#listen Tommy is a mess and I will stand by this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lis-likes-fics · 1 year

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Dark, Dirty Secrets

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Original Male Character x Reader Word Count: 19.5k Warnings: NSFW, dark themes, domestic abuse, adultery, language, character death, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, praise kink, breeding kink, possessive speech, ect... A/N: I might get hate for doing this, idk, but I am going to purposefully leave out a couple of warnings because I don’t want to spoil the plots in this fic. When I say “dark themes” in the warnings, I mean dark themes. If you do not think you can handle it, please do not indulge. You have been warned. Thank you.

The morning light is warm on your naked back, but Tommy's hand is warmer as he sets his palm on your side, caressing the skin with his thumb. You smile, glancing at him over your shoulder as he reaches over for his case of cigarettes.

"How do you think the race'll go?" you ask.

Tommy picks a cigarette, rubbing it along his lips. He reaches for the light on the bedside table, coming up empty when you bring the flame to life yourself. He smiles and leans forward to let you light his cigarette, taking in the first puff before answering you. "Midsummer has been trained by the best of the best; she'll be great."

You slide your bra along your arms, fastening it tight around your chest with a sigh. "You don't think it's too soon?"

Smoke swirls around his head as he blows it out in one long stream, finally moving to sit up. "Nonsense," he sighs. "She's a natural born. She was made for the tracks." He leans over, pressing his nose into your neck before kissing you there. "Just like you were made for my bed."

A laugh bubbles out of you in response as you shoo him away. "Alright," you chuckle, smiling wide. Sorting through your pile of clothes, you raise a brow. "I'm surprised you didn't rip my clothes to hell."

He hums deeply, seemingly amused. "Me, too."

You pick your pantyhose from the mess and chuckle once as you shake your head. "Oh, nevermind then." You glance over your shoulder again, smirking devilishly at Tommy. "I guess now I have to walk around arse out."

He shrugs, raising a dark brow. "More for me, then."

"Ha ha," you mutter. You lean over to him, plucking his cigarette from between his pretty lips. Kissing him longer than you should, you push yourself to stand as you saunter over to his dresser. Tommy watches the way your hips sway as you walk away from him with his cigarette between your own lips now, stopping to pull open the top drawer where he has clothes of yours left over from so many occasions before.

You hear his footsteps as he stands, walking back over to you. He sets his hands on your sides, listening to your longing sigh as he drags them down slowly from your ribs, ending at your hips when your body jerks slightly and your sigh is interrupted by a short gasp.

"What?" he asks, brows furrowed at your strange reaction to his touch.

You shake your head, pulling a smile over your lips. You blow out some smoke. "Nothing."

He takes a step back, fixing his gaze on your hips deepening his furrowed brow when he sees a slight discoloration over the skin. It's the first time he's noticed it; when you came over last night, you were both too desperate and it was too dark to see.

"Where did this come from?" His voice is darker than it had been moments before, a dangerous edge that you know all too well.

"What?" you ask, still sifting through the drawer to find the clothes you are searching for.

His face is so close to yours, his lips are practically brushing your skin. "On your hips," he says, gently grasping you there again. Your hips jerk.

"You're not the only man who's rough in bed, Tommy Boy," you dismiss, smirking his way. You put the cigarette on the ashtray atop the dresser before pulling a new pair of your undergarments from the drawer and bending down to slip them over your legs again. As you're bent over like this, Tommy doesn't move, instead opting to enjoy the sight of your backside pressing into his own hips.

He's handsy as he caresses his palms along your back, sighing deeply at the feeling of your skin against his. "Well, tell Mr. Reddoch to stop bruising me goods."

You stand up straight again, pulling open another drawer where your thin white gowns are folded neatly beside his shirts. "First," you chuckle, "that would imply telling Henry about this." You reach back and run your hand through his dark hair. "Second, maybe you should stop bruising your goods. I've gotta cover this up now, else he murders me." You smooth your hand on your neck where he's marked you with his teeth, dark and purple and too obvious.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. "No one is murdering my girl on my watch."

You hum, a fond smile on your lips as he wraps his arms around your center and pulls your back closer to his chest. He ducks his head and kisses your neck, lips and tongue and teeth caressing your skin there and filling the pit of your stomach with warmth.

"Stop," you chuckle half-heartedly. "We have to go soon, and no one's leaving if you're pushing me against the wall again."

He does exactly that, shifting you over and encouraging you toward the wall with an urgency that swells in both your chests. He presses you against the cold surface, your body squished between it and him as his naked body traps your partially clothed one.

"I'm not arguing," he smiles, already bunching up the thin silk of your gown to pull down your pantyhose once more.

You laugh excitedly. "Tommy!"

The venue is already heavily populated when you arrive, stepping out of your car with your hat resting on your head. The tracks are full of people eager to watch the races as you make your way through the crowd.

Tommy, who drove his own car, comes up behind you with a hand on your lower back. It's innocent enough that no one cares as you walk to meet your people. Pushing through the attendees, you find them easily.

"There they are!" Arthur's raucous voice exclaims over the conversation swarming through the place. You smile at him, already holding your arms open to welcome the oldest Shelby brother.

"Hello, Arthur," you greet him, grunting when he hugs you a little too tight before letting you go. Esme and John are the last to join the group (though there's a whole other one already waiting at your seats), saying their own greetings.

You spot Henry and offer him a smile, stepping into his space as he welcomes you happily. "What did you girls talk about?" he asks, taking you in his arms as you stand so close to his chest that you might as well be stepping on his toes. He holds you like you're dancing, hand in hand, the other supporting you.

"Telling you would spoil the purpose of girl's night, wouldn't it?" you question, raising a brow.

He sighs, "Suppose you're right."

"'Course, I am," you smile. You lean forward slowly and kiss your husband, raising a hand to his cheek as the thin, golden band on your finger caresses his skin. His hand cradles the back of your head.

"Alright," Arthur interrupts, "you gonna snog all day and miss the race or are you gonna place your bets?"

You separate, laughing. "We're coming, we're coming," you assure him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Arthur."

He walks over, slapping his hand on either of your shoulders as he smiles wide. "My knickers are just fine," he announces.

Tommy pats his brother's back with a heavy palm as he comes up behind him. "Fine silk," he says. "Pretty and pink."

John steps up on his other side. "Only the best for a Shelby."

In high spirits, the boys laugh. When you turn to Henry again, his gaze is on your neck and you tilt your head.

"Where did that come from?" he asks, scooting in closer to speak privately to you. He's still got one of your hands intertwined with his.

"What?"

He brings his hand up, brushing the tips of his fingers over your neck. Your own hand follows as you take into account what he's talking about, offering a smile with as few nerves as you can manage. "You," you tell him, smiling gently. "Don't you remember?"

He raises a brow and shakes his head, "I didn't give you that." His hold on your hand tightens. You can feel the tingling in your fingertips but choose not to bring attention to it.

"It's probably just fuzzy," you say, stepping closer to rest your hand on his shoulder. You graze your fingertips along the back of his neck, right down the center as you smile. "You were drinking, it was late… and I was screaming."

Your suggestion darkens the look in his eyes for a different reason. His lips pull in a small smirk, and you consider yourself safe. "You were, weren't you?"

You nod gently, making sure he sees the way your eyes dart down to his lips, "'Course I was."

He pulls you in even closer, your bodies practically melded together. "Maybe you should remind me."

"Maybe I should," you agree.

He kisses you quickly. "Let's go, then, eh?"

You nod. "Give me a moment, yeah?"

"Don't keep me waiting," he says, his words almost a warning as he lets you go. You step out of his hold, walking over to Tommy with a sly grin.

He'd been watching you. It isn't hard to tell, it isn't as though he tried to hide it by looking away. He has no reason for shame.

"Be back soon," you say, stopping too close to him. "Don't send a search party."

He leans forward ever-so-slightly, raising a brow. "You're a whore," he says.

You know he's only teasing as you smile wide, laughing heartily. "I'm a wife," you correct softly. Sending him a wink and a playful kiss, you step back. "Don't wait up."

You turn on your heel to join Henry's side. He pulls you in, walking away with you as you feel Tommy's eyes burn holes into the back of your neck. Your skin is on fire only through the feeling of his eyes on you, and it's driving you insane.

As soon as a secluded corner presents itself, Henry shoves you into it with the urgency of a starving man. His lips are all over yours, a vicious attack of the skin as his hands grasp at flesh and blood. He's rough when he begins to paw at your clothes with one hand, eager to be rid of them as he tugs them down your body. His other hand gathers your wrists above your head and his hips press you against the wall as he holds you a little too tight.

You grab his bicep, pushing it back some as you speak breathlessly to him. "Wait, slow down," you urge "You're going to tear my dress."

He has little care for such things as he waves his hand dismissively. "I might as well. You don't need them."

"We're in public. I can't walk around with my arse out."

As if on cue, he reaches down and grabs a handful of the doughy flesh, kneading it in his palm as his fingers dig harshly into you. His grip on your wrists tighten, you feel your fingers tingling, burning at the sensation. It aches as he does so, and your hips jerk away from him. "Ow," you groan, clenching your teeth, "Henry, stop, you're hurting me."

He smirks wide, looking almost devilish as seems to grip your bottom harder. "I bet you love it, too," he huffs, his mouth sloppy against the skin of your exposed collarbone. He reaches down to bunch up the bottom of your dress, urging it up your legs as he exposes more and more of it.

"Henry, slow down," you bid, gasping when his teeth clamp down around your shoulder. You wriggle your hands free and push him away from you, shoving him back just enough to put some space between your bodies. You take a moment to breathe, but he doesn't give you long as he's already advancing toward you again.

"Come back here," he orders, though it's not mean. He says it as though you are playing a game as he smiles wide and mischievously, and somehow, that's much scarier than the former.

As he steps closer, you stutter backwards with an urgency in your eyes that deters him a moment. His playfulness is gone and his shoulders drop. He releases a breath and steps back.

"You don't want me."

And then the guilt sinks into your flesh and sticks to your bones like glue.

Guilt from this morning, your forbidden pleasures with Tommy, his claim on your neck, skin on skin on skin.

Henry's eyes are burdened with a sadness that aches and pulls the strings of your heart like the trigger of a gun.

You smile slowly, fixing your dress as you close the distance between the both of you by taking his face in your hands. "'Course I do." He looks away from you, not quite convinced, even as you stroke your thumb over his cheek. His hands reach up to grasp your wrists again, and you try not to wince at the feeling of his grip on your aching skin. You turn his face to look at you, shivering at the ice of his eyes.

You swallow thickly. "But the race is about to start," you place your hands on his chest, "so why don't we be quick and finish this later?" He watches you sink to your knees, slow but slightly shaking as you kneel before him.

His smile from before returns, as does the predatory gaze in his eyes. "Yeah," he nods slowly, a hand on your cheek. "Not too quick, though."

You breathe a half-hearted laugh and make quick work of his belt.

You dig in your purse to fish out your lipstick, smearing it carefully over your lips with the small mirror in your gloved palm. White lace travels up from your fingers to the middle of your arm, hiding the newly discolored bruises on your wrists. As you snap it closed and turn to see Henry, he looks satisfied and you relax.

You walk over to him, fixing his disheveled hair with deft fingers. He watches you with a smile, brushing his fingers along your hairline and down to your chin. You smile at the tenderness and lean forward to kiss him, eager for his softer touch for as long as you have it.

But as you lean forward, he leans back. "We'll be late," he says, wiping his hands down the front of his expensive suit and walking away. You watch him go, your heart heavy and your throat hot.

You follow him back to the group, finding them quickly as you take your seat between him and Tommy, cigarette between his lips. You sit down silently, your back too straight and your chest tight.

When you feel Tommy's fingers brush your hand, you look over at him. He's got a smile on his face, it's small and teasing but it makes you feel just a little lighter.

"Looking a little flustered, love," he remarks, his cigarette pinched between his fingers.

He expects a smart reply, accustomed to quick wit and far too much sass for one woman. But all he gets is a tiny, "Yeah."

Tommy frowns and whispers your name. You look at him and you see it, the care he insists isn't there. You smile at him, brushing your fingers against his hand. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Promise."

He leans in, eyes narrowed in challenge as smoke bellows from his lips. "You're a dirty liar," he mutters into your ear, motioning toward you with the burning end of his cigarette.

Your smile turns a smirk as you take it from him, the slyness he's used to sinking back in at his words. "I have to be with you." You wink and blow a stream of smoke into the air. Your gaze lingers for just a moment longer than it should before you're turning your attention to the tracks, giving his cigarette back.

Tommy watches you a few seconds more before following suit, relaxing just a bit now that he knows you're okay.

Glass clinks against glass, surrounded by cheers and shouts of celebration of Midsummer's victory. Most of the celebration is packed into one of the smaller rooms, trays of glasses and mugs littering the large table as everyone takes what they want.

"And you doubted her," Tommy tuts as he takes a sip from his glass.

You roll your eyes and laugh, "I would never doubt that beautiful beast. She was made for the tracks." You pat your husband's chest next to you.

"As I said," Tommy nods.

Henry raises his glass to him, "You sure know how to pick 'em, Tom."

"It's in me blood."

Polly comes through with her glass in hand, waving them aside. "Away with you, boy," she orders. "Go and drink and celebrate."

Arthur raises his glass as she comes to stand by him, hand on his chest to push him back. "We are celebrating, Pol. We'll be celebrating all night!"

Shouts rose from the pub in response to that, agreeing whole-heartedly with him. The only people not exclaiming their cheers are you and Henry, distracted and lip-locked as you sit on his lap.

Ada's hand grasps your arm as she pulls you off of him, rolling her eyes in slight disgust of the public display. "Hey!" you exclaim giddily.

Polly's on her side, still talking to the boys. "Yeah, well, go do it somewhere else. It's girls' time now."

John groans loudly, throwing his head back lazily over the seat. "Why is it always girls' time?" he complains, allowing Esme to pull him up and shove him into his brothers. "What are they hiding from us, you think?" he asks them.

Esme, with her hands on his chest, smiles, "Dark, dirty secrets that'll run your mind to mush." She kisses him quick. "Now off with you lot."

"Alright, fine! Don't drink all the good stuff," Arthur complies, already reaching for another glass before he turns to leave as Polly and Ada continue to usher them out.

You laugh and your eyes find Tommy's, watching you too fondly. "It's no fun otherwise," you wink. They close the doors loudly behind themselves, leaving the four of you alone to gossip.

As soon as Polly is sure no prying ears are listening in, she smiles. "So," she begins, leaning back in her seat with a cigarette between her fingers, "how are the husbands?"

Esme scoffs, although not unkindly. "Cunt drunk." You scoff as well, agreeing whole-heartedly.

Ada laughs. "Oh, we saw plenty of that."

Polly just smiles and nods once, "Good girls, then." She blows out some smoke slowly through puckered lips.

You shrug, turning back to Ada. "Polly said to keep their bellies full and their balls empty." You smile slyly, bringing your glass to your lips. "Who am I to refuse?"

Ada raises her brows playfully, motioning toward you with her drink. "You're a dirty whore, is what you are."

You mirror her expression, though you feign surprise as you sit up a little straighter. "Then I should start charging," you tease.

"A girl like you?" Esme looks you up and down, smirking just as much as you. "You'd make good money."

You chuckle, leaning back to cross your legs. "Oh, then I should definitely start charging."

They laugh with you, reveling in the smoke and liquor in the air. Esme's expression sobers a little as she turns to you again. "How's your husband, love? Still givin' you trouble?"

You lean forward again, uncrossing your legs and taking a small sip of your drink again. "Oh, he's fine," you say.

Polly stands, walking over to you in the small space. "I don't normally call this–" she pokes your side, right over your bruised hip with little tenderness, "–fine."

These three are the only ones who know about your relationship with your husband, not even Tommy knows, his best man at your wedding and your closest friend. You would tell the boys, but they would likely try to kill Henry—you've been a Shelby friend for a very long time, long before they ever even heard of Henry Reddoch. Arthur, John, and Ada are practically your siblings.

But the relationship you have with Tommy has never been familial.

You look at her, face fallen and slightly annoyed. "Ow." She raises a brow, a silent question as to whether or not you think she cares if her poking you hurt. You run a hand along your side absent-mindedly before grabbing your cup for another drink. "He's just rough, is all," you defend calmly. You look up at her with a smirk, "And I'm good at what I do."

Polly's fingers shift hair from your face and neck. "And, yet," she says, "all Tommy does is this." She reveals the mark left on your skin from this morning.

You raise your brow this time, challenging her just a tad, "How do you know that was him and not my husband?"

She breathes a humorless laugh at your foolish challenge and grabs your hand. "Because your husband does this," Polly says, pulling your glove off your hand and showing you the bruising of your wrist—as if you hadn't known it was there.

You snatch your hand from hers, replacing the glove and shaking your head lightly. "I can handle my husband." You look at her, completely serious. "Let me handle him."

"Oh, you'll handle him alright," Ada mumbles. She takes another sip of her glass.

Esme follows suit. "Then you'll come back round here with another bruise, this time around your neck."

You sigh and shake your head, tilting your head and tapping your finger against the smooth wood of the table. "It's just the war," you say, lamenting the time before all of this. The time your husband was softer, gentler. Yes, it has been a while.

You'd been married to Henry for nearly a year before he was sent off the war with Tommy and the rest of the boys. They were so different back then, kinder, lighter, happier. They were gone for so long, and when they returned, the part of them that you had cherished for their tenderness was gone. But no one lost more warmth than Henry—even Tommy, with his eyes of ice and heart of stone. Henry came back, but some of his soul had never returned: the smile that was a little bit bigger, the laugh that was a little bit fuller, the hands that were a little bit softer.

He loves you, and you love him…but the limits of where that love is sometimes feel constricting.

You breathe in deep, feigning your smile. "It changes men."

Esme sighs, muttering under her breath but unafraid to voice her feelings. "Me husband went to war, but he doesn't bruise me like a peach."

You scoff. You know they mean well, but, quite frankly, you're tired of hearing it. "We're married, we're kind of together ''til death do us part' and all that."

Polly waves her hand. "It'll always be the war." She leans in closer, raising a brow as she urges you to listen. "Doesn't mean you have to keep fighting it."

You take her in, the way she watches you. "Stop worrying," you say after a moment, looking around the table at everyone. "I'll be fine."

Ada sighs deeply, sitting back and taking a drink from her glass. "You act like a Shelby."

"You might marry one and make it official," Polly adds.

You laugh lightly. "And now she's trying to marry me off to her nephew."

Polly's hard gaze is back on you, unapologetic and hardly leaving room for argument. "Either way," her words are firm, almost prophetic, as most of them are, "this thing you've got goin', it won't last. One day…it'll turn to blood in your mouth."

You stare at her, and you almost shiver at the ice running down your spine. There's a shock to what she says, and you have half a mind, not only to heed her words, but to fear them.

Still, you steel your nerves and offer a small smile, a pitiful reassurance of well-being. "I'll take care of it, Pol." You straighten your back. "I'm a Blinder, same as you. No one fucks with the Peaky Blinders."

She scoots closer, speaking closely to you as though what she says is a secret. She never blinks as she speaks to you, never wavers. She just stares you dead in the eyes as she warns, "He's a Blinder, too, sweetheart. Don't forget that."

You grant her a sober look, a silent confirmation that you hear and understand her. "I've got it, Polly." She examines you quickly before leaning back again, tilting her chin up as she nods and hums.

"In the meantime," Esme breaks the tension, "this is meant to be a celebration."

Ada nods, a smile returning to her face as she grabs her glass. "Right," she says, a new chipper in her tone. "To Midsummer, the beautiful beast of burden."

You grab your glass, a new grin on your lips. "I'll drink to that."

The glasses clink loudly in the air as you raise a simple toast to the horse you named with Tommy. Just as you're bringing the cup to your lips, Polly snatches it from you and sets it on the table.

You roll your eyes and groan, "What now?" She hardly gives you time to process, and even less time to actually finish your two-word sentence before her hand is clasping over your breast, groping you suddenly in her palm.

"What the hell?" you exclaim, moving away from her to no avail.

She looks up at you, furrowing her brows and finally letting go of you tit. "How late are you?"

You shrug, "A few days?"

"How many is a few?" She raises a brow.

You think for half a second. "Maybe a week," you confess. "But I'm never regular, what does it matter?"

Polly moves her hand to your belly, "Matters a lot." She sits back, staring you down with an intensity you find is common in her eyes.

"You're having a baby."

"What?"

"Polly, you're serious?" Ada questions.

She shrugs, "No reason to lie."

You pale, your mouth gaping like a fish as you try to process her words. "I'm…" You shake your head. "I'm pregnant?"

"Quite."

Your eyes are glued to the table, refusing to look at anyone until you've processed enough.

"Is it a Shelby baby?"

"Esme!" Your eyes shoot up to her, staring her down at her blunt question.

She's got no shame, raising her brow and shrugging. "Am I wrong?"

You turn your focus to Polly. "If this baby comes out like Tommy, there will be trouble," you say, urgent and scared and excited.

Polly presses her hand into your belly, feeling around for something as she closes her eyes to focus. The way she looks at you when she opens her eyes again, her face a mix of pride and wariness.

"You'd better clean your guns then."

Ada tilts her head, "Pol."

She announces it without regret. "It's a Shelby boy."

Your head feels cloudy, and the world is spinning slowly. You are suddenly aware of every breath passing through your lungs, every beat of your heart in your chest and pulse in your veins.

"I'm…" your breath shudders and you look at Polly. "I'm having a Shelby baby?"

Ada smiles wide, chuckling slightly, "I honestly don't know whether to hug you or feel sorry for ya."

Reaching for your glass, Esme tilts her head. "Did ya ever want kids?"

You shrug, watching her take your drink and pour it into her own. "When the boys left for war, I put the idea away," you admit.

Ada leans forward. "And now?"

You take a deep breath, looking at her. "And now…" you shake your head, "I'm pregnant, and the baby isn't my husband's."

Esme bobs her brows, bringing her glass to her lips. "You're the fucking his best man."

You turn your gaze on her, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. "Thank you, Esme."

She just shrugs. Am I wrong?

"Alright, boys," Ada announces, setting her glass on the bar. "I think it's time for us to go home."

It's been hours and the party is still in full swing, but that's mostly because the Shelby's are here and in high spirits.

Arthur disagrees, groaning as he holds his arms open in protest. "Oh, come on! The night's only just begun." The men agree.

Ada laughs. "Well, one of you boys is gonna have to take me and Pol home. Who's it gonna be?"

Esme steps into her husband's space, her voice low but not quiet. She intertwines their hands and tilts her head at him. "And you and I, John, have to make sure the kids have been out to bed."

John smirks slowly, looking up at Arthur with lazy eyes. "On second thought, Arthur," he chuckles, "it is a good time to go home."

Arthur sulks a little, but not unplayfully. Tommy just shakes his head with a poorly concealed grin as he walks over to his sister next to you. "I'll take you home, Ada," he says.

"And I've got ya, Pol," Arthur agrees, accepting defeat.

Polly glances at you and Ada, smiling. "Such gentlemen, these two," she teases, already headed for Arthur.

"Come now, Henry," you turn to your husband. "Off we go."

He breathes a laugh, patting your hands on his chest. "If you insist."

You smile and walk toward John, who gives you a hug before he's leaving with Esme. Arthur wraps you up in a hug and lifts you off the floor just a slight. "Good night," he says. You repeat it back to him.

When you head toward Tommy, his arms are already opening to welcome you into a hug. His hug is tight and warm. It wraps around you like Arthur's but holds an intimacy you quickly become addicted to. It lasts a second too long before Tommy breaks it with a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Get home safe," he says, only glancing at Henry for a moment to convince him he's talking to the both of you.

You nod gently at him, staring at him too long. You wonder briefly if your baby will share his eyes. "You, as well, Tom Boy." You pat his chest and turn to Henry.

"Come on, husband," you smile at him, joining his side with an arm tucked behind his back. Henry starts walking you out the door as you wave behind you at everyone.

The night is dark as Henry helps you into the car, closing your door tightly before rounding to the other side to get in. It's as he's driving away that he speaks again, a hint of indignation in his tone diluted well with teasing. "I swear, sometimes the two of you don't feel like friends."

It feels like the tiny hairs along your arms prick at your skin then as you shrug and decide to play dumb. "Who?"

"You and Tommy," he glances at you.

You smile at him, offering a fond look as you take in the side of his face. For a moment, for a half of a second, you don't feel the bloom of affection you've grown accustomed to with your husband. For a half of a second, your mouth sours and your heart palpitates worriedly. You just brush it off and smile.

"Nonsense," you say as affectionately as you can. "If we weren't friends, what would we be?"

Henry shrugs heavily, his feigned teasing fading slightly into something more bitter. "I dunno," he sighs. "I just know I don't like it much."

You swallow thickly, turning from him again and staring out of the windshield. You sigh gently, brushing a hand over your belly and feeling your chest swell with fondness and anxiety.

"Don't worry, Henry, darling," you bid gently, hardly believing your own words as they leave your mouth, "no one's replacing you."

It's late as the lot of you pile into the theatre, big and bright and expensive. There's an opera tonight that you all have tickets to—Tommy wanted to spoil everyone and decided an opera was well-deserved.

When you take your seats, once again squished between Henry and Tommy, it only lasts a half hour before Tommy is standing and brushing past your row for a smoke. Without any way to make it less suspicious, you simply stand and walk off as well, following him away. Turning at the door to look over your shoulder, Henry hasn't even glanced your way.

The both of you walk out of the auditorium and through the halls where some patrons are still lingering about. As you step outside, the first thing you do is push him into the dark cover of night where you couldn't be seen by wandering eyes.

