#maybe some gif foreshadowing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

swiftispunk · 9 months

Text

your summer dream | joel miller x f!reader

day one–(re)introductions

series masterlist | main masterlist | follow @swiftispunkupdates for notifications on new chapters

prev | next

*read the end for a note on tag lists

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: ~4.7k series summary: fresh on the heels of the worst breakup of your life, you find an unexpected kindred spirit (and maybe a little more) in family friend joel miller, who's agreed to tag along for seven days to a tropical resort with you and your parents. chapter summary: an awkward greeting, a rocky ride and a burgeoning crush, this vacation may just prove not to be a total bummer after all. series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), alcohol, food, sexual tension, smut like whoa smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, anxiety, mentions of infidelity, mentions of divorce, jet skis????, secret relationship. chapter warnings: anxiety + fear of flying, one mention of reader taking a klonopin, gratuitous descriptions of joel miller's face and body, food, alcohol, mentions of breakups, foreshadowing. no use of y/n.

A/N: stay tuned bc things will be heating up between these two all too soon ya'll. future chapters will involve less parents and more sexy times. followers suggestions in this chapter: joel in a vintage sports t-shirt, sharing headphones on the plane

"You remember Joel, right, sweet pea?" your dad says.

It's 4:30 in the morning on a Saturday and you're standing in an airport parking lot.

"Um, yeah," you lie. You do and you don't. You can vaguely recall a slightly younger Joel Miller at some backyard gathering your parents had hosted a few years ago. You'd been younger too, maybe already dating your ex, Chris. Perhaps that's why you don't remember him. You tended not to notice other men when Chris was around, particularly not the ones nearly twenty years your senior.

Bleary-eyed and sleep deprived, you take him in now.

Salt-and-pepper-haired and tan skinned, thighs straining against the shorts he clearly hasn't broken out in years, it's almost hard to believe the guy's fifty. As you size him up in his worn out Longhorns t-shirt, you suddenly are able to dredge up some distant memories of thinking he'd been sweet, proudly bragging about his adult daughter (Sarah?) and all her successes at grad school.

He looks a bit haggard at the moment, his own lack of sleep evident under his brown eyes, curls tousled messily around his head. You probably don't look much better in your big t-shirt and bike shorts, clinging for dear life to the iced coffee you'd picked up on the way.

"S'okay, know it's been a while," Joel says gruffly, reaching out to shake your hand. You give him your best smile, or at least the biggest one you can manage. His returning smile is brief and tight, more to the pavement than you. God, this is going to be awkward.

"Only a couple of years!" your mother protests, far more alert and chipper than the two of you.

"Geeze, has it really been that long?" your dad chimes in, disbelieving. He rounds on you, pointing accusingly in your direction with a boarding pass in his hand. "See, this is why you gotta come around the house more, sweet pea. Joel and I still go golfing together almost every weekend."

Not your dad with the guilt trip. You've been out of the house for years now and in your opinion, stop in a perfectly acceptable amount for someone nearly thirty. Plus, your full-time job is demanding enough; you're lucky you even got time off for this.

"Don't know why he keeps invitin' me," Joel admits with a grin. "All I do is lose."

"Boost his ego, I guess," you offer with a shrug. Joel's grin widens.

"Everyone got their passports?" your dad chimes in, quickly steering the conversation away from any jokes at his expense. He's far more keyed-up than you and Joel, you notice. In fact, it's his idea to be at the airport approximately four hours before take-off "just in case there's trouble at security." You don't think he's slept all week in the lead-up to today.

Neither have you, but you have your own reasons.

Mainly the fact that you hate flying. The thought of it makes your palms sweat and your heart rate soar, at times a debilitating phobia that's held you back all your life, no matter how many times you've had to face it.

All that pre-flight anxiety is really starting to mount now, only increases as the four of you make your way through check-in and security. Gearing up for the crammed seating, the noisy airplane din and the whole being-up-in-the-fucking-air thing is already enough to make your skin crawl. On top of that, you're painfully aware that you'll be sitting next to Joel, an uncomfortable prospect that's only adding to your nerves.

You should have taken an extra Klonopin.

The nerves really hit home when you settle in at the gate, the sight of aircrafts taking off through the wall of windows beside making you recoil in on yourself, arms wrapped protectively around your knees as you try your best to breathe.

You're finally forced to make conversation with Joel once your parents become engrossed in private discussions about itineraries and dinner plans. And while he's not the miserable killjoy you'd thought he'd be, he is…quiet.

"You ever been to Costa Rica before?" he asks, his eyes moving between you and the gate around him, like he's not sure of exactly where to land them.

"No," you shake your head, running your hands nervously up and down your legs when you catch a 767 taking off out of the corner of your eye. That'll be you soon. Fuck.

Joel doesn't say anything else, just nods and stares at his sneakers.

"What about you?" you inquire, too late, unable to hold back the shake in your voice as your heart pangs with stress. Why are the plane engines so loud? Why can you hear them in here? You have to fight the urge to cover your ears like a child to block out the incessant noise.

"Nope," Joel admits. "Never left the US."

"Oh."

And that's the end of that conversation.

Silence befalls the both of you as your dread properly sets in then. You put your headphones in your ears and let your music take you away, while Joel sighs and slumps back into the hard, plastic seating. You keep the headphones in all throughout boarding, breathing deeply and counting backwards from one hundred five separate times in an effort to calm your anxiety.

Joel's forced to tap your shoulder to get your attention when you arrive at your row.

"What?" you mumble distractedly when you yank one headphone out of your ear.

"I'll take the middle, f'you want."

"Oh, okay. Sure."

You toss your carry-on into the overhead compartment as Joel takes his seat, some stranger to his left already settled in the window spot. You pop your headphone back in and sit down beside him.

It's around then that you notice how…broad Joel is. His knees invade your already cramped space, legs splayed out like he can't help it, shoulders brushing yours between the seats. You can't remember if he's always been that way. Can't remember if you'd ever really noticed.

Your parents take their seats in the row ahead of you and then there's nothing left to do but wait.

Take-off is blissfully uneventful, fairly smooth and not enough to truly send you into panic-mode. You turn your music up to its highest volume and squeeze your eyes shut, balling your hands into fists until the aircraft levels out, thousands of feet above the earth. You wait until the seatbelt light turns off to finally take a proper breath in and try to relax. You let your head fall back into the headrest, pulling your knees into your chest and concentrating especially hard on every minute detail in every second of every song, anything to keep you distracted from the fact that you're currently flying in the fucking sky.

It's all going fine, until the turbulence starts.

Now, you grip the edges of your armrests for dear life as the unpredictable bumps and shudders jostle you in your seat. You try to breathe but you can't get a proper one in–just short, shallow gasps, the sounds of which are swallowed by the continuous droning of the aircraft's engines.

Then a particularly aggressive tremor has you jumping in your seat and you stare around wildly, panic painted all over your face. Surely that hadn't been normal?

You're aware then of Joel's hand on your arm but you don't hear his quiet, "Hey," till you've pulled the damn headphone out of your ear again to find him glancing down at you with concern.

"You okay?" he asks, looking concerned in a sort of paternal way. His hand is still on your arm.

You swallow harshly, trying to reign it in. To not seem like a total fucking coward.

"Don't like flying," you choke.

"Everything alright here?” another voice is asking then, to your right. A flight attendant, you realize, apparently having noticed your distress. Great. She stares down at you with condescending eyes that eventually settle on Joel, who finally releases your arm. You don't miss the way her gaze changes when she looks at him, her eyes raking over his broad form as a smile spreads across her face.

Interesting. The guy has an effect on women, clearly.

Joel smiles back at her, a lop-sided thing that makes his eyes crinkle. "Maybe you could tell us that," he says.

The flight attendant practically melts at his voice, her cheeks burning red as she directs her answer very much just to Joel, while you continue to cower between them.

"Just some standard turbulence, nothing to be worried about," she assures the both of you (Joel).

"Never been on a plane," Joel tells her. "S'all new to me."

"Really?" She sounds way too interested. Lots of people have never been on planes. Lots of very, very lucky people. "Never?"

"First time," he smirks. "Don't mind it so much. And f'you say there's nothin' to worry about, I believe ya."

The flight attendant beams.

Has Joel always been this...charming? It's been so long since you've seen him. You're sure you must have thought so, must have seen what the flight attendant is seeing, perhaps never noticing it in any sort of…concrete way. You definitely don't remember noticing his thick, honey-sweet drawl or the amount of space his massive hands take up on the armrest. The flight attendant does though.

"I love that accent," she comments (flirts). "You know, my family's from the South."

"That so?" Joel grins but their little moment is interrupted when the aircraft shakes violently and you gasp, your arms wrapping around your middle protectively. The turbulence continues, hard and jarring and fuck fuck fuck–you can't breathe.

Joel catches the reaction, concern taking over his features once more.

"I'd love to hear more, but I think our friend here might need a soda or somethin'," he says.

Oh, has he finally decided to acknowledge your presence again?

The flight attendant makes a face, glancing over her shoulder uncertainly.

"We don't really offer drinks while the seatbelt sign is on…"

"Maybe you could make an exception?" Joel suggests and you catch the way his eyes flick over to you, sunken into your seat with your arms over your knees, probably looking exactly how you feel–fear-stricken and on the verge of passing out.

The flight attendant takes one look down at you and nods quickly (probably more than happy to make an exception for Joel) before darting off down the aisle and returning seconds later, expertly managing to stay balanced as the plane rocks and rolls. You, meanwhile, have to fight to keep your morning iced coffee down. Your hand shakes when you reach out for the can.

"I got it," Joel intervenes, reaching over you to take it from the flight attendant, brushing your trembling hand away with ease.

"Thanks, darlin'," he dismisses the stewardess with one last grin which she returns in spades before sauntering off.

Darlin'? Okay, Joel Miller.

"Here," he offers the little green can to you once she's gone. The plane jolts and you hiss through your teeth, working impossibly hard to stay level as you take the soda from him and bring it to your lips.

"Thanks," you murmur when the cool, syrupy liquid assaults your tongue, a surprisingly distracting sensation that does seem to breathe some life back into you. You can feel Joel's eyes on you as you take a few more calming sips and few more steadying breaths. A moment later and the bumpy turbulence seems to cease. A moment after that and the seatbelt light turns off.

You exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.

"Feelin' alright?" Joel asks eventually.

You nod stiffly, downing the rest of your drink and leaning back into your seat. You sigh. The last time you'd been on a plane, it had been Chris comforting you through your stupid fear of flying. Not well, mind you; he had never been the best at calming you down–certainly not the type to order you a ginger ale because he'd noticed you were about to be sick, but still. You can remember the feeling of his hand on your knee, his voice reminding that it would all be over soon.

God-fucking-damnit. You're not supposed to be thinking about him. You need a distraction. You're just about to pop in your other headphone when Joel starts talking again.

"S'weird, flyin'," he muses. He glances to his left, where the wing of the plane is just visible through the open window, backdropped by miles of clouds and empty skies that make your stomach turn. "Thought it'd be scarier, but it's not."

"Speak for yourself," you retort with a scowl.

"Looked it up, you know," he says, turning back to face you with a gentle smirk. God, his voice is low–almost sultry and he doesn't even seem like he's trying. It's strangely lulling. "Way more likely to die in a car than a plane."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks, never heard that one before."

"Just sayin', there's a good chance we all make it outta this alive."

"Well, here's hoping, I guess," you say offhandedly, making to reinsert your earbud when Joel, once again, stops you.

"Whatcha listenin' to?"

"What? Oh…Fleetwood Mac."

"Nice. Rumours?"

"Peter Green's. Their first album."

Joel shakes his head. "Don't think I've heard it."

"Yeah, I hadn't either. I was planning to listen to their whole discography on this trip."

"Not a bad idea," Joel nods, looking impressed. "Maybe I oughta do the same."

Your brows furrow–what's with this guy? You'd expected him to be a total grouch this whole time but so far, you seem vastly more miserable than he does. Which is strange considering he's apparently in the exact same situation as you right now. Is everyone in the world just better at coping with breakups than you?

"Yeah, maybe," you shrug.

Your confusion only grows when he holds out a big palm, glancing at the white wire of your headphones expectantly.

Oh. He means...? Okay.

Uncertainly, you deposit the free bud into his palm and watch him clumsily insert it into his ear. You wait a moment, just to be sure he's not pulling some kind of weird prank on you, eventually deciding he's not when he lays his head back into his headrest and shuts his eyes. You hit play, and then do the same.

You're shocked to find that the rest of the flight passes by quickly and without much incident after that. The turbulence doesn't return and you actually manage to almost relax, something about Joel's unbothered demeanor and the way he's tapping his foot beside you bringing about an odd sense of calm. You still tense up during the landing, holding your breath until the wheels of the aircraft hit the tarmac, finally exhaling a relieved sigh when you're back on solid ground.

"That was pretty good," Joel comments, removing his earbud and handing it back to you as the passengers in first class begin to off-board.

"It was alright. Missing some Christine McVie, though."

"I agree," he smiles.

You shuffle out of your seats into the crowded aisle, straining to reach your suitcase in the overhead compartment. Just like with the can of soda, Joel suddenly intervenes, two thick arms reaching over you to help.

"This one you?" he asks, gesturing to the suitcase you'd been fruitlessly grabbing at.

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

You watch the way the muscles in his arms flex when he hoists the suitcase down into your waiting hands. His biceps strain against the fabric of his orange t-shirt; the bag is heavy–you hadn't packed light–but the exertion doesn't seem to affect him at all.

Fuck, but he's tan, you notice. The fabric of his sleeves pull up his arms when he reaches for his own bag, and you catch a glimpse of his farmer's tan, just the tiniest peak of paleness contrasting the sun-kissed glow of his arms. You wonder how much darker he'll get in the tropical sun, how much colour his already glowing skin will attract after a few days on the beach.

Why the fuck are you thinking about that?

Fuck. You're staring, you realize too late. You hastily avert your eyes to find your parents already up from their seats and raring to go.

"How'd you hold up this time, kiddo?" your dad asks, well aware of your stupid phobia. "Turbulence was a bit rough, eh?"

"I think she did great," Joel tells him and you frown. Does he think he needs to lie to protect your dignity or something? That's...kind of nice of him, if a little unnecessary, you think.

"We made it, that's all that matters," your mom says before you can add anything more.

True enough. You're here now. Time to make the most of it.

It's not just on the plane that Joel's taken your ex's place. Despite the fact that you'd been dating for three years–and the fact that you're a fully grown adult–your parents had refused to book you a single room together, opting instead for one of those conjoined suites with a shared door between them. It was supposed to be your boyfriend on the other side of that door, now it's Joel.

The door locks, thankfully, a fact your father had taken extra care to remind you and Joel of when he'd popped in from his suite across the hall to check out your rooms, sizing them up in typical dad-fashion as though he hadn't put months of research and credit-card points into booking the best bang-for-your-buck resort package he could find.

"Walls are a bit thin," he comments, tapping the off-white drywall that separates your room from Joel's.

You shrug. "It all seems fine to me."

And it does, truly. Your room overlooks the resort, glass sliding doors leading out to a balcony that offers a pristine view of the pools and beaches below. You face west–perfect for catching sunsets. Clean white sheets and a fluffy duvet line the queen size bed in the middle of the room and the ensuite bathroom gleams with a porcelain bathtub and standing shower–the latter of which has one of those massive shower heads that makes the water fall like rain.

You wish it was enough to ease your dejection. But all you can think about is the person you're supposed to be sharing it with.

You remind yourself, again, that you're not supposed to be thinking of him.

If only it were that easy.

You spend the afternoon getting settled, reading for a while on your balcony before taking a stroll around the resort to get a lay of the land. You do your best to enjoy being alone, letting the sounds of Fleetwood Mac's second album soundtrack your exploring as you breathe in the warm, salty air.

You wonder if you should have asked Joel to join you, almost feeling guilty that you hadn't. Your parents have each other, but Joel's just as alone as you are. Maybe he doesn't want to be.

Ultimately, you decide, he's not your responsibility, even if it almost feels that way. Maybe it's just because he'd been so...there for you on that stupid flight. No one's been that kind to you in a while. You don't know what to do with it.

You put it out of your mind and eventually find yourself sitting on the sandy beach, watching the blue waves come and go, allowing their steady swells to distract your restless mind. You're not sure how long you stay there, working to think of anything other than the reason you're so alone here, but when the sky starts to turn from blue to orange, the sun fading over the horizon, you decide it's probably time to go dress for dinner.

It's at dinner that you're forced to confront a rather upsetting truth:

Joel Miller is kind of fucking gorgeous.

You'd been avoiding thinking it during the flight, on the shuttle to the resort or during room check-ins. Had tried with all your might not to admit it to yourself even when you'd overheard him turning on that seemingly natural charm for every busboy and server who so much as greeted him with a smile.

But now, making his way towards your table in his patterned linen button-down and dark wash jeans, curls fluffy after clearly having taken a shower, tan skin glowing under the fairy lights that line the restaurant's patio as he respectfully shakes the hand of the host, you can't fight reality.

Joel Miller is beautiful.

Even in the nice dress you'd thrown on, you feel somewhat meager in comparison.

He seems genuinely delighted to be there, your fears of him turning out to be a buzzkill clearly in vain. He's grinning as he approaches you and your parents, his wide brown eyes constantly taking in the views around him. The patio overlooks the ocean, its clear water black under the night's sky. The sound of rushing waves backdrops the gentle music playing through the sound system as Joel takes his seat, the one beside you. You're shocked to find your heart flutters as he does.

Your parents had opted to skip the buffet for The First Dinner, opting for the restaurant option instead. Better food, sure, but way more opportunities for awkward conversation.

"Real nice spot," Joel comments reverently to your father. "I mean, seriously, real nice."

"It's not too bad," your dad agrees with a thoughtful nod. You can hear the "but" coming. "Pool's a bit small. And you two have a much nicer view than us. We should've all splurged on the ocean-view."

"You wanna switch?" Joel offers without hesitance.

The guy's too polite for his own good.

"Oh, goodness, no!" your mother insists, to your relief. She places a hand on your father's shoulder. "Our room's great. He just wants something to complain about."

You smirk, sipping at your water knowingly. It's so typical of your dad to nitpick every little thing; he's been like that as long as you can remember. Every time you moved houses or stayed at a motel, every time you so much as ate a restaurant. Always something to comment on, always something that could be improved. Your mom's always been there to reign him in, even if you think she probably agrees with his assessments. She just knows better when to grin and bear it.

They compliment each other pretty well, which is probably how they've managed to last so long.

"We're just so thrilled you could make it, Joel," your mom adds.

"M'just glad I got the invite, ma'am," Joel says sincerely.

"Better you than that extra room goin' to waste," your dad grumbles.

Joel just smiles. You can feel his eyes on you as you wring your hands together, all too aware of why that particular room had been up for grabs. You wonder how much Joel knows. You're grateful he hasn't asked you about it yet.

The server appears to take your drink orders then. You don't have to think too hard about it; you're on vacation at an all-inclusive resort and you have every intention of getting drunk at every possible opportunity, even if you are with your parents.

You order some fruity cocktail and your mom orders a bottle of pinot grigio for the table.

"I'll get the same as her," Joel says to your surprise, nodding in your direction. The server doesn't question it, just smiles and flits off to the bar.

"You want the Blue Lagoon?" you ask him with a skeptical chuckle.

"I'm tryna get in the spirit," he grins. His voice is low, just for you, his gravelly timbre drowned out to anyone else by the sounds of crashing waves.

"What would you normally get?" you ask, genuinely curious.

"Whiskey, maybe a beer," he shrugs.

"Shit, well, if you hate this, don't blame me."

"Oh, I'll definitely be blamin' you." But he says it with a playful smirk that has you smiling back at him, once again utterly charmed. Maybe you are starting to see what the flight attendant had seen.

The drinks come fast, the bar clearly a well-oiled machine despite the restaurant now steadily filling up with hungry vacationers. The Blue Lagoon is about exactly what'd you expected, obnoxiously colourful and muddled with flecks of fresh fruit, tied together with a ridiculous twisty straw. You and Joel share a small grin when the server places the glasses in front of the two of you.

"Here's to a great week," your dad toasts the table as you all raise your drinks accordingly. "To having fun–" He directs that comment at you and Joel specifically– "and focusing on ourselves."

"Cheers," your mom and Joel say in unison.

You, meanwhile, just smile tightly and avert your gaze to the white tablecloth, unappreciative of the subtle reminder that you're here without Chris.

You take a cautious sip of your drink, finding it tastes more like sugar than anything else. You catch Joel's eye as he takes his first sip, watching as his face contorts in mild disgust.

"No good?" you press him.

"It's uh..." he starts, unsure of how to go on, like maybe he doesn't want to hurt your feelings.

"It's okay, you can say it, it's fucking disgusting," you admit with a laugh, taking another sip just to be sure.

"Cheers to that," Joel grits, tapping his glass against yours and taking another reluctant gulp. You do the same, both of your grimacing against the sickly flavour.

"It'll get the job done, anyway," you remark and you're sure Joel knows what you mean, that it'll be enough to get you tipsy enough to forget your dour circumstances.

"Fuckin' right," he grunts with a knowing cock of his eyebrows.

He doesn't smile when he says it and you think it might be the first sign he's given that he's interested in the same kind of escape as you while he's here.

He gives you another cheers and downs his drink in one go. You mimic him instinctively, more to get rid of the nasty thing than anything else.

"Take it easy, you crazy animals," your dad laughs but it's all in good fun.

You stick to wine after that while Joel switches to beer.

Dinner is nice, big portions and fresh produce. The day of travelling seemingly had everyone starved and you're pleased to find that the time passes faster and easier than you would have expected. Conversation flows lightly, mostly discussions of amenities and how each of you plans to use the one free "luxury" activity you have included in your resort package.

"I'm thinking couples massages for us," your mom suggests with a hand on your father's forearm.

"No thanks," you respond grumpily. Anything but that. Maybe paragliding or something. Something to actually get your blood pumping. You go in and out of considering the possibilities until the server clears your plates.

Of course, it takes until dessert and a second bottle of wine for your mom to bring up the one thing you don't want to discuss.

"Well, Chris sure missed out, huh, honey?" she jokes, all too casually.

You instantly tense just at the mention of his name.

"Mom."

"I'm just saying!" Her voice is several octaves too high as she gestures around the restaurant and out towards the open sea. "Look at all this! The views, the food. You two would've had a great time."

