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familyvideostevie · 7 months

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

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

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strawhatsoraya · 2 years

Note

Hi! you work is amazing, can i request a nsfw headcanon for Zoro, Law, Kid and Ace (i don't know what number of characters are your limit) being very sexual frustrated bc their partern doesn't want to have sex with them? They think there's something wrong with them as boyfriends but they're more calm after they overhears that S/O is just too nervous to do it due to how big are

Anon, I don't know how long it's been. I'm not gonna pretend to keep track of time anymore. I live in the Twilight Zone where everything is dated 2 weeks ago. I have taken your request and written the headcanons as little ficlets/drabbles. Thank you for the request!

If you were to tell the truth, you shouldn’t have drunk as much as you did.

If you were to tell the truth, you should be canoodling up to your boyfriend, thigh flushed against thigh, whispering lewd promises into his ear.

Instead, you were too busy avoiding the subject. Shame and embarrassment pulses through your veins, the same way the alcohol you gulped down your throat did. You’re thankful for the flush it brings to your cheeks. At least you can blame it on something other than yourself.

You felt his gaze on you all throughout dinner: hungry, starved, almost pleading.

There’s a dip at your stomach, one you can’t quite decipher–or you try not to. The truth was, your boyfriend was damn near irresistible. Wanting, or lack thereof, had never been the issue. The issue was that you–by all means–were a coward of a pirate. You never dreamed of the day you’d run away from a challenge but every time you came so close to giving in, to throwing caution to the wind, and everything be damned–if you split in half, then you’d split in half, and die in ecstasy–you always ended up running away.

You consider jumping ship–exposing yourself to the elements, or letting yourself fall into the depths of the ocean. Anything was preferable than openly admitting to your boyfriend your cowardice over what he might consider a trivial matter. Close to intoxication and close to tears, you turn to your best friend for advice.

Portgas D. Ace

He never thought he’d be lucky enough to be loved the way you love him. He never thought, not even in his wildest dreams, that he’d be allowed to love someone like you. You were always so warm, so kind, so easy to be around. Your laugh was the spark to light the fire in his heart day after day. He wanted nothing more than to return the favor, even if he felt he could never give you as much as you gave him.

He was never good with words. They always tumbled out of his mouth, in the wrong direction; too scratchy, too many sharp edges. He thought he was better with his hands. He wanted to show you how much he cared about you, how much he appreciated you–and how much he wanted you. Your body was soft, and pliable under his hot hands. Your kisses scattered goosebumps across his body every time. It seemed like you wanted him too, every time he’d grind against you while making out, every time his hands would grope your ass.

Yet you always stopped him before it got that far.

Ace slams his mug down on the table, beer sloshing over the mug’s lip and spilling over his hands. He bites down on his teeth, until his jaw hurts.

“This is ridiculous!” he hisses, eyes slightly unfocused as he glares across the table at Marco.

Marco in his infinitesimal amount of patience, casually throws back the remainder of his drink, tanned throat exposed. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, licking a corner of his lips where a drop of beer had collected.

Ace glares at Marco’s neck, wishing he could wrap his fingers around it and strangle him.

“How exactly am I ridiculous? What are you trying to say? Can you speak plainly for once?” Ace barks his questions–a metaphorical barrage of fists he tries to aim at Marco’s impudent face.

“I would,” Marco starts holding out his mug for it to be refilled. “If you’d let me get a word in. This is part of your problem.” Marco pauses, and raises a brow. Ace lights the tip of one index finger and contemplates tracing that questioning eyebrow to burn the hair right off. “You’re probably coming on way too strong.”

Ace groans. “Shut the fuck up,” he whines, as he leans over, elbows on the table. His face is hiding behind his unusually warm hands when your voice floats over to him; a siren at sea swimming in circles around his head.

“Honestly!” your voice is thin–embarrassed, and when he peeks through his fingers to look for you–he sees you quickly run a hand through your hair; a tell tale sign of your discomfort. “That’s not the case at all.”

There’s giggling at the table as the nurses crowd around you. He sees the redhead lean over, a mischievous grin on her face. “Aren’t you at least a little curious? You have been fooling around for months. It’s about time.”

You groan as you finish your drink–it was bright blue from where he sees it swirling in your glass. “Yes, but–” You cut yourself off to sigh before proceeding: “The problem isn’t that I don’t want to. I do,” you finish, cheeks aflame. “The problem is that...” You abandon your glass on the table to gesture with your hands, fingers splayed, a big space between your palms. “The problem is he’s–” your eyes grow wide. “So big!”

He is used to the heat of his own body–a sense of being under the sun even on the cloudiest day–but it still fears searing when your words finally sink in. A hook pulls at the pit of his stomach, threatening to bring him down, ship and all. He stands up abruptly. A drink spills, and he vaguely hears Marco saying something about decorum but he flips him off as he walks away.

All he can hear, and all he can see is you at that table, cheeks bright and your mouth that was too busy smiling at others instead of kissing him. Ace interrupts your little group talk, and you stand up stammering an excuse.

“I need to borrow y/n,” he says to the crowd, a big smile on his freckled face. “I saw a seagull and I need her to go look at it.”

It was the stupidest thing you had ever heard, but you still nod enthusiastically and allow him to lead you away. You’re in his familiar room aboard the ship, when you prepare to launch your interrogation. You don’t have time. He crashes his mouth against yours before you can speak. His hands are fiery as they travel up your back, underneath your shirt. As you gasp, he slips his soft tongue into your mouth, brushes it against yours. Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall. He nips at your jaw, hot and wet kisses trailing behind him as he moves towards your neck. As he sucks on your pulse, so hard you are sure he’ll leave a mark behind, his hips start pressing into yours. You feel him hard under his pants, his cock teasing you; reminding you of what you had been so scared to face head on.

You moan when his hands slide away from your back and towards your chest. He kneads your breasts gently.

“If that’s what you’re so worried about,” he mumbles to the crook of your neck, pressing his hardened cock against your heated core. “You should have told me sooner.” He bites down on the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, dig your nails into his back. He moans softly, hips never stopping. You feel yourself grow wetter every time he brushes against your sensitive nub just right.

“I’ll get you fired up enough,” he mumbles against your neck, licks up the column of it with the flat of his tongue. You feel the trail of saliva hot, then cold as the air hits it. There are goosebumps running across your body.

“You’re gonna be so wet,” he says almost in a whine against your ear. “Fitting me in won’t be a problem at all.” His breath is hot as his lips brush the shell of your ear, and his fingers even hotter as he slips one hand between your legs. He presses up against your dripping slit, pushing your panties into you. “Get ready, babe. Here I come.”

Eustass Kid

Kid was aware of his limitations. He was not gentle, or soft. He could not grasp tiny little pieces of metal between his index finger and his thumb. He also knew what he was good at. Your aversion to his tactics of seduction made him feel almost incompetent. Almost. Because he knew there was no way his skills had grown rusty, or tattered. He was damn good at it. He was sure, after all, because he could feel your slick coating his fingers when he’d rifle through your folds. You’d lay squirming, and panting underneath him, face flushed, neck and chest wearing matching splotches of pink and reds.

The way you’d moan his name as you’d cum around his fingers, was enough for him to know you liked it. You’d cling to his broad back, fingernails scratching down lines on his skin. You wanted him. He knew that much. Then why did you keep running away? You had come so close to letting him go all the way. He had been there, angry red tip literally at your dripping entrance, before you balked and called the whole thing off.

Kid was many things, but he knew when ‘stop’ meant stop.

It didn’t mean he was happy about it.

He couldn’t take it out on you, and someone had to pay–so he made the crew his targets. They were easy pickings, and it helped ease his mood slightly; very very slightly. His large feet clank down the corridor, Killer by his side mumbling softly about his attitude. Kid considers telling him to ease himself off the ship, or to suck his dick if he’s so inclined to be on it and all over his business when he hears your voice around the corner.

“No no,” your voice is insistent. He stops just around the corner, and peeks around even when he feels Killer’s hand on his shoulder. Kid shrugs him off. “I mean, he’s already so big, like generally speaking!” you enthuse in a loud whisper, which Eustass finds isn’t a whisper at all. “But when we kiss…” you trail off, and shift your weight on the spot. The sight of you, wiggling shyly, eyes downcast is enough to pull a crooked smile out of him. “And, well I’ve seen it and I don’t think it’ll fit. That’s all I’m saying.”

He tries not to laugh. He tries really hard, but the barking laughter comes out anyway. It echoes in the corridor as he stomps towards you. Your eyes grow wide, and before you can stammer a greeting, he is picking you up.

“Let’s go,” he says as he throws you over his shoulder. You squeak, face growing hotter. He raises a hand and brings it down on your ass, the sound of a resounding slap filling your ears. He walks awkwardly, his stiffened cock between his legs demanding attention. In his bedroom, he tosses you on the bed. Your hands go out as he climbs over you. You try to press them against his barrel chest. “I gotta tell you,” he mumbles against your cheek. His tongue is hot as he licks up your face. “I’m not a liar.”

You shiver underneath him, and rub your legs together. His voice is gravely, and it scratches over your skin. You feel your panties growing wet.

“So I can’t say I’ll be gentle,” he speaks into your hair, fingers grasping the fabric of your shirt. He pulls, and buttons tear and scatter–flying across the room. You gasp as your skin is exposed to the cool air, and to Eustass’ heated gaze. He looks as if he has been starved for days, and he would want nothing more than to devour you whole, bones and all. When he drags his eyes away from your heaving chest, he meets your gaze and it takes your breath away. Kid licks his lips. “Feel free to slap me or choke me if you need me to stop,” he drawls out of the corner of his crooked smile. “Although,” his smile grows slightly sinister, a smirk that makes your body grow cold and hot all at once. “I might be into that too.”

Trafalgar D. Law

He would sooner die than admit it. He would sooner bite his tongue, and choke on his blood than to admit the selfish side of him; how needy and desperate he can be for your touch, to feel satisfaction as he drowns inside you, buried to the hilt, just like he fantasizes about every night. Law would sooner die than to push you into doing something you're not comfortable with, and so he deals with his stiff little problem all on his own. For weeks, he furiously pumps his fist over his cock, neck strained, chest rising and falling as he tries to smother his own moans. No matter how vivid his imagination can be, no matter what scenario he can picture, it is never enough. His hand is too familiar; not soft enough, not warm enough, never wet enough no matter how many globs of spit he drops on the bulbous tip of his cock.

If he got into the habit of being honest with himself, Law would admit that honestly: he just wants to hear you fall apart as he pounds into you. He wants to see your tears cling to your curly lashes, and wants to see your bottom lip quiver as you struggle to take the full length of his cock.

He tries to reign in these thoughts as he swirls a gulp of whiskey around his mouth. He is embarrassingly at half mast under the table, Bepo chattering away at his elbow. His golden gaze takes in the shape of your shoulders from a distance. Penguin and Shachi are having a conversation about wanted posters, one they keep trying to enthusiastically drag him into. Law purposefully ignores them. Your face is enigmatic as you talk to Ikkaku and he strains his ears to hear you over his chatty crewmates.

“He’s scary,” you say, one palm slapping the table noisily. Your fingers are splayed, and your eyes wide. Law frowns at the sight and at your words. He doesn’t get to ponder over it further before the conversation starts up again.

Ikkaku scoffs at you, and shakes her head as she pours rum into your shot glass. “I can sympathize,” she begins, although she wears a frown. “But then, why are you two dating again? I know the captain can be a little intimidating.”

You shake your head furiously, hair moving with your actions.

“That’s not what I meaaann,” you whine, cheeks flushed bright. Law scoffs. You were a terrible drinker. He did not understand why you insisted on the habit. “He’s not scary like that. His…” You stop and press your lips together, trying to think of how to phrase it better. You use your hand and point upwards, imitating a gesture Law uses a lot, but suddenly you point the finger down to the table. Ikkaku’s eyes slowly follow your actions. “Little Law is the scary one!”

You tell her, you’ve felt it before, as you sat on his lap, tongues brushing hotly against one another. You had felt it, hot and thick against your core, when his mouth was busy sucking on your nipples, making you so wet you’d grind desperately against him–anything for a form of release.

Ikkaku shrugs and throws back a shot of rum.

“Can’t relate!” she declares without an ounce of sympathy. Your mouth twists in a grimace, and you bang a fist on the table, ready to fight for your case when a hand grasps your wrist.