Tommy smirks, his chin tilted up as he looks down at you. "Isn't this a little suspicious?"

You shrug, placing your hands on his chest and sliding them up to cradle his neck. "He won't even notice I'm gone."

Without another word, you bring him down to your lips, eager to taste him again after not being able to for the past few days. Tommy is just as desperate at you, holding the back of your head and grasping your side as he backs you into the wall. No words are exchanged between the two of you. It's nothing but breath and stray moans as you devour one another.

By the time you pull away from him, you're breathless and warm and wanting. You smile, stroking a finger from cheek to chin. "I missed ya, Tommy."

He stares at you, his blue eyes piercing. When you don't look away, never wavering or blinking or fluttering, he smiles. You're one of the few people who can stand his intensity, and it warms his self-proclaimed dead heart.

"Aye," he breathes. He kisses you again before letting you go, pulling a cigarette from the inside of his coat. He drags it along his lips before setting it between them. You fish your lighter from your purse, flicking it to life and holding it under the end.

He puffs it a couple of times before he's offering it to you, knowing you would probably take it in a moment anyway. You turn it down, leaning against the wall and watching him. Neither of you speak, but the way he looks at you is so close to the way you look at him that you don't suppose either of you have to.

After a moment, he tilts his head. "What's on your mind, love?"

You mirror his tilt, "Nothing."

"Go on," he says, not believing you. "Tell me."

You shake your head with a gentle laugh, shrugging once. "Nothing serious, just a thought," you tell him. You glance down at your shoes. "What if I decided to have a kid?"

He lifts his brows, breathing in as he turns to face the street. "Finally giving Henry a child, eh?"

You breathe in deep, turning away as well. "Well, he is my husband, isn't he?"

That's right. He is your husband. So why isn't the baby his?

"What brought this on?" he asks, blowing out a smoky breath.

You toy with your fingers, brushing them over your belly tentatively. Your mind wanders briefly to earlier that evening, getting ready in front of the mirror and seeing the slight bump of your belly where your baby was growing. It stole your breath away. The only thing you wanted to do was run and tell Tommy, but now that you have the opportunity, you're suddenly worried.

You shrug and lie quickly, "All of John and Esme's, babysitting Karl when Ada's busy. Who knows, maybe the maternal instincts are finally kickin' in."

He hums. "You talked to Henry about it?" He says it almost expectantly, as if you have ever told Henry something before him.

"Eventually," you sigh. "He doesn't observe like you do, I suppose."

There's a moment of hesitance, an uncomfortable silence between the both of you as he thinks. "Well," he takes one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the damp ground and stamping it out, "I wish you and your hypothetical child luck."

He turns to you, offering his hand. "Until then, we should go back inside before they're missing us and await our next appointment," you take his hand, "Mrs. Reddoch."

You don't like the way he says it. It's as if he's reminding you that you have a husband you vowed your loyalty to. As if he isn't the man you've broken that vow with a hundred times over.

And not once have you regretted a single moment, but the guilt runs deep sometimes and his words do not comfort you.

Still, you pull a smile on and slip your hand into his elbow. "I'd be happy to oblige," you sigh. "Lead the way, Mr. Shelby."

He walks you back to the auditorium and down the few steps to your row where Henry looks up to see the both of you. You take your seats and offer a reassuring smile before turning your attention back to the stage where a ballroom dance is in full swing as a smooth tenor belts a romantic declaration.

Tommy's arm brushes yours on the armrest, and you glance at him. He doesn't look back, but you can see the tiny curve of his lips. You curl your pinky with his, turned away.

But then you feel Henry's hand on yours. You look at him fully, his gaze still fixated on the stage. You look down at his hand covering yours softly and smile, flipping your hand to hold his, intertwining your fingers. Removing your hand from Tommy's, you lean toward Henry as you rest your head on his shoulder. He smiles, glancing down at you and leaning his head on yours in return.

Tommy's grin is gone and his eyes are trained on the stage. He shouldn't be upset; Henry is your husband and you're considering starting a family with him. But with how long you've been Tommy's, how intimate the two of you have been again and again, he feels he has the right to be upset, even if that right is limited.

He doesn't look at you for the rest of the play, but you don't seem to notice. You nestle up to Henry the whole time, content.

When the play ends and everyone goes their separate ways, Tommy's goodbye is short. You wave to him as he walks out the door, but it's all you can do.

Henry takes you home, affectionate and loving and kind the whole time.

When you get there, he carries you up the stairs in his arms and lays you on the bed. He kisses you and strokes you and contains a softness you hadn't felt from him in a while.

But when he's rutting inside of you, the softness has completely dissipated and he becomes the desperate, rabid beast you're used to. He rips your clothes and grips you tightly, he sinks teeth into flesh and holds you down so you can hardly move.

You clench your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he gives it and wishing he would return to the kindness he'd just offered you. His hand wraps around your throat and he squeezes.

When he's asleep beside you, a hand across your front as you stare up at the ceiling with damp eyes, you find yourself wishing for your best friend. You find yourself wishing to be in his bed, in his arms, with his baby in your belly.

But that won't happen—at least, not tonight. You look over at Henry's sleeping face (which still does not hold the warmth it once had before the war) and sigh, turning your body to face him as you try to cuddle close without waking him.

You close your eyes, inhaling his scent and wishing it was Tommy's, and lull yourself to sleep.

The next few days are confusing. When you're not working at the office, you're with the girls or Tommy or Henry.

Tommy's been sort of strange lately, dismissive one day and happy to be with you the next. Henry is as complicated as he always is, soft and caring one moment, rough and demanding the next.

You've spent your alone time trying to figure out how to tell them both about the baby growing inside of you.

You thought today would be the day.

The sun is shining and the breeze blowing in the wind is gentle and undisturbed. Debutante, your Morgan horse, walks slowly, the clip-clops of her hooves muffled by fields of grass next to Chance, Tommy's French Trotter.

Holding onto the reins as you ride front saddle—as you often refuse to ride side—you smile at Tommy.

Conversation has been scarce since you invited Tommy out for a ride. You missed him. You want to spend time with him, and you know this is one way he won't refuse.

"It's a wonderful day," you try, raising your brows with a smile as you tease him about the lack of conversation.

It takes him a moment to respond, but he does. "Yes, it is," he says.

You absent-mindedly pet Debbie behind her ear. "Was looking forward to it."

He sighs, glancing over at you with half a teasing expression. "Why? Are you looking for a quick fuck?"

You chuckle, although not comfortably. You feel like he's holding back from you and it's making you anxious. "Maybe," you kid. When he doesn't show any sign of amusement, you take it back. "Tommy, I'm joking. I just enjoy our time together, is all."

He practically cuts off the end of your sentence when he speaks again, his jaw slightly clenched and his eyes cold. "Do you love your husband?"

You blink, forcing a breath out of your lungs that sounds like a laugh as you shake your head. Pulling on the reins just enough, your horse stops. "What?" When he doesn't respond, although he eases his own horse to stop as well, you glance down at your hands and then back up at him. "He's my husband."

"That doesn't answer me question," he replies.

You steel your nerves and clear your throat, glancing up at him, though your eyes stop at his collar. "Of course I do."

He raises a brow. "Then why are you here with me?"

You are frustrated now, abandoning all attempts at dissolving the tension. "Maybe because I like being with the infamous Tommy Shelby." The sarcasm in your tone is not hidden, and you nearly find yourself speaking through clenched teeth.

"More than you like being with your own husband?" he inquires.

You're sick of him and you're going to push him off his horse. Not meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. "I don't know what you mean."

He nearly rolls his eyes. He knows you, and he knows that you know exactly what he means. You're a dirty liar, and he knows it all.

"Shouldn't you be spending time with him?" he clarifies. "Or did you just want to fuck again?"

The look you give him is not as offended as it is entirely unbelieving. You run your tongue along your teeth, scoffing through your scowl. You turn away and bid Debutante to walk. "Tommy," you offer an olive branch, a chance for him to step down, "you're acting strange."

He follows after you as he continues his verbal attack. You wish he hadn't—your fists are aching to make contact with his jaw. The distance the horses give you is the only thing preventing you from such violence.

Although you know you would never actually hit him, you don't have it in you. But what you won't do in physicality, you will do in words if he does not let up.

"Do you want him?"

It sounds like an accusation and you grit your teeth. "He's my husband," you repeat, almost sounding like a broken record. You sense Tommy's words before he says them and revise your response. "Of course I want him."

He hums, "I'd argue if you wanted him, you'd be with him right now."

You guide your horse to stop in front of his own, blocking his path at a cross and staring him down with wide eyes. "Careful, Thomas," you warn. "Someone might think you're jealous."

His face doesn't betray emotion and it's infuriating. You can always read him, always…but right now, you're finding that hard to do.

"I've no reason to be jealous," he says after a beat too long. It's a blow to your heart, and you don't know why.

"Oh, really?" you seethe. "You're not upset you've gotta share me with another man?"

He shifts his head to the side, and a hint of the frustration he's feeling seeps into his face for half a second. "Careful," he says, an echo of your own words before, "someone might think you just enjoy being a skank."

The look that crosses your face is something deeper than a scowl. With wide eyes and a mouth agape, you glare this man down with all the bitterness in your soul. It is silent for a while as you both process his words. When you break that silence, it's with a voice low and dangerous, teetering on the edge of murderous.

"What the fuck…did you just say to me?"

He's too proud to take it back, lifting his chin and staring you down like you are small compared to him. "Don't you?" he continues. "You'd rather stay with that bastard and fuck me on the side. Have him wonder where all those marks on your neck are coming from, eh?" He motions toward your neck, where you've got a scarf tied securely around to hide the bite marks in your skin from Henry's excitement.

You shake your head, your breath and heartbeat fast and unsteady. "Shut up, Thomas."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes," you urge. "As a matter of fact, you are." When he doesn't speak, you take it as your chance to add on. You take control of the reins, taking the few extra steps to sit next to him, completely facing him down as you fume.

"Maybe I'm here spending time with you because it's something I actually enjoy." you hiss, jabbing your finger into his chest before leaning back again with a sneer as you lick your bottom lip. "But, of course," you scoff, "that's hard to believe, seeing as you're Thomas fucking Shelby. Biggest arsehole in England."

He shakes his head. "No," he mutters. "Don't get angry with me because I reminded you of your husband's existence."

You burst. "D'you ever think I'm fucking angry because you called me a fucking skank, Peaky bastard?"

He shrugs, "I wouldn't have to call you one if you had thought about being loyal."

You hate him. You fucking hate him. His expressions are nearly too emotionless to read, his tone doesn't match yours as you shout in your frustration. He is way too calm as he insults you time and time again, taking your argument like it's nothing, as if he isn't fazed in the slightest. It kills you, and you hate him.

You grit your teeth and try to calm yourself, clenching and unclenching your fists as you attempt to bring your voice down to no avail. "Might I remind you, you're the one I'm fucking behind my husband's back. If you didn't enjoy us, just fucking tell me instead of using your fancy language to insult me!"

By the end of your words, you're shouting and your voice breaks. You hate it, you hate him.

He raises a finger at you and betrays the first clear emotion you've seen on his face since the fight began. Rage.

"Don't you think for one moment I didn't enjoy us."

You groan so loud, it might as well be characterized as a scream with the way it tears at your throat. You slap your hand down on your thigh, wishing you were in a room with a hard surface that you could use instead of being mounted on a horse and too concerned with hurting her to properly portray your rage. "You're fucking ridiculous! You don't make any bloody sense, Thomas." You force a breath from your lungs and look him dead in the eyes. "Do you want me or not?"

He doesn't answer your question, and you hate him. "And what about your husband?"

You practically spit the words. "Fuck my husband."

"Fuck your husband?"

"Fuck him."

"So you don't love him." He states it as fact, and you hate him.

You pull back from him. There's nothing you could do or say that could properly portray the anger and frustration and betrayal you feel in this moment and you give up. You're not going to compromise anymore, you've just given up.

"You know what?" You let it spill. "Fuck you, Thomas." You let it all out. "I'm not going to waste anymore of my time arguing with you over… I don't even fucking know what we're arguing about. I wanted to spend time with you, and you decided to shame me for wanting you." You look up to try and blink away your tears but quickly decide you don't care. If they fall, they fall, and you're just lucky enough that they linger in your eyes a little longer. "God, I thought you were fucking different." You sniff and shake your head. "But you're just some fucking Peaky bastard."

He raises his brows, pointing at himself. "I'm a Peaky bastard?" Just like you, he lays it all out on the line, and he doesn't care if it hurts. He's cruel and uncaring and his voice is too level and too quietly enraged for any of the words he unleashes upon you.

"You've got no loyalty, no fucking self respect." His voice is low and rough. "You're a dirty whore and a goddamn liar, and you can shove all that love and want up your arse. You're nothing but a pathetic slut begging for attention."

It's completely silent. Neither of you speak, neither of you look away from the other. His eyes are wide with anger and his lips are pressed in a thin line. Yours are wide with shock, mouth ajar and trembling.

Your heart is unsteady in your chest, pounding quickly and roughly against your ribcage. After staring too long, you look down at your shaking hands, unable to hold his eye contact any longer as the tears blurring your vision finally spill down your cheeks. You swallow thickly, closing your lips and licking the salty tears off of them quickly.

There's a curling feeling in your chest that grows worse and worse with each passing second you spend under his scrutinizing gaze, and you brush your hand over your stomach as the feelings get even worse. You shake your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you breath out a slow, trembling breath.

When you speak, your voice is tremulous, broken up by tears and breath. You don't look at his face to see the layers of aggression peeling back at the sight of you so shattered.

"...I need space."

You linger for half a second before tutting gently to Debutante. She starts moving, taking off in a sprint at your command. Tommy turns to watch you leave, but he doesn't move, he doesn't call after you, he just lets you go. He lets you leave him behind.

And he hates it.

Clouds have gathered in the darkened sky by the time you get home, hours after your fallout with Tommy which you spent crying and trying to get a hold of yourself.

It was a lot to process: the insults, the betrayal, the anger, the sorrow, the rejection of you and your unborn son. Too much.

You unlock the front door of your house just as the first drops of rain begin to sprinkle down. "Henry?" you call, closing and locking the door behind you with a sigh. "Love, I'm home."

You hear his footsteps through the house and plaster a smile on your face to see him. You meet him halfway, walking into the living room and stopping when you see his fallen face.

"Where have you been?" he inquires. His arms are crossed over his chest and his stance is wide. He's undone his tie as it lays lazily across his shoulders. His hair is tousled just enough to notice, as though he'd run his hands through it a couple of times.

You straighten your spine and clasp your hands together in front of you. "I was just out with Thomas—Tommy."

He turns his head away, clenching his jaw and nodding. "Tommy," he repeats stiffly. He looks back at you. "You're always out with Tommy."

You nod once, slowly. "I am," you agree. You look away and then back at him, struggling to meet his gaze from the uncertainty of your own words. "He's… He's my best mate, of course I am."

He hums, his jaw ticking. "You don't think maybe your husband is supposed to be the one you're always with?"

You tilt your head, eyes darting unsteadily. "Am I not allowed to have friends?"

He takes a step toward you and you're consumed by gooseflesh. "I don't like how he looks at you."

You're defensive now, but it's less in defense of Tommy and your broken relationship and more of your wavering honor which has been violated enough today.

"What are you talking about? It's Tommy, he looks at me like a person should."

He raises his brows, not believing you. "And the way he touches you?"

You swallow, taking a breath before you can lose your posture again. You stand up a little straighter again, your gaze stuck on his shoes to avoid his cold gaze. "He's just a friend."

He shakes his head, frustrated and spent. "Stop lying to me."

You shake your own head, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "I'm not lying. He's Tommy. He's just Thomas."

He walks closer and you tense every muscle on your body to keep from flinching as he wags his finger at you. "Then you need to remind him of that because the way you are with him, the way he is with you…nothing about that is friendly."

"Henry." You step forward, taking his face in your hands and massaging your thumbs over his cheeks. You linger there for a moment, smiling, though you can smell the lingering alcohol on his breath. "Henry, there is only you. It's just you."

You hope he believes you and you pray he leaves it alone because, if not, you're afraid of how he would react. You're afraid.

He grabs your wrist and you flinch, though he does not hurt you. Pulling your hands away, he leans forward. "Then you are not to see him anymore, not without me there."

You put your hands down and take a tiny step back. "Henry…"

"I'm not the jealous type," he continues, "but what's mine is fucking mine. Tommy can't have fucking everything!"

You flinch when he shouts, stepping away from him uneasily. You steady yourself again and shake your head, daring to look at him. "Henry," you're quiet, "you can't just say I can't see him anymore."

"Yes, I can," he says, his eyes wide and wild and terrifying. "I am your husband, you are my wife. You belong to me." His tone is becoming harsh and you're afraid.

You try to remain firm, but you're afraid. "I don't belong to anyone–"

It is your fault, you admit. You should not have spoken back to him like that, it was bound to provoke him. But you did, and you pay the consequences as he steps forward and takes a hold of your wrist. You wince and you whimper when he squeezes it in a vice grip, paralyzing.

"You're mine," he growls.

You can't stop the flow of tears on your face as the overwhelming emotions from before stack onto the ones you're feeling now. It's too much, you crumble.

"You're hurting me," you mewl.

He's terrifying, glaring and bruising you. He brings down his voice, but it's no less cutting as he snarls. "Are you fucking Thomas Shelby?"

You pale, "No, Henry."

He jerks you. "Swear it."

"I swear!"

He watches you, and you watch the anger worsen into a violent rage. "You lying whore!" He lets go of you roughly, and you hold your wrist in your hand.

He circles, jabbing his finger in your direction. "I should have known," he rages. "From the fucking beginning, I should have known."

Your voice is weak, tired from yelling all day and crying even more recently. You stare at your shoes. "I swear, Henry, we've never done anything."

He swings around, delivering a harsh slap to your cheek which jerks you to the side and trips you up. You fall, catching yourself on your knees. You're unsurprised, and all you do is hold your cheek.

He stands over you, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around to face him. He's livid and you're terrified, but you're unsurprised. He points at you again, making sure he's clearly heard.

"You are not allowed to see him anymore," he commands, his voice menacing. "I own you. Don't you ever forget that."

It's silent, and you stare at him with blurry tears in your eyes. "Henry, husband, please..." You swallow thickly. "I love you.

He shakes his head, "Shut your whore mouth. Don't you sit there and lie to me."

He reaches down and pulls you close to his face by the front of your shirt. He hoists you to your feet and you panic, in fear of what he will do.

"Wait! Henry, I'm pregnant!"

He lets go of you, stumbling backward. You stand on your feet, staying still for fear that he would still attack at any sudden movement.

He stares at you, his eyes wide with shock. You can't read anything past that and it scares you to death. It's so silent, you can now clearly make out the storm outside the house, thundering and pouring against the roof and windows.

"What?" It's the softest you'd heard him all night.

You sigh and splay your hand out over your abdomen. "I'm pregnant," you repeat, straining to smile. "Polly told me. I was trying to tell you, but I was so worried. I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry."

Henry stares at your face, then down to your hands. He swallows hard, walking back again. Then he shakes his head, staring at the floor. "No."

You blink. "What?"

He shakes his head again. "No. That's not…" He scoffs, raising a finger but dropping it, "You're not…"

You furrow your brows. "I'm pregnant," you say. You take a step forward, he takes one back. "You're going to be a father." He doesn't speak and you advance with slow steps. Your hands are shaking as you reach for his face, but you do it anyway. It takes a moment to make contact with him, and when you do, your hands jump.

You look him in the eyes. "Don't you want that?"

He stares at you, and for a moment you think maybe. Maybe there's hope. Maybe things would change. Maybe.

But then he shakes his head. "No."

Your breath hitches and shakes, "What?"

He grabs your wrists and jerks them away from him, and you wince again. He walks away, his back turned to you as he shakes his head again, leaning over the couch. "I don't want children."

You're past breathless. "Why… Why not? You don't want a baby with me?"

He turns to you, pointing and shaking his head, frantic. "I can't, I don't–"

"If you're scared, it's okay. It's okay, we'll get through it together."

He cuts you off, "I don't want a child!" He huffs, running a hand down his face. "This… That is not mine." He points at your stomach.

Your lips part and you huff. Your eyes burn. "But…" you mumble, "you married me. You said you wanted a family with me, you wanted to raise our children." Your jaw trembles and you're sick of crying.

He turns to you, his eyes hard. He's yelling again. "That was before the war. Things change. That child, that thing in your body, I don't want it."

You gape at him, your distress turning to rage. "What the fuck do you mean you don't want it?" You step forward and, in your frustration, you shove him back. "He's ours! Our son, our boy!"

He doesn't argue back, he turns and heads toward the small table in the living room where the telephone sat.

"What are you doing?"

"We're getting rid of it," he says flatly, his tone final. But you are not.

"The fuck we are!"

He turns on you quickly. He shouts louder than the crack of thunder outside and you jump. "You are not having that child! I will not have it."

You clench your fists. "How dare you?" you spit.

You step forward just to confront him again, but he's not going to take it. As soon as you step close to him, he shoves you back so hard, you fall to the ground and feel as though you've skinned your elbow trying to catch yourself.

His anger is explosive, as it always has been. His commands echo around the walls and vibrate in your bones. His hair is a mess, thrown all out of sorts with his sporadic movements.

"You will do as I fucking say! That child—yours, mine, Tommy fucking Shelby's—you are not having it. You belong to me, and I say what you can and cannot do." He kneels down in front of you, and you stare with wide eyes of fear and anger. He lowers his voice, back down to a menacing growl as he puts his face so close to yours, you can feel his breath on your cheeks as he speaks. He grips the front of your dress again, pulling you closer still. "How fucking dare you come into my house and try to put your hands on me?"

You're done yelling. You're done fighting. This is your baby, your son, and you will decide whether or not you keep him. He won't take it away, he can't.

"I hate you," you say. Your voice is so quiet, raspy from all the yelling and broken from the crying.

He lets go of you, standing up and looking down on you. "You never loved me."

You shake your head. "I did once… when you were kind." You lament the man you knew, but know that he is gone and he is never coming back.

He shakes his head, raising his brows. "You never loved me." His voice cracks at the end, but you refuse to feel guilty. You're done.

"You're a beast."

He licks his lips, tilting his chin up to increase his superiority. "And you're a whore who is not bringing a baby under my roof." He turns and walks back to the phone. "I'm calling a doctor to be rid of it."

The adrenaline that passes through your veins is too great for you to properly process what happens next until after it's already done.

You push yourself to your feet and reach for the stand next to the sofa, a drawer holding a gun. You pull the drawer open roughly, Henry hears, and moves just as quickly as you. You take the gun, but before you can secure it in your grip, he's knocking it out of your hands and kicking it away.

He moves to you next. Bending down, he wraps his hands around your throat and pushes you onto your back. He applies pressure, pressing his thumbs down onto your windpipe, and your head feels hot. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You take hold of his arms, straining to get your words out. "Fuck you," you cough. "You're not hurting him."

The look in his eyes is the most terrifying look you had ever seen in your life. They seem to light up, and his scowl stresses into a cruel grin. He lets go of you, standing and straightening his spine as he stares you down through his nose again.

"The hard way then."

Unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, Tommy walks down his stairs as he nears the front door of his home. It's late and thundering and he has no idea why anyone would need to speak to him so far into the night.

As he reaches the bottom step, removing the gun from a drawer beside the door, he stuffs it in his belt behind his back and stretches his neck to his shoulder. He sighs, long and exhausted and ready to go back upstairs and forget this day ever existed.

He's already speaking as he's pulling open the door. "Whoever it is, I'm sure this could wait 'til–"

He stops abruptly at the sight of you. You're shuddering, bracing yourself on the door frame and doubled over with a hand across your abdomen. All he can see is your hair as you hang your head low, breathing quick, shallow breaths that sound too strained for you to still be standing.

Your car is parked haphazardly in the drive, engine still running and lights still blaring bright onto your back.

"Fucking hell," he breathes.

You look up at him, and he takes you in. Your eyes are red and wet with your hair sticking to your face, which is smeared with blood. Your clothes are a mess, glued to your body from rain and more blood. You try to shift, but it's to no avail as you groan from the pain in your ankle. You've got blood on your lips and some dripping from under your dress and down your bare foot as well. You're not wearing shoes, he can imagine the scrapes on the soles of your feet.

You shiver, willing your lips to move so you can speak. Your words are barely coherent, run together by staggered breaths and stuttering teeth and tongue.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Tommy comes to his senses then, rushing forward into the rain without care and taking you into his arms. When he tries to help you walk and it fails, he dips down and carries you into the cover of his warm house in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, still trembling in his embrace.

He set you down on the couch, slowly and carefully, afraid to hurt you more. He pulls a pillow under your head as he lays you down slowly. You're still holding your stomach, and being this close lets him see that your arm is broken. Looking down at your leg, so is your ankle. You whimper meekly, unable to keep in your pained sounds.

Tommy tilts your chin up just enough to get a better look at your face in this lighting. He delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by your mouth, saying nothing as he examines it. After a brief pause, your heart skips a nervous beat as he looks you dead in the eyes. His voice is quiet and tense, his anger barely restrained as flares of anger bubble within him and he clenches his jaw.

"Who did this to you?"

His words are dangerous, made of ice and fire, a growled threat that does not translate in your head.

A tiny, pathetic sound slips from your lips as you curl into yourself. "It hurts." Your voice is so small, it tears his heart in two and thaws it just enough to set his anger to the side for long enough to comfort you.

Tommy isn't used to seeing you so weak. You've always been too strong, tough and sarcastic with too much wit and too much bite.

