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f1daydreamers · 2 months

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𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 [𝐋𝐍𝟒] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

gif credits: @eightyones

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Summary: To say you weren't the biggest fan of Lando Norris was an understatement, but you also happened to underestimate just how willing the man was to prove to you that he'd changed.

Warnings: just very strong feelings (not good ones lol), Reader’s a little angry in this one so yeah, remember that this is all fiction and not telling of the actual person!

A/N: I hope I can stay consistent with posting but writer’s block is the truest thing ever so pray for me everybody (for your own sakes tbf lmao, ik whoever read the Lance series was defo not happy with my oh so consistent updates)

Here’s Part 1 if you missed it :)

Word Count: 1.9k words (7 mins reading time avg)

…

"What're you wearing?" Allegra popped her head into your bedroom, to see if you'd gotten changed but you hadn't, still blankly staring at your dresser.

"Uh, don't know." You breathed out, you'd spent a good half an hour trying to rid these damning thoughts about having to go to Woking tonight. Though that wasn't necessarily the problem; he was.

It didn't go unnoticed how your heart would beat a little faster when you remembered he still existed, your hands would instinctively clench into fists, your body simmering with unresolved rage.

A simple and menial task had a shadow cast over it. You hated that.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," Allegra commented, strolling past you and spreading a variety of outfits on your bed.

"Nope, just buzzing with excitement." You murmured out a feeble response, grabbing whatever seemed the cleanest from your drawer and tossing it onto the desk chair in the corner.

Turning, you found Allegra holding up two mini-dresses and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Ally, it's January." She paused for a moment before casually throwing them behind her onto the bed and picking up a pair of light blue washed-out jeans with a white crop top.

"That's better." You smiled.

"Can't believe we have to wear the ugly-ass Google jacket." She grumbled as she shoved the rest of her clothes back into her bag, and you chuckled.

"Yes, believe it or not, we are going there to work." You reminded yourself more than her; it wasn't a social event, just networking and taking photos for the social media team. Not exactly difficult.

You made a mental note to ask James when he was leaving so you knew when to be ready by.

"I know! Still, I want to look good while I'm working." Allegra countered and you hummed in response, it wasn't the most appealing article of clothing but there was no way around it either.

"I hope we get to meet the drivers. Ugh, I'm totally living out a dream right now!" Allegra chirped.

The prospect crossed your mind, and you froze, envisioning how the encounter might unfold if he recognised you. Would he be surprised? Or would he avert his eyes in shame?

Maybe you'd throw a drink in his face before he could react. You exhaled; no, you couldn't do that. Nick would probably chop my head off, you thought. Throughout the past week, he had incessantly emphasised the importance of making a lasting impression. Smile, be helpful, talk to everybody. The mantra seemed to have etched itself permanently into your brain.

"Doesn't matter," you muttered. You'll have Allegra, James, there'll probably be hundreds of people tonight; you won't see him.

There's no way.

...

"Who are these lovely ladies?" You grinned as you and Allegra neared James, casually leaning against his BMW – our ride there.

"Ladies who kicked your ass at stats last week." His smile faltered into a thin line as he turned to you for help, but you raised your hands in mock surrender.

"30K each, baby!" You chuckled, Allegra facing you, raising her hand for a high-five that you gladly met.

"Alright, alright, don't forget this ride is free." James opened the passenger door as you climbed in first, your friend following suit.

He jogged over to the driver's side, slipping into his seat.

"And we love you for it." You teased, and he only rolled his eyes, tugging on his seatbelt and clicking it into place.

The hour and a half ride to Woking was filled with mindless chatter and jokes, while it served as a sufficient distraction for some time, your mind began shifting elsewhere.

The night ahead brought a mix of anxiety and an underlying sense of dread.

You were replaying your conversations from long ago, you remembered every evening you'd come home and complain to your mother how him and his friends were the most intolerable assholes on the face of this planet.

Growing up, you'd met a lot more of those but learned to handle them better.

Being a teenager meant your parents only waved it off, giving advice that you knew would never work - telling the teacher, standing up to them, ignoring them completely.

No matter how much you defended your friends, their teasing was endless.

Perhaps you inherited your 'forgive but never forget' attitude from a grandparent considering your parents aren't the type to hold a grudge until the end of time.

You shifted in your seat, attempting to shake off the apprehension that settled in your chest. Each passing mile brought you closer to Woking and the event that would unfold there. A lump formed in your throat, and your palms felt a bit clammy.

As you rubbed them on your jeans, James calling your name pulled you out of your trance-like state. "What's with the sour face?"

"Wishing I was in bed right now." That wasn't technically a lie, you'd always in any situation rather be in your bed.

He laughed, taking his eyes off of the rearview mirror to turn right before speaking again, "hopefully this shit doesn't last too long." You were sure it was for different reasons but you agreed wordlessly, Allegra scoffed.

"You guys are boring, this is a Formula 1 team! Come on, where is the energy in here?"

If you looked past the reasons why you thought tonight was a complete recipe for disaster, you understood her excitement, hell, maybe you were even a little excited yourself.

"It's going to be amazing," you smiled, squeezing Allegra's hand.

James nodded, "just as fun as losing to you two loonies at stats."

...

Together, you all passed through the entrance of the MTC after the security personnel checked your passes.

The sleek backdrop was instantly punctuated by the papaya-coloured uniforms that caught your eye. Inside, a crowd of employees, journalists, and photographers were engrossed in their respective responsibilities. The main area buzzed with chatter and laughter. The illuminated Google and McLaren logos adorned the wall side by side. The sheer vastness of the centre initially overwhelmed not only you but also James and Allegra on either side, their silence telling. "Woah," Allegra eventually breathed out, and you subtly nodded in agreement, acknowledging her reaction. Rope barriers enclosed the Formula 1 cars in the central area, creating a grand yet slightly intimidating exhibit. "I'm so ready to work," you chuckled, recognising Allegra's sarcasm as her eyes sparkled with a playful glint. Both of you knew that 'work' was code for mingling. She slipped away swiftly, leaving you briefly alone.

You turned to face James who, ever the social butterfly, beamed with enthusiasm.

You consciously wrapped your hand around his upper arm, a silent cue he readily understood. It's not that you didn't do well in social situations, you just didn't do well alone in social situations.

He knew that.

You allowed him to navigate you both through the crowds of people, engaging in light conversation and making necessary introductions along the way.

However, your nerves bubbled beneath the surface. Constantly glancing around, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, your eyes scanning the room constantly.

As the hour passed, both you and James, occasionally bumping into Allegra who was way too excited to stay in one spot for too long, continued navigating the sea of people while keeping a watchful eye for a familiar face you hoped not to encounter.

But eventually, you did. Right there, in the midst of the crowd. You couldn't be entirely sure it was him though the resemblance was nothing short of uncanny.

He looked different, changed somehow. He adorned facial hair now, quite a bit of it too, he was clad in white trainers, black sweatpants, and a McLaren hoodie.

A clear departure from the person you remembered.

As your gaze lingered on him, you became sure when a wide smile grew on his face. It was a smile that you knew all too well, one that sent a jolt of recognition through you.

His figure had grown, perhaps he was an inch or two taller but you couldn't be sure.

You didn't spend any minute with him judging his height, you spent those minutes despising him, hating him, cursing his name and his rich, arrogant ass.

A moment of panic washed over you, and instinctively, you moved away as swiftly as you could, hoping to avoid catching his attention.

A tumultuous wave of emotions crashed through you, each feeling more intense than the last as you swerved through bodies to get to the farthest point away from him.

Torment churned within, a relentless reminder of past wounds that seemed to have resurfaced. Anger flared up, fuelled by memories of his past actions that had left scars on your heart.

A weight of sadness settled in your chest, the realisation that the wounds he caused still had enough power to reopen.

A conflicting turmoil seized your thoughts. On one hand, an impulsive urge to confront and release pent-up frustration surged. Simultaneously, another part of you longed to escape, wishing to erase this night from memory as quickly as possible.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you hastily poured a cup of water, downing it in a single gulp before effortlessly tossing it into the bin.

The thought of texting James or finding Allegra crossed your mind, but the lack of energy left you rooted in place, unable to summon the will to move.

You attempted to swallow, hoping to dispel the lump in your throat, and were startled when you felt a vibration from your phone. Glancing at the screen, you noticed it was a message from Nick.

Check in with me soon. Want to see how you’re getting on

Your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard, your mind devoid of any thoughts except those consumed by the current predicament. The panic in your chest felt like it could explode at any moment.

You locked your phone, shoving it into your pocket, taking several deep breaths but not before you were interrupted.

"You alright, darlin’?” Your breath hitched in its throat. Now there was zero denying if it was or wasn't him. Nobody else has ever called you that.

Anger quickly consumed you.

"Still a prick, I take it?" Your jaw ticked as you responded through gritted teeth. You hated that nickname.

Ignoring your remark, he nonchalantly picks up a cup, pouring its contents without a care. "What brings an old friend here?"

"Is that what we are? Is that what we ever were?" You ask, reminiscent of the unpleasant past. You finally look up to meet him, his eyes narrow as if he’s scrutinising you, but he’s not.

He’s merely staring.

"You didn't come all this way to start on me now, did ya?" The flatness in his voice evident.

"You certainly make it easy." You retort.

He smirked, "you’re certainly just as charming."

You roll your eyes, deciding he wasn't worth the time you were losing when you could instead be working or being around people you actually tolerated.

But before you can, he unexpectedly grabs your hand, his grip a lot stronger than what you remember. You tightened your lips, holding back any remark that might draw unwanted attention.

"Why are you acting like that, darlin’?" His question came in a near-whisper, laced with a hint of.. disappointment?

"Like what?" You murmured, meeting his gaze.

His eyes wander, trying to pinpoint the look in yours, "like you hate me."

Observing his face for a moment, you chuckle bitterly. Your phone was buzzing continuously, it must be Nick, you thought.

"Because I do, asshole." With that, you yanked your hand away, turning to leave as you grabbed your phone out of your jacket pocket to pick up Nick’s call.

...

Part 3

Masterlist

Taglist: @landosgirlxoxo @sltwins @dutifullyannoyingfox @moonayu @mrsmaybank13 @queenofmanydreams @chonkybonky @urmotheris @ananyasr1bughead @alliwantisadonut @daisysnhl @writingworlds @leclercsluv @tylerstacobell @booksandflowrs @kissesandmartinis @starssfall

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roguerogerss · 8 months

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Wanted To Have You

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

W/C: 3.7k (i think i didn’t check tbf)

Warnings: mention of smut (no actual smut though), swearing, arguing

(welcome back babes, missed you. tommy has been on my mind all the time recently so i decided i’d bang something out and post it. it’s basically just word vomit tbh but hope u enjoy. LOVE a lil bit of angst when it comes to peaky blinders and hope u do too!! luv u the most b back soon)

***

Birds chirped, the sounds of the market opening began, golden sunlight poured in through the window. The morning had come too early, but Tommy was always a sight to see in the morning.

Laid on his back, one arm curled loosely around her waist, the other on his chest, right above a bullet scar that Y/N had helped Polly to stitch up in early January. His lips were parted slightly, chest rising and falling, dark lashes settled on ruddy cheeks.

She smiled and traced the tattoo on his chest ever so lightly with the tip of her painted fingernails, her way of quietly waking him up. It always worked, and today was no exception. He sighed as he stirred, a small smile making it's way onto his face.

"G'mornin', love." How she loved the way that his voice sounded in the morning. Heavy with the day before's cigarettes, low and gravelly, Brum accented. "Sleep okay?"

"Slept great." She was so tired from the night before's antics that she couldn't have stayed awake another second after they'd collapsed onto the mattress and he'd pulled her close underneath the sheets. "Did you?"

Tommy hummed, "Mm, slept alright. Wasn't great, thinkin' a lot."

"Thinkin' about what?" Her fingers absentmindedly wandered from his tattoo to the back of his neck, tugging at the short hairs that gathered there.

"Business stuff, darlin'. Nothin' for you to worry your pretty little head about." He gave a soft, bleary-eyed smile and pressed a hand to her cheek, thumb stroking back and forth.

"Tommy, you always say it's just 'business stuff'. Why won't you just tell me what's going on for once?" She wasn't angry, really, but the pout on her face might've said otherwise. Business stuff was the closest that she ever got to knowing anything about Tommy's personal life.

But rumours fly, and she'd heard a lot from the people of the town that made her think that her Thomas wasn't as innocent as she thought he might be.

"I've told you. It's not important, nothing you'd want to hear." His voice strained as he stretched, biceps flexing as he raised his arms above his head. "Would bore ya, honest."

"You don't bore me, Tom." She looked up at him through her lashes and he gave a short-lived chuckle and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair.

"I have to get up." He ignored her statement and gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head, before rolling over and sitting up. He was still only wearing his underwear, and so she marvelled at the way that the muscles in his back flexed as he moved to grab his previously ironed button-down shirt from the side table.

She almost forgot that she was angry as he got up and pulled his slacks on, shirt still unbuttoned and the light hitting his toned torso just right. "I'll see you later, sweetheart." Tommy leaned down to place a kiss on his girl's lips, barely taking a second to enjoy the feeling but really only doing it so that he could continue to taste her on his lips for the next hour or so.

"Family meeting?" It was obvious that Y/N was unimpressed, but Tommy either didn't notice or was pretending that he hadn't, because he didn't comment and simply nodded. "And I can't come?”

"Told ya." Tommy tucked his shirt into his slacks and knotted his tie, eyeing Y/N all the while. "Would bore you."

He wanted to tell her about what he did. He really, really did. But he also wanted to keep her, and he knew that he couldn't do both. There was no way that she'd want to stay with him if she knew about all of the terrible things that he'd done, and so he'd made everyone who worked with him agree that she was never to know.

He supposed that she'd get suspicious at some point, but he hadn't expected that point to come so soon. It had been a year, and he figured that the towns people spoke and that she heard, but he was dreading having to actually let her know by himself.

"And I've told you," Y/N had gotten up, pulling her silk robe around her small body and padding lightly across the floor to where Tommy stood. She fixed out his jacket and smoothed down his shirt affectionately. "You don't bore me."

"We can talk later." Tommy smiled softly, hand smoothing Y/N's hair against her head as he pressed his lips to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. She made him linger for a second, hands grabbing at the back of his neck and holding him in place as their lips moved together.

