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gracieheartspedro · 3 months

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Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life.

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway.

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields.

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours.

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it.

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway.

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all.

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street.

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior.

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so.

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor.

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position.

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed. Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road.

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened.

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field.

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence.

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings.

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you.

A hot cowboy saved your life.

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here.

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine.

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start.

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it.

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal.

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway.

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads.

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card.

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both.

You needed your furniture, after all.

It will be okay, you tell yourself.

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night.

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it.

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy.

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl.

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric.

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color.

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you.

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand.

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way.

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.”

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.”

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole.

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did.

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin.

“You got tons of jokes, huh?”

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile.

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame.

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet.

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you.

He would come over again? To fix your toilet?

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired.

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture.

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do.

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate.

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out.

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled.

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head.

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places.

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture.

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold.

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school.

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.”

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady.

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods.

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken.

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.”

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #cowboy!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #joel x reader

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cerberussyndrome · 2 years

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radiant damage

I've probably written more self-indulgent things before. probably.

summary: Some absolute nonsense lotr/d&d fusion (+the characters know how d&d works) where after Amon Hen Aragorn multiclasses into paladin and Boromir gets res'd by a blood hunter cult. I’m probably never finishing a full fic of this idea, so up on tumblr it goes.

cw: canon-typical violence, canon-typical cannibalism (orcs)

The long, low blast of a horn rings out over Parth Galen.

Legolas frowns downhill. "The Horn of Gondor," he says. Aragorn knows the sound; he's heard it before, when they left Rivendell, and again when Gandalf was clinging to the edge of the cliff and Aragorn ran to his aid, Boromir on his heels.

He thinks, Boromir. He thinks, I've made mistakes.

He's running before he can think about it, sprinting past Legolas in a dead run. He has made so many mistakes this day; let this not be one of them.

Run, slash at the orc in front, jump over a root jutting from the forest floor, do not slow down, do not look back. He's not proficient in acrobatics but his survival bonus is high; luck is with him and he does not falter. When an arrow sprouts from the throat of an Uruk-Hai lunging for him from his left (critical hit), he does not acknowledge Legolas's kill and he does not stop moving. Somewhere to the right and behind him, Gimli is hacking away with his axes and yelling in Khuzdul.

The horn's cries are getting fainter, softer, too much time in-between, too much silence — Aragorn does not think about it, Aragorn does not have time for to think about it.

Until he reaches the clearing. Until he stumbles in at a full sprint and sees —

Nothing. A dozen orc bodies scattered with hacked limbs and no Boromir.

He spins in a frantic circle, eyes scanning for tracks, signs, anything. Perception is a long-practiced skill of his, surely he can find something. There — Boromir's broken sword, hilt half-buried in fallen leaves and blood, blade in shattered pieces. He feels his pulse jump into his throat. He thinks about Narsil and tries to stop.

(Sauron cut down Elendil like he was nothing.)

He will, in time, follow the orcs' footprints past the river and towards the plains of Rohan. He will find the absent Elven boat, Frodo and Sam's missing supply packs, the shield that Boromir left leaned against the trunk of a great oak tree.

Gimli and Legolas will catch up to him and they will stand in silence, the Fellowship broken beyond repair.

—

Boromir made his first death save when the second arrow buried itself in his gut, falling to his knees — Second Wind gone with the first arrow, no potions to begin with, Merry and Pippin screaming somewhere behind him.

Merry. Pippin.

(Natural 20.)

He got back up and went for the throat of the nearest orc, his sword shattering as it met crude, blackened armor. When the third arrow sent him back down to his knees, when the orcs picked up Merry and Pippin and carried them away, he thought, I have failed at even this.

When the Uruk-Hai captain walked downhill and pointed a drawn arrow at his chest, Boromir met his eyes and did not flinch.

—

"Perhaps they are dead," Gimli says. He does not say it with relish — it is a scrape in the throat, words forced from his reluctant tongue. He says it because Legolas will not, because Aragorn has slung Boromir's shield over his back and shoulders the weight like it is his guilt.

Legolas says nothing. (He does not protest Gimli's statement.)

Aragorn grits his teeth and closes his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Frodo and Sam left intentionally. Frodo told me he was headed on alone, and I have no doubt Sam followed."

"And the others?"

"I will not leave them in the hands of the orcs," Aragorn near-snarls. There is something feral in his eyes. He is more the ranger than the leader, now, Gimli thinks. It has cost him to lose their companions in such a way, under Aragorn's guidance. That such a loss might have been inevitable does not seem to occur to him.

Gimli looks to Legolas, but the elf is staring steadily into the distance. He looks as if he is straining to spot the missing members of their erstwhile Fellowship. Elf-eyes or no, there is little chance of that, Gimli thinks.

"Aragorn," Gimli says.

The Man shakes his head. "There is hope," he insists, quietly. "They may be alive, yet. Saruman will have been looking for a Hobbit carrying what he seeks since Lothlorien — the orcs would not kill them."

Perhaps, if Saruman is sufficiently threatening and the orcs sufficiently disciplined. If orcs even have discipline. Left unsaid is what they might do to a Man. Gimli can imagine orcs carrying Merry and Pippin away — less so with a man of Gondor, and one who'd just laid waste to at least twenty of their fellows, no less.

He does not say this. There has been a desperate edge to Aragorn ever since they heard the Horn of Gondor sound in the forest. At least there is hope for the hobbits.