Now you're lying on his couch, trembling and sobbing into the cushions, covered in blood and rain.

He strokes his hand down the side of your face, moving hair from your forehead and grazing his fingers over your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the feeling of his hand, but it somehow makes you cry harder. "Tell me where it hurts," he says, his voice softening with each second spent watching you.

You just clench your stomach, your face squishing in sorrow. He moves his hand down to rest on your side, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. There's no sign of a wound on your stomach, no pooling blood or shred in your dress where you grasp.

"He took it all away," you sob, though it doesn’t quite reach as deeply in your soul as you need it to, to process and understand the depths of which this pains you to admit. Because he took it all away, and he can never give it back.

Tommy stiffens, looking at you as he tries to understand. "What are you saying?"

You open your eyes, staring at his face and reaching toward him with the hand not injured. Your fingertips graze his cheeks and your breath shudders. You swallow hard, pulling your hand away to clench it tightly before slamming it into the couch.

"Our son."

Tommy stills completely, staring at you in utter shock and disbelief. The way you break down on the words, hoarse—nearly silent—cries pulling from your throat and pouring out all over the place makes his heart stutter. You repeat it under your breath, reaching out and taking Tommy's hand, grasping it tight. "Our son."

"What?" he mutters.

A sorrowful smile creeps onto your lips, a terrible mix of agony for the baby you've lost and remembrance of what you could have had. "I was gonna have a baby, Tom," you cry. "'A Shelby baby,' Polly said. A boy."

He looks down at your belly again with a new consideration, moving his hand down to feel you with breath caught in his throat. "You're pregnant?" he asks.

Your mournful grin fades and you bury the top half of your face in the pillow beneath your head. Shaking your head, you gasp and hiccup on a sob.

"He took it all away."

Lighting his cigarette, Henry ventures into the living room. He stretches his arms out, releasing the tense muscles in his back from sleeping last night. He sighs as he travels to the window. When he pulls open the curtains and turns around, he startles and has half a mind to reach for his gun. But upon realizing who it is, he huffs a sigh and shakes his head.

“Jesus, Tommy,” he rolls his eyes, looking back at the man sitting on his sofa.

Tommy leans back against the chair, a cigarette between his own lips as he says nothing. He stares at Henry, still and emotionless. Henry sighs, placing his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen my wife?” he turns to the cabinet holding his liquor to pour himself a glass, regardless of the hour. “She left last night, hasn’t been back.”

Tommy doesn’t move for another moment before finally breathing in slowly. He reaches up and takes the cigarette between his fingers, taking one last drag before putting it out against the coffee table. "Last night," he sighs and points the cigarette at him, "your wife came to me house, soaked from the rain with blood on her clothes. Could barely stand."

He flicks it away, folding his hands over his lap and crossing his legs. He tilts his head, watching Henry closely. "'It hurts,' she told me. 'He took it all away'." He looks down at his lap, remembering your pitiful face, and then back up at him.

Henry doesn't speak, his face fallen in solemnity as he doesn't even pretend to not know what Tommy's talking about. He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be concerned.

Tommy inclines his head, furrowing his brows just a little as he takes him in. A long moment of silence passes between them before he fills it again. "She was pregnant. 'A Shelby baby,' she said."

Henry shows the first signs of emotion then, scowling as he shakes his head and scoffs. "Fucking knew it," he snarls.

Tommy pulls his gun from the inside of his jacket, toying with it in his hands as if it's nothing as he looks down at it. Henry reaches for his own, but realizes quickly that it's gone. He doesn't have one of his person and the one on the side table has since been removed.

Even with the gun in his hands, Tommy's face hasn't changed. He looks calm, too calm. Even as he stands, moving slowly and with steps so small, it's a wonder how he'll ever reach Henry, who stiffens and clenches his jaw as he recognizes his shortcomings.

"We've been good friends a long time, Henry," he continues, stroking his hand over the barrel. "A long time. War time."

Henry sniffs, still scowling as his hard gaze stays glued to Tommy. "Yeah, well," he licks his bottom lip, "friends don't sleep with each other's wives."

Tommy cocks the gun, but still doesn't point it. The sound alone is enough to shut Henry up either way, so it doesn't matter. "But she and I have been friends for much longer," he says. He finally looks at him again, his eyes cold and piercing. He stops in front of him, his chin tilted up to show he stills holds power over him.

"You see," he says, "She's my girl, always has been. She was going to have a baby, a Shelby boy, my boy." His breath picks up a little, the frustration and anger rising within his chest as he looks at the man who took so much from him.

"Tommy," Henry says quietly, as if there was anything he could say or do to save his life right then and there.

Tommy motions to him with his gun. "You hurt her."

"She shouldn't have hurt me!" Henry shouts, his voice cracking at the end in rage.

Tommy raises the gun so quickly, Henry hardly had time to process it. He presses the end to his temple, watching Henry's eye twitch at the fact that Tommy could pull the trigger at any moment and blow the brains from his head.

Tommy's voice, still quiet and dangerous, is no longer as patient as he speaks down to him. "You beat my child out of her womb." He huffs, "You murdered him and almost took her with him."

Henry, despite the barrel to his skull, retaliates. "I should have taken her with it."

Tommy shouts, moving the gun from Henry's head and pointing it to his own, pressing it against his temple roughly. He shouts at the top of his voice, which is rough and cracks a little at the exclamation born of pain and rage. "It was my fucking son!"

Frightened by his behavior, Henry trembles as he holds his hands up in useless surrender, shaking his head and forcing the words from his throat. "She's my wife," he says. "She loves me."

Tommy puts the gun back to his head, watching Henry cower with heavy breath and shaky hands. He rolls his head back, staring up at the ceiling and closing his eyes.

He looks back at him, clenching his jaw once before deciding not to prolong this long away justice anymore. He shakes his head, "I love her more."

Bang!

He doesn't flinch when the warm, sticky blood splatters on his pale face. Henry's body drops to the floor, blood seeping out and soaking the carpet.

Tommy let his arm drop, letting the gun fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. He sighs.

"'He took it all away,' she said."

The feeling of consciousness washes over you in an unpleasant way, and you immediately miss the cover of sleep as you take in a lethargic breath. Your eyes flutter as you struggle to get them to open, wincing at the bright, pale light invading your senses as you slowly come to.

Once in touch with your body, you turn your head to the side and groan at the discomfort of the single movement. You can barely open your eyelids enough to see. They're so heavy, it's almost as if they're glued down by your lashes to your cheeks. You see a sliver of being from where your vision allows, a man in a suit, expensive.

You hum. Your voice is hoarse, both from sleep and the soreness that resides there. "Tommy…" you mumble intelligibly.

"Not quite." The coarseness of Arthur's voice reminds, though still muffled with exhaustion, fills your ears.

His large hands move slowly to grasp your own, taking it so gently, you almost think you imagined it. You take a deep breath in, as deep as you lungs allow without reminding you of the same reason your voice is sore. You smile softly, "Arthur."

Finally able to open your eyes, slowly but surely adjusting to the light, you look at him smile at you. There's a sluggishness in his eyes that makes your chest ache, but you dismiss it as soon as he speaks. "Hello, love," he greets in a low, gentle tone. "How are you feelin'?"

You groan, shrugging—although, you're pretty certain you didn't move an inch. "What happened?"

Arthur shifts, clearing his throat. Your vision clears as you look at him. He’s disheveled, messy hair, messy clothes. You furrow your brow, watching him decide how to respond. “You went to Tommy last night. He said you…” He clears his throat again, glancing around the room just to not have to look you in the eyes as he says it, “...you were pregnant.”

It hits you like a train, the memories of the night before flooding your mind and filling you with the dread you had greeted Tommy with before. Your throat closes up and your lips tremble. You feel as though the walls are caving in, like the world has stopped revolving as the tears prick at your eyes and threaten to well. You look away from Arthur, staring up at the ceiling and trying to blink the tears away before they can form, but it’s of no use.

You try to lift your arm to cover your face, only to groan when the pain there blossoms and shocks through your body like fire. Arthur grabs your hand again, still holding it in an attempt to soothe you. He glances away still, as though he is trying to contain his own tears.

None of the Shelby boys were used to seeing you cry, seeing you so low and pained. His lashes clump together as he blinks too quickly, struggling to watch you suffer like this.

You inhale sharply, swallowing hard. “Where’s Tommy?” you ask on a shaky breath, looking around. You try to sit up, but Arthur doesn’t let you, gently pushing you back down as soon as you wince and groan at the pain spiking all over your body.

“He’s on his way,” Arthur insists, laying you back down. He goes to softly pat your shoulder, but rethinks his decision as soon as he lifts his hand. “Had to take care of business.”

You look at him, sighing shakily. You lick your dry lips. “Business,” you repeat knowingly.

Arthur nods slowly, looking back and forth from your eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Business.”

You nod back, staring at the sterile whiteness of the ceiling with eyes beginning to blur. You clear your throat weakly, upset when your voice still comes out strained. “Can I…have the room, please?”

Arthur shakes his head quickly, refusing to be swayed. “Tom said not to let you leave my sight.” He says it finally, nodding his head to set his words in stone.

“Arthur, please,” you insist, looking at him. A tear slips down your cheek, disappearing into your hair as you stare at him. His stony resolve crumbles when you look at him like that and he looks away from you. He clears his throat, standing and shifting back and forth on his legs before motioning toward the door.

“I’ll be outside,” he informs awkwardly.

“Thank you,” you nod.

“Yeah.”

He disappears out of the door, and you let the tears fall. They stream down your face with an urgency they don’t need, hasty in their quests to wet your cheeks. You try to keep quiet, which only makes your throat burn more with the pain your silent cries hold.

You don’t know how long you cry for. You just know that, by the time that door opens again, all of your tears have dried up, leaving you feeling numb and cold. You turn your head to the door as it opens, half expecting for Arthur to come back in.

When you see Tommy, you feel as though you could spare a few tears in celebration of his return. But instead, you just stare at him and breathe in slowly.

He’s happy to see you, though he doesn’t show it nearly as much as it seems he would like to. His eyes clear some of the worry he feels when he lays them on you, and he closes the door back behind him. He doesn't move toward you, offering a small smile. “You’re awake,” he points out uselessly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You killed him?”

Tommy's smile falters, returning to the solemn look you know well. He sighs, very quiet and unassuming, and nods his head with tiny movements. “I did,” he says plainly. He examines your face, noting the lack of change at the confession as you continue to stare. “How do you feel about that?”

It takes a moment to respond because you have to think about it, taking a moment to mull over the details—vague and unimportant details. “I dunno yet,” you say after a long while, continuing to watch Tommy, as though he’d disappear and leave you alone forever if you looked away.

Tommy nods, looking down at his dark shoes. He removes his hands from his pockets, sitting down on the chair next to the door. He’s too far away, way too far away. You shift your head, moving the hand closest to him to face palm up. “Please come here,” you bid softly, desperately.

He stands without fuss, making his way over to you and sitting on the chair Arthur had once occupied. It’s silent when he settles. There’s no shift of his clothes from moving, there’s no tick of some clock in the room, there’s no bird outside the window. Just silence.

You look down at yourself, in the bed with the covers pulled up to your chest. You shake your head, hating the way you feel—vulnerable and useless. You sigh, moving to sit up. “I’m still laying in this bed,” you ramble, pushing covers off of you. “Why am I laying in this bed? I don’t want to lay down.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth as you try to sit up, closing your eyes shut. Tommy moves, shaking his head as he tries to keep you laying under the sheets. “Don’t try to move. You’ll hurt yourself,” he tells you, a warm hand on the junction of your neck and shoulder and a warm hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You lay back, ignoring the pain as you bring your palms to your face, rubbing them into your eyes as you groan frustratedly in retaliation. “I’m fine,” you insist, looking at him again with blurry eyes.

He leans in close. “You’re a liar.”

“I have to be with you.”

The repeated words from days ago hit him in a different way as you say them now, staring at him with glossy eyes and shaking hands. He tilts his chin up, sighing to himself. You have to lie when you’re with him. You’ve been lying for years, he supposes.

Tommy clenches his jaw, letting the words sink in as he blinks away from you. His eyes fall back on you after a moment too long. “Why did you never tell me?”

You swallow hard, looking away. “It wasn’t your burden to bear.”

“Don’t give me that.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head as he says it, stopping himself with another steadying sigh. He opens his eyes and stares at you, at the cuts and bruises on your face, your chest, your arms. He remembers the blood you were soaked in when you came to him last night, the way you could hardly stand, the way you clenched your stomach and sobbed into his chest as he carried you inside. He stifles the tears in his eyes.

“What did he do to you?”

You don’t look at him yet, grounding yourself before you threw yourself into an explanation that was bound to make you want to cry. You lick your bottom lip, tasting the coppery taste of your split lip in the process. You breathe in slowly, exhale slowly, flex your fingers and blink your eyes. Stalling. Just stalling.

But you had to explain. He had to understand.

You only glance at him and shrug, struggling to find your voice but using it well when you did. “The war changed all you boys.” Tommy stares at you, not once backing down as his eyes begged to hear what you had to say, to hear what forced you to stay silent all these years. “You came back, heart of stone. Danny lost his mind… Henry became rough.”

You swallow hard at the word and Tommy understands what you mean. Your words from so many mornings before echo in his mind.

"You're not the only man who's rough in bed, Tommy Boy.”

He sighs. You continue. “It was only then, really. A little too hard here, too rough there. If he was frustrated, he held on a little too tight.” You close your eyes, trying to push the memories down. Opening your mouth to speak, the words won’t come out even as you form them. You clear your throat, shaking your head to clear your mind. “If he was beating me bloody every day, I’d have killed him myself. But I didn’t. ‘Cause he wasn’t. He was mostly kind. But he was hurt, the war caught up to him and followed him home.”

You look at Tommy finally, your eyes pained. “The war changed all you boys.”

Tommy processes everything, looking down to his lap and trying not to draw attention to the way he wiped at his teary eyes. He sniffs when he looks back up, rubbing his nose and slowly finding your eyes again. “You should have told me,” he says. It’s almost a reprimand, upset that he could have helped you from the beginning, had you told him.

You shake your head, chuckling as you slowly smile. At least he’s concerned, even if you don’t want him to be, even if you never wanted him to be—the reason you’d never told him in the first place. Tommy has enough to worry about.

“I was fine.” Your laugh is watery, and you wheeze a little at the pain in your chest with each contraction of your lungs. “I had you.” You reach out and touch his face, placing your palm on his cheek and stroking your thumb over his sharp cheekbones.

He stares at you a moment, his face still fallen with dismay. He reaches up and takes your hand from his face, only to hold it between both his large ones and squeeze gently, as if he’s reassuring yourself that you are here and safe. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your joined hands and closing his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a long, slow sigh.

You lean forward as well, moving slowly to disturb your healing body as little as possible. You set your head on his, resting your cheek in his dark hair. “You’re a Peaky bastard, Tom, but you’re my Peaky bastard.”

You both stay like that for a while, enjoying the other’s peace with closed eyes and steady breaths. He lifts his head, which shifts your head away so he can look at you. “You were wrong before,” he says.

You raise a brow, “About?”

He shakes his head, his eyes darting all over your face, from your own eyes to your lips to the cut on your brow. “I’m not jealous,” he tells you. He reaches one hand up, moving some hair from your forehead. “I can’t be jealous about something that’s already mine.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “What about my husband?” you test.

Again, he shakes his head. “Fuck your husband.”

“Fuck my husband?”

“Fuck him.”

Tommy brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, his thumbs brushing the skin. “You’re mine,” he says definitely.

The corners of your lips turn up a little, disappearing just as fast as it appeared. “Funny,” you comment. “That’s what he said.”

Tommy raises a brow. “And?”

You shrug lazily. “And when he said it, I wanted to kill him. When you say it…” You smile just a little bit, “When you say it, I just want to kiss you pretty.”

Without another moment to spare, Tommy sets a hand on your cheek and brings you forward as he leans into you. His lips press against yours, and it feels like the first time. You sigh against the feeling of his mouth on yours, lifting your hand to brush your knuckles against his jaw line. A tingle makes its way through your body, starting from your lips and rushing down your spine.

You twist your body to lean in closer, wanting more of his kiss than was physically possible. As you try to sit up, your belly burns and you groan, reluctantly pulling away from him. You place a hand over your abdomen, your face screwing up with the pain you feel.

“Careful,” Tommy says with his kiss-tingled lips. He sets his hand over yours, resting on your belly with a reassuring warmth. His other hand holds the back of your neck securely, supporting you as best as he can.

He watches the physical pain turn into a deeper, more emotional one as your lips tremble. Your breath shudders as you inhale, shaking your head and huffing as the smallest squeak forces its way from your throat in your effort to stifle your sob.

“I want him back, Tommy.”

He rests his forehead against yours, holding you to him as he closes his eyes and nods. He turns his head and brings your face to the crook of his neck, where you bury yourself and cry into his shoulder. “Don’t you worry, love,” he says in that deep, rumbling voice of his. “Everything will be alright. I promise you.”

“Would you have wanted him?”

Your words startle him as he pulls away, still holding you as he strokes his thumb over your cheek and stares at your tear-stained face. The fact that you needed to ask that question hurt him. It pained him beyond imagination that you should be laying here in a hospital bed covered in cuts and bruises made by your own husband who was cruel and selfish enough to destroy your unborn child, a child that was never even his to hurt to begin with.

Tommy finally nods, holding you close and assuring you with everything that he had. “I wanted him,” he promises, speaking slowly. “I want him and you and us.”

You smile a trembling grin, breath shuddering as you put your head against his forehead again. “I love you, Tommy,” you confess, sighing so heavily with the emotion you couldn’t contain. “I loved you for years.”

He kisses you again, holding you close and keeping you closer. You sigh against his lips and continue to ache for him, as you have done for years.

“One day, soon enough,” he’s breathless as he speaks, “I will make you my wife. I will make you a mother. We’ll have a family, you and me. ‘Cause I love ya back.”

You smile, holding on tight. “You promise? ‘Cause I’ll shoot you if you’re kidding.”

He laughs lightly, kissing you quickly once more. “I promise. You and me.”

And, months later, his promise came true.

The time following the incident was hard. You felt sick for a while, physically and emotionally drained and overworked. But Tommy was there, and he helped you. There was not one point in time where he wasn’t pulling you back, easing you when you needed easing, boosting you up when you needed boosting. It was as you always dreamed it would be on quiet nights next to your late when you allowed yourself to think about that forbidden life with Tommy.

He helped you heal, and it was the only thing you could have ever asked of him. He made you happy.

And he still makes you happy as he carries you in his arms, kicking open the door to the dimly lit room, his lips already on yours as he pushes the door closed behind him with his foot. You separate from him with a smile so wide, your face feels like it will split in two.

You open your mouth to say something, laughing in the middle of it before he cuts you off by dropping you onto the plush bed. You bounce at the impact, laughing a little harder as you readjust to look up at him. “Careful, before you rip the dress!”

Tommy scoffs carelessly, “As great as you look in white, I could care less about whether or not you wear it, love.” His body leans over you, nearly crushing you with his weight as he kisses you again. You don’t mind, wrapping your legs around his waist as the dress rides up to rest around your hips.

His lips slide against yours, on the border of sloppy. He moves from them to trail fond kisses along your jawline, wasting no time in getting to your neck to pepper you in more kisses and litter you in his possessive markings. You hum, holding him to you with gentle sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. As he busies himself with your neck, you admire the gold reflection of the ring on your finger, shining in the light and reminding you that he is now just as much yours and you are his.

“Are you going to stare at that ring all night, or are you going to kiss me, woman?” He smiles at you, one hand in your hair to take it down, pin by pin.

“When you finish taking my hair down, I’ll kiss you again.”

He laughs and continues doing so. You watch him as he works, staring at his long lashes kissing his sharp cheekbones, his pale blue eyes blinking at you, his lips swollen with kisses. He finishes way faster than you thought he would, running his hands through your hair and then holding you by the back of your head.

“I believe you owe me a kiss now.”

You giggle, already leaning toward him. “You’re pathetic.” With your lips back on his, he devours you once again with his lust for your love. When his knee brushes between your legs, pressing against the warm valley of your thighs, you sigh into his mouth.

“Strip me, Tommy,” you tell him, undoing his tie at the same time. He complies, pulling you up to gain better access to the million buttons of your dress so he can take it off you. He slips it down your body, revealing more and more skin with each inch he sheds off you. You’re pulling clothes off him like they’re dangerous, stripping him down article by article until he’s just as bare as you are.

Pushing you back down onto the bed, you smile up at him as he grips your thighs and pushes them up your body, opening you up for him in the way that makes his cock hard and stiff with an unrivaled lust. “Look at that,” he grunts. “Always so perfect for me.”

You hum at his praise, your thighs quivering with anticipation. His hands stroke your skin, feeling every inch you have to offer as your eyes flutter shut and take the praise. The sensations are magnificent, like fire through your veins as you burn for him. He bends down, kissing and nipping at your collarbones and moving down, down, down as he passes your breasts, your belly, your perfect hips.

His mouth is warm against your pussy as the tip of his tongue darts out to taste your skin. When he pulls back, his hot breath blows against your aching folds and you squirm in response to him. Your legs fall onto his shoulders as he grips your sides, stroking his thumbs over your skin fondly. “What does my girl want, eh?” he asks, teasing you with his words as he shifts his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, not close enough to where you need him.

You’re already breathless as you gaze at him, in love with the sight of his head between your legs as you imprint it into your mind. “You,” you breathe, smiling for him.

“What about me?” He’s going to drive you mad before the end of the night. The way he continues to kiss your thighs, to hold your pleasure over your head all because he can, is enough to send you over the edge of sanity.

“Fuck, Tom, I want you to make me cum with your tongue,” you spill, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. The gentle plea that escapes from your lips is so small and pathetic, he has no choice but to give into your desires. “Please.”

He smiles at you with dark eyes, “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s all over you. Your mouth drops open and your eyes squeeze shut as he devours you, shoving his tongue deep into your pussy like you possess the sweetest of wines. He grunts into you when you pull on his hair again, a rougher tug than last time. He has to hold your hips down when you try to buck up to his face. You curse under your breath, moaning his name in the way that makes him weak.

His tongue plunges inside of your pussy and you melt, biting down on your lip so hard, you taste copper. “Fuck, Tom,” you gasp. “Don’t fucking stop, please.”

He’s drunk on the taste of you, and there was no way on this Earth that you would ever get him to stop. One of his hands leaves your waist to stroke your thigh before joining his tongue, shoving one thick finger into your hole and curling it as he massages it in and out of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he adds a second, his tongue flicking at your clit and driving you to the bitter end of your release.

Your curses multiply on your tongue, the occasional profanity turning into a string of the same word as he pulls you closer and closer to that explosive feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach.

It’s not long before it becomes too much to bear, and you clench around his fingers and tongue as he sucks on your clit like fucking candy. “Fuck, I’m so close,” you sigh, your voice high and pitchy with lust. “I’m gonna cum, Tommy. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Rather than respond, he groans deep in his throat and sucks harder on your clit, moving his fingers faster, even after his arm begins to hurt. Just teetering on the edge of your release, he licks a long, languid stripe up your cunt and commands you with black eyes. “Cum for me, love.”

A gasp fills your lungs to the fullest, and you’re a mess as you moan for him. He continues to pump his fingers into you, his tongue lapping you up as you continue to tremble, sucking in his fingers. Your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire. Tommy lets out a strangle breath when you tug on his hair again.

He eases you down from your high with his tongue. He pulls his fingers out of you, licking your wetness from each digit with special attention to each one. He ducks back down to lick up the rest of your arousal as well, making sure to collect every drop. He wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste…

His hands glide over your body as he leans up again, towering over you to kiss your swollen lips. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers against your lips. “My perfect fucking girl, my perfect wife.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling against his lips. “My perfect husband,” you fawn. You surprise him when you flip the both of you so he’s on his back. “My perfect,” you venture down his body, your lips grazing his skin as you stop at his hips, “fucking husband.” You set a kiss on his right hip and he just smiles down at you, sitting up so he’s leaned back against the headboard.

He watches you with keen eyes, grabbing his jacket from the floor and pulling his lighter and cigarette box. You take the lighter from him—as you always do, whether he’s watching or not—and light it after he’s set it between his lips. You lean against his knee the whole time, stroking a free hand up and down his thigh.

“Go on,” he motions as the smoke gathers in the air. “Go on and give me a show.”

You lick your lips, smiling mischievously as you shift farther down. You take his erect cock in your hand, watching his eyes flutter at the feeling of you. You stroke him gingerly with your fingertips, teasing him as he had teased you. Though he looks dazed, he doesn’t appreciate it as much as he tuts and shakes his head at you.

Your smile widens and he tilts his head in warning. You think for a moment about whether or not you’ll listen to him before deciding the throbbing between your legs will be satisfied quicker if you do. You wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking your thumb over the tip and leaning down to lick the little bead of precum before it spills over. He sighs at the feeling of your tongue.

You pull your hand away, licking from your palm to your fingertips before taking his cock again and pumping it in your hand in a steady rhythm up and down, from base to tip and back again. You hold his eye contact the whole time, adoring the heat of his gaze as you lay between his legs.

You shift his cock as you lean forward again, licking the underside of it with your hot tongue and paying special attention to the bulging vein there. You lavish your tongue over the sensitive spot, humming gently as you kiss his tip and coating his cock in your spit. Kissing his tip again, you let it part your lips as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him and tasting the beads of arousal slowly dripping out.