You burn in your chair, catching the way Joel awkwardly takes a sip of his beer and looks away, visibly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken. Not as uncomfortable as you, though.

"Can we please not talk about this?" you say through your teeth, seething. Three glasses of wine and she's already shattering your plans to avoid thinking about him.

"Aren't I allowed to be a little angry?" she pushes back. "He was such a nice boy. I mean, before..."

"Honey..." your dad warns her. Finally.

You roll your eyes. Yeah, real fucking nice, he was. "You can be angry all you want, mom, I just don't need to hear about it."

She shrugs, raising two hands innocently like she can't see the harm in her words. Joel glances at you as you cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, annoyed. That same concern he'd shown you on the plane is clear on his face now.

Your dad breaks the sudden tension with a question directed at Joel.

"Hey, how's your brother? Staying out of trouble?"

Joel clears his throat, seeming grateful for the change of topic. So are you. You sip your wine and stare out into the dark night, fuming, only half-listening to Joel talk about his brother Tommy's new wife and the baby they have on the way.

After dinner, your parents decide to take a walk along the beach while you and Joel opt to head straight back to your rooms, both of you exhausted.

It's quiet as you make your way back through the resort, your brain a bit foggy from alcohol and lack of sleep. Not to mention the sting of frustration and sadness still brewing under your skin from your mom's mentioning of Chris. The buzz you have on only seems to make you more emotional and you find yourself fighting to keep it together as you shuffle into the elevator, up to the ninth floor with Joel.

You're just about to tap your key cards to enter your respective rooms when Joel speaks up.

"Hey...uh, you alright?" he asks quietly. Just like he had on the plane. He's looking down at you with concern again, eyes raking over your face like he can see the emotion stirring there.

Joel Miller, you realize, is an observant man.

You shake your head. "I'm fine."

It's a lie but he doesn't call you out on it, thankfully. Doesn't pry at all, in fact. Just gives you that smirk of his that's already starting to feel familiar and unlocks his door.

"Night," he says, voice low.

"Goodnight, Joel," you say shyly, your hand around the doorknob as you take in one last sight of him. His skin is dewy from the alcohol and tropical heat, eyes alight in a way that inexplicably has your spine tingling. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to reveal a peek of his tan chest, the skin of his thick neck gleaming in the hotel hallway lighting.

You could be wrong, but while you look him up and down, you're sure you can catch him do the same to you. Your breath catches and you quickly duck into your room.

Another truth becomes clear in that moment:

You like Joel. You're not sure in what capacity yet. You're definitely attracted to him, an unexpected and potentially problematic fact you're still coming to terms with. But there's something about him. You like that he seems...kind. Sweet and patient with you in spite of all your anxiety and general gloom. That he doesn't ask many questions but somehow never seems disinterested in you. It has you feeling almost warm in spite of yourself, the tears that had been threatening to spill over just a moment before drying in your eyes as you crash into the big, cushy bed.

Maybe this vacation won't be a total loss after all.

prev | next

*a note on tag lists - I have made the decision to stop doing tag lists for fics - if you could instead please follow @swiftispunkupdates and hit "get notifications" for all future fic updates from me, I would very much appreciate that. you'll get notified every time I post fic or update a series (just make sure you have push notifications for tumblr turned on)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel millfer angst #joel miller series #the last of us fanfiction #dbf!joel x you #dbf!joel x reader

2K notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

Hi bb 💕 the premiere of TLOU was so damn good and I’m so excited for the rest of the season! If you’re still writing for Joel and taking requests could we maybe have some domestic fluff with pre-outbreak Joel? Hopefully that’s enough to go off of! ☺️☺️💗

AN | I couldn’t help myself, dinner is served, bone app the teeth. It’s just fluff with a lil foreshadowing! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was an early fall day that found you walking over to the Adler’s house and knocking on the door only to be greeted excitedly by Mercy’s barking. As soon as the door was open, the fluffy dog pushed his way past the screen door and over to you, weaving around your legs, tail wagging wildly as you reached down to pet him.

“Sorry about him, sweetheart,” Mrs. Adler looked at the dog with a raised eyebrow, “he just loves people, but you know that by now.”

“Good thing I love him too. Huh buddy, you’re such a good boy,” you bent down and scratched his ears before kissing his snout, “is Sarah here? I just got to their house and wanted to see if she wanted to come home and help me with some baking.”

“She is,” the screen door opened and you stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cooking and that odor that older homes often had. You spotted the young girl at the kitchen table, but as soon as she heard you, she turned around with a huge smile, “do you girls want to stay for dinner?”

“No,” you and Sarah chorused before looking at each other sheepishly. You gave her a wink before clearing your throat.

“Thank you for the offer,” you smiled sweetly, “Joel’s going to be home soon and we’d promised him some cookies so…we’d better get to baking!”

“Of course,” she seemed unphased by your lame excuse, which to be fair wasn’t a total lie, “well, you know you’re both welcome any time. And Joel.”

“Thank you,” you grabbed Sarah’s backpack as soon as it was packed up and herded the young girl towards the door, “have a good evening.”

As soon as the two of you were outside, after having given Mercy a few more pets, you exchanged a look before both breaking into a fit of giggles.

“You came just in time,” Sarah sighed dramatically, “she was just about to start knitting and insisted on showing me how to knit today.”

“I knew I was getting some distressed vibes for a reason,” you gently nudged her side with your elbow, “don’t worry kiddo, I’ll always be there to save you. Especially from old ladies and their knitting. I can’t imagine a worse fate.”

“Seriously,” she unlocked the door and the two of you stepped into the Millers’ quiet house. You liked it here, it felt so homey and lived in, filled with lots of laughs and love. You cringed when you realized how cheesy that sounded, even in your head, but it was true. In the almost two years you’d been with Joel, it had all but become your home too, “did you mean it when you said we’re doing some baking?”

“Sarah, my sweet Sarah,” you kicked off your shoes as you made your way into the kitchen, laughing internally at the half consumed glass of orange juice and cup of coffee from this morning. They had been running late…again. How very on brand for both of them, “would I ever lie to you?”

“You haven’t yet,” she grinned as you nodded.

“And I expected you to always be truthful with me,” you put the dirty dishes into the sink, “did you get all your homework finished?”

“Yup,” she grinned, “finished it with enough time to even sell some hardcore drugs.”

“I’m impressed,” you snorted in amusement, “you managed to get to Mrs. Adler’s, do your homework, sell some drugs, and make it back before anyone noticed you were gone. That is some skill.”

“Totally,” she laughed as you high fived each other. Truth be told, she’d hadn’t been sure about you when Joel first introduced the two of you. And you couldn’t blame her; she was fiercely protective over her father. It had been just the two of them for basically her entire life - her mother, Joel’s wife, had left the two of them when she was only a few months old. She didn’t even remember her own mother. And the idea that a stranger was going to come and change everything? It was terrifying.

But you never pushed or forced yourself into her business, and let her warm up to you. You wondered at first if it had anything to do with the fact that you were a bit younger than Joel, but quickly learned it was all just because she loved him so much. And he loved her just as much and then some. But over time, she’d come to love you too and you loved her.

These days it was Sarah pushing Joel to just finally have you officially move in. Again, that one was on Joel. You weren’t going to push him either. This was just as new for him; you were the only person he’d dated since his wife. But you loved the Millers and you knew that your future held both of them in it. That was all that mattered.

“How about some chocolate chip cookies?” you suggested and her face eagerly lit up as she nodded, “okay but, tell me how much your dad would hate it, if we tried to make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.”

“He’d love them, but he’d never admit it,” she said and you knew she was right, “how about we make both?”

“A grand plan,” you smiled, “throw on a record and let’s get started. Maybe we can have everything ready before he’s home.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Something smells good,” neither of you had heard Joel come in, but when you turned around you found him leaning against the doorway, a lazy smile on his face. You shook your head in amusement as Sarah ran over to him and hugged, “hey baby girl.”

“You’re home early for once,” she grinned at him, and he playfully rolled his eyes, “that’s what you should be doing, as a man of such advanced age.”

“Thirty-five isn’t advanced, it’s-”

“Ancient,” you finished for him, smiling sweetly as he jokingly flipped you off, “we only tease out of love.”

“Some kind of love,” he huffed, affectionately touching Sarah’s cheek, “go on and set the dining table, okay?”

“Sure,” she smirked, looking between the two of you with a knowing little smile, “you just want to make out. I’m not a child, I know these things!”

“Table,” he groaned, taking her by the shoulders and gently ushered her out of the kitchen. She ran off, giggling under her breath, “and you are a kid!”

“Whatever!”

He turned his attention onto where you were leaning against the counter, setting his arms on either side of your body, affectionately trapping you in his grasp, “the two of you are always ganging up on me. Shoulda known you were going to be trouble.”

“Good trouble?” you reached up and put your hand on his face, swiping your thumb over the apple of his cheek. Joel always was a little rough around the edges, but you loved that about him. You loved how underneath that exterior, he had a kind, gentle heart.

“The best,” he took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Despite his best efforts, you could still see the faintest blush in his cheeks, “just so you know, I want to make out, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. We’re saving this for later.”

“Aye aye,” you mock saluted him and he snorted in amusement, “we made cookies. And your favorite for dinner, so I’ll be expecting a lot of thanks later.”

“Baby,” he closed his eyes and groaned softly, “you’re killing me.”

“And you’re letting dinner burn in the oven, so move it,” you put your hands on his hips and shuffled him to the side. You felt him watching your every move closely, “stop staring at my ass and help me, please.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, but it was nothing but fondness…and it didn’t stop him from teasingly slapping your ass as you made a sound of surprise, “now I’ll help.”

“You are the worst, Joel Miller.”

What you really meant was I love you with every fiber of my being, Joel Miller.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you even paying attention to the movie?” you looked up at Joel, and nodded sleepily, pulling yourself off him as if to prove a point. You’d been lying on his chest, his arm around you for the last hour as you tried to focus on whatever silly movie he’d put on, “mhmm.”

“Shh,” you waved him off, “it’s not my fault you have terrible taste in movies.”

“This is a piece of cinema,” he joked, just as someone else on screen was getting their head chopped off, “niche cinema.”

“Sure Joel,” you yawned softly, “it’s getting late. I should-”

“Just stay baby,” he insisted and despite the fact that you knew he would, your stomach flipped happily, “I don’t want you driving late at night when you’re this tired.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist as he tugged you closer to him. You were soft and malleable and let him pull you into his lap, “but you’ve convinced me to stay.”

You leaned in to kiss him, slowly at first, suddenly feeling wide awake. Your body hummed with energy as his hands found purchase on your waist and he kissed you back with just as much eagerness. He really did make good on his makeout promise from earlier. And he kissed you until you were breathless and dizzy, grinning at him shyly.

“You’re so warm and soft,” he mused as his hand dipped under your sweater and spread his fingers along your ribs, “and beautiful.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls?” you teased softly and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Just you,’ he promised, as if you needed some sort of reassurance. You beamed as you leaned into him and peppered kisses along his jaw and down his glorious neck, “you keep this up longer and-”

“We’re not having sex on the couch,” you laughed quietly, a sound that went straight to his heart. He really loved you, he thought at that moment, “where one - Sarah could walk in on us any moment and two - we all sit on here. Bedroom, Miller.”

“Fine,” he pouted and you turned his face up towards yours as you kissed the pout away. A serious look crossed his features when you pulled away, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh. That’s never a good idea-”

“Hush,” he pressed a finger to his lips and you pressed a kiss to it, “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time you actually moved in. Officially.”

“Yeah?” your heart swelled and felt like it was about to burst with pure happiness. He nodded and there was a gentle hopeful look in his big brown eyes that you loved, “okay y-yeah. Yes. I’d really like that too.”

“Yeah?” This time it was his turn to ask for reassurance.

“Yeah,” you promised, cradling his handsome face in your hands. You kissed him a few more times, reverent and saccharine, before you pulled back again, “bedroom?”

“You read my mind.”

“Joel?” you paused for just a moment before either of you could move, “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” he smiled softly, “and then even longer.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #tlou #tlou hbo

3K notes · View notes

mauesartetc · 6 months

Text

Redesigning Helluva Beelzebub

Hoo boy, roll up the sleeves for this one.

The Original

In my review of Helluva Boss 108, I mentioned that Beelzebub's character design put me in mind of how some DeviantArt kid's fursona might look. And... Yeah I stand by that statement. The most likely reason I can figure Viv Medrano wanted her to be dog-like was to make a reference to her Die Young music video, which featured an anthro wolf singing a Kesha song (for context, Kesha herself voiced Beelzebub and co-wrote a song for this episode).

But for those who are unaware, Beelzebub's traditional depiction looks nothing like this.

Really the only visual similarities the Helluva version shares with the Infernal Dictionary version are the insect wings, six limbs, and the crown thingy over the head. (At least I think that's a crown-? Kinda hard to tell on both counts.)

Bee's eyes get somewhat more insectoid later in the episode, but that feels like a cop-out. Wow, her eyes and colors changed. Totally a bug demon, right?

They had the same problem in Hazbin Hotel with Katie Killjoy, who's allegedly supposed to be a praying mantis but barely resembles one, even after her transformation.

I understand the desire for fresh takes on old figures, and taking creative liberties so the new interpretation doesn't feel generic. But the changes should at least make sense. By now it's pretty clear Viv couldn't care less about representing Ars Goetia demons faithfully, as demonstrated with Paimon, Andrealphus, and now Beelzebub. You could slap completely different names on these characters and it wouldn't change a thing. I posted this meme a while back but it's never been more relevant:

On top of that, what reason could there possibly be for the design to be this damn complex? Why did she need so many markings on her face? Why did she need so many layers of hair? Why did she need flowing goo for her hair, tail, and body, each requiring dedicated effects animation?

When it comes to a hand-drawn production, less is more. Any superfluous details on a character just make unnecessary work for the animators.

Anyway, here's what Viv has to say about it.

Alright, I'll admit: The lava lamp bit is a little clever. Basically it works as a regular stomach does, but on demonic steroids. But it wouldn't look so much like Viv's making this up as she goes if we'd seen Bee's stomach performing its intended function in the episode. Let her chow down on a giant piece of food (maybe that cotton candy she's been handing out-?) and swallow it, and let Loona (and the audience) see it dissolving in her transparent belly. As a general rule, if it's not shown or explained in the work itself, it's not canon. Like I've said before, Viv: Elaborate on the nuances in the story you're telling, not on social media.

Also, "Her ears are designed after beehives"? Wh...Wha? Ma'am have you ever seen a beehive.

(Hell, even if you told me the ears were inspired by the generic cartoon beehive we're all familiar with, I wouldn't have guessed. There's a difference between being subtle and being vague.)

I can kinda see it in the overall shape, but that's a very specific design inspiration that wasn't clear at all in the design itself. Same with the "animal trainer" thing: I never would have picked up on that if Viv hadn't pointed it out. If a character design doesn't visually convey all the necessary information, it's not a successful design. Show, don't tell. There's a communication breakdown between what Viv's telling us and what Bee's design shows us.

(It's possible she actually meant "Her ears are designed after honeycombs", but even then, each compartment has a specific pentagonal shape that's not coming across at all here.)

I also find it interesting that Bee and Loona have almost the exact same body type. Of course Viv's pretty infamous for samebody syndrome, but it's actually unnerving how similar these two are.

Might this be a reference to Vortex's "type"? Is this foreshadowing a relationship with Loona? Am I overthinking this? Yeah, probably. Viv's demonstrated a clear preference for tall, skinny body types over the years, so it's safer to assume that's the explanation. It's all aesthetics. It ain't that deep. Occam's Razor and all that.

Finally, Bee how the hell does your shirt work.

The Concept

So at this point it seems most logical to lean into the "bee" thing for the redesign, and scrap all the canine elements. As for the blobby hair and tail... yeeeah let's nix those too. We're going for a streamlined version that's easier to animate. And because I ignored the ringmaster look for my redesign of Asmodeus, it only makes sense to do the same for Bee's animal trainer vibe (what little there is) for the sake of consistency. I know this version of Hell has a circus theme with its highest-ranking demons, but there's never been an in-universe explanation for why that is.

Let's look at actual bees, then. A quick peek at Google has informed me that certain insect species have smaller, "simple" eyes (also known as ocelli), in addition to their compound eyes. In bees, this manifests as a triangular grouping of three beady eyes on top of the head.

In her Helluva Boss episode, Bee's full demon form has three eyes, which could be a reference to this triangular arrangement, plus her regular form has two spots on her forehead in addition to the third eye. So it's possible Viv actually did research for something. Pleasantly surprised on that front.

Next, the body. I've noticed that some folks find Bee's skinny body type refreshing, as the sin of gluttony is too often personified with fatness. And that's fair. That's valid. But consider this:

Imagine any Vivziepop character saying that about a chubby person. Imagine the series sending the message that fat people can be sexy too, and that they have worth outside of their appearance, enough for at least one character to consider them girlfriend material. That they're valued and appreciated regardless of this culture's beauty standards (which we know nothing about since the worldbuilding is as thin and flimsy as tissue paper, but whatever). Imagine if this show finally had a fat female character who wasn't relegated to the background. Don't know about y'all, but that would be refreshing to me. And when you take into account all the fat-shaming of a character who isn't even fat, portraying a fat character as attractive would be a nice change of pace for this show.

Now let's talk about clothing. In the episode, Bee's clothes show off a lot of her body, with a cutout crop top and short shorts. We can take a similar approach for the redesign (something that still shows off her chest, belly, and limbs, in keeping with the extroverted "party girl" persona), but that perhaps includes more queenly elements.

The Redesign

Because this is a redesign, many elements were already in place, but I still had to figure out how this character would look as a bee. Here's where the preliminary sketches came in. Lots of trial and error in this process.

Wrestling with this character's face got a lot easier once I realized I could mold it into a pentagonal shape akin to a honeycomb compartment. It took a few tries, but at last, I had a final sketch.

All that was left to do was test out some color combinations.

I tried a few different approaches, but in the end, this is the version I felt worked best.

I used many of the colors from the original, but pushed the orange much harder since orange is the symbolic color of gluttony as a sin. And overall it gives Bee a nice honey-ish look rather than the generic black and yellow we already see on so many bees in cartoons. I thought the colored outlines on her clothing would add a soft, feminine touch, as well.

And just for kicks, here's a quick sketch of her giant form, inspired by the Infernal Dictionary drawing of Beelzebub.

Conclusion

The canon version of this character exists in the form she does for no reason than to stroke her creator's ego. "Hey guys, remember when I animated that Kesha fan video? Remember how cool that was? Wanna see me foist this unnecessarily-complex character design on other animators while I take a victory lap?" I wouldn't mind so much if Viv animated any of this herself, but she didn't. I could almost excuse this if she had no animation experience and didn't know how much work it requires, but she does. The self-aggrandizing entitlement is just off the charts. But a nonsensical design is leagues better than a stolen one, so... brownie points for that, I guess.

#character design #redesign #helluva boss #helluva critical #helluva beelzebub #vivziepop critical #body positivity #long post

596 notes · View notes

alwaysahiccupandastrid · 6 months

Text

Some things I’ve noticed on my second viewing of “Five Nights at Freddy’s” (2023)

(Some of these are obvious, don’t @ me, I’m autistic and I had work the day I first watched the film so my brain was all over the place)

Once again, SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT, PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS!!!!

On my first viewing I thought that showing the security guard at the very start loosening the bolts of the chair straps was a fake out to make us believe he’d escape, but actually he loosened the bolts which is how Mike was able to escape later on

Just want to say that the opening credits are fucking cool and I love them so much

In my previous post about things in the FNAF movie, I incorrectly said there was no Golden Freddy - Golden Freddy is in fact in the film, he’s the one who goes to the house/kills Aunt Jane/is in the taxi

Following on from the above point, I said last time that I thought the cupcake was the fifth ghost child but I actually think it’s Golden Freddy to be honest - the blonde girl was obviously Chica, the boy with the bunny ears was Bonnie, the ginger boy was Foxy, and then there was the blonde boy and another boy with a top hat on. I originally thought that the blonde boy who wore the brown shirt was Freddy because he seemed like the leader, but now I’m wondering if the boy with the top hat was Freddy and the leader boy was in fact Golden Freddy (given his blonde hair)? I’m interested to hear what everyone else thinks

This is obvious but the doctor foreshadowed the ending because she told Mike that drawings are powerful tools for children to express things and understand things, and that’s exactly how Abby communicated to the gang at the end that Afton was responsible for their deaths

^side note but as an early years practitioner at a nursery/for preschool children, it’s actually true that pictures are used to help children learn things even before they can read, write or talk. I don’t know, it just interested me to be like “oh yeah that’s true!!”

There was not that much focus on Mike’s dad, like he was seen so briefly compared to his mom, which makes me wonder if there’s something to it that might be revealed in a future film. Like maybe his “dad” isn’t his dad or something? Because in the game canon, William is his father, so… I don’t know. I also saw someone else point out that in the training video Mike watched, there was a man working on the animatronics who maybe looked like the actor playing Mike’s dad, so maybe his dad worked there with the animatronics?

The film appears to be set in 2000; I’m 90% sure the security cam of Mike in the careers office showed the date as being in 2000, but if someone else can clarify or confirm the exact date then that would be great. It would make sense though because Garret presumably went missing around the same time as the ghost kids (in the 80s), so the film being set in the present day (meaning Mike would be in his 50s) would make zero sense. Also the mobile phones/computers all seem like they come from the early 2000s

Someone on Twitter pointed out that one of Abby’s drawings on her wall appeared to be a red airplane, which could just be an indication/foreshadowing of her knowledge of Garret’s disappearance (his toy airplane) but also someone else said it could have been 9/11 which….?!?! If this film is set in 2000, then that’s FUCKED

(I think it’s either a random drawing or to do with Garret’s toy tbh but the idea of her having foresight of 9/11 is fucking horrifying)

I’m still not totally sure which animatronic the gang were going to force Abby into, like it’s one with spring locks and at first I thought it might be Circus Baby but it doesn’t really look like her. It looks almost like a marionette or something? And I mean, yeah, it could be that they changed the design a bit but they literally stayed faithful to the designs of all the animatronics in the series so… you know.