"I intend to go after our missing friends. Will you follow me?" Aragorn says lowly.

Gimli almost smiles. "Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens," he says mildly. "Aye, I will follow you."

Legolas, who has stayed silent thus far, circles around and nods to Aragorn. "As will I."

Aragorn fixes them with a steady look, takes a deep breath, and puts a hand on the shield. "I swear," he whispers. "I will not let our people fail."

There is a surge of energy in Gimli's veins, of wind in Legolas's hair, of light around Aragorn's hands.

(Level up.)

—

"I think we have subclasses, now," Pippin whispers to Merry. They're both curled up next to each other, hands bound and Pippin's temple touching Merry's. Somewhere in the darkness, the Uruk-Hai company is feeding on the fallen orc.

"Yeah," Merry says. His eyes are dark. The Uruk-Hai suddenly cheer as something cracks. Merry flinches and closes his eyes.

"What did you pick?" Pippin tries to drown out the noise of ripping flesh and crunching bone with his own voice. What is he if not a performer?

"Inquisitive," Merry whispers. "I'm sick of — not knowing."

Pippin nods. They've been many things on this journey, but he will always remember that they began because they followed Frodo out of the Shire. Even if they are out of their depth, now, it has always been their decision, at the outset. Pippin is not like his cousin or Frodo, though. His is not a mind made for clever trickery; Merry has always been the planner between the two of them.

"What about you, Pip?"

He smiles, and if it is not the smile he might've given even three days before, he thinks that is his own business. "College of Valor."

"Still dreaming about heroes," Merry says.

"We've met heroes, Merry," Pippin says. "I want to remember them."

The Uruk-Hai captain is urging his soldiers to eat. In the dark, Pippin cannot make out the shape of the great bow he carries over his shoulder.

—

When he wakes, he is sightless and in pain.

He gasps and the salt-slick phantom memory of blood rises in his throat and threatens to choke him. For a moment he is anchorless in the fathomless dark, fingers scrabbling for a hold on the cold, smooth thing he is lying on.

"Stop struggling," says someone, far off. "Stay down."

He opens his mouth in protest but then there is glass against his lips and weight on the center of his chest, and by the time he tastes the thing poured into his mouth — bitter and hot — he is gone again into the dark.

[Hunter's Bane: At 1st level, you have survived the Hunter’s Bane—a dangerous, long-guarded ritual that alters your life’s blood, forever binding you to the darkness and honing your senses against it.]

—

It turns out Legolas was poisoned by an Uruk-Hai knife back at Parth Galen. That he has not mentioned this is somehow unsurprising.

"You've been making CON saves for the last three days while at disadvantage," Aragorn says, voice deathly quiet. Gimli winces a little just to hear it, resisting the urge to back away. They are behind an outcropping of rock watching the riders approach on the plain. There is not enough space for this argument.

Legolas says, "I have been out of spell slots since we began this chase, as have you, and we have not slept. There was nothing to be done about it."

Gimli sighs.

"You are a damned idiot," Aragorn bites out. "Come here."

The elf inches closer, finally placing his arm into the Man's open hands. Aragorn, gentle for all his anger, cups his hands and whispers under his breath in a language that Gimli does not know — neither does Legolas, if his raised eyebrows are any indication. The soft white light that surrounded Aragorn's hands days ago returns, pulsing slowly and trickling into Legolas's body.

Legolas's eyebrows raise higher. "That was no Lesser Restoration."

"Like you said," Aragorn replies, drawing back. His hands are half-gloved, nails crusted with orc blood and dirt. Sometimes Aragorn looks kingly in Gimli’s eyes, noble and proud as any dwarf lord, but right now he is filthy and ragged with desperation. "I've been out of spell slots since we started this chase."

Gimli reaches the answer first: "You took a level in paladin?"

This from the Man who would not take up his ancestral sword. And what has he sworn on, anyway, to grant him this grace?

Legolas narrows his eyes. Before he can speak, the fair-haired riders thunder past their position and Aragorn dives into the open to address them.

#my writing #lotr #d&d #kinda #it's a weird fusion is what i'm saying #premise up for adoption #as always a mix of book and movie canon for lotr #aragorn's paladin subclass is oath of the crown btw

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livingemkayde · 9 months

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ch ii. wild things

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller

chapter two of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. kissing. mentions of sexual situations. bit of a love triangle forming. age gap, reader is 23 and joel is 35. Tommy is 30. (ages of all characters and plot do not follow canon strictly for the story’s sake). no use of y/n!

a/n: wowza!! after careful consideration i am definitely making this into a series due to all the requests and comments in my inbox!! thanks for all the love on chaser and on my dbf!joel series which you can find all the parts to here. i love u all so much. i had a bit of an idea to write joel x reader mixed with one sided tommy x reader so this will evolve into that. who knows what will happen!! haha….

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

You watch his hands on the steering wheel. His thick fingers flicker on the settings for the radio, or tap on the top of the wheel when you stop at a red light. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating. But you already knew that. “You can’t be starin’ at me like that in the house.” You blush, snapping out of your dream-like haze.

For a split second, it does cross your mind to turn around and run away.

But you’re already here. Joel is looking at you, mouth agape — you’re sure you look the same, if not worse. The little girl standing next to Joel giggles at you, smiling.

Fuck.

“Hi,” you say, breathless. You aren’t sure if you’re talking to her or Joel.

But she squeaks a small hi, reaches for your hand, and pulls you into the house.

