#it is more than worth sticking around to see how things turn out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

softlyspector · 6 months

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Born lucky, under a bad star.

Summary: Joel has always been lucky, in the worst of ways.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~13k (sorry)

Warnings: game!Joel, major spoilers for tlou part 2, angst with a happy ending, major injuries and recovery, anxiety, depression, relationship healing, mentions of death, mentions of violence, suicidal ideation

Disclaimers and A/N: Though this fic was based around some events in tlou part 2, almost all of the canon after the divergence from the canon timeline is thrown out. This fic is also based entirely around game events, characterization, and canon. This is honestly one of the most difficult things I've ever written. It took months and many many drafts, but I'm very proud of her. I hope you love her too, she was a labor of love.

As always, thank you for reading! I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red. - Kait Rokowski.

The lights of the clinic are so bright they’re blinding.

Your hands are still shaking, covered in Joel’s blood. It’s been hours since you returned to the safety of Jackson’s walls but there’s still a frantic, frenetic energy in the air. Everyone is shaken. It feels a little like a thousand year old tree has been felled, like a giant has been swung at and leveled, like something monstrous and infallible has been brought to its knees.

You’ve seen it happen before. Rebar right through his belly. It should have killed him. It would have killed anyone else. You’ve pulled more bullets out of Joel than you would care to count, and swaddled him in probably several football fields worth of bandages over the years.

Still, nothing like this.

Because Joel has always been lucky, even when he hadn’t wanted to be.

Lucky, in all the worst ways.

That fucking rebar, you think bitterly. It should have hit at least one organ, should have severed his fucking spine. But it didn’t. He walked it off, really, mostly, at the end of it all.

This though — to see him tortured, beaten, bleeding to death slowly—

Your edge of your vision tips black, like your mind is already refusing to go back to that room, like you’ll pass out if you think of it for too long.

A part of you wonders if maybe it’s your fault. Maybe you forgot to stick lavender in his pocket before he left that morning, like you always do.

Someone pushes the door open, snow swirls in against the tile. Voices, rising and falling. The cold that rolls through the tiny waiting room is frigid.

It’s still so red, his blood, even dried and crusted around your fingers and up your wrists.

Tommy is still bleeding and even Maria hasn’t been able to convince him to sit down and let someone look at him. No, all attention needs to be focused on his brother. Anyone with any medical know how, has to be with Joel.

You agree.

Tommy, you, anyone else—can fucking wait.

Ellie is sitting next to you, looking just as numb and shocked as you feel, her fingers twined with Dina’s.

The chatter reaches a crescendo. Something about the worsening storm, something about tracking folks with that big of a headstart through a storm like this one, something about the rapidly deepening darkness, night coming on, something about well who could do something like that anyway? Who the fuck would we even send?

The quiet that follows is painful.

Joel.

Joel is the one you send. Joel is the one that could get a job like this one done, the one that could track people through a blizzard with a dogged determinism, with pragmatism and infallibility.

“What did they want?” Someone asks the room at large. You aren’t sure who asks, you can’t make the shapes in the room resolve into people you know. “Why us? Why Joel? They wanted something right? Who were they?”

You and Tommy look at each other, Ellie makes a half muffled, pained sound beside you. Joel crossed a lot of people, maybe there wasn’t any sense in guessing.

No one answers. You look at your hands again and wonder if the crimson will ever fade.

Someone says your name and you look up. A coat is tugged over your shoulders. You didn’t realize you were shivering and you don’t know what happened to your own coat. One of the patrolmen is looking at you, his name slips your memory but Jesse is standing behind him, Maria on the other side.

You feel the ghost of Ellie’s hand against your arm. Odd, you think distantly, because she hates you. She has for a long time.

“What happened?”

You look around, but Tommy isn’t where he’d been standing just a moment ago. Did they ask him, too?

There’s a dark hole in your memory.

“I don’t know.”

And it’s the truth.

There’s no one more dedicated, more involved, in keeping Jackson safe, than Joel.

Aside from Tommy, maybe.

Joel is an effective killer, like an executioner with a mission. It’s the thing that scared Tommy the most about his brother, and it’s also the thing that had kept him alive long enough to get his second chance in Jackson. It’s the thing you have always loved most about Joel, the violence born of necessity.

And, you suppose, that’s what he’d been. Dispatcher, destroyer.

Protector.

At the heart of it all, the meat of it is, that it had always been that with Joel. It had always been in the name of protect, provide, survive. He never shied away from telling you of his days as a hunter, or, something close to a hunter. And even then, it was keep Tommy alive, it was survive until Boston, it was we needed fucking food.

Survive and provide and protect.

Joel.

Jackson had been wary of him, at first. The stories of his dealings with infected and raiders alike at odds with the way he moved in the commune, with kindness and a certain gentleness, a competency and dependability, with something so soft in his gaze when it came to that little girl he arrived with.

That reticence and worry had dissolved as quickly as it had come.

They describe him as quiet and funny, because he’s prone to good natured teasing. They describe him as fierce and short to anger, because no one can say a word about him or his. They describe him as wonderfully dependable, ask Joel for something on a supply run and you would have it in short order; sigh about the state of something in your home and it would be taken care of, fixed, the very next day.

Jackson loves Joel.

Especially that softened up, gentle creature that had emerged in the wake of everything that had happened between Boston and Jackson. Joel had always had a soft interior, trotted out in brief glimpses over the years, but the shell he wore had been so thick and sharp it was near impenetrable, nearly unknowable.

Ellie is around plenty in those first couple of weeks after. She even takes to sleeping on the living room couch. She doesn’t say much to you or Joel, hardly anything at all, but she’s there and you figure that’s what matters. It seems like she isn’t sure what to say, and desperate for the connection that nearly shattered.

The first few days when Joel comes home from the clinic, someone knocks on the front door every couple of hours and you open it and have the same conversation over and over and over again. It’s always people worriedly asking after Joel’s wellbeing, dropping off food, expressing their anger that something like this could happen to one of their own, that it could happen to someone so widely and wildly beloved.

When the knocks finally stop coming, and you can convince Tommy to go home to Maria, before Maria has to walk over and collect her husband again, you take the stairs slowly up.

You’re exhausted. You hardly sleep and when you do, you have nightmares of Joel. Formless, mind numbing dreams that you can never remember when you wake up gasping. You aren’t sure if Joel dreams of it, too. He’s always mumbled in his sleep, eyes flickering behind closed lids, so it’s hard to tell.

And he hasn’t really been coherent enough, awake enough, to ask, anyway.

“Hey,” Ellie says when you round the doorway into the bedroom, lowering the comic book in her hands. She’s beside Joel, sitting on your side of the bed, back against the headboard. “Sleeping again.”

“Was he awake?”

“A little. Drank some water.”

Despite the tension of the last few years, you know she’s thinking of another time that Joel had slept a lot, injured and only half alive.

Now isn’t like then, but in some ways, it’s worse.

You nod and take a seat at the edge of the bed by her feet. “That’s good,” you reassure her. “It’s a good thing that he’s sleeping. He needs it.”

Ellie just holds up the comic in her lap and then jerks her chin at the box on the bedside table, Joel’s glasses and book about space pushed aside. “I, uh, found them in the study.”

You shrug. “He always picked up any he found on supply runs.” You watch her from the corner of your eye and then shift your gaze to Joel. The slow rise and fall of his chest is reassuring in its steadiness, though you hate how still he is.

The skin by his temple is puckered and red, the stitches a neat little row up to his hairline. It still looks raw as a live nerve, the swelling extending to his eye, purple and shadowed in a dark bruise that trails down his cheek and jaw.

“He never said—” She stops and shakes her head. “So stupid.”

“Well,” you scoot closer and pat her extended leg. “You didn’t exactly want to talk then. We tried giving them to you, once. Left them outside your door. They got a little rained on.”

“Yeah,” she says, mouth twisting to the side. “Some of them are. . .can’t fucking peel the pages apart.” In that moment, she sounds like that little kid you left Boston with, being told not to touch something and doing it anyway.

That might have been when you fell in love with Ellie, watching her snap at Bill, and watching Joel react like any father would. It had come back to him so quickly, so naturally.

There’s a long pause in which Ellie flips rapidly through the comic book and doesn’t say anything, her fingers nervous. She looks how you feel — exhausted. “Why don’t you go get some sleep in your own bed?” You ask, reaching out to twitch a fallen lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “You’re just across the yard. If anything happens, you’ll know.”

She looks up at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I was fucking mad at you too, you know,” she whispers suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You drop your hand and shake your head before looking back at Joel. He sleeps deeply now, deeper than you thought possible for someone like him, even drugged and injured.

There’s a knot tangled in your chest, that only tightens further with her question. “It wasn’t my place. He didn’t. . .he didn’t say anything to me about it for a long time, either. Wouldn’t explain what happened while we were separated. He told me the same lie. And you were going to be mad at me, too, no matter what. It had to be between the two of you.”

“And you think he was right,” she accuses hotly.

“And,” you level your eyes to hers, “I think he was right.” You dip your head. “I wouldn’t change anything, Ellie. I wouldn’t. You know Joel wouldn’t either. You matter more than that.”

Her bottom lip trembles for just a second. “Even knowing this happens?!” She gestures around the room, maybe just the situation at large.

Some of the tension knotting up your shoulders bleeds away. “He’s still here. It’s not too late.” She glances away and sucks in a harsh breath. You wait until she meets your eyes again. “And Ellie, it is not your fault. It’s not. None of it.”

“It almost was.” Her voice is strained. “Too late.”

You shrug. “He knows you care. Trust me, he does.”

She scrubs roughly at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “Yeah, uh, well, I’m still gonna sleep on the couch.”

“Why don’t you just stay right here, then? With Joel?” You ask and stand. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

It is the ultimate admission of how scared she is, that she does not argue, doesn’t even try to.

For the first few weeks after the attack, Joel is in and out of consciousness. He sleeps much more than he’s awake.

And, it’s hard to tell, at first, why he’s sleeping so much. The pain medicine? That carefully doled out, nearly impossible to come by miracle drug — was it just knocking him out? Was he just sleeping because that’s what his body needed? Or, was it something deeper? Brain damage?

“He’s fucking. . .old!” Ellie says to you one morning around a mouthful of toast. It’s kind of odd, how easily she’s taken to old routines. And how weird the old routine is, because the third piece of your puzzle is missing, sleeping. “Old people take longer to heal, right?”

Right.

But he’s also Joel. And he isn’t that old.

It feels wrong, that he’s so still and silent.

“It’s not—” Her fist opens and closes. She sets down the toast in her other hand on the plate and turns, pacing the length of Joel’s kitchen, fidgeting with her fingers as she goes, white morning light slatting over her. You eye the toast. It’s hard to get her to eat, these days but you figure most of one piece is better than nothing. “His leg. It’s not infected or something, right? We’d know if it was.”

“It’s not infected,” you agree. When your own hands start to shake, you set down your mug, afraid to drop it or spill hot tea all over the floor, and make Ellie even more anxious in the process.

You don’t like to talk about it. You don’t like to think about it. The memories are like a hot brand.

The staircase creaks with the heavy thud of footsteps, before Tommy appears in the kitchen archway. You’ve always thought Tommy and Joel resembled each other, but now you see similarities in the kinds of expressions they make, too, the quirks in their movements that only siblings could share, and Tommy is sometimes a little hard to look at.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah, he’s, uh, sleepin’ again.” He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest.

Ellie doesn’t say anything, just slips past Tommy and heads up the steps. Tommy looks after her and then back at you. “She won’t say it but she doesn’t like leaving him alone,” you explain.

Tommy nods and then pushes away from the door to settle at the kitchen table. “Well, I don’t like the idea of it either. Good she’s with him.” He tips the chair onto its back legs and tilts his head. “How ya holdin’ up?”

“Probably about as good as you are.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Maria told me you want off partols.”

You swallow and look away from him as you take the seat across from him at the table. “I - I know we’re down people already but I can’t. . .Tommy I can’t even look at the goddamn gate without feeling like—” You shake your head. “I just don’t think I can do it. I’d get somebody killed.”

“All right,” he says, not unkindly. “We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

A burn starts at the back of your eyes so you stand again and swipe your fingers against your cheeks. “You want coffee before you head out?”

“Nah, save that for Joel.” Then, “How you think this is gonna go? When he’s awake more?”

“I don’t know. You’d know better than me.”

Tommy laughs. The chair scrapes against the linoleum as he stands. He looks tired, and worried. It’s an odd look on him. It isn’t like Tommy at all. You and Tommy have always bonded over teasing Joel. There’s none of that now.

“Like hell. You’ve spent the last fifteen years with him, not me.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And you’re the love of his damn life.” He pauses and leans on the counter next to you.

That makes your mouth twitch, the pleasantly warm feeling in your chest consumed in the next second by a lancing pain that can only be an approximation of grief for someone and something that still breathed.

“I just can’t help worryin’,” he continues. “This might be enough for us, but not for him. If Joel can’t ever do anything again—”

“He just needs time, Tommy,” you cut him off quickly. Not able to stomach the thought. “We’ll figure it out. He’ll figure it out,” you say with more conviction than you feel. “We can probably figure something like a prosthetic out. People have been making them for thousands of years. We can do it. It’ll be fine. But it’s going to be different.”

Tommy’s right. You’ve spent the last fifteen years with Joel. You aren’t sure who you are without him anymore. You aren’t sure you know how to get along without him anymore. And you never want to have to find out. “He’s alive,” you finish with a nod. “Everything else, we can figure out.”

He nods. “You think we shoulda went after ‘em?”

“Maybe. But this is more important.”

Before he goes, Tommy wraps you in a hug. “So long as you and that girl stick around, it’ll be all right.”

“Ellie’s been playing the guitar up there,” you answer.

He nods and pulls back, one big hand clapping down on your shoulder. “See? Things might be all right yet. Always told Joel she’d come around eventually.” He releases you and heads toward the door then. “And get some sleep. Y’look terrible,” he calls over his shoulder. “Orders from Maria.”

For the first time in weeks, Joel wakes with some semblance of clarity. The bedroom is warm and dark, the tiniest pool of light washing over the form next to him from a little light plugged into the wall.

It’s the nightlight he found for Ellie when they first got to Jackson and her nightmares gave her more grief than she cared to admit to.

His whole body aches. He feels sick.

The sharpness of the pain is disorienting. He’s only been awake in brief, muddled flashes, the dulled fingers of drugged pain lancing through him and consuming most of his thoughts. He’d only been awake long enough to eat or drink or be helped to the bathroom like some kind of damn—

He remembers Tommy at his bedside. He hears the ghost notes of music in the air, your voice in his ear, the gentle slide of warm fingers over his skin. He remembers Ellie reading aloud, curled on her side next to him, like she used to do when she was younger, like when they’d stop for the night on the road.

That can’t be right, though. She hasn’t done that in years. She wouldn’t do something like that. Not anymore.

You’re next to him now, face tilted against the edge of his pillow. It’s hard to make you out in the dark, the shape and slope of your features hidden in the dim light.

When he says your name, you twitch, the slightest wrinkle to your nose, the tiniest spasm of your fingers against the sheets. “Darlin’,” he tries again. His voice grinds, catches and snags around his teeth. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in years.

He reaches for you and it’s agony, because his shoulder must be broken. His ribs contract painfully right, like the shrapnel of the bone is digging up into his lungs, piercing his heart. But your skin is soft and warm, pliant, beneath his fingers. It smells like you’ve been burning sage again. He wants to burrow his fingers beneath your skin, you’re so warm.

The cut of your cheekbones are sharper, the angle of your jaw reminds him of winter in the QZ, winter traveling with you and Ellie. Discolored circles line the space beneath your eyes like little hollows. You look exhausted, wan.

You blink, slowly at first, then more rapidly. “Joel?” Your voice is a whisper, like the dark is stealing it away.

Your fingers slide through the backs of his against your cheek when you shift closer, so careful about it, until you’re pressed to his side. “Joel,” you repeat, eyes sliding shut, forehead against the edge of his sore jaw.

He breathes you in, the warm scent of your skin, the smells of hearth and home, lavender and sage and woodsmoke. He closes his eyes for just a second when you shift up and tilt your forehead against his, breath whispering against his chin. “Joel.”

“You all right?” His voice still sounds rocky but clearing it doesn’t seem to help any.

Slowly, you sit up, hand still in his when you pull it away from your face. “You’re asking me that? You’re kidding, Joel,” your voice creaks. You’ve never really been a crier, but there’s a thickness in your mouth, softening out the vowels and snapping at the consonants. “Are you - We didn’t want you to be in pain. But you’ve been sleeping for so long, we gave you a lower dose so that—”

“I feel okay,” he interrupts your fretting, sweeping his thumb against the back of your hand. “Considerin’.”

You swallow and nod. “Hungry?” You glance at the window, where a gray, pale morning light is starting to leech into the room, the color of dirty snow.

“Yep.” He wishes you’d keep your eyes on him. “If you’ve got somethin’ ready.”

“We have anything you want,” you assure him. “Anything.”

Joel nods and attempts to push himself up next to you, chest and shoulder aching something awful. He bites back a groan but it still pushes past his teeth.

“Careful,” you say sharply. Before he can protest, you’re up and around the bed, one hand behind his back. “Your shoulder is broken in a million places.”

“A million?” He grunts.

“Three.”

“That ain’t a million.”

You don’t laugh and your hand doesn’t move from his back. “And broken ribs. Now lean back.” He does as you ask, real careful about it so you don’t worry.

An odd feeling creeps up inside his chest, dulled by the lighter dose of pain medicine coursing through his veins. It ain’t just a sick feeling, but something else. A helplessness, maybe. It feels wrong, in more ways than one.

Joel becomes acutely aware of what he already knows, every single injury, the graveness of them. He knows about the broken shoulder and ribs that had to be reset, torn skin that had to be stitched together, that he has internal bruising but by some miracle no internal bleeding. His face throbs suddenly, his temple tight with pain. He feels his heartbeat behind his eye and in the swelling in his cheek.

And, the worst of it, leg amputated to just above the knee. Sick crawls up the back of his throat. He doesn’t dare look.

The feeling in his chest swells until it chokes him.

Helpless, useless — something hard and fanged digs into his mind. It feels like grief, but what is he supposed to be mourning, exactly?

Everything, maybe.

His whole damn life.

“I’m fine,” he grunts suddenly. Sharply. “Quit fussin’.”

He feels like fucking crying.

“Just - shut up, Joel,” you snap back. “You almost fucking died.”

A fist curls around his throat, warm and tight. He almost can’t breathe through it. “Yeah,” he croaks, voice breaking the word in two.

“Yeah,” you snarl. “So shut up and let me fuss.”

You turn and leave before he can say anything else, footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. Voices trundle up, creased and folded, rising but muffled. You’ve always been mean when you got scared, ever since Joel can remember. You were mean as hell when he first met you, a hissing kind of frustrated, new to the QZ and new to trying your hand at smuggling.

You’ve softened up over the years. He hasn’t seen you like this in a long time, maybe not since you got separated in Salt Lake City.

More footsteps, this time heavy, stomping, coming upwards.

Ellie appears in the doorway a second later. Her hair is messy; her eyes are wild. She’s in sweatpants and a shirt that’s too big for her. She looks tired but unharmed. The knot tangled up around his lungs eases just a little. “Hey, kiddo.” He tries not to sound surprised.

Her eyes flick over him and then away. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t leave either. Instead she picks up a book from the corner of the dresser and settles in the chair across the room.

A firm but unyielding presence.

He closes his eyes, tips his head back against the wall, and tries to push down the feeling of failure rising in his throat like a tide.

Joel’s fingers are clumsy.

He can’t walk, can’t work, can’t do much of anything without irritating every ligament and tendon and bone in his body.

But even worse than that, he can’t remember how to play the guitar.

And nothing makes him feel so helpless as that.

Even after not playing for twenty odd years, the notes and the placement of his fingers on the strings and frets had come back easily to him, almost like he’d never stopped playing at all.

Now, it doesn’t.

In part his shoulder is to blame. Even nearly healed, it’s stiff. But the other part of it is that he can’t remember how to play. Every note seems wrong, and he can’t decide if he’s hearing it wrong, if there’s something wrong with his hearing, his perception, or if the note really is just wrong.

Ellie plays for him, instead.

It’s easier than talking. Neither of them are really good at that, anyway. He’s just glad she’s around at all.

He can’t help but think of that last conversation he’d had with her on the back porch, that she wants to try to forgive him, even if she thinks she might never be able to. He supposes this is her way of trying her hand at that.

Sometimes he wonders if it would be like this if he hadn’t almost died, if he wasn’t collecting sympathy from everyone like there was some kind of shortage. Maybe that conversation on the porch would have meant nothing, otherwise.

The thought hurts him, no matter how glad he is that she’s there.

One evening, pretty late, as snow peppers down through the early winter black that curtains the window, she stops playing.

The living room is quiet, aside from their breathing and the crackle of flames in the fireplace.

“I was going to invite you over to watch a movie.”

The metallic twang of the last note she plucked hangs in the air.

“I was - I was going to fucking ask you to watch a movie with me. That night. One of those dumb action movies you like. Like the ones we used to watch, remember? Curtis and Viper 2.”

She doesn’t look at him. She stares at her fingers, idly, nervously, twisting the tuning pegs of the guitar. “Think I saw that one before,” he answers, voice a little choked. “Pretty good.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Yeah, you would think so, old man,” she replies eventually but still doesn’t look up, her mouth twisting to the side. “I just - don’t want you to think I’m only here because you—” She shakes her head, and props the guitar against the wall before she stands and paces the room twice, toying with her fingers in that way she always has. “I never wanted anything bad to happen to you. Even when I was really mad.”

“Ellie,” he says but she doesn’t seem to hear him. “I know.”

“Anyway, I meant what I said.”

“Ellie.”

“I wanted things to get better. I wanted to try. I was going to.”

“Ellie.”

She spins suddenly toward the front door, one hand on the back of her neck, rubbing awkwardly. “I gotta get going.”

“Kiddo.” This time she turns and finally looks at him. The scent of pine and smoke fills the room. The red of the flames flash across her face, so serious and anxious.

When they first came to Jackson, they spent a lot of nights on the couch together. His neck always ached the next morning from sleeping upright but he’d never complain about it. Then the distance between them had grown, and he doesn’t know when the last time something like that had happened.

But that same distance is slowly shrinking now, even if things might never, never be the same again.

So many times when he looks at her, he still sees that fourteen year old kid. He’d had the same problem with Sarah, looking at his twelve year old and seeing her at five and eight. It was just how it went, being a parent.

“I know, Ellie,” he reassures her. “I do. It’s all right. Even if you didn’t mean a word of it, it’s all right. I meant what I said, too.”

And even though she said she needed to leave, she nods and sits down again. She plucks a few notes out on the guitar when she pulls it back into her lap.

“D'ya still wanna watch it?”

She does.

Joel is whittling.

It is decidedly not going well.

He’s too distracted for it. He never realized how much pressure settled on his shoulder, how much it pulled at the muscle around his ribs, from doing something as simple as this, and he doesn’t like the nausea that comes with the pain.

But it’s something he can do, so he does it.

It’s snowing outside again, wind raking against the siding, rattling the window panes. There’s a thin stream of air coming in around the window’s frame, cold.

His hands are chapped and raw, blood pooling at the seams of his knuckles.

The fix would be easy enough, but everything he needs to do it is in the basement. And the basement is a near impossible location for him to reach, so he puts up with it, hands growing more frustrated by the second because he wants to fucking fix it.

You use the office, his work space, often enough, and it’s one thing for him to be cold and uncomfortable, but another thing entirely for you to feel that way.

But he can’t make it down to the living room without help these days, let alone down two flights of stairs to the basement, and then back up them, too.

“Joel?”

He glances over his shoulder to find you standing in the doorway. You have a pair of shears in your hands.

“Still want me to cut your hair?”

He wants to do it himself. But you’d offered earlier, because you’ve been doing it for him for a long time, for years and years now. And he’d always liked it because your hands are kind with it and you’re better at doing it, anyway. But now it just feels like one more thing he can’t do for himself, one more thing he’s relying on someone else for, and that makes guilt and shame choke him.

Joel can’t seem to do a damn thing, not for himself, but, worse, not for anyone else either.

“Joel?” You ask again when the silence stretches until it’s uncomfortable. “I don’t have to; you can do it yourself.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s all right, darlin’.” You start forward when he labors up from the chair, teeth gritted, but quickly stop when he meets your eyes, warning you away with a glance.

You don’t say anything else, just back out the door and pad down the hall to the bathroom.

He isn’t sure if your feelings are hurt or not, all his focus directed on hauling himself upwards and then limping down the hall with one crutch under his arm. Feeble threads of pain lance up his leg, centering in his joints, the hinge of his knee. The space under his arm is sore too, from the crutch, even wrapped in cloth.

Joel is used to pain. He’s used to temporary aches, the sharp stab of healing wounds, the quick rip of a bullet or knife through skin, chronic pains from age and long healed injuries. On cold days, his side aches something fierce, like that rebar never really came out of him.

But this pain is different, without origin, and he’s having a hard time adjusting to it. Or maybe he’s just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this is not a healable injury, at least, not in the way he wants it to be.

For the rest of his life, he will be disabled. He’ll never get back to himself, never be what he once was.

The bathroom light is gold. It washes his skin into a better color, not so pale and strained and pained looking.

He hates looking in the mirror now. Joel never considered himself particularly good looking, never thought about it much, really. And, for most of his life, looks haven’t really mattered anyway.

But seeing his reflection now is a reminder of his failures. It’s a reminder of everything he can’t do.

His whole body is nothing but reminders.

He is a patchwork quilt of scars.

He doesn’t know how you can stand to look at him. But you just brush your hands through his hair when he leans the crutch against the counter and sits heavily on the stool you dragged upstairs.

The bathroom is thick with the scent of lavender and earth. Every winter it turns into a makeshift greenhouse, all the plants that can’t survive the winter dragged inside for the season.

The feeling of your hands through his hair is soothing and the tension in his shoulders slides away.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbles, despite himself, and without conviction when you run a comb through his hair.

You hum under your breath, not really paying him any mind. You know he doesn’t really mean it. Even if he feels like a fucking burden for it, it’s something you’ve always done for him, so it’s a little easier for him to accept. “I know. I like to.” You tilt his chin up and Joel steadfastly avoids looking in the mirror. “Besides, I’m better at it. You take to it like it’s a hack job.”

The trim doesn’t take long, since he keeps his hair longer anyway. It’s mostly an excuse for you to rake your fingers through his hair.

“The window needs fixin’,” he says when you slide in front of him and set about trimming his beard without asking. That’s fine, too. “I know you been, uh, kinda cold in that room.”

“It’s not so bad,” you say when you finish with him, brushing your fingers against his cheeks and then through his hair. You smile, eyes crossing his face, tracing his features like a well known map, before you twitch a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You gonna fix it for me or what?”

“Mighty big ask of ya,” he grouses, irritation itching at the edge of his mind.

You’re still smiling faintly, touching his face, the curl of hair behind his ear, the scar along his hairline and then the one over his nose.

“I just can’t see how,” you say and Joel almost snaps. He wants to. He wants to say you don’t fucking get it, that you don’t want to get it, that it’s different now. He wants to say he’s not the man you’ve always known, that shit ain’t as easy as it’s always been. He can’t do shit for you, anymore, and isn’t that the reason you’ve stuck around all these years?

But then you continue. “I left that damn caulking gun on the side table three days ago.”

“You what?”

You shrug. “Thought you might have noticed it too. And I’ve always been so bad at that stuff.”

The guilt that settles in him is heavy, but familiar. The shape of it is different, but it's still like shrugging on an old coat, it’s so natural and intimate.

He must be destined for some kind of failure, born under a bad star, something.

Everything he touches falls apart, no matter what he does. Everyone he holds dear, leaves him, one way or another, somehow. His mama, Sarah, and then Tommy, and then Tess. Most recently Ellie, though maybe things there were being mended. Maybe you were next, soon as you came to your senses.

Joel has spent most of his life taking care of people. And when he wasn’t taking care of people, he was moving, working. He hardly ever sat still. He didn’t have time to sit still.

Not before the outbreak, and certainly not after.

Even in Jackson where the pace of the world is slower, he was always busy. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was on wall duty, looking after Jackson’s security. Or, he was fixing something for someone, building something, helping with the horses. If he wasn’t doing any of that, he was improving his house, he was working on a new carving, he was playing the guitar.

Healing up, it’s involved a whole lot of sitting still and feeling useless. It had involved a lot of other people fussing over him.

A lot of sitting still and feeling like he was failing everyone he knew. Like he had already failed everyone he knew. For all the effort he put into it, it would never be enough. He cares wrong, he loves wrong, and now he can’t even do that.

He fails you in this, too. Of wishing he could accuse you of all the things he thinks of himself.

Joel knows you think of it too, you just haven’t gotten frustrated enough with him to say it yet. You haven’t had the full weight of his broken, uselessness on you, yet.

That day will come. There’s no way it won’t, because he can’t do for you what he’s always done, what he was put on this god forsaken earth to do. The one thing he’s always been able to do. Not just for you, but for everyone. Ellie, Tommy and his family, Jackson at large.

It’s always been the thing he could point to and say look, this is why I am like this, this is why you need me, why I’m around. You survived because of me. Because I made sure you did.

So he’s not worth much now, really, and all the promises he made you and all the promises he made to himself, he can’t keep them anymore. And isn’t that why you stuck by him all these years? Despite all his shortcomings?

“Sorry, darlin’,” he cups your face in his hands, smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “I’ll get right on fixin’ that for you.”

“I know you will. Thank you, Joel.” The full weight of your head tips into his hands, and your eyes slide shut. His hands are large against your jaw, scarred and calloused, harsh. Reminders, maybe, of what he used to be. He looks at the hollows beneath your eyes, the raw, worried skin of your bottom lip.

You don’t sleep anymore and when you do you have nightmares. You hate to leave the house. And sometimes you flinch even when nothing is happening around you, like memories are snapping at your heels.

He did all that to you, too. Terrible gifts he’s given and can’t take back.

When he glances back up to your eyes, you’re staring at him, a worried, anxious kind of look lodged there that he absolutely hates.

“What?” He asks, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks and then the delicate hinge of your jaw.

“Nothing.” Your eyes shift away from his, and you twitch in his grasp. He already knows what you’re about to say, because you’ve never gotten better at saying it, just like him. He doesn’t need you to say it, but you do anyway, and he hates how much he likes hearing it. It’s like a ray of golden sun. “I love you, Joel,” you murmur and hook your hands around his wrists.

For a long time, you just look at him, the silence is heavy with unsaid words, but he isn’t sure which of you is the one not saying something. “That enough?” He eventually grunts. “For you?”

You frown. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you think it’s not?”

It shouldn’t be. All those promises stack up in his mind again, everything he can’t keep.

“It shouldn’t be.”

You pull his hands away from your face with a shake of your head and lean in to kiss him. Your lips part softly against his, the hitch of your breath sweet against his mouth. The heat of you is so close and intoxicating, it’s something he never wants to have to give up, not when your thumbs are pressed to the pulse in his wrists, and not when you taste like apple, honey.