Desperate to know if Matthew Lillard is aware of the fact that his DILF status has been multiplied by one hundred after this film like can someone check in on him and see if he’s alright? 💀 the FNAF girlies fans are frankly RABID about Afton

On that note, I wonder if Josh Hutcherson or Matthew Lillard have ever played any FNAF games, like were they fans before being cast or…? I really wish we could have content of them talking about the film or promoting it, but Hollywood refuses to pay their actors fairly so 🤷‍♀️

Listen, I ADORE both Josh and Matthew anyway but in this film I feel like Matthew especially stood out??? Maybe it’s just the character he’s playing but he ATE this role up (so did Josh but still)

I feel like the springlock scene was actually more terrifying upon a second viewing like at my first one I was like “that’s not as bad as I imagined” but this time I was like “holy shit he’s in agony” like his screams were PAINFUL to listen to

Speaking of painful to listen to, Freddy gave this really guttural and pained roar/scream at one point during the ending and it really made my heart hurt, it’s like the child inside of him was reliving the memory of their murder or something??? I can’t describe it but it was such an intense moment

I honest to god feel like I enjoyed it more on a second viewing and I don’t know why??? Maybe it’s just because the other people in my cinema weren’t laughing every five minutes but still.

I now have the urge to rewatch ALL of Markiplier’s playthroughs of ALL the FNAF games so… yep!

Once again begging for people to talk about FNAF because I’m not the most knowledgable on the series but I do enjoy it!

#fnaf #five nights at freddy’s #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #freddy fazbear #bonnie the bunny #chica the chicken #foxy the fox #springtrap #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #william afton #matthew lillard #josh hutcherson

408 notes · View notes

smileysuh · 1 year

Text

NiceGuyJohnny : nct

🌙 staring. Johnny x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “You know,” he sighs as his fingers pump into you, “I was a little worried that- since it’s been so long since I fucked you properly, maybe it would be harder to make you cum, but-” he applies more pressure to your gspot and you’re crying out, pussy clenching ridiculously tight around his digits, “you’re squirting just as easily as I remember.”

cw/ tw. 69ing, oral, unprotected sex, size kink, manhandling, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, dumbification, praise, slight cum play/kink, etc... I petnames. (hers) sweetheart, baby, etc... (his) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.5k

🍭 aus. cam girl reader, poly idols, idols sharing a fuck buddy, dirty boy idols, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. camroom directory here - final chapter! when I started this series, I always knew John would be the endgame and I know some of my foreshadowings have tipped people off- thank you to everyone who's been here throughout this long endeavor- happy easter and happy John day!

“You keep checking the time.”

“Am I?” Johnny sighs, tearing his eyes from his phone to look at Mark.

“You know…” the Canadian averts his gaze, “no one would blame you if you want to skip the party tonight.”

“Skip our ‘tour ended and we’re back in Seoul’ party?” Johnny scoffs. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, I mean… you haven’t seen y/n in a while-”

Johnny cuts his friend off, “She’s invited tonight.”

“I know but- you just keep checking your phone, so I sort of assumed-”

“Don’t do that.” Johnny hates how curt he’s being with Mark, but he can’t help himself. “Assume things, I mean.”

He hates how his deepest secrets are so painfully obvious to his best friend, hates how Mark can be much more observant than anyone gives him credit for.

“Fine, I won’t,” Mark sighs. “But seriously- if you wanted to skip tonight… no one would blame you.”

Johnny only wishes this was true. As observant as Mark is, he hasn’t seemed to pick up on the fact that both Jaehyun and Haechan have a thing for you- something that goes beyond what anyone sees on cam.

People will - in fact - blame Johnny if he skips tonight, especially if it means him going to your apartment, knocking on your door, and saying whats been on his mind for over two years now.

As time ticks by and Johnny gets increasingly uncharacteristically anxious, so does his need to rip the bandaid off. It’s not like his thoughts can go unsaid any longer- even if he was to wait to the party to see you. If Mark can read the emotions on his face, Johnny has no doubt you’ll see right through him, and is a party really the best place to have the conversation he needs to have with you?

Johnny sighs and checks his phone again.

“John?”

He loves it when you answer your phone like this. His name sounds right coming from you- as right as anything Johnny has ever known.

“Hey you,” he can’t help the smile that appears on his face, and he looks down, twiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. “Still coming to the party tonight?”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He loves that he can hear your own grin- and he endevours to be the source of your smiles for as long as humanly possible.

“Do you need a ride?”

“I was gonna call a cab-”

“Don’t,” he tells you, “let me drive you.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you need to be getting ready for the party?”

“Nah, Doyoung and Taeyong are dealing with that- I just get in the way, like always.”

“Very naughty of you, John.”

There’s that smile again, and he can almost visualize it in his mind’s eye.

It’s been much too long since he’s seen you in person, and if he has to wait any longer, he might just combust.

“So you’ll let me pick you up?”

“Something tells me even if I said no, you’d show up anyways.”

“You’re right about that,” he grins to himself.

“So I guess I’ll see you at eight?”

“Maybe before,” Johnny says under his breath.

Another laugh that sounds like music to his ears, then, “Just text me when you’re in front of my building.”

“You got it, baby.”

“Bye, John.”

“See you soon.”

At ten to eight there’s a knock on your door, and you pull yourself away from your vanity to go see who’s arrived at your apartment. There’s not text from John, so you’re prepared to see a neighbour or even your land lord-

Your breath catches as you open your door to reveal the windswept idol, his hands resting on either side of the frame. He’s so big- you’ve almost forgotten how big he is, how tall-

“John-” you watch his eyes dip to your lips, and the next moment he’s cupping your face, stepping into your apartment and pressing his mouth to yours.

You grab at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. With a quick motion of his foot, he’s closing the door behind himself, and one hand leaves your face to click the lock into place-

“Wait- John,” you say again, biting gently at his lip-

“Just let me kiss you-” he pleads, words breathy as his mouth ghosts over your own.

You want to let him just kiss you- but this is definitely not something you’d exprected on your agenda tonight- especially without warning, and the shock at suddenly seeing Johnny again causes you to be as firm as you’ve ever been with him. You press your hands flat to his abdomen, giving a small push- and your favorite idol pulls away from you without another word of protest.

There are a million questions on your mind, but the first one that comes out is; “How did you even get into the building?”

“Someone was leaving and when I approached they just held the door open-”

“They’re not supposed to do that-” you sigh, “the land lord posted a whole invoice about letting people in without keys- and hey! You’re not supposed to do that either! Walking into my apartment- you’re an idol, what if someone recognized you-”

“Are you that disappointed to see me?” Johnny is smiling down at you with all the ease in the world.

You’re amusing him, and he’s at his most handsome when amused like this.

“Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I don’t know…” for the first time, he looks thoughtful, “maybe I wanted to surprise you.”

“How long were you waiting?”

His gaze has shifted to your lips again, and there’s something of a dreamy glint in his eye when he sighs and says, “Longer than you can imagine-”

“John-” you groan.

“I’m serious-” He catches your jaw between two fingers, and you find yourself looking up into eyes that have suddenly turned sincere. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“You do?” Your voice comes out a squeak, and your heart is thundering in your ribcage like never before.

“Uh huh.” His tongue swipes over his lower lip. “But aren’t you going to invite me in first?”

The energy shift gives you something like whiplash, and you blink up at - arguably - your most stable lover. “Invite you in?” You take a small breath. “Aren’t we going out?”

“I think I need some water actually.” Johnny’s hand drops, your chin released, and the large man shifts past you to head to your kitchen.

“John-” you give your head a little shake, moving to follow him. “Are you okay? You’re acting a little…”

“Acting a little what?” He fills a glass with water, cocking an eye brow at you.

“Off?” you suggest, doing the best to make sense of his erratic behaviour. He takes a sip of his drink, and you sigh. “Look… if you’re here to do a cam show before the party-”

“I’m not.” Johnny puts his water down, studying your face.

You’re not convinced, and he knows it.

“Really-” he insists, “I’m not here for a cam show- fuck- even if you had suggested one…” he looks like he’s considering it but ends up shaking his head, “no, even then- no cam show.”

“No cam show,” you repeat his words, still not fully satisfied.

“Why do you sound like you still don’t believe me?” He grins at you.

“I just- I don’t think we’ve ever been in a situation where you don’t want to fuck me-”

“Who said I don’t want to fuck you?”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “You did- you just said no cam show-”

“True- no cam show, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to tear your clothes off- why do you think I had to get water? Needed something to distract myself-” His eyes move up and down your form, and he takes another sip of his drink.

“John-” you feel a rush of wet between your legs- it’s funny how easily this man can make a mess of your panties.

“So what do you want to do, princess?” Johnny asks. “Do you still want to go to the party? I know I’d prefer having some time alone here with you first… I still have something I need to talk to you about but-”

“Can it wait?”

He pauses for a moment, studying you. From the way he breaks out in a grin, you can tell he’s read you as easily as ever- read the horny warning signs-

“It can wait,” he confirms. “No camshow, just us?”

“Please, just get over here-” you reach your hands out for him and all it takes is two strides for Johnny to press his lips to yours again.

You melt into the kiss this time. You’re still not a hundred percent sure what’s going on with him- but enough of your questions have been answered. And you suppose you can only stand in the same room with Johnny Suh for so long before jumping his bones-

You’re shocked you’ve lasted this long.

It feels amazing to have his large hands on you again- and his lips are as familiar as your soft pillow, or your favourite blanket. It feels like home to be wrapped in his arms- to be the main focus of an idol adored by countless fans all over the world-

But more than that- it feels like nothing else because this is Johnny- and there’s no one else like him.

Your heart aches in your chest when Johnny simply reaches down and lifts you up, forcing your legs around his hips while he carries you off in the direction of your room.

You can tell by the way he’s kissing you that he’s missed you more than he can say- and you’ve missed him just the same, wordlessly communicated through the way you kiss him back, tongue swiping against his bottom lip as a groan works its way out of your mouth.

Before you know it, the two of you are falling onto your bed, and it’s another familiar feeling.

How many times has he fucked you here? How many times has he made you cum-

It’s been much too long since you last saw Johnny, but your bodies are moving in sync as if he’d never even been gone.

Everything has always just been easy with Johnny- and it’s fun too.

When mid lip lock his exploritive hands discover your dress has a zipper up the back and it won’t be easily tugged off, Johnny pulls away from you just long enough to flip you onto your stomach, and you find yourself giggling at the manhandling.

“Sorry baby, give me one second to get this dress off of you-” he says, breath hot against your exposed back as he tugs the zipper down.

Johnny’s straddling your thighs, and it’s an easy enough position for you to tease him with. You push your ass back and up, rubbing it against his crotch while releasing a sigh. “I can’t believe I dressed up all pretty and we’re not even going to the party-”

“We can still go to the party,” he assures you, warm fingers gliding against your spine to undo your bra clasp.

“No, daddy,” you smile, “we can’t.”

“No? And why’s that, baby?” His lips ghost over your shoulder.

“Because we have an entire tour’s worth of time to make up for- and I’d like you to fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You feel him smile against your skin and his mouth moves to your neck. “I think that can be arranged,” he says, teeth dragging by your ear lobe and making you twitch. He pulls away much too fast. “And actually- now that you mention it, how about you stand up and let me see your dress one last time before you take it off- you know, to appreciate it.”

“Really?” you groan. “Can’t you just tear it off me?”

“Daddy wants to see his princess, now be a good girl for me and let me appreciate you.”

How could you resist a request like this?

When Johnny moves to sit on the bed, you’re free to stand up, and you turn to face him.

He’s breathtaking- leaning against the pillows, his eyes warm and his smile affectionate. “It’s a pretty dress baby, I should have told you that when I got here but- well,” he shrugs, “I was distracted by your lips.”

“You and your sweet talking,” you smile, shaking your head. “Should I strip for you, daddy? The way you stripped for all your fans on tour?”

Johnny laughs, and the sound is music to your ears. “Jealous, baby?”

“Not any more than you watching my cam shows, I bet,” you say, meaning for it to be a dismissive comment- because you know Johnny doesn’t get jealous seeing you with others…

Right?

“You’re funny, a funny baby” he chuckles, but there’s less joy in this sound than the one previous. “Take that dress off, funny baby, daddy’s getting impatient.”

“Yes sir-” you tease, slipping your staps down so your dress and bra can fall to the floor. You step out of the fabric, toying with the waistband of your underwear. “What about these, daddy?”

“Take them off now or risk them getting torn, your choice.” Johnny’s working on the buttons of his own shirt, jacket already discarded by the door-

You lose focus for a moment, too distracted by each strip of the beutiful idol’s newly exposed skin-

“Tick tock, darling,” your soft dom reminds you, grinning at the way you’re standing there frozen.

“Right- sorry,” you slip your panties off and the coolness of the room rushes over your wet, hot, pussy.

God, you need to be filled- you need to be filled so bad it hurts.

You hop onto the bed, reaching for the waistband of Johnny’s pants. “I missed your cock so bad, daddy-”

“Yeah?”

“Missed it in my mouth, and in my pussy-”

“Mmm-” Johnny groans when you squeeze him through his pants, tracing the outline of his hard cock. “If you missed my dick so much- and I’ve missed that pretty fucking pussy of yours- maybe the only way to make sure we both get what we want is to start with you sitting on my face while you take me in your mouth- or at least, as much of me as you can fit.”

69-ing is not a position you generally do with Johnny- but you suppose it’s been a long time since you’ve fucked. Maybe he’s picked up some new tricks? Maybe this just shows that you’re both absolutely insatiable- neither of you had the patience to wait much longer and Johnny definitely knows it.

“Have you really missed me that much?” you ask as Johnny lifts his hips to pull his pants down.

“More than you can imagine,” he admits, shuffling down the bed, “now be a good girl and come sit on Daddy’s face.”

His hands help you get into position, and before you can even lower yourself down, he’s applying pressure to help you sit onto his mouth, his tongue pushing into your pussy-

Johnny groans loudly against your core, and you think it must be from discovering how wet you already are. Or maybe he’s missed the taste of you- either way, the sound makes you even more turned on, the hands on your hips urge you to grind down-

“Fuck, Johnny-” you moan, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, ready to guide him to your lips-

A gentle smack on your ass is a reminder that Johnny expects the title of Daddy- at least, he does right now, and it brings a smile to your face. You like that he doesn’t stop eating your pussy- he has his priorities straight, and you think you should too, as you wrap your mouth around the pretty head of his cock-

Another groan from Johnny has your pussy throbbing, clit needing his attention- in a 69 position, you can’t just grind yourself against his nose, and it frustrates you as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

When he’d suggested this- you’d thought it would be just a little foreplay- you’ve never cum in a 69 before- but when Johnny applies more pressure to your hips, forcing you down against his mouth- you realize you’re in very real danger of cumming sooner than you’d expected.

There’s something about the duality of being stuffed with his cock in your mouth, and his tongue in your pussy-

You’re not quite sure where to focus, but you’re turned on enough that you’re drooling all over his dick, and your pussy is throbbing with wetness that Johnny eagerly laps up-

You moan around his cock and Johnny’s hips twitch, forcing more of him into your mouth.

He’s the one who moans next, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking-

Your toes curl as pleasure courses through you, and you begin to pump the base of Johnny’s cock, using your drool as lube.

Part of you wants to make him cum from your mouth if he’s going to do the same to you, but another part of you knows that’s unrealistic- Johnny’s got a big cock, he cums big loads, and it always takes a big little while to get him there, but damn, you enjoy the ride.

It’s becoming harder and harder for you to breathe while focusing on everything- and you take your mouth off Johnny, groaning loudly while you continue pumping his cock with your hand. “Fuck- Daddy- feels so good-”

He growls against your pussy, switching between lapping at you and sucking on your clit.

“Just like that- please- fuck- daddy- I think I’m gonna cum-” You close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling of your stomach muscles tightening- “Yeah- I’m gonna cum from your tongue- don’t stop, please-”

Not only does Johnny not stop, he eats you out with even more vigour, groaning against your pussy and sending you into a frenzy.

“Fuck- daddy-” you hardly have time to say much else before you’re cumming on his tongue, core muscles clenching as pleasure consumes you.

The orgasm feels kind of like a firecracker, an eruption of jittery ecstasy that fizzles over your form, making your hair raise from your skin before heat is left in it’s wake. Sparkly waves of fire crackling energy erupt through your from with each suck and lick of Johnny’s tongue against your pussy, working you through your high like the diligent man he is.

“Fuck- please- need to be full-” even in your orgasmic haze, you have your priorities, and right now, the only thing on your mind is Johnny’s delicious cock being inside your pussy, the one hole that can truly take him the way he deserves- “Need your cock so bad-”

Johnny’s hands shift to your ass, and he squeezes you gently, giving one last harsh suck on your clit that has you crying out before he pushes you off his mouth. “If you need my dick so bad, you should sit on it next.”

“What?” You’d been expecting him to fuck you- not the other way around.

“Oh so you can ride Mingyu and Yunho but not me?” Johnny laughs, his breath teasing your wet pussy and making you twitch as you clamor off of him.

“I-” you swallow thickly, adjusting so you can straddle Johnny, who sits up against the pillows, grinning while you stumble over your words. “I just-”

“You want Daddy to do all the work, huh?” he teases.

“Maybe-” you admit, feeling almost bashful as you reach between your bodies to grab his cock, lining it up with your pussy-

“Well, baby-” Johnny’s hands find your hips, and he steadies you as you begin to sink down on him, pussy swallowing him up inch by inch- “I guess you’re just going to have to wait.”

It’s as if a handful of your fuck buddies came to an agreement to make you wait for things, and you’re not happy about it.

But honestly- as you take more and more of Johnny- you start to not care so much. It’s not like you’re going to be able to ride him for very long- you’re already gasping and you’ve hardly even moved yet.

This position hits deep- you suppose that’s one reason a few idols have liked having you on top recently. When you lean back, swiveling your hips, you can see the slight outline of his cock in your lower abdomen and it has you going feral-

“Fuck- look at you, baby,” Johnny groans, watching your every movement. “How’d you ever get so perfect?”

“Shit, daddy, you’re so deep-” you whine, leaning forward again to grab at his shoulders, an anchor for when you begin to bounce-

“And you’re taking me so well-” the man under you breathes, hands settling on your hips to help you with your movements. “So well, baby- so perfect-”

“Fuck, John-”

A gentle smack to your ass has you crying out and he smiles up at you. “Am I really John again?”

“Uh huh-” you nod, heart and pussy clenching tight, “missed you.”

Johnny sits up better against the pillows, and then he’s grabbing at you, cupping your face with one hand to draw your lips to his own.

“I missed you too,” he says, kissing you deeply and making your mind go blank as you roll your hips.

It’s as easy as anything to get lost in John- but you suppose it’s always been this way.

There’s just something about the two of you that works, you can’t really explain it.

Maybe it has to do with his brilliant non verbal communication - large hands guiding you to fuck him faster and harder - or maybe it’s just his perfect, gorgeous lips, the lips you could kiss for hours and not get bored-

“Fuck, you feel so good, princess-” Johnny groans, digging his fingers into your hips. “Missed this.”

“John?” you whimper when he shifts his hips, thrusting up to meet you.

“Yes, darling?” he asks, leaning in to press his lips against your throat while you bounce on his cock.

“My thighs-”

His hands find the body part in question, and he massages the sore muscles. “Your thighs?” He grins against your neck.

“Please-” You know he’s just playing with you- it must be clear to him by now that you’re starting to get tired, and it’s harder to focus on his massive cock splitting you open when your thighs are burning from effort.

“You ready to be fucked properly now?” Johnny smiles up at you, as coy and confident as ever.

“Yes, please-”

“Ready to be fucked the way only I can fuck you?”

You’re suddenly reminded of what he’d said to you all those months ago when you first started your cam girl journey; “Fuck whoever you want,” he’d told you, “but no one is ever going to fuck you the way I can.”

“Yes, daddy” is the only answer that truly suffices as your body tingles with intense energy- Johnny has always been your rock, and he always will be.

You love how easy it is for him to wrap an arm against the small of your back and flip you, pinning you to the bed and pressing his hips flush to your own. A moan is torn out of you as you grab at his shoulders, eager for his lips.

Each kiss is like magic, and he takes a test thrust that has your toes curling.

“Mmm-” you whimper against his mouth, and Johnny breaks the kiss to press his hot lips against your throat, sucking on your sweet spot and making another rush of wet flood to your core. “Johnny- feels so good-”

“You feel so good,” he retorts, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him feeper, the head of his cock hitting the spot that makes you want to scream.

“Shit- right there,” you tell him, digging your nails into his strong shoulders, your eyes closing as you allow the feeling to engulf your whole being.

“Here?” He thrusts into you harder, hitting the spot again and making you cry out. “How could I forget this spot?” Johnny grins, pulling away from your throat to look down at your pleasure controrted face. “It’s going to make you cum, right? You’ll be a good girl for me and cum again?”

“Fuck, yes John- shit, I want you to cum too-”

“Not yet baby, not yet,” he assures you in a voice that’s much too controlled. “I’ve been thinking about you for months- I don’t want to cum until I’m sure you’re satisfied-”

“I’m satisfied-” you try to tell him, but Johnny simply laughs at you.

“Haven’t even made you squirt yet, baby- just give in to the feeling right now, and let me do the rest, yeah?”

“Fuck-” you’re clawing at his skin, his cock repeatedly teasing the spot deep in your core- “John-”

“Come on baby, I want you to cum for me,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his nose brushing by your own in the most domestic way- “I can feel you squeezing- you feel like heaven, princess- just let go, I know you want to, let me take care of you.”

“I’m so close-” you can feel your stomach muscles twisting in tighter and tighter knots, and you’re teetering on the edge-

“Here,” Johnny licks two of his fingers before slipping his hand between your bodies, and you cry out when he makes contact with your clit. “Those are the sounds I like-”

“Fuck, daddy-” you’re gasping now, body alight with electric energy-

The chord in your abdomen snaps, your orgasm slamming into you full force, and Johnny presses his lips to your own, muffling the noises of pleasure that threaten to fill the room and bug your neigbours-

“That’s it, baby, that’s my good girl-” Johnny coos, fucking you through your high, his fingers unrelenting on your clit even as you wiggle bellow him, helplessly pinned by his weight.

“Johnny-” you whimper his name loudly than you’d intended, and he grins down at you.

“There you go, princess, let your whole apartment building know who’s fucking you-”

At this point, you can hardly bring yourself to care about noise complaints, and you allow your sounds of pleasure to fill the room while Johnny takes care of you, working you through your high as expertly as ever.

As your sounds slowly come to an end, Johnny’s thrusts slow down, and you cling to him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “John-”

“Can I flip you onto your stomach baby?” he asks, lips ghosting over your cheekbone. “I’ve been missing your ass like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Really?” Your stomach flutters with pleasure from the praise.