Tommy chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. "I have to go.

"Fine." She pecked his lips once again and then let him go. "Go about your business, Mr Shelby."

"As I will, Miss Y/L/N." He smiled and then he was gone, unlocking the bedroom door and slipping out of the room.

Y/N was furious. That was really the only word that she could think of to describe the sheer anger that bubbled inside of her. Thomas Shelby is a Peaky Blinder.

And she knew that the statement from the woman at the market wasn't a lie. What other reason would he have to hide everything from her? To never tell her about his life or where he'd been or why he would often come to bed at ungodly hours?

She stormed into their shared home and, upon seeing him sat at the kitchen table, cigarette in hand, decided that she couldn't deal with him. And so she threw him a look and then took off up the stairs to their bedroom.

Tommy followed, of course he did, yelling her name and asking what was going on. But she ignored him, simply sitting down on the bed and waiting for him to join her.

"What's wrong, love? Did someone do something? I swear, I'll-"

"You'll what, Tommy?" She stood then, still keeping her distance but crossing the room only slightly. "Cut them? Kill them?"

"What the hell is this about?" Tommy sighed. He seemed bored already, unprepared to listen to her ramble because, oh, Thomas Shelby knew that his girlfriend could ramble for hours.

"Let me see your hat." She knew what the Peaky Blinders were, she knew fair well what the name meant, and she needed to confirm what the townsfolk had told her. "Where is it? Show me it!" She started searching for the hat, opening drawers and cabinets, she knew that she had to find it, because she had to know.

"Y/N, calm down, for God's sake." Tommy clasped a hand around her forearm, but she yanked it away and simply stared up at him, tears threatening to fall from her already glassy eyes.

"Are you one of them?" Her voice was almost a whisper, so quiet and timid that maybe Thomas wouldn't have heard her if they weren't almost chest to chest. "Are you a Peaky Blinder, Tommy?"

And now she was really crying, tears smudging the makeup on her cheeks and clouding her vision as Tommy's piercing blue eyes stared down at her. He was thinking, thinking about whether it was best to tell the truth or to leave, and thinking about what the consequences of each would be.

What would she do if he told her? Would she yell? Hate him? Would she leave? And what if he left? Would she let him back in?

But she looked so vulnerable, was crying so hard because she already knew the answer. And Tommy wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her head and wipe the tears from her eyes. But it was his fault that she was crying, he'd caused the tears and the hurt. And he had to tell her.

"Yes." Her heart felt like it might've stopped. Because Tommy was the only person that she trusted, and now she felt like she knew nothing about him.

The room fell silent, she stared at him and waited for words to come, and she waited, and waited. Thomas wouldn't break eye contact with her. In truth, because he was scared that, if he did, he'd never look into her eyes again, she'd leave and she wouldn't come back, she'd go back to Ireland, back where people told her things because that was the right thing to do, because they weren't afraid of what the Peaky Blinders might do to them.

She decided, after a few beats of standing still, staring at him, heavy breaths coming from both of them, that she couldn't look at him anymore. She'd been waiting for him to say something, anything, that would mean that this had all been some sort of sick joke. He'd start laughing, tell her he was kidding, that the woman at the market had told her that just to see how she would react. She'd be angry, yes, but it'd only be short lived, and it wouldn't change anything.

But he didn't, and he wouldn't, because she already knew there was no hint of a lie in what she'd been told. She took a last, deep breath, and then departed to the other side of the room, where she turned her back to Thomas and took a few more deep breaths.

"Listen, love, I...I wanted to tell you-"

"Don't, Thomas."

"I really did. I wanted to. But I knew you'd react like this-"

"And so you thought that keeping it from me was right? You thought that holding the threat of the Peaky Blinders over the entire town's head to keep them quiet, was the right thing to do? You thought I'd be happy when I eventually found out?" Thomas found himself falling silent, speechless. He was never speechless.

"I was hoping to tell you myself."

"Well, you missed the opportunity to do that two years ago, Thomas." She'd picked up her handbag now, and Thomas noticed that tears had pricked his eyes and were threatening to fall. "To think I worked for you, as your secretary. I signed off your fucking books, I made phone calls for you, you involved me in this without even telling me, you didn't even ask me if that was what I wanted, Thomas."

"I know, and I'm sorry-"

"Pack your things."

"Love-"

"Pack your things, Thomas. And don't you ever call me anything other than my name."

And with that, she'd gone. To where, Thomas wasn't sure, but he found himself watching her, almost in slow motion, as she stormed through their bedroom door. He could hear her heels clicking as she hurried down the stairs, the brief pause as she pulled her coat - the one he'd bought her for their anniversary - around her body, and then the click open and slam shut of the front door.

He lowered himself onto the bed, placed his head in his hands, and sat for a few minutes in silence. The window was open, and so the sounds of the bustling street below floated upstairs, and he tried not to listen. The thought that she was out there, inconsolably upset, with every intention of leaving him, because of a mistake he'd made off his own back seemed entirely too much to handle.

So he closed the window, lay back on the bed, and lit the end of a cigarette. He needed to figure out a way to make things right by her, after all, Thomas Shelby didn't care about opinions, but what she thought of him was the most important thing in the world.

She'd gone to the Shelby's family home, mostly to try to seek comfort from either Ada or Polly, but also to berate the brothers for not thinking to tell her their secret.

She burst through the front door, to find Polly and Ada at the dining table, each smoking a cigarette. They jumped up when they saw her, womanly instinct coming into full effect, knowing that something must've been wrong from the way she'd stormed in, and the look on her face when she had.

"What's he done, my love?" Polly was always best at being able to tell when Thomas had messed up, and she was always on the right track when it came to guessing what he'd done wrong. His aunt knew him better than anyone, as much as he'd hate to admit it.

"Did you know?" She was breathing heavily, trying not to let the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes slide down her cheeks.

"Know what, love?" Ada had come to Y/N's side now, guiding her to sit down at the kitchen table, and had shooed the men away, into the drawing room, after Arthur had come mooching for a bottle of rum.

"Did you know what he was doing?" Her eyes were full of tears now, making it hard for her to see properly. She placed her elbows on the table and used the sides of her palms to wipe the tears as they fell. Polly pulled her chair over so that she was sat close to Y/N.

"Calm down, sweetheart." Polly placed a tentative hand on her arm, "What has he done?" His aunt could feel her heart drop in her chest, from the way that Y/N was speaking, she was almost certain that her nephew had cheated on his girlfriend.

"Did you know he was a Peaky Blinder? Is that what they're doing through there?" Y/N was really crying now, looking that horrible, vulnerable way that Tommy hated. Arthur had opened the door a crack, and he, John, and Finn were peeking out at the women sat in the kitchen.

Ada sighed and ran a hand over her face, and Polly seemed to erupt into anger, "We bloody told him, didn't we Ada? We told him you'd find out, but he listened to these bloody idiots," She jabbed a finger at the doors to the drawing room, which made Arthur crack up like a child, provoking Polly to pick up a teaspoon from the table and throw it at his face. "The women in this house are apparently the only ones with any sense in them."

"Why wouldn't he tell me, Polls?"

Polly took a long pause before answering. Thomas's reasonings had never been clear, behind any of his madness, and, even while having known him his entire life, she often wondered what the method behind the goings-on in his life was. "Listen, love, you know he loves you, yes?"

Y/N nodded slowly, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "Then you know how he protects the people he loves. Yes, he does all of this bad work, but he doesn't want you to know because he's scared something will happen to you if you know too much. And he doesn't want you to see him as this monster, Thomas Shelby, the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Sometimes, he just wants to be Tommy. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Polly, as always when she assumed anything about Tommy, was right. He'd liked Y/N from the moment he'd hired her to work as his secretary, but he knew she wasn't the type to turn a blind eye to his work. He supposed it was selfish, not telling her, but he wanted her to know him for who he was, not what he did.

She let out a sigh, partly letting go of all of the anger she'd built up towards Tommy, and partly because she was relieved to hear what his aunt had to say about it. "I know what you're saying, Pol."

A long pause followed, with only the bustle of the drawing room keeping the place from being in dead silence. Polly's hand was still resting on Y/N's arm, and Ada's on her back, and she found herself able to forgive. The Shelby women certainly had their ways.

"What do you want to do, love?" Polly broke the silence that had settled on the room.

"I don't know." Y/N couldn’t even think of anything else that she could say, she truly didn’t know what she wanted. Polly’s face contorted slightly, and Ada rubbed her hand up and down over Y/N’s back.

"Well, are you going to tell him it's over?" Ada asked, voice quiet, so as not to alert the men in the other room that anything too serious was being spoken about. She thought for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness come over her at the fact that she had to even think about whether or not she wanted to end things with Tommy.

"No. No, I'm not going to do that."

Polly breathed out, a breath that she didn’t even know she’d been holding, and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her in and squeezing her in a way reminiscent of a mother holding her daughter.

"Okay. Okay, good. He does love you, so much, you know that?” It was a rhetorical question, and Polly didn’t leave enough time for Y/N to even answer. “Do you want to go home? Or will Ada boil the kettle and we can have a brew?"

"A brew would be nice."

The air was almost cold when she left the Shelby house to start the walk home. Summer was coming to an end now, but the sky was still bright past nine. She'd begun noticing things that she hadn't before, after finding out Thomas's secret. People would greet her profusely as she walked down the street, some even going out of their ways to let her past. They'd hold their children back from walking in front of her, the men working at the furnace would shield her from any soot that might come her way.

It felt strange, like Thomas was king of Small Heath and she was his Queen, and god forbid anyone see what might happen if they disrespect the Queen. She made an effort of smiling and thanking these people, showing that she didn't actually need them to be doing these things for her, but they did them regardless.

When she reached the front door of the house she shared with Thomas, she stood for a moment, simply staring at the front door. The mark was still there from the nail Thomas had banged into it months ago now, so that she could hang a holly wreath there to celebrate Christmas. He'd called it unnecessary, but they'd only just moved in together and she'd been so excited for their first Christmas in their new home, she'd come home from work one day to find the largest wreath Thomas could find at the market, hanging on their front door.

She smiled to herself, suddenly feeling emotional with all of the memories of their time together coming flooding back. She opened the door.

She was pleased to find that, when she got home, Thomas's hat and coat were still hanging on the coat stand at the front door. His pocket watch on the mantelpiece, shoes still placed neatly at the door. He hadn't gone anywhere yet.

"Thomas?" She called, and was met with the sound of soft footsteps in the bedroom.

"Upstairs." His voice was quiet, small, something that hurt her to hear. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him truly upset, even after two whole years.

She placed her handbag on the floor and draped her coat over the coat stand, then crossed the hallway and climbed the stairs to their bedroom, where Tommy was sat on the bed, head in his hands, suitcase at his feet. She felt a piece of her heart chip away upon seeing him.

"I'll be gone soon enough, I just-I didn't want to believe that-"

"Do you want to leave, Tom?" She took a few steps towards him, and Tommy lifted his head to look at her for the first time. His eyes were red, and she knew that Tommy Shelby strictly did not cry, except when it came to her.

A pause followed, Tommy simply staring up at her, opening and closing his mouth every now and again, thinking of the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say?

"You know I'm not really religious. But I've been praying all day that you'd come home and we'd be fine again." A small, sad looking smile had settled on his face.

"Maybe you should start going to church, then." She placed her house keys down on the bedside table, she was here to stay. Tommy felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as she gave him a small smile and held her arms out to him, letting him back in, “Come here."

He didn’t hesitate, pulling her into his lap and wrapping himself tightly around her. Please don’t leave again, he was saying, eyes closed and cheek pressed to her stomach. Her arms settled around his neck, one hand drawing comforting patterns on his shoulder and the other smoothing his hair.

"I wasn't doing it to upset you." He needed an explanation for her, he owed her that, especially after she’d come back when he wouldn’t have blamed her for walking out of the door and never having a thought of him again.

"I know you weren't." He hated how forgiving she was. He hated that he’d done wrong, and, instead of just leaving like she deserved to, she’d come back and was comforting him, making him feel good about the lies he’d fed her. But he knew her all too well, he knew deep down she’d have forgiven him, because she wasn’t one to deal with things in any way other than graciously.

"No, sweetheart, I know I've been selfish. I know I’m not fair to you. But I'm only selfish because it's you." His hands roamed her back, underneath her dress, feeling every dip and scar, memorising them again, “I just wanted to have you, loved you since the minute I met you, I swear. Couldn't have you thinking of me as this cold, relentless monster. I just remember thinking you were too pure to know, thought I’d only ruin that if I got too close and you knew the truth.”

“I know you better than you know yourself, Tommy. You’ve got a heart in there, you know.” She gave him a small smile while he looked up at her, bright eyes piercing through dark eyelashes, “I don’t understand why you did all of this for me, you could’ve chosen another woman, one who you could’ve even helped you with your work all this time, but you chose someone who you felt like you had to hide everything from.”

“Told you already, I just wanted to have you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then one to your nose, and then your lips. “You, not anyone else, not a woman who’d do my work for me, not someone easy, I wanted to have you. And you know I’m selfish with things that I want.”

You were really smiling now. Tommy always knew the right things to say, always knew how to make you happy. You wrapped your arms around him again, and, while Tommy didn’t like to admit it, he felt safe with you, something that he didn’t feel in many places.

“Thomas Shelby, you’ll always have me.”

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders x reader

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mysticalsoot · 1 year

Note

Hi! I just wanted to ask, If its okay to request something with male reader and wilbur? :D

Have a good day!

my darling, husband

A/N; this took me a stupidly long time but tbf I kept stopping writing bc..lack of motivation. but I finished it!! so here!! its very fluffy and honestly a lot of the affection from will is self indulgent so there's that lol

summary; reader and wil havent disclosed their relationship nor their marriage but wilbur decides to bite the bullet impulsively during a lvjy radio interview

tw// swearing, so much affection, its just fluff, will is suggestive at the end

words; 2.3k

pairings; cc!wilbur x male!reader

pronouns; he/him

masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------

Your relationship with Wilbur was anything but public, your family and friends knew--and that was enough for you both. As far as the rest of the world and the internet were concerned, you two were simply best friends. Close friends. Obviously, you were shipped together but you both found it more entertaining than anything.