He shakes one of your hands away to wrap his arm around your back and pull you closer, until the warmth of your body is pressed securely to his chest. Your tongue slides against his, teeth nipping gently at his bottom lip. Something warm floods his cheeks and his chest goes tight.

When you pull back, you tug on a piece of his hair then touch the blush pinking on his face. “You look real handsome, Texas.”

He tucks his forehead against your collarbone, and you fold your hands against the back of his head. “It’s enough,” you say. “Always has been.”

The next day, he finds that most of his tools have been relocated upstairs, either to one of the cabinets in the living room, or to the office upstairs.

Either way, he no longer has to traverse two staircases down and back up.

He isn’t sure when you had the time to do it, or why he didn’t at least hear you doing it.

Joel’s chest swells with love for you, right alongside the guilt that does nothing but grow.

He fixes the window.

Some days are easier than others.

He has good days and bad, and some of the bad days are worse than others. He sows the feelings up inside himself, cocoons the bad away inside his chest. It’s easier that way. And it’s necessary now. It’s just another thing you’d have to deal with.

He’s never been good at saying the things that needed said, anyway.

He tries not to snap at you. He’s trying not to get mean, and he can’t just walk away like he used to be able to when his mind got messy. But he’s been failing because he wants you to fight with him, wants you to hate him.

Joel wants you to say that he fucking failed, that he’s been failing his whole life at the one thing he was supposed to be able to do. The one thing he’s really good for.

“Stop it,” Joel snarls one day in the spring, when you offer your hand down the steps to the living room.

He doesn’t mean to snap at you like that, but he doesn’t take it back either. He’s in too much pain. And he doesn’t want to admit it.

The smile slips off your face as you step back from him, a stoney expression sliding over your face instead. It’s routine, you helping him, and maybe that’s the problem. He grits his teeth, that look reminds him of Boston, reminds him of the time before you used to trust each other.

“I ain’t helpless.”

You raise your hands and take another step back, looking away from him as you do.

The breeze that comes in the landing’s open window is cool. It isn’t quite warm enough for the window to be open but the house needs airing out after such a long winter, such a hard winter. The air is crisp with the scent of pine and the lavender hung in dried clumps above each doorway.

“I know, Joel.”

When he looks at you, you visibly brace yourself.

A wave of self-hatred so hot it burns immediately follows the guilt. But it also doesn’t stop the angry, frustrated pulse beneath the surface of his skin, pressing against the back of his teeth.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just leave me there.” The words are bitter, poisonous. Accusatory. “You should have left me to fuckin’ die.”

Whatever you might be expecting him to say, it isn’t that. Your breath catches hard.

You can be cruel, too. He waits for your anger, the burn of words he deserves to hear, something mean and hateful but true.

But the words don’t come; your anger doesn’t come. You just look tired and empty, sad.

You pace the landing, the soft shush of your footsteps echoed by the creaking of the floorboards. Your silence pricks at him. He wants you to scream at him, blame him, for failing, for being so fucking stupid.

“What if it was me?”

Your voice is so low, he almost doesn’t catch your words.

The quiet of your footsteps come to a halt. “What if it had been me, Joel? It could have been. It could have easily been me. They knew who you were. We’ve done a lot of the same shit. We’ve made a lot of the same enemies over the years.”

Your hands are shaking, your breath comes in quick little pants. The acrid, bone aching feeling of cresting anxiety and panic floods the little landing. “Me and you and Tess, we were kind of a package fucking deal. So, what if it was me?”

The breeze sliding through the open window feels different now. Colder, older, more brutal.

“That’s fuckin’ different and y’know it,” he snarls.

“Why?” Anger floods your face, the curl of your fingers harsh against your arms when you cross them. “Why would that have been different? Because you think I always need to be taken care of?”

He doesn’t answer. He looks away from you, but he can’t go anywhere. He’s at your mercy and you both hate it.

Joel leans heavily against the wall, his right hand curling around his left wrist, a nervous, anxious tick he’s never been able to shake.

“Tell me,” you beg. “Say it, Joel. How is it different? Why?”

He shakes his head once, slowly, and doesn’t look up at you. “You can say it,” you continue, your voice eerily quiet. “You never trusted me to have your back.”

That ain’t it at all.

It’s not your failure. It’s his, in every single way. He doesn’t blame you or Tommy or Ellie or anyone else. He doesn’t believe for a second that you don’t know that.

It would have been better, probably, if he died.

He doesn’t understand the guilt you feel.

He can’t take care of you anymore, can’t protect you anymore.

Worse, he can’t do that for his kid.

If he’d died, maybe that final sacrifice would have been enough to make up for everything else. Maybe it would all just be done.

He’s the one breaking promises, not you, just like he always has been.

Sometimes, when he thinks of Sarah, he can only remember her final moments. He can’t think of anything else but her blood, how red it was in the dark. He can’t think of anything else than what could have been. He can only see the halo of that mounted flashlight glaring into his eyes, his own voice pleading. Please don’t.

If he’d just been shot, he would have died first, he wouldn’t have ever known how bad he failed in that moment. He would have died first, like a parent was supposed to. No good father should ever outlive his kid.

Maybe, this had been his second chance, to finally die first.

Born lucky, bad star, like always.

So, what would he do, if it had been you? He’d have taken care of you, just like you’re doing for him. But that is not anathema to him; that is just how things are supposed to go. It wouldn’t have been a failure.

He’s no use to you anymore, no use to anyone.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he nods.

“You’re right.” He shrugs and pain splinters across his shoulders. “It would have been different.”

Your expression flickers blank and you turn away. It would have been easier to stomach if you screamed at him, if you slammed a door.

But you’re just quiet.

Once, during the late autumn, when you were traveling with Joel and Ellie, you noticed Joel wasn’t eating.

Food was in short supply. None of the houses or buildings you looted turned up anything edible, and wild game had been elusive for weeks as the weather turned wetter and chillier.

You’d noticed him doing it a few times before, but nothing like then. Joel would dole out carefully rationed food and not allocate any to himself. The bags under his eyes deepened. His temper was shorter. He’d gotten pale and hollows appeared in his cheeks that meant he hadn’t been getting enough. Joel had always been huge, broad and strong and tall, with thick arms and thighs, but when he dropped weight, it always showed in those little hollows first.

Then, one evening, after clearing out a barn of infected, he’d stumbled, hand to his forehead, pale as you’d ever seen him. “Christ,” he’d mumbled.

“Joel?” Ellie’s voice had pitched up with worry. She’d looked at you, and said, “He hasn’t been eating.” The words were all a rush, accusatory and begging for you to do something.

“Ellie—” He’d growled.

“I know she’s right, Joel,” You’d interrupted with a snap. “You think we wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t notice?”

He’d gotten pissed off and marched off into the woods to the stream to refill your canteens. You’d given him a wide berth for several hours, making the newly cleared barn into something livable for the night with Ellie. When dark had started to set in you went after him, boots crunching through frozen leaves.

He’d been sitting by the creek bed, an inscrutable expression on his face. “We ain’t got enough,” he’d said, not looking at you. “You and Ellie need it more. I’m fine.”

“But you're not. You can’t just not eat. You can’t take care of us if you aren’t okay, Joel.”

The air had smelled like earth and decaying leaves and stagnant water and ice. The scent reminded you of better times, of apple cider and cinnamon and new beginnings, of autumn fairs and coffee shops.

You’d sat behind him, pulled him against you for just a moment, chin on his shoulder, and said, “It’s all right to let me look after you, too.”

You figure that even with the change in circumstances, things are still like that with Joel. He’s always doing the metaphorical equivalent of making sure everyone else eats first, even if it means he’s starving.

He’s never been one to give up or give in or let go. When Tess was bitten, Joel hadn’t wanted to leave her. He’d wanted to stay and fight. To fight a useless and unwinnable fight. That mindset was never going to fade.

You don’t speak for a few days. Guilt swallows the whole of your heart and leaves you dry and empty. Joel blames you, you think, even if he won’t say it.

He comes to you late one night.

It’s dark and the bedroom is overly warm. He sits heavily but without help at the edge of the bed. He’s getting better at that, even if he doesn’t think he is.

His hair is longer and it falls into his face when he leans over you, fingers against your forehead and temple and then your cheek.

“When I was real young,” he says. “My dad died. We didn’t have much money and my mama worked all the time.”

You turn on your back and try to make his face out but his expression is unreadable.

Joel hardly ever talks about his folks.

“I got my first job when I was fourteen, to help with the bills. Money was better on account of half of it not bein’ drank away, but we still needed the cash.” Joel pauses and you scoot over. It takes a minute for him to find a comfortable position with you but when he does, he continues. His voice echoes against your ear, the beat of his heart pounds against your cheek. His chin rubs against your forehead, one large hand splayed across your shoulders.

“Since she worked so much, I was always takin’ care of Tommy, of damn near everything else. And my mama, too, sometimes.” He swallows, and you feel the bob of his throat against your forehead. His chest is warm beneath your cheek, even through the two layers he always wears. “So I knew I was young when Sarah came along, but I didn’t really feel it. I took care of her and her mother, ‘til she went her own way. Just the way I always had.”

The rise and fall of his chest is steady. He cups his free hand around yours and tucks your palm against his heart.

“I know I’m not easy, in any sense of the word. I never have been.” A heavy tug of shame weighs his voice down. “Too mean and bitter, I guess.” There’s a long pause, and you want to protest but you’re sure if you interrupt, Joel won’t finish saying whatever it is he needs to.

“So anyway,” he continues. “I try to make up for it. By doin’ what I always have, even if it means I end up alone. I wouldn’t change anything. I don’t know what I’m good for if—” His hand slides up your spine, thick fingers resting at the base of your neck. “And I can’t do it anymore. Can’t take care of ya. So, it woulda been different, if it had been you. Because it’s you we’re talkin’ about.”

Joel goes quiet after that. His palm continues its nervous path over your spine. The bristles of his beard are soft against your temple. The rhythm of his breathing is still slow and even, but you feel the prickle of nerves in the way he touches you.

It isn’t easy for Joel to say the things he feels, even to you, even all these years later.

His body is so familiar to you, so warm and strong beneath you. Comfort, in short, in its purest form.

You aren’t expecting him to say any more, but he does. “Things. . .they always have a way of fallin’ apart, in the end.”

When you lift your head, he doesn’t look at you. You press a finger against the edge of his jaw, turning his head gently until his eyes meet yours. “Joel,” you touch your forehead to his. You aren’t good with words either, but you try. “You are more than that. More than what you can do for people.”

He’s quiet for a long time, eyes fluttering closed, his breath a calm pool against your mouth. “And I’m more than that? To you?”

“Joel, if I only wanted some guard dog, I would have gotten one that could listen better.”

He snorts, and a little of the tension melts away. “Yeah, I reckon you would have.”

The dark is a warm cocoon of things less easily said in the light.

“Yes,” you say quietly after a long, peaceful silence. “Joel. You’re so much more to me than that.”

It’s late spring again. The Wyoming air is mild, and heavy with the scent of blooming life.

Sage grows in dense clumps up in the mountains, deep between the ridges of the sharp peaks. The smell of it, earthy and crisp, chases itself on the breeze, all the way down to Jackson. It twines with the smell of flowers painstakingly planted along his front path.

Arrowleaf. Goldenrod.

Lavender, right by the mailbox, courtesy of some superstition held onto from before the outbreak.

It’s thick, cloying, pungent.

It’s overripe, rotting. It smells like death.

It’s making Joel fucking nauseous.

He squeezes your arm, a warning without words that he needs a break.

It’s the smell.

It’s the sun and the gentle breeze.

He tells himself the sick, crawling pain mixing sourly in his stomach has nothing at all to do with his newly fitted prosthetic leg.

Slowly, without a word, you turn and guide him back through his familiar backyard to the porch.

He sits heavily on the steps, just inside the cool pool of shade, and pulls in deep breaths that rattle in his lungs and do nothing to stave off the dizziness, or the pain.

Your hand slides up and down his back before your palm settles against the back of his neck and urges his head down between his knees.

Joel feels like a fucking kid. His hands are shaking.

“Damn thing is useless,” he growls after a minute when the nausea passes and he can lift his head, because it’s the only thing he can do, because it’s goddamn humiliating.

Everything is, these days.

You just bump your shoulder into his and hum low under your breath, used to his attitude, used to his bark that only sometimes has a bite.

You’re patient with him, but tough, not willing to indulge his foul moods. “It’s just something you have to get used to,” you assure him. “It’s not going to be like before.”

Joel doesn’t want to admit that he wants to take the prosthetic off. It’s like admitting defeat before he’s even gotten a chance to fight.

And he’s tired.

Exhausted, really.

“Hey,” you dig your nails into his wrist. He meets your eyes, pragmatic, practical, his match in everything. “We aren’t supposed to go at it so hard anyway, remember? You did really well.”

He doesn’t want to admit that, either, that your praise washes pink in his veins, that he likes to hear it, thrives on it. If he’s doing right by you, good in your eyes, things can’t be awful as they might seem.

That’s what he latches onto. Your pride. Your acceptance.

“This was just the first time, Joel,” you continue. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

He ain’t so sure about that, not with the way his leg aches. A leg that isn’t even there anymore, chopped off right above the knee, to save his life, apparently. It’s part of why it hurts so goddamn much. Feels like he’s pushing his calf into something it can’t fit in, like the long gone meat and bone are getting ground up into his thigh.

But if he gets the hang of it, then things will be better. He’ll at least be able to move on his own. He might be able to find some way to work again. Wall duty was looking pretty good, because all you really have to do is sit there and watch the horizon and be able to shoot pretty well.

There is hope in the future. There is hope in you reminding him of that, realistic to a fault, pragmatic to your core.

And unlike Joel, you’ve never had it in you to lie.

Joel tightens his hand on your forearm again, pressure on your sun warmed skin. It’s a poor substitute for the thank you that you deserve. You seem to get his meaning though. Your hand feathers through his hair again and the sun doesn’t feel so abrasive, and the smells of spring don’t seem so weighed down by death.

“Ellie’s coming for dinner,” you offer. “Said she’s got a movie or a game or something that she wants to show you.”

Yeah, so maybe the day ain’t so bleak as he thought it was.

“All right.”

You offer him a hand up, and slip your arm behind his back. He carefully drapes his arm around your shoulders, mindful, even now, of his weight against yours. “What a strong thing you are,” he comments, not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. You look so determined.

It’s the way you always look, when put to task.

You roll your eyes. “Lucky for you.”

“Lucky for me,” he says, soft about it.

The stairs are the worst part of getting back inside, but it's much easier than it had been before.

It’s a relief to collapse into the couch and take the prosthetic off. The phantom pains still ache and stretch painfully tight, like the skin is being pulled taut, like there was a knot that just needed massaged out. He grits his teeth and represses the urge to reach down and rub sore muscle that no longer exists.

It’s a relief to collapse into the couch, even if guilt punches him in the chest for it.

It’s an even bigger relief when you press yourself into the space next to him. He doesn’t know how you stand it sometimes. How you can look at him and still not hate him for every mistake he’s ever made.

“Knee always fuckin’ bothered me anyhow,” he comments, turning his head so his words brush against your temple. “Don’t gotta worry about it gettin’ stiff now, I reckon.”

You reward him with a snort, the scrape of your fingernails against his cheek, a kiss.

It’s easier to get around, with the prosthetic that he hates.

But he’s slow. Slower than he’s ever been in his whole life. And sometimes, most times, it frustrates him.

Being able to walk is one thing. It’s a fine thing. But he needs to be able to do more than that. Run, fight, shoot. A fucking pipe dream. But he’s back to building, carpentry, and that’s something at least. Something useful.

Joel has tried asking you about that day, because he doesn’t remember a whole lot besides the pain. But your chest goes fluttery with panic, the rise and fall of it unfamiliar to him. You don’t get nervous. You never have, not over anything.

But when he asks about that day, you mutter something about Tommy and blood, and he can’t get anything else out of you. Tommy does the same, eyes cast to the side, thumbs hooked in his belt, foot starting a nervous rhythm.

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with either of you, what the goddamn problem is.

In some ways, Joel’s always thought you were tougher than him, a balance of brutal and rough and unforgiving with softened sweetness. Bash the skull of a hunter in with a metal pipe, then use your unsullied hand to stroke back Ellie’s hair, to offer help to strangers, to pat the nose of your horse gently.

He would never want to be on the other side of the wrath you kept wrapped up inside your heart.

But, now, you don’t leave Jackson anymore. You haven’t been outside Jackson’s walls since that day.

Tommy tells him you can’t even bear to take a shift on the wall, which mainly comprised of sitting at the top of the wall and doing a whole lot of nothing, looking at the horizon, shuffling your feet to keep warm.

It’s unlike you. You love to patrol, just like him.

That’s his fault, too. Your nightmares, your sleeplessness.

Ellie plays the guitar for him, even after he gets the hang of it again, even after he’s walking on his own again, the chords coming back to him easier and easier. They don’t have to talk much, that way.

She’s still mad, but he almost died, and she’s willing to try with him.

She comes over for dinner. She always brings a movie.

It gets easier.

And slowly, by the end of the summer, she smiles when she sees him.

He’s gotten the hang of walking again, which is never a sentiment he thought he’d have about himself. Joel always assumed he’d be killed before something like really old age could set in, or something like this, a disability he doesn’t want to learn to live with.

It’s rained recently and the yard smells like perchitor and the ever present mountain sage. The grass is just a little muddy from the many loops around the yard. “You’re going to fall and break your neck, old man.”

“Breakin’ my neck can’t be much worse than what it is right now. We ain’t goin’ around the yard anyhow. Now c’mon, put your shoes on, kiddo.”

“It’s still raining,” she complains.

“Means no one’s outside to see me humiliatin’ myself.”

Ellie only rolls her eyes but does it anyway. He doesn’t need a hand anymore, but he’s shaky sometimes and despite your best efforts he’s still refusing a cane. But he also hasn’t been using the track in the yard in weeks.

That, and he actually has somewhere to be these days, figuring out better security for Jackson, looking after the patrol teams, assessing who was ready to be put into rotation. Managing is what he should be calling it, though he doesn’t care for it. He and Maria butt heads too often for it to be anything close to enjoyable.

When they pass the mailbox, Ellie points to the lavender. “I never thought to ask about it before. It’s everywhere. Some nailed above the door and everything.”

“Some kinda thing about protectin’ the home,” Joel explains. “Far as I remember, it protects from bad energy. Somethin’ like that.”

“I thought that was sage?”

“Sage you burn,” he explains. “And we get plenty of that too. Whole damn house smells like it.”

“Seems like the kinda thing Dina would do,” she says and then seems to realize who she’s said it to. But she doesn’t change the subject. “Didn’t take her for the superstitious type. Doesn’t seem like it really works anyway.”

Joel shrugs. “She was before the outbreak, I guess.” He watches Ellie from the corner of his eye. She’s steadfastly not looking at him, but she also doesn’t usually say so much to him. “Didn’t have reason to think of it for a long time. Lavender wasn’t exactly in high supply in Boston.”

Ellie nods.

“She used to, uh, put some in your backpack when she knew you was goin’ out. Same with me, always put some in my pocket.”

There’s a long silence. Jackson’s streets are oddly empty in the pouring rain. Lights glow in the windows; inviting, homely. “She didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs and his shoulder only aches a little for it. “It’s just the kinda thing parents do, even if it don’t make any damn sense.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees as the turn toward the center of Jackson. “You wanna stop in the Bison?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “For a minute.”

“Full schedule?” She teases. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your sunset years?”

“Well, gotta have something to fill up the days, kiddo. Maybe one day you’ll actually be able to keep up.”

She just scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

Joel tries not to smile.

Being mobile again, busy again, feels good.

It feels good, but it also means he’s in near constant pain.

He tells himself it’s good, that pain sharpens him, makes him better.

Until he’s slumped on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, heaving his guts up from the ache in his leg.

You find him there, sweaty and panting, with a glass of water in hand. Joel pushes himself upright against the wall with a sigh as you close the lid of the toilet and flush it before sitting beside him on the cool tile.

“You’re overdoing it again,” you say, not unkindly.

“I ain’t tryin’ to,” he mutters and takes the glass of water when you offer it to him.

“I know.” You cover his free hand with yours. “Wanna get up?”

You smell faintly of peppermint, burned incense.

When he shakes his head, you stretch to flip the light switch over your head. He’s plunged into darkness, alone, for just a moment, before you settle again. The warmth of your head against his shoulder feels stolen.

For a long time, neither of you say anything. He breathes through the pain still crawling around his knee, the phantom flesh of his calf.

“I was a goddamn fool,” he whispers into the silence. “You know what I was thinkin’ that day?” He’s not sure where the words come from, the confession. It feels a little like the words are being pulled up out of his body, yanked right from the center of his chest.

“Tell me,” your nose is warm when it bumps against his collarbone.

“‘Bout Ellie. How I’d want someone to help her, if she needed it. So I helped that girl. Almost got all of us fuckin’ killed.”

You don’t answer, not at first. But eventually, you lean into him and say, “If you want me to blame you, I won’t. I will never find fault in kindness.” Your thumb strokes his knuckles slowly. “Never. Especially not yours.”

He brushes his mouth along your hairline, skin silken against his mouth. “Y’know when we was on the road, I was sure you’d get us killed. But y’always knew when to trust someone. How much to trust ‘em.”

“I. . .” you start and then trail off, fingers squeezing around his. “I was always lucky, and I always knew I had you at my back. If I messed up, you were always there.”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the bathroom, and when he meets your gaze, he can see the glaze of tears in your eyes. You suck in a shaking breath and clear your throat but don’t continue. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there the same way.”

“This ain’t on you,” he says. “Don’t think that. It’s me. It was a long time comin’ somethin’ would catch up to me.”

You settle in against him, one hand digging into the sore muscle of his thigh. The heat feels like, the flex of your gentle fingers even better. The pain that doesn’t exist fades just a little.

“And for the record, darlin’, you were there the same way.”

It’s autumn again when you go back onto the patrol rotation. There’s frost on the windows and on the spikes of overgrown grass in the front yard. He just got back from a night watch on the wall.

You’re taking his old routes with Tommy, and you don’t tell him about it until the morning of. Not a fucking soul breathed a word of it to him, and he’s the one figuring out the goddamned rotations.

And Joel realizes though he’d been worried about you not wanting to leave Jackson anymore, not even being able to go near the gates, he was glad you hadn’t wanted to. It meant you were safe. Even if he couldn’t keep you safe anymore, the walls of Jackson could.

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” you say before you leave, pretending like he can’t clearly see your hands shaking before you walk out the door.

He follows you onto the porch. He can’t remember what he says, just that you look upset and then hurt, just that you don’t say goodbye when you walk away and that you probably don’t have lavender tucked into your pocket like he always did.

“Please.” A word he hardly ever says, a plea he never gives into.

He says it to your retreating back as you pass the mailbox, but you either don’t hear him or choose to ignore him.

Maybe he didn’t say it at all.

That day is hell. It’s long and pocketed with anger and anxiety. If something happens to you, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. He doesn’t like that you left him upset.

Maria doesn’t entertain his outburst about it when he finally corners her after looking for her all morning. “She was ready.”

“I didn’t even know we were considerin’ sendin’ her back out!”

Maria just levels him with a glare that could freeze hell over. “That isn’t up to just you. And why do you think she didn’t want to tell you?”

He’s at the stables with Ellie that evening when you come home, waiting. It’s cold and his leg is aching something bitter and awful but he doesn’t move and Ellie doesn’t suggest going back home because she knows he won’t hear it. Dina stops by and he listens to them talk. Ellie’s face softens when she looks at Dina, cheeks a soft pink in the fading light, ducking her head and fidgeting with her fingers.

Joel tries not to pay them any mind, but it's hard not to find endearing.

When you and Tommy get back, it’s full dark. He wants to throttle his brother for not telling him you were going back out on the trails, but it’s too cold for much of that. All thoughts of strangling Tommy fly from his head as soon as he sees you, because you have a smear of blood on your cheek and down your neck.

“Goddamn it, what happened?” He demands, hands against your face before you’ve even fully dismounted.

“I’m fine.”

“That ain’t what I asked,” he sweeps his thumb over your skin, flakes of red shifting to the ground. The knot in his chest tightens as he watches it flutter through the air. “What happened?” He growls again. “Tommy?”

“The usual, Joel,” you pull his attention back to you. “It was just cleanup. A couple of infected. Nothing.”

“Uh huh,” he tilts your face one way and then the other.

“Just some splatter.” You shrug and smile at him; your mouth twitches, and he realizes you’re teasing him.

“Splatter,” he repeats flatly. “That ain’t funny. You ain’t funny. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Ellie and Dina have disappeared with your arrival but they aren’t far; he can hear their chatter as they walk along the street toward the center of Jackson, the echoes of their voices reaching back towards him. “I’ll deal with you later,” he says to his brother.

Tommy just raises his hands and says he’ll stable the horses. But he’s grinning and maybe that’s a good thing. It’s been awhile since his brother has seemed himself. It’s been awhile since the two of you have given him grief together.

“Leave Tommy alone,” you say as you walk toward Rancher Street. You seem steadier than you had been that morning, more confident, more yourself. It isn’t a long walk back, even with his leg, though he limps worse than usual because of the cold. You wrap an arm around his waist, your fingers digging into his back pocket, body warm against his side. “We did good together today.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you did.”

“You mad at me?”

“I wish you’d tell me,” he murmurs. “When you’re goin’ off to do somethin’ stupid. I need you to talk to me. Worried the whole goddamn day. You ain’t exactly in practice out there anymore.”

You hum and then nudge closer to him. “Put your arm around me.”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, maybe a little harshly.

“Joel,” you laugh and nuzzle your face against his shoulder. “C’mon. I’m cold and I had a rough day. Put your arm around me.”

So, he does. And he leaves it there until you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the counter in front of him, lavender plants stacked in the sink behind you once again as the colder weather sets in.

This is better. So much fucking better, than the other way around. This is right.

He cleans the blood away, finds the swell of a bruise on your shoulder and a cut lengthways over your collarbone.

It’s easy enough to take care of. It isn’t as bad as what he’d been imagining all day long.

He’s well in practice for this sort of thing, for bandaging and assessing wounds.

“Sorry,” he says as he works. “For this mornin’.”

“Mhm.”

“I worried all day. Not much I can do now, if you get into a spot of trouble.”

“I handle myself fine. Tommy was there. He’s a good partner out there.”

Joel grunts, dabs rubbing alcohol along the cut. “He is,” he agrees reluctantly. He supposes if you had to go on patrol with anyone, he’d prefer you go with his brother.

You touch him as he works, fingers patting over his jacket, the collar of his flannel, the frayed edge of the t-shirt beneath that. “I had to go back out, Joel. You would have argued with me and I can’t be afraid and useless forever.”

“Useless,” he scoffs and unspools a length of bandage. “You don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“Joel,” you say softly, exasperated. “Baby, you don’t know what it was like that day. I thought you were already dead.” Your voice trembles and you have to swallow harshly before you can continue. “Helpless and useless doesn’t even begin to cover what I felt. What I still feel.” You shake your head and cup your fingers around his. “I dream about it every single night and I still don’t really remember what happened. That scares me a lot.”

He slides his thumb along the gauze, your eyes wide and worried when he meets them.“I’ll never be who I was, sweetheart.” His voice sounds mournful to his own ears.

“You’re exactly the same man, Joel. I’m just happy you’re here and alive and you’re worried you aren’t alive the right damn way.” You shake your head. “I can’t ask for much more than what I have. Than what we do. Me and you. Ellie back in our life. A home. Food. Family. You,” you touch his jaw and smile. “Still here. Still taking care of me.”

There’s a lump in his throat, hard as a stone. “Yep.” He coughs in an attempt to clear his voice but he sounds just as wrecked when he speaks. “Patrol musta been real good to y’today.”

You just laugh, and the sound of it is wet. “Yeah. It was. I thought it would be terrible but I missed it.”

“I know you did.”

“You should come on a ride with me sometime,” you say slyly. “I bet it’d feel good to be back in the saddle. You’ve always been a good shot from the back of a horse.”

He has.

Maybe he should.

💞 If you made it this far, thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

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

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theemissuniverse · 6 months

Text

MK MEN GET TURNED ON WHEN YOU SLAP THEM ACROSS THE FACE CRAZY GIRLFRIEND!READER

SUMMARY : Title

WARNINGS : (MDNI)! slapping, being a crazy girlfriend in general, alluding to smut, mentions of being “hard”

CHARACTERS : Kenshi, Kung Lao, Johnny, Havik, Kano, Shao Kahn, Erron Black, Kabal

MASTERLIST

MORTAL KOMBAT 1 CHARACTERS

Kenshi Takahashi is no stranger to violence and you knew that. Despite his character, Kenshi was actually very dangerous and not one to be messed with. You didn’t care and he liked that you didn’t. He’d watch you yell at him and granted, he deserved it because he didn’t do what he needed to do. As attractive as it was seeing you like that, sometimes he would zone out because all you would do was talk. When you realized he wasn’t listening to you, that’s when you smacked him across the face. It took you two a second to register what you had done. Kenshi felt his mouth some before looking at you. “You didn’t tell me you could hit like that. I kinda like it.”

Kung Lao likes to piss you off. Not only does he find it incredibly attractive but he just thinks it’s funny. You’re the only woman that can get him rock hard just by yelling at him. He pulled another prank on you and you were beyond mad. You started to go off on him and Kung Lao just stared at you like he was having a dream. He’ll tell you the prank wasn’t that bad and that’s when you slap him across. He stands there, a little stunned that you did that. Then he looks down to his erection. “Why did that make me hard?”

Johnny Cage is more so turned on by you being mad at him than you slapping him across the face. He finds it incredibly hot when you curse him out. (Especially if you happen to speak a second language and you start swearing in that one.) There’s just something about you yelling at him and swearing at him that makes him hard. You look so sexy when you boss him around or command him to do something. He’ll say something regarding how hot you are when you’re mad and because he was not paying attention to anything you said, he gets a smack on his face which stings but it’s worth it seeing you mad. “Jokes on you. I’m into that.”

Havik is into all of it. From seeing you mad, to you cussing him out, to you slapping him across the face. He loves it when you get out of control and lose yourself. Especially by his own doing. You were mad because of other things going on in your life and when Havik had a sarcastic attitude towards you, you started to take your anger out on him. He didn’t even say anything. He just watched you. You were even threatening to kill him and that just turned him on even more. Just him staring at you pissed you off. That’s when you slapped him. He started to laugh at it and he grabbed your hand to place it on his right cheek. “Do it again.”

MORTAL KOMBAT 11 CHARACTERS

Kano would never hit you but he loved when you did it to him. The two of you would get into a fight because you believed he was flirting with another woman. As hot as you were, he didn’t appreciate getting accused. He rolled his eyes as you went on your big long rant. He was not flirting with another girl. You just happened to walk in on them having a conversation and you took it the wrong way. (It sounded like he was gaslighting but it was actually true.) Kano rubs his temples, annoyed. He’ll ask you if you were done. Oh, that pisses you off. He receives a good hard smack on the mouth. He clicks his tongue showing no reaction. He finishes the beer in his hand. “Now why you turning me on like that, love?”