“Uh huh,” Johnny nods, removing his fingers from your clit. “No doggy, just going to have you laying flat-”

“Fuck-” you groan. Images of all the times he’s done the ‘on your stomach legs closed position’ flash through your mind’s eye, and your pussy twitches at the memories-

“Yeah- it’s nice and deep, that’s what you want, right?” Johnny asks. “Want Daddy nice and deep when he cums and fills you up-”

You’re nearly crying already- you want it so badly. “Yes, daddy-”

“Come on angel, let’s flip you over-” He’s so caring, so calm and precise with you. You’ve missed his large hands, missed the way they so easily move you from one position to the next-

The next moment he’s pulled out of you and you’re on your stomach, resting your face against the pillows as Johnny shifts on the bed behind you.

You press your thighs together, arching your back and lifting your hips ever so slightly to expose your pussy to him-

“Fuck, you have no idea how pretty you look-” he groans, large hands grabbing at your ass to pull your cheeks apart, revealing more of you to his eager eyes. “How could I have you in this perfect position without-” two fingers slip into your wet heat and you cry out from the unexpected intrusion, “making you squirt a little first?”

His digits begin to move against your wet walls, curling down to find your gspot- a squelching noise makes your skin tingle, and you realize how wet you really are-

But he intends to have you wetter, and you know Johnny’s preference for ‘slip and slide pussy’- it’s one of the way’s he makes sure you’re having a good time even when preparing to take his massive cock deep inside of you-

“You know,” he sighs as his fingers pump into you, “I was a little worried that- since it’s been so long since I fucked you properly, maybe it would be harder to make you cum, but-” he applies more pressure to your gspot and you’re crying out, pussy clenching ridiculously tight around his digits, “you’re squirting just as easily as I remember.”

“Fuck, daddy!” you cry out at the unrelenting speed and force of his fingers, and you can feel a rush of new wetness between your thighs with each pump-

Your bed is going to be ruined after this, and you should have remembered to put a towel down - this is Johnny after all - but it’s another worry that soon slips from your mind as you give yourself in to the pleasure he’s providing.

“It’s cute that you can hardly speak,” Johnny says, and you can hear him smiling. “I think you’re just about ready for me.”

The pleasure he gives feels amazing, but there’s only so much you body can take, and while his fingers are large- you’re already starting to miss his cock-

“Please-” you whimper, feeling a hot, wet, tear slip down your cheek-

“Hmm?”

“I said, please!” you repeat, pushing your hips back and wiggling your bum at him even as his digits continue in your core-

“That’s my girl.” He removes his hand from between your legs and you let out a sound of relief, only to brace yourself for the intrusion that will come next. “Just relax,” he tells you, voice soft as he presses his palm to your lower back, anchoring himself while he guides his cock to your wet hole.

“Johnny-” you whine his name as he pushes into you. Despite having taken him already, your core is still recovering from being made to squirt, so now, his cock feels even bigger, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he leans over your back, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder blades, “I told you to relax.”

You let out a groan as he pushes in deeper, shaking your head, “Can’t- you’re too big-”

“Too big?” Johnny laughs. “You know, I thought with the recent cam shows that you’d been taken care of, but if you’re already clawing at me over this- maybe I misjudged the situation.”

He’s using big words, and you can hardly think coherently right now. The most you can do is moan, pussy twitching around his long cock as he sheiths himself into you, hips now flush with your ass.

“You can take it, right, baby?” he asks, lips returning to your shoulder and then the nape of your neck-

“Yeah- please-” one thrust has you stuttering, grabbing at the pillows in an effort to anchor yourself-

You’ve missed this position- missed it more than you’d ever realized.

You’re not sure if it’s the angle, or if it’s simply because it’s Johnny fucking you like this, but either way, it feels delicious.

You can feel the beautiful vein that runs along the underside of his massive cock with each thrust, and it has you going feral.

A large portion of his weight is pressed to your lower back, keeping you pinned to the bed- it’s almost a little suffocating, but that only adds to your pleasure.

“Shit, I could do this forever-” Johnny groans behind you. “Could fuck this pussy till I die-”

“John-”

“You’d let me right?” Hot lips graze by the junction between your neck and shoulder, and a tingle of pleasure skitters from the spot he’d kissed. “You’ll let me keep fucking you- let me keep making you cum, over and over-”

“God, yes-” you push your ass back to meet his thrusts, “Please-”

“Please what? Use your words, pretty girl, if you have any left.”

“Need your cum-” you whimper, “need you to cum with me-”

“Yeah? Is my good little cock whore already close?”

You nod desperately against the pillows.

“Is this position that good for you?” he taunts, fucking into you harder.

“Yes, shit- please, John, I can feel you everywhere-”

“Everywhere?”

“So deep-” you confirm, biting into your bottom lip to muffle some of the moans that threaten to be torn out of you with each rough motion of Johnny’s hips smacking against your ass- “Please, John-”

“I like it when you say my name like that-” he groans, fingers digging into your hips, breath hot against your shoulders.

“John-” you moan louder, “John, John, John!”

“I’m almost there- almost there, sweetheart-”

You’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s close, and your pussy flutters around his cock, so near to the edge that you think you might die if he doesn’t let you cum-

“Please, John,” you beg, “please cum with me- fill me up till I’m your stupid little cock drunk baby-”

“You’re already my stupid little cock drunk baby, angel,” Johnny chuckles, but the laughter turns into another sound of pleasure. “Fuck- okay, let go- let go for me angel, I wanna feel you-”

That’s all you need to let yourself release the tension in your core, and your pussy clamps down on his cock while you squeal into the pillow, muffling the loud sound that matches the pleasure coursing through you.

Johnny lets out an equally noisy groan, and his rhythm falters slightly-

“Fuck-”

You can feel him coating your inner core with his cum, can feel yourself becoming incredibly full as he struggles to keep rutting into your tight pussy, your walls milking him for all he’s worth-

You gasp at the feeling of being completely satisfied, burying your face in the pillow as Johnny rides you through your highs.

“You feel so good-” he groans, rhythm slowing as the both of you begin to come down from the pleasure.

“No, you.”

Johnny laughs at your fucked out, easy submissive retort, and a moment later his hips are stilling all together, his cock burried deep inside of you as he presses his chest down against your back.

He’s hot, both of you are, but there’s comfort in the pressure of his large body covering your own- he’s something like a safety blanket, and you could truly doze off at any second-

“Hey, don’t go falling asleep on me, baby.” His lips brush by your throat and a shiver of stimulation runs through you, making you grin.

“I’m tired,” you insist.

He continues pressing soft kisses to your skin. “Don’t you want to hear what I was going to tell you when I got here?”

“Oh right-”

“Can you flip over for me though? I want to see your face.”

“Johnny-”

“Please?” He nuzzles your ear with his nose, and it tickles you, forcing you to laugh and shrink away.

“Fine- but as soon as you pull out of me, and I flip over, your cum is going to start dripping out of me-”

“Should we do this in the shower then?” Johnny chuckles.

It is something of a post sex ritual for you. You’ve found that showering with a sexual partner can be the perfect aftercare, and it doubles as clean up.

“A shower sounds good,” you agree.

With one last kiss to the nape of your neck, Johnny pulls out of you, and you stifle a whimper at the loss.

The next moment, you feel his cum begin to dribble out of you, and you groan at the way Johnny always fills you up to the brim. Without even thinking twice, you slip your hand between your legs, plugging your pussy with two fingers.

You roll onto your back, and Johnny is quick to scoop you up in his arms. He’s chuckling, and it makes your skin heat with embarrassment. “Hey,” you reprimand him, “don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he promises.

“Yes you are!”

“I’m not,” he says again, still grinning. “I’m just thinking- that I could get used to this.”

He sets you down in your shower and you look up at him with a cocked brow. “Wow Suh, I didn’t realize how much you missed me while on tour-”

“Hey-” now it’s his turn to reprimand you, but most scolding that comes from Johnny includes a note of playfulness. “I’m being serious.”

“Really?”

Instead of answering, you watch him quickly reach past you, turning on the shower. The spray hits by your feet, and you shiver from the cold temperature, skittering further away from it.

“Johnny-” you groan, seeing right through his feeble attempt to derail the conversation.

“What?” He grins at you.

“You’re being weird today- something’s off with you and I know it. Wish you’d just say what you want to say.” If he keeps tiptoeing around the thing that’s on his mind, you might just put your dress back on and go to the party where his members will actually talk to you.

“Right-” Johnny tests the water, stepping into the shower to join you. His hands find your hips and he pulls you close. “I guess- I’m just nervous.”

“You? Nervous? Okay mister stripper-”

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Sometimes you make it hard to be serious with you, do you know that?”

“Me? How?!” You insist, feeling personally attacked.

“Don’t call me Mister Stripper when less than ten minutes ago you were calling me Daddy, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.”

His gaze shifts down to your lips, and he releases your chin. “Now give me a kiss for goodluck.”

“Okay, daddy,” you say again, grinning as you lean up to press your mouth to his.

His arms wrap around your body, pulling you to join him under the spray of warm water.

It feels good to be doing this with him, but the heated kiss only lasts a few moments before he’s pulling away from you. He shifts so his back is blocking the water from you again, and you cling tighter to his warm body, pouting up at him-

“Maybe the shower isn’t the best place for what I’m about to say if you’re pouting at me over water hogging.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “just tell me what the issue is or I might start to think you’re in love with me or something.”

His eyes search your own, and when he doesn’t immediately open his mouth to contradict you, something tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Wait, Johnny-”

You can’t finish your sentence because a second later his hands cup your face and his lips press to yours. You can taste something like desperation on his tongue-

“John-” you whisper again.

“Just let me kiss you,” he insists, and you almost want to laugh. This is what he’d said when he came into your apartment too-

Is he really this afraid of your reaction?

You’ve never known Johnny as the kind of guy to lack confidence- and it’s almost cute that he’s worried about this.

“John-” You press your hands to his stomach, and he moves away like he always does the moment you give any push back.

His eyes hold the same desperation that his kiss had, and they’re sad, as sad as you’ve ever seen them-

“God,” you can’t help but laugh a little, “stop looking so worried!” you take a breath and feel your expression soften, “I love you too, you big dummy-”

“You do?” His lips part in shock.

“Of course- I mean- how could I not?!”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?!” you fire back.

“Well- I mean-” he rubs the back of his neck, “when you said you were picking up cam girling again after a hiatus-”

“I needed to be fucked and you were on tour! For ages! Besides, why did I get into cam girling in the first place, you big buffoon?” Part of you wants to laugh, and part of you wants to cry- “How long- how long have you-”

“A while,” he admits, swallowing thickly. “Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I’d never suggested the cam stuff- if I’d just manned up and offered to be your sugar daddy or something-”

“John-” you groan, hiding your face in your hands at all this new information. You’re in shock- and after a breath, you look up at him again. “How does a guy that loves a girl suggest for her to camgirl and fuck all his friends?”

“Well you see…” he licks his lips, “I’m not the jealous type?”

“You’re not the jealous type, oh my god-”

“I mean, to be fair-” Johnny reaches for your hand, “you have so many idols wrapped around your finger that- maybe I thought it would be presumptuous to think I might stand a chance-”

“Johnny, that’s where you have it all wrong,” you say firmly, looking up at him with a stubborn set to your mouth, “no one ever stood a chance to you.”

“Really?”

“Not one person,” you confirm.

“I mean, you and Jinyoung were pretty close-”

“But he could see we were closer- he must have seen it- and he’s not the only one, John. Jaehyun’s asked me about us before, and Seungcheol seemed to know something about us last week-” you shake your head, still in disbelief. “I always thought maybe this was one sided-”

“Because of the whole thing about me suggesting you become a cam girl?”

“Yes!”

“Well- I’m sorry.” When you look at him you can see that he’s being genuine. “I’m sorry that I gave you mixed signals.”

“And that now I’ve fucked a few of your friends and things are way more complicated-” you add.

“They don’t have to be that complicated,” Johnny insists.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you sure about that?”

“Okay, John Cena-” your lover jokes. “I guess maybe things are a little messy-”

“A little?”

Johnny just looks at you for a moment, and then he smiles. “I love you.”

“And I love you, but-”

He kisses you before you can speak more, and for the third time today, you find yourself wanting to melt into the kiss even while your mind rages with unanswered questions.

However, unlike the last two times, this time, you allow yourself to give up control. You give in to his tongue as it swipes across your lower lip, and when his hands slip down to your ass, you let him lift you up, legs wrapping around his waist-

“I love you,” Johnny says against your lips, harder this time.

“I love you too-”

“Do we really have to talk about all this-” he asks, showing you that he’s aware he’d cut you off with a kiss, “or can I just fuck you now?”

You laugh, shaking your head a little. “You can ‘just fuck me now’- but you better keep telling me you love me-”

“I was planning on it.”

“Good!”

“Good,” he echos, mouth moving to your neck while he adjusts his hand to slip it between your bodies, grasping his cock to line it up with your entrance-

“Fuck, Suh, I love you so much that some days it’s made me want to scream-”

“Well, you can scream now if you want,” he smiles against your throat, “in fact-” he begins to push into you, “I’d really like to hear you scream for me tonight.”

“You’re-” you whimper as he fills your core in the most perfect way, “you’re insatiable-”

“I’ve got time to make up for,” he says simply.

There’s no way to fully describe the surge of emotion that runs through your body, it’s something like shock, awe, wonder, elatedness-

You can’t believe you’re here- can’t believe that the forbidden feeling you’ve been trying to ignore for over a year has been reciprocated-

“Johnny?”

“Yes, my love?”

You shiver at the new petname, heart warming in your chest. “I just wanted to say I love you.”

“I love you too, my perfect little cam baby, I love you too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This series has meant so much to me- a number of people wanted to give Jaehyun an ending, as he was very angsty for cam baby, so I've given an optional bonus below that ties up Jae's storyline and gives a little more cam baby closure :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. “It would be a one-time thing,” Johnny says, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but- I know you were missing her while we were on tour too, and you guys have always been long-term friends-” By ‘long term friends’ Jaehyun knows Johnny means ‘fuck buddies,’ and he reaches down to pinch his own arm, making sure he’s not dreaming.

cw/ tw. threesome, dry humping, spitroasting, oral, protected sex, quickie, praise, dumbification, overstim, etc...

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 4k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 staring. Jaehyun & Johnny x afab!Reader

It’s been over a month since you and Johnny made your relationship official, and Jaehyun still can’t get used to seeing you two be so overtly loving with each other. Sure, he’d always had suspicions that you and Johnny’s affections ran deeper than you’d let on, but suspecting it and seeing it are different things.

He hadn’t realized seeing it would hurt this much. Hadn’t realized how deep his own feelings for you had grown- how used to you he’d become.

And he’s not the only one. Haechan had thrown a royal fit when you’d skipped their ‘back from tour’ party, and Jaehyun is glad neither you nor Johnny had been around to see it.

“Maybe she’ll still want to fuck though-” Haechan had insisted, 4 bottles deep into his Soju, “Johnny’s not a jealous guy-”

At the time, Jaehyun had scoffed, rolling his eyes as Mark rubbed his best friend’s back and tried to be sympathetic, but now, as Jaehyun watches you and Johnny putter around the dorm, he starts to have the same hopes that Hyuck had.

☀️to read the full 4k bonus, subscribe to my Patreon - then - click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist:

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa - @just-here-to-read-01 - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan

nct taglist

@milkyway-vxm - @nctsawrus - @shiningdery - @freezerandfame

@fairieblog - @fairybr3ad - @peachyjaemin - @chemaistry

@sehunniepot

interact with those who've cum before

› [nct] NiceGuyJohnny - online

› [got7] PubGMarkT - online

› [got7] beommie - online

› [wayv] Lucas99 & Hendery99 - online

› [got7] TheJinyoung - online

› [bts] TaeTae - online

› [nct] ValentineJae97 - online

› [nct] HeyChannie - online

› [multi] TheJinyoung & NiceGuyJohnny - online

› hiatus…

› [nct] Private Room - online

› [svt] GyuGyu97 & Hannie - online

› [atz] Yunhoe - online

› [svt] CherryCheolie - online

› [nct] NiceGuyJohnny - now in server

#johnny suh #johnny suh smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #cam baby #johnny nct #nct johnny #johnny nct smut #nct johnny smut #nct u #nct u smut

1K notes · View notes

vidavalor · 2 months

Note

I know I’m jumping the gun here but I need to know (also due to hints you kept dropping regarding Az and Metatron in the final fifteen) what do DO think will happen in s3? (And pls everyone who reads/reblogs: DO NOT TAG NEIL otherwise he legally can’t use the mentioned ideas any more) oh and I would like to share some of my home made eclairs with you (I filled them with German vanilla and chocolate pudding)

Eclairs are my weakness. Thank you @procrastiel. 💕I'm more comfortable analyzing what's already established than I am at predictive thinking, especially because this is literally brilliant stuff and I wouldn't presume I could call it. That's why any S3 speculative stuff I've posted is mostly linked to already-existing flashbacks in some way.

I do think there is a less than zero chance of it not having a happy ending and I think the South Downs cottage is a thing as I can see some groundwork for that already (not just the picture of a cottage on Aziraphale's desk but in the writing). This is one of those shows where you can know the ultimate ending and still have surprises because of it being told out of chronological order and everything recontextualizing everything else so I wouldn't be surprised to learn we do already know the ending.

As for how we're getting there, I think there's some interesting hints in this overlooked af scene-- this bit, in particular:

Aziraphale is actually performing that trick correctly. He's just too busy flirting with Crowley to realize that he's massively overshot the ring-- that he's gone too far-- and has, in the process, destroyed a house of cards. Seems kinda foreshadowing for just how much damage Aziraphale is about to do to a certain fascist regime... also maybe worth noting that the ring slides across the table and topples the house of cards from the bottom-- not from the top. Hmm...

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow

215 notes · View notes

thoughtfulchaos773 · 1 month

Text

I wonder if this is a thoughtful foreshadowing technique that the writers created, but the episode numbers are a callback to some episodes of the first season.

1x02 Hands and 2x02 Pasta

We get a better look at Carmy's living space in both episodes 1x01 and 1x02.

1x03 Brigade 2x03 Sundae

In episodes 1x03 and 2x03 of the show, there is the beginning of confrontation between Carmy and Sydney. However, in the second season, their conflict remains unresolved, Carmy does not follow Sydney with an effort to show he wants to resolve it and Sydney ends up going to the alley alone. Both episodes also have a focus on the relationship between Sydney and Carmy, with Carmy at some point abandoning Sydney

Hopefully, 3x09 we get another "table moment." Maybe 3x06 will be a flashback for the Berzattos

Standalone episodes callback

-we see the let is rip note in 1x08 and 2x08.

-1x06 and 2x06 there's a flashback of Mikey.

There's more I thought about but forgot to write it down. If you remember something, feel free to reblog. If it's intentional, I think it's a cool way to foreshadow.

#sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #the bear fx #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #sydcarmy predictions

178 notes · View notes

paperclipninja · 5 months

Text

This thought struck me while I was driving and I don't know if it's a) tenuous at best, b) me finding meaning where there is none or c) possibly a thing. So naturally I'm going to throw it out there as a possible maybe-theory/foreshadowing.

As we all know, this handshake moment in the magic shop in s2 has the sword very deliberately positioned right where Aziraphale and Crowley's hands meet and we see the three swords in Aziraphale's back as he moves forward.

And when Aziraphale walks back to the counter and Crowley turns to watch, we see three swords now towards Crowley's chest - it's nicely and clearly pointed out with pictures in this post by @newfangledfancy

As many have noted, if Good Omens is anything, it is deliberate in its choices, especially when we're looking at something as obvious as this. What exactly it means, we'll no doubt find out later, but it certainly seems somewhat ominous and foreshadowing, with the sword down the middle arguably already in play with the separation of Crowley and Aziraphale at the end of s2.

My take? The sword in the middle is the breaking our two faves apart, the swords in Aziraphale's back are an indication of betrayal by Heaven (he still trusts they are the 'good guys') and the swords to the front of Crowley, to me, is indicative that part of that betrayal will involve trying to harm/destroy/get rid of Crowley.

The 'offer' to reinstate Crowley to angel status was such utter piffle (sorry, couldn't help it) because the Metatron knew he'd never go for it, but it also served another purpose; to lead Aziraphale to think he'd misjudged the Metatron (even if Aziraphale didn't really think that and doesn't have a choice about returning to Heaven, I do think part of him still also believes the system can be changed from within).

That extremely pointed, horrible look that the Metatron shoots Crowley just before he and Aziraphale leave the bookshop to go discuss the promotion (with accompanying danger music and all), you know, this one:

reveals to us that this performance the Metatron is putting on for Aziraphale really is just that, a performance. He wants Aziraphale to think he's misjudged him, I'm sure he was hoping he could convince Aziraphale to trust him. I think the angel is too clever to fully trust the Metatron, but what it does do is maintain Aziraphale's trust in Heaven and, I believe, the possibility he could make a difference.

So why the offer that Crowley could come to Heaven too? Yes, to entice Aziraphale but also, the offer makes it seem as though the Metatron has no gripe with the demon after all. It may be 'irregular', but he was willing to let Crowley be reinstated, it puts any notion of the Metatron potentially wanting to hurt Crowley off Aziraphale's radar (at least for now).

It's interesting too, in the 1941 magic shop scene, that the swords appear to be going into Crowley only once Aziraphale has moved past him, has his back to him. If I was following the separate, betray, destroy sequence of the sword set up, then I'd take that to suggest that any move against Crowley will happen while Aziraphale has his back turned, so to speak, and can you imagine the kind of fury that would unleash in our no. 1 angel? Coz I can and it is amazing! But I digress...

While speculation is fun (so, so much fun) and all, the point, the POINT of this rambling post was to say that if indeed that 1941 magic shop sequence is foreshadowing Aziraphale being 'stabbed in the back' and Crowley attacked in some way, it's not the first time we've seen a potential nod to that.

Look it may be entirely coincidental but I have to say, there is mighty similar symbolism right back in s1 when Aziraphale and Crowley are hit with the paintballs. Where does the pellet land on Aziraphale? On his back (and how, from where he's standing? Is there someone behind him??). And where does Crowley cop the 'bullet'? Right there in the chest.

I just wouldn't put it past this show to have planted the seed that early on. And look, if it's nothing of the sort, then they're just fantastic stand alone sequences. That's the greatest thing about Good Omens, if it was a Clue, then it's amazing and if it's not, it was still amazing. We simply cannot lose.