You take him farther into your mouth, bobbing your head to allow him deeper and deeper with skilled movements. Tommy lays his head back, closing his eyes as he allows himself to give in to your pleasure. He reaches down with his free hand to cup the side of your neck, stroking your cheek until he resolves to tangling his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or guide you in any way, just holds onto you as you work, grunting when the head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. He feels your throat constrict momentarily, a tiny gag making its way out of you that you quickly suppress to take the rest of him down.

“That’s a good girl,” Tommy sighs, opening his eyes to watch you bob your head up and down his shaft with an efficiency he’s proud to say he’s helped you gain. When you take him all the way down, lingering there for as long as you can with your nose pressed to his pelvis and the very tip of your tongue darting out to tease his heavy balls, his breath stutters in his throat.

You pull off for air after a moment, gasping as you blink away the tears that have gathered at the corner of your eyes. When you move to go back down on him, he just holds you by your hair to keep you up. “That’s quite enough, sweetheart.” You look at him with a slight pout, darting your tongue out to kitten lick the tip. He takes a moment to adore your sweet face before he’s pulling you up by your chin, leading you to his lips.

He pulls the cigarette from his lips to kiss you. You indulge in the kiss before pulling away to grab the cigarette, taking it between your lips and inhaling deeply. You lean in for another kiss, pushing the smoke into his parted mouth. The remaining smoke billows from your nose when you pull away, and you watch more seep from his precious lips as he stares at you.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over your as he speaks gently. “I’m going to fuck your brains out now.” You shudder at his promise, though he doesn’t give you much time to react as he grabs you by your hips and lifts you up onto his lap. “But first, I want to see you do some more work.”

You’re more than happy to do it, too, as you stroke his cock in your hand, hovering over his lap with trembling thighs and holding the cigarette between two fingers in your free hand. “Whatever you wish, sir,” you sigh, swearing his eyes get darker as soon as the word leaves your mouth.

He loses his patience as you line him up with your slick pussy, feeling the head of his cock part your warm lips. He decides to take matters into his own hands, grabbing your waist and pushing you down onto his cock, watching the way your head falls and your mouth drops open as you gasp a moan.

You grind your hips down on him, drunk on the feeling of his thick cock dragging along your walls, which clench around him and flutter when met with the pleasure you were expecting. You set the cigarette between your lips as you sit up to look at him again, hands on his shoulders to steady you as you savor the burn of his cock stretching you out.

“Fuck,” you curse around it, “feels so good.”

Tommy takes the cigarette from you, setting it back into his own mouth. “Go on, wife,” he bids you, placing his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

And you are more than happy to oblige as you lift yourself slowly off his lap, dropping back down before he can slip out of you and grunting roughly at the pleasure that blooms there. “Mm, Tommy,” you moan, already gasping for breath as you do it again, and again, and again.

He blinks long and slow at the feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him. “Always so fucking tight for me,” he grunts, rutting into you once.

You ride his cock, swiveling and rocking your hips back and forth, needing to take him deeper and deeper inside of your tight pussy as you ache for him all over. Tommy watches you, groaning with you as your face squints in pleasure. Your tits bounce in his face with each movement of your hips, and eventually he just decides to set his cigarette aside to take your nipple between his lips.

His tongue massages it, sending shockwaves down your spine that has your moans turning to desperate cries. You drop your weight into his lap and grind down on his cock when his teeth graze it. Your moan breaks off into a broken whimper as you pull him closer, hugging him to your body and dropping your head into his shoulder.

That seems to be his breaking point as he grabs you and maneuvers the both of you onto your back. He pulls your legs up and over his shoulders, folding you in half when he leans forward to press his forehead against yours. He breathes hard as he stares at you, your eyes locked, though yours are hooded with pleasure. “You’re fucking mine,” he says, “and no one else can have you.”

You nod, trying to buck your hips to get him to move as he remains still inside of you, fully seated. He shakes his head at you, “No. I want to hear you say it.”

You whimper, holding him by his face. “I’m yours,” you promise. “Fuck, no one else can have me. No one, Tommy. Only you.”

He grins at your rambling, kissing your lips roughly, messily, before interrupting the union with the rough thrust of his hips. You gasp, breaking off into a moan as he does it again. He pace slowly builds until he rutting inside of you like a madman, possessive promises and declarations filling your ears as he watches you writhe in the pleasure he fucks into your body.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, spilling over the side and disappearing into your hair as he fucks into you. The pleasure is so great, it’s hard to keep in your moans. When you purse your lips in an attempt to, he shakes his head quickly. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you scream for me. Tell me how much you love it. Look at me and tell me.”

The beginning of your words comes out as a sob as you force your eyes open to see him. The pleasure seizes your throat and makes it hard to form the words. “Fuck, so good, Tommy. Please don’t stop, please.” Tommy’s eyes flutter at your spilled words, and he thrusts into you harder, his hips snapping roughly.

“You like when I fuck you like this?” he asks, his voice dark and rough. “You like to feel my cock fuck you nice and deep?”

Your moans are just sobs at this point, the pleasure too great for you to keep it together anymore. “Yes, sir! Fuck, Thomas, yes. Don’t stop.”

Your eyes close from all the sensations mixing like a cocktail inside of you, but he’s not having it. “Open your eyes,” he commands, stroking your cheek. You obey him, though it takes a little longer than he would have liked. “Look at you, my beautiful girl. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You clench around him and he grunts, thrusting harder. “I’m gonna fucking take care of you,” he repeats, holding one of your hips down and angling you to thrust deeper. You gasp at the feeling, letting the pleasure spread. “I’m gonna fill you up and make you a fucking mother. You’re gonna have my child in that womb of yours. You’ll look good and round, full of my fucking baby. Do you want that?”

You nod quickly. Your legs are sore from this position and you’re losing feeling in your toes, but it’s nothing compared to the fire of lust consuming you in his flames. You let it devour you as you clench and whine on his cock, taking every single thrust he gives you. “Yes, sir, I want that. I want it so bad.”

He’s so close to spilling inside of you, fulfilling that dream the both of you had held for a long time now. He’s right there, ready to release it all inside of you. But he wants you to cum with him, he wants you to feel the pleasure of release together as he reaches between your bodies and begins circling your clit with deft fingers. “That’s a good girl,” he praises. “I’m gonna fill you up until it’s all leaking out.”

“I’m so close,” you sigh, your breath shuddering in your throat. “I’m gonna cum, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” You nod quickly, holding him tighter in a warm embrace. Tommy’s hips stutter as he nods, looking you dead in the eye as he speaks. “Cum for me, wife.”

And you do, with his name on your tongue and a shout on your lips, you cum loud and hard. Your cunt spasms and contracts around his cock, your back arching and your eyes rolling back as it hits you hard and fast. You gasp and feel your muscles tense with each shock of pleasure, holding him tighter as you scream Tommy’s name.

His hips jerk and he thrusts his cock rough and deep, emptying himself inside you. He paints your insides white, flooding every little crevice with his hot cum as he shoves it inside of you, ensuring none can escape. He grunts, a rough sound in his throat that kicks up with every twitch of his cock. He watches you the whole time, taking pleasure from your own and pressing you into the bed with his hips.

You both ride out your highs, exchanging nothing between the both of you but breaths and moans and whispers of the other’s name. By the time the aftershocks slow, you’ve already fallen limp against the sheets as you relish in the weight of him squishing you into the bed. Tommy doesn’t move for a while, staying like that for as long as he can to enjoy the sensations of your warm, wet cunt occasionally squeezing around him.

Tommy lets out a long, deep sigh as he sits up again. Your thighs ache as he moves them from his shoulders. You whimper when he slips out of you, placing a hand behind your back to help you sit up again. You sit in his lap, easing down with him as he leans back against the bed, his head resting on the pillows as yours rest on his chest.

You sigh deeply, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you inhale the scent of his cologne and sex in the air. “Fuck,” you breathe. Tommy chuckles lightly, holding you to him and stroking his fingers along your shoulder.

“If that doesn’t get you pregnant, I don’t know what will,” he says, reaching over to retrieve his half smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the nightstand.

Your fingertips trace patterns into his chest, following the outlines of black ink embedded in his skin. “Just in case, though,” you say, looking up at him with a small grin, “I think we should go again to make sure it really stuck.”

He grins back at you, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Still, neither of you move as you enjoy the other’s still presence. You giggle lightly, a sound that comes out of nowhere as you continue to caress his chest. He glances down at you in question and you only laugh again. “I love you so much, Tom,” you smile.

He rolls his eyes, but in a playful way that follows his own gentle chuckle. “And I love you.”

You inhale deeply, leaning forward to press a kiss against the skin of his neck. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

He clears his throat, putting out his cigarette and sighing. “Well, it’s our honeymoon and I own this land, so we are going to stay here and kiss and fuck for as long as we wish.”

You smile wide, leaning forward slowly and speaking against his lips before bringing him into another kiss. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

You move on top of him again, straightening your back and steadying yourself on his chest. You lift your hips off of his, taking his cock and lining him up again with your soaked cunt. You feel his hands come to grip your hips as he continues to lie back and watch you. There’s an adoration in his eyes you wish you could just sit and watch forever as he stares at you.

“Good,” you smile, “‘cause I’m nowhere near done with you.”

You both groan as you sink back down on him.

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brighttears · 1 year

Note

I have a request!!

I cannot stop thinking about Joel noticing that the reader leans into his touch but is scared to initiate anything herself. So when he finds out that her ex made her feel insecure for being clingy, he immediately talks with her and tries to tell her how she deserves all the touches she needs ❤️❤️

It's just so sweet!

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: pet names (darling, sweetheart, good girl, baby), a little hot and heavy but no smut, mentions of previous mental/emotionally abusive relationship and reader is not fully recovered, reader’s former relationship is with a man

A/n: Sorry this took so long hope it doesn’t disappoint eeee ! also referring to Joel as ‘boyfriend’ does something to me boy oh boy

—

You try replacing touching Joel with looking at him, listening to him, just trying to soak up everything you can, hoping for something to be enough to relieve the yearning ache you’ve always felt for him. When you first got to the point in your relationship where you could touch freely, it was difficult to hold back—you’d wanted it so much and fantasized about it too often beforehand. When Joel does want physical affection, you give him as much as he’ll take, and you always have the solace of how he holds you every night. Still, you have to reel yourself back in constantly. You’d rather have that than a repeat of your ex, though. Joel is different from him in many ways—he is a better man, a good man, and you know he’s not him, but you can’t shake what your ex had told you, and you don’t want Joel to start hating you for being clingy like he had. So, you keep the dog that drools for him at bay; but as it turns out, the leash isn’t as tight as you thought.

You were at the Tipsy Bison that night, chatting with Tommy and Maria on your way out. Joel leaned against a post with you at his side, already standing close, but then he casually slung his arm around your waist, pulling you to him, brushing his thumb up and down your hip. You were barely able to follow the conversation after that, and when you had to ask Tommy to repeat his question, your boyfriend decided it was time to say goodnight.

He held your hand the whole walk back, and you once again had to ask him to repeat something he’d said, distracted both by the warmth of his large hand in yours and digs of anxiety about your behavior. When the touch breaks as you enter the house, so over you does a wave of anxiety and shame. You bow your head deeply, trying to hide your burning face, and go straight up to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, you take your time untying your shoes, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the talk you’re sure Joel is about to give you. You’ve been trying so hard, but you’re still too clingy—freakishly clingy. No one likes someone like that. That last relationship was for two years, and you thought you’d loved him—that is, until Joel came into your life—and he was the one that left. Don’t mess this one up. you scold yourself.

When Joel walks in, causally unbuttoning his flannel, you keep your eyes on your laces, but as he moves, you can tell he’s looking at you. Left in his white tee, Joel folds his flannel up in his hands, then tosses it onto the bed as he sits down next to you.

“I’m sorry,” you begin for him, “it won’t happen again. I can control myself. I’ll be better about it. I promise.” your mind is fogged with anxiety, your chest knotted tight.

“What?”

You look up at him and his brow is furrowed, but a smile plays at the end of his lip like he thinks you’re joking. You blink. “I mean, like about being clingy, I know I have a problem with it, I’m sorry.” you turn your head back down, closing your eyes and shaking your head, hating yourself.

“Clingy? When did I ever say I have a problem with you bein’ clingy?”

“Well, I just,” you try to hide frustration in your voice, targeted only inwards, “I know I am, and that I’m just too much with that stuff, and I know that's just like unattractive and I didn’t mean to humiliate you in front of Tommy and Maria like that, I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself and you,”

He interrupts, “Woah, woah, where is this comin’ from, darlin’? Who put all that shit in your head? Cause I know I never said anythin’ like that.”

Afraid of a scowl, you keep your head down as you explain yourself, feeling another pang of guilt in your chest. “Well, my ex, I was really clingy, I mean, I am really clingy, but he, you know, taught me about it.”

“Taught you what?”

“Just that, you know, it’s—bad, and embarrassing when I do it in public, and annoying.”

“Your ex told you all this?” Finally, you look at him timidly. He’s leaning forward with his hands on the bed, looking at you with his brow knit with confusion and concern.

“Well, yeah,” you reply sheepishly.

“Okay, well first of all, that’s all bullshit,” he chuckles lightly, “you’re not clingy. Clingy’s different. An’ if this is about, you know, touch, I like you touchin’ me.” He nudges you with his shoulder, making you chuckle despite your mood. “An’ this ex a yours, well he’s just one man—actually, sounds more like a boy than a man, talkin’ t’you like that—but just cause he did’n like it doe’n mean no one else does, or that it’s bad. It’s not bad, sweetheart,” Joel shakes his head lightly, “nothin’s wrong with… liking to be touched.” his eyes travel up and down you and he shifts his torso towards you, supporting one hand on the bed, and with the other, he takes your chin with his thumb and index to angle your rosy face to look at him. “You deserve all the touchin’ you want, baby. If this is what you like,” he moves his hand slowly over your cheek, and you lean into it, “this is what I’ll give you.” Instantly you’re liquid in the cup of his hand, warmth making your eyelids lazy. You let out a sigh, near overwhelmed with, just, Joel. Those big beautiful brown eyes wander over your face and he gently presses his hand into the weight of your head and you automatically lean further into the pressure and warmth. He smirks, “I like you like this.” You giggle, easily with all of you feeling lighter.

Your anxiety has washed away completely. You can be an easy forgetter, but ground easily with Joel. He’s your man, he loves you, he’s always held your body like he needs it. You can’t even fit in a thought of your ex with Joel so close to you, holding the weight of your head, and god, those dreamy eyes on your lips.

You slide your hand up his forearm and wrap it around his wrist, then turn your cheek just enough to start kissing his palm, keeping his gaze.

Joels’ eyes flash and then he takes his hand away to take your waist and sits further back on the bed to pull you on to straddle his lap. You yelp and giggle but you’re barely actually thinking, just feeling him. He kisses you tenderly and you smooth your hands up his chest and to his face, lips slow, impassioned, and heavy. You’re on autopilot, letting your body move how it wants over Joel. Joel’s hands slide around to splay on your back and he pulls you into him; it pushes a breathy moan out of you, electricity humming over every inch of your front pressed against his body, warm and sound. Your head is angled over his shoulder and he trades your lips for your neck. The pressure of his hold, feeling all of him right up against you, relieves your ache for him, you feel it dissipate and it escapes out of you in a drawl of his name. At that, he clutches you tighter, and you feel a buzz as he hums into your neck. Then he takes his lips away, making you let out a deep breath, his nose and top lip still ghosting over your skin as he says in a husky purr, “Y’know, you’re not the only one who likes this.” Eyes closed, you let out a breathy chuckle, feeling it move against his body. Joel loosens his hold so you fall back just enough to be able to look at him, his head tilted up slightly to meet your eyes, “So don’t be afraid of touchin’ me, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You respond, almost automatically—if he ever wants to convince you of something, this would be the way to do it.

“Good girl.” He kisses you once and then enfolds you again in a tight embrace, you hum a sigh, resting your chin lazily on his shoulder, arms around his broad back, and you want to stay here forever. You skim your hands up and down his back and he sighs deeply. Then, quiet and muffled against you, he says, “God, I want you all over me, baby.”

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hier--soir · 1 year

Text

under the night | four

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, sex, angst, jealousy, immature/possessive!joel, canon typical violence [infected feature], violence, injury/blood, vomit, hurt/comfort, and so on and so forth word count: 9k part three | series masterlist | main masterlist

The patrolmen in Jackson were dedicated. Every morning, on a rotational basis, a group of them ventured out past the gates of the settlement and explored set routes. They took down infected; they searched for essential items like soaps and medicines; but most all, they kept the town safe. Admittedly, when you first heard them called patrolmen you’d rolled your eyes, knowing damn well there were multiple women doing the job. But Tommy had just shrugged amiably, assuring you that those women weren’t bothered with the title.

That morning in particular, Joel and Tommy were scheduled to do a routine sweep of what they called the “south patrol”. Joel had never complained about how quickly he fell into the job upon his arrival in Jackson. It made sense to Tommy and Maria that he would join the team, considering the vast experience and knowledge he’d acquired in his year roaming cross country with Ellie. Never once had he begrudged his brother for being given a job and a place to live, and a warm home to sleep in.

Until, that is, he had to leave you in his bed for the sake of a fucking patrol.

“Fuck Tommy,” Joel grumbled into your neck. You laughed sleepily, pushing him off you.

“Get out of here, Joel,” you mumbled unconvincingly, rolling over to shove your head back into the pillows. It was earlier than you would’ve chosen to wake up, but you knew there was no hope of drifting back to sleep with the way the sun shone through his large bedroom window. With a huff, he was getting out of bed, and you listened drowsily to the sound of the shower running, and then to the rustling of him pulling his clothes on.

When a silence settled over the room, you risked opening your eyes a crack, only to see Joel watching you from the doorway. He stared forlornly, his eyes raking over your naked torso before you yanked the blanket back up to cover yourself.

“You’re makin’ this real hard for me you know,” he said, his forearm propped up against the doorframe.

You cracked a smile, and let your eyes shut slowly, listening to the sounds of his boots padding softly down the stairs.

A week had passed since your first night together, and it was true that you and Joel struggled to spend more than one consecutive night apart. Laying in his bed, surrounded by the smell of him, you remembered the day after like you were experiencing the moment all over again.

The knock at your front door had come after 10pm, and you’d startled at the sound, wondering who would be bothering you so late. Cal had been out at Louisa’s, so you’d tentatively walked over to the door, opening it just a crack to glance out, and then tugging it open swiftly upon seeing Joel standing on your doorstep.

“Hey there,” he’d offered a tense smile, eyes flicking down to your feet and then back up to hold your gaze.

You gripped Joel’s pillows and remembered the way he’d stepped inside your home, asking if you were alone.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About the way you sounded… the way you felt. Can’t get you out of my damn head.”

You were drunk on each other, on the intimacy. Both enveloped in these new and devastatingly consuming feelings for one another that you were finally able to express. In the entire week, you’d only spent one night away from one another, because you had stood your ground and admitted you needed to spend some time with Cal.

From Joel’s bed, you listened to the sounds of Ellie messing around downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt trying to make herself something edible for breakfast. After the teenager had caught you leaving the house, you had been shy around her. You didn’t want your relationship to change because things with Joel had. Although Ellie had seemed enthused by the progression, you feared the dynamic would shift between you, so you tried to remain stealthy with your comings and goings from their home.

When you were sure the younger girl had left the house, you took your time with showering, and dressing for the day.

“Walk of shame,” Cal crooned lovingly from the kitchen table when you returned home. You flicked him off with a laugh, hanging up your coat. “Seriously, do you even live here anymore?”

“Fuck off, man,” you rolled your eyes, settling down in the chair opposite him. You accepted a mug of coffee with a grateful nod, and brought the liquid gold to your lips.

He chuckled quietly, pushing his bowl of oats towards you as a peace offering. You stole his spoon and cleared the rest of the food in minutes.

“How are you though?” he asked after a while, his eyes soft and genuine. You admired him, and the way his blonde hair was getting longer, flopping down over his eyes.

“I’m good, Cal,” you assured.

“You look happy,” he squinted at you, the teasing lilt returning to his voice. “You’ve got the glow of someone who’s finally made some fucking friends.”

“Took a leaf out of your book,” you winked.

Your heart felt full. For so many years, you and Cal had been one another’s salvation. You’d relied on each other for survival, for companionship, but amongst it all, there had been stretches of time so dire that you didn’t laugh for weeks at a time. To be sat with him, in your home, somewhere safe like Jackson, and laughing together… even after so many months there, it still struck you sometimes how lucky you were.

It was a few hours later, when you ventured toward the stables to check in on Dot, that you bumped into Tommy and Joel returning from patrol.

The brothers were putting away their saddles when you pushed the gate open.

Tommy greeted you warmly, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your gaze drifted slowly from him to his older brother, trying to gage the tense atmosphere.

“Hey guys,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering from the bitter weather. Joel leaned against the stable wall, fiddling with the bit in his hands, his eyes hard on Tommy. “Who died?”

Joel’s eyes snapped to you, his expression grim.

“Woah,” you said lowly. “What the fuck, did someone actually die?”

“We found a body out there,” Tommy admitted quietly, stealing a glance over his shoulder to check if anyone else was listening.

“Where?”

His face seemed hesitant, as if he were unsure of sharing much information with you. He rubbed the back of his neck in the same way Joel did when he was trying to find the right words. “A few miles away. A woman. No one from here; we didn’t recognise her.”

“Bitten?” you asked quietly, your breaths short. The idea of anyone being outside those gates made your chest hurt suddenly, as the memories of life out there raced through your brain.

“No,” Joel answered gruffly, and you looked at him. “It must’ve been raiders, but the snowfall last night means there wasn’t much for us to do by means of tracking them.”

“We’re going out again tomorrow,” Tommy butt in firmly, staring at his older brother. ��I want this shit figured out.”

You didn’t know what made you say it, but the words tumbled from your mouth. All fear forgotten, you blurted, “Let me come with you.”

“What?” Joel huffed sharply, glaring at you. “Fat chance.”

You scowled in his direction, looking at Tommy. “I lived out in the open for years, I can help you with tracking, even through the snow.”

Joel ground out your name, his eyes flashing with a warning that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“She has a point Joel,” Tommy held his hand up towards his brother, stopping the interruption he knew was coming. “Plus, we could use the extra pair of hands. Someone to watch our six.”

You would have never admitted it, but Tommy was right. The concern you felt for Joel all of a sudden was an unwelcome, painful feeling. After the past week, the idea of him going out past the gates made your throat tighten. You wanted to be out there with them, watching their six – keeping him safe.

“I don’t like it,” is all Joel said, eyes staring at the ground. “We can take Jesse.”

He’d rather have a 19-year-old kid on patrol with them, than you?

“Fuck, Jesse. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at 7,” you told Tommy, who nodded once.

“We should get going,” Joel pushed off the wall, and you looked to him in confusion. “I promised you I’d fix that leaky tap in your kitchen.” You didn’t remember ever having a conversation about your kitchen tap, but you nodded slowly anyways, sparing a glance in Dot’s direction before surmising that you’d check in on the horse properly in a few days.

“Fix her leaky tap my ass,” Tommy muttered, earning him a grunt from Joel. He put his hand on the small of your back and encouraged you out of the stables, leaving Tommy laughing as he finished packing up their equipment.

Walking down the street in the direction of your house, you braced yourself for Joel’s frustration. You could tell he was tense in the stables, and unhappy with your decision. But you couldn’t help the way anxiety ticked away in your chest. Nothing good comes from wanting. Yet there you were, with Joel so close finally, and a reminder had been served to you that he could be taken away so fucking easily. Letting people in meant opening yourself up to pain, and you were suddenly terrified by how fast things were moving between you two; how much he meant to you after a single week of being anything more than friends.

“Joel,” you started quietly.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said quickly, squeezing your shoulder before lowering his hand once again to rest on your lower back. You nodded slowly, glancing around the street and noticing Rosie Paulson, a girl around Ellie’s age, staring at the pair of you from her front porch. Instinctively, you brushed off Joel’s hand, putting a wider berth between you.

“That Paulson girl is staring at us like we’re naked,” you explained under your breath, walking faster.

“Nosy fucking kids,” Joel grunted in response, not even glancing in the girl’s direction.

You remembered the impression you’d gotten of Joel when you first arrived in Jackson; that cold, private person who kept to himself. The other people in the town saw the same in him, and you knew it would’ve been cause for curiosity; for them to suddenly spot him walking around town with you by his side.

Your house came into view, and you started to chuckle. “So, what’s all this leaky tap business, Miller?”

He gave a short laugh and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Needed an excuse to get you alone.”

You barked out a laugh and led him quickly up the stairs to the front door, unlocking it hastily. Before you were fully inside, his hands were on you, prying the zip of your jacket down. He kicked the door shut behind him with a slam, and pushed you up against it, his fingers pressing against the skin underneath your shirt. All your anxieties blew away in the wind when you felt his hands on your body.

“Fuck,” you gasped in shock. “Your hands are fucking freezing.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled into your mouth, pressing his lips to your urgently. “Help me warm ‘em up.”

Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed him off you. “C’mon,” you encouraged, leading him to your bedroom. It was a painful dichotomy; fearing getting so close to him, so quickly, and yet not being able to keep your damn hands off him. When you clicked the bedroom door closed, you turned to find him standing at the edge of your bed, watching you with dark eyes.

“I really didn’t want to leave this morning,” he spoke lowly. “Wanted to stay in those sheets all wrapped up in you.” Through the admission he seemed somewhat shy, a flush still rising in his cheeks when he bared his feelings to you so honestly. Though you’d spent your nights together, no conversation had been had about what exactly you were doing. You’d admitted you liked being near each other, but not much else. And you decided you were okay with not knowing; if it meant you got to have Joel in any capacity.