Shao Kahn is more proud of you than anything. He is the Emperor of Outworld. A tyrant. Nobody crossed him but here you were, sticking up for yourself at him. Nobody would dare do what you would do or say. That’s what turned him on about you. It was cute that you thought your words mattered to him but he’d let you rant to him about what he considered to be absolutely nothing. Then he would threaten one of your friends and that’s what causes the slap across the face. You waited for him to hit you back but he doesn’t. In fact, he licks his lips and stares at you hungry. “I like strong women.”

Erron Black more so likes the fact that he’s the one that can make you that mad, it gives him all the control. Seeing you curse at him for something so simple is just amusing to him. This time you were mad because he didn’t do the dishes. He liked his women crazy so when you started to throw glass plates at him, he liked you even more. He was ducking plate after plate. It made you mad that you didn’t hit him one time so you ended up just smacking him across the face. Erron feels his face before looking at you. He just grabs you by the hips and pulls you in for a kiss. “Damn, you’re so hot.”

Kabal(pre burn) likes his women feisty so seeing you lose your cool did wonders for him. He loves it all. How your eyebrows forward. Your eye twitching to keep it together. Your teeth gritting against each other. Kabal sometimes would just piss you off on purpose. Well, this time he had actually done it on accident. You were mad at him because he wouldn’t let you in where he hung out at with the Black Dragon and your thoughts immediately went to him cheating on you. It annoyed him that he was being accused. He’ll ask if do you ever shut up and that’s when your slap him. His hand’s immediately go to his belt and he starts to take them off. “Bend over the table. We’re bout to have a fun night.”

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f1byjessie · 3 months

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HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part seven.

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername had to take these pictures myself bc apparently angles are “too hard”

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landonorris maybe you should’ve just asked me 🙄

↳ yourusername as much as i love your results you turn what should be a quick 5 mins into a 20 min photoshoot

↳ landonorris yes and?? i’m not seeing what the downside is 🤨

user HOW MANY LETTERS IN SARGEANT???

user literally who needs boys when girls like y/n exist

↳ user REAL

logansargeant i know about angles

↳ yourusername yes logie and your future girlfriends will thank me for it 🫶

user that dress is stunning and i want it but i know it costs more than a month’s worth of my pay 🥲🥲🥲

user ferrari spotted = y/n for ferrari 2024

↳ user get that girl in a formula car and leT HER DRIVE

oscarpiastri in my defense your heels make you as tall as me 🫤

↳ yourusername methinks it’s just bc you only know how to take one type of picture and it’s the awkward dad kind 🫤

user OSCAR??? HAS OUR HUSBAND RETURNED FROM THE WAR???

↳ user mama y papa

user OP81 IS BACK IN THESE COMMENTS WAR IS OVER

With Oscar by your side, time passes quickly. You don’t bring up that the first night you shared a bed, you’d woken up in the morning with his arm wrapped around your waist and his breath tickling the back of your neck, and you certainly don’t mention that he’d practically whined in his sleep when you’d slipped out of his grasp. It doesn’t happen again, but there’s a part of you hoping that it does.

The days blend together into a haze of happiness, laughter, and exploring the beauty of Monaco. Lando shows you the best spots— a garden just off the Monte Carlo marina, a famous nightclub that takes your breath away, and a small cafe at the edge of the city that overlooks it all.

Things are good, great even, but you can’t help but feel like there’s still some distance between you and Oscar despite his reassurance that everything is fine.

When New Year’s Eve— and subsequently your birthday— arrives, you’re awoken to a flurry of texts. Your parents have both sent sweet messages wishing you the best, Sophia has left a voice message with sounds of traffic in the background telling you she’s planning to get wasted and if you do too then you can just pretend you’re wasted together, and Dalton has made a group chat with you and Logan and has spammed you both with pictures of yourselves from across the years.

Oscar’s already gone, and his side of the bed is cold, so you take your time responding to them all and then shoot off a message of your own to Logan before getting up. It’s your first time not celebrating with your brother, and it feels strange knowing that you won’t get to see him today, but you’re excited nonetheless for the plans Lando and the other drivers in Monaco have organized for New Year’s Eve.

The day passes by lazily. Lando and Oscar both greet you with birthday wishes when you make your way down to the living room and then they present to you a feast for breakfast, which you realize is the reason Oscar was awake so much earlier than you. It’s the best breakfast you’ve ever had, mostly because they make fools of themselves retelling how many times they had to scrap the failed waffles until they got it right. You spend lunch at a place close by, joined by Alex and Lily who have flown in for the New Year, and then the rest of the afternoon you wait around at Lando’s place passing the time watching the boys play games on the TV and helping either of them cheat when asked.

You’re happy.

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tagged: yourusername

logansargeant people say twins are like built-in best friends, and if that’s the case then i’m glad i got you as mine. i can’t imagine having anyone else stick by my side throughout all the crazy and wild shit we’ve been through in our lives. it feels like just yesterday we were 13 and acting as each other's lifelines in a place we barely knew, and now we’re 23 and somehow doing the same thing. you’re my best friend forever.

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yourusername love you to the moon and back again logie 🫶 (but omg these pictures are so OLD)

↳ logansargeant love you to the stars and beyond 🫶 (yea well when else am i gonna post them?)

user i thought the only reason i’d be crying today is bc i don’t have a nye kiss but here we are aND THE BABY HANDS OMG

user I CAN’T DO THIS 😭😭😭

user sobbing over a birthday post was not on my 2023 bingo but i’ll be sure to add it to 2024 if this is gonna be a yearly thing

↳ user birthdays are a yearly thing so yea 💀

user i can’t stop thinking about the fact that each other was all they had when logan pursued racing in europe and now logan’s made it to f1 and they’re still all they have 😭

↳ user the sargeant twins are genuinely gonna be the death of me one of these days

user Y/N HAS BEEN THERE FOR HIM SINCE THE BEGINNING OMG

williamsracing Happiest of birthdays to Y/N! We look forward to seeing you out on the paddock more in 2024, and can’t wait to see what the new year has in store for you! 💙

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tagged: logansargeant

yourusername 23 + 23 = 46. 4 + 6 = 10. 10 - 2 = 8 and that’s what we’ve done for the last 23 years 😎 but real talk, i’m genuinely so honored to get to be your sister, and to share so much with you. when you win i share that joy, and when you lose i share that grief, and even though we’re an ocean away, i’m with you today and always for the rest of our lives. you’re my best friend, and even if i don’t have anything or anyone else, i know i have you and that makes me the luckiest girl in the world ❤️.

view all 934 comments

user ATE ATE ATE

logansargeant went through all the stages of grief as i read that caption

↳ yourusername i do try

↳ logansargeant i know

user HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARGEANT TWINS

user these pictures of logan are SENDING ME

↳ user y/n always feeds the ppl the low qual pics

alex_albon adding these to my folder of embarrassing pictures to blackmail logan with

↳ yourusername happy doing business with you sir 🤝

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user my mental health is dependent on the friendship between y/n and logan and it is STRUGGLING today lads

user can’t wait to see more of them in 2024!!

Lando finds you as you’re getting ready, putting the final touches on your makeup. He enters when you tell him to, and then leans against the bathroom counter for a moment just staring at you before you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“How are things going between you and Oscar?”

You lower the mascara wand and shrug, “I mean, it’s good.”

“But?” He prompts.

“But I feel like he’s still… being weird?” You slip the wand back into the mascara tube and then tuck it back into your bag. “I don’t know. Maybe we were a bit too realistic with the whole ‘making him jealous’ thing, and now he believes you’ve stuck your claim and he’s distancing himself because he doesn’t want to step on your toes or something.”

Lando snorts, “As if. I made him share a room with you, how does that in any way imply that I’m trying to stake my claim on you?”

You run a hand through your hair because you can’t run it down your face without ruining your freshly done makeup, and heave a sigh. “Then maybe he just isn’t actually interested in me at all, and I was right about him wanting to pretend the kiss never happened.”

He hums, then nods once, twice, a third time, and finally leaves the bathroom without another word.

When you finally follow him down, a number of people have already arrived— Alex and Lily are among them, and you greet them again with smiles and hugs. You’re introduced to Max Fewtrell, one of Lando’s close friends, and then you’re dragged away by Lily to hang out in the corner of the living room as the house begins to fill with current and former drivers alike.

“It’s a sausage fest,” she jokes, and you laugh beside her.

You both make conversation for a while, catching up on her and Alex’s holiday spent in California with her family and then talking about your own in Florida with yours. She asks how Logan’s doing, and you tell her that he’s well, but he’s really motivated and wants the chance to prove himself in the 2024 season already.

“I think the online discourse about whether or not he deserved a seat got to him a bit,” you admit. “But I know he can show them that there’s a reason he was chosen.”

Lily nods. “Me and Alex have faith in him too. It was his rookie year and he was in a Williams of all things. Like you said, there was a reason he was chosen, he just needs the opportunity to show the world that.”

You jump from topic to topic for a little while longer, until you excuse yourself to go find where Lando and Oscar have run off to. The guests have all arrived from the looks of it, and while a number of them all know each other already and have split off into groups to stay entertained, you’re not sure exactly how you’re meant to handle things on your own when it isn’t even your house—

“I mean, it’s fine, yeah? It’s just awkward with her, I guess.” You pause. The door to you and Oscar’s shared room is ajar and Oscar’s voice is just barely audible over the sound of music and chatter filtering up from downstairs.

“Why d’you say that? It’s just Y/N.” Lando’s voice follows.

You press yourself up against the wall, heart pounding in your chest at the sound of your name. You can’t see anything, and that almost makes it worse— imagining what their faces look like as they talk about you.

“Just that it’s weird sleeping next to her, and I feel like I’m always having to walk on glass around her. I’m trying to make things normal again, but I don’t think I can. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep being friends with her. How can I look her in the face, knowing what happened?”

You can physically feel the dread settle into your stomach. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest and it’s like your blood has turned to ice in your veins. Your face feels warm, but the rest of your body feels cold, and suddenly it’s as though your ribcage has become too small for your lungs.

As quietly as you can, you scurry away from the door, across the distance of the hallway, and then down the stairs. Instead of turning into the living room where everyone else has gathered, their laughter and conversations a jumbled bubble of noise that makes your chest feel even tighter, you leave through the front door just as you feel tears begin to fall.

It’s worrying how frequently this has become an occurrence for you— crying because of Oscar.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel

━━ a/n: ahhhh i'm sorry i cannot let them be happy!! also, wrote this really fast and struggled a bit because i genuinely couldn't decide if it was just too fast paced or not, so i apologize if it seems rushed or if there are any mistakes editing wise that i missed!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #alex albon #lando norris #social media au

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harrysonlylover · 11 months

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omg imagine being in subspace and you’re just so incoherent and harry is just holding you and telling you how good you are for him and he notices how you’re trying to suck on his thumb and he just sticks it in your mouth and is like “is that what you wanted princess? you’re so good for me” like holy shit 🥺🥵#Concept

His Good Girl*

Warnings: breeding kink, subspace, daddy kink

Trope: CEO!H

WC:1.1k

CEO H Masterlist

The thing about your fiancée is that he’s a very determined man.

Ever since he found out you were more fertile than average, he became a hungry man. You were used to his lust and need for pleasure, but he completely turned into someone else overnight.

it was as if he turned into a horny teenager, fucking you daily and always placing a pillow beneath your hips after spilling his seed deep inside of you. There were days when’d fuck you before an event and urge you to hold his cum inside before taking you to the bathroom to make sure that your pussy is flooding with his cum only to fill you up again.

He often brought you to his office and made you cockwarm him before meetings, usually before the whole breeding thing he’d only give you his cum if you were a good girl but now getting his seed inside of you is a routine.

He tracks your ovulation days through his phone and makes sure to take you anytime wherever he wants. He’ll do whatever it takes to have his child. Harry was never someone to shy from exhibitionism, but now that he wants to breed you, he’s shameless about it.

Whenever you’re in his office, he’d be so vocal with his moans and dirty talk. He even once asked for a cloth so he can clean up the cum from the big load he gave you.

As for being in public, he doesn’t allow you to wear panties so he can have easy access in case the app notified him of a pregnancy chance, but also because he’s insatiable.

He took you out to grab a ‘few’ things from Gucci for the baby even though it’s not confirmed yet and he ended up buying 25k worth of baby clothes that will be of no use after 1 year along with 20k worth of maternity clothing and jewelry for you.

He wanted you to have anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask. There was something so hot in seeing him act that way, walking confidently with his hand wrapped around your waist, putting things mindlessly in the basket without thinking about the price, and holding his black American Express card asking to leave a 1k tip for every worker there.

All the time he had his arm wrapped around you, pressing kisses to your forehead and rubbing at your tummy. You began feeling safe and clingy, it was rare for you to feel that way non sexually but the way Harry was acting dominant indirectly and taking care of you did things to your hormones.

You tugged at his jacket earning his attention quickly. “Did you like something baby?”

“Daddy I need you.” You whispered in his ear and that was all it took for him to hand the basket to a worker giving him an extra 1k to deliver your purchases home before guiding you outside the store.

You barely reached your shared house before he ripped your dress off, smiling at the sight of your bare cunt knowing you are obeying his ‘no panties’ order.

“Poor baby you were waiting for me to give you my seed and take away the emptiness.” He cooed as he thrusted inside of you. Despite his length, you were slowly getting used to the burn when he first plunged inside of you.

“Daddy please.” Your whines were pathetic as he hit your cervix with every thrust, lacing his fingers with yours and sucking on your nipples.

“Sweetheart look at you so sensitive for me already, must be pregnant yeah? Or is it your body so eager for your husband to breed you?” Your brain felt like mush with his words, your pussy was swollen and sore from both being wet and getting fucked too much but you couldn’t care less. All you wanted to feel was his cum leaking from you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just lay there and I’ll do all the work, my pillow princess.” He rubbed your clit with one hand and wrapped the other around your throat.

The warmth you were feeling in your cunt was unbearable, getting wet for Harry was effortless. The heat that would radiate off you was unbelievable.

“Daddyy…” You whimpered grabbing on to him like a koala as he delivered sharp plunges making you tear up from pleasure.

“Oh Baby, you feel so small don’t you? Got a little excited to have my load.” He groaned loudly when your cunt clenched around his cock ready to milk him dry.

He moved his hand to caress your cheekbones and mark your neck up with love bites, you tried to rub your face at his hand in an attempt to get his finger inside your mouth but he was too busy with wet kisses and massaging your g-spot.

He lifted his head when he heard you cry loudly with doe eyes and an open mouth as you stared at his hand. He placed his thumb in your mouth with a smirk watching you suck on it with a satisfied smile.

“Is that what you wanted princess? You’re so good for me my best girl.” You held on to his thumb with both hands as he rocked your body hitting the wall with the headboard at every thrust.

“Are you ready to let Daddy fill you up? Do you want to have his baby?” He could swear he was getting even harder at the sight of you sucking his thumb beneath him while your tits jiggled as he drilled himself inside of you.

“Daddy’s cum..” You could barely make out what you were saying, your brain was so fuzzy and all you could think about was Harry’s cock.

“Such a good girl, take it baby like you do every time.” He moaned audibly when you came and clenched around him, resulting in his own orgasm as he filled you up to the brim.

His hips were glued to yours as he released inside of you watching the tears spill on your cheeks while you held his hand with his thumb in your mouth with the other wrapped around his neck, you kept mumbling ‘more’ with whines as he was barely done with his first load.

“My good girl, so deep in subspace, always good for her husband.” He stroked your hair and pressed kisses to your face as he lulled you slowly from your subspace before going for another round.

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s-4pphics · 3 months

Text

click!: in frame. 2 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 11.5k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, daddy issues, SA/victim blaming :(, homophobia LOL, anger issues\violence, bad parenting, anxiety, joel standing on bidness, FLUFF!! :3, SMUT… MDNI, ellie bottoms YAAAS, virginity mentions, jealousy😂, dubcon (they’re high), more fingering, brief mentions of cunning lunning, squirting, mult. big Os, err dassit

A/N: YYYYAASSSSSSSS hi… bye

APRIL, 2014

Happy birthday, babe, you whisper in your girlfriend’s ear, arms wrapped around her neck from behind. Ceniyah’s giggly thank yous fill your ears and heart as you press smacking kisses on her cheek.

I made you something… You reach behind and grab the rolled-up poster paper sticking out of your backpack, making sure Ceniyah doesn’t turn around. She seems giddy and your heart soars. You hope that all-nighter was worth it. Please, you pray to yourself, please love it.

Close your eyes and gimme your hand, you say and she listens, palm open in front of your face. You place the scroll in her hand and she gasps. She whips around to face you, shock written all over her, and you giggle. She unrolls the painting and her head instantly falls back, tears jerking behind her glasses.

Are you seriously crying right now! You pull her tight to your chest and she sobs into your neck, C’mon, baby, stop cryin’! S’okay. You coo and her arms tighten around your waist.

D-D’you like it? Your face burns when you whisper.

Are you fucking serious! She squeaks into your neck, It’s beautiful, baby, I love it. T-Thank you—

I love you so much, you mumble, and she says it back.

You haven’t slept at all. Your body’s going to collapse soon. You hope it’s not during this phone call.

You ogle at the small card in your hand, pressing the digits into your device before hitting the call button. It rings twice before a bright voice answers.

“Hello, this is Lisa Meyers speaking. How can I be of service?”

… Interesting intro. “Good morning, um, Professor Meyers?”

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“I… we spoke at the coffee shop yesterday. About the… assisting art professors alumni thing.”

“Oh, of course! How are you, dear?”

“I’m good. Um… I was wondering if you’d have some time to speak with me about it... If that’s cool.”

You can hear her wide smile through the line, “More than cool! Would you be able to come into the office tomorrow?”

An extra day in the city wouldn’t hurt (it would), “No problem. What time were you thinkin’?”

“My mornings are always open! How does ten sound?”

“Sounds like a plan. Uh, thank you,” you say with twitchy fingers.

“Course, hun! I’ll put you in and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You never expected to end up back here.

The campus art studio looks exactly the same, only now the old portraits, sculptures, ceramics that were lined up on shelves of the display case are all replaced with new, nameless ones. You’re not used to seeing projects that you couldn’t attach a name to in the classroom. Your university years never feel that long ago, but the randomly placed structures are proof of your long-term absence.

Time is an illusion… Or you’re getting old as fuck and about to be lowered into the ground. Freshmen make you sick(affectionately).

Professor Meyers explained the position well enough for you to manage on your own. The work you’re doing isn’t difficult: oversee, assist in grading, oversee some more, oversee, and guide. You’re practically getting a check for being the already observant individual that you are. It’s a steal!

The position only lasts around a month, but Professor Meyers was convinced that it would only take someone as talented as you (her words… although you agree) a week to get on her toes. You vowed to bring your sketchbook every day from here on out, both to yourself and to her, in case you get the inkling of inspiration that you desperately need.

The job’s a small win. That’s all you could ask for right now.

Fuck all that shit you said at the start of the week. TAing fucking sucks. And you still haven’t had any inspiration despite all the efforts from the students! Whenever you pick up a utensil, you stab through your paper. You’ve officially lost your touch. You’re a regular bitch with no talent! What the fuck is going on!

You’ve had numerous breakdowns in bathroom stalls since Monday, and you’re bound to have another one in the next fifteen seconds. Why the fuck did so many students leave their filled water cups on the fucking tables. Guess who has to clean all that shit up! You! Fuck freshman(unaffectionately).

You’re so happy the halls are empty in between rotations. No one needs to watch you sobbingly wipe down tables splattered with paint.

After Professor Ronson’s room is tidy, you start prepping the board for the next rotation of students. They’re learning about anatomy today; There’s bound to be at least three students that scribble tiny dicks in the corner of their starter pages. You hate it here.

You open the drawer to retrieve all the sharpeners, only to find the container completely empty. You’re sick of the animators not putting shit back. You begrudgingly make your way back down the hall and into Professor Lacey’s room… You should’ve never left.

Your lungs constrict with your gasp and you almost drop your keys.

A just as shocked Ellie gawks back at you, laminated name tag with YEARBOOK dangling from the camera strap around her neck.

What the fuck.

Ellie’s either hallucinating or dead. Yeah… She has to be dead. The haunting of your email was too much and she died and now she’s seeing shit—

An angel disguised as you is staring back at her, fist clenched under the sleeves of your sweater, brown eyes just as stunned as hers. Ellie barely has time to gather words before the chains hooked onto the pockets of your jeans jingle as you step out of the room and scurry down the hallway. Ellie’s feet are flying before she can even register their movements, hot on your trail as her camera bounces on her chest.

She manages to get close enough to grab your bicep, ignoring the stuttering in her heart when she sees the former light in your eyes replaced with something darker. The flourishing storm in your pupils is uncontrollable.

Ellie drops your arm when she realizes you won’t run, “W-What are you doing here?”

Your gaze is locked onto the tile squares on the ground. “I-I’m, uh… just enjoyin’ the weather— “

Ellie’s brows pull downward, eyes flicking towards the badge wrapped around your neck. Do you work here? “We’re indoors.” She mumbles dryly.

“Nothin’ like… the spring rain hittin’ the windows, am I right?“ You huff with a nervous smile, eyes flitting around the hallway as you search for an escape. Ellie’s not having that.

“We needa talk.”

You sigh, “I can’t. I’m working.”

“So am I. Take your break,” Ellie grabs your wrist and drags you back down the hallway, leading you to the bathroom and pushing you into a stall, locking the door behind her.

Her voice is quiet when she presses, “The fuck are you doing here?”

Ellie expects you to snap, to push the same questioning back onto her, but you don’t. Your mouth gapes like a fish as you stumble over words. Ellie’s eyes soften when she sees a shaky hand come up to pin a loc behind your ear. You’re shaken up and she instantly notices something off. Your demeanor has shifted immensely since she last seen you and it’s making Ellie’s stomach twist with discomfort. She's never seen you this stunted.

“What.” Ellie asks when you mumble to the floor.

“I’m sorry about the email,” You sound winded, “I thought… I dunno. I’m sorry about everythin’.” Your lip starts to quiver as you ramble, “I would’ve never come if I knew, I’m sorry— “

… What the hell are you talking about? And why are you crying?

You sniffle and wipe your tears with your sleeves and Ellie’s fingers itch to comfort, to dry your face herself, but she doesn’t. She watches you weep into your palms for what feels like hours, the air of the restroom suffocatingly tight.

“I didn’t mean to ruin anything you h — had going on, okay? I’m sorry… I’ll leave right now! You’ll never have to see me again— “

Your sobs are stressing her, “G-Gimme your phone.” Ellie blurts.

You're already digging in your pocket for your device to unlock it, “W-Why— “

Ellie snatched it from your hand, heart pulling when she sees a photo of younger you being carried by a woman shoved in your case. The same face that was littered all over your apartment, “You wanted to talk so bad, right?” Ellie presses her new number into the pad and calls herself, “You have my number. My…”

When she looks up, her words get swallowed up; Your eyes still manage to glow under the… horrific bathroom lighting, glittering like stars in the late night. She clears her throat to catch herself, “My shift ends at four. Call me any time after that.”

Ellie hurries to unlock the stall before leaving you in the bathroom, heart in her throat as she heaves all the way down the hallway to the lounge, shaking her hands to get the jitters out.

She knew she should’ve never accepted a call from the alumnus association. Fuck the yearbook.

You clock out with a heavy, anxious heart.

Three students came up to you and asked for advice on their starter shapes. They were a bit upset when their circles didn’t come out perfect, and you almost cried. It was too sweet. Your bag bounces off your back as you descend the staircase to exit the building. The droplets hit your hood with fever as you skip to your car. You jump into the driver’s seat to turn the heat on, teeth chattering from the evening breeze.

You check the time on your dash and… it’s way past four. You hope Ellie’s willing to meet. You dial the most recent number and tremble as the phone rings. She answers after the second tone.

“Hello?”

She sounds so relaxed, and your shoulders unlock, “… Hi. It’s… me?”

A lengthy pause, “… Me who?”

You hide a snort, “Um… ex-roomie?” She chuckles lightly. “Hi.”

“… Hi.” You whisper, “Did you, um… still wanna talk to me?” You think you hear the click of a lighter.

“Mhm. I’ll send you where I stay at.”

“Okay… I’ll see you soon?”

“Yup.” And with that, the line goes dead. Ellie’s location delivers not even a minute later. Her hotel isn’t far from here. . . and fuck, it looks like wealth. Your nerves are nowhere near settled after your last attempt at reconciliation, and paranoia is itching beneath your skin.

You open your GPS and blast your screamo playlist, hollering your way down the street with your windows down, rain be damned.

You’re burning holes through Ellie’s hotel room door.

You haven’t knocked, you haven’t rang. . . you're not even sure if your text of arrival went through. You just stare at the peephole with a clenched jaw. This big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos is doing an excellent job as a stress ball. It’s bound to pop from your grip soon.

Your bladder almost lets loose when the door gets pulled open, nostrils instantly hit with wafts of that forbidden flower. You’re pulled through the small crack by a strong grip before the door is shut and locked behind you.

Ellie faces you, bare arms on display, and leans back against the door… in those fucking grey sweats. After all this time, they still cause damage to your soul, “Sorry. I don’t wanna get kicked out.”

“It’s… you’re good.” You point behind her, trying not to gawk at her tattoo, “How’d you know— “

“You breathe loud.” She says simply, tone hushed and raspy. She nods behind you, “Sit down.”

She follows you to the lounge chairs that face each other. You sit, still tense, suddenly back in therapy, “I-I brought you somethin’.” You push the crumpled bag of chips towards her as she relights her joint.

Her pink, doe-eyes flit between yours and the bag before she mumbles, “Thank you.”

“No problem…” You awkwardly set them on the windowsill, swallowing your guilt and deciding to take initiative, “I… I know you have a lot of things going on and I don’t wanna take up too much of your time… I’m just…”

The loud splattering of raindrops is nerve-wracking, “I wasn’t… I didn’t treat you well. College was a very hard time for me and I didn’t really know how to deal with it without being a bitch—”

Carbon leaves her nose, “Is that your excuse?”

“N-No, no! I’m not… I’m not tryna avoid blame. I was terrible and you — no one deserved what I put them through… I-I’m really sorry, Ellie… From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

Ellie’s silent. You have no idea what she’s thinking; She could be plotting to get you kicked out of her room right now and you wouldn’t know. Her stare isn’t angry, it isn’t anything… she just watches you. Every squeeze of your hands, bounce of your knee, every tic photographed in her memory. Just like before.

“Why're you back on campus?”

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, “Um… I gotta, like, TA job, I guess. With the art profs.”

“Still doing art, then, I guess.”

You stare down at your lap, “Yeah. Trying to.” You croak.

“Trying?” She asks, brows furrowed. Your shoulders bounce in a shrug. “I, err, hadn’t made anything in a while so… yeah. I thought it’d get me back into it.”

“Are you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you back into it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Why were you so upset when I moved out?” Ellie’s tone shifts into something much more delicate, ready to crack and bleed open at any given moment. You can’t tell her, your brain bellows over the pleads from your heart. You can’t tell her how much you missed her!

Your jaw slacks dumbly as you search for a believable explanation, mind blanking under her scrutinizing stare.

“I was drunk. I-I don’t remember…”

“You were drunk and don’t remember.” You cringe at her tone.

“Ellie… I don’t wanna— “

“Don’t wanna what? Actually be fucking honest?” Your babbles are silenced as she rants. “You reached out to me and you can’t even answer one question honestly. Why’d you even come?” She seems so disappointed in your response, but what can you do? Tell her how every part of your body yearns to be next to her? How you almost collapse when you saw her for the first time in what felt like an eternity? How manipulative would that be after everything you’ve done?

Ellie’s index finger jumps on the armrest as silence takes over once more. She’s deep in thought, it seems, teeth nipping at the skin of her lip.

“Ellie— “

“When I moved out…” She repeats sternly, “you told me you didn’t want me to go. Why did you say that?”

It’s on the tip of your tongue: because I’m weak and I like you! I’m sorry I didn’t fight! I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry!

“B-Because I didn’t want you to go…” You whisper between sniffles, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Why's that?”

“I… really liked having you around…” You chose your words very carefully, but they’re not a lie. “You’re… you’re really nice.”

That seems to satisfy her a little, “I’m really nice?” Ellie’s brow quirks, a tiny smile blossoming on her face.

“And funny.” You sob, “Like, I laughed a lot.”

“You’re funny, too,” Ellie says awkwardly while scratching her ear. Your heart pulses.

Her eyes search yours, “I didn’t know how I would react when you got here. The thought of seeing you really… fucking freaked me out.” She scoffs to herself, and your shoulders begin to droop. “But… um...” She pauses and your pulse pounds in your neck. Tears brim in your ducts. This is when she tells you to leave. To fuck off. To drop dead, for fucks sake—

“I’m glad you reached out.”

You gawk in disbelief before your bottom lip trembles, “Really?” You ask meekly. She simply nods.

“Me, too.” You’re really trying not to cry right now, but the softness in her gaze isn’t helping. She’s too sweet. You change the topic before you say something you’ll regret. You point to the bag of chips, “I really hope you like that flavor. I just grabbed it because I was overthinking.”

“I don’t know why you bought those. I still owe you a bag from what I remember,” She grabs them, squeezing the end until the other side pops open. She grabs four ships and crunches them all at once before extending the bag to you. You follow her lead and munch to your heart's content.

“I was never mad at you, y’know.” Ellie sets the bag down and reignites her roach. “I wasn’t, uh, innocent, either. We both fucked up,” She puffs and hands it to you. You've never smoked bud before, only stole a couple of Abby’s edibles a while back. She vowed never to smoke with you since you’re a tweaker.

You accept the charred-to-hell baby jay and stare at it. You shrug, “Wasn’t worse than me. How do I do this without burning my finger off?”

“Err… just breathe in and hold it.” She instructs. “Have you never gotten high?”

“I have. I don't— “

“Oh, yeaaah. Non-smoker. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you mumble before bringing the remnants up to your lips and sucking in. Nothing happens. Ellie snickers, “Not like that. It’s not a fucking lollipop. Just, like, fill your cheeks up and hold it.”

… Are you an idiot? “I don’t know what that means.” Ellie cackles like a witch at your lost expression, nearly falling over in her chair. Your cheeks burn and you try again, cheeks expanding to fill in the smoke. The second you inhale, you start choking, eyes bulging out of your skull from the burn in your chest.

Ellie finds your near-death experience fucking hysterical as she hollers from her seat. Tears stream down your face and the veins in your neck are bulging as you gasp for air. You’re never doing this shit again. Your lungs finally decide to spare you when Ellie passes you water from her dresser. You gulp that shit down like no tomorrow as Ellie’s giggles dwindle.

