#mentions of period-typical sexism

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 13

Chapter 13 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Jason keeps asking Chrissy out, who tells him she’s dating Steve to get him to stop. It leads to him coming out to her. In the evening Eddie comes by. Steve falls asleep and has a nightmare. Eddie tries to comfort him, but the person he needs is Robin, to which Eddie drives them as he gets to witness their friendship.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: period typical sexism, homophobia mention, nightmare, vomiting

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: The Rejected Date

It’s already the middle of October. School has been in for a while and Steve has been living on his own at the cabin for a few weeks already.

Living on his own has been both fun and hard. He misses Robin, but she stays over at least one night a week and he is at the Buckley’s for dinner and to sleep over once a week as well. They usually end up sleeping together three nights, one of them, because they woke up from a nightmare and had to check the other was okay.

When it’s Robin, Steve will get called awake and drive over to find Robin waiting on her porch in her pajamas, freezing. She’ll fall into his arms and he’ll carry her to her room, wrapping both of them into the blanket as she shoves her ice cube toes between his calves.

If it’s him, he’ll show up still sweaty and shivering from the nightmare. He knows where they keep the spare key and he’ll let himself in, crawling into Robin’s bed. She’s used to it and wraps her arms around him, sleepily lecturing him about safety on the road.

The set up isn’t perfect, but it works for them. He and Robin are bound for life, he cannot imagine not knowing her. If sneaking into her bed is to be part of his life, then he’ll do so with the gratefulness that he gets to know her.

Beyond his sleepovers with Robin, he calls Lisa from time to time and hangs out with Chrissy on Wednesdays. There isn’t cheer practice, but Chrissy told her mom there is. They hang out together, just talking or stunting, depending on the mood.

Steve loves spending time together with Chrissy. He might be half conjoined with Robin and she is his person, who gets him on so many levels, but he connects with Chrissy about bad parents and a love for sports in a way that Robin won’t get. And he doesn’t begrudge her that. Robin has amazing parents and he is thankful for that, besides he doesn’t get her obsession with weird books, movies and music either.

Chrissy loves the cabin and is always excited to hang around there. She loves the quiet sounds of nature and how there is no one to watch or judge her. Steve gets the feeling, though he isn’t the biggest forest fan after the Upside Down.

On Saturdays he hangs out with Max and Lucas. He brings dinner and plays basketball with Lucas at the trailer park, both ignoring how Susan is never home and how this is the most decent meal Max eats in the week.

Lucas is improving his skill and is going onto the varsity team, which is huge as a freshman. It makes Steve so proud of him, despite his own bad experiences with the basketball team during the last part of his time at high school.

When playing with Lucas, Steve also doesn’t think of Eddie, whose trailer is right across from Max’s, who has been sworn to secrecy and let in on the prank. He sees her eyes glittering whenever Lucas complains about giving the guy a chance as they eat dinner.

But it’s okay, he sees Eddie at other times.

He drives the kids home from Hellfire club on Fridays. Usually he and Eddie exchange a few words in the parking lot. When he recounts them to Robin she calls it flirting, but Steve tries not to believe her, tries not to get his hopes up.

Just like he tries not to get his hopes up whenever he and Eddie hang out. Steve doesn’t have the best sleep schedule and it seems that neither does Eddie, because he’ll often show up at an hour that is too late to be socially acceptable and stays until deep in the night.

Eddie makes it very hard to not get hopes up, or at least to get over the crush. He’ll always press close, easily stepping into Steve’s space and handing out casual touches like it’s nothing. He’ll grin showing those cute dimples and creating crinkles around those kind and beautiful eyes. It makes Steve want to do something stupid.

However, Steve knows better. He has seen enough of Eddie to know that the affection is just baked into his being. Steve isn’t special. Eddie is just nice and he shouldn’t look for things that aren’t there.

It’s not special when they sit on the porch and look at the stars, sharing things they wouldn’t say in the light of day. It’s not special when Eddie uses his joint to light Steve’s cigarette. It’s not special when Eddie rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. And it’s not special when the night drags on and a drawl creeps into Eddie’s voice, when man gets replaced with sweetheart and Eddie gazes at Steve like he’s something precious.

Steve just has to keep reminding himself of that.

Robin tells him he’s being an idiot, but Robin doesn’t get to say shit. It’s not like she’s telling that Vickie girl from band that she likes her. So, he ignores her arguments about why he should risk the friendship he’s only just starting to build and lingers in the moments where he has Eddie, before he reminds himself it isn’t special.

Yesterday was such an evening again, but Robin can’t say anything, because she is working and he is not. He’s going to hang out with Chrissy at the cabin and just try to forget and work it out by throwing Chrissy into the air for a bit.

He goes to pick her up after school. She looks a little nervous, glancing around as she quickly gets into his car. She looks like she wants to say something, but can’t. Her nerves are making Steve anxious as he wonders what could have happened. He asks: “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I did something and I need you to go along with it and not be mad,” Chrissy tells him, worrying her lip between her teeth.

The words do nothing to soothe Steve’s nerves and if he weren’t focused on driving, he would have more space to panic. “What did you do?”

“I told Jason we’re dating when he asked me out,” Chrissy rushes out, then rambles on: “He just keeps asking and I said no multiple times, but he won’t stop. So, when he asked why I won’t give him a chance I said that I have a boyfriend. He didn’t believe that, so I just said your name, because I don’t really want to date right now, so I needed someone who wouldn’t be secretly in love with me.”

“Of course I’ll back your story,” Steve promises, not seeing an issue with it. Chrissy is too young for him, but it’s not real. She knows he won’t be in love-

Wait, Steve’s brain screeches to a halt as the latter part of Chrissy’s ramble registers. He stops at the intersection, looks at Chrissy and asks: “Who says I’m not secretly madly in love with you?”

Chrissy looks surprised at the question and taken aback she says: “You are?”

“I mean, no, but I could have been, right?” Steve says, finding an edge of desperation in his voice as the walls of the car start to close in on him. He does not like where this conversation is going. He does not know if he can do this.

Meanwhile, Chrissy’s face turns sympathetic and she starts: “Steve…” trailing off with nothing to say, which is horrible for Steve’s frame of mind.

“Right?” he repeats, knowing that the crack in his voice does nothing to help his case.

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t- you don’t have to pretend with me,” she tells him softly, compassion and gentleness filling her voice.

She knows he’s gay.

Steve got the inkling, but those words confirm it. She knows. She has known. She knows and still she hangs out with Steve, lets him be near her, touch her, be close with her. All his fears about her rejection due to her religious house were for naught, because she doesn’t seem to mind.

Chrissy doesn’t mind he’s gay.

He feels tears start to try and get out, so he pushes them down and takes a shuddering breath. He can’t deal with all these emotions right now. Instead he checks if anyone is coming at the intersection and starts driving again.

The tension in the car is palpable. Chrissy is fidgeting next to him and Steve is just staring at the road, trying not to feel. He doesn’t know what to say. What if he misunderstood and Chrissy is talking about something else? What if he says it and then she hates him?

So they drive in tense silence, something they haven’t done in all the time they’ve known each other. Not really, not like this.

It’s only when they pull up at the cabin that Chrissy speaks up, her voice very timid. “Are you okay?” she asks. “If I said something wrong you can say it. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was something I shouldn’t say.”

“How long have you known?” Steve asks, still not meeting her eyes. He has to know. He has only just gotten his respectability back. What if it’s obvious?

“Since the summer,” Chrissy answers.

“How?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure at first,” Chrissy begins to explain, sounding unsure. “I mean, you know what whispers went around about you, but I don’t like rumors. So, I ignored them. You seemed nice and we became friends. I liked that you treated us like people, not just dumb cheerleaders. Then I noticed you never talked about Nancy. Never. Barely mentioned her.”

“What does Nancy have to do with it?” Steve asks, confused as to why Chrissy is bringing her up.

“For someone not enough over the heartbreak to date again, you never talked about her,” Chrissy shrugs and smiles. “I thought that was odd. But that’s all maybe’s. Robin confirmed it for me.”

“Robin?” Steve frowns.

“Yeah, you were very adamant about nothing being there,” Chrissy says. “I almost convinced myself you had to be lying about it, but I know you too well. So, I assumed. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t. Sorry. Should I not have done that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, looking Chrissy in the eye. “I honestly don’t know, Chris. I’m terrified of people knowing. Robin knows, but beyond that…”

“That sucks,” Chrissy tells him in that sweet genuine way only she can. She bumps her shoulder against his and smiles: “I’ll never judge you, Stevie. You’re my best friend.”

Words escape Steve. He never thought he would have people who would accept him, but here he has not only Robin and Eddie, but Chrissy as well. His Chrissy. His favorite cheerleader. He pulls her into a hug and practically crushes her.

Chrissy doesn’t seem to mind, just clings to him equally tight and doesn’t let go. They sit there in the front seat of Steve’s car, until Steve is willing to let go.

“You’re my best friend too,” Steve tells her. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“Never,” Chrissy says and it sounds like a promise.

They finally get out of the car and Chrissy seems to know that he doesn’t want to get into it now, but just put it out of his mind. So, she drops her stuff off inside and immediately comes back out to warm up. The October chill is coming in, but neither of them care.

The two of the run around to warm up. Chrissy can now comfortably to a handstand on Steve’s hands, so they’re just working on flipping. It’s not the smartest thing to do without anyone to catch her, but they don’t care. Stunting makes them feel alive in a way nothing else does.

So they stunt until they’re both sweaty and both take a shower, their hair a mess as it air dries and grins on their faces.

Steve doesn’t have a TV, so they put on some music while they crawl onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. The heating in the cabin isn’t the best, but Steve has amassed a collection of blankets that they burrow under.

The cabin itself is very homey. Steve finally has a bed frame that he stumbled upon in the second hand shop, a lucky find. The living room is painted an orange-y red, giving it a warm feel. Though he painted the beams the same yellow as the cabinets, which he loves.

He made it his little home and he is happy there. On some lonely nights however, he stares at the closed door where the last memory of Hopper remains. He’ll think of El living here. Hopper and her fixing it up. The countless days she’d been cooped up here. He wonders if she’d like what he has done with it, but he’s too scared to ask whenever he calls all the way to California.

It’s there, sitting on the couch that Chrissy brings it up again. She doesn’t start a serious conversation about it, instead curiously asking: “So, do you have a crush on anyone? A real one. I told you mine, now you can tell me yours.”

“Who says I have a crush,” Steve counters.

“Pleaseeeee, even if it’s just a celebrity,” Chrissy pleads. “I wanna gossip with you.”

“You’re being nosy, that’s different,” Steve points out, but he’s smiling too big for his judgment to be believable. He can’t believe Chrissy is being so casual about it, so accepting.

“Then let me be nosy,” Chrissy pouts. “I told you my embarrassing crushes, it’s only fair. I even told you when I liked that guy in my history class, despite the fact that he would always stick his chewing gum under the tables.”

“And he didn’t wash his hands after peeing,” Steve reminds her.

“I know, it was gross and why I stopped liking him,” Chrissy says. “What about you? Do you have any deal breakers in guys?”

“You’re persistent,” Steve laughs.

“Thank you,” Chrissy grins.

Steve is quiet for a second, then he blushes and softly admits: “I like dimples. And muscles. Like on the arms. Arm muscles are good.”

Chrissy squeals and gushes: “Oh my god, when a guy lifts something, right?”

“God, yes,” Steve groans sinking into the couch as he remembers Eddie lifting the heavy tools onto the roof of the very cabin he’s in. Next to him Chrissy giggles. He can’t help but laugh too, a giddy feeling spreading through his limbs. He always wanted to join when the cheerleaders gossiped about crushes and now he can. It feels like acceptance.

“What else? What else?” Chrissy demands, slapping his arm excitedly.

The only person Steve has ever talked about this is Robin and he is worried about it being too much for Chrissy and that she’ll be grossed out, so he keeps it a bit less explicit and skips over the fingers to say: “Stubble is nice.”

“Oeh, yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Chrissy squeals excitedly.

“Yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Steve agrees, because Harrison Ford is hot and he is not ashamed of thinking that.

They continue to talk about boys for a little while longer. Steve admits to thinking Micheal J. Fox and Judd Nelson are hot, which delights Chrissy. She doesn’t seemed grossed out all throughout the conversation and Steve is practically floating on air as he drives her home.

Even in his wildest dreams, he would not have thought Chrissy would be this cool about it all. Hell, he would never have thought he’d ever come out to her, yet here he is. She is the fourth person to know after Eddie, Robin and Will, that is four more than he’d thought. It feels like a middle finger to his parents to tell her. To not deny it. Steve feels great.

He contemplates calling Robin to tell her when he gets home, but his phone bill is already criminal and he’s driving her to school tomorrow morning. He can wait.

Steve makes himself dinner and eats. He doesn’t have many hobbies, but there are always little things to do in the cabin. However, before he can commit himself to any of them, there is a knock on the door. Steve isn’t expecting anyone, but there are multiple people who could randomly be standing on his doorstep.

Today it’s Eddie. He’s grinning and holding up a six pack as he asks: “Wanna drink and forget high school exists?”

“Sure, man,” Steve grins and steps aside to let him in as he asks: “What subject is kicking your ass this time?”

“All of them,” Eddie groans, shrugging off his jacket, six pack on the coffee table. He flops down on Steve’s couch and Steve’s heart does a flip at how comfortable Eddie is in his house. Eddie continues: “I don’t know why, but they all have it out for me. I don’t want to be doing all of this again either, you know?”

“High school just sucks, I think,” Steve offers, pushing Eddie’s feet of the couch so he can sit next to him.

“It does,” Eddie agrees, coming up from his flopped position to sit next to Steve, their thighs pressing together, which neither of them comment on. “But word is, you and Chrissy are dating, what’s that about?”

“Some guy wouldn’t stop hitting on her, so she said we were dating so he’d get of her back,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t really care if that gets around, if it means Chrissy gets left alone. Plus, it’ll be good for his reputation.

“And does she know the dating is fake?” Eddie asks.

“You mean, does she know I’m gay?” Steve counters. “Yes, actually. Told her today, but she kind of guessed already. It’s why she said me.”

“Damn, congrats man,” Eddie says as he pops open two beers with his rings, something Steve will always find attractive and offers one to Steve as he toast: “To you coming out to Chrissy.”

“Cheers,” Steve cheers, clinking his bottle against Eddie’s.

A comfortable silence falls over them as they both take a sip of their beer. Eddie has become a common guest at Steve’s. Not every week, but at least once every two weeks he’ll be on Steve’s doorstep and Steve always craves it like a dying man does water.

He knows that this is bad for the burning crush and Robin calls him pathetic, but he likes having Eddie to himself, hidden away from the world in the little cabin. So, he never says anything that could discourage Eddie from coming back again.

Steve is too anxious to go to Eddie’s place, so he just keeps welcoming Eddie whenever he comes to Steve’s.

“But enough about school,” Eddie grins. “How are you, Stevie-boy? Customer still as traumatic as ever?”

“Fuck, don’t even joke about it.” Now it’s Steve’s turn to groan. “Just yesterday this lady came in and she yelled at me for half an hour for renting her son an R-rated movie. Her son is sixteen and it was her husband that rented the movie. Like, why?”

“That’s the worsttt,” Eddie says. “I swear, you can shoot me if I ever try to get a job like that. I think I would get into a fight within a week.”

“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Steve snorts. “I fantasize about murdering some people in moments like that. To keep me sane.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Eddie grins, head lolling against the back of the couch as he does, neck on display.

Fuck, Steve wants to bite it.

He doesn’t though. These nights with Eddie are an exercise in self restraint. Instead, he grins back and says: “I promise to make it look like an accident,” before reclining on the couch as well.

“You can be terrifying, dude,” Eddie tells him, sounding both awed and delighted. Then he launches into a story about the campaign he’s running that it reminded him off. Steve has already heard about it from Dustin, but gladly listens to it again in Eddie’s warm voice.

They make their way through the six pack slowly and quickly take a smoke break. Eddie usually smokes a joint, but he is out of joints and smokes.

Steve is on his last cigarette, which they share. Every time Steve takes a drag he has to remind himself to not think about how the filter is still wet from where it had been in Eddie’s mouth earlier. Has to remind they’re only sharing because they’re both out. That it isn’t special.

After their smoke break they migrate back to the couch. Steve is feeling tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to go yet, so tries to keep blinking his eyes open for as long as he can.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his tired audience and keeps up rambles about whatever comes to his mind. It always amazes Steve how Eddie never seems to run out of topics to talk about. He just keeps talking, hands waving about, until they begin to fidget with the couch cushion, before moving to Steve’s hair.

Usually Steve is very protective of his hair, but Robin has no boundaries and he figured out how nice it is to have someone play with his hair. So, when Eddie’s hand touches his hair, twisting a bit around his finger, Steve leans into the contact before Eddie can stop.

There is a slight falter in Eddie’s sentence, but picks up right where he left of when Steve blinks at him, too exhausted to register what exactly is happening.

And when Eddie plays with his hair, Steve is playing a loosing game. He’s already tired, the nightmares cutting into his sleeping time, and the safety of someone watching over him combined with the soothing hands in his hair, means that Steve is dropping off before he can stop it.

While Steve isn’t the best sleeper, he normally sleeps better with other people there. However, it seems the universe has it out for him, because his brain comes up with a horror show that includes all the worst days of his life, until he’s gasping as he falls of the couch.

He scrambles up into a fighting position when someone moves, before the curls register. His brain says Nancy, which means there is at least back up. Then it registers a concerned: “Stevie, sweetheart, are you in there?” in something that is definitely is not Nancy’s voice.

Eddie, it pings, but before he can say anything, his stomach acts up and he stumbles to the bathroom, where he drops to his knees and sees the three beers and his dinner again.

As he’s retching into the bowl in a high mortifying and undignified manner, a warm hand rubs his back soothingly. Another hand gently pushes his bangs out of his face. He can hear Eddie gently murmur: “You’re okay, I got you, you’re alright, sweetheart.”

Tears well up in Steve’s eyes and stream down his face, mixing with the snot, spit and bile already gathering there. He probably looks fucking disgusting and pathetic and he hates that Eddie is seeing him like this, but he’s still shivering with fear and can’t bring himself to stop. Eddie’s words are helping too and he is unable to send Eddie away.

Steve dry heaves for a few seconds, before he coughs and spits the last bit into the bowl. He sniffles and reaches for the toilet roll, blowing his nose and throwing it into the toilet before flushing it with the rest of his dinner.

He knows he should face Eddie now, explain what happen and tell him that he’s okay and that Eddie shouldn’t worry. Instead, however, he sits on his knees next to the toilet with hunched shoulders, unable to look Eddie in the eyes as his cheeks burn. What an impression to make, he thinks bitterly.

There is a moment of quiet between them, throughout it Eddie keeps up the rubbing on Steve’s back that Steve wants to shrug off, but also uses like a lifeline.

“Are- are you okay?” Eddie asks cautiously when the silence drags on without Steve moving or saying anything.

Steve swallows thickly, the image of Robin’s corpse still in his fresh on mind, fake as it might have been. “Yeah,” he assures Eddie with shaky voice that does not sound believable in the slightest. “I- I am okay. I just- I need to see Robin.”

“Robin?” Eddie frowns.

“Fuck, I- I have to go check on her,” Steve says, stumbling to his feet. He’s more present, but still trembling with fear. He won’t be able to calm down until he has seen Robin. He hasn’t had a nightmare this bad in weeks.

He staggers into the living room, still not having faced Eddie. He already made a fool out of himself, might as well look like a full madman, if that means he can get to Robin right now. He gropes around for his car keys, letting out a victorious noise when he fishes them out of his jacket pocket.

The keys are immediately plucked out of his hands and he whirls around with a wounded noise as he pleads: “Give those back.”

“No,” Eddie says. He looks worried, but determined. “I don’t know what just happened, but you’re out of it. I’m not letting you drive like this. If you want to see Robin, I’ll drive you.”

Steve wants to protest. He doesn’t need to be babied, he doesn’t need concern and he definitely doesn’t need Eddie to see him break down again when he sees Robin. However, he can also see that he is not winning this argument right now. He looks a mess and isn’t in a state to have a fight, he’s more likely to start crying again.

So, he huffs: “Alright, fine,” and crosses his arms, before storming out of the cabin.

Eddie rushes behind him, snatching a coat for Steve and locking the door, before he rushes to his van, which is parked in a way that locks in Steve’s car. Both of them climb in, since that is easier and Eddie starts the van. Steve gets jump-scared by the music that Eddie quickly turns down with an apology.

They drive the first part in silence. Steve looks at the passing scenery with unseeing eyes, his leg jiggling anxiously. What if he gets there and the door is broken down? What if Robin as been dragged away by some creature from the Upside Down? What if she has been taken by Russians, who have tracked her down? What if she’s dead?

He is snapped out of his thoughts by Eddie, who softly asks: “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nightmare,” Steve answers, looking down. Apart from the argument about the driving, he hasn’t looked at Eddie, and that was fueled by desperation, which he feels guilty about. Eddie doesn’t deserve his bullshit. He wonders if Eddie’s mad at how he acted.

“Looked like a bad one,” Eddie prompts when Steve offers nothing more. He doesn’t sound mad, just confused and scared. More worried, actually.

Steve chances a glance his way. Eddie is tapping the steering wheel anxiously, focusing on the road, before he glances Steve’s way. A small, involuntary and relieved smile appears on his face when he sees that Steve is looking back.

There are dimples in that smile and Steve’s nerves are calmed by them. He says: “It was. I’ve been getting them about Robin ever since the mall burned down. Just need to make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Eddie nods. “I get you don’t want to talk about it, but you could, you know. If you want to of course. It must have been terrible.”

“It was,” Steve confirms, a shudder wracking his body as he remembers that cold Russian bunker ground. He pushes it out of his mind and says: “But I’m good. I don’t want to talk about it.” He isn’t allowed, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. Not really.

Eddie gives a shrug that seems to say ‘that’s fair’, before he smiles: “Course.”

They’re pulling into Robin’s street and Steve is already out of the van, before Eddie has fully stopped. Now that he’s so close, his anxiety is ramping up again and he fumbles with the key, before unlocking the door.

It’s still pretty early in the evening, so Robin is still awake. She must have heard him, because she’s already meeting him at the door. Seeing her there in her pajama clad glory sends a wave of relief through Steve and he stumbles into her arms, holding her close.

She clings right back, practically climbing him to hug him properly, in a way that grounds them both. She kisses his forehead and whispers: “I’m okay, dingus. We’re okay. We made it out of there.”

Behind them, Eddie clears his throat. Steve sets Robin down again as Robin looks surprised at the new visitor. To break the tension Steve laughs: “Good thing you know I’m gay or that would have been awkward to explain.”

That gets him wide-eyed looks from both of them and he says: “Oh yeah, both of you know. It’s fine, I’m not outing myself on accident here.”

“Eddie was the other person that knew?” Robin practically screeches.

Steve winces and covers his ear as he wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, he is. Who else did you think it was, I told you I told him I got kicked out.”

“Chrissy, dingus! Obviously, Chrissy. Why would I think Eddie when you and Chrissy are thick as thieves?” Robin exclaims. “Does she not know? I mean, I haven’t said anything about it to her, but I have a motor mouth, so I need to keep an eye on that, because I don’t-”

“Robs, she knows,” Steve cuts her off, before she can spiral. “I came out to her today. I was going to tell you on your way to school.”

“She’s cool?” Robin asks.

“She’s cool,” Steve grins.

“Congrats, dingus,” she grins back, punching his arm in a way that is a bit too hard.

“Ouch,” Steve yelps, massaging where she hit him. He glares: “You’re stocking shelves during our shift, I can’t. You’ve injured me.”

“I haven’t injured you, you drama queen,” Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re the one telling me I have noodle arms. It can’t have been that bad.”

Steve is about to counter, but is interrupted by Eddie before he can. “Okay, so while this is entertaining, I am also confused. Are you doing okay now, Stevie? Is this some weird ritual you two do? Is that what you needed? Should I go?”

Robin bursts out into a loud cackle at Eddie’s questions and confused face as he awkwardly hovers in the doorway.

“Ah, sorry,” Steve flushes bright red. He and Robin can get caught up their own world and he honestly hadn’t realized how odd their bickering must look to Eddie, who held his hair back as he threw up from his nightmare like half an hour ago.

“It’s okay,” Eddie smiles. “Just catch me up a bit.”

“I’m good now, thank you for driving me after I freaked out on you,” Steve says.

“Yes, thank you,” Robin adds. “This dingus always drives when he’s freaked out and I keep telling him he should be safe, but he always does it anyway.”

Bitchily Steve crosses his arms and says: “I have to or I’ll never calm down. Do you want me to run all this way? Is that what you would prefer?”

“You could call,” Robin bitches, crossing arms right back.

“I don’t want to call your parents awake,” Steve counters.

“My parents don’t care, if you do,” Robin says.

“Okay, as fun as this wonder-twin arguing act is,” Eddie interrupts again. “Is there anything I can do? Or should I leave.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes again. “I’m just all over the place,” he says, like he is not always like this when Robin is there. “I feel kind of bad about how tonight ended.”

“That reminds me, what were you doing at Steve’s when he was asleep?” Robin butts in, like Steve hasn’t told her about Eddie’s visits.

Steve elbows her, but she ignores him as Eddie blushes. He kicks the ground a bit, before shrugging: “I mean, we hang out sometimes. Steve fell asleep on me, he looked peaceful. I didn’t wanna wake him.”

The confession makes Steve’s heart do something interesting as Robin coos: “That’s actually really sweet. He needs his rest.”

“He is right here,” Steve says, before Robin can embarrass him more. He turns back to Eddie and gives him a smile – Steve does not realize how that smile makes Eddie melt – and says: “Thank you for that. Again I’m sorry how tonight ended.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie smiles and Steve already misses the sweetheart from when he was comforting him. “We all have our shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods with a lopsided smile.

“Well, if you’re in good hands,” Eddie says and Robin pipes up: “He is,” which makes Eddie, smile before he goes on: “Then I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Steve greets, feeling a bit silly.

They watch Eddie climb into his van, before pulling out of the driveway. They smile and wave at him, but as they watch him, Robin comments: “I take back my thanks about him driving you, he is a danger on the road.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, before cutting himself off and saying: “My car is still at the cabin. How am I going to drive you?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “Guess we’ll have to be really nice to my dad at breakfast tomorrow or I have to find my bike again.”

She closes the door and starts to turn off a few of the lights around the house as she puts on the kettle, Steve following behind her like a puppy. Her presence is soothing and he keeps a hold of the back of her shirt as they walk around.

When the tea is done, they take it to Robin’s room and press closely together on her bed as they sip their tea. It’s then that Robin asks: “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing new,” Steve shrugs. “You died. I couldn't save you.”

Robin makes a sympathetic noise and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hand creeps between them to squeeze his and the message is clear: You did save me, we made it out. We’re alive.

Steve squeezes back.

They sit like that, in a comfortable silence until their tea is gone, then Robin grins at him and says: “So, Eddie was a gentleman.”

“Shut up,” Steve blushes, as he pushes her grinning face away.

“Ahww, come on, give me something,” Robin whines. “He drove you here. He let you sleep on him, because you needed the rest.”

“He saw me throw up because my dreams scared me,” Steve deadpans. “It was the opposite of romantic. It was humiliating.”

Robin pouts: “You’re no fun, dingus. He didn’t look like he minded. He was worried about you, from where I was standing. He cares.”

“Of course he cares, we’re friends,” Steve defends himself.

“He knows you’re gay,” Robin points out.

“He does,” Steve says. “That doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Do you know if he is?” Robin asks. “Stop. No. I don’t want to ask that. No outing here, no, sir. I mean, if he is gay, then he is definitely into you.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve tells her, but inside he is bursting with feelings.

“Maybe not, but I have perfectly fine eyes, thank you,” Robin says.

“Shut up,” is all Steve replies and gets up to brush his teeth as Robin follows him, blessedly quiet about Eddie.

He wants to believe her, truly he does. He just knows he can’t. He isn’t ready to try and date anyone he actually likes. Another boy. And if he thinks too hard about it, he might do something stupid and it will blow up in his face. Being friends with Eddie is more than enough.

They don’t talk about it again and crawl into bed together. After his earlier nightmare, Steve sleeps uneasily, though soothed by Robin’s presence.

The next morning, neither Daisy nor Thomas are surprised that Steve is there. He and Robin are extra nice to Thomas, who can only drive Steve to his car so he doesn’t have to walk all the way out there, before work, while Robin has to bike to school.

Robin complains loudly about her father picking favorites, but it’s all in jest. The Buckleys always make Steve feel like a part of the family.

During the afternoon shift, he tells Robin all about coming out to Chrissy. She isn’t going to tell her about being a lesbian yet, but she is excited about how well she took it anyway.

The next day, Steve picks up the boys from Hellfire club and Eddie checks him over to see if he’s okay, before putting on their little act. The action makes Steve’s stomach flutter in a way he can’t fully suppress.

~~

A/N:

Ahwww, it’s going to well for Steve!!! ….Would be a shame if anything fucked that up….

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #buckingham #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington & chrissy cunningham #steve and robin #cheerleader steve harrington au #st post season 3 #tw: nightmares #tw: vomiting #tw: period typical sexism #tw: homophobia mention

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Once upon a Midnight Dreary Chapter 3

Tw: mentions of murder, violence, grief, insanity, and other dark subjects

Also this takes place around the 1800s, so be aware that some of the reactions are implied to be typical of the period. This does NOT reflect my perspective on mental health. Note: A bit of a tamer chapter. Not particularly my favorite, but it's to estabish more the setting.

Chapter 4 will be the introduction of Daisy and Nick. I am working on chapter 5

I will wait a bit for the poll to get more votes. I didn't intend it to make it a week, but it was the only option I had. I will eventually post it on AO3 soon

Previous chapter:

Next chapter

Library

Chapter 3: Interrogatory

My arrival at the psychiatric institution has become a blur of memories. It was ironic as I swore not to forget my first day, as it was a source of my deep hatred and revenge against the man who convinced everyone I was mad. I suppose that my tired brain decided to remember the hatred and pain I felt. I could recall being forced down to a stranded bed and being forced fed raw eyes, or it was something like that. The only thing that came to mind was being unable to throw up.

That was only a spoon of the misery I would be forced to live with…

The rest of my days were quite similar, due to the established routine by Dr. Gubberson himself. I would wake up in the middle of the night hearing the bells that announced my parents dead, being forced down to bed by the doctors and knock out until morning came. Then, I would be dragged by the doctors for examination, being force down some bitter medicine before eating whatever cardboard flavored mess they served me as my daily meals. Finally, I would be left inside a cold room, isolated. According to the doctors this would help me out to calm down. 

Only a fool would bite up that tale. I was sure that they placed me there to desperately break off my spirits until I complied and behaved accordingly to how they wished for me to behave. I learned to become a better liar and an actress. A good manipulator, in fact. I learned to adapt my behavior to become pleasant towards the doctors to force their defenses up. I became excellent at becoming mindless and swallowing down my rage every time I was referred to as a murderess. 

It was not an easy task to learn. My arms were swollen with bruises, and my wrists were purple due to the straight jacket, and the daily pushes from the doctors. I was rarely allowed to shower, and if so it would be in a humiliating manner that I refuse to address; but you can let your mind wander off at how monstrous I look. I was the embodiment of a mad woman, but I was stable as ever…

My parents memories were the main thing that kept me pretty much sane from my tortuous mornings. A reminder that I was not to be called mad. 

“She has become much tamer than once she initially arrived, Dr. Gubberson.” I remember how the doctors used to practice their speeches. Those fools, they were thinking they could fix what wasn’t even broken to begin it. Hearing them gloat was an utterly entertaining way to keep me in check. Knowing that I was sane was something I strive to maintain, just to imagine the faces of those idiots once they realized they wasted their time.

“She has regained some weight and no longer hisses at us!” The fools gloated. 

“I am sure the Captain would thank me for helping the wretched Ruckus girl to get her height straight!” I could simply smirk. Savoring my victory once I was able to prove my innocence. Getting please and starting to like the idea of a subtle revenge.

Oh yes, acting up as a little virus in their pathetic system. Getting at their weakest point and strike, but that was simply the seed of vengeance starting to slowly grow. It wouldn’t flourish until much later. 

This was my routine for the next two months, until summer came. I was starting to bore the doctors with my good behavior. I wasn’t exactly doing or exhibiting any sign of improvement besides my usual behavior. So, I was started to be left longer at that empty isolated room. Alone with my own thoughts as the doctors were trying to figure out what to do next. I suppose that they eventually realized I was merely adapting to their hostile behavior or that I haven't broken completely. Either way, their attempts to break me were fruitless, as they only grew little by little my desire to get my vengeance. 

Eventually, they decided to “attempt” to make me talk about a crime I did not commit just a week after the Captain that supported Dr. Gubberson, became a Commander. I did not care about this change, as it would be eventually shorted lived and I would perhaps have an involvement in.

A bloody involvement…one that lasted d around 7 nights of seeing the Captain rest.

“So, the damozel refused to say a word?” I remember hearing the captain speak from afar the day of his first visit. I believe he was speaking with Dr. Gubberson or one of his doctors. I could not tell as the other voice was almost like a whisper. The captain continued after a long brief of silence, where the person he was talking to finished speaking. “Well, it is not surprising at all. The only thing she ever talk once we met was that she was not insane.”

There was a brief silence from the Captain. Probably the other gent speaking. 

“Very well. I’ll do my best to make her talk.” The captain said. “They won’t last long before they break. Late Commander Breadstone would tell ya.”

There was a moment of silence before some laughs ran from the room. The Captain's laugh was strong, so strong as it was the most recognizable one I could hear. So, that was the only information I knew so far, as when I was taken by the doctors to some interrogation room, only the captain was there. There was no other sign or hint he was talking to Dr. Gubberson, so that’s only my major speculation.

“Ah Riley Anne Ruckus.” The captain greeted me. I did not respond but stared. It was my way of defiance, showing that I was not afraid of the idiot. He proceeded to ignore my silence and remarked. “I am not sure whether you look better or worse than I first saw you at the Ruckus’ manor.”

I was silent as ever. Not taking slightly any attempt at being hilarious or crude as serious.

“I’ve heard that you have become tamer or so it seems.” The captain said. “God only knows what is going into your messed up ill-head. At least…you have become quieter, and less defensive.”

I simply stared at him expressionless. Staring right into his eyes, telling him he wasn’t worth my time. He simply tapped the table with his fingers, becoming slightly annoyed at my silence. 

“So…you want to pretend to be mute. How adorable.” The captain huffed. He leaned towards me before gripping my chin. His fingers pressed her almost as he intended to break it. “I am sure you can talk, Riley. Don’t force me to make you permanently mute…”

I knew he was only trying to threaten me. He knew my confession was worth it. I could tell he wanted me to submit to his threats and confess I was a murderer. I simply stared defiantly into his eyes, ignoring the blood dripping from my lips.

I remember the hand of the captain trembling. He was starting to hesitate. 

“Release her now, sir!” One of the doctors ordered. The old man stared at him unimpressed. His hand did not leave my chin, not for a second. The doctor continued, this tine his tone become darker. “Dr. Gubberson will not tolerate the use of violence against one of our patients. He will not allow you to return or speak with Miss Ruckus if you break any bone or cause any injury to her.”

With that warning, the captain released my chin. I refrained from smirking at my small victory. 

“Very well.” The captain hissed. He stared at me furiously. “I suppose that I must find alternate ways to make you talk, don’t you? 

This was how I eventually learned about what happened to my home. After the captain’s death, the other policemen continued with his example. None succeeded, but they fed the fury that kept me alive…

“The bank took your inheritance from your parents.” He muttered with a sly grin. I remained calmed as I could, and refuse to give in into his attempts at provoking my anger. “The bank donated the money to the police force to their investigation of your father’s murder. So, you are peniless, Miss Ruckus.”

This came out to be a lie. I would eventually learn that after the will was handed to me. Sadly, that was the only lie told…

“Money is not up your interest? Ummm, perhaps I should talk about what happened to your parent's belongings.”  It was then when I slightly trembled. He took this as a sign to continue. “Your father’s clothes were sold to some rich folks along with your mother’s dresses. Her wedding dress was sold the highest, probably shredded to pieces by some seamstress.”

The dress my mother promised that I would have when I got married…the one my father fondly kept in his room and stare ever since she died….

I only took my pain as nutrients for my growing seed of vengeance. The captain continued on. “We Also sold your father’s books. All of them in fact. We thought you wouldn’t need them.”

The books my father collected throughout his life, and the ones we used to read when I was a little girl sitting on his lap. The ones that decorated the beautiful library of his study…

“You no longer have your beloved manor…” That was the last attempt he made. I forced myself not to cry. There was no use into giving any sort of weak feeling or emotion that could give an advantage of the cruel captain. As much as it pained me to hear how my parent’s legacy was slowly destroyed, there was nothing I could do myself.

The manor was eventually destroyed after the police gathered as much as they could for their investigation. Majority of our stuff was sold, even majority of our family paintings, and my mother’s collection of taxidermy over the years. One painting did remain, thankfully, but this is something that does far into my tragic story.

That was a long day. A tiresome interrogatory I went through. It was the first one to come, but certainly not the last. The captain would eventually visit me every single day, mentioning details, showing family values that were sold or gifted to charity. He was becoming desperate to make me shed a tear or break. I could listen to his heart beating louder, and louder. 

Sometimes I felt it underneath the ground, but I was so very gentle and cautious not to show I was well aware of that.

Eventually the Doctors and nurses themselves became tired and irritated with the lack of progress. Word eventually reached Dr. Gubberson himself. He momentarily cut out the Captains visits into twice a week, and demanded my treatment to change. That was the end of my straight jacket and being locked, isolated in a cold room. I was allowed to look more presentable myself and start to interact more among with the other prisoners of this hell.

According to Dr. Gubberson, I was no longer a threat. I was still mad as ever as ill, but he believed I would feel more comfortable to speak if I started to have interactions. That was the beginning of how I met two important people into my particular bitter tale:

Nicholas Nathaniel Nack and Daisy Charlene Danger.

#hello puppets #tw: violence #tw: sexism #period typical sexism #interrogations #tw: blood #tw: grief #tw: mentions of murder #Riley Ruckus #original characters #edgar allan poe #edgar allan poe references

[pinguwrites]

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo. 

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering. 

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied. 

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up. 

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it. 

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome. 

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion. 

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love. 

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t. 

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before. 

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream. 

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked. 

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours. 

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?” 

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over. 

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked. 

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.  

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . . 

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you. 

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter. 

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling. 

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help. 

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured. 

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously. 

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.” 

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

 “You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head. 

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society. 

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red. 

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip. 

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that. 

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946. 

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice. 

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating. 

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth. 

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.  

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you. 

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk. 

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips. 

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick. 

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music. 

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered. 

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you. 

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment. 

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say. 

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.” 

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy. 

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . . 

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

#william killick #william killick x reader #william killick x you #william killick x y/n #cillian murphy #fanfiction #the edge of love #pinguwrites

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 30

summary: Sunday—it’s Javier’s 40th birthday, and you have some sexy surprises planned for when you get home from dinner. Monday—you’re back at work after your lovely vacation, and it’s time to bite the bullet and tell your disapproving family that you’re getting married. You can probably guess how well that goes over…

rating: E (18+! A good chunk of this is about birthday sex. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (around ten years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (m & f receiving), 69, face sitting, butt plugs (f), anal play (f receiving), double penetration, breeding kink, lingerie, nude photos, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, spit mention, waxing poetic about Javier’s dick, getting KO’d from orgasms, banter, domestic fluff, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, death of a parent/grief, dysfunctional family, arguing, period typical sexism, spoiling Javier for his birthday, nurse stories (humorous), Javier being the little spoon, discussion about eating habits, Javier making you post-sex food, a special guest makes an appearance)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (reader is a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 16.8k (Why am I like this?)

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be solely about birthday sex, but something happened, I’m not sure what, and somehow there’s a lot of plot in it now? I apologize. I am at the mercy of the characters. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul, for betaing! You’re incredible.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

There was a game Javier liked to play when you went out to eat with people and were seated next to one another. It was kind of like Chicken, where two cars drive toward each other, and one of them has to swerve, or else they’ll crash—basically, it was a test to see how ballsy you were and how much of a risk you were willing to take to come out as the victor. In Javi’s version, it involved his hand under the table on your knee that would slowly creep up your thigh and under your dress, if you were wearing one, or along your pant-covered leg to try and make it to his goal nestled between your thighs—it was up to you to determine how far he’d get. Were you going to chicken out and stop his movements? Or were you going to be ballsy and let him get to the finish line? Honestly, it depended on how you were feeling and who you were with because it was really distracting when he rubbed your pussy in the middle of trying to have a conversation with someone. Still, the game was a lot of fun, and sometimes you liked to mess with him by letting him get almost all the way to his prize before you denied him, just to keep him on his toes.

Another thing was that there wasn’t always one round. Sometimes, he’d wait a bit and try his luck, again and again, to see how many attempts it’d take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of your Tootsie Pop—unless you told him to stop, then his hand would make itself at home, holding your thigh.

Tonight was Javi's 40th birthday, and you'd gone out to dinner with his father. Usually, on such a special day—and the fact you were always horny for him—you'd allow his palm to reach its destination. This evening, however, you had stopped all of his attempts and wouldn't let him get very far since you didn't want to ruin the surprise that was hiding under your dress—and your fiancé was very, very curious about what your undergarment situation was, getting to the point you kept his hand still between your closed thighs until it was time to leave.

The meal and catching up with Chucho had been wonderful—hanging out with your soon-to-be father-in-law was always a great time.

On the morning that you called the older man to tell him about your engagement, you laughed when he said he'd have something put in writing about his promises that he'd love you both living with him and wouldn't mind if there was a newborn there, too. You were well aware of his eagerness to have grandchildren and bet Javi twenty dollars his dad was going to show up today with legal documents on the matter, and you'd been right—he had a large manila envelope with an agreement he had his lawyer put together inside for you. Once dinner was done, you found out that wasn't all he brought; Chucho presented Javi with a Tupperware container filled with a big slice of tres leches cake his tía María made from his mother’s recipe. As he ate, his dad quietly serenaded him with a song called “Las Mañanitas,” much to his chagrin, the first part being:

“Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el Rey David, (This is the morning song that King David sang), Hoy por ser día de tu santo, te las cantamos a ti, (Because today is your saint’s day, we’re singing it for you), Despierta, mi Javi, despierta, mira que ya amaneció, (Wake up, mi Javi, wake up, look it is already dawn), Ya los pajarillos cantan, la luna ya se metió, (The birds are already singing, and the moon has set).”

There was a promise between the three of you that the restaurant staff wouldn’t be alerted that it was Javier’s birthday in order to avoid the employees bringing attention to him and singing; he didn’t, however, put any restrictions on his father or you singing to him, and Chucho was happily exploiting that loophole while his son grumpily devoured his cake he shared with you.

Javi wasn’t actually annoyed with his dad—he had the Tupperware practically licked clean by the time you were ready to go, and before you left, he gave his dad a big hug and whispered his thanks for having the cake made since it was something his mother always baked for their birthdays.

The big 4-0 was a milestone that usually involved a celebration, but your fiancé had declined his father and three tías offers to throw him a party and told everyone he didn’t want any gifts—he was determined not to make it a big deal, and only desired to have dinner with you and Chucho; the tres leches cake was a wonderful surprise, and definitely appreciated, though.

All of that brings you to where you were currently—sitting beside Javi on the bench seat of his truck as he drove you home. He’d pulled up your dress to bare your knee, resting his hand on it, and you were wondering when he would give his game another go; you knew him and that there was no way he’d be able to resist trying again, now that you were alone.

"Did you enjoy your birthday?" you asked, doing your best to keep your squirming to a minimum as you tried to find a comfortable position.

"Yeah," he answered, glancing at you with a smile. "I loved spending the day with you, seeing my mom—" You stopped by the cemetery on your way to dinner to tell her about your engagement. "—and going to dinner with Pop. Today was nice."

You hugged his arm. "I'm happy you had a good day, even though a certain someone—" Lorraine. "—tried to ruin it. Do you think she'll listen and leave us alone?" There'd been an altercation with her on your walk to the restaurant, and Javi finally had his chance to give her a piece of his mind and threaten her and her family with restraining orders if they didn't stop bothering you.

His eyes were back on the road, a frown replacing his smile.

"Maybe? She's been dead set on making my life difficult since I left her, and I don't know if she'll be able to give up."

"Guess we'll just have to see." A change in subject was needed. "Sooo, do you have any requests for tonight?"

His fingers stroked the inside of your knee.

"What do you mean?"

He started slowly moving his hand along your thigh, your palm resting on his jean-covered leg.

"You know exactly what I mean. It's your birthday, so you get anything you want."

He turned his head your way for a few seconds.

“I thought you had tonight planned.”

"I do." You nodded. "But you're the birthday boy, and I wanna make sure to include any specific desires you may have for this evening."

His focus went to what was in front of him, his fingers skating up your inner thigh and under your dress.

"Hmmm," he hummed. "I know you don't want to spoil tonight, but will I get to eat your pussy?"

"If you want to, sure."

"Are you gonna suck my dick?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Will I get to come inside you?"

There was a pause for a moment as you figured out how to respond. "...yes?"

He looked over at you with a curious expression. "That's... interesting. With how you answered, I'll be coming inside you, but not where I imagined…"

You frowned. "Javier, it is your birthday, and I won't have you ruining my surprises by you going all Detective Peña on me." To end the sentence, you squeezed your thighs shut to trap his hand and keep it from moving any further.

Your reaction made him pout and turn his attention back to the road.

"Fine," he said. "I won't think about it." He sighed. "I know you're not wearing panties. I won't be ruining any surprises if you let me touch you."

"Sure, but I want you to wait until we get home so you can undress me."

"Okay."

You rubbed his arm with your free hand. "Patience, baby—you're gonna have a great time."

His eyes met yours, and he smiled. "I know, mi amor (my love), and I'm fucking excited." He moved his hand out from between your legs to grab your smaller one on his thigh, pressing your palm against where he was half-hard beneath his jeans.

"You are excited,” you purred, rubbing him over his pants. “Better get you nice and hard before we get home.”

“With what I’m hoping will happen tonight? That won’t be an issue, Cielito.”

Once you arrived at your shared apartment, you hung up the jean jacket you were wearing, setting your purse onto the console table near the front door, Javi emptying his pockets into the large bowl on top of it. Both of you kicked off your shoes, and your fiancé laid his folded sports coat over the back of the couch before he was on you, his lips hungrily colliding with yours in a searing kiss—one of his arms went around you to pull you flush against him, his other hand cradling the back of your head, making you moan when he eagerly licked into your mouth.

His kisses were sweet from the cake, tasting it on his tongue, arousal burning hot in your abdomen. He had your toes curling and skin vibrating, wanting him so bad, and he seemed to want you just as much when he turned and walked you toward your room with your lips fused together.

Anticipation was swelling inside you, butterflies going wild in your tummy at hoping Javi really did enjoy what you had in store for him.

As your feet moved, your hands worked open the buttons on his shirt, rubbing your palms up the warm skin of his torso once it was bared, feeling the soft give of his belly to his muscular chest—moving higher along his neck, cupping his cheeks, then pressing your fingers into his soft hair.

The moment you stepped into your room, he unzipped the back of your dress and moved you a little further inside to have you at the end of your big, king-sized bed. Javi broke the kiss, shrugging off his shirt that fell to the floor, his hungry gaze focusing on your chest—he was careful when he took the red, satiny shoulder straps into his hands, and pulled the dress down and off your arms, revealing your bosom, and letting gravity take the rest of it to the ground, where it pooled around your feet.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Javi was unable to stop himself; it was as if there was some kind of magnetic pull that had his hand reaching to palm your lace-covered breast. His eyes had darkened, the front of his jeans bulging where he was straining against the zipper. "This is what you've been hiding all night?" he asked, his free palm massaging your other tit.

His reaction made you feel good about your choice of lingerie.

The red teddy covered most of your breasts and down your ribs in sheer lace with laces crisscrossing from one side to the other on the front and back to keep the pieces together; the best part about it, and what you knew was Javi’s favorite part, was the fact nothing was covering your crotch or ass—it was put on like a one-piece swimsuit, your legs going through two thin straps, with the rest of the bottom completely bare.

There was a similar teddy you owned in a pretty plum color that covered more of your skin in lace.

"Yes," you answered. "Do you like it?"

His gaze met yours, and he stepped into your space, his big hands going around to grab your bare backside.