Plus.

Wilbur didn't feel comfortable disclosing the fact you were his husband. Husband. Male, not a woman- which everyone seemed to assume that's what his eventual partner would be, and that bothered him to great lengths. Why couldn't it be a clean slate, that he, himself, and himself only, could write on--determine the contents of. He never knew, but now, he had that opportunity.

He wanted to casually mention it, something he slips in, a method that would break the internet, making everyone take a step back and reevaluate. He thought it'd be so fun.

"I have a radio interview today," Wilbur spun the silver band around his finger, fidgeting as he gazed at you from across the island counter. His elbows rested on the wood countertop, his eyes locked intently on you as he smiled softly, a mischief in his eyes.

"Yeah? What about?" Your mouth quirks up into a smirk, a knowing little gesture. You knew.

"About anything really--" He cut himself off, taking in a breath and walking behind the counter to you, wrapping his arms around your middle, his chin on your shoulder as he hugged you from behind, "Although, I was thinking about something," He grabbed your hand and spin you to face him, "Would you like to hear?"

He smiled softer as he leaned down til your faces were inches apart, you smiled, a soft kiss placed upon his lips, "Sure, why not?"

Wilbur moved his hands to rest on your hips, "I was thinking, what if I mentioned my husband-- I'm sure I can find a way to mention my handsome lover, don't you think?" He smirks, pressing soft kisses to your jaw, thumbs rubbing your hip bones and you shrug.

"I'm sure you'll find a way, love," You wrap your arms around his neck, and he pauses, his breath fanning against your skin in a blanket of warmth--yet it still makes you shiver.

"I always do," He resumes, light kisses being placed on the skin of your neck, his slight stubble tickling you and you giggle slightly. You feel him smirk against your skin, shaking his head a moment before he pulls back to look at you, "It's so hard not to gush about you."

"I'm just that wonderful," You smile smugly up at him, your hands finding a resting spot on his sides, rubbing softly, "You're gonna be late though, so go! Move along, darling!" You giggle as he huffs.

"But-"

You smack his chest, "No, go!"

"Fiiiine--" He kisses your cheek and then nuzzles his nose against your soft skin. He moves to whisper in your ear, breathing fanning against your ear, tickling you, "I'll see you later, baby boy."

You roll your eyes at him, smiling playfully and you smack his shoulder, "Wilbur!"

He giggles, backing up, and before he skips out of the kitchen--he brings you into a deep, loving kiss, his hands on either side of your face and his thumbs rubbing softly on your cheeks. His lips moving entirely in sync with yours and almost desperate to never leave you. He pulls back a few moments later, both of you panting for air and smiling like lovesick fools. Never gets old, you think, his love.

He doesn't say another word, no goodbye or see you later-- and he slips out of the kitchen, skipping up the stairs with an extra pep in his step. He slings open the door to his office, and he sneaks inside, finding his spot at his chair and booting up his computer. He pulls his feet to rest on the chair, his legs pulled against his chest as he watches everything load.

The windows bing sounded and he logged in; his password simple and totally not relating to you--and then he opened Zoom not short after- a piece of him wishing it was discord, despite how cringy that may be--the audio quality was just better in his opinion but he wasn't sure it really mattered. The radio would just fuzz it out and that really defeats the purpose of good audio quality, doesn't it?

He taps the desk as he waits for the meeting to start, and when it does, Mark's the first to be there or maybe he was the first they let it. Joe and Ash follow after and then the interviewers introduce themselves. He kinda zones out and then he hears his name;

"Welcome Lovejoy! Ash, Joe, Mark and Wilbur have joined us today to talk about their new EP 'Wake up and it's over'! So, boys, what are you all about? Introduce yourselves."

Mark goes first, "I'm Mark Boardman, I'm on drums for our silly band and uh, they got me off fiver," Mark chuckles softly, and the rest of the band all giggles along.

"Yeah, Wil just found him on Fiverr, just like for the first EP and then he joined the band," Joe chimes in, giggling softly, "I'm Joe, lead guitarist and like I guess backing vocals sometimes?" The man chuckles at the last part, Wilbur can see his face contort in this jokingly confused expression--since everyone but Wil have their cameras on. Doesn't want to bother with the green screen today, still hasn't gotten a room divider--the office looks too much like a married couple's shared space. Too risky.

He smiles softly as Joe and Mark introduce Ash together, mentioning his badass guitarist turned bassist background--the burger shop story, all of that.

And then he introduces himself, "I'm Wil Gold, Lovejoy's lead singer I suppose? And according to my roommate, their token mentally ill perfectionist--" He chuckles, shaking his head. Ash, Joe and Mark all nod their heads, agreeing with his last statement. He wanted to say husband, he almost said it. Ash saw it, he saw how Wil started to slip up--started to say husband instead of roommate--

No one else notices, the interviewers greet them and move along with their questions. The boys mindlessly answer, bantering slightly as they answer each question.

"So, we all know you guys have scrapped a lot of songs, which one's that you've released weren't supposed to be?" Joe and Mark chuckle, Ash giggles and Wilbur rolls his eyes with a soft smile.

"There were two-- the first was Perfume," Wilbur starts, and Mark butts in to continue.

"That one was saved by two people actually, Tommy and Y/N. Tommy, Wilbur's little brother, pushed the most, if we're honest. He was so so set that Perfume was the best song-" Mark rambles on, Joe joining every once and a while and then they both look to Wilbur.

"The other was Call Me What You Like," Wilbur sucks in a breath and trains his eyes down, fidgeting with his fingers as he smiles softly, "My husband, actually, begged for that one. He was incredibly set on how good of a song it was, even more so than he was with Perfume, more than Tommy was!" He laughs softly, thinking back at the months you spent reminding him of how wonderful of a song it was, how beautiful it sounded--how much you loved it.

"Yeah, Y/N was very persistent-- Wilbur told me sometimes the first thing he would do was look at Wil, smile and say 'You should keep Call Me What You Like'-- like very first thing in the morning," Joe speaks now, chuckling slightly at his own memory of your persistence.

"Mm, yep, he commented a lot on my voice sounding like-- hold on, I'll go get him and he can tell you. Is that alright?" Wilbur turns to leave out of his chair, the interviewer chuckles and holds out their hand.

"Hold on, husband?" A playful yet confused smile shows on their face.

Wilbur nods, "Yep, husband-- I'll be right back with him," He cuts them off before they can even mention assumptions or press more about you. He mutes himself and turns off his camera, spins his chair, jumping out and slipping out the office door with a swift motion.

He's down the stairs in mere moments, back in the kitchen and arms wrapped around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. He presses soft kisses to your neck, a smirk evident, and you can feel it. You jump from the sudden movements and touch, smacking his arm playfully and giggling.

"Wilbur- shouldn't you be in your interview?" You turned around in his arms and he grumbled as he moved back to place soft kisses on the other side of your neck.

"I am in my interview buuuuut-" He draws out the word, lifting up his head as he gazes down into your eyes, soft and loving, "I wanted to show you off, so, come on! Come with me!"

He grabs both your hands in his, tugging you along-- trying to get you out of the kitchen and upstairs to the office, you stop him, shaking your head and chuckling.

"Darling, it's your interview--"

He steps closer to you, and he lets his grip on your hands fall, and he holds onto your hips.

"Yeah well, I want to show off my husband, and show them the person who saves half the songs we release," He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, "Come on, honey," He whispers it against your ear and you can practically feel the smirk as he speaks.

"Fine," You grumble and he giggles, practically dragging you out of the living room and up the stairs into the office. He's the first to find a spot, back in his chair and you start to pull your chair over next to him--and he hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap and he rests his chin on your shoulder. A few soft kisses placed on your neck and he asks;

"Ready?"

You nod, chuckling slightly as you lean against him. He clicks on his camera and unmutes and you both wave.

"I am back and have acquired my husband," He smiles big and happy, holding your hips with both his hands as he speaks. You rest your hands on top of his.

"Hi," You mumble out, smiling softly and blushing furiously as you're introduced as his husband--its lovely, but it's so new to you.

Everyone greets you, waving and smiling at their cameras, and you giggle to yourself.

"So, you must be the one that single handedly saves a good bit of Lovejoy's discography?" The interviewer playfully asks, Wilbur resting his chin on your shoulder, arms snaking around your waist.

"Unfortunately, yes," You chuckle, keeping your hands on his and resting your head against his, "Bur over here, is an absolute perfectionist and if it doesn't fit his long list of requirements, it has to go. Even if everyone else thinks it's one of the best songs he's ever created."

Wilbur shyly hides his face behind your shoulder, subtly kissing the back of it through your shirt, palms rubbing your stomach lovingly.

"I am not…" He mumbles against your clothed shoulder, grumbling playfully at you.

The rest of the interview continues on smoothly, all five of you answering questions, you being the main topic a bit more than you would prefer--but seeing Wil smile the way he does when he speaks of you is definitely worth it.

When the interview ended, he shut off his PC, his arm still wrapped around your waist as you curled into his lap.

"You're a fucking simp, you know that?" You mumbled against his shoulder, giggling lightly.

"You're one to talk," He was taken aback for a moment, smiling softly and teasing as he looked at you with loving eyes.

You sigh, "You spent the second half of your band's interview talking about me, someone who is not in your band," You fold your arms over your chest as you readjust to face him in his lap. Your legs on either side of him.

"What can I say, you're simply that loveable," He smirks, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at you, his hands resting on top of your thighs.

"Liar."

You hop off his lap, spinning around to slip out of the office and he jumps out of his chair to follow you.

"I am no liar, darling!" He follows you, you aren't running nor are you walking that quickly but he still chases after you like you are--and so you hurry around the corner and into the bedroom.

"You are! It's practically your middle name!" You giggle as you turn around to face him, standing in the doorway and he meets you there, grabbing you by your sides and throwing you over his shoulder, "Hey!" You scold him, smiling wide and giggling.

He takes you over to the bed, giggling as he tosses you down just to attack your sides with his fingers to tickle you. You squirm and giggle, swatting at his hands.

"Will!!" He crawls to straddle your lap to keep you down as he keeps tickling you, "Stahp!!" You giggle, shaking your head as he leans down and kisses your cheek, pausing his attack to wrap his arms behind your back. Wilbur turns over onto his back, keeping you held in his arms, now lying on top of him.

"How about…" He pauses, a smirk crawling up onto his features as he turns you over onto your back again, attacking your belly with his fingers again, "No," He giggles with you as you squirm, smiling wide and happy.

"Wiilbuuururr!!" You keep swatting at his arms, giggling happily, almost out of breath. You make an attempt at catching your breath and for a moment you do, “Why are you like this?” You mutter out through giggles and he stops his attack on your sides, hands resting on them instead. He leans above you, smiling and he cocks his head to the side, a soft smirk replacing the smile.

“My darling...you're my husband, how can I resist?"

taglist; @ella-fella-bo-bella @lillylvjy @sleepyburs

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur x reader #wilbur #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x male reader #cc!wilbur soot #cc!wilbur soot x male reader #x male reader

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softhairedhotch · 2 months

Note

If this is not something you’re comfortable with writing please ignore it.

The reader (trans man) coming out to Hotch, after a case that has caused their dysphoria to become worse. Whether it’s a victim who was trans or a bigoted unsub and it makes them visibly angry and upset to deal with.

Ideally it would have a happy ending but the rest can be as angsty or not as you would like.

thank you for the request, i really hope i did it justice <3 it didn't come out as angsty as i thought, it's pretty sweet tbf. it's not really what i wanted to do which this idea but i couldn't think of anything else and didn't wanna keep you waiting :')

aaron hotchner x trans male reader

after a case involving murdered trans kids and a transphobic cop, you come out as trans to aaron.

warnings/content: mentions of transphobia/hate crimes, feeling unloved and unworthy, deep conversations, coming out, love confessions and kissing

word count: 1.6k

also on ao3!

what about today?

“Agent.”

You paused, Aaron's soft voice surprising you. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and forced a smile. “Yes, Sir?”

Aaron's eyes swept over your features as he slightly tilted his head. He opened his mouth, struggled to make a sound, and closed it. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

He sighed. “Sit down. Please.” You nodded and stepped toward the chair in front of his desk but he shook his head. “On the couch.”

Realisation slowly dawned on you–this conversation wasn't going to be easy. Either you had to lie and tell him the case didn't affect you mentally, that it didn't remind you how ignorant and full of hatred people can be towards others like you, and pray he didn't see through the cracks in your armour, or you told him the truth. And the truth, no matter how hard, felt like the right choice in the end.

But whatever happened, you knew it couldn't happen in his office. You trusted him with your life but you couldn't be sure how he'd react. Taking a deep breath, you quietly asked, "Can we go somewhere else?”

Aaron tilted his head. "Like where?"

"I don't know," you shrugged, wringing your hands together. "A bar?"

If Aaron was confused, he didn't say anything. Instead, he moved from behind his desk and reached out to gently grab your elbow, leading you out of the office.

As you parked the car, Aaron eyed the area with interest. His eyes, shining in the low light of a street lamp nearby, flickered over the entry of the bar. He observed the gaggle of women huddled away in the smoking area, all sharing a cigarette, then the two drag queens giggling away at an inside joke, and finally the security guard who stood at the door with a pin that proudly exclaimed ‘love is love’. “A gay bar,” he mused. “It looks nice. Do you come here often?”

“When I need to clear my head and feel a little less alone, yes.”

He smiled. “You ready to go inside?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. A few people called out to you as you made your way to your usual seat, waving with grins that you matched, although it didn't quite reach your eyes. The bartender waggled his eyebrows at you when he spotted Aaron and you bit back a laugh. Aaron slid into the booth opposite yours and gave you a polite smile, patiently waiting for you to speak.

“So you're probably wondering why I brought you here.”

Aaron shrugged. “Because you have something you want to say and you feel as if being in a public space surrounded by people you trust will make it easier?”

You opened your mouth to answer but no sound came out. “I… What happened to not profiling each other?”

“Not a profile,” he smiled, glancing away for only a moment. “Just an observation.”

“Well, you're right. Uh, I wanted to explain why this case affected me more than most.”