“What the,” cough, “fuck— “

“Fucking baby lungs,” Ellie mumbles with a grin. “You’ll be fine after a couple tries.”

You chug more water, “Girl… fuck you.” You gasp. Ellie’s grin turns cocky when her head tilts.

“Fuck me?” Her voice lowers and goosebumps rise on your skin. Your heart stops in your chest and your gaze falls to the floor as your tummy swirls in delight, cheeks fiery. You stand and Ellie sits up at your sudden alertness.

“Um… Like I said, thank you for taking the time to talk to me today. I really appreciate it.” Ellie stands to grab your arm when your feet slowly start backing towards the door.

Her smile drops, “I-I’m sorry. I was just kidding—”

“No, it’s fine! It’s not you! I just, uh… y’know what I mean?”

“… No.” She mumbles, “You don’t… have to go yet. You just got here.” She chuckles weakly.

“I just… don’t wanna… pry.” You whisper like it’s shameful. Ellie’s head shakes in denial, “You’re not! I’m… inviting you.”

Your eyes beg her to understand where you’re coming from. It’s not like you don’t want to, but the two of you just got back cool three seconds ago. The last thing you want to do is force yourself back into her life. Your relationship needs time to marinate and heal before anything else happens… if she allows it.

“I… I still miss Pickle?” You suggest with bright eyes, and Ellie’s soften despite her confusion. “Would it be okay if I see her?” You ask quietly.

Her mouth turns upwards, “How long are you in town?”

“I don’t know… These hotel bills are runnin’ my credit in the fucking mud.” You sigh.

“She’s with my dad right now. Come this weekend. I’m outta here on Friday, anyways.” She suggests, cheeks glowing in the dimming room. You hope Ellie doesn’t notice your dejection at the mention of her father… It still stings. Her eyes are so hopeful, meadows flurrying with excitement… and you can’t say no.

“…Okay.”

“Yeah?” She confirms, smile widening. You nod. “She misses you like crazy.” Ellie notes and tears get to cooking. You think about Pickle every day. Little munchkin.

“I miss her, too.” You sniffle. The hand that rests on your bicep slowly slides down your sleeve, closing around your wrist. Not strong, but her hold is steady. Ellie whispers your name.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad we’re… okay.” Your heart soars with adoration. Her eyes explore your face in admiration, and your body glows.

“Me, too. Thank you.” Ellie’s gentle gaze drops to your lips and you stiffen. Your hands clench when she moves an inch closer. It kills you to move away, and an inkling of hurt overcasts in her forest. She lets you go and backs away, “Sorry— “

Your head shakes desperately, “S’okay, I just think we should… move… slower?” You never fail to sound like an alien who just arrived on Earth, but Ellie seems to get it.

“Yeah, I… yeah.” Ellie stares at her sock-covered feet, red dusting her cheeks. You try to hide a smile while she walks you towards her door. She opens it for you, propping up against it.

“See you Friday?” You throw over your shoulder and Ellie grins. “See you Friday.” She parrots. You can’t stop cheesing even after she closes the door. You make your way back into your driver’s seat, heart bleeding with relief.

MAY, 2014

Her record is clean! I would’ve never expected this from such a great kid, your professor says to your father, But violence, especially to this extreme, is completely unacceptable—

What about what he did to me! You shout, and your father glares at your tone, He put his hands on me first! H-He—

Your body shudders in disgust at the recall of your classmate touching you the way he did. You were on your way to class when hands enclosed around your chest in a tight squeeze, all oxygen leaving your body. It was abrasive and made your skin crawl, and you swung. Your arms moved on their own until you were on top of him, his nose gushing blood while his friends attempted to pry you off.

There was laughter when he groped you. So many people — students that you see every day — all watched it, and no one came to your defense.

Your principal sighs with his palms up, I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what happened—

No, you’re not! I already told you what happened and you’re tryna make it seem like I’m lying! You stand and grab your bag off the floor, stomping towards the door to the office, Y’all can choke—

Your dad calls out for you, and your fingers twitch at his tone, but you keep walking, pushing past the double-doors of the school and towards the bike rack. Tears flood your eyes when the double doors slam shut, your father berating you about making a scene in public. You unlock your ride, blocking out his rampage that draws the security guard’s attention.

He put his hands on me, dad! You shriek as loud as you can between your cries, He put his hands on me! Why’re you yellin’ at me?

I’m not yelling at you! I’m yelling in general! You scoff and swing your leg over your bike, strapping your helmet on, I’m tryna understand what happened! You broke his goddamn nose! They’re boutta suspend you!

Imma be at Maya’s, you say, monotone. I’ll see you later.

Amaya isn’t even home. Your dad’s hollering his lungs out as you ride down the sidewalk, but you block it all out until the wind fills your ears like a monsoon. You’re not sure where you’re going, but it’s somewhere.

Hopefully somewhere you can cry to yourself without disturbance.

It’s your first day back at school since being suspended. Fuck everybody… except Amaya and Ceniyah. You probably would’ve switched schools if it wasn’t for them. You can’t wait to see them during lunch and tell them how fucked up it’s been staying at home.

Today has been weird as fuck, to say the least. Friends that you’ve grown used to talking to in the hallways have either disappeared or ignored you. It’s quiet around you, now, and you’re on edge. What the fuck is going on?

Walking into the cafeteria is frightening. It’s always loud, rowdy, hectic, but the minute you step foot inside, everything seems to stop. You grip your tray so tight; you think it’s about to snap, frantically searching for your girlfriend.

But your two favorite people are nowhere to be seen. You wander and come up empty-handed. Where the fuck are they—

Your thoughts are cut when a shoulder shoves right into yours. You throw your tray onto the nearest table. Laughter surrounds you before a snarky voice shriek in your ears.

Watch where the fuck you’re going,

No, you watch where the fuck you’re going. Dumb ass bitch, You spit. You're about to get suspended for knocking this broad out. Who even is this?

Coming from the slut who cheated on her girlfriend! Are you sure you’re a lesbian? Or are you going back to dick?

The entire room seems to collapse from top to bottom, crushing you beneath clutter in attempts to suffocate. You freeze when everyone turns to stare at the scene, some standing to surround you, hoping to see a fight. You release a shuddering breath as your fist clench.

… Cheated on your girlfriend? You love your girlfriend. You’re in love with your girlfriend, and she’s in love with you! What the fuck is this bitch talking about.

I think she’s going back to dick! One of them laughs, and the rest follow, and the entire room glows red.

Your knuckles are drenched in the color when your dad comes to pick you up.

PRESENT

Maybe being a TA is helping. You’ve finally pulled your sketchbook out of your work bag.

The point of your fine liner hovers over a blank page of your sketchbook. You can’t stop thinking about Ellie, and you don’t have many distractions.

It’s been so long since you’ve created anything, and frankly, your ass is clenched with anxiety. Never in your life would you think that creating art would wrack your nerves in such a way, but your insecurities are working hard. Probably the hardest they ever have. Once upon a time, your sketchbook was your safe haven, and now the feeling of blank pages feels like needles.

What if you’ve… lost your talent? You can see everything you want to make clearly in your head but your pen isn’t moving. The attempts at reigniting your passion would be pointless if you can no longer fucking draw. Your fingers are itching.

Maybe you should try that corny shit from the movies where they close their eyes and move their utensils on pure muscle memory… Maybe you should do fucking shrooms! Visuals always peak on psyches, according to the experts. At this point, why the fuck not—

“Son of a fucking — this is fucking stupid, bitch, jus’ fuckin’ draw,” you mutter to yourself in agitation. Just fucking draw! You do this! You do this, you do this!

Minutes pass and your paper is mussed with smudged, small ink marks from constantly moving your pen around, trying to find the right angle. Another piece of paper gone to waste. You fucking suck. You slam your pen down on the table.

You stand and start to pace, “Positive affirmations only,” You remind yourself aloud, “You got this shit, like, what the fuck. Everything’s gonna come back to you. You’re in a funk and tha’sit. It’ll pass, it’ll pass— “

Whoever your hotel neighbor is… Praying for their sleep schedule.

It’s going to be a long night.

“Hello?”

“Hi, kiddo. Sorry I missed your call. Your pet knocked out on my hand.”

Ellie giggles, “It’s cool. How ya been?”

“Fine… She’s a rascal, ain’t she? I found her head first in one of my flower pots. Her tiny legs were wiggling tryna get herself out,” His chuckles are like warm hugs, “How’s work?”

Ellie’s cackles calm, “Also fine… Err…Um… speaking of Pickle…”

Her dad hums, and Ellie sighs, “Remember when I told you about how I found her?”

“Yeah… You and that girl found the poor thing freezing to death outside… Why?”

“… Would you believe me if I said we somehow reunited by the grace of God and she’s coming back with me tomorrow?” Ellie squeaks, and her confidence drops when he exhales. It sounds heavy.

“Um… for what?”

“To see Pickle…”

“…Alright.”

“What’re you thinkin’,” She nips at her nails.

“Nothin’…”

“Dad…”

“I dunno what you want me to say, darlin’… Everything you’ve told me about her so far wasn’t… great to hear.”

Ellie rolls onto her back, “Yeah… I dunno. Something’s different about her now.”

“How so?”

She can’t tell him how badly your shielded eyes have taken a toll on her. How desperately she wants them to revert to the shining rivers they used to be. How badly her chest ached when you left her room last night, “I dunno. It just is…” She mutters weakly. Another heavy sigh.

“I mean… You’re an adult. I can’t tell you what to do anymore.”

“Don’t be like that, please.”

“Not being like anything. I can only accept.”

Ellie’s hand drags down her face in exasperation. The rants she relinquished onto her dad about you are making her nauseas.

“Just… be nice to her, please.” He hums begrudgingly.

“Dad, I’m serious. I feel like we… could be friends.”

“Friends… Alright.” He sounds skeptical, but he isn’t combative. She hopes he’ll keep it together when he sees you, “How should I plan for this friend when she gets here?”

Ellie smiles sadly, “Make eggplant parmesan…”

Her dad snorts, “… Since when do you like eggplant?”

Ellie grins, “I don’t.”

Why can’t black roses be real?

Ellie doesn’t seem like a flower girl, but she has a gigantic leaf imprinted on her arm for the rest of her life; She must appreciate the autotroph kingdom. Your mother always told you how fucked it is to enter people’s homes empty handed. Walmart usually pulls through with the awkward housewarming gifts, but they’re slacking in their garden selection today. Fuck your life.

You’re forced to settle on peonies… They’re pretty and all, but you’d prefer alliums for her. Maybe even a carnation. Plus, Amaya always told you to never buy flowers that sound like penis.

Amaya… Are you really about to break down in the frozen food section? Maybe. It’s time to go. You're shocked to find out you have more than ten dollars on your card. Fuck hotels, from the depths of your soul.

You set your purchase in the passenger’s side and pull up Ellie’s pinged location. She left way earlier than you. You would’ve carpooled, but you couldn’t miss these hours for this paycheck. How are you a struggling student and not even in school?

The drive is going to be long.

At least you have time to scream out your frustrations.

“Hey, Siri.”

… UH HUH?

“Play This Cold Black by Slipknot.”

PLAYING THIS COLD BLACK BY SLIPKNOT.

Your head thrashes as you back out of your parking spot.

“WELCOME HOOO— “

The ride wasn’t long enough, actually. Ellie’s dad’s house is right there. Like… right fucking there, and your voice is almost gone. Clouds are beginning to roll in over the neighborhood. The universe is fucking with you. Great.

You dump the last bits of water into the thirty-dollar, peony-stuffed vase before exiting your car, backpack strapped over your shoulder. You climb the brick staircase with a pounding heart.

“Okay,” You croak, “Hi. Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. I heard my — our cat was with you—“ You rehearse and cringe. Why are you pressing him about a cat in his domain?

“Fuck, okay, wait,” You try again, “Hi, Mr. Miller, I’m Ellie’s, uh, friend. We were roommates some time ago— “

Some time ago? Who the fuck are you? Shakespeare? Emily fucking Brontë? Get a fucking grip.

You almost drop the fucking vase when the door opens. Your coughs are uncontrollable when you see Ellie, eyes flicking between you and the ring light camera. Why the fuck does she look so good? Cartier watch, black button up and slacks, hair… neat. She’s about to trigger your asthma!

“Uh… you okay?” She questions flatly. You’re still choking on your own esophagus, but you send her two thumbs up anyway. You’re great! Terrific! Immediately scared shitless when a… big ass man holding a black furball creeps up behind her. He’s not as dolled-up as Ellie and it makes you less insecure. Why the fuck do you have this hoodie on? You should’ve at least worn some trousers!

“Nice to meet you.” His voice sounds like grovel. Gravel? You can’t fucking think right now! He adjusts Pickle in his grasp so he can extend a polite hand out to you, “I’m Joel. I’m Ellie’s father,” He sounds courteous, but there’s something simmering beneath his pupils as he stares at you.

His grip is strong when you accept it. You’re going to vomit, “I-I’m — I mean, hi, I’m, uh… Me’n Ellie used to live together—“ You sound like a frog who just learned how to speak.

“I’ve been told.” He hums.

Meow!

You almost start bawling at your baby’s cry. She's so big now and her coat is so shiny! She’s eating well. Ellie accepts the flowers with dusted cheeks before stepping aside and allowing you entry. You’re instantly hit with the smell of garlic… Can the whole bloodline throw down in the kitchen?

“Nice home!” You crack and cringe. You cringe so fucking hard. They both say thanks in unison, but her father’s is gruff while Ellie’s is delicate like petals. She can’t stop staring down at the flowers. Joel finally sets Pickle down so he can head back into the kitchen, and she follows him without hesitation.

She doesn’t remember you. Your heart shatters.

“Thank you for the flowers,” You hear Ellie say from beside you. You swallow the lump forming in your throat with a smile. “No problem… You look, um, great.” And you smell like heaven. Like clouds before the rain.

Her face gets redder and she grins behind petals, “Thank you. I got called in today. For… editing and whatnot.”

You snicker, “Whatnot?”

“Shut up. C’mon.” You follow her into the kitchen where she sets the vase in the middle of the dining table before waddling towards her dad, who stands over the stove. You stand back and watch as she playfully punches his upper arm while he stirs the simmering pot, cracking jokes amongst themselves while Pickle paws at Ellie’s calf. Your doting smile vanishes at their laughter; What a little happy family. Are you breathing?

You turn to face the living room and breathe in as deep as you can, eyes glued to their maroon couch. You crack your knuckles and release the wind in your lungs before repeating.

“You’re okay, it’s okay. You knew what it was before you came,” you whisper to yourself. Ellie mentioned how close her and her dad were way before you got here, so why is the pain in your chest so sharp?

A hand comes down on your shoulder and you jump, “Sor — fuck, sorry — “

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks, concerned.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Jus’ looking around,” You laugh shakily and note the large paper crane on the TV stand. You point at it, “That’s so cool! Did you make that? I love origami.”

“No, my dad did— “

Fuck, “Oh— “

“Yeah, um— “

“D-Do you have a restroom?”

She observes with worry, “… Yeah, right down that hall, to the left— “

“Thank you, BRB,” You’re practically running to the fucking bathroom. The door closes and locks and you pace. They have a nice shower curtain: black and white stripes. You count them all from top to bottom.

“Your dad’s dead, fucking relax, it’s been like that, it’s been like that,” You exhale shakily, tremors building in your hands, “You’re fine, you’re fine, calm the fuck down.” You unzip your hoodie and ball it up before shoving your face in it. Your screams into it are muffled.

You come up for air and stare into the mirror, “You’re fucking fine. The food smells good as fuck and you’re gonna eat and you’re fine.” You open the door and… kitty’s staring at you. She’s sitting pretty and inspecting your disheveled appearance.

“Hi, baby. Remember me?” You squat and stick your hand out to her. She sniffs curiously before nipping at your pinky. “Ow,” you coo with a smile.

“She remembers you.”

Ellie’s leaning against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. You need her to stomp the fuck out of you with affection; She looks so fucking good, fuck—

“I hope,” you squeak and cough. It scares the shit out of Pickle and she runs.

Ellie’s gaze lingers on your bare arms. “Can we talk for a sec?”

“Yup.” Sound casual, you think. You sprinkle a shrug in there. She nods before heading down the hall and entering the last door. You can’t hide your shocked expression at the scenery.

Every inch of the room is covered in posters, most of them about galaxies and all their intricacies. There’s a red racecar bed covered in Regular Show sheets and pillowcases and a bunch of stuffed animals, dresser covered with discarded sticker papers and seemingly empty polaroid cameras. There are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling before coming down and around the bed frame, across the closet, and finally slung over her dresser. There’s little action figures and trinkets everywhere.

The door closes behind you, “… Is this your room?”

Ellie snorts, “It was. Not anymore.”

You laugh, “I’m fuckin’ with it. That bed is crazy, though.” Ellie joins in, scratching at her ear. She takes a few steps until she’s in front of you, still at a distance. Thank God; Any closer and your celibacy goes down the drain.

“Sorry I only brought flowers. I would’ve brought fucking… cake or something if I knew y’all were gonna cook.” Ellie waves you off.

“The flowers were pretty. Thank you.”

Your entire face is on fire, “Y’know what I mean…” You cough.

“Um… I just wanted to talk to you about something. About my dad.”

There’s a hole in your chest that’s expanding. She takes your silence as attentive, “He can be really overprotective… like, he’s kinda stubborn.”

“Oh… I see where you get it from,” You laugh weakly, clearing your throat when Ellie doesn’t. “Sorry.” You mumble. Ellie looks down at her feet, “Does he not… like me?” You ask quietly, embarrassed out of your fucking mind.

“It’s not that, he’s just… I told him a little of what happened between us. Not everything, just some of it!”

“The… bad part, I’m assuming?” Her silence is enough confirmation.

Ellie looks like Pickle when she’s guilty. You remember when she hopped onto the counter and knocked over your water cup, eyes large and pleading for forgiveness over the mess she caused.

“M’not mad,” You mumble, “I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Probably is used very strongly.

“I’m sorr— “

“It’s okay— “

A knock comes from the other side of the door.

“Come eat, you two!”

“Coming!” Ellie yells back before rubbing her hands together. “I’m really— “

“Ellie, it’s fine,” You reassure her with a light slap on her bicep… It’s quite hard. “C’mon, uh… I’m hungry?” You brush past her and head towards the door, holding it open for her. “After you?”

Ellie reminds you of a strawberry milk squishmallow when she eases past you, trying to hide her smile and pink cheeks. Your cheeks puff as you release the air in your lungs, shutting her door behind you.

This is the best eggplant parmesan you’ve ever tasted in your goddamn life. Too bad you can’t enjoy it due to Ellie’s hardcore mobster dad sending you deadly glares from across the table. He hasn’t said a word this entire meal, and you’re not anticipating the minute he does. He’s going to blow a gasket.

“D’you like it?” Ellie says lowly from beside you. You nod your head with two thumbs up. You can’t hide your smile when you notice all the gooey cheese and noodles eaten off the pieces of eggplant.

“It’s delicious. Thanks Mr. Miller.”

“Don’t mention it.” He sounds like he means it. Your heart drops and Ellie scowls at him. Your fingers clench around your fork and you scarf down what you can. It’s so good and you’re so scared and you want this meal to be over.

You're the last to clean your plate so you stand in a rush, gathering all of the plates and spoons off the table before scurrying to the sink.

Ellie pads close behind you, “Oh, you don’t have to— “

You cut Ellie off with a nervous laugh, “The least I could do.” The dishes clatter and you grab a sudsy sponge. You waste no time, scrubbing the living hell out of these dishes.

“Go sit down, Ellie.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at his stern tone, “Wha— “

He slices through her refute, and still manages to sound calm, “Go.”

You continue to scrub, sighing at Ellie's descending stomps. Joel creeps into the open space in front of the sink, grabbing a dish and another sponge.

“Ellie told me you’re an artist.” He mutters over the running water.

“Yeah. Sorta.” You reply as calmly as you can.

“What are your intentions with my daughter?” He gets right to it, it seems. You scrub harder.

“Just… tryna make things right between us.”

“Why's that?”

Word vomit. You can’t help yourself. You’re so fucking nervous. “I-I fuc — sorry — I screwed over someone that was… really great. Your daughter’s a sweetheart and I feel awful with how things left off.” You stumble with a heated face. You catch the arch in his eyebrow and back pedal, “Not like we were — we weren’t dating or anything! Like, not like that! We just — “

“I was a student once upon a time. I know how these things go.” He snickers humorlessly. Your shoulders relax a smidge before he asks, “Why now?”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you wait so long to talk to her? The two of you graduated forever ago.” His tone is much calmer than it was seconds ago, but anxiety surges in your gut at his questioning.

“I didn’t wanna reach out without being in the right headspace. I had… a lot going on and I had to handle it. Therapy’s hard as fu — heck,” You sigh, “I still don’t think I’m doin’ a good job, but… I dunno, it earned me a Michelin star eggplant parm. Must be doing something right.”

You don’t expect Joel to laugh, but he does. It’s hearty and deep. Very dad-esque. Your heart crushes to dust all over again.

“Look, kid,” Joel sets the clean plate in the rack before grabbing another, “I wasn’t gonna say much, but Ellie seems to like you… a lot. More than most people.” Your heart flurries back into shape at his observation. You want to ask what a lot means exactly, but he continues.

“She’s… she gets very attached to people. I know it’s hard to believe but she’s very… sensitive,” His voice is low, but he’s not bullshitting in the slightest. The protective aura has returned and it’s radiating back onto you, pushing you back. Keeping you at a distance from him. From Ellie, “I’m never gonna shit on anyone’s journey, but frankly… if you’re not here to stay, I’d suggest leaving her alone now.”

This is definitely a threat. But you don’t feel threatened. You feel… sad. Joel is doing what any great dad would when faced with an outsider: armoring his cubs by any means. Something you’ve never experienced. If meeting Joel has shown you anything, it’s been what you’ve missed out on your entire life. Little does he know the last thing you want to do is separate from Ellie a second time. Another breakdown is bound to crash into you very soon. You forgot where the bathroom was.

You’re not going anywhere. Your heart won’t allow it. “I’m— “

You’re interrupted by a loud rumble, instantly followed by the heavy droplets of pouring rain. It sounds like pebbles are being thrown at all windows of their home; Is it hailing?

“Holy shit,” Ellie calls from the living room window, “Was it supposed to storm tonight?”

“Yeah, it was on the news,” Joel confirms. Ellie rushes over and points her eyes to you.

“You’re not driving in that.” She breathes out. Your heart fist pumps, but you maintain nonchalance.

You shrug awkwardly, “I don’t wanna pry— “

“Nah, she’s right. We have a guest room.” Joel sighs, “Ellie, show her where it is. I’ll finish up in here.”

Ellie’s hand closes around your wrist before guiding you down the hall. The bathroom’s right across from the guest room. On the left side, you note.

“Fuck a guest room. You’re staying with me.” She mumbles and opens the cupboard. She grabs you some sleep shorts and presumably her father’s sweatshirts. You try to convince yourself that the strong pounds in your chest are from fear of the storm, and not at all from a lesbian slumber party.

… Fuck.

The storm is roaring outside. And Ellie’s chiefing in neon astronaut jammies. This feels like a fever dream.

“They glow in the dark.” Ellie hums around a cloud of smoke from where she sits across from you on the bed. You pause your gawking, “Huh?”

“My pjs glow in the dark. Wanna see?” Her eyes sparkle and your heart sprouts legs and sprints around in your ribcage.

“Fuck yeah.” You gasp. Ellie’s teeth shine before she puts her joint between her lips and leans across her bed to shut her lamp off. Every fiber of your being tries to not lock onto the smidge of skin that appears from under her sweatshirt when she stretches. The room goes dark around the neon pink and green outlines of the design. You choke out a laugh at the pigmentation; How the fuck are they so bright!

“Sorry if this is boring. I’ve never had a sleepover before.”

“Shut up, that’s cool as fuck! You gotta battery pack in there or somethin’?” Ellie giggles out a no. A smile stretches wide across your face when you look up at her, hers just as bright. “Are you sleepy?” You ask.

“Not at all,” she hums as she switches the lamp back on.

“We could play a gaaame,” You suggest sing-songy.

“Oh, fuck. Like what.” Ellie huffs a laugh.

“Truth or dare is a sleepover classic— “

“I’m not licking a toilet seat.” Ellie states flatly. Laughter explodes from you at her face. “I’m not a crazy dare-er like that. The most you’ll have to do is prank call an ex or some shit.”

“I don’t have an ex.”

“Oh… Well, a family member.” Ellie nods in acceptance. “Can I ask first?” She asks.

“Mhm. Lay it on me.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Show me what’s in your backpack.”

“…Fuck.” You sigh, and Ellie cackles. “Were you planning this shit?” You ask and stand, walking over to the dresser where your bag sits. You grab it and hand it to her. She wastes no time, stubbing her joint out before rummaging through your shit, sifting through loose-leaf paper and markers used for coloring. You plop down onto her bed and she pulls out your sketchbook.

“Is it okay if I look?”

“I dunno,” You smirk, “Can I finally see your fucking portfolio?”

“Come home with me tomorrow,” she says instantaneously, “It’s there. You can see it.”

“… Then yes.”

She flips through pages and pages of visuals you’ve created before your father’s passing. They range from sloppily scribbled orchids, to immaculately shaded depictions of eggplant farms. Ellie giggles when she finds a small comic of Pickle playing with her favorite mouse toy.

“She still has it.”

“Good,” you whisper. You watch as she studies each page to her heart’s content, fingers dragging across lines that catch her attention. “You’re so good,” she says softly, awestruck and eyes sincere. Your gaze drops to your lap.

“Thanks,” you match her volume. She hums and flips to the next page. You eye the ashtray on her bed before snagging it, snatching her lighter and igniting the joint. Ellie eyes you like a hawk.

“I watched a tutorial on how to become a professional pothead… I think I got it down.”

“Show me.” She whispers and your stomach jolts.

Smoke leaves the lit end of the J and you flick the lighter off. You bring it to your lips and puff your cheeks full of smoke, inhaling as deep as you can before your lungs squeeze. You cough and heave tearfully and Ellie leans in to rub your back.

“That was better.” She says softly. “I was gonna dare you to hit it anyway.” Your coughing fits calm and you swallow.

“Shit,” You say. Ellie takes the joint from you and hits it like a fucking pro. She's much closer than she was seconds ago. You examine how her lips curl around the roach, cheeks expanding around carbon before inhaling, allowing the remainder to leave in a bunch of circles.

“You really blowing O’s right now?” You think you hit it right this time. The jitters you’ve had all day are beginning to dwindle.

She smiles mischievously, “Mhm.”

“Truth or dare?” You mumble.

“… Truth.”

“Did you think about me… after you left?” If you were to lean forward an inch, Ellie’s nose would touch yours. Nose hug. Her face spots are so adorable.

“Yeah. A lot.” She passes the J back to you and you accept it boldly. You’re releasing your stress with every exhale. Ellie was right; Smoking does feel good.

“What’d you think about?”

“Isn’t it my turn?”

“No.” You smile.

She shrugs, “I dunno. Just…” Her gaze falls onto her stuffed tabby cat.

“I feel like you’re boutta say something nasty.” You snicker.

“Wha — no! The fuck— “

You mock her, rubbing all over yourself, “I thought about your hands, ooo, aaa— “

Ellie smacks your arm a bunch of times before pushing you back onto the bed. You’re howling laughter over her whining, “Bitch, that’s you! Don’t think I forgot about that shit you pulled in the car!”

“You have nice hands! What can I say,” You slur with a dumb grin, “You have, like… classic lesbian hands. All you need is some Hot Topic rings and all the hoes gon’ flock to you.” You take one last toke before the lit end can reach your fingers, stubbing it on the ashtray.

Ellie seemingly ponders with the theory, “… Is that why a milf ate me out at the club?”

Your neck almost snaps when it cranes to look at her, “What the fuc— “

“Yeah. Craziest experience I ever had. Like, in my life.”

“Fuck, Ellie…” Your head flops back onto her Lightning McQueen blankets. “Was it good?”

“I… I guess. I came.”

You stare at the star stickers on her ceiling. “You guess?” She only hums.

“But…”

“Hm?” You urge her to continue.

“She didn’t… kiss me.” She whispers like it’s dirty to say out loud. You slowly blink at the opaque walls. “I mean, she did, but it wasn’t a real one.”

“Shame on her.”

Ellie maneuvers so she’s lying on her back beside you. “Yeah…”

“Ellie?”

“Hm?”

“Were you a virgin before I touched you?”

You expect her to slap the shit out of you again, but she doesn’t. She takes one deep breath before muttering, “Yes.”

You stop yourself from melting into her bed, turning on your side and propping yourself up on an elbow, gazing down at her. Her eyes are wide as saucers as she looks up at you. You can see her fingers twitching around her pillow, squeezing the fabric of the case. Right on Rigby’s nose.

“A-Are we still playing truth or dare?” She whispers, her breath hitting your face. She smells like oranges. You shake your head, tongue rolling over your lips. “No.” Your free hand lands on her hip and squeezes. Her jaw slacks around a gasp.

“… Oh.”

“Oh?” You want — need to kiss her so badly. Steal all the oxygen from her lungs so that she has no other choice but to breathe from you. Only you. Your vision is hazy with each travel over her face. She looks so soft, so pliant, so ready and prepared for you to take from her. Just like you hoped.

Your hand travels, pushing her sweatshirt up just above the waistline of her pants, fiddling with the knot right under her bellybutton.

You pull at the string until it loosens, “She gave you head?”

“T-The milf?”

“Yeah. The milf.” Aggravation seeps through your tone. Ellie’s hips twitch.

“… Yeah?” She coughs. You hum and hook your thumb under the band and inch them down. They aren’t even off all the way and you can tell she’s naked underneath.

“How good was it?”

“I don’t… know?”

“Yeah you do. How good was it?” You snip, and Ellie winces. “I-I squirted.” She trips over her words and your clit jumps. You don’t say anything, and she seems sad.

“… Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Your tone says otherwise. You’re not mad. You don’t know what you are. You don’t like what she’s telling you, though. Fuck milfs… You love them with your entire heart, but fuck them.

… Yeah. You’re high as shit.

You sit up and she moves to follow you, but you push her down and she goes limp under your touch.

“Don’t move. Just lay there.”

She pouts and you almost kiss it, “Don’t be mad.”

“I told you I’m not.” You swing a leg over her waist and she sighs dreamily. “How many times did you come.” You’re not asking; She’s going to tell you. You raise her sweatshirt up over her breasts.

“T-Two — Two.” She moves to throw her sweatshirt over her head but you snatch her wrists, pinning them right on the cushiony mattress. She doesn’t fight you.

“I want you quiet. Your dad’ll kill me if he hears you.”

Her eyes go glossy and twinkle, “Okay— “

“I mean it. Don’t say shit.”

“M’not gonna,” She whines before her mouth clamps shut. You give her overlapped wrists one last threatening squeeze, watching her fingers go lax before releasing her. You cup her tits and her eyes flutter shut, teeth sinking into her lower lip. You mouth at the valley between her tits and her back arches to follow each swipe of your tongue.