You hummed, stepping forward to place your hands on his cheeks, and running your fingers through the coarse bristles of his beard. He leaned in and kissed you gently, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip before pressing eagerly into your mouth. You sighed softly, breathing in the scent of him. Your heart still raced like it was the first time.

You stripped each other’s clothes off hastily, until you were clad in nothing but your underwear, and cold fingers didn’t matter anymore because your skin had grown hot with desire.

You pushed gently on his chest and when the back of his calves hit the bed, he fell onto it with a huff of surprise. He shuffled backward until his head hit the pillows, and you crawled up to straddle him. Your fingertips trailed lightly over his skin and through the soft smattering of hair on his chest.

His eyes flashed dark with desire, and he grit his teeth. You felt powerful astride him, with your hands pressing down on his shoulders to keep him pinned to your bed.

“This how you want it?” he rasped.

“What can I say,” you smirked. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

He let out a sharp laugh, but it was cut off by a grunt when you ground down against him. You sighed at the feeling of him pulsing against your core, only two thin pieces of fabric separating you now. His eyes closed involuntarily, face relaxing at the feeling of you rubbing against him. But then they snapped open, trained on you again. You remembered what he’d said during your first time together. I don’t want to miss a single thing.

One of his hands left your waist and drifted between your thighs. He pulled your underwear to the side, and you exhaled heavily as one of his thick fingers dipped between your folds.

“Christ,” he exhaled. “You’re wet already, baby.”

“Can’t help it,” you whimpered, the pet name causing a flood of heat to rip through you. Your stomach tensed as he swirled his fingertip over your entrance, and spread the wetness upward, finally making contact with your pulsing clit. He drew light circles around it at first, enjoying the way you held your breath at the feeling, and then would sharply gasp for air as he changed his rhythm.

“That feel good?” he asked, watching your expressions.

“So good,” you breathed, eyebrows pulled together tightly as you grinded against his hand.

He slipped a finger inside you, sighing huskily at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. You loved the sounds he made when his hands were on you; as if he would die happy just from having had the chance to touch you. After a moment, he pushed a second digit inside, curling them against your walls and scissoring them, stretching you out for him.

You kissed him messily, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, before running your lips down his jugular. You tried to stop yourself from leaving marks in your wake, although you knew Joel wouldn’t be bothered.

“Fuck Joel,” you huffed, lips pausing on his skin when his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. “Stop.”

His hand stilled instantly, eyes searching your face in confusion.

“I need to fuck you,” you said firmly, pushing his hand away from your body and leaning back to tug your panties down your legs. Joel followed suit, desperately yanking his briefs down his legs before grabbing your hips to pull you back over him. Unintentionally, when you rested above him, the head of his cock nudged against your folds, and he moaned deeply.

“God,” you sighed, reaching down to grip him in your hand. You pushed his head through your folds, letting your slick coat his already weeping tip.

He groaned your name, fingertips digging into your hipbones. “Love how wet you get for me.”

You whined and couldn’t help but press your entrance down onto his head, longing to feel him inside of you. But common sense flared in the back of your mind, and you reached over desperately to grab a condom from the bedside table. Shuffling down to sit on his thighs, you ripped open the foil with your teeth, enjoying the way he stroked his cock and watched you with hooded eyes.

You knocked his hand away to roll the latex down his length, giving him a firm tug once it was on. Not wasting a second, he lined himself up to your entrance, and you sunk down onto his length.

You gasped, eyes shutting instinctively. For all the nights you’d spent together that week, it was the first time you’d ridden him. The position helped him hit a spot so deep inside that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

“God damn it,” Joel spat, eyes rolling back in his head. One of his hands gripped the blanket, and the other held your waist in a vice grip.

“Shit Joel,” you whimpered. “You’re so deep like this, f-fuck.” Your breathless tone drove him crazy, and he begged you to move.

“You can take it, darlin’,” he encouraged. “Show me how well you can take me.”

You clenched around him, your slick dripping down and coating both of your thighs. Slowly, you lifted up before dropping back down, crying out as he instantly hit that spot inside of you again. Hungry for more, you got to work; lifting up and grinding down in a beautiful rhythm that had him making filthy sounds beneath you, reaching up to pinch and tug on your nipples.

“Look so fucking good like this,” he grunted, his eyes flicking between your face and the way your tits bounced with every movement.

You grabbed his hands and shoved them into the pillows beside his head, leaning over him so he could suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He moaned into your skin, nipping gently at the painfully tight buds. With your torso bent forward, your clit brushed deliciously against the coarse hair at his base, and you couldn’t help but just grind yourself against him for a moment, letting out soft whines.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned into your chest. “Fuck yourself against me.”

With the sensation of him deep inside you, and the friction on your clit, an orgasm hit you out of nowhere. You cried out in shock, gripping his shoulders as your body bowed into his chest.

“Fuck,” he yelled into your skin, his hands wrapping around your back to hold you to him. You’d come to learn that your orgasm was often what pushed him over the edge, and could tell he was holding back, waiting.

Your body was shaking as the pleasure rolled through you, and Joel’s mouth sponging kisses across your chest did nothing to lessen the intensity of the moment. As your body relaxed, he began nudging his hips upwards, making you whimper.

“Not done with you yet, baby,” Joel rasped, his fingers dragging down your back as he fucked up into you. He was so thick, so heavy, inside you, and even in the minutes after an orgasm, you had to steel yourself in preparation for another. With all your strength, your pushed herself back into a seated position.

“You’re too far away,” he grunted, attempting to push himself up so you were chest to chest.

“Uh uh,” you tutted breathlessly. Your hands were on his chest, holding him against the bed. “Thought you didn’t wanna miss a thing, Miller? Watch me.”

His eyes flicked down from your face to your chest, your stomach, all the way down to where you were connected. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his neck was flushed red. You could only imagine that you looked the same way, as your chest heaved with exhausted breaths.

“So beautiful,” he breathed out, and your cheeks burned. The moment was almost too intense. Post orgasm, with him deep inside of you, saying words you struggled to accept about yourself.

“Fuck me,” you begged him, and he obliged.

His grip on your waist was bruising, using his strength to hold you still while he thrust up into you. You were sure there would be fingerprint shaped marks on you the next day, and the thought made you shiver.

“Y’feel so,” he grunted. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You leaned back and rested your hands on his thighs for leverage, moaning lowly at the new, tighter angle.

“Oh,” you sighed. “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum again, Joel.”

He cursed loudly, his rhythm breaking for a second before starting up again at a faster rate. “C’mon,” he encouraged, dark eyes bearing into yours. Holding his gaze, a shiver ran down your spine as you noted a hint of frustration. Joel was being rough, pounding into you with no mercy, desperate for you to cum again. It seemed the tension from the conversation in the barn hadn’t disappeared entirely.

Choked sobs fell from your mouth involuntarily as he bounced you on top of him. His teeth were gritted as he snarled, “Want to feel you cum all over my cock. I know you can.”

His words were enough to send you over the edge a second time, and a guttural cry tore out of your throat as you toppled into your orgasm. Joel followed close behind, his hips snapping messily into yours over and over again, while he let out rough curses and mumbles of your name.

Heavy breaths filled the air around you as you collapsed onto his chest. You left feather soft kisses along his collarbones, your eyes closed in exhaustion. He gripped your waist and spun you slowly so your back hit the pillows, before pulling himself out of you.

“I meant it,” he said a short while later. You’d cleaned up and were laying in bed, hands stroking each other’s skin absentmindedly. You looked at him in confusion. He reached out and traced a finger along the scar on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

You cringed quickly, tucking your face into the pillow.

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”

“It’s hard,” you muttered, still not meeting his eye-line. “This all feels very… intense.”

He nodded slowly, eyes watching you warily. “Is that… bad?”

“It’s not bad,” you rushed out. “It’s just different. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… a you.”

“Long time for me too,” he said. You stared at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I need to eat something,” you mumbled into his mouth, eager to change the subject. “Or I’m gonna pass out.”

“Can’t have that. Need you to keep your energy up,” he replied, his palm gripping your ass quickly. “Can’t have you tirin’ out on me.”

You scoffed, jumping off the bed to tug on a pair of underwear and a random singlet.

As you walked down the hallway into the kitchen, he called out, “I’m hungry too!” You replied with a laugh, and a “yeah yeah!”

You rifled through the kitchen cabinets for a few minutes and contemplated heating up a can of soup, until your eyes landed on the bag of oranges you’d picked up a few days beforehand.

You grabbed one with an eager smile, and began pealing the rind over the sink, not noticing the front door opening in your periphery.

“Jesus, aren’t you cold, freak?”

“Shit!” you jumped, almost dropping the fruit. “You scared me.”

Cal was leaning against the kitchen doorway, staring at you in incredulity.

“Not my fault you’re wandering around in your underwear with your head up in the clouds,” he was laughing.

“Shh, shh,” you hushed him with a snort. “Joel’s here.”

“Oh shit,” Cal said, eyes wide with mischief. “Grumpy old Joel Miller in our house?”

“Give it a rest,” you rolled your eyes, starting up on your peeling again. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” he trailed off, eyes flicking down the hall over your shoulder. You could hear Joel’s footsteps approaching the kitchen, but held focus on the orange, tearing white strands off the juicy flesh. Your cheeks flushed at what the two of you must’ve looked like; half dressed, with messy hair and tired eyes.

“Hey Joel,” Cal nodded politely, raising his hand in a wave.

Joel settled directly behind you, and your eyes went wide when you felt his bare chest press against your back, and his hand come down to land on your stomach. His long fingers splayed against you, pinkie resting dangerously close to the band of your underwear.

“Howdy,” he said quietly. His thumb toyed with the hem of your singlet, brushing underneath the fabric along your bare skin. You turned your head slightly to see Joel out of the corner of your eye, but he was staring directly at Cal. Your heart started to beat a little faster at the sudden awkward tension in the air. What was he doing?

Joel’s face was devoid of emotion, even the skin between his eyebrows was uncharacteristically smooth. But everything his face hid, his body language screamed. His knee brushed against the back of your leg, and where the contact would normally have made you shiver, you found herself stunned into silence by what you realised was a clear display of possessiveness. Joel was marking his territory in front of Cal, and you wanted no fucking part in it.

“How are you?” Cal asked warily, clearly confused by the dynamic between the two of you.

“I’m grand,” Joel said with a tone of finality, and no indication of wanting to continue the conversation. Your brain flashed back to the first time you’d met him, and what you’d thought; rude motherfucker. The adoration you’d felt for the man only minutes before was long gone, replaced with a burning frustration at his behaviour.

The silence was agonising, but you didn’t know how to break it. Cal fidgeted, eyes glancing at Joel’s hand before looking to the floor uneasily. Your stomach twisted as Joel leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your neck. Cal cleared his throat into his elbow and finally muttered something about heading over to Louisa’s. Willing yourself to move, you gripped Joel’s hand and pried it off you. You turned and stalked back towards the bedroom; the orange forgotten on the counter.

When he entered the room behind you, you spun around angrily. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” he asked innocently, hands raised in the air.

“You practically propped your leg up and pissed on me back there,” you grunted. “Like a dog marking your fucking territory.”

He said your name softly, arms lowering.

“Don’t say my name like that,” you said. “What the hell was that?”

“What, I can’t touch you?” he asked defensively.

“Did you see how uncomfortable he was? Your hand was practically up my shirt!”

“Well good,” he growled, and you paused, mouth falling open. “Maybe I wanted to set the record straight.”

“Set the record…” you stared at him wide eyed. “What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?”

His face relaxed suddenly as he realised how appalled you were by him, and he made a quick step toward you. “Okay, look,” he surrendered, hands reaching out to you. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Why did you do that?” you pushed, stepping back.

He breathed your name again, his eyes darting to stare at the wall. He gripped his hands together in front of him, cracking his fingers roughly. “Look, I-I can’t help but think about you and him living in this house together sometimes… knowing what I kno-“

“Jesus Christ,” you interrupted, pulling a pair of trousers from the chest of drawers, and beginning to tug them up your legs.

“Now listen,” he said from behind you. “I’m sorry, but-“

“But what, Joel?” you turned back, zipping your pants. “I was honest with you, before any of this started between us. I told you more about my history, including what happened with Cal, than I have with another person, ever. I trusted you, thought you’d take it at face value. But then here you are, on a weird possessive kick, trying to lay some sort of claim on me in front of him? Cal is like my fucking brother, I told you that.”

“I do trust you, but I doubt it’s the fuckin’ same for him,” he ground out, his face reddening. This wasn’t the soft spoken, kind man you had gotten so close with. He was frustrated and angry, and you didn’t like this side to him. “What am I supposed to think? How do I know that he’s not just holdin’ out hope, waitin’ for you to change your mind?”

It was as though all the tension from the past few hours bubbled up inside of you. The stern words in the barn, Joel thinking he could make decisions for you, stop you from coming on patrol. And now this. If anybody else in Jackson dared to do these things, try to tell you what to do, you’d have their fucking tongue for it.

“Because you’re wrong!” you shouted, unable to help yourself. Your chest was heaving with sharp breaths; the situation astounded you. Is he fucking serious? “And you know what Joel, Cal will always be in my life. He’s been with me for a long time before you, and he’ll be with me for a long time after you. And if you can’t fucking handle that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your mouth had moved faster than your brain, and you regret the phrasing as soon as it came out. But it was too late to take it back, so you steeled your shoulders and held your ground. Joel’s face fell quickly, his mouth turning down in dismay.

After you, you’d said. After you.

His hurt expression made your chest ache, but he cleared his throat and covered it up in a second.

“Well then,” he nodded, bending down to yank his clothes off the floor. He dressed in silence, not looking at you again, before turning and walking out of the room. You watched him leave with wide eyes, tears threatening your water line. Left standing alone in the house, you could only wonder what the fuck had just happened. Maybe you’d been right; wanting never brings anything good.

The nightmares returned that night. After a long week of peaceful deep sleep, the fear was paralysing, and somehow, you’d forgotten just how awful it felt. You slept fitfully, drifting in and out with no reprieve from your own mind.

By the time 6am rolled around, you tore out of bed to start the day. Washing your face in the bathroom, you ran your finger along the scar on your cheekbone, glaring at your reflection. No matter what you did, it would serve as a reminder of how weak you’d been made to feel, all those years ago. You weren’t supposed to be beautiful; you were supposed to be strong.

It was bitterly cold outside. As you trudged towards the stables to meet Joel and Tommy the wind whipped painfully against your skin. Shoving your hands deep in your pockets, you tried to ignore the feelings of regret you had over pushing so hard to come along on the patrol. The argument with Joel rung in your head on a constant loop, and you cringed to think of how tense things were about to be.

His pained expression flashed through your mind, but you willed it away as quickly as it came. You were angry with him. If he’d just told you how he felt, maybe you would have understood, but instead he acted like a child. You rolled your eyes thinking about it. Maybe it was for the best this had happened early on in your... situation with him.

“Oh, hey!” a voice called suddenly, and your head whipped around to spot the newbie jogging in your direction.

“Lincoln,” you nodded at him. “How’re you settling in?”

“Settling in well,” he grinned, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Surprised to spot anyone else out and about so early.” You gave him a wry smile, doing your best to be polite. It was too early for small talk, and you’d heard from the girls at the stables just how chatty he could be.

“Headed out on patrol,” you said shortly, sighing quietly when he changed his course of direction and fell into step beside you.

“Oh, wow!” he said, too loud for your tired brain. “I thought I’d heard you worked at the stables?”

You could see the barn at the end of the street. So close.

“I normally do, just helping out Tommy this morning.”

“Well,” he stopped walking, and you found yourself pausing too, reminding yourself to be respectful. “I’ll leave you be. Be careful out there. Never know what kind of madness you might come across outside those gates.”

You stared at him for a second, brain struggling to catch up with his shift in tone. Lincoln’s cheery smile was gone, and his face seemed almost solemn as he gave the warning.

When you didn’t respond for a moment, he spoke again. “You be safe then.”

“Always am,” you quipped, before turning to stalk towards the stables.

Joel and Tommy were already preparing the horses when you arrived. Tommy gave a friendly wave when he spotted you, beckoning you over.

“Morning, you remember how to use one of these?” he held a rifle out to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, stealing a glance in Joel’s direction. He was adjusting the saddle on his horse, and didn’t acknowledge your presence. You shouldered the gun and let out a quick huff of exasperation. Fine.

“Joel saddled Dot up for you,” Tommy said. “We’ll head out in a second.”

Your annoyance waned ever so slightly, and you stared at Joel’s back curiously. He still didn’t turn; whatever he was fiddling with on Percy’s saddle must’ve been pretty damn interesting.

“That’s nice,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered, gaze flitting awkwardly between the two of you when he noted your disingenuous tone. The contrast from when the three of you were last in the stables together was vast, and the younger Miller’s confusion was palpable.

Joel didn’t say anything as you mounted your horses and rode out of the gates. You hung back, trailing behind their horses while you gained your bearings outside the walls of the settlement.

Large mountains decorated the scene, dusted so beautifully with snow that it would be picturesque if you weren’t so uneasy. It had been so many months since you arrived in Jackson, and being back outside caused your heart rate to kick up a notch. The landscape was vast, and memories of extensive stretches of time spent wandering aimlessly through the country played in your mind. So many cold winters spent hidden in dilapidated buildings, huddled underneath thin blankets, praying you wouldn’t lose your toes to the cold.

“So, we’re going back along the south patrol,” Tommy called back to you. “Same as what we did yesterday. Don’t worry too much about where we’re going, just follow us. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything strange.”

“Roger that,” you called back.

The three of you rode in silence for the first hour. You didn’t mind it much. Your shoulders were tense as you focused on your surroundings. Your ears were sensitive to the smallest of movements, body twitching at the slightest sounds.

“There she is,” you heard Tommy say up ahead, and your breathing hitched. “Fucking hell, the animals must’ve gotten to her.”

Dot trotted into step beside Tommy’s horse, and with a rolling stomach you looked down and spotted the body.

The dead woman was mangled, gory tears in her flesh clear even through the light smattering of snow that had fallen upon her. Animals had clearly gotten to her through the night, and you cringed to see the blood splattered on the bright white ground around her body. Joel was silent.

The three of you tied your horses to a nearby tree and set off on foot, looking for any signs the raiders might have left behind.

“I’m tellin’ you Tommy, we won’t find anything,” you could hear Joel grumbling under his breath up ahead. “She probably just fucking froze.”

“Let’s just be sure, Joel,” Tommy said firmly.

Joel exhaled heavily, and was turning his head to say something else, when you heard it. it was faint, almost too quiet to notice, but your ears pricked up.

Clicking.

Your feet ground to a halt. “Shut up,” you hissed.

“I beg your par-“ Joel turned to look at you for the first time, but stopped speaking when he saw the alarmed expression on your face.

You held a finger to your lips. Listen, you mouthed. Tommy and Joel shared a brief look, before Tommy gripped your jacket collar and hauled you forward to stand in between them.

“I thought they froze out here in the Winter,” you said quietly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Not all of ‘em,” Joel grunted.

“Alright, we move slowly,” Tommy whispered, eyes darting across their surroundings. “As quiet as possible. There shouldn’t be many, so we’ll sort this fucker out and then get back to the gate.”

“We’re gonna kill it?” you asked, eyes wide. Never in your years in the wild had you actively sought out any infected. When you heard clicking, you went the other way. “We should just head back now.”

“It’s part of the patrol. Gotta clear out any infected we come across,” Tommy told you, eyes apologetic. “You’ll be fine.” You refrained from admitting that it wasn’t you that you were worried about. As much as you and Cal had done your best to avoid them, you’d had to kill plenty of infected in your lives. But you were hit with the sudden realisation that you hadn’t even brought a knife with you. Jesus, I’m out of practice.

Quietly as possible, you checked that your rifle was loaded, and the three of you walked toward the noise with your weapons raised. Your heartbeat thudded rhythmically in your ears, and the ache of anxiety grew in your chest. The clicking grew louder the further you walked, and your heart stuttered when they finally came into view. Not one, but two.

Your palms were sweaty against the rifle, and you cursed quietly, reaching down to wipe your right hand on the thigh of your pants.

“We’re good,” Joel whispered. You could see him watching you, out of the corner of your eye, but your gaze stayed trained on the duo up ahead. They were close together, twitching and writhing underneath a tall tree a few hundred metres ahead.

The way the creatures transformed with time never ceased to amaze you, in a morbid way. Fungal plates grew out of their heads, hues of bright orange and blue. After a year or so of infection, the fungus had solidified their bodies, making them stronger; more impenetrable. These should be the things that haunted your nightmares.

The three of you crept forward, and the infected were unaware of your presence, until a twig snapped painfully loud under your boot. They let out loud screeches, heads snapping in the direction of the sound.

You grunted as your right side roughly bumped against Joel’s left, and you realised that you’d both moved to step in front of the other. “Get back,” he barked, staring through the scope on his rifle.

“I got the left,” Tommy shouted, all attempts at stealth thrown out the window. A deafening crack rang out as Tommy shot at one of the clickers. Joel took a shot at the one on the right but growled in frustration when the bullet sizzled just past it. He went to empty the bullet casing and swore when his gun jammed.

You could hear Tommy somewhere to your left, warning you that there was a third infected. Stepping forward, you shot at the one running at you and Joel. The bullet lodged solidly in its torso, but it was too close at that point, and within a second it was on you.

“Fuck,” you yelled, the wind getting knocked from your lungs as you landed on you back.

Your hands pushed at its neck, holding its snapping mouth as far from you as you could. It was snarling and screaming in you face, and white noise rushed in your ears. Its arms flailed, hands swiping viciously towards your face. It landed a heavy blow to the side of your head, and you screamed in pain. A thunderous shot rang out, and a wet sensation splashed across your face. Your head smacked back against the ground as you recoiled, the clicker collapsing above you with its head split open.

The body was heavy on top of you, and a painful buzzing in your left ear had you grimacing in discomfort. You cupped your ears in attempt to soothe the ache. The weight on top of you finally disappeared, and you took the opportunity to roll onto your side. Warm hands were on your back, your arms, grabbing you.

Joel’s urgent voice finally reached you, calling your name, and you opened your eyes. His knees thudded heavily into the snow beside you, hands gripping the lapels of your jacket and dragging you into a seated position.

You stared at him in a wide-eyed daze. His hands ran over your body frantically, tugging your collar away from your neck to touch your skin, and checking your bare hands. He snapped your name, trying to get your attention. “Are you bit?”

Your face was so wet. As you slowly returned to clarity, it was all you could feel. And in a horrifying moment of realisation, it was all you could taste. The smell of metal and rot had invaded your mouth, your nose. You pushed herself back from Joel just in time to empty the contents of your stomach onto the snow between you.

He gripped your hair at the base of your neck, rubbing your back in short, rough circles. Somewhere far off, you thought you could hear speaking, but it was muffled.

“Is she bit, Joel?” Tommy was saying. Your stomach twisted violently, and you vomited again. When you managed to settle, Joel tugged you up onto your feet, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Joel?" Tommy urged louder.

“She’s not fucking bit!” Joel yelled, his eyes tight with concern as he wiped the blood off your face with a rag. He walked hastily in the direction of the horses, and when you finally reached them, he tried to get you on his horse with him.

“I can ride,” you mumbled, your own voice sounding muffled.

“Just come wit-“

“I can ride on my own,” you asserted, allowing him to help you mount Dot.

The ride back to the gate was long. Joel rode right next to you, not speaking but never letting you out of his sight. The shock was wearing off, but you felt like you had vertigo; dizziness made you grip the reins tighter, and you prayed internally that you wouldn’t fall off. When the gate finally came into view, you could’ve sobbed from relief.

On Maria’s orders, you weren’t allowed to leave the gate check in point until the settlement’s doctor came and gave the all the clear. Tommy and Maria watched you like a hawk, but you paid them no mind. You were sat on the ground, cradling your aching ear, while Joel made futile attempts to clean up your face. He couldn’t do much though, without warm water. No one said anything.

“You’ve got a perforated eardrum,” Dr Llewellyn told you, after shining a light into your left ear. It was leaking a clear, blood-tinged fluid that made your skin itch. “I’ll give you some antibiotics to help ward off any infection, but it should heal up on its own within a fortnight or so.”

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, accepting a small bottle of pills. “Thank you.” Considering you were covered in blood and brain matter and dirt, you were surprised by how unfazed Llewellyn appeared.

A low whistle rung out and you turned to look at Tommy. “I’m impressed,” he said quietly. “You held your own out there. We could use someone like you on the patrol team.”

“Tommy,” Joel started, but you interrupted him.

“Can you take me home?” His head swung to look at you and he was nodding quickly, gripping you hand to pull you up off the ground.

He was quiet, on the walk back. It wasn’t out of character, but you could sense a unique solemnity to it. One of his hands was on you at all times, and his head darted around constantly to see if there was anyone on the street who would spot you. Your demeanour would definitely cause alarm, and he wanted to avoid it if possible. The hearing in your left ear was almost entirely muted, and you walked in a daze, wincing at the headache pulsing in your skull.

Cal was still out when you got back, and Joel ushered you into the bathroom. He started the shower and helped you strip out of your ruined clothes. When the water was warm, and you were standing naked in the middle of the room, he turned toward the door.

“Joel,” you whispered, tears brimming on your waterline. As the shock wore off fully, you felt panic flare inside of you again. “Please stay.”

“Of course,” he hushed, putting his hand on your shoulder. His face looked tired, eyes and mouth downturned in concern. “Let’s clean you up, okay darlin’?”

You nodded meekly, allowing him to walk you into the shower and underneath the warm spray. He kicked his shoes and socks off, peeling his clothes off quickly before stepping into the stream of water beside you. Red and brown water ran down your body, and you shut your eyes quickly. You hair was matted thickly to your head, dried blood glueing it to your scalp.