Aaron sighed and leaned forward, reaching out for you as if to take your hands in his. At the last second, however, he changed his mind and pulled away, standing up instead. You stared at him with your eyebrows knitted together as he moved to your side, sliding in beside you. When he was settled, his knee bouncing against yours, only then did he speak. “You never have to explain yourself. Not to me. I just wanna make sure you're okay.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest and if your heart wasn't already beating a mile a minute, it was now. Tenfold, actually, and your hands shook in your lap as you gave Aaron a tentative smile. “I appreciate that, Hotch. But this… I need to.” His eyes found yours and you lost yourself for a moment. Smiling, he glanced away, giving you time to collect your thoughts with no pressure, and for that you were grateful. Taking a deep breath, you began. “I thought I'd be okay with the case because, well, I've seen stuff like this everywhere. I see it online or on the news more often than not; it's something we can never get away from. Violence against people who are, are different, that don't conform. We've seen it before, too, on cases. People in this community have been murdered for as long as time.”

You paused, taking another shaky breath, and for a moment it felt like time slowed to a stop and you couldn't breathe. Aaron turned to give you a smile, small but genuine, and reached out for your trembling hand. “It's okay,” he whispered, interlocking your fingers. “I'm here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered back, squeezing his hand in return. Instead of pulling away immediately like you thought he would, he shuffled even closer so that your thighs and shoulders were pressed completely together. It gave you the courage you needed. “So when we were on that case with those… those little boys who only wanted peace and happiness, who wanted to be loved, who just wanted–needed–help and never got it from the people that should have been there for them… and when that cop said that they deserved it because they were different, because they were trans…” Aaron tensed beside you. “Something inside me broke. I felt like a kid again being told that I'd never be loved because of who I am.”

“Because of your sexuality?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. The hand in your lap felt like a weighted blanket, something that brought comfort, and it allowed you to breathe out your next words. “Because of my identity. Because I'm trans, too.”

Aaron didn't flinch. He didn't pull away, he didn't breathe, and he didn't make a sound. You immediately thought the worst–that he was disgusted in you but couldn't bring it in himself to react. Hesitantly, you slowly began pulling your hand from his, unwinding your fingers. But before you could pull your hand completely away, he tightened his grip and pulled your combined hands into his own lap. The rough pad of his thumb slid across your knuckles, his touch featherlight but filled with a tenderness that had your heart leaping into your throat.

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, large and warm and firm, and angled your head up so that your eyes connected with his. Instead of disgust, all you found was acceptance. “Listen to me,” he said, voice hushed as if you were in a library. Despite the excited bustle surrounding you, music so loud it was almost disorientating, all you could focus on was him. His tongue flitted out and swept across his bottom lip nervously before he continued. “This doesn't change how I see you. You're still you, okay? And you always will be.” He gave you a sad smile. “And you have every right to be upset. Every right. What that cop said… I wish you hadn't heard it, I really do, but more importantly I wish he hadn't said it, or even thought it. I wish many others didn't share the same views, too, because you… you don't deserve that.”

“No one does,” you replied.

“No one does,” he repeated. “But you… Oh, you. I'm sorry that someone thought it was their right to tell you that you could never be loved because it's not true. Not in the slightest.” His thumb gently swiped over your cheekbone. “You are so, so loved.”

You gave him a weak smile. “I know. But not in the way I want to be. I don't think I'll ever get that.”

It was as if you could see the reflection of Aaron's heart breaking in his eyes. He gave you a sad look, not one of pity but of understanding, and nodded. “You will.”

“Maybe one day.”

“What about today?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping low to your lips before finding your eyes again, and his head moved hardly an inch closer. If you weren't so close already, you wouldn't have noticed. But now you were keenly aware of his breath mixing with yours, the way your combined hands slotted together perfectly, how the comforting and familiar smell of him washed over you, and how his eyes shone with acceptance and love.

“I…” Aaron started, trailing off in uncertainty. It's the only time you've ever seen him truly nervous. He licked his lips again and it took all your strength not to surge forward and press yours against his. “I love you.”

All that strength disappeared the moment those words left his trembling mouth and, before you knew it, you were kissing him. Mind completely silent, body losing all sensation except for where his body met yours, you felt like you were floating. His grip loosened on both your hand and face for hardly a moment before he held you twice as hard and kissed you back. It wasn't romantic by any means, the kiss feeling like a game of catch-up you had no idea how long had been in motion, lips and teeth and tongues clashing frantically, but it had your blood rushing in your ears and the world disappearing around you.

When you pulled back for air, Aaron remained still. His lips were still slightly pursed, as if trapped in a memory he never wanted to escape, and his eyes were closed, a slight red tinge to his cheeks. He looked peaceful. He looked beautiful.

As you admired him, the words slipped from your mouth with ease. “I love you too.”

#aaron hotchner x trans male reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cas writes #aaron hotchner fanfic #x reader #x transmasc reader #x trans male reader #reader insert

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undercoverpena · 10 months

Text

rainy world, blanket days

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: “Yourewet.” It escapes, muffled between your mouths, as he smiles against your lips. “It’s raining, amor.”

wordcount: 1.8k an: written for anon, with a huge thanks and dedication to @thelightsandtheroses who let me ramble a lot to her, without complaint. and sorta told me i could do this, even when i didn't think i could. warnings: none. just sweet!frankie, soft vibes, nice ending (real cute, tbf)

When it rains, it pours.

A sentiment he knows all too well with how his day has been going.

You and your grand ideas, where simple DIY soon gets out of hand: first, a photo frame, then the guest sink, and now he’s retrieving shelving because you need more space for your books.

Frankie doesn’t mind. Not really.

He likes being busy—likes making you smile and how it always hits your eyes and coats him in a warmth that no winter can ever take from him.

When he'd left, there had been sunshine. By the time he pulls into the car park, the clouds have grown grey and heavy, fingers tugging to pull his collar around his neck to fend off the wind. Hat tugged down, hiding, as he saunters around aisle after aisle, an image in mind of what he wants—what he needs.

He clambers it all together. Some under his arm, some lodged against his chest, hugged there by his arm. Somewhat wishing he hadn’t been so quick to turn down a bag. All to step out of the automatic doors and be met with a downpour.

The kind that soaks everything it touches and makes the air smell of petrichor, all fresh earth and mire. A scent which could so easily take him back to jungles and covert missions if not for the way he gripped the wood until splinters threatened to dig into his hands.

He’s been better recently—more rooted. Finding himself less troubled and minus the haunting of ghosts.

But, sometimes, they hang in the background. The memories that become nightmares, waiting for a weaker moment to suffocate him.

You fend them off—doing so without trying.

You and the smile he thinks of as he throws everything in the truck, slamming the driver door behind him as droplets fall down his neck, sliding from the ends of his curls to run down and settle on his collarbone.

Palm across his forehead, wiping the beads from his brow as he removes his hat—the one soaked to the bone. He knows it’ll take hours to dry, trying to hang it off the passenger headrest as he wrestles with how naked he feels without it.

You like it off.

Often whispering it to him, having done so the other night when you were straddling his lap, pushing it back, taking it in your fingers before placing it backwards on your head.

“Do I suit it, Frankie? Your hat.”

He wished he’d taken a photo, made it his background.

You in his oversized shirt, a pair of boxers turned shorts, and his hat on your pretty little head. The thought alone sparks warmth through his chest, suddenly turning the key more eager, more determined.

Desperate.

That’s what he was: desperate. To see you, get home to you.

The work-in-progress which changes month by month before their eyes as vision and his handiwork being it to life.

He likes working on it, your two's home. But sometimes, in weather like this, he wishes for blankets and candles, no lights—just the flicker of a movie he’ll pretend to watch for the first act before he silently studies you.

Or music, soft, lulling music that floats around the walls. The occasional raps of the branches from the tree on the window, the one you refuse to have Frankie cut down.

He craves one today, never really being one for lazy days, but now it’s those days he loves the most with you. The ones which are easy, a gift. They come along infrequently, but when they do, he tries to clutch on to them too tightly—in the same way, he likes to have you close.

Whether it’s bare legs thrown over his thighs, fluffy socks twitching under the blanket, or you slotted against his side, hand playing with his fingers as his lips twitch into a smile periodically.

It’s those memories, that wish, that carries him home. The car windows steam up under the clamminess of his skin, the radio humming songs he barely listens to when he finally swings his truck on the drive. Forgetting the items beside him, including his hat, as he steps out, not even doubling back when he presses the key to lock it—just desperate to get inside, and when he does…

It’s all he’s been wishing for and more.

The scent of a burning wick hits him first, followed by hot cocoa. Shutting the front door, locking it—and keeping the world out—he slides his feet from his boots, leaving them in a state on the mat. Then he begins his hunt for you, fingers brushing down doorways, leaning into the kitchen, and then the living room.

Frankie frowns as his fingers scratch at his damp hair. Something akin to worry begins to needle at his chest, making his heart stammer—rattling in his chest.

His next stop, the only one truly left, catches his eye as droplets fall from his jacket, painting the wooden floor in dots from the outside. The door, all half-open and ajar, as it had been this morning when he’d followed you out of it, sleep clinging to his lashes as you excitedly talked about decor and needing his help.

Now, he worries he didn’t lock the door. That something had happened. Not even remembering the last time he checked his phone or—

You collide into him suddenly, all quickly.

In a way that forces all of the pieces of him to slot back together, making the worry dissipate. Your grin growing at the sight of him, hitting your eyes as you begin to beam as though he’s your sun and not just a man you met one day and never got rid of.

He thinks of speaking, whispering a hi and then pulling you close, but he gets tangled up—thoughts balling and knotting in his head at the sight of you.

You look so comfortable and relaxed, your face clean and free of anything—one of his tees adorning your frame, hiding your curves from him.

There’s something about seeing you undone that he'll never grow used to. How at ease around him you are, have been since early days. It’s almost his favourite sight, taking it over summer dresses and painted lips—almost.

Frankie’s favourite has more to do with when your lips are parted, thighs on either side of him—pupils blown, skin warm, sweat pebbling on your hairline and collarbones. You make the prettiest noises then, too—an array of Francisco’s and Frankie’s pecking the air.

Your eyes are narrowing, confusion mounting at his stare and empty hands. He knows you—about as well as you know him.

Frankie knows that you’re beginning to worry with how your brow slides up your forehead, that concern-laced words will fall from your tongue as your mouth starts to part. But he moves, pounces, rids the air of comments that aren’t please and more.

Slanting his lips over yours, he steals your thoughts. Intentionally, his tongue licks into your mouth to wipe up the remainder of any words that had been forming. It’s only as he nips at your bottom lip, tasting the whimper you let him have, is he aware of your arms coming around his neck, feels fingers scrape against his hair, his scalp—

“Yourewet.”

It escapes, muffled between your mouths, as he smiles against your lips. “It’s raining, amor.”

Frankie slides his fingers across your cheek, keeping you close, letting him take his time to kiss you, enjoy you. His other hand is busy sliding up your frame—fingers brushing the overwashed, seen-better-days t-shirt of his that you love—all to find purpose on your hip. Wishing to grip it, his thumb digging ever so lightly—not enough to bruise, although he could (enjoys doing so, too), but enough to inform you what he wants.

You. Always you.

Rainy days and sunny ones. The difficult ones and the easy ones.

“Frankie…”

He kisses the side of your mouth, humming—indicative that he’s heard you.

“I’ve got the blankets out. Queued a movie and—“

“Lit the candles,” he finishes, one last kiss to your jaw before he retracts, letting you go to look you up and down as he folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

The silence allows the sound of rain hammering against the window panes to find his ears—doing so to a beat similar to how his heart thumps at the sight of you. The way it has done since he woke up one morning and couldn’t get the thought from his mind:

I want to marry you.

He’s been thinking about it for weeks, months.

Moments adding to other ones, collecting them like stamps. Letting them layer and layer—

You drag him from his thoughts, shifting on the balls of your feet, an unreadable expression flushing out the one he’d put there a moment ago. “Is that… okay?”

He nods, slow at first before a grin accompanies it. You pull it from him easily, and do so all the time—a thing the others have noticed.

“All I was thinking about at the hardware store.”

“You were thinking about a blanket day?”

His lip twitches. “Thinking about you under a blanket, yeah.”

You try to hold it back, but you smirk. Eyes latched on him as he shrugs his jacket off, your hand gesturing to take it from him, pulling it close to you.

“I’ll let you pick the movie,” you say, moving past him, holding his eye line as your hand brushes his chest, taking his jacket with you. “And I’ll hang this up to dry.”

He smirks knowingly.

Because you only let him choose when you have no intention of watching it.

“I’ma just change,” he calls out, heading into the bedroom—passing the mirror, the wardrobe. Shifting around the end of the bed as he hovers near the bedside table.

Letting his fingers find the handle, he pulls on the top drawer, glancing at the door. Nervousness prickles, mixes with the drizzle sliding down his spine, as he opens it, peering in.

At first, he sees nothing, and then just the corner of it.

Just how he left it, smothered in clean, holey socks and receipts—the blue box which stares up at him. All 4.7 x 3.9 of it.

The one which had been heavy in his pocket the day he picked it up to bring it home. How it began burning a hole in his jacket until he hid it, stuffing it in the back of the nook for the right day.

Today though, he lets his fingers pull it out from the corner it’s been trapped in. Feeling how light it actually is, for the weight it has on his shoulders.

“Frankie, y'coming?”

He smiles, both at the box in his fingers and your impatience. Nudging the drawer shut with his knuckle, a scar catching his sight—one you always stroke, never asking, yet reading the story behind it with each touch.

He calls back that he’ll be a minute, placing the box on the bed, opening other drawers and slamming them shut once he'd found sweats and a fresh tee. Dressing, he feels the warmth slide up his neck, reaching his ears as his pulse thunders.

Having decided today will be the day the ring finds a new home—hopefully, one on your finger.

an: hope this was fluffy enough, anon.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #frankie morales triple frontier #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales

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crazed-rambler · 20 days

Text

This episode was absolute perfection! The writers are geniuses, the actors are geniuses, the directors, camera people, lighting, editors, everyone who worked on this episode are all geniuses and they deserve a MASSIVE round of applause.

There's so much to talk about but I wanna start by talking about the staging of the scenes where Buck is feeling jealous, because ugh it was so well done.

