is obvious."

You eat a bit of the food.

"Can you tell me what happened?", she asks after a bit.

"Angel-", you take in a deep breath before continuing. "Angel came back from work all beat up. I was worried a-and reached out to him but then he..", you take another breath, feeling your chest ache at the memory. "He hit me with his bag."

Your curl up into a ball and hug yourself.

"Is he ok?", you ask in a whisper.

"Vaggie took care of him, he's ok.", she says.

"That's good.", you hiccup, hugging yourself tighter.

"I'll come back in the morning, or I'll send Niftty to check up on you, ok?", Charlie says.

You can hear shifting outside. She probably sat on the floor too.

"Thank you for telling me. That took a lot of courage.", she says before saying goodnight and leaving.

.

Angel skipped work.

He didn't want to go back, and he also needed to apologize to you. Problem was that you didn't leave your hotel room for almost a whole week, only opening the door for Niffty or Charlie. The princess suggested that they'd do a therapy session, but he didn't want to do that. It would make it seem forced and he wanted his sister to know that he was not forced to apologize.

So on the seventh day of her being locked up in her room, he got all of their favorite snacks and went over.

Angel knocked on their door, but she didn't answer. "Hey, I got you some snacks.", the spider demon says.

Nothing.

"You ok kid? You've been in your room for a week now. Everyone's been worried. Heck, even Husk!", he waits for a response, but still doesn't get one.

Sighing, he goes to sit down and leans his back against the door, placing the snacks next to him.

"I should'a came by and said this earlier but I'm sorry.", he says and looks down at the floor. "I didn't mean to hit you, I reacted on instinct. It..", he bites his lip before continuing. "It was a trauma response. I heard you being loud and when you tried to touch me I freaked out."

He looks up and covers his eyes with one of his arms, trying not to cry.

"I just want you ta know that I'd never hurt you on purpose. And-", he sniffs and starts wiping the tears that start falling. "What I did wasn't ok and I understand if you don't trust or forgive me, I understand if you hate me now and never want to speak or see me again.", the mascara he had put on earlier was now ruined. "I just want you to know its ok. All I want is for you to be safe. I'll be happy with just knowing that you're ok."

Suddenly he falls back, before he can hit the ground, he's engulfed into a hug from behind. The spider demon feels her hold onto him tighter and also as she leans her head against his back.

"You're ok, right?", they mumble. "You're not hurt anymore?"

"I'm ok.", he confirms, moving an arm back to pat the top of her head. "Are you ok? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

His sister nods and sniffles.

"C'mon. Sibling cuddle therapy.", he says before moving them into a proper hug, letting her rest their head on his chest. "Let's watch movies and get sugar high, we can even do some pranks on the girls.", he lists off, petting their head with one hand and rubbing their back with another as the other set of arms just holds them.

"Mhm.", she hums in agreement.

"Ok, I'ma pick ya up now. 'kay?", he says and lifts them up after they nod, making sure to grab the snacks as well.

He carries them over to his room.

"Fat Nuggets misses ya.", he said before opening the door.

"I missed him too.", his sister replied. "I missed you."

"I missed you too kid."

~

Charlie and Vaggie saw the whole thing on the security cameras.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb

ML for Angel Dust🕸

#x reader #gn reader #gn child reader #child reader #teen reader #gn teen reader #angel dust and child reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #spider demon #platonic #fanfic #angel dust oneshot #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel fat nuggets #hazbin hotel pentious #hazbin hotel valentino #child teen reader #found family is best family #found family #sibling relationship #big brother angel dust #angel dust and reader #angel dust & reader

[joels6string]

dear santa,

i mean, dear kate* 🫣

can i wish a very spicy joel miller story? as if the ones you wrote weren’t spicy and perfect enough… BUT! maybe something like enemies to lovers?

i actually have no idea what i’m asking. you’re the mastermind here. anything joel related, i want it on my desk 😮‍💨🫶

Merry Angst-mas for this one. I swear the other prompts are very lighthearted and happy. Like, Joel ice skating, and modern AU snowstorm hero... don't give up on me 😂

Damned If I Do

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You hate him, he hates you. It's as simple as that, right?

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.1k

Content: Enemies to lovers. The two main food groups: Smut and Sad. Creator has chosen to not give content warnings, read at your own risk.

“You give a shit about me, Miller?” you asked, trying to taunt but only sounding as desperate as he did. Despite his words over the months you’d known him, his actions had certainly always told a different story, one he was trying to keep from pouring free right now. “Tryin’ not to.” “Why’s that?” “Lovin’ me’s a curse.”

The mood was somber, even more so than usual. It was December, the frigid winter air whipping through the Boston quarantine zone, the dilapidated building you were currently holed up in doing little to keep you from its stinging bite.