#good omens meta #good omens speculation #good omens #good omens theory #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley

293 notes · View notes

babypinkhearts · 2 months

Text

and suddenly, the world shifts. - g. satoru

pairing: gojo satoru + fem!reader

summary: you were growing up, and satoru was beginning to show an incredible amount of potential. times were beginning to change.

warnings: maybe some crude humor? a little angsty, and potential foreshadowing.

a/n: this is set during gojo’s last year as a jujustu high student :) this trope just saddens me the most i think, change is sometimes so difficult to accept. and if you take into account all the shit that happens after.

“it’s alright.”

there’s a teasing tone your voice holds, your arms crossed as you take in the sight before you.

it’s beautiful, you want to say, though you would rather jump off the cliff you’re standing on than admit that to his face.

satoru acts stupid, however he is anything but the sort. generally, that infuriated you. his freakishly attentive eyes never miss a single detail.

a week ago, you mentioned wanting to see the stars at midnight. now, a week later, you have the most gorgeous view.

“give me some credit!” he grins, walking a little ahead of you and sitting towards the edge. if it were any other person, you’d have a tang of worry. but satoru wants that verbal concern from you, and you’d be damned if you gave it to him that easily.

“jump off while you’re at it.” you mused, lips turning in a small smirk when he looks back at you with a dramatic gasp. you grin.

“mean!” he exclaims, letting himself fall back, his head cushioned by the soft grass below. he makes a noise of faux distress, clutching his side. “you’ve wounded me, princess.”

you blink, narrowing your eyes at him.

man-child.

you walk towards him, sitting beside his limp body. a nudge at his side is all it takes before he pounces towards you, arms engulfing you in a surprise attack. you gasp and fall back, body hitting the greenery below. he grins from above you, nuzzling his cheek against yours, placing a loud kiss on the skin.

he looks pretty. a part of you is convinced that no one should be allowed to look like he does. moonlight does him complete justice, accentuating his pale skin and sharp features. his eyes aren’t covered, and you selfishly wish he would let you look at them for as long as you pleased.

it’s never just the two of you anymore. you were growing up, and satoru was beginning to show an incredible amount of potential. times were beginning to change.

you saw him less now. he was normally swamped with missions, all high-level cases that he was completely capable of doing by himself. you felt like you were running down an endless hallway, all futile attempts to try and reach him.

satoru had been gone for around a week this time, and you tried to soothe the dull ache in your heart as you had begun to accept the fact that that this would start to become a regular routine. long gone were your days of constant company. you’d be incredibly lucky if you saw him twice within five days. the gaps were only getting wider.

“what’s up?”

you feel a finger gently tap your temple, and you smile, halting your thoughts. “just thinking, ‘toru.”

his cheshire grin makes your stomach do a flip.

“oh, yeah?” he replies, effortlessly holding himself above you. he pecks your cheek again. “about what?”

it felt like a mutual agreement that the time you spent together was completely sacred. no stress, just the two of you. you felt guilty simply thinking about bittersweet nostalgia.

“it’s stupid.” you wave a dismissive hand, rolling your eyes playfully. your hands cup his face, and you tilt your head up, placing a soft kiss on his lips in hopes of distracting him.

to your dismay, satoru pulls back, tilting his head.

“it’s not stupid, i promise.” his voice is soft, and you’re blissfully reminded that it’s a volume reserved for only you. “you can tell me, pretty.”

you let your head fall back, the grass tickling your neck again. you feel like a child, spoiled and ungrateful. it’s a hopeless feeling, shame flooding through your body.

despite satoru’s extremely strenuous schedule, he still always made time for you. yet you still felt deprived. you were cruelly insatiable.

“i just miss you, is all.”

it feels embarrassing to admit out loud. especially, when he is right in front of you. skin-to-skin - how greedy could you possibly be?

you half-expect him to start laughing and tease that you’re obsessed with him. maybe a snicker, at least.

but a laugh doesn’t come, and instead satoru’s lips turn into a saddened smile. his heart feels like it had just caved in.

“i miss you too.”

it’s a quiet admission, similar to the volume of your own.

you let yourself relax, eyes glistening in gratitude, thankful that he seems to understand you.

you’re oblivious to the fact that he arguably feels the pain of your absence much more significantly.

two sorcerers hopelessly in love.

“remember when we would go shopping after class? or get sushi?”

you almost hate that he brings that up, because it simply hurts to just think about. when life was easier. when you were only worried about making it to class on time. when the scariest thing in the world were yaga’s excruciatingly boring lectures.

“yeah.” you smile, though it looks more forced than you mean it to. you’re stuck in the past, you’ve realized. reminiscing on memories that won’t repeat themselves because that chapter of your life is more-than-likely over.

it feels like satoru is studying your face from how intently he stares.

he could lie to you and tell you that he doesn’t think the same. that he’s completely content with being gone for days and weeks on end, and that the gravity of his decisions don’t weigh on him constantly. that his fatigue hasn’t been building up, and if he stops thinking about blinking, he won’t just fall asleep.

so he does.

“everything will be fine.”

he can’t think of something stupidly witty to cheer you up. his mind is blank for once.

you tense, and he pretends not to see it.

ignorance is bliss, he always jokingly said. how he wishes he were still clueless.

“we’re not kids anymore, ‘toru.”

somehow speaking the words into existence just makes it ten times more painful. you think you could fill a river with the amount of tears you’ve spilled over that same very thought. adolescence is taken for granted, and while you were young you found that hard to believe. the world gets more difficult, and it’s impossible to head back to the way things used to be. you can’t cry anymore. it’s been settled, engrained in your pitiful mind that the past will stay back, no matter how much you wish to return to it.

you could practically feel something in the universe shifting. change is good, but to what extent?

whatever you felt was just unsettling.

you stare up at the starry sky. no words. there was nothing to add.

you make a silent wish, and turn to look at satoru.

you hope it’s granted.

181 notes · View notes

illuminatedquill · 5 months

Text

YO.

I’m watching Sabine’s Mandalore arc in Rebels season 3 and there’s some CRAZY foreshadowing here for her in Ahsoka.

I’m at the scene where Ursa betrays Sabine and hands over Kanan, Ezra, and the Darksaber to Gar Saxon on the promise that he not harm her daughter.

And Gar Saxon - voiced by RAY STEVENSON who played Baylon Skoll in Ahsoka - drops this line to Sabine.

“Your mother betrayed everything you believe in to save you.”

Maybe foreshadowing isn’t quite the right word (since Filoni hadn’t even written Ahsoka yet) here, but what Ursa did basically being the template for Sabine’s actions to save Ezra ten plus years later is BONKERS.

Sabine’s actions echo her mother’s in such an uncanny way. It has to be a coincidence since this was written way before Ahsoka but, damn, what a striking parallel.

Ursa practically handed Mandalore and two of the last living Jedi over to the Empire’s rule. And Sabine gave Thrawn the key to his return and the potential resurgence of the Empire.

They both made the same choice: exchanging innocent lives for a loved one’s safety (albeit Sabine’s choice was on a galactic scale).

You could literally use that same line Gar Saxon delivers with one minor change - this time to a devastated Ezra.

“Sabine betrayed everything you believe in to save you.”

Like mother, like daughter.

I’m losing my marbles over this. It’s like poetry, it rhymes.

#sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #ezrabine #star wars #ahsoka show #ahsoka #ursa wren #natasha liu bordizzo #apparently sacrificing everything for loved ones #is a clan wren tradition #gar saxon #ray stevenson

315 notes · View notes

swiftispunk · 10 months

Text

in my hometown, part iii | joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | series playlist

pairing: neighbour!dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!actor(ish)!reader (+ platonic!tommy and platonic!sarah)

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 10.7k

summary: pre-outbreak/tlou. joel finally accepts his fate and comes to see you in LA but he’s not prepared for what he finds (or doesn’t find) when he gets there.

*takes place after the events of come back, be here (no avoiding it, folks, you’re going to need the context - and all the foreshadowing)

warnings etc: set in 2002. smut, angst, fluff - aka PURE ROMANCE, alcohol use, drug use, unwanted sexual advance (not by joel), hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, 10 year age gap (joel is 35, reader is 25), OC!adam (he deserves a warning), food, smoking mention, me making things up about hollywood. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: well! here we are! i don’t know what to say other than thank you to every single reader who made this series what it is. i hope you feel this is a fitting end for joel and superstar, my favourite babies. dedicated to ziggy @johnwatsn who came into my life because of this fic, katy @midnightswithdearkatytspb for supporting this series from the start, and cat @joelscruff, without whom i'm not sure anyone would care about this story at all

You

I resolve to make new friends I liked my old ones But I fucked up so I'll start again What's the worst that could happen?

Is there anyone here you know?

You look around the room from your place against the off-grey wall. Adam's posh apartment in West Hollywood is filled to the brim with a sea of strangers, a collection of wannabe C-listers, supposedly there to celebrate you, haphazardly assembled by somebody else. Whatever, you let it go.

You have to start making new friends eventually. And you have to admit that your agent's assistant has some fairly notable connections. Around here, that's all that matters.

You clutch the drink Adam had made you (something far too bitter and heavy on the bourbon, not your thing at all). The darkened space overlooks a wall of windows and a sprawling balcony, forty-eight floors above the city below. Bright lights and freeways pierce the black, starless sky.

Los Angeles. Home. Or something like it.

All the while, the memory of your earlier conversation with Joel hangs over you like a rare California raincloud, ominous and debilitating.

"Okay - um, shit - it's asking me for more quarters, I'm all out. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"You can call me any time you want, darlin'."

"Bye, Joel."

"Bye - "

But he'd been cut off all too soon, dial tone ringing out through the speaker of the heavily vandalized payphone.

You'd rejoined the agency brunch party, dazed and depressed.

You'd thought Joel would have been happy for you, now that you'd finally accomplished something worthwhile. He's only heard you crying your eyes out over the phone for the past six months - although admittedly you've been calling less lately - so you’d assumed he'd have more to say than an offhand, "That's amazing sweetheart."

Sure, you'd caught him at work but that didn't justify the worst part of all; Joel had been, of all things, petty.

"Seems like Adam already knew."

Cold, unflinching jealousy, palpable even through the phone, hundreds of miles away. It had left a bitter taste in your mouth, unsure at first how to respond. What the hell did Joel have to be jealous of?

Maybe you have been calling less recently, but you've had good reason. You've actually been trying to accomplish what you came here for, auditioning constantly and working non-stop at a smoothie bar in the meantime just to pay your damn bills. You'd been on the verge of giving up entirely until the TV offer had come, the opportunity finally breathing some hope back into your miserable day-to-day life.

Other than that, it's been nothing but boring, repetitive, exhausting.

You hadn't wanted to burden Joel with that.

Somehow, after filtering through all of that, you'd landed on feeling hurt - hurt because you'd upset him, hurt because you'd made him think for even one second that you wouldn't rather be back home with him than at some meaningless agency party being showered with mimosas by a too-drunk-for-noon Adam.

But that was hours ago. Now Adam's brought you here, to what he'd affectionately referred to as a "real party," not unlike all the other ones he's been dragging you to the last couple of months. Overcrowded, late-night gatherings at his pristine apartment, unrecognizable music blaring, drugs and alcohol abound. It's always the same.

You can’t say you like the guy all too much. He's constantly overdressed to an obnoxious extent, lanky and tan with brown curls that would remind you of Joel's if they weren't constantly loaded with greasy product.

He's older than you, but not so old that he should be as cocky and confident as he is, as though he's somehow wiser to the world than you are. He's just a guy - a guy with good connections and an easy high-paying job. You've met countless people like him since you came here, talentless drifters who cling to the rich and famous, desperate for a shred of their success.

Problem is, you've also seen how much it helps to have people like that in your corner. Knowing people here is everything.

And you know for a fact there are people here tonight that are worth meeting, higher-ups and producers that you should really be shaking hands and making nice with. Instead, you pull your cell phone out of your pocket and flip it open, scrolling absently through the list of recent calls - every one of them incoming from Joel. You sigh.

"You good, Texas?" Adam's voice is saying then, catching you gloomily musing away on the fringes of the crowd.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice wavers, giving you away. Stupid.

Adam smirks knowingly, eyes flitting down to the phone in your hands before you snap it shut. He slyly loops an arm over your shoulders and guides you into the throng of bodies.

"Come on and join the party, what are you hiding for?"

He leads you through the crowd to the plush, ivory couch in the centre of the open room. It's situated around a massive glass-top coffee-table, barren of any notable décor. The couch is large enough to fit you and him snugly between the bodies of four other partygoers. Booming electronic music blares from his sound system so he's forced to lean in close when he asks,

"Who's Joel?"

Fuck. How did he...?

Adam sees the question in your eyes, nodding his head towards the cell phone still clutched in your hand, presumably having caught a glimpse or your caller list. You hastily shove it in your pocket.

"He calls a lot," Adam observes. "Was that him on the pay phone earlier?"

"Uh, yeah," you finally admit.

"So...who is he?"

You freeze again. The question should be simple enough to answer, but you find yourself stumped – who is Joel? Who is Joel to you?

"He's, um...my neighbour."

Adam bursts out laughing, appropriately so, you think. It sounds ridiculous to your ears, too.

"Who calls their neighbour from a fucking pay phone?" he demands. "Who calls anyone from a pay phone, honestly? You're living in the past, Texas."

Yeah, that's probably accurate.

"Well, he's a - a family friend."

It's somewhat more accurate, but Adam's not satisfied.

"Nu-uh, it's more than that."

Your brows furrow, annoyed. You sip your disgusting drink to buy you some time while you decide if you really want to get into this with him. You don't know Adam that well, only brought together by your agent in the last couple of months or so. He's seemed far more interested in you than you have in him, often visiting you at the smoothie bar or parading you around parties just like this.

You've also noticed a sharp increase in his interest since you'd got a callback for the TV job.

So yeah, not really the first person you want to be talking to about Joel but he's kind of got you on the spot so -

"Fine, I mean, we hooked up," you concede at last. "A couple times."

"And?" Adam says, staring you down expectantly, eyebrows raised. You'd hoped your answer would have sufficed. Maybe back home, but not here apparently. You sigh.

"And now it's complicated, I guess."

"Ah, complicated," Adam nods. "You guys, like boyfriend-girlfriend now? You caught feelings? That why it always seems like you're only ever half here?"

How can one man be so fucking patronizing?

"No, we're not boyfriend-girlfriend," you roll your eyes, frustrated. "And I'm not half here. I'm here. All in."

Adam blissfully, doesn't know you well enough to catch you in the lie. Joel would have caught it.

You watch then as Adam reaches into the pocket of his shiny grey blazer to retrieve a small plastic bag filled with white powder. You pointedly avert your eyes; it's not the first time you've seen coke at a party since you got here - and certainly not the first time you've seen Adam do it - but you've still yet to indulge. Frankly, the sight of the stuff still puts you on edge.

You silently sip at your drink while Adam leans over the tabletop and empties the bag's contents directly onto the glass. No one around the table even bats an eye; this is standard for a party at Adam's. He pulls an Amex card from his wallet and crushes the minute clumps into fine dust, lining up two thick, precise lines before inhaling the first into his nose with a hundred dollar bill.

Eye-roll.

The size of the bill you snort coke with is like a dick-measure here, you've noticed. The richest, coolest, hottest men breathe in their poison with the most expensive paper, then they expect you to be impressed when they hand the rolled up bill to you, as if they're offering you the greatest gift in the world.

You shake your head when Adam does just that, leaving him to breathe in the other line himself.

"Sorry, forgot you're not into it," he grins but you don't think he sounds sorry at all.

He leans back into the couch again and swipes at his nose, leaving the bill on the table along with the remaining pile of coke.

"So, what's this guy's deal?" he asks you, pupils now shot as he stares you down with exaggerated interest.

"Joel? What do you - "

But Adam cuts you off, louder and brasher than you at the best of times, but especially so now.

"You said it's complicated, but he's not your boyfriend," he pries. "So...what's the issue?"

"I don’t know, we left things kind of…open I guess. "

"Open's fun. What's the real issue?"

You sigh again, struggling to think of the real answer to his question. Because he's right, there are a million more reasons why it's actually complicated. The hard part is trying to remember why any of them matter.

"Um...well, he's also a bit older - " you start but Adam cuts you off again with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Non-issue," he says decidedly, before he thinks of something that makes his features contort into a frown. "Unless he's like, fifty. He's not fifty, is he?"

You shake your head - though you have to admit that even if Joel was fifty, you'd probably still feel the same way about him.

"He's got a kid," you admit.

Adam grimaces - a nasty, ugly expression that sparks a sudden wave of protectiveness in your gut.

"That's a problem," he gripes.

"No," you push back. "No, I love Sarah."

Adam laughs disbelievingly, condescending.

"Who you tryna convince here, babe?"

Tragically, it's a good fucking question. You cross your arms over your chest and sit back into the couch, glaring at the table before you.

"Why don't you just tell them to come out here?" Adam suggests simply. Like it’s that fucking easy.

You shake your head again. "I couldn't ask them to do that."

He shrugs then with another patronizing laugh that makes your skin crawl.

"Then go home," he says bluntly. "Forget about the show. Follow your heart."

He places a dramatic hand over his chest, pulling a put-on sentimental face.

It's your turn to laugh now, one bitter exhale that in no way indicates humour. It's clear he doesn't see the complexity of your situation, could never understand the turmoil you've been living under for the past year, how your heart can be in two places at the same time.

"You're making fun of me," you say and he just grins triumphantly, throwing an arm over the back of the couch behind you and leaning in close to your face. You can smell liquor and the distinct scent of something chemical on his breath.

"No, but you see how crazy it sounds?"

You have to chew your lip to keep from biting his head off. You burn in your seat, shifting uncomfortably, utterly cornered between him and the back of the stranger sitting beside you.

He's right, you realize, it does sound ridiculous.

"You should be stoked you got this gig," he says, oblivious to your quiet fuming. "Do you even realize how lucky you are? You'd give it up to go play stepmom for your - fucking - neighbour?"

You hate the way his snarky voice envelops the last word so cruelly. You wish you'd never described Joel that way, reduced him to something so benign.

"I didn't say that," you argue. "I do want it. I feel lucky. It's just been...a whirlwind is all."

It's all mostly true.

Adam grins. "That's how it happens, baby. It's exciting." He places a hand on your knee and shakes your leg, cocking his eyebrows at you till you reluctantly smile back at him.

Maybe he's right. It's not that you don't want the opportunity - of course you do - it's just that you can't let go of all the ways things could be better. Namely, if Joel was here. Or maybe if all of Hollywood was in Austin.

"And I mean, three episodes..." Adam goes on, suddenly sitting up straight and talking with his hands erratically. "That's enough time to establish a fan base. This part's memorable as fuck, it's a popular show; you'll be getting calls, trust me. We'll get you a publicist, send you out to some red carpets. They're gonna eat you up, baby."

He shoots you a wink and you find yourself smirking again; he does make it sound pretty intoxicating. And it is why you came here after all. Still, it's definitely not lost on you that Adam seems far more concerned with your potential notoriety than your actual craft.

Such is the way here.

"Well," you nod, trying to absorb some of his enthusiasm. "Tomorrow I sign the contract officially so maybe it'll feel more real then. But I am...I'm excited."

It could be a trick of the light - it's gone so suddenly - but you think you catch something pass over his features then, a glint behind his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips upwards.

"You haven't signed the contract yet?"

You shake your head, eyes narrowing at the strange edge his voice seems to take on. You can't decipher what it means.

You should have left a long time ago.

The only people still hanging around the apartment are the ones fiending around the remaining drugs, most of the notable guests having left at a reasonable hour, only Adam's closest entourage still hanging around; about six other men just like him, neatly dressed and high off their minds.

You've stayed fixed to your place on the couch beside Adam all night, watching and listening to his boisterous, meandering conversations, shrinking uneasily each time he places an arm over your shoulder or absently touches your leg.

He's been getting more and more blatant with it, his side firmly pressed into yours for the last hour or so, even though there's only the two of you on the couch now, more than enough room for him to move away. You're too nervous about how he may react if you try to move yourself.

You were never a nervous person till you came to LA.

You wish there was somewhere else you could go, someone else you could cling to. Or maybe that you were brave enough to not have to cling to someone at all.

It's past 2 a.m. when you finally consider calling it a night. But then, as if he can sense your imminent departure, Adam turns to you with wide, beseeching eyes.

"Have you checked out the view yet?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at the wall of windows.

"I mean - I can see it."

Adam grins.

"Come see it for real," he suggests, standing and holding out a hand out to you. You reluctantly take it and rise to follow him to the balcony.

Goddamnit. It's what you've been avoiding all night, having to be alone with him. You steel yourself as you subtly slide your hand out of his, letting him lead you out through the sliding glass door into the warm, night air. He leans over the ledge while you stand several feet back, cautious.

"Nice, right?" He glances back at you, cocking his head and imploring you to move closer.

You nod, inching forward enough to rest your fingertips on the balcony's edge.

A few seconds of awkward silence pass and then -

"So, be honest," Adam starts. "Like deadly, seriously honest."

"Okay."

Adam turns to face you, leaning coolly with one arm against the ledge.

"Do you actually want this part?"

Your brows furrow, indignance painting your features.

"I have the part," you protest.

Adam shrugs. "Well, I mean, if it's not in writing..."

The fuck?

"What are you saying?" you demand as annoyance begins to prickle hot under your skin. Adam, on the other hand, appears cool as a cucumber.

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to back out, it's not too late. You could still go make your little Joel the happiest man in the world."

You guess it's what you get for confiding in him.

"I'm not backing out," you argue. "I want it, okay? Joel...Joel's not important."

It's a big, stupid fucking lie but it has to be true. You have to let him go eventually, that much is clear.

Adam's shrewd grin widens as he reaches a hand out to move your hair behind your ear. Warning signs shoot you through you at his touch, but it's his next words that truly send you into fight or flight mode.

"No?" he hums, moving in closer. "So he wouldn't mind if I kissed you right now?"

Oh. Fuck.

"What?" Your voice is flat - too flat. Weak with shock even though you could have seen this coming.

"Joel's not important?" he presses, his lips making contact with your neck. Your stomach turns.

"Adam..."

His fingers trail over your collarbone - featherlight and threatening all at once.

"How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?" His breath fans out over the skin of your neck and -

Oh, fuck this.

You push against his chest with all the force you can muster.

"Stop," you tell him, voice finally gaining some power as anger takes over. Anger at the fucking...predictability of it all. The only thing men like Adam crave more than fame is the chance to get their stupid fucking dicks wet. "I'm not doing this with you."