He was smirking with his eyebrow raised. "Do I like it?" he rasped. Javi squeezed your ass. "You know I fucking love it, mi amor (my love)." His lips met yours, kissing you quickly before he ended it with a playful nip to your bottom lip, pulling his head back to look at you. "You're so fucking sexy—Christ, I want you so fucking bad."

Your hands slid up his chest to caress his cheeks, smiling at him.

"I have another surprise for you..." you said.

His eyes rounded. "There's more?" he asked.

You booped him on the nose with your finger. "Yep," you answered. "You're getting spoiled tonight."

"You don't need to spoil me."

"Um, yes, I do. It's your special day. Plus, you spoiled me on my birthday by letting me tie you up and edge you—this is me making sure your night is just as wonderful." You poked him over his pec.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles as he smiled. "Happy fucking birthday to me."

"Yes, now, pants off, mister,” you ordered. “I don't want you coming in them." The sentence was punctuated with a wink.

What you said made him chuckle. "Yes, ma'am."

Stepping back from him, his hands went to the front of his jeans to quickly get them off. His belt clinked as he worked it open, hearing the teeth separate when he undid his zipper, the pants getting shoved down his legs, Javi having to do the awkward dance of lifting each foot to tug them off, along with his socks.

Once he was completely naked, he closed the distance between you, his big palms holding your face when he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you hard. You snaked your hand down into the tight space your bodies had created to grab his throbbing cock, the skin velvety soft and hot to the touch, making him moan into the kiss. His hips bucked forward in your grip while you slowly pumped him. His hand massaged your breast and tweaked your nipple through the lace, his other palm tracing along your jawbone, the shell of your ear, and down to your neck, he gently held as you kissed, leaving a trail of fire under your skin.

"Let me show you your surprise," you murmured against his lips.

"'Mmkay," he said and didn't stop kissing you.

It was up to you to break away from him, Javi chasing your mouth when you did, making you grin and press your hand to his chest to softly push him back—his eyes were closed, his lips turned up in a smile, looking so unbelievably happy.

"Adorable," you whispered.

His chest was slightly heaving from his heavy breaths, his lips red and shining from saliva.

"Open those pretty brown eyes, babe,” you told him. “It’s time for your surprise." They blinked open, and he grabbed your waist.

"What is it?" he asked, his head dipping to kiss along the column of your throat. You took one of his hands and slid it behind you over your ass to between your cheeks.

His breath caught in his throat, his face popping up to meet your eyes with a look of surprise.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “Is that…?”

His reaction made you grin even bigger. “A very cute butt plug? Yes, it is.”

The plug was made out of smooth pink-colored glass with a tapered tip and bulbous body, the slender neck making it easy for your tight muscles to wrap around it and hold it in place, the flared base covering your hole shaped into a daisy flower.

As you said, it was very cute and filled you nicely—any time you moved, it had a tingle dancing up your spine, fueling the arousal sparking in your tummy.

His fingers were mapping out the flower, gliding over the petals, his gaze locking onto yours, seeing his cheeks had a lovely pink tint.

"Does this mean what I think it means…?" he asked with hope gleaming in those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his.

"That you can fuck my ass? Yes." You nodded. "I figured the toy would save us some time stretching me out."

He looked beyond delighted. "I am so fucking hard right now—how long have you been wearing it?"

"Since I excused myself at dinner to use the ladies' room—spoiler, I was in there getting this inside me; I brought lube and everything."

He was smiling. "My dirty fucking girl." His hand, not on your ass, came up to cup your cheek. "You kept adjusting in your seat when you got back, I thought you were horny—it's why I kept trying to touch your pussy—confused the fuck out of me that you wouldn't let me."

"I didn't want you to discover the lingerie or accidentally feel the plug."

"I get that now—can I see it?"

"Of course." You kissed him quickly and took a few steps to crawl up onto the bed, your hands and knees sinking into the mattress as you got onto all fours to present your ass to him. Seconds later, his warm palms were grabbing your asscheeks, spreading them.

You looked over your shoulder, and his eyes were glued to your backside.

"It’s so fucking pretty," he mused, rubbing a thumb over the base. “Can I take a picture?”

“Need it for your spank bank collection?”

In his bedside table was a stack of your nude Polaroids he liked to jack off to when the need very rarely arose.

His gaze lifted to yours with a smile. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then go for it.”

He walked away from you to grab the Polaroid camera off his dresser, returning seconds later. One of his hands pushed aside a plump cheek to give him a better visual.

“I fucking love this,” he murmured. The camera flashed, then whirred as it ejected the photo, Javi setting both out of the way on the bed. He was back behind you, staring at what he’d just photographed. “Am I allowed to touch it?” he asked.

"It's your birthday—you get to do whatever the fuck you want to me; mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo (my body is your body)."

He looked you in the eyes.

"I love you so much. I don't know how I got so fucking lucky—you're perfect."

"You're perfect."

His thumb circled around the edges of the glass flower, making you moan when he experimented by pulling it out a little and pushing it back in, loving the stretch—he did it again and again, and, again, Javi leaning his head down to spit on your pussy, the fingers of his other hand spreading it through your slit to rub your clit.

There was no way to stop your gasping moans as the toy was fucking in and out of your tight hole at the same time his hand strummed your bundle of sensitive nerves like a virtuoso—the sensations had your eyes rolling back in your head, the muscles in your abdomen starting to tighten as he built you up, higher and higher.

You had to face forward, your arms giving out, and crossing in front of you to rest your head on them—this was going to end quickly with how fucking good it felt, and you weren’t surprised when your orgasm hit, pleasure washing over you with a loud cry of his name.

Your breaths were ragged, sweat beginning to form on your skin.

“My good girl,” Javi purred. Both of his hands suddenly stopped, and a palm smacked the side of your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"I need to eat your pussy," his voice was deeper and huskier.

Your entire body flattened onto the bed, and you turned on your side to look at him. The words came out hoarse, "How do you want me?"

"We can do anything I want...?" he asked. "Is there, uh, anything you're not in the mood for?"

Your eyebrow lifted. "Aside from my regular things I'm not into, nope—I'm down for whatever you want. What do you have in mind?"

He smirked. "You sitting on my face?"

You smiled. "Of course, you'd wanna drown in my pussy on your birthday."

"Yeah, and, uh—" He scratched at the back of his neck. "—would you wanna suck me off while I did it...?"

With how much you guys fucked, you were pretty sure Javi had put you in every position imaginable, but this request was new. Sitting on his face was something you’d done many times, but adding in having you blow him at the same time had your cunt clenching hard around nothing.

"Um, yes," you answered, nodding your head. "That is definitely something I want to do. Get your cute little ass on this bed and get comfy." You patted the bedding beside you. "I wanna take that perfect mustache for a ride."

Javi chuckled as he got onto the mattress and moved up it to flop over on his back, resting his head on a pillow he fluffed to get cozy. His hard dick was lying against his belly, the tip glossy with precum and dripping into the happy trail of hair on his stomach.

It took him a second to get settled before he tapped his chest, his eyes heavy-lidded and crookedly smiling.

“Get up here, baby—this mustache isn’t gonna ride itself.”

You snorted and started to crawl his way.

"Dork," you said.

"One you love."

"That I do.”

When you got to his side, you swung yourself around to face his feet, getting your leg over his torso to straddle him. Javi gripped your thighs and pulled you back to have your wet pussy hovering over his face, two of his fingers spreading open the lips of your sex.

"So fucking pretty," he murmured. He inhaled deeply. "You smell so good, too."

His cock was in front of you, and you held yourself up with one arm to wrap the fingers of your other hand around his length.

"In case I haven't said it lately," you started, languidly stroking him, "you literally have the prettiest dick I've ever seen.”

It was true.

He did have the prettiest dick you've ever laid your eyes on—at full mast, he was just shy of eight inches, cut, not too thin, but not too girthy, either; it was just the right size that when he was inside you, there was a nice stretch and perfect fullness. On the underside of his shaft, two throbbing veins were crawling up the sides and another along the top you liked to trace with your tongue; licking around the velvety soft ridge at the tip and over his frenulum was a surefire way to drive him crazy and get him to make absolutely delicious noises, and when he was coming, you could feel him get bigger and jerk in your mouth, hand, or cunt. If you were looking, you could see his balls draw up and his cock pulse as he unloaded spurts and spurts of his come.

It was truly a work of art.

“And being in a medical profession,” you continued, “I’ve seen a lot of dicks—95% I wish I hadn't seen."

He snorted. "Thank you—you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of pussy."

"The prettiest pussy?" You didn't mean to sound so surprised. "Really?"

"Oh yeah, the prettiest and the fucking tastiest."

It was evident Javi was done with the conversation by how he tugged your hips down onto his face and began feasting—which was an apt descriptor for how he eagerly dove in and the groans he made that sounded like he was eating the best meal of his entire life.

He licked through your wetness and over the lips of your cunt to get every last drop of your arousal he could find on his tongue; it felt so amazing you forgot for a minute you were supposed to be sucking him off. Gripping him at the base, you took him into your mouth, your head bobbing as you sucked down more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.

His lips wrapped around your perky little clit, and when he sucked, it was like having lightning shock through you from the pleasure, your loud moan muffled by his cock in your mouth—it was hard to concentrate, and you put what little attention you had on the tip of him, licking along the sensitive ridge, pumping the rest of his spit-slick shaft with your palm that twitched, and loving how it made Javi whine.

He tasted salty from the steady leak of precum and clean, the scent of his skin smelling like the body wash he used in the shower. The lingering note coming through was Eucalyptus—woodsy, fresh, minty.

It was embarrassing that you were struggling to give him a basic blow job, doing your best not to get overwhelmed by his determined mouth trying to take you apart piece by piece as he licked, sucked, and tongue fucked you with abandon.

Fire was burning in your tummy and getting hotter with every second that passed. His dick was sliding along your palate to kiss the back of your throat, and you almost choked when he pulled and pushed on the toy in your ass.

It was skating the line of too much, how the plug was moving a little out to stretch your hole and being shoved back in to fill you again—thinking was hard, and you had to come off of him, unable to keep from moaning or stop your limbs from trembling.

“Oh, god,” you whined. “Oh, fuck.”

With how intense it felt, there was no way you could focus on sucking him off. What you could do was continue stroking his length, your hand gliding easily up and down while you were rocketing toward your end from him fucking you with the toy and sucking your clit. Your hips were moving of their own accord, rocking back to help fuck yourself and grind against his mouth.

Sixty-nining sounded fun in theory. The problem you ran into was your fiancé was relentless in wanting to make you come as hard as humanly possible, which made it practically impossible for you to do your part—it was too distracting. The pleasure had consumed all of your thoughts, and you could barely function.

The coil was winding inside you, getting tighter and tighter until it snapped, and euphoria was exploding from your center with a cry of his name, feeling your orgasm throughout your entire body from the tips of your fingers to your toes. Immediately, he shoved his tongue inside your fluttering hole to lick up your release, refusing to let a single drop of your come go to waste, and you could feel and hear his moans as you experienced the aftershocks of your climax.

With how hard you came, your hand paused on him, your upper body dropping, resting your head on his thigh to catch your breath and ride out your high.

Javi stopped behind you, lifting you from his face and inhaling deeply, taking big gasps of air.

"You okay?" his voice was rough.

"Mhmm," you hummed, speaking seeming too hard.

"You need a minute?"

"Mhmm."

"Let go of my dick."

You did as he asked and squeaked in surprise when he pushed you over to fall to the bed on your side.

"Sorry," he said. The mattress jostled, and pained grunts sounded from him, finding yourself seconds later getting wrapped up in his arms with your head on his chest.

“Did it feel good?” he asked and kissed your hair.

“Mhmm.”

“You come so quick with stuff in your ass.”

You smiled, finally finding your words. “You also come quick with stuff in your ass.”

“Yeah, I do—do you want me to fuck you while you’re wearing it?”

“Do you want to fuck me while I’m wearing it?”

“I wanna see how tight it makes you.”

“Uh-huh, and you wanna come in my pussy because you are on a mission to knock me up, and you would hate missing a chance.”

“That’s not all—it helps me last when I fuck your ass.”

“That’s true. It’s basically a medicinal cream pie. You know, earlier this year, they came out with a pill to help men keep it up, and we had a guy come into the ER who’d taken one—which, just so you’re aware,” you sidetracked, “if you have an erection lasting more than four hours, you need to seek medical help, and this dude was at almost six hours with a raging boner.”

He was frowning. “Did it go down on its own…?”

“Nope. A doctor had to use a syringe to remove some of the blood.”

"Jesus Christ, just thinking about that makes my dick hurt."

"Sorry." You rubbed your hand over his pec. "Let's talk about something else."

"Where'd you get the toy?"

A reasonable question, seeing as the closest sex shop was hours away in the big city.

"Okay, remember last month when you, me, Robyn, and Seb—" Sebastián, or Seb, was Robyn's boyfriend and Javi's cousin. "—spent that weekend in San Antonio, and you guys let us have our girls-only spa day while you and Seb went to see that movie about corrupt NSA agents that annoyed the fuck out of you because they got a lot of the government shit wrong, which you explained in excruciating detail to Seb at a bar afterward? Well, after the spa, she took me to a sex shop, and we bought some stuff."

"If you’re gonna make a movie about a government agency, you should do the fucking research,” he grumbled. His tone changed to intrigue, “What else did you buy…?"

"Some flavored lube and fluffy handcuffs. I was super picky about the kind of plug I wanted because you’d be surprised how many people come into the hospital with things stuck in their asses.” A memory made you snort. “Oh my god, so one time, this man came in with probably twenty or so of those bigger marbles? You know, the ones that are about double the size of a regular one? Lodged up his butt. When he was asked how they got stuck in there, he told everyone he was at home, standing on a step ladder, cleaning the cobwebs from the ceiling when he accidentally fell off and onto a container of them—this man stood by his story that instead of the marbles scattering everywhere when he fell on them, they magically made their way inside him.”

“What the fuck?” Javi said in disbelief. “He really thought people would believe he was cleaning without pants on, fell, and marbles just went up his ass? That makes zero fucking sense.”

“People come up with the stupidest lies when they’re embarrassed.”

“Like when you told the hotel staff we were checking out early because my nephew was viciously attacked by a duck?”

“You’re a jerk.” You pinched his nipple, making him flinch and laugh. “You’re just never going to let me live that down, huh?”

He grabbed your hand to kiss your palm. “No—you’re a terrible liar.”

“Rude.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed each of your fingers. “Did you buy anything else at the shop?”

“No, because I wanna go there with you to pick out things we’d enjoy."

He perked up, immediately responding, "We could go next weekend?"

"Shopping the weekend before Christmas? That would be a special kind of hell. Sorry, babe, we'll have to wait till next month." You got your hand free of him and patted his chest.

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. "Fine."

Things needed to get back to being horny, so you threw your leg over his waist and moved to sit on top of him with your knees bracketing his hips. His cock was wet from saliva and hard beneath you, and you leaned forward to kiss him, holding yourself up with your arms on either side of his head—this wasn't a peck on the lips or something chaste; this was a kiss that told him you wanted him. The kind of kiss that had his big hands grabbing onto your behind and groaning into your mouth. A kiss where things quickly heated up, and he was helping you grind your wet cunt over his dick, coating it in your slick. A kiss that turned into desperation for him to be inside you.

“Mmm, need lube,” you said into his lips. Sitting up, you leaned to get under the large, folded, black towel near the edge of the bed to grab the small bottle. You popped the cap, pouring a little bit into your palm before closing it and letting it fall onto the mattress beside you.

“With how huge your dick is,” you started as you lifted your hips up. “There’s no way in hell you’re gonna fit without some help.” Javi’s mouth fell open when you grabbed his cock under you, getting it nice and slick with the strokes of your hand.

His throat bobbed, swallowing. “Good call.” With how his eyes widened for a split second, you knew an idea had come to him. He grabbed your thighs. “Wait,” he said.

Your hand paused. “What’s up?”

“I wanna change positions.”

That had your eyebrows lifting in interest. “Oh?”

He was crookedly smiling. “Hands and knees, baby,” he replied, with a light slap to your hip.

“Oh, hell yeah.” You’d finished lubing him up and quickly moved onto the bed next to him, getting into the position he requested, your hands and slightly spread knees sinking into the mattress. Javi groaned when he flipped over and rose up onto his knees, the bedsprings complaining as he shuffled around to get behind you.

The smartest decision you made when you moved in together was upgrading to a king-sized bed—there was so much room for sexy activities.

Bending forward, he reached to grab the camera and set it in a place where it was easily accessible but not in the way.

He slid his dick through your drenched folds, notching himself at your entrance, his other hand holding your hip.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said. “Okay?”

Looking over your shoulder, you met his eyes that were more black than brown. “Yes,” you answered.

He smiled. “Good girl—ready?”

“Yes, Papí.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment. He looked at you again. “Me vas a matar (You’re going to kill me).”

“If by kill, you mean la petite mort, then yeah, handsome, I’m gonna make you come so hard.” You winked. “Now, stick it in.” You pressed back the tiniest bit to have the tip of him starting to enter you.

“And you call me bossy when I’m horny,” he mumbled.

There wasn’t a chance to respond since moans sounded from the both of you as he slowly started sinking into you, taking his time to let your body adjust to being stuffed with each glorious inch of him until he was buried all the way to the root inside of you.

Full didn’t accurately describe how you felt with the plug in your ass pressing against his thick cock—you were beyond full. You honestly couldn’t believe he was able to fit; you couldn’t believe you were able to take him. It was so overwhelming, it had you whimpering, squeezing your eyes shut.

Javi’s voice came out strained, “Are you okay?”

There was no way you could hold yourself up on your arms with it requiring too much concentration, so you let your upper body fall to the bed, cradling your head with your limbs.

“Yes,” the word was said on a breath.

All of the nerves in your body were aflame, feeling like static was thrumming under your skin. You were okay—you just needed a minute to get used to having both of your holes filled at the same time.

“Okay, baby.” He rubbed a comforting hand along the line of your spine. “Tell me when you want me to move.”

He picked up the Polaroid camera.

“Definitely gonna jerk off to this,” he murmured, and you heard the camera snap the picture and the gears whir to spit it out—he’d taken a photo of himself inside of you while you wore the plug.

The camera and picture were set aside.

There was a question you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “Am I tighter?”

He huffed out a breath. “Feels like you’re choking my dick with that toy in your ass—so, yeah, you’re tighter. You’ll probably cut off the circulation when I make you come, and you squeeze around me.”

Even though it was a struggle to think of anything other than the fullness, he made you worry. “Are you uncomfortable?” you asked. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable…”

“Mi amor.” He bent over your back to kiss the hair behind your ear, speaking softly, “I’m okay—I like how it feels. I’m really fucking worried I’m gonna come too fast.”

That made you feel better.

After an ample amount of time had passed for you to get used to everything, you said, “Move.”

He nipped at the shell of your ear, grunting as he straightened. He gripped your asscheeks and slowly dragged his cock halfway out of your sopping cunt before thrusting back in, stealing your breath. His pace started out languid to allow you to adapt to the feeling of him moving inside you, rough sounds rumbling from his chest, his fingers tightening on your flesh.

The plug made it easier for him to rub against all those spots that made fireworks dance behind your eyelids. Sweat glistened on your skin, the pleasure making you dizzy, and even though it had only just begun, you were already on the cusp of falling over the edge—intense was an understatement for how you felt. The heat was growing deep inside you, deeper than it usually did, the muscles in your tummy constricting.

His hips were slowly fucking into you, Javi grunting, and it was like nothing you had felt before—feeling so full and falling apart with every thrust.

“Oh, god, Javi,” you whined. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come.”

With how he spoke through clenched teeth, you knew he was fighting for his life not to finish so soon, “Come for me, baby.” He smacked your ass, the pleasurable sting making you clench and his rhythm stutter. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re so fucking tight—it feels so good.”

It was wet and sticky where you were joined, Javi coaxing wave after wave of arousal from your pussy that soaked his cock and dripped down to coat his balls—his thrusts were loud, squelching sounding every time he pushed in. Moans were escaping your lips while deeper noises ripped from his chest.

Javier wasn’t a tiny guy—just his cock made you feel full, and now you had it pressing into your sensitive walls against a rigid toy that turned up the sense of fullness to a ten and felt so fucking incredible that when he sped up his strokes, you were done for; pleasure erupted from deep in your depths that had your mouth opening in a silent scream and every muscle in your body pulling taut, hearing the man behind you let out a strangled groan as he suddenly stopped moving.

No thoughts could form in your brain, your chest rising and falling hard, your pussy pulsing as you rode out the high. Your ears rang, and you were too out of it to make out what Javi was saying, him sounding like the adults in a Peanuts film; a muted trombone going, ”Wah wah wah.”

A body pressed against your back, feeling hot breaths on your ear.

“Cielito?” he whispered.

“Mhmm?” you hummed.

“You okay, mi amor?”

“Mhmm,” you answered and gave him a thumbs up.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

The words slurred from your mouth, “Yes, please. I want you to come.”

“Okay. If it gets to be too much, tell me.” He kissed your hair, a pained sound leaving him as he moved up on his knees again.

Each time you’d done anal in the past, he’d made you come so many times you ended up passing out afterward. This time, though, the orgasms had been much stronger, and it was already hard to keep your eyes open—there was a chance if you had another, it was going to put you to sleep, and you knew Javi wouldn’t care, but you felt bad about possibly needing a little nap before he had a chance to fuck your ass.

“Javi?” you said.

“Yes, baby?” His palms slid along your sides from your waist to just below your ribs.

“I’m sorry if I fall asleep…”

He sounded confused. “Why are you apologizing for that…?”

“Because I know you’re super excited my ass is up for grabs tonight, and I feel bad I might have to make you wait while I take a little snooze.”

“Cielito, mi amor, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry, baby. I’m gonna tell you something that might surprise you.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting to fuck your pussy like this is better than fucking your ass.”

That surprised you so much that your eyes popped open, and you almost couldn’t believe him, except you knew he wasn’t lying since he was always truthful with you. Your knees were still under you with your butt up in the air, and Javi nestled all of the way inside you, your chest pressed to the mattress. You twisted your upper body to look back at him.

His forehead was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking wetly to it, a beautiful flush rising from his chest up to his cheeks, his darkened eyes meeting yours.

“Are you serious?” you asked.

His eyebrow arched. “Yeah? Why would I lie? Think about it—the plug makes your pussy so fucking tight, and I get to come in it.” He put it into plainer terms, “You’re tighter than hell, and I could knock you up.”

“Oh, you’re having the best time.”

He smiled. “I’m having the best fucking time.”

“You like the plug?”

“I love the plug. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, makes me come harder.”

“Then stop feeling bad.” He slapped your ass, and it made you tense, his mouth going slack and eyes closing at you clenching around his dick. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It’s okay if you pass out,” he said. “I might pass out, too.”

He pulled himself almost all of the way out of your cunt, and pushed back in, the fullness making your head spin and pleasure simmer in your belly. He was definitely going to get you off again, and you no longer worried about what would happen when you did.

He was going to come, and it'd only been—he looked over at the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table—eight fucking minutes since he first put his dick inside her, or more accurately, worked his dick inside her.

Javier knew it was going to be a tight fit, but what he hadn't expected was it feeling like when he pressed into her ass: the ring of muscle squeezing him hard as he fed himself into her. With the addition of the plug, there was the same tightness, yet it wasn't only at the opening; it extended further into her, massaging his cock with her hot, tight, velvety walls. He was balancing on a razor's edge to not blow his load, and her coming didn't help with how it made her pussy strangle his dick to the point it was toeing the line of being painful.

He was in heaven.

And when he made her come again, he knew she was going to take him with her.

He was rock hard, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest, and skin coated in a thin layer of sweat—Javier was wound up so tight, a ball of tension had formed in his gut that was threatening to burst; she said the toy made her come harder, and it looked like it was going to be the same for him.

His fingers dug into the soft skin on her hips, sliding himself in and out of her wet heat and having to take a big, calming breath, slowly letting it out to get himself under control and focus on not finishing so quickly.

Shifting his gaze down, he could see his cock covered in her juices, glimmering under the lights of the room before sheathing it back inside of her, and the pretty, pink glass flower covering her asshole. He was so sensitive from being close to losing it, the pressure from the toy's solid body and the warmth of her were driving him crazy and making him throb.

He increased the speed of his movements, gritting his teeth, her sounds spurring him on. He wanted to make her come once more, but he didn't have much time with the pleasure welling up in him and growing with every passing second.

His hand gripped her asscheek, his strokes not waning as the fingers of his other hand got ahold of the plug's flared base, pulling on it to stretch her hole until only the tip remained, and slipping it back in, doing that over and over again, and out of sync to his own thrusts.

The way she loudly moaned his name and stretched her arms out in front of her to clutch the bedding with her cheek to the mattress had him twitching inside of her, electricity shocking through his body. Her pussy was pulsating around him, her arousal seeping down his shaft to catch on his sack, and he knew she was close.

"You gonna give me one more, Cielito?" he grunted, continuing to fuck her with his dick and the toy. "Does it feel good getting both of your holes fucked?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Oh my fucking god, it feels so good, Javi." Her hands clenched the sheets, her body shaking. "You’re fucking me so good—marry me; put a baby in me." His rhythm faltered for a second at the stab of pleasure in his belly, and he groaned.

The muscles in his groin started contracting, his orgasm imminent, and he tried to hold it off. His hips moved faster, beads of perspiration dripping down his face and the small of his back.

"I will," he panted. "I'll marry you; I'll fuck a baby into you. I'll do anything you ask me to." His eyes were cinched tight, and he was so lost in her that his thoughts were flowing freely from his mouth. "Dime cuándo, y te haré mi esposa (Tell me when, and I'll make you my wife). En cualquier momento, soy tuyo (Any time, I'm yours). Siempre seré tuyo (I'll always be yours). Puedes tener mi apellido (You can have my last name). Seguiré intentándolo hasta que estés embarazada con nuestro bebé (I'll keep trying until you're pregnant with our baby). Serás la madre de mis hijos (You will be the mother of my children). I can't fucking wait—come for me," he ordered. "Give me one more, and my come is yours. I'll pump you full of it. I'll put a baby in you. Come for me," he all but begged.

That was it.

She gasped his name, her body going stiff, and cunt spasming, wringing out his own orgasm—his hips went flush to her ass, burying himself as deep as possible in her depths, the tightly wound ball in his belly snapping hard enough, he fell forward, blanketing her back. The sounds he made were guttural as pleasure seared through his entire being, his cock pulsing and pumping so many spurts of his come he thought it might never end.

His brain went blissfully blank, his body completely lax, his soul possibly leaving him for some seconds since everything went dark, and he couldn't think of a single thought.

When he came to, he was bone tired and on the verge of falling asleep. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to bring her with him as he moved to lie on his side, her limbs trembling, and he knew she was sleeping when there was no reaction to him removing the toy from inside her; it was tossed onto the bed near them, and then he tugged on the duvet behind him to pull it over their bodies and hugged her close with one arm, pressing his nose into her hair to breathe in her comforting scent, the ring on the hand he was holding causing him to pass out while happily thinking about how pretty soon she’d be his wife.

Time passed as they slumbered, minutes turning into hours. They shifted in their sleep and he woke when the warmth of her front pressed along the line of his spine disappeared, the springs in the mattress softly squeaking as she moved to get off it with a whispered, "Sorry." He heard her walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

He threw the blanket off of him and got out of bed, not caring at all that he was naked as his bare feet took him to the kitchen, where he got two large cups of cold water.

When Cielito came back into the bedroom, she found him standing by the bed chugging one of the glasses, and she joined him to drink her own. He finished before her, setting his empty cup on the nearby bedside table and taking some steps to end up behind her, wrapping his arms around her lingerie-covered middle. His lips met the side of her neck, kissing up it to nibble on her ear.

She hummed in appreciation, resting her free hand on one of his arms. She swallowed her drink of water. "Did you have a good time, baby?" she asked.

He spoke softly in her ear, "Yes."

Her fingers slid along his arm.

"Good. Are you up for another round, or do you wanna shower, and we can cuddle on the couch and watch something?"

Truth be told, he was exhausted from how eventful the last four days had been, and he didn't think he had the energy to go again—he was drained, and his dick was starting to ache from using it so much in Miami.

"Shower and couch," he answered, kissing a spot behind her ear. Her hand came up to press her fingers into his hair, and it made him shiver.

"Sounds good. Let me finish my water, and then we can go get clean."

"Thank you for today." He was peppering kisses along her shoulder now.

"You're welcome, babe. I'm happy you enjoyed it."

"I loved it."

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too—I love you so fucking much."

"Same."

Forty-five minutes later, they were clean and changed—Javier was wearing his grey sweatpants, and his future wife was in a faded, thinned, oversized purple t-shirt and her underwear. She was sitting on the kitchen counter beside him eating a grilled cheese while he made his own sandwich on the stove.

At dinner, he noticed she didn’t eat much, and when he quietly asked if she was feeling okay, she told him she was fine and just not very hungry, which turned out to be a dirty fucking lie with how her stomach loudly grumbled on their way to take a shower. So, the first thing he did after they were dressed was feed her; she tried to fight him that it was his birthday and she should be cooking for him, and he responded by telling her it was his birthday and he wanted to make her something to eat. She agreed to grilled cheese sandwiches, and he had to sit her ass on the counter and tell her not to move in order to keep her from trying to help him.

“This is the best grilled cheese I have ever had in my entire life,” she said around the food in her mouth.

He huffed out a breath, flipping the sandwich in the pan with a black plastic spatula. “You’re only saying that because you’re fucking starving,” he replied.

She swallowed. “Lies—it’s the world’s best. You could win awards for how good this is.” Half of her sandwich was already eaten, and she took another bite.

Javier set the plastic utensil onto the counter on his other side and stepped to have himself standing between her legs. He rubbed his palms up her bare thighs, kissing her forehead. “I’m glad you like the sandwich, Cielito,” he said, looking at her. “Do you want me to make you another?”

She was chewing and shook her head, swallowing. “No, thank you. One is enough.”

“I can cut up some fruit? We got enough today at the grocery store for me to make you a fruit salad?”

Her hand pressed to his cheek, her gaze turning soft, and he leaned into her palm. “I’m okay, Javi,” she said. “This one sandwich is enough.”

He frowned. “You told me you were fine at the restaurant and not very hungry, but that wasn’t true, mi amor. I know it was because of the sex tonight—”

“Birthday sex,” she interrupted. “Birthday sex is special and worth going a little hungry for.” “I disagree with that…” His sandwich was finished, and he moved back to the stove, sliding it directly from the pan and onto a waiting plate next to the spatula.

“What do you mean you disagree with that?” she asked.

He put the pan on one of the cold back burners and switched off the stove, returning to his spot in front of her. His eyes were on hers, smoothing his hands along her thighs and under her shirt to hold her hips. “I mean that we’re trying to have a baby, and I don’t like the idea of you not eating enough for yourself and our child just so we can fuck.”

“Oh.” Her attention went to her lap.

“In the future, eat as much as you need—do something light if you’re really worried.” He lifted her chin with his finger to look at him. “Can you promise me that, Cielito? Can you do that for me so I won’t worry?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Thank you.” He slotted his lips against hers, kissing her tenderly. When they separated, he asked, “Another sandwich or fruit?”

“Fruit, please,” she answered. “Can you do it with Tajín and chamoy like the fruit cart?”

She was talking about the fruit cart on the side of one of the busier streets downtown where you could get freshly cut fruits like mango, jícama, papaya, and watermelon, and they did vasos de frutas (fruit cups) similar to the street vendors in Mexico; cups filled with a variety of cubed fruits and topped with Tajín (a powder made of chile, lime, and salt), and chamoy (a thick sauce made out of pickled fruit like mango, plums, and apricot that was mixed with spicy chiles, and a salty brine—it’s a tasty mixture that was sweet, spicy, salty, and sour).

The combined ingredients created a refreshing snack that perfectly balanced the sweet, tangy, and spicy flavors.

He smiled. “Of course, mi amor.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips before making his way to the fridge to start getting out the fruits.

She hopped off the counter after she finished her sandwich to stand next to him, holding up his grilled cheese for him to take bites of while he chopped the fruit and chatting with him about random things on her mind.

They were sitting on the couch, her legs on his lap, and had just finished their vasos de frutas (fruit cups), which ended up being tazones de frutas (fruit bowls) while they watched the first Jurassic Park movie. His empty bowl was on the coffee table in front of them, his hands busy gliding over her legs and thighs. She leaned forward to set her dish down beside his as Dr. Malcolm discussed the moral implications of the island's scientists only caring about what they could and couldn't do and not if they should. Cielito moved to get up, and his face lifted toward hers.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Her eyes met his. "First, I'm gonna go put the bowls in the sink." She bent to pick up one in each hand and straightened. "Then I need to go grab something."

"What do you need, and I'll get it?" He started to stand, wanting to help so they could get back to cuddling quicker.

"Nope,” she said, and he stopped. "I'll get it. You just sit there and keep looking pretty." She smiled.

He frowned. "Okay."

She left the room, and he couldn't pay attention to what was on the television, instead listening to her rinsing the bowls out in the kitchen sink, followed by her footsteps as she made her way back through the living room, his head turning to watch her on her journey into the bedroom where she disappeared from view.

He wondered what she needed—maybe she wanted to paint her nails and had to choose a color of nail polish. Or she was going to get the stuff for face masks, which was something he enjoyed; his skin hadn't looked this good since he was in his early twenties.

"I'll be out in a minute, babe," she called from the other room. "I need to check the message on the answering machine."

"Take your time," he replied, hoping she didn't.

The fingers of his right hand were tapping absentmindedly on his knee.

His gaze went up to the clock on the wall, seeing it was a little after eleven, his eyes following the big hand as it ticked away each second.

Tick, tick, tick.

A whole minute passed before she returned to him, his eyebrows pulling together at her frowning face.

"Who called?" he asked.

"My mother."

That explained it.

"What did she want?"

"She said she had some exciting news and needed to talk to me about something important."

"Any idea what either could be...?"

A long, drawn-out sigh left her. "Yeah, most likely it's to tell me my brother's wife is pregnant again—they've been trying for months."

She found out they started trying the night he first told her he loved her. His face relaxed, understanding now that she was upset by the possible news.

He rose from the sofa and went to her in three steps, wrapping her in his arms to hold her close. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "It'll be us telling people the same news soon—they just had a head start. Don't let it get you down, okay? Everything is okay. We're okay. We’re happy, and that’s all that fucking matters."

He felt her relax in his hold.

"You're right—they've had more time."

He pulled back to look at her, smiling softly.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure I can knock you up in the same amount of months. Hell, maybe I'll be so fucking good at it that I’ll get you pregnant with twins."

That made her giggle, and her mouth turned up in his favorite smile.

"You're ridiculous," she said. "It's not a competition."

"It is now—we're gonna beat their time."

She playfully rolled her eyes.

"I love you, you goober." She kissed him, and when she broke away, there was a serious look on her face. "Let's stick to one baby for my first pregnancy, please."

"That's not how it works..." he said slowly. "It's a gamble, Cielito."

"Yes, I know that Javier, but let's not put the idea out into the universe."

"Okay—un bebé (one baby). That's all I'll wish for or whatever the fuck."

"Even though I know you're being a lying liar who lies because you'd be beyond happy if there was more than one baby—“ That was true; he’d love getting two babies for the price of one. “—I appreciate the thought. Now, enough about me. You need to open your birthday present."

His face scrunched in confusion. "Didn't I do that when I took off your clothes…?"

"That was only the sexy birthday present. I also got you an actual present."

He was so worried about her that he hadn’t realized she was holding something. She held up a rectangular gift wrapped in solid, bright red wrapping paper.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said. “Today was perfect.”

“Sure, but as I told you when you were undressing me, you’re getting spoiled tonight. Please open this. I’m nervous about it.”

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking it from her.

“Because I put a lot of time into it, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to love it, but there’s a chance it’ll make you sad.”

That had him curious. He stepped away and grabbed her hand to lead her to the couch, pulling her down to sit beside him.

It wasn’t too heavy or light, and when he felt it, it was firm. He thought it might be a book. Tearing open the wrapping paper, he discovered it was actually a maroon-colored leather-bound photo album.

He glanced over at her.

“We have our photo album of us we put together. What’s this one?”

He asked the question even though he had an idea of what it could be.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Open it, and you’ll see.”

He did as he was instructed, and his breath caught in his throat—the first picture was of him as a newborn being held by his mother in a hospital bed. His birth hadn’t been the easiest, and the exhaustion was clear on her face, yet she was grinning. The next photo was in the same spot, but this time, she was gazing at him in her arms with a look that showed she was in love and unbelievably happy. His eyes started watering, turning to the next page to find more pictures of newborn him and his mom now taken at home. All the pages after that featured the same thing: it was always just him and his mom. Some of the photos he’d seen in other albums his father had, there were many, though, that this was the first time he’d come across them.

He lost count of how many were of them in the kitchen, seeing them both age through the years and him doing more to help her as he grew.

There was one where he was maybe three, standing on a dining room chair with his mother beside him as he used a tortilladora (tortilla press) on the table to flatten tortillas, one perfectly done on the plate. His face was turned up toward her with a toothy grin, and she was gazing upon him fondly and clearly proud—it was the first time he had made a tortilla.

He was maybe six in another, using a stool in order to reach the stove with her watching from behind him as he stirred a giant pot he knew had the sauce for her tamales—it was the first time she walked him step by step on how to make them, and it reminded him of something she said that day: “Un día, tu esposa hará esta receta y necesitas poder ayudarla, así que presta atención, Javiercito (One day, your wife will make this recipe and you need to be able to help her, so pay attention, Javier).” And she was right. He had used what she taught him to help his wif-fiancée make her tamales. He even showed Cielito some of the techniques his mother used to make the process easier.

His father had captured a lot of wonderful moments, including one when he had to be about ten with how he’d shot up in height and was almost as tall as his mother—they had matching grins and were mid-dance in the kitchen, her left hand held in his right and their arms around each other’s backs.

So many memories came back to him of times they spent together, and there was even a picture of the last time they made a tres leches cake for his birthday, both laughing about something he couldn’t remember, and it made him smile at how happy they looked.

The final photo was of him in his senior year of college after a swim meet. He’d changed back into his clothes—some jeans and a baby blue button-up shirt, his hair still wet, and a gold medal around his neck. His mother was embracing him from the side, her head barely reaching his shoulders, Javier hugging her back; big smiles were on their faces, and happiness was shining in their matching chocolate-colored eyes as they looked at the camera.

Seeing all of the sweet moments they shared already had him on the verge of tears, and this one broke him, knowing it was his last competition before he met Lorraine—his shoulders shook with sobs as he let himself cry.

The album only contained the memories of before his life went to shit—when he was on track to make his dream of swimming in the Olympics come true, his mother was still alive, he hadn’t hurt his parents with his bad choices, and life was good and still made sense.

“Oh, Javi,” Cielito’s voice was soft, and he welcomed her arms that enveloped him. “I’m so sorry—I worried it’d upset you. I shouldn’t have made this. I’ll take the pictures back to Pop’s.” She reached for the album, and he held it away.

“No,” he said through the tears, his words coming out gravelly. “It’s perfect—I love it.” Closing the book, he set it on the coffee table in front of them before he twisted his body to pull her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. Her hands were rubbing soothingly over his back. “Thank you,” his muffled voice said, tears wetting her skin. “Thank you for making it—it brought back so much happy shit I’d forgotten.”

“You really love the album?” she asked.

He pulled back to look her in the eyes and nodded with a little smile. “Yeah, it really is perfect. You wanna know something?”

“What?”

“I can’t wait to show it to our kids one day.” Her face brightened. “I know you’ll probably cook with them, and they’ll love seeing photos of their abuela (grandma) and papá (dad) doing the same.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely cooking with our kids,” she said, and it had warmth spread through his veins. “Your dad let me go through the boxes, plural, of loose photos he has—side note, I have never seen so many, and I’m pretty sure he’s single-handedly keeping the one-hour photo kiosk in business.”

“Probably,” he chuckled.

Growing up, whenever his father wasn’t working out on the ranch, he was spending time with Javier and his mom, and it was pretty typical for Chucho to get out his camera or video camera to snap pictures or record whatever they were doing—his dad was a sentimental guy. With Javier being his only child, he wanted to ensure they documented as much as possible to look back on fondly.

“Anyways,” she continued. “I went through hundreds, maybe even thousands of photos, and in every single one of you with your mom in the kitchen, you both look so fucking happy, and then add in that some of your favorite memories are cooking with her, and I want that for our babies, too. I want them to have happy memories of learning to cook with their mom and dad.”

His vision was blurring with unshed tears, feeling so unbelievably happy he might combust.

“You want me there, too?”

“Um, yes, Javi. As your mother would say, ‘Eres mi buena suerte (You’re my good luck).’ You gotta be there to at least take a ton of pictures.”

He was smiling. “I’d love that.”

“Good.” She kissed him, just a press of her lips to his, and it wasn’t enough; he deepened it with a swipe of his tongue along her bottom lip, and when she granted him access by opening her mouth a little, he was delving inside to tangle their tongues.

He didn’t know how he got so lucky finding her—she was perfect. Somehow, she made him fall more in love with her with each passing day.

Hearing her say she wanted their children to experience the same happiness he did with his mother had him feeling over the moon and even more excited about them starting their family—she was going to be an incredible mom to their kids, and it filled him with joy knowing, without a doubt, they’ll get to grow up like him with parents who will not only love them more than anything but each other to the point their children will be disgusted by their open affection. Their kids were going to have happy childhoods where they knew they were loved and cherished and got nothing but encouragement for their dreams. It would be drastically different than how Cielito was raised, and that was what she wanted; she couldn’t fathom treating her children the same way her parents treated her. There wouldn’t be one kid who was loved more than another, and they definitely were going to be proud of their babies no matter what. She was breaking a cycle of neglect and impossible standards to ensure their children only knew love and acceptance.

Their breaths were coming out heavier when their mouths detached.

She smiled, the sentence coming out breathy, “Happy birthday, Javi.”

He shared her look. “Thank you for making it amazing—made me almost forget I’m old now.”

She huffed in exasperation. “You turned forty, Javi. You’re not old. If it makes you feel any better, I’m happy to report you’ve still got a bangin’ bod and continue being a sex god.”

“You’re calling me a sex god again?” His eyebrow rose.

“I never stopped calling you a sex god, and let’s look at the facts:” She held up one finger. “Stamina of someone in their twenties.” The next digit went up. “The experience of a forty-year-old that’s spent a lot of time fucking.” Another finger rose. “Makes his partner come every time.” The next digit extended. “Actually knows how to use his mouth and fingers.” The final finger went up. “Has the biggest and prettiest dick known to man—face it, babe, you’re a bonafide sex god; I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a statue of you in some sex temple somewhere.”

His chest had puffed out a little from her praise, and what she said made him snort, Javier, smiling. “What is it with you and statues of me?”

She pushed his bangs off of his forehead. “Um, did you not hear the part where I said you have a bangin’ bod and the biggest and prettiest dick known to man? You’d make a sexy statue—hotter than Prince Eric’s, and that’s saying something.” Both of her hands came up to hold his face as she stared him in the eyes. “What you should get from this is I find you exceptionally attractive and want to have your babies, and I’ll still find you exceptionally attractive and want to have your babies next year, and the year after that and the year after that; you get the picture. Basically, I do not give a single fuck about how old you are because you are aging like the finest wine, sweetcheeks, and I am so unbelievably horny for you.”

From the way she was looking at him, he knew she was telling the truth, and it made him feel some relief. He’d been dreading this day, and he was starting to realize there was no reason to—he was older and wiser, engaged to marry the most amazing woman on the planet, in the process of starting his family, working a job he didn’t hate, and he was back home, where he belonged (even if some of the townspeople thought otherwise). He was happy, truly happy, and yeah, it wasn’t an easy journey, and it took him a while to get to this point, but he made it, and that was all that fucking mattered.

Mondays were the worst.

Mondays after a lovely vacation were the worst of the worst.

Honestly, it should be illegal having to go back to work on a Monday after being away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t, so here you were sitting at the nurse's station desk, a bit past ten in the morning, notating a chart, and nervously waiting for your first break that was in—you glanced at the watch on your wrist—five minutes.

"Still nervous?" Came the Texas twang of your coworker/best friend, Robyn, who pulled out the rolly chair beside you and sat down.

Her long, chestnut curls were pulled back into a ponytail, and she looked ready to model with how perfectly she’d done her makeup; firetruck-red lipstick was coating her full lips, her big blue eyes accentuated with an outline of black mascara and eyeliner, her cheeks rosy, and face blemish free without being caked in foundation and concealer—she could be on the cover of the American Journal of Nursing magazine with her being in her blue scrubs.

Your head turned her way, frowning. "Yes, because I know, in my bones, it's not gonna go well."

She gave you a reassuring smile and put her hand on your arm. "And that's why you're doin’ it on your fifteen-minute break. It gives you a time limit, and havin’ to get back to work is a great excuse to end things."

You weren't convinced. "I guess..."

"I'm sorry, girl, but this is somethin’ you have to do and it'll be better to just rip off the bandaid."

"Maybe I'd prefer to keep the bandaid on and continue living in my perfect little bubble with the love of my life."

"Because the bubble is goin’ to burst one way or another, and at least this way, you're in control."

"I really don't want to do this…" you said truthfully. It had you feeling a little sick.

"I know, girl." She patted your forearm. "I can't promise it'll go well, but just remember you've got Javi and me for support, and you know as well as I do that man will up and leave work without a word to come here for you."

"That's true. He, uh, doesn't know..."

The other woman's eyebrows dipped. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"It's Javi—he'd worry too much and wouldn't be able to work. Now that we're doing this whole baby thing and getting married soon, it's like his caveman instincts have turned up to the max, and he's in protection mode 24/7. So, he's not going to find out about what's going on until after it happens."

"If you think that's best." Her eyes went to her wristwatch. "Looks like it's time." She met your gaze. "Go do it in the on-call room so you'll have some privacy."

You took a deep breath, ignoring the fluttering nerves in your belly. "Okay," you said as you pushed back in your chair to get up. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, you better come to get me."

She smiled. "That was the plan."

"You're the best."

The closest on-call room wasn't anything more than a small windowless room with a twin-size bed and a desk with a lamp and telephone atop it. The overhead light was on, and you'd locked the door upon entering, taking a seat at the desk. Picking up the phone's receiver, you pressed it to your ear, your other hand punching in the string of numbers from muscle memory, and hardly any thought.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answered.

This was it. "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Oh, good, you got my message. I was expecting your call yesterday."

"Sorry, it was Javi's birthday, and we went out to dinner to celebrate."

Her voice went tight. "I see... Remind me again how old he turned?"

"Forty."

"Forty years old, and he doesn't own a house or have a career? When your father turned forty, he was already the chief of surgery and had invented a procedure, but I guess they're two different men from two different backgrounds."

Your jaw clenched. "I don't appreciate you belittling the man I love, who had a very successful career in the DEA and helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and the Cali Cartel before he was forty—but please, go on about his ‘lack of career,’ and how he doesn’t measure up to Dad in your eyes; I’d be more than happy to end this call right now.”

The older woman sighed. “I’m just looking out for your best interests, but since it’s a sore subject, I won’t talk about him at all.”

The ‘best interests’ excuse made you roll your eyes so hard they were at risk of getting stuck in the back of your head.

"Fine—what's the exciting news you have?"

"Oh, yes," her tone shifted, hearing her excitement. "Your brother is having another baby, and it's a boy!" You fucking knew that was why she called, and you didn’t have it in you to be excited, not when the same news from you would have a vastly different reaction. "Your father and I are so excited to have another grandson," she continued. "I can't believe how blessed we are to have three grandchildren, a fourth on the way, and they’re all boys!"

"God forbid they had a girl," you mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said, wow, that's great," you spoke normally. "Well, give them my congratulations, and if that was all you wanted to tell me, I'm going to get back to work—I'm on break."

Yes, you were chickening out on telling her about your engagement.

"That isn't the only exciting news!"

"Yay, there's more," you deadpanned.

“If your father was home, he could give you more information, but his hospital is going through some staffing changes, and he got you a job to be the director of nursing—you can finally move back home!"

Um, what?

He got you a job you never even asked for or wanted?

The audacity of them doing this behind your back in an attempt to lure you home had stunned you into silence, anger threading through your chest and tummy.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

"I don't want a new job," you said calmly.

"You don't know what you're saying, sweetie. This would make you the head of the nursing program at his hospital and is much better than whatever it is you’re currently doing. You’d make substantially more than what you are right now, and it brings you closer to us, your family—it’s about time you come home, anyway. You’ve been away long enough and haven’t been making the best decisions.”