You look up and follow the arm to see the face of its owner. Law is frowning down at you, ears bright red. You swallow thickly. He leans down until his mouth hovers around your ear.

“Come with me right now if you don’t want me to make your clothes disappear in front of everyone,” he mumbles. You gasp as he brushes his nose against the shell of your ear. His thumb brushes the soft inside of your wrist. “There are much scarier things about me than the size of my dick.”

You feel his free arm wrap around your waist and he pulls you up from the chair into a standing position. You spin around in his arms, and gasp when he pulls you against him. His cock is stiff against your soft belly. One of his hands keeps you pressed tight against him, sitting on the dip of your back. His other hand still holds your wrist, tightly against his own chest. His face swoops towards yours, so close you can smell the whiskey off his breath.

“Like my lack of patience. Please,” he enthuses in a slow hiss. His breath is warm against your mouth, as he brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Roronoa Zoro

He has always been a man of discipline. He trains hard, and lives for battle. When he decided to become the strongest swordsman he gave himself up for a deadman and dead men don’t need or want.

At least, that’s what he tells himself at night, when you slip away from his body before he can smother the heat between you that consumes him by sliding inside your pussy.

Years by Luffy’s side had taught him patience and understanding. Still, he couldn’t understand you completely. He couldn’t understand why he could kiss you the way he kissed you–feverishly, as if he could taste you past your teeth and tongue. He couldn’t understand why he could touch you the way he did, how he’d slide his callused hands over your smooth skin, how you’d let him play with your nipples until you were whimpering under his touch, how you’d let him rub your clit until you were so wet he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d taste on his tongue. He especially couldn’t understand how happy you were to ride his thigh, to rub yourself on his muscle until you soaked right through his pants, or how sometimes that wasn’t enough for you and you’d straddle him, and rub against his hardened cock until you cried out his name. All of that but the moment he’d pump his cock, and lick his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy, you’d immediately press your hands against his lower belly to stop him.

You confuse him, and it infuriates him. He wants to understand you, and he wants to keep things simple. He wraps his lips around the mouth of the bottle of sake–a trusted, simple, and loyal friend. He takes a large swig, and then another as he sees Luffy, Chopper and Usopp doing some kind of cha cha line out of the corner of his eyes. Brook is singing a tune Zoro would rather not hear, and he leads the line enthusiastically laughing.

Franky and Robin sit together at the end of the table, their faces close together. Zoro blinks as he frowns, before drinking again. He sees Nami drag you towards Robin, and squeezes you in between her and Franky. Franky starts to protest but something you say makes him pause. Zoro feels his heart accelerate. He tries–concentrates–to shut out Luffy’s loud calls for more meat from Sanji, by leaning back on his chair. He closes his eyes, and crosses his arms over his chest.

He hears you pause, and it’s like he could feel your eyes on his skin–feel them rake over his arms and shoulders. You start to speak again, and suddenly, your little problem makes so much sense to him. You were scared of his size? Zoro tries not to smirk, and he stays still for so long he eventually does fall asleep. When he comes to, he catches you slipping away from dinner.

Zoro follows you quietly. He moves silently in your shadow, his gaze on you ravenous and seeking. You look so good from behind, he feels himself grow hard, stiffening in his underwear. He loves watching your hips sway, your juicy ass that stretches the fabric of your skirt. You reach the library, still not sensing him behind you. As you reach towards a bookshelf, a finger tracing the spine of an encyclopedic tome, Zoro slides up behind you. You gasp, startled at the sudden unexpected heat, but his fingers slide over the sides of your thighs and you immediately recognize the calluses.

You hum, and lean into his touch, as a warmth spreads throughout your body. “Zoro,” you breathe out with a trembling voice. “What are you doing here?”

He draws circles over your skin as he moves his hands forward towards the inside of your thighs. His breath tickles the nape of your neck. “What do you think?” he asks you. He takes in the scent of your soap, and drops a kiss with parted lips on the side of your neck. “Hunting you down since you’re a scared little rabbit.”

His mouth is hot and light against your skin as he drops feathery kisses over your exposed shoulders. “If you were so scared, you should have told me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, as he presses another kiss on the soft flesh there. His hands move slowly, up and down your inner thighs. His thumbs brush against your skin, each time higher towards the center of you. “Never pegged you for a coward,” he whispers against your ear. You tremble under his touch, the tip of his thumb brushing ever so slightly against your panties. You gasp, and spread your legs wider before you can stop yourself. “See?” he adds with a chuckle, one hand resting on the inside of your thigh to keep you from moving. His free hand moves to your clothed pussy. He rubs against it gently with his fingers. “I can be gentle. But only one time.” He nips at the top of your ear. You cry out in surprise as he adds pressure to his touch, rubbing over your panties on top of your clit. “Only this time.” You moan under his touch, and arch your back. You rest your head on his chest, and he nips at your exposed neck. You hear him groan against your ear when he sucks on your earlobe. “If you keep being like this, I’m not going to be able to go easy on you,” he tells you as you moan again. He feels your slick coating your panties, and it stays on his fingertips as he traces the outline of your slit. He captures your bottom lip in an upside down kiss for a slow and noisy suck. When he releases it with a soft smack, he licks your lips. “And whose fault would that be?”

#one piece headcanons #one piece hcs #one piece smut #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #eustass kid smut #portgas d ace smut #eustass kid x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d law smut #zoro x reader #zoro smut #law smut #law x reader #kid x reader

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pomefioredove · 1 month

Note

same anon who requested the other familial hcs (sorry for requesting sm, your writing is just super good), but could you do hcs for the housewardens with a teen reader (still 13-14 ish) whos birthday is coming up soon? like how would they celebrate it with them. still platonic!! thank you so much <33 >_<

of course, gladly! and thank you so much!!

summary: birthday preparations type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

you've already celebrated enough unbirthdays together, so this should be easy enough for him, yes?

well... not exactly

Riddle is as high-strung as ever, running from place to place making sure everything is up to par for the event

he's not sure why he let Cater convince him to make it a surprise

but here he is, reluctantly trusting Ace and Deuce to retrieve you after your last class and bring you back to the dorm in time for the festivities to begin

"This is silly," he mumbles for the umpteenth time, awkwardly crouching behind an armchair. "Must we really hide?"

Cater shushes him, recording the front door as the clock turns the hour... and...

...nothing

Ace and Deuce eventually return with everything they'd been asked to pick up... except the guest of honor

"Oh, shoot! I knew we were forgetting something!" Deuce says, although it's already too late.

Riddle ends up retrieving you himself, and the rest of the party goes as planned

...nix Ace and Deuce, who are both collared and sulking in a corner

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫

Leona isn't so secretive about it

he basically just asks you what you want him to get you. nothing more, nothing less

loud, messy parties aren't really his thing, especially these days- he'd much rather have Ruggie order something nice for you, wish you a good day, and then reward himself with a long nap

but the more he thinks about it, the more it bugs him

for one- you have no family in this world

...which, to him, is both a blessing and a curse

but it also means you'll be alone on your special day. and for... whatever reason, that idea just won't stop bothering him

alright, fine! so, he wants you to have a good birthday. so what? that doesn't make him a sap or anything. if he was in your place, he'd expect a whole damn feast!

eventually- and with some prodding from Ruggie and Jack- he allows a quiet get-together in Savanaclaw

if only because Ruggie made a comment that Leona "wouldn't know how to host, anyway"

he is royalty, after all

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

you figured something was up when you "accidentally" bump into the tweels for the umpteenth time that week

you assumed Azul was planning something, though you weren't quite sure why he had to send the two to scope out more information on you

after all, he could just ask

and it definitely doesn't help that both Floyd and Jade keep dropping comments about this "huge, extravagant party" that Azul is supposedly throwing in your honor

on the day itself, the two are waiting for you right after class

both grinning widely as they escort you back to the lounge for this so-called "rager"

when you walk in, however, it's... empty

except for Azul

...and one table set with four places, each plate loaded with a dish you recognize as an Ashengrotto family recipe

"You can't blame me for wanting to throw you off," he says, lighting a few candles. "You should stay sharp, after all."

the rest of the evening is filled with chatter, a few bad jokes, and Floyd trying to pick off of everyone else's plates while they're not looking

𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐥-𝐀𝐬𝐢𝐦

three words: big, ridiculous party

Kalim can't imagine having to spend such an important day without your family or friends by your side... luckily, you have both here!

(well... close enough, anyway)

and he definitely doesn't disappoint when it comes to celebrations

with a little help from some more organized voices on the matter (AKA Jamil) he's got it all ready in advance

he really wants everything to go well, after all

like, really, really well! he'd never forgive himself if you had a bad time on your special day

he spends weeks planning everything, down to the very last detail... which some my find odd for him, but Kalim is nothing if not dedicated when it comes to matters of the heart

and so, it all comes together: your favorite food, things, people... all under one roof!

...complete with dessert, tea, and board games for the two of you after everyone's left

he couldn't spend your birthday sharing your time with everyone else, after all!

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

although he certainly has the means, the taste, and the resources to do something grand, he certainly isn't planning on it

...honestly, that just sounds dreadful to him

besides his tight schedule and low tolerance for shenanigans, organizing a massive event is just completely out of the question for him right now

too much, too soon, and far too tiring

but that doesn't mean he isn't going to do anything

you can expect a quiet evening full of pampering, a few movies of your own choice, and he'll even let you indulge in some less-than-healthy foods, if you so wish

he might even join you

it is a special occasion, after all

𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝

party? get-together? no, thank you

hey, he'll be glad to throw something together, just don't get your hopes too up

whatever it is will be totally lame, he swears it

(Idia, ever the understater...)

what ends up coming together is a full on all-night gaming session and anime marathon, complete with all the snacks he can fit in his room

basically the ultimate sleepover

...just without the sleep

Ortho joins in as well, teaming up with you whenever you need to kick Idia's butt in whatever you're playing

not familiar with their games of choice? no prob, Idia could spend the whole night explaining the ins and outs of all of his favorites

by the time the sun is up, you remember cheat codes and shortcuts more clearly than your own name

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚

Malleus knows that human birthdays are very important, considering their short lifespans

and so, when he asks about your plans for the day, he's quite surprised to hear you say you have nothing special in mind

perhaps he was wrong... perhaps your birthday isn't an important occasion for you?

he doesn't think it's his place to ask, especially since you probably miss home more than usual around this time of year...

ultimately, he plans something simple

if not a little spontaneous

far past evening curfew, he shows up at Ramshackle door with nothing but himself, and asks you to accompany him on a short walk

you might expect him to whisk you through the woods, or show you ruins on the very edges of campus

...rather, he just brings you around the school, pointing out his favorite places until you get tired

"I may not be able to give you all that you've lost, but while you're here, you might as well feel at home,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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thefanficmonster · 3 months

Note

Do you do NSFW? If so, may I request a Markiplier NSFW alphabet?

Hi dear! Usually I struggle greatly when writing anything NSFW for RPF but I shall do my best. Baby steps lol Hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: Markiplier x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: !!NSFW content below the cut!!

A= Aftercare (What they're like after the act)

Mark is the absolute sweetest and most attentive lover before, during and after the act.

After he's made sure you're alright, he'd go grab you a bottle of water, a snack and a towel to clean you up. You can bet on a long cuddle sesh after the act, filled with intimacy and romance, periodically interrupted by jokes he'd crack to make you laugh.

B= Body Part (Favorite body part of their own or on their lover)

He's pretty damn proud of his hands. Years of gaming have made them particularly skillful in many ways and he knows how to utilize them just right *wink* *wink*

Oh, and also his back. He's been influenced to love it by you more so than on his own accord but still.

On you, he loves your legs and thighs. Count on him constantly having his hands all over them in both innocent and explicit instances. And when you wrap your legs around his waist....consider him a goner.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Inside, no questions asked.

Before you got to the point of being comfortable enough for that, however, he found just as much pleasure in painting either your chest, thighs or face.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

Nothing helps him excel at a game quite like under-the-desk head while recording. Bonus points if it's a live stream.

E= Experience (do they know what they're doing)

Mark has had decent amount of experience, enough to be versed into how things work textbook-wise. Every skill he exhibits, however, is something he improvised at some point. But don't take that the wrong way - this man knows exactly what he's doing

F= Favorite Position

Mark is simple man and his favorite position reflects that - Doggy style (closely followed by cowgirl)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is a majore league goof in general and during sex. That's not to say he can't get into character and dawn a serious and attractively intimidating front when the atmosphere of the night calls for it.