He shakes his head, that same cocky expression glued to his face, however tainted by the film of outrage at your rejection.

"You really don't wanna say that, sweetheart."

"Yeah, actually, I really fucking do," you rage in return. "I'm leaving."

You turn on your heel and escape through the glass door, leaving it open behind you. Adam yells something after you that you barely catch as you storm through the dwindling party and out the door, descending from the forty-eighth floor into your own personal hell.

How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?

His words echo in your mind as you fight for sleep that night, waves of tears and nausea, nausea and tears keeping you awake until the sun rises. You consider calling Joel but what could Joel do? He can't protect you now, he couldn't save you then.

You have to let him go. One way or another, you have to let go of Joel Miller.

And besides, surely what Adam had said hadn't been a genuine threat. Surely he doesn't have that kind of sway.

No. You have the part. You’re fine. You're okay.

And they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused 'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used And all the young things line up to take your place

Joel

I bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch, But all the little promises that don’t mean much, When there’s memories to be made

You only ever sent Joel one postcard. He'd always hoped more would come, but they never did. Just the one, some time in March. He'd been working late, hadn't remembered to check the mail. Sarah hadn't forgotten, though, of course not. He'd come home after ten o' clock to find the glossy image of a California beachside sitting on his kitchen table.

He'd curiously read your little message before folding the postcard in on itself two distinct times and slotting it into his wallet with a sigh and a faint smile.

It's stayed there ever since, though, he can't say he's looked at it again.

At least until today.

Now he examines it carefully in the driveway, glancing over the return address in the corner, burning the information into his brain and committing it to memory.

"You good to go?" Tommy says, finding Joel with one hand on the door of his pick-up.

"No," Joel tells him truthfully, cracking the driver's side door and tossing the postcard onto the passenger seat, right next to his map.

"S'alright, I'll hold down the fort," Tommy assures him with what he probably thinks is a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder. "Get Sarah to soccer camp on time and all that shit."

Joel just gives him a skeptical stare. Like Tommy has any idea what "and all that shit" entails. If Sarah wasn't so self-sufficient, Joel would never feel so comfortable leaving. He barely feels comfortable as it is.

"I mean it, you don't gotta worry," the younger Miller continues, pulling out a smoke from his pocket nonchalantly. "Just go do what y'gotta do."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Rule number one," Joel grumbles, snatching the cancer stick out of his hand before Tommy can light it. "None o'this shit in front of her."

Tommy holds up two hands innocently. "Alright, shit."

"Don’t see her around right now, but okay…" Tommy mumbles under his breath. Joel pretends he doesn't hear it.

"To be honest, Tommy, I kinda got no fuckin' idea what it is I'm doin'."

Joel leans into the side of the truck, running a tired, nervous hand over his face. He'd barely slept last night, too keyed up after his 2 a.m. epiphany and a decision set in stone after his call to Tommy.

"Well, you got about twenty hours to figure it out, brother," Tommy quips, holding his palm out for the cigarette. Joel deposits it there reluctantly.

"I'm actually askin' for your advice, for once," Joel admits, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his shoes.

Now he knows he's really hit rock bottom.

"You think I fuckin' know?" Tommy laughs, echoing Joel's thoughts. "I'm worse at this shit than you are."

That's...true, Joel realizes. Still.

"Just...I don't know, tell me if I'm punchin' above my weight here," he shrugs. "M'I wastin' my time? Just forcin' something that can't - or - that - that isn't - ”

He sighs frustratedly, losing his words. He can't even get it right now, here, in front of Tommy. What the fuck is he going to do when he gets to California?

Tommy seems to sense his brother's mounting dismay, his firm hand once again coming down on Joel's forearm.

"I saw the two of ya at Christmas, Joel," Tommy says, finally sounding some semblance of sincere. "Looked pretty damn natural to me. Just go say your piece and if it works out, it works out. If it don't, then, you know...you tried."

The two Millers lock eyes before Joel nods stiffly. It's not much (and it’s hardly the most soothing sentiment) but it's all Joel needs to finally get behind the wheel, to slam the truck door behind him and pull out of the confounded cul-de-sac.

Sweeping desert passes him by as he guns it west on the two-ninety. He barely had time to construct a plan beyond drive, the reality of his decision now setting in with each click of the odometer.

The memory of his pep talk with Tommy fades quickly. He's been grumbling since Fredericksburg, miserable musings that range from, "What the fuck are you doing?" to, "Turn the damn car around, idiot." Of course he doesn't, stubborn to a fault, repelling the urge to back out now that he's committed to whatever the fuck it is he's committed to.

'Course, he makes it as far as the state line before he really begins to question his choices.

He should have called. He should have asked first. He should have waited.

He's tired of waiting.

Eventually (inevitably), his emotions catch up with him. Joel's not ignorant to the way his breath has started to come in heaving gasps, hard as he tries to pretend it's not happening, even as his chest pangs painfully with each ragged inhale, intrusive thoughts moving in faster now.

Would you even still want him? When he shows up on your doorstep, will you even care? Or is he already out of time?

Fuck.

Joel's powerless to stop the tears that well in his eyes then, hot liquid salt streaming out over his cheeks and into his lap, blurring his vision.

"Shit," he curses, voice thick as he wipes the wetness out of his eyes. But the tears don’t stop; he's forced to succumb. He pulls over, hazards flashing as he parks on the shoulder.

Safely off the road, he buries his head in his hands, leaning into the steering wheel as sobs flow freely from deep in his chest. A continuous refrain of, stupid stupid stupid rings out in his mind -

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever fucking done.

Or maybe, he pushes back on the thought, maybe the stupidest thing he'd ever done was letting you leave in the first place.

He chases the setting sun as far as Phoenix before he finally decides to call it a day. He sleeps in the cheapest motel he can find, in the driest heat he's ever felt, cloying anxiety cloaking his dreams on what he hopes is last night without you.

Dear Joel,

This is NOT the view from my apartment…but you get the idea. Maybe you’ll see it for real one day. I hope so. I miss you.

The postcard sits in the passenger seat, that little return address his only compass as he crosses into The Golden State. There are still miles of desert before he reaches LA, but the hours pass faster now the closer he gets. He's gridlocked the second he enters the city, naturally. The clogged motorways and smoggy skies of Los Angeles only further fog his troubled mind, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he navigates his way through the dense traffic.

He follows the postcard like a North Star, exiting far outside the city centre, in a neighbourhood he'd likely never venture to otherwise. You'd been telling the truth, it's nowhere near any balmy beach. He's not judging, of course (Joel'd never judge someone for having less than someone else, as someone who's barely got much to begin with) but he can't deny the tinge of protectiveness that bubbles in his guts at the sight of the pot-holed roads and condemned apartment buildings that lead to your place; surely this isn't the safest place for you to be living.

Finally, he finds your address - a small one-storey home with a lawn unattended and only two cars parked in the driveway.

He notices, uneasily, that yours isn't one of them.

He checks the postcard for the hundredth time - it's definitely the right place. He takes a deep breath and parks uncertainly across the road, folding up the postcard and stuffing it back into his pocket before taking those final, crucial steps to your front door.

He's imagined every possible scenario - from the most painful to the most perfect. Maybe you'll swing open the door and pull him right into your arms, maybe you'll tell him to fuck off, maybe you'll cry or scream or smile or all of the above.

Turns out, he needn't've worried about any of that, because instead, he's greeted by a face that's not yours and three words he certainly had not prepared for when he asks for you by name:

"She's not here."

He deflates in the doorway, his mind going temporarily blank. He scrambles dumbly to understand.

"'She's not here,' like…she's out for the day - or...?"

The girl stares back at him with confusion.

"No, as in, she's gone,” she says very slowly. "She left. She went home."

"What? When?"

"I don't know, last night?" she muses offhandedly, uncaring. "She got home late and just packed a bunch of shit and left."

Joel's blood begins to boil as she speaks, concern melding with rage at the girl's indifference while his brain tries to catch up with the reality that you aren't fucking here and he is.

"And none of you tried to stop her?" he demands, his voice rising with obvious frustration. "In the middle of the fuckin' night?"

The girl just shrugs. Another girl appears behind her then, blonde and piqued, looking on with dubious concern and a hand on the other girl's shoulder. Joel runs a palm over his face exasperatedly and tries to reign himself in before one of your roommates calls the cops on him for making a scene on their front porch.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me..." he mutters to himself.

That's when the other girl pipes up, voice high-pitched and cutting, an undeniable fry coating her words.

"Wait - you're not Joel, are you?" she asks.

He sighs, "Yeah, why?"

The two girls exchange a knowing look that makes Joel's skin prickle.

"Well, I see why she can't shut up about you," the blonde one says and the two girls snicker. Joel sighs again, he really doesn't have time for this.

"Have you tried to call her at all?" he presses.

"Why would we do that?" the blonde one ponders cruelly.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, to check on her?" he growls. "You got a phone?"

A moment of hesitation as they consider letting him in - a moment that ultimately ends when the two share a cursory nod and step aside to let Joel through.

It's a pretty small place, three bedroom doors siphoning off from a shared living area and open kitchen, mismatched furniture and a clunky TV set. Tattered movie posters and a big calendar marking the dates of various upcoming auditions line the walls above beige carpeted floors, stained from the current tenants or past ones, Joel's not sure. There's no sign of you here, no mark that tells him you once dwelled within these walls. Like you'd barely ever settled there at all.

That is, except for the room to his immediate left with the door swaying ajar, giving him a view of the space he now recognizes as undeniably yours. An all-too-familiar purple bedspread lines a twin bed that's not unlike the one you have at home. The cheap IKEA dresser that stands against the other wall though is totally alien, nothing like the one he'd built you, the one that still sits in your childhood bedroom with his initials carved into the top drawer. Discarded t-shirts and a pair of forgotten tennis shoes litter the floor.

He can almost picture you, hurriedly buzzing around the shoe-box-sized room, packing a suitcase and leaving the door swinging behind you. He'd been so close...if he'd have just gotten here that much faster maybe he could have caught you.

Most concerningly though, Joel wonders what it is exactly that could have caused you to leave in such a rush.

He swallows back a sudden lump in his throat, pulled from his reverie by the grating voice of your roommate.

"Over there," the blonde one tells him, nodding her head towards the holster on the wall in the kitchen. The two girls hover for a moment as Joel punches in the number for your cell phone, till he shoots them a disapproving glare and they - finally - scatter.

Well, he sees why you hate them so much.

He holds the receiver to his ear and listens as the line rings once, twice, a third time - fuck. Dread sets in; what if you'd let the damn thing die again?

A click, then -

"Hello?"

Thank fuck.

"Hey!" he exclaims, relief washing over him momentarily. Not for long though. "Jesus, are you alright? Where the fuck are you?"

"Joel?" you ask timidly. He thinks your voice sounds a little tight, like you've been crying. He's heard the sound through the wire enough times to recognize pain in your tone.

"Yeah, it's me, just - where are you?"

"I don't know - I don't know, somewhere in Arizona," you stammer. "I - wait, where are you?"

"I'm in LA."

"What?"

Your voice rises several octaves, piercing Joel's eardrum. He winces at the sting but works to stay focused. You're not far. He can still catch you. He can still get to you.

"Do you see anythin' around you? Anywhere you can pull in?"

"I don't - no, there's nothing, it's just desert I - what do you mean you're in LA?"

"Fuck - "

Depending on where you are, he could get to you in five hours or less...but he can't track you down in the middle of the fucking desert. He presses his hands into fists, prodding his knuckles into the kitchen wall as he wracks his brain for a solution, a way to find you before you got too far - again.

"Wait," you say then and Joel's chest hammers with a brief flash of hope. "There's a - a truck stop and - motels and stuff. Coming up, um, Benson? Does that sound right?"

As you speak, Joel pulls your postcard from his pocket while he feverishly hunts for something to write with, pulling open drawer after drawer in the kitchen, leaving a tornado's worth of disaster in his wake till he finally finds a dull golf pencil buried under a stack of audition sides.

"Just tell me the exit number," he says. "You're on the I-10, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, the I-10...um..." your voice trails as you assumedly scan for the answer. "Three-oh-two, exit three-oh-two."

Joel jots it down on the postcard, a messy scribble beside your original note.

"Get off there," he commands.

"Joel - "

"Get off there and wait, okay? I'm on my way."

There’s been no way for me to say That I felt a certain way in stages, oh I think the story needs more pages, 'cause...

You

I’m coming home from that hardest year, I’m making plans not to make plans while I’m here And this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation I’m fine all my memories, still I could use vacation

It's not romantic. It's not beautiful. It's nothing like the movies.

It's sitting on a bench at a truck stop somewhere in the middle of the desert. It's leering eyes and curious stares from onlooking men and passersby. It's cold gas station coffee, your third since you pulled in.

It's waiting. Waiting for Joel. Hours and hours and years and years of waiting, waiting, waiting for Joel Miller.

Your eyelids are drooping by the time the sun starts to fade behind the vast horizon. You've lost count of how many cars have passed you on the interstate. The cell phone hasn't buzzed since Joel'd called earlier.

You hadn't thought any part of it through last night, just packed all you could as fast as you could and driven out of town. You hadn't even consciously decided you were going home until you'd found yourself driving east on the interstate, crossing into Arizona long after midnight. You'd crashed in the first major city you hit, when the wetness in your eyes had made it hard to see in the dark and the weight of your anguish had grown too heavy to ignore.

You'd slept in too late this morning, only on the road for two hours before that call from Joel had come. You've been here ever since.

"You get stood up, gorgeous?" a brave trucker sneers, demanding your attention, his buddies looking on with vile judgment, mocking you.

"Fuck off," you shoot back, not for the first time today. Not for the first time in your life. Fending off men and the things they judge you for, the things they try to take from you, the life and joy they suck from you so carelessly.

You'd never stood a fucking chance.

Maybe that's why you'd always loved Joel, you muse to yourself as a fresh wave of tears spill from your eyes. Joel takes nothing from you, Joel wants you to live. Joel let you go even though all you'd ever wanted was for him to ask you to stay.

It's dusk now, you notice offhandedly, the air cooling as a canopy of thick, milky stars begin to coat the sky above, the neon signs and headlights dulling their shine from where you sit.

You consider walking out into the open desert, till you're far enough away from Benson that you could clearly see the Big Dipper. Better yet, you could walk north until you see the Aurora Borealis or hit the open ocean and just disappear forever into the frozen water. It would probably feel better than how you feel right now.

But no. You can't. Joel could never find you there. And Joel has to be able to find you.

As if on cue, a familiar truck comes into view, cracking open your reverie and blasting down the interstate at a dangerous velocity. You practically jump to your feet as Joel's truck comes to a grinding halt, sandy dust clouding the air around you as he parks across two spots before you.

You watch, heart in your throat, as he leaps out of the front seat. You're not sure what you're expecting - a longing embrace maybe? A cinematic kiss perhaps. A heroic Joel scooping you into his arms and carrying you home, a vision you'd dreamt about dozens of times since Christmas.

It’s none of the above. Because as quickly as Joel gets out of the truck, you notice the look on his face; jaw clenched and brows furrowed, lips melded into a hard line -

Joel is livid.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinkin'?" he demands, approaching you fiercely before stopping suddenly, still several feet away, not close enough to touch, as though he's not sure if he's allowed. But he's there - Joel is right there.

The last of the ogling men disperse cautiously, Joel's rage apparently far more frightening than yours.

"What?" you shout back at him, matching his energy instinctively. Exhausted and heartbroken, anger comes easily.

"Drivin' through the night like that? Are you insane?"

You scoff. You're a good driver, more than capable of driving at night. Plus -

"I had a reason." You hate how cracked your voice sounds from crying and lack of sleep. "And I didn't drive all night, okay? I stayed the night in Phoenix."

"Are you fuckin'..." Joel shakes his head in disbelief.

"What?" you press him.

"I was in Phoenix last night," he huffs exasperatedly. "We went right passed each other."

Fuck. It would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn heartbreaking. Joel had been in the same city as you and you hadn't even known. You could have stayed in the same motel. Could have gotten breakfast at the same drive-thru before leaving in opposite directions.

You're at a rare loss for words. Joel sighs and presses a tired fist to his forehead.

"You should've called m - someone," he says finally. "You should've called someone."

You catch the slip-up, of course you do. And you can't even argue because you know he's right. You feel your face crumple, feel that familiar slump of defeat in your shoulders. Meanwhile, Joel is right fucking there, the closest he's been to you in months and for some reason you're still not touching him.

"I'm sorry..." you croak. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel's ire dissipates in an instant, his features softening as he finally closes the space between you and pulls you into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. The second he wraps you in his embrace, the sobs you've been containing break free, shaking against his chest as your tears meet his t-shirt.

"Oh, babygirl, it's okay," he murmurs gruffly into your hair, pulling you in tighter. You can hear the strain in his voice, his ragged breath on your bare skin. Joel is just as overcome as you. Sensing it only makes you cry harder.

"What happened?" he asks.

Where do you even begin?

It's too late to get back on the road, Joel decides.

"We'll just stay here tonight, okay?" he suggests. "You shouldn't be drivin' like this."

You don't disagree. He books you a room in the adjacent motel. You park your vehicles side by side out front. You sit with him on the springy mattress while Joel holds you till your tears subside. Several minutes pass like that, Joel lightly rocking you in his big, comforting embrace.

It’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time.

"You ready to tell me about it, sweetheart?" he asks softly, pulling back to wipe the last of your tears from your cheeks before clutching your hands between your bodies.

You nod. He waits.

"Don't get upset, okay?" you begin. His lips instantly turn down in a frown - so much for that.

"Okay," he says anyway, voice hard and flat.

You take a deep breath. "So you know Adam?"

You feel him stiffen, catch the way disdain flashes in his eyes at just the mention of the other man's name. If Joel's jealousy had been palpable through the phone, it burns like a wildfire in person.

"I guess."

"He - kind of tried it with me. That day I called you."

You watch Joel's face carefully. A terrifying muscle clenches in his jaw and he swallows harshly. His grip on your wrists tightens as he nods stiffly but says nothing.

You can probably imagine what it is he's holding back.

"Nothing happened," you go on. "Like, really, nothing. I turned him down and I thought that was the end of it."

Joel listens intently, waves of quiet rage rolling off him while your hands burn in his grasp.

"But then yesterday..." you continue, taking a steadying breath as emotion pools in your stomach again. "When I went to sign the contract for that job - you know the one I told you about?"

Joel nods once.

"They told me I didn't have it anymore."

Joel's brows furrow. "But I thought you already had it?"

"No...I guess...it was never in writing," you shake your head. "Adam - um - he went behind my back. He told my agent I'd backed out before I could sign anything."

"Why would he do that?" Joel asks through his teeth, sounding very much like he already knows the answer.

You don't respond, just stare at your conjoined hands, confirming his unspoken assumption.

"I'll kill that fucker," Joel gnarls then and you think it sounds like a genuine threat.

You snicker coldly. "Not if I kill him first."

He clears his throat, shakes his head and - rather pointedly - changes the subject.

"But there'll be other jobs." He squeezes your hands, this time with more soothing intent. "You didn't need to leave."

You sniff lightly and shake your head, glancing up at him from under your tear-soaked lashes.

"Well, no, actually," you press, gearing up for the pièce de résistance. "My agent dropped me. Said it didn't reflect well on them if I've got 'one foot out the door.'"

"Fuck," Joel breathes.

"Yeah. And, anyway, is that why you came to see me, Joel? To tell me to keep at it? Just keep goin'?" It's a weak impression of his low, gravelly drawl but it makes him fleetingly smile in spite of it all.

But then his eyebrows furrow again and as quickly as it had come, his smile fades.

"No," he shakes his head but doesn't elaborate, his eyes fixed on the flowery bedspread.

It's quiet for a long moment then. You take a deep breath and fill the sudden silence with the truth.

"I'm giving up, Joel," you confess, hysterics rising to the surface once again. "I can't do it anymore. I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't do it when - "

He looks up at you, fervidly attentive while he waits for you to go on, like he knows what you want to say.

You fill your lungs with cigarette-stained air and finally let slip what's in your heart - "I can't do it because you're back home and I'm not."

You can't look at him when you say it but the weight of your words hangs thick like fog around you both. He doesn't speak so you go on.

"I know it's - I know it's not right," you cry. "I should want it more, I should be - I don't know, like, fighting for myself or working harder or - or - "

You take a steadying breath and bury your face in your hands, too ashamed to admit the rest to his face.

"But I just - don't want any of it without you. I don’t care if that's or stupid or naïve or whatever. Or if you even want me like that, I just - I would choose a life with you over this any day. I'll always choose that, Joel - and I'm sorry."

It's quiet again while your confession seeps into walls around you, drowned out by the hum of the AC and the static buzz of fluorescent lighting above you. You wet your palms with tears while Joel breathes shallowly before you.

Finally, after far too long, his hands find your wrists again, this time to pry your fingers away from your face. Joel sighs, placing two big palms on either side of your face, his gaze unavoidable now.

"Sweetheart, what'd I tell you at Christmas? I never wanted you to go. Baby, I want you more'n anythin'. You know that."

You shake your head. You don't know that. You've never known that.

"Darlin' - fuck - " Joel's palms burn your cheeks as your tears collect on his fingers. His sincere, brown eyes look back at you, wet with his own overflowing emotion. "I want you to come home. So much - god, I want that so much. But you - you can't...you can't quit 'cause of me. M'not...worth it."

You want to argue that it's not just because of him - that every time you'd made any sort of headway in Hollywood something had come along to fuck it up again. That the universe obviously just doesn't want this for you. It's not not true, but it's also not nearly as important.

Because of course it's about Joel. It's always been about Joel.

You swallow back a wave of tears and grip his forearms.

"Joel you're..."

How do you even put it into words? Of course he's worth it - he's worth everything, to you. You decide to show him instead.

"Just tell me," you instruct him with conviction.

He frowns, confused, as he works to catch up with your line of thinking. "What?"

"Tell me you want me to come back. Joel - please."

Now his tears spill over, features tightening as he, not for the first time, visibly wars with himself. Always, always warring with what he really wants and what he thinks he should want.

"I can't do that, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice shattered because you can see how much he wants to.

"Then why'd you come here? Huh?" you demand, voice rising as your desperation grows. Joel flinches at your words. "This isn't the life I want. And I'm not just saying that because of what happened. Joel - there's only one life I've ever wanted."

Your gaze locks with his and you watch him scan your face for any trace of a lie. You know he won't find one.