It's so simple but they just isolated him. And it's not that noticeable in some of the smaller scenes but I know many people noticed it with the teaser and stills at the airfield. It became obvious to me after Eddie gets injured, but here are some examples:

In all these scenes Buck is obviously in his feels (but when wasn't he tbf) and he's stood by himself, opposite to everyone else.

I found this really clever, because yeah, Buck does express that he feels like he's being left behind, but he's done that before so what's new? What's new is the very confusing feelings of romantic jealousy being thrown in the mix. But romantic jealousy over a MAN. This has never happened before.

Finding out you're queer can be so scary and isolating because your entire view of yourself is changing and if that's changing how are you supposed to be yourself around others who've only known you as heterosexual up until this point? Add in the fact that Buck is somewhat oblivious to why he is acting the way he is towards Eddie (his bestfriend who's done nothing wrong) for a time and he's going to feel even more isolated. It gets to a point where he's lashing out because he doesn't know why he's feeling like this. And even when he's hurt Eddie he doesn't even ATTEMPT to move towards him, he's just stuck where he is.

By isolating Buck at all these moments, both the initial problem that sparks the jealousy and Buck's subsequent internal struggle are portrayed to the audience in a such a simple way. Doing this allows the audience to truly understand what's happening. Queer audiences will recognise themselves in Buck's isolation and heterosexual audiences will gain a further understanding of how troubling a queer realisation can be, allowing them to empathise more.

Even when Tommy comes to the loft Buck still starts out isolated:

They move to either side of the kitchen and put two (2) tables in between themselves. Then as they work through their issues and Buck starts to realise just WHY he's been so standoffish about Eddie and Tommy hanging out they get closer. Then they start to connect over how cool they thought the other was and how annoying that was and end up toe to toe:

Buck's finally accepting what he's feeling and then BAM! They kiss and everyone screams with joy!

I don't know, l just loved all the little nuances they put into this episode that were subtle indicators of their endgame (bi Buck), and it made it feel like the creators really cared about this storyline and wanted to do it properly for the fans but more importantly for THEMSELVES, and not just randomly giving Buck a throwaway line of 'yeah I've slept with guys before' to establish his bisexuality purely for fan appeasement. So, to that I want to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone involved with creating this episode because I was sobbing for 10 minutes straight after it aired from being handed bisexual representation in such a loving but also unfussy way and seeing myself reflected in my favourite character. So on the off chance someone involved does see this, THANK YOU!

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 7x04 #evan buckley #118 firefam #tommy kinard #bi buck #911 100th episode #buck bothered and bewildered #eddie diaz #chimney han #buddie #bisexual evan buckley #evan buck buckely #bucktommy

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twstxreader · 1 year

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Hey, for the fluff alphabet, can I get Jack, Malleus, Sebek with D, F, and M? I'm flooded with requests and I've read your stuff and it's really good. Ya girl here just needs a break

AWW TYY means a lot! And yeaaa i understand that lmaoo

D (DOMESTIC) - IDEAL FUTURE

Jack

Jacks ideal future with you would definitely be with you two living somewhere quite hope somewhere close to his family also i think he would alone love to be very active and would want to go hiking or just places to run with each other

MALLEUS

Malleus ideal future with you would definitely be you ruling his land with him by his side even if your human he dost care he wants to spend his life with you being your best friend yet lover still

SEBEK

Sebeks ideal future with you is with him still guarding malleus but you two also live together i also feeling lie he would also would want to have a big garden that you two would take care of anf pamper together

F (FAMILY) - DO THEY WANT KIDS?

JACK

I feeling like jack would love to have kids with you he doesn't really mind how many it's up to you but it would make his heart warm up and his tail wag thinking of you two holding and playing around with you guys mini mes

MALLEUS

Yes. Malleus would definitely want to have kids with you i think he would like either two or three he smiles fondly of the thought of you and him raising such bundles of joys and experiencing that joy with you

SEBEK

Tbf i feel like sebek isnt really a massive fan of kids and If definitely way to short tempered with them and would definitely argue with kids at the park all the time

M (MARRIAGE) - VIEWS ON MARRIAGE SND WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE

Jack

I think jack wouldn't really mind if you want to get married to him or not i feel like to him marriage is the same to him just one is were you hsve a ring on your finger thk being married too jack would be very warm and fuzzy he would always be at your beck and call and would love being active with you

MALLEUS

Malleus would definitely want to marry you he thinks marriage is sacred and a beautiful thing were two lovers make promises to never leave each others side and to love each other for eternity married life with malleus would be very sweet because he would make sure you are comfy and you spoil you in gemstones and jewellery and willing dance with you under the moon light

SEBEK

Sebek get extremely flustered when i comes to marriage and he thinks it's a beautiful thing like that malleus and sebek would view it as a vow off loyalty and i thin being married too sebek will be very interesting yet sweet because he would be very loyal yet shy and would sure you're happy no matter what

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jack howl x reader #jack x reader #jack howl #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

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larcenywrites · 1 month

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Hiii! I really like your stories, thank you for what you do for us <3 You recently wrote that you want to write something clean and I just thought, maybe you want to write my request. But just ignore it, please, if you don't want to write it, it's okay!! I was just thinking about how attentive Tony is to his girlfriend and, you know, I'm obsessed with moles for some reason. I know it sounds weird, but I just want to lie in bed with Tony in the morning while we cuddle and he kisses my moles. I'm a little insecure about my body because of them and I just want to see something soft about this thing. Once again, a huge excuse for such a request 💀💀

Aw omg no it’s cute! And don’t feel insecure, I have a fairly big mole right on my cheek (my face, I mean; but I do also have one on my asscheek 🤣)! I have quite a few moles and freckles everywhere so I get it, but now I love them though I think moles and freckles are super cute 🥰 obviously idk where your beauty marks are, nor anyone else’s, and I’m not just gonna use my own for reference (maybe one or two 🤭), so hopefully there’s a little bit here for everyone? Tbh I do focus on Tony a lot as well tbf! I haven’t written in so long I hope it’s okay 😰

Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: none except technically Tony and Reader and naked lol but I don’t explicitly say that | no pronouns used or specified for reader | just cuddles and fluff and kisses 😚

Word count: 920

Tracing over his sun-warmed skin, your fingers followed the rise and dip of his back. The morning light shed over him, illuminating your path between each mark and mole, some flat, some raised, becoming more scarce the lower you went. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he squirmed and arched as your touch drifted down his spine. You settled halfway onto his back, wrapping your hands over his shoulders and affectionately resting your head on the back of his neck.

Your laugh turned into a giggle when he promptly rolled onto his side, throwing you off and backing into you. You only took it as your opportunity to be the big spoon, throwing your arm over his waist and burying a hand in his hair, lining up the dark freckle in the center of your chest to the mole beneath his shoulder blades. Nuzzling into his shoulder, you noticed a group of freckles on his neck and promptly swooped in for a quick kiss.

With a tired hum, he stretched out, tilting his chin to reveal the mole under his jaw that was only visible when he shaved. The back of your finger drifted over his jawline.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know,” you chirped. “You’re pretty.”

With a yawn, he rolled onto his back. You kept your hand on his waist as when he settled on his back and made you move once again. You sat up on your elbow, rubbing over the soft skin of his tummy and thumbing over the dark brown mole near his belly button.

“You’re pretty, too,” he replied with tired eyes that heavily gazed at you from over his chest. The corner of your lips twisted up with an amused huff. You sat up more to straddle his waist. Instantly, his warm hands were on your arms and feeling their way up to your shoulders. Tony’s gaze stayed with yours as he did so. As his thumbs rubbed over your freckled shoulders in an act of comfort, you reached down to peck at the faded freckle on his wrist.

From this angle, his face was hardly freckled or blotched, aside from the redness in his cheeks from lying facing down in the sun, and the tan spot near the corner of his eye that was honestly more like a cherry-on-top. He was naturally perfect, already cleaned up for the cameras.

“What are you thinking about,” he mumbled, poking your side and playfully pinching at your skin, making your stomach tighten from the sudden contact. As his hand settled above your hip, you couldn’t help but use your arms to hide the line of those beauty marks across your belly.

You look down at his chest as you tried to come up with something to say, and at the very least something that wasn’t exactly a lie. “I read somewhere that moles and freckles go away with age,” you quickly recalled, looking back down at him as earnestly as you could. As if he knew where this was going, the hand on your hip was still able to trace over your stomach, as if checking whether or not they were still there. He hummed in thought as he did, still waking up.

“That’s sad,” he mumbled, pausing before looking back up at you with innocence. “I’ll miss the one on your ass,” he said with an exaggerated pout, putting all the energy he’d built up so far to smack your ass.

“Ow,” you pouted back in a drawn-out whine. That innocent look quickly turned into that usual mischievous grin, teeth showing as you fell into his side again. That same hand kept your thigh straddled over him even as you slid off. With you by his side again, he quickly took his chance to steal a kiss. You weren't sure if he realized your insecurity, but he probably wouldn’t understand anyway. He didn’t have very many. A cluster below his ear, the Orion’s Belt on his forearm; a stray below his collarbone, a mole on his shoulder; an array over his upper back. Unnoticeable enough to leave him without a flaw.

He probably didn’t quite get it, why you trace over his skin, but he copied your sentiment anyway. It was your turn to feel his callousing hands drifting down your back and fingertips knowing the paths on your arm. Nose-to-nose and skin-to-skin, you relaxed under his touch.

But maybe the innocence in his unknowingness made it sweeter. He saw the stars on your skin with his natural love for your beauty, and copied you in playing connect-the-dots because he simply associated it with affection. And if he did it long enough, you could probably find his star sign etched into your being.

“I’ll miss that one, too,” Tony softly mumbled, tearing you from your thoughts as lips met the corner of your own. You smiled and opened your eyes, but you still scrunched your nose at the mention of the mole by your mouth.

“You know, all my favorite models have one,” he reassured you in a more suggestive tone.

“Oh, and who’s your favorite model?” You sassed sternly. His reply was another toothy grin that pressed to your lips.

“You,” he finally said pointedly, making you roll your eyes. From this close, you could see another faded brown spot on his cheek. Taking your hand from his chest, he kissed at even the smallest of freckles between your knuckles, but he didn’t need to say anything.

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dustydaddyyy · 6 months

Text

iv: miss you | joel miller x f!reader

flash point (series) masterlist

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot chapter warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, swearing, nightmares, mentions of stab wounds, FEDRA is basically an authoritarian regime, fireflies are not much better, constant POV-changing (sorry not sorry I'm trying to be an omniscient b), a lot of jokes about joel's old-man status, the slowest slow-burn of slow burns (because I'm trash and like to make you all wait for it), joel is kind of slightly less of an asshole in some parts of this chapter (when is joel not an asshole tbf), !TW!: mentions of parent death and suicide

a/n: *cracks knuckles* time for some character backstory hehehe. also more sam interactions because mark my words he's going to be an important character. we're not going to be talking about how long this took me to post. all i can tell you is that chapter 5 will be up by the beginning of next week, as well, so stay tuned xx K

"I've been holding out so long

I've been sleeping all alone

Lord, I miss you"

It was always the same nightmare.

Same field, same sky, same scream.

You were always frozen, unable to move, watching helplessly as the figure advanced past the barbed wire of the zone slowly, arms so thin they looked like they could snap, shoulder blades visible against the thin material of the dirty shirt. You would watch in horror as the figure spread their arms wide, as if welcoming death, before opening their mouth. The scream always felt as though it were straight in your skull, echoing through every cavity in your body and sending white hot fear through your stomach.

You’d always woken up the same way, as well, sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as your thundering heartbeat echoed in your ears, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

Tonight had been no exception.

You try to keep your breathing under control as you sit upright, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. For a scary, disorienting moment, you have no idea where you are, gaze scanning the room for any hint of familiarity before your brain catches up and your memories fill you in.

Joel's apartment. Joel's couch.

Breathe.

The nightmare hadn't been new, but somehow, tonight, it had been worse. You were used to waking up in cold sweat and having to remind yourself it was just a nightmare, before falling back asleep, but tonight it was different.

Maybe it was the unfamiliarity with the environment, or simply the fact that this one had felt even more vivid and unsettling than the ones that had come before. Your heart pounds like a frantic drum as the remnants of your nightmare cling to your mind like cobwebs, a lingering haze of terror that refuses to dissipate.

It takes a second before your heartbeat settles again. Wiping the few tears that managed to escape your eyes from your cheeks, you try to take deep breaths. Casting a ghostly glow through the half-shut curtains, the moon is the only source of light as it hangs low in the midnight sky. Slowly you lower yourself back down onto the couch, hands trembling as they grip the sheet you'd been given by Tess, eyes staring up at the grimy ceiling. It's a warm night, one of those that makes every piece of clothing cling to your body. You had discarded your shorts long ago, leaving you in only the old but clean smelling t-shirt Tess had handed you before going to sleep.

Desperately trying to close your eyes and go back to sleep, you twist and turn. You lie awake for a good long while, but nothing seems to work, the adrenaline of your nightmare coursing through your veins and keeping your mind awake. Swallowing hard, you take a deep breath and sit up again, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and burying your face in your hands, trying to shake off the lingering fear.

"Jesus," you whisper to yourself as you straighten out, before standing on shaky legs and quietly padding over to the kitchen. Normally, you'd have some shame about walking around somebody else's kitchen in the middle of the night in nothing but your underwear, but thankfully the shirt Tess gave you is too big, and just about long enough to cover your ass. You turn the faucet on, the water coming out a measly and unstable stream, before you cup your hands under it, bending down to splash some water on your face. You're not expecting it to work, but you still find the that the cold water helps ground you a little as you straighten back up, using your t-shirt to wipe the drops from your face.

You try to pull open a few cabinets as quietly as possible, looking for a glass. As you peer into the third one, which is filled with what looks like old coffee tins, a voice sounds from behind you.

"Glasses are under the sink."

You can't help the sharp intake of breath as you turn around to give Joel a wide-eyed look. He's standing –or rather, leaning– against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he peers at you. The dim moonlight reflects off the bare skin of his arms in his t-shirt, and it takes a lot of willpower not to stare at the grooves of the muscles in his biceps, smooth and powerful.

"Fucking Christ, Joel," you breathe out as you pinch the bridge of your nose, "Give a girl a warning if you're going to do that."

"How would I have made sure you weren't stealing if I'd said I was standing behind you?" he asks, and you raise a single, sarcastic eyebrow.