“You gonna be a god damn liability again this time?” The voice made your skin crawl.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” you grumbled under your breath, it was no use arguing with him.

Tess had gone ahead to negotiate the terms of your impending deal, leaving you and Joel to wait for the upcoming weapons haul pickup that had been looming over your head for days. You’d chosen Christmas Eve in hopes that the military personnel surrounding every wall of the zone would be scarce, on holiday leave, doing something other than their damn worthless jobs for once. Not that there was shit to celebrate anyway.

“I asked you a question,” he barked in response to your muttering, his face severe when you dared a peek at it.

“I don’t know, Miller,” you sneered, “Just let them take me out this time and put us both out of our fucking misery, huh?”

“I’d never hear the end of it.”

Tess would give him an earful. Sometimes you thought the threat of Tess’ wrath was the only thing keeping you alive, this was doing enough to prove that to be true. When the woman in question returned to you and him on opposite sides of the room facing your respective walls, she sternly reminded you both that lives were on the line. Now wasn’t the time for bickering and your heads belonged in the game, not your asses. You both begrudgingly agreed.

When it came down to it, it was your turn to put a bullet between the eyes of someone that had Joel by the throat long enough to make his vision blacken at the fringe, the ice beneath his cheek brutal and sharp as he fell to the ground with a huff.

“You’re welcome,” you snapped, stepping over his gasping body without so much as a glance down, his furious snarl still audible over the winds.

It had been a setup, of course, hunters almost picking the three of you off when you got to the abandoned drop zone.

“Thought you negotiated this shit, Tess!?” Joel barked, throwing his bloodied baseball bat onto the ground with a heavy thud, “We come out here just for a quick shoot out and frostbite or you got somethin’ else up those sleeves of yours?”

“I thought it was sound!” she snapped back, guilt heavy in her voice as she accepted her error in ways Joel could never.

“Yeah, Merry fuckin’ Christmas–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Joel,” you interjected, exasperated, cold, and perturbed beyond a reasonable limit, “You wouldn’t have done any fucking better–”

“I would have made damn sure I wasn’t bringin’ either of you to a god damn ambush! That’s what I woulda done!”

“Well, you were a great help tonight–”

Your words were cut short by a hand clamping over your mouth, the frozen sharp tip of a knife knicking into the soft skin of your throat. The ice scattered throughout the cracked pavement made it impossible to get your footing as you were dragged backward, your heart pounding as you watched Joel’s eyes widen in panic, his revolver drawn and aimed, his gaze begging for a clear shot. Looks like he’d get his Christmas wish after all.

There was no use in fighting it, if anything having the warmth of a body pressed behind you would have you one less step from miserable as you took your last breaths. You hoped he made it quick, you weren’t in the damn mood for games or semantics. Joel wouldn’t trade a dirty sock for your life, but that look in his eyes before you were pulled from his sight had certainly been unexpected. 

He and Tess had probably run off, who knew who else was coming, this man couldn’t be alone. They were smart to do so. Ammo was running low, stamina even lower, and even at their best, they couldn’t take out another squadron of hunters. You’d made it 15 years in this God-forsaken world, it was a lot more than most could boast. Somehow dying at the filthy hands of this human felt worse than getting infected, at least those monsters didn’t know any better.

Even through the thick canvas of your jacket, you felt the burn of the pavement scraping your elbows, your hiss of discomfort pulling a sneering smile.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and you curled your lip as your eyes rolled, Joel's voice echoing in your head, ‘Don’t gimme that sass.”

Had it been an hour? Maybe two? You couldn’t tell. The darkness was unforgiving and unwavering, the cold setting into your bones as you shivered knees to your chest in an attempt to preserve your body heat. You’d be dead by morning from hypothermia alone. Gunshots rang out, screams and cries, yelps, glass shattering. What the fuck? What kind of hell zone was this? Crawling to peer around the old metal shipping container you’d been stashed in, your curious gaze was met with the sight of Joel Miller bashing at your captor’s head with a brick, blood splattered across his face, eyes alight with rage. 

“Joel…” you gasped through numbed lips, you’d never been happier to see that sour face in your life, his expression softening as the man in his grasp fell to the ground in a gory heap.

“There you are,” you sighed, “Let’s go. Can you walk?”

His heavy coat he’d slipped over your shoulders swallowed you whole as you led you through the still hunter-infested maze. Ducking behind crates and in abandoned buildings, he had the exact route mapped to have you free and clear within minutes, the walls of Boston greeting you just as the feeling had returned to the tips of your toes. He was silent on the route back, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to ensure you were safely behind him periodically, the sphere emanating from your flashlight highlighting the silver hairs streaking through the black on the back of his head. 

“Stop,” he instructed, tanks driving by as a new congregation of troops gathered right outside the final building that led to safety, “Shit. This might be as far as we get til dawn.”