"Tell me, Joel," you beg weakly. "Tell me to come back and I will."

Joel waits a beat, squaring his shoulders with a steadying breath and a cracked sniffle.

"Come back, superstar," he pleads then. "Come home to me."

A soft gasp and you nod fervently, breathy, "I will, Joel, I will," lost, as he steals the words from your waiting mouth with a bruising kiss.

It's like every other time you’ve kissed him, feverish and heady, always running out of time. His mouth moves against yours with intent, tongue slipping between your cracked, wet lips as his hands tangle in your hair, locking you in place. You're no less impatient, palms wandering the vast expanse of his broad chest, his shoulders, his arms, pressing closer to him with each shared breath that passes between your lips.

"Fuck," Joel groans when you climb into his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. His palms find the small of your back, pressing your hips closer into his, the burgeoning bulge in his jeans prodding into your thigh; materiality at last. Joel is here.

"Is this real?" you find yourself asking anyway, as your fingers coil in his curls and his lips explore your neck hungrily.

"I hope so," he murmurs gruffly into your collarbone, the faintest of chuckles coating his words. He can laugh all he wants but it's a valid enough question - Joel's been nothing but a memory for the past six months, a disembodied voice through the wire, not someone to hold and kiss and love.

He lays you back then but stays comfortably situated between your legs, his pelvis grinding into yours, another stabilizing reminder of his presence.

He's still not wasting time, helping lift your shirt over your head and unhooking your bra clumsily while you fumble with your jeans zipper. He palms your breasts roughly the second they're free, calloused fingers dragging over the soft skin of your stomach before sliding your jeans and underwear off completely.

He's burying his face into your aching heat without warning then, moaning the second his tongue swipes through your folds, already wet with need. It catches you off guard, the sudden contact on your long-neglected cunt. Your fingers scratch at his shoulders but it only seems to encourage him - he braces his hands on your thighs as his eyes flutter closed, savouring your flavour when his lips close around your clit.

"Missed this pussy so fuckin' much," he hums distantly against you. "Almost forgot how good you taste. You miss my mouth, sweetheart?"

He sounds almost needy for the assurance.

"Shit - yes," you promise him. "Thought about it all the time, Joel."

"S'right."

Amid the obscene sounds of his lips on your soaking folds, you're reminded of his needy voice through a cell phone speaker, all those months ago now -

"...Wanna get my mouth on you so bad. Wanna taste you again."

It had sounded true then. It feels true now.

He doesn't need to ask this time; you know he wants to hear you, know how much likes it. And it's hardly a stretch to give him that, the way his tongue is circling your clit has you crying out a symphony over him, quiet curses and repeated refrains of his name tumbling from your lips unabashedly. You find yourself squirming under his touch, grinding your hips upward for more, more, more.

Joel seems to get the hint.

"Let me see you, baby," he implores you brusquely, pulling back to tap your sides, gently coercing you to turn on your tummy. But then he's yanking you back by the hips so your ass is up and your chest is pressing hard into the mattress, his tongue once again invading your entrance, slipping inside with no resistance from you. Your spine arches and you push back into his mouth, his big hands fanning out over your ass and spreading you open so you're fully on display for him.

He hums a pleased little noise into your heat, vibrations rattling your bones and making you dizzy with him, before he's pulling off you with a final languid lick only to replace his tongue with one thick finger. He drags his slick-coated moustache over your skin to nip at the plush skin of your ass while he slowly fucks his finger in and out of you.

"Christ, look at you," he marvels quietly, again, like he's saying it just to himself. "My perfect girl."

"M'yours, Joel..." you vow, drunk on the way it sounds, how it feels to be his. It's all you've ever wanted. Joel, for his part, groans openly at your hushed assertion.

"Say that again, sweetheart," he supplicates raggedly. You peer over your shoulder to see him palming himself through his jeans, index finger of his other hand still slotted securely in your centre.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm yours," you tell him again, breathless and truthful. "Joel - make me yours."

He grunts softly, hearing the request in your words as he quickly strips down, the clinking sound of his belt buckle sending sparks flying to your core in anticipation.

He's back over you in an instant, leaning his naked body on yours so you feel his cock, hard and leaking, against the bare skin of your thighs. You rock into him and the friction seems to effect the both of you, Joel's hands combing harshly up and down your sides, over your perked nipples and down your spine.

"You know how many times I dreamt about this, babygirl?" he breathes, planting fevered kisses down your back, one of his hands once again creeping between your thighs to sink two fingers into your heat, stretching you in preparation for him. "To have you like this again, all wet and open for me. To - fuck - to be inside you."

"Joel…" you whimper, impatience setting in as you drip over his knuckles. "Please."

It's the most you can muster and it's all you need; Joel doesn't seem to be interested in teasing you any longer. He pulls you into his chest and buries his cock into you at last, cursing hotly in your ear as his strong arms engulf you, palms grabbing at your breasts till one finds your face, tilting your chin towards him to lock his mouth with yours.

He swallows each breathless moan from your parted lips as he fucks you deeply, not slow but not rushed either, sloppy with his efforts when he reaches around you to finger your clit, desperate to make sure you enjoy it too - so very Joel.

"I wanna feel you come around me, sweetheart, can you gimme that?" he growls into the hollow of your ear and you nod -

Yes yes a million times yes.

"Good girl."

You moan out his name, his words sparking a reminder of your very first night together, how dark and commanding he'd sounded in the dim light of your bedroom, how similar he sounds now and yet so completely different.

A pool of heat begins to build in your belly, Joel's thrusts never slowing, his fingers on your clit demanding. He's all around you, everywhere, finally.

You try to warn him but it's too late, the heat erupts in your core and you quiver against him, laboured, "I'm coming - Joel," escaping your lips in the form of a high pitched groan. Joel groans too, the feeling of your walls tightening around him turning his movements messier still, his big hand on your chest locking just under your neck as he rides it out with you. He's close too, right on the edge, if the quickening of his panted grunts in your ear are anything to go by.

In the haze of your orgasm, limp in his arms, you recall again his words on the phone all those moons ago now:

"Let me hear those pretty sounds you make."

Your head falls back on his shoulder and you answer his prayers.

"Joel, baby…" you croon, velvet soft and dripping adoration. "Come inside me, please. Missed it so much..."

You feel his hips stutter as he whimpers at your words, his fingers unwittingly tightening at the base of your neck.

"Fuuuck, keep talkin'," he pleads lowly.

"You feel so fucking good, Joel," you go on. "Wanted your cock for so long - shit - wanted to - feel you fill this pussy up. Only you, Joel. Only you make me feel this good."

"Fuck me, baby, I'm gonna come," he groans, an enticing promise. "You want it inside?"

"Pleasepleaseplease."

Two more piercing pumps and then he's crushing you into him, coming with his cock deep inside you, his muffled moans getting caught in your hair and tickling your ear. It seems to last forever, Joel filling you completely with his seed, refusing to pull out until the last of the aftershocks pass through him and you've both properly caught your breath.

Then he sits back on his haunches, keeping you trapped in his embrace so you're sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around your middle.

It's quiet for a long while as Joel plants tender kisses over your shoulders and cheeks, the back of your neck. Your eyes slip closed at some point, and you think you might fall asleep like that, safe in Joel's arms, finally back where you belong.

But Joel shifts above you to check the time on his watch before you can, stirring you back to life.

"What time is it?" you whisper.

"Midnight."

A smile pulls at your lips then when you realize the date.

"Joel. It’s July twenty-fifth."

You look up to see him staring down at you with bemused confusion. "So?"

"It's Christmas in July," you tell him, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. A full six months since you were last together.

"Shit," Joel smirks, squeezing you a little tighter into him to whisper in your ear, "Happy...birthday in July, Jesus?"

You burst out laughing, your first real laugh in months; it’s probably the funniest fucking thing you've ever heard Joel Miller say.

"I don't think that's how that works," you say.

"Yeah, that was fuckin' stupid, m'sorry. Was funnier when you said it."

But he's laughing too as he finally unwinds himself from you, only to lie back with his head on the superfluous motel pillows, reaching a hand out to you to join him. You curl into his side and he wraps a thick arm around you, both of you sighing when you settle into place.

You close your eyes again but you don’t sleep. You think.

You think about how maybe this could be life with Joel. Mind-blowing sex and stupid jokes and warm embraces. But that wouldn’t be all of it, you know that. Maybe it'll be hard; maybe he'll get distant or angry or busy or scared.

Maybe you'll be all those things too. Maybe you'll wish you'd tried harder in Hollywood or come to regret all that you'd given up. Maybe you'll get bitter or sad or stressed-out or stubborn.

Maybe, though, maybe it's okay.

Because you want all of it. The complications and the dreary Mondays. You could still work, follow your passion in a smaller way - teach snotty, suburban teenagers the Brechtian method or go back to school yourself. You could do it.

You could do it with the man you came home for, the only soul who can tell which smiles you're faking. The warmest bed you've ever known.

It's clearer now, so much clearer than before, your future and all it could be.

You're pulled from your reverie when Joel begins to snore softly beside you, his thick chest rising and falling in peaceful swells.

He's so beautiful. He's yours.

One way or another, he's finally yours.

Sun streams through the crack in the motel's mint green curtains and Joel is already awake.

"Hey," he's saying in a hushed murmur as he gently shakes you to life. You blink in the morning light until he comes into focus over you, standing beside the bed, sleepy-eyed and haggard-looking, but undeniably up.

"We should hit the road," he insists softly. "Long day."

"Mmm," you nod as you peel yourself off the mattress. You're sore, in a lot of places, hours of driving and fucking and crying leaving you achy and weak. You stretch your arms and wiggle your toes. Joel smiles down at you.

"Do we have time for breakfast?" you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You really hope you have time for breakfast.

Joel's grin widens. "Not really."

"I know you want a coffee," you press him. He sighs, you've got him there.

"Come on, we're on the interstate, I want a Grand Slam," you say with finality, holding out your hand and letting Joel help you out of bed. "When in Benson, you know?"

Joel rolls his eyes. Yeah, you've got him. Welcome to the rest of your life, Miller.

Twelve-hour drive be damned, you savour your eggs and bacon at the neighbouring Denny's, tucked into Joel's side in the yellow booth in a manner most inconducive to eating. You don't care. Neither does he as far as you can tell.

Joel sips on his coffee and swipes your sausages ("It's like that, huh?" "M'not hungry, just want a bite."), placing the occasional kiss to the top of your head and stealing glances at the news flashing on the TV overhead for traffic alerts.

There’s nothing to fear. It’s all clear on the I-10, as far as Van Horn.

Eventually you have to part ways, relegated to your own vehicles for the long journey ahead. You hate it, hate that you have to be apart from him again after just getting him back. Joel seems uneasy about it too, clinging to you with an arm over your shoulder right up until he's depositing you by your car.

"You'll follow me?" he asks.

"I'll follow you."

He nods, slowly leaning in to kiss your cheek, chaste and sweet. "Drive safe."

Your eyes slip shut when his lips brush your skin; you lean into it, however fleeting it is.

"You too."

Joel takes a deep breath, looking for a moment as though he's ready to walk away, before he's crushing you into his chest for one last embrace. Just a hug - a strong, solid, lasting, fervent hug.

There's something lurking under Joel's grasp, something uncertain. You feel it in the way his arms constrict around you, the tautness of the muscles there, the way he clings to you a little too long to feel comforting anymore.

Is Joel...afraid? You'd been afraid too, in your dreams last night, that the spell would break once you'd left this place. The reality of what going home actually means has been creeping up on you since your exchange of confessions in the motel room. There's going home, then there's going home with Joel.

You still don't know what that looks like.

You hug him back fiercely, nuzzling into his chest and infusing all the love you can muster into your embrace. Whatever it is you're going back to, you're ready for it.

You hope it's enough. Because now you really have to go if you hope to beat the dark. It's already not looking good. At this rate it'll be well past dusk by the time you hit Texas.

Sure enough, the sun is long set behind you when you cross into your home state. Traffic has you losing sight of Joel's truck somewhere near Sonora and although you're not thrilled at the loss, you don't panic. You know your way from here.

It's muscle memory by the time you get to Austin, the way to that old familiar cul-de-sac etched in your mind like hieroglyphics.

You're not surprised to find Joel's beaten you home, standing in his driveway in the glow of a streetlight.

Muscle memory tells you to turn left into your dad's driveway. That’s what you'd normally do, that's what you've always done. Turning right into Joel's driveway isn't something you've ever even considered. Until now, of course.

You're taking too long to decide, awkwardly frozen in the middle of the road. You catch Joel eyeing you expectantly before he averts his gaze, never one to pressure you. Since day one that's been true; Joel's never pushed you, Joel's always waited for you to make the first move.

It hits you then - how it's not a hard decision at all. It's the easiest goddamn move of your life. There's Joel, perfect and patient and kind and caring and waiting - waiting for you. You don't have to think, you don't have to question it -

You turn right, home.

THE END.

in my hometown tag list -

@blkcali @erikelovesdin @luvrking @ barbellpedro @bellath @readz4u @casserole20 @sexygaypalpatine @poopeshites @amelie-712 @livinxdeadxgrl @honeymarvel @azurapphire @freeobservationtale

@tieronecrush @illgowithyoufren @shehads-world @atremises @gabywho @detectivedaughter @wroetospidey @baddiesforcorpse @grippingbeskar @halseyhoodjpg @soph55 @pedritosdarling @obsessedwithjustaboutanything @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedgito @evyiione @rogersbarnesxx @mo0nfleur @slut-4-multifandoms @stevie75 @b-y-3-n @joelscruff @sl-ut @tinygarbage @pedropascll @denialismysanctuary @nightdreamsss @notpetewentzx @bigboiseason123 @witheldclouds @xxmr-potato-headxx @harryhubba @cyberfa1ryar1 @pedrosballsack @thevelvetrevivalll @somesaltycorner @marysheperdith @kaeferandplaza @life-in-the-city @cowgirl---bebop @zhxw @averagedilfenjoyerr @pointlessandfutile @iso-la-ti-on @mrsquill

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff #in my hometown #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller x f!reader

1K notes · View notes

somehow-a-human · 2 months

Text

GOOD OMENS SEASON 3 - Speculations/Predictions

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

The GO brainrot is well underway, we’re only 7 months out of season 2 and I dont know how I will cope until season 3! But I have been ravenously consuming all of your lovely meta, fanfiction, and fanart and I have finally decided to add my messy ball of thought yarn to this hellsite!

Warning: this is going to be long and wild, I have no real life people to talk to about Good Omens, and I really need an outlet to gush about these ineffable idiots.

SO! Shall we begin?

S3E1 will open with the great war/the fall. The opening of the previous seasons have been Crowley and Aziraphales earliest meetings, it makes sense season 3 will mirror this. I’m hoping we will get more context of their relationship; had they become closer after S2E1’s ‘before the beginning’ ? Will we see them going to war, will Aziraphale come face to face with Angel!Crowley on the battlefield? Will Aziraphale search for him among the fallen?

Somethings up… with memory. The way I look at it, season 2 was meant to bridge the storyline gap between armageddon and the second coming. It’s there to set us up for another world ending plot and also to give us context for season 3. I think the introduction of the idea that memories can just be manipulated willy-nilly by the big boss, and Gabriels little vacation as Jim serve exactly to show us that this happens. It says: look heaven does this! they were just casually going to do it to the Supreme Archangel, no questions asked. Crowleys memory, in this regard, has been a topic of debate. I think the biggest clue that he indeed has suffered some sort of memory loss is when he’s talking to Jimbriel who says he feels like “an empty house”. Crowley later finishes Jimbriels thought with “I know, looking at where the furniture isn’t.” I think he is downright kind to Jim in the bookshop and chummy with him because they have some sort of kinship, maybe from when they were angels, but more probably because Crowley feels it through the loss of Gabriels memories. Maybe he understands and relates in a way to what he is going through. His not remembering Saraquael or Furfur could just be chalked up to Crowley being an asshole sometimes. I think Crowley has definitely worked on recovering his memory some if this is the case. He remembers Aziraphale though from their time as angels so what specifically might he have forgotten?

Crowley will be a Duke of Hell/Grand Duke of Hell. Not only was Crowley offered the position by Beelzebub, but the blocking in that scene, where Crowley leans across the dual thrones to be in the very center seems to be foreshadowing it. I’ve seen multiple people make this prediction and it makes the most sense to me. What is Crowley gonna do on earth wallow and mope around the bookshop? Look he’s a disaster puppy yes but he’s also in love with the new Supreme Archangel. In the final moments of S2 he is sad, but he also looks determined. He’s angry, but I don’t think he’s angry with Aziraphale. And if there’s one way to keep an eye on Aziraphale and all this second coming nonsense, being a high ranking member of hell seems like a good idea to me.

Is Maggie more than human? Nah I dont think so. Look Maggies got a lot of weird stuff going on sure but I think her most important role in S2 was to be Crowleys mirror (and deliver the gut punch “you never say what you’re really thinking” but we are skipping that). Forget the masonic and biblical imagery associated with her, maybe all the mis-spelling in her note was showing us was that the bubbly blonde is tied to the demon instead of the angel like you might immediately assume? Sure Nina is edgy and closed off, but she’s the one in a toxic relationship, and she doesn’t realize how Maggie feels about her, not until an awning full of water (1941 nazi bomb) is dropped on her head. Maggie is patient and supportive of Nina. She ‘saves the day’ by grabbing her an array of milks from the mini mart in Ep6, and most importantly she says she will wait for Nina. When Crowley goes to get in the bentley after Aziraphale leaves for heaven, he looks first at Nina. She gives him a little ‘goodbye’ wave, then he turns to look at Maggie, she’s asleep at the register, waiting. I don’t think Crowley is angry with Aziraphale, he would’ve driven off if he was. Instead he stands there watching, telling him he’ll be waiting.

1941 Pt. 3 minisode. Okay everybody wants this I know. What happened to the zombies? They definitely listed to ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ that night right? We know Aziraphale does the apology dance, presumably for 1. nearly getting Crowley shot by nazis, 2. blown up by a bomb, 3. caught “fraternizing” by hell, and 4. nearly making Crowley discorporate him himself with the bullet catch. Maybe they put on some music, and maybe they dance a bit together before Aziraphale remembers himself and says “angels don’t dance” or something to end it. In the Jane Austen ball scene when Aziraphale asks Crowley to dance, barring the subtitles are correct, Crowley replies with “you don’t dance?” not “WE don’t dance”. I think that’s an important distinction, that could point back to this night.

Book of life & Book of Love. Another thing S2 set up as cannon for S3 was the Book of Life. I have no clue what this could mean but I immediately thought of the Doctor Who episode “The Big Bang”. At the end of the episode, The Doctor doesn’t exist because wibbly wobbly timey wimey… stuff. But Amy realizes something isn’t right, that someone is missing. She ends up bringing The Doctor back through her memories, simply because ‘something loved cannot be truly forgotten’. What does this have to do with GO? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Just where my head is at, and I could see someone being erased from the book of life (one of our ineffable idiots for example) being undone in a similar vein. Love is the strongest force in existence, stronger than anything angels, demons, or God themself could understand.

Crowley will make a whale. Well, okay maybe that’s too literal of a statement? To be fair God never says to make a whale, Job says that's what he thinks she means. But look, he’s going to get to talk to God right? I think of the questions God asked Job. Did you set the constellations in the sky? Crowley did, S2E1 we watched him do it. Do you know the rules of the heavens? Crowley does, we even see him explain (gr)mavity to Jimbriel. Can you send lightning and get it to report back? Crowley can, we saw it after he got in his little argument with Aziraphale. Did you teach the ostrich to run? Maybe? Is this an allegory for telling Gabriel to go to Alpha Centauri? Or the peacocks to fly? Beez? Miss Sandwich? look its God okay not everything is going to be straightforward. Anyway, I think it’s clear our demon will get to ask his questions, he might not get answers, but he will get to ask the questions.

It begins as it will end, with a garden. Not the garden of Eden this time, but perhaps a garden at a cottage in The South Downs. Or.. maybe the Garden of Eden. If you've not read the short story "In The End" by Mr Neil Gaiman himself, please do, it's only a page long and it's lovely. I bought an extra copy of Fragile Things just so I could cut it out and glue it in the last page of my copy of Good Omens. Anyway, it's a brief but beautiful imagining of the last book of The Bible, in which God gives the Garden of Eden to humanity. I love the idea that human souls might return to Eden after their time on Earth. I also (and I know I'm in the vast minority) love the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale choosing to somehow embrace mortality to fully enjoy life on Earth with each other, and therefore themselves being able to return to the Garden of Eden with each other someday.

WELL! Did anyone actually read this? If you did, you’re insane just like me and I love you for it! Please let me know your ideas!

#good omens #michael sheen #david tennant #good omens meta #good omens art #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #ineffable idiots #help #its consuming me #i cant wait 2 more years neil #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #aziracrow

140 notes · View notes

drconstellation · 4 months

Text

Come Back When You Can Make A Whale

This is going to contain some speculation for S3, so you know what to do! Or not do!

SITIS: What did God say? JOB: Um... I'm not sure. I didn't understand much. Things too wonderful for me. Ostriches came into it. SITIS: Ostriches? JOB: And whales. God's very proud of the whale. Went into some detail about... how great whales are. SITIS: But did They explain? JOB: [shakes head] I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Whales, huh?

If you aren't well read, this could be quite the misdirection. It should be reasonably obvious, given who is doing the talking - Job - what he is actually referring to, then we can join a couple of dots to make some speculative leaps.

You still with me?

No? Then let us start with how do you make a whale?

By giving it another name.

Leviathan.

Chapter 41 of the Book of Job is all about the Leviathan, a great sinuous sea serpent with impenetrable scales and breath like fire. It sleeps beneath the sea until the end of days. Over time it came to be associated with any sea monster, then anything large, and what is the largest animal ever known to have lived? The whale.

The top of the matchbox is also worth a look. We have a skull and crossbones, which is classic Memento mori symbolism, fitting in with the resurrection theme of the Second Coming - but look at the way the address of the pub is spelt! Now, this not the same way it is spelt on the record single Maggie gives to Aziraphale; Goatgate is spelt as one word, not two. A little bit of searching reveals the meaning behind this fictional address that backs up and reinforces the quote on the side of the matchbox.

Strong's Concordance for 66 gives us "wild, savage, fierce." Goatgate is an interesting one, because it turns out to be a relatively modern term from the urban dictionary, and I'm just going to refer to the polite version of it here - it's another word for "mouth." So 66 Goatgate is a "fierce and savage mouth." Yes, that does sound about right - in more ways than one, once you know who it is. (If you want to look up the impolite version, go ahead - I'm sure you will still find the connotations very amusing.)