"How do you know I'm not stealing from you, then?" you ask him, and for the first time since you've met him, Joel doesn't seem to react to your inflammatory tone, and he shrugs.

"You'd have looked in those tins," he says simply, and you press your lips together as you realize he makes a more than valid point.

You say nothing as you turn away from him, opening the cabinet he pointed out and pulling out a glass of water. Joel tries his hardest not to look at the way Tess' shirt rides up slightly over the curve of your ass to reveal the seams of your underwear, exposed skin illuminated by the peeking moonlight, but it's a force stronger than himself. It's silent between the two of you as you run the tap and fill up your glass, before taking a few big gulps.

"Couldn't sleep?" Joel asks suddenly, and again, you take notice of the fact that his tone is devoid of its usual gruffness.

"Yeah," you say, turning back to look at him, glass in hand.

Joel's eyes zero in on the t-shirt you're wearing, and he realizes with a start that he recognizes the faded logo on the chest and the once vibrant color of the material. Sure, Tess had appropriated the shirt a long time ago when it had stopped fitting Joel, but seeing it on you still sent a shiver through him. He wasn't sure how it made him feel.

"You an insomniac or something?"

"Sometimes," you say with a tight-lipped smile, "Why are you awake? Except to make sure I'm not stealing from you, apparently."

It's dark, so you aren't sure, but you swear you can see Joel's mouth twitch ever so slightly into what you might've considered a smile.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep either, I guess."

Joel wonders if you can tell that he's lying.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that once upon a time, Joel had been someone's father, but he was a light sleeper. This meant that he'd easily been awoken by the sounds of your crying whilst you'd been having your nightmare. He hadn't moved a muscle at first, assuming that you were awake and not wanting to get involved in personal business that didn't concern him, but eventually, he'd heard you wake up with a gasp and a cry and realized you'd been having a nightmare.

Usually, Joel would've relished an opportunity to get on your nerves. Maybe it was the peace of the early hours of the night, or maybe he'd been far too well acquainted with how these kinds of nightmares could rattle you, but he felt no urge to tell you about what he'd heard.

Besides all of that, he also figured it was none of his damn business, anyway.

You let out a hum as you nod, leaning against the counter, eyes on the floor between your feet. After another few beats of silence, Joel speaks up again.

"Do you trust him?"

You look up in surprise at his question, and Joel feels the need to elaborate.

"This. . . Samuel."

You give a nod, letting a breath out through your nose. "With my life."

There's another beat of silence.

"Ain't he FEDRA?" Joel asks again, and for a second you can hear the usual abrasive, skeptical tone. Your eyes move to meet his in the dark, gaze suddenly piercing through him as you give a little shrug and a slight raise of your eyebrow.

"I used to be FEDRA," you state simply, and Joel fights hard to keep the surprise off of his face, "You trust me."

"That's still debatable," Joel says, and you give a small huff of laughter, before taking another sip.

"Fair enough," you say with a nod, your eyes focusing on the water in your glass.

Joel really wants to ask you what you mean when you say you used to be FEDRA, but he doesn't. After a second, you let out a breath, looking up and giving him a semi-awkward smile.

"I think I'm going to try and get some sleep," you tell him, "When all of this has gone smoothly, I still have to work an 8 hour shift."

"You're going to jinx it."

"Anyone ever tell you you're kind of a pessimist?" you tell him with a tight lipped smile, and he shrugs his shoulders, making an indifferent face.

"Not to my face," he tells you, and you nod again as you push off of the counter. As you step past him, you stop for a second to look at him sideways, corners of your mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"Well, you're kind of a pessimist, Joel Miller," you tell him, your voice a semi-whisper, before you move on and away, disappearing through the doorway and into the darkness of the living room.

The next morning, you're gone before Joel and Tess even wake up, leaving nothing but a pile with the folded sheet and the t-shirt behind. You'd managed to sweet talk your manager into letting you open, having no problem letting yourself into the dark Starbucks to go about usual opening activities until you hear the sound of a truck pulling up in the alleyway followed by a few firm knocks at the backdoor. You open the door with a smile, and the soldier that greets you, frowns.

"You're new," he mutters, and you pretend to look surprised, "Where's Lucy?"

"Sorry," you say in your best apologetic tone, "Lucy said I could open today. . .she said she's sent word it would be me instead of her?"

"Fucking tower's been down again because of the storm last night," he mutters, before he takes a minute of silence to look down at you. Then, he sighs. "Whatever, I don't care enough. . . she tell you how this works?"

You nod. "You're just dropping off, right? Someone else comes by to do inventory and handle pick up?"

"Come on," he beckons you out into the alley, where the truck has been parked back first, canvas cover flipped open to reveal the contents of the truck, "Pick up's not until closing time, but someone will be by in a half hour to inventorize. . . he's always fucking late, that one, but he'll be there. Then pick up will be later in the day. . . help me with this, will you? Partner's out sick and fuck knows central couldn't spare me the extra kid."

Together you spend the next 5 minutes lugging crates, barrels and boxes into the back of the Starbucks. When you're done, you give the soldier a blinding smile as he closes up the truck.

"Thanks for the help," he tells you, and you nod, smile still on your lips.

"Anytime," you tell him in a sweet voice, "Thanks for not being a dick about it."

The soldier snorts slightly. "What's your name?"

"Jenny," you lie smoothly, and the soldier gives a small nod, the beginnings of a smile on his mouth.

"Thanks for the help, Jenny," he nods, before giving you a crooked grin, "I'm Jack. I'll see you around?"

"Sure thing," you beam, and it feels almost unnatural to smile this much this early in the morning. Despite this, the smile stays plastered on your face until the truck disappears around the corner of the alley.

There's a rustling sound behind you, followed by a voice.

"Jenny?"

You roll your eyes as you turn to face the source of the voice. Sure enough, Joel and Tess are standing at the back of the alley, having seemingly appeared out of the shadows.

How did they do that?

"I bet there are a million Jenny's in the QZ," you say with a shrug, "Means he'll have a harder time finding me if he decides to come looking. . . now come on, we don't have a lot of time."

They follow you inside the room, and when she catches sight of all the crates, Tess lets out a low whistle.

"This is a lot of shit," she says, raising a single eyebrow as her fingers run over the top of one of the boxes, which is labeled 'Penicillin', "Could sell this for a small fortune."

"I'd advise against it," you tell her as you walk over to one of the 4 barrels of fertilizer, "FEDRA might be sloppy with some things, but the one thing they're meticulous about is the medicine."

"Go figure," Tess says with a snort, before she watches as you grab the edges of one of them, before nodding towards her.

"Help me with this, please?" you ask, and for a second, a look of surprise crosses over Tess' face.

"Please?" she repeats, almost bemusedly, "You got some nice manners for a thief."

"Only cause I like you," you return semi-jokingly, and Tess lets out an agreeing hum.

"Can we focus?" Joel interjects, and when you turn to look at him, he's raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "This ain't fucking tea time, you know."

It takes all three of you to move the barrel of fertilizer back out of the door and against the wall, and when you're done lugging and have gone back inside, Tess gives you a look. "Now what?"

"We wait," you say, pacing slightly in front of the door, and Joel frowns.

"I thought we were on a schedule," he notes, raising another skeptical eyebrow, "On account of the entire working population of the QZ going to said jobs in about an hour, and all of that."

"Thanks for enlightening me," you snap at him, and your mind works overtime as you stop in front of the barrel, heaving a sigh.

Where was Sam?

You knew he was working a shift this morning, this shift, because you'd had a sneaky look at the roster he'd stuffed in his pants pocket when he'd been passed out in bed two nights ago.

"So, this is your great plan? Wait around?" Joel continues, crossing his arms and giving you an unimpressed look.

"Do you have a fucking better idea, hm?" you say, stepping towards Joel, hands curling into fists, your lack of sleep catching up to your temper, "Because all I've heard out of your mouth so far has been criticism, and it's starting to seriously piss me off."

"I ain't afraid of you," he counters as he crosses his arms, looking unbothered, and your jaw tightens as you take another step towards him.

At that exact moment there's a sound, and a pair of headlights illuminate the alley; then, the sound of a motor switching off and a car door slamming shut drift through the air. A few moments later there's a hurried knock on the back door. You give Joel another furious glare before stalking over to the door and opening it in one fell swoop. Sam is standing on the doorstep, peering down at a sheet of paper you assume is the inventory list, end of a cigarette between his lips.

"Sorry I'm late, couldn't find my fucking lighter," he mutters, before pulling the cigarette from his lips and dropping it on the floor, "You do know you've got one barrel out–"

His voice stalls in his throat as his eyes fall on you, the smoke of his last drag disappearing in the air around him. "Speedy? What are you doing here?"

You give him a dry smile. "Working."

"You never work the morning shift, you'd hit someone over the head with a coffeepot," he retorts matter-of-factly, before he narrows his eyes at you, "You up to something?"

"No," you deny, slightly offended, but when Sam gives you an expectant look, you shrug your shoulders as he steps inside, door closing behind him, "How come I always have to be up to something?"

"I've known you for over a decade, speedy, I know when you're up to something."

"As delightful as this conversation is, can we get on with it?" comes Joel's voice from behind you, and you resist an urge to suck a sharp breath between your teeth.

You wouldn't say Sam is a jealous man, but he isn’t exactly amenable to strangers.

Sam is silent for a second as his eyes move between Joel, Tess, and yourself, the playfulness in his eyes gone. "Who's this?"

His voice is tense, like an elastic that's been pulled taut, and you swallow slightly.

"Doesn't matter," you dismiss, shaking your head, "Look, Sam, I need your help."

Sam's eyes move between you and the two people standing behind you, expression unsure.

"Yeah?" he asks, raising a single eyebrow as he observes the scene, "With what?"

"The blue barrel in the alley outside. . . I need you to write it off the inventory," you tell him, and you watch Sam's eyes move from Joel and Tess to you, jaw falling open slightly. Then, he closes his mouth, eyes becoming stormy as his jaw twitches in anger.

"Are you serious right now, speedy?" he asks you, and you resist the urge to correct him on the nickname in front of Joel and Tess, and you watch as Sam runs his tongue over his top teeth in frustration, "Can I talk to you? Privately?"

"Sam–" you say, but he doesn't give you time to react as he takes a hold of your forearm and all but drags you through the door of the backroom to the front of the shop and out of earshot. Tess and Joel exchange a look at the action, both wordlessly taking a step a little closer to the doorway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Sam tells you as he rounds on you, eyes narrowed into an expression that makes it clear he isn't happy, "Tell me you're joking, right now."

"Sam, please," you ask, and your voice is surprisingly vulnerable, "Listen, you know how I told you I stole from the wrong people. . . ? Look, all I need to do is this, and then we're even, but I need your help."

"You've got some goddamn nerve, asking me this. . . you're putting me in a fucking impossible position, speedy," Sam hisses at you, eyes bulging slightly, "What if someone notices, hm? Then it's my head on the chopping block."

"They won't notice. . . they can't notice something they never knew they even had," you assure him, putting a hand on his forearm, "Please, Samuel."

After a second of brooding silence, Joel hears Sam sigh.

"What do you even need a barrel of fertilizer for?" he asks, and you let out a breath, giving him an almost guilty look.

"It's better if you don't ask questions," you tell him, your voice slightly uneasy, "Just–. . . please?"

Another beat of silence.

"What's your big fucking plan, then?" he asks, "Even if you had a car, how are you going to move this massive barrel across the QZ without at least 50 guards on your ass?"

"The abandoned church on Salem," you say carefully, knowing he isn't going to take it well.

"That's been boarded off for a very good reason, and you know it," Sam says immediately, shaking his head, "There is no way in hell."

"Come on, Sam," you plead, "I know FEDRA cleared it out forever ago and just keeps those signs up to avoid people sleeping in it."

"How the fuck would you know that, hm?" he snaps at you, before Joel hears him sigh again, "Nevermind, don't answer that, I don't even want to know."

"It's on your delivery route, all you have to do is drop us off with the barrel so I can keep it there all day and move it as soon as it gets dark."

"That all?" he asks you sardonically, and for some reason, Joel finds himself getting irritated at this kid's tone with you. It wouldn't kill him to be a little nicer about things.

Eventually, Sam speaks again.

"Fine," he says, "But I'm not taking your little criminal friends in the truck with me, that's out of the question."

"How the hell am I going to move it, then?" you ask, and you sound put out.

"You can figure that out, since you're so clever," his voice is biting, filled with aggravation, and after a second, Joel hears you sigh.

"Yeah, okay. . . I'll figure it out. Thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it," he says bitterly, before Joel and Tess hear his heavy boots walking back towards the backroom before he appears in the doorway again, eyes settling on both of them for a second. Then, he looks over his shoulder, looking back at you.

"Come on then," he tells you, his tone irritated, "You think I've got all day?"

Joel feels another stab of annoyance as he regards Sam, but he doesn't say anything, instead exchanging a glance with Tess.

"What's the plan?" Tess asks carefully, even though she's fully aware of it, and the soldier gives her a look.

"Go home," he tells her, rather bluntly, "She can handle it from here."

"I think we'll wait to hear that from her."

Joel doesn't know why he says anything; maybe it's the frustration at his tone, maybe it's the fact that he has stakes in this particular plan succeeding, but he gives the soldier a raised eyebrow as he receives a glare.

"It's okay," you say hastily as you watch Sam open his mouth to deliver what you're sure is a scathing rebuke, and you give Joel a look that clearly means 'drop it', "I'll meet you there."

Joel shakes his head. "And then what? You gonna move that thing by yourself? Not to diminish your abilities, but there's no way in hell you're moving 300 pounds of fertilizer in your lonesome."

"Who said anything about her doing it alone?" Sam interjects, and now Joel raises a single eyebrow.

"You did," he returns bluntly, not giving a damn if he knows he's been listening to their conversation, and Sam squares his shoulders, "Just now, actually."

"Not just a criminal, but an eavesdropper, too?" Sam says sardonically, before turning to you with a frozen, sarcastic smile, "This is the company you're keeping, lately, hm? Real nice."

Joel is about to open his mouth again to tell this little punk exactly what an eavesdropping criminal will do if he keeps speaking to you the way he is, but you beat him to the punch.