You kiss all over her ribcage, almost feeling each erratic thump of her heart under your tongue. She keens when your tongue flicks over the rising bud of her nipple, thighs squeezing around your hips. Your mouth latches onto the skin right above her areola, teeth sinking into it before sucking. Her hips raise and she’s breathing like she’s about to faint, and you grin like a fox.

You don’t let up until a wet maroon mark is left on her tit before swiftly switching to the next one, leaving a much harsher spot on the raised skin. An eager hand scratches down her torso until it brushes the patch of hair that peeks out from under her pants.

You shove your hand beneath the light cloth and your fingers are drenched in seconds. Your walls squeeze around nothing when you feel her clit jump in excitement. Her squishy lips spread around your middle and index fingers, her throbbing bundle of nerves cinched between them. She keeps making fucking noise and the walls seem to shake.

“What’d I say.”

“I — m’sorry, can’t h-help i— “

“Be quiet, Ellie.” Your fingers slip over her messy clit in slow, teasing circles. You release her skin until it’s blistering and bruised, quickening the pace of your fingers and she pulses in your hand. Your tongue swirls around her nipple once more, cheeks hollowing when you suckle.

Your eyes search for hers but her head is thrown back, neck strained and veins popping from beneath her skin. Your lips release the skin and your drippy hand leaves her pants. Your nipples harden under your tee when she reaches for your retreating form, fingers digging into your sweats.

Her pants are yanked down and tossed across the room, her toes curling in her rainbow-striped socks when your hands hook under her knees to push them up to her chest. Her arms entangle under her bent legs to hold them out of your way.

“I could fuck you right now with no problems.” You exhale in a daze, “S’fucking drippin’.” You envision how good her pussy will swallow whatever pops in, how easy it’ll stretch around something thick—

Ellie’s eyes shine like you offered her candy and her hole clamps down hard. You chuckle. “You want that?”

Her head bounces off the pillow in rushed nods. If your mouth wasn’t so fucking dry, you’d be slobbering all over her pussy. “Remember what I said?” You remind her, and she plants a heavy hand over her mouth. You kiss her ankle in appreciation.

Your fingers move on autopilot, massaging her clit a few more times before inching down, your index pushing past the tight, gripping muscles. Your finger’s swallowed whole in an instant and Ellie’s trying her hardest to mask her squeaks. “Fuck me,” you sigh when she takes another finger with no hassle, walls engulfing your digits in wetness. Her scent is surrounding you and it’s intoxicating.

“Missed you s’bad— “

“Missed you more, baby. Missed this pussy,” You’re pussydrunk and you’re slipping. That spot in her cunt becomes plumper with each press of your fingertips, “She fucked you better than me?”

Ellie’s denial is convincing, but that sick part of your brain doesn’t believe her. She loved being touched by someone, wanted by someone. Someone who wasn’t you, and you’re livid, “Nooo— “

You slice through her whine, “No?” Your smile is sadistic and your fingers are relentless, “You said her name like you said mine?” You grit and her eyes cycle into her skull, her hair sticking to her forehead. She’s trying to keep her voice down when she whispers how she only thought about you when she made a mess. She wanted you there, she says, she needed you there to take care of her.

“Y’fuck me s’good, fuck— “

Your eyes are dead, “I’ll hurt you. Be quiet.”

Fear flashes beneath her desire and she listens, keeping her sobs to a minimum. The sloppy, wet sounds of her pussy overtake the entire room the harder you fuck in, her nails tearing into her Pikachu stuffie on the corner of her bed. A string of drool dribbles from her bottom lip to her sweatshirt, her eyes glowing under the dimly lit lamp.

Her walls shake and throb on you, “Gonna cum, baby?” You grin manically at her dumbed-out expression, cheeks wet and eyes droopy. You coo at her and force in as deep as you can, curling your fingers up, fighting against the tight contractions of her walls.

“Make a mess on me, baby, I gotchu, c’mon— “

A long, drawn-out moan escapes Ellie’s lips, and you’re so hypnotized by the heavy spray of juices that lands on your thigh that you don’t even bother to shut her up. She’s drenching her sheets and blankets and you and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You’re fucking wave after wave out of her and she’s practically riding your hand, groaned curses and dazed squeaks of your name bouncing off the walls.

It feels like minutes pass when her orgasm slows, inner thighs drenched and dripping with slickness. Ellie’s entire body shakes and her thighs squeeze around your hand as she attempts to catch her breath, but you’re not done. You’re not satisfied. She didn’t give you enough.

You climb onto her and your lips connect in a simmering kiss, her wet mouth smacking against yours. Her cold hands land on either of your cheeks and your hips roll downward on hers. She whines into your mouth and tries to meet your hips but you force them back onto the mattress. She yanks at your shirt in attempts to rip it off but you don’t let up, lips slipping down to connect with her neck.

Your wrist twists downward until you're met with her sticky bush once more, spreading her lips apart and shoving your fingers back inside her. She chokes a wet gasp when they hit right where she needs, her arms wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you close. You’re babbling nonsense in her ear as you work her, telling her how she’s stuck with you, how you’re never leaving her side again, demanding that she says you're the best she’s ever had. And she does, and either you’re fucked out of your mind, or she means it.

You barely catch how your hips move like you're fucking her, driving into her as hard as you can and she takes it, stretches her legs wider so you can reach the spots she’s never been able to on her own. She’s saying your name like a prayer, like it’s all she’s ever known, and it’s breaking you down, only to build you back up so you can crash back into her. You missed her so fucking bad and you’re unleashing all of your feelings on her body and she eats all of it. How could you leave her when she fucking needs you this badly? You’ll never forgive yourself.

She’s warning you, crying about how you’re going to make her squirt again, begging you to slow down because she can’t take what you’re giving her, but you feel so good and you know she does, too. You can’t stop even if you want to. You want to drain her, live inside her for the rest of your days on Earth. You’re forcing space for you inside her.

Her nails dig into your shoulders as she cums. She’s unapologetically loud and it flows directly in your ear, and your own noises leave your mouth and land onto the clammy skin of her throat. The jets of fluid that leave her are stronger than the last, and you laugh. Laugh in ecstasy and joy and pleasure that you can’t even feel, but it’s there. Right in your chest.

You’re not done. You’ll never be done with her.

The night evaporates with you in between her legs, slurping every bit of cum and stress that you may have caused since knowing her from the source until the sun shines through her blinds, drinking from her like you’ll die without her taste on your tongue. She lets you do whatever you need to feel satiated, but it’ll never be enough now.

You’ll never be done with her.

Ellie’s naked form jolts awake when ticklish breaths hit her shoulder.

You’re beneath her, slumped, pantsless legs entangling hers and arms twisted every which way as you slobber and snore. A smile grows on Ellie’s face at your peaceful expression; She’s never slept that good in her own bed. She doesn’t want to wake you, but she has to pee so fucking badly.

She shifts in her position and instantly cringes at the soreness in her legs. Warmth coats the crests of her cheeks when she sees the discarded sheets and pillowcases that were changed only hours ago on the floor, head plopping onto your shoulder to hide in your neck. Your snoring gets cut by a guttural cough and Ellie laughs to herself when your snores pick up again.

She’s not a morning person in the slightest, so why the fuck is she so happy? Is this the post-sex glow that her friends always tell her about? Is she still considered a virgin if you only used your fingers and tongue? She doesn't feel like one… Sex rules are fucking dumb. She stops stressing before she ruins her morning.

The pangs in her bladder are getting on her nerves; She wants to cuddle. She sighs and shifts on top of you, trying her hardest not to disrupt your deep slumber. She manages to separate and clothe herself before waddling down the hall and into the bathroom, trying to ignore the aches in her thighs. You wrecked her shit… What the hell.

The second she leaves the bathroom, she smells coffee. Her dad’s up. She might vomit.

The two of you weren’t that loud. Definitely not. He couldn’t have heard. He didn’t hear! Ellie’s stealthy as she tiptoes through the hall… until the fucking floorboards croak from beneath her and she nearly faints.

“Come out, dipshit. I know it’s you.”

Her eyes squeeze shut and she curses to herself. She reluctantly appears from behind the wall, her dad sitting comfortably on the couch with a filled mug and newspaper, Pickle napping on his lap. He peeks from above his reading glasses.

“Think we needa talk.”

“… Fuck me.” She whispers before shamefully limping into the living room. She flops onto the couch and glues her eyes onto the decorative rugs under the coffee table.

“She seems nice.” Her dad sips his mug. Ellie’s face burns.

“She is.” She mumbles. You took such good care of her after last night. You got her in the shower, brushed her teeth for her when she was damn near sleepwalking, watched her down two bottles of water. Her heart flutters at how soft your eyes turned when you kissed her to sleep.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“… I dunno.” He hums and sips.

She doesn’t know. You’re not dating, but Ellie thinks you like her… She thinks. She likes you… a lot. She bites at her nails.

“You like her?” He asks lowly; She knows he knows.

“Yeah…” Ellie whispers, cheeks rising on their own. She covers her face when he smiles.

“Just… take your time.” Joel advises gently, “Did she tell you she’s in therapy?”

Ellie’s ears perk and her brows furrow, “No.” She sits up. Her dad’s gaze softens, “Wait til she brings it up, then. Y’all should talk before things get serious. It’s only been a couple days.”

Ellie knows her dad is right, but it’s hard to control herself when she’s around you. She naturally gravitates towards your aura; It’s comforting and she doesn’t want to lose it again.

A gentle clatter comes from her bedroom and she stands. You’re awake.

“I love you, kiddo,” Joel says, and she smiles softly. “Love you, too.”

She scurries down the hallway and enters her bedroom, seeing you sprawled out on the floor, all wrapped in sheets.

Your eyes are droopy when you croak, “Hello.” Ellie snickers.

“Hi. What happened.”

“I was reaching for, like… an orb in my dream and I guess I did it in real life,” Your voice gets so raspy in the morning, and it tickles her ears. Ellie can’t stop laughing. She helps you stand before kissing your cheek.

“Good morning,” she wraps her arms around your neck.

“M-Mornin’,” You squeak, eyes flitting around, “Uh… How'd you sleep?”

“Good.” She’s lost in your brown eyes. They’re warm like the sun. Why won’t you look at her?

She follows your line of vision down to your fiddling hands before whispering, “You okay?” You simply nod. Ellie’s heart stutters nervously.

“Do you still wanna come over later?”

“… Yeah.” Your attempts to disguise your stiffness fail. Ellie feels a lump forming in her throat when she detaches from you, and you search for the new pair of pants she gave you before you went to bed. Ellie watches silently, crestfallen. Something she did triggered your aloofness, so she turns to leave the room.

Her voice cracks, “I’m gonna… shower again— “

“Ellie.”

She turns, “Yes?”

Her fists clench when you walk until you’re standing in front of her, warm hand coming up to hold her cheek before kissing her. It’s soft and makes Ellie’s fingers thrum with excitement. It only lasts seconds before you pull away, and Ellie chases your mouth.

“I’d love to come over. I think we… should talk about some things.” You say quietly, and Ellie silently agrees. You let her go and she wants nothing but for you to pull her in once more, shrouded in your warmth.

You’re making her bed when Ellie leaves for the bathroom, body falling against the door to calm herself down. You’re not upset with her, and you want to come over… to talk, whatever that means.

The hot water burns her skin; She spends her entire shower thinking about how she can make you as happy as she feels.

taggiessssss :3 @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl @callmewhenyoukan @macaroni676 @draculurasblog @ellieaesp @@gravygranules @elsblunt

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riaki · 4 months

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hii! yk that trend on tiktok where the girl asks her man to name a woman and gets suspicious when he says a name beside hers? i would like to request that with gojo please! thanksss

name a woman | satoru gojo x f!reader thanks for ur req! here u go <3 slightly different from what u asked but i hope it works | cw fem reader + petnames, slightly suggestive, he's kinda a scumbag lol

it's a lazy saturday afternoon when you get betrayed by your boyfriend.

you're sitting at the round table on the patio of satoru's place; you always forget just how rich his parents are whenever you're around him. if not for that stupidly expensive cologne he wears and that one time you happened to see the price tag on the new pair of sunglasses he bought himself, you would've been blissfully unaware. after all, for a rich kid, he's pretty grounded. at least, when he isn't tooting his own horn.

but being here on the gojo estate, it hits you in the face like a ton of bricks; forces you to accept the fact that your boyfriend is loaded.

the breeze is gentle as it runs through your hair, but satoru's absentminded touch as he drums his fingers along your arm is more than you could ever ask for. it's the little things like this; habits of his that make you love him all the more. the way he'll throw his arms around your neck and latch onto to give you a big hug from behind, or carry you around like you're a little kid when you're worn out and you can't feel your feet from a day's worth of walking.

there's seven empty juice boxes littered across the table and a half-empty one in your hand; the paper straw is already folding in on itself, which makes it much harder to get any of the remnants at the bottom of the carton. at least the drink is nice and sweet; refreshing lime on a sunny day.

"why did they stop giving these things plastic straws? it's so soggy now," you complained, shifting in your seat as you shook the juice box. it did not relent, or give up any of its juice. you make a face, and you could swear it makes one back.

satoru glances up at you, tearing his attention away from his phone as a small grin appears on his lips. "don't you know? it's good for the environment. obviously, you're not in tune with nature like i am." he snickers, adjusting his shades on the bridge of his nose before turning his attention back to the screen between his fingers, withdrawing the hand that was on your arm to form a cushion for his chin on the crook of his elbow.

"oh, [name], [name]! you're hurting us! woe be upon thy and thou foul plastic tomfoolery." your dignified lover puts his phone down, straightening up to wave his arms about as if he's one of those inflatables you see in front of car dealerships. you think he's trying to be a tree, but you're not entirely sure. "hear that? the plants are calling you," he grins, pausing his arm waves to nudge you in the shoulder.

"stop doing that, satoru. you look stupid. the maids will think you've lost it," you chuckled, kicking his leg in jest as you leaned back in your seat and took another sip from the juice box.

"you're one to talk." he scoffs, and you glare at him, giving him a pointed look. he just giggles, sticking his tongue out before making a grab at your juice box. you swipe it out of his reach before he can wiggle his fingers any closer, and the way his expression falls an apple from a tree makes a laugh bubble from your throat. unlike the apple, it's not gravity that's pulled him down; you never indulge him, because you like making him chase. he enjoys it— he thinks it's good that you're playful. but it's annoying when he's thirsty and it's not his fault those juice boxes are so damn small.

"toru, i have a question for you. answer well and the rest of this is yours," you said, shifting in your seat to cross your legs and face him, propping the juice box on your knee. there's not much inside, but you know he'll scavenge for every last drop, like he's some raccoon. it's cute, you think.

he perks up immediately, turning his phone off and mirroring your position in his own seat; his limbs are slightly too long and too lanky to fit proportionately in the seat, but he doesn't seem to mind when his knee bumps against yours.

"yes? what is it, my sweetpea?" he grins, enjoying the sour expression on your face. it seems the lime juice has worked its way into your system.

you scowl. "sweetpea? what kind of nickname is that?" it's cute, though, so you don't say anything more. you stare at him for a moment, taking in his features; the wide smirk on his lips, the way his hair gently ruffles around his face like passing clouds.

you sigh; resigned, as you roll your eyes.

"name a woman."

"...what?"

he tilts his head to the side, staring at you through his lashes, an inquisitive squint that makes him look a lot like a white cat.

you laugh a little, and his grin widens. "you heard me. name a woman. any; the first that comes to your mind."

he hums in acknowledgement, making a show out of tapping his chin with a finger in deep thought, a mock pensive expression twisting his lips down before he looks at you again, a teasing glint in his azure eyes that gives you a terrible sense of foreboding.

"kuroki meisa."

...

now it's your turn to ask. "what?"

he shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face yet again as he tilts his shades down to give you a look that he knows will get you bothered.

"you heard me, princess. i named a woman. the first that comes to my brilliant mind, right? now how about giving me that juice box—" he starts, reaching forward and leaning in his seat to make another grab at the box perched on your knee. you yank it away from him just in time; his fists close around cool air and he groans loudly.

"you're no fun." he pouts, biting the inside of his cheek.

"satoru! who the hell is kuroki meisa? you were supposed to say me! or your mom, at least. or shoko." you glared at him, turning your nose up and refusing to acknowledge him as he pouts and crosses his arms over his chest like some petulant child who got his ipad confiscated.

"i did what you told me to do! you can't be mad at me for that." he protests, squirming in his seat.

a lightbulb goes off in your head; normally, that'd be a good thing, but the way you're gritting your teeth so hard he thinks your jaw might crack doesn't bode well. "wait, don't tell me. is she another one of those models? satoru, i swear—" you start, but he cuts you off hastily, making a mad grab at the juice box and coming out successful and surprisingly unscathed.

"she is." he says sheepishly, toying with the sad paper straw before attempting to take a sip. he struggles, but eventually you hear the tell tale sign of liquid moving up the hollow straw. you're too busy seething to notice, though.

"gojo." you say his surname, and he flinches a little, an overwhelming sense of icy dread sinking its claws into his shoulders as his grin turns into one of nervous panic. it's familiar; the one he experienced when you'd found one of your missing bras in the drawer compartment underneath his king sized mattress (that he always complains about feeling ten times emptier without you in it).

"yes, my sweet?" satoru's about to face you when something hits him square in the face— with all malicious intent and cutting cardboard corners. seven juice boxes on the table plus one half-filled one has now become six on the table, a half-filled in his hand, and another on the floor. you're glaring daggers at him, still posed to strike in your chair. he rubs his cheek, grinding his teeth together and grumbling before he looks at you again with an extremely disappointed expression on his face. "the plants, baby! if they didn't already dislike you, they sure do now." he huffs. but with the way you're looking at him, he wouldn't put it past you to throw the table at him next.

"give me my juice box back, you brat." you hiss, and he laughs, staring down at you like you're some cute little zoo animal. he wants to dote on you; he can't help it! you're so adorable, with your cheeks all red and your bottom lip sticking out in a little endearing pout. he wants nothing more than to drop the juice box, drag you onto his lap and squish your pretty face until you start complaining and stop him with a kiss.

satoru knows he won't get anywhere if you're still pissed at him, though, so he at least has to try and make amends.

"aww, don't worry, baby! you're the only woman i think of when i—"

"that's enough out of you, traitor."

satoru just grins and finishes off the juice box, relishing in the look of mild anguish on your face as you watch the cardboard crinkle inward like some black hole sucked it in; a telltale sign of what was half-filled a moment ago becoming completely empty; a dry well that was once your reservoir of life. you retreat back into your seat, hugging your knees to your chest and putting on your best, heart-tugging frown. it doesn't take long for satoru to notice when you do, and he immediately melts, tossing the juice box aside to the poor plants and leaning forward to cup your cheek in his palm.

"what's wrong, love? you know i only did it to see you upset," he chuckles, and you can't help but smile before remembering you're supposed to be pissed.

"that was the last juice box, satoru. and i'm still thirsty. and a little hungry." you sighed, rubbing your forehead. you felt a little guilty. "but it's okay."

satoru sighs, before pulling away and standing up, stretching his arms and cracking his back with exaggerated movements, like he's making letters out of his body.

"alr-ight! up with you, then. let's go to the market." he grins, lending you a hand and nudging your foot with his. you stare up at him with those sweet big eyes, and he feels himself melt a little.

"are you sure? they're expensive—“

"shut it, sweetpea. it's all on me. how does katsu sound?"

your face lights up, and so does his. after all, he'd do anything for his sweet girl— no model could ever compare to the very sun of his life; the brightest star in his sky.

not proofread i hope we’re not surprised my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

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heliads · 5 months

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angel boy charles leclerc with a workplace romance?? maybe r’s new on the ferrari pr team or an engineer who he keeps flirting with but she’s kinda shy so she doesn’t rly flirt back and doesn’t know why he’d want her over everyone, but then he defends her against some shitty reporters who keep making jokes abt her and she realizes oh he actually does like me and SHE asks HIM out?? obvs it’s cool if you don’t wanna write this but either way i think you’re really cool and i hope you’re day’s goin great!

'here's what i know' - charles leclerc

masterlist

It’s time for the one part of the week that Formula One teams across the grid detest most of all. No, it’s not qualifying, and not even the threat of a bad race day that can crush championship dreams for good. Today is Thursday, media day, which means that twenty drivers and many more members of staff are about to be hounded for hours until they break down and spill something they shouldn’t.

Since you’re not a driver, you had always hoped that you’d be able to get out of these sorts of things without too much difficulty. No one pays much attention to the engineers anyway– outside of Adrian Newey and the like, the guys behind the scenes tend to be ignored in favor of the ones in the cars, although you don’t know many engineers or strategists that have a problem with that.

No, the baying mass of reporters known affectionately to the paddock as Sky Sports and their affiliates are more of a difficulty than a blessing. Each and every race week, drivers and team principals alike are briefed by their PR officers on how to dodge bad questions and only stick to their strengths. For one of the first years in your career, though, you now have to deal with the same thing, and that is due to your recent promotion.

You’ve been a race engineer for a couple of years now, and you’ve loved every minute of it. Every STEM-inclined student with a hankering for racing dreams of working for Formula One, but you actually managed to turn those fantasies into a reality when you signed your first contract with the Scuderia Ferrari racing team. It wasn’t a showy job, of course, closer to tightening screws and redoing paint jobs than anything specific, but over time, you’ve managed to show your worth and quickly rise through the ranks.

As of this season, though, you’ll be out on the pitwall as Ferrari’s chief strategists instead of tucked away somewhere in the garage. It was a risky move when you decided to throw your hat into the strategy ring instead of sticking with the more technical aspects of race engineering, but you’ve had a knack for it ever since you first turned up in the paddock, and the higher-ups at Ferrari have noticed that. This promotion has been a long time coming, so they say.

Regardless, it’s still a bit stressful to be the face of Ferrari’s strategy decisions, especially given the fact that the Scuderia has struggled a bit in that department over the past few seasons. The Tifosi were definitely hesitant to show their support of the change in leadership, but after your critical advice led to some excellent showings in the first few rounds, you won them over in a landslide. No more terrible back-to-back stops, no more team orders mixups, you’ve proven your effectiveness in the strategy seat and everyone is glad to see it.

Well, almost everyone. The reporters are still as fixated as ever on getting a good story, and for some reason a couple have decided that the best headlines are centered around creating drama regarding your new job assignment. It feels like every week they’re running stories about how the Ferrari team principal wishes you weren’t there, or how Charles and Carlos are shaking their heads over each and every one of your bad calls.

This, of course, isn’t the case. Ferrari couldn’t be happier with your decisions since they’ve propelled the team up in the championship standings, and you get along quite well with the drivers. Charles especially has taken it upon himself to reassure you countless times that the rumors couldn’t be less true. Some of the reporters have a way of twisting their words from compliments into insults, but he wants to ensure that you never believe them.

Charles has been one of the greatest parts of your climb to head of strategy at Ferrari, actually. You met him when you were the lowliest of engineers, and for some reason, he’s stayed a friend of yours ever since that very first day. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected him to so much as remember your name– there are infinitely many engineers and strategists and PR workers at Ferrari, after all, and Charles is introduced to dozens of new celebrities at every race– but the very next time he saw you, he’d smiled and greeted you by name as if you were an old friend.

It had made your day. Same with the next time he’d done it. Although you may not entirely understand it, Charles Leclerc is committed to liking you, and he doesn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon. Nor are you inclined to stop him yourself– Charles is a fantastic person to be around. He’s never let his fame get to his head, and if you were to talk to him, you’d swear he was just a friend from uni or a next door neighbor or something, certainly not a world class driver. Charles doesn’t talk to you like he’s a Formula One driver and you’re a strategist. He speaks with you like he’s Charles and you’re Y/N and he couldn’t want anything more than to hear you laugh when he tells a joke.

Armed with this knowledge, you feel that you could take on any reporter, their tendency to warp simple statements into crazy arguments be damned. What’s more, you have an excellent friend in Hannah Schmitz, Principal Strategy Engineer over at Red Bull Racing. Although the two of you may technically be on rival teams, that hasn’t stopped you from becoming close friends. Hannah is one of the only people in the world capable of understanding exactly how you feel regarding work, as she’s in almost the same position as you, albeit on Red Bull instead of Ferrari. She’s older than you by a good couple of years, but that hasn’t stopped you two from quickly growing close.

For Thursday’s media frenzy, Hannah meets up with you close to the gate so you can walk in together. The Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes are close by, and it’s nice to have a friend while you brave the storm of reporters waiting for you just inside the paddock.

The first round of them draws near. Hannah grins at your obviously forced smile. “Stay alert. They’re coming.”

“I’ll do my best,” you whisper back, and she hides a laugh.

You don’t have much time for inside jokes after that; a dozen phones and recording devices are flung in front of you, and you’re immediately greeted with several overlapping questions. You answer in quick syllables, all the while careful to keep your tone light so no one accuses you of being unnecessarily terse. You feel confident that you didn’t say anything to dull your team’s image, but you still can’t help a sigh of relief when you bid Hannah goodbye at the door of the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon entering the Ferrari center, you immediately spy Charles at one of the tables near the door. He glances up when he sees you enter, and flashes you a kind smile. “You look stressed. Don’t tell me Sky Sports has gotten to you already?”

You laugh. “They were waiting for me when I arrived. Man, I miss when they had no idea who I was.”

Charles chuckles. “I don’t. You’re more interesting to see on my screen than some of the other drivers.”

You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Charles’ eyes widen meaningfully. “It’s true! You actually have things to say. The rest of us can only talk about how we plan on winning. Everyone says that.”

You walk over to his table, leaning your hands against the open chair. “If you paid attention during strategy meetings, you’d have something to say to them, too.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but grins sheepishly nonetheless. “How about you fill me in now, then? Come on, have a seat. I’m sure my PR officer would appreciate it if I didn’t go out there sounding like a total idiot.”

You shake your head on instinct. “You’re relaxing. I don’t want to take up your time.”

“I mean it,” Charles insists. “Sit down. I even have extra coffee.”

“That’s certainly a nice coincidence,” you say with a raised brow, but take the seat he offers you.

Charles smiles satisfiedly when you join him. “Yes,” he murmurs, “A coincidence.”

You end up passing more time than you expect at Charles’ table, just the two of you and the coffees cooling in your mugs. At first, you do talk about strategy, but over time Charles starts coaxing more details out of you, like what you’ve done since the past week and if you’ve got any plans for the upcoming weekend. He sounds genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it’s easy to forget that he isn’t just your coworker but a real, true friend.

You glance down at the table when the intensity of his earnest stare becomes a little too much for you. You know how the other strategists talk and tease you about your friendship with Charles, even if it is just that, a friendship. Yes, he may bring you coffee all the time, and eagerly stay back after strategy meetings so he can walk you out to your car, but he’s just doing that to be nice. It doesn’t mean anything. You cannot allow yourself the hope of thinking that it might mean anything.

After all, despite the denials you’ll give the other strategists and even Hannah when she has the occasion to join in the teasing, you wouldn’t mind it if Charles ever acted on his flirtations. The only problem is that you have made a career out of being realistic and reasonable, and you know that this is one perfect victory that just won’t be yours. Charles is gorgeous. He goes after gorgeous girls, stunning supermodels, and amazing actresses. You are lovely in your own right, but you aren’t the kind of person that a Formula One driver would ever date. It is important to keep your heart from being crushed, even if denying this hurts you more than Charles’ rejection ever could.

That little coffee chat ends soon enough, much like every other quick lunch and early morning talk you’ve shared with him. Charles goes off to his garage, and you head out to your office to prepare some talking points for meetings later that day. The drivers will be escorted to media day press conferences, and you probably won’t run into Charles again until later into the afternoon.

You realize about halfway through the day’s work that you haven’t gotten up once since you arrived. In need of a brain break and a chance to stretch your legs, you decide to go for a quick circuit around the paddock before coming back inside again to carry on. The sun is warm on your face when you dare to duck outside, and it feels good to walk around for a little while.

Unconsciously, your legs carry you towards the building where the press conferences are being held. Not wanting to intrude, you decide to head back towards the center of the paddock. While you’re in the middle of making this decision, though, you notice Charles emerging from the building. You switch directions to aim towards him instead; you can joke about the nightmare that is a Formula One press conference, and you know Charles will be glad to let off some steam by complaining.

As you’re walking over, you notice a few reporters coming out of the building as well and groan internally. These couple of men in particular have been nothing but thorns in your side since you accepted your promotion. When the news first broke, they wrote a couple of articles apiece about how you were going to run Ferrari into the ground. When that proved false, they switched tactics and decided to use their journalism skills to disparage you whenever they got the chance. Numerous drivers and reporters alike have called them out for targeting you, but they haven’t stopped yet, which is frustrating.

Charles notices the reporters at the same time as you, you can see his head turn as he tracks their progress. You’re close enough now that you can hear what they’re saying, but it isn’t good. They never get tired of repeating the same bullshit about how you can’t make a smart call to save your life. One of them laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s what you get for putting a girl in charge.

Hot anger boils through your stomach, but you force it down. They haven’t seen you yet, and you’d like to keep it that way. Challenging them on this will only provide them with more ammunition.

Charles, however, doesn’t seem to see it that way. He stops directly in front of the two reporters, arms folded coldly across his chest. “What did you say about Y/N?”

The reporter who’d just spoken eyes him confusedly. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“I will if you’re insulting her,” Charles fires back. “Don’t talk about her like that. Y/N is a welcome part of Ferrari and her strategy decisions have won us races, as you well know. I don’t know what you get out of taking her down but it’s stupid of you to carry on like that.”

The reporter blanches, leaning back as if Charles has struck him. “Calm down, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Charles’ glare doesn’t lighten for a second. “Then stop talking badly about her. It just makes you look like an asshole who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That’s what you are, of course, but maybe you want your reputation to be better.”

You clap a hand to your mouth to stop from letting out a surprised laugh. He’s totally caught them off guard, and it’s fantastic to see. More fantastic than that, you realize slowly, is that Charles is doing this purely to defend your honor. There are no cameras around. No one is recording him. Charles could have just ignored it, but he chose to go out of his way to defend you because that matters the most to him. Because he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t spend his every waking hour making sure you got the respect you were owed.

Charles doesn’t have to do this, but he wants to. There is a reason for this, a reason that, at last, you know. You’ve been denying it to yourself for the longest time, but the proof of his affections is right before your eyes.

You spin away before he can notice your presence, giddy with the knowledge that, of all the people in the world, Charles Leclerc wants you. You. Y/N L/N. His chief strategist.

You nearly run into Hannah when you pass by the Red Bull motorhome. She’s just emerging, and looks at you confusedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Hannah,” you say, grasping vaguely at your friend’s arm to steady yourself. “Hannah, I’m having an epiphany.”

She eyes you dubiously. “What now? You want to change your tire strategy for Sunday?”

“No,” you say, voice weak, “I realized– I think Charles likes me, Hannah. I think he likes me a lot.”