Our metaphorical Leviathan is Crowley. He gave the game away at the end of S1 during the appearance-swap.

This also means Aziraphale is his counterpart, Behemoth. Why - well, I made a bit of joke in my post here that he was playing at being a "river horse" while he wallowed in the bath of holy water during his part of the appearance-swap scene. Modern day scholars think the description of Behemoth in the Bible may be that of a hippopotamus in real life history. If that is so, I'd still be betting this is what the "dark horse" comment from Nina in S2E1 is foreshadowing.

Maybe none of this new to you if you've been hanging around the the fandom for a while. That's fine, I'm just trying to establish the scene. And the next bit we need to talk about is this one, where Job gets a lecture from God.

During this sequence, we hear lines that come from Job 38 and 39.

GOD: Job, if you have questions for me, I have questions for you. Do you know how I created the earth? Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth, Job? Were you there when all the morning stars sang together and all the Angels shouted for joy?

These lines are paraphrasing some of the beginning of Job 38.

Then we have:

GOD: Do you know the rules of the heavens? Did you set the constellations in the sky? Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you? Did you give wings to peacocks, Job, or teach the ostrich to run?

These lines are again, paraphrasing Job, half from 38 and half from 39.

So then, we need to ask, why highlight these lines in particular?

Job 38 is mainly about setting the boundaries of the universe around us. The Earth might seem impossibly huge to a human, but it started with a single stone at its foundation. Earth and the other planets obey certain laws as they move around the Sun. The patterns of the stars in the sky take so long to change that it seems like they are set and inconstant. Even the chaotic form of lightning respects its Creator and returns to its point of origin.

From the last part of Chapter 38 to the end of 39 God challenges Job with a list of animals. The theme here is about freedom and wildness. Whether it is a noble lion, a loathsome crow, a nimble mountain goat, the head-strong wild ox or the willing war horse, they all flourish upon the Earth under the sight of the Almighty. Even the mightiest and most fierce beasts of all, Behemoth and Leviathan, have a place, although only God has the means to control those two.

None of this needs a human to be involved. We are so often the center of our own universe, and try so hard to control every aspect of the world around us that we lose sight of the bigger picture. Shit happens. Some things are out of our control. That doesn't mean its your fault and you're wicked and damned to go to Hell because of it. And that was the point God was trying to make to Job. The world is a far bigger, wilder and chaotic than you can imagine, but its also incredibly beautiful, and it runs itself within the rules and limits that seem to be set by invisible forces you can't see.

So back to the script from the show.

The first set of questions from God could apply to both of the duo. They were both around when Earth was created and were more than likely there when the "morning stars" (the highest angels, such as Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael and angel!Beelzebub) sang together.

The second set of questions are the ones that seem to have got the most attention so far, with ops cross-matching them to things Crowley does in S2.

Do you know the rules of the heavens?

Did you set the constellations in the sky?

Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?

Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...

(I make a suggestion this has something to do with Michael, but also see comments below)

...or teach the ostrich to run?

The first three of those questions are fairly straight forward, and I doubt many would dispute what they are referring to. But the reference to the peacock and the ostrich are more subtle and curious, and I would like to take a moment to look at the actual verse - because it is only one verse that is providing both questions - that is being paraphrased here.

Job 39:13 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?

Did you realize that the King James Version of the Bible is the only one that mentions peacocks in this particular verse? All the other versions mentions the first sentence of that verse in relation to the wings of ostriches: "The wings of the ostrich wave proudly." The ostrich is considered a cruel and witless bird in the Bible, pleased with the way it looks, and seemingly careless about its young.

Why does that sound familiar...

Shax thinks this ostrich feather-clad angel in disguise isn't too smart either.

So using the peacock line is a curious choice in the script. Other than the "eyes" in the tail of the peacock having a connection to Michael's many watchful eyes on the world, it's still not clear how Crowley helped them upwards. Unless both lines are supposed to refer to Gabriel, and how the vain peacock was helped to both fly and run to a distant location in the stars.

Edit: Since I first wrote this, @beebopboom pointed me to some more peacock lore, and this helped me delve a bit deeper into them. Peacocks were associated with wealth and royalty, but they were also associated with immortality in early Christian beliefs. There was a belief that the flesh of the peacock did not decay after its death. The bright colours in its tail came from its eating venomous snakes, which reminded people of Christ becoming sin for humanity's sake (think of Crowley downing the laudanum to save Elspeth from Hell in the crypt in 1827, its a similar action.) The "eyes" on the males tail also represented the all-seeing eye of God. So we have a connection with both royalty and resurrection here.

(Oh - just as an interesting connection here - a number of the newer versions of the Bible not only don't mention the peacock in this verse, they compare the ostrich to the stork! The meaning is meant to be that the stork cares more for their young than the ostrich, but if you read the words at face value, you could take a double meaning away...)

Let us return to questions, answers, and whales.

Questions. Always questions. It's like the proverbial toddler who's always asking a never-ending string of "but, why?" for funsies and you just want them to shut up for a moment and think about the last thing you said first. They, too, are a bit like Job. They are the center of their own universe at that age, having not had much experience of the world. They have no grasp of how far it extends beyond them, and how little even we as adults know.

If at this point you're going "oh, no, no, no, no, op, please don't tell me the point of this meta is it's all ineffable," relax. I'm not.

The point was to set you up for some nice, juicy, awesomely sweet S3 speculation.

Because I believe Crowley will finally get to ask his questions of God.

(oh lordy, I made the mistake of taking a break to have a shower before trying to finish this off, because I was having trouble seeing how to finish this in a tidy way, and that caused me to have "shower thoughts" and now the nice sweet simple speculation has turned into a slightly bat-shit crazy kind-of one, although still on the same track as what I was originally thinking. Here goes...)

We have this three card spread from waaay back at the beginning of S1. We all think its something to do with the three babies.

What if its not?

Because we need something like this to happen again - Aziraphale and Crowley either side of a third protagonist. What if it's the King of Kings, Love personified, Jesus, in the middle? (Or Adam again, I wouldn't discount that option either...)

If you would look at the GIF and the screenshot together again and go, well that makes, sense, white for the angel on the right, and green for the demon on the left, I would jump up and shout at you - NO!

Look at the cards again! In the Tarot, that's the Ace of Swords on the right - it belongs to Aziraphale. It's a very powerful card, about new beginnings and change.* Lets call the one of the left Knight of Wands, which also represents the element of Fire. Knights are all about movement and journeys. Who owns the Bentley? And look what Gabriel has instinctively done with his hands - he has held his screen-left hand out to Aziraphale, the Sword, the angel who wears green, and his right hand out to Crowley, the Knight of Fire. The yin and yang qualities are actually swapped. That was what I was trying to tell you in this post. They aren't as obvious as they seem at first glance.

And love is the answer, it turns out. Did you see my comment the other day on another post? In Strong's Concordance 25 = to love.

Anyway, we should get a third parallel scene somewhat like this, and like when Aziraphale and Crowley took Adam out of time to talk to him in S1.

Only this time the three of them (with who ever is in the middle) should be having a talk with God about what is or isn't supposed to happen.

JOB: I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Crowley could be a literal serpent (though I would be very surprised if he did manifest that way) but it should be a metaphorical Leviathan that stands before the Almighty to ask his questions and get his answers. And it will be that he has earned the right to be there, because he finally understands the lessons of Job.

@makewayforbigcrossducks I hope this answers one of your questions

*The Ace of Swords speaks of new beginnings, but it is a two-edged sword that can cut both ways. It is strength in adversity, victory out of struggle, good out of evil, a change in the old order on the way.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #job minisode #book of job #leviathan #behemoth #i only ever asked questions #come back when you can make a whale #gabriel #shax #did you give wings to peacocks?#teach the ostrich to run #king of kings #king of hearts #yin to his yang

196 notes · View notes

neoarchipelago · 1 year

Text

Madripoor High (Part 1)

A/N: ok so hum... First part of something new... I have no idea for a title so please throw some ideas in the comments... Yes i have added a little hint of marvel but it is not in the marvel universe! I just love Madripoor. I kinda have the tittle 'Madripoor High' in mind but I'm not sure... Don't even know if I'll keep this going just... Let me know in the comments. Also edited this on my phone... Kinda sucky, I'll put it back correctly if I do keep it going.

Warnings: sexual talk, weapons etc.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Cars passing by and people walking to their destinations. The busy city boomed around you, muffled by the headphones on your head. Your music blocked the chaos of London. You enjoyed London. You found it beautiful. Amongst all the countries you've been to… and that list was quite long, you enjoyed the weather. Exactly. The gloomy, rainy weather. The black umbrella shielding you from the crystal droplets as you walked to a small cafe. You were greeted as you entered, dropping your shield at the entrance before taking place at a table in a corner far from others.

Your coat was removed, your backpack opened to free your laptop. The nice waitress walked to you after several minutes, asking for your order.

"I'd like a hazelnut cappuccino and… the crumble please" you answered with a smile.

As she walked away you looked around, the almost empty cafe was quiet, the few people chatting or working. You smirked, turning to your laptop you went to check for your payment. You smiled as you watched the enormous figure in your credit account. Yes. Credit. Because in the underground, money is important, but credits… Those are so much more valuable. The Madripoor currency.

Sighing, you let yourself lean back on the sofa chair, crossing your arms. You were proud. After everything you've gone through, you have managed to become one of the most prized citizens of Madripoor. The hard work you've put in has paid off, the contracts have piled up, the price tag always climbing up. Your speciality? Tracking. To get into details, it was hacking. Now you mostly used it to track down targets for big mean people who always have something against another big mean one. You were good. You were the fucking best. So yes. You were proud, even if you had no one to be proud of you.

Cup placed in front of you, you were taken out of your daydream. You smiled up, thanking the waitress, closing your laptop and pushing it to the side to bring your little treats closer to you. Contract over, now you were free until you accepted the next one. It would fall quite fast, yes, but you thought you might get some rest. Go back to Madripoor, to Hightown, and rest.

You took a bite of the crumble, feeling the sweetness of it making you relax. You thought you might go shopping once you'd got back. Maybe you'd stay in and play, watch some movies. Maybe you'd go to Downtown…

A soft buzz captured your attention. You grabbed your phone, looking at the screen. Someone was calling. No one called. Very few… barely anyone had this number. It was used for emergencies only and it had been a year and half since it rang. You frowned. It foreshadowed something entirely different than a break. You sighed. Curiosity eating at you. Before it was too late you answered.

"Hello?"

"Tracker."

You frowned. A woman's voice. A woman who knew your screen name. Only people from Madripoor knew it. Or people extremely close to Madripoor.

"Be quick." You said.

"You were never patient muñeca."

Muñeca. Doll. In Spanish. You sighed, closing your eyes.

"Valeria, you fucking bitch, I thought you were in jail."

"I was. I got out. Then that cabron de Alejandro trapped me."

You smirked. Alejandro. You haven't met the man, but by the amount of times she had complained about him, it's like you knew him already. A little voice was heard behind her, notifying you that she wasn't alone in that call.

"Where are you calling me from?"

"A military base. I need your help."

"No."

"You didn't listen."

"Go on I'm listening."

"We need help to find-"

"No."

She sighed. Helping her? It was already risky. You could. You could get her out and free her but she'd get herself into trouble again. Helping the military? You? Tangled in the deepest roots of criminality? It was the stupidest thing to ask of you.

"Come on. You love a challenge. And I have one just for you."

"It doesn't matter if I love a challenge. You're on high speaker aren't you?"

"Well-"

"Of course you are. They wouldn't let you call anyone without supervision. They know who I am? They know what I do?"

"They do." She said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"So what's going to happen? I help and then what? They got pretty little pink handcuffs for me?"

"Well you can ask the skull face to put them on. Or the ADHD Scot." She answered even more amusedly.

"Valeria… what?" You asked confused.

"Come on. It'll be very interesting. I know you're curious. And this… is like tracking a sin cara."

"A no face?"

Damn. She might succeed to make you interested. But she might be bluffing as well.

"Yes. We need to find Echo."

"Echo? The scientist working for various cartel's and Mafia bosses? The man that no one has ever met or even seen?" You asked, irony dripping from your tongue.

"Are you skeptical?"

"Echo doesn't exist. It's a stupid invention from some idiots to sell products at a higher price. You're wasting my time. Goodbye and good luck Valeria" You rolled your eyes.

"I have proof."

You froze. Proof? Now curiosity prickled your skin. What kind of proof? How did they get it?

"Hello?"

"Shut up. I'm thinking."

She chuckled on the other side.

"We've heard that your work is based on contracts. We'd like to offer you a contract." A voice rang.

The raspy voice was soft but commanding. A man, probably in his 40's. He sounded calm, determined.

"And who might you be?" You asked, taking a sip of your cappuccino who was growing cold.

"I'm Captain John Price."

A captain. Fair enough.

"What kind of contract?"

"You help us, we find Echo, we neutralize him and get Intel. You get immunity on this mission and after your part is done, you have 24 hours to vanish."

You thought about the question. Finding Echo. Might be the golden contract for you. Not that you needed it. But this… this was a challenge. Not the boring easy tracks that you had to do. You knew how even the high table of Madripoor was starting to get annoyed about this intriguing character. Countering rules in Hightown and Downtown. This might be an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. You looked around you, at the calm cafe. Fuck… you might not get that break after all. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself to accept a deal you might regret.

"48 hours. Full immunity from the moment I step into your base until the end of the contract. I do things my way. You get your guy, your Intel. That's it. I'm not getting in the middle of the cartel's and other big brainless gorillas." You stated.

"Fine." You heard after a few pending seconds.

"Alright. I'll think about it." You finished.

"Didn't you just agree?" Another voice rang.

This time it was more… alive. The Scottish accent meant it was one of the men Valeria had mentioned.

"I'll agree when you'll receive the contract. I have to check something before I agree. I'll contact you and travel to you. Don't worry, you'll get an answer in the next few hours." You explained, opening your laptop.

"Should we send you a location? An email?" Another voice again. British accent but cute voice.

"No. I know where you are. I know how to contact you. I'll do so when the time's come."

"How?" The Scottish voice echoed in your ear.

"Oh… she'll have no problem with it." Valeria answered.

"See you soon." You concluded, hanging up.

Entering the base was easy. The new recruits keeping the gates were easily distracted. You infiltrated the base, making sure to deviate the cameras and stealing a 'visitor' badge.

You walked around, white wool shirt, black shorts with tights. Thigh high socks over your tights and comfy running shoes. Your black backpack and phone in hand. Sometimes, the best way to hide is to get attention… especially from men. You'd feel the looks, the way they were directed to your thick thighs, or neck, in plain view as you had pulled your hair back.

You were chubby, not exactly thin, tummy showing and chubby cheeks. At least, that was what was usually romanticized, the thighs, ass and boobs being overly sexualized. You wanted to roll your eyes. But eventually sometimes, men or women easily fall for it.

You took your time to walk around, discovering the grounds, the badge often being watched by what seemed to be higher ups. You'd fain innocence and bat your lashes when getting caught in places you shouldn't be, before letting them turn their backs and walking straight to where you wanted to. You weren't exactly wanting to be hidden right now. You were good at it. Hiding. But right now you wanted to explore.

The contract had been sent, signed and sent. You had gotten a chance to engage with the high table who agreed to such a contract. You didn't really need their approval. But you didn't want your place in Madripoor to be compromised by working with 'the good guys'. Not only did the high table saw no problem in it but they greatly appreciated you going after Echo. You were right, the character was definitely getting on their nerves, the echoes of him creating some ruckus in downtown.

You walked around a huge warehouse, military gear sprawled around. Most were used for training. You heard some noise not too far, deciding to hide behind big wooden shipping boxes. Voices echoed through the big place. You tried not to look too much. If you can see them, they can see you. You'd rather use your other senses to localize them. You only took one glance at two men standing back to you near a table full of items. One was overly talking while the other one rummaged through what seemed to be his gear bag. The man talking had a mohawk. It made you smile. The other one… was obviously wearing something over his head, but with their backs turned to you, you couldn't make out any more details.

The light reflected into the shinny blade of a combat knife. You blinked, almost hypnotized by it. You wanted it. The two men walked away, still babbling. You waited a few minutes before stepping out of your hiding place, going straight for the bag. You opened it, looking through the different things, looking for the pretty black mat combat knife. You almost jumped in place when you found it, taking the thingy with you before skipping back to your little exploration. This time, in a much more concealed way.

You watched, you spied. You wanted to understand how the base worked before letting yourself meet your contractors. Above the training ground, higher up in some kind of level that was used to put away all the training mats and other training things. It was the perfect spot to look over the training grounds, inside of the warehouse. You watched the men fight each other. It was almost entertaining. Your eyes caught the mohawk boy again, teasing another man. The boy with a cap seemed to joyfully indulge in whatever he was saying.

They looked next to them, a big figure stepping into view. You frowned. The man's face was veiled with a mask, a skull… it wasn't printed. Was it a real skull? You put two and two together, now realizing this was the owner of the combat knife. You chuckled to yourself. As he stopped into the training ring, young recruits palling, your interest peaked.

Thirsty minutes passed by in a flash. You watched in amusement and almost in awe how the mountain of a man threw around the soldiers. He was strong. Fast. You could hear him scold every wrong move of the poor soldiers who faced him. He seemed to look around swiftly every time he had a break.

You stretched, feeling your limbs getting sore from sitting here watching the show. You blinked, watching down again, telling yourself that you should get going.

Eyes. Dark eyes. Looking straight at you. Your breath caught in your throat, a cold wave running through you. His gaze was cold looking up through the mask. You immediately rushed back behind something to hide. How? How?! You wore nothing shiny. You made sure that nothing could reflect light. You were hiding perfectly. How?!

You wanted to take another glance but it was too dangerous. You decided to get moving, your position now compromised. You hopped around to reach ground level. You skipped your way into an empty part of the warehouse. You remained as silent as possible, making sure that even your steps were inaudible. After twenty long minutes you allowed yourself to breathe. Maybe he hadn't seen you in the darkness and you were fine. It had been three hours that you were on base, and you were getting slightly hungry. Perhaps you'd get a snack before finally meeting the contractors.

You looked around, trying to figure which way out could lead you to a building where there was food. The empty warehouse only seemed to echo the voices of soldiers outside, barely audible and muffled. You grabbed your phone, walking towards a back door. Maybe you'd get off base to eat and then come back. You were craving pizza, perhaps-

You slammed against a wall. Not exactly a wall. A wall of a man. You looked up. Eyes falling into a skull mask. Shit. Something told you. That playing innocent. Batting your lashes, won't help with this one. You took a step back, his brows furrowing. You both froze for a split second, tension giving you goosebumps before you reacted the only way your brain could at the moment. You ran.

Throughout the warehouse, jumping over gear, boxes and other stuff that you didn't mind to look at. Why were you running? You were supposed to have immunity. But he didn't know who you were. Not yet. The sound of his heavy boots was the only thing you could hear. Shit the man was swift. He was fast and nimble. You parkoured your way to the back door, almost reaching it until you were tackled against a wall. The shock made you wince, cursing out. You were stuck. Stuck in between a wall, and a strong body. Unfortunately you had both run to a dark corner of the warehouse. You could barely see his eyes in the darkness. You were panting.

He shared your gaze. Eyes never leaving yours. The darkness of them made you shiver. It was odd. That tingly feeling all over you. You barely realized how your wrists were pinned above your head, in his large hand. Didn't even notice his other hand… around your throat. He wasn't applying pressure. He was securing you in place, warning you. You were trapped. You have been trapped very often at the beginning of your… career. However, it had never made you feel like this. Small. Hunted. Like a prey under the claws of a predator. There was no ego, no dumb boy trying to prove something. He had chased you down on instinct, caught you in a primal way. Honestly. It was hot. Thrilling.

"Who are you?" His deep voice said.

Shit… even his voice was hot. Putting your new kink aside, you frowned, gaining back some composure.

"Santa Claus." You let out ironically.

The hand around your throat squeezed menacingly. You gasped. He remained silent awaiting your new answer.

"I.. I'm a visitor." You tried, maybe the innocent act would work.

He pulled on your wrists, having you on your toes now. A last warning.

"T..tracker…" you mumbled.

He seemed in thought for a few seconds before releasing the pressure on your neck and wrists, but keeping them in his hold.

"How did you get in?" He questioned.

Ah yes… the usual interrogation.

"The young boys at the entrance are easily distracted…" you mumbled again.

You weren't pissed. You weren't exactly pouting… maybe a bit. You weren't expecting to be caught, or to be put in your place. You weren't expecting to be under someone's hold like this. You looked away.

"You armed?" He asked.

"I have my phone. It's the only weapon I need." You said, keeping the combat knife a little secret. Mostly because you wanted to keep it and he won't let you. He straightened himself, towering over you.

"I'm going to let you go. You better behave." He warned.

God.. you wanted to brat. You wanted to anger him and test him. You rolled your eyes at him, as the hand holding your wrists released. However the other remained on your throat. You frowned looking up at him, as your hands wrapped around his wrist. He stepped closer to you, eyes never leaving yours. Now what was he doing? He said he was letting you go…

Eyes widening, you felt the other hand roam your waist. You tried to push him away but he squeezed at your throat keeping you in place, your hands flying to his chest to fist in shirt. The hand traveled to your sides, down your back, then back to your side to finally reach your thighs.

"S..stop!" You let out, blushing.

"Breathe… I'm checking for weapons." He said in a chuckle.

He frowned, his hand meeting the handle of… shit. The combat knife was tucked into the back of your shorts, hidden by your shirt. You closed your eyes as he pulled it out.

"No weapons huh? You're already-" he stopped looking at the handle. "That's my fucking knife. You stole it?"

"I borrowed it. Sharing is caring right? We're on the same team…" you answered with a smile.

He put away his knife before spinning you around, bringing your back to his chest. How the hell did he move so fast?! How did he manage to pin your wrists behind you… and HANDCUFF YOU?

"Hey! Where's my immunity?" You complained.

"I'm not arresting you."

"You're handcuffing me to satisfy a kink?" You teased him in a bitter tone.

"I'm keeping you from stealing again. And I'm taking you to Price."

"Who?"

No answer, he simply pulled you forward, holding your wrists behind your back. Well. Wasn't this the perfect start to a contract?

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley smut #captain price #simon riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut

517 notes · View notes