“Great,” you scoffed.

“Let’s go up, keep eyes on ‘em.”

With enemies so close, a fire was out of the question, your chattering teeth and tensed muscles hard to ignore as you stared at the hulking form staring out the shattered window.

“Joel…” you finally sounded, his head ticking towards you the only acknowledgment you received, “Why’d you come back?”

“If anyone’s gonna kill ya, it’s gonna be me,” he teased, a puff of breath glowing in the moonlight leaking in around him, “and now we’re even.”

“We’re even…”

Of course it was about evening the score. You’d saved his life, he’d saved yours, though you were almost positive you were still deep in his debt. It wasn’t often Joel needed a helping hand. He was as formidable as he was cold, that stony expression rarely breaking. Except it had, tonight. You hadn’t forgotten.

“Joel…” you called again, his body turning now to face you pathetically shivering in the corner. You hoped he didn’t make you ask, it was already mortifying insinuating it.

“I got you,” he cooed, leaving his post and gesturing for you to lean forward as he approached, nestling in behind you, legs on either side caging you in, his arms wrapping around your middle as you nestled back against him.

Even in nothing but a worn-out flannel, he was warm, your sigh of relief drawing a muted chuckle from his chest as you melted in his hold. Bygones could be bygones, the chill you swore would be permanent dissipating with each deep breath you were now able to take. It had been years since you’d been this close to another human in a non-threatening manner, the first time someone cradled you against them, allowing you a moment of solace and safety. You’d never expected to find that safety here, in these arms.

“You can sleep,” he permitted, your body immediately accepting the offer and drifting off, your head lolling beneath his chin as his thick beard caught on your hair.

Gray light filled the dingy room as your eyes fluttered open. You were sweating now, your neck straining beneath a heavy weight settled on your head, heavy breaths echoing in your ear. Joel. He was asleep behind you, his cheek resting on you from where you’d spent your night pressed into him, his arms still tightly wrapped around you even passed out cold. At the first twitch of your head, he was rousing, grunting as he became alert once again.

Shifting enough to peer up at him, you watched his hazel eyes wake in the eerie glow of dawn before they locked with yours, the stone chipped away just enough to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked softly, keeping the proximity you’d woken in instead of pulling away like you’d expected him to.

All you could muster was a shrug, his plush lips too close for you to concentrate.

“I can’t do this…” he whimpered, his tone stabbing you right in the chest, “Stop making me give a shit about you.”

“You give a shit about me, Miller?” you asked, trying to taunt but only sounding as desperate as he did. Despite his words over the months you’d known him, his actions had certainly always told a different story, one he was trying to keep from pouring free right now.

“Tryin’ not to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Lovin’ me’s a curse.”

That didn’t matter. You’d danced with the devil already, what was one more tango? His hair was softer than you thought it would be when your fingers weaved into the strands on the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours in a daring risk of affection. You weren’t sure what shocked you more, your bravery or the fact that he greedily accepted your kiss, one large palm splaying across your stomach that was currently churning with something you hadn’t felt in over a decade.

It was all teeth and pressure, tongues wrestling as you tugged him closer by the hold on his hair, his body turning to face yours and press you down onto the cold wood of the floor, one hand cupping the back of your head to save it from the splintering surface. Your hands started on his belt first, your mouths still devouring the other as months of pent-up tension and hidden desires spilled over, your lungs selfishly inhaling his carnal groan as you gripped his cock as it sprang free and dragged your fist along his impressive length. Control was forgotten as you leaned up and captured his bottom lip again, his mind unable to focus on both your mouth and your hand as you continued to tug, his reciprocating kiss always slightly too late as his hips began to rock into your hold.  

“Turn,” he commanded, his voice giving no room for objection, “S’too cold for any other way.”

As much as you wanted to argue, he was right. You obeyed, presenting yourself to him on all fours before your jeans were pulled just past the swell of your ass, his hands squeezing at your searing globes voraciously. You wished you could see his face. Slick fingers swiped over your pulsing hole, swirling spit around to ease his plunge into your waiting depths. You were quivering with anticipation, a stark contrast from last night as every inch of you burned now even in the subzero December temperatures. 

Even if you wanted to stop it, you wouldn’t have been able to contain the lewd cry that erupted as you stretched around him. The feeling of his shaft slowly slipping inside of you made you realize just how soaked you were, his path unhindered on its way into the deepest parts of your body. You knew he could feel it, too, his hands shaking where they held you in place around your waist, breaths audibly ragged as he bottomed out.

“Shush now, darlin’,” he soothed, once again stroking over the plushness of your hips, “I can’t kill a man in this state.”