You look up at him as you pass, he sucks in a breath and for a haste second, his eyes glance down towards your chest. Your movements feel slowed as you pass him. Like a scene from a movie — not unlike the feeling you had when you first bumped into him. You look up at him, a worried look fretted on your brow as he closes the door behind you.

She drops your hand and sits on the couch, Joel sits next to her, you on a love chair across from them.

It's quiet.

Way too quiet for what’s supposed to be an interview.

Joel keeps sending fleeting glances at you like he’s scared of what will happen if he meets your eye for more than two seconds.

“So…You’re — uh —” he starts, but doesn’t really know how to finish.

“Yeah,” you say for him. He looks back at you, his mouth slightly agape. Joel shakes his head like he’s trying to snap himself out of it.

“This is Sarah. She’s seven,” he looks down towards her, she looks at you with big brown eyes. Not unlike the one’s attached to the man sitting on the couch beside her.

“Hi there,” you smile at her.

“Hi,” she says, her dangling feet swinging off the couch. “You’re really pretty,” she says, shy.

“Why thank you,” you say, acting flushed. “You’re gorgeous yourself.”

Sarah blushes. You look at Joel and he stares back. A couple beats of silence and your hands start sweating.

“Yeah, so I guess I’m your nine a.m,” you say with a breathy chuckle, talking to Joel now — referring to the interview appointment.

“Guess so,” he says, his southern drawl overtaking his voice. He looks at you with eyes that show a curious emotion. You wonder what he’s thinking. But most of all, you wonder how long this — now ridiculous — interview is gonna take before he tells you to leave.

So much for a good fuck buddy.

“I—” he shakes his head again. “Sorry, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

You are almost certain he swears under his breath.

“Right,” he says when Sarah gives him a funny look. You had put that on your resume that you submitted a week ago.

“College grad, or somethin’,” he says, pulling in a sharp breath at the words — and the realization.

“Yeah — uh — english.”

“Do you like books?” Sarah cuts into the tension, but she’s oblivious to the heat rising off your cheeks.

“Love them,” you smile at her, looking around, seeing a children's book on the coffee table separating you.

Where the Wild Things Are

You smile to yourself.

“Do you like reading, Sarah?”

She nods with a grin.

“I would love to take you down to the library. They’ve got all the books you can imagine,” you say, smiling.

She giggles and looks up to her dad with pleading eyes.

You’re not sure why you’re trying so hard to get this kid to like you but after last night, you aren’t really sure about anything anymore.

You can hear Sarah mumble into Joel’s ear.

Please, dad? I like her. The lady from yesterday was old.

His eyes cut to yours, and back down to the little girl whispering in his ear. You look around the house nervously. The Carhartt jacket that you distinctly remember from last night is draped on a chair in the kitchen.

Joel clears his throat, and to everyone in the room’s surprise, extends his hand. He looks a bit scared, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified. But he utters those words in that drawl and you know you’re done for. Like all those hours before in the bar, then in the bathroom, and after that too when he slipped his name and number into your phone.

“You’re hired.”

You try to reason with yourself in the split second before you extend your hand to meet him.

Good pay. Sweet kid. Dad who you already fucked.

It might not be the worst thing — but it certainly doesn’t reign best in your mind. You take his hand after a beat. Your sweaty palm connects with his sturdy one. He gives you one shake and then drops your fingers. Sarah smiles up at you, you anxiously smile back. Joel gives you a gruff look that makes your pulse race.

“When can you start?” He asks after a few seconds.

“Tomorrow,” you say, maybe a bit too hastily, calming yourself down you reutter, “Tomorrow.”

“Alright, well… come ‘round eight. I gotta get to work tomorrow,” he stands, you follow him to the door, he mumbles to Sarah to play with some toys while you talk.

The cool morning air hits your face when he closes the door behind you. You stand face to face, shy eyes bending through the silence from both of you.

“I—” you stifle an awkward laugh, “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have come if I’d known, obviously.”

“Right,” he agrees, looking down at his feet.

“We can…this can be —” another awkward laugh, “like this okay? Right?”

“Right,” Joel echoes while sending you a curt nod.

God, it's like pulling teeth.

“Look, I’m sorry — we can forget about it, if this is like —”

“No,” he shakes his head, looking up at you, his brown eyes reflecting sunlight. You didn’t remember his eyes looking like that. But it was dark and you were drunk.

“It’ll be fine…‘s’alright,” Joel assures, but you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna —”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles. You catch a glint of the guy from last night — who managed to charm his way into your pants in under ten minutes. He surprised you then, and doesn’t fail to surprise you now.

“Sarah likes you, so…” you raise your brows at his words, he continues.

“Been havin’ a tough time findin’ someone she likes, and I have t’work,” he breathes out through stiff lips.

“I understand.”

You find yourself asking more, even though it might not be the best idea. But like you thought last night — this guy is intriguing — and getting a glimpse into his life even if you both weren’t ready for it might not be the worst thing.

“What do you do?” you ask, shy.

“I — uh — I’m a contractor.”

You don’t really know much about contracting so you fall short with a reply.

But he fills the silence.

“I work with my brother. He’s… he lives not too far away. You’ll probably meet him tomorrow,” he says, arms crossing over his chest.

“Sounds good,” you say, crossing your own arms, your thin sweater not doing much to protect you from the morning dew.

Joel looks towards the street and furrows his brow.

“Where do you live?” he asks, blunt.

Your eyes widen in shock.