Tears were burning in your eyes at the blatant disregard for your feelings.

"I'm not leaving Laredo."

She sighed again. "What does that backwater town have to offer you? That hospital you're working for can't compete with what your father’s hospital is willing to pay, and there isn’t anything there worth staying for or tying you down—thank god you've been smart and haven't done anything stupid like get pregnant."

She managed to insult Javi and the life you built without outright saying the words, and it pissed you off how fucking rude she was in regards to your future husband—she could say whatever she wanted about you and the way you were living, but you wouldn’t stand for such vitriol toward your fiancé.

"I'm getting married,” you blurted.

Her line went completely silent, and you thought she might’ve hung up until she said, “I’m sorry. I think I misheard you. What did you say?”

“Javi proposed—we’re getting married, and that isn’t the only exciting news; we’ve started trying for a baby.” Informing people that you were getting fucked raw and filled like a Boston cream donut on the regular made you wish the earth would completely swallow you up so you didn’t have to feel such embarrassment; it being socially acceptable to openly discuss your sex life when it had to do with procreation would never make any sense to you.

“I know Javier doesn’t meet your standards,” you continued, “however, he more than meets mine, and I wish you could see how incredible he is and how happy he makes me, but the only things you care about is the amount of money in his bank account and career choice; which, again, people all over are aware of who The Javier Peña is because of the work he did with the DEA. He was a hot commodity when he returned to the States, and agencies all over the country were trying to bag him.

“Just because he’s not in the same tax bracket as you,” you kept speaking, “and he can’t buy me a big mansion we don’t even need, doesn’t make him any less of a person. Honestly, he’s better than you—he’s better than you. He’s better than Dad, and he’s definitely better than that golden child you worship, who couldn’t even make it into his Ivy League school without you buying his way in. Javi got a full-ride scholarship to his dream university because of how talented he was at swimming,” you said proudly.

“My fiancé is an amazing man who treats me like a queen and will be the best father to our children. Now, let’s circle back to your question about what Laredo has to offer me—the answer is everything. Laredo has everything I could ever need or want. The man I’m marrying and the future father of my kids is here. I have a family here—a real family that loves me. I have friends and a great job here. This is the place where I’ll raise my children and grow old with my soulmate. This is my home and where I’ve always belonged. So, thank you, but no, thank you for such an amazing job offer I didn’t ask for. I’m not leaving Laredo—you’re just gonna have to get used to the fact that Javier and I are a package deal and that he’ll be your son-in-law one day and the father of your grandchildren. If you can’t stomach that, then don’t ever call me again because Javi means more to me than anyone else in the entire universe.”

Silence.

Many seconds passed before she spoke.

“You’re sure he’s the one…?” she asked slowly.

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“You don’t care about how much money he has because he makes you… happy…?”

She made it sound like a foreign concept, and you huffed in amusement.

“I know, it’s crazy to fall in love with someone for them and not their money.”

“This is what I get for allowing you to watch those cartoon fairytale movies when you were a child. Your ideas of what’s important in life have been skewed by fictional nonsense, and you failed to notice at the end of those films, the girls become princesses—rich—when they meet their princes and finally get their—what was it?—happily… happily…” She was struggling.

“Their happily ever afters?” you said.

“Yes, that’s it! They only got their happily ever afters once they became princesses, and you should strive to want that kind of status or meet a man who will give it to you.”

“Weird take, but to me, they get their happily ever afters when they meet their one true loves, and the fancy titles are just bonuses.” You shrugged even though she couldn’t see you.

She let out a sigh. “You need to understand that real life isn’t like those whimsical cartoons. You might think you’re in love right now, but you haven’t even known this man for a year. How do you know if you will feel this way about him a year from now? Or two years? There’s no guarantee that your relationship will last, and you’re throwing away a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to advance your career and make a name for yourself because you’re infatuated and living in some dream world.”

“I am in love, and it’s the real thing. What you’re not understanding is my career is secondary to my happiness. I care more about being happy than making money, and I’ve made my choice that I’m going to marry Javi because he makes me happy—get it through your head that he isn’t going anywhere.”

“Very well, if that’s your decision, then so be it.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you answer a question about Javier?”

“Uh, depends on what you’re going to ask...”

“He helped take down Pablo Escobar and that other cartel, which wouldn’t have been small feats. I’m assuming a lot of opportunities would’ve opened up to him within his agency, and he was probably on track for promotions. Why did he quit when he was at the height of his career?”

You smiled. “Because he decided his career was secondary to his happiness, and he cared more about being happy than advancing in a job he’d grown to hate.”

“Oh.”

“You know, he only went to work for the Sheriff here, so I wasn’t the sole provider in our relationship—he makes decent money, too, and tries to pay more than his fair share. He took the job to be able to take care of me, and if I couldn’t work, we’d be more than okay on just his salary.”

“Really?” She didn’t attempt to hide her surprise.

“Yes—someone with Javi’s expertise is paid handsomely to consult. He’s gotten a ton of offers to do paid talks at universities and conferences. He’s actually kind of a big deal in that community.” It was lovely getting to brag about him.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“Because from the moment you found out I was dating him, you were convinced he wasn’t good enough for me, and it seemed like nothing I could say would change your mind.”

“I guess I might have rushed to conclusions…”

“You did.”

“Well, congratulations, honey,” She sounded genuinely happy, not as jazzed as the imminent arrival of another grandson, but happy enough it had you taken aback. “This is exciting! I hadn’t realized things had gotten so serious between you two. Have you picked out a date for the wedding?”

To say you felt thrown off kilter from the complete one-eighty she just made on her views of your relationship would be putting it mildly; you thought there was a chance you were in the Twilight Zone with how bizarre this reaction was.

Did you actually convince her of Javi’s worthiness?

That didn’t seem right…

“Um, no?” you answered.

“I’ll call the wedding planner who helped plan your brother’s, and don’t worry about the cost, we’ll take care of it, along with the wedding itself—we’ll have to look at venues in your town that can hold at least, I think, one hundred and fifty guests, maybe? I’ll also have Jerry—” The family lawyer. “—get a prenup together—I’ll bring him with me.” Uh, what was happening? “Let me look at the calendar.” Pages flipping could be heard over the phone, and you knew she was going through her daily planner. “Your father and I have prior engagements over the next month and a half, but I could visit in February with the wedding planner and Jerry to get started on everything.”

The thought of her visiting had you feeling sick to your stomach, the anxiety hitting you like a bucket of cold water over your head.

“Woah, woah, hold on a second,” you said. “We’re not having a big wedding, so there’s no need for a wedding planner. We’re not doing a prenup, either, so Jerry doesn’t need to be bothered, and we want to get married sometime next month.”

“I won’t sour our conversation with legal talk, so I’ll discuss it with you later—you want to get married that soon?” There was a frown in her voice. "I told you we’re booked next month... We wouldn’t be able to make it…”

“We’re not doing much of a traditional wedding anyway, so you won’t miss much. We can send you a copy of the video—” Javi was planning on buying a camcorder to record your nuptials and other erotic things. “—and maybe in February we could visit you.” That was something you didn’t particularly want to do, but her change in attitude and desire to help seemed like she was extending an olive branch for all of the hurtful things she had said about your future husband.

“That would be fine. We’re dying to meet this man you’re in love with.”

Your eyes narrowed. “The one you didn’t approve of five minutes ago…?”

“You gave me a lot to think about in those five minutes, and I’m doing as you said and accepting that he’s going to be my son-in-law. Am I not allowed to change my opinion of someone?”

“Sure, you can change your opinion. You’re really okay with me marrying him?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

A knock sounded on the on-call room’s door, Robyn’s voice coming from the other side, “Hey, I need you out here.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but my break’s over, and I need to get back. I’ll talk to you later.”

“No problem. Have a great day, and tell Javier hi from me.”

That will freak him out.

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone, getting up to walk over and open the door.

Robyn was standing there. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“That’s the thing, Robyn, I think it went well, and I’m so fucking confused—I think my mom might even like Javi a little bit now.”

Shock appeared on her face. “Um, what…?”

“Makes zero sense, right?”

“Yeah… You need to call Javi?”

She was the best.

“Would you mind?”

“Nope! I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you!”

This time, when you sat down to use the hospital-provided telephone, you dialed your fiancé’s desk phone from memory.

Ring.

“Peña,” he answered.

“Has hell frozen over?” you asked.

“Cielito?” He was clearly confused.

“Yes, it’s me—let’s focus. Has hell frozen over?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?”

“Are pigs flying?” You heard him roll back in his chair and the rustle of him looking through his office window’s blinds.

“I don’t see any pigs with wings, but that Sheriff’s deputy whose wife won’t let him have red meat so he can lower his cholesterol is in his car eating a burger with the same enthusiasm I have when I eat your pussy.”

“Guy is truly eating it like a man starved—respect. ¿Están volando las vacas (Are the cows flying)?”

“No veo a Daphne ni a Velma en el cielo (I don’t see Daphne or Velma in the sky).” He rolled back to his desk. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor (What’s going on, my love)?”

“I talked to my mom…”

“…are you okay?”

“Um, sure.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He was starting to hang up the phone, and you quickly said, “Javi, no, no! Don’t leave!”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s really okay—I’m gonna see you at lunch.”

The plan was to eat the lunches you made together in his truck.

“Okay.” His tone went serious. “Tell me what happened.”

“I called her like she asked, and she confirmed my sister-in-law is with child and talk about the excitement over a fetus having male genitals.”

“Of course, they’re fucking excited it’s a boy, the misogynistic assholes,” he seethed.

“I am so unbelievably in love with you—I know you’d love having a baby girl and getting to dress her up in pretty dresses.”

“God, yeah.” You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling. “And giving her cute hairdos and I could paint her nails to match her dresses—wait, we’re getting distracted. Did the news upset you? I really feel like I should come down there...”

“I promise I’m fine, babe.”

“I don’t like that I’m not there for you in person…” He sighed. “Was that all your mother wanted to talk to you about?”

“This next part is really gonna piss you off, so please take a big breath for me, my love.”

You heard him inhale deeply.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“My parents, or father specifically, offered me a job that a person would be insane to turn down to get me to move back home—I didn’t even contemplate for a second about taking it and proceeded to inform her about us getting married and starting our family, then went off about how amazing you are and that this is my home and I wouldn’t be leaving it. I made it very clear that you are the most important person to me, and if they couldn’t accept you as my husband, then I wanted nothing to do with them.”

“…If you want the job, we can move there,” he said carefully.

You smiled. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I can’t fathom moving away from our family here, especially your dad. This is our home, and I’m happy with the life we have. So, I don’t care about some fancy schmancy job.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

He let out a relieved sigh before he started speaking again, his words soaked in anger, “They hate me so fucking much they tried to give you an offer you couldn’t refuse, so you’d leave me? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t fucking stand these people you share blood with—they don’t even fucking deserve to be called your family with how they disrespect you and don’t give a flying fuck about your happiness.” He had to take another big breath to try to calm his rage. “I might sound like an asshole, but I don’t want them around our kids, and this isn’t me putting my foot down or saying that’s how it has to be; I’m saying that our children’s well-being is my first priority, and these assholes are nothing but poison,” he spat. “I’ll support you if you decide to cut ties with them—hell, I’d love it since it makes me so fucking angry how they’ve treated you and continue to treat you. We’ve got our family here, anyway; Pop and all our tías, tíos, and primos, so you don’t even need those fuckers.” His tone shifted to something softer, hearing in it how much he cared for you. “Cielito, mi amor, all I want is for you to be happy and to feel loved, and I will do everything in my power to make that happen—please, for me, when you decide what to do, you choose what makes you happiest; not what would make me happy and definitely don’t even think about their feelings because they’ve never done the same for you. I’ll stand by you no matter what.”

What he said had your eyes getting misty. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

And you knew that was the truth.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” you said, “and this is where I get confused about the entire interaction.”

“What happened…?”

“So, I kinda bragged about how much of a hot shot you are in the drug enforcement community and that you make decent money, and I think I somehow made my mom like you? I know it sounds fake, but Javi, she wanted to hire us a wedding planner and pay for the whole event that she was going to invite a hundred and fifty people to…”

You left out the lawyer bit because you were going to nip that in the bud when she got around to talking to you about it.

“Uh, what…?”

“It was fucking weird, babe! She even told me to tell you hi when we were getting off the phone!”

“Me? Are you sure…?”

“Yeah! It makes zero fucking sense. Our conversation started with her basically telling me my life decisions were trash and that there’s nothing in Laredo worth staying for—she actually said she was happy I hadn’t accidentally gotten pregnant. Like, that’s so fucking rude. Then her tone had completely changed by the end of the call, and she was pro-you and pro-us getting married.��

“Interesting…” You could picture him sitting at his desk, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip while we pieced together the information you’d given him and analyzed it for any indication of more going on.

“Are your Detective Peña senses tingling?” you asked. “Do you think they’re up to something?”

“I’m not sure… But I could just be paranoid about people trying to fuck with our relationship.”

“Oh god, what if we are being paranoid and overthinking this entire thing? We might be looking a gift horse in the mouth, and my family really has warmed up to you.”

He scoffed, “Tal vez cuando las vacas vuelen (Maybe when cows fly),” he muttered. “It seems too good to be true,” he said. “But, there’s a chance hell did freeze over, and Daphne and Velma grew wings.” He sighed. “My hopes aren’t very high, though; at this point, all we can do is see what happens.” He suddenly sounded panicked, “Cariño, ¿los invitaste a nuestra boda (Honey, did you invite them to our wedding)? ¿Tendré que conocerlos en persona (Will I have to meet them in person)?”

Javier Peña had a cute face, a cute face that naturally looked pissed off when it was resting and showed everything he was feeling. There was no doubt that in the presence of your family, his glares would be murderous, and he wouldn’t be able to hide his anger—which, honestly, delighted you. But you hated the idea of them coming to the place you called home and was your haven away from them, so you were never going to invite them to visit; if you had to, you’d go to them.

“Cálmate, mi amor (Calm down, my love),” you said. “No te preocupes (Don’t worry). I didn’t invite them, and I don’t even want them coming here. I did have to say we might visit them in a couple of months to keep them happy—I’m also gonna send my parents that blender my mother wants but refuses to buy because the one they have still works for Christmas. Hopefully, all that will tide them over for a while so we can figure out if their new attitude is legit or not.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I better get back to work. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yes, you will. If you need me to get your mind off all this shit, just let me know. It’d take us about the same amount of time to meet at home…”

His offer made you smile. “Javier, is this your way of saying you’d like a nooner?”

“Maybe… I’m on edge and need to calm my nerves, and the best ways to do that is either having a cigarette or fucking—I’m sure you can guess my preference, but it wouldn’t be a big deal if I bummed a smoke off someone.”

“You’re in need of a medicinal cream pie,” you said in understanding, nodding your head. “I am also on edge and could use a medicinal orgasm or two. I’ll see you at the apartment, handsome, and the suit stays on—I’m riding Detective Peña into the sunset.”

You could hear his smile when he spoke. “Is that so?”

“Yep—you’ve been staring at my tits a lot lately, and I thought you’d enjoy them bouncing in your face.”

His groan confirmed your suspicion. “Minimum of two orgasms, keep the suit on, and you’re riding me on the couch—anything I’m missing?”

“Yeah, you coming inside me so I can go back to work all nice and stuffed.”

“Marry me.”

“I am,” you giggled. “We need to figure out a date.”

“January 11. Under the big oak tree on Pop’s land at sunset—that’s when we should do it.”

“Why the eleventh?” you asked, curious about why that date specifically.

“You agreed to be my girlfriend on the eleventh. You agreed to be my fiancée on the eleventh. It only seems right that I vow to love you forever on the eleventh of the New Year and hope you agree to be my wife then—Cielito, mi amor, mi vida mi media naranja, mi todo, (Cielito, my love, my life, my soulmate, my everything), will you marry me in twenty-eight days on January 11?”

Tears brimmed your eyes. “Yes, Javi! Absolutely, yes—it’s perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you,” he smoothly replied.

“You’re a sap.”

“—and your perfect tits.”

“A horny sap,” you laughed.

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

[ikn0wtheend]

western nights - cowgirl!ellie williams x reader

summary: you’ve come to know and love the mystery woman who rides into town every now and again (western!au).

pairing: cowgirl!ellie williams x reader

word count: ~5.6k

c/w: fluff, angst, violence, blood mention, harassment, period typical sexism, allusions to period typical homophobia, mutual pining, emotional constipation?? loser lesbians but make it a period piece.

a/n: “save a horse, ride a cowGIRL’ in other words this is the cowgirl!ellie au that literally no one asked for. but don’t worry part 3 of ‘thoroughfare’ will be out soon as well as another part of ‘the record’. also if you get the hairpin reference this is me giving you a big fat kiss on the forehead. as always I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! <3

masterlist.

There was a calmness in the routine you had created for yourself in this town you were just beginning to call home. Days were filled with patchy sew up jobs, mundane chores, and keeping to yourself. While nights were spent working at the bar and fitful sleeps. It was stable. Something you felt like you needed, but didn’t necessarily want. You knew that sometimes needs and wants coincide but you haven’t been able to find where they meet. 

You wanted to want it, wanted to belong. It just got lonely sometimes. The people were nice, waved to you in greeting and engaged in friendly conversation when appropriate, but you couldn’t help but feel as though if you were to disappear no one would notice. That if you didn’t show up to work or the general store for your weekly shop they’d find a replacement and carry on as normal. You didn’t know how to exist in a place where you’re not needed, not wanted - a place where your hands were just hands. You lace up your boots and head to work for the night, not bothering to lock your door. 

There was a change in atmosphere as you walked through town, something that had only started occurring within the last few months. It was as though everyone was collectively holding their breath and waiting for the moment whatever it was passed. So on nights like tonight when the crowd in the bar were usually more rowdy, you welcomed it. 

You kept an eye on the door as you served your patrons, immediately stopping what you were doing when it swung open and huffing through your nose when it was another man looking for a drink and some company. Because when the tension in the air was palpable and the men were less bold in their advances was when you’ve come to expect her. 

She had rode in one day, bandana shielding her face from view and a hat on top of her head where whispers of short auburn hair licked her neck. No one had known who she was, they had just assumed she was a woman passing through. It wasn’t a common occurrence to see a woman riding alone, but there was something about her demeanour that told everyone she could handle her own despite how relaxed she looked upon her horse. Or maybe it was the gun strapped to her hip, silver glistening in the sunlight.

You didn’t greet her, only watched her from your front porch and took note of the way her thighs bracketed the horse and the sway of her hips. Shame, you thought as she rode on by. 

But the next time she was in town you were working. The town still hadn’t known the mystery woman so they didn’t know they needed to be cautious. People in the bar where loud, cheery voices all lapping over one another as you tried to hand everyone their drinks and send them on their way. 

You didn’t remember when she walked in, neither did most. You just remember that one second she wasn’t at your bar and the next she was, looking like she had always belonged there. She had knocked on the wooden counter twice to get your attention, an action you usually would’ve scowled at if the person behind it wasn’t so intriguing. You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought about her since you had last seen her.

“What can I get you?” Voice surprisingly steady as you asked.

She didn’t respond for a moment and you watched as her eyes searched yours for something. She cleared her throat. “Beer is fine.”

Her voice was rough, scratchy. You give her a closed-lipped smile. “Coming right up.”

You quickly wipe your hands on your apron before turning around and grabbing her drink. When you return you see her straighten her back from where she was slouched in her chair. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Its on the house.” You add as an excuse to keep talking to her. You don’t know why you did it, but you tried to justify your actions by saying that she was a woman drinking alone - a pretty one at that. Pretty women should never have to buy their own drinks. 

She had looked at you quizzically before tipping the bottle in your direction and taking a sip. It was at her movement that you were able to see bloody knuckles, the skin cracked and raw. 

She didn’t say anything when she noticed you looking and you didn’t ask. It wasn’t your business. You had tried to continue working but you found yourself being pulled into her orbit more than you liked to admit. Your feet carried you to the side of the bar she sat in throughout the night and you would make yourself look busy. But eventually she had left the same way she came in - unnoticed. 

After that you began to see her more frequently, sometimes she showed up beaten and bruised other days freshly clean. Her appearances made the town talk, people had heard whispers from travellers and other folk who had loose lips about the cowgirl. Their stories were never consistent, the only common thread being the amount of violence this woman was capable of. But you still never asked, never pressed for information of her activities and whereabouts. 

You did talk to her more though, talked about your day and offered harmless anecdotes, and in return she gave you her name and bits and pieces of herself. You kept those pieces of herself close to you, kept them to yourself even when the townspeople asked what Ellie Williams wanted with a person like you. Partly because you didn’t want to lose the trust Ellie had so freely given you and partly because you truthfully didn’t know why she had stuck to you the way she had.

When the door swings open again and a familiar pair of eyes meet yours you feel lighter. Her path is direct and you see the other patrons make way for her, some even throw you a sympathetic look for being the one Ellie Williams is focussed on. 

“What can I get for you cowboy?” You ask when she’s closer. There wasn’t a scratch on her - not one that you could see.

She chuckles, a sound you want to pull out of her more. “You know what I want.”

You raise your eyebrow at that. “Presumptuous.”

“Ha ha.” She plops down onto a bar stool, one that people don’t dare touch on any day of the week. “I got you a gift, but I’m guessing you don’t want it.” 

“Hey now, I never said that.” 

“Well what are you gonna give me in return?” She leans forward conspiratorially and cocks an eyebrow.

You swat at her with a tea towel and she laughs while trying to avoid the swinging fabric. “You’re no better than the other cowboys around.”

“Ouch.” She places her hand on her chest. 

You roll your eyes at her and go to grab her, her beer. “Cough up.”

“So impatient.” She chides. 

You watch as she reaches a hand into her bag and pulls out a book. It wasn’t new, you could tell from the worn edges, but that didn’t matter to you. Not when she was cradling it so gently and handing it over to you with a nervous smile. 

You grin back at her. “You know I don’t expect anything from you.” You say while taking the book. “But thank you.” You press the book to your chest. 

She clears her throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

You knock a knuckle against the back of the book. ”For this your drink is on me.”

“I would sure hope so, that took me forever to find.” 

Your smile deepens and you want to hold her, press her against your chest rather than the book. Maybe if you were braver - if there weren’t so many people around.

When the night is coming to an end, Ellie is still sitting in the same spot you left her. She knocks her knuckles against the counter. 

“Can I walk you home?” She asks timidly, even though your answer has always been the same since she had first offered.

“I would like that.” 

She waits patiently as you finish cleaning up and you grab the book from behind the bar where it was kept safe, before the two of you step out into the night together. You think you see her cock out her elbow the tiniest bit and before you can think too much about it you slide your hand through to grip her bicep. This was a line you never crossed, one you wouldn’t even allow yourself to think about in the daylight lest you get too comfortable, but the shadows hid your figures well enough and the streets were empty aside from a stray drunkard who could care less. She covers your hand with hers to keep you there and you notice that she slows her steps to keep in time with yours, you turn your head away from her so she doesn’t see your smile. 

“Where did you go this time?” You ask her.

She kicks the toe of her boot into the ground, dust kicking up. “Here and there.” 

“Finally found what you were looking for?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. 

You didn’t know why she kept coming back, she had no reason to. You thought her to be careless, wasting her time and resources, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that flooded your body whenever she was here.

“Why do you come back here?” You had asked her once from your side of the bar. “And don’t tell me it’s for the drinks because we both know that’s a lie.”

“Just looking for something.” She shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.” She parroted. 

“Well let me know when you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

She tipped her hat towards you. “Yes ma’am.” 

The two of you keep idle chatter the rest of the walk as you fill her in on the happenings around town since you last saw her. When you make it to your house she uncovers your hand and you slowly release your grip on her. She follows you up the stairs and you turn to look at her under the porch light.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask her, it was part of the routine by now. 

She had never come inside, not even when you offered her a meal or a drink. It was a casual display of dominance during the day, one you hadn’t realised at the time and had mistaken as action taken out of courtesy. She would stand there staunchly, letting everyone around you see that Ellie Williams was in town and was darkening your doorstep. Their eyes unable to see the soft smile that played on your lips and the way Ellie let her shoulders fall. She had laid claim to your front porch and in doing so laid claim to you. 

But at night, when no one was around to bare witness to whether or not she crossed the threshold, it was something else. Something you didn’t know and wished you were strong enough to ask.

“Not tonight.” She replies, her answer the same as always. 

“Maybe next time.” You follow the script the two of you made.

“Yeah, next time.”

“Right, well thank you for walking me home.”

“It’s no problem.” The corners of her lips quirk up and you think that you could get lost in her eyes the way that she’s looking at you.

“Wait I forgot, I have something for you.” You point at her. “Stay right there.”

You quickly enter your house and make a dash towards your kitchen table where you left a sew-up job. It was a pretty piece of blue fabric, a handkerchief that had a couple of little holes in it when you had found it - nothing you couldn’t fix.

When you walk back she’s still waiting diligently by the door, had angled her body in such a way so that no one could sneak up behind her while still being open for your return. 

“I fixed it up for you.” You tell her from your side of the doorframe. “I remember you said that you lost your last one.”

You hold it out for her to take and are surprised when her hand encircles your wrist instead. The darkness had made the both of you bold. 

“You didn’t need to do that.” 

“I wanted to.”

She rolls her eyes but takes the handkerchief while doing so, the hand that was holding your wrist squeezing slightly before dropping back to her side. Your skin burns from where she touched you. 

You watch as she holds it up, fabric unfurling so she can see it in its entirety. Embroidered into the sea of blue was a splattering of silver stars, it wasn’t the most impressive sewing job but you were proud if it - wanted Ellie to like it. 

She runs a thumb over the stars. “I can’t-” she starts, “I can’t accept this.” She tries to hand it back to you but you cover her hands with yours and gently push it back in her direction.

“I insist.”

She visibly gulps. “It’s pretty.” 

“Just don’t lose this one, yeah?”

She folds it back up and tucks it into her jacket pocket. “No promises.” She chuckles breathlessly. “Besides you’d make me a new one right?”

“Like you said. No promises.” 

“I should get going.”

You shadowed her to the top of the porch steps when she turns on the heels of her boots to leave.

“You best be safe.” You call out to her.

You watch as she looks over her shoulder at you to give you a closed-lipped smile. “Always am.”

Of all the places in your house you liked your front porch the most. There was a bench only big enough to fit two people but that was okay with you. There wasn’t really anyone to share it with. But you liked to sit outside sometimes and do things that kept your hands busy - read, sew. 

The first time you invited Ellie to join you had only been her fourth time back in town, but the conversation had flowed between the two of you nicely enough you didn’t find it odd to ask - had hoped she didn’t find it odd either. 

She was still astride her horse, Shimmer, she told you. The sun was bright behind her and you had your hand shielding your face while you leaned against the railing to talk to her. You had watched as Ellie grabbed the cowboy hat off of her head and gently placed it on top of yours, an action that causes you to fluster.

“You sure that your husband won’t mind?” 

“Husband?” 

She rubs the back of her neck. “Oh I just figured because you know,” she trails off. “So no person either then? 

“No person.” You say. “Just me.” 

“Cool.” She awkwardly pets Shimmer’s side. 

You furrow your brow at her. 

“I just mean that you’re cool.” She fumbles to correct. “Not that it’s cool that you’re alone.”

“Oh.”

“Wait no that’s not what I meant either.” She tries to lean closer to you but is hindered by the railing and the fact that she’s still on top of Shimmer.

“No it’s okay.” You place both hands on the railing and push back to stand up straight. “I’ll be right back I’m just gonna get us some water.”

She calls out your name. “Wait-”

But you were already past the threshold, something she doesn’t allow herself to cross. For some reason you thought she knew that you were just a woman living by herself, no one to declare yours and in return no one to declare theirs. You spiralled slightly, thinking about whether or not Ellie had someone waiting for her the same way you did, as you let muscle memory guide you to fill up two glasses of water. 

You remember how ridiculous you felt with her hat on your head and you remember going back outside to where she was now standing on your porch, Shimmer tied off to the side. You remember pretending everything was fine and her changing the subject.

Someone calls your name and your head perks up to see a woman with a baby resting on her hip. You recognise her as one of your neighbours and you wave in greeting. She waves back and begins to ascend the few porch steps that lead to you.

“Good afternoon, it’s a nice day out isn’t it?” 

You knew she wasn’t here to talk about the weather but you indulge her anyway. “Hello Maggie, the weather has been kind to us that’s for sure.”

“Yes little Joseph here has been loving the sunshine.” The baby giggles at the sound of his name and claps his pudgy hands together. You watch as he wiggles in his mother’s grasps and reaches towards you, something Maggie notices. “Would you like to hold him?” She asks.

“Oh sure.” You hold out your arms to take him and flounder a little as you try to get a secure grasp on him before plopping him down on your lap. You bounce Joseph and he releases a tiny squeal. “So what can I do for the two of you?”

“Well you know I don’t like to participate in the rumour mill around town, some people can be so nasty you know?” She drawls.

Your eyes narrow slightly. “Most definitely.”

“But I’m here because I’m worried about you sweetheart.” Her words come out slow and are dripping in sticky sweetness. 

“I’m not sure I follow, Maggie?” The lie slips out easily. You knew exactly what she was referring to but you wanted to deny her the satisfaction that was bound to come when she got her hands on any piece of information she’d weaselled out of you.

“Well that Williams girl has been hanging around you like a bad smell, I just don’t want you to get caught up in anything.” You look in her eyes and see nothing but faux concern. “She’s bad news, I’m telling you.” She tuts.

And maybe Maggie was right, maybe Ellie was bad news. But she had never treated you badly, in fact she treated you better than most in this town. Sure what they say about her should make you scared, but you didn’t have any pearls to clutch and sometimes you liked the taste of blood.

“I’m perfectly fine.” You tighten your hold on Joseph when he leans a bit too far forward. “Besides I can look after myself.”

“Well I’m sure you can honey, but the things they say this girl has done.” Her voice trails off as she shakes her head and places a hand over her heart. 

“Say, what does she want with you anyway?” She asks conspiratorially, “I know that you don’t have a husband and I would hope that she isn’t taking advantage of that?” 

Anger fills you from her words, her insinuation. 

“Is there a problem here?” A voice you hadn’t heard in weeks interrupts.

“Ellie.” You breathlessly sigh her name and a smile appears on your face, your anger from before leeching out of your body when you see her step out and around from where your view was obstructed by Maggie. 

“No problem here, isn’t that right Maggie?” You direct your attention back to the woman. 

Maggie looks at you, panic drawn across her features. “No, no problem at all.” 

Ellie whistles lowly and you watch in amusement as Maggie continues to look at Ellie wearily.

“Well Joseph and I best be off now.” You hold the baby boy out for her to take, little legs kicking in the air. “Nice seeing you.”

“Bye bye, Joseph.” You wave a hand at the smiling baby and then nod in Maggie’s direction. “Maggie.”

Before the woman is even out of earshot Ellie’s voice comes out nice and clear. You think you see Maggie speed up.

“What did she want?” She leans casually against the porch railing, arms crossed against her chest, but the set of her shoulders are still stiff. 

“Said she was worried about me.” You tell her honestly. “Thinks I should be scared of you.”

“Are you?” There’s a pause. “Scared of me.” She clarifies.

You shake your head at her. “Nothing to be scared about.” 

It’s at your words that her shoulders fall. 

“You looked real cute with that baby.” Her voice sounds huskier than usual at the change of subject. “Joseph was it?”

“Yeah he’s pretty cute.” You try to ignore her words. “You’ve been gone awhile.” 

There was too much distance between the two of you, you wanted her to take the few steps to close the gap. She needed to be the one to do it, because if you did and people saw they wouldn’t ignore you the way they do Ellie. They weren’t scared of you like they were of Ellie.

She looks down at her boots. “Still searching you know.”

“Any luck?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. I found something for you though.” 

“For me?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, for uptight Mary.”

“You mean Maggie?”

“Yeah, Molly. That’s what I said.” She says in all seriousness.

You chuckle. “What do you have for me today cowboy?”

Ellie reaches into her pocket and pulls out something long and thin. It glints as it catches the sunlight. She steps forward and reaches her arm out the rest of the way. When she goes to hand it to you her fingertips brush yours and you jolt unexpectedly, the object drops to the ground. 

“Oh shit.” You exclaim.

The two of you drop to the ground to retrieve it and you’re so close your knees bump together. She sits back on her heels when she deposits it into your awaiting hands.

“It’s a hairpin.” She explains.

You place it into the palm of your hand and use a finger to delicately trace it. It was gold and intricately detailed. There were two thin prongs in a u-shape and at the head of the hairpin was an encrusted brooch, a deep red jewel looking back at you. It looked expensive, felt expensive. 

“It’s beautiful.” You manage to choke out.

“It’s yours.” She says softly.

She stands up first and offers a hand to help you up. You look up at her and think she looks something holy, you would stay on your knees if she asked but you knew she wouldn’t - not with her calloused hand outstretched towards you to join her where she stood.

You take her hand and invite her to sit next to you. And although she drops your hand as she sits as far away as she can on the small bench, she still angles her body towards you. You converse with one another but you stray away from asking her where she got the hairpin, whether she had bought it with some money she had swindled or whether she stole it from some rich person who she had deemed undeserving. 

You wished you could give her more - wished she would take.

There was a chill that settled over the town since Ellie had last been there. Nothing unmanageable, but still cold enough you pulled the blanket tight around your shoulders from where you sat on the porch - the moon keeping you company.

You hear faint footfalls in the dark and watch as a figure approaches the house. You would’ve been more scared if you hadn’t of recognised the familiar silhouette.

You watch as Ellie limps slightly up your stairs and leans against the railing. “Mind if I join you?” She asks, voice tired.

How could you ever deny her, you think. You pat the seat next to you. “I could use the company.”

When she’s closer you’re able to see her busted lip and bruised jaw. There was a certain brand of anger you felt whenever you saw that Ellie was injured, anger you wanted to take out on whoever hurt her. 

She lowers herself down slowly to sit next to you and you unwrap yourself from the blanket to place it over the both of your laps. You provide a steady counterweight when she leans against you slightly - shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

“You ever think about leaving.” She seemed far away.

You look at her and try to read her but her gaze is set forward. “More than I should.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“I don’t know.” You really didn’t, there was nothing for you here. 

She turns to you look at you now and you’re closer than you thought. Your breath hitches when her nose brushes against yours. She clears her throat and leans back - you pretend to not be disappointed.

“What do you want for yourself?” She asks. 

“Too much.” 

She nudges her shoulder against yours. “Humour me.”

You let yourself to imagine a future, one where days are spent riding side by side with Ellie and nights are spent curled around each other. Where you could touch her like you wanted to, where she would step inside home.

“A farm.” You start. “With enough land it just stretches so much further than I can see and no nosy neighbours.”

She urges you to go on and you fall into a daydream.

“I would like a home that isn’t so big to the point where I’m surrounded by empty rooms but isn’t too small where I feel suffocated. Two bedrooms maybe?” You look at her to make sure she’s following and she nods. “I want windows. Big ones with pretty curtains.”

“Anything else?” She prods carefully. 

You look down at your hands in your lap and think that they’re useless, think they would be less so if you gathered the courage to link your pinkie that was closest to Ellie’s. 

“I would like someone to come home to.” The words sound sad, pathetic in a way. You fear that you’ve said too much.

“Sounds nice.”

“You think so?”

She hums in response. “Yeah, I do.”

“How about you?” You ask.

She shakes her head and laughs noncommittally, pieces of her tied up hair fall loose. “Oh I’ve never really given much thought to it.” 

“Humour me.” You mirror her words from before.

“I think a farm would be nice too.” Her hands clench around the blanket briefly, cracked knuckles on display. “I’d raise sheep or something.”

She searches your face as though she expects you to laugh but you tell her to go on.

“Shimmer will be there and I’ll get another horse so she isn’t lonely.” 

“What about you?” You ask.

“What about me?” She counters.

“What if-” You pinch the blanket between your fingers and let it fall. “What about if you get lonely?”

“I would like someone to come home to too.” She looks you in the eyes as she says it and you feel exposed. 

“Do you want to come in?” This time when you ask you let yourself feel hopeful, the same hope you felt when you first asked her the question - unabashed. 

She looks at you and you think she’s going to say yes, going to allow herself to be taken care of. 

“Not tonight.” 

You suck in a breath and give her a smile, one that doesn’t fully reach your eyes. “Maybe next time.” 

The cut on her lip stretches when she tries to smile in return, a drop of blood exposing itself before the tip of her tongue darts out to catch it. You wonder if it stains her teeth, you feel jealous. 

“Yeah, next time.” She says, playing her part perfectly. You wish she would improvise just this once. 

“Let me get you something for the cuts and bruises.” 

“I’m fine-”

“Okay ‘Miss Fine’, just stay there.” You stand up and make sure to cover her again with the blanket. “I’ll be right back.”

You hear her mutter something under her breath and you bury your face in your hands the moment you’re inside.

The next time she was in town it had been weeks since you had seen her last. You had opened the door only slightly when she knocked, shielding half of your face from view. You watch as she eyes you for a second before casually placing one hand on the doorframe and the other goes to grip the edge of the open door. She leans forward towards you. It was as though she could tell you planned on closing it as soon as you were given the chance, so she took the chance from you. 

“You’re not gonna come out here and say hi?” She asked, skepticism in her tone.

“Hey, Ellie.” You clear your throat. “Now’s not really a good time-”

You lose your own grip on the door handle as she tugs the door open. Your arms fall uselessly to your sides as she crosses the threshold into your house for the first time. There was a brief moment in which you watched her take in her surroundings, her eyes darting around before landing on your face. It wasn’t particularly pretty.

The night before you were working and drunk men were never kind, you knew from experience. So when a man grabbed at you to pull you on to his lap you tried politely to tell him to let you go, but he wouldn’t see reason. He was the kind of man that held his pride too tightly. And when you twisted your body in such a way to make your escape he only held you tighter too. You could remember the laughs of the men that surrounded him, the jeers at seeing a woman struggle - it only made you angry. 

So you stomped on his foot with the heel of your boot, he didn’t like that so much. His ego was wounded. Sticky hands reached for you again and you swung at him before he could grab you, something you regretted as soon as you did it. It was no longer a game to him, not when a woman thwarts his advances, so he hit you harder. 

It had hurt then but now all you feel is embarrassed. 

“Who did this to you?” Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to cup your face. “Tell me.”

You try to brush it off. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

“That wasn’t what I asked.” Her voice firm. “Who did this to you.” She repeats. 

“He’s been dealt with don’t worry.” 

“Not by me.” Her voice was filled with so much anger, not towards you, but such anger you weren’t used to. 

You rip out of her grasp and take a step back. “I don’t need you to play white-knight, Ellie.” 

“I know but just let me deal with it.” She presses on.

“So tell me what happens if you deal with him?” You raise an eyebrow. “You go out and you beat him up and then you leave again? And what happens when he comes looking for me and I can’t do anything about it?”

This was the first time you had acknowledged Ellie’s propensity for violence, knew that the stories they tell had to hold some sort of truth. 

“I wouldn’t beat him up.”

“No?”

“I would fucking kill him for touching you.”

You suck in a breath at her admission. It didn’t frighten you, on the contrary, it filled you with some sick sense of pride. She wasn’t telling you this as proof of her reputation, she was telling you because she simply can - because she would.

“Why?”

Her face scrunches. “Because you’re you.” 

“Yes, I’m me and you’re you.” You straighten your back and look her in the eyes. “Tell me the real reason.”

“Because you’re-” You watch as she struggles to find the words. “-You’re my person.” She said the words with such finality it made you want to flinch but you kept your stance firm. 

“I’m your person?” She nods. “Can I ask you a question then?”

“Of course.” She’s fidgeting like what you said wasn’t what she wanted to hear but she’s patient enough to hear you out.

“Are you my person? That same way I’m yours?” Your voice is unwavering.

“Of course.” She releases a shaky breath and steps closer to you. 

“I’m not telling you his name.” You whisper, but she’s close enough now to hear it clearly. You could touch her if you wanted to - you wanted to.

She cups your elbow. “I’ll find him anyway.” She replies just as quietly. 

“Okay.” Your eyes flit down to her lips and back to her eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Just kiss me goddammit.” 

She smiles and cups your face again to bring you closer. Your lips slot together and you willingly swallow her moans. She kisses you like she’s hungry and maybe she is - you are too. One of her hands slide down your cheek to rest on the side of your neck and you lean into it, baring your throat to her.

When you break for air you’re met with the sight of a flushed Ellie, her cheeks a rosy red and her breath shaky. 

“Come with me.” She says, doesn’t even try to pose it as a question. 

“Where we going.” You don’t care, you’d follow her anywhere.

She rests her forehead against yours. “Anywhere you wanna go.” 

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Other Shelby Girl

Platonic!Shelby Siblings x reader

Headcanon/Imagine for a second Shelby Sister. Explores dynamics with each sibling based on of the reader were their older or younger sibling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, violence, period-typical sexism, over-protective sibling drama.

Arthur

Older Sister:

You are the third most respected woman in Arthur’s life, which is greater than it sounds. First was Mum, then Polly. To be succeeded only by Polly in Arthur Shelby’s eyes is precious. He’s always looked up to you, but didn’t always show it. After the war, Arthur would come to rely on you heavily for emotional support. There were nights he would come to your home and no be able to speak. Where he would seem to turn back into a little boy, crying into your shoulder as he begs you not to speak of this to the others. When Arthur met Linda, you were one of the few to be supportive. You are Arthur’s greatest advocate, but his pride and Tommy’s influence make it hard to help him. When you have a family of your own, it’ll only make things harder. You often feel like you have to take sides. Still, you do what you think is best.

Younger Sister:

Depending on just how young you are, Arthur might try to put on like he’s your Dad. Arthur doesn’t always know how to talk to you. You’re just a young woman, he doesn’t feel like he can talk to you the way he does with John or Tommy. He wants to tease you and pick on you as he would with Finn, but he can’t. The moment you hit out your bottom lip and look like your feelings got hurt, Arthur is a flustered mess of a guilty brother. You might resist his attempts at being fatherly, or welcome them. Regardless, you can see that Arthur just wants you to know he’s a safe space for you. Maybe if you ask him nice enough, he’ll teach you how to draw horses like he used to. No matter how old you get, Arthur is the brother that still sees you as a little girl.

Thomas

Older Sister:

Before the war, Tommy only saw you as someone who nagged at him. The meddling older sister warning him away from throwing curses at people and fighting with the cops. After the war, you became something far more delicate than that. You became something like his conscience. That pleading voice that begged for peace and forgiveness that grows fainter every year. As adults, you swear sometimes he hates you. The way he disregards you and keeps you at arm’s length. In actuality, he’s only trying to avoid the shame your hopeful gaze gives him. It was you who tried to get the brothers to hide from the draft. It was you who told him getting involved in London affairs would be dangerous. You who told him not to accept anything from the Russians. You were always right. Always good. He also feels he must protect you because you know him when he was soft and weak. Aside from Polly, you’re the last person who ever heard him laugh.

Younger Sister:

He lumps you in with Ada without really meaning to. You and Ada are both younger, and are both girls. As such, you both have similar problems that have his head aching and his trigger finger itching. Two pretty girls tend to attract a lot of scummy men. You’re both so stubborn about not needing anything from him, which is bloody absurd. Of course you need his help. Whatever money you’re making doing legitimate work isn’t going to be enough to keep you safe. You have never gone on a single date without someone Peaky Blinder watching you. Arthur tries to give advice like he’s your dad, and Tommy drops rules on you like he’s your dad. He has absolutely said the phrase, “And where are you going dressed like that?” Tommy will kill your ex-boyfriends if asked, he already knows why you want them dead and he agrees. The only thing he likes more than you accepting his help is hearing you admit he was right.

John

Older Sister:

He is the little brother who reads your diary and eats your food after being told not to. As a kid, John was Hell on legs. As an adult, John is still Hell on legs but with children. Growing up, you spent a lot of time picking John up from police stations and headmaster offices. John stresses you out like he’s being bloody paid for it. But, he loves you dearly and you forgive him more often than you should. John has called you “Mum,” as a joke many times but it’s not quite a lie. As an adult, he is far more respectful towards you. He is one to bow his head when you lecture him about fatherhood and how his drinking is going to harm his children. John respects you enough to take his cap off when he enters your home. However, he’ll still gobble down any treats you’ve left out in the kitchen and have the audacity to say, “What?!” When you shout at him for it.

Younger Sister:

John will not only read your diary and eat your snacks, but he will loudly announce your crush the moment he finds out. Any reluctance Arthur has about picking on you is nonexistent in John. He is a fully grown man who is unafraid to tease you with schoolyard chants in public spaces. Has walked into your room while you were reading just to slap something off of your desk and run. John has spent so long as the younger brother, he has to get his kicks where he can. That said, nobody better say anything rude to you. Ever. One time, a mate of his simply repeated a mean name he had called you and John slugged him for it. Nobody is allowed to annoy you but him. John is obnoxious in an almost biblical sense, but he is the one to see you cry and ask: “Who did that to you.”

Ada

Older Sister:

Yet another sibling to boss her around. Excellent! Ada is one who would resist you trying to take care of her. She doesn’t want to hear your advice! She doesn’t need it! Until her first heartbreak and then she’s sobbing on your bed waiting for you to come home. Ada hates to feel dependent on others, but she does trust you. There’s something special about having a sister. You understand each other in a way your brothers never will. The fear that builds as a man walks a few yards behind you out in the streets at night. How every romance has that bitter taste as you think about all that you’ll lose if you were to get married. Ada gets her best advice from you, but you’re also her security. You were probably the one to start taking her to the movie theater. It’s likely that Ada imitates you subconsciously. When you got your hair bobbed, so did Ada. When you started wearing heels, so did Ada. She denies it, but it’s obvious that she follows your lead.

Younger Sister:

Might be a sad thing to say, but Ada didn’t think much of you until she had Karl. You were just this clinging little sister that everyone thought she was supposed to take care of. All you did was follow her about town and put your nose where it didn’t belong. Tommy probably found out about her and Freddie through you. You don’t mean to be annoying, you’re just lonely. Ada couldn’t see that until she had a child and a home away from Small Heath. The dynamic flips hard when Ada comes back to Small Heath. Ada is all about leading you in “the right direction,” and is very serious about your education. She essentially begs Tommy to set aside money for you to go to university when you express interest. You want to be in with the Peaky Blinders, though. Oh, God. You’re in your rebellious phase and Ada wants to shake you till you forget all about jazz and pretty boys with guns. You both adore each other, but you butt heads over where your life is going and who should have a say in what direction it goes.

Finn

Older Sister:

Between you, Polly and Ada, he’s almost got a mother. As a young boy, Finn has actually called for you as his mother by accident. It makes sense. You were often left in charge of him. To Finn, you are all that he knows. It’s often left to you to make sure he goes to school and stays out of trouble. You’ve spent many afternoons arguing with his teachers to give him a second chance. Finn needs that, someone to stick up for him. That doesn’t mean he always likes it though. Finn wants to be a gangster, like his older brothers. You want him to do literally anything but that. When Tommy, Arthur, and John, pick on him too much you are the one to back Finn up. He used to like it… until he was roughly twelve. What used to be you coming to his rescue has become you inadvertently humiliating him. You try to back off, but Finn makes poor choices for himself which require you to come save him. Therefore, the cycle continues.

Younger Sister:

You are the only one beneath him in the Shelby Family Pecking Order, and he lives for it. When Finn has a bad day, he takes it out on you. Why not? It isn’t like he had anyone else he can push around and be the boss of. So, he’ll cut your dolls’ hair, call you names, and make fun of the things you like. But only if there’s other boys who can see him do it. When he goes too far and you cry, he has to answer to all of your siblings and Polly. Finn picks on you to soothe his own ego. When it’s just you and Finn, he’s very quiet. You two can spend hours not talking but be perfectly happy. Finn likes to turn on the radio and just sit, listening to music or the results of a boxing match. Sometimes, he vents to you about how Tommy wouldn’t let him do this or do that. You always listen to him. Finn usually takes these quiet times to apologize for past pranks or insults. You always forgive him. It’s odd to you how your accepting of his apology seldom puts him in a better mood. Truth is, he’s very jealous of you.

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #arthur shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #john shelby #ada shelby #ada thorne #finn shelby #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #platonic

[baddestbittyontheblock]

anthony bridgerton fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

⊱· bickering by @ijustwant2write anthony bridgerton x reader, eloise bridgerton x reader (platonic) | bullying, fluff 

-the reader uses a lot of sarcasm and it drives anthony crazy and he hates her/want to sweep her of her feet/is totally infatuated with her.