Joel’s hands rubbed water into it, gently working out the tangles until it was clean. When the blood and grime was gone, he shampooed and conditioned it, nudging your head back softly to wash the suds out. You kept your eyes closed, tears still welling in them. The sense of failure and shame bubbled painfully in your chest. Why couldn’t you keep yourself safe? Why did you always get hurt? You felt like a fucking liability.

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, signifying that your hair was clean, and began rubbing soap over your body.

“Joel,” you said his name again urgently, voice thick with unshed tears.

“I’m here,” he soothed.

“I need you to check,” you said, voice so low he almost didn’t hear you.

“Check what?” he asked after a moment, his tone steely. Your eyes opened, and a tear rolled down your cheek as you stared at his blank expression. His hands had stopped moving.

“Please, just,” you gulped. “Check for bites. We might’ve missed something.”

“You’re not fuckin’ bit,” he ground out.

“Please,” you begged, a sob racking through you body. “What if there’s one and we just haven’t seen it? Please.”

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” he acquiesced finally, realising that your panic wouldn’t subside until he did this for you.

With painstaking care, he resumed his ministrations along your body. Dragging the bar of soap along your skin, checking for bites on your neck, your back. His fingers traced the length of your arms, down to your fingers. His knees cracked loudly as he crouched beside you, hands brushing down your legs, checking.

When he stood back up, he wrapped his arms around you and tugged you into his chest. “You’re safe,” he murmured in your ear, grip tightening as you cried. “There’s nothing, you’re safe.”

Joel had you wrapped in a blanket and in front of the burning fire in your living room within the hour. He’d rifled through Cal’s room looking for a beanie, and gently tugged the navy hat on your head when he returned.

“He won’t mind I’m sure,” Joel muttered while dropping down onto the ground on your right side. He stared affectionately at how cosy you looked.

“He won’t. We share clothes all the time,” you said softly, gaging his reaction. He nodded slowly, eyes staring into the fire. The moment reminded you so strongly of the night a few weeks prior, when he’d found you wandering Jackson late at night in search of firewood, with a busted face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the sincerity in his tone surprising you. His gaze held on the flames, but his hand drifted under the blanket to rest on your knee. “I was out of line, and I acted like a jealous kid. I don’t know what came over me.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, mulling his words over in your head. All the anger you’d felt towards him was so foreign now, after your near death experience, but you knew you had to talk about it. The way he’d held you in the shower, cleaned your skin... you weren’t ready be done with him.

“I suppose I’ve been relying on myself for so long,” he continued. “That I gotta … adjust to having other people in the picture. I had to adjust with Ellie, and now with you… I’m adjusting again. And it’s a good change; I want you in the picture.”

“You do?” you asked, wishing he would look at you. His cheeks were red from the warmth of the fire, and he cleared his throat nervously, nodding.

Finally, he turned his head to meet your eye. “I think I’ve wanted you in it since the first time I met you.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s bullshit, Joel.”

“Okay,” he laughed quietly. “The fourth time I met you, then.”

You stared at each other. For once, you didn’t feel like hiding as his eyes slid over the features of your face, taking you in.

“Cal’s my family,” is all you said.

“And I won’t get in the way of that,” he held your gaze.

“Are you sure?”

He breathed your name. “It terrifies me to admit it but… I want you in any way I can have you. If Cal is your family, then I’m not going to fuck with that. I trust you.”

“He’s happy, you know,” you started, resting your hand on top of his. You chose your words carefully. “That you’re… in my life. He thinks you’re a good person.”

Joel’s eyes softened further, and he had the good grace to appear embarrassed.

“I need to say something though,” you continued, and his face tightened with alertness, hanging on your every word. “After everything that I’ve been through, the way I’ve lived… being in Jackson has brought order back to my life, Joel. And I need that. I need to feel in control of my life, and my decisions. If I want something, like going on a patrol,” his eyes darkened, but he stayed silent. “then I will. And you need to accept that about me. My decisions are my own.”

“They are,” he said firmly, squeezing your knee.

After a beat of silence, you gripped his hand tighter, and admitted, “I want you too. In my picture.”

He nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I know, darlin’.”

“Gonna have to stay on my right side though, with this bum ear,” you sighed.

“We can handle a perforated ear drum,” Joel chuckled quietly, his nose brushing against yours. “You stay on my left, and I’ll stay on your right. We only need two workin’ ears between us."

And as sweet as it was, the moment was broken by the front door of the house unlocking loudly, and Cal stumbled into the room. He took in the picture quickly, watching you both with a distressed look on his face.

“Cal?” you asked, eyes wide. You figured he'd heard what happened on the patrol and rushed home to see you.

“You okay?” Joel stood, taking in the younger man in confusion.

“Sorry,” he breathed heavily, pushing his snow slicked hair back off his forehead. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Don’t apologise,” Joel said, offering a sheepish smile. Cal watched him warily, and looked to you.

“Someone’s gone missing,” he said, catching you off guard. Your shoulders tensed, and you nodded.

“Milena, right?” you asked. “I heard the other day. I thought she’d just left Jackson.”

“Who?” Cal frowned, his hands shaking. “No, it’s Rebecca, from the patrol group. I just ran into her husband; she didn’t go home last night, and he hasn’t been able to find her today. They’re putting together a search party.”

part five | series masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #my writing #under the night

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buckttommy · 4 days

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hi jack.

what if i told you i’m a slut for well executed mcd actually and i’m listening very intently.

also having thoughts about buck being reunited with tommy’s corpse and he just wants one more minute. just one more minute. he pulls the sheet down to kiss his cleft i think. just one last time.

anyway.

hello, my love

well if you told me that, i would have to tell you that i can't stop thinking about the quiet moments that come after. tommy dies, and buck can't get to him, and that's just—that's just it, you know? tommy's been ripped from this world, the love story is over and it did not end well. but that's just the end of that story, because now... now buck has to begin another one and that one is all about how to cope (or not cope) with this massive, gaping hole in his life. and so we have the quiet moments.

moments where he waits in the hospital lobby for eddie to identify tommy's body (because eddie certainly wasn't going to put buck through that, and he'll take that one for the team if it means sparing him)

moments where he goes home for the first time after. where he sees bits of tommy everywhere, from the dishes he left in the sink, to the jacket he threw across the back of the sofa, to the towel—still damp—from his shower that morning and he just stands in the middle of it all and cannot think or feel a single thing.

moments where he brushes his teeth and does his hair and before the funeral and can't stop thinking how weird it is to go through his morning routine without tommy's quiet presence in the shower or in their bedroom.

and then, of course, the quiet moment—the last moment—buck gets to see his face. even after the morticians have made tommy look normal, he still looks like an off-center, mirror version of himself without that light, that warmth behind his face. but buck pulls up a chair beside the open casket anyway and reaches down and strokes his strokes. it feels waxy and bizarre. tommy's skin, but not. he's used to the feeling of dead flesh, which is a morbid thing to say, but it comes with the job. people live. people die. tommy was always going to die. hell, buck himself is going to die one day. he just wishes — well. it doesn't matter what he wishes. tommy feels both familiar and abnormal under his hands and it's the first thing that makes buck feel something other than numb—it just makes him feel nauseous.

he sits beside the casket and rubs his thumb over that cleft in tommy's chin, back and forth, back and forth, and is just like, "hey babe... yeah. it's been a... shit couple of days. i keep wanting to tell you about it, you know? turn to you or-or pick up the phone to call you, to just, uh, just hear your voice. but you're not—you're never there. you're never there because you're —you're here and that's... that's kind of messing with my head a little bit. you know? it's messing with my head a lot a bit, actually. anyway, uh. this isn't about me, this is about you and i just wanted to say... before everything starts and—i just wanted to say that i, um. i would—i—i—i want to say i'm okay, that i will be okay. but i'm not and i won't be. i want to crawl in there and be with you and let them bury me alive but no one will let me. eddie is sleeping next to me because he thinks i'm going to kill myself overnight and chris is sleeping in the second bedroom because he's scared too, bobby comes over every day to make sure i'm not dead on the floor and to be honest, i just wish they'd all fuck off. i love them but i love you more, and you're — you're still the only person i can say that to. you know? i-i hate the way they love me, i hate the fact that you're gone, i hate that i can't leave without doing this to them, and i hate —" he stops because he was going to say i hate you but that's not true. there's not a single version of existence in which that is true. so he just stops and sighs and gets up. kisses the cleft in tommy's chin and presses their foreheads together. "if you'd given me a chance, i would have joined you," is all he says. "suicide pact or murder-suicide or... fucking whatever. i would have joined you. i still want to. maybe i will. i don't know. i love you. i love you. i said it every day and i still don't think it was enough. i love you, i'll never stop loving you. i'll never stop wanting to love you. i—"

but at that point, people are starting to fill in the church so buck just sighs again. puts the chair back and listens to the preacher give a generic sermon about a man he didn't know, and spends the whole time contemplating the fastest, easiest way to die.

so. yeah that's what i would have to say.

#nie 🌌#jack answers mail #tv: 911 #i need a fluffy palate cleanser because OW #bucktommy #suicide //

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mothandpidgeon · 24 days

Text

The Outlaws (outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 3

Moth's Masterlist - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates an turn on notifications so stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ MDNI)

wc: 3.2k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, only one bed, riding a horse together, one mention of pee, hand touching, strip tease I guess, Tommy and Maria, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, moth never uses y/n

authors note: Been holding onto this chapter since I haven't finished the next one but I really want to share this with you! Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and helping me untangle this mess and being the wind beneath my wings.

There are six links in the chain that separate you from Joel Miller. You count them over and over again. As you lay awake by the dying campfire. When he rattles them just after dawn to rouse you from the sleep you’d finally fallen into. While you drink the rancid coffee he boils over the fire.

You imagine them leaving an imprint on Joel’s tanned neck. Red, purple, bruising his skin as you use it to choke him to death.

You spend the morning following him to and fro as he and Ellie pack up camp.

“You know how to whistle?” Ellie asks you.

She’s been sticking her forefinger and thumb between her lips trying to get a sound out of them.

“Afraid not,” you tell her.

“You’re with me,” Joel says. He stands beside his horse, hand on his hip.

“I have to wear this damn bracelet the whole way?” you ask.

He nods.

“Do you think I’m crazy enough I’d jump off a horse?” you ask.

His eyes rake up and down your body and you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your skin. “Yep.”

Once he’s in the saddle, he hauls you up behind him. Not like you have much choice.

“You go for my gun and—“

“I know, I know,” you tell him.

You have ample opportunity to study the outlaw, at least the back side of him, as you ride behind him. He’s broad and sits tall in the saddle like he was born for it. You watch his shoulders under the fabric of his shirt, tempted to smooth your palms over them. With your wrists connected, you’ve got to keep your hands at his middle. His narrow hips roll with the movements of the animal beneath him, and you grip onto his shirt imagining how powerful it would feel to take him from behind.

He barely acknowledges you. There are a couple of times when you rest your cheek against his back just because you know it’ll annoy him. It works. He looks over his shoulder at you and you can hear the grumble vibrate through his body.

The three of you ride all day, stopping only twice to stretch your legs. Both times, Joel helps you down with his hands on your waist. You shouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do but his hands are big and his eyes dart away from yours. He stops touching you as quick as he can, as if you’re a hot kettle that might burn his fingers.

Your amusement is short lived as you have to suffer the indignity of squatting behind a bush with your arm outstretched towards fucking Joel Miller while you take a piss.

It’s dusk when you reach your destination— an old two-story roadhouse with a sign that reads The Dusty Boot. There’s nothing else around but a barn, an outhouse, and open country. Seems like an ideal place to keep a hideout.

Joel hands you down from the saddle again but before you head inside, he rounds on you.

“Now listen here, missy,” he says. “When we go in there, you keep that trap shut. No talking about bounties or the like. Not a peep out of you. Understand?” Joel asks you.

You twist your pinched fingers in front of your lips as if you’re locking your mouth the same as your wrist is locked in that cuff. It’s a command you have absolutely no intention of following.

By the frown on his face, it seems he knows that.

“And you let me do the talking,” he tells Ellie.

“Maria’s got a stick up her ass,” she laughs.

“Ellie,” Joel scolds.

“You said it yourself!” she says.

Joel sighs and trudges forward, dragging you along with him.

The inside of the Boot is cozy and rustic. There’s a large parlor with a number of tables, the paneled walls are decorated with antlers and horse shoes. After a full day bouncing on horseback, you’d love to sit your ass down in one of the winged back chairs in front of the fireplace. Most importantly for your new companions, the place is empty. If there are other guests, they’re up in their rooms.

At one end of the room, a man in an apron with a rag thrown over his shoulder stands behind a modest bar.

“Hey, brother!” he calls, a smile lighting his face.

You can see a resemblance between the two men– the same dark eyes and tan complexion, though Joel’s has been kissed by the sun.

“Tommy?” you whisper to Ellie.

She nods.

Tommy’s as slim as Joel is broad and he looks a bit younger. If Joel ever bothered to smile maybe he’d lose a few years off his face, too.

“Been a while, stranger,” he says. “How’s it going, kid? Still giving him hell?”

“We need a place to lay low for a bit,” Joel says, cutting the pleasantries.

You’re not sure if Tommy’s disappointed that this isn’t a social call but he nods and says, “Yeah, alright. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Joel bristles at the suggestion that you might be anything other than his prisoner. You give a smile and lift your fingers to your brow as if to tip your hat. As you do, the chain rattles obnoxiously and Joel glares at you.

“What the hell, Joel!” Tommy’s jovial expression has transformed to a look of horror.

“She’s got a bounty on her. I’m taking her to Jackson,” Joel explains.

“Maria ain’t gonna be happy about that,” Tommy says.

“Isn’t going be happy about what?”

A lean woman has appeared at the top of the stairs. She stands tall, shoulders back with a cool air. Her simple, grey dress is neat and spotless just like, you note, the room around you.

Joel quickly takes his hat off. He nudges Ellie to do the same. He’s tense and you can’t tell if he resents this woman or he’s afraid of her. Maybe a little of both.

You like her.

She sighs heavily as she descends the steps.

“Tommy, please tell me I’m seeing things because it looks to me like your brother has a woman shackled to himself in my parlor,” she says.

“You ain’t,” Tommy replies. He sounds just as exasperated.

Maria sizes you up with a look that’s half pity, half disdain. She’s a beautiful woman. Deep brown skin and sharp, appraising eyes. You can only imagine what she thinks of you. A night sleeping in the dirt can’t have done you any favors and certainly neither did a day bouncing around on horseback.

“How’d she get that bruise, Joel?” Maria asks.

You stroke the spot on your face gently as though it really hurts. In truth, you’ve pretty much forgotten that it’s there.

“She came by it on her own,” Joel says.

“That true, darlin’?” Tommy asks you, his voice full of concern.

Joel’s face contorts in what you can only describe as disgust that his brother would think him capable of such a thing.

You give a noncommittal shrug.

“That’s courtesy of the Pinkerton man she was with before we picked her up. Joel gave him what for,” Ellie explains.

Tommy nods.

“We’re just wanting a couple nights to keep our heads down. Ain’t nothing we ain’t asked for before,” Joel says.

“That’s fine. If you unlock her,” Maria says.

“She’s a murderer. You want me to let her loose around your nice customers?” Joel asks.

“I’ve already got three criminals in here. What’s one more?” she says.

“Come on, Joel. Let her be,” Tommy says. “She ain’t gonna give you the slip. Are you, darlin’?”

“Well, if given the opportunity—“ you admit.

“Joel, take that damn cuff off her. And you,” Maria turns on you, “give him your word you won’t try to run while you’re under this roof. Or so help me god I will throw all three of you out.”

“The hell did I do?” Ellie asks.

You’re beginning to understand why you sensed fear on Joel. For a second there, you’re more afraid of enduring her wrath than you are facing the executioner.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say almost involuntarily.

“Shake on it,” Tommy suggests.

You extend your hand to Joel with a saccharine smile. Tommy’s obviously gone soft since he left the gang if he believes somebody like you would be beholden to a handshake promise. It’s sweetly naive.

Joel’s thinking the same thing. You can see it all over his face. He grinds his molars.

“You do what I say when I say it,” he insists.

“Sure thing, boss,” you say.

He shakes your hand.

Joel watches your every move.

He’s been wanting to get Tommy aside to talk but he doesn’t dare to take his eyes off you. You’re unleashed and eager to run and he’s not willing to lose his bounty just because his sister-in-law is so sanctimonious.

“Hey, Tommy. Why did the cowboy go to the doctor?” Ellie asks.

Evening has descended on the Boot. A stage coach pulls in for the night. Its two passengers take their supper at the bar while their driver warms his hands at the hearth. Ellie and Joel sit across from you in the corner, bowls of hot stew on the table. Hers is empty before Joel’s even managed to bring his spoon to his lips.

Joel notices things about you. He wishes he would stop noticing how attractive you are.

Your eyes are sharp and fast. He can tell you’re making note of anything and everything that might help you escape. You massage at your wrist which is now naked with delicate fingers. You lick your lips jealously when Tommy sets a whiskey down in front of his brother.

You don’t have good table manners. The way you stab at potatoes is particularly violent. You probably wish those tines were going into his eyeball.

“How come?” Tommy asks. He wipes his hands with his bar rag, eyes twinkling with delight.

“He was feeling a little hoarse!” Ellie cackles.

Joel shakes his head. The kid is a handful but she’s grown on him. Her puns have not.

He looks up to find you smirking. Not because you find the joke funny. No, you’re laughing at Joel.

He reaches across the table and puts his hand around yours. He shouldn’t touch you again, not since he shook your hand and felt the softness of your skin on his. He spent all day with you practically pressed against his back, getting hints of lavender each time he turned his head in your direction. Such a sweet scent for somebody like you. It’s been a long time since he felt the weight of a woman on him. His body doesn’t know that you’re as dangerous as a mountain lion and slippery as an eel. It just cares that you’re pretty and you’re closer than you ought to be. And it wants more of that.

Your muscles tense around the horn handle of your fork. Joel unwraps your fingers from the utensil, focusing on the task at hand not the feel of you under his fingertips or the wide eyed stare you give him. His heart is beating double time when he replaces your pointed fork with a spoon.

Your shoulders soften when he releases you. You remind yourself to sit up straight.

“Enough jokes,” Joel tells Ellie.

“He ain’t no fun,” Tommy laughs.

You continue to keep your big eyes on Joel as you finish your stew.

“That was good eating Miss Maria,” you say when she clears bowls from the table. “I don’t rightly remember the last time I had a proper meal.”

You’re a fool if you think you’ve got an ally in Maria. Just because she got you unlocked doesn’t mean she thinks you’re anything better than trash. Her daddy was a justice of the peace and she’s never taken kindly to criminals either. It still vexed him that she’d fallen for Tommy but then again she blamed Joel for all of his brother’s failings.

“I know a thing or two about cooking. I’d be happy to lend a hand,” you tell her.

Joel lets out a sharp laugh. Your voice is sweeter than Joel’s heard and you're laying it on thick buttering Maria up.

“What’s funny about that?” you demand.

“You don’t know a thing about cooking but I’m sure you’d like to get a knife in your hand,” Joel says.

“As a matter of fact, I do know how to cook. More than cowboy beans,” you spit.

“I appreciate the offer. It'd be nice to get a hand in the kitchen for once,” Maria says probably just to get a rise out of him.

“That’s too bad. I ain’t letting you out of my sight,” he says.

He stands, stretching out the sore muscles in his lower back.

“Got the front room for ya,” Tommy says. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to sleep in the common room.” He glances towards the other guests.

Joel and Ellie have stayed amongst the strangers in the big room on the second floor when the rest of the private accommodations are taken. With you ready to bolt, though, it’s not an option.

“I want my own room. Take it out of my share,” Ellie tells Joel when he gives her a stern look. “I’m sick of listening to you snore.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Maria says.

Despite her contempt for their criminal lifestyle, Maria dotes on Ellie. Like she’s leaving a saucer of milk out for a feral cat, hoping one day it’ll come inside to lay by the fire. “Tommy’ll set that up for you.”

“I’ll bunk with the kid,” you say.

“Nice try,” Joel says.

“Ain’t this cozy,” you say.

You’ve stepped into the room you’ll be sharing with Joel.

Cozy’s one way of putting it. There’s barely enough space to open the door without hitting the iron framed bed. Beside that is a night stand with a porcelain wash basin, a chair, and a window. There’s about two paces of open floor in either direction. It’s hardly big enough for the both of you.

But that works to Joel’s advantage. He doesn’t want you going far.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, he clamps the handcuff around your wrist once again.

“Come on now,” you whine. “What about our truce?”

“That’s for Maria’s benefit. And she ain’t here,” Joel says.

You’re well beyond arguing and rolling your eyes.

“Well you can’t expect me to sleep in these dirty clothes again. Can you at least give me my arm for a minute so I can get out of ‘em?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes travel over you and he swirls his tongue over his teeth. It’s not a difficult decision for him. If you want to undress and lay in bed in your underthings, he’s not going to stop you. He unlocks the cuff and moseys over to lean against the door. You’re not going to run out of there.

“You going to stand there and watch?” you ask, fingers pausing at the buttons on the top of your bodice.

Joel presses his shoulders against the door, making himself comfortable.

“How do I know you ain’t got a weapon in them petticoats?” he asks.

“If there was, you’d already be dead,” you say.

He lets out a chuckle.

“Suit yourself,” you say.

A cool smile comes over your features. You continue undoing the buttons as you turn towards him so he can see you straight on. Slowly, you reveal what’s underneath– the lines of your corset, a sweet ribbon at the top of your chemise, and an expanse of decolletage. You slide the bodice off of your shoulders and toss it onto the floor, then continue on to your skirts.

“That brother of yours is handsome,” you tell him. One skirt falls away. “Did he leave you for that woman or she come after that?”

Joel doesn’t answer. You don’t seem to care.

“She don’t like you,” you tease.

You square him with defiant eyes, inviting him to look, daring him to stay in control. More flesh is revealed. Your blue corset presses the swell of your breasts above the chemise and you bend forward to give him a little show. Ripe, soft. He salivates.

Joel tries not to enjoy himself too much. He shouldn’t. And not just because this could easily turn into a trap.

“She don’t like you neither,” he says.

You shrug.

He could have you any which way he wanted with just the promise of letting you go. He wouldn’t even have to do it. Just say the word and you’d get on your knees for him. It doesn’t feel right, though, taking advantage of somebody so desperate. So he just watches, trying to keep his features indifferent as each piece of frilly fabric hits the floorboards. He hooks his thumb into his gun belt, hoping that it might obscure the growing strain in his dungarees.

By the time you’re undoing the metal fasteners at the front of your corset, he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood when there’s nothing more separating him from your body than a gauzy chemise and cotton drawers.

You go to the wash basin and splash water on your face and neck. Some droplets fall and make your chemise cling to your damp skin.Y ou moan happily, refreshed. The noise is obviously exaggerated but it still makes Joel ache.

You linger like that for a moment, lazily swaying your bare shoulders. Finally, you step towards Joel, crowding him against the door. The space between the two of you is hot and his breath shallows. He can see the outline of your peaked nipples beneath the flimsy material. The thought passes his mind again, how easy it would be to toss you back onto the mattress and help himself to all of you.

You raise your hand to him and for a moment, he’s forgotten what’s going on here. The sly grin on your lips tells him that you’re well aware of the effect your nearly naked body is having on him. He swallows and slips the cuff around you again. His knuckles graze the inside of your wrist as he locks it. Delicate, warm skin.

Pleased with yourself, you crawl onto the bed. Joel wills his cock to behave as he slips out of his boots and coat. He soaks his bandana in the wash basin and cools the back of his neck. Once he’s in his union suit, he sets his holster down on the floor beside his pillow and swings his legs into the bed. He locks himself to you and tucks the key next to his gun.

“Well ain’t this romantic,” you say from your spot against the wall. “Feels like my wedding night all over again.”

Joel stares at the ceiling. The bed’s a tight fit, his shoulders touch yours when he lays on his back. You’re leaned on your elbow smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He smells that lavender again.

He rolls onto his side, away from your leering. You laugh to yourself as he squeezes his eyes shut for a very long night.

Comments and reblogs always appreciated!

Chapter 4

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#outlaw!Joel Miller #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #ellie williams #tommy miller #maria tlou #tlou

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unknowntoyou2205 · 1 year

Text

Never threaten the Shelby sister 2/2

Info: Tommy never believed his sister when she said she was threatened by his enemies, but when injuries happen, Tommy is quick to make sure y/n knows how much he cares.

Relationship: Tommy Shelby x sister

Part 1

The situation kept replaying in Tommy’s mind. Shooting the man, running to y/n, seeing his sister surrounded by her own blood and Michal leaning over her, begging her to stay with him as he held pressure to the wound, his arm bleeding from the shoulder. Tommy remembered shouting for someone to grab a doctor, and two men running out with a gurney, transferring his sister on it before rushing into the hospital. He remembered trying to get by them to be with his sister while nurses held him back, telling him to sit down and wait till the doctor came out.

Michal managed to get away with a few stitches, and a telling off from Polly about being so careless to try and take down two men when he was on his own. Y/n however, had fared out with serious injuries, and Tommy couldn’t help but blame himself. If he had of believed her than she probably wouldn’t be in this situation. She wouldn’t be lying in the hospital bed with Tommy holding her hand, her family coming in and out to see if there was any change. She was the one who took care of the patients who came an went, she wasn’t meant to be one. Instead, she lay on the bed while Tommy kept his head down, a grip on her hand, refusing to leave her side.