He's a perfect balance between goofy and serious, occasionally leaning far left or far right depending on the moment.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He takes care of his hygiene rather meticulously. He keeps everything neat, trimmed and clean.

I= Intimacy (how are they in the moment)

There's never a shortage of intimacy between you and Mark during the act. Regardless of if the night calls for making love or having rough sex, there's never a lack of intimacy and closeness between you two.

That being said, I'd again say it's perfectly balanced. Whatever the night calls for is how Mark responds - be it slow, romantic lovemaking or rough and dirty sex.

J= Jerk-off (do they masturbate and how often)

He used to do it a lot more frequently before you started dating. Now, nothing can compare to the real thing. He can't find much satisfaction in masturbating but he still turns to it as a resort of release when either of you is away on a trip

K= Kink (kinks they might have)

Dear God, please forgive me for this...

Choking, spanking, hair-pulling, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, light bondage, praising/degrading (depending on what the situation calls for). Feel free to share your thoughts on this topic in the comments

L= Location (where they're down to get it on)

Every single surface in the house is game in Mark's eyes. Especially the kitchen counter and the nicely spacious shower

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

You, in any context you can think of. You don't even need to be dressed provocatively in any way shape or form. This man is just so head over heels for you, he can't help it.

Apart from that, a good ol' rage game will raise his blood pressure just right and he'll proceed to blow off some steam with you. The same works the other way around - when he's high on the success of completing a game and he celebrates with you

N= No (what they're strictly against and wouldn't try)

Anything with violent and hostile connotations that could bring you harm in any way, be it physical or emotional. He loves you more than words can describe and just the thought of hurting you fills him with dread. You both like dabbling into the occasional impact play but nothing more than that, and never without a safe word.

O= Oral (are they more of a giver or receiver)

Mark is a big fan of receiving but he enjoys giving so much more. He does it for his own pleasure just as much as he does it to bring you satisfaction. He loves every aspect of it - your taste, the tangling of your hands in his hair, the sounds you make, the bucking of your hips. It's his own personal high. He could do it for hours if you'd let him.

P= Pace (what's their pace during the act)

Again, the speed setting Mark operates on depends on the atmosphere of the night. On the regular, he likes to take it slow, prolong the experience and uphold this bubble of intimacy around the two of you for as long as he can.

Q= Quickie (are they a fan of quickies)

Nope.

The Devil is into details and so is Mark. And it's difficult to appreciate the details when working with a small time frame. He likes to take his time, worshipping you the way you deserve in the most meticulous and intimate manner.

R= Risk (how risky are they/do they like trying new things)

Oh he loves a good unconventional and borderline public location where there's a chance at getting caught. Although he prefers the comfort of your shared house it doesn't cancel out his love for the thrill of some public fun.

As for trying new things, he's down to try everything at least once - unless it falls in the No criteria I mentioned earlier. All you have to do is bring it up and you can automatically consider him signed up and strapped in, ready to try it.

S= Stamina (how long they last in bed)

The speed may or may not directly relate to how long he lasts. He can get at least two rounds - a solid hour/hour and a half - under his belt before breaking a sweat.

T= Toys (do they own and and are they down to experiment with them)

I have a feeling there is a box, hidden in a dark corner of a closer or under his bed, containing a small collection of sex toys. If you're game to use him, he'd love nothing more than take them out to play.

U= Unfair (are they a tease)

To an infuriating degree. He'd even mock you when you whine, beg or get frustrated with his teasing.

It's music to his ears.

V= Volume (how loud are they during sex)

Mark is vocal but not loud.

He exhibits his satisfaction and pleasure with mainly sighs and groans, all at a pretty low volume. But he's also very expressive during sex - praising/degrading you accordingly or dirty talking you over the edge. All in a whispered or hushed tone that makes it all the hotter.

W= Wild Card

Remember how I said he's not a big fan of masterbating? Well, when he has to resort to it he has a certain way of making it much more pleasurable...

Photos and videos you two have taken during the act or right afterwards in your disheveled states.

It's his personal collection, safely tucked away in a dark hidden corner of his computer memory.

X= X-Ray (what are they packing)

I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't. I've sinned enough tonight LMAOO

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Name: Mark

Status: Permanently horny

Z= Zzzz (*yawn*)

I already mentioned a cuddle sesh earlier and I will now add onto it to say that, although he tries his best not to, he does fall asleep rather quickly and deeply. How could he not when he feels so much comfort with his arms wrapped around you. When he falls asleep to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat, it's the most peaceful slumber he's ever had.

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galactic-rhea · 2 months

Text

[ID: Screenshot of a chat that says "just leave my queen alone, she's already suffered enough. She wanted a life with her malewife murder monk pilot mechanic racer and you should respect her for that!]

It's Padmé defending's hours for me

I have been seeing more negative (with very weird connotations, tbh) posts about Padmé on my dash lately, and while I'm a firm believer of the "scroll past it" rule, it really irks me a lot because MOST of these takes sound a bit mysoginistic to me and also (to me) shows a lack of trying to understand her as a character, not in a "you don't get her" way, but in a "you don't even try to understand the character and her context in the damn story just because you wanna sound holy than thou" way.

I'm all for accepting takes about Padmé's flaws or having a slightly more privileged/closed view (and that makes sense, she's aristocracy) but these people are SO WEIRD whenever they wanna talk about her 🤨

I'll forever mad that George eliminated SO MANY scenes with Padmé in the movies, but I feel like even if we had those scenes, people's complaints would be exactly the same.

But also i think half of the time people fail at understanding Padmé is because they're also failing to understand Anakin's as a character, idk

#we love Padmé in this blog damnit #how so many people can forget the fact she had also an absolutely horrible childhood and was lonely and used to political backstabbing #and assasination attempts #at fourteen #and it just kept getting worse #the fact that she found a bond with Anakin and fandom makes it all about her being a stupid girl or evil for that it's ridiculous #and some of these takes sound victim-blamey if i'm honest #is she flawed? yes obviously but that makes her more interesting #anidala is supposed to be space Romeo and Juliet right? Eurydice and Orpheus Lancelot and Guinevere they're doomed for loving each other #but loving isn't their flaw actually #the flaw in Star Wars is some old guy called Palpatine he's in the background if you squint and Padmé was manipulated by him too #rambling #star wars #sw #padmé amidala #padmé #anakin skywalker #anidala

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zmediaoutlet · 2 months

Text

"Dean, this is stupid—" Sam starts, but he shuts right up when Dean grabs his head down and kisses him, and he also kisses back so clearly it ain't that stupid, is it. Grabs Dean's waist on automatic and his tongue's, yeah, hot and there, ready, even as he mumbles some crap against Dean's mouth about how there's no time and there's a job to do and, yeah, like Dean doesn't know that? But—

"You aren't ruining this for me," Dean says. Even if it's looking like there's a good chance of it. He drops down onto his bootheels and Sam raises his eyebrows with this face like Dean's the dumbest person he knows and even if that's maybe true a lot of the time it's not true this time. Dean's—almost positive. "C'mon, man. We're in the actual wild west, here. There's gonna be a posse. Are you kidding? This is the best day ever."

Dark as hell in the 1800s but there's enough moonlight that Dean can see Sam's expression complicating into some new, more elaborate version of the you're stupid face. "Dude, we have—like, no time. Cas is gonna come pick us up at noon, no matter what."

Dean tips his hat back, slides his hand down to cup the front of Sam's jeans. Grins at what he finds, especially when Sam's eyelids flicker. "We're experienced cowpokes, here. Give me ten minutes."

"Never say cowpoke in this context," Sam says. Not exactly soft, that big familiar bulge filling Dean's palm just like it always has. He glances toward the street, down through the muddy alley, sweeps his own hat off his head, holding it out and to the side almost like he's trying to hide how Dean's going for his belt, zip, permission not exactly stated aloud but Dean was being honest about the experience, he knows permission when he's got it.

God—yeah. Crisp hair and the thick root getting thicker. Dean smiles up with his tongue between his teeth and in the moonlight it's hard to tell but he bets Sam's cheeks are red.

"You're an idiot," Sam breathes. Oh, yeah. Red-faced. His chest heaving. "We get caught we're gonna get hanged, man."

Dean lifts a shoulder, crowding in closer. Sam's hand slides to his ass, squeezes. "Sheriff's busy," he says. He nudges his nose under Sam's jaw and grips his dick at the same time. "Anyway. Boy, they said you was hung—"

Burst of laughter that Sam muffles against Dean's shoulder—Dean grins, even if Sam knocks his hat askew—and Sam drops fully back against the rough-board siding, spreads his boots so Dean can crush in close. Dean opens up his own jeans, quick, kissing Sam's jaw and picturing it—when they're back in the world with modern plumbing and beds and whiskey that doesn't taste like the ass-end of a Ford Pinto—getting Sam into the clothes Dean bought and getting that hat back on his head and really getting his share of schnitzengruben—but god, it's fun now too, in the mud with their boots knocking together and Sam's hand plunging in to grip him whole-handed, hot. Goddamn, cowboy.

"They was right," Sam says, quiet, and only Dean could hear but he laughs too, sniggering up against Sam's throat. Okay, so this is stupid, but Sam's hand is on his dick and they've got—less than ten minutes. Dean braces his boots better in the mud and slides his hand up under Sam's shirt, feels the hair on his belly. His gut warm and knowing the world's teetering in the balance but when isn't it, damn. He gets ten minutes, goofing around with his brother.

"First one to shoot owes the other a sarsaparilla," Dean says, and Sam groans and crams his hat back on his own head, says, "Shut up," but he grips Dean by the neck and kisses him and grips Dean by the nuts and then drags his fingers up the root and tugs up the shaft and slides his thumb sweet, sweet, right there, where it counts—okay, so maybe Dean spoke too soon about the sarsaparilla.

(Later—much later—at a motel after they clear out of Bobby's house and Cas is sent on his way and Dean's not looking forward, at all, to stripping out of his awesome sheriff's outfit, and thinking about whether he could keep it at the storage locker in Black Rock without Sam somehow finding out—Sam says, you're the worst, and Dean says why this time, hardly paying attention, and Sam says, you got any idea how awful it is to ride a horse with your shorts all caked in jizz? and then, while Dean's bent over whooping with laughter, Sam stripping miserably out of his jeans, Sam says, you still owe me that sarsaparilla, and Dean has to sit on the floor, shoulders shaking, before he says, yeah, Sammy, eyes streaming, yeah, I'll get right on that, and Sam says you better but when Dean wipes his face he sees that Sam's looking at him that way Sam sometimes does when things are good, so. Dean was right, wasn't he. Best day ever.)

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 122 #it's been fuckin shitty out here fam #so have some giggles barely in context

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brbsoulnomming · 7 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 26

-----

"You boys all right?" Hopper calls, after the sound of Chief Powell reading Jason his rights has started to fade.

"Can't complain about the rescue," Eddie calls back.

"Doing a lot better than we'd be without you," Steve agrees.

"All right, just hang tight until I get confirmation that Carver's all settled in the cruiser and on his way to the station," Hopper says.

And Eddie sees the merit in that, really, he does, but Steve had dodged directly answering the question of if he was all right the same as Eddie had, and Eddie needs to see him.

He creeps off in the direction that he'd heard Steve's voice come from, sticking to the growing shadows, until he damn near collides with Steve - who must have had the same idea.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, grabbing the front of Eddie's shirt and hauling him in for a kiss.

Eddie wraps his arms around him, holding him as close as he can as he kisses him back, every last bit of the terror he'd felt in the last however long coming out in sheer desperation.

"Eddie," Steve murmurs against his lips, his voice a little frantic like he needs to say it but doesn't want to stop kissing him. "Eddie, baby, are you hurt?"

"No," Eddie says, muffled by the fact that he can't stop kissing him, either. "No, I'm okay. Are you?"

Steve doesn't answer right away, kissing him again and again, and Eddie cups the line of his jaw, cradles it in his hand for a moment before he pushes his fingers into Steve's hair, checking for any tender spots.

"Hold up for a minute, let me look," Eddie insists, but he doesn't pull away when Steve stubbornly keeps kissing him.

"Stevie," he whispers, the sound stolen up by Steve's ragged inhale.

"I'm kind of trying not to freak out," Steve admits.

Eddie registers the press of something cold and hard against his chest where Steve's still holding his shirt, the clink of metal when he shifts, and he remembers the handcuffs.

"Fuck," Eddie curses. "What can I do?"

"You're okay, right? He didn't hurt you?"