"That's enough, Samuel, we don't have time for this shit," you tell him, your voice firm, "I don't need to remind you about keeping bad company, do I?"

Your tone is biting, and clearly it works, because the soldier clamps his mouth shut with a furious glare as you turn back to Joel and Tess.

"I'll be fine," you say with a nod, mostly talking to Joel so he doesn't start anything when there isn't any time for it, "I'll meet you there. . . promise I won't run off with your shit again."

You say that last part with a small smile, which neither Joel nor Tess return, but eventually Tess gives a short nod.

"Tough crowd," you mutter to yourself, before you feel Sam's fingers close over your forearm, which makes you wince slightly, "Ouch, Samuel."

"Come on, then," he says in an irritated tone, ignoring your yelp of pain as he pulls you forward towards the door, "But if we get caught, I'm ratting you out."

Joel and Tess follow you out, and as Sam angrily stomps over to the truck, lifting the tarp from the back, you pull a set of keys out of your pocket and use them to lock the back door.

"You guys go already, you'll need the head start. . .if you cut through the abandoned post office on 5th, you'll get there in 10 minutes, tops," you say as the lock clicks, before grabbing the edges of the barrel.

Tess nods. "Meet you there?"

You give an agreeing hum and a nod, before there's a banging noise as Sam gives the back of the truck a whack.

"Let's fucking go, speedy," he lets out in an exasperated breath as he starts to walk back towards you.

"Sure you got it from here?" Joel huffs out as his eyes move between you and Sam quickly, and you give a small nod, shooting him a furtive smile.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, and you sound genuinely grateful, which catches Joel slightly off guard. He looks at Tess, nodding once, before they step away from you and start to jog down the alley, making sure to glare at Sam in passing.

"Not sure I liked the way that kid grabbed her," Joel lets out gruffly as they round the corner, and Tess gives him an unimpressed look.

"Barely 20 hours ago I had to pull you off of her when you grabbed her in the exact same way."

"That was different," Joel grumbles, and Tess' eyebrow raises.

"How, exactly?" she asks him, but Joel ignores her and gestures for her to move on.

Back in the alleyway, Sam lets out a grunt as the two of you lug the barrel into the back of the truck.

"Unbelievable," he mutters to himself, shaking his head, "You're going to get me killed one day, you know that?"

"Let's hope later rather than sooner, hm?" you answer as the barrel drops into the truck bed with a decisive thump.

Sam lets out a grudging hum, before gesturing towards the back.

There's a moment of silence as you exchange a look, before you make a face.

"You can't be serious," you tell him, and his eyebrows raise.

"No way you're riding in the front, speedy," he tells you, and this time he doesn't sound angry, "I'm sorry, but there's no way I can explain you to anyone if we get stopped. . . besides, wouldn't you rather stay anonymous?"

You give him an annoyed look, before you clench your jaw and grudgingly get in the back of the truck, sitting down next to the barrel on one of the makeshift wooden benches nailed to the side.

"Thank you," Sam says in a breath, before giving you a furtive smile, "See you in 5 minutes."

Then, he unties the tarp at the top of the truck so it falls to cover the contents of the back, you included.

The ride is semi-smooth, except for a moment where Sam gets stopped at a checkpoint because his 'buddy', Carter, wants to know if he has any cigarettes to share. It gives you half a heart attack when you feel him bang his rifle on the metal side of the truck in a joking greeting.

"Sam-my," he says, his voice low and arrogant, "Late on the early shift again, hm?"

"I overslept," Sam says, and you can tell from his dry tone he isn't totally enamored with Carter.

"I would say it happens to the best of us, but. . . we're all here, Sammy."

His smug laugh floats through the morning air, and it makes you roll your eyes.

Jesus Christ, this guy.

As you suspect, Carter just wants a cigarette. But as he leans through the window, you hear him clear as day as he speaks to Sam. "You got anything extra today? For my pain, you know."

There's a grunt from Samuel as you listen to him rummaging around, before Carter lets out a contented hum and clears his throat, stepping away from the truck. "Alright, come on, let him through."

The truck rumbles down the street as you leave the checkpoint behind, and barely a few minutes and a corner later, it stops and the motor switches off. You hear Sam's footsteps as he jumps from the driver side and walks around to the back of the truck, before lifting the tarp.

"Out you come," he says, and you clamber out as inconspicuous as possible, which you're not going to lie, is hard.

Finally your feet hit the ground in front of him.

"You know," you say as you stand up straight to face Sam, your face barely a few inches from his, "I wouldn't let Carter walk all over you like that."

"I can't remember asking for your opinion," he tells you with a sarcastic smile, and you raise your eyebrows slightly, making a face.

"You could take him."

"I don't want to, speedy," Samuel says with a scoff, shaking his head as he lowers the latch of the truck, "I'm not interested in making enemies like you are."

"I don't make enemies," you defend slightly, and even though Sam doesn't look at you, you can tell on his face he doesn't believe you.

"We've been here barely two months and you already owe the wrong people too much money."

"Who said it was money?" you ask again, and when Sam doesn't answer you, you let out a breath through your nose, pursing your lips.

"Is that why you didn't want Joel and Tess in here? Didn't want them to know you bribe your buddy Carter for some extra minutes of sleep? He just a smoker. . . ? Or does he use something stronger?"

"Oh, bite me," Sam tells you with a narrowing of his eyes, and you give him a half-smirk as you stare him challengingly in the face.

"Anywhere you like, Sammy," you tell him teasingly, and he lets out a scoff, shaking his head as the corner of his lips pull upwards.

At that moment, you hear footsteps at the end of the relatively small street, and you turn your head to watch Tess and Joel approaching.

"We all got there in the end!" you say brightly, and you're met with Joel's scowl as he scoffs.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart, you came in a truck."

You watch as Sam's brow crinkles just slightly at the sound of the nickname Joel uses, but you move on as quickly as you can.

"A man your age, should be keeping fit," you say in a robust, mocking voice, before making a face at him that drips with false concern, "Wouldn't want to risk you dropping dead from a heart attack at the ripe old age of sixty-five, grandpa."

"Means a lot coming from someone who's been alive less than two decades," he snaps back, "Tell me, do you remember what a rotary phone is?"

"I know perfectly well what it is," you reply swiftly, and Joel makes a momentary face like he's considering it.

"How's the day going to work?" Tess interjects suddenly, gaze resting on the expression on Sam's face, whose eyes keep flitting between you and Joel.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to have to go back to work, but I'll get here as soon as I get off at 3pm."

Tess nods. "Works for me, I got a 4:30pm job to get to. It should finish before curfew at ten."

"I'll stay in the area to make sure nothing goes wrong, then," you say with a short nod, before eyeing them both, "And then your friend and his dudes can do the rest."

"Dudes," Joel repeats, his voice slight with disdain.

"Men, goons, brutes. . . whatever," you say with a wave of your hand.

"You're in luck, my final shift of the afternoon is somewhere around here," Sam says sarcastically, before shooting you a look, "Although not very sure about the coincidences of that."

"M'staying," Joel grunts, exchanging a look with Tess, "Don’t have much going on today, anyway.”

You bite back a snippy comment about how he has no life, concluding that you all don’t really have that much of a life in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.

“I need to go back to the shop,” you say, giving a half-apologetic look, “I can’t miss this shift, and if my boss finds out I skipped after begging her for it in the first place she’ll fire me faster than I can even apologise.”

“Go,” Tess says with a nod, and you give a half-hearted smile before you walk away, Samuel in tow. Joel watches as you exchange a few words, not missing the way Sam’s hand brushes over the side of yours as you talk. Tess also seems to notice, brows raising slightly as she observes your interaction, but she says nothing.

She looks away instead, wondering what the fuck she’s going to do to kill 8 hours with the man-turned-brick-wall that was Joel Miller.

True to your word, you're back at three in the afternoon. The sun is still high in the air, which is thick with humidity. Boston didn't get many hot days, but when it did, they were also horribly humid. Joel and Tess are standing right where you left them, or rather a combination of standing and sitting. They look bored.

You hold up a paper bag as you approach.

“Anybody want a snack?” you ask semi-flippantly, and Joel shoots you a glare from his position leaning against the brick wall, beams of sun illuminating his feet as the rest of him stands in the scarce shade. When you receive no answer from neither him nor Tess, you give a dry smile.

“Not all at once.”

“This isn’t a picnic,” Joel snaps, and you give him a look.

“Who pissed in your oatmeal this morning, grandpa?” you ask him, before your face turns jokingly serious, “Tell me, did you run out of raisins?”

The glare Joel delivers is furious, but you shrug your shoulders in mock innocence.

“Out there you can be as mouthy as you fuckin' want,” you imitate his voice, exaggerating his accent as much as you can as you throw his words from last night in his face, “This counts as out there, right?”

Joel can see in your face that you’re enjoying talking smack to him; your eyes have a twinkle to them he’s not sure whether he likes or loathes.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says finally, resolving not to give in to your digs, because he knows that’s exactly what you want. He watches with some satisfaction as you let a breath out through your nose, almost a huff, eyebrows moving up momentarily as you turn away from him and go to sit down against the wall. Tess is sitting on it, peeling an orange in silence.

The silence doesn’t last very long, though. Joel’s eyes land on your twitching fingers; you’re not someone who likes silence – it makes him wonder why.

“Where the fuck d’you get an orange?” you ask Tess, hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun as you look up at her. She meets your gaze with a nonplussed look.

“Went to the market,” she returns sarcastically, “Selection’s great this time of year.”

Joel feels a distant urge to smile at her snark as you give her a dry smile.

It’s silent again, and for a second Joel rests his head against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes, the only sounds coming from the people in the street around him. It seems silly, but like this, Joel doesn’t have to see. Sure, the sounds of the QZ are quite a bit different from what cities used to sound like, but it’s still nice to close his eyes from time to time and pretend it’s the same.

His ears perk at a new sound, like something scraping against wood, and when he opens his eyes to investigate, they fall on you sitting against the wall. Your knees are pulled up, and Joel’s eyes have to look past your knees to see that you have that tiny blade clutched in one hand and a stick in the other, using your knee to sharpen it to a tip. You’re focused, eyes staring as the blade rolls over the wood, chips curling elegantly before falling into your lap.

“The silence was nice,” Joel comments, and you actually find yourself rolling your eyes, but you don’t look up at him.

��I didn’t say anything,” you tell him pointedly.

More silence. Joel’s eyes feel like they’re staring holes into your head.

“You one of those kids that can’t sit still?” he asks eventually, clearing his throat as he crosses his arms and peers down at you. Your mouth curves slightly but you still don’t look up at him, focusing on your stick.

“So what if I am?” you reply, your voice smooth but Joel discerns the slight defensive tone, “And I’m not a kid, Joel.”

There it is again. Joel hates how much hearing you say his name like that affects him. He looks away, directing his surly expression across the street. There’s a FEDRA checkpoint set up there, and he watches as Sam chats to another soldier. Occasionally, they stop someone, and search them, but it doesn’t get much more exciting than that.

You’re done sharpening your stick; you discard in the dust at your feet, before breathing a small sigh as you look across the road at the checkpoint.

"What's the story?" Tess asks you as she follows your line of sight to Sam, who is standing at the checkpoint actually laughing with one of his fellow soldiers.

"Hm?" you ask her, and she gives you a look as she nods in his direction.

"With your soldier."

"He isn't my soldier."

"He's something," Tess says matter-of-factly, and you let out a sigh.

Joel pretends he isn't listening as he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes survey the square, but his ears are very tuned into the conversation. As much as he hates to admit it, he's just as curious about the nature of your relationship to Sam as Tess is.

"I've known Sam a long while. . . we met in FEDRA military school," you say finally, and Tess' expression barely changes as her gaze bores into yours, eyebrows moving up as they silently ask you to continue your story.

"Here in Boston?" she asks, and you shake your head.

"No, uh," you clear your throat, and Joel notices the way your fingers twitch nervously around the blade, "San Francisco. . . I was there before I came here a few months ago."

"Didn't they have a full-scale insurrection in San Francisco?" Joel speaks up, and you turn your head to look at him, nodding as your eyes fall back on your fingers, which twirl the knife around in your hands.

"Yeah, it was carnage," you say, swallowing, before your eyes move back up, resting on Sam again, "We barely got out of it alive."

"How'd you end up there in the first place?" Tess asks, and you give her a cautious look.

"How come you're suddenly interested in my life story?" you ask her, your tone almost defensive, and she raises her eyebrows as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"If this goes right, I have a nasty little feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, and I don't like going into my partnerships blind," she tells you, and you nod with a small scoff, "And I guess we've got time to kill."

"I guess we do," you say sarcastically, and Joel watches as you click the blade into the handle, before putting it in your pocket.

"Outbreak day was the day before my 10th birthday," you explain, swallowing, hands clasping together in your lap, "My parents owned a convenience store in Fresno."

"California?" Tess interjects, frowning, "The hell d'you come all the way out here for?"

"It wasn't my choice," you tell her, sighing as you clear your throat, and Joel watches from his peripheral as you start to pick the skin around your nails.

You’re nervous.

"By some miracle, we lived through outbreak day. . . then, for a while, we were in the San Francisco QZ, but that didn't end well."

"We heard that all the way over here."

You nod, swallowing. "Fireflies. . . just like you have here, I guess, only more willing to risk collateral damage for the cause."

When neither Joel nor Tess speak, you clear your throat again. "San Francisco QZ wasn't always bad. . . it started out relatively okay, but more people just kept coming, and for some reason they handled it badly. I mean the center of the city was heavily fortified, and probably the safest you'd find on the west coast. . . but you had to get in there, first. Most people lived on the outskirts, and into the surrounding Bay Area. . . FEDRA still had some control. There was a fence for infected all the way across the Bay bridge, but it became the number 1 breeding ground for crime and squalor. . . and resistance. People were starving, poor, and angry, and looking for someone to blame."

"Recipe for disaster," Tess mutters, and you nod, swallowing hard.

"They ignored the Fireflies for a long time, they just let them do their thing, it was all mostly non-violent. I guess we got lucky, because they allowed my dad to run this little store right on the outskirts of the inner city. . . he used to let the Fireflies use the storefront to move goods easily in and out of the zone and the suburbs without treading on FEDRA's toes."