------------------------

“Any change.” Tommy looked up to see his aunt Pol standing at the door.

“No, nothing.” Tommy spoke, dropping his head to look at y/n.

“What did the doctor say?” She asked, moving into the room, and Tommy seen Michal following behind, winching as he jolted his arm as he sat down.

“They managed to get the bullet out but there was a ruptured vessel. They managed to stop it so it’s just a waiting game.” Tommy explained, rubbing y/n’s knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.” Michal spoke up, and Polly shook her head as she looked at her son.

“Don’t blame yourself pet, it wasn’t your fault.” She smiled before turning to Tommy, “It was your idiotic cousins’ fault.”

Tommy looked at Pol to see her piercing glare.

“Yeah, I get it, I messed up, is that what you want to fucking hear?” Tommy snapped, not liking his aunt at him when he knew he had messed up.

“Yeah Tommy, it is. You need to realize that if it wasn’t for you y/n probably wouldn’t be in this situation. This could have been prevented if you had just listened to her. But no, you had to be so high on your horse to believe her didn’t you.” Polly snapped at her nephew, and Michal looked away, not sure where to look. “Who was he anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s sorted. Won’t get near her again.” Tommy spoke, looking down at y/n and kissing her hand as he ran a finger down her face.

After an hour or so, Polly and Michal left with Polly promising she’d be around tomorrow, and warned Tommy to call if anything changed. Arthur and John had came by and said that they would be outside the door if Tommy needed them, stating that she needed all the protection she could get after the events of the evening, and Tommy agreed, saying that when y/n came through, he would be sure that a peaky blinder was around her 24/7, whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her again. He realized just how much leverage his enemies would have over him if they got to y/n. She was his light, and Tommy knew that she was his everything.

That night Tommy refused to sleep. He spent the night sitting in the seat beside y/n’s bed, leaning back and staring into space. Grace had came by to try get him to come home, Charles had been wondering where his daddy was, but Tommy refused, stating that his sister needed him. This lead to an argument between the two, with Grace furious that he would choose his sister over her soon, but Tommy took no mind as his priorities lay with his sister. She was injured because of an error he made, and he wasn’t going to leave until he knew that she was okay.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning when an improvement to y/n’s condition was made. Tommy was knocked out of his thoughts by a slight movement of the hand he had never let go of since he was let into see y/n. Looking down, he could see y/n’s finger moving ever so slightly that he thought that it was his sleep deprived state that was making him feel it. But when he looked up at y/n and seen her head move to the side he knew he wasn’t hallucinating what he wanted to happen, it was in fact happening. In his desire to get y/n to waken up some more, Tommy stood up and leaned over his sister, placing a hand on the top of her head as he brushed back some lose hairs.

Y/n hummed as she felt the cool water hit the back of her throat. Licking her lips, she moved her head away from the cup Tommy had at her lips and winched as she swallowed. Tommy brought his hand back to hers and rubbed it between both his hands as he watched her try to open her eyes. Y/n struggled for a few minutes before finally opening her eyes, shutting them just as quick as she opened them when the light came to view. Blinking, she opened them once again, and Tommy came into her view, a slight smile on his face.

“Hmm, Tommy.” Y/n muttered dryly, smacking her lips together trying to get moisture to them as she kept her eyes closed with tiredness.

“Y/n, can you open your eyes love.” Tommy asked softly, rubbing his thumb around the palm of her hand.

“Water.” Y/n stated, though Tommy struggled to hear it with y/n’s dry throat.

“Here you go.” Tommy stated, quickly moving to the side of the room and filling a small cup with water, bringing it to her lips so she could drink.

Y/n indicated weakly with her hand for Tommy to come towards her and Tommy looked at her before sighing and moving back beside her bed. He took her hand once again and y/n smiled, squeezing it.

“Hey you.” He spoke gently, and y/n smiled slightly.

“Hey.” Y/n replied, moving to get up but gave up upon feeling pain.

"How you feeling love?"

"Like I've been hit by a bullet?" She joked, smile fading as she watched her brothers reaction.

"Y/n I'm so sorry for not believing you when you told me some guy threatened you. I should of trusted you and went to deal with him as soon as you said. But I didn't, and now look where you are." Tommy stated, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Tommy, it's okay." Y/n tried to calm him down.

"No, it's not. And don't play it down like it is. You could of died y/n, and that would of been for my stupidness." Tommy said, standing up forcibly.

"Yeah, and I was beyond hurt that you didn't believe me. But you saved me from a worse faith Tommy. You got him and got help before it was too late. You may not see it but if it wasn't for you turning up when you did I would be very dead right now." Y/n explained to Tommy, and he looked at her with unease. "Come here."

" I thought you'd hate me." Tommy spoke in a small voice, one y/n hadn't heard in a long time.

"We make mistakes Tommy, and we learn from them. Be glad nothing terrible happened, don't overthink what you could of done. I'm here, and I'll hold it against you, but I could never hate you. That's not in my blood. Besides, the rest of the family hate you enough for me." Y/n stated, smiling slightly to ease Tommy's worry. "I love you Tommy, that will never change."

"I love you too." Tommy smiled, kissing y/n's hand, "and from now on someone will be with you at all times."

"Course they will." Y/n muttered before smiling at Tommy, knowing it would make him feel better.

#shelby sister #tommy shelby x sister #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x sister #shelby clan #arthur shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #the peaky blinders x reader #the peaky blinders #finn shelby #polly grey #michal gray

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 8 months

Text

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Snow Angel

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 4.7K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: violence/abuse towards minors and unwanted comments from men

—————

I'll make it through the winter if it kills me. I can make it faster if I hurry. I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy. But if it kills me, I tried

Tension is thick and heavy in the Miller home as Joel steps away from the door his failed attempt to open it with it locked before he hears something being pushed in front of it. He had seen the panic in your eyes, and he knew it wasn’t from the fight you were in. The older man looks over seeing his child and her friend standing where you once stood before you took off. “Joel.” She starts but he’s turning away moving to the kitchen,

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Ellie follows after him Dina trailing behind,

“No fucking listen to me. That wasn’t her fault you hear me!” Ellie points outside defending you and Joel places his hands on the counter.

“She broke a kid’s arm. Almost beat Seth’s kid to death if we didn’t show up. How is that not her fault?!” He yells as Ellie glares at him.

“She was fucking protecting us!” Ellie yells back, “They were harassing Dina, and when I tried stepping in they started messing with me. I didn’t think she’d beat the shit out of them, but she was protecting us.” Ellie explains and Joel looks over at Dina who nods anxiously being in the very tense home. The door slams open and Tommy quickly enters the kitchen.

“This is fucking great! Jesus Christ,” Tommy says gripping his hair as he kicks a chair that slides away from him, “Half the council wants her out, but the other part knows the raiders are gonna find Jackson because of her.” Tommy hisses.

“What the hell was that girl thinking?” Tommy says as Joel shakes his head leaning against the counter.

“Girls said she was protecting them,” Joel says gesturing to the girls who nod frantically.

“Ellie tried protecting me from Derek and the boys but they wouldn’t stop, when they brought up Ellie’s parents, she just jumped in. We didn’t expect it to go that far,” Dina explains as Tommy listens to her story,

“Those fuckers started all of this by bothering Dina.” Ellie spats and Joel gives her a look at her language. Tommy sighs pinching his nose, “I’ll talk to Maria and she’ll talk to the boys to get them to fess up but I gotta talk to the kid, she can’t do this if she wants to stay.” Tommy moves to your room twisting the handle not feeling it budge before knocking on it,

“Kid, it’s Tommy can you let me in?” He calls out only to get silence. “She barricaded herself in there,” Joel comments and his brother lets out a curse knocking his fist to the wall.

“Okay just keep me posted when she comes out, I gotta go let Maria know about all of this. Dina, you better head off as well.” Tommy says and the younger girl nods bidding her goodbyes while Joel leads Tommy to the porch, “Christ Joel I don’t know what the hell to do with that girl. Is she better out there than here safe with people?”

Joel is silent, he thought he and Ellie had a rough transition when they arrived in Jackson. A harsh attitude towards everyone but at least he had Tommy to help adjust then Ellie had gotten those friends. You had no one, you were brought here then kept locked up like an animal for almost a month to be brought out and just assumed to assimilate instantly. He felt a bit of guilt with how he treated you. You were only a kid from what Ellie told him you were only two years older than the girl. He felt torn in two, one was the fearful side of what he knew could do, but the other side he thought had died many years ago but was brought back by the sixteen-year-old girl. The one that wanted to protect and keep you safe, that paternal feeling that he felt towards Ellie but he was confused why he felt it so deeply towards you. So he covered it with anger and ruthlessness with curses and insults thrown your way only for you to return it.

“Tommy, you go figure that stuff out, I’ll keep you updated.” He pats his brother's shoulder and nods heading off his porch and heading back towards the main street. The day moves too quickly as the streetlights begin to turn on with the sunset. Joel turns back inside finding the young girl sitting against your door with a sad look on her face. His heart aches to see his surrogate daughter upset and knows he had a factor in it.

“Come on kid,” He calls out to Ellie as she looks up at him, “Get some rest you had a long day.” Joel watches the girl pull herself to her feet silently moving past him climbing the stairs slowly completely not Ellie-like and this only makes him feel worse. Joel sighs moving to the kitchen his hand grabs the glass and amber liquid before pausing and putting it away and the glass in the sink and moving to make himself a cup of coffee.

You were frozen as you sat in the corner of the dark room, outside was quiet and the house was silent as well. Slowly moving to stand your face aches in pain same with your bloody knuckles. You were only making things worse here, people were only to get hurt because of you. Looking in the boxes you find an old tattered backpack and you start shoving some clothes in the bag. You would worry about food and supplies later. You would head back to the cabin and get stuff then leave. Head north as you planned, go to Canada, and live there away from everyone. Grabbing a shirt and ripening it into strips wrapping them around your knuckles the fabric already soaking the blood using another piece pressing it against your lip hissing in pain from the split skin. You move to the door cringing at the loud noise the dresser produces as it scratches against the wood floors and you pause trying to listen for anything before you open the door and enter the dark hallway. It was dark but you knew all you had to do was walk forward and you’d reach the door and you’d be outside. Your footsteps are silent listening for any movements from anywhere in the house as you pass the opening to the living room.

“What are you doing kid,” A voice calls out making you freeze you look over spotting a shadowy figure and you see an arm move before light fills the room from the small lamp on the table next to him. Joel sat a mug in his hand no longer a glass of amber, was he waiting for you? “Where are you going?” He asks and you tighten your grip on the backpack strap.

“I’m leaving. You’re right I’m a problem here..I’d rather take my chances with the raiders.” You say turning to grab the door handle.

“Stop it, kid.” He stops you once again your hand on the handle, “Listen…shit...I’m... I’m sorry.” He says and your hand falls from the door as you turn to face the man who looks quite anxious under your gaze unlikely the times he looked so intimidating. “You shouldn’t be forced to make these kinds of decisions and I shouldn’t have treated you like an adult when you are a kid.”

“I’m eighteen.” You retort and he gives you a look before continuing, “You were brought here to just be locked up and then forced to act normal around people you just met. You reacted a whole lot better than I would’ve.” He says and you give him a look.

“I broke one guy’s arm and some guy’s face, how is that a whole lot better.” You say and his look darker slightly, “I probably would have killed the guys.” The room grows silent at his confession as he looks over you.

“What I’m trying to say is you weren’t given time to adjust and your actions are justified,” Joel says and you slowly nod, “So if you’re going to leave I won’t stop you, but you won’t be safe out there I can tell you that. But if you decide to stay you’ll be protected here I promise you that.” He brings the mug to his lips taking a sip as silence once more fills the room as you are torn between two places. You were more in your element out there where it was ruthless and chaotic, here it was normal though you never knew of normal, it was like the outbreak never happened here. Families could live and grow, and children wouldn’t be in fear of Fedra or infected attacking anyone. It was protected and that was something you’ve never experienced before. You protected yourself but you’ve never once in your life been protected by others. The rational part of your mind tells you to leave, you knew what you were doing. You survived eighteen years of your life without the help of others but the irrational part is the one that looks at the calm man before you. The older man who urges you to stay and be safe…to be a kid again. That part of your mind that wants that normalcy, to have friends, to not fight every day to survive, to be taken care of due to the lack you received as a child. You stare at the door handle in front of you calling for you to leave but the backpack slides off your shoulder hitting the floor and Joel lets out a small sigh of relief.

“This doesn’t make us friends or whatever…you or your family,” Your voice cold that thick boundary place and he watches the small glimpse of you disappear replaced by the girl from outside the walls. The one that murdered a group of raiders alone and only cared about herself and her survival, “I don’t need any of you.”

He doesn’t get to answer as you turn to head back to your room the door closing behind leaving him alone. Joel thinks of the event that led all of them here. Would things have been different if they left you in that cabin or if Tommy or Jesse never met you? You both would have lived in your separate worlds maybe at one point in time met but it would have been as enemies. Either them putting a bullet in your head or you get them first. The tough-hitting thoughts create a pain in his head and he sighs finishing up the drink before retreating to his room. He pauses at the foot of the stairs looking down the hall to where you rest before he heads upstairs to try and get some sleep.

It was weird sleeping in a bed after weeks of being in that cell with that concrete bed. It was too soft and you sank into the mattress. You did feel much warmer under the thick blankets, unlike the single thin and scratchy blanket in the cell. The sunlight woke you up hitting you directly in the eye, you grimace feeling the dry blood on your face and your hands. Looking around the room and finding the bag you packed last night resting on the dresser you knew you hadn’t brought it back here. You open the pack and grab some clothes before you exit the room. It’s relatively quiet as you enter the bathroom that’s right across from your room glad you didn’t have to go upstairs. It seemed stocked up as you stripped jumping into the shower. It took you a second to figure out the mechanics almost shouting from the sudden cold water that drenched you but it soon became warm and you quickly accepted. You lather your hair in the shampoo and conditioner as you clean the rest of your body, the water once clear runs red with the blood you had to scrub off your body. Once done you dress and find a brush getting all the tangles and knots out of your hair letting it rest naturally wet against your neck. The bathroom seemed stocked with everything you would need some items you’ve never seen before or hadn’t had quite the luxury of having. You never were more grateful for a stick of deodorant enjoying the fresh scent of it plus the soap. Leaving the bathroom happy with the fresh feeling when you hear voices coming from down the hall in the living room.

“So she tried leaving?” You hear Tommy’s voice and the hum of another man. “Thought it would be easy for all of us. Think she’s still sleeping.” Joel’s voice calls out as you slowly creep down the hall looking through the doorway that enters the kitchen giving a clear view of the connecting kitchen and living room. Joel and Tommy sit on the couches in both men's hands a mug and you can see the steam coming off them.

“I’m glad you convinced her to stay,” Tommy says taking a sip of his drink, “You know she kinda reminds me of you. Not sure if that’s a good thing, you are a pain in my ass.” He says and Joel glares at him as Tommy cracks a grin. You don’t listen to more as you hear someone you assume Ellie come bounding down the stairs and you quickly retreat into your room as the conversation with the new edition becomes muffled. It was drawing near the time for breakfast at the mess hall, Ellie getting her shoes on as he made his way to the room at the end of the hall. Knocking before giving it a second before he enters. You sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping strips of fabric around your knuckles.

“We have bandages if you need them,” Joel comments on the homemade wrappings but you shake your head moving to wrap your other fist.

“I don’t need that.” You remark and the adult watches you struggle slightly to wrap it around your non-dominant hand. “Here let me hel-” He moves forward to grab your hand and you pull your hand back with a sharp look.

“I can do it.” You hiss and Joel takes a step back watching you slowly restart but after two failed tries he moves forward ignoring your protest grabbing the wrapping and doing it with ease around your knuckles. Glancing briefly up at you seeing you looking away your other hand digging into your pant leg your foot fidgeting. Finishing with the wrapping spotting a discoloration on your skin on your forearm but you quickly pull down your sleeve past your wrist.

“All done…” Joel says standing back up and you seem to relax the tension in your shoulders when he creates distance, “It’s close to breakfast so start getting ready.”

“You don’t need to make me breakfast,” You murmur fixing your sleeves on both arms, “I can do it myself.”

“Well we ain’t having breakfast here so get your shoes and coat,” Joel says and you stand up hearing this news. You didn’t want to go out there and see all of them. You rather be holed up in here until you could leave this place. “I’m not going.” You cross your arms and Joel throws you a look.

“That isn’t your decision, Tommy and Maria said you have to be there,” Joel says slowly growing frustrated mirroring your pose. They weren’t allowed to make those decisions they didn’t fucking own you. “Well, you can tell Maria and Tommy to fuck off.” You spit and Joel steps forward and you are ready for the screaming match.

“Hey!” “Joel!” The young voice of Ellie pops into the room hanging onto the doorframe looking between the two of you, “Hey! You joining us for breakfast?” Ellie says a look of excitement on her face.

“No.” “Yes.” You and Joel both speak at the same time glares thrown at each other.

“Great! Tommy and Maria are waiting outside.” Ellie takes Joel’s answer before she heads outside leaving the two of you. Joel and you stare at each other waiting for the other to break and it pisses you off seeing the lack of remorse or patience for you. Grabbing your coat and shoes from the end of your bed heading to the door not before slamming your shoulder into Joel’s.

“Little shit..” He whispers under his breath as he heads out to the entranceway spotting you finishing the laces on your boots before throwing the door open and heading outside.

“Finally. Hurry up I’m fucking starving.” Ellie calls out from the steps of the porch and you spot further behind her Maria and Tommy. You stiffen seeing the small child in the woman’s arm looking at you innocently. It made you uncomfortable seeing her hold that child so gently and with a small smile on her face in the presence of that infant. You felt sick.

“Glad to see you kid,” Tommy greets you as you keep staring at his child with wary eyes. He clears his throat getting your attention, “When we get to the mess hall you’re going to have to see Derek and the boys. I want you to apologize to them.”

“I’m not doing shit. They fucking started it! Why the hell should I apologize.” You scoff and the three adults give you a look.

“Look Derek is Seth’s son he runs the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison, just be the bigger person please,” Tommy pleads and you roll your eyes starting the unfortunate trip through the streets of Jackson. You walked between Tommy and Ellie your hands shoved in your pockets a bitter look on your face.

“They should fucking apologize to me for being dickbags.” You sneer, “Hey language.” The three adults say as you reach the main street. Burning eyes of people milling on the streets watching the girl that has been trouble since coming here. You see a group of older women standing together whispering to each other and glancing back at you.

“The fuck you starin' at?” You call out to them and they all give appalled looks as you walk past them Joel sighs and Tommy groans apologizing to the women on your behalf.

“What did I just say…” Tommy says and you glare at him, “You said to apologize to dickwads not the group of hags gossiping.” You spit and the man groans trying to prepare himself for when they reach the mess hall. You barred your teeth at people snarling at kids who looked at you run leaving before scared adults and some crying children.

“Jesus, you got half of Jackson either pissing their pants or running to their mothers,” Ellie comments seeing you death glare at two men who stare at you for too long for your liking.

“Just get to the damn hall,” Joel says sighing already fatigued by the trip here and how much of an impression you were doing for yourself. The hall was slowly filling with people coming for that morning rush. People get out of your way as the six of you enter, the friendly atmosphere dropping as they see you standing in the doorway. Finding a table you shove yourself in a seat far in the corner away from the glaring eyes of people. Ellie sits beside you followed by Joel, Tommy across from you, Maria next to him, and their son sitting in the woman’s lap. Tommy seems to scan the room before spotting what he wanted to find and turns back to you seeing you picking at the wood of the table.

“Stop that. Alright, Derek and the boys are over there I want you to go over and apologize. Keep it sweet and simple, avoid the language, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ and you’re fine.” Tommy points over to the table on the other side of the mess hall as you follow his finger before you spot them. Derek’s face is bruised with bandages on sections of his face, another one of them has their arm in a sling and a large split in their lip, and the other one has a fat bruise across his cheek. They looked like they got their ass handed to them, while you walked away with a cut on your temple, a split lip, and bruised knuckles.

“They looked fucked up,” You comment a small curl of your lip happy with the damage you did. They fucking deserved it for what they did. “Hey!” Tommy snaps his fingers drawing your attention back.

“Go over and apologize. We’ll grab food afterward. Just be yourself.” He says and you give him and look, “Actually be the opposite of yourself.” You scowl at him as he waits for you to move and you groan standing as your chair scrapes back shoving your hands in your pocket.

“Ellie make sure she doesn’t just insult them,” Joel says and the young girl nods standing joining you and you look at Tommy. Did you have to do this? The impatient look has you tilting your head back with a groan before you trudge your way across the room. You could feel the people’s gaze tracing after you their conversations growing quiet when you passed by them. Reaching the table you see the injured boys notice your presence as their conversation grows quiet as you stand before them Ellie a few feet away. Your attention was less focused on the others but mainly on Derek as he was apparently the guy who runs this place’s son.

“I…” Your hands curl up into fists as the words feel like lead in your mouth as you force them out, “I wanted to…apologize for my actions…it…it was wrong to hurt you.” You grit the words and you see the pleasure on Derek’s face knowing you were forced to say those words. Derek leans forward a smirk on his face, “And..” You feel your blood boil as your nails dig into your palms. It took everything in you to not grab his ugly mug and slam it into the table.

“And…I’m…I’m sorry.” The words grit through your teeth and he nods as he brings a hand to his chin.

“Sorry speak up, I didn’t hear what you said.” He holds a hand to his ear as the two idiots chuckle beside him enjoying the anger and the embarrassment on your face for having to apologize to them when you both knew you were justified to whoop their fucking asses.

“I’m…” “Speak up still can’t hear you.” Derek says and the boys chortle your nails digging deep into your palm, “I’m sorry.” You articulate the venom clearly in your tone as you’re forced to look at him as he takes in your words. You turn ready to head back to your table when he speaks up.

“Why don’t you come to the back and you can really show me how sorry you are.” He says smugly and you hear the snickers coming from his friends at what he was insinuating. You freeze and your eyes meet Ellie she couldn’t hear exactly what was said but saw the anger deep in your eyes before they moved to the table across the room with the adults watching the situation. Your gaze meets Tommy and his face morphs realizing what you’re about to do as the boy behind you speaks up, “Come up I’ll be sure to put that mouth to wor-” His head snaps back a large crack filling the air and you welcomed the pain in your already injured knuckles and seeing the blood freely falling from his rebroken nose.

“Eat shit.” You hiss quickly heading for the exit leaving the commotion behind you as the hall is quickly filled with shouting. Good job being the opposite of yourself.

Your back pressed against the boxes in your room as you sat in the corner. It felt like the only place you could hide and avoid the fight you knew was to come. You hear the door open and the heavy footsteps followed by the lighter ones but the heavy ones move towards your room. Joel opens the door at first not seeing you before spotting the tips of your shoes peeking from behind the tower of boxes. Moving until he sees you sitting against the wall your knees to your chest as you flex and unflex the hand you used to punch Derek.

“What the hell was that? What happened to apologizing and leaving.” Joel says crouching down to your level as your gaze is glued to the wall in front of you as you focus on the blood soaking the ‘bandages’, “Are you listening to me?”

“He wanted me to suck his dick.” You mumble and Joel grows silent sure he misheard you, “What?” He says and you don’t even glance at him, the lack of emotion in your voice as you sit huddled in the corner away from view.

“He said he wanted me to come to the back to show how ‘sorry’ I was. He was sure to put my mouth to-” “Stop.” Joel cuts you off before you can finish he feels disgusted hearing what was spoken to you. He wanted to go back to that mess hall and beat the crap out of that punk if that’s what he thinks about treating women. But the rational adult part knew that wasn’t the reason they brought you over to apologize.

“I’m sorry he said that. No man should talk to a lady like that.” Joel says and you scoff finally making eye contact with him though very briefly, “Like I’m a lady. Besides I’ve dealt with worse than some limp-dick teen.” He couldn’t help his mind run with slight concern, what was worse than what happened together that made this incident now insignificant? Joel stands looking down at the girl who continues to stare at the wall. It was moments he felt like two different people were in you; One was a ruthless girl who killed multiple adults twice your size and beat up three teens on her own, but the other was this timid girl who hid in corners and avoided care or help and was an insecure shell of a person.

“I think it’s best if you avoid the mess hall. Let this all simmer, I’m sure we have some leftovers to eat.” Joel says and you hum absentmindedly your gaze staring at the wallpaper that was beginning to peel in the corner. Joel looks at you one last time before retreating from your room finding the other Millers waiting on the couch for the information. Tommy felt like he was going to gain grey hairs too early from how much stress you put him through. The other brother sits up seeing the other enter the room seeing the exhausted look on his face as he rubs a hand on his beard.

“So what did she say, 'cause I don’t think Seth is going to accept a second time of her assaulting his son,” Tommy says as Joel leans against the wall rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He peeks around the corner trying to spot the younger girl who retreated upstairs to her room before turning to the couple.

“The kid…he had suggested some inappropriate actions as a form of forgiveness.” He felt sick saying it trying to be as PG as possible with the presence of the two-year-old in Maria’s arms. The looks of disgust and horror are clear on the two parents' faces as Tommy sighs pushing his hair back and Maria looks furious her motherly instincts reacting.

“I’ll speak to the council, though she shouldn’t have laid her hands on him. We don’t excuse harassment of any kind. Derek will be punished accordingly,” Maria says, and both brothers nod, “But so will Y/n for today and yesterday. Tommy and I spoke about this last night I think it’s best we get her to do some work for the community. It will keep her preoccupied instead of cooped up here, but for the safety of others until she grows more comfortable around others probably a job away that can be more secluded.” She explains and Joel nods. Ellie had her classes to keep her busy and if not if was hanging out with her friends. You technically didn’t need school so giving you work would keep you busy.

“What did you have in mind?”

#the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x teen!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x teen!reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller

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jaidens · 10 months

Note

i have a request for daniel larusso!! so i just got done gossiping with my friend 💞 and i was thinking… what abt gossiping with daniel? like maybe reader and daniel and having a sleepover and they’re like gossiping with eacher 😭😭 while doing like makeup or skincare 😭💞??

You Heard The Rumors From Inez

pairing [s] : daniel larusso x reader

warning [s] : good ol’ gossip |

a/n [s] : thank you for the request! also gossiping is good for the soul sometimes.. [requests are open]

Daniel sometimes loved and hated his highschool.

On the good side, you went there and some of his friends did too.

On the bad side, the rumors and gossip spread like wildfire. There was barely any chance to tell anyone you were dating Daniel before it spread to everyone because you were caught holding his hand. It was easier, you told him, that you didn't have to tell people.

He never understood, why people spread rumors whenever he knew the damage of it. Especially when you're the butt of it all. He eventually got used to the rumors and sometimes it was hilarious to listen to.

You're sitting in front of your vanity, taking off your makeup (Daniel assumes) and you let out a loud gasp and turn down the mixtape Daniel made for your year anniversary. You twist around quickly before he questions what happened. “Did I not tell you what Samantha Jenkins told me yesterday?” You ask him to watch him gently shake his head no. “No you didn't baby.”

He's laying on your bed, throwing a trinket you had on your night stand. “Okay, so, basically Jessica Stevens found out that Danielle Cunningham slept with four guys while dating Freddy. And I mean, I couldn't believe it. So, I asked her. And she said, believe it or not, that's not all!” You're talking excitedly and waving your hands around in the air. Daniel sits on your bed and admires you.

“Oh yeah. Fred was air-headed last game. Danielle actually slept with that many guys? She would always go into the locker room to ‘to talk to Freddy’ that's whenever I found her and Ben in the bathroom.” Daniel tells you, pretending to shiver and gag. You laugh at his antics, “What are you putting on your face? It kinda looks like orange juice.” You laughed at his comparison of your Ten-O-Six lotion.

“It combats acne and stuff. I swear on my life by it. Okay, so she slept with Ben too? I only knew about Chase, Leon, and Tommy.” You turn your head to look at him and he nods with a weird look on his face. You close your vanity drawers after sticking everything back and you push your chair in. “You’re finally done now...” Daniel tells you holding his arms out and giving you his grabby hands. “Not can do. I'm gonna go get us face masks!”

You hear him let out a groan and you yell back, “Do it if you love me!” He stops his groaning suddenly and you give a small laugh whenever you grab your face masks from the cabinet. Once you walk back into your room, Daniel is sat up against the wall with pillows stacked up to his head.

He's messing with the channels on your television and scrolling aimlessly through them. You tell him to stop scrolling whenever you see one of your favorite movies, Secret Admirer. “Michael Ryan is so fine.” You whisper under your breath and you see Daniel cock his eye brow and give you a ‘are-you-serious?’ look. You laugh and sit down on your bed and Daniel pulls you into his lap.

His eyes are focused on your face as you get the face mask out of the tube to put it on Daniel's face. Daniel's hands go to your thighs rubbing soft circles whenever you push his hair out of his face. You apply the cold facemask onto his face he lets out a quick breath through his teeth. “Smells like lemons... mmm.”

Daniel's eyes close and you continue applying until your phone rings. You pick it up and Daniel hears a shriek on the other side. You and her talk for a couple seconds before you hang up and turn back to Daniel. “What was that baby?” He asks as he follows your face. “Steph’ just got the scoop on Angela Murphy. Apparently, she was talking smack about her best friend and they rumbled in Clarity Hills.”

You applied your mask while talking, Daniel sat and listened to things she had done to you. “She was always mean to everyone. In freshman year, she picked on me all the time. I never liked her. And hearing what she did to you? Bitchy.” Daniel laughs with you before feeling his face get tight. “The mask is making my face hurt.”

“That means it's ready! I'm gonna go ahead and pull it off okay?” He nods and closes his eyes and your hands go to his face and you start pulling it off. It comes off in one piece and he stares at it. “You pulled my face off!” Daniel jokes and you slap his shoulder gently.

You and Daniel stay there for a bit, laying and watching the movie. At the climax of the movie, you fall into a kiss with Daniel. He holds his lips before slowly deepening. The credits play and you turn the television off. “I love that movie. I saw it in theaters with Jessica and we both cried.”

You and Daniel laugh and he squeezes you tightly. “I love these nights with you. Especially the one we had after the tournament.” He teases in your ear, reminding you of the wild night you enjoyed with him on the warm Reseda night. “You tease.” You mumbled under your breath and kissed him again. “Thanks for coming over. I bet your Mom's happy.”

When you went to go look back up at him, he was asleep. You put the blanket over him and kiss him softly on his nose. “Goodnight, I love you.”

#young daniel larusso x reader #daniel larusso x you #daniel larusso fluff #daniel larusso x reader #daniel larusso #masterlist of daniellarussoo #daniellarussoo ask

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

before - part four

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

it’s almost the end of the summer, and everything is about to change.

a/n: pls don’t yell at me too much (also for full effect, listen to Still by Noah Kahan - it came on while I was writing this and I burst into tears….)

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, fluff, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m and f receiving), intense sex, confessions and hard conversations, I apologize but for the sake of the plot we must persevere!

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You’re not expecting the knock at the door.

It’s nearly three weeks now, since your night at Joel’s house. The following days were nothing short of blissful, keeping up your almost-daily coffee routine, stolen kisses in the hardware store, another dinner at a different restaurant after Joel swung a job that paid him nicely. You took him to the movies, sat in the back corner of the dark theatre and let him stick his tongue down your throat when your minds started to wander away from the screen. When he could, he stopped by in the morning to drive you to work, picked you up on his way home when your schedules matched.

Your meeting Tommy comes as a surprise; he followed Joel into the store one day, the pair of the arguing about something or other. Joel had stopped short when he spotted you at the end of the aisle, and you hadn’t notice the brothers standing there until Tommy loudly declared, “That’s her! Isn’t it? That’s gotta be her!”

Before you really knew what was happening, you were being swept up into a bear hug, nearly lifted off your feet with the force, and meeting Joel’s sympathetic eyes over his brother’s shoulder.

“Tommy Miller,” he introduced himself after putting you back on your feet. You shook his hand with a laugh, offering your own name, and he grinned broadly. There was definitely a resemblance between the brothers, Tommy’s hair a few shades darker, his shoulders not as broad, his face handsome in a different way than Joel, but handsome all the same. “I gotta thank you, honey,” he told you, still gripping your hand with both of his. “My brother has not been able to shut up about you, never seen him so happy.”

Over his shoulder, you saw Joel go bright red, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy.”

“Am I wrong?” his brother shot back, tugging on your hand and tucking you under his shoulder. You just laughed, resting your hand against his back. “Not that I blame you, brother. She’s just as pretty as you said.” He looked down at you with a broad grin. “You are very pretty.”

You sputtered on another laugh. “Thank you, Tommy.”

Joel glared at his brother. “Go find the plaster, would you?” he grumbled, and grabbed for you, tucking both arms around you and shoving at his brother’s shoulder.

As soon as Tommy disappeared into the next aisle, Joel glanced left and right to make sure the coast was clear, and then his mouth covered yours, a hot kiss that had your toes curling in your shoes. He crowded you up against the paint cans you’d been rearranging, curling his hands along the edge of the shelves while you cupped his face in your hands, scratching your nails through his beard.

“My stupid fuckin’ brother,” he grumbled in your ear, and you giggled when he kissed your neck, teeth nipping slightly. “Spillin’ all my secrets.”

“He seems sweet,” you replied, giggling harder when his hands pinched at your ribs, tickling you. “Joel!”

That had been a week ago, and you’re standing in the kitchen, musing over the moment, your heart still racing over the phone call you’d received when you got home, when you hear the knock. Your mind is a mess, a slur of memories and whispers and feelings.

You school your face into something happier than you’re feeling when you open the door, a bright-eyed Joel Miller standing on your front porch, his truck idling by the curb, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

You nod wordlessly, grabbing your cellphone and your keys and walking out of the house, locking the door behind you. He gives you a soft kiss before tugging you down the porch steps, fitting you under his arm, fingers toying with the shoulder of your — his — shirt.

“I’m never gettin’ this back, am I?”

“Not on your life, Miller,” you reply, forcing a grin.

He chuckles quietly as he opens the passenger door for you. Your eyes dart to the backseat as you get in, the bench seat piled with pillows and blankets and a six-pack of beer.

“What’s all that?” you ask, gesturing towards the back as he gets into the driver’s seat. A broad grin spreads across his mouth as he shifts into drive, pulling away from the curb.

“Some place I wanna show you.”

You’re both quiet as he drives, your hands linked together on the gearshift, the Led Zeppelin cassette you’d bought him playing low over the truck’s speakers. Your eyes wander; the dark sky ahead, the blur of streetlights and traffic lights as he takes you out of the suburbs. Joel turns the truck away from the city when he reaches the highway, the bright lights giving way to telephone poles and occasional houses, sprawling farmland and wide open spaces.

Your gaze always seems to come back to him, the way his eyes are glued to the road ahead, the way he occasionally lifts your links hands and kisses your knuckles, the way he hums along with the song that’s playing. It does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and you slump sideways a little, leaning your head on his shoulder as he drives.

It’s a long time before he pulls down a dirt road, trees lining either side for about a mile before cutting off, revealing giant fields, dotted with trees. He stops the truck in a large clearing, the wheels kicking up dust as he hits the brakes, cuts the engine. “C’mon, darlin’.”

You’re speechless as you slide out of the truck, your gaze immediately pulled upwards. The sky is dark and bigger than you’ve ever felt it, a perfect ombré from black to navy to a lighter shade of blue towards the horizon. The moon hangs bright above you, a perfect crescent shape smudged with a few clouds in an otherwise clear sky.

And the stars.

The sight makes you cover your mouth with your hands, your eyes wide and lined with tears as you stare up at them. You’ve never seen so many of them, the light pollution from the city always blocking most of them out. But here? You can see every single one.

You almost jump when Joel comes up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and tugging you back against his chest. He pecks your cheek softly before straightening, resting his chin on top of your head and staring up with you. “Really is somethin’, isn’t it?”

“Joel, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, leaning back into him, revelling in his warmth. “How did you find this spot?”

“Tommy told me about it, actually,” he murmurs, his mouth against the crown of your head. “Told him I wanted to bring you somewhere special and he brought me out here. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to bring you.”

You shake your head slowly, unable to pull your eyes from the night sky, a new star appearing every time you blink. You can make out different constellations, the North Star, the few planes dotting the atmosphere.

“C’mon,” Joel whispers, squeezing you softly. “Let’s get comfy.”

It doesn’t take long, the pair of you gathering the pillows and blankets from the backseat and piling them into the truck’s empty bed. You sit quietly for a while, Joel cracking open a beer for each of you, you sitting between his spread knees, leaning back against his chest.

You’re half-sure he can hear the way your breathing shakes, see the way your hands twitch when he threads his fingers with yours. You chew the inside of your cheek until it bleeds, the beer making pain spark the inside of your mouth, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest, the heaviness that’s set up shop.

You have to tell him.

You turn to look at him, but before you can get a word out, he’s kissing you, diving his hand into your hair, pressing his mouth to yours. You can’t help but sigh into it, sinking into the delicious warmth he offers, the taste you’re trying to commit to memory, the feeling of safety and comfort that always seems to find you when he’s around.

“Joel, wait, I—” you start, but words tumble out of his mouth before you can stop him.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he says, his voice soft, a low rumble that seeps into your chest, doubles the ache that’s already there, the happy-mixed-with-sad that lines your eyes with tears. He sees them, you know he does, because he adjusting himself instantly, your face between his hands, swiping the tear from your cheek as it falls. “Baby, what’s wrong? I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I have to tell you something,” you murmur, your voice cracking on the words, and your heart nearly snaps in two at the expression on his face, the furrowed brow and the concerned glint in his eyes.

You applied for the internship in Boston fresh out of college. One of your professors recommended you for the position, you did the interview before moving to Austin, and when you hadn’t heard back after a few weeks, you let yourself forget about it, content to spend your summer with your family, to figure your life out later. You still had time; you didn’t have to get it all figured out yet.

But then…

“They called me today,” you tell him, sinking back as his hands slowly drop, leaving your skin tingling where he’d been touching you. “They had a last minute opening, someone backed out, and they said it’s mine if I want it. I…” You trail off, shaking your head, dropping it back on your shoulders and staring up at the beautiful sky he’s shown you. “I don’t know what to do, Joel.”

When you finally find the strength to look at him again, you’re surprised your heart doesn’t burst from your chest. He has his fist pressed to his mouth, other arm resting on his knee, his eyes boring into you. There are tears in them, his lashes clumped together beneath his eyes, and you bottom lip quivers.

“I never expected you,” you say quietly, feeling another hot tear slide down your cheek. “I never anticipated coming here and meeting you, falling for y—”

He cuts you off, his hand flashing out and curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into his arms. You go willingly, collapsing into his chest with a sob, curling your hands in the fabric of his t-shirt. You stay like that for a long while, Joel rocking you side to side, one hand rubbing shapes between your shoulder blades. Face pressed into the curve of his neck, you cry until the collar of his shirt is soaked, the unfairness of it all crawling up your throat each time you think you’re okay.

Finally, you get the question out. “What are we gonna do, Joel?”

He tugs on your hair lightly, making you tilt your head back against his shoulder, so he can see your face. The streaks of wet on his cheek makes you whimper, reaching up and rubbing your thumb through the trails. “We’re gonna keep doin’ what we’re doin’,” he tells you, his mouth twitching as he scratches his nails against your scalp. “We’ve got the rest of the summer, right?” You nod, fresh tears filling your eyes. “And then you’re gonna go to Boston. I won’t let you throw this away, baby, not for me.”

“Joel—” you start to protest, but he quiets you with a soft kiss, thumb pressed to your cheek.

“No, baby,” he murmurs, lifting his jaw and kissing your forehead next. “It’ll be okay. Won’t let you go until I have to, you hear me?”

He stays true to his word.

The rest of the summer is spent in each other’s company, every chance you get. You go to bars with him and Tommy some evenings, spend more nights in the bed of Joel’s truck, staring up at the stars. He keeps up appearances at the hardware store, still kisses you with the same insistence he had before you told him about Boston.

There’s something different between you, you know. A sort of anticipation, both of you waiting for the other shoe to drop, but adamant to enjoy the time you have left. There are evidently more tears, but Joel does his best to kiss them away, and you let yourself get a little lost in him, refusing to count the days, just savouring every moment you have.

You meet Sarah accidentally. You thought Joel had said six, he thought seven, and when you knock on the Miller’s front door, you’re more than surprised when Sarah opens the door, her head cocked to the side, eyes that are a dead ringer for Joel’s peering at you.

“Who are you?”

Joel appears behind his daughter a moment later, balking at you slightly as he puts a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, this is my…” He pauses, searching for the right word.

You stick out your hand, offering it to Sarah, along with your name. “I’m a good friend of your dad’s,” you say, the word making you want to cry, but you school your face into a smile. “You know the hardware store down on Main Street?”

Sarah perks up, her eyes shining up at you as Joel moves her to the side to let you in. “Next to the ice cream parlour?”

The next smile you have is genuine. “That’s the one.”

She warms up to you quickly, talking a mile a minute, insisting she show you her soccer trophy and disappearing up the stairs to go get it. Joel grabs your hand once she’s out of sight, tugging you against his chest and kissing your cheek. “You didn’t have to say that,” he mumbles, and you knock your forehead lightly into his. “I could have—”

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “It’ll just confuse her; I don’t want that.”

He nods, agreeing with you, but the sadness in his eyes makes your chest ache.

“Here it is!” Sarah declares as she bounds down the stairs, the gold trophy shining in the kitchen light. You and Joel nearly spring apart, and you gasp as animatedly as you can.

Tommy arrives a half hour later to take Sarah, and you nearly fall over when she throws her arms around your waist, hugging you goodbye after Joel pecks her on the head. “Bye!”

“Bye, Sarah,” you say, and as soon as she’s out the door with Tommy, you sink into the kitchen chair, putting your face in your hands. Joel sinks into a crouch in front of you, a warm hand on your knee, rubbing a slow circle.

“Baby,” he murmurs, and you collapse forward, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I don’t wanna go,” you tell him.

It’s tomorrow. Your time is up, the summer almost officially over. The lease on your new apartment in Boston starts at midnight, and you’re leaving late in the morning, the two-day trek to your new city already making you anxious. Your stuff is already packed, a few boxes already loaded into the truck of your car, proof that this is actually happening. But knowing you’re leaving him? That hits harder.

“I know, darlin’,” he drawls in your ear, a crack to his voice that makes you sob. He puts both arms around your torso, and your legs wrap around his middle, ankles locked against his back. You keep your face buried in his throat as he lifts you, hands under your ass as he turns towards the stairs, carries you up them.

You stand in the centre of his bedroom a moment later, chewing at your thumb as he walks to the window, pulls the drapes until just a sliver of sunlight fits through them. The sun is already starting to set, the days growing shorter, and the thought of winter in Boston, winter without Joel to keep you warm, brings fresh tears to your eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to cup your jaw as he comes to stand in front of you, catching your gaze and holding it. “Don’t think about tomorrow, yeah? Just be with me. Please?”

You just nod.

It’s slow, slower than you’ve yet to have him. Clothes come off a piece at a time, hands mapping out bare skin as soon as it’s revealed, mouth pressed to the curves of bones and the slopes of muscles. You memorize the pattern of his freckles, the smatter along his neck, the few that dot his cheeks. He holds you in his arms, kisses every inch of your face, catching your tears on his tongue, murmuring softly to you that it’s okay.

That he loves you.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he told you, a few days after you told him about Boston. He was holding your hand, the two of you cuddled together on his couch, his thumb rubbing your knuckles. “I don’t expect you to, or anythin’, I just…I just want you to know.”

But you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it then, and you can’t stop it now. It bubbles up out of you, want and need and desperation heavy on your tongue as you hold each other. Passion hangs in the air like electricity, sparking brighter with every move you make.

You revel in every single moment, when he spreads you out on his bed, the mattress familiar beneath you, you commit it to memory, the way he looks between your knees, the bulk of his frame, the way his hair is messy from your fingers, the way his eyes stay glued to yours as he touches you, rubs his thumb over your nerves, laves his tongue over your heat.

You return it in kind, pushing him down on the mattress after he’s made you cum twice, once on his fingers, then again on his tongue. He groans when you push his thighs wide, making a home for yourself between them, nipping at every bit of skin you can reach. He locks both hands in your hair when you take his cock in your mouth, fingers curling around the bit you can’t fit. The salty taste of him is welcome, and you refuse to let up, letting him hit the back of your throat, bobbing your head until he’s cumming down your throat, hot and thick.

You catch your breath for a few minutes, crawling up his body, hooking your knee over his hip as he holds you, kisses you, brushes the hair from your face. “My pretty baby,” he murmurs, and you do your best to ignore the twinge in your chest, “beautiful girl.”

It’s not long until he’s hard again, your kisses and moans and touches bringing his body back to life. He pulls you on top of him completely, pushes himself into you. You grip the headboard with both hands, sighing when he leans up and bites at your nipple. He starts slow, his hands on your hips guiding you along him, the feeling sparking up your spine just this side of not enough.

“Tell me, baby,” he grunts at you, one hand dropping slightly, giving you a light spank that makes you jolt, clenching down on him. “You want it harder?”

“Yes,” you beg, breathing his air as his pace slows almost completely. “Joel, baby, please.”

“C’mere.” He pulls at your arms, yanks you down until you’re chest to chest. Then he plants his feet on the mattress, one arm around your waist, the other banded around your shoulders, hand in your hair.

He fucks you hard, hips pistoning up into you, slamming his cock deep, hitting against that gummy spot that makes your entire body quake. You’ve never cum as hard as you do, your entire body going completely taut for one blinding moment, your blood turned to flame in a drawn-out instant. He nips at your lips, up your jaw, nibbles at your earlobe.

“That’s my girl,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for me, weren’t you?”

You nod frantically, your eyes hazy, every single one of your nerves prickled with pleasure as he keeps hammering into you. You don’t want this to stop, it can’t stop, please don’t ever let it stop—

A flash, and you’re flipped on your back, his cock still pressed so deep you can feel it in your throat. You grip him hard, nails digging into his hips so hard you’re half sure you’re going to draw blood, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps going, bracing one arm over your head, mashing his mouth to yours as he drives into you, his brow furrowed.

You feel him shudder, feel that spread of warmth through your lower half, hear him murmur your name. Feel your heart shatter into a million pieces when he kisses you softly, drags the tip of his nose against yours, murmurs those three words again.

Neither of you move, for a long while. You stay there, him still pressed inside you, your legs spread around his body, your arms folded around his neck. Soft kisses are shared, quiet sweet nothings traded until your eyes fill with tears again.

“It’s okay, baby,” he tells you, catching your tears on his thumb, pressing his mouth to your jaw. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You’re starting to wonder who he’s trying to convince.

“Tommy agreed to take Sarah for the night,” Joel tells you when you return from the bathroom, one of his t-shirts covering your upper half. “So you can stay,” he pauses, rubs his hand up the back of his head, “if you want to.”

You throw yourself back into his bed, curling around him. “Of course I want to.”

Your eyes blink open the next morning, and the dread sinks in completely.

Joel’s breath is hot on the nape of your neck. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm extended beneath your head. You turn immediately, curling into his side, pressing your face into his neck. “Mmm,” he grumbles, putting both arms around you, turning his mouth against your forehead. “Your nose is cold.”

“You’re just warm,” you grumble back, kissing his throat, letting your hand roam his chest, over his stomach.

You rub your palm across his hips, and he groans, lifting his hand to bury it in your hair. “D’we have time?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep, and you lift your head, bleary eyes squinting at the alarm clock.

“Yeah,” you tell him, settling back against him. “We have time.”

He makes love to you. Every moment is a slow drag, the complete opposite of the fast and rough you’d had the night before. But somehow, it’s exactly what you need, feeling him deeper, holding him closer. You’re memorizing every moment, every rise and dip to his outline, the way his mouth tastes, the way he moves.

You don’t want to let go, but you know you have to.

You make breakfast together, toaster waffles and coffee, sat at his kitchen table with quiet conversation. After you’ve eaten, you get dressed, stealing another flannel from his closet, a light blue with white and grey. “You stealin’ more of my clothes?” he asks, coming up behind you, kissing the side of your neck.

“I’ll give the other one back,” you reply, doing up the buttons. “Gotta take a little piece of you with me.”

“Keep ‘em both,” he murmurs against your skin, squeezing your hip. “They’re yours.”

You stomach is in knots as you leave Joel’s, as he drives the short distance from his house to yours. Your arms are wrapped around one of his, your face pressed against his shoulder. “All your stuff packed?” he asks, and you nod, biting back the tears that are already starting to form. He parks at the curb, cuts the engine, and lifts his arm, letting you slide under it, bringing you close to him. He kisses your temple, inhaling deeply, and you just sit there for a while, arms wrapped around each other, breathing slow.

It’s slow, as you get out of the truck. He opens the door for you like always, and when you’re reluctant to get out, he grabs your legs and drags you to the edge of the seat, letting you wrap your limbs around him as he lifts you out. He sets you on your feet on the curb, his brow lifting as he turns back to the truck. “I have somethin’ for you.”

You let out a little laugh as he reaches into the backseat and produces a silver baseball bat, a bright red bow wrapped around the handle. “What’s this for?” you ask, unable to stifle your giggles as he hands it to you.

“Boston’s a big city,” he mumbles, lifting a shoulder. “Keep it by your bed or something, just in case.” He reaches out, fingers on your cheek. “Keep yourself safe, yeah?”

You swing the bat lightly, a quick flick of your wrist. “Thank you.”

He blushes a little, opening his arms again when you lean the bat against the truck, stepping back into his embrace. You bury yourself in his chest, arms tight around his waist. “I’ll try and visit,” he says into your hair, inhaling lightly. Tears spring in your eyes again; you appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t expect him to drive cross-country, not when he has Sarah and his life and his job. And you know he couldn’t afford the plane ticket.

“I’ll be home at Christmas, hopefully,” you whisper back, and he nods.

“Call me when you get there?” he asks, and you lift your head to look at him. “And when you stop for the night.”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Don’t let those corporate assholes work you too hard and…” His voice drops, and you lift a hand to cup his cheek, your thumb riding edge of his beard. “Don’t forget about this, please? About us.”

“Can’t do that,” you tell him, a sad smile on your lips. A memory buzzes in the back of your hand, the two of you stood opposite sides of the counter at the hardware store. The worry of rejection crawling up the back of your throat when you’d boldly offered your number, when you told him you could just forget what had happened. Can’t do that.

“Maybe someday…” he starts, trailing off and you just nod, repeating his words.

He kisses you then, both arms tight around you, his mouth warm and tasting of toothpaste and that mistakable Joel Miller taste you know you won’t soon forget. He kisses you until you’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin, but you don’t care. You’re half sure your parents are watching from the window, but you don’t care.

It’s a long time before either of you pulls back, holding on as long as you possibly can.

“Take care of yourself, baby,” he mumbles in your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding him as tightly as you can.

“You, too.”

And then, two years later, nearly to the day, the world implodes.

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