For a moment, Eddie thinks Steve might be deflecting, but the look on Steve's face tells him no, he's answering Eddie's question just fine - that's what Eddie can do to reassure him.

"He didn't hurt me," Eddie says. "He pushed me a couple of times, and one made me lose my balance, but no damage."

"Let me see-" Steve starts, but Eddie shakes his head.

"Uh-uh. You let me see first, then you can look," he insists.

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Steve's lips. "I take care of you, you take care of me?"

"Bingo. So no trying to get fresh with me again until I've had a good look, all right handsome?" Eddie teases.

This time, Steve lets him cup his jaw again, peering closely at his face. It's getting dark enough that Eddie can't tell exactly, but nothing looks broken. He's pretty sure he's going to have some bruising, though.

"Okay," Eddie says once he's satisfied - or as satisfied as he's going to get until they're home. "Your turn."

Steve lifts Eddie's shirt up without any preamble, peering at his stomach and chest and running his fingers over his skin. His touch brushes over some of Eddie's soulmate ink, and - oh, fuck, if last time was Steve's hands in his hair and hot water washing away a week's worth of grime, this is molten heat running down his spine, the taste of Steve's tongue in his mouth, the feel of his breath on the back of his neck. Eddie shudders, lips parted in a soft gasp.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Soulmate words," Eddie says.

"Oh," Steve says absently. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah. Fuck, we're doing that again once we're home," Eddie says fervently.

Steve's looking at him again, all warm and happy like he's just had the best experience of his life.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You said home," Steve replies softly, gently tugging Eddie's shirt down and leaning in to kiss him again.

Oh.

"It is," Eddie says. "With you and Robin, it is."

Steve closes his eyes, forehead pressing against Eddie's. They stay like that, tucked in close to each other, until Hopper's voice calls out and tells them it's safe to come out.

Hopper's got a flashlight on him, and he looks them both over when they emerge, the corners of his mouth dropping down lower and lower when he looks at Steve's face and wrists.

"Hey Chief?" Hopper says into the police issue radio he's got hooked on his belt, as they walk back towards Forest Hills.

"Yeah Hop?" Chief Powell asks.

"Get the handcuff master key out and ready for when we get to the station," Hopper tells him. "And you might want to add unlawful restraint to that list of charges."

Eddie blanches. "Who says we want to go to the station?" he grumbles.

"We can't do it tomorrow?" Steve asks.

"You'll be glad you got it over with," Hopper points out.

Which is probably true, but Eddie isn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying it.

"Got it," Chief Powell's voice comes back over the radio. "Which one of them is it?"

Hopper shoots him and Steve a little look. "Better get ready to hear from Lillian Harrington."

"Ah, shit," Chief Powell mutters. "All right, see you soon."

There's no police cars when they get back to the trailer - just Steve's BMW, still parked out front next to the abandoned boxes of Eddie's things.

"Can you help get those in the trunk?" Steve asks.

Eddie wants to point out that they don't feel all that important right now, but Hopper's already crouching down to pick two of them up, and Steve's awkwardly fishing his keys out of his jeans pocket. And it's - yeah, okay, if they went through all of this on a mission to get Eddie some of his life back, he doesn't want to come back empty handed, either. He picks up the last box, tucking it inside the trunk.

"Found this, too," Hopper comments, setting Steve's bat next to them.

Just the sight of it makes some of the tension leak out from Steve's shoulders.

"Get in," Hopper says. "I'll drive you to the station."

"It's my car!" Steve protests. "I've driven with way worse!"

"That's exactly why you're not driving now," Hopper says.

"That doesn't make any sense," Steve mutters.

"Stevie, if he isn't driving, I am," Eddie tells him. "You want me driving your car in my current state?"

"I know you've done it before, kid," Hopper adds, his voice gentler this time. "You shouldn't have had to then, and you don't have to now."

Steve looks away for a moment. Then he nods, clambering into the backseat of the car. Eddie joins him, sitting as close to him as he dares. Once they're in route - Eddie risks slipping his hand over, palm up. An offering, just in case.

Steve grabs it immediately, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight.

"How come the cops are so scared of your mom?" he asks Steve in a low voice.

There's a little laugh. "My mom's a lawyer. She's mostly a corporate lawyer now, but she was a criminal defense attorney for a while, and she'll still take some cases. She's going to be all over this."

Hopper gives a soft snort of amusement. "She's going to threaten to sue everyone from Powell to the mayor if Carver doesn't get charged the way she wants him to."

"She's a good lawyer," Steve agrees, grinning a little.

Hopper's eyes flick down in the rear view mirror, and Eddie knows he can see him and Steve holding hands. For a moment, his heart jumps into his throat - but Hopper doesn't say anything, just slips his gaze back to the road.

Flo's waiting for them with a set of keys and three steaming mugs of hot chocolate when they get to the station.

Eddie takes the keys before Hopper can, hurriedly unlocking the cuffs from Steve's wrists. Steve sags a little when they're gone, leaning into him for a moment before straightening up to accept his mug of cocoa.

"You can wait in the break room," Flo tells them. "The phone's free if you want to call your mom."

She ushers them in and closes the door.

Steve and Eddie take the threadbare couch, squished together, while Hopper plops down on a folding chair.

The phone's on a table by the couch, and Steve puts it on speaker after he dials.

"Wolfram, Hart, & Harrington, this is Lacey Shepherd speaking."

"Hi Lacey," Steve greets. "Can you connect me to Mrs. Harrington? This is Steven, one of her clients. I'm calling from a police station."

"One moment, please," Lacey says, before some truly terrible music drifts through the phone.

"One of her clients?" Eddie repeats.

Steve gives a little shrug. "She's working. She'll answer for a client."

But not for her son?

Eddie doesn't know why he's surprised, considering everything, but getting hit in the face with it like that is still a bit of a shock.

Fuck, he's going to hug Steve so hard after all of this.

Granted, he was going to do that anyway, because Eddie really wants a hug after this, but still.

The hold music stops.

"Steven?" Mrs. Harrington asks.

"Hi, Mom," Steve says.

"Steven." There's comprehension in her voice now. "What happened?"

"Jason Carver," Steve says. "He ambushed me with a gun when I was walking back to my car, threatened to kill me and my soulmate."

"Just threatened?" There's a sharp alertness in her voice now, and Eddie can hear the scratching of writing.

"He handcuffed me to a railing, took my soulmate out into the woods and shoved them around. Punched me in the face a few times."

"Punched you in the face," she repeats.

"In his defense, I was choking him with the handcuffs he made me put on," Steve adds.

"Steven Everett Harrington," she hisses. "I know you didn't just say that in a room full of cops."

"It's just Hopper," Steve says.

"No cops here now, Lillian," Hopper says.

She sniffs. "Once a cop, always a cop, Jim. You don't talk to cops."

If he wasn't for everything else he knew, Eddie might actually like her.

"What did the Carver boy say to you?" she asks.

"Uh - that he was trying to get justice and remove the curse from Hawkins. He said he believed we could do it. He was upset about Chrissy, and wanted to make us suffer. Something about planning to send people to Hell."

All technically true, and Eddie sure as shit isn't going to volunteer anything that puts Jason Carver in a better light.

"I knew that boy was unstable," she mutters. "The whole police force was wrapped up in looking for some insignificant gutter trash, and they're letting the real threats go around right under their noses."

Right, shit, so much for liking her.

Eddie slouches down, until he sees the anger in Steve's eyes. As nice as it would be to let him say whatever he's going to - Eddie puts a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"You tell Chief Powell to call me after you're done giving your statement," she says. "If I don't hear from him in less than an hour, he won't like the outcome."

"Yes, Mom," Steve says.

The dial tone rings out in response.

"I don't want her to talk like that about you," Steve says immediately.

"I appreciate it," Eddie says, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against the bruise appearing on Steve's cheek. "But you've taken enough hits for me tonight. You can save swinging at your mom for later."

It wasn't until he said it that he recognizes the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knows Steve doesn't agree, knows he's made it very clear otherwise, but - part of him can't help but feel like this is his fault, like Steve wouldn't have had to go through tonight if Eddie wasn't his soulmate.

He doesn't say anything, but Steve narrows his eyes anyway.

"You're my soulmate," Steve says. "I don't regret it."

Hopper clears his throat, and Eddie jumps, his hand dropping away.

Fuck, he can't believe he almost forgot he was there.

"Hop," Steve says.

Hopper shakes his head. "He's your soulmate, right? Whatever that means, you got nothing to fear from me."

There's a beat of silence, then, "At least it's better than Mike Wheeler, anyway."

Eddie barks out a startled laugh, clamping one hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Hopper grumbles. "I'm sending the little shit to you when he gets on my nerves."

It's not long before Chief Powell comes to take their statements. They give him the same spiel that they gave Steve's mom, with a little more detail about how Jason was trying to make Eddie confess.

Chief Powell sighs. "Boy's not saying much in there. I think he finally gets how much trouble he's in. I better go give Judge Ellison a call, then get Lillian on the phone."

He scrubs a hand over his face, then looks at Hopper. "You sure you don't want your job back?"

"Nah," Hopper replies with a grin. "It's all yours."

Steve doesn't put up a protest when Hopper gets into the driver's seat of the Bimmer this time. He just reaches one hand out, and Eddie takes it, giving it a soft squeeze.

"The whole motley crew's probably at your place by now," Hopper warns them as he drives. "Your girl called a code red. The only reason we didn't have the rest of those numbskulls showing up at Forest Hills in a panic is because she'd already called 911, and the police were on their way as soon as they heard Jason Carver and gun. Joyce took the kids and Argyle over to wait with Robin, so I'm sure the rest of them are there too."

Sure enough, the Wheelers' station wagon, Argyle's van, the Byers' car, and his uncle's truck are all parked outside when they get there.

Part of him thinks so much for getting to kiss Steve senseless, but the bigger part is touched that they're all here like this. He sneaks a glance over at Steve, sees a slightly stunned smile, and gives his hand another squeeze.

Hopper walks in first, mostly so he can fend off the immediate rush at the door.

Robin's the only one that gets past him, flinging herself at both of them and hugging them.

"I'm okay, Robs, we're okay," Steve whispers into her hair.

She hugs them tighter.

Then she steps back. His uncle is in her place immediately, folding Eddie up in his arms - and then hauling Steve in to hug him, too.

"I'm okay, we're okay," Eddie says.

Finally, his uncle lets go, too, letting the crowd get a better look at them.

"What happened?" Dustin demands. "Robin said Jason locked Steve up and dragged Eddie off somewhere!"

"Handcuffed," Steve says. "But I got free."

"Handcuffed?" Erica repeats flatly, shoving her way to the front of the group.

She looks him and Steve up and down. Eddie can see the way the fire in her eyes burns hotter and hotter as she lingers over the welts around Steve's wrists, the bruises on his face, the dirt and blood on Eddie's own hands. He hadn't noticed that before now, but he must have ripped at the edges of a couple of his fingernails, digging his hands into the ground like that.

Then Erica turns on her heel. "I'm going to call Tina."

"Tina?" Eddie asks, confused.

"She's the biggest gossip at Hawkins Middle," Erica replies. "Jason Carver is a ruined man."

"He's already in jail!" Steve calls.

"Yeah, and when I'm done with him, everyone will know what a psychopath he is!" Erica shouts back as she slams the door to the study down the hall.

Nancy makes this little giggling snort sound - the same one he heard her make when he was in the hospital, what feels like forever ago.

Apparently it was a good sound, because she's smiling.

"She's going to be a terror when she gets to high school," Robin says fondly.

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I'm so proud of her."

"Ugh," Lucas groans.

"Luckily, she's got better friends than I did, to keep her grounded," Steve adds, looking out over all of them.

Joyce worms her way to the front, looking both of them up and down just like Erica.

And just like Erica, there's a ferocity to her as she takes them in, though hers burns cooler.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs. "Come on, let me look at you in the kitchen."

There's a moment of silence, then she looks at them.

"Both of you, now," she orders.

Well, not that much cooler.

"Hopper, will you order pizza for everyone? I know it's late, but I'm sure we could use it," she calls back as she ushers them into the kitchen.

She points them both to the kitchen table, and what the hell else is Eddie going to do but obediently sit? She digs into the freezer, gets out an ice pack and wraps it in a towel, then gently places it over Steve's eye and cheek.

"Hold it there for a little while," she tells him.

Then she wets another towel and comes over to Eddie, taking his hands in hers and gently cleaning them up. She looks at him with such softness and warmth when her eyes catch his that, horrifyingly, he feels his chin quiver a little, and he has to look away.

"I haven't gotten to tell you," she says quietly. "It was a very brave thing you did, helping fight against One."

"It doesn't feel like it," he finds himself admitting.

She hums softly. "Because you were scared?"

"Terrified," he agrees. "But because I didn't do enough."

She makes a tsk noise, wiping away the last of the grime and wrapping a bandaid around the tip of his finger, where a drop of blood had sprung up. "You're here. That's more than enough."

Jesus Christ, he's not going to cry, he's not.

She takes pity on him, patting his hand one more time and then going to check on Steve.

"That goes for you, too," she tells him as she lifts up the ice pack to take a peek, then puts it back down. "You think I haven't noticed that it's always you?"

"They're kids," Steve protests softly.

"So are you," she tells him, in the kind of tone that manages to be both gentle and leave no room for argument. "And you are worth more than how much damage you can take for them."

"Okay," Steve says, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She tsks at him, then gently cleans the dirt off of his face and hands.

"There's juice and stuff in the fridge for everyone," he says.

"You're a sweetheart," she tells him.

Eddie snorts before he can stop himself.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You have an opinion on that, Edward Munson?"

Shit.

"No ma'am," he says quickly, even though he knows it's a lie.

Steve drops the ice pack away from his face, grinning. He looks - a little punch drunk, a little like how he'd light up so high every time the house is filled with people. "That was a lie," he stage whispers to Joyce. "He definitely has an opinion."

She tries to hide her smile. "Oh? Enlighten us."

Eddie groans. "Look, I love Steve, okay, he's the kindest, bravest, best guy I know, but he's way too much of a bitch to be a sweetheart."

Steve cackles, head tilting back as he laughs.

Joyce has one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening with what looks like unshed tears. Eddie frowns, tries to think back to what he said - fuck, he'd said love, okay, but everyone knows Steve's his soulmate now, and he hadn't said what kind, so there's no way she'd assume -

She reaches out, takes one of their hands in each of hers. "Will you boys come to dinner on Sunday?"

Steve's brows furrow in confusion. "Well, yeah, of course."

"Good. Will and El missed you," she tells Steve, then nods at Eddie. "And I think Will's unsure about it, but I know he'd like to be in that club of yours. I think having you around, together, will be nice."

Oh.

"Of course, Mrs. B," Eddie says, exchanging a look with Steve.

She squeezes both of their hands, smiling softly at them a moment longer. "Are you ready to go back out and face the questions?"

They are, and they do.

Eddie takes over, dropping into DM mode to spin the story of what happened into something a little more colorful, a little less scary - and manages to cut his poetic waxing about Steve ripping the railing off and choking Jason while handcuffed short when Robin pointedly nudges him.

He's just about done when Erica emerges, looking very satisfied with herself.

"The whole school knows all the details of what a creep Jason is now," she says. "Both schools, by morning."

Steve picks her up, twirling her around.

She shrieks.

"Steven Everett Harrington, you put me down!" she shouts at him, kicking her feet.

Eddie notices she doesn't actually do anything to try to get him to let her go, and her shrieking is definitely the more gleeful variety, but he doesn't point it out for fear of the verbal dressing down he'd get.

She flips her hair when he finally sets her down, loudly commenting, "Ugh!" as she storms off to the couch.

"Me next," El requests, holding her arms out to him.

Steve immediately picks her up, smiling wide and playful as he spins her around to the sounds of her delighted laughter.

When he sets her down, he turns to Max - who was apparently waiting for that, and promptly throws a couch pillow at him.

"Don't you dare! What, just because I'm a girl! How sexist is that, why don't you try to twirl one of the guys?" she demands.

Steve tilts his head like he's considering that. "Okay," he agrees.

Eddie expects him to chase down Dustin or Lucas - but instead, the next thing he knows there's a pair of arms around his waist and Steve is hauling him up to twirl him around.

He cackles, draping his arms over Steve's neck and tipping his head back. "Come on, Harrington, put those muscles to use and twirl me faster," he teases.

Steve spins him around again, then sets him down, beaming at him.

Joyce whacks him on the shoulder.

"Quit that," she scolds. "You should both be resting. Go, on the couch, the both of you."

"How does Erica even know your middle name?" Eddie asks Steve once they're settled on the couch, after Uncle Wayne, Hopper, and Joyce have gone back into the kitchen.

"I know everything," Erica replies smugly.

Dustin scoffs. "Sir Everett is Steve's paladin. She only knows because he told us when we played."

In his indignation, he says it loud enough for the whole room to hear, and Lucas, Mike, and Will's heads immediately swivel over to look at them.

There's a moment of silence, as Dustin seems to realize what he just said. His eyes widen, gaze cutting over to Steve.

"You told!" Erica shouts delightedly. "Shotgun privileges revoked for a year!"

"You played with my sister?" Lucas asks, sounding betrayed.

"What the hell!" Mike agrees. "He was our friend first!"

Steve raises one eyebrow at him.

"You were!" Mike insists. "We even made you a part of the Party and gave you a walkie everything!"

"You sure that wasn't just to con your way into free movies last summer?" Steve teases, hands on his hips.

"Steve," Lucas protests.

"I think we're forgetting that Dustin knew about this," Will points out.

"Will, come on!" Dustin whines.

"All right, how about this," Steve says. "Will, when are you running one again?"

Will looks thrown. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Steve says.

"Oh, I, uh. I don't know." Will's gaze cuts over to Eddie, then skitters away so quickly he's not completely sure it happened.

Yeah, looks like Joyce was right about him being uncertain. Eddie remembers Steve saying that Will was leaving his party behind and didn't want anything to play for a present, but his friends clearly hadn't done the same. Eddie can see how that'd cause some conflicting feelings.

"I've heard a lot about you," Eddie chimes in.

He feels Steve tense briefly next to him, then relax when it's clear Eddie isn't lying.

"What?" Will asks, looking back at him.

"Oh, yeah. Not to my face, of course, before spring break these little shits were terrified of me - and I already mourn the loss - but I heard them talking." He clears his throat, making his voice all high and squeaky. "'Can you believe that? Will never would have done that! Will would have given him a whole backstory! Will's introduction was ten times more interesting!'"

All right, maybe he's playing it up a bit - but he had overheard them talking about the differences in his and Will's styles a few times, and there were times that they liked Will's better.

"I wasn't the only one who DMed, though, Mike used to do it, too," Will says, face a little pink.

"Yeah, but you're way better," Mike says earnestly. "Remember how long my last couple of campaigns took me to plan and how quick we finished them?"

"Tell you what," Steve says. "You both work up one together, and Eddie, Robin, and I will play."

Jesus Christ, it's like Christmas came early.

Eddie cackles. "Just wait, boys, you haven't seen me as a player yet."

"Why am I roped into this now?" Robin protests, but it's the tone of voice she uses when she's going to do it, she just wants to bitch.

"We'll all play," Jonathan cuts in, glancing over at Nancy and Argyle. "Right, guys?"

"Oh, for sure. Bring it on, little dudes," Argyle agrees.

"Fine," Nancy says, rolling her eyes, but she's smiling. "I'm not dressing up, though."

"Dress up?" Eddie repeats, pouncing on it immediately.

"No!" Nancy retorts immediately.

Eddie wriggles, twisting so he can peer at her from over Robin's shoulder, eyes wide and beseeching. "Come on, Wheeler," he whines.

She glares at him, managing to hold it for a few seconds before she caves. "Fine! Remember this when it comes time for your study sessions."

Shit, that's right.

…eh, worth it.

"Dress up?" El repeats.

"Yeah, but boring dress up, not fun dress up like at the mall," Max says.

Eddie clutches his heart. "Mayfield. Don't you want to be a maiden fair? A tiefling princess?"

Max narrows her eyes at him.

El squeezes Max's hand.

"If I get a mace," Max says. "And I get to hit Munson with it at some point. I'll consider it."

"Deal!" Eddie immediately agrees.

He's pretty sure she means her character, and he can sacrifice a few hit points.

…she definitely means her character, right?

Eh, still worth it.

"Wait, there's costumes now?" Steve asks.

Eddie drops himself back over Steve. "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

Steve pulls a face. "Great," he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mike and Will, who'd bowed their heads together to have a quick, fervent discussion, separate to look back up at the group.

"Okay," Will says. "We'll let you know when we've got it worked out."

The pizza arrives not long after, and even though he, Steve, and Robin already put away one earlier - that feels like forever ago, and he still devours a few more slices.

Eddie kind of expects some of them to go home at some point that night, but they never do.

Uncle Wayne takes the guest room that Steve told him he could have, and Joyce and Hopper end up in the other one. The rest of them all crash out in the living room, on couches and chairs and in sleeping bags.

No one bats an eye when he, Steve, and Robin tangle themselves up in each other.

Eddie falls asleep surrounded by his family, and thinks - there's no better feeling in the whole damn world.

Just one more part left, and then this will finally be wrapped up!

-----

Part 27

Tag list (always happy to add more for the last bit!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fic #robin buckley #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #joyce byers #jim hopper #steddie soulmate au

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rouecentric · 2 years

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okay but the agriche family with a iskeai'd gen z reader?

lante : i could kill you

reader, sitting crossed legged on the floor trying to find service on their phone : yeah you could but so can a dedicated duck with ambition

lante : ...

the agriche members present : ...

the agriche servants, soldiers, and workers : ...

reader : so...um, do you have like data, wifi or even a charger? this isn't exactly how i expected my day to go but who am i to complain?

you're batshit creative, i like you. OKAY BUT GEN Z READER WITH YAN!AGRICHE FAMILY?? HOOH, YOU'RE JUST ASKING FOR CHAOS. i'm using a different format just so i could write more efficiently btw / crackfic hc's taken seriously, probably.. - lowercase intended - i also decided to make gen z!reader into something of a know-it-all(i'm generous, i know x) - p!yan!agriche fam btw

-okay so, you were REALLY close to finishing reading the novel, like ten words away from finishing it and you somehow had this feeling of tiredness crashing down on you?? you tried to continue reading it but your goofy body said 'nope!' and you passed out

-when you woke up you realised you were in some victorian-esque villain manhwa looking house in some god damned room

-and that's when it hit you ''where the hell even am i??? 😕''

-turns out your dumbass somehow subconciously travelled to a different REALITY??? shocking

-you quickly sat up with your legs crossed, grabbing your phone and pushing your hair away from your view, and that's when you saw multiple people surrounding you, it looked like to be multiple staff, such as maids, butlers and guards

-and then you know what you saw? some emo looking fuck with a receding hairline😖(yeah, you heard me, RECEDING HAIRLINE.)

"i'm sorry, but, do you know where i am?? " you asked, looking at the man in front of you, staring dumbfounded.

"you woke up in the agriche's household and all you can say is 'where am i'? i could kill you right now, kid." the older man, lante agriche, answered with somewhat of a cold tone.

"look sir, anyone could kill me, even some random duck with enough ambition could do it! but then again.. the same could happen to anyone in this room if i were to be honest." you snidely shot back, staring at the red-eyed man. the whole room went silent, with only the sound of your incoherent mumbling on some square device fumbling around, which you refer to as a "phone".

only when you turned your head did you see the all-too familiar blonde with red eyes did you spoke with an unsure tone and confused expression "are you roxana agriche?"

the blonde quickly nodded and curtsied, confirming your question.

"shit, am i dreaming or did i just get isekai'd?" you quickly asked, raising your hand to your cheek, pinching it before quickly holding it gently "fuck..yep, i guess i did somehow get isekai'd.." you mumbled.

"isekai'd? wait.. they got isekai'd here?! then they must know the story, right?" roxana agriche thought with a bewildered expression.

"father, if you would, can you keep this kid alive? although they seem to be in a state of shock, they're bold and brave enough to answer you without showing fear. they might be useful enough to keep them alive." the red-eyed woman asked her father, walking next to the kneeling person in the middle of the room.

you could feel multiple eyes on you, but that didn't matter, as the man in front of you was the one who'd determine your fate in a world you just got into.