She stares at you. “Are you just now coming to this conclusion?”

You turn to her in surprise. “You knew?”

Hannah throws her hands in the air. “Y/N, we all knew. It was extremely obvious.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“That was also obvious,” Hannah comments. “Now, come on. You’re one of the most action-oriented people I know. What are you going to do about this?”

You turn towards the Ferrari motorhome. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Great start,” Hannah says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Tell me how it goes. Tell me everything.”

You grin at her before you leave. “I won’t leave out a single moment.”

Charles has just made it back to the Ferrari center when you arrive. He beams up at you when you walk through the door, as if he hasn’t just heard some assholes insulting you and decided that every moment not spent defending you is a moment wasted.

“Charles,” you breathe. “Can I talk to you?”

He arches a brow, still wearing that same lopsided smile. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you laugh him off. “What if we talked later, too? Like, over dinner or something?”

His eyes go wide. “What? Do you– what do you mean?”

“Charles,” you repeat. He goes silent, like just the sound of his name from your lips is enough to compel him to you forever. “I’m asking you on a date. Will you say yes?”

“Yes,” he tells you. “Yes. What– I didn’t know you felt like that– do you really? This isn’t a joke, is it? We’re not going just as friends?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” you laugh. “No, Charles. I want to go on a date with you.”

“Well,” he says, smiling, “I think I can arrange that. Only if you promise there will be more than just one.”

“I promise,” you tell him.

How could you not? Charles is the one you want, the one you have been wanting since you first fell for the spark in his dark eyes and the light of his laughter. He is the one you will continue to want months and years from now, after countless dates and many gifted flowers and a lot of moments spent together, always together. It starts now.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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atinylittlepain · 11 months

Note

i need joel x f! reader friends to lovers 😩🫶🏻

i took this and ran with it

Birds of a Feather

joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist

joel has met his match, and though he's trying to keep things platonic, his brother has other plans for him.

warnings | 18+ smut, drunk tommy miller requires his own warning, angst, and a little fluff

wordcount: 4.1K

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

Joel Miller has finally met his match, and he knows it. He had balked at it initially, when Tommy assigned him to patrol with some woman. But it wasn’t just some woman. Folks around town call her Sunshine, a running joke since she’s anything but. He didn’t know anyone could be more standoffish than him, but that first shift together, the steel in her stare and the tick of her jaw had thrown any of his ideas about her right out the window. Is it any wonder they became friends so fast?

He doesn’t like to talk much, she doesn’t either.

He has a dry sense of humor, but hers has to be even drier.

She refuses to suffer fools, and he enjoys watching her put men in their place.

He’s slow to thaw toward people, and so is she, both of them melting in each other’s presence.

Where he’s from Texas, she’s from Tennessee, the remnants of their drawls twining up in easy conversation.

He likes a stiff glass of whiskey at the end of the day, and she’s always game to join him.

But maybe one of the things he likes best is that while he’s good at pool, she’s fucking great at it, and he doesn’t mind getting his ass handed to him on Friday nights at the bar, not when it’s her doing the handing.

“Are you asleep, Miller? Or are you really just that bad at pool?” Her grin flickers under the dim lights of the Tipsy Bison, and he knows that it’s a sight not many people get to see. She cocks her head to the side, spinning her cue stick lightly in her hand as she smirks at him.

“Easy, darlin, gonna make you eat those words one of these days.” She’s not Sunshine, not to him, he refuses to call her what everybody else does. She had confessed to him once, on a long patrol shift, that she hated the nickname, but was too proud to ever say anything about it. In turn, Joel had told her about how growing up, Tommy managed to get everyone at their highschool to start calling him “Skip,” something he hadn’t told anyone in close to thirty years. His residual embarrassment had been worth it to see her smile in that moment, and it was about then that Joel realized he had made a certified friend. Though everyone else seems convinced that something a little more is going on.

“Shit.” He completely scratches his next turn, sending the cue ball right into one of the pockets as she snickers.

“What was that about me eating my words?” He’s distracted, just a little, but who could blame him when she’s wearing a pair of cut-offs that should be illegal and a tank top that turns downright obscene when she leans over the table for her own turn. So maybe there is something a little more going on, but it’s one sided, he reckons, and he’s not about to fuck up the first friendship he’s cared about in years just because he’s thinking with his dick. But, apparently, that’s not the only thing he has to worry about.

“Well, howdy, if it ain’t Jackson’s favorite tag team, frick and frack.” Joel hasn’t seen Tommy this drunk in decades. The town council had been celebrating that night, though he’s not quite sure what. Regardless, Tommy is sloshed as he loops and arm over Joel’s shoulders, a lazy grin on his face as he looks between him and her.

“Joel, Sunshine. How are we this fine evening?” While she snorts at his slurred-out question, Joel is less than amused, shrugging his brother off of him with a huff.

“Touchy, touchy, big brother. What’s got your panties in a twist? Did you break his heart already, Sunshine?” Joel can feel his face blanch at Tommy’s drawling words, glancing between him and her. While she’s still smiling, the crease between her brows suggests she’s as thrown off as Joel is.

“What’re you on about, little Miller?” Tommy lets out a hoot of a laugh at her question, leaning up against the pool table and grinning at her.

“What I’m on about is the sweet little crush this big guy right here has on you. It ain’t healthy, really, Joel’s got it bad for you.” If they weren’t related by blood, Tommy wouldn’t have teeth in his head by now, but instead, Joel settles for letting his jaw all but drop to the floor as he looks between his giggling brother and her. She doesn’t look so amused anymore.

“It’s true! Ain’t seen his eyes get like that in a long time, those big ol’ puppy dogs of his are for you and you only, Sunshine.” Before the horror of it all can really settle in, Tommy sighs, slapping Joel on his shoulder and shuffling off with a low murmured “where’s Maria?”

Her eyes are wide when he finally looks at her, lips parted, complete bewilderment splashed across her face. And before she can say anything, Joel is turning heel and booking it out of there before everything comes crumbling down around him.

…

She’s stunned. By the whole thing really. Tommy’s ridiculous musings, the way that Joel didn’t deny any of it, and then the way he booked it out of the bar like he wanted nothing to do with her. She wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that her night was going to turn out like this. Not that she would tell anyone, but she loves Friday nights, pool nights, when she gets to spend just a little more time with Joel than usual. So for it to turn so sour so fast, she finds herself at a loss, clutching her cue stick in her hands, stuck standing where Joel left her.

There’s no two ways about it, she likes him. Things feel easy around him. She hadn’t met anyone else in town who she could talk to like she can him. He gets it, being on the road, not always having a warm place to sleep, what it means to kill. They’ve both seen a far different life than the one they’re living now, and talking to him makes her feel a little less crazy. And yes, maybe she also likes the strong cut of his jaw, the way his deep brown eyes crinkle up when she talks to him, the broad span of his shoulders, and how he squares them up when she challenges him. You could call it a crush, but she’d call it stupid, something that would only ruin the friendship, the one big good in her life, that she has with him.

But now all bets are off. She’s got nothing to lose, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get the truth from him.

She knows him well enough by now to have a pretty good idea of where he stomped off to, and she doesn’t waste any more time standing around with a dumb look on her face, heading out of the bar and into the hazy light of the summer evening.

There’s a bench tucked away behind the stables, partially hidden by a small thicket of trees. A while ago, they had set it as their meeting place before patrol shifts, always getting there a few minutes early to set a plan for the day, or just to talk quietly before they had to head out. She had caught him there a few times on their days off too, an easy slump in his posture, his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. He told her he liked the quiet of it, and when she attempted to apologize for intruding, he had said that she couldn’t bother him if she even tried. It’s where she finds him now, his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, though his eyes jerk up when she clears her throat.

“We gonna talk about what just happened?” He lets out a long sigh, sitting back on the bench and squinting up at her.

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh, c’mon, Joel. You know I’m not gonna let this go, not until you talk to me.” With that, he gets up from the bench with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t have anything to say, except I’m sorry that my brother is such a fucking idiot.” She calls after him as he trudges away, but it’s no use, he doesn’t so much as look back over his shoulder at her. Knowing him as well as she does, she can easily tell when it’s time to stop prodding, when he’s shutting down and she won’t be able to get anything out of him, so she drops it, at least for now.

She knows that they’re going to have to face whatever this is eventually, most likely the next morning when they’re set for a patrol shift together. With the hope of a clearer conversation on the horizon, she goes home, her mind still spinning from the strange evening. She lays awake in bed with her thoughts, the only conclusion she reaches being that she just wants the truth now, knowing that there will be no going back to the way things were, regardless of what he has to say.

When she gets to the bench the next morning, eyes bleary from a night without sleep, it becomes clear that Joel is going to make this more difficult than it has to be, as he is nowhere to be found. And he doesn’t show up either, not even when it’s time for their shift and she’s mounting up at the stables. She lets out a bitter laugh, though, when she sees who does show up.

“Did he send you down here?” Tommy huffs, leaning up against the door to the stables with a sheepish grin.

“Would you be less pissed at him if I said he didn’t?”

“What? He ask for a new patrol partner already?” She knows it sounds harsh, but she doesn’t care, anger starting to feel like the appropriate response for how childish Joel seems to be acting. Tommy just sighs.

“Look, Sunshine, I feel awful for what I said last night. I was so fucking drunk I didn’t know up from down. But it’s true what I said. Reckon he thinks you hung the moon in the sky or some shit.” That makes her pause, but she stifles the kick of her heart with another scoff.

“What’s your point, Tommy? I have a shift to cover.”

“No you don’t.”

“Huh?” Tommy lets out a breathy laugh at her furrowed look.

“I’m covering your shift– figure I owe you both for messing shit up so bad. I got a buddy of mine coming down in a few to patrol with me, but you’re off the hook. And I think you oughta go talk to him.”

“Joel made it pretty clear last night that he didn’t have anything else to say.” Tommy’s frown deepens at her clipped words, and he takes a few steps into the stables, leveling a surprisingly serious look at her.

“My brother is a stubborn ass, I won’t deny that. He doesn’t really like people, or feelings for that matter. But I know him well enough to see that he’s different around you. And maybe it’s selfish of me to say this, but you’re good for him, and I’ll be damned if the only reason you two don’t wind up together is my big fucking mouth.” His words stun her silent long enough for him to step forward and place a hand on her shoulder.

“Just go talk to him, please? If anyone can get through to him it’s you.”

…

He has to admit to himself that he was hoping, just a little bit, that it’d be her knocking on his front door, his chest tightening when he sees that it is. Though she doesn’t seem all too pleased to be looking at him, her arms crossed over her chest and an edgy arch to her brow.

“We gonna talk like adults now? Or are you gonna keep sending little Miller to do your bidding?” He knows this tone of voice. It’s the way she speaks to people, usually men, that she’d rather not give the time of day to. He’s always been amused by it, the stiff jerk of her chin, the eerie calm of her words. But it’s never been directed at him before, and suddenly there’s nothing amusing about it.

“I– yeah, yes. Let’s talk.” Real smooth, dumbass. She doesn’t wait for him to open the door any wider, brushing right past him and into his living room before turning on her heel to look at him.

“Well, there’s no real way around this, is there?” Her question hangs between them, a drooping thread threatening to snap, though even now, they still move comfortably around each other, sitting down on opposite ends of the couch and mirroring each other’s posture, elbows on thighs, heads tilted toward the other.

“Where do you wanna start, darlin?” She huffs out a laugh, more like an exasperated sigh as she looks at him, the steel gone, only a quirked worry left in its place.

“The truth– I want you to tell me the truth, Joel– about what Tommy said last night.” He figures he’s got nothing to lose at this point. That either way, whether he’s straight with her or not, their friendship isn’t ever going to be the same, so he takes a deep breath, and lets the words come rushing out.

“He wasn’t wrong– I mean, what he said? It’s true, I feel– I, uh– I like the way I feel? When I’m around you? And, um– Jesus christ, what I’m trying to say is– I feel very– fondly toward you.” He’d like to disappear now, to dissolve and slip down beneath the floorboards so she’ll stop smiling at him like he just made a complete fool of himself, because he did.

“You feel fondly toward me, huh?” And now she’s making fun of him, a light laugh on her lips as he grumbles at her question. But she’s quick to catch his despairing spiral, scooting over and placing a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t mean to tease. But for the record, the feeling’s mutual.” Oh. He can feel his eyebrows shoot up at her words, and her grin broadens at his reaction.

“You mean– you– what’s that word? You mean platoni–” She’s kissing him. She’s kissing him and his brain is going blank but he doesn’t need to think, not really, moving like he knows, like he’s been waiting for this. She’s as stubborn as he is, and it shows in the way they struggle against each other, pulling on clothes to get closer, teeth clashing just a bit as she slips into his lap, pushing him back against the couch as he drags her as close as he can. When she does pull away, he doesn’t let her go far, his hand holding her steady by the hilt of her neck, breathless and smiling.

“No, I don’t mean platonically. Not at all.” And then she’s kissing him again, and it’s quickly becoming his favorite feeling, though the way her hips are pressed up against his is a close second. Joel is starting to realize that they share a few other things in common as well.

They both have a hard time keeping quiet, his low groans mixing and mingling with the pitchy sighs she looses in between kisses.

And they both seem to want to get impossibly closer, his nose mashing up against the slope of her cheek as she winds her arms over his shoulder blades, holding him chest to chest.

Where he tries to get the upper hand, licking into her mouth, squeezing at the swell of her thighs, she just does the same, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him just how she wants him as she ducks down to mouth at the arc of his neck.

Where he demands more, she’s happy to give, and to take in turn.

How they make it up the stairs and into his bedroom is beyond him, greedy hands peeling away clothes on the way up, leaving a trail of desire that they’ll have to trace later.

She’s strong, just as strong as him, and she likes control, just as much as him, handily flipping them around on the bed so that she’s straddling him once again, leaving him wide-eyed and breathless at the sight of her. He’s got scars, and she does too, their hands running over the silvery marks, prayers that there won’t have to be anymore. Her bare cunt is a hot drag over his pelvis, and he’d like more than anything for her to shift her hips just a little lower, a little closer. But instead she ducks her head down, eyes flickering up to his as she lays a smear of kisses over his chest that begin to trail lower until she’s kneeling between his spread thighs. Joel thinks he just might die as he watches her spit into her hand before wrapping her palm around his throbbing cock, a hiss spilling between his teeth as she deftly sweeps her wrist up, her thumb swiping over his slit to smear the pooling pre-come there down his length.

“S’pretty, Joel. Prettier than I imagined.” He can’t help but groan at her words, scrunching his eyes shut and pressing his head back into the sheets.

“You– fuck– you thought about this, darlin? About me?” She smiles at his question, her lips just grazing the underside of him.

“Mmhmm, thought about you a lot. About this. We’re so alike, you and I. I couldn’t help but think that if anyone would be able to handle me, it’d be you.” And with that, she licks a salacious stripe up his length before taking him into the heat of her mouth.

“Christ– I can– can handle you, darlin. Handle you however you want me to– fuck, that mouth of yours is a dream.” She hums at his praise, the vibration shooting straight down his cock as she bobs her head. It’s messy as hell, the slick sound of spit, her palm pressed flat against his stomach to hold him still, the drag of her tongue along his length, and the way her eyes stay on him, hooded and hazy under her lashes.

“Thought about you too, y’know, like-like this.” His words make her stop for a moment, pulling off of him with a sigh, her hand picking up where she left off.

“And? Am I living up to your expectations?” Her words are lilted by her grin, and the sight of her lazily stroking his cock, her head tilted as she looks at him is nearly too obscene to be real.

“S’better– you’re so much better– fucking perfect.” It’s like he realizes all of a sudden how bad he wants to touch her, and then it’s all he wants, all he needs, coaxing her back up to meet in a kiss before rolling them over, swallowing the peel of laughter she lets out as he hovers over her.

He wants to be the only one who gets her like this, the only one to hear her sighs, soft and melty in his sheets, sweet only for him as he swipes his fingers through her folds, dragging her pooling slick up to draw circles over her clit.

“So wet for me, darlin. S’just for me, huh?” Her chin jerks in a nod, whatever control she had now held in his hands, her hips canting up into his palm.

“Just for you, Joel. All for you– please.” She doesn’t have to say anymore, he knows what she wants because it’s what he wants too. More. He presses two fingers inside of her, unable to stifle the groan he lets out at the feel of her cunt clenching around him, muffling the sound with a drag of kisses across her chest. She keens up into his touch, back arching when he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, tongue laving over the peak before letting his teeth just barely graze the delicate skin. And he learns her, all of her, the dips and swells of her body, the spot he can press against inside her that makes her brow crumple, the scrape of her nails down his back, the little whimpers she tries to silence, biting down on her lip, the way she tightens around his fingers when she’s close, and the broken sound of his name on her lips when she finally unravels for him, panting and twisting in pleasure.

“That’s it, darlin. Feels good, huh? I did good for you?” Maybe it’s a little selfish, what he asks, but she’s happy to answer anyways.

“So good– did so good for me, Joel. Fuck, I really want you, baby.” He can feel the heat flushing up his face at her words, his mind going dizzy with the praise, and all he can do is give her what she wants, slotting his hips against hers and notching his leaking tip at her entrance.

It’s unreal, it’s gotta be, the way she spreads open around him, close and pliant, her knee hitched up along his waist as he presses into her, both of them sighing at the stretch. For a moment, they’re still, just feeling each other, pressed so close, sweat-damp skin sticking from the contact, choppy exhales cooling down their shared heat. And then, Joel learns that they have something else in common. They both like their pleasure with just a tinge of pain.

It starts slow, the rock of his hips into hers, but she makes it clear with the press of her heel into his low back and her hand tugging in his hair that slow is the last thing she wants, and Joel is more than happy to oblige. The thump of the headboard against the wall, the slap of skin, harsh grunts and crackling moans twine around them, wrapping them up in a desperate symphony with each harsh grind of his hips against hers.

He wants to leave marks, wants her to remember this when she runs her hands over the bruises he leaves, a purple and blue mosaic of where he touched her, where he wanted her most. And she seems intent on the same goal, nails scratching down his shuddering back, pulling him closer so she can mouth at his neck, her teeth nipping just a touch unkindly, making his eyes roll back from the sharp suggestion of pain.

“Fuck, darlin– made just for me, huh? So good like this– wanna feel you like this– want you to gimme another one. Be so good for me, honey, c’mon.”

…

All she wants is him. The hot drag of his cock inside her, his hips mashing up against hers, the heavy grip of his hand cupping her ass, pulling her hips up to meet his. His scruff, scraping against her chest, lips a smudge against her skin, each grunt a vibration that runs through her bones. The way he keeps her head from hitting the headboard with his forearm protectively curled there, holding himself up just enough to move his hips against hers, to look at her when she comes for a second time, spasming around him.

She feels like liquid beneath him, undone by pleasure, only vaguely aware of the breathy chant of please, please leaving her lips with each exhale. But he knows what she’s asking for, and Joel gives it to her, pulling out with a groan, his spend smearing across her heaving stomach as he pants over her. He flops down onto his stomach next to her with a sigh, one arm slung heavy over her waist, turned on his cheek to look at her.

“Get you cleaned up in a minute– just need to not move right now– shit.” She has to laugh at his breathless exclamation, catching the crook of his grin out of the corner of her eye before turning onto her side to get a better look at him. Hair wild, sticking up all which ways, and cheeks flushed under his altogether boyish smile, she can’t help but lean in for a kiss that he gives up willingly to her.

“Remind me again why we waited so long to do that?” That makes him laugh, squeezing her hip to pull her closer as he turns onto his side

“Because I was an idiot.” She hums at his answer, brushing his hair back out of his face before letting her palm settle along his scruff.

“It takes two, we were both idiots.”

“Some pair we make, huh, darlin?”

Some pair indeed.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot

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sameheart-sameblood · 1 year

Text

Love in the Time of Cordyceps

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

words: 7.1k

warnings: mentions of gore (pretty tame but still), swearing, sickness, angst, fluff, two dummies not realizing they love each other until one of them almost dies 🙄

a/n: this was supposed to be more angsty but then i remembered life is hard enough already. and i just want soft joel soooo here we are. also i meant to write 2k at most but boy do i love to ramble

read on ao3!

After the world goes to hell, you promise yourself you’ll never love again. A person, an animal, a place, nothing. Only a fool would choose to make themselves that vulnerable, needing every fiber of your being one hundred percent devoted to your survival and nothing more.

Was a life without love worth living? Every time that question enters your mind, you swat it aside. It’s like a nagging fly that buzzes around you until your persistence finally drives it away completely. Of course you could live without love. You’d been doing it just fine these past fifteen years.

Living without attachment proves useful in the new world you find yourself in. It makes the countless people you lose along the way easier to move on from. In the early days, your heart still twinges as the people around you drop like flies. Most fall victim to the bites of clickers, some to raiders’ gun, a few by their own hand.

The first group you had travel with is filled with Midwesterners who see the terrors of the new world and still somehow have a smile and a joke for you. Their joviality can’t save them, though. Clickers swarm you one rainy night two years after the fall of civilization. The sight of Gail, a woman who reminds you of your grandmother, having her stomach ripped out by an especially voracious clicker cures you of your need for any connections to the living.

Over the years, you make your way to the East Coast. Smiles, defiant in the face of adversity are replaced by permanent grimaces etched into the faces of everyone you meet. It seems as though every survivor has lost the ability for happiness of any kind. Good, you think, they’re finally learning. You wonder what took them so long.

Tales of peace the Canadian wilderness has to offer reaches your ears. In your heart you know it is most likely a tall tale spread by desperate survivors. But the good thing about a zombie apocalypse is you now have nothing but time on your hands. Working your way north, if all goes well, you’ll reach Saint John by May, continue to Port Elgin and then decide if you’d try for Prince Edward Island or turn east to Nova Scotia.

Plans are made to be broken, though, and yours, along with your ankle, break clean through one day as you make your way through Boston. It would have been over for you if not for the two survivors that find you nursing your injury in a department store that will most likely be swarming with clickers by nightfall.

The woman, after she puts her gun away, introduces herself as Tess. The man doesn’t offer his name, preferring to keep the barrel of his shotgun pointed at you. As they argue quietly over what to do with you, you observe their faces. Both are etched hard with years of loss and worry. Even harder than your joyless face. It’s impressive albeit in a sad kind of way.

Tess had somehow persuades the man to help you back to the Boston QZ. Joel. You hear her call him Joel. “Fine,” he had grumbles as he places your arm over his shoulder for support, “but if she scans red, I will not hesitate to put her down.” Oddly enough his threat somehow makes you almost like him. You sense a kindred spirit. Another follower of the “no love, no attachment” way of life.

You do not, in fact, scan red and are allowed to enter the QZ. An apartment is assigned to you, a crappy little studio with faded lime green paint. The old you would have adored it, called it quirky and planned out how best to decorate it with your meager funds. The new you just appreciates a safe place to sleep.

After your ankle heals, Tess invites you to join her smuggling scheme. Thoughts of Canada flee your mind for the time-being and you gladly welcome something to keep yourself occupied.

“But what about the cowboy?” you ask.

“Joel? What about him?”

Your eyebrows arch, “He threatened to shoot me.”

“Only if you were infected. Just don’t get infected.” She says it like you’re discussing the weather.

Joel allows you into the group begrudgingly, probably because he thinks they can use you as bait or a distraction if needed. Fine. Let them label you bait. You’ve been called worse before.

The first few months working together are tense. Joel reprimands you for the smallest mistakes and warns Tess you’ll get them all killed. At first, you bite your tongue, reminding yourself of the part he had in saving you. But one night after he scolds you for the millionth time about not checking your blind spots for clickers, you snap. “Fuck off, Joel! I survived the clickers for fifteen years. I think I know what I’m fucking doing!.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off with a hurt pout like he wasn’t the one who was just being the asshole. You wonder why your victory leaves you feeling hollow.

After that, Joel keeps his mouth shut around you. No nagging, no “helpful” tips. Just the bare minimum of whatever he needs to convey. You’ll never admit that it hurts. You don’t have to, though. Tess, at the end of her rope, explodes one night as the three of you eat dinner in awkward silence. “Couple of fuckin’ babies I’m working with,” she seethes. “If you don’t grow up I’m finding a new crew.”

It’s decided that you and Joel will do the next supply run to Bill’s. Alone. No Tess there to act as buffer between you and him. Joel grunts at that but doesn’t argue, always deferring to your leader. The trip to Bill’s goes as well as you can ask. There are no arguments between the two of you at least. You’re sure you even see Joel crack a smile. Of course it’s when you clumsily tripped over a raised tree root…But hey, progress is progress.

With the supplies in tow and Frank’s compound behind you, you actually think this trip might be a success. A gang of raiders lying in wait to sabotage you dashes your hopes of that. They had seen the two of you lugging your supplies and thought it would be an easy win. At first, they are correct. They outnumber you and Joel in size and wickedness. The four of them aren’t content to kill you outright. They tie you up and discuss what to do with you next.

Of course their attention quickly falls on you. The man with an ugly gash across his face leers at you. “Maybe we should keep her around awhile. She looks like fun.” Try as you might to act tough, that sends the blood rushing through your ears.

You almost don’t hear Joel snarl at them. “You lay one finger on her and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” The venom in his voice snaps you back to reality. While their attention is on him, you discreetly start ripping at your bonds with the little pocket knife you thankfully decided to stow in your back pocket.

They beat Joel senseless by the time you get free. You honestly think you’re too late as you stab the goon nearest to you in the thigh, by some miracle hitting his femoral artery. The others turn to you, blindsided as you go wild at the sight of your bloodied and broken companion. Gash-Face comes roaring at you, all brawn no brains. The look of surprise as you lodge the knife in his neck makes you smile with sickening glee.

The remaining two corner you, murder in their eyes. Your gun is just beyond them, taunting you to come retrieve it. The only “weapon” you have is the belt you’re wearing, it’s clasp heavy and silver. You undo it and swing it at the nearest man. He grabs it, cackling victoriously as he uses it to pull you closer. In their grasp, you become the target of their blows. You curl into the fetal position, angry that after all the near death experiences you’ve had, this will be the way you go out.

A shot rings out, then another. Two thuds on the ground next to you make you open your already swollen eyes. As you look up, you realize your savior is Joel. Back from the dead. His face is covered in blood, like some kind of ghoul. But in that moment, you have never seen someone look more like an angel. The two of you limp back to the QZ where Tess nurses you as she simultaneously curses the deceased thugs.

Joel corners you in the bathroom the next day as you study your bruised face. “You could have run,” he hisses at you, making you jump. You don’t know what he wants so you just shrug. He invades your space, making you back against the counter. “Why didn’t you run?” His voice has gone low, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Faces inches from each other, all you can muster is a weak, “We’re a team. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Several emotions flicker across his face in quick succession. Anger, fear, worry and something you can’t quite put your finger on. Pride? Maybe that was you projecting but you hope you were right. Joel studies you for a moment longer, then reiterates, “Next time, you run.”

******

After that, things change. Joel is still a man of few words but the ones he does grace you with are softer and more intentional. Instead of berating you for the knowledge and skills you lack, he takes them time to teach you. He shows you how to identify fake ration cards and to spot the kind of guard you can bribe. Nights are spent with you following behind him like a shadow as he shows you all the secret ways in and out of the QZ. When your hands shake during target practice, he places his calloused ones over yours. It steadies your hands but frays your nerves, threatening to awake a feeling long thought dormant.

It goes both ways. Joel lacks attention to detail in certain situations and you show him how to read people and ascertain their flaws that can be exploited. During your runs you point out the flora that can be consumed safely or used as medicine. At Flynn’s, the only bar in the QZ, you teach him how to play pool. An essential to survival? No. But it sure helps you win a huge stash of ration cards from your fellows survivors. It also gives you an excuse to sidle up behind him and mold your body around his, all in the name of helping him get the “proper pool stance.”

Your excuses to fleetingly touch one another became more and more common. They are all perfectly innocent but carry the weight of something elicit, at least to you. Joel is never one to give away his innermost thoughts, happy to wear a permanent poker face. For all you know he couldn’t care less about you. Maybe he just knows keeping you alive is good for business and that’s why he takes a particular interest in making sure you’re safe. Whatever the reason, you hope he never stops.

******

During one supply run, a torrential thunderstorm forces you to spend the night at Bill and Frank’s. You know it makes Joel nervous to be indebted to anyone for such hospitality but you can’t hide your glee. A night there means a cozy bed and a hot shower, something hard to find in your home where the water runs tepid at best.

Afterwards spending way too long in the bathroom, you curl up in your bed, toasty and content, only to find sleep won’t not come. Your hosts are dear to you, even the grumpy Bill, but their snoring through the wall you share makes hopes for a deep sleep impossible.

After an hour of tossing and turning, you decide to go make your bed on the couch. As you tiptoe down the stairs you run into Joel, on his way up . “Going somewhere?” he drawls, exhaustion making his voice deeper than usual. You shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. There are two buzzsaws in the room next door.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ve had that room before. Can’t say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.” You lived for these little snippets into Joel’s life before you came around, always eager to hear more. But the trek to the house through never-ending sleet and over the turbulent river left you more tired than you had felt in years. Right now all you want is to get where you could pass out immediately. “I’m just gonna make camp on the couch,” you say, stifling a yawn.

Joel shakes his head. “You take my room. The couch is good enough for me.” This man. Hadn’t anyone told him chivalry is dead. You sigh tiredly and beckon for him to come back up the stairs with you. “It’s a big bed. We can share.” There is silence behind you where there should have been footsteps. Joel’s smile disappears as his forehead creases in thought. “Please,” you pout, “I can’t sleep in my room and I won’t get any rest knowing you’re crammed on that dainty little loveseat.”

It takes far more coaxing than it should but finally Joel gives you a little nod and follows you into his - your - room. You gesture to the bed, “Care which side you get?” Joel thinks, then shrugs. “Left is good.” You flop onto the right side, eyes immediately drooping shut. Once again, there is no movement from your companion. Without opening your eyes, you chide him, “If you’re gonna be weird and watch me sleep all night then you can go sleep on the couch.” That got him moving again.

The sound of the shower turning on lulls you to a sleep that is disturbed only when you feel the dip of the bed several minutes later. You watch through barely opened eyes as Joel does a strange shimmy under the covers. It’s clear he’s trying his best not to wake you. The sight makes you laugh softly and his head whips to you.

“Thought you were asleep,” he murmurs.

You hum, “I was. You woke me up.”

It’s meant to be a joke but Joel grimaces. “Sorry.”

The sight is sweet and your heart flips, his frown making him look almost boyish. “It’s ok. It’s your bed.”

As you burrow into your cocoon of blankets, Joel props himself up, a pillow behind his back. He looks from you to the bedside lamp and back again. “You mind if I read for a few minutes?”

That surprises you. In all your time together you had rarely seen Joel do something just for the pleasure of it. There was usually no time. But Bill and Frank’s is a sanctuary and even the hyper-vigilant Joel Miller is able to slow down here. You nod enthusiastically, perking up. “What are you reading?”