⊱· a potential scandal by @curseofaphrodite anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | fluff, fem!pronouns, anthony's a lil bit mean, suggestive language

-it was hate at first sight. or that's what he thought anyway.

⊱· sweet thing by @snvws anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | 18+ MDNI! in love!anthony. innocent!reader. lots of fluff. pet names. dialogue about sex. anthony is a lil fuckin tease… you’ve been warned. slight period language. no use of [y/n]. will be full on smut.

-anthony and you decide to take a stroll around your garden -- being your best friend, you can’t seem to keep anything from the man. before you know it, a burning question makes it’s way out of your mouth …unexpectedly. luckily for you, anthony takes mercy on you and decides to help you out… if only a little bit

⊱· with his head between her thighs by @gxtitobxby anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | 18+ MDNI innocent!reader, a sprinkle of period typical misoginy and a dash of slut shaming <3 oral (fem receiving), crying, reader calls anthony "my lord"

-“and he uses… his tongue?”

⊱· "with all due respect, i would rather face your wrath than my wife's." by @daydreams-magic01 anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | sexism, 1.6K

⊱· lover by @genyakosstyk anthony bridgerton x reader

-"this is a disaster."

⊱· art is to feel (ch:1) by @peterpparkrr anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | 2.2k

-anthony bridgerton has only one goal for this upcoming social season. to find a wife. what will he do when a young woman with no desire for marriage comes waltzing into his life? 

⊱· baby, baby sweet baby by @iliveiloveiwrite anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | pregnancy, marriage and children, female centric labels - mother, wife, 1.2k

-a snapshot into anthony’s life as a father.

⊱· evergreen by @curseofaphrodite anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | implied smut at the end, besties to lovers, cheesy asf.

-you were back after a long trip and your best friend was pissed - not the best combo

⊱· unexpected affections by @clints-lucky-arrow anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | marriage of convenience, fluff, love confessions, mentions of future children. allusions to hypothetical sex, 3.5k

-the last thing that you expect is to encounter your husband upon a midnight quest for a slice of apple pie. and, most certainly not when the man in question is readily equipped with a fumbling love confession.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton imagine #fic recs #fic rec #anthony bridgerton x you

[ladystarksneedle]

The eye of desire

Summary: A maid at the keep finds herself burdened by changes of green.

Warnings: mentions of period typical sexism, derogatory language and attempted assault (not Aemond)

Word count: 1.6k

Prev<

Next>

The bell in her quarters chimes incessantly waking her up from her slumber as she clamors to dress in haste. It is the hour of ghosts, she realizes as she treads towards the familiar chambers ahead fixing the kercheif over her hair as she’s let in through the doors. He sits by the fireplace in his tunic and trousers, wet and disheveled with a chalice in hand. His wet coat appears to be discarded in haste, lying unevenly on the chaise as he stares ahead acknowledging her presence with a nod. She's swift to get to work, arranging his clothes in piles to be taken away and making preparations for his bath while he sips his wine. There is an unnerving silence that clings to him, haunting her as she busies herself with her task. He sits calmly, staring ahead in satisfaction, a stark contrast to how he'd left for Storm’s end. She silences the pang of jealousy coursing through her as she leaves to organize the pails of water needed to soothe him, missing the way his fingers clench and unclench in tandem.

Ever since the death of King Viserys, the Stranger appears to have made his home in these very walls. She remembers the dreaded day very well, waking up cheerily to attend to him only to be ushered hastily to the dungeons instead, left alone and shivering for hours at the mercy of the Master of the crooked cane and his jaunts with all her questions returning unanswered. She was, however, much luckier than many of those whose company she'd shared. She'd been summoned later, around the hour of the bat, back to his chambers to assist him for the night, just as she had done many times before and dismissed soon after being told to report to him again at dawn.

She'd done so without question, dressing him for what would come to haunt her throughout the days that followed. Some of the maids she knew returned to their positions in time, after pledging their allegiance to the crown, but many did not. She wonders what became of them as well as of her own family. She remembers seeing them last on the morning of the coronation of their new king, in the dragon pit. She'd spotted them all, her brothers along with her parents huddled together before the ground shook with thunder casting them away from each other in a flurry of red. She wonders if they were hurt and nursed back to health as the water before her steams with oils of lavender, almond and wild hazel, warm enough to take away the burden of his day. He steps in promptly before leaning back to let her work her hands through his hair, untangling the knots and massaging his scalp. She feels his body relax as she works, her mind wandering to the condition she's found herself in while he hums in between making her smile ruefully in response. She wonders how his new bride would take up the mantle of care she's religiously put up for him, finally casting her aside. Perhaps then she'd be able to meet those dear to her.

She recovers from her reverie soon enough, in horror and mute delight. The mist that shrouds her prince the next morn is unpalatable and a mockery of her faith in him. The words whispered in the hallways arouse fear and disgust yet the booming voice of the King silences them all with mirth followed by reluctant applause. There's a feast to be held in his honor for blood well spilt. The thought sickens her as she works in preparation for the night to come. The keep has been decorated with banners of green and gold, with stars of the faith lining the halls highlighting the presence of the Gods among them, more ominous compared to the comfort they're there to provide. She blends in perfectly with them too, dressed in beige and green, a tribute to the change being brought about, a mute spectator to it all.

She returns to him at dusk, fiddling as she readies him again. The leather in her hands feels heavy as she fixes it in place lingering at the feel of the golden flame clasp on her fingertips. It feels cold as she lets it go before catching his eye in the mirror. He holds her gaze intuitively before dismissing her with a flick of his wrist. As the night carries on in unexpected cheers and jests she's summoned to the banquet to attend to the merriment. The maids serving them appear to be adequate in number yet she lingers on, helping them serve wine and cake. The King laughs and guzzles his drink, eyes alight as the crowd clamors for his attention flitting from one subject to the next before it lands on her. She's been warned of it and how to go about it once caught, to acknowledge and avoid lest she bear the brunt of his eagerness yet she feels her body stiffen in response. The Stranger lurks in his eyes ready to pounce as he beckons her towards him.

“Come ‘ere wench” he bellows calling her forwards “Let me look at you properly”

She sees her prince turn his head towards her as she walks with the pitcher in hand pouring fresh wine into his cup.

“What a pretty little thing you are” he murmurs running his hand along her back “A fine price to pay for the stag lost to me now, is she not brother?” he says, looking at him.

“The Baratheons will follow you, your grace” she hears the Hand respond with a shake of his head.

“Yes yes, what choice do they have? Lord Borros seems to have a clear head for matters as such. A man like him would hardly prefer to side with pups” he laughs “As strong as they might be” he says smirking as his hand travels lower. She winces in response as she stands still near him.

“Perhaps I might indulge in a little bite after all, I'm sure your bride wouldn't mind after the show you put up”

She feels him clench his jaw as he rises slowly, fingers clasped around his chalice as he stares him down.

“Careful brother we wouldn't want to spoil all the merriment”

“T’is your grace” he responds petulantly, smacking her as she flinches.

“Hmm. Perhaps your grace should let me claim my prize then, for ridding you of one pup, this feast is in my honor after all” he challenges holding his gaze.

She feels the King stare at him before letting her go as he raises his own cup to him. “Of course” he says “You're wound out tight enough, let loose tonight brother, there is more to be done on the morrow” he replies with a glint to his eyes.

She feels his fingers grab her arm hauling her towards the door as some of the drunken lords erupt in cheers, trying to hide the shame that burns through her.

She's taken to those familiar doors in haste, tugged along like a doll before he dismisses the guard at the door. The room feels warm yet she shivers running her hands over her arms.

“Sit” he commands, seating himself before the hearth. He pours her a cup of wine and she accepts it trembling as she takes a sip near him. “I will not force you” he says looking at her as she drinks.

“It is what he does with most” she whispers bravely “To the maids, I've heard them complain.”

“My brother has a taste for depravity” he says as she lets his words linger.

“What do you wish to do with me?” she asks, gazing at him in doubt.

“Whatever you'd like,” he says, eye glinting dangerously.

“And if I refuse, would things go back to the way they were”

“If that is what you want”

“It is my lot in this life”

“And here I considered your position to be a bit more accomodating” he huffs in jest.

“In what way? Many like me have had their lives upheaved by a mistake”

“You consider this to be one” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“There is no justice in this world”

“Yet you cling in prayer to the Father”

She looks at him disbelief as he drums his fingers against the armrest. “I find he seldom listens to some of us”

“No, some of us seek it in our own way” he responds thoughtfully.

“I do not wish to be hurt”

He looks at her for a moment before tilting his head in response. “You've served me well over the years, do you think I'd demand more than what you could give”

“Would this be an extension of my duties then?”

“Yes”

“And we'd continue the way we were before, but with me being your lover” she asks blushing.

“A convenient arrangement”

She fidgets in response as he gets up, irritated by her disagreeableness. “You may leave if you wish to, I will not hold it against you”

“It doesn't bother me” she whispers coming up to stand behind him before continuing “It never has and none of it ever will”

He stares at her as he turns to face her, sensing her hesitancy. “You will have my protection. It shall be with you as long as you wish to continue”

She nods in response before reaching up to touch his face. He startles before letting her set her hand on his cheek stroking his wound. She sees him stare into her eyes, daring her as she removes his eyepatch.

“Does it still hurt?” she whispers.

He hums as he leans down to capture her lips. She tastes the sweetness of wine on his tongue as he caresses her and the bitterness of smoke that clings to him as he lights her aflame. It is the last thing she remembers before drifting off to bliss, considering her own blood well spilt.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @b00kw0rmsworld

#house of the dragon #aemond x maid reader #aemond fics #zae's fics #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

[loulouwrites]

HOME . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie comes back to a not so peaceful home warnings: unedited, pregnancy, period typical sexism, gender roles, angst, alfie isn't a very good husband but he's trying, they're a lil toxic but they're in love, swearing, slight sexual content (literally one mention of it), lmk if i missed any. word count: 3.8k

The days were too fucking long.

That's what Alfie thought as he walked through the front door, the sun had set hours hours ago, a nighttime fog clouding the dimly lit streets.

His day had been an easy one, by all accounts. He hadn't had to reprimand anybody, he had received minimal visitors in his office, and his knuckles were not bruised from where he had to smack a man for mouthing off. All in all, it had been a good day for the gangster.

Home had always been a welcome reprieve from his day job. Growing up in Camden, with no money and without a pot to piss in, he had never known the comfort of having your own home to come back to, one without the shouts of arguing neighbours coming through the walls, or black mold coming through the peeling patterned wallpaper.

Once he had finally made enough money through his multiple business ventures, he had bought a pretty house on the corner of a nice street - a street with trees that blossomed in the summer, one where the residents had time to take pride in their gardens - a truly upper class paradise.

He always thought his mother would have liked a home like this one.

It didn't come without its challenges - his neighbours would tend to cross the road when they saw him walking home, they would rush back in their houses when they saw him leaving his, even his dog was isolated from the other canine residents of the street - still, it was his home.

It was the home in which he had held his wedding reception, big enough to host the many people that came to wish him and his bride a happy life together. It was the home in which his first and second child had been born in - the first tears they cried occurring in their parents bedroom. It was the house the baby that was still growing in his wife's belly would be born in, too.

The house was different now. When he had first moved in - a single man that spent more time in his distillery than the expensive home - it had been slightly cold all the time, bare walls and empty cupboards. Now, the house was always the perfect temperature, the walls were decorated with stylish wallpaper and art he didn't understand in gold frames, there wasn't a cupboard in the house that wasn't full, perfectly organised and tidy.

It had gone from Alfie's status symbol to his family home.

It was hotter than usual when he walked through the foyer, though he didn't have time to dwell on it, the screams of his youngest child piercing his ears the second he opened the front door.

It was unusual and it made Alfie reach for the gun he always kept tucked into the back of his belt. The house was always filled with laughter when he arrived home from work, especially when he was home as early as he was now.

He crept toward the kitchen, the pained cries of his little girl getting louder with every step he took, his gun held in front of him.

"Daddy's home!"

He barely had time to register what was happening when he reached the kitchen, a harsh shove to his side sent him flying into the door frame, the gun going off and shooting a hole in the china cabinet before he even knew what was happening.

"What the fuck, Alfie?" He could barely hear his lovely wife's voice over the cries of his children. Looking to his right, his son was crouched on the floor, his hands covering his ears as he cried for his mummy.

His little girl was crying even louder now from her place on her mother's hip, her small hand gripping the woman's hair that had fallen out of her up-do.

"It was an accident," Alfie held his hands up, quickly dropping them to his side when his children cried louder at the sight of the gun in his hand, "he pushed me," he gestured to the boy that was still crouched on the floor.

"He's fucking eight years old, Alfie," his wife scoffed, rushing over to the little boy and kneeling beside him, running a hand through his hair in the comforting way only a mother was capable of.

"Stop swearing in front of the children."

"You just fired a fucking gun into the china cabinet," she shrieked, struggling to stand with the pronounced bump of her belly and child in her arms.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, tucking the gun back into his belt and running a hand over his face. "Benjamin," he held a hand out to his youngest, who had stopped crying, his face stained with tears. The young boy ignored his father, tucking himself into his mother's side, throwing a glare at the man.

Alfie sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he studied the three most important people in his life as they stood in front of him, a team that he was not on.

He was about to open his mouth and apologise when a cloud of smoke drifted over to him, stinging his eyes. He glanced to the oven, where the pot on the stove began to shake. The liquid inside bubbled furiously, its simmering turning into a violent boil. The aroma, once promising and inviting, transformed into an acrid, burning smell that hit everyone in the kitchen all at once.

"Shit," his wife spat, shoving their daughter into her father's arms carelessly before rushing to the stove, grabbing the pot with uncovered hands, and throwing it into the sink. She hissed as the pain registered, running her hands under the cold water, the skin red and angry.

"I can get these two ready for bed," he offered meekly, shrinking back slightly at the glare he received.

"Oh, how kind of you," she hissed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, turning back to the sink before anyone in the kitchen could see them fall.

Bedtimes were not Alfie's forte. He would usually arrive home after the children had been bathed and changed, just early enough to dip into their respective bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Even when he was home, he was too tired from his day to do much more than that, leaving it to the woman that seemed to be a natural at such things.

"Bessie, please," Alfie huffed as the two year old splashed him with water. It had taken him longer than he would like to admit to even get her in the bath, her body straightening into an unbreakable line when he tried to lift her in, wriggling through his hands in a way that made him feel like he was holding the world's strongest jelly.

The little girl laughed as she continued to soak her father with bubbles, blowing them from her tiny hand in his face whenever he tried to reach over and rinse the suds from her curly hair.

He gave up eventually, hoisting her out of the bath before she knew what was happening, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to her bedroom.

She sat on her little bed, watching him with curious eyes as grumbled to himself digging through her wardrobe trying to find a pair of pyjamas.

"Don't suppose you fancy wearing this to bed?" He held up a frilly dress he remembered her wearing to his cousins wedding, throwing it back in the drawer when she giggled at him.

"Her pyjamas are in the drawers, not the wardrobe," Benjamin's voice called from the door frame. He was stood in his nightwear, his hair still damp from his own bath.

"I knew that," Alfie scoffed, slamming the wardrobe closed and stalking over to the other side of the room, pulling open the chest of drawers less than gently.

"Second drawer, not first," Benjamin stated, and Alfie failed to recall a time he felt more judged than in this very moment. He finally located a pair of pyjamas, moving to sit on the bed next to his daughter as he began to dress her, thanking his lucky stars she seemed to have burned off most of her energy in the bath, her body floppy with tiredness.

"Mummy cried a lot today," his son said, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed in a way that reminded Alfie too much of himself. "Bessie was being difficult."

"Bessie is two years old," the older man's eyebrows pinched together. "You were difficult too at that age." He finished dressing Bessie, gently pulling the covers back and placing her small head on the pillow as her eyes began to droop closed.

"How would you know?" Alfie's head snapped towards his son at his words.

"Excuse me?" The question was asked through gritted teeth.

"Bubbe came over," Alfie fought the urge to roll is eyes at the mention of his mother-in-law. The old cow had never liked him. "Mummy told her you were never around when I was little and you're not around now."

"Did she now?" He muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Bubbe said you always have been a bad husband, and you're an even worse father."

"Now you listen right here," Alfie rose to a standing position, pointing a finger at his son, his voice quiet despite the anger he was feeling, careful not to wake the sleeping terror now tucked up in bed. "I am your father. You do not speak to me like that."

"I wish you weren't."

Alfie didn't know what to say, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had received gun shot wounds that were less painful than hearing those words come from his son's mouth. Benjamin didn't wait for a response from his father, pushing himself from the door frame and storming to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

His eyes drifted to his daughter, now dead to the world, her long eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed of whatever two year old girls dreamed about. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his stomach clenching as the words repeated in his head.

I wish you weren't.

She was sat at the kitchen table when he eventually made his way downstairs. The shattered glass from the china cabinet had been cleaned up, and he made a mental note to have someone come out to replace it as quickly as possible.

Her cup of tea had gone cold, but she still had her hands clasped around the delicate china.

"Your hands alright?" He asked, throwing himself down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She hummed in response, her eyes not lifting from the kitchen table. "Is dinner ready?"

That got her attention, her narrowed eyes meeting his, and she scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Her chair scraped against the tiled floor as she stood, stalking over to the other side of the kitchen. He kept his eyes in front of him, his hands resting on the table, not hearing her until she came up behind him, throwing the burned pot in between his hands on the table.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the silver pot that had now turned black on the bottom, before he slammed his hands down on the table, his own chair scraping as he stood up angrily.

She rolled her eyes at him, walking out of the kitchen carelessly and into the living room, her husband hot on her heels. It was as if he wasn't there, the way she strolled into the room and sat on the dark blue velvet sofa, crossing her legs as if she were about to pick up a book.

The living room was always his favourite room of the house. It was warm and inviting, a room that had been filled with so much laughter and happiness. Now, it felt like the coldest room in the house.

"The fuck have I done now?" Alfie stood in front of her, hands on his hips and chest puffed out, ready for a fight.

"Besides shoot at me and your daughter?" She raised a brow, it could almost come across as playful to someone who didn't know her as well as he did.

"Fuck off," he sneered. "You were nowhere near."

"The bullet went right over my head, Alfie."

"I've shot a gun in this house several times - I know you're not upset about that."

"Aren't I a lucky lady?" She shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Fuck-"

"Tell me to fuck off one more time," she rose up from her seat on the sofa, poking a manicured finger in his chest.

"Tell me what I've fucking done, then," he tried to grab her wrist, but she shook it out of his grasp, taking a step to the side to avoid his reach.

"Nothing, Alfie," she groaned, running her hands through her hair. "You've done absolutely nothing."

Alfie Solomons was not a stupid man, nor was he ignorant to a woman's tone. He knew exactly what she was implying with her words, and it did nothing to stop the anger that was bubbling in his stomach, creeping up his chest, and out of his mouth.

"For fuck's sake, woman," he shouted, his anger growing when she turned her back to him, beginning to leave the room. "I do fuckin' everythin' to provide for you and this family, and you sit there with your fuckin' feet up, tellin' me I do fuckin' nothing."

She spun back around at his words, "keep your fucking voice down, the kids are asleep."

"Yeah, I know," he offered an exaggerated smile, "I put them to bed while you sat down here drinking fucking tea."

He could see in her eyes that she wanted to slap him, and in his anger, he wanted her to.

Just give me a fucking reason.

But she didn't, she barely acknowledged him, leaving the room and walking up the stairs. When Benjamin had been born, they had both agreed arguments occurred downstairs when he was asleep. Neither of them were naive enough to think they would never have fights - both outspoken and stubborn by nature - and they had honoured that agreement for the past eight years.

But not tonight.

Alfie stormed out of the living room, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. He pushed the door to their bedroom open, finding her stood there with her arms held out, a pillow and blanket in them, offering them to him wordlessly. He grabbed them out her hands, throwing them to floor without a word.

He couldn't count how many times she had rolled her eyes this evening.

"It's that fucking woman again, isn't it?" He spoke finally, and she breathed deeply at his words.

"Alfie, my mother has nothing to do with it."

"Really? Because every time she pops in you suddenly have a problem with me."

Alfie's feud with his mother-in-law predated his relationship with his wife. The woman had never liked him, her lips would purse whenever she saw him at a mutual friend's wedding, she would glare at him in the street when she was walking home from the market.

When she found out he had been fucking her only daughter, she had gone ballistic, and they had shared a mutual dislike for each other for decades now.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alfie. She hasn't even been around today."

"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips, and the way she avoided his face confirmed she was lying. She didn't pop round, call me a bad father in front of my fucking son?"

His wife's brows furrowed at his words, her mouth opening and closing around words she couldn't speak.

"Let me tell ya, I don't give a shit what you and that woman talk about," he stalked towards her, every step forward matched with a step back from her. "But if she comes 'round, bad mouthin' me in front of my children again - poisoning their minds against me, me and you are goin' to have a big fucking problem."

"'Poisoning their minds?" she sneered. "You think they need my mother to do that?"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You think she's the reason your son fucking hates you?" He took a step back at her words, Benjamin's words from earlier ringing in his ears.

I wish you weren't.

I wish you weren't.

"You're never fucking here, Alfie. Benjamin spends more time with Bessie than you do, he's the one who has to take her when I'm sick all morning, he's the one who sees how hard it is for me. Not you. You're always at work, even when you're home."

Alfie was floored by her words. He thought back to hours ago, when he was walking through his door with a smile on his face, ready to have dinner with his wife and go and kiss his children goodnight. How did the evening get away from him so much?

"Well he shouldn't have to do that," he spoke eventually, his voice softer.

"No, he shouldn't," she agreed, reaching to touch his shoulder gently. "But he feels like he has to-"

"Why are you making him do all that?"

Her hand dropped from his shoulder heavily, moving to place it on her chest in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"He's a boy. You're his mother, you shouldn't be makin' him pick up your slack because you're not feeling up to it," her eyes widened at his words, tears pooling in the corners. "I mean, what kind of mother are you?"

"I...I..." The words wouldn't come for her, as if they were getting caught in her throat. She stopped trying in the end, nodding at his words and sniffing quietly. "I'm going to sleep with Bessie tonight."

He didn't try to stop her from leaving.

It was nearing 9 o'clock when he knocked on Benjamin's door, stepping in before the boy had a chance to say anything. He knew he wouldn't be asleep, his son - like him - was a night owl by nature, staying up until the early hours of the morning.

He was sat up in bed when his father walked in, reading a book in the dim light of his bedroom. He reminded Alfie so much of his mother.

"I talked to mum," Alfie said, closing the door gently behind him, lingering in the room as if he were a stranger.

"I heard," Benjamin said, closing his book.

"I'm sorry," the words felt wrong on his tongue, he had never been one to apologise to anybody. "I know mum asks a lot of you, but you shouldn't feel like-"

"Mum doesn't as a lot of me," the young boy interrupted, shaking his head in protest.

"Benny, I know you think you have to defend her-"

"I don't. Mum never asks me to do anything. I like helping her, someone has to."

That feeling in Alfie's stomach returned, the twisting pain in his gut, it seemed his son was determined to kill him tonight.

"Today, Bessie wasn't feeling well and neither was mum, Bessie wouldn't stop crying and mum was being sick and then bubbe came over and kept telling mum the house was too messy and Bessie wasn't dressed properly and when she left mum kept crying."

"I get it's hard, but everyone has hard days, Benny."

"Not mum. She told bubbe she's scared to have the baby because she doesn't know if she can handle three alone. Mum's never been scared before."

"She said that?" Alfie asked, his voice breaking slightly and Benjamin nodded in confirmation.

"I lied before," Benjamin told his father, ducking his head in shame. "Mum didn't say anything bad about you. Only bubbe did. Mum said you were doing your best."

And just like that, the animosity Alfie held towards his wife disappeared, replaced by a shame he had never felt before . He had stolen, betrayed and killed, and yet, he had never felt worse than how he felt in this very moment.

"Thanks for tellin' me the truth," there wasn't much else he could say. "Now go to bed, it's late." He opened the door to leave when Benjamin called out to him.

"I lied too. I'm glad you're my dad."

"So am I, son."

Alfie leaned against the closed door, his eyes on the one opposite him. His hand reached for the doorknob but he pulled it back before he touched it, making his way to his empty bedroom.

The sunlight crept in from the cracks in the curtains, bleeding into the bedroom, casting the pink floral wallpaper in an orange hue. She reached over for the little girl that had slept by her side the whole night, finding the spot next to her empty, the sheets cold beneath her hands.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, pulling herself out of bed with a struggle, the growing bump making it harder to move every day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she kept muttering, rushing down the stairs. She had overslept and her two year old daughter was probably missing. It felt like she cried more often than not lately, tears spilled from her eyes as she glanced in the empty living room before rushing to the kitchen.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding when she entered, seeing Bessie sat in her highchair, laughing in delight at a piece of toast.

"Mornin," she approached the kitchen table apprehensively, the sight of her husband and children sat there, already dressed and eating breakfast with smiles on their faces, not feeling real. "We made toast, know that's all you've been able to keep down lately," her husband told her, standing up to pull out a chair for her. She took it with a smile.

"Aren't you needed at work?" She asked, nodding a thanks as he poured her a cup of tea.

"I am," Alfie nodded, "but Ollie can deal with it, I've given him strict orders I am not to be disturbed today."

"Alfie," she shook her head in protest. She didn't want this, for him to feel obligated to be here, for him to take over her duties in the home.

"None of that," he stopped her spiralling. "They can manage without me for a few days until we figure out something."

She smiled gratefully at him. She knew he understood, she didn't need him there all the time, she just needed a break.

"I also spoke to your mum," her brows raised at his words. The only time Alfie had spoken to her mother voluntarily was when he rang her to call her a dozy cow before hanging up without another word. "She's going to come over more, take the kids out, pick Benny up from school and all that."

"Thank you." She reached out to take his hand on the table, linking their hands together, squeezing in appreciation.

"Just don't expect breakfast everyday, that toaster is a fuckin' nightmare."

thanks for reading. i enjoyed writing and am considering making a lil series of this family so lmk if that's something you'd like to see!

#alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons

[thebottomfromhell]

can i please request the upper moons +muzan falling for a human female reader please? i kinda wanna see how they treat reader different ( cause akaza don’t hurt women)

Ok, female version of this post, then. Again, it won't be pretty, Reader being a woman instead of a man won't make most of these guys act much different, since the reaction was more focused on Reader's humanity than the gender/sex. But they would feel it very differently, considering that this guys would be sexist AF (reminder that being sexist is more than hitting women).

For this time I will not be adding Muzan for tha sake of making something more abour him later (Sexism is an important topic for this prompt, and I am still figuring out how to make traist of his) sorry for that. :''/

Uppermoons reaction of falling in love with Human Female Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers, Reader's death, Cannibalism, Yandere behavior, Mentioned torture, Non-consented body modifications (becoming a demon), Implied non-con sexual content, Predatory-animalistic behavior, Münchausen syndrome, Vore elements (not in a kinky way), Implied child abuse, Typical sexism of the time period, Mentions of menstrual period, And Each of these is a warning on their own.

Gyutaro (ft. Daki):

First things first, Daki loathes you. She sees you as hag trying to steal her big brother away from her. Good luck so she doesn't kill you.

"I have my eyes on you, you whore! I'm watching!" .... brats.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro knows he likes you but he doesn't want to acccept it. Liking a human? It's acary, a weakness against other demons and slayers.

Also, he is sure you won't want him, an ugly freak with a lady, what a laugh! He can't trust you, specially if you say you want him back. It's a lie.

He doesn't know how to behave with you, the only person he ever loved was his sister, and he was never able to tell her "no", and he is sure he won't be able to say it to you too. That is scary.

You have a lot of power over him, he protects you, takes care of you, obeys you when you tell him something, but he stays away most of the time.

He looks at you, yearning, to the point it's obssesive. You never leave his head.

Daki, because she has been also looking, knows if you do something, threats and destroys your things, protective over Gyutaro.

"Daki, ne... cut it off." "BUT ONII-CHAN!"

Make a move yourself, or this will continue until you die, since Gyutaro will also protect you from his sister, but won't be able to stop her completely. She hates you.

He won't force you to anything, respect you, understand you have it hard as a woman without him, so he won't hold it against you id you want to leave. Or at least he will try not to.

Still, against him? You will always be free.

Gyokko:

Gyokko is fast to figure put what he wants you to do, that he wants you to stay, even if it takes a bit more time to figure out how he feels about you.

You fill his taste, there is no mistake, and his tastes are the best. So he makes sure to praise you almost as much as his ability to choose.

"You are beautiful, no canvas can compare to you. Look at yourself and tell me I am right, that you don't deserve my praise and attention."

He will teach you a bit of his arts, even if he doesn't really expects you to learn in the same "profesional" way he does. Art for women is a hobby, and if it gets as far to be a job then they must abandon the idea of having husband and children.

Then again, he is not a husband, and having him gatting you away from human standards and society might give you the chance to be a true artist.

He eats parts of you as punishment id he thinks you crossed the line, but he is more lenient he would be if you were a man. "Woman are more fragile and hysterical, of course you I need to be understanding."

3 strikes is a foot in his mouthes, 6 to the knee, 9 all the leg. You can only have so many strikes before becoming more a burden than you are worth, without limbs.

You can beg for him to turn you or die, neither way he will make a piece of art of your body before your death. You will be sublime no matter what, but life will only come with begging.

He will make you stay awake through the pain, he will open you up a hole in your stomach, mold it into a form that represents the new birth. He will take away your organs, use your blood as make-up, dress you up nicely in red and white.

He won't even take a bite off as he pours his blood in the new hole, making you his forever.

Hantengu:

He cowers away at the slightlest chance of falling in love.

He disappeared, almost from thin air. Hiding... from a human... Upper 4 for you, ladies...

He comes back to cry about it, sobbing and sometimes hurting you with his clwas by accident as he grabs you.

He had several wives in his life as human, he knows how to treat them, or at least he should know, feeling pressured.

Why can't he just treat you like he treated them? Why is he so scared? He knows he is not doing it right but he can't bring himself to be charming and behave as a gentleman.

He is aware of his flaws, and id terrified with the idea you will leave him for it, even if he is not around most of the time, coming back and forward, comes to cry and then leaves.

Are you food? Are you beloved? Are you useless? Are you beautiful? Are you conforting? Are you nice? Are you about to die because of him? Are you going to reject him?

He will stab you in your sleep, or in an argument, he killed wives during those before. All with a knife instead of his abilities as a demon.

He didn't have to be a demon to kill women and children, and he is really sorry, but you had to die for his sake.

Sekido:

Ok, you have three seconds before shit explodes, so if you run you might save yourself.

3... 2... 1... "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT?!" There it is, that is all it took him.

A few days he kept think of you and he knew... you fucked up. You must scape until he calms down.

The fact that a fragile human, a defenceless woman, can make his heart beat faster and his face blush is simoly embarrasing. He hates it, it makes him angry, it makes him feel vulnerable.

The other clones are your best bet to get it this far, go for Karaku, he will keep you alive only for the sake of teasing Sekido.

Both of you know you will die, the more the likes you, the worse he will feel, and he will take it out of you.

You are just a human, you won't be able to survive him unless you become a demon, but he will not accept your refusal. He won't even tell you.

The relationship becomes stable in your new form, he just bites your neck and opens his wrist with his nails to transform you.

"Don't you dare trying to get away from me, woman."

Karaku:

"Gonna rock your body all night, it's lust at first sight" - probably Karaku if he knew Chris Crocker.

That is your chance for survival, and you take it, making him chose lust over gluttony.

He does threat of getting rid of you, but he makes sure to get you money, besides the flirting and gifts, considering he is aware he basically ruined your chance of a married life. He teases you about it when he feels cruel.

He makes sure to pleasure you, even if you don't want to, you don't get to make that choice.

It does take him more years than if you were a man to realize this is not normal lust, but that he is romantically attected to you.

He decides to transform you into a demon, doesn't warn or ask, when he realizes it.

He does it during sex, he bites you, moaning against your new wounds and the taste of blood. He will open his neck for you.

He will offer yourself to you once you wake up as a demon, memories lost and replaced with hunger and thirst. Not remembering the cold feeling of losing blood against his skin.

"Hey love~. Spend the night with me, will ya? I am all yours now, show me what you can do with it~."

Urogi:

Good news, Urogi doesn't want to hurt you.

Bad news, Urogi will hurt you anyway.

It's not even on purpose, he just gets carried away when he plays with you. He is not the most aware of the clones, so playful scratches and bites become dangerous.

He chases you sometimes, always wants attention, to play with you.

He likes to stay with you while you sleep, cuddling against you, sometimes you find him smelling around your scrotch when you are in your period, keeping his face around the area like a dog...

He gets bored of your limitations rather easily, so he decides to try to turn you i to a demon, consecuences be damned.

The last straw is a night when you have your period, the bited part of your legs your thighs, excited in different ways by the scent of ruined blood and vagubal fluids.

Then he will bleed into you, biting his own wrist off, feeding you chunks of his arms after spreading the blood over you.

He will chew and feed you mouth to mouth if it troubles you, only wanting to play with you, the new demon you.

Aizetsu:

His priority is that you are human.... and again, he is rude and hurtful about it.

"It's so sad for both of us. You can't be enough for me just like I can't be what you need. Pathetic." This bit-

Just a heartbeat put of place and knots in the throat were enough for Aizetsu to figure it out, and he didn't like it.

Humans are meant to die, besides, he can't be the husband you would need.

Still, he takes the chance of comfort, to pretend for both of you. He manipulates you into feeling pity for him, and that is how the relationship is formed.

He does kill you, painless and softly conforting you first, the second it becomes a problem.

He will also let you have your last words and wishes, will tell you that he wishes he could have been husband material for you.

He makes a memorial, kisses your corpse goodbye before leaving you behind.

"This is so sad."

Nakime:

Truth be told, she is not surprised.

She can see the appeal in you, she has always prefered women over men, Muzan being the exception, even if he is the exception of many things.

Nakime is very lenient with you, she understands that, as a human, you are more fragile than her, so she must treat you carefully.

She would not put you above Muzan, but she takes care of you, gives you gifts, spends time with you, praises you. You are a lovely lady to her.

Still, unless he approves she will not be transforming you. If he does, she will without any second thought or opinion.

The breaking deal is the next one, she kidnaps you for a while and the leaves you safely at your home. She controls all the interactions.

Why should she listen to you? She adores you, but you are still a human, nothing worth her obedience.

She would not kill you, no matter what. The only way you could die like this is suicide, age or ilness.

Then again, at the end Muzan decides to let her turn you, so he bleeds into a cup and feeds you ger blood, not letting you out until you do.

Akaza:

It starts when Akaza accidently calls you "Koyuki..." the first time you met. He fell hard and fast, and in a painful way.

He begged you to stay, not really knowing why. He cried, grabbed your legs as his knees stayed on the floor.

He needs you, craves for you, to the point of obsession. It takes him a while for him to realize he could turn you into a demon, because part of him venerates the image of a human girl with pink eyes and cheeks.

He can't hurt you when you deny him, but he wants to. He needs to, you have to understand why you should want to be a demon. Why you should want to be forever young, strong and healthy, to stay in the way things were before the poison in the well.

At the same time, he wants to take care of you, and he starts inviting himself to your house, doing the chores and watching you sleep.

He doesn't understand why he is always cheking your temperature and if you are breathing correctly, there is something relieving but also off putting when you always are ok. As if you should be sick.

Maybe part of him wants you to be sick so he can take care of you, but he can't hurt you.

You can't get rid of him, no matter how much you try, he always ends tucking you to bed and forcing you to stay in there until you sleep. He never listens, always treat you as if you were fragile and sick.

He learns how to make your favorites, cleans the house and laundry, starts getting money and pretends to nurse you, even if you don't have anything.

He doesn't know how to feel when you die of age, it's the only way you could die like this, but he breaks. Again.

Sometimes he still calls you Koyuki.

Douma:

Douma starts comparing you with Kotoha and his mother, he is quite vocal about it.

He tells you how silly you are, that his mom and Kotoha were the same, but each of you had your charm.

Yes, "had". He mostly talks about you in past tense, ge is planning to eat you soon. Kotoha almost scaped him and his mother became "too irrational, killed my father with a knife but poisoned herself" with time, so he wants to spare you the chase.

He talks about your face, your eyes, your hair and skin, mostly, he does things he did with Kotoha, hoping to make you laugh. Simple pleasures, not meant to last.

Both women left him, he is 100% sure you would if he gave you the chance, so he doesn't. He kept you by his side for some months, at most.

You are fun to be with, and he is sure he is fun to be around with too... maybe. Not that it matters, you don't really have a choice. Your words against his.

Also, turning you into a demon would give you the chance to run away while he is in a meeting with the other moons. How silly and stupid would it be from him!

He has made his mind to eat you the second he notices that, whatever he is feeling, this lust hunger, this craving, is like Kotoha's.

Because of his experience with her, he will make sure it's in his room, to make it right this time. Also, he will break your leg first, so you can run, coveribg your mouth and cooing you as you try to scream.

He will eat your tongue and lips first, complimenting the taste and texture, in a soft kiss, not really caring if you want it or not. That way you won't be able to formulate your screams for help.

He starts eating you from below, wanting to finish with your head and eyes since he had to blow Kotoha's. He doesn't want to repreat the regret of ruining such a pretty face.

Douma takes his time with you, talking softly and gently, praising you you taste and feel in his mouth, praising how you look.

He is more than satisfied after he finished, stomach full and you forever inside of him. Lovely.

Kokushibou:

This is the first time in his life that he wants the attention of a woman that isn't his mother.

He never felt attracted to women (or anyone, even if he always felt more in place sharing his life with other men), his wife included, he married her as his duty of producing heirs.

Having a woman by his side has always been a responsibility at best, a chore at worst.

But he wants you, and he can't understand it. It's new and confusing, that is the only reason he notices a few days after he catched feelings. Because loving women, wanting women, it's not normal for him.

He watches you, even yearns for you, but his pride and confusion don't make him do anything.

He blames you, resents you, calls you "a temptress" in his mind. What have you done to him? At least he doesn't conpare you to his his brother, but his other relationship with women don't let him relate you to a pleasure.

You are also human, meant to die like his mother and wife did, meant to be remember just as someone's husband and mother. Why are you stealing his attention, then? There is nothings special about you.

But this way it's easier to pretend he doesn't care the moment you die, easier than with Yoriich.

You are lovely, he keeps you around, but besides that? You are just a woman. A pause from his life as a samurai demon at best, a distraction at worst.

He will resent you after you die, but he will also forget you the same way he forgot about the other women in his life. There are only two people in his life with any importance, one was a boy to a man, the other is his King and Master. Women were never important in his life.

#demon slayer #kny #upper moons #kny x reader #karaku #urogi #aizetsu #sekido #gyutaro #hantengu #daki #gyokko #nakime #akaza #douma #kokushibou #female reader #this is royally fucked up #x2

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 2

Chapter 2 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve settles in with the cheer team, finding real friends that are by his side. They work towards the competition and compete, which Steve enjoys enough to maybe consider staying a little bit longer. A conversation with Dustin and Will convinces him.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: eating disorder, period typical homophobia, bullying, f-slur, child abuse mention

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: The Competition

Steve has first period biology with Heather, who is waiting at the door to walk with him. They get some looks from people as they pass and Steve hopes that the rumor that will go around is that they’re dating instead of Steve Harrington has become a cheerleader.

He skips over going to his locker, because everyone knows where his locker is and it’s a place where he’s an easy target.

By the time lunch rolls around, he has to admit that he hasn’t had this good a day in a while. The constant presence of the cheer girls that either intimidate people or whom people want to impress, means that he doesn’t get pushed around as much. And it’s nice that he can talk to someone during his classes instead of just holding his head down and hoping no one looks at him.

The cafeteria feels just as daunting as yesterday. Eyes follow him as he crosses the room and goes to sit at the cheer table. Mutters float up all around him and he feels his chest tighten as he hears some of the words that are thrown around behind his back.

A small hand on his arm snaps him out of the impending sense of doom and he looks up to meet Chrissy’s eyes.

She’s a sophomore he learned yesterday and she looks a bit uncertain about touching him. However, she pushes through it and smiles at him. Chrissy doesn’t mention anything about the whispers and just says: “Coach Miller was in a bad mood when I had her today. I think we’re running laps later,” and wrinkles her nose.

Steve laughs and asks: “Not a fan of laps?”

“Not really, no,” she smiles.

“Ugh, laps are the worst,” Susan butts in. “Like running isn’t that bad, but coach always makes us do special running. Like heels to butt or knees up and it’s so tiring.”

Now that she mentions them, Steve has seen the cheerleaders running in ways that always looked exhausting to him. He grimaces and comments: “Oh yeah, I remember those. They looked like they suck.”

That earns him some giggles, especially when they remind him he’s now a part of it too and his face falls.

After that lunch is bearable. The cheerleaders are fun to talk to, though in a different way. It’s not a competition of who did the wildest shit or insulting each other, instead they just lean in a talk about classes, a new shirt they got, something they’re not looking forward too.

Steve doesn’t chime in much, content to sit there instead of outside or in a bathroom. He starts to feel normal again, surrounded by girls and getting some envious stares. He’s not interested in any of them, but it’s nicer than what’s been happening.

After school, they go to practice. Steve decides to change in a toilet as to not have to face the boys and he has brought his tracksuit for after practice.

Coach Miller is indeed in a bad mood and they run more laps than necessary, in Steve’s opinion at least. He’s an athletic person, but at the end he’s also reaching for his water bottle like a dying man in the desert.

However, when practice is over, he feels content. There is something to putting in an effort and it going right that feels good. Yesterday, he was the main reason not everything went well and though he has a bit to go, today he fared much better.

He drives Lisa home again, along with Chrissy, whose mom couldn’t come get her and told her to walk home. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous to expect anyone to walk a few miles after practice, not to mention that Chrissy didn’t even bring a snack. She refused the one he offered, but did take him up on the drive home.

And this is how most of the week goes.

There are still comments thrown at his head and whispers that go around, but he is a Harrington and Harringtons hold their heads up and ignore rumors about them. His mother has been ignoring the infidelity rumors for long enough and Steve has always been more like her.

The biggest thing that happens to him is on Thursday, when he gets to his locker to find the word fag smeared over it with paint. People around his start to giggle and point as they see him with his locker. But Steve just stands there frozen as he sees the word.

He knew this could happen when he said yes. It’s the reason he said no first. Because this is what people think of him now, this is what his father can never hear.

Steve is a Harrington and Harrington men are the epitome of masculinity. They play basketball or swim. They marry a cheerleader, they aren’t one. Because being a cheerleader means being a faggot and that is the worst thing one can be.

For years Steve has lived with this knowledge, molded himself to it. But now he stopped listening to the voice of his father, who is always in the back of his mind. Look where it got him.

And it’s not like he can deny it. That’s the worst part. Not performing King Steve continuously has opened his eyes to some of the things he did, because he felt like he had to, instead of because he wanted to himself.

So, he realized alone in his room that all the girls he went after, he did because they were desired by others, which meant it was a win to get them first. It wasn’t because he actually liked them. He never has.

When he saw Nancy with Jonathan, he was hurt, sure. But he was more jealous of Nancy for being held by Jonathan than the other way around. And ending the friendship with Tommy hurt more than the break up with Nancy.

It feels like everyone knows that now.

His vandalized locker stares back at him and he takes a breath before opening it, ignoring the word written there. If it looks like it affects him, it will only be used against him more. He just has to ignore it.

Still, he’s out of it for the rest of the day and the cheer squad notices. Lisa offers him half her cookie and Chrissy just leans her head against his shoulder without saying anything, letting her presence comfort him. The two have become his closest friends.

It’s not until they’re done with practice that Lisa says: “We can go clean it off if you want. No one is around anymore.”

On some level he knew that they had seen it, but it still makes the shame burn in his face. He looks to the ground, his shoulders tightening. Pretending it doesn’t affect him, he shrugs: “It doesn’t matter.”

“We know,” Chrissy says. “But I know where Billy’s locker is.”

Both of them look at Chrissy with wide eyes, not expecting that from the tiny girl. She grins at them and says: “I have some paint in my locker. Come on. Can you imagine his face?”

“He might not have done it,” Lisa says. It’s quiet, before she concedes: “Okay, he definitely did. But what do you want to write?”

“Not that word,” Steve buds in, unsure when they exactly decided they’re going to do it. He doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.

“I was thinking something like: Baby needs his paci,” Chrissy tells them. “Since he’s been acting so childish. It’s like he’s my baby cousin, who didn’t get his way.”

They all laugh at the image and Steve snorts: “Alright, fuck it. Lets do it.”

First they get cleaning supplies and rid Steve’s locker of the word. It feels a bit like doing a cleanse, a fresh start. Steve knows it won’t stop, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to let it mark him, he can shrug it off. Wipe it away.

When they’re done with that, the parking lot is empty, the entire basketball team has gone home, so they sneak to Billy’s locker. Lisa and Steve do the text, while Chrissy paints on a pacifier, all of them giggling.

Steve likes having friends he actually wants to be around, who stand up for him instead of dropping him for the newest shit in town when they can.

He misses it when Billy finds his locker, but when he later passes it, it’s dented as if someone punched it. It gives him a bit satisfaction.

In the weekend, he desperately tries to do his school work that has gone undone because he’s been training so much. It feels a bit like he’s a sophomore again and he was just making it in the basketball team.

On Sunday he drives the kids to the arcade again. They’re good kids. He grumbles about it all, but he does like the little shits. They’re fucking hilarious and he feels a sense of protectiveness over them.

Apparently it goes both ways, because when all the boys are distracted, Max slides up to him and asks: “Are you okay?”

He gives her a surprised look and says: “I am. Why do you ask?”

She shrugs, looking a little embarrassed and explains: “Oh, uhm, Billy- he has been spitting all sorts of vitriol at home. Talks about you. It- It isn’t nice.” She looks guilty on Billy’s behalf. “Just wanted to check he was keeping his promise.”

Steve doesn’t have it in his heart to tell her that promises to middle schoolers mean nothing to someone like Billy and that he has been getting pushed around for months already. They look up to him, he has to be strong for them. They don’t need to know this.

“Yeah, he has,” he assures her. “Just doesn’t appreciate that I’m preventing the cheerleaders from going on a date with him.”

“Iew,” Max groans, misinterpreting his words like he had intended. Steve might not be smart, but never let it be said that he can’t be manipulative when he wants to be.

He shoots her a wink and she rolls her eyes, before walking away with a groan. It gets the attention of Will, who quirks a brow at Steve. Steve smiles at him, getting more unwanted attention off of him.

And life goes on. His locker gets left alone for the following week and he only gets tripped up in the hall once. A few people yell names at him, but he’s become immune to it.

On Wednesday he first witnesses that the cheerleaders meant their promise. Over the week and a half he’s been sitting with them, they all have become more comfortable with his presence and have gone back to gossiping about crushes and stuff that Steve never knew girls talked about. It makes him feel like a spy. It also makes him feel included, but isn’t telling them that.

The fact is, he knows that Mary has a crush on Brad on the basketball team. She has had that crush for ages and Steve has caught her staring a few times at him during practice.

However, Brad is also the one that tripped Steve up in the hallway this week, then called him a queer after. Mary had been waiting for him in the hall so they could walk to practice together, since he doesn’t have a shared class with anyone that period.

Right now, Brad is coming up to their table with all the confidence in the world. It isn’t really a secret that Mary likes him and since she is junior and he a senior, he doesn’t think she will ever say no to him. No boy asks in public if there is a chance he’ll get a no.

“Hey, Mary,” he starts, leaning against the table next to her as she smiles. “I got an extra movie ticket for Friday, wanna go with me? I could come pick you up for dinner too?”

Steve is waiting for the moves he knows so well from all the times he has asked a girl out. The ducking eyes, hair tucking and giggle, before a blushing yes is said.

Instead everyone is surprised as Mary looks up at him with cold eyes and says: “No, sorry. I don’t go out with boys, who are mean to my friends. It’s not a good look.”

Brad rears back as if slapped in surprise and frowns as he tries to think of what he has done. Mary very deliberately looks at Steve, who is sitting a few seats down trying to give Chrissy a sandwich because she forgot lunch.

He follows her look and makes eye contact with Steve. He glares at him and Steve can’t help but smirk back. This type of vindication is rarely felt. He has a seat at the table again. He has influence, a social currency that he can use.

Because the cheerleaders are making good on Molly’s threat, which hadn’t been taken seriously by anyone until now. If you bully Steve, you are not getting a date.

With a scoff Brad stalks of again, having to ignore the whispers that start to follow him, like Steve has had to do for months now.