"Your dad was a firefly?" Tess interjects, one of eyebrows raised, but you can't decipher whether she looks impressed by or dismissive of the fact.

"No," you say, pointedly, "He believed in the cause, definitely. . . but he had us. . . he couldn't commit to it like others."

"Touching," Joel mutters, and your eyes deliver a stinging glare as you regard him, before taking another breath and looking away.

"The first time the Fireflies took a more radicalized approach to their resistance, I remember I was in the store. . . I would help my dad, and the FEDRA facility two blocks down got blown up by a car bomb from the street. . . 14 soldiers died, all teenagers that were training at the academy they had there."

"Jesus," Joel lets out a sour breath, shaking his head as he looks away again for a second, eyes on the abandoned church.

"I remember my dad arguing with some guys on our doorstep that night. . . the SF Fireflies had had a change of leadership," you explain, and Joel notices the way you wring your hands nervously as you tell them, his own arms crossed as he regards you. "He refused to help them any longer and they weren't pleased. . .they tried to threaten him but he wouldn't give in. I guess someone overheard the conversation in the street because when I got back from school the next day, he'd been arrested–" your voice stalls in your throat for a second and Joel watches as you swallow, hard, before you continue, "They hung him in the square, for everyone to see. . . I didn't find out until I walked past him on my way home from school."

The silence that follows is heavy, and as you look down at your fiddling hands in your lap, Joel and Tess exchange a shocked look.

"I'm sorry," Tess offers after a second, and you nod. Even though you aren't looking at them, Joel watches as you swallow hard, your eyes blinking furiously, before you take a deep breath and look back up.

"Yeah, well–" you clear your throat again, offering a bitter half-smile, "I guess everyone's got a shitty story."

"What happened after that?" Joel asks, and you shrug.

"My mom enrolled me in the FEDRA academy a few months after that. . . I would spend weekends at home to see them, but most of the time, I was there. . . it's where I met Sam."

"Them?" Tess asks, and her tone is surprisingly gentle, and she watches as you swallow hard.

"Yeah, I had a little sister," you explain, nodding, "My mom was pregnant when the outbreak happened, and Grace was born a couple of months after outbreak day. . . she was 6 years old when my dad died."

"Are they here? In Boston?" Tess asks, and the minute you look at her, and she sees the pain in your eyes as you shake your head, she wishes she'd never asked.

"No, uh–. . . Gracie died of typhoid fever the next year, and my mom hung herself a few months after that– a couple of days after I turned sixteen."

Another silence follows as your purse your lips awkwardly, your eyes swimming with grief as your fingers pick at each other. Joel feels a familiar tightness in his chest; he wasn’t necessarily surprised you’d been through what could only be described as a pile of shit, but hearing it still stirred uneasy feelings for him as he thinks about his own loss.

If Sarah had been alive, she would’ve undoubtedly told him to be nicer to you.

Finally, Tess breaks the silence again.

"Why'd you come out here?" Tess asks, and you shrug. Joel watches as you blink furiously a couple of times, but when you clear your throat and look back up at them, he can still see the tears lingering in the corners of your eyes.

"Furthest away I could get," you admit, taking another breath, "The group of fireflies who took over San Francisco, they were out for blood. . . they hung as many FEDRA soldiers as they could get their hands on, young and old, and they didn't care who you were."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tess breathes, and you nod.

"I hadn't worked for FEDRA for a while by that point, but–" you voice quiets in your throat as you press your lips together, "Let's just say I wasn't very popular."

"How'd you two get out of here?" Tess asks, and your eyes fall on Sam again.

"We managed to drive a truck up to Seattle, but they were having their own problems. . . we got separated in the mess of it all. . . Samuel managed to get out in a fleeing FEDRA convoy, and they relocated here. . . I walked."

"You what?" Joel lets out before he can stop himself, making no effort to hide the shock in his voice, "You walked? You walked from Seattle to Boston?"

You shrug as you look between him and Tess. "Where the fuck was I gonna go otherwise? We'd agreed on Boston months before that. . . we'd heard it was better here."

Joel lets out a scoff, shaking his head. "That makes no fucking sense. . . How are you even alive?"

You shrug. "How is anyone alive? We're in the fucking apocalypse, dude. . . I guess my spite got me far."

"That's a lot of fucking spite to go on," Tess says, raising a single eyebrow disbelievingly, "How long did it take you?"

"To Boston? About two months, give or take," you tell her, and Joel lets out another scoff, shaking his head as his gaze rolls over the crowd again, but you ignore him, "Got lucky and found a bike somewhere on the border with Canada. . . cut the time in half."

An impressed expression crosses into Tess' eyes, and when you look to your side, Joel is frowning at you again, and you can tell from his eyes that he can't decide whether or not to believe your outrageous story.

"Look, believe whatever the fuck you want, but that's the honest to god truth," you say with a sigh, before getting to your feet as your eyes go from Sam back to Joel and Tess as you wipe your hands on your jeans uneasily,, “Do you need me here? Cause frankly I smell like shit and I need a shower.”

Even to you, it sounds like a clear lie.

Tess disguises her surprise well, but Joel can read her face because it mirrors his feelings. The unease in your face and voice at talking about your past is intriguing, and Joel can’t shake the feeling that hadn’t been the whole story.

“As long as you’re back for the actual pick up,” she says, and you nod your head, “Cause I gotta go at 16:30, and if I leave Joel to it, the dude’s going to end up with two less teeth than he started rather than with a barrel of fertilizer.”

You try to bite back the small smile that grows on your lips, but you don’t hide it well as Joel scowls at Tess.

“Don’t deal in anger management meds, huh?” you ask, an ounce of your earlier cheekiness returning as you look at Tess, who snorts.

“My life would be easier,” she comments, and you actually chuckle as you step away.

“You two are real fuckin’ funny,” he says, his voice a deep but sarcastic growl, and you give Joel a furtive glance over your shoulder.

“All in good fun,” you shoot back, “See you later.”

With that, you flounce off and down the street, fingers tapping nervously against your thigh as you start weaving through the people.

The minute you’re out of earshot, Tess heaves a breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Joel nods along with an agreeing hum, eyes meeting her stormy ones.

“She can’t be a whole lot older than–”

“27,” Joel says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks at his feet for a second, not wanting to meet Tess’ intense stare, “She’d be two years younger.”

The silence that follows is heavy, before Tess scoffs and shakes her head.

“At 27 I was fucking my way through Detroit city,” she says with a raise of her eyebrows, “Not fighting for my life.”

Joel makes a face. “Thanks for the information.”

“What?” Tess asks, raising a single eyebrow as she looks at him, “You’re not a prude, Joel, so don’t act like one.”

Joel’s eyes shoot her a warning look. Not an acceptable topic of conversation right now.

Tess says nothing more, only the remnants of a cocky smile on her lips as she heaves a sigh, before her eyes zero back in on Sam.

“What’s their deal?” she asks, practically squinting at him, “Are they together?”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, shaking his head as he looks at Sam across the street. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, or you don’t want so?” Tess asks him, and Joel can feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as he ignores her comment.

“He invited her in one night, she said no.”

Tess makes a face, sucking some air between her teeth. “Ouch.”

Joel nods and makes an agreeing hum, before he tears his eyes away from Sam and back to Tess with his usual, indecipherable stare. Her gaze is equally difficult to read as she stares right back at him, but says nothing before she looks away again with a breath.

Eventually, Tess leaves for her job. Joel stands in the same spot, occasionally stretching out or sitting on the little wall when his back starts to protest too loudly, eyes trained on the church and occasionally going back and forth to Sam. He knows the soldier is watching him, too, but Joel doesn’t mind, expression unchanged and as surly as ever.

You come back just after darkness has fallen, when the FEDRA checkpoint has had its last shift rotation and the people of the QZ have started retiring to their homes in time for curfew.

“Have you not moved?” you ask Joel as you approach him, and it takes almost all of his willpower not to jump in surprise. He doesn't know how you'd snuck up on him that way, and makes a mental note to keep an eye out for you doing it in the future.

Joel doesn’t answer you, just letting out a noncommittal grunt that makes you roll your eyes.

“You’re not really a man of many words, are you?” you ask him, sounding bemused, and Joel gives you a look.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of words for you,” he tells you, and your eyebrows raise as you put a mocking hand over your chest.

“Still angry with me for fixing your watch? And solving your supply problem?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes.

“I never asked for you to fix my watch, sweetheart,” he replies in an aggravated tone.

Your lips plump ever so slightly into a mocking pout. “You’re hurting my feelings here, Joel.”

Joel lets out a grunt. “Thank god I don’t give a damn about whose feelings I’m hurting.”

“Taking your role as bitter middle-aged criminal very seriously, I can see,” you say with a snort, and Joel shoots you a glare, but you aren’t looking at him anymore.

Your eyebrows knit together as you look at something, before your teasing expression falls away and it becomes guarded. “That your guy?”

Joel turns to watch Peter approaching them from the end of the dark street. His lips are twitched into that same smile that gave Joel the creeps the first time he met him. He gives Joel a nod, and behind him, two young-looking guys come out of the alley, too.

Joel is immediately on edge; the unnerving smile, the rifle one of the guys is wearing, coupled with the way all three men looked at you, sets him on high alert.

“Hello there, Joel.”

There’s a small crease in your brow at the tone of his voice as you come to stand level with Joel, who nods at the man. His whole body is tense as he stands as straight as he can, eyes never leaving Peter. He wonders whether you’ve noticed the change in the air yet, but he doesn’t want to stick around long enough for you to figure it out.

“We’ve got your fertilizer,” he grunts, nodding towards the church, and an impressed expression crosses Peter’s face. Then, he looks at one of the guys standing by his side, motioning with his head. The guy stalks off towards the abandoned church, as Peter looks back at you.

“I gotta say I’m impressed, shit’s been real hard to get my hands on. . . didn’t think you’d have it in you,” Peter muses, before his eyes move from Joel to you, “Maybe it has something to do with this lovely lady, hm?”

Joel doesn’t have to look at you to feel the shift in your demeanor as you stand next to him, and he watches your shoulders square from his peripheral and you give Peter a cold smile.

“You’re smooth,” you remark, your tone tinged with sarcasm, “What do you need all this fertilizer for?”

Peter’s smile becomes icy.

“Putting your nose where it doesn’t belong gets people killed around here, honey,” he says, Joel feels something stir in his stomach at the sound of the nickname and the implicit threat, “But if you’re done asking questions, you're welcome to come with us for a drink. . . promise we’ll show you a real nice time.”

Joel feels his fists balling up, and out of the corner of your eyes, you notice his shoulders tensing even more.

“I’ll pass,” you say, almost immediately, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow, “As. . . appealing as that sounds.”

Peter lets out a hum, shrugging his shoulders. “Your loss, honey.”

Joel still doesn’t love the look in his eyes as they linger on you, running down your figure.

At that moment, the man he’d sent to check on the merchandise comes back, giving a curt nod. “It’s all there.”

“Great,” Peter says through a breath, before he pulls out another wad of ration cards tied together by some string. He tosses them at Joel. “That’s the rest of it.”

Joel gives another silent nod, but he doesn’t check the ration cards, eyes instead trained steadfastly on Peter as he looks back at you, not wanting to take his eyes off this fucker for even a minute. Again, the twinkle in the guy’s eye gives Joel the creeps.

“You got a home I can walk you to?” Peter tries again, but as you open your mouth to reply, Joel loses his cool.

“She’s fine where she is,” he snaps, his voice steady but not any less threatening as he glares at Peter, who puts up his hands defensively.

“Didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes,” he says in a nonchalant voice, calculating gaze moving between you and Joel, “Ain’t she a little young for you?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap at him, and you’re starting to sound more annoyed by the minute.

“Let’s go,” Joel lets out in a low voice, and to your surprise, you feel his hand close around your forearm. It’s surprisingly gentle as he pulls you back, before showing Peter his back.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Peter calls after both of you, but Joel pays him no heed as he pulls you down the street with a hasty walk.

“Dude,” you say when they’re out of earshot, shivering slightly as you pull your arm out of Joel's grip, “What is with that guy? He’s fucking creepy.”

Joel gives an agreeing hum, nodding as he peers over his shoulder. “He’s definitely got an unnerving gaze.”

“Understatement of the goddamn century,” you snort, before you frown as Joel follows you when you take a left in the alley towards your apartment. "What are you doing? You live the other way.”

Joel peers over his shoulder again. “Walking you home.”

You raise a single eyebrow. “I’m not helpless, Joel. . . I can walk myself home.”

“I never said you were, trust me,” Joel says with a snort, remembering the press of your blade against his stomach like it was just yesterday, “But something tells me Ted Bundy's starving twin back there doesn’t react very well to being told no, and I don’t need your sudden unexplained disappearance on my conscience.”

It takes a significant amount of your willpower not to say anything teasing, instead nodding. “Thanks.”

You walk mostly in silence, but when you arrive at your street, you see that somebody is leaning against the building, arms crossed and clearly waiting. It’s Sam.

“You’re a popular girl tonight,” Joel notes with a raise of his eyebrows as he slows down slightly, and you let out a small snort.

“It has to do with my irresistible charm,” you tell him jokingly, raising your arms, “Half-dead and struggling to make ends meet. . . it’s the new sex.”

You watch with some satisfaction as the corner’s of Joel’s mouth twitch slightly into what you can only assume would be a smile, before he stops completely, eyeing Sam.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, giving you a look you can’t decipher, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

You give a small nod, suddenly feeling a little awkward as you’re overcome with an urge to bid him goodbye in some way, but you don’t know how. Instead, you keep your hands by your side, swinging them awkwardly as you look back at Sam.

“You know where to find me,” you say with a small chuckle, before heaving a breath, “Night, Joel.”

Joel says nothing, just nods once at you, before he turns on his heel and disappears down the street, darkness swallowing him up.

taglist:

apart from those of you who explicitly asked to be added, i also took the liberty of tagging some of you that showed interest in more parts (if you do not want to be tagged, please please let me know, in which case i apologize in advance for doing so!)

@tanushreeg27 @user1112223334449890171 @frecklefacelm @samarav @alyssiamarierenee @platinumblondeedition @huntersandpie @lizlil @lumpypoll @pedro-pascal-3nthusiast @phryne-fish @ponyboys-sunsets

as usual, replies, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #the last of us

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