It’s like you had asked him what his darkest secret was. He reddens, then finally grabs a book from the table. Pride and Prejudice. He stammers, “It’s just…I never had a lot of time for reading before and this was a favorite of…it was a favorite of somebody I knew.”

“You can read out loud to me if you want,” you offer with a grin. Honestly it was half in jest and half a serious hope. It had been decades since anyone had read aloud to you. Joel, always thinking you were making some sort of fun of him, smirks sarcastically. “Not a chance.”

Your glower slowly melts away at the sight of him putting on his reading glasses and settling in. Silently you curse as you feel your hardened heart crack just the tiniest bit. Idiot that you are, you try to talk yourself out of your own feelings. You aren’t attached to Joel. How could you be? He’s just a handsome, rugged man who keeps you safe and reads Jane Austen in his spare time. Maybe some lesser fool would fall for him but not you. No, sir.

The next morning, you find yourself curled into him, chest pressed against his back and arm draped over his side. Like a bomb diffuser, you carefully try to extricate yourself from the position, every movement slow and precise. Joel, still asleep, lazily grabs your hand, keeping your arm around him. He sighs contentedly as you settle back down and you swear under your breath, nestling your head at the crook of his neck. You are so that lesser fool.

******

The thunderstorms of summer give way to the pleasant days of autumn. Those good days don’t seem to last long enough. You should have appreciated them more while they were there but so is the way of being human.

Winter in Boston isn’t fun. Ok that’s an understatement. It makes you long for the soul-sucking, never-ending Midwestern winters you had lived through for most of your life. There is something about being next to the ocean that makes everything feel colder.

The nights are especially hard, the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls of your apartment. No matter how many blankets you tuck around yourself, your body never truly feels warm. Runs to Bill’s or anywhere outside the QZ become less frequent and more difficult. Only those deemed truly necessary are attempted and even then there is always a long discussion beforehand weighing out the pros and cons.

Runs between the months of November and January are too risky and after much debate, it is decided you three would lay low in the relative safety of the QZ. In the meantime, you’d assess your stockpile, make connections over the radio and wait for the spring thaw. With less food smuggled in from the outside, you decide to put your energy into earning ration cards. Even though no one could argue you don’t pull your weight in the group, you often feel like the weak link. Making sure Tess and Joel have a hot meal every night is the least you could do.

Joel had always told you to stay away from sewer work. It paid double what the other jobs did but at a high risk. Besides not being able to wash the stink off for days, the tunnels under the city were treacherous. Many had gone down there only to be blindsided by a stray clicker or jumped by a loner who made their home away from society up above. Some just got lost in the labyrinth, never to be heard from again. Or at least you had been told. You hoped those were just myths.

You and three other desperate souls are sent down to the sewers with the task of clearing the rubble from a recent cave in. A hard day’s work definitely but you were optimistic that you could get it done in a few hours time and be on your way.

The first few hours go well, the biggest pieces of the concrete being cleared easily enough. Your back aches and callouses quickly form on your palms. But still, all of that you can deal with, mollifying yourself with the thought of the stack of ration cards you’ll proudly gift to Joel and Tess.

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming you would have heard the shouts of your fellow volunteers sooner. Finally coming back to reality, you move just in time to avoid another piece of falling rock. You save yourself from being crushed but lose your footing, coming down hard on your shin.

A stream of bright blood instantly trickles from the gash and you swear as you try to keep the tears that spring to your eyes at bay. Wanting to prove yourself, you brush off your group’s insistence that you go get it checked by the doctor. It doesn’t matter if you complete ninety percent of your shift. You still don’t get your payment if you leave early. So you suck it up for another hour, slogging through the muck as you finish the job. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it’s just a scratch. You’ll wash it off when I get home and be good as new.

With the job done and ration cards tucked away in your pocket, you hobble back towards your apartment. The thought of a shower, as lukewarm as it will be, is the only thing keeping you upright. That is until you feel someone putting your arm around their shoulder. Joel helps you the few blocks to your house, his icy silence hurting you more than the cut that now throbs with every jostle.

It’s only after you get inside and are deposited on the couch that Joel speaks. He rolls up the leg of your jeans, cursing as he sees the already festering wound. “I told you to stay out of the sewers.”

You suck in a pained breath as he starts wiping away the dirt. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Besides, it was worth it,” you pull out the stack of ration cards and present them to him proudly. The sight gives him pause. But the look on his face isn’t one of gratitude, it’s worried exasperation. His signature grimace returns, “It’s not worth it if you lose your leg.” And people claim you’re dramatic.

Pushing him away with a shoo, you rise, limping to the bathroom. “I just need a shower. Then I’ll be right as rain.” As you peel off your now ruined clothes, Joel hovers on the other side of the door. “I can hear you pacing,” you call over the sound of the warming shower.

Even through the almost closed door you can hear Joel sigh. “I just think we should take you to the doc. Make sure you’re alright.” The water hitting you makes you audibly moan, the filth on your body washing down the drain and with it, the memory of the hard day. You appreciate the concern but all you want to do know is forget about the day. You call out to a still pacing Joel, “I’m fine. You worry too much!”

******

It turns out Joel worries the right amount. Of course he does. As eager as you are to forget about your day, it’s not long before you can’t ignore your leg. The wound is an angry red and the area around it has swollen, leaving it tender and throbbing. Thankfully you have Joel there to dress it because, honestly, you can’t stomach the sight of it. These past years have been filled with much blood and gore at your own hands. But there’s something different when it’s your own blood.

In any other circumstance you would have reveled in the feeling of Joel holding your leg so tenderly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he wraps the bandage around you. It would have driven you insane seeing him crouched in between your legs as he is now. But at the moment all you can think about is how you much pain you’re in.

You try not to show your discomfort, but your poker face is nonexistent. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours as you slowly exhale, trying to keep calm. Avoidance has always been one of your favorite tactics when dealing with uncomfortable situations so you pipe up, overly perkily, “See? All better. Now about those ration cards, I was thinking for dinner-“

Joel rolls his eyes, standing with a groan, his knees audibly cracking. “The only thing you’re gonna do tonight is rest.”

You slowly turn your body to prop your leg up on a pillow as he watches. Pouting has never worked on Joel but you figure it never hurts to try. “I still have to eat,” you mope.

“You will. I’ll open a can of soup or something.”

The disappointment is real and bubbles to the surface quicker than you realized it would. “I just wanted us all to have a nice dinner. You and Tess do so much and I feel like…” Thinking how you feel is different from saying it out loud and you have to psych yourself up. Joel’s softening gaze helps you continue. “I feel like I’m useless. I just thought this was one thing I could do to really contribute.”

The silence between you feels heavy as you avoid his stare. Finally, he speaks, confusion contorting his features, “Of course you contribute. We wouldn’t have kept you around if you hadn’t.” It’s meant to make you feel better but it doesn’t, especially in your current laid up state.

“So are you going to get rid of me if I’m no longer useful?” you gesture at your leg, feeling your eyes beginning to sting with tears.

Joel sits down next to you. Your fear has made you defiant and you meet his gaze, wanting to fight. But Joel speaks in a soft, level voice, as if teaching a child a lesson. “First of all, you’re going to get better. You just need to be patient. Second, you’re thinking there’s only one kind of way to be useful.”

“I can’t shoot like you two can. I can’t fight. I can’t threaten people into getting what I want. I can go on runs and earn ration cards. That’s it. I’m too soft for anything actually important.”

Joel frowns, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. ‘Being soft’ in a world like this is an act of defiance. It’s brave as hell. What you consider important? I don’t want that for you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you observe him. He’s trying so hard to find his next words, to make you believe his truth. “Me and Tess, we let the world harden us more than it needed to. It was easier that way. But having you around reminds us there’s still innocence and good out there.”

The angry tears have turned to ones of gratitude. The sentiment is too much for you, unused to such vulnerability from Joel. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek. “You’re useful just being you.”

While you still wish you matched Joel and Tess’ levels of badassery, the conversation helps ease your mind. You might not think much of your survival skills but you remind yourself that you’ve stayed alive in a world that wants you dead. Fifteen years you’ve been fighting and surviving and that’s nothing to look down on.

“And for what it’s worth, “ he adds, “you scared the hell out of me the first time we met.”

You grin at him, shocked, “Really?”

He nods, smirking cheekily, “Really. Still do sometimes.”

******

Joel heats up a can of tomato soup for you to share. You try not to think of how old it must be as he prepares it. But actually, it’s not bad, the taste reminding you of your childhood.

It also helps that you’re sharing it with someone you care about. A part of you hates that how easily you’ve let him into your heart. The one thing you swore off all those years ago is now all you can think about as you watch him sitting across from you, ladling out the steaming liquid.

He catches you staring and breaks the silence, “Were you even going to tell me you got hurt today if I hadn’t run into you.” The fuzziness of your feelings for him makes your brain a little mushy and instead of having a grownup conversation, you reply with a childish, “No, I thought I’d let it be a soup-rise.”

Joel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. You chuckle and continue eating your rapidly cooling dinner. You sober up a bit and add, “The extra ration cards will be good, though. Right?”

He nods, “Yeah. I think it’s soup-er.” His eyes flick up to yours as they crinkle, the only sign that he finds himself amusing.

After dinner, Joel excuses himself to go work his overnight shift. When he leaves and you’re left along, the throbbing in your leg returns with a vengeance along with a mild fever. Your usually chilly apartment now feels stuffy and you have to remove all of your layers except your t-shirt to be even somewhat comfortable.

Worry creeps in as you sit there, alone and increasingly unwell. You long for the company of Joel or Tess, anyone to reassure you that you’re fine. But you’re alone and the dark thoughts creep in, whispering in your ear that whatever is brewing is not good. Unsure of what else to do, you slip in to bed, hoping that whatever this is will be better by morning.

******

You don’t wake for two days. Or at least, you have no real memory of the past 48 hours. Later, when the worst is over, Joel will tell you the details of that lapse in your memory. He’ll recount how you faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes submitting to your fever for so long that he wasn’t sure you were coming back. His voice will waver as he remembers how bad it got and how fragile you looked…

But for now, he stays by your side, foregoing his own health to make sure you stay alive. The first thing you remember is waking up to the sounds of Joel and Tess arguing in hushed tones.

“We need to get her to a doctor. Now.” Joel’s voice sounds strained, like he’s trying desperately not to lose it.

Tess still maintains her signature composure. “We can’t, Joel. It’s too late for that.”

Joel must make some kind of face because Tess sighs and re-words. “It’s too late to take her in because if we bring her to the hospital all they’ll focus on is her fever. They’ve put people down for way less. You know that.”

In your addled state, you wonder who they’re talking about. Your throat hurts to much to speak up though and ask.

“The doc will give us the meds. We’ve bribed him before.”

Tess shakes her head, “Antibiotics are on lockdown. Shipments have been delayed because of the weather. No one gets any without FEDRA knowing. Breaking in guarantees we get caught. We’re no good to her dead. ”

Joel scoffs, “So what do you suggest we do?”

“She rides it out.”

“She’s been ‘riding it out’ for two days. Look at her,” Joel’s voice gets closer as he peers down at you, “she’s fighting but she’s losing.”

Oh. Fever may have taken hold of you, making your brain fuzzy and concentration near impossible, but you understand now that you are the subject of their argument. For Joel to sound so forlorn you must look bad.

If you’re dead soon, you want to let them know to leave it and just let you slip away. Your well-being means nothing if it puts them in unnecessary danger. Rule be damned, they’re your family now and you care about them. If you’re being honest, you’ve cared about them since you met them. It breaks your heart thinking you won’t be able to tell them that now. It nearly kills you right then and there to know you won’t get the chance to tell Joel you love him…

Opening your mouth to articulate all of that takes great effort and when you do try and speak, all that comes out is a strangled groan. The two rush over, Tess sitting down beside you. She takes your hand, an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. Yep, you’re dying.

“You’re ok, kid,” she whispers, “you just have to hang in there.” It would be easy to ignore reality and blindly trust her. But you’ve always been stubborn and so you shake your head and continue trying to speak. Again, nothing comes out but garbled nonsense as you writhe around trying to make your limbs do what your brain wants.

You must look a sight because Joel lets his anger overflow. “Maybe you can sit here and watch her die, but I can’t.”Heavy footsteps and Tess yelling are all that you can focus on as you fade back into oblivion.

******

Living is hard and unconsciousness is addicting. Peaceful and cozy are feelings you can scarcely remember having. It would be easy to stay in that enveloping darkness but the feeling of the back of someone’s hand on your clammy forehead pulls you back to the realm of the living. You grumble weakly as you’re made to come to.

Everything is painful. Stabbing jolts of electricity radiate up your leg from the cut. Your chest is tight, making breathing troublesome and your eyes can barely stand the dim, watery sun coming through the shades of the window. Someone places a damp cloth on your forehead to keep the fever at bay. Still out of it, you try and swat it away.

A gentle hand grabs yours, shushing you. “It’s alright. It’s only me.”

Joel. Maybe you have died and this is heaven. The man you love by your side, nursing you so tenderly. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for. This might be the afterlife believers talk about if only you weren’t in so much pain. The neurons in your brain begin firing more rapidly as your fever dies down. They remind you that you and Joel aren’t lovers. Your cowardice, disguised as intelligence, has kept you from telling him how you feel.

“What’s happening?” Your voice comes out croaky and soft but at least it’s intelligible. The bed dips as Joel moves closer to you. As you peer up through barely opened eyelids you can see him leaning over you. His tired eyes look down at you as he caresses your hair.

“You got real sick, honey. That cut you got festered and turned into a fever. We thought we were gonna lose you.” The slight falter in his voice makes your already tight chest contract.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. We got you some meds, though. You’re gonna be ok.” He says it firmly, which does some good in easing your worry.

Trying to open your eyes a bit more you continue your questioning, “Where did you get the antibiotics from?”

Joel hesitates, “Bill and Frank had some.”

You try and sit up, angry that he made that trip and put himself in danger. Even now, you can see the snow whipping around outside your window. Knowing he made the trek there and back through that storm makes you curse. Joel tuts and puts a gentle hand to your chest, keeping you down and resting.

“It’s done. No use getting angry about it now.”

You glare up at him even though you’re really just upset with yourself. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His smiles peacefully down at you, exhausted but eyes bright. “We’re a team, remember?”

It’s too much for you to handle. You cover your face just in time to hide the angry, relieved and grateful tears that spring to your eyes. Silent sobs wrack your frame, making you seize with pain.

Joel pulls you into him, shushing you as he resumes stroking your hair. You hide your face in his side, trying to regain your composure. Crying shouldn’t be something you feel the need to earn. But you’re all sorts of broken, so you take this rare opportunity to not judge yourself and weep with abandon. You almost died, for Christ’s sake. Surely that warrants some show of emotion.

After a few minutes, the tears stop and your breathing calms. Peeking up, you see Joel has his eyes closed. His face is the most serene you’ve seen it in ages, most of the worry lines softened. There’s still a few that refuse to relax, though. The crease in between his eyebrows remains stubbornly indented. You gaze up at him as he continues to run soothing patterns along your back.

Feeling the weight of your stare, he opens his eyes. Coward that you are, you glance away. “Thank you,”is all you can mumble out as he gazes at you. After a moment, you add a shy, “I would do the same for you. You know that, right?”

Joel pulls you gently into him, almost to remind himself you’re still here with him and that the danger has passed. He nuzzles into your hair, murmuring an affectionate“I know, honey. I know.”

******

After a few more hours and another dose of antibiotics, you begin to feel more like yourself. Joel still won’t let you get out of bed yet, except for a trip to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though you’ve been dead to the world for much of your ordeal, you’re quickly getting bored with bed rest. But you’ve learned long ago that resistance is futile with Joel. So you shower like a good patient, scowling as the water hits your scabbing cut.

Once you finish, Joel hops in and washes the grime and worry of the past three days off. As you settle back in bed, you can hear him singing softly to himself. Through the patter of the water you can hear his soft rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It’s one of your favorites, too, and you hum along as you settle back into your pillow.

After a few minutes, sleep still won’t come. You toss and turn as Joel finishes getting ready for bed. He comes in to find you still awake. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.” He says it like a loving mother gently scolding their rebellious child.

You flail as you try and get comfortable. You shoot back a moody, “But I’m just not tired.” Joel chuckles as he sits down into the arm chair next to your bed. He smooths back his wet hair and gives you a faux stern look. “Your body’s been through a lot. You need rest.”

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Joel looks confused, wondering what he did wrong. “Sorry I just thought I’d sleep here tonight in case you need anything. I can leave, though.”

“No!” you yell out, completely abandoning any hope of looking cool. You give him an apologetic smile, “I want you to stay but you’re not sleeping in that chair one more night.”

Joel glances to the spot on the bed beside you, then looks to you for confirmation. He sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “If I stay will you promise to go to sleep?”

You nod very seriously. “Of course.”

Joel grins, knowing you too well to believe you. “Liar,” he chuckles but still gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed. You pull back the blankets so can get in, then cover him up. Settling on your side, you watch as he suddenly looks lost, unsure of what to do now. It’s cute, this powerful man rendered helpless by something as innocuous as sharing a bed.

You can’t help but laugh at him and he looks down at you, eyes wide. Taking pity on him, you make a suggestion. “If you’re not tired you could read to me.” Joel opens his mouth to refuse but you blurt out a quick, “I did almost die, you know.” He glares at you but his lip quirks up. He grabs the book from the other room then flops back down in bed, opening to a spot in the middle.

Frowning, you reach out to touch Joel’s arm. “Do you mind starting from the beginning?” He rolls his eyes but flips back to the first page. You grin triumphantly as you settle into his side. Joel places his arm around your shoulder as he begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…”

His southern drawl mixed with the Romantic Era style of writing makes for an amusing but pleasant combination. After a few chapters, your eyes get heavy and Joel feels you nodding off against him. Jane has just been invited to Netherfield Park but even that can’t keep you awake. Joel puts the bookmark in to save your spot and places the novel on your bedside table.

You grumble in weak protest as he tucks you in and turns off the light. “We can keep reading tomorrow. But right now you’re going to sleep.” Joel lies down beside you and with the pale light of the moon through your curtains you can see him studying you. He caresses your face and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers.

You force your eyes open, needing him to see the truth of it when you pledge a soft,“I won’t. I mean it.”

Joel nods gratefully and you reach out for him. He slides into your arms and you rest your chin on the top of his head. He’s watched over you for long enough. It’s your turn to take care of him and reassure him that, in this moment, you both are safe.

For most, an outright admission of affection is needed to understand how you feel about the other person. But you and Joel are cut from the same cloth, stubborn and slow to reveal your feelings. In this world, for people like you, ’I love yous’ are rare and replaced with actions and deeds.

You realize that even though you've never told Joel that you love him, you’ve shown it. Joel has been showing you all this time too and you were just too dull to realize it. While you know you’ll long to say the words to him soon, for now it’s enough to have him in your arms.

Joel’s breathing deepens and you feel him completely give himself over to sleep. Looking at his face bathed in the moonlight he looks like a new man. His edges soften and his vulnerability brims to the surface. It tugs at your heart and you understand how rare of a sight this is for Joel to allow anyone to see.

Smiling sleepily, you close your eyes and nestle into him. This feeling coursing through you is something foreign but familiar, an old friend you thought you had said your final goodbye to long ago. The love you have for Joel will leave you vulnerable. But it’s a price you’re willing to pay a thousand times over.

******

#im on a mission to make joel as soft as possible lol #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #allie writes

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cameronspecial · 6 months

Note

Loving the Zach stuff so far!!!

Could you maybe do something where yn hates his guts, but he is like in love with her and all her sass?? Then they're forced to go on some school trip together or something, and she realizes she likes him and a cute angry love confession, perhaps???

Danke 🫶🏼💐

Thank You, History Class

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Zach have been running in the same friend group since Freshman year, but it doesn’t mean they necessarily get along. Well, it doesn’t mean that she likes him. His sarcasm and puppy dog vibe annoys her cool and distant personality. He’s always asking her how her day is going and trying to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. Zach, on the other hand, fell for her grumpy soul the moment he set eyes on her. Unlike most people, who don’t bother looking deeper into her personality, Zach could see the soft side that she held within and never let anyone see. He would always catch how she would stand up from her bus seat when she saw an elderly person. She wouldn’t let people around her know it was the reason, but she always did. He saw the little bowl of milk she left outside her house for a cat mother and her kittens. Finally, he saw how sweet she was to children whenever they were around her.

Zach didn’t want to take a history class and he certainly didn’t feel like going on a field trip to a museum. It all felt very high school to him. The only upside about it: Y/N is also taking the same class. When he saw that he needed a history credit to graduate, he definitely didn’t go looking for what classes she was taking this semester to try and be in the same one. The cost was giving Jason access to his bathroom whenever he wanted, but it was worth it. He knows the field trip isn’t mandatory for any marks, yet he knows Y/N is going to be there. As he heads toward the Victorian house, he finds Y/N out front waiting for the professor to show up. Her clothing consists of black and brown colours as usual. Her hair was held back by a shiny black claw clip.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, coming to stand beside her. She gives him a side eye, “Could you be more cliche? Try something more original, would ya? I still can’t believe you are taking this class.” He doesn’t let her sour mood dampen his energy. “Come on, you know you like having me with you in this class. The only other people in this class are girls who have a romanticized view of the era, or guys, who have a history stick so far up their ass that they think a history degree will take them far in life,” he notes, turning to look at her. She looks him dead in the eyes, “I’m a history major. And I am neither of those things.” “I know, that’s because you are so much better than them. You are far too smart for them,” he flatters. She shakes her head, turning her attention to the professor who has just arrived, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” The professor leads them into the museum and begins his lecture. After ten minutes of listening to the man speak, both Y/N and Zach realized that coming was a big waste of time. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and Zach can hear Y/N constantly correcting the older man under her breath.

He leans toward her, making sure his lips are close to her ear. “Wanna go on our own little tour? This man is getting half of this stuff wrong.” She thinks she has lost her mind because this must be the first thing Zach has said that she thought was a good idea. “That actually sounds kind of fun. They have a Victorian fashion exhibit I want to see, but I don’t think Professor Robo over there is going to take us to,” she whispers back. Her hand finds his and she hates to admit she likes the warmth of his in hers. They round the stairs to the exhibit. She looks delighted when she spots the first mannequin with clothes. Her feet find their way beside a girl about six years old, already looking at the dress. The child’s eyes find Y/N’s face and they smile at each other. “You know, this is an 1843 Evening dress. The bodice, the thing around the chest, is low off the shoulders. And they have lots of other skirts underneath to make it poofy,” Y/N softly explains to the little girl.

They spent around thirty minutes in the small room. Y/N walks around with Willow and Zach, explaining each outfit to them. She is surprised that Zach seemed honestly engaged with what she was saying and would ask thoughtful questions. Eventually, Willow’s mother, an employee, came looking for her and took the girl to lunch. “Do you want to head to lunch?” she asks. He shakes his head, “Actually, I was hoping we could look at the Victorian sports exhibit. I brought some snacks, so if you are hungry, we can share.” He pulls out a bag of cucumbers shaped like hearts. She has to giggle at the sight because big jock Zach MacLaren likes to have his vegetable cut into shapes.

“What?” he questions in fake offence, holding out the Ziploc to her. She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Nothing, just surprised your cucumbers look like an inaccurate depiction of a human organ.” “They make them taste better. Try,” he says with a shrug. He hands her a slice and listens to the sweet crunch of her biting into the vegetable. “Okay… I must admit it is more fun to eat it like a heart. I can pretend I’m a witch eating people’s hearts,” she agrees. He doesn’t look disturbed by her macabre comments, instead, he pretends to be ripping out his heart as he hands her another slice. She enjoys him playing with her deadly thoughts.

They spent about an hour looking at the different displays, eating his snacks and taking turns reading the display’s blurbs to each other. As they stand on the steps of the museum, Y/N towers over him from the step above. He looks up at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. “I hate to admit that you made this day pretty fun,” she confides. Her hands find their way behind her back, biting her lip as she looks into his eyes. His mouth turns into a crescent moon, “I’m really glad I did. I like spending time with you.” She takes a moment to think and moves her head away in frustration. Not at him, but at the turmoil inside her mind. Why is his charming smile suddenly getting to her? Why does she want to step into his warmth and let his arms bring her in? “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m falling for you, MacLaren. So… would you want to go to dinner? Like on a date,” she confesses with a hint of annoyance in her tone that is just normally there. She is disgusted by the excitement that crosses his face. He gets off the steps, running around the green grass in front of the building. He jumps every so often with a little whoop let out as he does so.

He rushes back to her, grabbing her around her waist and spinning her around. She finds the sound of her giggles odd but enjoys it nonetheless. “Way to keep a poker face,” she sasses, looking down at him. He doesn’t care though all he wants is a chance to be with her.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

#the other zoey #zach maclaren #zach maclaren x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfiction

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steddiealltheway · 7 months

Text

Part Three of The Danger of Romanticizing. Part One. Part Two. Ao3 Link.

Over the next few days, Steve asks Robin to tell Eddie he says hi, adding it to his morning routine. And every day without fail, he gets a responding hi back. Sometimes, he even gets a question about what the polo of the day is. Robin starts shoving Steve sticky notes to write down whatever he wants to say which she hands off to Chrissy.

He finds himself looking forward to the notes whenever he gets home, fingers tracing over Eddie’s slightly sloppy handwriting before sticking them to his wall.

On Thursday, Steve comes home to find Chrissy sitting on the couch with Robin, fingers intertwined as they appear to do their separate class readings. “Hey,” Steve says, hoping that they’re not too deep into the studying zone.

Chrissy gives him a bright smile and says, “Hi, Steve.”

Steve can’t help but glance around, trying to find some trace of Eddie in the place. For some reason, he thinks that he would know if he was there.

“He’s out with his... friend,” Chrissy explains, giving Steve an apologetic smile.

Steve nods. “Right, the sort of boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” Chrissy says with a slight frown. She shakes her head and turns back to her work.

Robin stares at her girlfriend for a moment before asking, “How come you never talk about him?”

Chrissy glances at her and her expression immediately softens. Steve feels like he finally understood the phrase “heart eyes” when he first saw the way Chrissy and Robin look at each other.

“I haven’t met him yet. But Eddie doesn’t have the best track record with guys. I mean, he deserves the world, but he doesn’t understand why. I used to make him recite these affirmations to try to make him understand his worth, but he’s Eddie, you know? A lot of those deep emotions he deflects with jokes.” Chrissy sighs and holds up a packet of paper. “Sorry, I’m currently learning about coping mechanisms.”

“No apologizing, remember? You’re allowed to talk about the things you’re passionate about,” Robin gently reminds her.

Chrissy leans over and plants a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly.

Steve turns away as he watches Robin blush and duck her head. He resists the urge to make a comment that will ruin their moment and instead goes to the pantry and pulls out a box of pasta. He silently starts on dinner contemplating if he can pry about this mystery man in Eddie’s life through the sticky notes.

“Oh, Steve!” Chrissy says over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Eddie said that he’s sad to miss you and he hopes he can see you again soon.”

Steve smiles. “Tell him I hope I can see him soon.”

“Will do,” Chrissy replies with a bright smile.

And god, Steve really hopes he can.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning is rough.

Steve sleeps through his alarm and in the process of rushing out the door he forgets to write Eddie a note and spills a cup of coffee on himself on the drive to work.

He walks in pressing napkins against his shirt, trying to soak up some of the liquid. Of course, this is the day he decides to wear a light pink polo.

“Nice look, Harrington,” Collin says loudly, causing everyone else to look up from their desk at him.

He already gets enough shit for being the boss’s son, so he’s sure that today will be worse than usual.

And it is.

It’s like everyone teams up on him to make jokes pretending to trip while holding coffee mugs in their hands. It gets old pretty fast, especially when his co-worker Aidan actually ends up pouring more coffee on him while he’s talking to a customer. And while he’s cleaning up again, Collin is able to swoop in and swindle his customer.

It’s all bullshit.

When the workday ends, he tries to grab his stuff and stalk off to his car quickly, but Collin manages to get in a quick, “Better luck next time, champ.”

Steve ignores him but he can’t help but feel like the final straw was broken for him.

He gets stuck in traffic and wants more than anything to just get home, shower, change, and put on a shitty movie. When he finally gets to his apartment, he manages to drop the keys while unlocking the door twice before pushing it open only to find Robin standing on the other side.

“How was work?” she asks overly bubbly.

“How do you think it was?” Steve asks gesturing to his shirt.

Robin cringes and teases, “Clumsy day?”

“Not now, Robin,” Steve sighs, trying to take his shoes off quickly. He finally gets them undone and finds that he’s wearing one navy and one black sock.

Robin points down to them and laughs.

“Seriously, Robin, I’m not in the mood,” he says and crosses his arms.

Robin grabs onto his arms with a bright smile and says, “But I have a surprise for you.”

Steve sighs and ducks his head, trying to make his way past her.

“Hold on!” Robin says, blocking his way. “God, you reek of coffee.”

For some reason, the comment really gets to Steve, and he snaps, “Can you just fucking give me some space?” He storms past her and rounds the corner to his room only to find that they’re not alone.

He looks up and takes in Chrissy and Eddie standing in the living room looking extremely uncomfortable.

“I...” Steve starts then turns around mumbling, “Fuck,” under his breath as he practically runs out the front door, grabbing his shoes on the way out. He jogs toward his car and pulls on the handle, realizing it’s locked. He digs into his pocket and mumbles, “No.” He checks his other pocket and comes up with nothing.

Of course, he left them on the hook by the front door.

He quickly puts on his shoes, wincing when he feels a rock in his right shoe. He sighs and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t run. He always runs.

He hears footsteps thudding on the sidewalk behind him. “Hey,” a voice softly says.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut a little harder before running his hands over his face and slowly turning around. “Hey,” he mumbles, making fleeting eye contact with Eddie before staring at the pavement.

“Going somewhere?”

Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the hood of his car. “I was, but I left my keys inside.”

Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. “I have mine. Come on,” he says, already stepping back on the sidewalk and walking away from Steve.

Steve pauses but follows him around the corner of the building where he’s parked. He wonders if he purposefully parked there in order to surprise him. God, it just makes him feel worse.

He climbs into the passenger seat and stares ahead.

“Where to?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, “Whatever store carries pints of coffee chocolate chip ice cream.”

Eddie starts his van and asks, “Your favorite?”

“Robin’s favorite.”

“Ah,” Eddie says as he backs out of the side parking lot. “I have an extra shirt in the back if you want to change.”

Steve almost passes it up, but he doesn’t think he can stand the smell of coffee any longer. He twists in his seat and glances at the back, finding a random shirt thrown on the seat along with a lot of random shit that Steve wants to ask about. Instead, he tugs his polo off and quickly shrugs on Eddie’s shirt.

In any other situation, he would’ve been ecstatic about the softness of the shirt and embarrassingly tried to smell the collar or something to commit the scent to memory. But the heaviness of how he treated Robin weighs too heavily on his mind.

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Steve grows increasingly sorrowful.

“Want to talk about it?” Eddie asks.