Steve isn’t surprised when his car is keyed when he leaves practice. At least they didn’t slash his tires, that would have been worse. He can still drive the car like this.

Still, as Brad walks away, he feels bad for Mary, who has had to blow her chance with her crush for him. Softly he taps her on the shoulder and says: “You didn’t have to do that,” when she looks back to him.

She smiles reassuringly. “It’s okay. I didn���t like him much after what he did to you anyway. You’re a good guy, Steve. It’s nice that you look me in the eyes for one. Plus, if we don’t stand together, the pyramid starts to crumble, you know. We made a promise.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve says, not used to someone picking his side so unequivocally. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Mary tells him, then turns back to her conversation as Steve does the same.

That weekend is the weekend of the competition. They all have been practicing religiously to the point where Steve sees the stunts as he falls asleep. Not that he minds, it’s better than those creatures that are haunting his dreams.

They all get to the school early on Saturday. They have quite the drive to the competition and it makes Steve feels like he’s playing basketball again and they have competition at another school. In some regards, sports will be sports.

Chrissy usually sits next to Emma, but since Steve is replacing her, he ends up next to Chrissy on the bus. Something he doesn’t mind.

He counted on being next to Chrissy in fact. He noticed she never eats enough and that isn’t good, especially not for an athlete. To the basketball team it was always stressed how important eating enough is. He doesn’t hear that much on the cheer squad.

So, he brought an extra granola bar and is trying to give it to her. “Come on, Chris. You got to think of it as fuel. If you eat now, you won’t get a stitch during the game.”

“We don’t call it game,” Chrissy laughs as she corrects him, ignoring the rest of what he said.

“Competition then,” Steve corrects himself. “Please, Chrissy. I’m afraid you’ll faint otherwise. I’m not good enough at catching to do it when you’ve blacked out.”

“I have eaten breakfast,” Chrissy tells him, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Steve doesn’t want to push her, he is only concerned for her. He remembers being unable to stomach much after that evening at the Byers house. How he had nearly fainted during basketball practice and how scary that had been. He doesn’t want that for her.

“I know,” he says with a soft voice. “I’m just worried about you. Feel like I’m going to snap one of your bones one of these days. You’re so thin.”

“Girls are thin,” she replies as if she is reminding him of something that has been said many times before. However, she softens a little at his concern.

Steve guesses those words are the root of the problem. It’s not something he knows how to fix, except by continuing to offer her food and hope she takes it. So, he holds up the granola bar and says: “Will you take half? For my peace of mind?”

Chrissy bites her lip and Steve is completely still, not wanting to scare her off. “Sure,” she gives in and Steve resists the urge to fist pump. Instead, he breaks the bar and hands her the bigger part. She eats it, only when he does.

They’re interrupted by Heather, who is leaning over the seat behind them. She has a sparkle in her eyes as she said: “Did you hear about what happened during fifth period yesterday?”

“No, what happened?” Steve asks, mingling himself in the gossip in a way he wouldn’t have allowed himself three weeks ago.

“I share the class with Eddie Munson, the drug dealer. You know him?” she begins, launching into a story how he climbed out of the window when the teacher’s back was turned, because he wanted a smoke.

Steve thinks it’s quite funny and it fits with what he knows about the metal head. He doesn’t know him well, but he has always noticed him. He’s quite dramatic and doesn’t seem to care much about school.

For a long time, Steve thought he hated Eddie. A hatred that came from admiring his confidence, but ever since he realized how he looks at boys, he has realized that it has never been hatred, always something else. Eddie is quite handsome and funny and charismatic… Not that he’ll ever tell anyone that. It would be stupid and Eddie seems kind of mean and scary too. More someone to admire from a distance than someone you talk to.

They talk about Eddie for a little more, before a familiar voice comes from Steve’s backpack through a crackling speaker: “Steve, come in, Steve. Over.”

The girls around him squeak a little at the sudden noise and many lean in with interest as he takes out a radio. He feels a little silly and watched, but he knows the kid will worry and become insufferable if he doesn’t answer. So, he replies: “What do you need, Henderson?”

“You have to say over when you’re done. Over,” Dustin says after a few seconds.

Steve rolls his eyes, but repeats: “What do you need, Henderson? Over.”

He can hear the kid’s smile when he says: “Yeah, like that! Anyway, you’re not picking up your phone. We need a ride to the arcade. Over.”

It has become kind of standard to drive them to the arcade as least once each weekend. He had hoped they would want that drive Sunday, but no such luck. He bites his lip, unsure of what to answer. In the end he settles on: “I can’t today. Sorry, buddy. Over.”

“Why?” Dustin exclaims and Steve stays quiet on purpose until Dustin sighs: “Over.”

“I’m with the cheer squad. Over,” Steve tells him honestly, not elaborating further, so Dustin can make up his own interpretation with that.

It’s quiet for a second, then, almost in awe, Dustin says: “Like the whole cheer squad? Over.”

Steve laughs at the response. He answers: “Yeah, man, and they can hear you. So maybe behave yourself. Ask Nancy or Jonathan if they can drive you. Over.”

“You can’t do this to me, Steve,” Dustin shrieks. “I would have made a better impression if I’d known. Don’t tell them anything embarrassing about me! I have to show my face at that school in a few months you know. Over.”

“I won’t, just go bother someone else today,” Steve tells him. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Over.”

“Alright, but I want to know everything,” Dustin concedes. “Over and out.”

The radio is quiet again and Steve puts it back in his backpack, just waiting for someone to ask, because he knows they’re going to.

Lisa doesn’t disappoint, asking: “What was that?”

“That’s Dustin,” Steve explains. “I babysit him and a few other kids sometimes. I usually drive them to the arcade in the weekend. Guess I forgot to tell them I’m unavailable.”

“And the radio?” Sofia asks.

“Oh, they’re a bunch of nerds, in the best way,” Steve says, excited to talk about the kids. “Dustin is mega smart, you know. He built his own radio headset and shit. I just got this one, because his mom won’t always let him use the phone. He’s a little shit, but I love him. He’s practically my little brother at this point.”

Some of the girls coo at that and ask him more about the kids. He happily obliges in answering their questions, though editing out the Upside Down stuff of course. Most of the cheerleaders seem to find the kids adorable.

The competition is nothing like Steve expected. He feels nervous, but the good kind of nervous as he takes it all in. He gets a few looks as a boy with the team, but everyone is more concerned with their own routine.

There isn’t a male cheer uniform, so he’s just wearing his basketball uniform, which is good enough. The one other guy that is competing has a better uniform though. Steve can’t help but stare at him a little.

The guy is handsome. His dark skin suits the white and dark purple uniform that is tightly fitted to his body. He’s very muscled and has a pretty smile. He talks with his hands and all the girls from his team flit around him.

Next to him Sofia says: “Wow, look at that guy. He’s so hot. I wonder what those muscles can do,” and it takes all of Steve’s strength not to agree out loud.

Coach Miller pulls them back to the group and they all warm up. Steve knows all the chants and they say a cheer before they go out there. All the judging faces are easily ignored when performing and Steve gets lost in the show.

He’s breathing heavily at the end, holding the pose until the okay is given and they all move from the stage. Everyone is excited, accomplishment seeping in their bones. Molly is jumping up and down from excitement as she exclaims: “That went so well! We totally have a chance.”

The waiting that comes next is the harder part. The other groups they watch are also very good, doing dizzying stunts.

Steve perks up when the purple and white uniformed groups takes the stage. The guy is in the middle of it all. He participates with the tumbling, flipping around, as well as the stunts. He’s able to be base by himself, extending the girl above his head and throwing her around. It’s impressive and Steve finds himself captivated.

When the group finishes, the guy makes eye contact with Steve, who must look stupid with awe filled eyes. The guy looks surprised for a second, then his face morphs into a smirk and winks at Steve.

He blushes in response to the wink and looks away, only glancing back after a second, but the guy has been pulled off with the rest of his squad.

Disappointed he searches the crowd, but he doesn’t find the guy again. Instead he meets the calculating eyes of coach Miller. Ice grips his heart and he fears that he’s been caught. Trying to play it cool, he sends her a confused look.

She starts making her way over to him and he wants to hide, but that will look suspicious. He’s 90% sure she can’t leave him stranded here, if he’s about to get told to get away from the school or something.

Instead coach Miller surprises him by saying: “You’re just filling in for Emma, I know, but if we can get in some stunts like that group next competition, we’d up the scores easily. You should think about it.”

Honestly, Steve often forgets that this is just a two week thing, that come Monday, he isn’t required to go to practice after school. That he can just sit with them in classes and during lunch, before going home. It makes his heart sink.

Lisa and Chrissy had been nearby enough to hear the interaction and as coach Miller walks away, Lisa quietly says: “Everyone would be happy if you decided to keep going.”

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiles at him. “You’re part of the squad. Everyone really likes you. You’re so nice to us. You look us in the eyes and help fix our costumes.”

It is the second time that one of the cheerleaders told him he looks her in the eyes and confused he asks: “Where else would I look?”

“Most guys tend to look at our tits,” Lisa tells him quite bluntly.

Steve hadn’t even realized they actually did that. Another thing his performance of King Steve had apparently lacked. He feels a bit caught out, so he stumbles: “Well, oh, uhm, I- I took etiquette lessons as a kid.”

Chrissy giggles and bumps her shoulder against his as she says: “You don’t have to defend yourself for being respectful, Stevie.”

Stevie, that’s new. He quite likes the nickname and feels a little more at ease. He shrugs: “I mean, the school year is practically over. Will there even be another competition?”

“Yeah, after spring break is the next one,” Lisa says. “We’ve never won. It frustrates Molly to no end. She really wants a win on her record.”

“Molly is super competitive,” Chrissy confides like it’s news, before cracking up.

“I know,” Steve laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

“Please do,” Chrissy says, Lisa nodding.

The conversation haunts Steve. They don’t win the competition, but they do get third place, which results in a group hug and a lot of jumping. The purple white school takes number one and Steve contemplates congratulating the other guy, but it feels too risky.

So, they go home, sleeping on the bus. Well, most of the team does, Steve doesn’t want to risk a nightmare, so he stares out the window as Chrissy uses him as pillow. And when he gets home all he can think about is that conversation.

On Sunday he is awoken by Dustin and Will knocking on his door. He’s still in his sweats, having been awake for most of the night after waking up screaming. “What do you want?” he asks.

“You promised you’d tell me about how you ended up with all the cheerleaders,” Dustin says.

“I didn’t have anything better to do,” Will offers as explanation. “Mike is with El and Lucas with Max.”

“Sure, okay, come in.” Steve doesn’t even care anymore as he steps to the side. “I’m making pancakes for breakfast, want some?” It wasn’t his plan at all, but sue him for wanting to spoil his kids. Especially with the enthusiastic yes he gets.

As he cooks they sit at the breakfast bar and Dustin asks: “So?”

“There was a cheer competition,” Steve says, trying to decide whether to tell the truth or not. It feels so silly to lie to two middle schoolers, but he also wants them to think he’s cool. It’s utterly ridiculous how much he wants them to like him.

“Did you go to support someone? Are you dating a cheerleader?” Dustin asks.

“No,” Steve snaps automatically. Too many guys have asked if he’s stealing their girl the past two weeks. It gets tiring. However, that would have been a great excuse to Dustin, which he has blown now. He decides to fuck it, he can always kick them out of his house if they’re dicks. “One of the girls broke her leg two weeks ago. I was helping out so they could compete.”

“Boys are allowed to join cheerleading?” Will asks in confusion. However, there is an undertone to it too, as if Steve is a hero.

It throws him off balance as he shrugs: “It’s not illegal, I guess. They needed some help, thought I’d offer. It’s quite fun, actually.”

The two kids are quiet for a second. Steve purposefully doesn’t look at them as he flips the pancakes, because he doesn’t want to see their judgment. He likes these kids so goddamn much. The last thing he wants is for their parents to hear and decide that they shouldn’t hang around Steve anymore.

God, he was stupid for opening his mouth. He’s about to spiral even more, but before his breath can catch, Dustin asks: “Did you guys win?”

“What?” he asks, more shocked than anything else.

“The competition, did you win?” Dustin repeats. “How does a cheerleading competition even work? It doesn’t seem that hard. It’s just cheering someone on, but then more extreme.”

“Dude,” Steve laughs, overcome by relief that the two seem cool with it. “Cheerleading is fucking hard. Don’t diss the cheerleaders. These girls physically pick each other up and throw each other around. I’m fucking sore.”

“Really?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Will smiles. He’s such a polite kid. Never demanding. He’s one of Steve’s favorites, though they’re all his favorite.

“So you’re a cheerleader now?” Dustin asks. “What happened to basketball?”

The conversation he had with coach Miller pops up in his mind again. No one at school knows he only agreed to two weeks, except for the cheerleaders, but they’re cool with it. He can just pretend like this has always been the plan. It can’t really get worse and he’ll get a fun hobby out of it. The sense of accomplishment after each training is something that he missed.

“Guess I am a cheerleader, yeah,” he tests it out and it saying it makes him happy. “As for basketball, that’s a team sport, but it’s not as fun with Billy on the team.”

“But Max scared Billy off,” Dustin says. “He’s supposed to leave you alone.”

“He is,” Steve lies. “Doesn’t mean I want to play basketball with the guy. He’s a piece of shit.”

“That’s fair,” Dustin says, before announcing he has to go pee.

Once Dustin is gone, Will quietly says: “Jonathan mentioned you were getting bullied. He told me what they did to your locker.”

Steve pauses, unsure of what to do now. He removes the pan from the fire and turns around. He studying Will for a second, there is no pity or malice in his eyes, but something else. A desperate need to be seen. A sympathetic hurt.

It suddenly clicks for Steve. He couldn't tell you why, but in that moment he understands that Will gets it. That Will is like him.

He gives Will a sad smile and says: “It’s okay, baby Byers. Not fun, but okay. Did Jonathan also tell you what happened to Billy’s locker?” Will smiles mischievously and nods. “Good,” Steve says decisively. “Don’t let anyone put you down, kid. You deserve to have fun. You deserve to do what you want.”

That’s as close to a confession that Steve is willing to give. He might have accepted it about himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it with Will. Not now at least.

Luckily Will also doesn’t seem ready to talk about it, because he just nods with a shy happy look, before looking away.

At that point, they’re interrupted by Dustin coming back from the toilet. They stay in and play some board games, before Steve truly has to do his homework. He doesn’t want to be in that school any longer than he has to. If that means trying to understand calculus, so be it.

It’s kind of funny how the two eight graders have given him more confidence. They’re just two nerdy kids, who don’t know better than to just do what they find fun and deal with everyone looking down on them. It’s something Steve has had to learn way later in life.

He goes through his day like he has the week before. He shares first period with Heather and a study hall with Sofia.

Sofia notices him struggling and offers to help. Since she is in the same classes Nancy is, he gladly accepts her help. She has a good way of explaining things and by the time study hall is done, he feels like he understands math, something that has never happened before.

Lisa is in the class right before lunch. She slides into the seat next to Steve as she greets him quietly, her standard state of being. She leans in and Steve knows what that means, so immediately leans back to heard what she has to say.

“Coach Miller mentioned the stunts you could do to Molly,” she tells him. “If you want to say no, brace yourself for lunch period. You know how she gets.”

Steve laughs at that. Molly is a nice girl, but she is ambitious and very competitive, which sometimes takes precedence over being nice. If she wants something, she is not afraid to go after it until she has it.

He is now glad he had the talk with Dustin and Will, or that news would have been daunting instead of funny. He grins: “Guess it’s Molly’s lucky day.”

Lisa perks up at that and says: “You’re serious?” in a louder volume he has ever heard her use.

They get some looks and quiet down immediately. Steve nods: “Yeah, I mean, why not, you know? It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Gonna be honest, Stevie,” Lisa says, “I’m glad you’re gonna stay. I would have missed you at practice. Who else is going to stand on my toes.”

“I don’t stand on anyone’s toes,” Steve guffaws to hide how emotional the confession makes him.

“Whatever you say, Harrington,” Lisa grins, before turning back to the lesson.

Steve does the same and makes eye contact with Eddie, who turned back to watch them when they got louder. His beautiful dark eyes bore into Steve’s and he feels a blush crawling up his cheeks. Not wanting Eddie to know the effect he has on him, he plasters on a bitchy expression.

Eddie in turn frowns, before shrugging and turning back to looking out of the window. The dismissal somehow hurts more than anything else would have, even if it’s what Steve wanted. He hates how the boy makes him feel.

There is something magnetizing about Eddie.

Whenever he climbs on the tables, Steve can’t help but look at him, can’t help but listen. He has long been the target of lectures about conformity and society at the hands of the metal head. He always played unaffected, it’s what he’s good at after all, but now he misses those eyes.

Ever since he’s fallen from his throne, it is Billy, who is the prime target of those speeches. It’s irrational to be jealous of Billy, but Steve can’t deny that he is.

He shakes his head and tries to put Eddie out of his thoughts. It doesn’t matter. Eddie will never want to talk with Steve anyway. Steve, despite his fall, is the embodiment of all Eddie stands against. If he even talks with Steve, it’s not going to be nice.

But the rumors that go around would have Steve believe he has a chance with the guy, something that makes it all the more frustrating.

Stop it, he tells himself, you have enough on your plate already. And you’re too much of a pussy to ever say anything to him anyway. Why bother?

And with that he tries to tune back in to the lecture that escapes him. Hopefully Lisa has better notes than he does (she does and lets him copy them during lunch).

The cheer table has become comfortable, the chatter of the others is a familiar background noise, which is why Steve notices when it changes. He looks up and Molly is sitting across from him. She usually sits further away, so there was a silence when she took a different spot.

Steve smiles at her like he doesn’t know why she’s there. He greets: “Hey, Molls. What’s up?”

“You coming to training after school?” she asks.

She sounds tense, but also like she’s holding back. If Steve had to guess, he’d say that she has an entire speech ready to go for the no she is expecting. Just to throw her off, he grins: “Course, yeah, see you there.”

Molly opens her mouth, before the words hit her. She’s speechless for a second, then nods as a smile creeps up her face. “Good, yeah, see you there.”

Lisa leans in and says: “I’ve never seen her speechless before now.”

“You’re staying?” Chrissy asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Steve tells her, happy with his decision. It’s nice to be wanted somewhere.

After his last class, both Chrissy and Lisa are waiting for him with big grins. Chrissy immediately starts chatting about all the homework Mrs. Click gave them and how unfair it is. Steve and Lisa just nod along, they’re familiar with the teacher.

Steve gets changed in a toilet stall, then joins the girls again. Coach Miller smiles when she sees him, a glint coming over her eyes. Steve already knows he’s going to be sore again, but he doesn’t care. He’s officially a cheerleader now.

~~

A/N:

This is nice popular girl propaganda, I’m not a girl, nor was I popular, but I like the idea of popular solidarity, athlete girls, but that might be because I am a lesbian xp

Also I know a lot more goes into doing stunts and doing it safely, but this is fanfic logic, bc I’m not writing a training montage, so you just got to trust me lmao

I have decided to upload every Wednesday and Sunday, so you can look forwards to uploads then :D

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #buckingham #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #st post season 2 #cheerleader steve harrington au #steve and dustin #steve and will #will byers #dustin henderson #OCs #max mayfield #tw: eating disorder #tw: child abuse #tw: bullying mention #tw: period typical homophobia #tw: period typical sexism

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Once upon a midnight dreary CH2

Tw: mentions of murder, violence, grief, insanity, and other dark subjects

Also this takes place around the 1800s, so be aware that some of the reactions are implied to be typical of the period. This does NOT reflect my perspective on mental health.

Previous chapter

Next Chapter:

Library

Chapter 2: Ill-fated

Morning came like a dead bird falling from a tree. My eyes were weary, and were decorated with dark circles. I sleep nothing the night of my father’s murder, and very well refused to not avail the following nights before his arrival. I was disheartened, and stressed. There was no word from the police, and my father’s study was locked for investigation. Only my father’s chambers and garden remained intact temporarily, but I was advise not to touch any of his belongings for possible clues. So, I became accustomed to sit and simply stare at the memories I had but could never touch. 

“There she is once again…” I could hear one of the maid muttered. Kathy, I believe was her name. She was pleasant but wasn’t the type to chat. “All she does is sit there and stare at a rusty old shelf. She barely refuses to come out or eat something!”

“Now, now. You better give her patience, Katherine.” I remember the soothing voice of Olive said. She was the youngest of the maids. She seemingly understood me. It was a tragedy that tuberculosis took her young. “Mistress Ruckus lost her father a week ago. Not to mention we lost Mistress Dora in December as well, just two months ago. It is obvious that our remaining Mistress from the Ruckus family would wish to mourn!”

I pretended not to hear their voices, as the ringing of the bells faded as the days went by…

“Olive, you haven’t lived for decades attending the family or helping late Mistress Dora raise her daughter!” I could hear Kathy growl from the distance. Olive sighed. “I know that you like Mistress Ruckus, but I would not let that child starve herself to death! I could not-”

Her words came short. It was then when the police intruded into the manor. This time they were not alone. I did not move or made any sound. Eventually Kathy dragged me as I bounced as a petite drag doll. She was muttering all sort of things like:

“She refuses to sleep” 

or “She won’t go out for a walk or read her books”, 

and “She has barely eaten anything!”

The gentlemen, or if you could even call them gentle, tried to reassure her and the other maids that I would be alright; but the way the gripped me said otherwise…

“Nothin’ to fear, m’am! She’ll be in good hands” I remember the captain being the one who said that. He was an old white man, with hair that was slowly drifting out of his head. His presence disgusted me although he tried to be as polite, which was quite artificial as a matter of fact. 

I was not surprised that his patience was just as fake as his politeness when he forced me down the strapped bed….but…that is another part of the story. Order gives me the power to keep my emotions in check…

Anyways, I was taken to the dinner room by the captain whose last name I never bothered to remember. He was all the same as his army, a buffoon thinking greater of himself, believing himself as a fortunate man to be the place where he was. Not caring about the consequences of his vile actions, not that he would enable a small seed of vengeance upon me. 

However, I would be mixing the delicate timeline in my head, but do know that I would eventually want a cold revenge that the captain would be the first victim to taste…

“Katherine was not lying when she mentioned she was growing paler and thinner.” That was the first thing I heard when I entered the dinner room. There were three peculiar man dressed in robes. My heart began to pound widely, as I recognized them as doctors. Psychiatrists to be exact, just as the ones that my late mother used to work with. 

I remember I was avoidant of the men gazes. I had no fear, but I was rather discomforted by their presence, specially the oldest man staring right at me…

“Is she alright? She looks as if the cat ate her tongue.” One of the doctors asked. His voice was graved, I sadly can’t recall who it was…

“According to the maids and housekeepers, she has been quite reserved of herself lately.” It was the captain who explained on my behalf. Based on his tone, I was sure he was sneering…

“An avoidant gaze, just as I suspected it.” That was the first time I heard him talk. He was smallest one, and the oldest among the men on the table. His hair was black as coal with some strands of silver from aging, and his eyes were full of dark circles. The most notorious aspect of his appearance was the scars among his face, and his vulture eye that made his tiresome but yet cold stare so fierce. It was like a sharp knife cutting through my skin…

My blood boils and yet I quivered every time when I made memory of those cold eyes, and the way they penetrated against me almost like a pang to my chest. The feeling still remains every time I remember the vulturous stare of Dr. Gubberson….

 I remember vividly that there was a long pause from Dr. Gubberson after his first comment. He sat silently, as his cold eyes laid upon me, examining whatever thing this “genius man” would find. There was tension, as the men were waiting for his answer.

He eventually spoke, in his slow, raspy voice that looked as if he was whispering…

“Yes. Her health clearly has decline from the past few days, such a tragedy for such lovely damozel indeed.” He ever so gently spoke as he rose from his chair. He stood next to me as the gents in the room stared at us. My eyes were rested upon the man next to me. I was intrigued and quite annoyed at what “remarkable” comment he was ought to make. 

“As you can see, gents, her lips are breaking and turning into an unlikely shade of purple. Evident sign that she’s not drinking enough water.” There were some murmurs within the men in the room. I forced myself to stand still and huffed at the obvious remarks as the so-called “Doctor” followed. “Not to mention her defined and sharpen cheekbones are not part of her structure. She has been trying to starve herself for quite some time. Do tell me, Commander Breadstone, has any of the maids mentioned some strange behavior prior to Dr. Ruckus murder?”

“According to the chef, late Dr. Ruckus never left the table until Riley finished her plate.” The commander spoke. He was a man much older and less gentle-like the captain, yet he was the only reasonable man around. “According to her, Dr. Ruckus noticed his daughter lost her appetite since December….around the time they Nurse Ruckus...”

It was partially true. The sadness of my mother’s passing made it hard for me to eat, however my late father stayed because I didn’t wish to eat alone….It was a private request between us. I wanted to spend every time I could in the fear he would be taken soon. A fear that became a reality in a February…

“No wonder why she’s been trying to kill herself slowly!” Dr. Gubberson commented. “She has gone mad. Quite mad in fact to the point that she’s been starving herself!”

“I AM NOT MAD!” It was then when I lost my temper. All eyes were upon me as my chest raised and fell along the pace of my accelerated heart. A grave mistake of mine, that I eventually came to regret as it further Dr. Gubberson “points”

“Now she decides to speak. Clearly a sign to defend her stance that she was not insane. She’s simply trying to deceive us.” Dr. Gubberson commented. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to slap the grin off his ugly tiresome face…

“Perhaps you are upsetting just her, Dr.” It was the commander Breadstone who spoke with evident skepticism. Dr. Gubberson frowned at the older man. Nonetheless, the commander continued. “Can’t you see this young damozel has been greatly traumatized by her father’s murder?”

“A murder that SHE committed in a state of madness, may I have to remind you?” Dr. Gubberson remarked. My skin went white as I could fear my breath shortening. 

I was being accused of a murder I would rather die than committed. And that was simply the beginning of hell…

“We cannot be so sure about this!” Commander Breadstone intervened. “All we know it was that she was the poor wretched soul that found him dead, covered in his blood while she wailed in agony.”

“Precisely!” Dr. Gubberson slapped the tabled with immerse fury. The gents yelped in surprised while Commander Breadstone’s face furrowed into a deep scowl. “It was a wail of regret! A murder out of madness, solitude!”

“I…I couldn’t murder my father!” I remember crying. My voice broke as tears ran down my face. I was feeling drowsy. Possible signs of a vertigo. 

“Now…now my child…” I remember Dr. Gubberson trying to soothe me. His hands gripping my back and waist. My body tensed as I could feel nausea…Perhaps it was the disgustingly close the wicked man was, or was it the fact that I was not feeding myself properly. Either way, he continued ignoring my evident discomfort. “A lovely damozel, tormented by her own demons. A deep dark force that drives her insane every night. Torments her, frightens her, and fascinates her with spoken terrors. Nightmares, of her parents tragedies. A tragedy that she felt she was destined to follow. To perish just as her mother did…”

My ears winced in every word he whispered as the gents muttered among themselves. I was feeling weaker by the second, as the heinous raven spoke. I could only beg him  “Please…be quiet. I cannot hear it no more.”

“It would be alright soon. This tragedy will end” Dr. Gubberson spoken. He tried to gently almost as if he was a father, but that was my breaking point

“DON’T YOU EVER DARE TO TOUCH ME!” It was a cry of pain rather than frustration as I pushed the doctor as hard as my weak body would allow me. Everyone gasped in disgust.

“This is exactly what I mean! A lovely damozel, indeed, a remarkable resemblance to late mother, shame that she’s ill-tempered and…quite frankly with a savagery attitude.” Dr. Gubberson remarked with a hiss while he retrieved his hands. He brushed his coat to straighten it after my push. 

“She had a history of being quite defensive according to the maids.” One of the officers commented.

“Madness, I am afraid.” One of the doctors spoke.

“I am not mad!” I protested. This time my voice becoming raspier, almost like a growl.

“Silence!” The captain spoke. “ Commander Breadstone, we have seen enough. It is clear that she has lost her damn mind She’s mad, certainly mad. The creature must be institutionalized immediately before she could commit any more harm to herself or anyone in this manor!”

“Are you certain, Captain?” Commander Breadstone asked. “Don’t any of you realized that this could be a resemblance of provoking a wild creature to fight?”

“She’s not well, and it would be dangerous for anyone, even herself, if we let her go.” One of the doctors protested. Commander Breadstone became quiet. It appeared that he agree in that aspect…

“Very well…”Commander Breadstone sighed. “Riley Anne Ruckus shall be taken to Dr. Gubberson’s psychiatric center. However, I refuse to close the investigation until further prove that she was the culprit.”

“But, Commander-” Dr. Gubberson try to protest.

“As long as I live, Gubberson, I’ll keep the case open…” The Commander Breadstone hissed. He would eventually die of cardiac arrest two days after

Dr. Gubberson scowled while the captain and the other gents nodded. Only the commander truly believed my innocence. 

“Dismissed!” The Commander announced before retiring from the room.

 I could already hear the bells from the carriages, the last ones I heard after my father was taken from afar. Before I could even protest, Dr. Gubberson’s doctors took a hold of me and forced me into a straight jacket, bruising me in the process. The bells started to become louder as they dragged me to the carriage, silencing my screams and pleads that I was innocent. 

I could hear the bells.The bells, bells, bells that would be the cacophony of my sleep…

#hello puppets horror #please read CH1 to understand the story #period typical reactions #period typical sexism #fic #First person pov #edgar allan poe #edgar allan poe references #Riley Ruckus #Owen Gubberson #Once upon a midnight dreary #tw: blood #tw: mentions of murder #tw: murder #tw: violence #tw: sexism #wrongful accused #murder mystery #tw: mental health #tw: goverment and police not taking mental health seriously #tw: trauma #Remeber that this takes place in the 1800s #so mental health is not as well viewed #Riley is treated as an insane person due to typical time period ignorance #and sexism too #please read main tags

[anyarose011]

You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Four days into being stuck in an all boy's school for Christmas break, and you're on the brink of insanity. If it's not because of Angus Tully still trying to one up you in history lessons, then it's Teddy Kountze getting a hand on something personal of yours (prick).

Part 2 of ?? (Part 1)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, mentions of pornography, blackmail, minor physical assault, and as always, Teddy Kountze.

You guys don't get to escape being an awkward af teenager just because it's fanfiction, so enjoy! Also, thank you all so much for the love already shown just from the first part alone!

Word Count: 5.0k

You always knew to put a pillow over your head when you heard your father get up from his bed.

“All right you fetid layabouts, it’s daylight in the swamp!” He smacked two metal basins against each other, waking the boys up if they weren’t already, groaning. “Arise!”

It was funny the first day, but by the fourth, it was unbearable. Still, a part of you was grateful for your father; you never had to get up early and run with the boys in the cold, Massachusetts air. Call it nepotism, call it sexism, you were just glad he didn’t want you to interact with them (physically, that is).

The second day you were there, he called you in during afternoon study hall (leaving you on a minor cliff hanger in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; forget that it was your third time reading it, it pissed you off). Just like he had done months ago, Paul Hunham hosted a trivia game (whether that was to show you off, or get them to study, you had no idea).

What idea you did have, was beating every single one of them.

For Alex and Ye-Joon, they were babies in your eyes, so you would give them more time to think on their answers whenever they were up. Alex got close on one, but overall, they didn’t do so well.

Oh, the boys your age? Yeah, you didn’t show mercy, even towards Jason.

“When was the last king overthrown?” Your father questioned.

You smacked the desk before Jason could even process the question. “509 B.C.”

“What planets are named after Roman gods?”

“Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.” You recited it perfectly.

Teddy scrunched his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Your father pursed his lips. “That was the easiest one I have, Kountze.”

Angus Tully…Angus. Fucking. Tully.

“What emperor temporarily restored peace to Rome and the cost of-?”

Angus hit the desk before your father could finish the question. “-Diocletian.”

“At its peak,” your father eyed you. “how large was the Roman Empi-?”

“2.3 million square miles.” You answered, keeping your eyes trained on Tully.

“Nero had five spouses in total, what was the name of the slave boy he-?”

“-Castrated and married,” you finished for him. “Sporus.”

Back and forth you both went like that, rapid fire at first, and your own levels of exhaustion were catching up to you. After perhaps five minutes of this (maybe ten, twenty, who gives a shit, you were tired), it was one damning question that would haunt you.

“True or false, the Pantheon was built before the Coliseum.”

“True.” You said, slapping the desk with the confidence of a mediocre man.

There was silence in the room, and your father sighed. “False.”

It wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal; to literally everyone else but you, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

Oh, it was.

It was the second time you lost to Angus Tully overall, the first time from an easy question. Still, while Kountze’s grin made you want to rip out his teeth, it was Tully’s outstretched hand that caused you to snap out of it.

“Good job.”

Two of the most hurtful words in academia, whether it meant for it to be or not. Still, swallowing your pride, you shook his hand, and left the room gracefully.

Then started crying as you walked down the darkened hallway.

It wasn’t like you were weeping, you were just frustrated. Thankfully, by the time your friend Elise came to pick you up, you were fine and had a fun day simply walking around town with her.

You bought cigarettes and chocolate at the drug store, then spent the rest of the day at her house, laying on the floor and listening to records in her room while answering her prodding questions.

“Who’s the cutest one?”

“None, they’re men.”

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know that, but if you had to choose.”

“Like, ‘if we were the last man and woman on earth’ I had to choose?”

“Sure.”

“A very tall bridge.”

She laughed, shoving you playfully. “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“Really.”

Sighing heavily, you thought for a moment, before smiling. “He’s a football player.”

“What?!” She sat herself up. “You and a football player?!”

“Shut up!” You laughed with her, sitting up.

Elise shook her head. “What about the one you went head-to-head with in trivia today?”

“Ew,” was your immediate reaction. “he’s maybe your type, but not mine.”

“So, you don’t want a smart one?” She questioned. “And that’s mean of you.”

“I’m mean to everyone.” You laid back down on the floor. “And yes, of course I want someone who’s smart, but not smarter than me.”

She mirrored you, laying down and leaning her head against yours. “So, he’s out for the count?”

“One hundred percent.”

“If you say so.” Elise reached up onto her nightstand and handed you a letter. “Also, my aunt left something back at the faculty housing and said she found this in you and your dad’s mailbox.”

You looked at your name in the center of it, and then at the stamp: a toy train.

It took everything within you not to sit up in shock. All you did was smile, say thank you, and slip it into your coat pocket.

You gave Tully his chocolates and cigarettes and didn’t have a problem. It was the fourth day when your father had given them just another ounce of freedom outside of the school, allowing them to walk around the wooded area of campus. You still had your books, but you were also feeling lonesome (the only time you really interacted with any of them was during mealtimes, except for Teddy…fuck Teddy), and you had talked about almost every single thing you wanted to talk about with Mary (God bless that women for letting you read to her too).

So, on December 20th, you laced up your boots (not too tightly), pulled on your mittens, and zipped up your jacket to go on a miniature adventure with the five boys.

“I’m gonna teach you how to play football.” Jason teased you as the six of you walked two by two (you and him at the front).

Shaking your head, you smiled more so at the thought of what you’d look like than his obvious flirting (was he even flirting or just being nice? Decades pass, and you still aren’t sure). “Please no.”

“Come on, it’s easy.”

“Roman history is easy.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not; you’re just smart.”

“It’s easy to me. Football is easy to you, see what I’m getting at?”

Jason shrugged. “Suit yourself, Teddy?”

“Say no more.” He responded, brushing past you and running up ahead as Jason threw the football to him and he caught it.

That left you by yourself for just a moment before seeing Angus walk beside you. You turned your head over your shoulder to see Ye-Joon and Alex lagging behind as they talked.

“Boys,” you called them. “try and keep up!”

They responded with a chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘Sorry’s.

“So what, you’re like their mother now?” The second most irritating voice belonging to a boy asked.

You looked over at Angus, hands in his pockets as he gazed down at you. “You’re not exactly the nurturing type.”

“You don’t know that.”

Humming, you stepped over a log in the middle of the path. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Jason’s here because of his hair, Alex and Ye-Joon’s family are in other continents, I don’t care nor want to know about Teddy, why are you here?”

He didn’t respond right away, before then saying. “I was supposed to go to St. Kitt’s with my mom and stepfather, but then they decided to say it was their honeymoon and ditch me.”

Your gaze turned to him and saw him pick up a stick, dragging it behind him to make a line in the snow. Even just from his profile, you could see the anger withing his eyes; bubbling more violently than a volcano about to erupt.

“That’s despicable.” You stated plainly.

“That’s one way to put it.” He scoffed.

You didn’t know exactly how to follow up such a personal conversation, but you wanted to make him feel better (at this point during the break, only because it was the decent thing to do), so you just said.

“You beat me fair and square both times.”

Angus looked at you. “Did I? At your dad’s bullshit trivia?”

“You did. Well actually, it was just me versus five of you, and I do believe the more I talk to Kountze, the more braincells I lose, so-.”

“-Don’t sell yourself short.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “I know, I was just telling you why I lost to you both times.”

He shrugged. “The first time you had to go against fifteen of us.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, genuinely not believing it. “are you suddenly saying that you think I’m smart?”

“I never said you weren’t.” He gave you a look.

“Last time, you looked me in the eye and said you knew more than me.”

That’s what silenced him, and when he nor you said anything after that, you simply walked ahead of him. Hell yeah, you had the last word and made him feel like an asshole (you honestly didn’t know that was possible).

The six of you all caught up with one another, and you spoke with the freshmen boys more about meaningless things (but perhaps that’s what made it so meaningful). Angus, still carrying the stick like he was a child, and it was his favorite toy, said to Jason after talking about if there was anything else to do in Barton.

“What about your car? We could take it, go somewhere, Boston maybe?”

“Nah, we’d get in so much trouble.” He shook his head, nudging you. “Little miss perfect here would snitch on us.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I would not. Besides, it’d be easier to say you all kidnapped me, and everyone would believe me.”

“Face it,” Jason passed the football back to Teddy. “we’re stuck.”

 “If we just had some way to get out of here.” Angus kicked a patch of snow. “Just split.”

Jason pointed towards the quad. “Well, you could put a chopper down right in the quad.”

“A what?” Angus furrowed his brow.

“Helicopter, dumbass.” Teddy mocked. “His old man’s the CEO of Pratt and Whitney.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, he’s go his own bird. He takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our back yard. Pilot’s name is Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon asked, amused.

“Yeah, flew to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me.”

“Flying with presents,” Alex spoke up. “like Santa Claus.”

That was perhaps the first time you smiled out of geniuses that day.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistled, and Teddy immediately dashed ahead of him and caught the ball once Jason threw it. The two drifted off playing catch, leaving you and Angus with the freshmen. Alex spoke just as whimsically as he did about Santa.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar.”

Ye-Joon smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

You nodded. “During finals week, I helped Mary and the other cooks bake cookies for you guys. I still think that’s one of my favorite smells of all time.”

“You helped out with that?” Angus asked.

Dropping your smile, you said. “Yeah, and if I knew which one you’d have taken I would’ve spat in it.”

Before he could even come up with a response, Teddy ran up to Alex and yanked the glove off his right hand. “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, you little Mormon!” He laughed before throwing it into the river.

You marched up to him immediately. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like, what the actual fuck?”

Teddy only stuck his tongue out like a child before running back to catch up with Jason. A part of you (somehow) foolishly believed he would’ve berated Teddy for the obviously asshole act; but he didn’t.

Rolling your eyes, you went down to the river with Alex, hopefully trying to find the glove and be able to fish it out. Though, to no avail, you couldn’t find it.

“It’s gone!” He yelled back up to Angus and Ye-Joon. “My glove’s gone!”

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose!” Angus responded. “Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more.”

Alex looked down at his hands before tugging off the other glove and throwing it into the river as well. You glared at Teddy as he had a fun time, still laughing and throwing the ball with Jason. Sighing, you looked back down at Alex and pulled off your mittens, handing them to him.

“Here.”

He glanced up at you before staring back out at the water, rubbing his nose. “I don’t need them.”

“Your fingers are frailer than mine.” You continued even when he gave you a look. “That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. It’s alright, I have pockets.”

Alex, after a moment of debating, took them from you and slipped them on, smiling. “Thanks.”

The six of you were on your way back to school when you felt someone slip their hand into your coat pocket.

“Now what do we have here?”

You turned on your heel, seeing Teddy’s face light up as he waved the letter in his hand. Your face dropped, along with your voice.

“No!”

Immediately, you began to chase him around the small, snowy clearing as if you were a dog and he was a car.

“Theodore fucking Kountze, give that back!” You commanded.

He ripped open the envelope. “Or what, Hunham? You’re gonna tell your dad on me?”

“Just give her the letter, idiot.” Angus rolled his eyes.

Of course, Kountze ignored him, taking the letter out, and money falling from the paper. That’s when he stopped in his tracks and so did you. For the first time since…a while, you were frozen, and you had no idea why.

The rest of the boys caught up to you two, and Teddy picked up the money that fell from the letter; a twenty, a ten, and a five-dollar bill. After the initial shock wore off, he read the letter aloud to everyone.  

“‘My dearest girl, how are you? It’s been a while, and I just want to know what you’ve been up to. Merry Christmas, here’s my gift to you. From, Daniel. P.S. Please send another picture of you if you could.’”

Shame crept in like a shaking animal from the cold, and you couldn’t even look at any of them. Still, that didn’t stop Teddy from taunting you; hell, it probably spurred him on.

“The hell kind of business are you running if you got a someone paying you thirty-five bucks?” He laughed, looking back at the guys. “You think she’s in a skin mag or something?”

“Hey, man, shut up.” Jason rebuked.

“No, I’m serious. They take pictures without showing the face sometimes.” He looked at you now. “Which one is it? Penthouse? Modern Man?”

“Leave it, Kountze.” You hissed, not looking at him.

Teddy laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s Playboy; you?”

 “Are you fucking deaf?” Angus asked. “She told you to cut it out.”

“Piss off Tully, you probably saw her tits this morning in study hall.”

You whipped your head around and couldn’t control the face you made; to this day, you still have no idea if it was pure rage, a form of betrayal, or both at once. Still, you watched as how Angus avoided your gaze like he’d done something wrong; he did, but still. Teddy opened his disgusting mouth to speak again.

“Shit, if I were to line up every girl in Barton, you would’ve been the very last one I-.”

“-I’ll let you take the picture.”

All eyes were back on you, and you looked right at Teddy’s; once confident and sly, now widened with surprise. Who knew it would take just six words for him to shut up?

“What?” Was all he responded.

You swallowed thickly, clutching your hands into fists to keep yourself calm (and to not cry). “I’ll let you take the picture of me, but we have to be alone, and you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone else; especially my father.”

This was not what you had envisioned or wanted to happen on your first outing with them away from the adults in your life. You prayed to whatever god above, Christian, Roman, Greek, Buddhist, it didn’t matter, you prayed that Teddy would grow a brain and take the deal.

“Alright.” Was all he said, shrugging with an excited smile on his face that made your skin crawl.

You nodded. “I’ll take my letter and money now.”

He tilted his head, walking closer to you. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, you said. “Please.”

Teddy’s grin only deepened, then handed you your things. “You know, Hunham, maybe you’re not a total prude after-.”

Your fist met his eye, and the both of you stumbled backwards; him clutching his face, you your hand. Needless to say, you were both cursing. Still, you managed to gather your bearings and push him over.

“Fucking bastard.” You spat before trying to make a run for it.

Teddy grabbed your left foot, causing you to fall into the snow, your teeth sinking into your lip once you hit your chin on impact of the ground. You struggled, then managed to quickly wiggle out of your boot before getting back up and running like a girl (anyone would run like a girl if they were being chased by a man like Teddy Kountze).

You honestly have no idea how he didn’t catch up to you at the time, but you were on the steps of the main building when you turned back. There they were, just five, not-so-little specks that stood out across the valley of pure white snow. It was only when you slowed down did you notice how cold your left foot was. Your sock was dripping wet from the snow, and you then pulled off your other boot, leaving it on the stairs before entering the school.

Taking a deep breath once you closed the door, you wiped your mouth; specks of blood colored your hand, but thankfully, not that much. Sighing, you walked through the halls of the school, trying to make your way back to the infirmary and hoping that your father wasn’t there.

You ran into Mary instead (a fate worse than death).

“Where are your shoes?” Was the first thing she asked once she saw you in the main hall (you got lost; hey, you’d only been there a few times in the past, don’t be too hard on yourself).

You shrugged, smiling. “We were playing a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek tag.” you leaned against the wall, hands in your coat pockets. “First one to get to the school wins, I hid my shoes under a bush, so they thought I was there, and I made a run for it.”

“You take a fall then? Your mouth’s bleeding.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never slipped on ice?” You managed to joke.

She arched her brow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you know how long I’ve known you?”

It actually took you a few moments to think back on it; it felt like you’ve known her longer, but no. “Since I was nine?”

“And do you think, in the last eight years, I haven’t been able to tell if you’re a bad liar or not?”

“…Well, am I?”

“Did one of those boys put their hands on you?” She asked the question you both knew was coming. “Was it that shitass Kountze?”

Even with it being a serious question, you laughed (both from surprise and discomfort). “Well like, you should see the hands I put on him. Mary, we were just playing, it’s fine.”

The main door opened before she could say anything else, and you saw the same five boys walk in; Ye-Joon holding your boots. You smiled, approaching them as if nothing was wrong, and you took your shoes. “Thank you.”

He nodded, quickly looking away.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Mary spoke up behind you, and your heart dropped for a moment as well as all of their faces. “I get that you were playing a game, but you don’t need to be so competitive.”

They turned to one another, obviously confused about the whole thing (you were as well). Still, she continued. “Yeah, little miss Hunahm told me everything. Hide and seek, tag, I don’t care what it was, you all need to be just careful with each other. Poor girl over here took a fall, and I see you did too, mister Kountze.”

At his name, Teddy turned away. Angus spoke up. “We’ll be careful next time, miss Lamb.”

“Please, we’re on vacation; just Mary.” She looked at you. “You’re gonna help me with dinner later, right?”

“I will.”

“Good, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

With that, Mary left through one of the doors leading to the teacher’s lounge. The moment she did, Teddy hissed at you.

“What the hell was that?!”

Rolling your eyes you said. “Didn’t you hear? We were playing a stupid game.”

“You mean you punched me in the face.”

“You blackmailed me into doing something I wouldn’t have wanted to do; we can keep going.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a-.”

“-A what?”

He stopped to your surprise, then changed his tone. “I just don’t think your father would be proud of the choices you’ve made.”

On one hand, damn, those words cut deep enough to almost make you bleed; but on the other hand…

“Are you gonna tell him?” You asked, trying not to sound like you gave a shit.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I mean, unless you’re gonna say sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You laughed. “Beating the shit out of you? You started it. Besides, who’s he going to believe?”

Silence was what you were met with. Even at the sight of his face, you only continued to grin. “Teddy, come on, you start ‘not fights’, we all know. It’s not a hard question, I thought you were smarter than this?”

He sighed. “You.”

“Exactly; you’re my bitch, Kountze.” You walked backwards, a little skip in your step. “Don’t you forget that.”

Turning away, you retreated to the infirmary, grabbing your books and escaping to the library in hopes of not having to see any of them for the rest of the day.

Men…so exhausting.

You managed to disappear into the world of The Yellow Wallpaper (not necessarily lighthearted reading, but it was still interesting) and a chapter of The Two Towers before Mary called you down to help with dinner.

After another strange but not so subtle comment from her (“You know you can be honest with me, right? I am with you.”), it was quiet between the both of you. That’s what you always loved with cooking and baking; the quietness, even if you were with one other person. You both just worked in tandem and it was almost frightening how you would both know to move out of the way of each other without saying a word.

Dinner was uneventful; somehow, your father hadn’t noticed the slight bruising on your lip, or Teddy’s eye (the color would probably start to show as days went on, but that was a future problem for you). Not one of the boys your age talked to you; even then, the freshmen kept to themselves a lot too.

So, it was quite a surprise to you, as there was “supervised leisure time” in the library, when Jason Smith sat across from you at the table.

“Hey.” He said softly.

You looked up from Jane Eyre. “Hello.”

“So…” He almost looked nervous (initially about what, you will never know). “you really gave Teddy shit today.”

Tilting your head to the side, you went. “Yeah? Well…he kind of threatened me.”

“No of course. Just…wow.” He chuckled. “You really held him off.”

Nodding, you honestly had no idea what to think. Was he complementing you? In shock? All you were doing was staying silent at this awkward exchange when he asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Just that, I can’t really read you right now. Did I say something weird?”