-thankfully, lante begrudingly agreed, only demanding that you'd be locked in a room close to his office

-you were personally investigated by lante, and when he asked you about the rectangular device you were holding, you confidently answered his question, even telling him how it works and how it's made (god damn you're smart😧)

-he probably made you sign some sort of contract if you wanted to be able to leave your room that you wouldn't cause any problems for them

-every time you're out of your room, you're assigned to be with either roxana or sierra, because although they're not that sane, they're still the sanest people you can interact with

-sierra probably saw achilles in you, so she treated you like you were her own child, which had a lot of pros, actually

-one of the only cons it had was going with sierra to the tea parties maria would have, and the older brunette would show off her "dolls"

-maria would be delighted to have a new person joining her tea parties! she normally wouldn't, but you're going with sierra, a woman she's obsessed with bc she looks like a doll

-maria would also probably tell you that you look like a doll, therefore your nickname from maria being "doll"

-oh well, looks like you're now inclined to go to her tea parties from now on!

-of course, the longer the two of you interacted, the more you and sierra got along. but by being close with sierra, you were bound to also be close to roxana

-roxana found comfort in your personality and existence, you were the only thing left that could remind her of her past life, so she asks you to assist and escort her most of the time

-she also brought in multiple seamstresses/tailors to sew your clothing so you'd look as amazing as her in those silk clothes

-roxana has one or more of her butterflies following you, just in case deon or any other member were to approach or threaten you

-she also gets you a loyal and capable maid that will do everything for you, don't stress your pretty hands, legs and fingers over trivial things, just let the maid do the work x

-of course, since you're close to roxana and her mother to such an extent in a rather short period of time, jeremy was also bound to get curious about you

-but if i was honest, it's reasonable, who can be confident and bold in front of the head of the agriche family AND catch the attention of the second heir of the agriche family and SURVIVE?

-well, you, obviously 😐

-anyways, i think jeremy would ask roxana to let him meet you, and after a week or so she'd finally give in, arranging the time for him and you to meet, it was decided to be in roxana's room the day after roxana gave in

-and when the two of you finally meet? shit goes loose, jeremy kept on asking you questions, to the point you'd probably go mad

-thankfully you didn't lose your shit and refrained from yelling as well as hitting him, he found you quite interesting! so good luck with a curious jeremy and an overprotective roxana+sierra as well as obsessive maria

-you met grizelda in the gardens, with you simply going to fawn over how well the flowers are being cared for. unfortunately, the brunette was walking into the same direction as you were. it was like a start of a cliche romance novel; a romantic meeting in a garden full of colorful flowers, the both of you greeting each other, with grizelda deciding to escort you back to your room, promising each other to talk to one another more

-your meeting with charlotte was..weird, to say the least, it took at the time when charlotte yelled at roxana for taking away her "toy", or something like that

-of course, you saw how the event went down in the manhwa, but seeing it in real life is.. well, terrifying, so when roxana left the corridor without a care after traumatising the red haired girl, you ran to her, trying your best to comfort charlotte in the best way you could

-after that, charlotte tries her best to be more mature and is clingy with you, not wanting you to end up like sierra. looks like you tamed another agriche!

-your relationship with fontaine is rocky, on one hand, you want to beat him up for being sexually interested and in love with his half sister, but you also pity him for growing up in such a family

-fontaine regards you in a highly manner, seeing you as a dove, someone that keeps him and everyone else company, deeming himself as your prince charming, the one who will protect you from such a cruel world

-now back to lante, you usually have dinner with him as to talk to him about stuff, but with you usually talking about the other agriches and even more so, giving him small suggestions that could help him(more like his family) in the future

-he definitely takes some ideas of yours into consideration, and slowly overtime sees you as his own child, you're obv his favorite btw

-and with the pros of the head of the black agriche seeing you as his own child, you get spoiled, like, REALLY SPOILED. you also get a better room with a decently sized balcony

-roxana and jeremy were happy when they were informed that your crusty and musty dark room was renovated into a more grander room, like damn you have an aditional room for your CLOTHES, AND, and, your bathroom looks grander

-roxana's goals also start to slowly change, not only is her goal now to keep you alive, but to get more money and leave with you from the agriche dukedom after keeping cassis pedelian alive

-sierra becomes rather clingy in a week with you, you're like the second sanest person here(probably..she doesn't know of your dark humor and florida man actions)

-speaking of florida man actions, lante is growing white hairs bc of your dumbass, how the hell did you, NOT ONLY, bring an entire LIVE BEAR inside the mansion and WRESTLE IT, but YOU ALSO SOMEHOW WON???

-no one lets you leave the mansion without supervision now

-please stop singing mitski lyrics, you're making everyone melancholic and sad, even more if you memorized the piano notes and sing her songs while playing the piano(maricore💋😍🙏)

-you definitely sang jeremy to sleep by singing "i will" by mitski in a hushed voice

-as always, bc you sing songs that are from a literal different world, people think that you personally wrote them and deem you a lyrical genius

-look, you're trying to live and desperate times call for desperate measures, so you accept the fact that people think you write the songs and move on

-lante probably ordersasks you to play the piano for him when he's working or stressed out(que your dumbass playing duet made by omori)

-look, you're gaining more and more (positive) attention by the day, you're now rumored to be "the agriche's capturedb siren" or sm dumb like that, an "angelic siren" taken by the head and gifted with a voice that could calm down all of the agriches if wanted, so be prepared to out of nowhere get tutors hired, as you're now known outside the agriche family and will need to join the banquets the five dukedoms go to yearly, as lante obviously treasures you and wants to show you off to the world

-of course, roxana and jeremy were opposed to it, why should the others expect the treasured person of the agriche's to act accordingly to whatever idiotic rules and ideas on how to act!

-surprisingly enough, the etiquette teachings and rules were pretty much the same as those cliche isekai/victorian romance novels, quickly rising to the top as one of the most proper and smart students the tutors ever had

-with your surprisingly huge attention on you, deon was bound to get involved with you

-he really had no choice! he personally felt like he needed to know of this "siren" that captured the hearts of the agriche children

-but he was rather taken aback by your personality, you weren't afraid of him, and it seemed like you weren't going to use him to your advantage

-he had no choice but to get used to your weird personality and actions, getting more and more closer to you

-deon is naturally a possesive man, but can you blame him? his mother hates him and his father only sees him as a tool to continue the agriche bloodline

-so when some eccentric kid takes the agriche dukedom by storm and becomes friends with everyone including him? he'd obviously be overprotective of his sibling! >:(

-please don't be mad at the man when he tries to lock you in your bedroom so you wouldn't run away when you gave him physical affection, he's new to it and doesn't want this fuzzy feeling in his heart to leave, it's pleasant, so just lightly scold him on how that's not the correct way to treat someone you care about

-roxana and jeremy didn't like it. why were you even so close to dion? don't you know he killed roxana's older brother? don't you understand? you're their sibling, not deon's!

-roxana definitelyprobably punishes you by either: starving you, breaking a bone of yours or using your blood to feed her butterflies. of course she does apologise everytime she does it! but you need to learn your lesson!

-jeremy would lock you in a room without any lights and doesn't let you out until you sincerely apologise(and that "sincere apology" you crying while screaming about how you're sorry and cling to him)

#manhwa #headcannons #manhwaxreader #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere #yandere manhwa #manhwa x reader #twtptflob #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #soleil.yandere #soleil.yanderemanhwa #soleil.xreader #soleil.manhwa #gn!reader #gn reader #soleil.platonic

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of-storms-and-sadness · 6 months

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Kill a Dixon

Hi! It's been a while and I had these two requests sitting in my inbox for a really embarrassingly long time. To these two anons, if they're even still around, I apologize...but here it is now.

8. As much as I want you to rest right now, it’s freaking me out that I can hold you down this easily!

Daryl storms through the front door of the house you share with Carol and him, before slamming it shut and heading towards the couch. You can not see him yet, but you recognize the sound of his footsteps and, tonight, they sound angry.

You wipe your hands off your pant legs and peek your head into the living room, where you now see him sitting, a human mess covered in blood and mud and god knows what else. Your heart does a weird thing in your chest and you skip towards the couch to see if he’s been hurt. It probably isn’t his blood, so calm down and take a deep breath before you make it worse, you tell yourself inside your own head.

You stop right in front of him, but he does nothing to acknowledge you there, even though he knows. “Daryl? Did somethin’ happen? You hurt?” You are ready to run over to the infirmary and fetch Denise if that’s the case, but the archer looks up at you for just a second before he speaks.

“Nah, ‘m fine,” he says and goes right back to staring at his own hands while you stand there and stare at him.

“Are you sure?”

Now this is pushing your luck. Daryl and you aren’t exactly close. You share a house, yes, but you can only thank that to the circumstances where your old home burned down and Carol and him had room for another person. There was a moment in time where you thought you were getting closer, but that was before you two have had a little slip in the shower of his basement suite and things have been awkward since then. It was something you never talked about, though. It didn’t exist, it had been just a drunken mistake and it was now being treated as if it never even happened at all, yet it still hovered above your head whenever he was around. You have no idea how it even came to happen. It is a mistake you can’t stop thinking about, though.

The point is, you know this man enough by now, to also know that, if he brushes you off the first time you ask, he’s gonna brush you off the second time too, and he’s not going to be gentle about it.

“Ya deaf or sumthin?! I said ‘m fine!” He snarls and you hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay! You’re fine! Christ! No need to bite my head off…I’m gonna go finish the dinner, you could maybe take a shower and then join me in the kitchen?” you suggest and he just grunts in response, while your cheeks blush just from saying the word shower around him. Just thinking back to that night makes you weak in the knees sometimes. Not to mention how, laying in your bed alone at night, unable to fall asleep, it sure helped you get rid of some tension more than once. God, you just wish he wasn’t so difficult to talk to. If talking to him wasn’t that damn hard, then perhaps you would’ve said something.

An hour goes by. You are now sitting at the dining table, your fingers tapping one and the same melody against the wooden surface as you wait. The food is long done. The table is set for two, since Carol is at Rick’s, babysitting. Time drags and it feels like forever has passed since you heard water running down in the basement. Did he fall asleep? He had been gone for three days, so it’s a possibility since he definitely was exhausted. What if he lied though? That tiny voice inside your head whispers. What if he’s hurt? Maybe you should go and just check on him.

So that's exactly what you do. You swiftly get up and march down the hall, but your movements turn more gentle and quiet as you reach the stairs leading down to Daryl’s little apartment, because what if he’s sleeping? You don’t want to wake him up, he needs his rest.

The door is left slightly ajar and you softly call out his name. There’s no answer, so you decide to peek in and there he is, spread out on the couch and sound asleep. Shirtless. You lean against the doorframe and admire the sight for a moment, until he suddenly gets restless. Dog is sleeping by his side and he seems to notice too, as he’s stirred awake and jumps down, stopping for a quick cuddle with you before running up the stairs and leaving you alone with his master, who is most obviously having a nightmare. You step closer and reach down to wipe the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as you call out his name. His eyes fly open at the same exact second you realize he’s burning up.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” His growl comes at the same time as your worried statement about him having a fever. “Nah, I’m fine,” he says but you push him down as he tries to get up.

“No, you’re not!” You argue. “You’re burning up and you’ll lay back down while I go fetch Denise!”

“I said ‘m fine,” he insists, but as he tries to get up again, you push him back down with an ease that only makes you worry more.

You stare at him with worried eyes. “No, you’re not fine! And as much as I want you to rest right now, it’s freaking me out that I can hold you down this easily!” You say, furrowing your brows as your mind is racing. Is it the flu? A cold? Was he injured? Oh god, had he gotten bit?! Nah, you refuse to believe the last idea that popped up in your head. Had a walker gotten him, you know for damn sure that Daryl wouldn’t come back here. He wouldn’t risk putting anyone into danger. “What happened? You gotta tell me, Daryl…this is serious…if you’re hurt and it gets infected, you could die…” you try to reason with him, but he gives you his usual answer and he even manages a snicker.

“‘s just a scratch, no one’s dyin’, Y/N. Only a Dixon can kill a Dixon..”

You scoff. “No, an infection can kill a Dixon too!” You say as he shows you this scratch that's actually a pretty deep gash on his leg. It looks red and nasty. “I’m getting Denise now and you won’t move your ass off the couch, because if you do, then I swear to god, Daryl…you’ll see a Y/N can fuckin’ kill a Dixon too!” Your words make him snicker again, but that only makes you more aware of how bad it is. Had he been fine and you talked to him like that, you know he would NOT find it funny. “I’m serious…” you assure him, starting to walk backwards towards the door. “Don’t fuckin’ test me, you hear?!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and he even raises his hand in a little salute gesture that makes you shake your head as you turn and run up the stairs.

#daryl #daryl dixon #twd #daryl x reader

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whitedemon-ladydeath · 6 months

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Rural Communities, Illyria, Yt Liberalism/Leftism + Classism

I'm having a hard time putting into words how I feel performative activism and political pandering plays into the way the IC works with Illyria

ok so I'm from rural Iowa. I am from a community of people who are prideful and hate handouts. we'd rather break our backs working ourselves into the ground instead of asking for help

now, I am looking at these Illyrians. these close-knit peoples who are prideful and work themselves ragged. As someone from a poor family, in a poor, prideful, relatively 'conservative' area, I can see a lot of similarities between Ilyria and my home. Not so much the rampant wing clipping and violent misogyny, but the pride and stubbornness that gets in our own way (note: misogyny, racism, ableism, etc etc etc are often the results of settler colonialism + yt supremacy. they just don't come out of NOwhere and were/are used as a tool to keep yt rich folks in places of power by causing class divide)

enter Cassian and the IC, people who greatly dislike the Illyrians, who routinely look down on them and call them backwards, uneducated, etc (note: this stereotypical language is due to racist undertones, canonically. This is just from my own perspective as someone from a low class rural area)

Cassian, who somehow has a victim complex due to the systemic problems of Illyria, but also does not actively push for Real Systemic Change outside of making the women Also be warriors, comes into the camps, he brings blankets, small tokens to help aid them and personally, if I saw someone from my home town who had made it very clear of how he actually feels about us try to give us blankets? I would not take a damn thing from him bec which is it? are we just the absolute Worst People Ever or do you feel *sorry* for us. And even if that is not his intention, which I don't think it is at all, he has proven time and again he's "better" than them

Cassian more-or-less scorned the Illyrians, as did Rhys and Azriel, and the more Cassian keeps aligning with Rhys compared to finding solidarity and alliances and progressivism with the Illyrians, the more alienated and isolated he's going to make himself from them

Cassian aligning himself with Rhys and the IC and Velaris and the High Lord's family removed him from the class and community solidarity if his own community. He profits off of the systemic problems that are in place despite having been a victim of the same problems

a lot of the ICs performative actions and pandering towards the Illyrians, just enough to get what they want out of them (bodies for a war), and their inability to push for actual, progressive and real change quite honestly reminds me a lot of the yt liberal and democratic politicians who look down on rural folks and have called us backwards and uneducated and hicks.

The IC hide their own prejudices and bigotry behind a shield of contempt and the systemic problems of the Illyrians, the same way I see from a lot of leftist + yt liberals here in the cities

The Illyrians have very real problematic systemic issues that need addressed and actively changed. And it's very interesting, for me, that the wing clipping and violence towards Illyrian women are so highlighted when violent misogyny seems to be fairly normal/common among the fae, in general, according to SJM, anyways

The way you combat systemic issues is through education, social programs and funding, policy changing, etc

what, exactly, is the IC doing for the people of Illyria outside of small performative gestures and "change takes time"

I see the same social problems of "change takes time" with democratic policies and I look at rural areas, and the Illyrians, who need help NOW. they're people getting routinely abandoned or forgotten unless we're needed for something bec they're "backwards" and "uneducated" and "hicks"

I'm not sure if I'm wording this well, tbh, but it feels very... familiar to what I have experienced living in rural Iowa for most of my life compared with the last few years here in the city

tagging: @bookishfeylin @kateprincessofbluewhales @acotardeservesbetter @ae-neon @andramoreaux

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #sjm critical #anti rhysand #cassian critical #classism in acotar

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thirstbxtch · 2 years

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Limb from Limb

Rated: Explicit. 18+ only.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Gareth's Sister!Reader. No Y/N.

Summary: Harsh, cruel words babe/They're gonna cut me like knife.

Warnings: Drug Use, Hate Sex, Mild Degradation because hate sex but not too much because it's not really my thing, Spitting, Blowjobs, Multiple Orgasms, and a Dash of Angst at the end but I plan on writing a follow up.

Notes: Title and summary taken from the Motorhead's Limb from Limb (give a listen, it's so hot for real). Some italicized text is meant to be Eddie's own internal monologue and other text is italicized for emphasis, you should be able to differentiate based on context, but if it's confusing I can change it. Okay also, I was doing some "research" and Eddie doesn't have a headboard or footboard so he doesn't even have anything to handcuff people to on his bed, like smh.

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated <333

Eddie's a little early for their first band practice of the summer he realizes, parking his van on the street. He walks up the driveway, guitar case in hand. The garage door is open and Gareth's drum kit is setup, but he doesn't see Gareth. He's thinking about some new riffs he wants to share with the band. He fully intends on writing some kick ass material this summer. Maybe he can save enough money for them to do a demo.

He walks into the garage, wandering over to the inside door to let himself in when the door is pulled inwards for him.

You. Gareth's sister.

"Ugh, god Munson, what are you doing here?" You sneer.

You had graduated high school last year with a reputation for being the cheerleader with a bad girl streak.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie shoots back. "Aren't you supposed to be in college or something?"

"Or something? I'm home for the summer, dumbass."

Christ, you're such a bitch, that much hasn't changed, although he thinks you've somehow managed to get hotter during your year away, briefly eyeing your denim cutoffs and thin cropped t-shirt. You're different in a way he can't exactly put his finger on. Maybe it's just the mysterious allure of college girls, unexplored territory for him.

"And I'm here for band practice. Is Gareth around or have you already sacrificed him to your evil whore overlord?" Eddie asks, giving you a close lipped smile and a tilt of his head.

"Don't talk about sacrifices to me, freak," you say, narrowing your eyes before turning your head over your shoulder to call inside the house. "Gareth, Munson is here for your little, loser band practice."

There's a muffled shout from inside.

You push past Eddie, stepping over to the deepfreeze in the garage. Eddie is powerless to watch as you reach in, cutoffs riding up, revealing the curve of your ass as they do so.

It would so easy for him to just walk up behind you, press his hips against your ass--

You straighten and close the lid to the deep freeze, popsicle in hand--cherry. Your nipples are hard from the cold air and they push against the thin fabric of your shirt.

He picks you up, sets you down roughly on the deep freeze, hands gripping your hips, stands between the v of your spread legs and sucks at your tits just like that, right through your damn shirt, his tongue--

"See something you like, Munson?" You coo softly, unwrapping the icy treat and giving him a smirk before popping the tip in your mouth.

Eddie is saved the embarrassment of having to retort because Gareth comes out into the garage.

"Have fun, losers," you say, sauntering back inside.

Gareth sighs and rolls his eyes.

"She's the fucking worst, man, I swear."

"Yeah, totally dude," Eddie agrees, "the worst".

The next few weeks continue in much the same way. The summer allows them more time together as a band, so Eddie is over at Gareth's more often, leading to more quips and heated exchanges between you. Meanwhile Eddie's mind falls in the gutter whenever he sees you, when you reach into the fridge to get a beer, in the deep freeze to get more damn popsicles, the wicked little twist of your mouth as you insult him--he thinks about kissing the sneer right off your face. A hot, open mouthed kiss; maybe you would actually be quiet for once.

And it's after a few of those weeks, one night--quite literally the middle of the night--there's a sharp, persistent rapping on Eddie's trailer door. He's kind of high and it takes moment for the sound to break through the haze of drugs, but once he realizes it's real, he curses, rolling off of his bed, pulling on a shirt at least--he'd just been in his boxers.

He quickly goes to the door, where the rapping is still occurring, then pauses, what if it's the cops? Who knocks like that except for the fucking cops?

Here we go.

But when he pulls the door open it's only you.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you want?" He asks, demanding, mouth set in a line.

You're greeted by the sight of Eddie in an oversized band tee and a pair of soft looking black boxers. Long hair slightly more disheveled than usual. He looks good, you hate to admit it, he always looks good. Hell, you don't even think the band is that bad. More than once you've imagined Eddie bruising you with the same aggression as the music he plays. More than once you've thought about plucking one of his dumb little cigarettes out of his mouth as he sings softly to himself, writing and rewriting on frantic pieces of paper, just to finish it off yourself in one smooth, long drag, just so your lips can touch the same filter, just so you can have him look at you with those soft, dark eyes.

"I'm out of the drugs I brought with me and you're only dealer I know of in this godforsaken shithole," you say, pushing past him and into the trailer.

Eddie blinks, looking at the space where you used to be, then at you.

"Sure, yeah, just let yourself in."

He contemplates kicking you out, but he can't exactly afford to turn away a paying customer.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks again, walking past you and to his room.

"Pot, obviously," you counter.

Decidedly not obvious.

Eddie looks at you over his shoulder. No way, you're entirely too high strung to be a smoker.

"Didn't take you for the type."

"As if you know anything about me."

O-kay.

"How much do you want?"

You're in his room now. You've never been here before. Sure you did drugs in high school but you always made whatever jock boyfriend you had at the time buy for you. You had to wring Gareth's little neck for directions before you headed out tonight.

It smells like pot and cigarettes and stale beer and dirty laundry, but it's kind of comforting in a weird way. The walls are covered with band posters and whatever other nerdy shit he's into--Dungeons and Dragons.

You pull $50 out of the back pocket of your cut offs, glancing around.

"How much will this get me?"

Eddie counts the bills.

"Well for you, there's a special bitch tax, so let's say half an ounce." Eddie replies smugly, happy for the opportunity to hold the upper hand.

You set your jaw and glare at him.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Munson? That's enough for an ounce and then some." You huff.

Eddie shrugs openly.

"Like I said, special bitch tax for you sweetheart."

He watches you bite the inside of your cheek and look at the floor before your expression completely changes to a soft pout.

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I'll be nicer I promise." You lie sweetly.

It's almost comical. He knows you're lying and you know he knows you're lying.

"I have a lot going on that you don't know about ok? Please, I really need this," you offer more sincerely.

Eddie sighs and looks away. Life must be so easy for you. All you have to do is bat your lashes and say pretty please. But he doesn't like to judge. Maybe you do have something going on.

"Fine, an ounce."

He looks at you and you give him a smirk.

"Better," you say with all the confidence of a cat who's won the cream.

He turns away, pocketing the cash and rummaging through his drawers and measuring out an ounce.

Eddie turns around, drugs in hand, and notices your gaze absentmindedly locked on his handcuffs.

"See something you like?" He lilts, giving you a wicked grin.

You scoff and roll your eyes.

"Please, Munson." You reply, tone dismissive.

Eddies grin only widens. He's high, his impulse control is decidedly lower than usual--like he really has any to begin with, and he can't resist the urge to wind you up.

"Please what? Cuff you on my bed?"

You take a step towards him, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow.

"You wouldn't even know where to begin with a girl like me."

"Oh, I know exactly where I'd begin with a little slut like you, princess." Eddie returns, also taking a step forward.

"Yeah? You think you can show me a good time, Munson? Let's see it then." You challenge meeting his gaze.

Without really thinking, Eddie drops the weed and instinctively pushes you against the wall of his room. Hands gripping your hips like he's so often thought of and crushes his mouth to yours, mildly surprised when you return the kiss without hesitation, your arms locking around his neck. It's heated, teeth and noses bumping as you both fight for dominance, but Eddie manages to lick into your mouth, stroking your tongue with his, biting at your bottom lip and drawing it into his mouth and releasing. His hand grips your jaw, tilting it upwards before you can close your mouth.

He knows he's taking a risk, but he's willing to take it, it'll be totally worth it. He gathers the saliva in his mouth, angling his lips above yours, and spits deliberately into your open mouth.

Your eyes flicker with anger, but when he covers your lips with his, you only moan and press against him. He licks into your mouth once again, thoroughly tasting you, sin and bittersweet.

"So the rumors are true," he murmurs, breaking the kiss, and bringing his mouth to your throat. "You are a slut."

"Fuck you," you spit, hating how this feels better than anything has in a long time.

"Whatever you want sweetheart," Eddie says lowly, nipping and kissing your throat.

While you're distracted, Eddie reaches for the cuffs behind you, removing them with a soft clink. Your hands are at his stomach now, palming his ribcage, so it only takes a little slight of hand to slip one cuff over your wrist, and then the other, clicking them into place.

You still and Eddie can't read your expression--part anger, part want, and Eddie is suddenly unsure.

"I can take them off ok? We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he says breaking, voice going gentle.

You only sneer in response.

"I can take it Munson. Do your worst."

Christ you're impossible. Instead he says, "Get on your knees then, sweetheart."