Steve glances at him, noticing the lack of judgment in his expression which puts him at ease. “I just had a really bad day at work, and I was an asshole and took it out on Robin.”

“Chrissy always tells me that we take out our stress on the ones we love the most.”

“There’s definitely a reason she’s a psychology major.”

Eddie snorts and shrugs, eyes not leaving the road as he talks. “She’s going to be an amazing therapist. But what I meant by that is that I’ve had my fair share of frustrating exchanges with Chrissy as well.”

Steve sighs and leans back in his seat. “Yeah, but usually I save the part where I reveal that I’m an asshole at least a few months after meeting someone.”

“Romanticizing yourself,” Eddie says with a small smile. He approaches a red light and turns to Steve to state, “You’re not an asshole. You’re just human.”

“A little too human,” Steve argues.

“The best people are.”

“Sounds like you’re romanticizing me,” Steve says, trying to brush off the sincerity of what Eddie said.

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back to the now green light.

They sit in comfortable silence as they make their way to the parking lot of a grocery store.

With the words still weighing heavy on his mind, Steve finally says, “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls into a parking space and replies, “No need for all that.” He gets out of the car before Steve can argue with him.

As they make their way inside, Steve changes the subject, “Ever since you brought up how empty my room is, I can’t stop noticing it.”

Eddie winces. “Sorry, I have a tendency to chronically put my foot in my mouth.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just suddenly want to do something about it.”

Eddie suddenly stops in the middle of the store, causing the person behind them to nearly hit him with their cart. Eddie turns and says, “Sorry,” before placing a gentle hand on Steve’s back and guiding him away from the frozen aisle they were walking toward.

“Where-”

Eddie puts his finger to his lips and says, “No questions.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow but he keeps his lips shut as Eddie guides him to some random place in the store. He lets the warmth of Eddie's fingertips through the thin layer of the shirt distract him for a few moments until he notices that they’ve stopped.

Steve glances around and asks, “Clocks?”

Eddie sighs and tugs him past the section to the picture frames. “Stay here and pick a few you like. I’ll be right back.”

Steve can’t even give him a confused look before he takes off. He turns back to the frames, scanning them before he grabs a white frame with a gold stripe that he thinks looks nice. For some reason he also finds a small silver circular frame that he thinks is kind of cute and funny, so he grabs it. He holds the two side by side and smiles. They look horrible together, but he likes them.

Eddie suddenly appears at his side, winded as if he just ran across the store. He holds up a small disposable camera and smiles proudly. “And this should be good for now. Time for ice cream.” He turns and heads toward the frozen aisle before stopping in place suddenly again.

Steve runs right into him and stumbles back. “Do you do this often?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie answers. He glances down at the frames and says, “I just realized I didn’t look at what you chose. The small one is funny.”

“Right?” Steve says, relieved that he understands.

Eddie looks him in the eye and his smile grows. “Good choices.”

Steve finds himself flushing a bit red after the direct affirmation from Eddie. Luckily, Eddie doesn’t notice as he leads the way to the ice cream.

It takes a few moments to find the ice cream, but Eddie suddenly excitedly says, “Yes!” and grabs a pint out of the freezer. Steve can’t help but think that he might be his good luck charm.

They check out quickly. Eddie asks Steve to grab him a candy bar, taking the moment of distraction to hand the cashier money, paying for everything. When Steve realizes, he tries to protest but Eddie shuts him down saying, “I’m the one who told you to get those things. It would be a dick move to make you pay for them too.”

“I could’ve at least covered the ice cream.”

“And risked it melting while we wasted time with a second checkout?” Eddie asks, acting flabbergasted at the idea.

Steve just laughs and at least takes the bags from him.

“My hero,” Eddie jokes, fluttering his eyelashes. As they get to the car he asks, “By the way, what candy bar did you get? I forgot to check.”

“A Three Musketeer. I hope that’s okay.”

Eddie smiles and hits the center console excitedly. “That was the inspiration behind naming Dart! You know? D'Artagnan.”

Steve shakes his head coming up with nothing. Eddie digs into the bags and grabs the candy, pointing it out to Steve.

“Oh. Dustin’s going to be so excited to hear that. Three Musketeers are his favorite.”

“You really love that kid,” Eddie comments with a smile as he starts the car.

“He can be an annoying little shit sometimes, but I love him like a brother.”

Eddie laughs. “I’m excited to meet him.”

“Me too,” Steve replies and suddenly remembers what Dustin told him. “Hey, I didn’t know you also illustrated the book. I don’t know how I skimmed over that, but that’s incredible.”

A light blush covers Eddie’s cheeks. “It’s alright. I used to design stuff for Hellfire in high school, but I’m absolutely shit at faces. That’s why you never see The Boy’s face.”

“I somehow never noticed that. But I think it’s a good choice. It lets the reader kind of imagine themself in the role, you know?”

Eddie pauses for a moment before asking, “Yeah? You can relate?”

Steve shrugs and leans back. “I can relate to the found family, and I mean...” Steve trails off and looks down at his hands. “Sometimes I feel like an outcast. And yeah, that sounds ridiculous since I was a pretty popular jock in high school. But I had this kind of reality check and suddenly I didn’t see the appeal of being ‘King Steve.’ I spent the last semester of my senior year sitting next to my ex and her new boyfriend during lunch. It was a miracle that I put in my resume at this ice cream shop because that’s how I met Robin. But even at work now, I just don’t fit in.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we’re the same,” Eddie cheesily quotes the title of his book. Before Steve can ask what he means, Eddie presses on. “I have one question.”

“Mhm?”

“Did they really call you King Steve?”

Steve groans, “Yes. God, I hate that nickname.”

Eddie laughs. “Alright, I promise not to call you that.”

“Thank you.”

“Your Highness.”

Steve sighs but he fails to hide the slight humor in his expression.

“Okay, I promise to never bring it up... After this car ride, my lord,” Eddie says with a wicked smile.

Steve buries his face in his hands for the rest of the ride home, trying not to laugh too hard at the ridiculous nicknames Eddie pulls out of his ass. But as they get closer to his apartment, his happiness dies down as he faces the reality of what he’s returning to.

Eddie quiets down during the last minute, sensing the shift in emotions from Steve. He parks outside and quietly asks, “Are you ready?”

“No,” Steve says, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing his bags before getting out of the car.

He slowly steps up to the front door but pauses to turn around to Eddie. “Thank you for all of this. Really.”

Eddie just puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I had a good time. I hope your day has gotten a little better.”

“It has,” Steve admits with no hesitation. “As long as I can apologize to Robin after this and hope she forgives me.”

“Something tells me that she will.”

Steve glances up at Eddie, wondering if he can express how much that fills him with relief. He steps forward, intent on wrapping his arms around the man and holding him for as long as he’ll let him.

The door swings open before Steve’s arms can come up.

“Hey, I thought I heard the van doors shut,” Chrissy says with a small smile.

“How is she?” Steve asks immediately.

Chrissy puts a hand on his arm. “She’s alright. I think she’ll be happy to talk to you.” She squeezes him before turning to Eddie and asking, “You ready to go?”

Eddie’s eyes flicker to Steve before settling on Chrissy. He gives her a conflicted look, but Chrissy raises her eyebrows at him causing Eddie to sigh and turn to Steve saying, “Maybe I’ll see you soon? We’ll plan it this time.”

Steve feels his face suddenly get very warm with embarrassment. “That would be great.”

Eddie nods at him and turns away to make his way back to the van. Steve waves goodbye to the pair before going inside. He drops the bag with the frames and camera on their table in the small dining area before grabbing two spoons and the bag with the ice cream.

He purposefully makes his footsteps a little heavier as he makes his way to Robin’s room to prepare her for his presence. He lightly knocks on the door and waits.

“It’s open,” she says.

Steve slowly pushes the door open and finds Robin lying in her bed staring at the ceiling. “Hey.”

Robin turns and gives him a small smile. “Hey.”

“I brought the goods,” Steve jokes as he walks toward her bed.

Robin sits up and makes grabby hands at him, taking the pint and a spoon as soon as she can. Steve can’t help but think that’s a good sign, but he’s not going to pretend everything is normal. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you. I shouldn’t have taken out my bad day on you.”

Robin glances at him with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She takes a moment to eat before she sighs, “It wasn’t just you though. I shouldn’t have been so pushy and glossed over your bad day. And I definitely shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”

“Are you kidding? Any other day, I would’ve been ecstatic.”

“Just not today,” Robin says, staring down at the ice cream before taking another spoonful. She glances over at him and asks, “Want to talk about your day?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just Collin being an asshole and the other guys joining in.”

“Charles and Ryan?”

“Aidan this time.”

Robin sighs, “I wish I could go in there and give them a piece of my mind.”

“I think I deserved it today.”

Robin raises an eyebrow at him. “No matter how much of a dick you can be, I’m not leaving you, dingus. And you definitely don’t deserve that shit.”

Steve shrugs and takes a stab at the ice cream. “Eddie made things better.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods and avoids eye contact as the coffee flavor melts in his mouth.

“Speak of Eddie, is he the reason you’re wearing a Metallica shirt?”

Steve glances down at the shirt and smiles. He had forgotten he was wearing it. “Yeah. He had an extra shirt in the back and let me change out of the coffee-stained one. I think I left that polo in his van though.” He shrugs and gets another spoonful of ice cream. “He’s really great.”

There’s a longer pause before Robin rests her hand on Steve’s and asks, “Steve, do you... like him?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to Robin quickly, swallowing a mouthful of cold ice cream in the process. His heart beats a little faster, and he hopes Robin can’t feel his pulse. “No, it’s not like that. Besides, I barely know him.”

“Yeah, but you’ve liked people with a lot less information about them.”

Steve sighs and puts his spoon down to lay his other hand on top of Robin’s and look her in the eye. “Even if I do like him, he has a sort of boyfriend. Plus, I’m not going to do anything reckless that will risk the happiness of your and Chrissy’s relationship, okay?”

Robin stares at him for a few seconds too long before she nods. “Okay. But... you can talk to me if those feelings ever change.”

“And they won’t,” Steve reassures her.

Robin looks conflicted before she gives him a small smile and goes back to the ice cream.

Steve is able to easily change the subject and things finally feel normal again once they’re both laughing so hard they have to wipe at the tears running down their faces.

But when Steve lays in bed that night, his thoughts drift to Eddie. He can’t fall for him. Really, he can’t. He can’t do that to Chrissy and Robin.

So, for once, he tries to turn off all the thoughts romanticizing the man. But he doesn’t know how to humanize the man when he’s been nothing but... perfect.

He’s so screwed.

Part Four

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #the danger in romanticizing fic

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mrprettywhenhecries · 23 days

Text

worth the squeeze [s.h]

One. Worth Sticking Around For

↪︎ a Stranger Things/The Girl Next Door AU

Steve Harrington ✗ f!Reader

➺ w.c. 4.4k words ➺ tags/warning(s). no use of y/n, reader character uses she/her pronouns, sexual themes, nudity, skinny dipping, Steve's a lil bit of a perv ➺ a/n. I had this thought a couple weeks ago about writing a Girl Next Door AU with Steve and it was just too perfect to pass up despite my other ongoing wips. The plot isn't going to follow the movie exactly, but the main theme will be the same. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

When the most beautiful girl Steve's ever seen starts staying at his neighbor's house, he'd do anything to get to know her, even make a fool of himself for her.

[ masterlist]

“I’m tellin’ you, Robin, I’m getting really tired of it,” Steve exclaimed as he drove her home after their shift at Family Video.

“Oh yeah, must be tough going on so many dates with sooo many beautiful women,” Robin scoffed, throwing him a wry look.

“Yeah, I mean, my sex life has never been better, but it’s like, maybe I want more than just sex, you know?” Steve continued as if he hadn’t heard her, gesturing animatedly with one hand while the other gripped the steering wheel.

Robin lifted an eyebrow at him. “You’re making it real hard to feel sorry for you,” she retorted dryly and Steve returned her flat stare with his own.

“I just wanna meet a girl that I genuinely like being around, I mean, in addition to having great sex with,” he added and Robin laughed.

“Maybe stop having sex on the first date then, Dingus,” she pointed out.

“Yeah yeah,” Steve muttered, knowing she had a point. After his dry spell the year before, he’d been trying to make up for all the action he’d missed out on, but now… now he was starting to feel empty. He wanted something meaningful.

Dropping Robin off, Steve headed home, turning onto the quiet street he’d lived all his life and pulled into the empty drive–his parents off on some business trip, leaving him the house all to himself.

Pushing open his car door, he noticed an unfamiliar car parked next door and frowned. The older woman who lived there didn’t often have visitors. Heading inside, he forgot about the car when his stomach began to rumble. Not bothering to change out of his work uniform, he threw some food in the oven and went about taking the trash out.

As he dragged the heavy black plastic bag down the drive, a sound caught his attention and he turned to find one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen pulling a suitcase and garment bag out of the car in his neighbor’s driveway. Steve’s breath caught and he gaped at her, letting his gaze linger a little too long on her backside and he let out a surprised yelp as he ran right into the trash can at the end of the driveway.

Nearly tripping and sprawling atop the overturned can, he quickly straightened before fumbling to right the can and get the bag inside it with a loud clatter. Glancing up hastily to see if she’d noticed, he winced when he found her watching him, an amused grin on her lips before she turned away and headed back inside, leaving Steve feeling like a giant fool.

Glancing down at himself, he finally realized he was still in his work vest and let out a sigh. No doubt he’d just blown his chance at a suave first impression and he muttered to himself as he reluctantly headed back inside, dragging his feet sullenly.

Shrugging off his work vest, he wadded it into a ball and tossed it at the stairs, leaving it lay where it landed before climbing to his room and flopping down onto his bed, reaching for the cordless phone on his bed stand while he waited for his food to cook.

“Y’ello?” Tommy Hagan answered on the third ring and Steve turned his head so his voice wouldn’t be muffled by his pillow.

“Hey Tommy, it’s Steve.”

“Harrington, my man, how’s it hangin’?” Tommy exclaimed and Steve let out a weary sigh.

“So, check it out, there’s this girl staying at my neighbor’s, one of the hottest chicks I’ve ever seen, right? I mean, she was unbelievable–like an angel, and her smile–” he trailed off with a sigh before shaking his head angrily. “I haven’t even talked to her yet and I already blew it!” he groaned, running his hand down his face.

“How’d you manage that?” Tommy asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“I was taking the trash out and there she was, bending over to get something out of her car and what do I do? I trip over the goddamn trash can! I mean, I’m only human, what am I supposed to do, not look?”

Tommy’s raucous laughter filled his ear and he cringed.

“What’d she do?” he asked once he caught his breath.

“She turned and looked at me and then went back inside,” Steve groaned. “Oh, oh! And the worst part! That’s when I realized I was still wearing my damn work vest.”

“She probably thinks you’re a loser, man,” Tommy pointed out and Steve let out a heavy sigh, lifting his hand from his face.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled.

It was probably karma for him complaining earlier about wanting more than sex. Watch, now he’d probably go back to not being able to score at all.

Letting his eyes regain focus, he looked out his window and stiffened. Next door, a light flicked on in the second floor window across from his, and the girl he’d just been telling Tommy about came into view. Completely oblivious that he could see her, she began to undress, pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a red lacy bra that hugged her breasts perfectly, pushing them up and together.

“Oh shit–” he breathed, forgetting for the moment that he still had the phone to his ear until Tommy replied in confusion.

“What? S’goin’ on?”

Steve pushed himself up from the bed and moved closer to the window as she reached behind her back to unclasp the bra, letting it slide slowly down before tossing it aside, her back still to him as she slipped her jeans down, her red panties matching her bra.

“I can see her through the window, she’s undressing,” Steve whispered, his mouth going dry, hoping she’d turn so he could get a better view.

He may have matured in the year since he’d graduated, but he was still a guy after all.

“Holy shit, lucky bastard. How’s her rack?”

Steve barely heard Tommy over the rush of blood in his ears and he held his breath as she finally turned toward the window. For one blessed moment he had a perfect view of her chest and he let out a low whistle, admiring her tits and wondering how nice they’d feel in his hands.

It was when his gaze flicked back up to her face, his eyes finding hers staring right back, that panic flooded him and he dropped the phone in his haste to duck below the window and out of sight. Steve could faintly hear Tommy demanding to know what was happening, but he ignored the phone, slowly pulling himself up just enough to peer through the bottom of the window to see if she’d truly noticed him or not, only to grimace as she quickly pulled a sweatshirt on over her head and shut off the light as she strode out of the room.

“Shit,” Steve hissed, finally picking the phone back up and bringing it reluctantly to his ear. “I think she saw me.”

Tommy let out a loud snort. “Good job, man. Now you’re definitely screwed.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Steve grumbled, hearing the timer on the oven go off downstairs. “My food’s ready, I’ll talk to you later,” he muttered, cursing his luck. It was definitely karma coming back to bite him.

“Okay, later. Keep me posted,” Tommy said and Steve hung up the phone to bound down the stairs and retrieve his pizza before it burned. Almost as soon as he opened the oven door and pulled the pan out, the doorbell rang.

“Who the hell could that be?” Steve muttered under his breath, dropping the pizza atop the stove and turning off the oven to get the door.

Taking a moment to peer through the peephole before pulling the door open, Steve’s mouth fell open in shock at the sight of the mysterious girl from next door standing on his doorstep–the last person he’d expected to see.

Working moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth, he squashed down the surge of worry that she was only there to tell him off for being a perv, and opened the door. Leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, he flashed her his most charming smile and ran a hand through his hair to wrangle it, bringing her attention to his best asset, hoping for a second chance at a better first impression.

“Hey there, we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Steve Harrington,” he drawled, offering his hand.

The drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins was longer than you’d expected and when you pulled into your aunt’s empty drive, all you wanted to do was stretch your legs and collapse into bed, but you knew if you did that then you wouldn’t be able to make yourself get back up and you still had to finish unpacking your car before you could allow yourself the sweet embrace of sleep.

The spare key was exactly where your aunt had said it would be and you let yourself in, deciding to make another trip to grab the rest of your luggage. It had been such a long time since you’d last visited, it took you a moment to remember the layout of the spacious house. You didn’t understand why your aunt hadn’t downsized yet, especially since it was just her all alone in the big house, but you weren’t complaining about the extra space, especially since she’d offered you one of her spare rooms til you could afford your own place.

Dropping your backpack on the bed, you returned to your car for the rest of your stuff, aware of the noise coming from the neighbor’s driveway. You barely paid attention to the young man dragging his trash out to the road as you bent over to grab your suitcase and garment bag from the backseat.

As you straightened, the loud clatter of trash cans falling over made you turn and you had to bite back the laugh that nearly sprang to your lips as the neighbor nearly fell head over heels in his distraction, his eyes quickly tearing away from you as he fought to right himself.

For a long moment, you watched him, smiling to yourself before turning back toward the house. Despite making a fool of himself, he was rather handsome and looked to be about your age. For a second, you deliberated going back to introduce yourself, but the way your stomach grumbled reminded you that you’d barely eaten anything other than junk food all day and the call of finding sustenance was too great to ignore. Besides, the poor guy’d just suffered enough humiliation, you didn’t wanna add to that at the moment.

Dragging the rest of your stuff up to your room, you flicked the light on as the sun began to dip below the horizon, and pulled out something a little more comfortable to put on, stripping your t-shirt over your head and unhooking your bra. Tossing the garment away, you stretched your arms above your head, working the kink out of your back before turning to grab the sweatshirt you’d just laid out.

Glancing up to the window, you realized you could see into the room directly across from yours in the house next door, and your heart leapt into your throat as you locked eyes with the young man you’d just encountered in the driveway, watching as he hastily ducked out of sight, knowing you’d caught him staring.

Clenching your jaw, you yanked your sweatshirt on and stormed out of the room and down the stairs, ready to give the pervert a piece of your mind. When he answered his front door, however, you faltered for a moment at his confident greeting, as if he hadn’t just been caught watching you undress.

“Hey there, we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Steve Harrington,” he drawled.

Your brows rose slightly as you stared at his outstretched hand. So he wanted to pretend like nothing had happened, huh? Well, two could play at that, you thought, contenting yourself with waiting for the opportune moment to bring it up and catch him off guard.

Taking his hand, you introduced yourself, taking a moment to get a proper look at him.

He was definitely cute, despite spying on you. Maybe your stay in Hawkins wouldn’t be so dull after all, provided Steve Harrington didn’t turn out to be a total creep.

“I’m pretty sure I definitely would’ve remembered if we’d met before,” Steve said, releasing your hand, though his warmth lingered on your palm. “So uh, what’re you doing next door?” he asked, looking you up and down discreetly.

“It’s my aunt’s place. She’s out of town right now, but she said I could stay for a bit til I get back on my feet. I just quit my job,” you explained, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions about your former profession.

“Oh, bummer. About your job, I mean! Not that you’re here,” Steve added quickly, making you laugh.

“It’s okay, I was ready for a change,” you said, shrugging, shifting your weight. “Guess that officially makes us neighbors then.”

Steve nodded, grinning. “Guess it does,” he mused, his voice trailing off as if he were lost in thought.

“You gunna invite me in, or make me stand here all night?” you prompted, raising an amused brow at him and Steve shook himself.

“You hungry? I just pulled a frozen pizza out of the oven,” he offered, gesturing over his shoulder and your stomach chose that moment to remind you how hungry you still were.

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, hoping Steve hadn’t heard your stomach’s impatient rumble. “You live here alone?” you asked, letting your eyes wander as you followed him in, Steve leading you to the kitchen.

“Nah, with my parents,” he answered with a grimace. “But dad’s on a business trip and mom went with,” he explained, rifling through one of the drawers for a pizza cutter.

“That’s nice,” you mused, opening the fridge to peer inside curiously.

“Not really,” Steve muttered, turning to pull a couple plates from the cupboard and hand you one. “Mom’s only there cause she doesn't trust him.”

“Ohh, I see,” you murmured and Steve let out a heavy sigh, divvying up the pizza slices onto your plates.

“I don’t wanna be anything like him,” he said quietly and you wondered if he’d meant for you to hear or not, hastily clearing his throat and moving on from the subject. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, alright,” you replied, accepting the cold can he passed you from the fridge.

“C’mon, let’s eat by the pool,” Steve suggested, leading you through the large open living room and out the sliding glass door to the stone paved patio.

His parents were clearly loaded, but earlier you’d noticed him wearing a Family Video vest, so either daddy’d cut him off, or he didn’t want his family’s money, and you briefly wondered which was the case.

Steve pulled a couple lounge chairs next to each other and gestured for you to sit, sprawling out next to you. “So, how long do you plan on staying in Hawkins?” he asked, taking a bite of his pizza and cracking his beer open one handed.

Leaning back in your seat, you chewed your pizza thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, honestly,” you mused, washing down your pizza with a swig of beer. “Guess it depends if there’s anything here worth sticking around for.”

When your eyes flicked back to Steve, you watched him swallow, his own gaze quickly darting away. “I could show you around, y’know, if you want,” he offered, his shoulder lifting in a half shrug, aiming for nonchalance and your lips twitched.

“I’d like that,” you said, picking one of the pepperonis from your pizza slice and popping it in your mouth, sucking the sheen of grease from your fingers.

When you once again caught Steve staring, his beer can half raised to his lips, hovering midair as if he’d forgotten how to drink, you decided it was time to go for the kill.

“I’m starting to think you have a staring problem, Steve Harrington.”

At your words, Steve gave a jerk, spluttering into his can in alarm and you had to bite back a grin at his reaction.

“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, thumping his chest with a fist as he coughed.

“Well, there was that time in the driveway, just now, and… when you watched me undress through your window,” you said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Did you get a nice show?” you asked and Steve’s brown eyes widened, his mouth falling open before stumbling over a hasty apology.

“I-I only saw for like an instant!” he argued, holding his hands up. “It was no big deal, really.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, scoffing quietly and Steve hastily backpedaled, wincing at the offended look on your face.

“I mean, not like that. You looked great, but I–I didn’t–! Look, I’m sorry,” he insisted, chancing an apologetic glance at you and your expression softened for an instant before turning impish.

“So, what are we gunna do about this?” you mused, giving him a pointed look, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What do you mean? Can’t you just accept my apology?” Steve asked warily, a frown tugging at his lips.

“You saw me. I think it’s only fair that we even the score,” you insisted, leaning back in your chair, watching him expectantly.

“You really expect me to strip right here?” he scoffed, an incredulous note to his voice.

“You got a little show, now it’s my turn, pretty boy. It’s only fair,” you pointed out, your lips turning down in a pout. “Are you shy?” you mocked and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Alright, fine,” he replied, pushing up from his seat and pulling his sweater over his head, tossing it at you before toeing off his shoes and undoing his jeans, dropping them to stand before you in his underwear and socks, heat licking up his neck at the way you stared, your gaze traveling over him appraisingly.

“Not bad, but I think you’re forgetting something,” you said, your lips twitching in amusement. “I want the whole package,” you insisted, pointing to his crotch and Steve’s face flared hotter. “C’mon, I think that’s enough,” he argued halfheartedly, but your sharp look held him in place.

“Fine, guess I’ll just go home then,” you said with a shrug, making to push out of your chair. “It was nice meeting you, Steve–”

“Wait–!” he exclaimed, and you paused, turning back to look at him. “Alright fine,” he huffed, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down, letting them pool at his ankles.

“You happy now?” he asked, throwing his hands up and you bit your lip as your eyes went to his package. He was definitely well endowed.

“Yep,” you replied, playfully popping the p, your eyes returning to his. “You know, you’re lucky your back yard is pretty secluded,” you pointed out and he snorted, standing there awkwardly, while trying not to look awkward.

“How long do I have to stand here like this?” Steve asked and you tapped your lip, pretending to think.

“I guess that’s long enough. But before you get dressed…” you trailed off, standing up and walking closer to him, noticing the way his eyes widened and his breath hitched, wondering what you were about to do. “Let’s go for a dip,” you finished, giving him a shove into the pool, laughing as he hit the water and came up spluttering, shaking his hair out of his face.

“What was that for–?”

Steve’s exclamation died on his tongue when he noticed you were stripping as well and he didn’t know whether to turn away or if you wanted him to look this time, though you didn’t give him much of a chance, diving into the water as soon as you dropped your clothes to the ground.

When you surfaced, you wiped the water from your face and grinned as you swam toward Steve.

“So are we even now?” he asked, a smile of his own curving his lips and you laughed.

“Yeah, I’d say so. For now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Steve retorted, his eyebrows climbing.

“I mean, I’m just assuming you’ll do something stupid again,” you laughed, pushing a wave of water at him playfully.

Steve splashed you back with a smirk. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” he agreed. “So what else do you do for fun, y’know, besides torturing people?” he teased.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment–the square curve of his jaw, his chestnut hair stuck wetly to his forehead and the dark moles that littered his neck and shoulders. There were two on his cheek in the perfect spot for kissing.

“I uhm, I like photography and dancing, going to the movies or skating, and swimming,” you answered, huffing a soft laugh. “Though I should probably start job searching soon,” you sighed.

“What was your old job?” Steve asked and you dropped your gaze, wondering if you should just rip off the band aid and tell him. But you liked him, and you liked the way he looked at you… If you told him the truth it would make things weird, it always did.

Would it be so bad if he didn’t know?

You could make a fresh start in Hawkins. No one knew your face. There’d be no more awkward stares or lewd come-ons, just a sweet guy that seemed to like you for you and who hadn’t taken advantage of the fact that you were both naked in his pool. Maybe for once you could just feel normal.

“It was dumb, I’m just glad I quit,” you murmured, avoiding giving him a real answer. “I wanna make a fresh start, maybe go to college, I dunno yet.”

Steve nodded, sobering as he watched you tread water, bobbing in place, carefully keeping his eyes on your face. “So… do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, floating closer, and you dipped below the water slightly to hide the giddy smile that tugged at your lips.

“No. Do you have a girlfriend?” you asked, biting your lip when a dazed grin spread across Steve’s face.

“Nope,” he chuckled. “I’d like one, though.”

“Mmm,” you mused, scrunching up your brow in thought. “Yeah, I think you do need one,” you teased, kicking your feet lazily as you tilted your head. “But what kind?”

“Well, for starters, someone cute, and sweet, and clever–” Steve began to list, his gaze never leaving your face as he continued to describe you. “Definitely someone spontaneous and fun, but down to earth too, who’s not afraid to call me on my bullshit.”

You hadn’t noticed when you’d moved closer to him, your chest only inches from his, and your breath hitched at the realization, warmth spreading through you.

“She sounds pretty fantastic,” you breathed, trying to keep your voice light, Steve’s smile making you dizzy.

“Yeah, she definitely is,” he replied, his hands skimming your sides. “Any idea where I might be able to find her?”

Unable to make your voice work, you felt yourself lean in, your gaze flicking from Steve’s lips to his eyes, breathlessly waiting for his lips to claim yours as he grasped your hips, holding you close, his eyelids fluttering as his nose brushed against yours.

A loud rustling in the bushes nearby made you freeze, however, ice racing through your veins, and Steve jerked back at the same time you did, suddenly afraid the two of you weren’t alone, only to jump as a rabbit burst from the underbrush at the edge of the property to race across the yard and you threw your head back and laughed at the yelp that left Steve’s throat.

“Oh my God, you were so scared!” you exclaimed, your laughter continuing despite the splash Steve directed at you.

“So were you!” he countered, an incredulous grin twisting his relieved expression.

“Yeah, but I didn’t scream like a girl,” you pointed out, letting out a scream of your own as he swam after you, catching you easily round the waist and a wave of arousal washed over you when you felt his length brush against the curve of your ass and give a twitch.

Steve cleared his throat, hastily releasing you before either of you could become tempted to do more. And while part of you wished he hadn’t, you were glad he didn’t want to move too fast.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get you a towel, okay?” Steve said, and you caught the pink flush that suffused his cheeks before he swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out.

Averting your eyes for a moment, you couldn’t help but watch as he walked away, admiring his cute ass before he disappeared back inside the house. When he returned, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hands, you gave him a pointed look and he huffed a soft laugh, squeezing his eyes shut as he held the towel open for you, not peeking til you were covered.

“I don’t see what the big fuss is about, you’ve already seen all of me,” he teased, his warm voice drenched in playful sarcasm.

“And it was a very nice sight,” you purred, smirking at him and patting his cheek as you passed, bending to pick up your clothes. “Walk me home?” you asked, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly, and the two of you walked around to the front of your aunt’s house.

“Thanks for the pizza and the swim,” you murmured, stopping in front of the door.

“It was my pleasure,” Steve replied, stepping closer, his damp hair falling into his eyes before he pushed it away.

“You know you owe me a real date now, right?” you asked, wetting your lips, and Steve’s grin grew.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I think I can fit that into my schedule,” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss to his warm cheek, wanting to leave him wanting more. “Good night, Steve.”

“Good night,” he echoed softly, watching you disappear inside before finally heading back home, his stomach fluttering excitedly, the same as yours.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #fic: worth the squeeze #joz.fic

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