“No.” You shook your head, then said. “Well, yes. Sorry, I just…” You tried again. “Thank you, I think? But um…do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I’m kind of…no, I am mad none of you stepped in. Maybe not mad but…I don’t know.”

“Well,” he began. “we told him to stop.”

“So did I, but he didn’t.” You wanted to say, but you only knew saying something true would make it worse (this is why you couldn’t be outnumbered by men; it’d make you scared). Instead, you settled on.

“I know, and thanks, but it still would’ve been nice for some help.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to have it handled.”

Six words you thought (and prayed) you’d never hear again; and he said them with a nonchalant shrug. As if, by now, he was already bored and annoyed with a conversation he had started. Perhaps you were reading too much into that last part, perhaps he didn’t mean to come off as callous; but he was still oblivious at the end of the day.

“Look,” he interrupted your overflowing mind when he saw how much it was affecting you. “if it helps, he tried to run after you when you punched him, but Tully and I held him back.”

You took a deep breath as his words sunk in. Then, you chuckled bitterly. “How nice of you to not let him beat me to a pulp.”

He shook his head. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Angry? Pissed off?”

“Irritational.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “What?”

He said your name, shaking his head and lowering his voice as if you both hadn’t been quiet already. “Look, Kountze is a dick, we know that. But come on, he said some horrible stuff, and you punched him. That doesn’t really add up.”

“…He threatened me.”

“You basically invited him to take a picture of you alone. I mean, yeah it was to bate him, but still.”

No further questions, you picked up your book and your jacket. Without another word and ignoring how he tried to call you back with a soft tone of voice as he said your name, you walked out of the library without another thought.

Your father asked you about it of course, but all you said was that Jason spoiled a book you were looking forward to reading. He believed you and wished you goodnight, leaving you to lie in your bed and be stuck in your thoughts until snoring reached your ears.

You waited a few more minutes before you stood up, gathering your blanket to wrap around you. As you walked down the hall, the nagging thought of ‘Do I even feel safe in there?’ invaded your mind when you only realized that you were going to be in a room with both Jason and Teddy. You were outside of the hall for longer than you would imagine, when you heard quiet voices on the other side of the wall.

“…I had an accident.”

“Yeah, you did. Shh, stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

You had to cover your mouth from the unexpected line. How…strange it was to hear Angus Tully be this comforting. You heard the smaller voice again and heard that it was Ye-Joon.

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends.” His voice broke at the end, and so did a piece of your heart.

Then, Angus with his words of wisdom, said. “Yeah, well, friends are overrated. I’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right? In the meantime, find a dry spot, and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you.”

You gave it a few moments, still reeling over the gentleness of it all, before entering into the light of the infirmary room. You knocked lightly on the door frame not to frighten anyone.

Angus turned over his shoulder, and somehow didn’t jump when he saw you.

“Hi.” You greeted.

“Hey.” He responded, trying to act like his common, moody self.

You wanted to acknowledge what you heard; tease him (but not in an unkind way) about him being nice, ask him why, in the dead of night, was he like this and not in the daytime? Still, all you could manage was the basic.

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just nightmares, you know.”

“No,” you shook your head, deciding to lighten and grace the room with your sarcasm. “I’ve never had one in my life.”

Angus seemed to catch on, and it surprised you greatly to see him actually smile. “Nobody likes a bragger.”

“So that’s why you don’t have any friends.”

…Too much; too much sarcasm.

Both of your smiles fell, and you wanted nothing more than to shrivel up like a leaf and die in front of him, then have someone sweep out the crumbs of your body and then them on fire in the snow before burying the ashes.

You still can’t believe you came up with that metaphor quicker before you could say. “I’m just gonna…”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

You scurried into the other room and under the covers of the bed. The fear of Teddy and Jason no longer was the thing keeping you up at night in that room; it was the worst possible thing you could’ve said to Angus Tully of all people.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #the holdovers #mary lamb #teddy kountze #paul hunham #Youtube

[wheresarizona]

September Part 4

Jackson House of Worship, 2024

summary: Joel Miller didn’t get a chance to marry you twenty years ago, and now that you’re back together, he’s not wasting any more time—especially after you both bared your souls the night before, revealing your darkest secrets to make your bond unbreakable.

rating: Explicit (18+! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink (Joel gets called a good boy), spit mention, spanking, Joel should’ve stuck to missionary, flashback to the first meeting, handwavey medical jargon, mention of period typical sexism, emotions, tons of banter, LOTS of fluff, wedding, Ellie taking her best man duties seriously, Ellie’s handkersleeves, sweet Joel & Ellie father-daughter moments, Tommy being a little shit, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, dancing with Joel, Joel playing guitar, angst with a happy ending, confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, talk of pregnancy loss (stillbirth), talk of child loss, grief/mourning, talk of suicide attempt (Joel), TLOU tv/game spoilers)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions)

word count: 24.8k+ (This is who I am.)

a/n: I apologize for the delay in getting this done—March was not great for me. A lot of people wanted Joel to find out about the baby, and oh boy, does he. This chapter is emotional; you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel all warm and fuzzy, you’ll swoon, and you’ll have a good time. Shoutout to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for being by my side through this whole thing. This is unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

July 2002 - Austin, Texas

The clinic wasn’t your first pick for where you wanted to do your residency to become a doctor; it wasn’t even your fifteenth choice. You applied to fifty programs across the entire country, hoping for a bustling hospital in a big city or a large clinic somewhere you could have the opportunity to explore different specialties—pediatrics calling to you, but also interested in internal medicine and surgery. And yet, out of fifty applications, the place that accepted you was a family medicine clinic in Austin, Texas.

But what had you expected? You weren’t a prime candidate due to being a lot younger than others fresh out of medical school, and the real nail in the coffin is you’re a woman; gender bias in the medical field is absolutely astounding.

So, here you are in this clinic with its beige walls and oak wood accents, sitting at a desk reading over the chart of a patient the attending physician said would be easy enough for you to handle on your own, with it only being your second week in the program.

The patient is Joel Miller, a thirty-four-year-old male complaining of knee pain. This is his follow-up appointment after he had scans done the previous week, and your job is to go over the treatment plan the physician has already decided on.

Your nose crinkles at the other doctor’s notes, seeing he isn’t offering a long-term solution but instead is basically shoving a band-aid over a gaping wound that will progressively get worse over time. That wouldn’t do; already figuring out better options in your mind that would have lasting effects and offer relief—that’s something that drew you to medicine in the first place, always having to solve puzzles, making your brain work to help people and save lives.

You’re interrupted by Janis, the nurse who you’re pretty sure hates you, though you don’t know why glaring as she lets you know the patient is ready to see you. Maybe she’s just one of those people with resting bitch face, and you shouldn’t take it personally, except she’s so cold towards you. There isn’t anything you can do about it. Shrugging it off as you get up from your chair, your white coat on and stethoscope hanging around your neck, making your way to room four with the chart in hand.

There are many facts you know about the man you’re seeing: his name, age, occupation, vitals, what the inside of both his knees look like—knocking softly on the door twice, you enter, closing it behind you for privacy—those details hadn’t prepared you for what he looks like. When your eyes land on him sitting on the edge of the exam table, you pause, struck by how handsome he is—brown waves of hair, big chocolate-colored eyes, plush lips, ridiculously broad shoulders that have the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing hugging his chest sinfully.

You gulp, mentally berating yourself for finding a patient attractive, reminding yourself you’re here to do a job to help him feel better, quickly regaining your composure and offering your name.

“...I’ll be your doctor today,” you tell him.

His eyes round, mouth falling open before he catches himself and closes it, seeing that gorgeous throat of his work as he swallows.

You need to stop noticing his attractiveness—he’s a patient.

“Doctor…?” he asks slowly, with a drawl you’re becoming familiar with.

The surprise is clear on his face, which is something you’re used to, the walls rising inside you, readying yourself for a fight because either he’s going to be okay with you taking care of him, or he’ll be a dick and demand another, older, male, doctor—which has happened multiple times this week and is why you’ve only treated a dozen or so patients.

Your chin rises as you reply with a nod, “Yes. I’ll be handling your care.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just I can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

Your eyebrow quirks.

“Because I’m a woman? Young?”

He shakes his head as he speaks, “‘Cause you’re so beautiful.”

That’s an unexpected response that has you so taken aback that your breath hitches, trying to control the butterflies that are wildly fluttering around in your tummy.

His eyes get big, realizing what he said, quickly backtracking, flush staining his cheeks as he looks away. “I am so sorry, ma’am,” he says. “It’s rude of me to be commentin’ on your looks when you’re just doin’ your job. You probably think I’m some creep.”

This poor man is beating himself up about saying the nicest thing anyone’s said to you all week.

“I don’t think you’re a creep,” you reassure him. His eyes meet yours, him gauging if what you’re saying is true, so you smile. “You’re honestly very sweet. A lot of people have a hard time getting over my age or that I’m a female in a male-dominated profession, so you thinking I’m too beautiful is a lovely change and also wonderful for my self-esteem.” You laugh.

His lips curl up.

“Well, I’m happy you’re not kickin’ me out. You bein’ a young woman doesn’t bother me—wish my daughter was here so she could see that if she wanted, she could be like you one day.”

The sincerity of his words has your chest going tight. In med school, a doctor told your class to let the patient ramble at the start of the appointment for five minutes because you’ll learn quite a lot about them. Usually, it’s things about their lifestyle or what’s actually causing them issues. What you now know about Joel Miller is that he’s respectful, a sweetheart, and a caring father—you’re fucked, realizing your eyes are drifting to his left hand, happy that you don’t see a ring.

Not that it means anything to you. He’s your patient. You need to focus.

“How old is your daughter?” you ask.

That’s a safe question. It’s important to build rapport and trust, plus you’re genuinely curious and want to know more about him to ensure you give him the best care—at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

He visibly brightens, and it’s adorable.

“She’s twelve, turnin’ thirteen Saturday after next. Her name’s Sarah and I can’t believe how quickly she’s growin’—feels like just yesterday she was havin’ me check under her bed for monsters.” He has a fond expression on his face.

“Wow, you’re gonna have a teenager. Are you and your wife planning a big party for her?”

There’s no way he’s single, not that it matters to you.

“No wife, or girlfriend, for that matter. Sarah wanted a slumber party with her friends, so I’ll be hidin’ away in my room alone watchin’ a movie or somethin’.”

It shouldn’t excite you to hear he doesn’t have a partner, but there’s a thrill moving through you.

“Sounds like my ideal Saturday night—just relaxing watching tv or a movie.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “We got somethin’ in common, then.” He scratches at the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “I, uh, wanna apologize again. You just caught me off guard, is all—was expectin’ Dr. Carlson with his bad combover.” There’s a smirk on his face when he continues, “But you’re a nice surprise.”

“Because I’m easier on the eyes?” you tease.

Don’t flirt with the patient!

“Yes,” he chuckles.

It’s time to focus on your job and not how his eyes twinkle, clearing your throat as you approach him.

“So, Mr. Miller—“

“Please call me Joel,” he interrupts.

You smile.

“Okay, Joel, I was looking over your chart, and you're having pain in both knees?”

“That’s correct.”

Pulling your pen from your pocket, you ask, “Has it gotten worse since last week? Feel any different?”

“No, ma’am.”

You jot down his answer.

“Well, that’s good.” Your eyes land on his. “May I take a look?” you ask, pointing your pen at his lower half.

“Of course.” He nods enthusiastically. “Look, touch, do anythin’ you want to me, I don’t mind.” He grimaces, whispering to himself, “Jesus, I’m embarrassin’.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips.

“You’re okay, Joel,” you say, putting away your pen and moving to set the chart down on the nearby counter opposite the exam table to wash your hands in the sink.

He lets out a long sigh.

“It’s been a while,” he says. “I’ve forgotten how to talk to women.”

“That’s gotta be a problem with fifty-one percent of the population being female,” you reply as you dry off your hands with a paper towel, tossing it in the trash when you’re done.

He snorts, you turning around and seeing the amused look on his face.

“I’ve forgotten how to talk to women I think are pretty.”

“Well, thank goodness we’re having no issue holding a conversation.”

“It’s taking a whole helluva lot of effort with your gorgeous eyes lookin’ at me.”

Heat is crawling up your neck to your face, focusing on getting your bearings back together. Taking a few steps, you’re close with a little bit of space, needing to get the appointment back on track.

“So, I’m going to examine your knees over your jeans. If I need to, can I push them up your legs?” you ask.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks eagerly.

It makes you laugh, him smiling.

“There’s no need for you to strip.”

“You sure?” he asks with a crooked smile.

“Positive,” you answer, winking.

What is wrong with you? You need to stop flirting with him. He’s a patient! You’re the embarrassing one here. It’s like something inside you shifts when you look down at his right knee, going into doctor mode, brain whirling as you gently touch it over his jeans. Joel tenses, a reaction that furrows your eyebrows, meeting his eyes.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?”

There shouldn’t be any pain based on the scans; if there is, you’ll need to have more imagining done.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Okay. I need you to tell me if anywhere I touch hurts.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your attention is back on what you’re doing, processing what you’re feeling under your fingertips, having him extend his leg so you can see his range of motion, Joel’s face pinching in pain, which you expected.

“I’m going to push up your jeans.”

“You go right ahead.”

Getting them up to his thigh, Joel shivers when you touch his warm skin.

“Sorry about my hands being cold,” you murmur, pressing into the back of his knee to feel his ligaments and tendons, comparing in your mind to what you saw on the scans with how it feels.

“Your hands are nice—soft,” he replies in a gentle tone.

The doctor-patient relationship is sacred and an essential part of healthcare, built on trust, respect, communication, and common understanding. You swore to follow certain ethical guidelines to ensure that your patient gets the highest level of care. Things might be flirty with Joel and you, but his health is your main priority—it’s your job, and you’re not going to cross a line, even if he’s tempting you like forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. While he’s your patient, that’s all he’ll be and nothing more. You’re focused, being thorough, and checking for anything that’s out of the ordinary.

“You don’t have to answer,” he says, “I know it’s a personal question, but how old are you..?”

You’re busy working, answering distractedly, “Twenty-four.”

“Jesus,” he gasps. “And you’re already a doctor?”

There’s slight swelling but no tears that you can tell—everything matches the imaging.

“I have the degree,” you say. “This is the first year of my residency—basically, I’m a doctor in training, but I’ve treated people.”

There’s a curious expression on his face when you finally glance at him.

“I’m just thinkin’ about all the schoolin’. Are you a bit… younger?”

Smiling, you answer, “Yes. I did a lot of work to get my degree sooner—basically zero life outside of school for the past six years.”

He looks impressed.

“Christ, smart and beautiful, your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

“My boyfriend is non-existent—was too busy with school. Well, no changes in this knee from last week—” You pull his pant leg back down. “—so that’s good. Let me check the other.” You move, immediately pushing up his jeans this time. “Does one hurt worse than the other?” you ask, going through the same exam as you did on the other, checking his motion and behind his knee.

“Uh, nope. Both hurt the same. Sarah says it’s ‘cause I’m old,” he chuckles.

“Has Sarah thought about becoming a doctor?”

As you thought, this knee doesn’t have any changes either.

“No—she wants to be a singer.”

You finish, putting his pants back in place, straightening your spine as you look at him.

“Well, she’s got a knack for medicine—she diagnosed you.”

He frowns.

“The pain is because of my age…?”

“It’s a big contributing factor along with the wear and tear from the work you do.”

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing loudly.

“You must think I’m an old man.”

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “You’re only a little older than me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Ten years is a lot.”

“Not really.” You shrug. “And you’re in excellent shape aside from your knees, but that’s bound to be an issue with your job.”

There’s a change in how he’s looking at you, and it has you gulping, watching him slide his thumb over his bottom lip like he wants your attention to go there, getting his wish, not able to stop yourself from wondering if his lips are as soft as they look.

“You, uh, think I’m in excellent shape?” His voice has gone deeper, ignoring the simmering heat in your belly.

“Ye-yes,” you stutter. He’s smirking, and you need to get back into safe territory, clearing your throat before you start speaking, “So, let me go over what we’re gonna do to help with the pain.”

From the look on his face, he’s disappointed, which confuses you, not understanding his reaction.

A tired sigh comes from him before he says, “I’m assumin’ medication, then?”

Oh, he thinks you’re going to give him a prescription for pain relief instead of actually treating him. It’s a common issue with doctors who are up to their ears in patients—instead of taking the time to figure out the root of the cause and treat it accordingly, they just write out a prescription to make the patient comfortable, a temporary solution, that has them coming back again, and again. Dr. Carlson’s plan was medication for Joel.

You’re moving to pick up his chart, your eyes scanning over the information, and turning the page, seeing that this is his sixth visit this year, and it’s only July—imaging wasn’t even ordered until last week.

“How long have you been dealing with this pain?” you ask.

“Last couple of years, I started gettin’ achy. Then in, uh, December of last year, there was a big job I was workin’ on—twelve-hour days for almost three weeks straight, and they started hurtin’ real bad.”

Your blood is boiling that he’s had to suffer for so long.

There’s a serious expression on your face when you look at him.

“There are other things we can do that will be long-term. With you being a single dad, the sole provider for Sarah, and working a manual labor job, I don’t think you’ll have time to commit to physical therapy, and I wouldn’t want to take away from your quality time with her.”

He looks surprised before his expression softens.

“What are you thinkin’, Doc?”

You smile warmly, jumping into what you planned that he can do at home, Joel listening intently as you explain each of the things in detail, him nodding along, seeming to like what you’re saying.

“You think it’ll work?” he asks when you finish.

“I do.” You nod. “It’s just keeping up on the exercises—we need to strengthen and stretch those muscles to assist with joint movement, and the other things I suggested will help with the swelling and give you some relief.”

He’s nodding. “I understand—do the exercises. Don’t wanna let you down.”

You pull a small notepad from your jacket pocket, placing it over the chart as you start writing out your treatment instructions, replying, “You shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Maybe I wanna worry about you. You’re the first doctor that’s actually cared about helpin’ me. Gonna have to come here more often to see you since you take such great care of me.”

“I’m not your primary physician.” You’re almost finished writing. “You’d end up seeing Dr. Carlson.”

“What if you became my primary doctor?”

Tearing off the page, you hold it out to him, his hand taking it.

There’s something here between you two, a connection you can feel, so you tell him truthfully, “Then all I could and would be is your doctor.”

Understanding dawns on him.

“Oh, is the appointment over?”

“Do you have any other concerns?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then the appointment is over. If you have any other issues or questions, please reach out to Dr. Carlson. It’s been a pleasure helping you today, and if there’s nothing else, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

He gets down from the table, groaning when he stands up straight, folding up your note and putting it in his pocket.

Thinking there’s nothing else he wants to say and not acknowledging the disappointment that feels like a stone in your belly, you make your way toward the door.

“Wait,” he says. You stop, turning around to face him. “I have a question.”

Taking a couple of steps closer to him, you ask, “What’s your question?”

He closes the distance, stopping when he’s taking up your vision, focusing on his big brown eyes, noticing his spicy cologne that has you feeling warm. He scratches at the back of his neck, looking nervous.

“Well,” he starts, “since I’m no longer your patient and you’re not my doctor, I’m not usually this forward, and I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but I’m wonderin’ if you’d wanna give an old guy like me a shot at takin’ you out?”

Happiness thrums in your veins that he asks, unable to help when a laugh sputters from you, quickly covering your mouth, his cheeks going red, looking unsure and embarrassed. You quickly apologize, “Sorry! I’m not laughing at you for asking me out—I want to go out with you.” That makes him perk up, rewarding you with a dimpled grin. “It’s just you said I was the first doctor to actually help you, and you’d rather date me than have me take care of you. It’s sweet but also hilarious.” You’re laughing again.

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, the other perched on his hip, keeping his weight to one side.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are a lot more doctors out there—sure, I can find another, but I’ve only ever met one you, and I’m not gonna miss my opportunity to get to know you better.”

It feels like your skin is buzzing, so caught off guard by how genuine he is, seeing it in those dark eyes of his.

“How are you single?”

Is there something you’re missing? Some deep dark secret? He seems so perfect and adorable. It makes zero sense that he’s unattached.

There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Not a lot of women are into single dads.”

“That’s a lie—I’m very into single dads.”

He laughs, a beautiful flush crawling up his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that. Can I get your number?” he asks, pulling out a Nokia phone from his pocket and holding it out to you. “I just got this.”

“Of course.”

Taking it, you punch in the numbers, saving them to his contacts before giving it back. He looks at the little screen, hitting some buttons.

“‘Doc’?” he asks amusedly, meeting your eyes. “Why not your name?”

“Can’t take the risk of a handsome guy like you meeting another girl with my name—need to make sure I stand out,” you answer with a wink.

“No other woman is like you. I only want your number.”

“You’re really laying it on thick,” you tease. “I can assure you that you’ve successfully seduced me, and I really want to go out with you.”

He smiles.

“Good. I really wanna go out with you, too. What time are you off?”

“Seven.”

“Can I call you later?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Then I will.”

“I can’t wait.”

The joy is evident on his face, and you know you’re wearing a matching expression.

He holds out his hand as he says, “It’s been a pleasure meetin’ you today, Doc.” Holding his chart with one arm, you shake his offered palm that engulfs your smaller one. “You’re already a mighty fine doctor.” He winks, bringing your hand up to place a soft, chaste kiss on the back of it, his gaze staying on yours. Your skin tingles, and your body feels like it's burning from the inside out as your jaw goes slack.

Your voice is rough when you say, “You are a liar, Joel Miller.”

His eyebrows dip together, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You said you’d forgotten how to talk to women, and that is not true—not even a little bit. Got me thinking about kissing your stupidly perfect face.”

He crookedly grins.

“Stupidly perfect?”

“Yes,” you groan.

“And you wanna kiss it?”

He gets closer, your bodies practically pressing together.

“Yes.”

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, leaning into his touch, his eyes moving from your own to your lips, the tension rising, thinking he might go for it and hoping he will.

His voice goes lower, “Then we better go out soon.” He takes a small step back, putting space between you, your heart pounding hard in your chest. “You busy tomorrow night?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Off at the same time?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s a half day.”

“Can I pick you up at seven?”

“Yes.” You nod.

He smiles brightly.

“It’s a date. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Doc.”

“Bye, Joel.”

He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it one more time and leaves you standing there in a daze, thankful that out of fifty applications across the entire United States, this was the clinic that accepted you, inadvertently introducing you to Joel Miller.

Spring 2024 - Jackson, Wyoming

For a cold night, the house is comfortably warm, the room illuminated in a soft glow by the bedside lamp, the sky outside dark and hidden by the closed blinds—Joel’s on his knees on the bed, your legs resting over his arms keeping them spread with his hands tightly gripping onto your hips, holding your ass up as he fucks into you hard.

The nap had lasted a couple of hours, the front of your body snug against his back, his fingers intertwined with yours over his heart, kissing his bare shoulders when you woke. Water was drunk, some food was eaten from the rations in your pack, and the next thing you knew, Joel’s face was buried between your legs.

Now, he’s grunting as he pounds into you, his thick cock pushing into that one heavenly spot that only he’s been able to find with his eyebrows furrowed and teeth bared—your head is dizzy with pleasure, fire burning so brightly in your belly that it’s going to explode at any second.

You’re gasping moans, your fingers digging into the bedspread, feeling so fucking close to coming, every thrust having the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“Come on, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let me fuckin’ have it—you feel so fuckin’ good. Fuck, wanna feel you come.”

“Close,” you whine. “Oh, fuck.” Your body is starting to writhe, not able to control yourself. “You’re fucking me so good, Joel. Oh, god. Gonna come.”

The slap of his hips echoes in the room, the sound magnified by how wet you are, filling the air with the loud squelch of your cunt mixing with rough sounds coming from Joel’s throat and your breathy noises.

The heat builds in the pit of your stomach, growing hotter and thicker until stars are dancing at the edge of your vision, coming with a shout of his name.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he groans, “My good girl—I fuckin’ love you.”

Your body seizes up, the pleasure starting deep in your center and radiating out through your limbs, feeling it spread to the tips of your fingers and toes, your mind going hazy. Joel slows to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his throbbing dick, working you through your high.

The orgasm ebbs and your body continues to tremble—opening your eyes to meet his lust-blown gaze, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

Smiling dreamily, you answer, “Yeah, babe. Feel fucking amazing. You’ve always known how I like to be fucked.”

“Yeah, I do,” he rasps, slowly thrusting, “and I know you got one more in ya.” He slaps your hip, making you gasp when he pulls out, letting your legs fall to the bed. “Hands and knees, baby,” he says, helping you get into position, your body thrumming in excitement, knowing what’s to come.

Your knees sink into the mattress, hips up, forearms resting against the pillow just how he wants you, looking over your shoulder to watch him grab onto the flesh of your ass, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says, spreading open your asscheeks, the bed jostling as he moves. His face gets close, moaning when you feel him spit onto your entrance, the hot saliva mixing with your slick and come, your eyes closing, facing forward once more.

He straightens up, wasting no time to press back inside you in one smooth thrust, gasping at how he stretches you. It was something you’d never tire of, the way he fills you and how your body makes space to have him fitting all nice and snug, sliding perfectly along your sensitive walls.

His hands are grabbing onto your hips, digging in his fingers as he starts moving, soft sounds falling from your lips with each push and pull of his cock inside you. He sets a punishing pace, hearing the dull smack of your bodies colliding and his balls slapping into your clit, him grunting in exertion with how hard he’s slamming into you.

Your head falls forward, pressing it into the cushiony pillow, him turning you into a whimpering, drooling mess at how good it feels, the familiar heat in your core growing, expanding, as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he grits out, his hand landing on your asscheek in a resounding smack that has your cunt clenching. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

He’s making your ass jiggle and thighs quiver with every hard thrust, whining in reply, “Yes, Joel. So good.”

You have to push back to keep him from fucking you into the headboard, your arms trembling, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your end.

His hand leaves your hip to massage your clit, making you keen, the jolts of electricity ramping you up and setting every nerve in your body ablaze, clawing at the pillow for something to hold onto.

You’re so close—everything he’s doing to you builds you up until you fall over the edge, chanting his name as the waves of euphoria spread through you.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” Joel groans, grabbing your hips once more to fuck you through your climax, going harder to extend it—snapping into you with abandon. It makes your head spin, and feels like the pleasure just keeps going and going—

He comes to a sudden stop with a hiss—pulling out, the bed jostles as he falls onto it beside you on his back. You’re coming down from your high, turning your head to see his chest heaving as he catches his breath with his eyes closed. Reaching over, you pat his flushed, sweaty chest.

“Tire yourself out?” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he pants.

“Shoulda listened to Tommy and stuck to missionary, you old man.”

His head turns a fraction toward you, opening one eye with a grumpy expression on his face, grumbling, “Don’t be fuckin’ mean.” You laugh when he pinches your hip, your body crumpling flat onto the mattress.

“I’m sorry, babe,” you giggle, scooting over to him to throw your arm over his stomach and rest your head over his heart, leaning up to kiss his chin.

“Liar,” he replies.

“I’m not lying,” you say into his skin. “I am a little sorry.”

“Good—did I, uh, tire you out?” he asks.

You snort.

“Need me to get on top and finish you off?”

His cock is still hard and resting on his belly, wetting his skin in your slick.

He lets out a long sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Say no more,” you reply, kissing his stubble.

With a groan, you’re moving to straddle his hips, one hand on his chest to hold yourself up, the other moving to grab his dick to notch him at your opening, him twitching in your palm. It’s a reflex when his big hands land on your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles into your soft skin.

“Fuckin’ love when you’re on top,” he rasps, his glazed-over gaze on yours.

“‘Cause you like watching my tits bounce.”

He’s unable to reply, his mouth falling open as you sink down on him, your eyes fluttering closed at how he feels so much bigger like this, your thighs meeting when you bottom out.

“God, I love your dick,” you moan, both hands on his chest, rolling your hips, adjusting to the fullness.

His voice is strained when he replies, “I know you do—always hungry for my dick.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his face out of my pussy—fuck,” you gasp, tilting your hips to have him press into something divine.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Gotta make up for lost time.” One of his hands moves to your center, pressing his thumb to your clit it making pleasure spark in your belly. “You wanna come again?” he asks.

Meeting his eyes, you shake your head, “No,” you answer. “I’m spent. Another, and I know I’ll pass the fuck out.”

He smirks. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Your eyebrow raises.

“Except that you’d have to get yourself off with your hand—I’m good, babe. It’s your turn.”

“Okay.”

His hand goes back to your hip, your inner walls fluttering around him, starting to move up and down, rising on your knees and falling over and over, his eyes locking on your chest with his jaw slack.

“Fuck,” he groans. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Lean down, baby.”

It makes you grin. Of course, he wants you to lean down.

Your hands move to either side of his head to hold yourself up, riding him in earnest, not surprised when he palms your breasts. His fingers tease your stiff nipples, rolling and pinching them, causing electricity to shiver down your spine, breathily moaning as you work him over, feeling the sheen of sweat coating your skin and your thighs beginning to burn. There’s a beautiful flush covering him, his golden skin glistening in the lamplight, wanting to lick the drops of perspiration along the column of his throat. He feels so good inside of you, his cock moving in and out of you, going at a rhythm he likes, his face screwed up like he’s in pain, knowing he’s getting close with the rough noises he’s making.

“Kiss me,” he pants.

Lowering your face, you hover your lips over his. “Aren’t you needy,” you say between heavy breaths, nudging his nose with your own. “You want me to kiss you?”

“Please,” he croaks out, looking absolutely wrecked.

“My good boy asking so nicely.” He moans loudly, feeling his cock jerk. You give him what he wants, capturing his mouth in a kiss, pressing your lips forcefully to his while you keep rutting against him, his hands squeezing your breasts.

It’s loud between your legs, hearing the wet sounds of you moving on him.

“‘M close,” he murmurs into your lips, making you go harder, your heart pounding in your chest.

It doesn’t take much more for his big hands to finally grab onto your hips, pulling you down all the way to be flush with him, a dirty, low groan spilling from his throat as he comes—his dick twitching, the warmth of his spend filling your inner depths.

You’re wrung out, your head falling into the crook of his neck, panting hot breaths into his skin, Joel sounding just as winded, hugging his arms around you to hold you close.

Minutes you lay wrapped up in each other, your heartbeats slowing together, comfortable, happy, neither of you wanting to move.

Exhaustion is creeping up on you, afraid you’ll fall asleep. Your voice is muffled when you say, “Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m old.”

He swats your ass. “Stop that. You’re not old.”

“Joel, I want to sleep—I’m old,” you sigh. “I’m too tired to fuck.”

He sighs, too, replying, “Fuck, I’m tired, too—bone fuckin’ tired. That doesn’t mean we’re old.”

A memory comes to you. “Remember that one weekend Tommy watched Sarah? You’d been swamped with work the week before, and according to him, you were an absolute asshole because you needed to get laid, so when the job was done, he told you to stay with me all weekend, and we literally fucked the entire time?”

You’d barely left your bed.

“That was a good weekend.” You can hear him smiling.

“It was. We barely slept and fucked like rabbits. Joel, we didn’t even last all of tonight. Face it, babe, we’re old.”

“We just need a good night’s rest, and we could easily go all night.”

“Sure, babe—“ You lightly pat his cheek “—just some sleep, and we can go all night like we’re twenty years younger.”

“That’s what I said, and I know I’m right.”

“You’re cute,” you say, moving to kiss his jaw. “I gotta get up and go to the bathroom—I’ll grab us some water.”

“Mmkay.”

Unwrapping his arms, you carefully got up with a groan, the bed squeaking as you maneuvered off of it.

Your first stop was the en suite to take care of your needs and clean yourself up, relishing in the delicious ache between your legs at being thoroughly fucked. Next was doing the same walk of shame that Joel had taken earlier, not bothering to put on any clothes as you padded down to the first floor to refill your cups, returning with them full of water.

Your eyebrows dip together when you get back into the bedroom, finding Joel in the same spot you left him—his head is cushioned on a pillow, his eyes closed, completely still, seeing his chest's steady rise and fall.

Normally, he would’ve gotten up to clean himself up and use the bathroom.

Did he pass out?

You set the glasses on the bedside table next to him. “Joel?” you whisper. “Did you fall asleep?”

You’re afraid that if you touch him, you might startle him.

“No.” He says the word clearly.

Stepping closer to the bed, you push his messy hair away from his face.

“You just comfortable?” you ask.

“...no.”

Well, the slight pause has alarm bells ringing in your head.

“What do you mean?” You stroke your hand over his cheek. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a really long breath, finally blinking open his eyes to look at you, a frown on his lips.

“Don’t make fun of me…”

Oh, god, he’s hurt. Immediately you’re looking over his body for any sign of injury, noting that his breaths are even, your fingers moving against his neck to feel the steady thump of his pulse.

“What’s wrong?” you ask again.

“I… can’t move,” he answers, grimacing.

That narrows things down. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Hips or back?”

“Back—pulled somethin’. Fuckin’ hurts to move.”

Your brain is making quick work on how you will treat him, remembering you saw some ice in the freezer.

“Well, at least you didn’t break a hip,” you murmur. “Tommy and Ellie would’ve never let you live it down.”

That grumpy expression comes over his face.

“My hips are fuckin’ fine,” he grouses. “Just gotta lay here for a bit, and I’ll be okay.”

“Um, no,” you reply. “You’re not laying here and suffering.” Grabbing a glass of water, you ask, “First, I need you to drink something. Does it hurt to lift your neck?”

His frown becomes more pronounced, him lifting up as much as he can, and your hand immediately going behind his head to help him up, the other bringing the cup to his lips and tilting it for him to drink. Once he’d drunk the whole thing, he laid back against the pillow again.

“Thank you, baby.” He looks so sad, and it has you putting the glass back onto the table before cupping his cheeks and leaning down to kiss him softly.

Breaking it, you look him in the eyes, smiling. “You’re welcome, and don’t be upset. I believe you said it was sexy that I could treat your sex injuries, and I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

His eyes are big. “I know you will,” he says softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, I gotta flip you over to make sure it is a pulled muscle and you didn’t slip a disk or something worse.”

“Okay,” he sighs.

Helping him get onto his stomach involves him making a lot of pained sounds and muttering ‘fuck,’ repeatedly. Luckily, after a quick exam, you confirmed it was just lower back strain.

Earlier in the evening, Tommy had dropped off a bag filled with clothes. Rummaging through it, you found a white t-shirt that was clearly meant for Joel that you put on before going downstairs to grab some ice that you wrapped in a small towel.

When you got back to your injured fiancé, you applied the cold compress to help reduce the pain and swelling.

You’re lying beside him, your hand holding the ice to where his pain is, his head turned toward you.

“I refilled the ice tray,” you say. “We just need to do this every three or four hours over the next couple of days, and you’ll have to take it easy. No strenuous activity.”

“Yes, Doc,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You wanted to fuck for a couple of days.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you reassure. “I was dreaming big and did not account for the fact that I am no longer an energetic twenty-something. Honestly, I am so fucking exhausted. I think everything is catching up to me—saving Ellie, finding you, us walking here to Jackson. I want to sleep for days. Then there’s the fact you fucked me so good, I’m gonna need some time to recover—I’m sore.”

“We overdid it.” He lets out a breath.

“We overdid it.” You nodded.

“But it was good..?” He looks hopeful.

You smile. “So fucking good—worth the pain.”

“Yeah?” He smirks.

“Yeah.”

“I reckon it was worth the pain.”

Once his back is iced, he’s able to get up, and you both take a quick shower together, deciding to call it a night. Joel’s protective instincts have him sleeping closest to the door with a gun and knife on the bedside table, you nestled into his left side, your leg hitched up on his thigh, resting your head over his heart, the strong beats so calming that it has you relaxing. There’s no doubt that you’ll sleep more than a few hours—you’re beyond tired and sated, so comfortable and happy that your mind is already beginning to drift. Add in Joel’s fingers sliding along the bare skin over your ribs, the shirt you’re wearing pushed up under your breasts, and you’re in heaven.

It’s the early hours of the morning, the room is dark and quiet, save for your even breaths filling the air.

His voice is gentle and barely above a whisper, “Baby?”

“Hmmm?”

“In the shower, you asked about my scar?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s one below your belly button that I don’t think is from bein’ stabbed. How’d you get it?”

His question has your eyes flying open, the sleepiness now replaced with panic as your mind races and heart pounds, knowing exactly what scar he’s talking about—it’s surgical, a cut made by a scalpel that’d been hurriedly stitched up after the doctor sterilized you.

It’s an easy enough answer to give him since he’s aware you can’t get pregnant. But it feels like a lie; it’s not the whole truth that you’ve buried so deep down inside your conscious because of the pain of remembering.

You’d been adamant about wanting to protect Joel from the anguish of discovering the extent of all he lost twenty years ago. You didn’t see the point in upsetting him and knew without a doubt he’d blame himself. Yet, there’s a part of you that feels he deserves to know, that he needs to know, and that this isn’t something you should have to carry by yourself. He’s the love of your life, the man you’re going to spend whatever days you have left on this earth with, and it feels wrong to keep a secret like this from him. If he found out later, he’d be even more devastated, and you don’t want to betray his trust like that—you don’t want to keep anything from him, like how you hope he doesn’t keep anything from you. You’re partners, you’ve always shared everything, and this is no different.

The resolve hits you that you’re going to tell him the truth, the whole truth.

“We don’t have to talk about it…” he says when you’re silent for too long. “It’s late anyway.” The last word turns into a yawn.

“No, I’ll tell you,” you reply. Moving, you get on top of him, your thighs bracketing his naked hips, leaning over to turn on the lamp. His eyes squint from the light, looking uneasy, your body pressing into his to hover your face over his, holding yourself up on your elbows beside his head, stroking your fingers through his damp grey hair. His arms automatically wrap around your back to rub his hands along your shirt-covered spine.

“I’m not gonna like what you’re about to tell me, am I?” he asks with a frown.

“No, Joel,” you answer softly. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, so take a deep breath for me.”

The expression on his face turns serious, clenching his jaw, his hands stopping their movements.

His voice is low, “How’d you get the scar?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. First, I need you to understand that everything that happened to me is not your fault, okay?”

“Just fuckin’ tell me.”

“You tell me first that you understand what I just said.”

“Yes—not my fault,” he says impatiently. “Tell me.”

One of the things they teach you in medical school is how to give a person bad news. There are times when you have to tell someone they’re dying or have an incurable illness; a patient dies in surgery, and you’re having to inform the next of kin. It’s a step-by-step process, starting with finding out the person's understanding of the situation for a place to begin and build upon. Next is the warning shot, which you delivered by telling Joel that what you’re about to tell him is going to hurt. Then you present the news in plain words to avoid any misunderstandings. It’s common for there to be silence, so you wait for them to make the next move and validate any emotional responses. It’s a little fucked up that this is the process you’re going to use to tell him, but it’s the best way to ease him into it and not cause too much emotional distress all at once.

“Good,” you reply. “Remember in the truck when I told you I took measures to ensure I couldn’t have children?”

“Yes. The scar’s from that? Surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… what aren’t you tellin’ me?”

Taking a deep breath, you answer, “The reason I had it done.”

His eyebrows crease together, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“But you said—”

That you had a fellow doctor help you out.

“Yes,” you cut him off, “except after the Outbreak, especially right at the beginning, doctors weren’t doing elective surgeries, and still aren’t with the lack of supplies. They only do sterilization at the time of childbirth or in conjunction with another abdominal surgery.”

“Please, for the love of God, say surgery,” he says desperately, and it makes your chest ache, hating that you’re putting him through this.

Cupping his cheeks, you give another warning shot, saying as gently as possible, “Joel, I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but I was pregnant.”

His eyes go wide. “When?” he breathes, but you can tell he already knows the answer.

“2003.”

He looks like he’s just been punched, his face pinching in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as he absorbs the blow and processes what you said.

There’s a roughness to his voice when he speaks again, hearing the hurt when he whispers, “The baby?”

“Didn’t survive the pregnancy.” Swallowing hard, your eyes are burning at remembering all that’d happened, knowing something was wrong, and discovering the worse when an ultrasound was done. “I, uh, lost her in December of that year. I was a little over five months along.”

The devastation is clear on his face when his gaze meets yours, seeing how hard he’s trying not to cry with the tears brimming his eyes and his bottom lip trembling.

His throat bobs, the word cracking when it leaves his mouth, “Her?”

“Yes.”

“Five months? Five? You were… you were…” He can’t even say the whole sentence. “Before? On my, my… On my birthday?” Tears start falling down his cheeks.

Your throat is so tight that it’s hard to speak, answering morosely, “Yes.” Wiping at the wetness on his face, continuing, “I found out a few days before.” The next part, you say so quietly, “I was going to surprise you—it was your gift.”

You can see his heart break, and it makes your own squeeze so tight it steals your breath. It was the right thing to tell him—he deserved to know, but it comes at such a great cost, feeling terrible that you’re causing him so much distress. A pained noise comes from him as he crushes you in a hug, pressing your face into his neck, his body shaking as he cries hard, giving in to your own sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” you sob.

He’s in agony. It hurts. The pain is gut-wrenching, the sadness so deep inside of him he can feel it twisting him in knots, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s like someone is trying to skin him from the inside out. What he’s feeling is unbearable, and he is unsure if he will survive.

Getting stabbed felt better than this. He’d rather get stabbed because that’s something that heals and scars over, but this? It’s a gaping wound that’s going to stick with him just like Sarah’s death had.

There was nothing he’d wanted more than to have a baby with you all those years ago, and now knowing how close he got to his dream—that he lost two daughters without even knowing, he’s at an utter loss, the anguish consuming him, and overflowing into the tears he can’t hold back, letting it all out as he holds you close, needing your comfort.

His body is trembling uncontrollably, wracking with sobs. “We lost our baby,” he chokes out. “Our baby girl—I lost my babies.”

It feels like his chest is caving in, his heart getting crushed under the weight of his sadness, and he’s thankful you’re here with him—you’re keeping him grounded, your presence stopping him from simply checking out, and he’s allowing himself to feel the emotions, and grieve, something he couldn’t do with Sarah.

He can’t even imagine what you went through alone—losing the baby, him, and Sarah. At least he still had Tommy, but you had no one, having to deal with it all by yourself. Joel feels like shit that he wasn’t there for you in your time of need, wondering if he had been, would the baby have survived? Did another of his kids die because he failed to protect them again? Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a father—he’s not supposed to outlive his children, and he has with two of them, fucking delivering the third to people who wanted to take her from him, too, and barely saving her. He’s a failure as a father, unable to keep his kids safe, and now he’s very aware of how much stronger you are than him. After all the loss you went through alone, and you kept going? He’s weak in comparison, a coward; he barely survived—a failure of a father, partner, and human.

Your words are muffled, your tears hot on his skin, “I’m sorry,” you cry. “I did everything I could to give her the best chance, and it wasn’t enough.”

It’s not right that you’re blaming yourself, and he’s so angry at himself that he’s stopped crying, needing to make you understand it wasn’t your fault—if anyone’s to blame, it’s him.

He pulls you up to look you in the eyes, seeing your face is wet, his large palms caressing your cheeks. “I know you did all you could.” He speaks the words clearly, making sure you can hear the truth. “It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I… I,” he stutters, “failed you both.”

Your eyebrows dip down, going serious. “I told you everything that happened to me isn’t your fault, Joel. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to the baby, or Sarah, for that matter. I’m the one who fucked up and got a flat tire. I’m the one who became a doctor for the army and had to deal with the stress of treating people caught in the blasts when they tried to stop the spread of infection by bombing Alberquerque, which didn’t even work. The city was lost, the army cut their losses and sent us to Phoenix, we just…” You pause, sounding ashamed when you say, “We abandoned the survivors—left people in the medical camp who’d die without treatment, and as a doctor, I was horrified, but as an expectant mother? I was one of the first people on the truck because the baby was all I cared about.” Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I figured having the protection of the military and access to medical supplies was the best option I had to safely bring her into the world, even at the cost of my morals—she was all I had left of you, and I was willing to do anything to protect her, and in the end, she didn’t make it, and none of it was your fault.”

“There’s a chance she would’ve survived if I was with you.” Pain cuts through him like a hot knife, the regret stinging. “They both might’ve survived if I’d been with you.”

It’s weighing on him how things could’ve been different, feeling like it was all his fault for not finding you sooner. After Sarah’s death, he doesn’t remember much about the days or weeks that followed—he’d completely disconnected from everything and wasn’t himself, simply an emotionless shell of a person that did whatever he needed to keep Tommy safe, looking for you in every QZ, settlement, or army camp they entered. That night everything went down, they should’ve checked the route you took, they should’ve tried harder to find you. His mind is whirling with all of the different choices he could’ve made.

Your hand cups his cheek. “Hey,” you say softly. “Don’t think about the what ifs. I know it’s hard, but all it will do is drive you crazy. What happened, happened, and you don’t need to torture yourself over it by thinking of how you could’ve changed things. So, stop blaming yourself. I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you. It gave me the strength to keep searching for you, thinking that you and Sarah were out there looking for me, too. We can’t go back in time, so we focus on the present and the fact that after everything we’ve been through, we still managed to find each other again.”

Hearing that your grief spurred you on to keep looking for him makes guilt roil in his stomach over how weak he’d been and that, by his own hand, he’d almost made your search pointless.

There’s no sugarcoating it, and you should know after all you’ve revealed to him, so he just says it, “I tried to kill myself.”

It makes you flinch, shock coming over your face. “What?” you whisper. “Joel, when? Why?”

Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, his eyes darting away because he feels so much shame.

“Second day,” he answers. Swallowing thickly, he continues, the emotion making his voice rough, “Sarah died in my arms, and after all the shit I saw, I thought you were gone, too, and that was why you never made it to my house. I lost you both and couldn’t see the point anymore.” He takes a second to figure out his next words. “I’m, uh, not as strong as you are. The two people I love most were taken from me, and I didn’t want to keep living. Simple as that. Wasn’t even scared,” he admits. “I was ready—more than ready.” He pauses, his jaw flexing as the memory of holding the gun and feeling so calm comes back to him. “When I…” He has to swallow again, a lump forming in his throat, it just as hard telling you as it was with Ellie. “When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched.” His gaze meets yours, seeing the sadness in your eyes. “I, uh, told Ellie this story the other day, and I said I don’t know why I flinched, but some part of me likes to think it was Sarah tellin’ me to keep goin’ and not give up.” A sad smile turns up on his lips. “You know how she was always bossin’ me around.”

You sniffle, sharing the same look as him, both thinking fond memories about his daughter. “Because you’re a fucking disaster, Joel,” you reply. “You need someone bossing you around.”

He’s not going to deny the truth. “That I do, and I’m so fuckin’ happy I did keep goin’ ‘cause I found you, and there’s Ellie.”

The only kid he has left.

If he was protective of her before, he doesn’t know what he is now, a little afraid he might become one of those annoying helicopter parents. He can’t risk anything happening to her. He needs to keep her safe, ignoring the sudden urge to jump out of bed to go over to Tommy’s to check up on her.

After the resort town, and what she’d gone through, he’d been so worried about her change in demeanor—how quiet she became, closed off, distracted, aloof. She wouldn’t talk about it, but from the look in her eyes and the blood that’d been on her clothes when he found her, she’d had to kill a person or people, and Joel felt like he’d let her down by not being able to keep her safe.

He hated when she had to shoot the guy in Kansas City to save him, and he hated even more that she had to kill when he wasn’t there to do it for her—she’s still just a kid, his kid, and he knew it’d be traumatic for her, even if she tried to put on a brave face, and sure enough, it’d fucked her up, Joel worried sick that he’d lost his upbeat, chatterbox, bad pun telling Ellie forever.

He’d done everything he could think of to cheer her up and get her out of her head as she’d always done to him, pretty sure he said more words to her on their trip to Salt Lake City than he’d said in the past twenty years combined.

Then she met you, and he knows it was you who brought her back to him—you’d literally taken him to her, helped save her life, and given her hope that everything she’d been through, the good and bad, all meant something, freeing her conscious of the guilt she’s held over those who’d died for her.

And since Joel and Ellie are cut from the same cloth and terrible with emotional shit, now that she’s better, they’re pretending like it hadn’t happened.

Thank Christ you were there to call him out on his lie about the Fireflies finding someone else and telling her the truth—she never would’ve forgiven him.

“I’m happy you kept going, too,” you say, “so you could be there for her. Ellie needs a parent, someone to love her unconditionally, and I know you love her like she’s your own kid.”

“I do.”

“Have you told her?”

He looks away. “...no. We’re, uh, not very good at that kinda thing.”

“I figured as much. You’ll have to tell her one day. I think it’d make her happy.”