You sink to your knees slowly, obediently, hands cuffed in front of you, keeping eye contact. Eddie towers over you once your knees finally hit the floor. You can see the bulge in his boxers where he's hard.

"You like this, freak? You like seeing me on my knees?" You taunt.

"Not as much as you like being there," Eddie retorts in the same tone, palming himself through the thin fabric of his boxers.

"Suck me off?" It still holds the slightest inflection of a question.

We don't have to do anything you don't want to.

"Whatever you want sweetheart," you reply, throwing his own words back at him.

Eddie bites his lip, pushing down his boxers.

Your eyes widen and flicker at the sight of his hardened length, his perfect mushroom tip, your core clenching.

"Not bad, Munson," you tease through lowered lashes. "Might have fucked you before now if I knew you had such a pretty dick."

Eddie only pushes the tip against your lips and you open, sucking him in. He tosses his head back with a groan, one hand resting against the wall, and the other in your hair.

"Nothing to say now, huh?" Eddie asks rhetorically, hand tightening in your hair as you suck slowly at the head of his cock, completely aware that you're still the one with the actual power. He tastes strong and undefinably masculine. Your tongue teases the slit.

Eddie bites back a curse and looks down at you. You've got those big, blow job eyes and your cheeks are hollow. You only suck harder at his head, swirling your tongue around it and then letting it go with a pop. You look up at him, spit sticking your lips, and suck the tip into your mouth again, deliberately putting on a show, a show that Eddie watches transfixed as you swallow half his length, then all of it, your eyes closed now. He moans, cock twitching on your tongue.

You release him slowly, smirking up at him.

"You wanna fuck my pretty little mouth don't you, freak?"

"Your pretty little mouth was made for fucking, whore," Eddie returns, reaching down and cupping your jaw in one hand, swiping a thumb along your bottom lip.

You open for him and then he's pushing into your mouth, rolling his hips slowly at first, shaft sliding over your tongue, still watching with darkened eyes. He's already so close.

He thrusts into your mouth earnestly now, hand at the back of your head. Feels so good. Want simmering beneath his high. He loses himself, tip hitting the back of your throat. He isn't going to last long, but that's the point.

His hips start to falter.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And then he's spilling down your throat, watching you swallow it all or so he thinks as he pulls his boxers back up. When he pulls out, you don't say anything, only stand and push him towards the edge of the bed until he's sitting on it, gripping his jaw with your cupped hands, slipping a thumb over his bottom lip, mouth just touching his, he opens and you spit some of his own cum in his mouth.

So fucking gross. Eddie loves it. He kisses you hungrily.

He grabs you by the waist and sets you down on the bed next to him, then stands, pushing the middle of your chest with one ringed hand so you fall back.

You look up at him from the bed through lowered lashes.

"How do you want me?"

"In the middle, sweetheart," Eddie says taking off his shirt, but leaving his boxers on for now.

You toe off your shoes and maneuver yourself to lie in the middle of the bed, placing your cuffed hands above your head.

"Like this?"

You bat your lashes.

"Just like that," Eddie replies, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

He kneels on the bed next to you, deftly unbuttoning your shorts and drawing them down your legs.

There's a noticeable wet spot at the front of your silk and lace trimmed panties.

Oh.

"So wet for me already, baby." Eddie straddles your hips. "Do I turn you on? Ruining your panties for a loser like me? A freak like me?" Eddie leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear and then nipping at the lobe.

You don't reply, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. That's ok, he's willing to pick his battles. You'll be begging before the night is over.

His hands cup your tits through the fabric of your shirt--no bra, of course, but he wanted to double check just in case.

Eddie brings his face to your chest, thumb finding and flicking over a nipple. Pleased when it tightens beneath the fabric.

He kisses it, tongue licking out, and then drawing it into his mouth, dampening your shirt. You sigh and arch your back, pushing your chest into the touch. Eddie obliges, sucking harder, teasing the other nipple with the pad of his thumb, before bringing his hand down to your panties, fingers ghosting over the silk. He sucks the other nipple into his mouth and adds some pressure with his hand, just lightly petting you now.

Eddie stays like that for awhile, teasing and sucking at your clothed tits, stroking you over your panties, occasionally bumping your clit, but nothing to give you any really satisfaction, until you're squirming beneath him, trying to press your hips up against his hand, but Eddie only grins, intentionally moving his hand away when you do so.

He stares up at your heated expression.

"Something wrong?" He teases, feigning innocence.

You huff, frustrated.

"Are you going to get me off or what, Munson? Or probably you don't know how."

"Oh, you wanna cum princess?"

He watches you bite the inside of your cheek.

"You're gonna have to use your words and ask nicely."

Another huff.

"Fuck that, I'll just go home and finish it myself."

Eddie sits back and moves off of your hips.

"What are you doing?" You ask heatedly.

"You're free to leave," Eddie replies, calling your bluff, "should I take the cuffs off?"

You curse under your breath, all too aware of Eddie's gaze and grit your teeth.

"Please," you offer grudgingly.

"Please what? Take the cuffs off?"

He's enjoying this too god damn much, but the almost unbearable ache between your legs is enough to make you choke down a little pride, so you bite your lip.

"Please Eddie, please make me cum, I want to cum for you like the good little slut that I am," you say, pitching your voice to faux neediness, nearly mocking.

And Eddie doesn't care, it still sounds hot as fuck.

"Now, was that so hard?" Eddie practically purrs.

You're rewarded with Eddie resuming his place, straddle your hips once again, but lifting your shirt this time, exposing your tits.

He mouths at them roughly and places two fingers over your clit, still outside of your panties, but applying pressure now, rubbing tight little motions, and you half gasp, half moan with relief.

You're already so wound up from Eddie's teasing that you cum suddenly, panting and gasping, grinding up against Eddie's hand through your now ruined panties.

He barely gives you time to recover before he's yanking your panties down the length of your legs, then leans over to tuck them in between the mattress and the box spring.

"You are not keeping my panties."

"Oh I absolutely am." Eddie returns smoothly, and you don't have time to argue about it because he's pushing your thighs apart, making space for himself, slipping his shoulders beneath them and licking your pussy without hesitation.

He groans, nuzzling deeper to devour you. You can't help but moan and the sound goes straight to Eddie's cock, half hard again.

He slips two fingers into you and starts fucking you with them, hard. The rings on his long fingers half disappearing with every thrust. You bring your still cuffed hands down from over your head to bury in his hair as he licks and sucks at your clit, your thighs starting to clench. He angles his fingers slightly upward, hitting that spot repeatedly, still sensitive from your orgasm not even two minutes ago and Eddie doesn't relent, your fingers tightening in his hair when you cum again just as sharp and sudden as the first time, his name falling loudly from your lips--Eddie, not your usual sneery "Munson", but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It's the sweetest thing he's ever heard and he's fully hard in his boxers, shifting his hips against to get some sort of friction but he doesn't stop finger fucking you until you're oversensitive and keening for him to stop. Only then does he pull his fingers out, gently kissing the inside of your thighs.

He shifts again on the bed and you think he's finally going to withdraw but he only returns to your pussy, lapping at you gently now, carefully aware of your oversensitivity and honestly you start to space out, kind of second hand high off of all the pot smoke lingering in the air, going lax, content to let him continue eating you out.

And Eddie can't get enough, the taste of you, the scent of you, thrilled with the thought of being behind enemy lines, your folds so wet and slick against his tongue, taking his time, mentally cataloging every caught breath and sigh. He wants you to cum again though so he begins licking and nuzzling with more intent. You still when at the touch of his fingers, but he's gentle this time, easing them in, lazily stroking and curling them.

You begin to feel that familiar ache. Eddie looks at you from between your thighs, eyes dark, knowing. He can be patient when he wants to be and right now he's being very patient, eyes slipping shut again as he quickens his motions and you start to grind against his face.

This time when you cum, it washes over you slowly and again Eddie laps at you until you're whimpering and oversensitive, pressing the heel of your hand against his forehead, trying to writhe away from him, but he wants to hear you say it so he continues.

"Eddie--Eddie, please," you say weakly.

There it is.

He finally stops, placing a last lingering kiss over your clit, and pulls his face away, resting his head on one of your thighs. His lips and chin wet and shiny.

For once there's silence between the two of you.

Eddie is however, painfully aware of his second hard on for the night and moves from between your legs. He reaches over, rummaging around in his nightstand drawer until he finds the handcuff key and undoes the cuffs, setting them to the side. He also reaches for a condom and your brows raise.

"I'm on the pill," you offer sugar sweet.

Eddie drops the condom back on the nightstand.

"So, how am I doing for a total loser? Still think I wouldn't know where to begin?" Eddie croons against your throat.

"Shut up," you reply, pushing a hand against his shoulder.

"Ready to take back what you said earlier?"

"You wish."

Eddie only tsks in response.

"We're not even at the main event yet, Munson. It's taking you long enough."

He laughs now.

"That's right, princess. We're not even at the main event yet and I've already made you cum three times."

Eddie rocks back on his heels to take his boxers off before laying over you.

"Missionary? How vanilla of you, Munson," you taunt, although you hardly have the energy for anything else.

"Let's call it a litmus test, shall we?" He says rhetorically, lining himself up and thrusting into you, one, deep movement watching your mouth drop open.

One leg hooks around his waist and your hands roam over his shoulders and the expanse of his back.

He fucks you slow, kissing you languidly. It's nice--it's not something guys his age do very often or ever.

The head of his cock, the slide of him, feels so good, you kiss him back deeply, clinging to him.

"You wanna cum for me again?" Eddie says softly.

You pant out a "No".

"I'm sorry, that wasn't an actual question sweetheart," Eddie replies wicked as ever.

"You're the worst."

"Mmm, I am," he hums. "Just the worst, making you cum so many times for me. Have any of your prep boyfriends ever even made you cum? Or do you fake it for them?"

That manages to hit a little too close to home and your nails bite into his back.

"Fucking hate you," you exhale.

"Same here darling."

He's fucking you harder now, with the roughness you've imagined him capable of and when he kisses you, biting at your bottom lip, you cum again, blacking out as you clench weakly around him.

Eddie let's out a moan, almost a whine, white heat curling around his spine and spills inside you.

You stay entwined for long moments after. Eddie doesn't know if this is going to happen again and he wants to savor it. Finally he flops back on the bed next to you, breathless.

"Jesus," he sighs.

You lay limp on the bed, exhausted, trying to summon the will to move, but decide it can't hurt to lay here for a minute or two.

And then you're warm, everything is black, but you're warm and heavy. Something soft covers you, you try to turn over but you can't. There's something behind you, someone, their arm wrapped around your middle. This is hardly the first time you've woken in pre dawn hours in a strange bed, normally you disentangle yourself and go back to sleep, but you freeze when you realize whose bed this is.

It feels good, better than you would ever admit--warm, safe, secure. But you've been around long enough now to know how this goes and you feel suddenly empty.

"What the fuck, Munson? Are you trying to abduct me or some shit?" You ask, annoyed, moving his arm off of you and getting out of bed.

"Mmm, what?" Eddie responds half asleep, nuzzling against the pillow.

You're wearing his shirt from earlier, no idea when that happened.

Your eyes haven't adjusted and you click on the lamp on his nightstand so you can find the rest of your clothes.

"Hey, what?" Eddie says more awake this time, wincing away from the light.

"The fuck is this?" You ask motioning to his band shirt and the now empty space next to him on the bed.

"You passed out?" Eddie replies confused. "What? What's the problem?"

"I passed out so you thought I would just want to stay the night instead of trying to wake me up? You dressed me?"

Eddie gives a toss of his head. He's shirtless and his long hair falls over his bare shoulders.

"I just handed it to you, you put it on yourself when you were still half awake! And yeah, seeing as we just fucked each other's brains out, letting you be didn't seem outside the realm of possibility," he argues.

You sigh annoyed that you had let your guard drop, picking your shorts up off the floor.

"Fuck, sorry for trying to be nice I guess." He apologizes sarcastically putting a hand up.

You're willing to forgo your panties for time's sake. Shirt, drugs, shoes, keys.

"You gonna give it back?"

You're still wearing his shirt.

"Mine now," you answer cheerily. It's petty, you know.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Great." He replies tight lipped.

You turn heel and walk out of his room. Eddie watching you leave. The trailer door slams, your car starts outside. Eddie reaches over and clicks off the lamp with a huff.

#this whole thing is so extra #i love it so much #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

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