“Jesus — I —” he shakes his head, his fingers pinching his nose bridge. “I just — you don’t have a car, m’sorry,” he looks out towards the empty street.

“Just…wonderin’ if you needed a ride.”

And so, the gentleman from last night appears just when you thought this might be hopeless.

“Oh car’s back at the house — I walked — I actually live like four blocks over on Anderson,” you jut with your thumb in the direction of your childhood home — your parents are letting you stay there while they’re on vacation for the summer.

“Didn’t know we lived so close,” you note to no one in particular, just speaking aloud.

“You’re in between me ‘n Tommy,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Jesus.

“What?”

“My brother,”

This small talk is getting awkward.

“Oh…right, well — cool. All close together,” you say, pulling a smile even though you feel immensely uncomfortable right now.

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Cool.”

“So I’m gonna…” you nod your head to the direction of your house. It looks like that shakes him out of this trance of tension you both were put in together.

“Yeah, right.”

A goodbye is braced on your lips but you hesitate.

Mr. Miller?

Joel?

Maybe you were better off not calling him anything.

Especially since the last time you were saying the name ‘Joel’ he was asking you to beg for his cock.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you settle for, stepping off his porch, while looking back at him.

“Yup,” Joel replies, bluntly, “See you tomorrow.”

On your walk over the next morning, you settle into a quiet stroll.

It’s early, the birds are chirping and the dew from the young morning seeps into your skin, making your hair a bit damp and frizzy, but you don’t mind.

You didn’t have much time to look around when you were walking to your interview yesterday.

Honestly, you’ve never taken a good look at your neighborhood, especially this area. Your whole life you’d been driven around by your parents, never stopping to take in the scenery.

Austin is amazing in the summer. You don’t mind the heat, you welcome it — the sun feels good on your back when you walk over.

You see a black pick-up truck pull into Joel’s driveway as you round the corner and make your way down the street.

A man steps out, he’s young — younger than Joel — but you can see the resemblance. You suspect this is the ‘Tommy’ Joel had mentioned yesterday.

You break into a soft jog to greet him before he walks into the house.

“Hey,” you say, somewhat breathless. He stares back at you with a confused look on his face.

“I — uh — I’m Sarah’s new babysitter,” you say while extending your hand.

He takes it, the recognition of your title sinking in — a smile is brought to his face — it lights up the entire area.

“Oh — right. Joel said somethin’ ‘bout the babysitter coming this mornin’,” he shakes your hand, its soft grip squeezes yours once and then lets you go. “I’m Tommy, Sarah’s uncle.”

“Yes — Joel said you guys work together.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says, chuckling. You smile back at him.

He looks down and sees your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Let me get that for you,” he says, reaching down to grab the strap of your bag and slipping it off your arm.

“Oh — thanks,” you try to hide your blush as you follow Tommy to the front door.

“No problem,” he mumbles, stepping onto the porch, in a light jog, you follow after.

The door opens before you reach it, a sleepy Joel miller peaks his head out at the noise.

When he sees it's you and Tommy, he straightens out a bit, a questioning look on his brows.

“What’s up man,” Tommy brushes past him into the house, you can see him set your bag down on the couch. “Found your new hire,” he teases from inside, already rushing to the kitchen before you’re able to cross the threshold.

You don’t want to squeeze past like Tommy, so you wait for Joel to invite you in.

“Good morning,” you smile up at him, he towers over you, leaning against the doorframe.

“Mornin’,” he replies.

“I just — ran into him outside the house,” you say shyly.

What are you trying to prove?

He smiles at you, maybe even matching the smile he had on at the bar. The smile you fell for instantly. A puddle at his feet — this time? No exception.

“Just come in,” he chuckles, walking away from the doorframe to let you in.

Sarah squeals from near the couches, running up to you and giving you a big hug. You chuckle while looking at the men in the kitchen.

“Hi.”

“Hey, kiddo,” you smile down at her.

“Can you take me to the library today?”

“Woah, woah slow your roll. I got a lot to show you before we hit the library,” her smile gets bigger if that’s possible. “I even have some special toys I brought just for you in my bag,” you whisper.

She laughs, hanging off your arm, and then trots into the kitchen. You follow her.

“So this is my number,” Joel says when you arrive, putting a piece of paper up on the fridge.

“Oh, I already—”

“Call ‘f you need anythin’.”

Your eyes snap to him when he cuts you off, giving you a knowing look. You blush in favor of arguing, understanding why.

This might be harder than you initially thought. Especially when you’re in his house, and everything smells like him — like that night. And his brother won’t stop looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You catch Tommy in his staring, he quickly looks back down to his cereal.

“We’ll be back ‘round five,” Joel says, looking over at the calendar hanging on the wall.

“Tuesday, dad,” Sarah chimes in when he squints at the calendar.

“Right. Tuesday,” he sighs, his eyes briefly meeting yours across the kitchen. “Tuesday is Chinese. We’ll pick it up on the way home,” he says, nodding at the information.

“You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner,” Tommy cuts through the tension, smiling at you. Your eyes dart to Joel’s — he has an indifferent look on his face.

You’re not really sure what to say but the entire Miller family looks back at you with the same set of big brown eyes, a couple sets are pleading, one set is scared.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, thanks,” you smile back at Tommy. You hope things will be better by tonight because this is getting weird and you only have olives and a carton of eggs in the fridge back home.

“I’m gonna go load the truck,” Tommy mumbles, still chewing the rest of his breakfast while standing.