“Maybe…” He looks at you again, frowning. “That little girl has been alone her whole life. No parents—abandoned with FEDRA when she was born. I reckon she’s never been loved or cared about, and she isn’t quite sure what to do now that she’s got a… a…”

What is he to her?

“Dad,” you finish for him. “You’re her father, and she’s your daughter. You’re still a dad, Joel. You’ve got another teenager to raise or at least guide. She’s no longer alone and now has people to love and care about her, all thanks to you.” You poke his nose.

“She’d hate me sayin’ I’m her dad…”

“Because it’s so foreign to her. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have one, and I think she’ll warm up to the idea after some time.”

He couldn’t help feeling hopeful. “It’d be nice,” he replies. “Easier way to explain our relationship, and I do know she loves me.”

She’d never had to say it. Her actions and how she said she’d follow him anywhere were enough for him to know. That’s how their relationship has always been—doing their damnedest to talk around their feelings because they’re both just so fucking awkward. He told Ellie it wasn’t time that healed him, and she’d understood what he meant: I love you, and you’re the reason I’m better. When she responded that she was glad the attempt on his life didn’t work out, he heard: I love you, too.

They get each other.

“Good,” you say. “I know she loves you, too.”

It’s an understatement to say life has been unkind to him. Frankly, it feels like all he’s gone through was some kind of sadistic test of his resolve to live, it getting harder and harder with every passing year.

Joel thinks he’s finally catching a break or at least hopes.

He’s got you, Ellie, and Tommy all together someplace safe.

It still hurts like hell everything he lost to get here, unable to stop himself from imagining what it’d be like if his other two daughters had survived—all of you settling in Jackson, him and you taking care of Ellie, Sarah in her thirties with her own home and a family, and then there’s the girl who would’ve recently turned twenty that looks like a mix of you both; he pictures a face with your gorgeous eyes, his mouth, your chin, and he’d feel awful that she got his nose, but she’s beautiful just like her mom.

What would she have been like? Would she have looked how he’s imagining? The thoughts have his chest squeezing so tight, feeling like he’s lost another piece of his heart after he just put it back together again.

His eyes are watery, his voice wobbly when he asks, “Did she have a name?”

Your face goes soft, sadness gleaming in your eyes, your fingers sliding through the hair above his ear. “Yes,” you answer.

“I’d like to know it,” he says softly.

“When I first found out, she was Jellybean.” There’s a fond expression on your face. “Then, after everything, I started calling her Hope? Didn’t even know if she was a girl, but to steal from Star Wars, she was my only hope and kept me going, so that’s what I referred to her as. If she’d ended up being a boy, I would’ve named her Joel.” That makes his breath catch in his throat. “Then I found out the gender, and Hope just stuck.”

“Hope was perfect.”

“Hope Miller.”

Tears are rolling down his cheeks. “Hope Miller,” he says, the name ending on a sob, Joel crying once more.

He hugs you close to him, breathing in your hair while he breaks down, your body shaking as you let go, too, needing each other at this moment, mourning together, sharing in the sadness.

It could’ve been minutes or hours later that there were no more tears to shed, both of you overly exhausted, feeling like your bodies had been wrung out of everything inside of them.

You lean over him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, and with a hand on the back of your head, he brings you down for a tender kiss.

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he murmurs into your lips.

“Thank you for telling me,” you reply.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agrees.

It’s comforting when you end up half on top of him, your leg thrown over his waist, your head on his chest, your arm across his belly. He holds you, everything that happened tonight, making him fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He turned onto his left side as he slept, and It’s the bed jostling, you sitting up quickly beside him, that has him waking abruptly, adrenaline pumping in his veins over not hearing the intruder enter the room. You’re in danger, his heart pounding, breathing hard, and he’s out of the bed immediately, needing to neutralize the threat, not seeing any weapons, his hand grabbing the unarmed man by the throat.

He’s being shouted at by you, it finally registering in his brain, “Joel, it’s Tommy!”

His brother’s eyes are wide, his hands clawing at Joel’s arm, using what little air he has to repeat, “It’s me, it’s me…”

It breaks him from the spell, letting go of the other man, who starts coughing.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Joel growls. “I coulda fuckin’ killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “I knocked, and nobody answered.”

“So, you broke in while we were sleepin’? You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

Tommy catches his breath. “I wasn’t thinkin’.” He looks sheepish. “Doc’s here, and I thought it’d be funny, like back in the day when I’d barge into your room when she was at the house.”

Joel’s hand is on his naked hip, the other pressing to his face.

One of Tommy’s favorite past times, back in Austin, was showing up at his house on Saturday mornings when he knew you’d be staying over and annoying the fuck out of you both until you got out of bed to go have breakfast at the diner with Sarah—after the first time, you started sleeping in a shirt much to Joel’s chagrin.

“You’re fuckin’ stupid, Tommy,” Joel sighs. “You can’t be doin’ that anymore. There’s a real chance I’d end up murderin’ ya, and I don’t need Maria hatin’ me more than she already does.”

“Maria doesn’t hate you.”

He moves his hand from his face to narrow his eyes at his brother. “Maria hates my fuckin’ guts,” he replies.

“Wait,” you say, Joel stepping to turn his body toward you, confusion on your face. “Why does Tommy’s wife hate you?”

There’s a thrill running through him because he knows that as soon as you find out, you’re gonna rip into his brother. He looks at the younger man, nodding his head toward you, “Tell her why Maria hates me.”

Tommy looks uneasy. “Well, like I said, she doesn’t hate you. She’s just gotta warm up to you, is all,” his brother says.

“Uh-huh.” Joel doesn’t sound convinced. “Stop beatin’ around the bush, and tell her.”

“I told her the truth of all we did in order to survive,” Tommy says quickly. “How we fuckin’ murdered innocent people and all that fucked up shit. I didn’t leave out anythin’ ‘cause she’s my wife, and I tell her everythin’.”

“Tommy,” your voice has gone low and serious, and Joel can’t help his smirk. “Did you blame everything you did on Joel and make him sound like a fucking monster?”

Tommy looks mad. “You don’t know what we did—all the people we killed. We could’ve done things differently. It was Joel’s fault.”

“For keeping you alive, Tommy?” she asks, Joel glancing her way to see her looking just as angry. “His daughter died in his arms. His daughter. He lost me that night, too, thinking I was dead, and you’re fucking blaming him for doing fucked up shit to keep the only person he had left alive? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? If anyone has survived to today, they’ve had to do horrible shit to get here—I’ve done horrible shit that I’m not proud of, but I’m still breathing, and that’s all that fucking matters.”

“There were other ways we could’ve survived,” Tommy says. “Maria—”

“Maria,” you interrupt, “wasn’t in the same situation as you and Joel. You make her sound like a goddamn saint, but I have no doubts she’s had to do fucked up shit, too. Get off your fucking high horse, Thomas. You were the last person Joel had, and after the shit that happened to him, you’re gonna bet your ass that he would do anything, no matter how shitty, to keep you alive. Frankly, you should be thanking him that you survived long enough to make it here.”

The other man breathes in deeply before replying, “Look, it’s in the past, and I get it now that he was just desperate to keep me livin’. I still feel pretty fuckin’ guilty about the shit that went down, but I understand why he did it. I’ll, uh, talk to Maria.”

“Yeah,” you say. “You better.”

“I will.” He nods.

“Did ya come over just to annoy us?” Joel asks his brother.

“No,” Tommy replies. “Brought y’all breakfast, like I said I would. It’s in the kitchen, and I’m also here to find out what the fuck happened ‘cause Ellie is a goddamn liar.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “What’d she say?”

“I know I said I tell everythin’ to Maria, but I kept my word to you and didn’t mention Ellie’s… condition. She thought you were takin’ the girl to find her family.”

“Thank you.”

“Ellie said y’all found the campus in Colorado abandoned and that you ended up in Utah at a hospital the Fireflies were usin’, and that’s where you found Doc. She said the place got hit by raiders, and you had to fight your way out.”

“I did find Doc at the hospital in Salt Lake City, and Colorado was abandoned,” he says. Scratching at the back of his neck, he looks away. “We got to Utah, found the Fireflies, but they’d wanted to kill Ellie in order to try and make a cure…”

“What the fuck did you do, Joel?” his brother asks through his teeth.

“Joel and I killed them all,” you answer for him, Tommy’s attention moving to you. “I was a doctor there and have been researching a cure for the last five years. Ellie was our key, but Marlene and the head of the facility wanted to murder her instead of doing a procedure that she would’ve survived. It was fucked up, so I helped Joel save the girl, and we took out the Fireflies in the process.” You shrug.

“You saved her instead of everyone else on the entire fuckin’ planet?” Tommy sounds like he can’t believe what he’s saying.

“I couldn’t let her die,” Joel replies, his eyes meeting his brother’s. “Not after Sarah—she’s my kid, Tommy.”

His brother sighs. “Yeah,” he replies. “I get why you’d do it. It’s just fucked that there coulda been a cure, and now what the fuck are we gonna do?”

“Well,” you start. “If I can get my hands on the right equipment, I can do the biopsy and work on developing it myself, but I’d basically need a lab.”

“You could do it?” Surprise is in Tommy’s tone.

“Yeah? The assumption is that Ellie has had Cordyceps growing inside her since she was born—my theory is that her mom was bit while pregnant and somehow gave birth before turning.” That has Joel’s stomach falling through the floor at the thought of Ellie’s mother making sure her baby survived even after being handed a death sentence, not knowing if the child was infected, too. He understands, though, if he’d been in her shoes, he would’ve done the same thing to ensure his kid was safe—hell, he murdered an entire hospital, risking the lives of millions for Ellie, and he thinks her mother would’ve approved. “Anyways,” you continue, “what we think happens is when Ellie gets bit, the normal Cordyceps think she’s Cordyceps or that she’s already turned, making her immune. If I biopsy some of her mutated Cordyceps, I can multiply the cells to make a vaccine to give people that will cause the same immunity, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. There’s no guarantee it will work.”

“Fuckin’ A, Doc!” Tommy’s grinning. “I always said you were too fuckin’ smart to be with this fucker.” He points his thumb at Joel. “We got a clinic, nothin’ fancy, but I’m thinkin’ I could probably convince Maria that we need more medical shit. The town’s gettin’ bigger, anyway. It’d make sense. We can send raiding parties to nearby towns and cities to gather whatever they can find—you give me a list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can do that,” you reply. “Does Jackson have a doctor?”

“Yeah, Dr. Jones is an old, ornery motherfucker. We could use some new blood if you’re up for it.”

You smile. “I’d love to.”

“Great! The other reason I’m here—” he focuses back on Joel “—is findin’ out when you wanted to get hitched.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a preference, baby?”

“The sooner, the better?” You shrug.

He smiles, thinking the same thing as he nods his head, facing Tommy again. “You heard the lady. The sooner, the better.”

His brother’s smiling big, looking delighted. “In that case, be at the House of Worship in two hours.” He holds up two fingers.

“Will do. How’d Ellie sleep?” Joel asks. “You fed her, right? Let her take a shower?”

The younger man’s eyebrows are up to his hairline. “Jesus, you really care about this kid.”

“Congratulations, Tommy,” you say with a smile. “You’re an uncle again.”

“I guess I am—missed it.” He’s smiling softly. “She had no complaints when she woke this mornin’, and, of course, I fuckin’ fed her. Couldn’t believe how much food she scarfed down. I should be askin’ if you’ve been feedin’ her,” Tommy tells Joel as he pokes him in his bare chest. “She showered first thing at the house, and Maria got her more clothes.”

“Thank you for takin’ care of her. You didn’t have to,” Joel replies.

Tommy smirks, saying, “Based on all those fuckin’ hickies coverin’ your naked ass—” He points at Joel’s torso “—it’s safe to say it was better she stayed at mine last night.”

Joel’s cheeks heat, having not realized that he is, in fact, completely nude. Walking over to the bed, he groans as he sits down on the edge, pulling a blanket over his thighs to cover himself up, his back twinging in pain.

He sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” Joel says. “Thanks again for watchin’ her. Can you make sure she’s at the weddin’? You, too.”

“We’d really like you both there,” you add. “It’s important to us.”

“What about Maria?” Tommy asks, looking unsure.

“Like you said last time I was here,” Joel starts. “She’s family and allowin’ us to stay here, so she can come.”

You speak behind him, “But, if she isn’t civil and ruins my wedding, I get to kick her ass.”

Joel snorts, and Tommy puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Woah, Doc,” his brother says. “Maria isn’t gonna start shit—she’s seven months pregnant, for Christ’s sake, she’s got enough on her plate.”

The blood leaves Joel’s face, feeling like he’s been kicked in the gut with all the air leaving his lungs.

He’d forgotten about his brother having a baby, or maybe he’d pushed the thought away because he didn’t like to think about it. It wasn’t his proudest moment how he acted when Tommy first told him the news. He’d been jealous and resented his brother for living his dream of being married with a kid on the way. Tommy was getting to live this happy, idyllic life, and Joel, at the time, was struggling with his fears of failing Ellie and getting her killed. It’d been too much to hear his brother had a kid on the way, making Joel dwell on the fact that Tommy had been right, his life had stopped all those years ago, and he couldn’t stand how his brother and everyone else in this town were living like the world hadn’t ended.

It didn’t feel fair to him, not with all he’d been through.

Of course, he wants to be happy for Tommy. He really does. He wants to be able to share in his joy, but it hurts so fucking bad being reminded of how close he’d gotten to having what his brother has now.

He lets air fill his lungs and slowly lets it out.

At least he’s got you back. And Ellie.

He’d started living again the moment Ellie had forgiven him, shoving her bag into his arms the last time they were in Jackson and telling him, ‘Let’s go.’ They went, and the journey wasn’t easy, both coming far too close to death to be comfortable. He found you, or you found him as it were, and now he’s getting his chance to live a happy, idyllic life married to you, and together, you’ll care for Ellie.

That sounds pretty fucking perfect to him.

A wife and a kid. Wouldn't have even crossed his mind a year ago—a fever dream.

“Someone married you,” you say in disbelief, taking Joel from his thoughts, “and is having your baby? I know the apocalypse happened, but did hell freeze over, too?”

“I forgot how fuckin’ mean you are, Doc,” Tommy chuckles.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Joel whispers, receiving a playful swat to his shoulder from you.

“I’m not mean,” you grumble.

He has to hold in his groan as he twists his body to pat your thigh. “No, you’re not,” he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

“Stop lyin’ to her,” Tommy says. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve matured, Doc, now that I’m older.”

Joel turns back, squinting his eyes at the other man. “You almost got yourself killed by bein’ dumb…” Joel replies.

“It was for old time’s sake.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy,” you tell him. “You were always so good with Sarah. I know you’ll be a great dad.”

Tommy smiles. “Thanks, Doc. I’m nervous but excited. Put together the nursery myself.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair and see y’all in a bit. Joel?”

Their eyes meet. “Yeah?”

“For all that’s holy, put on some fuckin’ clothes. We don’t need you bein’ our first prisoner in the town jail for public indecency.”

Joel glares at his brother. “You’re right,” Joel replies. “It’s time for you to get the fuck out. We’ll see you at the church.

Tommy laughs as he leaves, hearing his footsteps thudding down the stairs and the slam of the front door.

He presses his hands to his face, “Fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles into them.

There’s movement as you crawl up behind him, wrapping your arms around his front and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“You okay, babe?”

His arms go over yours to keep you in place, turning his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’m fine. Had a rude awakenin’, is all.”

“Do you wanna talk about becoming an uncle?”

He lets out a long sigh. “There’s nothin’ to talk about—I’m happy for Tommy.”

“Joel, you don’t have to lie to me. It would be reasonable if you were feeling hurt that your brother is living such a great life and having a baby. I’m…” you pause, chewing on your lip. Your voice is small when you keep speaking, “I’m sorry I can’t give you children, and I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else you could have a family with.”

Hissing in pain, he’s standing quickly and turning around to face you, getting back onto the bed on his knees, not understanding why you’d even say such a thing—not after everything you’ve both been through to find each other again.

Is this you getting cold feet? Do you not want to marry him? Did he rush things?

His hands cup your face, making sure you’re looking him in the eyes.

“What?” he asks. “Are you second guessin’ marryin’ me? Was it ‘cause of how I woke up?”

He’s scared.

“What?” You look confused, your hands rubbing up his bare chest. “I want to marry you. Your reaction this morning was warranted.” Letting out a slow sigh, you continue, “Just, I know how much you’d wanted kids, how we wanted kids, and I wouldn’t blame you, now that you’re in a place like this, if you wanted to settle down and start a family.”

His face pinches in confusion, saying slowly, “Baby, we have a family… You, me, Ellie, we’re a family, and you’re all I need. You’re the only woman I want to be with.” He swallows hard. “I can’t stomach bringin’ any more children into this world—I’ve lost too many.” He inhales deeply, letting it out slowly. “I… uh, struggle with my need to keep Ellie safe. It’s always on my mind, and it scares me that I’ll end up gettin’ her killed like… like…”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Like Sarah. I know Ellie isn’t her. I’m very aware. They’re so… different.”

You smile softly. “But they would’ve loved each other.”

He smiles, “Yeah. I reckon they would. Sarah would’ve found Ellie funny.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grin. “Would’ve loved Ellie’s terrible puns.”

He’s fondly thinking about it as he says, “She had a book full of ‘em. They were fuckin’ awful—if you think my jokes are bad, these were worse.”

Laughing, you reply, “I love your dad jokes. They would’ve enjoyed music together, too.”

“That they would. Both would’ve given me shit if I played guitar for them.”

“Affectionately, because they can’t reveal how much they actually love it to avoid seeming uncool. I miss your singing. Remember the first time you played for me?”

“Sarah’s thirteenth birthday party.” He nods. “We were hidin’ away in my bedroom while the livin’ room was overrun with teen girls, and I was tryin’ my damndest to woo you by playin’ some Ben E. King.”

“Oh, you wooed me.” You smirk. “Stand by Me was always my favorite.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll have to see about findin’ a guitar.” He’s gotta play for Ellie and you. “What we were discussion’,” he says. “Ellie’s different, and I know it. She can shoot a gun and protect herself—has protected herself when I wasn’t there.” He frowns. ”I worry about her constantly. Somethin’ inside me needs to know she’s okay. If I’m like this with a girl capable of killin’, how would I be with a baby? It honest to god frightens me, and I’m sure I’d end up worryin’ myself to death.”

Your arms loop around his neck, a tender expression on your face. “As a doctor, I can tell you it makes sense that you’re overprotective of your living child. Hopefully, being here in Jackson and not constantly on guard will ease some of the worries. Just know I’m here if you ever wanna talk.”

“Thank you, baby,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you. When he pulls back, he looks you in the eyes. “I’m happy with all we have,” he says truthfully, “and there’s nothin’ for you to be sorry about—Ellie is more than plenty.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” There’s something he can tell you to ease your mind, and it makes him smile crookedly. “As a matter of fact, me bein’ able to fuck you full of my come with no risk of knockin’ you up really riles me up—gets me harder than a fuckin’ rock. I’m happy as a fuckin’ clam, baby.”

Your eyes go a little wide. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’ve got whatever the opposite of a breeding kink is.” You looked away, eyebrows creasing as you thought aloud, “Would it just be a creampie kink? No, ‘cause it turns you on that, there’s no risk of pregnancy. Wait, a birth control kink. You’ve got a birth control kink.” Your gazes meet, a grin on your face looking beyond delighted, as you playfully slap his chest. “I thought I knew all your kinks and fetishes, and look at you keeping me on my toes.” Leaning forward, you kiss him, Joel moaning when you shove your tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own, his hands holding your face, meeting your energy until you both need to breathe and separate. “I feel better knowing you’re happy with what we have because I’m happy, too,” you pant.

“Good,” he replies, smiling. Joel kisses you quickly. “We better get ready,” he says when he pulls back, a grin on his lips. “We got a date with an officiant.”

You’re smiling just as brightly, and it has butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He almost can’t believe this is happening, that you’re here, and in—he looks over at the clock on the bedside table—an hour and a half, you’ll be his wife, something you should’ve been twenty years ago. He’s missed too much time with you and won’t waste any more.

“It’s about damn time,” you reply.

“Don’t I know it.”

It’s obvious you’re both excited with how quickly you’re getting off the bed. Turns are taken in the bathroom, then it’s going through the bag of clothes Tommy had brought over. Neither of you expected to look like a traditional bride and groom; wedding dress stores no longer existed, and there definitely weren’t places to buy a suit. He asked your opinion on what he should wear, settling on a black and charcoal-colored plaid shirt with some dark wash jeans that were a tad tighter than he was used to. You did the same, showing him potential outfits and trying things on before you went with a cream-colored cable knit sweater over a white tank top and some light blue jeans that hugged your hips perfectly, but were too long in the legs, having to bunch them over the top of your boots.

Once dressed, you’d made your way down to the kitchen to eat the breakfast Tommy had left. Sitting at the kitchen table, you’re across from each other, barely coming up for air as the two of you eat your plates of eggs and bacon, the best fucking thing Joel has eaten since the last time he was in Jackson. You’re setting your water down after taking a gulp, a thoughtful expression on your face.

“You know what would’ve made today perfect?” you ask him.

“Hmm?” Joel hums around a bite, his eyes on yours.

“If Sarah were here.”

The sadness hits him like a truck, taking him off balance with how it slams into him.

He swallows his food, setting down his fork, frowning as he looks at you. “I wish she were here, too,” he says sadly.

A small smile appears on your lips. “I’d been so nervous the first time I met her because I didn’t want her to hate me.”

“There’s no way in hell she would’ve hated you.”

“Kids are really protective of their parents, and you’re the only one she had since birth,” you point out. “Then, for the first time in her life, you started dating. The cards were stacked against me—there were a ton of reasons for her to hate me.”

“She, uh—” he scratched at the back of his neck “—was always tellin’ me I needed to find someone, and then I met you and told her about meetin’ you. When our first date went so well, she was beggin’ me to meet you. I’d tell her about you, and she approved. You had nothin’ to worry about.”

“That makes me happy. You know, almost a year in, she said she hoped you’d marry me.”

He smiles. “Oh, she was tryin’ real hard to get me to pop the question—kept suggestin’ romantic places, she even said I should take you to Paris,” he chuckles, “and I’d have to remind her that I was waitin’ for the first year of your residency to end so you wouldn’t be stressed about a weddin’. Then there was the hiccup with you gettin’ fired—”

“Forcibly relocated,” you interrupt.

“Right.” He smiles. “There was the hiccup of you bein’ forcibly relocated and out of work for those few months, just didn’t seem right at the time, which was dumb, I know. So, by the time you’d started makin’ up your time at the clinic, I was done waitin’. I asked Sarah’s permission a week before my birthday, and she’d wanted to help me pick out a ring.” He frowns. “I’d been busy with that job, and well...” He sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair, leaving it unsaid because you two were very aware of what happened. “What I’m tryin’ to say is—” your eyes were on his “—Sarah loved you from the very beginnin’, and she would be so fuckin’ happy that we’re finally gettin’ married.”

You sniffle, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “I miss her so fucking much, Joel.”

His throat was closing up, having to clear it before he could speak. “I miss her, too, baby—every fuckin’ day.” He has to wipe at his eyes, something coming to him suddenly. “Last time I was here in Jackson, Tommy tried givin’ me a picture of her and me—one of the Polaroids that’d been on the fridge.” Sarah had been obsessed with the Polaroid camera you got her for her thirteenth birthday, the refrigerator littered with pictures of her with Joel, you, and Tommy, some a combination of the four of you. “I didn’t take it, couldn’t, not when I was thinkin’ if Ellie stayed with me, she’d end up like her. I didn’t want the reminder.”

There’s sadness on your face. “Oh, babe,” you say, “we’ll have to get it from him. Maybe put together a little memorial for her somewhere in the house.”

“I’d like that.” He nodded. “We could do somthin’ for Hope, too.”

“I’d like that,” you reply softly.

He nods. “We better finish eatin’” He points at your plate. “They’ll be expectin’ us.”

You smile. “Yes, they will.”

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining high above in the clear sky.

It caught him off guard when you took his hand as you exited the house. Normally he wouldn’t want to be without his dominant hand in case he needed to use a weapon, but then your fingers intertwined with his, reminding him of times spent walking around the mall or the park, and the little smile on his face said that he didn’t mind, he actually quite liked it. Hand in hand, the stroll to the House of Worship has you taking in more of the town. It throws him a bit how people smile as they pass or offer quick greetings, it feeling foreign when Joel tries to politely smile back.

“I can’t believe it’s an actual functioning town,” you marvel beside him. “Electricity, water, sewer. I wonder how they found people to get things working again. They’d need engineers, electricians, and plumbers, too. Add in the fact they’re producing enough food to feed hundreds of people, and that’d require people with ample husbandry knowledge. They really got lucky.”

“Probably found people with backgrounds,” he replies. “I did construction, but I know my way around some electrical and plumbin’. Don’t know if I could get a dam workin’—if I had a manual, I’m sure I could figure it out.” He shrugs.

You glance at him. “It’s true you can learn a lot just from reading—don’t need fancy degrees anymore.”

“I reckon you’re a much better doctor than anyone who learned after the outbreak. Your fancy degree still means somthin’.”

“I guess.”

“I know it does, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

The House of Worship is an old church along the main street, the wooden siding of the building painted a deep red, with the entrance coated in white. It’s traditional looking, with the tall steeple containing a bell and its gabled roof that made the front look like an ‘A.’ The inside had the vaulted ceilings that you’d expect and rows of pews that led to the front where a plain podium stood, no holy symbols anywhere since it was multifaith. The place was empty, the tall windows along the walls letting in light from outside and illuminating everything.

“Five bucks says Tommy’s late,” your voice echoes in the large room, turning your head to look at Joel, his hand still engulfing your own.

“That’s easy money, baby.” He meets your eyes, looking amused.

“Wanna walk me down the aisle?” you ask.

Letting go of your hand, he straightens his back, it aching a little as he offers you his arm with a grin, answering, “Gladly.”

You hook your arm through his. “Ready?” you ask.

“Born ready,” he responds.

It doesn’t feel right that there’s no music, imagining that if this was before the outbreak, you probably would’ve walked down the aisle to the “Bridal Chorus.” Now, though, you’re thinking it needs to be something different, wracking your brain for the perfect song when it hits you, your lips turning up when you both face forward.

As you slowly start walking, you start humming loud enough for Joel to hear. He’s silent for a second, and you know with how much he loves music, he’ll recognize it.

“Etta James?” he asks, glancing at you with a curious expression.

“It felt fitting,” you reply, not feeling any embarrassment when you do your best impression of the singer, singing the opening line of “At Last.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

There’s a reason you studied sciences instead of the arts, and it’s because you’re not very talented in any of them; your singing voice is pretty lousy. Warmth spreads through your body when Joel jumps in on the second verse, sounding a bit rusty as he softly sings with you, making your way down the aisle.

The song isn’t finished when you get to the front of the church, both of you stopping on the same line. There’s a pause where you’re standing in silence, a circular window high above behind the podium showing the blue sky.

There are nerves swirling in your belly, even though you know you have nothing to worry about. Marrying Joel felt so right and was always what you’d wanted, now getting to make your dream come true. You’ve been alone for so long and lost so much in the past that you’re nervous about having people in your life to love and care about again, knowing they could be taken from you in the blink of an eye. You’re not sure how you’d survive if you lost Joel again; hell, it’d fuck you up if something happened to Ellie or even Tommy. These are your people, they’re all you have left, and you can’t worry about the morbid possibilities. You just need to focus on the right now and enjoy what you have, living every day to the fullest.

There’s something else you know without a doubt that Joel is feeling, too, and it’s the sadness weighing on your chest that Sarah is missing today.

Joel clears his throat beside you, his voice rough with emotion when he says, “You know, she’s here with us.”

“I know,” you reply truthfully.

Unhooking his arm from yours, he undoes the button on his left cuff, carefully rolling up the sleeve to his forearm, doing the same with his right. He turns to face you, and you do the same to look him in the eyes, seeing that sadness in the dark depths.

Gently, he grabs your left hand, bringing it up to softly kiss each knuckle, lowering it after a moment, his thumb rubbing over what he kissed. “It’s silly,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “She, uh, fixed this watch and gave it to me as a gift?” He holds up his left arm to show you his favorite watch that had broken, the glass now splintered. “It broke again when she died. The time it stopped on, well…” Your heart squeezes, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s,” the word cracks. He takes a deep breath, trying again, “It’s all I’ve had left of her. I keep it to keep her with me. She’s here.”

You cradle his cheek with your right hand, replying, “She is.” You nod. “She’ll always be with us, Joel.”

The door at the back of the church opens, both of you tensing, and looking toward it, the emotions dispersing as you go on high alert.

“It’s so much bigger than it looks outside,” Ellie’s voice echoes while walking quickly down the center aisle, looking around at everything, a visibly pregnant woman waddling slowly behind her. Ellie’s nose crinkles. “Smells fucking weird.”

“It’s an old buildin’,” the woman replies. “Old buildin’s smell.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Ellie’s finally made it to you, her attention on Joel as you both turn toward her. “Well, you’re not in a wheelchair, so your hips—”

“Are fuckin’ fine,” he grumbles.

The amusement is clear on the young girl’s face.

“Thank god for that,” she says. “Imagine traveling across the fucking country and almost dying multiple times, only to get to your destination where you cripple yourself from not being able to keep it in your pants. That’d be so fucking embarrassing,” she laughs.

“Well, that didn’t happen, so there’s nothin’ for me to be embarrassed about,” he retorts.

“Oh, there’s plenty for your old ass to be embarrassed about, Joel,” she replies. “You couldn’t even make it to the top floor of that building in KC. There was that time you couldn’t find the shit you stashed or, oh my god, how fucking smelly you get—which good on you, cleaning up for Doc.”

He lets out a long sigh, his hands on his hips. “You done?” he asks.

“I’m sure I’ll think of other shit, but for now? Yeah.” She nods.

“Thank you for bein’ here,” he tells her.

“Like I’d fucking miss you assholes getting your happily ever after, or whatever. Plus, I’ve never been to a wedding. Read about them, though. Wanna see what the fuss is all about, you know?”

“This should be pretty straightforward,” you respond, Joel and Ellie looking at you. “Just someone leading the ceremony and us saying vows to each other. Back in ye olden times, some people had crazy long ceremonies with a lot of speeches, but that’s not really us. We’re doing this more traditionally.”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees. “We’re not needin’ no sermons or someone waxin’ poetic about the sanctity of marriage.”

“Weddings sound exhausting,” Ellie replies.

“Oh, they could be,” you say. “Super boring, too.”

The woman spoke up, standing beside Ellie, “Tommy and I just did a small ceremony, like what y’all are doin’ with some close friends, and we exchanged our rings.”

“You must be Maria,” you say, sticking out your hand and introducing yourself, wanting to be cordial. “Most people call me Doc, and it’s kinda stuck.” You shrug as she shakes your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replies, letting go of your hand.

“Are you guys gonna get rings?” Ellie asks, pointing between you and Joel.

“Rings are hard to find…” you answer.

“Not when you live here,” Maria responds, smiling. “We’ve got a smith in town who can make you some—she does it for all newlyweds as a gift.”

Your eyes widen.

“Oh, I’d love a ring,” you say. Looking at Joel, you ask, “Joel?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’d like one, too. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You can call me Maria, Joel, and there’s no need to thank me,” she says. “It’s Valerie who makes ‘em, and I’ll let her know you’ll be stoppin’ by to get sized.”

“Well, thank you for doin’ that,” he responds.

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

You can tell Maria doesn’t particularly love Joel, but there’s nothing about how she’s looking at him, speaking to him, or her body language that says she hates him. If anything, it’s more indifference, her coming to terms with him being her brother-in-law and now a part of her life, so she has to make some kind of effort for things not to be awkward. Joel’s doing the same thing. It's almost like they’ve silently agreed that this is how things will be—civil and nothing more.

“Thank you for giving us a place to stay, Maria,” you tell her. “The house is lovely, and Jackson is so wonderful.”

“Y’all are more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” she says. “Joel’s family, and you’re about to be family, too. I know Tommy’s excited to have all of you here.”

“Speakin’ of my brother,” Joel cuts in. “Where is he…? And whoever's officiating, for that matter.”

As if on cue, the door to the church opens, and Tommy comes striding in. He’s in jeans, a light blue button-up tucked into them, with the ugliest brown and mustard yellow striped tie around his neck, and a navy blue suit jacket about a size too big for him—he even slicked back his hair. “Sorry, I’m late,” he announces. “Had the worst fuckin’ time findin’ a goddamn tie.”

“Going without one would look better than whatever that abomination is,” you reply, pointing.

He frowns. “This is a tie-wearin’ occasion, so I’m wearin’ one.”

“You didn’t wear a tie when we got married…” Maria says slowly.

“‘Cause I love ya and wouldn’t want you havin’ to look at this eyesore.” He replies, holding up the tie.

“So, you don’t love us?” you ask him. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“Liver and onions ain’t too bad,” he answers. “And, of course, I fuckin’ love y’all, too.”

He makes it to your group, going over to Maria, his hand on her swollen stomach as he kisses her sweetly. “Hey, honey.” He smiles at her, and she grins back. He looks toward you and Joel. “I’ll take it introductions were made? Doc, you met my wife—” He’s rubbing her belly. “—and mother of my kid?”

“Yep,” you answer. “We met.”

“Good. Well, everybody’s here, so we can start.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Joel asks. “Where’s the minister or whoever the fuck you got to do the ceremony?” His arms cross over his chest.

A shit-eating grin appears on Tommy’s face, the one that means he’s up to no good and is about to say something that is going to aggravate Joel. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

Joel’s eyes squint. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he grits out. “You’re not marryin’ us—the towns gotta have someone ordained or somethin’.”

“It just so happens Jackson does: Me.”

“This ain’t funny, Tommy.”

“Remember when you told me you were gonna marry her?” Tommy nods his head toward you.

“Yeah..?”

“Well, I went ahead and got myself ordained to do your weddin’—ain’t no skin off my back. I did it on the computer.” He looks proud of himself.

“What?” Joel sounds like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why on God’s green earth would you think we’d have you do our weddin’? We probably would’ve had the minister at the church ma, and pop went to do it.”

“That man was older than sin and long dead now.”

“You’re not marryin’ us.”

Tommy matched Joel’s pose, crossing his arms over his own chest and staring his brother down.

“Then I guess you’re not gettin’ married.”

Joel scoffed. “We’re gettin’ married. We can do it ourselves.”

“Joel?” you said, putting your hand on his arm.

He met your eyes, the angry look on his face immediately disappearing. “Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t have a problem with Tommy marrying us. I think it’s sweet he got ordained.” You pointedly look at Tommy, saying in a tone that brokers no argument. “And I know Tommy would be very serious about the whole thing because he knows how important this is to us.”

Tommy’s hands go up in defense. “Hey, now, I’m not takin’ this job lightly,” he says.

Looking back at Joel, you say, “See, he means well, and I kinda like the idea of him doing it. We’ve got our whole family here—him, Ellie, Maria. Why not let him be involved?” You shrug.

He’s frowning, sighing out, “Fine.” He glares at his brother. “Don’t say anythin’ stupid—this is a big day for us. Keep it simple.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay.” Joel nods. His face softens when he looks over at Ellie. “Would you, uh, care to be my best man or woman, as it were?”

Surprise is on her face. “You want me to be your best man?” She points at herself.

“Well, yeah?” He sounds unsure as he keeps talking, eyes darting away, “Or, if you’d rather be the maid of honor, I’m sure Doc would be happy to have ya by her side.”

Ellie makes a face, meeting your eyes. “No offense, Doc, but I’m not feeling, ‘maid of honor.’” Her attention moves back to Joel, grinning. “But best man sounds fucking cool. What do I do?”

Joel’s smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Just gotta stand next to me and be my moral support. Unfortunately, I don’t have a ring for you to hold.”

“That’s fine,” she replies. “I can stand beside you—catch you if you faint, make sure you say your lines, oh! Offer you a handkerchief when you start crying like a baby.”

“You don’t have a handkerchief…”

“Or do I?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. Where the fuck would I get a handkerchief? My plan if you become a blubbering mess is to just, like, wipe at your face with the sleeves of my sweater.” She holds up her arms to show her maroon zip-up hoodie that’s a little baggy on her.

“I’m not gonna cry…”

There’s a shift, her playful expression melting away, replaced with a soft look showing earnestness and trust, her voice a little quieter like she’s trying not to scare him away, “You know it’s okay if you do, right?” she asks. “I won’t think any less of you, Joel. This whole thing is really fucking exciting, and I’d expect some tears, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, the word coming out rougher.

“So,” she starts, looking around at the adults. “How is this going down? In the books I’ve read, there’s music and people walking down the aisle and shit.”

Tommy walks around everyone to stand in front of the podium, everyone turning to look at him. “They’ll be over here and stand in front of me, you next to Joel, and I’ll get this show on the road.”

“I’m sitting,” Maria says, taking a seat in the first pew, her hand resting on her belly.

Your head turns toward Joel, him meeting your eyes. “You ready?” he asks.

The nerves you felt earlier had disappeared, and now you’re just excited. Sure, you hadn’t envisioned Tommy Miller doing your wedding ceremony, but you know, without a doubt, he’ll do his best. Even with him being a pain in the ass sometimes, he’s always been a sweetheart who loves his brother dearly—loved his niece a whole lot, too—and he’ll go out of his way to make this special.

You smile, taking his hand. “Let’s get married,” you answer.

He gives you a beaming smile, and quickly you’re moving to where Tommy had indicated, you on his left and Joel on his right.

Ellie pats Joel on the back, hearing her whisper, ‘You got this,’ him twisting a little to say back, ‘Thanks, Ellie.

Tommy pulls out a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket with writing on both sides, unfolding it to read from, and you’re impressed that he put in so much thought. Your hands are in front of you, Joel holding them, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles, him smiling softly.

“Welcome, everyone,” Tommy starts, looking between you all and glancing at his notes. “Now, I’ve been to my fair share of weddings. They were all before everythin’ went to hell, and a lotta them started with how gettin’ married was the beginnin’ of some remarkable journey, yadda yadda yadda, you get the picture. That don’t quite work for Joel and Doc. No, their remarkable journey started in the summer of 2002, and I remember the day they met ‘cause Joel called me askin’ if I could come over the next day to hang out with Sarah since he asked his doctor out on a date—let me just tell y'all, I was confused as all get out ‘cause our doctor was a man in his 60s, with a bad combover, that was happily married, and I was under the impression, Joel was only attracted to women. My brother and I were raised that you love who you love—skin color, gender, none of that shit matters, which was pretty progressive for Texas. So, Joel tellin’ me he was goin’ on a date with his doctor, I thought he was comin’ out to me, and Joel, do you remember what I said?”

Joel snorts, replying, “‘Dr. Carlson’s a great guy. Where ya fellas goin’?”

You remember what Dr. Carlson looked like, which has you laughing hard with everyone else.

“That’s what I said,” Tommy continues, amused. “I was just happy my brother was goin’ on a date, didn’t care who with. He’d corrected me that it was a new doctor, and I’m not jokin’ when I say that Joel jabbered on and on about her for a solid hour, and I knew he had it bad. That was only the beginnin’ and after their first date? I knew he’d found the one.” Tommy looks at Joel. “I apologize for airin’ your personal business—” he went back to addressing everyone “—but Joel had bad luck with women, mostly ‘cause he went out with the wrong ones who didn’t much care for him havin’ a kid. But then he met Doc, who loved him, and his daughter, and I can tell y’all that Sarah—” Emotion is thick in his voice, already feeling tears starting to form in your eyes. “—woulda been happier than a hog in mud that they’re finally gettin’ hitched.” He’s fondly smiling. “I think her exact words would be, ‘Oh, thank god, took ya long enough.’” You and Joel chuckle, a tear falling down your cheek, his eyes watery, knowing he was hearing in his mind her saying those exact words just as you were. “Seein’ these two together,” Tommy kept speaking, “they just make sense. Aside from my wife, and I, I’ve never seen a more perfect couple—they complement and balance each other, and honestly, couldn’t have picked better partners. I only saw their relationship from the outside, but boy, could I feel their love; I can still feel it, and that love is what’s brought them here today. I don’t know that remarkable is the right word to describe their journey to get here—impossible seems more fittin’, and if there’s one thing they’ve shown me, it’s that soulmates exist.” Ellie scoffs, Tommy looking at her with a smile. “I know it’s cheesy, but hear me out. You familiar with Greek mythology?”

“No…?” she answers, and you’re wondering where he’s going with this.

“Myths are stories passed on by people that explain things about the world, like how it was created and such. Pretty much just people makin’ shit up and tellin’ each other until they thought it was true, but there’s this one I heard once about soulmates. It goes that when humans were created by Gods—the Greeks had more than one,” he clarifies, “they had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. They weren’t fragile like we are now, they were pretty freakin’ powerful, and it made them fearless enough to challenge the Gods, and they sure didn’t care for that, so to take the humans down a peg, they were split into two, and were forced to spend their lives searchin’ for their other half. Sounds kinda familiar, right?” he asks her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Right? You’ve got these two who had a happy life together and were torn apart. I, uh—” Tommy audibly gulps “—didn’t know if Joel could live without her if I’m honest. They kept searchin’, ‘cause that’s how deep their love goes, just never stoppin’, and it took twenty goddamn years for them to find each other again, but they did—found their other halves, ‘cause they're meant to be together. So, us bein’ in this church today? It’s been a long time comin’ and marks the beginnin’ of a new chapter in their lives—one where they’re back together and finally gettin’ to live as husband and wife.” Tommy looks between you and Joel. “Before we get into it, I gotta thank you both. Even though I was jealous of what you have, it gave me a blueprint for what I wanted in a relationship.” He smiles softly. “Our story isn’t as crazy as yours, but I found it with Maria—she’s my soulmate.”

His wife starts booing from her seat, and everyone erupts in laughter. “This ain’t about us,” Maria teases. “You’re embarrassin’ me.”

“Sorry, honey, was just tellin’ the truth.”

“You can tell it later. Keep goin’.”

“Gotta listen to my wife,” he chuckles, looking at his paper quickly. “Does anyone object to this union? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Do people actually object?” Ellie asks. “What happens if they do?”

“Nothin’,” Joel answers, looking over his shoulder at her. “The person gets kicked out.”

You lean to the side to meet her eyes. “The objection part was for back before there were public records, so if there was a legitimate reason for the couple not to wed, like one of them was already married, someone with the knowledge would object, and the wedding would stop. In modern days, people who objected usually wanted to proclaim their love to the bride or groom.”

“That sounds really fucking awkward.”

“It was.”

You straighten, your attention back on Tommy as he starts speaking, “We are gathered here today to join these two in the union of marriage and celebrate their love. We all know the seriousness of the commitment bein’ entered and recognize that they have a truly special bond. Go ahead and look at each other; you’re gonna wanna remember this.”

Looking into Joel’s eyes, you take in the rich chocolate color and how they’re gleaming with unshed tears. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, those grey waves of his combed back from his face, and his pouty lips turned up in a happy little smile, him looking so unbelievably handsome. There may be more lines on his face, signs that he’s aged, but staring at him in this moment, he still looks like the man you fell in love with all of those years ago, and you can see him, can perfectly picture that Joel having this same expression on his face.

“And now,” Tommy begins reading from what he’d written, “Joel, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to protect her, to comfort her, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” he answers so clearly, hearing how much he means the two words, and it makes you sniffle.

Tommy says your name, addressing you, “Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to protect him, to comfort him, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” you reply with the same conviction as Joel, and he smiles, a tear falling down his face.

The other man’s attention is on Joel, “Joel, repeat after me, I, Joel Miller, take you—” He says your full name, “—to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

Joel’s gaze is locked on yours, his voice thick as he repeats what Tommy told him to. Your lip is trembling, feeling so happy you want to cry.

“Doc, repeat after me,” Tommy starts, “I—” He uses your full name, “—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

“—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holding unto you forevermore.” He can hear the truth in every word you speak, knowing you mean them all, and it has warmth spreading through his veins, feeling like he might be floating with how happy he is.

You’re on the verge of tears, smiling at him, and looking so beautiful that he’s saving it to memory how you look at this very second, wanting to remember it always.

Tommy’s grinning. “By the power vested in me by some online church, I forgot the name of and the town of Jackson, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” He looks at Joel, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice, his hands moving up to cradle your jaw while he moves in, fusing his lips to yours in a searing kiss, ignoring the tears falling down both your cheeks. It’s a little wet, but he puts everything he’s got into kissing his wife for the first time.

His wife. He got you back, and now he’s married to you, and nothing else has felt more right in the world. You’re his wife.

He’s deepening the kiss, wanting you to feel his love, his happiness, his devotion, that the vows you made to each other are the real deal, and he meant every single one—he will live as your husband until the end of his days, following you even in death, loving you forever, doing everything he can to honor you, protecting you with his life, being there when you need comfort, happy to share whatever good times await you and be with you through the bad, knowing he’ll never leave your side in sickness and in health, and that you’re stuck with him no matter what life throws in your way, because like Tommy said, you’re meant to be together—went through literal hell to find each other, and he never wants to lose you again.

There might be some credence to the stuff his brother said about soulmates. When Joel lost you, it felt like he’d lost a chunk of himself, and having you back has filled that void.

“Is the kiss supposed last this long?” Ellie whispers to Tommy. “It’s like he’s eating her face.”

You must hear her with how you snort, breaking the kiss so you can giggle, Joel sighing, Tommy and Maria laughing.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he replies, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Let’s all hit the bar to celebrate,” Tommy says.

Joel nods at his brother, who starts walking over to his pregnant wife to help her up from her seat.

It just seems like the natural thing, Joel taking your hand as you both turn around toward the door, his attention moving to Ellie beside him.

“What’d ya think?” he asks her.

She smiles. “Disgustingly sappy, but I liked it. That soulmate shit was cool. I gotta do my best man duties—can you get down a little? You’re too fucking tall.”

Confused by her request, his eyebrows crease, but he slightly bends his knees. Ellie covers her hand with her maroon sleeve, pressing it to his left cheek, and it feels like his throat is going to close up that she’s wiping away the tear tracks. Her tongue is peeking out in concentration as she gets one cheek, then the other, giving him a once over and moving her head to get different angles, ensuring she gets all the wetness.

“Done!” she says, her arm dropping to her side. “How’s Doc’s face? Does she need me to help her out, too?”

He stands to his full height, his head swiveling your way and finding you’ve used your own sleeve to clean your face.

You lean past him to look at her. “I’m good, Ellie,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem.”

The young girl is next to him as you leave the church, Tommy and Maria leading. His brother has an arm around his wife’s waist as they walk, and Joel’s holding your hand.

“So,” Ellie begins. “If we’re going to the bar, does that mean I get to have a celebratory drink, too..?”

“No,” all four of the adults say simultaneously.

“Geez, you guys are no fun.”

“There’s juice for you and me,” Maria replies, looking over her shoulder at the teen.

“Great,” Ellie grumbles, and it makes Joel smile.

The bar is how he remembers it from the last time he was here, except the mood is lighter this go around, and the place is just as empty as before.

“Holy shit!” Ellie exclaims, beelining for a corner. “Mortal Kombat?!”

He remembers how excited she’d been seeing the old arcade game when they’d stopped on their way to Bill and Frank’s. She said her friend knew everything about it, and Ellie seemed to love the character Mileena. She’s pressing the buttons and jerking the joystick. “Does it work?” she twists her body to ask.

You and Joel are standing with her while Tommy goes behind the bar, Maria taking a seat at a table near her husband.

“No,” Tommy replies, frowning. “Sorry, kid. We tried gettin’ it to run, but somethin’ in its fried. The jukebox works, though.” He points to the opposite corner where the machine sits. It was one from the 80s modeled after jukeboxes from the forties and fifties but updated to play CDs, with colorful lights glowing on the front. “There should be quarters in the bucket on that table by it.”

Ellie immediately went to it, the arcade game forgotten, hearing her clicking the button to flip through the track listings. The two of you headed for the bar, Tommy having set five glasses onto the bartop and was currently using an ice pick to break ice from a block.

“Tommy?” Maria calls.

“Yes, dear?” he answers, putting ice into each cup.

“Can you show ‘em what we got?”

“Yeah.” Tommy moves a few steps away to grab something, then sets it up next to the glasses.

On a plate sits a small round cake covered in white icing.

His brother is smiling. “She says ‘we,’ but it was really her,” Tommy confides in you both. “An olive branch, if you will.”

You’re turning to tell Maria, “Thank you. This was very thoughtful of you.”

The other woman waves away your words, replying, “It was nothin’. Can’t have a weddin’ without cake.”

“Well, thank you. We appreciate it.” You’re hugging Joel’s arm, looking up at him. “Right, Joel? We appreciate it very much.”