If that was intended to calm you down, he’d failed. Your cunt clenched around him so tightly he chuckled gruffly, pulling out and snapping his hips back against your ass just hard enough to have you jerking forward and keening, your teeth sinking into the sleeve of his jacket still loosely hanging on your much smaller frame. It didn’t take long for his pace to regulate, hard and fast just as you expected him to be, your arousal leaking down your inner thighs as he pinpointed the velvety patch decorating your inner wall, his precision just as accurate as he was with a rifle.

The limitations were agonizing. You wanted more. You wanted to marvel at the way his lips were parted and the hazel of his eyes swallowed by blackened lust, grip his chest and his neck, swallow his muted whines, and whisper how fucking good he felt into the soft, scarred skin of his neck. Pressure was building immeasurably quick, his rough fingers now rubbing circles over your clit leaving you nothing but a boneless heap in his hands. He was holding you upright now, your body limp for him to use as he saw fit, but the only thing he chased was your release.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, “just let it go for me.”

Who were you to deny him anything? You clamped down around him as the elastic band in your belly finally snapped, shockwaves electrifying every nerve from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull, your eyes rolling back in your head as you chanted his name like a prayer. He followed not long after, pulling out with a roar and emptying onto an old rag he’d grabbed from the floor, his chest heaving as he moaned in relief. You wanted to scramble over to him, kiss his cheek, temple, eye, forehead, anything you could reach as he finished in the absence of your warmth, but you were too spent, too delirious, too thoroughly fucked to move quickly enough.

“Joel…” you whimpered, searching for him in the still-dim space, your hand reaching up and waiting for his fingers to intertwine with, “Joel…”

“I’m right here,” he answered as he gave you what you were searching for, his lips pressing to the back of your palm as he pulled you back into his chest, “We need to go. Tess’ll be worried.”

When you returned, you didn’t need to tell Tess what had transpired, she could tell. But even with her deduced knowledge, she kept her lips sealed. Maybe she knew Joel would tuck and run the moment he was caught, or that he’d recognize what a liability this was in a world such as this. A liability he’d come to terms with faster than he would have liked.

Two months later as February began to slide into March, a hoard of infected was an unexpected addition to your supply run. It was just you and him, it was meant to be simple, and it was, or so he thought.

“Let’s go,” he panted, “More’ll come. We can go another day without.”

“Joel…” you mewled, tears welling in your eyes as he continued to scout the area, “Joel!”

“What? Sweetheart, we gotta go.”

“You gotta go.”

“What the hell are you talk–”

Part of you wished you’d never told him. That you’d run off into the woods and let the last image you had of him be with his revolver in one hand and a machete in the other, doing what he did best with his brute strength and unmatched finesse. Because now, now you’d die with the snapshot of his horror-stricken face staring down at your outstretched palm, frozen, in denial, and forlorn.

“The hell is that?” he asked as if you’d have another explanation.

“You know what it is,” you replied, swallowing your own sorrow, he needed you to be strong now. 

“No. No. No, that’s…that’s somethin’ else.”

“Stop–”

“Tell me it’s somethin’ else.”

“Joel, please!”

The way he muttered Jesus fucking Christ under his breath as he turned was the final swing on your shattering resolve, a hand dragging down his face as the other dropped to his hip, his blade plummeting to the pavement with a shrill clang as he let it fall from his grip. You stood still as a statue, watching him come to terms with those teeth marks pierced into the hand that had cupped his jaw so tenderly this morning as he’d kissed you awake. 

“I warned you,” he finally said, turning to reveal his soaked cheeks and reddening eyes, “I told you I was a curse.”

“That really what you want to talk about right now?” you pressed, your chest burning as you fought the sobs clawing to get free. 

“What do you want me to do?”

Your final wish. It wasn’t hard to decipher what he meant, one of you had to do it. 

“I can do it,” you assured, puffing your chest out in a masquerade of bravery and strength, he could see right through it, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.

“No you can’t,” he resigned after clearing his throat and repressing the rage and grief already surging through him, pulling his pistol from the back of his waistband, “Lay down, I can’t watch you fall.”

“Joel, I can–”

“Just…do it.”

The grass was cool against your cheek, its soft caresses weren’t the worst things to feel with your final breaths. Your tears decorated the blades like the dew drops not due for another few months, your heart thudding between your chest and the ground, Joel’s footsteps somehow in tune with every slam of it against your sternum. 

Where you expected the muzzle of a pistol, you felt his large palm stroking gently over the back of your head, his lips pressing to your hair one last time and lingering as the wound on your hand pulsed like a warning beacon. You knew you still had time, but the urgency had begun to eat you alive with every dragging second.

“Get on with it, Miller,” you pushed, refusing to give him your eyes, he’d hesitate. You knew that. “Waiting won’t make it any easier.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, he was crying again, “I’m sorry…” and that was the last thing you heard before the click of a trigger.

Joel Miller Masterlist

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