“It was very nice to meet you,” he smiles at you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “If you need anything you can always call me, left my number under Joel’s.”

You smile, but gruff words pull you away from Tommy.

“If you need anythin’, call me,” Joel says, emphasizing me.

You wonder if Tommy touched a nerve.

Tommy smiles with a teasing lilt, you thank him as he exits.

“Hang on a sec, Sarah, I’m gonna walk your dad out and then I’ll make you breakfast,” you say, following Joel out.

Tommy’s head is in the backseat of the truck, rummaging through things. You stand in front of Joel on the porch.

“Listen this is like…” you aren’t sure what you think this is, but it’s kinda unbearable.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies gruffly. “It’s — it’s done. Right? We can be professional.”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice small. “Professional,” you laugh. His bright eyes mirror yours.

“Guess I should call you Mr. Miller, then.”

He sucks in a sharp breath.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, a chaste chuckle braced on his lips.

“Joel,” he whispers. “Just Joel.”

“Okay,” you smile back at him. You can’t help but feel the spark like the night at the bar, when his hands were all over you, and you couldn’t see anyone but him.

“Just Joel.”

He nods and steps down from the porch.

He waves goodbye with two lazy fingers lifting from the wheel as he backs out.

“She’s pretty.”

Tommy’s voice cuts through the tense silence in the truck. An old country song rings through the worn interior. The A/C is blasting, the sun beating down on them through the sunroof.

Joel grunts in response.

“You don’t think so?”

“Think she’s my kid’s babysitter,” Joel mutters while Tommy stifles a laugh. Joel turns down a street, heading towards the onramp for the interstate. They’re meeting with a new client today, big work on the line. Joel can’t be thinking of you.

“So you’re not into her?”

Joel takes a while to respond. Tommy shifts a bit nervously in his seat. But finally — finally — Joel lets out a long sigh and responds. The single word sent Tommy’s way, making him grin—

“Nope.”

“Alright,” Tommy says, content.

It rubs Joel the wrong way.

“‘Alright’ what?”

“I think I’m gonna ask her out.”

When Joel doesn’t respond, Tommy speaks again.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“I don’t know. Known her two seconds” Joel bites back a bit too harshly.

A few tense seconds pass.

Tommy starts again but Joel cuts him off.

“Jesus, can we just —” Joel reaches down to turn the radio up. The music drowns out any conversation on the tip of his tongue — kills anything he might regret saying. He tries to let it go.

Tommy lets it go too.

“Sarah!” you shout from the kitchen.

You look down to the kitchen counter. The sandwich stares back at you. You slather one side with blackberry jam you picked up from the farmers market. The other side with some peanut butter. Crust off, Sarah had pleaded with you yesterday when you picked her up from soccer camp.

You move to cut the crust off.

The front door opens from behind you, you don’t bother turning around, knowing who it is before he greets you—

“Hey, baby,” Tommy rounds the corner and gives you a small hug. You hear the front door shut in his wake. You look down to your fingers, the peanut butter getting a bit messy from the heat in the kitchen.

“Hey,” you reply softly.

It's been a couple weeks since you started taking care of Sarah. You fell into the Miller’s daily routines with ease, eating dinner with them most nights. Tommy and you have grown close. He’s a friend, a confidant. Someone who you can count on no matter what.

He’s good conversation, but an even better listener. You find yourself talking to him most nights on the drive home, and even sometimes after that when you invite him in for coffee and a drink. You can talk about anything and he’ll listen, giving his two cents when necessary, becoming a better friend than you could’ve anticipated.

Anything he had said the first night you invited him in.

You can talk to me about anything.

You had smiled at him. You wanted to talk to him about anything. And you talked to him about most things — but never all.

Because there was always Joel.

“Sarah!” you shout again, checking the clock and seeing it was almost eight. “Get your bag kiddo, I gotta drop you off at soccer by 8:15.”

You hear her small voice let out a muffled coming as you finish packing up her lunch.

“Need a ride?” Tommy asks from behind you.

“I thought you and Joel had to meet with that electrician guy today,” you throw over your shoulder.

“I always got time for you,” he says in a teasing upswing. You just laugh in response, trying to brush it off.

You know Tommy is a flirt. You can see it when you go out with him, girls fawn at his feet because he’s charming. The woman bagging your groceries, the waitress at the diner, the neighborhood mom’s coming over to talk when he washes the truck outside Joel’s house.

You see it all — and you don’t mind when it spills over onto you. It’s just how he is.

“Brought my car today, thanks though,” you nod at him as you pass the kitchen table, putting Sarah’s lunch bag on the counter.

You hear footsteps rounding the corner, hoping it’s Sarah, but as you look up, Joel’s eyes catch yours.

“Dammit,” you mumble.

“G’mornin’ to you too,” Joel says back, sending you a look.

“No — sorry, just —” you brush him off, he joins Tommy at the table. “Sarah!”

“We’re gonna be late,” you mumble to him, he sips on his coffee.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Joel says from his seat, motioning to the truck.

Tommy’s brows raise, waiting for your response.

“Thanks but I brought my car today,” you brush him off.

“Surprised that thing still drives,” Joel grumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, will you?” you say, half teasing, sending him a playful scowl.

“It ain’t safe is all ‘m sayin’, you sh—” he cuts himself off at the look you give him.

Tommy whistles from across the table.

It might look okay. And it might feel okay too. But when you're alone at night and you can’t sleep — you think about Joel. The fleeting glances from the day. The way his hand touched yours when you guys cleaned up dinner.

It wasn’t torture — but it sure felt like something similar.

You don’t miss how Joel scowls a bit when Tommy flirts with you playfully. But things seem to be cordial between them — as cordial as brothers can be.

Sarah skips down the steps, her hair falling out of the pony tail she tried to put up herself.

“C’mere, kiddo, we gotta fix your hair,” you say when she reaches the bottom step, pointing to a chair beside her dad and uncle.

Sarah sits, you brush through her hair with a comb, securing it with an elastic. You can feel both men’s eyes on you.

“All set,” you pat her shoulders, she finishes breakfast, racing to put her shoes on as you grab your keys.

Tommy stands at your exit.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says, taking one last sip of his coffee before putting the dishes in the sink. He meets you in the foyer, you scramble to get your sandals on, Sarah slipping into her cleats as you bend down to tie her laces. Tommy grabs your keys and goes to start your car.

“Bye, Joel,” you yell from the entryway, something deep and gruff rings back from the kitchen.

When you open the door, the soft sunlight hits you. Sarah skips out towards Tommy, he picks her up, throws her up in the air, she laughs and giggles. He lets her settle into the backseat of your car. He opens the door for you, giving you a small hug as you check the time on your phone.

8:10 am.

“See you later, baby.”

“Bye Tommy,” you chuckle at his words, shaking your head as you climb into the driver’s seat.

Honestly, Joel is right.

You’re confused on how this car still drives. It was your mom’s from when she was in college. It sat in your garage, collecting dust until you pleaded with your parents to fix it up for you. Maybe it’s sentimental value or maybe you just can’t afford another car, but you’ve driven it ever since.

It’s never been a problem for you. Not until this moment when you found yourself on the side of the road, two blocks away from where you dropped off Sarah.

Your phone rings in your hand as you hold it up to your ear, leaning against the hood of the car while you look down at the very obviously flat tire.

“Tommy?” you bite quickly when he picks up.

What’s up?

“My tire’s fucked. I need a tow,” you grovel.

Oh shit. Uh — I can’t leave right now, the electrician needs me.

“Fuck,” you huff into the hot air. “Okay, I’ll call Triple A, thanks.”

You’re about to hang up, but a deep voice cuts through the line, Tommy answers it with a tone that you can’t read.

Joel’s comin’.

Your breath hitches.

Text him where you are.

You find yourself nodding even though he can’t see you.

“O-okay. Tell him I said thanks,”

He just left. Listen I gotta —

“Oh – no yeah, sorry. See you later. Thanks.”

Yeah. Bye.

You shoot Joel a quick text, your fingers shaking unexpectedly.

You only wait for about ten minutes before you see the black pick up roll around the corner. He pulls up in front of you, and backs up so the hitch is in line with your car.

Joel gets out, moving to hook everything up.

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Hey,” he looks at you, you stare back with wide eyes. You were half expecting him to be mad or annoyed. But you forgot how he is. A gentleman.

“‘S’alright, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

From Joel Miller?

But he gives you a pat on the shoulder, motioning for you to help him, unaware he just made you weak at the knees.

You get everything hooked up, he opens the door for you like always.

You get in the truck and are met with a tense silence as he rolls into the middle of the road.

“Don’t say it,” you say, looking over at him, teasingly, waiting for the inevitable, I told you so.

“Wasn’t gonna say anythin’,” he smirks.

“I know you’re thinking it though.”

“I know you are, too.”

“You jinxed me,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I ain’t jinx nothin’.”

“You so did. This morning, at breakfast,” you say, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I just said I was surprised it still runs.”

“Yeah and now look what happened.”

He laughs, you both do.

You’re met with silence for a long time. He turns down a couple streets, heading back to his house.

“You called Tommy.”

You suddenly feel like it’s harder to breathe.

“Yeah.”

“I’m always here if you need anythin’...” he says, but trails off, shaking his head.

“I know. I just didn’t want to bother you,” you whisper.

“You’re never a bother,” he says in that drawl. He takes a glance over at you then back to the road.

You gulp.

You watch his hands on the steering wheel. His thick fingers flicker on the settings for the radio, or tap on the top of the wheel when you stop at a red light.

It’s intoxicating.

He’s intoxicating.

But you already knew that.

“You can’t be starin’ at me like that in the house.”

You blush, snapping out of your dream-like haze.

“I — I’m sorry.”

He grunts.

You want to ask him. To talk to him. You want to know if he’s been thinking about you like you’ve been thinking about him. If you crawl into his sleepless nights, his daydreams, his every waking moment like he does to you.

You’re talking before you know any better.

“Can I ask you something?”

His reply is hesitant, but he motions for you to continue. When you find your voice, you manage to squeak out your question before you shut down and die from embarrassment.

“Is this hard for you?”

“‘S what hard? Drivin’?” he teases, you give him a shove but he doesn’t react to your touches.

“You know what I mean.”

“Not sure I do.”

Damn.

Maybe this is all in your head. Maybe when he told you that whatever this might be is over like he did all those weeks ago, he really meant it.

You shut up after that. Not really noticing your new found silence.

But Joel does.

He pulls up to the house, putting the car in park. He hops out first, opening your door, you walk by his side towards the front door.

When you step onto the porch you expect him to unlock the door, but he turns to you, surprisingly breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he says in a gruff voice.

You wait with bated breath for him to continue, until he doesn’t.

“What?”

“It’s hard for me,” he continues, you look at him.

He looks at you — almost with pleading eyes. It looks like he’s pained to say it.

“To see you everyday and not…” he trails off, but you know what he means. The thought sends a tell tale stickiness down in between your thighs.

You nod.

“It was kinda a fucked up coincidence,” you huff a laugh. He hums in agreement.

You stand there with him, the tension building to an all time high.

“Yeah,” he says after a while. “Fucked up.”

“It was —” you bite your tongue. Not sure whether or not to dig up the incident at the bar you both fought so hard to bury. To conceal your relationship from everyone, including yourselves.

“I know,” he agrees.

You look at Joel through your lashes.

He looks handsome.

He’s always handsome, but when he looks at you with a glint in his eyes and the sunlight makes his brown eyes caramel, it's something entirely different.

You take a tentative step forward. He doesn’t move back.

“I’ve missed you,” you say in a hushed whisper.

It’s true. You missed his presence. Most of your time being taken up by Sarah or Tommy. If this whole babysitting thing didn’t happen between you and Joel, you would probably be seeing him at least once a week.

At least.

He huffs out a sigh, taking a half step towards you. He looks at you almost sympathetically. And when his hand comes to angle your chin up towards him, his look becomes more painful.

Maybe this is the part where he kisses you, and everything melts away.

He dips his head down slowly. You keep looking back up to his eyes and down to his approaching lips to gauge whether or not this is a mistake.

Even though you both know it is.

His lips brush yours, you tremble, but his phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of it.

He looks down, at the screen lighting up with Tommy’s name sprawled across it.

“Hello?” Joel answers.

Joel? Where the hell are you? The electrician —

You stop listening after that, stepping back. Joel mumbles some words on the phone while unlocking the front door and opening it for you, like always.

You give him a small smile and nod for him to go back to his truck.

He gives you a look — later?

You nod your head yes while shutting the door.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you slump onto the couch.

Later he had said with his eyes.

chapter iii. diced

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. (for this series, i took the liberty of adding you to the taglist if you commented that you wanted more parts on chaser. you can let me know if you want to be taken off) kisses!

@sofiparallel @jasminedragoon @rainbowcosmicchaos @akah565

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honeybleed · 2 months

Text

— ★ BLOODSHED // SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI

content & warnings: fem!reader, canon-verse, canon typical violence (blood, vomit, death, reader has suicidal thoughts due to survivor’s guilt), conflict (sanemi insults reader a bit but hey) smut (unprotected sex, missionary) mdni

author’s note: saw the demon slayer movie n had thoughts 🫠

word count: 1.6k

Too late.

That was the only words that echoed in Sanemi's mind.

He told you to stay behind the bushes whilst he investigated the scene. Your nose wrinkled at the acrid stench of flesh.

Sanemi was not a childhood friend. He was a familiar face to you when you were both children but he was nowhere near a friend.

The tragedy that struck his family in your village was whispered among the residents. But never fully discussed under Sanemi's blood-curdling glare.

He eventually left to join the Demon Slayer Corps. His younger brother followed in his footsteps.

Fast forward to the present, you were caught amidst the pattern of young women disappearing. Sanemi and Iguro had swooped in to rescue you.

The Wind Hashira and Serpent Hashira bickered amongst themselves as you were thrown across Sanemi's shoulder against your will before they parted ways.

In Sanemi's book, he would've dropped you home with no further explanation. His duty was done.

But as he made his way into the heart of the village, boots slick with blood, and the coppery tang of it mingling with the earthy scent of churned soil wafted to his nose, he realized it wasn't going to be as simple as he wanted it to be.

Corpses were strewn across the ground like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms contorted in unnatural poses. Weapons littered on the ground. It was beyond unnerving.

His eyebrows furrowed. He told you to stay put, and he turned to see you crawling across the ground.

"Are they all dead?" You mustered out. The air was heavy with an eerie silence.

"...Yeah." Sanemi responded voice devoid of emotion, not able to meet your eye.

Your hands covered your mouth as you felt bile scratch your throat. Scrambling away, you felt your chest heave and you threw up with all your might.

The image of children crying and screaming as they cowered with their parents as the demons slaughtered them was too much.

A once bustling marketplace was now reduced to a graveyard, the stalls overturned and splattered with crimson. Laughter and conversation replaced with screams of terror.

That was the last thing you remembered before you felt faint and were submerged in darkness.

Your eyes blearily wrenched open. The atmosphere was different. From the destruction and hollowness of your home, there was warm light that shed through the paper screens and a fragrant aroma mixed with the scent of herbs.

Struggling to sit up, you felt a wrinkled hand press you back down onto the futon. You turned your head to face the kind face.

"Where am I?"

She didn't respond. Rather, she stood up, bowed and exited the room. Leaving you bewildered.

Your clothes had been changed and your feet were no longer scraped and bloody like they were when Sanemi rescued you from the demon's clutches.

Pushing off the covers, you could feel a presence. Your eyes focused on the shoji screen door, and sure enough, Sanemi was sitting cross-legged on the engawa.

He didn't bother to look at you.

"You haven't changed." You said.

He's still brash. Rude. But to you, maybe not to others it's just a defence mechanism. To push people away.

He didn't respond.

"Do you regret...saving me?" You finally questioned.

Sanemi felt his heart race. He was crushed with the guilt of all those villagers dying.

"No." He said bluntly.

"I wish you didn't." You spat and headed back indoors leaving him completely dumbstruck.

Sanemi felt rage boil within him. The vein in his temple throbbed as he saw red.

Within an instant, he shot up to yank the door open as he glared at you, breathing heavily.

"You UNGRATEFUL WENCH!" He bellowed.

You sat up from the futon, eyes widening.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!" You screeched, livid at his audacity.

"You heard me, loud and clear!" He spat. "After what I did for you?!"

"WHY THE HELL WOULD I WANT TO LIVE IF IT WAS AT THE COST OF AN ENTIRE VILLAGE...?!" You shrieked, a lump forming in your throat.

The words stung him. All the guilt of the massacred village comes crashing down on him.

"YOU STILL LIVE." He seethed. "YOU TAKE THAT CHANCE I GAVE YOU, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"What the HELL is left for me?! YOU SAW IT! IT WAS A GRAVEYARD!" You sobbed, tears spilling down your cheeks.

He turned away. His face was beet red, balling up his fists as he shook with a silent rage.

"But you are ALIVE, aren't you?!"

"What use is there being alive...?" You said defeatedly, not wanting to scream anymore as your body began to wrack with sobs. "Just do me a favor, and end my life."

"Don't ask me to do stupid crap like that, you hear me?" Sanemi hissed as he glared at you. "My blade is for those demonic bastards. Not airhead humans."

"I have no reason to live."

"I said, don't talk like that." He said sternly as he grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look up at him.

He practically was lying on you whilst you were sitting on the futon.

The two of you had emotions brewing. Unexplainable. And as terrifying as Sanemi could be, there was a magnetic pull between the two of you.

And it appeared he shared the same sentiment, as he instantly captured your lips for a hungry kiss.

First, your body froze. But when you registered this was something you wanted, with the way heat pooled deep in your gut, you returned the kiss.

Sanemi planted his large and calloused hand onto the back of your neck. He groaned into the kiss as your tongue ventured inside the recess of his mouth, caressing his own.

Hands grasping and shedding clothes off. Ripping, forcing and tugging at the fabric that seemed to be confining the both of you.

Your palms grazed and slid against the taut, firm muscle that was etched with countless scars. His fingers digging and kneading your soft and supple skin, the outlines of your curves and dips.

Pulling away from the heated kiss, gasping for air to latch onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

Closer, closer, he needs to feel you. Your limbs intertwine, Sanemi's digits gripping into the plump flesh of your rear to haul you onto his lap.

Your eyes flutter shut, it's almost heavenly the way his sharp canines sink into your throat, how he alternates between gliding his tongue and grazing the jagged edges.

He wants to devour you whole. And you'd let him over and over again. You want him, you'd let him tear you apart.

The way he growls gutturally as his achingly hard cock merely brushes against your soaked slit.

He pushed you back and began to palm at your breasts, kneading them as he met your lips again, lapping into your mouth.

"Fucking beautiful, y'know that?" He grunts between the sloppy kisses.

"You're okay.." You tease with a smile as your hands skim across his sides.

"I'm better than okay." He chuckles. You wince as he gripped and squeezed your flesh, marking you up.

He finally pulled away, his hands pinning your wrists down. His tongue dragged over his lower lip as his cock throbbed, the way you were spread out for him.

The steady forming red marks littered across your skin, the bite marks, your skin sheen with sweat, the goosebumps all across your arms and the way your lips had swollen.

"Tell me what you want." He rasped out, a predatory glint in his eye. He never thought sex could elicit the same high he got from massacring demons.

"I want you inside me..." You responded meekly.

“Anything for you.”

Sanemi let out a stutter as he slowly pushed himself inside, entering you was true bliss. The way your velvet walls accommodated him.

You mewled at how he stretched you out, your back instantly arching. He met your lips furiously, eyebrows furrowing.

"Want this whole place to hear you scream my name." He mumbled, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Sanemi nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as he began to thrust. You were a babbling mess as he buried himself in you to the hilt.

You whined as his nails dug into your hips.

"...Nemi." You mustered out pathetically, the saliva from your kissing dribbling down your chin.

"Need to...cum inside of you, make you mine." He grunted as he pounded into you relentlessly, grunting and snarling as he felt your slick walls clench around his cock.

The room was filled with the heady scent of sex and sweat as he drove you toward the brink of ecstasy.

"S'close, Sanemi..." You breathed out, his thumb dragging against your plump lower lip with a cocky smile.

"Let's cum together, okay...?" He whispered near your ear, uncharacteristically gentle.

You nodded and soon enough, your bodies were in sync, a cacophony of breaths coming in short gasps, moans of pleasure and skin slapping.

Sanemi felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, feeling you grasp around him.

He kept his focus firmly on you, reaching to circle your clit, adding stimulation to push you over the edge.

Your walls pulsated wildly as he slammed into you, his seed spilling deep inside of you in hot spurts.

He instantly collapsed on top of you, panting heavily. It took a moment for him to finally peel himself off of you.

Your eyes raked over his face, your hand cradled the side of his face and he leaned into your touch.

Sanemi barely smiles. If he smiles, it's the thrill-seeking, adrenaline one he gets at the prospect of slashing demons down.

But as your thumb stroked his cheek, you were the only one to see Sanemi Shinazugawa beam at you with tenderness and warmth.

author’s note: if u reached this far tysm!! reblogs n interactions always appreciated hehe yeah btw i got a headache so sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes lawl

#kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa smut #sanemi smut #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x y/n #kny x you #kny x y/n #shinazugawa sanemi #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles

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