“That we do,” he responds, his head moving to look at the other woman. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

He doesn’t think they’ll ever be best friends, but she’s been friendlier this time around.

“I’ve never heard this song,” Ellie’s voice is loud as she speaks. “But based on the title, I’m pretty sure it’s how Joel feels about Doc.”

“What song?” he asks, both of you turning in place, looking in her direction.

“Gimme a second. I’m trying to figure out how to work this fuckin’ thing.” There’s the sound of her struggling, and before he can go help her, you’re already heading her way.

There’s a pull for him to walk over there, too, and he has to fight it to stay back, resting his side against the bartop with his arms crossed, watching from afar.

He glances at his brother to see him pouring drinks, putting what looks to be apple juice in two of them.

His attention goes back to you and Ellie, her pointing at what he assumes is a song, which makes you laugh, and him frown because he’s dying to know which one it is.

“You’re right on the money, squirt,” you tell Ellie as you show her how to use the jukebox.

A second later, the opening to “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police starts playing, Joel snorting and shaking his head as the lyrics run through his head, seeing how they are pretty accurate—every little thing you do is magic, and you’re always turning him on.

Something inside him soothes when you beckon him over, Joel quickly walking across the bar.

He’s in front of you, and you lean in so your lips are close to his ear, asking in a whisper for only him to hear, “Is your back okay?”

You’re pulling back, searching his face. His back isn’t bothering him at the moment, and he’s able to move around fine. “Yeah,” he answers.

A toothy smile appears on your face. “Dance with me, then,” you say. “Please.”

There’s an empty space in front of the jukebox that you’re standing in that must’ve been used as a small dancefloor. He feels heat licking up his neck because he hasn’t danced in years, and there’s an audience—Ellie watching off to the side with an amused look, Tommy with a matching expression over at the bar.

“Yeah, Joel,” Ellie ribs. “Dance with her.”

“Remember, Joel,” Tommy yells. “Happy wife, happy life!”

He sighs, gulping at your hopeful expression, not wanting to disappoint you. “Apologies in advance if I step on your toes, ma’am,” he says as he pulls you into his arms—a hand around your waist, the other holding your hand, while you’re grabbing his shoulder. He goes the safe route, starting to move you both in a swaying shuffle, you grinning at him with stars in your eyes that make his heart pick up in speed.

It’s not really a slow-dancing song. It’s too upbeat and moves too quickly. His heart is in his throat when the steps come back to him as if he’s riding a bicycle, you laughing softly when he begins leading you in quicker movements around the small space. He’s smiling at your glee when he throws in a spin here and there, knowing it amuses you, always pulling you back into his arms.

Ellie is standing by the jukebox with an expression on her face like she can’t believe what she’s seeing but is delighted by it anyway.

It’s reminding him of going out with you to the bar in Austin that did live music, having a few drinks, and you pulling him onto the dancefloor with the rest of the couples. With how happy you look, he thinks you’re remembering the same thing, the both of you just letting loose and having fun.

Fun.

When was the last time he got to have carefree fun like this? Sure, he and Ellie had some fun on the road, but he was always on alert and couldn’t let his guard down. Christ, he sure as hell wasn’t having any fun before the teenager came into his life.

That means the last time he got to enjoy himself like this was on his birthday, watching his favorite movie with Sarah while waiting for you to get off work. He hadn’t found it odd you were working at such a late hour that night since your clinic in the big city was open twenty-four hours, and there were times it was so busy you couldn’t call him until the end of your shift.

And here he is, having the best time dancing with you.

He’s taken aback by how normal this all feels. He woke up that morning with you beside him, in the new house you share, got married in a church, and is now celebrating in a bar with a cake, having drinks, and dancing to music as if outside the town walls, there isn’t desolation and unimaginable horrors.

How long can Jackson remain being this little oasis amongst the apocalyptic hellscape? How much time will he get in this bliss? Too many things have happened to him to think this will last—it’s too good to be true.

The song comes to an end, and he lowers you in a dip, causing you to giggle while Ellie claps.

Pulling you back up, you grab his face and kiss him, Joel losing himself in the sensation of your lips on his, feeling you smiling.

He focuses on you in his arms and your mouth on his, grounding him and pulling him from the darkness of his thoughts, giving him hope.

Joel will do whatever he can to help keep this town safe. It’s a new beginning for the three of you; Ellie can have a somewhat normal life and get to be a kid, you can relax, and the two of you can settle down together, hopefully living out the rest of your many years here.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” you say when you pull back, taking him from his thoughts.

“Any time,” he replies, smiling.

There’s a possibility you might explode from how happy you are.

You’re married to Joel. He’s your husband.

Staring into those big brown eyes of his, a sweet smile on his lips, you start speaking, “I need you to do something for me.”

His eyebrows dip together. “Anythin’,” he responds, rubbing his big hands over your arms.

“I need you to pinch me—I’ve gotta make sure I’m not dreaming and you’re really here with me.”

The expression on his face melts into something soft. His hand dips down to pinch your hip, his other one caressing the side of your face. “There,” he says. “Believe I’m here now, baby?”

Tears spring to your eyes, grinning as you crash your mouth to his, kissing him desperately, your hands wrapping around his neck.

“I suddenly want juice,” Ellie announces to no one in particular. “So, I’m gonna go get some, so I don’t have to see this. Seriously, guys. Gross.”

Her comment has you breaking apart from Joel, giggling as you face her.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you tell her, seeing her face pinched in disgust. “We did warn you about the excessive PDA.”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Still gross. I mean, who wants to see their… their… their.”

“Dad?” you finish for her.

“He’s not my dad.” It’s said almost like a reflex, and you can see fear in her eyes.

She’s like a wounded animal, and you’re going to need to be careful. You close the distance slowly; it’s only a couple of steps.

Joel’s moved beside you, and you’re surprised when he speaks, his voice low so only the three of you can hear. “It’s okay,” he says, her gaze on him. It takes him a second to figure out his next words, and he looks away with his hands perched on his hips. “That shit I said last time we were here? I was lyin’.” He sighs. “Thought if I said it out loud, it’d be true.” He meets her eyes. “You can, uh, call me whatever you’d like—caretaker, guardian, ward, Dad. ‘Cause—” he audibly swallows. “—I think of you as my kid,” he says softly. “You’re not cargo. Never were. You’re family. My family.”

“You’re my family, too.” Her voice is quiet, looking hopeful. “Feels weird calling you, Dad, though—” She points at him “—you’re Joel.”

He smiles. “Then keep callin’ me, Joel,” he reassures. “If people ask, can I say you’re my…?”

“Daughter?” she finishes for him, smiling. “Sure.” Ellie shrugs. “And you’re my father, but—” She looks around like she’s making sure no one is listening, saying conspiratorially, “—I’m pretty sure I’m adopted.”

He snorts. “That was stupid.”

She grins. “I thought it was pretty funny, Dad.” She makes a face. “Oh, yeah, that’s fucking weird—no offense,” she adds quickly.

“None taken.”

Her eyes dart away. “I’m glad you brought me here,” she says. “And that I’ve got you—both of you now.”

“Yeah, I’m happy you’re here, too, and Ellie?”

“Yeah, Joel?” They look at each other.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nods. “That juice sure sounds good,” she says a bit louder, making you smile because Joel hadn’t been lying that they’re both terrible at expressing their feelings to one another.

“Let’s go, kid,” he replies.

She’s already moving toward the bar, and you take his hand, both of you mosying your way over.

“Congratulations, Joel,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“It’s a fourteen-year-old girl.”

He chuckles. “What can I say?” he whispers back. “I’m a girl Dad.”

“Yes, you are.”

Taking seats at the bartop, Joel is between you and Ellie, Tommy placing drinks in front of each of you before walking out from behind the bar to take Maria her juice, holding his own glass.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Joel Miller!” Tommy toasts.

Everyone raises their glasses before taking a drink.

It’s whiskey—actual facts whiskey, and not moonshine, it sliding down your throat smoothly, relishing the burn. This was quality shit from before the outbreak that was extremely hard to find.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, staring at the glass. “This is the real fucking deal.”

“We save it for special occasions,” Tommy replies. “But we also have shit we’ve made.”

“Thank you for letting us have some,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I haven’t had a decent drink in years.”

“You’re welcome, Doc.” He holds his cup up to you.

Joel sets his glass down, you taking another drink.

His arm goes around your waist, his other hand scratching at the back of his neck, and you can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say.

He keeps his eyes forward. “I just wanna thank y’all for makin’ today real special for us,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “It means a lot to us havin’ ya here.”

“Psh—” Ellie playfully punches his arm. “—like I’d miss my chance at seeing you so happy it makes you cry, and I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Yeah…”

“We ain’t done celebratin’!” Tommy exclaims. “There are gifts.”

You and Joel are turning in your seats to look at his brother.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. “You’ve done more than enough. The house, the beautiful ceremony, the cake, this booze. We can’t accept anything else.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Joel adds. “We don’t need anythin’ else.”

“Oh, quit it,” he replies, walking back behind the bar. “Let us spoil ya today. You sure as fuck deserve it.” He’s leaning down to grab something behind the bar and coming back up, keeping his hands low so you can’t see what he’s got. “This first gift is from Maria and me.”

“Why are you lyin’ to them?” his wife asks. “That gift is all you—I got the cake.”

“‘Cause we’re married.” He sounds exasperated.

“That one’s too damn special, it’s solely from Tommy, and I had nothin’ to do with it.”

He sighs.

“This first gift is from me,” he says, the last word a little louder. “And only me.”

“We read you loud and clear,” you reply. “I am dying to know what it is.”

He looks a little unsure as he speaks, “Well, now that y’all are here together, I’m hopin’ you’ll want them.” Two Polaroid pictures are placed between you and Joel, both having faded a little over time, your breath catching in your throat, covering your mouth with a hand.

The first one is of Joel and Sarah making silly faces at the camera—him with his hair still brown and his face less worn from age. You’ve worried that over time your memory of what Sarah looks like had decayed, but here she is with her dad’s eyes, her beautiful smile, and her head full of curly hair, just as you remember.

You’re reaching out to touch the second photo of the three of you on her fourteenth birthday at Joel’s house. You’ve got your arms around her, Sarah resting her head on your shoulder, Joel hugging you both from behind, all three of you smiling at the camera.

“I, uh, told Joel this last time I saw him,” Tommy starts. “But I went back to the house some years ago. Place was picked clean—found those, though.” He points at them. “Kept one of her and me—hope that’s alright.”

Joel’s voice is thicker from emotion, “Of course it’s alright,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tommy,” you add.

“You’re welcome.”

“Look at her,” you murmur.

“Just like I remember,” he whispers. “God, I miss that smile.”

“I do, too.”

“Can I see this one?” he asks, pointing at the one with the three of you.

“Yeah.” You move your hand to pick up the other, him taking the one he wanted gingerly between his fingers.

He stares at it for a second before showing it to Ellie. “This is Sarah,” he says to her. “My other daughter. I just know she would’ve liked you. Not that I think you’re the same. Definitely different kids, but still mine.”

“How are we different?” she asks.

“Well, she was a lot more, I wanna say girly?” He’s quickly adding, “And I’m not sayin’ that you’re not girly...”

She snorts. “I’m not.”

Joel smiles crookedly, “Yeah, you’re not. So that. She was taller. She had that killer smile.” His eyes widen, worry on his face, speaking fast, “Again, not sayin’ you don’t...”

“Chill out, Joel,” she laughs, him visibly relaxing. “She did have a killer smile. You really think she’d like me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “You’d get on like a house on fire. She would’ve liked you ‘cause you’re funny. I think you would’ve made her laugh,” he answers thoughtfully. “The two of you love music—she had a small CD collection she would’ve liked showin’ you. And I know together you would’ve had too much fuckin’ fun givin’ me shit. Can picture you gangin’ up on me,” he chuckles. “She would’ve liked you a whole helluva a lot, and I bet you would’ve liked her back.”

“Yeah, I think I would’ve,” she replies. “Sarah sounds really fucking cool.”

He’s softly smiling, looking at the picture. “Yeah, she was the coolest.” His head swivels in her direction, “Not sayin’ you’re not cool—you’re really fuckin’ cool, too. The two of you are way cooler than me.”

She’s laughing. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” she says. “It’s okay, and it doesn’t take much to be cooler than your old ass.”

“Yeah,” Tommy speaks up, Joel and Ellie looking at him, smirking. “Sarah would’ve found you hilarious, and y’all would’ve had a blast terrorizin’ the fuck outta this asshole.” He nods his head toward Joel.

“God, Joel’s right,” you add. “They would’ve ganged up on him, just a constant Joel roast.”

“It’s already a constant Joel roast…” Joel grumbles.

Rubbing his arm, you reply, “But it’s done affectionately.”

“I guess,” he sighs.

“There’s one more gift for ya,” Tommy says.

You’re staring him down, telling him, “Tommy, the pictures are more than enough—way more than enough. We can’t accept anything else. We won’t.” You shake your head.

“She’s right,” Joel cuts in. “You’ve given us too much. There’s no fuckin’ way we can ever repay you.”

“This gift isn’t from me,” Tommy responds with a little smile. “It ain’t from Maria either.”

“Then who’s it from?” Joel asks, confusion on his face.

You’re wondering the same thing. There’s no one else in Jackson you know.

“Ellie.” He points at her, both of you turning your heads to look at her, you having to lean around Joel.

“Hey.” She puts up her hands in defense. “Tommy helped!” She points at him. “Told me I could pick out a gift for you guys, and we went around to a bunch of places last night looking at shit, and I saw something I thought you might like, but it’s probably super fucking lame, so if you wanna trade it, go for it. I have no fucking clue what to get people when they get married.”

“Hey, don’t stress,” you reply, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’re gonna love it.”

“Yeah.” Joel smiles, knocking his shoulder against hers. “We’ll love anythin’ you got us.”

She looks unsure. “I hope so.”

“What’d you get us?” you ask.

Her attention moves to Tommy.

“Is it back there?” she asks him.

“Yep,” he answers.

Ellie jumps off her barstool, walking around the bar, to lean down and grab something that seems big, but you can’t see since it’s so low, her moving back toward you both.

When she’s in sight, your eyes go wide, realizing it’s a black hardshell guitar case.

There’s pink on her cheeks, holding it out to Joel, looking down at her feet. “When, um, we were on our way to Salt Lake City, you, um, said you wanted to find a guitar?” she says it as a question. “Said you hadn’t played in forever and that you’d teach me. Which you don’t have to,” she quickly adds. “But, um, I figured if you used to play, you probably played for Doc and Sarah, and she’d maybe wanna hear you again, so a guitar, for your wedding or whatever.”

“It’s perfect,” he chokes out, and you can see his eyes glistening as he gently takes it from her. “Thank you, Ellie. I, uh, didn’t think you’d remember all that.”

She meets his eyes. “I do. Remember a lot of it. So, there you go.” She’s wringing her hands in front of her, Joel carefully setting the guitar against the bar and getting up from his chair to stand in front of her.

“Would it be alright if I hugged you?” he asks softly.

“Sure.”

He’s slow in his movements, not going too quick as he wraps his arms around her, one behind her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her own arms go around his middle, his chin nestled atop her hair.

A father holding his last living child, a daughter being held by the only parent she’s known, a comfort they’ve both needed and something to cherish.

“Thank you, baby girl,” he whispers.

This seems like a private moment, averting your eyes, Tommy doing the same.

“I’m happy you’re, uh, better,” he continues.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she says just as softly.

“Never in a million years, I… care about you too damn much.”

“I care about you, too.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

They stay like that for seconds longer before separating, his hands on her shoulders.

“I think I promised I’d sing for you,” he tells her with a warm smile. “I apologize if I’m a bit rusty.”

“I didn’t save the world.”

“There’s still time, kiddo.” He moves back over to the black case to open it up, pulling out the mahogany acoustic guitar, its sides stained black, him admiring it. “Well, isn’t she a beauty.”

“You gonna play the thing or take it out on a date?” Ellie asks, making you giggle.

Joel’s eyes narrow at her, him moving to sit on the barstool with the guitar resting on his thighs.

“Gimme a second,” he replies, strumming his fingers over the strings, it clearly out of tune. “I gotta fix it.” His eyebrows are creased in concentration as he turns each peg to adjust the pitch of the strings until he’s satisfied, nodding his head when he strums, and it sounds right.

He’s not playing any particular song, just reacquainting himself with the chords, doing little melodies to get back into it.

Tommy walks out from behind the bar to go sit next to Maria at her little table, his arm over the back of her chair, while nursing his drink with his other hand, both of them watching Joel in interest.

Since Joel was a child, he’s been passionate about music. By the time he turned seven, he was playing guitar, and as an adult, he was so good that he only needed to hear a song once to know how to play it.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he says to Ellie while still playing.

She’s smiling, replying, “I won’t.”

He gives her a look.

“I won’t, I promise,” she says.

He nods his head.

“I’m trustin’ you.”

It makes sense that only after some minutes, he seems to have the hang of it, things sounding smoother, and you grin when he moves into a familiar tune—the steady rhythm with the twang as he plucks the strings, excitement bubbling in your belly over what was about to happen.

He’s focused on the guitar, his voice a deep, throaty rasp, as he starts crooning the beginning of “Stand by Me” by Ben E. King.

Tears are back in your eyes, feeling emotional that he’s playing your song.

This was the first song he’d ever played for you all those years ago, the song you’d ask him to play again and again because of how much you loved it, the song you thought would play while you shared your first dance after saying ‘I do,’ the song you could imagine him singing to your children.

And here he is, playing the guitar for the first time in over twenty years, and this is the song he’s chosen to sing, knowing how much it’d mean to you.

Joel Miller is the love of your life, has always been the love of your life, and now you get to call him your husband.

She’s honestly surprised that he’s not bad—kind of reminds her of the singer from Pearl Jam, but, like, if he were Texan and his voice was a bit deeper.

God, she misses her Walkman so fucking much, she’d kill to hear “Take on Me” again. Wait, maybe Joel knows it, and he could play it for her. She’ll have to ask him when he finishes with this song.

It’s crazy to her that this time last year, she’d been in FEDRA school, getting up to shit with Riley, and now she’s across the country, in a small town that fucking works with her—Jesus, it’s even fucking weird to think about calling him her Dad—Joel, he’s her Joel, it’ll take some time to ease into the name change. Anyways, she’s now here with Joel and Doc, who’s honestly a great addition to their team.

If anyone deserves to be reunited with their one true love like he’s living a fucking fairytale, it’s Joel, and Ellie is so fucking relieved that Doc is actually pretty great; she’s more than pretty great, actually. Doc is fucking awesome and has always been honest with her, so she knows that when Doc told her she’d try to figure out a cure, she was telling the truth, and that gives Ellie hope that she might actually get a chance at saving the world after all.

Everything she’s gone through, all of the people who’ve died for her, it all needs to fucking mean something. It has to.

Ellie’s happy for Joel and Doc, she really is, and she’ll never admit it out loud, but she’s scared. Not that, like, Joel will forget about her now that he has a wife. No, they care about her too much, and that’s what scares her.

For the first time in her entire fucking life, she has a family—Joel, Doc, even Tommy, and Maria—she has people who give a shit about her and love her. Joel wants her to call him ‘Dad,’ he thinks of himself as her father, and she sees herself as his daughter, and now there’s Doc, too, who’s so warm and comforting, and fuck, what if something happens to them? What if she loses them like she’s lost every other person who’s ever given a fuck about her? This time last year, she had Riley, and now Riley’s dead, and not only that, but Ellie’s the one that had to kill her.

A year and so much has changed.

What if she loses all of this?

She told Sam she’s afraid of ending up alone, but really she’s frightened of outliving the people who care about her, and now there are so many.

She just has to remind herself that Joel is the strongest man on the entire fucking planet. He got her across the country, basically came back from the dead, and took out a hospital full of Fireflies—they’re not in danger here in Jackson, and if they were? Joel will keep her and Doc safe, she’s positive about that, and Ellie will help, she can hold her own, and she’s not going to let anyone else die for her.

They’re safe.

Everything is going to be okay. Joel will make sure of it.

The song finishes, and he sighs, not looking at her as he asks, “Well?”

“Well, that didn’t suck,” she replies, smiling. “I’m honestly impressed ‘cause I figured you’d be fucking terrible, but you weren’t. You were pretty good.”

He looks at her with big eyes and a little smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods her head.

“You still got it, babe,” Doc says.

He turns to look at her with a grin. “Yeah?” he asks her.

“Yep.” She smiles back. “You had me swooning—you know how much I love that song.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies in a different tone that has Ellie making a face.

Jesus, they’re so gross, and now they’re kissing—of course, they are. She’s pretty sure they can’t go five fucking minutes without their lips locked.

Her attention moves to Tommy and Maria, who aren’t much better sitting close together fucking canoodling.

Disgusting.

She’s got the ick.

“Cake sure sounds really fucking good right about now,” she says loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“Hell yeah, it does,” Tommy replies, getting up from his chair. “I’ve got plates and shit.” He’s walking back behind the bar.

Joel and Doc have unlocked their lips, thank god.

“Joel?” she asks.

He meets her eyes. “Yeah?”

“This is probably a long fucking shot, but there’s this band I loved called A-ha? Listened to the tape on my Walkman all the time, and they had this song called “Take On Me.” Do you know it?”

He smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He’s already playing the beginning, the familiar melody making Ellie smile so big she thinks her cheeks are gonna hurt.

Yeah, everything is gonna be okay, and her life has never been better.

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @theorganasolo @thefictionalgemini @pinkninja200 @lol-im-done @koryianders @pointlessandfutile @flyingmushroomss @abbyhaslongshorts @savage-aespa @sofietargaryen @kpopslur @superflymaterial @virtuallia @moobaggg @shaunthesheesh @marsrox @fandomtash5092 @whore4dilfs @majdoline @mandowhatnow @hereforkylo @okjewels7567 @autobotgirl15-blog @silhxvette @lentil-s0up @myloveistoolittle @perksofbeingamultifandomm @squirtlebob @joliettes @aonungs-tsahik @javierpenasimp @thewayiknowyou @magic-magnoliaa @casssiopeiaaa @vanemando15 @kiricomics @eddiemunscns @gracie7209 @fan-fiction-floozy @butterscotch-mafia @myloveistoolittle @icygurl56 @deliriousfangirl61 @khaylin27 @notyourlovemonkey @a-wild-haggis @scorpiomindfuck @fandomandotherthings @seitmai @therealcap @littlemisspascal @iamskyereads @theewokingdead

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #september series #the last of us #hbo the last of us

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 4

ANOTHER CHAPTER IN LESS THAN A WEEK. BRING ON THE GRINDDDDDD. I will warn that my motiviation for each of my fics comes in waves, so you'll probably get chapters in random chunks ngl. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Mentions of murder. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

PART 1: Chapter 4

Unconditional Violence.

Bambsquabbled (Definition): A 19th Century American slang word essentially meaning stupefied or confounded. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 18th December, 1929.

You had expected the additional Tuesday Mr LeBlanc had given you off to prepare yourself for the radio company to consist of you sleeping in until 11am. But dreams are short lived when you have an aunt who insists the ass-crack of dawn is prime time for everything.

You guessed it was fun to climb onto the roof of your relative’s vast home to collect the crystals you had both put out under the full moon, before the energy given to them was whisked away by the rays of the early golden hour. But when nerves settle in like the green spirals of nausea the night before, sleep takes the hand of another, leaving you to lay there with your over-active mind as it drags you through every possibility and event that could end up with you looking like an idiot in front of your new colleagues, or worse. Can’t think of much worse. But the universe will find a way.

It always does.

When Wednesday finally rolled around, it was barely 6am and you already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Your cousins had found you curled up on the bench swing, having dragged your duvet outside as you balled yourself up like a worm, sipping on the iced tea Agnes had bought you the day before in an attempt to settle your nerves. It did. A little.

And now here you were, the first half of your new workday having gone as smoothly as your awkward self could do.

Ethel, who’s desk was closest to yours, had dubbed you the quiet one after spending an hour running her mouth at you with barely a break for you to chime in. You had also already created quite a commotion on the third floor, a few people intrigued by the new ‘foreigner’. Well – as foreign as you can get when you’re from another English-speaking country, in the biggest cultural melting pot of a city had ever seen in your rural life. But they found you interesting enough.

The oddest thing you had experienced that day, however, was a strange request from your new boss – Mr Durham himself.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pull off a local accent?” he had asked when showing you the phone on your desk.

All you could do was blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to the phone. “Since you’re my assistant, you’re gonna be filtering through the calls I get before passing them onto me. Now, there might be an issue if someone calls expecting to hear me, but instead find themselves speaking to a British girl on the other end. Some can be impatient and might end up putting the phone down before you explain.”

Memories of that one very unpleasant phone call flooded your mind. “Even if I answer: ‘Hello W.A.D Radio, this is Mr Durham’s assistant speaking’??” you replied monotonously.

“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “But do you know how to anyway?”

Frowning, you recalled your time in the cities further in the North. “I guess..? A girl I rented a room from in New York insisted on teaching me for when we went into town, but I struggle to see how it’s important?”

The man put his hands together, pointing them at you in a prayer motion. “Just.. try it out? Talk like your colleagues when you see them, to see if you can get a hang of it – I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Please?”

You gave him a wavering look, but sighed, finally giving in. “Fine, but they can’t make fun of me.”

He beamed, patting you on the back in satisfaction. “I’m sure they won’t! I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

And with that, you sat in your new chair, trying to pointedly ignore the sign at the other end of the room that pointed you to the fifth floor, and began your attempt to settle in.

--

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 8th January, 1930.

There wasn’t much to celebrate when the new decade rolled around. Gone were the so-called ‘Roaring Twenties’, when you would join your parents at the parties and balls they were invited to – when it was acceptable, of course; those higher up in the class hierarchy still grasped to the dwindling standard that children should be seen, not heard. The year you turned eighteen ended up being quite interesting, when the older women who had turned snooty at the sight of your teenage self wandering around their stately homes, tried to attempt a 180°, as they congratulated you reaching adulthood with strained smiles. But you paid them no mind, too busy staring at the paintings or statues that lined their corridors – a stark contrast to the more barren and plain wallpaper that coated the walls you grew up in.

But now that was far behind you, the English garden parties in the spring and summer that you adored so much were now a mere echo in the distances of your mind. The noises of tiny forks clinking on fine china as the little birds twittered in the trees now replaced by the sputtering and groaning of automobiles as you gripped the pole of the tram, your arms tight against your chest as you tried your best to not let the swaying of the vehicle toss you about into the crowd of packed bodies around you.

Making sure the scarf was tucked safely around your neck, you grasped the small briefcase in your hand – mentally preparing yourself for you first day back at the radio station after the new year. Unfortunately for Mr Durham, a small hurricane had passed over during the holiday, and radio stations across the city were temporarily silenced as their mechanics desperately attempted to repair the damaged towers. And also unfortunately for you, only the hosts were offered a couple days off as things got back up and running, though some still showed to prepare for their shows; you, on the other hand, were still expected to show up like any other day.

So here you were, pushing open the (now familiar) double doors, giving a small wave to the receptionist, who’s name turned out to be Diana, and the woman barely raised her hand in response as she continued to tiredly shift through the concerningly large stack of papers on her desk.

You were just about to climb the wide staircase when you heard her call your name (something you were very surprised she knew, considering her tendency to ‘accidentally’ throw paperwork in the bin on the daily), and your wedge heels clacked against the tile flooring as you stumbled slightly, turning to face her as her nasally voice echoed around the large lobby.

“It’s best you stay in the shadows today.” She warned cryptically. “Trouble’s in, and the mechanic’s not happy about the damages – Durham’s getting the brunt of it, but you’ll end up in the crossfire unless you hide out during breaktimes.”

All you could do for a moment was stand and stare, a million thoughts running through your mind. Mostly about who ‘Trouble’ was, and why Diana thought you couldn’t handle the guy and the other mechanic. You did handle the radio man at the repair shop after all, and speaking of the radio, you were quite proud to say you had finished the it in time for Christmas, and had shipped it off with a very passive-aggressive note that hinted for the man to basically never return. Luckily, Mr Boudreaux hadn’t replied to any of your letters since you had begrudgingly accepted the object, but you had suspected he had called the shop once or twice, and you had left Mr LeBlanc to deal with it, mostly because he was quite terrified you would call another customer every name under the sun the second they tried to give you trouble.

Glancing back and forth between Diana and the stairs, you mumbled a slow “Oookay…” before nodding your head and turning on your heel to hurry up the steps. Reaching the third floor, you didn’t stop in your path as you neared your desk, instead dropping your briefcase onto the wooden surface as you dashed by, striding towards the door that had the golden plaque engraved with ‘Mr B. Durham’ onto it. Grasping the handle, you turned the knob, swinging the door open, only to stop in your tracks as you were met with a very empty office.

You frowned. It must be really bad if your boss was no where to be seen. Whipping around, you scanned the main room for him, but only saw a few of your colleagues, the rest still yet to arrive – you were normally expected to be in early to handle Durham’s work as soon as he began.

Throwing your coat and scarf on your chair, you strode back towards the stairs, readjusting the suspenders of your wide-legged trousers as you practically jogged up the steps, and ended up rolling the sleeves of your loose blouse to your elbows as you tried to catch your breath.

On the fourth floor, you spent a couple minutes checking all of your boss’s usual haunts or hiding places, even going as far as interrogating a couple of the workers there for his whereabouts. It wasn’t until some blonde guy that came wandering down the steps from the fifth floor that you got your answer, the man looking up to take in your slightly dishevelled and feral appearance with wide eyes as he stammered out that he was in one of the radio booths. To his further horror, you patted him on the cheek with a thanks as you rounded him, ready to take another flight of stairs to reach your – apparently – floundering boss.

Ignoring the embarrassed sputtering of the man behind you, you eye the sign nailed to the wall, the painted hand pointing upwards with a very bold ‘FIFTH FLOOR’ next to it.

“Don’t go up there until I say you’re ready, okay?” Mr Durham’s words echoed through your mind.

Buuuuut, he did say he wanted to discuss the stuff you brought in your briefcase ASAP.

Yea that’ll be your excuse. You can deal with his complaining later.

Reaching your heel-clad foot out, you took the first step, almost like you were expecting an axe to come swing down and impale your forehead. But when nothing happened, you shrugged, and simply continued up.

Recalling the path your boss had taken you on during the initial tour, you managed to find the dreaded corridor that supposedly housed your greatest nightmare.

Extroverted people.

Yeesh.

At that thought, you did consider turning around, but your urge to drag your boss’s arse back downstairs drowned that thought out, and you carried on.

Surprisingly, it was quiet, but at the same time not so much when you remembered that most of them were plating their somewhat wealthy behinds on their armchairs at home as the rest tried to fix the issues of the storm.

Reaching one of the lit rooms, you heard raised voices.

“–really expect me to know? –” “– supposed to be on in an hour! How is that –”

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to try and witness the potential fiasco. And what a fiasco it was.

Wires, cables, and any other random parts that were used for radio technology were strewn across desks, tables and even the floor. Amongst these were two men, and there was only one you recognised.

Just like you had seen him every day for the past month, Mr Durham was stood in his washed-out blue suit and concerningly shiny shoes, and at this point one hand was on his hip, whilst the other rubbed tiredly at his face as whom you assume was the mechanic, was blabbering the poor man’s ear off as he ranted on and on about random parts and problems and he gestured frantically at said random parts and problems. Wait – nevermind, you recognised one and a half.

The man from across the street was here, with his back to you. Again. For fuck’s sake.

This time he was back in the seat you first saw him in, this time with a few strands of dark-brown hair out of place, curling slightly as if to rebel against the intense styling he had put it through. Peeking your head out slightly further, you managed to get a good look at him.

Well for one, he was a triangle. Stupidly broad shoulders that narrowed into a stupidly small waist (triangle), with lanky legs long enough that you could probably chop them off and fashion them into skis. Despite his face not revealed, you could see the semi-light tan on his hands, that were busy turning knobs and dials as he listened in to whatever was coming through the headphones on his head. He was dressed to impress, to say the least, in smart, dark-grey trousers, who’s ironed out edges looked as if they could slice through skin. His high collared cream shirt was tucked away under a relatively tight looking reddish-tan waistcoat, and to top it all off, you could see the back of the black ribbon that was most likely tied in a stupidly even bow.

You didn’t want this guy to sense your staring, so you opted to look back at the other two men who were still chuntering on about god knows what. Stepping into the light that flooded through the glass, you wave slightly to try and get your boss’s attention. A couple seconds passed, and you watched as the mechanic kept glancing at you and Mr Durham, until eventually he nudged the other man on the shoulder, pointing you out.

Turning his head, Mr Durham’s eyes met with yours, and you raised your hand with a questionable thumbs up to see if all was good, only to watch in slight confusion as his eyes widened, and he whipped his head rapidly between you and the faceless man sat at his desk, before marching over to the door and pulling it open a crack, sticking his head out.

“Hey uh,” he half-whispered, surprisingly nervous at your presence. “what’re you doing here?”

You lowered your voice to match his. “You said to come find you as soon as possible this morning, you know, to go over those statistics from that other station?”

Realisation dawned on the man’s face, and he reached up to drag his hand down the side of it. “Shit I forgot,” he cursed, and glanced over his shoulder before facing you again. “I’ll – uh… I’ll be down as soon as I get this sorted. Marty’s givin’ me a run for his money right now and the second Al takes his headphones off I’m gonna feel like I’m entering an early grave.”

Surprised, you eyed the man sat at the desk, who looked far too calm to be threatening anyone right now. “Ok… I guess it can wait. I’ll bring you some coffee up!” you chirped, and Durham went to call out that it wasn’t necessary, but faltered with a frown as he realised you were already halfway down the corridor.

--

Balancing the tray of cups and steaming jug the best you could, you reached the final step, retracing your route to the radio booth that your boss was probably getting murdered in. Walking up, you waited patiently until Mr Durham noticed you, and watched as he reluctantly trudged over to open the door.

Taking your first step in, you were hit with the very potent smell of strong black coffee, as if someone had some brewing every day, and you figured you had made the right call of fetching the same beverage as you placed the tray down on one of the tables.

The mechanic was still going off on one, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as you slowly began pouring the coffee into the cups, listening to the greasy-looking man speak.

“– there’s literally no reason that I can find that’s causing the local outage!” he spouted at your frowning boss. “The boys have already fixed the aerial, and David’s currently on-air and that’s working perfectly fine, so it has to be something in this room!”

During the man’s tirade, you noticed the rustling of papers, and looked over to see the faceless man again, still at his desk, but his hands were fiddling with no purpose, and his head was turned to the left slightly, showing his high cheekbone and the edge of his thin circular glasses.

Looked like someone else was listening in too.

Biting your smile down, you turned back towards the cups in your hand, only to have a glint of light pierce the corner of your eye, and you looked in the opposite direction to a large wooden box, with one of the panels removed, displaying the endless wires and springs that coiled and wound in every direction. But you weren’t looking at that, you were instead looking at the screwdriver that was very prominently glinting in the shine of the ceiling light. This must be the painstakingly obvious problem that the mechanic had painstakingly missed.

Giving a quick glance over at the men, you waited until they faced away, scrapping about the wire pile on the floor, and you reached for the wooden teaspoon on your tray, and inched towards the box. Knowing wood doesn’t normally conduct electricity, you raised your hand, testing it anyway against the hanging wires to see if they were live. Seemingly not, you stuck your hand further in, and began nudging at the tool, slowly loosening the wires around it as you dragged it along the bottom of the box.

When they had deemed your silence as suspicious, the mechanic and Durham turned round, only to see you elbow deep in some very expensive equipment.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” the mechanic cried as he rushed over. “The hell are you doin’??”

Instead of jerking your arm back out and apologising to the man who was slowly turning purple, you gave the screwdriver one last flick, and the three of you watched as it dropped over the edge and fell to the floor with a clatter. Moments of silence passed as you all stared at it, until you decided to explain.

“It was tangled in the wires, which would’ve prevented the electricity flow,” you said plainly. “Plus, if you had tried to power it all up, it could’ve set the place on fire.”

All the mechanic could do was stare down at the tool, but Mr Durham had decided to approach, and bent down to pick up the tool.

“Nice one.” He complimented, turning the object in his hands. Though the warm smile he had put on for you quickly vanished, as his eyes set upon the name engraved on the wooden handle. He pointed at it. “This has your name on it Marty.” He said lowly, his blue eyes turning dark as he regarded the paling man with a look of thunder.

Seeing the outcome, you gestured nervously to the beverages on the table. “Coffee’s there, Mr Durham, I’ll see you downstairs.”

Just as you walked around him, he called your name. “Take ten minutes to yourself and grab some tea, whilst I deal with Marty here.”

Nodding, you curtly took your leave, swinging the door open as you power-walked out, failing to see the sharp pair of eyes following you from where they were sat at the desk.

--

You found the break room housed several curiosities that you were yet to explore in America. Apart from the atrocious fact that the tea station lacked the Yorkshire brand, you found yourself poking at what they called a teabag. Yes, surprise, surprise, the Americans invented something tea related before England or even China did, but you had to admit it was rather useful in helping you not gag at the slimy tea leaves that sat at the bottom of most of your beloved brews.

With the table to your right, you leant your hip against it, your back against the door as you rather noisily mixed the spoon around your large mug, making sure the sugar was dissolved properly before you went to strain the teabag. Lifting it carefully out of the boiling water, you gingerly held your other hand out below it to catch any stray drips from hitting the floor, scanning the room in front of you for a bin that you could chuck it into.

What you foolishly had failed to do however, was hear the footsteps that grew in volume from behind, and you hadn’t realised anything until a very uncomfortable prickle hit the side of your neck, as a very unwanted presence loomed over you. Though, that didn’t last long, as the presence decided to deafen you instead.

“So YOU’RE the new assistant!”

A banshee screech raised from your throat, the teabag flying through the air and onto the floor by your feet as you basically jumped three feet up. Instinctively, however, you didn’t realise what was happening until one elbow flew upwards, slamming into the nose of the man behind you, the other flying round to collide with his ribs. Teaspoon armed in hand, you spun around to face your assailant, only to step on the soggy teabag that was still on the floor, and you cried out again as you slipped and slammed into a very firm chest. Eyes screwed shut, you felt the two of you fall, though quickly broken by the table behind you.

Relieved that you were no longer falling, you swiftly blinked your eyes open, your dark brown ones meeting a pair of equally matching brown. Moments passed as you took in the scene in front of you, and you realised you finally had a face to put to the lanky man from earlier.

Said man was groaning as he rubbed at his nose, his lips twisted into a grimace as he checked for blood. What you noticed however, was the several poignant glances the man took to your right, and you followed, only to see you hand raised, teaspoon in hand, pointing down at him as if you had a machete, ready to stab the lights out of him.

A small gasp left your throat at the realisation, and you quickly pushed yourself off, pointedly ignoring the grunt the man let out as you knocked at his ribs. Taking several steps back, you distanced yourself from him. He had gotten close before, he wasn’t about to do so again.

You watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, using the table as a support as he stood. To a disturbingly tall height might you add. Looks like you did just reach his nose after all.

“I’m uh,” you started as you eyed him, teaspoon machete still in hand, strangely, you instinctively used the southern accent you learnt – it was the one you used with strangers. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to sneak up on me like that.” Reaching over, you snatched up a napkin, offering it to him. “Y’haven’t got anything…?”

Dark eyes flitting between you and the outstretched napkin offering, you watched as something seemed to switch in his demeanour, and a natural smile fell across his tan face as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s quite alright.” He assured, and you blinked at his prominent transatlantic accent. “I figured that wasn’t the best way to say hello to a stranger!” he laughed as he smoothed down his crumpled waistcoat. Reaching his lanky arm out whilst tucking the other behind him, he offered his hand out in greeting. “The name’s Alastor, my dear. And who do I have the most entertaining pleasure to be speaking to?”

You stared at his hand, then flicked your eyes up to him, scanning his grinning face with vigour.

Where, oh where, had you heard that voice before?

Your silence seemed to confuse this Alastor guy, however, and his eyes darted around in confusion as you continued to stare. From what you could see, he had come to a very wrong conclusion about your silence, and leaned over at you slightly, bringing his face level with yours.

“Cat got your tongue, my darling?” His growing cheshire grin reminding you of two very similar people. “You clearly must find me that dashing if your this speechless, haha!” he chortled, the condescension rolling off him in waves.

Oh, you knew exactly where this guy was from.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinised him as you quietly muttered out a single word.

“Boudreaux.”

Alastor blinked, eyes darting around your face, before raising a hand to cup at his ear. “I hate to say but I didn’t quite catch that!” he exclaimed rather loudly.

You felt your brows begin to furrow, so you raise your voice slightly. “I said, Boudreaux.”

Oh you did it now. Sparkles seemed to glitter behind his chocolate eyes as he perked up with glee, straightening up to his full height. “So you do know me after all! I was starting to think you simply had nothing going on in that head of yours!”  he simpered as he tilted his head to look down at you.

Despite his clear mocking, you remained quiet for a moment longer, until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“…You work in a radio station.” You stated flatly.

Alastor looked around, acting as if he had just realised as such. “Yes I am quite aware!” he affirmed in an obvious tone. “Did you want an award for that observation?”

You had to refrain from gaping at this man’s audacity. “… Couldn’t you have just fixed it yourself?”

The man blinked at you. “Fixed what now?”

Oh, this was it. Stepping forward, you didn’t stop until you face was a hand-lengths away from his, and you watched with satisfaction as he shifted at your invasion of his space – talk about a hypocrite as someone who clearly loved to invade the space of others. Staring at the man dead in the eye, you fully dropped the southern accent, your Yorkshire one coming back through full force.

“Your mum’s radio.” You stated simply, raising your brows to regard him with a condescending look that matched his.

You had expected him to brush it off, laughing when he realised who you were. What you hadn’t expected for his pupils to blow wide, his eyes darkening as they narrowed, scrutinising your gaze with his own, and you suddenly felt a little uneasy.

“Oh,” he said lowly. “It’s you.”

Keeping your gaze levelled, you gripped the spoon harder in your hands. That is, until your name was called.

The two of you straightened up, you leaning to look around Alastor as he spun on the spot, the both of you facing Mr Durham, who was looking between the two of you rather nervously. He called your name again.

“C’mon.” he said, refusing to take his eyes off Alastor. “Let’s go over those papers you brought.”

Without a second thought, you darted for your mug of tea, grabbing it along with an almost empty bottle of milk to put in it as you strode around Alastor, feeling the hand of your boss as he put his arm around your shoulder as he quickly led you away, and the back of your head prickled, definitely feeling the sharp eyes on your retreating back this time around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALASTOR'S HERE RAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Watch me disappear from the face of the earth for a week cuz of my executive dysfunction lmao (Blame my adhd not me she's a seperate entity at this point.)

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, see you soon for Chapter 5!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

Return to Fic Masterlist

Return to Navigation

Taglist: @theredviolets @mybrainsautocorrect @all-user-error @belos-simp69 @boogiemansbitch @elio-ee @snowlotr @mistresslemonsuger @sugasweettea @jaygrl22 @mysterypotatoink @yunimimii @threefingeredpencil @mydeardelphi @glowinthedarkbones1150 @fluffismystaplefood @writer-girl99 @rl800 @the-unhinged-raccoon @riritvt @melodyidk @ray-rook @artstorieshusbandos @4k1to

#are you proud that i'm bringing on the grind for everything except my uni work? #they gave me 5 assignments again :/ #also having a crisis that high school musical is turning 20 in the next two years #making me feel ancient #but not as ancient as lucifer #he's giving prehistoric #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor fanfic #alastor x you #alastor x oc

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Imagine Being Arthur Shelby’s Twin

Platonic!Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of past childhood neglect, period-typical sexism. The image below is just to visualize what a twin for Arthur could look like. Very, very vague implication of Darby Sabini and Luca Changretta x Shelby!Reader.

“I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

The two of you are very sensitive, always have been. Aunt Polly likes to mention that you and Arthur used to cry at the exact same time as babies. As young children, if one of you got hurt, the other would start crying. This remained mostly the same even into adulthood. Though, you are definitely the more stable twin. 

Arthur would go to you when he needed comfort. You and your twin would draw horses together under candlelight by copying them out of books as children. It was you who first told him that he could be an artist. Arthur laughed you off back then.

Although Arthur bends the knee to Tommy, you are not nearly as submissive as him. Tommy and the others look to you as an equal to Polly. Their elder sister who stepped in when mother wasn’t feeling quite right. 

As the oldest Shelby daughter, you had a hand in raising most of your siblings. Arthur got to run about Small Heath cracking skulls while you stayed back to change nappies and read bedtime stories. Compared to the other Shelby children, you didn’t have much of a childhood at all really.

You had a reputation of being the family tattletale. When your brothers acted up, you acted like a second mother. Always chasing after the little ones and setting them straight. Aged beyond your years because you had to be. Not because you wanted to. 

By the time you were sixteen, you were working three jobs. You were a laundress, a clerk at a drug store, and waking up early to help out at a bakery. The last job worked best for you as you had a talent for baking.

Arthur was such a dreamer before the war. He didn’t have a real plan for his life, only fantasies. You weren’t anything like that. Always looking ahead, mapping out your path, it felt like Arthur didn’t take life seriously. Didn’t take you seriously. 

Before the war, Arthur didn’t fully understand that about you. It was all “women’s work,” and you seemed happy enough. It didn’t occur to him that you might have had dreams of your own. 

You were too strict, too obedient, too boring. It led to many, many fights. Mainly, you and Arthur would disagree about how he was living his life. The fastest way to get Arthur mad was to accuse him of being a bad influence. His face would go red, and he would stomp off, he never had a good counterargument for you.

Just before the war, you got into a terrible argument. You and Arthur can’t even remember what started it. It ended poorly. Both of you said things that you couldn’t take back. When he left to serve, all you could think about was how the last thing you said to him might be his last memory of you. 

The war changed Arthur in a terrible way, but it also changed your relationship for the better. You became more understanding of each other and valued the time spent more. 

Arthur made up with you not long after he came home. By that time, you were married and had fixed yourself up a quaint little home. You didn’t know that the boys were back yet. John and Tommy had gone straight to Watery Lane, Arthur went straight to you. His face was sallow, and he cried like a baby into your apron as he fell to his knees and begged you to forgive him. You started sobbing right along with him and told him that there wasn’t any way you could forsake your twin. This started a long tradition of Arthur dropping by unexpectedly to have a slice of peace.

Even if you marry and have children, Arthur is sure to pop in unannounced for any number of reasons. Your home is warm and quiet, his head is sick and loud. You understand this about your brother and do what you can to soothe him. Oftentimes, just you mentioning that one of Arthur’s nieces of nephews are nearby is enough to get him to calm down. 

Nobody is ever allowed to call Arthur “crazy,” in your presence. In your words he is, “psychically and emotionally distressed.”

Your husband had better be tolerant of Arthur, because you are not going to budge on letting him stay over. Arthur has a permanent open seat at your dinner table and a guest room just for him. Unless you can see he’s been using. That is where you draw the line. 

If you aren't married, expect Arthur to be simultaneously invested in finding you a good man while also hating anyone you date. He wants you to be happy so, so, so badly. It's just hard for him to trust people with you.

You also have a tendency to attract troublesome men. Like Darby Sabini, for instance. Or one Luca Changretta. There's just something about a motherly woman who bakes that gets these men going.

When you found out that Tommy had dumped Arthur’s medication, you gave Tommy a black eye while still dressed in your Sunday best. Everyone seems so alright with Arthur being used except for you. It has caused a rift between you and your other siblings. You try to encourage Arthur to take a step back from the Peaky Blinders, but it never stays. 

Arthur is more than a bit envious of the life you have. You’re married with children, living in domestic bliss. He’s expressed to you many times that he feels that he’s too old, ugly and mad in the head to be loved. All you can do to get him to smile is say “My twin can be old, and he can even be a bit wild, but he can’t be ugly. We look too much alike for that to be true.”

Any time you need his help, Arthur is there. He has you on the highest pedestal he can muster. Arthur hates to disappoint you and fears losing all the progress you’ve made in mending things. If he was ever to cause harm to you, even by accident, it would devastate him.

Now that you’re both grown and can see your childhood with clarity, Arthur holds a lot of guilt. He can see how you didn’t get to have fun like the rest of them and the toll that took on you. To try to make it up to you, Arthur likes to take you and your children to all sorts of things. The circus, the zoo, the funfair, anything bright and exciting. You both insist it’s for the kids… but then you’re both stuffing your faces with fairy floss and craning your necks to look at the tigers. 

All in all, you do what you can to look after your twin. 

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine