#BEST STOP STARTIN

[millermouth]

Sundress

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel prides himself on his patience, but that little sundress of yours that you’re wearing to the summer solstice? It’s his undoing. He does his best to behave...until he gets you alone.

|| smut mdni 18+, he sure does fuck you in the sundress, pinv, f!receiving oral, teasing, pussy pronouns whoops, daddy kink, pet names praissseeeeeeee kinkkkkkkk, joel is in love, jackson!joel, established relationship, I pictured game!joel but you do what ya want || Inspired by these wonderful requests x x If you found this before I updated the banner sry

First and foremost, Joel was a polite man.

He was raised to say yes ma’am and no ma’am, never forgetting his please and thank you’s. It was something a Southern man like him held onto, even after the world had gone to hell.

Respect came first. Restraint. Control.

But then spring came to Jackson, and your layers of clothing started to shed. Bit by bit, the cold loosened its grip, and so did his discipline. Your neck was no longer hidden beneath those thick scarves you loved, your arms bare when the sun was shining, and every so often, he caught a glimpse of soft, warm skin—the dip of your lower back, the curve of your stomach when you stretched to reach something, the way your t-shirts lifted just enough to tease.

He told himself it was nothing—just the natural way of things. He’d seen you naked in his bed enough times to know your body like the back of his own hand. Cherished and kissed and loved every inch. Warmer weather just meant lighter clothes, more sun on skin.

Nothing to make a man lose his damn mind over.

And then—Christ—summer arrived, and he was no better than any other man.

Somehow, this was worse. Because now, that soft, sun-kissed skin he worshipped in the quiet of your home was everywhere. 

Teasing him. 

Tormenting him.

Joel had spent the whole morning baking under the sun, sweat clinging to his skin, dust settling in the creases of his shirt. The construction site had been brutal—hauling lumber, setting up new fencing, fixing the shit that kept breaking down in town. His muscles ached, his skin was hot, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet place to sit.

But Tommy had other plans.

“C’mon,” his brother had grinned, clapping him on the back as they finished up for the day. “Solstice picnic’s startin’.” 

And as Joel opened his mouth, about to argue that he needed to get back to you, Tommy had cut him off, already a step ahead.

"She’s already there. Maria put her to work stringin’ up lights and pickin’ flowers or somethin’. Now get movin’ before she starts wonderin’ if you forgot about 'er."

Joel grunted, stripping off his work gloves and tucking them into his belt. His palms were rough, lined with grit, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he swore the damn heat had sunk into his bones.

Wouldn’t be the first time he showed up to one of these things straight from work, sweat-streaked and worn. No one gave a shit. So he walked beside his younger brother, looking forward to getting through another one of the town's little parties.

That was when he saw you. 

That little sundress. White, lacy, soft. Light enough that it barely touched your skin, the summer breeze slipping beneath it and lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bare skin of your upper thigh.

Joel swallowed hard, the heat rolling through him having nothing to do with the damn sun.

You were glowing—golden in the late afternoon light, hair catching in the breeze, your smile easy as you laughed at something Maria said. Just standing there, sipping something cool, completely oblivious to the way he’d stopped in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. Tommy excused himself as they arrived, saying a short ‘catch up with you later’.

Joel made himself move, rolling his shoulders, setting his jaw. 

Polite, he reminded himself. Gentle.

Joel had been raised right, after all.

So when he walked up to you, he made it seem easy, effortless. Like his hands weren’t itching with the need to touch. Like his pulse hadn’t just kicked up something fierce.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured as he approached behind you, his wide grip settling low on your hips.

You twisted around to face him, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.” Your hands slid around his neck as you pressed up for a kiss—soft, warm, sweet with the taste of iced tea and that cherry chapstick you always wore.

Joel had to fight with every fiber of his being not to haul you over his shoulder and carry you straight home.

Didn’t help that you hummed against his lips, content and tender, fingers brushing at the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Pretty thing like you’s got half of Jackson lookin’.”

You grinned, fingers still playing lazily with the curls at his nape. “That so?”

Joel huffed, the corner of his mouth tilting up, but there was something weighted behind the way his fingers flexed against your hips, pressing in just a little firmer.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice dipping low. “S’pose I can’t blame ‘em.” His thumb brushed the fabric of your dress, right where it pressed into the soft skin of your waist. His restraint was hanging by a thread. “Ain’t their fault you’re the prettiest thing out here.”

“You’re sweet,” you said, a tinge of pink painting your cheeks. 

His hand squeezed at your hip, just once, and then he exhaled sharply, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before finally—finally—forcing himself to step back.

Because if he didn’t, this picnic was about to end real fast.

You turned to grab him a beer from the cooler, Tommy’s homemade brew—practically gold now that the days were creeping past eighty degrees. The glass was cool against your fingertips as you popped the cap and turned back, pressing it into Joel’s waiting hand.

“Figured you could use one.”

Joel took it with a small nod, taking a slow sip. “Thanks, darlin’.”

His voice was warm, easy like he hadn’t spent the last several minutes imagining what he planned to do you tonight.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Anything for you, cowboy.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner, “Don’t say that just yet,”

Something in the air shifted, something subtle, something unspoken but you felt it coursing through you, a warmth that brought a flush to your neck.

Joel’s eyes lingered, dark and steady, holding yours like he had all the time in the world. A slow, searching kind of stare, like he was committing the sight of you to memory, like he had something he wanted to say if you were surrounded by a crowd.

You felt the heat of it traveling from your cheeks to your stomach with toe curling intensity..

The fire crackled nearby. Someone laughed in the distance. The music played on.

But before either of you could say anything else, someone clapped him on the back—Tommy again, grinning, dragging him into conversation with a few others, leaving you standing there with a knowing little smirk.

Still, you stayed close.

And so did he.

The afternoon passed in a slow, easy blur. Music drifted through the warm air, laughter rang across the field, and Joel—Joel was everywhere.

His hand at your lower back as you walked through the crowd.

His arm slung over the back of your chair when you sat beside him at one of the makeshift picnic tables.

His fingers brushing over your thigh when he leaned in to murmur something low in your ear, just for you.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not in the way most folks would notice. But you felt it—felt the way his touches lingered a second longer than necessary, the way his gaze dropped to your legs when the hem of your dress rode up just a little, the way his jaw clenched whenever you gave other men any of your attention–as kind and endearing as you were. It wasn’t your fault. You were kind, warm, effortlessly magnetic. People were drawn to you, it was just who you were.

Joel Miller was trying to behave.

And failing miserably.

By the time the sun had long dipped below the mountains, the stars shining in the dark blue sky above, he was done pretending.

You were settled on his lap, your bare legs draped over his, firelight flickering against your skin. The air was balmy, thick with the scent of burning wood and cool summer breeze, but your skin was warm against him.

His hand rested easy on the outside of your thigh at first, a casual thing, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. But as the fire burned lower, so did his restraint. Slowly, lazily, his palm inched higher—skimming up, up, until his fingers slipped beneath your dress, disappearing into the soft folds of fabric.

And then he gripped you, fingers pressing into the juncture of your thigh and ass, squeezing like he just needed something to hold onto.

You jolted slightly, a sharp breath slipping past your lips as you swatted at his arm. “Joel.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t even pretend to be innocent, his fingers flexing again, kneading the flesh beneath his palm.

You tried to glare, but the traitorous smile pulling at your lips ruined the effect. “Behave yourself.”

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, looking up at you with something wicked in his eyes. His hand stayed exactly where it was.

“You gon’ make me?” he murmured, voice low, rough enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitched. And then, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—like it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it—he exhaled, voice all gravel and want:

“This dress.”

His hand beneath your dress slid back down, fingering at the hem of the white lace, so pale now compared to your warm skin.

Your breath caught, eyes flickering down to where his fingers toyed with the fabric. His own gaze stayed locked on your face, watching every little shift, every little reaction.

When his thumb ghosted over your kneecap, you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with want as he leaned into the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to drive me outta my mind.”

And maybe you were.

You knew how much Joel loved you in dresses. It was something about the way they softened you, how the fabric clung to your curves just right, how effortless and feminine you looked draped in lace and light cotton. He never outright said it, but you saw it in the way his hands lingered, in the way his eyes darkened whenever you wore something delicate—something that made you look like you were made for pretty things.

Joel might have been a rough man, all grit and strength, but it was the softness that undid him.

Your back arched into him just an inch, barely anything, but enough that he felt it. Enough that the warmth of your body, the scent of you, the soft brush of your hair against his cheek made his brain go sluggish, thick with something hot and needy.

And then you looked at him.

Heavy-lidded, dazed, lips parted just slightly—like you were already halfway gone before he’d even laid his hands on you. It made something tighten in his chest, made his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, an involuntary reaction to just how badly he wanted to feel more of you.

Your hand came up to his face, and before either of you could think twice, you were leaning in.

The kiss was nothing like the ones you’d shared earlier—no teasing, no gentle sweetness. This was urgent, all heat and hunger, your tongue kitten-licking at his bottom lip, testing, tasting, making his half-hard cock twitch beneath his jeans. He nearly groaned, nearly let it slip from his throat, but his grip on control was thin, fraying at the edges.

Because when you pulled away, instead of giving him space, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and an octave lower than your usual sweet lilt.

“Let's go home,” you whispered, kissing along his earlobe, voice barely there—but it hit him like an electric shock.

That was all it took.

Joel was like an animal waiting for his trigger word, waiting for the command to be free, to take what he wanted.

He stood slowly, deliberately, trying to keep himself cool, calm, polite—saving face only because he owed that to you. Not because he cared what people thought. Hell, half of Jackson already had enough to say about him.

But he behaved for you.

For his girl.

Joel stood slowly, setting your legs down gently as he rose, his palm grazing the small of your back—just barely, just enough to feel the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. You stayed close, bodies still humming from the heat of each other, lingering even as you murmured your goodbyes.

But the further you got from the crowd, the needier your touches became.

Your fingers curled around his arm, holding tight, your body leaning into his, pressing into the solid warmth of him with every step. And Joel—Joel wasn’t any better. His hand had already found its way around your waist, fingers spreading over your hip like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner onto your own street—finally alone—that Joel came to a sudden stop.

Your brows furrowed, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could even get the words out, he bent down and hauled you over his shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion.

A sharp gasp left your lips. “Joel!”

“Shoulda done this an hour ago,” he muttered, not even remotely apologetic. His grip tightened around the back of your thighs, adjusting you against him like you weighed nothing. And then—just to make sure you knew exactly what kind of mood he was in—his palm slid up the back of your legs, landing a sharp swat against the bare skin of your ass.

A squeak slipped from your throat, your fingers digging into the back of his shirt as you squirmed in his hold.

“Joel!” you hissed, but he could hear the grin despite the scandalized tone.

“Shh…” He chuckled, his grip tightening around your thighs as he strode up the porch steps. “Don’t want the neighbors pokin’ their heads out, do ya?”

The wood groaned beneath his boots, but he didn’t so much as hesitate, not even as he crossed the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him without breaking stride. He had one thing on his mind.

One destination.

You barely had time to process the familiar path of your home before Joel was hauling you up the stairs like you weren’t even there—still slung over his shoulder, still gripping onto him as your laughter mixed with the sound of his heavy footfalls.

And then suddenly—you were airborne.

A startled gasp left your lips as he bounced you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you, breathless and winded. You propped yourself up on your elbows, hair tousled and wild, looking up at him as he stood at the edge of the bed, staring you down like he was about to devour you whole.

Your chest rose and fell, your pulse thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and amusement.

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” you teased, breathless but grinning.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he pulled off your boots. Once discarded, he hooked his arms under your knees, dragging you down the mattress, pressing you into him. The motion sent your dress hiking up around your waist, leaving you spread open beneath him, your panties on perfect display.

“Oh, hunny,” he drawled, looking at the damp patch on the fabric, “you keepin’ this from me?”

Before you could answer, he leaned down, hands trailing up your thighs, easing them over his shoulders. The first brush of his lips against the fabric was slow, deliberate—a kiss to your panty-clad mound, soft but enough to make you shudder. 

Then he kept going. Mouth trailing lower, teasing.

Your head tipped back at the feeling of his beard grazing your sensitive skin, a breathy moan slipping out as your elbows gave, dropping you onto the bed completely. One hand found his hair, gripping, your fingers tangling in the dark curls streaked with silver. He watched you, eyes drinking you in. 

“N-no,” you breathed, “Always yours, Joel,”

“I know, baby, I know.” he cooed, voice softer now, full of reverence. He reached up, gripping the gusset of your panties, wrapping a thick finger around the damp fabric, tugging it to the side to reveal exactly what he wanted. His beard scraped against you when he kissed the skin of your thigh, sending a shockwave through your body, making you twitch beneath him.

A whimper left your lips, your hips lifting without thinking.

Joel chuckled, low and knowing, watching as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Aw, she’s flirtin’ with me, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against you. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Wish you could see just how pretty she looks right now.”

“Joel.” It was a whimper, a plea, a warning.

His lust blown eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth still hovering just over where you needed him most. “What is it, baby?”

You swallowed, hips shifting, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Please.”

Joel hummed, dragging his mouth closer but still not giving you what you wanted. “Please what?”

Because hell, he’d spent all damn day watching you, aching for you, burning with want while you smiled and laughed and let that damn dress drive him to madness. If anything, he deserved to have his fun now. He needed to hear you say it.

Your fingers flexed in his hair, a little tug, a little desperation, “Please touch me, Daddy.”

Joel’s blood turned molten. Heat roared through him so fierce, so instant, it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. And maybe you knew exactly what that word did to him.

He dipped his head back down, tongue sliding through your folds, groaning against you as he finally gave in. You were so warm, so slick, so ready for him that he had to take a second just to breathe, just to let himself have this.

His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he held you open for him, his mouth working slow, savoring. You shuddered beneath him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your body already arching toward his mouth like you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue flicked against your clit, lazy at first, teasing, before dipping lower to drink you in, groaning as he tasted you properly. Slow and deep, his tongue pressed inside you, inching in, sliding out, before licking back up and pursing his lips around your clit, sucking and grazing his teeth, making your hips jerk against his mouth.

His beard scraped against your thighs, rough and warm, the contrast making you tremble harder beneath him. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he was relearning you all over again, savoring every sound, every twitch, every sharp gasp that slipped past your lips.

Joel’s hands flexed against your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin, grounding you as his mouth worked you into a pliant mess.

“Need to get her ready for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, words spoken more to himself than to you. His mouth never left you as one broad hand slid between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers traced over your entrance, prodding the pool of arousal there.

“So damn soft,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your slick skin. “And already so wet for me. She likes it when I take my time, don’t she, baby?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, too lost in the slow, perfect way he touched you.

You only nodded, voice failing you as his finger finally pushed inside—just one at first, easing in with aching patience, stretching you open. A ragged moan left your lips, fingers twisting in his hair as he curled it just right, pressing against that spot inside you that made your whole body shudder.

He hummed in approval, lips finding your clit again, his tongue swirling slow, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“You make the prettiest noises for me," he murmured against you, his voice thick and rough with hunger. He slid another finger in, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady pace, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

Your body was already tightening, your thighs trembling, your breath hitching into soft, broken whimpers. You couldn’t stop yourself from rocking into him, chasing that feeling, your pleasure building with every slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers, every teasing flick of his tongue.

Joel could feel it, the way you clenched down around him, the way your legs shook against his shoulders.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss right over your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, his fingers pressing up into your soft, velvety walls. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel her.”

That was all it took–your body tensed, the pleasure cresting and crashing all at once as you came around his fingers, a sharp, broken cry slipping from your lips. Your thighs squeezed around his head, but Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow, working you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him.

He groaned low, almost like he was the one falling apart, dragging his fingers slow as he eased you down, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

“So goddamn sweet for me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you as Joel pressed one last lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling back.

He looked wrecked.

His beard glistened, slick with your release, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

His hands slid up your legs, slow and deliberate, until they gripped your waist, spreading you open beneath him as he crawled over you, pressing his weight into you. The fabric of your dress was still bunched around your hips, the lace soft beneath his calloused hands, but he liked that you kept it on.

Something about how pretty you looked in it, something about knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this.

His hands found your face, cupping it, tilting your chin up, and then his mouth was on yours. Hot, deep and unyielding.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers sliding into his hair as he stole every breath from your lungs. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, his beard damp against your chin as he pressed in harder, hungrier. It was so much—too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, you were looking up at him, your thumb brushing against the slick sheen on his jaw, your heart pounding.

"Can I take care of you, daddy?" you whispered, voice warm and so damn sweet it made his chest ache.

But he was already shaking his head, already unbuckling his belt, already too far gone to let you do anything but take him.

"Not tonight, baby," he murmured, his low drawl barely audible. His belt hit the floor, his jeans sliding low on his hips as he leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time.

"I need to feel you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more raw. His hand ran down your thigh, fingers pressing into soft skin, feeling you, grounding himself in you. "If you put that pretty mouth on me, there won’t be a chance in hell I get to feel you cum on my cock, ‘cause I’d be done in minutes with the state you got me in."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes warm as your hands smoothed down his sides, fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans, helping him push them lower.

"That bad, huh?" you teased.

Joel exhaled a shaky chuckle, dropping his forehead to yours, barely holding himself together as he pulled himself free.

"Worse," he admitted.

His cock was thick, flushed, leaking, the head dragging through your slick, teasing you. Joel groaned low at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tip of himself, his lips brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his voice just a whisper.

“Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

You arched your back into him, the flimsy straps of your dress slipping down your shoulders as you reached for him, arms winding around his neck, legs hooking around his waist like you couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled him in, his body pressing flush against yours. His one handed planted by your head, the other guiding the wide tip of his cock at your weeping entrance, then slowly sank into you like he’d been starving for it all damn day.

He had, in fact.

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice strained as he bottomed out completely, a moan tearing through his throat as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. He held still for a second, letting you adjust, letting himself breathe before his lips brushed against your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Always take my cock so good,” 

You were breathless, feeling split in two around him, your lips parted, jaw slack, head falling back against the bedspread. Joel took his time kissing along your jaw, lips trailing soft and slow as he felt the way your body tightened around him. His cock twitched despite how patient he was trying to be.

“Daddy,” you breathed, voice barely there, and as he pulled out inch by inch, he watched your eyes flutter shut, your body clenching down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Joel groaned, pushing back in, slow but deep, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush to yours.

And when he pulled out again, the obscene, wet sound of your slick walls taking him made you both moan in tandem, his agonizingly slow pace making every sensation sharper, every sound deeper, more electric.

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, voice thick. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. S’like she was made to take me, huh?”

You whined softly, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, legs tightening around him, desperate for more.

“Need—need you to—” you tried, but your mind was foggy, wrecked, gone. You needed more. Needed him to let go, to take it. Needed to feel the weight of all that pent-up frustration from the day, from the way you’d teased him with every flash of your thigh, every fleeting touch, every slow, knowing smile.

Joel kissed your temple, his hands roaming, soothing, adoring, wanting. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured, “tell me what you need.” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and full of something tender. “I’ll give you anything—give you the whole damn world if you asked.”

Your heart swelled, warmth pooling in your chest before another wave of want took over. You smiled up at him, fingers smoothing up his back, knowing exactly what you wanted to hear from him.

"Want it harder, Joel." Your voice was thick as you swallowed, mind finally clearing enough to put your need into words. "You were so good all day, even when you knew I was teasing."

You heaved a breath as his eyes opened fully, locking onto you, dark and unreadable as he listened.

"So polite," you murmured, pressing a slow kiss to his lips before your fingers slid into his hair, tightening just enough to make him exhale, "Such a gentleman. Show me, Joel—show me what you wanted to take all day."

His eyes twinkled with amusement for a brief second—right before you clenched down around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper. His cock twitched, stiffened, his breath stalling as his fingers dug into your skin.

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby? That what you need?" His voice was low, wrecked, something dark laced in it now. "Cause all I wanted to do all damn day was bend you over and shove my cock in you so goddamn bad. Show you exactly how crazy you make me."

"Show me," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chin, his beard tickling your lips as it trailed along his jaw. "Please, Daddy. Let me feel it."

Joel didn’t hesitate.

His hands tightened at your waist, steady and commanding, before sitting up and rolling you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. His cock stayed inside you, the shift in position knocking the air from your lungs, the new angle making you feel every inch of him in a way that had your fingers digging into the sheets.

Before you could even process it, his palms pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down until your chest met the mattress, ass lifted, legs spread, completely open for him.

That’s when you felt the delicate lace of your dress catching beneath his knee, the soft fabric now bunched awkwardly between you.

Your breath wavered. Fingers twitching against the sheets, you hesitated before murmuring, "Should I take this off?"

He smoothed a hand over your ass, his other gripping the bunched-up fabric of your dress so it was pulled into his fist.

"You're keepin' it on," he murmured, his voice edged with something rough, something final. The way his fingers tightened in the fabric told you just how much he'd already thought about this moment—how long he'd wanted it, pictured it, waited for it, "want you just like this."

You barely had time to whimper before he pulled you back into him, sinking deep, stretching you open all over again.

Joel groaned, a long, deep, guttural noise from his throat, his one hand at your waist, the other pulling you back via his fist in your dress as he set the pace. He was slow at first, making sure you felt every thick inch, every ridge and vein of his throbbing cock before pulling out and snapping his hips forward again.

"Christ," he rasped, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he leaned over you a bit, "You feel that, baby? Feel how fuckin' deep I am?"

All you could do was nod, moaning brokenly as he buried himself to the hilt, again and again, dragging you back onto him each time.

Joel groaned, dropping his head forward for a second before his grip tightened on your dress again, using it to pull you back into him.

"Greedy little thing," he murmured, his fingers gripping tighter at your waist as he rolled his hips deeper. "That what you wanted, baby? Want me to fuck you just like this?"

"Yes," you gasped, voice breaking on the word. "Just like that, Joel."

Your breath came rough and uneven, and then his grip on your dress tightened, fingers bunching up the fabric at your waist. He used it to pull you back onto him, meeting each thrust with an unrelenting force, his other hand splaying across your back to keep you steady.

"Look at you," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with something wrecked and reverent all at once. "Takin’ it so good. My perfect girl."

The praise sent heat licking up your spine, your body tightening around him in response. He felt it, too—felt the way you clenched down on him, the way your legs trembled as he drove into you harder.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, leaning over you as his hand slipped under you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch. "You gonna come for me again? Hmm?"

You nodded frantically, pushing back into him, desperate for more. "Please, Joel," you whimpered. "Need it."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice softer now, lips brushing the back of your shoulder, his thrusts still deep but growing rougher, more urgent. "Gonna give it to you, sweetheart. Gonna feel you come all over me."

His fingers pressed firmer against your clit, circling in a perfect rhythm as his cock dragged against that sweet spot inside you, his name slipping from your lips in a broken moan as the tension in your belly tightened, ready to snap.

"That's it, baby," Joel groaned, voice ragged. "Come for me, let me feel her on my cock."

And with the way he was moving, the way he was touching you, the way he was whispering those wrecked, adoring words against your skin—you had no choice but to let go.

Pleasure sparked white over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as your body shook, your voice lost in a strangled cry. Joel cursed under his breath, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he felt you unravel around him, his hands gripping you tight, holding you through it.

"That's my girl," he muttered, voice thick, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck as he kept moving, chasing his own release, determined to follow you over the edge, "Good fucking girl,"

Joel’s thrusts turned sloppy, desperate, deep, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your waist tightened, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and wrecked, his body locking up as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing deep, holding you there.

And then he was gone.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, heat flooding you as his cock pulsed, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he rode it out. He pressed his forehead against your back, breath warm against your skin, hands smoothing over your hips as if grounding himself, holding you tight, keeping you close.

He stayed there for a moment, still inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, lips trailing soft, absentminded kisses along your shoulder as he caught his breath. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your skin with quiet adoration.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured into your hair as he placed a kiss on your head, voice low and tender, so different from the way he’d just wrecked you.

You nodded, still catching your breath, body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Joel pressed a final kiss to your cheek before slowly, carefully pulling out, groaning low at the sight of where he’d filled you up, his release already starting to slip out of you.

"Made a mess of you, darlin’," he muttered, his voice warm, affectionate. "Stay right there."

You barely had the strength to move, muscles still loose and spent, but you felt the bed shift as Joel slipped away. You blinked sleepily as he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth.

His hands were gentle, reverent as he cleaned you up, taking his time, murmuring soft words of praise under his breath.

"There we go, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back as he worked. "Always take care of my girl."

Once he was satisfied, he reached for the bunched-up fabric of your dress, his fingers sliding beneath the hem.

"Let’s get this off you, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion but still warm, still full of something tender.

His touch was unhurried, guiding the fabric up your body, letting the fabric peel away from your skin, soft and slow. as you held your arms up for him. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the moment pass without appreciating you all over again.

Once it was gone, he tossed it aside and crawled up beside you in the bed to pull you into his arms, rolling you onto your side, tucking you against his chest.

His arms were strong, solid and warm, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"You still with me?" he murmured, lips ghosting over your temple.

You hummed softly, pressing closer, letting yourself melt into his embrace.

"Good," he sighed, voice low, spent, but content. His fingers traced slow, aimless circles along your spine, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your cheek, anchoring you to him, "Love you, sweetheart,"

"I love you, Joel." you murmured, your voice barely there, the warmth of him pulling you under into a deep sleep.

[bookshelf-dust]

gentle fingers, gentler boy

carmen berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,589

warnings: swearing, joking mentions of arson, one donna mention, i don’t think anything else??

synopsis: carmy needs a haircut—desperately. or so natalie tells him. she sends him to you, and it’s safe to say carmy never would’ve expected a trim would turn into the best date he’s ever had in his life.

a/n: hello, my loves! don’t even ask my why this fic has taken me so long to write because i couldn’t tell you. but i do imagine it has something to do with the fact that i have the attention span of a goldfish these days. anyhow, i wrote this as a kind of predecessor to this fic, because something about carmy and his hairdresser gf is so special to me. let me know what you think!! happy reading <33

————

“You really do need a haircut, Bear.”

Sugar leans up against the office door frame. Her younger brother is hunched over the desk, an Igor incarnate, flipping through a pile of papers Cicero left for him. 

Richie’s voice booms throughout the kitchen. “I been tellin’ him that, Sug! It needs a wash, too. He’s startin’ to look like Jack…Jack…” He snaps his fingers, searching for a name. “The psycho asshole from The Shining!”

“Jack Torrence,” Marcus chirps.

“Jack Torrence!” Richie claps, making Sugar roll her eyes. She moves closer to Carmen, leaning against the corner of the desk. She crosses her arms. 

“I told you, Carm, you can go see my girl. She’s never done me wrong.” 

That small, gentle smile she has grows on her lips. Natalie gently pushes her brother’s shoulder. “And hey, she stopped me from getting bangs again a few weeks ago.”

Richie’s hands fly upward, pressing together in a prayer pose. “Thank fuck. Bangs were never your look, babe.”

“Shut up, Richie!” Sugar and Carmen’s voices ring out simultaneously, as if they’d rehearsed for this very moment of synchronization.

Carmy’s clogs drag against the tile floor as he braces his palms against the desktop and pushes himself backwards. He scrubs his face with his hands, leaving it tinged red when he finally relents.

He looks up at his sister, a firm wrinkle formed between her brows. Carmen huffs.

“What did you say her name was?” Carmy asks, eyes darting to the clock, searching for the time only to realize no one ever fixed the damn thing. “Hey, Richie! Can you get some fuckin’ batteries in here?”

Sugar’s eyes squeeze shut at the volume Carm’s voice has just reached. But nevertheless, she pinches her nose and says your name. 

“She’s like, fifteen minutes down the road. She went to school for it, she respects shy people, and I promise–she’s not gonna cut your ear off.”

Richie rounds the corner at that exact moment, a pile of double A’s shoved in his pocket. He pulls the analog clock off the wall and pries open the back panel. “Oh, you mean like that time Mikey snipped the tip of his ear clean–”

“Oh my god, enough, Richard!” Sugar’s hands fly around in front of her face. Unfortunately it only encourages Richie further, laughing to himself as he snaps four batteries into place. He’s still laughing—clapping his hands together because he’s so tickled—when he walks back toward the front of the house. 

Carmen’s fist covers his mouth. He’s tempted to laugh himself, but he at least knows better by now. Natalie sighs loud enough for the people across the street to hear. 

“Look, Carm. I’ll even make the appointment for you if that would help, but it’s gotta happen. You look like shit.”

Carmy snorts, standing up from the wonky office chair. “Thanks, Nat.”

Sugar’s phone is already in her hand. 

“So that’s a yes? What time would be best? Actually, I’ll just tell you when you’re going. Settled.”

————

“You getting off, Leigh?”

Your coworker ties her hair up in an artfully messy bun. “Yeah, babe. I took a half day because it’s date night tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, shimmying her way across the floor so she can plant a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“Your mom got the kids?” You ask, laughing to yourself as you rinse the leftover conditioner from your sink. 

Leigh claps her hands. “All weekend, girl!” 

You toss your gloves in the trash, letting her hug you and bounce up and down in glee. She deserves this. She hasn’t gotten a night out with her husband in months, their three-year-old twins keeping them more than occupied.

“I hope you have fun tonight. Drink something with Irish cream in it for me, will you?” 

Leigh’s hands pat your cheeks gently. “Oh, you know I will. Just wish you were getting out there too.”

You wave her away, and she’s quick to hold up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Is Natalie’s brother still coming in today?”

Your eyes dart to the clock over her head. “Should be here in like, five minutes.”

The doorbell chimes. 

Both yours and Leigh’s heads snap in that direction. 

“Or…now.”

“Oh, fucking Christ.”

Your eyes flick back to each other immediately, having spoken at the exact same time. Leigh is not gonna let your outburst go. 

There’s already a devilish grin growing across her face. “You think he’s hot, don’t you?”

You dart around her. “No. Those words never left my mouth.”

She catches you by the belt loop. “You’re right, I believe your exact words were ‘Oh fucking Christ, he could bend me over right here.’” Leigh’s laughter bubbles up and you fear she might keel over. 

“That is an exaggeration,” you huff. 

Leigh slings her worn out, bright red purse over her shoulder. “Bet you were thinking it though.” She risks a glance over her shoulder. “You’re not wrong though. His arms are huge. And you better go help him before we get a bad Yelp review.”

You start to wave her away. “Yeah, alright.” You follow her towards the front desk. “Have fun tonight,” you shout, “and remember to make sure you have meds for tomorrow’s hangover.”

She fake gasps, pausing just beside where Carmen is standing. “Me? Hungover? Never.” Leigh lowers her sunglasses just slightly and directs her next few words at the man in front of her. “She’ll take real good care of you, youngest Berzatto.”

The doorbell chimes as Leigh makes her way out to her beat up Mustang, leaving you and Carmy alone out front. 

He laughs awkwardly, shuffling towards the front counter to meet you.

“Sorry about her,” you say. “She’s full of it. Anyway, Carmen, right? Natalie told me you’d try and come by today.”

Carmy’s cheeks burn with embarrassment from being put on the spot. But also because you’re so…pretty. He manages to pull together a few coherent words. 

“She really said try?” he asks, the barest of smiles gracing his lips.

You cross your arms and walk over to your station. “No. It was more of ‘He’ll be there at 4:30 tomorrow or else I’m going to burn down The Bear and keep the insurance money for myself.’”

Carmen scratches at his curls. “Yeah, that I believe.”

You gently pat the back of your leather chair. “You can sit whenever you’re ready. I realize I never really introduced myself.” You say your name, and even if it’s a name Carm has heard a hundred times before, it somehow sounds hypnotizing falling off your lips. 

The leather backing is cold through Carmy’s t-shirt. He hopes the shiver that moves down his spine when you thread your fingers through his hair passes off as the coinciding goosebumps. 

“So, what are we thinking today, Carmen?”

His big blue eyes blink at you through the mirror. “Carmy,” he says.

“Hm?” you hum, running a wide-toothed comb carefully through his curls so that nothing snags. 

“You don’t have to call me Carmen. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” A low laugh tumbles over his lips. “Carmy is fine.”

You smile at him. “Okay, Carmy. What would you like me to do with your hair today? Buzz cut? Mohawk?” You walk around to face him head on. “Extensions?”

You notice how nervously he plays with his hands. But you get it. You’re hoping to make him as comfortable as you can, and not just for that good Google review.

Carmy runs a hand over his mouth, hiding the sweet smile that’s growing there. The crinkles by his eyes give it away. You’re so fucking charming he can’t stand it. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking just a trim? It’s kinda long over my eyes, and sometimes it’s good to see things.” You giggle. 

Good god, how’s he gonna get through this?

“Maybe a little shorter on the sides, too.”

“Like a mullet?” You quip.

He snorts. “Nah, not a full mullet. Maybe where it’s barely noticeable that it’s shorter there? I’m also shit at taking care of it, so if you could help with that…”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth. Carmy has to clear his throat, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “How ‘bout this. I’ll take you to the sink and give it a wash, and then we’ll trim it, and I can have you help me style it so it’s easier when you’re at home?”

Carmy nods. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.” 

Your hand slides across the back of his shoulders as you move away and towards the back room full of head-sized basins. “Come on then, Mr. Berzatto. Let’s wash that pretty head of yours.”

————

“That feels so good,” Carmen says, the words leaving his mouth before he has a moment to think them over. “Wait—is that a weird thing to say?”

You laugh from your place behind him. “No, not at all. That’s why I keep my nails a little longer, because my clients always tell me this is the best part.” Your hands are covered in a lavender-scented shampoo, your fingertips massaging the foam into his scalp. “A good head scratch does wonders for the soul.”

You watch Carmy’s lips lift at the corners. His eyes are closed, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he dozed off. You’re always happy to keep a conversation going with clients, but the silence is just as well.

The sounds of foils getting folded in place by your coworker out front, the air conditioner, the radio—it’s all oddly soothing. The radio station Leigh always sets it on has the oddest selection of music choices for one given channel. Not that you mind that either. 

You rinse Carmen’s hair out and apply conditioner to the mids and ends of his curls. You blindly grab a comb, muscle memory putting it in your grasp in seconds.

Carmy swears he’s gonna knock out. He’s trying about as hard as he did in school when he knew he should be paying attention to whatever math lesson but couldn’t keep his eyes open. And when your words reach his ears, he thinks you’ve just read his mind. Sensed the sleep pricking at his eyelids. 

“You do have really nice hair, Carmy. Anyone else in your family have curls?”

You watch the way his brows knit together. “I think my mom? You’d never know it though. She’s straightened it every day since I was a teenager, like even when we weren’t leaving the house.”

You focus on your final rinse of his hair, allowing him to continue. “When I was a kid though, if she showered before bed and I needed her, her hair would be all wet and curly. That’s the only time I saw it like that.”

Carmy sits up when you wrap a thin towel around his head, holding it secure as he follows you back to your station. 

“Leigh, the woman leaving when you came in? She has lots of clients like that. A lot of people weren’t taught how to take care of their curly hair.”

“Is that a hint?” Carmen quips. It makes you snort. 

“Just a gentle one.”

Carmy watches while you cut his hair. Every once in a while your tongue will poke out, or you’ll wiggle your hips to a song on the radio. When you’re almost finished, what Carmen thinks is a Madonna song comes on. 

You start humming, and Carmy knows he’s done for. Richie would call him whipped. He probably will tomorrow morning, just by reading Carm’s face. 

“Out of the sky, I close my eyes…heaven help me.”

Carmy lets out a little laugh because you’re doing this little dance as you sift through his curls. You hear it, and it only encourages you more. 

“Big Madonna fan?” he asks, his hand rubbing over his mouth to hide the boyish grin there. The tattoo on his hand catches your eye. 

“She’s good for the soul.”

You crouch in front of him, rummaging through a cabinet for he doesn’t know what. “Your tattoos are pretty, by the way,” you say. It takes him by surprise. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

You emerge with two bottles. “Do people not usually compliment them?” You spray his hair down with cool water, getting it to the stage of damp you need for the products to work. 

Carmy laughs lowly. Maybe with a little hint of embarrassment. “Nah, they usually ask me what the hell they are or if I was drunk when I got ‘em.”

“Were you?”

He meets your playful gaze. “Only for a few.” Your smile is downright gleeful. 

“M’kay, Carm. Let me give you the rundown.” He straightens and you get a glimpse of the chef he left at The Bear to visit you today. “So this is a leave-in conditioner. After you shower, you put just a little of this in your hands—like this—and kinda run it through your hair all over. Just so it’s in there well.”

You demonstrate, and for the first time, Carmy finally understands how people can look at him and question his ability to cook so seamlessly. That’s the way you do hair. Like it’s as easy as breathing for you. 

“And this is a gel. It’s super lightweight, so it won’t feel gross or anything, and it’s not expensive either. You wanna use a little more of this, but not by much. You can do the same sort of thing, because your hair takes shape really easily since it’s not damaged any. And once that’s distributed, I want you to scrunch it some, just to get any excess product, but also to help any curls that need encouragement.”

You bite your lip because Carmy is nodding along, giving you his complete attention and it’s fucking adorable. 

“And if there’s any curls by your face or anything, you can use your fingers to define them so they look how you want. You think you can do all that?”

Carmy laughs. “Not a chance.” Then you’re both laughing, and it feels so comfortable anyone would think you’d known each other for years. 

“It takes practice. I’m gonna give you these to take home and use.” Your hand disappears in your back pocket for just a moment. “But if you want to put your number in my phone, I can always send you instructions if you need help…”

Carmy pauses. Freezes, even. You look at him nervously, afraid that maybe your ability to read the room has evaporated. Luckily, he proves you wrong. 

“Wow. That was smooth.”

You exhale and laugh into the back of your hand. “I’m never that smooth, I don’t know how I managed that,” you chuckle. Carmy’s fingers fly over your keyboard. 

“Thank you for today, really. I usually avoid the hairdresser at all costs.”

“Sugar did tell me that,” you grin. 

“M-maybe I could make you dinner or something, for putting up with me…?”

Your face warms. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Carmy blinks. His phone goes off where you’ve shot him a text with just your name and a smiley face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, cool. Alright, yeah. What do you like?”

“I wouldn’t say no to pasta. Pasta is good in all forms.”

————

“You can tell me if you hate it. I won’t be offended.”

“I think you might have a nervous breakdown though, and you’re too pretty for that.”

Carmy blushes, shaking his head at you. 

“What?” you laugh. “It’s true.” Your voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know Carmy a bit better. He’s been busy though, so it’s taken longer than expected to have dinner together. 

He made up for it by providing you with pasta and cheesecake for dessert. He’s wearing this thick sweater, your eyes locking on his forearms where he’s rolled up the sleeves. 

Sugar was so excited when you texted her after his hair appointment. 

Natalie B: How’d it go? Was he a total pain in the ass?

You: it went well! got him all sorted out. he offered me dinner as a thank you (after he paid, of course). would that weird you out??

Natalie B: OMG NO!! He’s got such a giant stick up his ass, maybe your charm pulled it out! Go have fun. Leigh was telling me you hadn’t been on a date in forever last time I was in anyhow.

You: brb blocking both of you shitheads ♥️

You hadn’t expected a haircut to lead to any of this, but sitting here, in Carmy’s sparsely furnished apartment, looking at the soft smile on his face and the nervous way he’s fussing with his fingers as you eat the dinner he made you, you’re grateful.

Not that you’ll tell Natalie that. Or Leigh. They don’t need that ego boost. 

You wipe your mouth on a napkin and look up to see that Carmy is gazing at you expectantly. You laugh, his eye contact making you a little nervous. 

“It’s good, Carm. Really good. You can eat.”

He swipes his hand down his face, but when it comes down to grab his fork, he lets you see his smile. “I’m glad you like it. Not too much parsley or anything? I didn’t add lemon because Sugar mentioned you saying you didn’t like pasta with too much lemon juice in it.”

Your mouth drops open. That’s such a small, easy to forget thing. Maybe you will have to give Nat a hug. 

You reach out to touch his hand. Tentatively, just in case it’s too far. “That’s so sweet, Carmy. It’s perfect, really. And honestly the lemon thing is from one very overpowering pasta experience. Maybe whatever you make me will be better.”

Carmen takes a big bite of pasta and a swig of beer so he has time to collect himself. “Maybe we can fix your lemon-related trauma.”

“As long as there’s a backup snack in case the lemon PTSD can’t be fixed.”

You both burst into a fit of giggles. The rest of dinner goes by, filled with conversation about everything and nothing—Carmy’s lack of knowledge about current television, your love of reading and need for someone to share the plots with. 

Carmen is making you a plate to take home with you when he’s finally psyched himself up to ask his question. He says your name and you peer at him from your spot against the counter. 

“I-uh…I’ve been trying to do my hair the way you taught me, but I can’t get it right. I was wonderin’ if you’d show me? Maybe? You don’t have to—”

“Of course I can. All you had to do was ask.” You push off the counter and beam at him. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

You’re lucky you already learned the way to his bathroom so that your streak of confidence would continue working so well. And when you squeeze out some of the hair gel into Carmy’s hands, you know he just needed an excuse. He’s got it down pat. 

He runs his hands through his hair, scrunching clumps together every now and then, finger-curling the pieces up front and by his ears. Now you’re just waiting to see what he really wanted to say. 

You cross your arms, attempting to look serious, but you can’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. 

Carmen looks over at you, drying his hands now that they’re free of product. He’s never been great at reading people, but that look in your eye tells him he’s a shit actor. 

“So, that didn’t fool you, huh?”

You giggle. “Not at all, Berzatto. You couldn’t even fake how well you’ve learned to do your hair.”

Carmy takes a step closer to you, rubbing his nose self-consciously. “I’m very bad at saying what I’m thinking. Or saying what I want.”

“I can see that.”

He squints at you, his lips ticking up just slightly. 

“So what is it you want but are too scared to say?” you start. “Do we need to play hangman?” 

That would normally get a laugh out of him, but he’s too on edge. Inhale. Exhale. Oh, just fucking say it, Carm. 

“I wanna kiss you.”

Your ears burn. You release your bottom lip from where it was pinned between your teeth. “I was hoping you’d say that. Please do.”

You push up on your tiptoes, suddenly bursting with excitement and hoping that’ll convey to Carmen that he doesn’t need to be nervous because you want this just as bad. 

It works. 

You put your hands on Carmy’s collarbones the second his fingers slip into your hair. Your nervous system lights on fire, thoughts of how much surface area his palms cover racing through your mind. He kisses you all shy and hesitant at first, like he’s nervous he won’t do what you’re hoping. 

His lips are warm, and you can feel the spots where he’s chewed them raw. You can’t help but think that kissing him might be a good way to break that habit. His nose presses into your cheek, tickling you and making you giggle.

Carmen pulls away, smiling at you. “What’s so funny?”

“Your nose was tickilin’ my cheek.”

“Oh? Like this?” He starts dragging his nose across your face and then down to your neck when he feels you start to laugh harder. He thinks he’s finally cracked the code. It seems like pasta and nose tickles are the proper way into your heart. 

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner from @steph-speaks

[chrissturnsfav]

hii! would it be possible for you do to smth with rapper!chris and singer!reader like in an argument? she's being like rlly sassy, and he's not having it.

love your work, xoxo!

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris gives singer!reader an attitude adjustment

the music pulses through the crowded house, a steady thrum that matches the beat of your heart. lil skies’ party is in full swing, packed with people flaunting their best outfits and vibes.

you stick close to chris at first, your hand looped around his arm as you weave through the crowd. he’s glowing tonight—chain sparkling under the neon lights, his grin wide and easy, and that confident air that draws people in like a magnet.

you try not to notice how the room seems to orbit him. it’s always like this. everyone loves chris.

you’ve had a couple of drinks, and he’s been passing a blunt back and forth with his brothers. the triplets are a force of their own, but chris stands out, as he always does. you watch him throw his head back in laughter at some joke nick cracks.

you love that smile. it’s what hooked you in the first place.

but then you notice her.

across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, a girl is staring at chris. no—staring through you, her gaze locked on him like you don’t even exist. her lashes flutter as she tilts her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. she’s doing it on purpose, you can tell. her body language screams it: the way she adjusts her skimpy top, showing just a little more skin, the way she sips her drink slowly, almost tauntingly.

you glance at chris. he hasn’t noticed her—he’s too busy talking to matt about something, his hands gesturing animatedly. but it doesn’t matter. her intentions are clear, and they’re pissing you off.

"really?" you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else. but the irritation simmers, fueled by the alcohol in your system. you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.

chris turns to you, his eyebrows raised. "what’s up?" he asks, that easy smile still on his face.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "nothing," you mumble, even though it’s not nothing.

he gives you a look, the one that says he knows you’re lying. he always knows. "c'mon mama, tell me," he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. "that girl over there has been eye-fucking you."

chris glances around, confused. "what girl?"

"don’t play dumb, chris," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend. "the one in the kitchen."

his expression shifts, his smile faltering as he scoffs, "ma, i didn’t even notice her," he says, his tone honest yet slightly irritated that you're mad at him for something he can't control. "m'not lookin' at anyone but you."

"that’s not the point!" you whine, your voice rising. "she’s staring at you, and you’re just fucking standing here like you don't give a fuck."

chris runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated now. "fuck am i supposed to do 'bout that?"

"you could at least act like you care!" you shoot back, your words slurring slightly from the alcohol.

"i do care ma," he says, his voice tight. "but m'not startin' a scene over sum'n i can't even control."

your chest tightens, the mix of jealousy and alcohol clouding your judgment. "you don’t fucking get it, chris. you never do."

his eyes narrow, the easygoing vibe he’s been carrying all night slipping away. "never?" he repeats, his tone sharp now. "really? that’s what y'think?"

you cross your arms tighter, trying to steady yourself. "yeah, i do," you say, the words coming out harsher than you intend. "you fucking act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter, but it does."

chris shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he takes a step back, his frustration plain on his face. "wow," he mutters, running a hand over his face. he scoffs, shaking his head as he looks at the floor, "'y'never do,' she said..."

"don’t you fucking twist this on me," you snap. "i’m not the one acting dumb while some girl—"

before you can finish, chris grabs your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you mid-sentence. his eyes are dark, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can get a word out, he’s tugging you through the crowd. you stumble slightly, his grip steadying you as he weaves through the sea of drunk celebrities. your heart pounds, both from the lingering anger and the sudden shift in his energy.

he doesn’t say a word as he pulls you down a hallway and pushes open the door to a bathroom, ushering you inside before closing and locking the door behind him. the sound of the lock clicking sends a jolt through you, the tension in the small space almost suffocating.

"what the fuck, chris?" you snap, crossing your arms, though your voice lacks the bite it had moments ago.

he scoffs, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he shakes his head. he sets his drink down on the counter before he pushes you against the door of the bathroom by your waist, his grip tight.

you gasp, caught completely off guard, confusion yet something else swirling in your slightly lidded eyes, "what're you doing?" you ask as you furrow your brows, keeping up your sassy tone.

"y'clearly need an attitude adjustment baby," he mutters, leaning in closer until his lips are a centimeter away from yours.

you don’t respond—can’t respond—because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours, claiming you with a heat that leaves no room for argument. his hands slide to your hips, pushing you harder against the door, and any protest you had dies in your throat.

every ounce of jealousy and bitterness is gone by the time chris has you bent over the bathroom sink, fucking you with remaining irritation and force. he has one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass while the other holds your face up by your throat, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart for him in the mirror.

"this what y'needed didn't you?" he snickers through a grunt, smirking at your makeup smudged face in the mirror as he fucks into your puffy pussy harder.

when you try to respond, all that comes out is jumbled and incoherent whines, your mind clouded with intoxication and pure bliss, your hands gripping onto the countertop harshly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

chris chuckles darkly, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he slaps your ass, making you squeal and gasp, "yeah, that's what i thought. fuckin' sassin' me over shit i can't control ten minutes ago, 'n now look at you," he scoffs, hissing in pleasure with a deep grunt before he finishes his sentence, "fuckin' goin' stupid over my cock like always."

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos

@chrissturnsfav ™

[blackpantherismyish]

Slow Burn, Sharp Blade Pt. 2 🍃

Modern!au Elijah “Smoke” Moore X Black!OC Joya Sable

Word Count : 4.7k

Authors note: heading back home from vacation, decided I’d cook up part 2 for y’all. Cause it gots some of the smuts. I think you guys are going to really enjoy how Mr. Elijah is speaking in this one. Might make ya tingle a lil bit ya know. Another warning to either grab a new pair of panties or just take them off completely. If you don’t wear them period, grab a towel or sumn 🤭🤣 I will not be held legally responsible for any messes, slips, trips or falls. Stay filthy my friends! Enjoy

The whiskey sits warm in Joya’s belly, slow-burning and bold. Just like her.

She takes another sip from the glass on the table beside them, her other hand still resting light on Smoke’s chest like she’s measuring his restraint.

“Mm,” she hums, swirling the amber liquid. “This the kind of pour that make a woman forget she said don’t touch me yet.”

Smoke doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. He just watches her like she’s the last thing on Earth he’s got faith in.

“Then I’ll stop pourin’,” he says, voice even.

She laughs, that rich, syrupy sound dripping off her tongue. “Don’t do that,” she says, brushing a fingertip over his jawline. “You was real generous with it. Got me sittin’ on you like I’m not wearin’ five hundred dollars worth of self-control.”

Smoke’s lips twitch at that, but he stays quiet.

“You wanna speak, but you holdin’ it in.” She leans in, her nose brushing his. “You like a pot on low heat. I hear you startin’ to bubble.”

“Keep pushin’,” he murmurs, “and I might spill.”

Joya bites her lip, grinning. The whiskey’s got her bold, and his calm just keeps feeding it.

“I see you, Mr. Patient. But let me guess,” she purrs, dragging her finger down the center of his chest. “You think patience makes it sweeter. Slower means better. That if you wait long enough, I’ll beg you for it.”

Smoke just breathes—deep, controlled.

“I don’t need you beggin’,” he says. “I just need you honest.”

That hits her. Not in the chest—but lower. Somewhere heat pools and confidence swells.

“You wanna know what’s honest?” she asks, leaning back just enough to pull her bra straps down slow, letting them rest on her arms. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you since I lined your edge up this morning. Sat in my chair all quiet, smellin’ like black cedar and ‘don’t play with me.’ You got the kind of silence that presses on a woman’s chest.”

Smoke exhales slowly, eyes steady on her, like the breath carries something unspoken.

“And now,” she continues, letting her lips graze his ear, “you got me sittin’ on you with whiskey on my tongue and no plans to move until I’ve tasted you slow enough to count the seconds.”

His fingers twitch on her thighs. Just the faintest shift.

She grins. “Oh, you felt that one.”

“I felt all of it,” he says, low. “And I’m lettin’ you lead. But don’t think for one second I won’t return the favor.”

Her lashes flutter as she sits back. “That a promise?”

Smoke’s eyes gleam like coals in low light. “That’s a warning.”

Joya finishes the last of her drink and sets the glass down with a satisfying clink.

Then she leans in again, face inches from his, lips hovering just out of reach.

“You better make it worth the wait, baby,” she whispers. “’Cause when I say go, you best not hold back.”

Smoke’s hand finally lifts to her waist, steady and strong, but still gentle, still waiting.

“Trust,” he growls, “when you say go, I’m takin’ you like a secret I’ve never dared to speak out loud .”

Joya’s hips shift with slow intention, just a subtle roll against Smoke’s lap, like she’s testing the water with her toe before diving in.

She watches his eyes, his jaw, the way his breath catches, then evens out again like a boxer refusing to flinch.

“Still holdin’ it together?” she asks, her voice warm and lazy like the burn in her throat. “Even with all this sittin’ pretty right on top of you?”

Smoke exhales, hands still heavy on her thighs. “You makin’ it real hard, ma.”

She grins, leaning down until her forehead rests lightly against his.

“Good.”

And then, her fingers curl around his wrists.

Not to pull him away.

To guide.

She lifts his hands, slow, deliberate, placing them just under the curve of her ass. Right where denim meets skin.

“There,” she says, soft but with that edge of command. “You can hold me here.”

His grip tightens—just enough to anchor her.

She rocks her hips again, just a little more pressure this time, a little more glide. The friction sends a spark through her belly and drops a low groan from his throat.

“You feel that?” she whispers.

Smoke nods, voice hoarse. “Every inch.”

Joya’s breath shakes, but her eyes stay sharp. “Good. Then feel all of it. I want you to know exactly what you been waitin’ on.”

She grinds again, slower this time, an unhurried roll that lets the curve of her body press right where she knows he’s growing hard beneath her. His grip doesn’t change, but his muscles flex, forearms tense like he’s holding a dam behind his ribs.

She kisses the side of his neck, tongue dragging along the edge of his jaw before she breathes out.

“You ever had a woman ride you with her words first?”

Smoke shudders, and his hands squeeze, not rough, not forceful, but present.

“Talkin’ like that gon’ get you moved, Joya,” he warns, low and deep.

She lifts her head, eyes glowing.

“Mmm, but I’m not finished yet.”

She pulls one of his hands up, leads it across her stomach, and up the slope of her ribcage. Her skin’s hot, her breath coming faster now, but her smile’s still slick.

“I want you to know every piece you’re not allowed to touch yet… just so you can crave it harder.”

Smoke’s hand stills beneath her bra, fingers splayed just under the swell of her breast. She doesn’t guide him higher—won’t.

Not yet.

She leans in, whispers against his lips.

“Now sit still.”

And then she grinds again, slow, controlled, deep.

His head falls back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes closed like he’s chasing discipline inside the dark.

“You tryna make me lose it?” he mutters.

Joya hums. “Not yet. I’m tryna build it. I want the moment you touch me to hurt. Want you to feel it in your chest. Like a hunger you ain’t ever fed right.”

Smoke growls low in his throat, and for the first time, his control cracks just slightly—hips lifting into hers, chasing that pressure, that heat. She moans softly, not because he’s taken control, but because she’s given him a taste.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, teasing.

“You feel how close I am? How warm this is right now?”

He nods, swallowing hard.

She drags her lips down his neck and whispers:

“Then imagine what it’s gon’ feel like when I finally say yes.”

She can feel him tense under her—coiled like a lion at the edge of surrender.

Her hips move in a rhythm that’s slow and lethal, and Smoke… takes it.

Lets her guide the tempo. Lets her decide what’s next.

But when her breath brushes his ear again, and that velvet voice dripping sin and bourbon echoing,

“Imagine what it’s gon’ feel like when I finally say yes…”

Something in him snaps.

Not all the way. Not into recklessness.

But just enough to lean in.

His hands, still resting beneath the curve of her ass, shift. Slow. A drag of palm and grip that tightens just enough to say:

You’re not the only one who knows how to lead.

Joya notices it immediately.

“You movin’ different,” she says, pulling back slightly, eyes narrowed, amused.

Smoke meets her stare head-on now. His posture shifts—shoulders squaring, back straightening beneath her. His energy isn’t passive anymore. It’s coiled intention. A man still seated, but no longer waiting.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a low grind in his throat. “’Cause you keep playin’ with fire like it ain’t gon’ burn back.”

Joya smirks. “Burn me, then.”

He leans forward slow, bringing his mouth to the hollow of her throat but never kissing. Just breathing. Letting the heat of him bloom across her chest until her body tightens above him.

“You ever had somebody tease you so slow,” he whispers, “you forgot which one of y’all started it?”

Her thighs twitch against his sides. That voice—it’s changed. It’s dipped lower, smoked out and seductive, like molasses poured through gravel.

“I remember exactly who started it,” she says. “And I plan on finishin’ it too.”

Smoke hums like he’s pleased. His hands slide up her back now, one finding the clasp of her bra—his thumb brushing over it, not unhooking, just resting.

“Thought you didn’t want me touchin’ yet.”

“I don’t,” she breathes, chest lifting against him.

“Then why’d you bring me here?”

Joya bites the inside of her cheek, lips twitching. “To see if you could handle bein’ wanted without bein’ fed.”

He chuckles. Deep and low. “You know what happens when you starve a man too long?”

“Yeah.” She grinds down again—deliberate. “He forgets his manners.”

Smoke grabs her ass now. Not rough, but solid. Decided.

“And you really think I got manners?”

His lips finally meet her collarbone, just a kiss. One. But it lands with weight. Heat. She gasps, hips stilling, body locking above him.

“You said wait,” he murmurs, trailing another kiss up her neck. “But babygirl, if your hips speakin’ for you right now…”

He grinds up into her, once—just enough to prove a point.

The pressure is exact.

Her breath catches, mouth parting in a soft, stunned moan she didn’t mean to let go.

Smoke smirks against her skin.

“Ohhh. You feel that?” he teases, tongue flicking the edge of her jaw. “You gettin’ slick talkin’ over your drink but your body out here beggin’ in real time.”

Joya claws at his shoulder, nails dragging slow. “You talkin’ big for somebody still sittin’ still.”

“I’m sittin’ still ‘cause I respect you,” he says, eyes locked to hers now, voice level. “But don’t mistake restraint for weakness.”

He slips his hand beneath her bra again, tracing over the ribs he already knows by heart, then glides down her stomach—but this time, he doesn’t stop there.

He brushes the underside of one breast, barely there.

Just enough to feel the weight of her.

Just enough to draw a shiver through her spine.

She doesn’t pull away.

“Still want me to wait?” he asks, thumb ghosting over her nipple, the lace between them the only thing keeping her grounded.

She opens her mouth—no words come out at first. Just a soft, frustrated breath, hips twitching as if chasing the friction again.

“You a menace,” she whispers finally, lip trembling.

“And you knew that when you walked in here.”

He cups her breast gently, thumb circling now. Not rough. Not greedy. Just enough to make her thighs squeeze around his hips.

“You keep sayin’ you in control,” he says, voice dipping into a darker place, “but you gon’ lie like this when your body beggin’ me to keep touchin’ you?”

Joya moans through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t say stop,” she breathes, finally.

Smoke chuckles, but it’s dark now. Real.

“Good,” he murmurs, hand sliding back down, fingers dragging across the waistband of her jeans. “’Cause baby, if you gon’ let me tease you back…”

He leans in, tongue flicking the shell of her ear, voice deadly low.

“I’m not lettin’ up ‘til your whole soul lean into it.”

Joya’s breath is shallow now.

Not from fear.

Not even from surprise.

But from that dragging ache of restraint slipping out of her hands like silk through fingers—slow and intentional.

Smoke’s thumb rests just under her navel now, grazing that soft skin where heat pools the deepest. Her jeans feel tighter, too snug around the hips now with how wet she’s getting. But it’s not just the whiskey. It’s not just the grind.

It’s him.

The way his energy has shifted. No louder. No faster. Just deeper.

He’s still calm—but it’s that kind of calm that warns you before a storm breaks wide open.

“Breathe for me,” he says, voice quiet but laced with command.

Joya lets out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“That’s it.”

His hand glides back up her waist—slow, deliberate, owning every inch like it belongs to him. He watches her come undone with a focused intensity that borders on devotion, like he’s not just watching her squirm—he’s learning every detail of what makes her fall apart.

“Still got all that mouth?” he asks, lips brushing her jawline. “Or I finally touched the part that humbles you?”

Joya swallows hard, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. “Boy, you so full of yourself—”

Smoke lifts a brow.

“Say that again with your hips still movin’ like they tryna memorize mine.”

That shuts her up.

Just for a second.

Long enough for him to kiss her.

But this time, it’s not soft.

Not polite.

It’s claiming.

His mouth opens over hers like he’s drawing her into him, tongue sliding against hers with control that borders on sinful. One hand fists in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to deepen the kiss—and when she moans into it, he growls, quiet but primal, against her lips.

And still… he doesn’t rush.

“You keep grindin’ like that,” he mutters, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her throat, “I’ma start thinkin’ you ready.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” she gasps, threading her fingers along his short fade. “I just wanted you to work for it.”

Smoke chuckles, the sound deep in his chest, like thunder rolling low.

“Oh baby,” he says, dragging his teeth gently along the side of her neck. “You are the work. And I could do this all night.”

He leans back slightly, letting his hands move down to her waist, then sliding under the waistband of her jeans—his thumbs brushing just above the V of her soaked panties. He doesn’t push past them. Just rests there. Heat hovering over heat.

Joya shivers, trembling just slightly, her hips rocking into the touch with a soft, aching sound in her throat. She’s slick, hot, swollen beneath denim—and she knows he feels it.

“You wanna know what I love most about this?” he whispers, lifting his gaze to hers.

“What?”

“You talk like you in charge… but I haven’t even pulled your jeans down yet, and you already breathing like you’ve been waiting for this.”

She tries to smirk—but it falters, caught in the swell of her own need.

“You real proud of yourself, huh?” she says.

Smoke’s eyes darken.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

That makes her pause.

“Proud of how you held your line. Ran your mouth. Took your time with it. You walked in here thinkin’ I’d chase you. But I sat back and let you lead—until now.”

He leans in, breath hot against her ear.

“Now I’m takin’ over.”

And just like that, he lifts her off his lap in one smooth motion, carrying her like she weighs nothing and laying her down across the length of his couch.

His body follows, hovering over hers, mouth kissing a trail from her collarbone down between her breasts, stopping just above the top button of her jeans. He looks up.

“You gon’ let me in now?” he asks. “Or you wanna keep pretendin’ you don’t need what’s about to happen?”

Joya licks her lips. Her voice shakes a small bit but it holds.

“I ain’t pretendin’ nothin’.”

Smoke smirks. “Good.”

And with practiced fingers and reverent patience, he starts to undo her jeans. One button at a time. One breath. One heartbeat.

Like she’s holy ground.

The button pops open with a soft click.

Then the zipper drags down, slow and smooth, like it knows it’s crossing into sacred territory.

Smoke doesn’t rush. He kneels there between her legs, eyes heavy-lidded, watching her chest rise and fall like it’s the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

He slides his palms up her thighs, fingers curling around denim, easing her jeans down with the kind of care that says this ain’t just sex.

This is an unveiling.

Joya’s skin warms under his touch, her thighs trembling as the cool air kisses the slick heat between her legs. Her panties Royal blue, soft, soaked through. He sees it. Smells it. And his mouth parts just a little like he’s tasting it already.

“Damn,” he murmurs, voice like smoke through honey. “You was talkin’ all that control shit… but this?”

He brushes two knuckles along the center of her, over the damp fabric, slow and teasing.

“This tellin’ a whole different story.”

Joya sucks in a breath, hips twitching under his touch.

“Still in control, baby,” she whispers.

Smoke raises a brow, smirking as he hooks his fingers in the waistband and peels the panties down. Inch by inch.

“Then don’t move,” he says.

She stills. But her eyes, they burn.

He tosses the lace aside like an offering. Then he settles lower between her thighs, his large hands pressing them apart gently, guiding her open like a secret he’s earned the right to read.

His mouth hovers just over her. Not touching. Not yet. Just watching.

“Pretty as hell,” he says low. “Gahdamn.”

Joya squirms, but he doesn’t let her run. He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, slow and tender, like he’s leaving devotion in his wake.

“You rush a meal like this, you don’t deserve it,” he murmurs, more to himself than her.

Then he finally tastes.

A long, slow stroke of his tongue from bottom to top, drawing a cry straight from her throat. Her back arches, fingers digging into the couch cushions, but Smoke just moans softly against her heat, like her flavor alone is enough to wreck him.

He settles in deeper now, his hands locking under her thighs, keeping her wide and right where he wants her.

Every lick is patient. Measured. Worshipful.

He circles her clit in slow, lazy motions, tongue gliding with maddening control. Then dipping lower to tease her entrance, tasting the mess she’s made just from grinding on him earlier. The groan he gives is primal.

“You drippin’ for me, Joya,” he says between strokes. “And I ain’t even put a finger in you yet.”

She whimpers, thighs trying to close around his head.

But Smoke tightens his grip.

“Nuh uh,” he growls. “You gave me the wheel, babygirl. I’m drivin’ slow.”

Then, finally, his fingers join the party.

One slips in, slow and steady, curling upward with that practiced ease of a man who learns by feel.

He doesn’t chase pace. He chases reaction. The way her breath stutters, the arch in her back, the flutter of her walls pulling him in.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You close already?”

She nods helplessly, lips parted, moaning into her arm.

Smoke grins against her clit, then slips in a second finger, twisting, and pushing deeper, while his tongue moves faster, circling and flicking until she’s gasping like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs into her. “Cum for me, Joya. Show me how bad you needed all this talk turned into touch.”

And she does.

With a broken cry and a full-body tremble, she shatters on his mouth, gripping his fingers tight, thighs trembling, hips rocking into his face as she rides the wave. He doesn’t stop until she’s whimpering from the aftershocks, squirming under the sensitivity.

He finally pulls back, face glistening, lips parted, eyes dark with satisfaction.

Joya’s laid out. Breathless. Drenched in sweat and desire. Her eyes flutter open as he kisses her inner thigh again, gentler this time, lips soft as velvet.

“You still in control?” he teases.

She glares, voice wrecked. “Shut the fuck up.”

Smoke laughs, and it’s the best thing she’s heard all night.

He stands, rubbing her essence into his beard like it was moisturizer, then leans over her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on him.

“This the part where you finally let me fuck you proper,” he whispers.

Her smile is slow. Dangerous. And sweet.

“You earned it.”

Joya’s legs are still shaking when he kisses her.

Soft at first, then deeper.

And with every pass of his tongue against hers, Smoke slips back into that primal stillness.

That controlled heat.

Like he’s the fire and the match and the man who knows exactly when to strike.

Joya’s hands slide up his chest, feeling the tight stretch of muscle under his shirt. “Take this off,” she breathes, tugging the fabric.

Smoke doesn’t hesitate.

The shirt comes off in one fluid motion, tossed somewhere behind him, doesn’t matter where. Her hands find the cut of his abs instantly, dragging down, palms hungry now.

“Damn,” she mutters, half-smirking. “All this under them damn hoodies and shirts…”

Smoke grins, low and slow.

“You ain’t never asked what I was hidin’,” he says. “But I got nothin’ else to hide now.”

She bites her lip.

“Not even that ego?”

He leans in, his lips brushing hers, voice dark and smooth.

“Oh, I’ma put that in you too.”

Then he lifts her again. No effort, no strain. Carries her down the hall like she belongs there, like she’s already his. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as he kisses her the whole way, deep and lazy, tongue slow like honey stirred in warm tea.

He lays her on the bed and peels off his joggers.

She stares.

And smirks.

“Oh… so that’s what had me grindin’ like a sinner on Sunday…”

Smoke raises a brow. “That was before I even touched you. Now?”

He strokes himself once, slow, thick and already hard from tasting her. His tip’s flushed and slick, precum glistening at the crown.

“You already wet enough I might slide in and ruin your sleep schedule.”

Joya bites back a moan. “Then shut up and do it.”

But Smoke just grins—dark and patient.

“Oh no, lil mama. I like the way your voice sound beggin’.”

He crawls onto the bed over her, his size stretching across her body, but never crushing. He settles between her thighs and rubs himself against her folds, the weight of him teasing her entrance, slipping through her slick.

Not entering.

Just sliding.

Slow.

Sinful.

“You feel that?” he whispers.

“Yes… Fuck…”

He tilts his hips, dragging himself again, slower this time. “Say it right.”

She arches up, lips brushing his ear.

“I feel you, Smoke...” His name dripping from her lips like warm honey.

That pulls a growl from his chest.

“Goddamn…”

Then, he sinks in.

The first thrust is slow and deep.

A stretch that drags moans from both their mouths, low and open and raw.

Her walls pulse around him instantly, clenching as he bottoms out, holding still just to feel her flutter.

“Oh my God…” she gasps.

Smoke just breathes her in, mouth on her jaw, hips rolling steady.

“You takin’ me so good, pretty girl..,” he murmurs. “Tight as hell… so wet I damn near slipped in too easy.”

He draws back and pushes in again, slower this time, letting her feel it. Letting her hear how wet she is, the room filling with nothing but breath, slick, and rhythm.

“You always this loud when it’s good?” he teases, kissing down her neck.

Joya moans, scratching his back. “Only when I ain’t tryna hide it.”

Smoke thrusts deeper. Harder.

“Good. I want everybody outside to know who got you makin’ sounds like that.”

She wraps her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back as he fucks her slow, deep strokes, hitting places she didn’t know she needed touched.

“Talk to me,” he grunts, sweat starting to sheen across his chest.

“You feel so good, Smoke.. Fuck, you fillin’ me up like—”

“Like I’m made for you?” he finishes, breath ragged, hand sliding between them.

He finds her clit again, rubbed in circles that match his thrusts. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

Her moans pitch higher. Hips bucking up into him now, matching his rhythm, chasing that edge again.

“I could stay in this pussy forever,” he groans. “So wet… so warm… you was runnin’ that mouth earlier like you ain’t want me to have it, now look at you…”

“Don’t stop.. please�� don’t—”

He kisses her hard and deep—then pulls back, resting his forehead to hers.

“You gon’ cum on this dick just like you came on my tongue, ain’t you?”

She nods, barely breathing. “Yes! Fuck… I’m so close—”

“Do it,” he whispers. “So I know it’s mine now.”

And she breaks.

Back arching, body spasming, her climax crashing through her like a wave, wet, breathless, shaking beneath him. And Smoke doesn’t stop. He rides her through it, gritting his teeth, groaning low as her walls flutter around him.

Then he stills, thrust buried deep and spills into her with a low, strained grunt, hips twitching from the force of it.

The room goes still.

Only their breaths remain.

Joya’s chest heaves. Smoke’s weight is heavy but safe above her. His lips press to her temple, lazy, reverent.

“You alright?” he murmurs.

She grins against his neck.

“I’m more than alright.”

Smoke chuckles, voice raw.

“You gon’ talk less shit next time?”

She smirks.

“Hell no. But I’ll bring a spare pair of panties.”

They stay tangled for a while.

No urgency.

No words.

Just sweat cooling on skin and the quiet thrum of hearts slowly remembering their normal rhythm. Smoke’s arm is wrapped around Joya’s waist, his fingers idly stroking that soft spot just above her hip, like he’s still memorizing her shape even now that he’s claimed every inch of it.

She’s draped over him, one thigh slung over his, hair a wild halo against his chest. Her breathing is still a little uneven, but it’s threaded with laughter now. The lazy, post-orgasm kind. The kind that only comes when you really got taken care of.

“You laugh like a woman who got flipped inside out,” Smoke murmurs against her shoulder.

She snorts. “I laugh like a woman who’s tryna remember how to walk again.”

He grins and leans in, kissing her shoulder softly. “You gon’ talk that sweet to me now, huh? Where all that fire went?”

Joya rolls her eyes, turning to face him, her hand sliding up his chest.

“Oh it’s still there. It’s just takin’ a nap.”

Smoke pulls the blanket from around her, the kind of move that feels so natural she doesn’t notice until she feels the warmth away around her back.

Then, he grabs the little towel off the nightstand, one clearly kept for moments like this. He gently wipes between her thighs, slow and careful, making her squirm just a little from the sensitivity.

“Mmm,” she hums, “you the softest savage I ever met.”

Smoke chuckles, tossing the towel aside before pulling her closer.

“Gotta treat what’s mine right.”

She lifts a brow. “Yours, huh?”

“You just came twice with my name on your tongue,” he says, tilting her chin toward him. “Yeah, I’m claimin’ that.”

She kisses him again, this time softer, slower, before settling back into his chest with a content sigh.

The room is warm, the kind of heat that hums under the skin after a long night of pleasure and unspoken truths. They stay like that for a few minutes, legs tangled, bodies cooling.

Then Joya speaks again. Voice low, teasing.

“You know I really ain’t supposed to be sleepin’ with clients…”

Smoke smirks. “You sound real sorry about it.”

She chuckles, brushing her fingers along his collarbone. “Nah. Not really. But you make it harder to play it cool.”

“How so?”

“You damn near gave me a spiritual experience,” she says, sitting up just slightly to look down at him. “And I ain’t even trimmed your beard twice.”

Smoke raises a brow. “So if I come in for a second cut, I get round two?”

She pretends to think. “Maybe. If you behave.”

“See, that’s your problem,” he says, tugging her back down to him. “You thought you was runnin’ this. But now you know better.”

Joya snuggles into his chest, grinning like a cat that got into the cream.

“Mmhm. I let you think you took over.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

They laugh together. Low. Easy. Warm.

And as the night settles deep around them, the silence they slip into isn’t awkward.

It’s full.

Laced with tension they worked out, and a promise they might just be fools enough to test again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe sooner.

But tonight?

It’s enough.

————-

Taglist: @gtf-o-m-d @spookysanta @michelley-rome @bigjh @anniensmoke3 @hdfen2474 @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @killmongerdispussy @theogbadbitch @ccwpidsblog @princesskillmonger @blowmymbackout @theethighpriestess @blktinkerbell @steampunkprincess147 @diamondsinterlude @partylikemajima @theegoldenchild @mhhhhmmmmmmm @lilchubbs @thebumblebeesworld @mastertia221b @brownskincheyenne @belleofthefloor @c0tt0ncandi @irefusetobeacasualty @cocoxciv-blog @melodyofmbaku @lb-xci @christinabae @babygirl-4986

@cafekitsune for the divider.

[folkloric04]

summer heat ⋆☀︎｡ part one

summary: you’re home for the summer after graduating college, reconnecting with your roots and your hometown. some connections are old, familiar…some are new.

cw: dbf!joel, minor language please do not engage if you do not feel comfortable with the dbf genre or age gaps! yes, this is an au fictional universe based on a fictional story, but it is my intention to do my best to not mischaracterize joel overall and to create a very consenual, adult relationship between the reader and joel. he's also a big softie in my mind and we don't see enough of that in dbf fics with him so here we are. be warned also there will be many troupes to be found in this fic, I'm a sucker for the classic college outline of this genre lol, and lots of texas-shaped sentence structures - as a texas native I have fun messing with the dialogue and joel's accent. happy reading! <3

"Joel's headed back today."

Your dad plops down at the table, nursing a hot cup of coffee. The morning light streams through the kitchen windows, softly filtered by the linen curtains. He takes a bite of toast and nods at the bite of eggs on your fork frozen midair, unaware of the flush forming on your cheeks at the mention of Joel Miller. "Eggs are hot, careful."

You snap your mouth closed and set the fork down, swallowing thickly. "Oh yeah?" You hide your face with your own cup of coffee, gently sipping. "I thought he wasn't comin' in until Monday?"

"Sarah finished her last final early. They’re drivin’ in this afternoon.” Your dad eyes the bite of eggs you’ve left behind on your plate and snatches it with his fork, ignoring the oatmeal in his bowl.

“Dad,” you swipe at his arm. “Finish your toast and eat your oatmeal, please. I’m not dragging you to another doctor’s appointment just for them to tell you the same damn thing about changing your diet again.”

He throws his hands up in surrender, chuckling. Lifting his spoon, he hesitantly scoops the bland liquid and brings it to his mouth. He takes a bite with a sour look. “Jesus H. Christ.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle, glancing out into the front yard, across the street to the Miller home. Through another forced bite of oatmeal, your dad catches your gaze and points to the house. “They should be back before the barbecue tonight. Bet Sarah'll be excited to see you."

The barbecue.

"Yeah. For sure," you comment, but your mind wanders, eyes tracing the paint-peeled mailbox outside, the red shutters, the leaf-swollen drainpipes. How could you forget about the cookout? It happened at the end of every May, a giant neighborhood bash to kick off summer, one your dad has co-hosted with Joel every year. You’ve been so busy settling back into town after graduation that it hadn't even passed through your mind.

“Speaking of tonight,” your dad’s voice breaks your reverie. “Think you can run to the store to grab a couple extra buns? And beer. We definitely need more beer."

“Uh, yeah, sure, make a list and I'll run there after I stop by the school,” you tell him, shoveling a few bites of forgotten eggs into your mouth.

"Tutorin' startin already?" He stands to refill his coffee, returning with the pot to refill yours.

"Not till next week. Just doin' a few preliminary things before classes start. Oh shit, I also need to stop by and feed Darlene." You lift your mug, and your eyes land on your dad's watch as he pours the hot, muddy liquid. "Don't you have that eight o'clock meeting at the dig site?"

Your dad's eyes widen, shooting down to the watch face. "Shit, I forgot I'm covering the briefing for Joel, sonofa-" He hurries over to replace the pot as you chuckle, watching him slide in his socks to the front door. As he shoves his boots on and looks for his keys, cursing under his breath about how they always seem to grow legs and run around on him, you pour his coffee into a to-go tumbler and meet him at the door as he's stuffing his arms into his jacket.

You open the door, Texas morning air warming your face, and offer him the tumbler and his keys, which were right where he left them last, by the bowl of fruit on the kitchen bar. He awkwardly stumbles forward, hands full with blueprints and papers, hat on sideways.

"Have a good day, Dad," you smile. "Text me the list when you get the chance."

He sighs and chuckles to himself, accepting the coffee and the keys. Before he steps out, he places a quick kiss on your forehead and taps the tip of your nose, like he always used to do when you left for school as a kid. "What would I do without you, honey?"

Your heart swells as you watch him pull from the driveway in his beat-up blue truck. The engine rattles down the street until it quiets completely when he turns towards the main roads. A small flock of sparrows flies overhead, settling in the great oaks in the yard, chirping to each other in a noisy chorus. Above, burnt orange kisses pale blue as the sun stretches above the horizon line.

-

The engine won't start.

Of course, right as you're trying to get out of the swarmed Randall’s parking lot, the sun beating down a 98-degree heat, sweat sticking hair to your forehead and neck, the goddamn engine won't start. To be fair, you're not sure your little baby blue Mustang has been driven since last summer, and she’s got parts several years older than you.

You jostle the key and hear it start to turn over, again and again, but to no avail.

You drop your head onto the steering wheel. "Shit."

“Car trouble?”

A familiar voice, low and southern, makes you sit up. A worn flannel greets you before a head pokes through your window, shaggy blonde hair and freckles. Your heart does a disappointed swoop. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t expecting it to be someone else, but Miles Lambert, your high school sweetheart, standing outside your car, is still a welcome surprise.

“Miles, oh my god-“

You slip out of the car as he laughs, colliding with you. “How are you? God it’s been forever-“

“I’m good, I’m good. Jesus, I didn’t know you were back!” He smiles, pulling back, emerald eyes flashing in the sun. “Thought your dad decided to take Baby for a spin.”

You snort. “Never in a million years, he loves that damn truck too much.” You soak him in. He’s tanner, a bit taller, a bit thicker, muscles hidden beneath red plaid.

“You look good,” you comment, poking him in the side, and he blushes, turning the same shade of pink he used to when you were kids.

“So do you.” He rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. Life was tragic for eighteen-year-old you when you’d left for college. The two of you had been together nearly the entirety of high school, sweethearts until the end.

But you always knew you wanted to go to college out of state if you ever got the opportunity to. And when a bit fat scholarship from New York University arrived on your doorstep, you took it and ran. Away from Austin, from your dad, from Miles. You'd left things on a good note, but you know it broke both of your hearts to leave like that.

Still…it’s good to see him now.

“I’ve got cables in my trunk.” He pulls out his keys and starts backing away. “Let’s see if we can jumpstart her.”

Twenty minutes later, your engine finally roars back to life. You shrug off your denim jacket, tank top sticking to your skin, and toss it onto the passenger seat. The sun warms your shoulders, the breeze placates your overheated body and instigates little rivulets of sweat, beads that slide down your neck and pool at your collarbone. Miles eyes you from where he’s locking your hood back down, and you pretend not to notice.

"All set.” He unhooks the cables and ambles over to where you lean against your car, the engine rattling your body slightly as the scent of exhaust wafts by on the breeze. “Think it’s just a clogged air filter. I could take a closer look at her at the garage if you want. No charge, of course."

"That would be amazing." Your smile softens. "I was sorry to hear about your dad. I should have reached out-"

Miles smiles softly. "Hey, it's no worries, really. Business has been good. Slow but steady." He glances out at the parking lot, families couples, and kids. In the distance, you can hear the roar of cars on the highway. Below, heat sizzles above the asphalt. You fiddle with your flannel, unsure of where to continue.

But Miles breaks the silence first, shifting on his feet and turning his body towards his car. "You’re coming to the barbecue tonight, right?” He says, gesturing to the cooler of beer beside the bagged hot dog buns in your backseat.

“Shitty beer and drunk neighbors on a hot Texas night? Wouldn't miss it for the world." You smile and pat his arm, rounding the car to slip inside the driver’s seat.

He leans down, poking his head through the window again as you settle in. The look on his face is sincere. The reflection of light on the silver linings of the car casts his face in a youthful glow, so familiar and reminiscent of his high-school days. “I'll see ya tonight."

"See you tonight, Miles."

--

You're sweating buckets by the time you make it back to the house.

You had to stop by the liquor store to grab some mixers for the small cocktail bar some of the ladies asked to be included in the drink selection this year. Your dad, who was currently enamored with a certain lady of the neighborhood, Ellen Jones down the street, volunteered to shoulder the brunt of supplies.

The garage is stifling, but the minute you shove open the door to the house, your body begins to cool. Once the groceries are up, you head over to the Miller house.

It's in a similar fashion to your own, except for the cobalt-gray your house is painted; the Millers' is red, with exposed brick. An awning covers the porch, leading to a short walk-up and a set of double doors. Slipping the key from your pocket, you slip inside, already sweating again.

Two paws and a sharp bark greet you.

You beam, leaning down to scratch two floppy ears. "Darlene, heya girl! How are you?"

The border collie pants, excited, as she drops from your knees and rubs against your legs.

"You hungry? Want some food?"

Your footsteps pitter-patter on the linoleum as you venture into the kitchen. Light streams in from the backyard, filtering in a cozy warmth, the kind that makes you feel invited, at home. Evidence of Joel and Sarah are everywhere, from the magazines and bills on the kitchen table to the potted plants along the shelf walls (courtesy of Sarah, of course, not Joel, who's been known to kill a few here and there).

Darlene follows you as you switch on the radio. Austin's afternoon country show is on, and you lift your shoulders to the rhythm, feet finding familiar patterns on the floor, line dances forever etched in your memory as a kid, as you pick up Darlene's food bowl and refill it.

She sits patiently beside her water bowl, which you check is at least halfway full, and wags her tail when you return her bowl to her.

As she eats, you text your dad about the groceries.

You: beer, buns, and booze secured. at the millers feeding darlene.

Dad: Perfect, thanks, Sweetheart - I'll be home soon, Joel said he's coming up on the house now.

A mild and unwarranted panic sets in at those words.

Dad:  I told him you had the goods, lend him a hand.

Oh, shit.

A car engine emerges in the distance, a gentle rattle that turns into a sure enough sign that Joel's truck has just entered the cul-de-sac.

Darlene perks up her nose, going to the garage door as it clatters open. You dash over to the hallway mirror and attempt to tidy your messy braid. Flushed cheeks and sweat still sheening across your forehead, the garage door opens as you step back and smile at Sarah as she steps inside.

"Hey, Sarah!"

"Oh my God!" She rushes towards you, dropping her bags with a thump, and throws herself into your arms.

Darlene joins, paws greeting your hip as Sarah laughs and reaches out a hand to pet her head. "Oh, I missed you guys so much." Her big brown eyes meet yours with a sparkle. "God, you look so old!"

"Me, old? Look at you!" you laugh, pulling apart. "You're almost as tall as me now, Jesus."

Another clatter sounds, and Darlene patters to the figure emerging from the garage. "Hey, Darlin'," a voice echoes as it greets Darlene.

Your stomach does an involuntary swoop as Joel Miller walks in. Dressed in a dark blue flannel, work jeans, and boots, he lumbers in with two more suitcases, messy peppered curls falling across his forehead. His gaze finds yours, as rugged and handsome as ever.

"Oh. Hey, kiddo," his voice drawls, warm and syrupy. Your cheeks warm, but you blame the heat.

"Hey, Joel."

Sarah's on her phone already, walking into the kitchen now, grabbing something from the fridge. "Hey, Dad, is it okay if I go to Rhea's before the party?"

Joel sets down the suitcases. "Uh, sure, but-"

Sarah jolts past you, headed back to the garage, but Joel holds up a hand. "Could ya at least bring your bags up to your room?"

"I promise I will tonight, Dad.” Sarah scrambles to tug her shoes on, words running together as she hurries for the garage. “Sorry, I gotta go Rhea said Nicole is coming and and Sam is gonna be there later and everyone wants to swim while the sun's still up bye see you later!"

She's already out the door before Joel can stop her, leaving the two of you alone in a static silence. The room brightens with a fresh wave of sunlight that streams in across the tiles, warming the backs of your legs.

"I-it's good to see you, kid," Joel says, albeit a bit awkwardly. He's scanning you, scanning the room. "Darlene give ya any trouble?"

"Uh, no, not at all. She's a good girl," you smile down at the dog, who pants at your knees, looking up at you.

He looks up at you and holds your gaze for a minute. "Yeah, she is..."

Your stomach clenches.

Joel sucks in a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, yer dad said you have groceries for tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, uh, they're at the house, but I can, uh, I can go grab 'em-"

"Ah, s'alright, I'll have your dad bring 'em over when he sets up for the grill."

"Are you sure? I can at least grab the beer-"

"Don't worry 'bout it." He shifts on his feet, pushing up the rolled sleeve on his right arm. Your eyes track the movement, rough fingers skimming dark fabric over worn, freckled skin.

"How long you been in town?" he asks.

Inhaling, you toe the floor with the tip of your Converse. "Uh, not long. 'Bout a week."

"Reckon you're happy to be home. It's been, gosh, two years-?"

"Three," you nervously cut in. "Almost three.”

It was true. Though your dad had made a few brief trips up to New York, you hadn't been home in nearly three years, so busy with life in the city, internships, and trying to finish college. Your dad spent holidays with you, not the other way around. You'd spent maybe a weekend or two back in your old bedroom every year if you found the time to visit, but always feeling out of place, untethered. In your mind, your childhood home was a reminder of the limits of your hometown. When you'd left Austin freshman year, you were planning on never coming back.

But here you were, despite it all.

"You finish up your degree?"

"Yep," you nod. The word leaves your mouth lamely.

Joel's dark eyes flash in the amber light from the kitchen windows. His mouth quirks in a way that has your heart skipping a beat. "You look...you look good. Older, I guess."

Suddenly, you're incredibly conscious of your clothes, jean shorts tight on your thighs, your tank top clinging to your damp skin. The room seems small; the air is clammy as it struggles on its way down to your lungs.

You swallow thickly. "Well, I'm not exactly a teenager anymore."

He scoffs, but something crosses his face. A flickering set of blinks, a bob of his Adam's apple. It passes before you can comprehend it. But not before the thought of his hesitation buries itself beneath your skin, taking root somewhere in your gut.

Joel clears his throat. "I better get her bags up 'er else she'll never unpack."

"Right, I'll, uh, I'll make sure we bring some of the stuff over." You head for the front door, Darlene yawning behind you as she pads to a bright patch in the dining room, circling up to nap.

"Hey," Joel stops, one foot on the steps, watching you as you turn, hand on the door frame. "It's good to have you back."

You smile. "It's good to be home."

taglist: @queenbbarnes

thanks for reading! if you'd like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

[writing-rat]

Farmer's Daughter

Pairings: G!P Lorraine Day X Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Content: G!P Lorraine Day, semi-public sex, unprotected sex

WC: 1123

On a hot, Texan Wednesday, you were busy helping the Day’s with their farm. They were some of the local farmers whom you would gladly help. They were a nice, Christian family, but they weren’t overly religious. There was Mr Day and Mrs Day, the patriarch and matriarch of the house, and they had 1 daughter called Lorraine Day. Now, you were friends with her, which is why you decided to help them out, but you ended up loving the job and asked to help whenever you could. That was when they suggested you could start working for them and they would pay you fair wages, to which you had agreed.

It was around noon at this current moment in time, and you had just finished your job of feeding the cows. It was around 50 minutes for lunch to be ready, and you didn’t have any more tasks to do until after lunch, so you decided to check on Lorraine, see how she was doing. When you arrived at the central area, you saw she was working in the barn, hauling hay from the truck to the barn. “Need any help, Rain?” you asked wth a smile, watching her. She was in her usual red jeans with a multicoloured top you had never seen her wear. It must be new. “Nice shirt,” you complimented, glancing at her up and down. 

“Yes, please, if you can help. And thank you,” she responded with a slight flush on her cheeks. You nodded, starting to help as you knew the task would get done quicker.

As you both kept going, you couldn’t help but glance her up and down every now and then. “Why do you keep staring at me?” Lorraine asked, confused when she had caught you after 10 minutes of watching. You and Lorraine also had done half the bales, so you were nearly done. It was hot as fuck though, and you could feel it as sweat dripped down your back and how it soaked your shirt. 

“Hm?” you asked innocently, embarrassed as you got slightly red, but you could easily hide it and blame the heat.

“You keep staring at me. You look me up and down. Why?” she asked, stopping you from grabbing a bale as she stood in front of you. 

“Because I can?” you offered as your best response. 

“Startin’ to feel like you have a crush on me,” Lorraine decided to joke, but she watched your body and facial reactions. She wanted to make sure she was correct before she made a move.

You stared at her in shock as you were making eye contact, her eyes going towards your lips. You blushed a bit more before you finally responded. “And what if I do?” you answered.  

“Well, we could act on it,” she hummed. “We have a while left before we are looked for,” she added with a seductive smirk. You nodded before she quickly grabbed your hand and dragged you into the barn. You were shocked. “As a warning… I wasn’t born like a girl,” she decided to say, looking at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Well,” she spoke, grabbing your hand before she put it on her crotch, where you felt a bulge. You widened her eyes before you started to stroke it. 

“So?” you finally asked with a smirk. Lorraine widened her eyes before she relaxed, grabbing your wrists and pinning you against the wooden support of the barn. Letting out a small groan, you saw her lean in before she started to kiss you deeply. In return, you kissed back, holding onto her hands the best you could, your legs opening wider. 

Pressing herself against you, she started to use one hand to grope at your chest while her other kept your wrists together. “Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be dominant,” you grunted in pleasure as you felt her unbutton and unzip your jeans. Her own were straining against her erection, and you couldn’t help but glance down. 

“You didn’t? Well, I can be and I am showin’ you that,” she responded before she glanced around. “Bend over that fence with your pants down,” she commanded. Nodding, you immediately did as told, looking back as she was undoing her jeans before she pulled them down as well as her underwear. “Are you stretched out?” Lorraine asked, starting to rub your pussy gently, before her thumb gently brushed against your clit. You gasped, arching your back as you kept hold of the fence.

“No, I masturbated this morning,” you admitted, embarrassed since you had technically sinned. She smirked and nodded before she started to enter 2 fingers when she felt you were stretched enough already.

“Good, I can just enter already. We don’t want anyone to walk in now, do we?” she smirked. 

“No ma’am,” you responded. 

“Good girl,” Lorraine praised before she started to enter you already, 6 inches in slowly but surely.  You tried to not moan too loud, covering your mouth as one of her hands held your hip in a bruising grip while her other hand kept rubbing at your clit. She was thrusting inside of you, slow and gentle at first, as you loved it, arching your back before she started to get faster and harder. You tried to hold in your moans, but it was practically impossible as you couldn’t help but let some slip.

She kept going, however, not caring as she was kissing your neck. “Is it that good, hm? Can’t even hide your moans,” she smirked as she looked at you, before kissing your neck again, licking every now and then. You just moaned in response. She was preparing to bite, but she didn’t want to leave it in a visible spot. She didn’t want her parents to know after all, not yet, at least. As she kept fucking, she was kissing towards your shoulder. “Can I mark your shoulder?” Lorraine asked. 

“You may,” you gasped as she thrusted harder before you spoke. You couldn’t help it as you gripped onto the fence harder, moaning louder as you were getting close especially with how pleasurable Lorraine’s thumb was on your clit. Lorraine smirked, she could tell you were close wth how often you tensed around her dick. Lorraine suddenly bit your shoulder gently, causing you to gasp and you couldn’t help but cum from the pleasure that you were feeling. 

Lorraine let out a low groan as she came at the same time, holding you as you both breathed together. You stayed there for a minute before she pulled out, dressing you again. “Let’s finish these bales then?” she asked, looking all innocent. That was when you nodded, blushing heavily.

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 5: Angel Numbers | wordcount | 3k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Okay y'all, heres a bit of angst for this Sunday afternoon... time to be fed, kinda. This part got me hot under the collar when I wrote it. Are you rooting for these two to work out or do you wanna see them crash and burn? lmk xoxo- Liv

"“You’re insufferable,” you echo. He hums, amused. “You keep sayin’ that, Bird.” he pauses, or maybe he hesitates, “startin’ to think it means you like me.” Your hand jumps—the cigarette singes your fingers, burnt down to the filter. He grins, dimple deep. You want to wipe it off his face. Smug fuck."

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, dbf! trope, (duh), yearning, Alcohol aftermath,smoking, guilt, intoxication, kissing, straddling, sexual tension, eventual smut, age gap dynamics, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mentions of grief and death by implied suicide, series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

Your eyes flutter open.

For a moment, you’re still there—straddling Joel’s lap on the porch, his hands gripping you, his voice rasping, “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” Then—creak, a snap, falling. Your body jerks, eyes snapping open, heart hammering against your ribs, still aching from too many cigarettes and that dive bar’s fog machine.

Why does a dive bar need a fucking fog machine?

Your breath catches as you separate dream from reality. You’re not on the porch. You’re not in Joel’s lap. You are on the couch. And Joel is still here.

Oh, fuck.

His large frame slumps against the opposite end, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting heavy over his stomach. But it’s his hand that stops you cold—because even in sleep, he’s holding onto you. His fingers wrap loosely around your ankle, thumb pressed against your Achilles. The soft lamplight barely illuminates him, but you feel it, warm, solid, like he’s claiming you even in sleep. It’s worse than the dream; because this is real, and you want it too much. Another wave of heat crashes into you, tangling reality with fantasy.

Shit.

Your body hums, the ghost of his dream touch blurring with his real one, and you’re still a little drunk, making it impossible to think straight. You inhale, slow and deep, trying to ground yourself. Count to three, hold, and exhale. Again. Halfway through the second breath, Joel shifts, fingers flexing around your ankle. You freeze. His breathing stays deep, even. Then his thumb traces slow circles against your skin, like he senses you but won’t let go.

Shit, shit, shit.

You need to move. Carefully, you pull your leg free, but his grip tightens—just for a second, enough to make you flinch. Then he exhales, long and deep, and his fingers slacken. You slip away. Your bare feet hit the floor, but you don’t stand yet. You stare at him. His brows are faintly knit, lips parted, the tension in his face softened by sleep. But he still looks serious—like he’s dreaming of something that won’t let him rest.

You swallow hard and push up from the couch. Your legs wobble beneath you. You need air. You need water. You need to get your head straight. Your eyes scan the room for your jacket, remembering your phone is still in Joel’s truck.

Shit.

You tiptoe into the kitchen, glancing at the stove clock. The numbers glow green. 3:33Angel numbers.

Your dad won’t be up for a few hours. One less thing to panic about. You stand there, barefoot on the linoleum, picturing your father finding you tangled with Joel on the couch. Would it look harmless? Was it? You’re not convinced. Your thighs press together, aching, damp cotton clinging to your skin, the aftershocks of that dream about your dad’s best friend. Not the first. Not the last. Joel crashing here isn’t new either—especially when Sarah’s away. You’ve never asked why, but you guess it’s less about beer and more about not sleeping alone. Not your business.

You grab a bottle from the cupboard, fill it with water, and gulp half down, deciding to change before grabbing your phone. You settle on changing first. You need to pee anyway. Quietly, you climb upstairs, skipping the creaky fourth step. Your dad’s not waking up. Joel? You’re not sure. He’s not as easy going as he pretends. You’ve seen how protective he gets with Sarah, a single girl-dad, who probably sleeps with one eye open; a gun under the mattress. You push open your bedroom door, the phantom weight of Joel’s hand still lingering.

You slip the dress off, letting it pool at your feet in a heap of chiffon. You step out and cross to your dresser, pulling the bottom drawer. Your fingers skim pajama bottoms before grabbing shorts. Too short? Maybe. Fantastic for your ass? Yes. They’ll do. You throw on a faded Cypress Hill tee, stolen from your dad years ago. It’s soft, oversized, like armor. Probably as old as you. In the bathroom, the mirror confirms it.

Fucking yikes.

You pee, then swipe a makeup wipe under your eyes. Mascara smudges, sharpening your eyeliner wing. Small victories. You swish mouthwash, just in case.

Just in case what?

Jesus. Get it together.

That dream fucked you up. You creep downstairs, skipping the creaky step. The house is silent, thick with late-night stillness. You head for the door, then realize—Shit. No keys, no truck.

For fuck’s sake.

You scan the foyer, nothing. Kitchen—empty. Then you spot it. The lanyard peeking from his flannel on the recliner. You step forward, reaching,

“Fucking damnit—”

Pain shoots through your foot. You stumble, catching yourself. What the fuck? Your heels. Joel left them in the middle of the floor, a booby trap in the dark.

A low, groggy voice cuts through.

“What’re you doin’ with my shirt, kid?”

Joel’s voice is rough, gravelly like you’ve never heard. You feel his gaze in the dim light.

Your pulse kicks up.

Shit.

You drop the flannel like it’s burned you, spinning with the keys in hand. You weren’t doing anything wrong, but heat floods you like you’re caught.

“I—I was grabbing my jacket,” you stammer. “Didn’t mean to wake you, I—tripped on these stupid shoes and—”

He blinks slow, scrubbing a hand over his face, like he’s not sure you’re real.

“You ain’t in trouble, baby girl.”

You suck in a breath.

What the fuck was that?

Baby girl?

I hate him.

Your brain stalls, but Joel doesn’t notice. He shifts upright, murmuring,

“C’mon, lemme get it—stay put.”

“No, it’s fine, I got it. Just go back to sleep, or—”

Shut up.

You’re babbling.

Joel doesn’t respond. Just moves. And suddenly he’s there.

His broad silhouette looms as he steps past, taking the keys from your trembling fingers. He flips the deadbolt, pulls the door open, and night air rushes in.

You follow him outside, hugging your arms over your chest as you watch him stride toward the truck. He moves with the same easy confidence he always does, except now he’s—

Fuck.

The sweats he’s wearing aren’t exactly baggy. They’re more of a jogger style, and as he stretches into the cab of the truck…

They do great things for his ass. Joel reaches into the pocket of your jacket, pulling out your phone—along with your pack of Marlboro Reds. His fingers pause over the box, his eyebrows lifting slightly as a look of surprise crosses his face

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your daddy know you smoke?” déjà vu washes over you.

And then it hits you, full force.

Oh, shit.

Your dream.

The entire thing flashes through your mind like a fucking near-death experience, like your brain is short-circuiting under the weight of it. Porch swing. Joel’s lap. His voice, low and warning against your lips. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Your spine goes rigid, heat and ice fighting for space beneath your skin.

"Please don’t tell him, Joel," you say, reaching for any ounce of charm you have left. Puppy dog eyes, a pout, the whole arsenal. "I won’t hear the end of it."

Joel lets out a huff, shaking his head. "What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, I guess.”

He slips his fingers back into your jacket pocket, retrieving the grey lighter tucked beside the carton. He taps a cigarette loose, twirls it between his fingers before dragging it under his nose, inhaling slow.

Then, as he’s done a thousand times before, he slips it between his lips and flicks the lighter.The flame glows bright against his face, the embers catching at the end of the cigarette. It’s surreal. Like you somehow manifested this.

He holds out your phone, nudging the truck door closed with his elbow. He leans back against it, taking a slow drag before exhaling a steady stream of smoke.

Your legs wobble, but you step forward, plucking your jacket from under his arm. You drape it over your shoulders, tugging it close. The breeze bites your bare legs, you’re absolutely underdressed. Joel’s gaze dips, then flicks back up. You snatch the cigarette from his mouth. His head jerks, surprised by your fingers brushing his lips. You inhale slow, and exhale slower. Cool. Collected. Totally unaffected.

You tap your phone screen, praying you have no texts from Tommy, that might send you to the fourth floor. You glance at Joel. He’s watching. His tongue wets his lower lip, then he bites down—quick, subtle. His expression shifts, lips pressing, brows low. That jaw tick.

“Not usually keen on sharing,” he says, taking it back with a shake of his head.

Cryptic. Four unread messages and a missed call light up your screen. You tilt it from his sight.

(12:59AM)

Dad: I’m going to sleep now, Birdie. If you need me, call. My ringer is on. Love you. If it’s an emergency, call Joel, okay?

When did we get back from the bar?

(1:23AM)

Karlie💗: I’m assuming that dilf got you home safe. Did he get hotter, or is it just the tequila speaking?

Yes. He has. I Hate it.

(1:43AM)

Mel: It was soooo good 2 see you tonight! Who was the old guy manhandling u?? Is he single?? Xox

Yes. Hope so.

Get it together.

(2:45AM)

T-Mills: Pick up the phone, Bird.

Your stomach drops. Ice slips through your veins. Tommy’s missed call. The parallels to your dream choke you. Your hand curls, nails digging little crescents into your palm. The burn confirms—you’re awake.

“So,” Joel cuts through your spiral, “who’s Karlie? And what’s a ‘dilf’?”

You freeze. You turn slowly. Joel leans against the truck, arms crossed, cigarette between fingers. Smoke drifts, and he watches with amusement.

Your screen goes dark.

“How much did you see?” you ask with resignation.

He smirks.

“Enough.”

Fuck. You groan, slipping your phone back into your pocket before leaning against the truck.

You need your own cigarette.

You open the pack and pull one out with your teeth, closing your lips around it before flicking the lighter. Flame flares, the end of it catches ember, and you inhale—deep into your lungs—before you exhale, tilting your head toward Joel.

"Sorry," you mumble with a shake of your head. "Don’t know what's wrong with them, they’re stupid."

Joel lets out a faint chuckle. "Don’t be sorry—hey now, hold up," he says. "Why are they stupid?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Calling you a dilf? Asking me if you’re single? Kinda dumb, if you ask me."

Joel exhales a scoff, clearly bothered. He adjusts his stance, resting his hip against the truck, taking another slow drag before tossing the cigarette and stomping it out on the pavement.

"You know, I was feeling pretty damn good about it, but now? Kinda hurt, can't lie." He exhales, shaking his head, feigning offense. "Thanks a lot, kid."

You breathe out a laugh. "No, that’s not what I meant—"

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You know what? You’re insufferable tonight."

Joel’s eating this up. You can see his eyes gleaming with amusement, his mouth turning up at the corner in a smile. That stupid dimple making an appearance, deepening as he shifts his weight again. His hand grabs your cigarette. It’s like a game now. Cat and mouse. Slow. Push and pull. The tension is thick, like smoke in your lungs. He spins it, takes a drag, exhales, smoke just dancing between you.

“Tell your friends thanks,” he mumbles, voice a rough drawl.

You clench your teeth.

He invades your space.

“But I’m not interested in ‘em.”

He towers over you, space shrinking, claustrophobic. His voice threads through your chest, forcing you to hold your breath.

His eyes sweep down, then up, he grabs your jaw, thumb dragging across your lip— tugging it open. He places the cigarette back between your lips, watching. Heavy-lidded. Silent. Insufferable. Heat burns into your head, and spreads low. You reach for it, fingers shaky. It’s nothing. The numbness is nicotine. Your stomach in knots from Tommy’s missed call. Nothing to do with him saying, “I’m not interested in ‘em.” It’s fucking’ something… can’t even lie to yourself, huh Bird?

Nothing to do with him being too close. You take a deep breath, and exhale slow through your mouth, steadying your pulse.

He’s studying you.

You tip your head with an eye roll.

“So I gotta break Mel’s heart? She’ll be crushed.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Yup. Tell her I’m flattered.”

“You’re flattered?” You snort, dragging again. “Not even tempted?”

It’s a joke. Harmless. His lips press, unreadable. The air shifts. His eyes map your face, weighing his words.

“Not even a little bit,” he says, low and smooth.

Your throat dries. It’s firm. Final. No question. Thank fuck it’s dark. You shift against the truck, breaking the moment.

“You’re insufferable,” you echo.

He hums, amused.

“You keep sayin’ that, Bird.” he pauses, or maybe he hesitates, “startin’ to think it means you like me.”

Your hand jumps—the cigarette singes your fingers, burnt down to the filter. He grins, dimple deep. You want to wipe it off his face. Smug fuck.

You narrow your eyes, huffing, pushing off the truck, flicking the butt away.

“You know, I liked you better asleep.”

He laughs as you walk off.

“I’m sure you did, baby girl.”

You keep your eyes ahead. Don’t give him satisfaction. Your stomach twists, heart pounding. Nails dig into your palm, quieting it. The storm door creaks. You curse under your breath. You can’t walk away unscathed. Joel won’t let you.

“Hey.”

His voice hooks you, low and careful.

If you were smart, you’d keep going. But your feet stop. You pause, hand on the handle. Joel’s boots thud, slow, purposeful. He’s giving you a chance to run. But he knows you won’t.

His warmth hits your back and you turn. Huge mistake. The space vanishes, he’s too close, eyes on your lips.

Oh, fuck. Here we go.

You brace yourself, expecting to wake. But you don’t. It’s not gravity—it’s him, and you’ve been falling since he touched you. Your fingers twitch toward his shirt like they’ve already decided for you.

He exhales shakily—then he’s there.

A hand curls around your jaw, the other tangling in your hair.

He’s kissing you.

Fucking finally.

It’s deliberate. Final. Like he knows how this ends.

You taste the smoke, alcohol, and heat as he parts his lips. You lean in, toes pressing for more. He groans, desperate, feral. Your nails sink into his chest. His hand shifts to your hip, gripping like he’s been dying for this.

You trail your fingers lower, dragging it out. His other hand slides up your back, rough palm snagging on the fabric of your tee as he pulls you tighter against him. Your chest presses to his, and you feel the wild thud of his heart matching yours—too fast, too hard. His lips slant deeper, a hungry edge to the kiss, and a low sound rumbles in his throat, vibrating through you. You tilt your head, chasing it, your fingers curling into his waistband, hovering there, can’t come back from this anyways.

Fuck, this is real. Like real, real.

Birds chirp—you pull back. Reality slams in. It’s practically dawn, the sky is starting to glow. Your chest heaves, lips sore from stubble. You’re stunned. Joel is silent. Just looking. He’s wrecked—eyes black, pupils blown, breath erratic. Like he’d devour you if no one stopped him.

Your throat’s dry. Brain’s static.

“Fuck.”

His jaw tightens. His hands hover near your hip, then drop like it he was stung. He’s regretting this. He drags a hand over his face, pinching his nose.

“Go inside, Bird—please.”

It’s rough, and uneven. But it sounds serious.

Your stomach drops.

“Joel—”

“Go to bed, Bird.”

Firmer, but softer underneath. Like if you stay, he won’t be able to stop. You nod once, then turn, stepping inside, and letting the door close behind you. Your pulse pounds. Your lips burn. Joel doesn’t follow. He stands there. Eyes on the ground. Shaking his head. Like he’s undoing it. Like you’re the mistake he’s leaving.

//Joel

Birds chirp, it’s near four now. You pull back, chest heaving, and her taste burns you.

Fuck’s sake.Smoke, beer, her—sticks to your lips, your tongue. Shouldn’t be doin’ this. You want your hands back on her, bad. It’s Kev’s kid, she’s too young. Shame bites hard, twistin’ your gut. Jesus Christ. Memories flood in, bringing more guilt with them. Thinking about how her mom’s death broke Kev. It left him fragile, and you’ve been here cleanin’ up since. You had sent her texts then when she was at school, dumb shit—“Miss your smart mouth, kid” selfies with half-open shirts, smirkin’ like an asshole. Every word a knife, flirtin’ while Kev fell apart. You cut it cold last Christmas— you had to, had to find a way to distract yourself, to stop the way her pull was crushin’ you under his trust. You tried to date, found yourself drinkin’ at Sam’s more in the last 6 months than you ever did in college, chasin’ women, some your age, some hers; but nobody really stuck. Nobody else made you feel soft, human, not like her. But now she’s here, lips still hot on yours, daddy sleepin’ upstairs totally fuckin’ oblivious to the sins you were committing. He’d fuckin’ kill you without hesitation, and you’d deserve it. Fuckin’ idiot. You drag a hand over your face, mutterin’ to the dark. Can’t shake it—heat’s sittin’ heavy. You kick the railing, hard, stuck starin’ at that door, breath short. You turn on your heels and walk towards your house, head hung low, muttering. What the fuck are you doing. You promised him you’d keep her from breakin’ and here you are, doing it yourself. 

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, vomiting, alcohol intoxication, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @jokesonthem @orodaeh

[dixons-sunshine]

Just started s3 and am going absolutely feral over Daryl with baby Judith. Any thoughts on the reader and Daryl caring for Judith those first few days when Rick is still a bit murder-spreeey?

A/n: Anon, you're so real for that. Daryl holding baby Judith had my ovaries going boom. Ugh I love that scene so much!

Imagine taking care of Judith with Daryl while Rick's too out of it due to Lori's death.

It's not like the two of you had to take care of the new baby girl. Everybody offered to do so. Beth, Carol, Hershel, you name it. You wanted to take care of her. So as your partner, Daryl therefore decided to help—not that he needed much convincing to begin with. The little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

Caring for a newborn wasn't an easy task, that's for sure. It made it a bit harder for you because you were mourning your friend, and taking care of her baby made you miss her even more. However, Judith needed you, and even though you weren't her mom, you'd do your best to care for her. If that meant having to deal with dirty diapers, puke and sleepless nights, so be it.

Daryl wouldn't admit it, but seeing you care for Judith with such tenderness and love stirred something deep within him. He'd never thought of it before, but seeing you with Judith made him think of how you'd be with a baby of your own. A baby he could help you create. Would you want that with him? Do you even want kids of your own?

That conversation came up late one night when the two of you had just put Judith to bed. Her makeshift crib was in your room until Rick was sane enough to finally start taking care of her, making it easier to care for her when she woke up during the night. You could see Daryl's eyes flickering between you and Judith repeatedly. You had asked him what was on his mind, and unexpectedly, even for him, he spoke his mind.

“Been thinkin'... Would ya wanna start a family one day?”

You had stopped, looked up at him in surprise, and shrugged. “Do you wanna start a family one day?”

“Dunno. Never really thought'a it 'fore now. Seein' ya care for Lil' Asskicker... I dunno. S'a nice thought, startin' a family with ya.”

You had smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Do you really want that?”

Daryl had nodded. “Maybe not righ' now, but someday, yeah.”

Before either of you could talk more about the subject, Judith had interrupted the moment with a cry. However, with that conversation fresh in your mind, you couldn't stop imagining a little one of your own running around.

And if a lot of baby making sessions transpired after that, nobody should've been surprised.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: Happy Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The grocery store is a panoply of colours and sounds. You feel hollow as you lean on the cart and trawl the aisles. You won't fill it, you got it for support. Your legs are weaker by the minute.  

You balance out every credit in your shop. You can't go a dollar over the allotment. It isn't very much at the end. Better for you, you're worried about carrying it all. 

You swipe the card and crumple the list. You had to leave a few things off. You hook the bags over your shoulders, the effort further sending your burnt hand to pulse. As you come out onto the beaming light, you examine the tortured flesh peeking out. You unwind the fraying bandage and gasp, tears springing free as you peel it away from the sticky, stinky flesh. 

It stings in the open air. You keep it up against your chest and walk on. It's more of a lumber as your feet drag and your body moves stiffly. The sun beats down mercilessly and has you sweating despite the constant shiver rolling through you. 

You slow as you come in sight of your building. You look around cautiously, searching for the glasses and blond beard. Did he listen? Did he go away or is he lurking? Just like Lee, always waiting... 

You don't see him. The edges of your vision are so blurry, you can't be sure. You don't have the energy to worry about him. You just want to go back to bed. 

You cross the street and clumsily aim the keys at the slot. Through one door, then the next. You don't hear them catch behind you but you can only hear the echoing impact of each step. 

You stagger into the apartment and leave the chain to dangle, the latch flipped the wrong way. You trod into the kitchen but don't have the length to lift the bags onto the counter. You drop them on the floor and stare. You're so tired and you can't stop shaking. 

As you stand there, time and space pinpoints on you. You look around, the silence setting in. It's so quiet. You can't hear your mom. Or him.  

"Now aren't ya gon put that all away?" Lee drawls as his weight creaks in the floor. 

You nod without looking back and make a noise. You can't muster a single word. You bend to reach into a bag and take out the box of generic macaroni and cheese. You hobble to the counter and set it down, using your good hand to open the cupboard. You put it on the shelf and grasp the door. 

You're so dizzy. You lean on the counter and suddenly, the doors swinging shut. The edge hits your cheek and you yelp. You're crushed against the drawers as Lee pens you in from behind. 

"You're startin' to really tee me off. Takin' your time and all. Like you ain't good for nothin'," he snarls as you fold over the counter top. "Whatsa matter with you? You not gonna fight, huh?" 

He grabs a fistful of hair and wrenches your head back. You heave as your hand slaps painfully on the stained linoleum, the flesh radiating with flame. You whimper as his other hand creeps around your stomach. He pushes on your pelvis until his crotch is flush to your ass. 

"Let me show you what you're good for, huh?" He sneers and shoves his hand down the front of your pants. You whimper as he touches the coil patch of hair beneath, "mm, feel that? You want this. Ain't even got no panties." 

"Stop," you murmur as your head lolls from his grasp. 

"You'll be beggin' me not to in a minute," he snorts and forces his fingers between your thighs. 

"Sto-sto-stop!" You stammer out helplessly. 

"Now, you keep quiet. It won't be long," he leans into you until your hips ache, "teach ya to be disrespectful." 

He curls his fingers and scratches between your folds. You whine and gulp through your dry throat. Panic surges through your delirium as you reach back to claw with your injured hand. A shriek erupts at the the vibrant agony. 

"Ahhhhhh!" You wail, "mom! Mom! Help!" 

"She drank herself stupid already," he growls and nips at your ear, "just us, girl." 

"Mom!" You yelp as his fingers dip towards your entrance, his rough palm scraping against your soft flesh, "mom!" Your heart throbs and your head rings, "mom!" He pushes his fingertips through your tight slit and you erupt, "MOMMY!” 

Your knee hit the wood as you wriggle against him. You’re so weak. The walls close in as you feel yourself losing your grasp, not just on the counter but on the world. His fingers sink in deep, the callouses rough against your delicate walls. 

Suddenly, you’re jarred and the room tips over. You hit the tile in a heap and groan. Your fiery hand rests against the cool squares as your vision swirls and you hear huffing and puffing, grunts intermingled and the crack of violence. Thwack, thwack, thwack. 

Lee’s heavy figure hits the wall and his legs go out from under him as he slides onto his ass. You blink through the silty haze and shake your head. It’s all foggy and senseless. It wasn’t you who pushed him off. It can’t have been. 

“Mom,” you mutter as you try to sit up only to fall back as your hand burns with acid. Your blood is hot but your skin is ice. “Mom, what’s going on?” 

A dark shape bounces off of Lee’s jaw and red dribbles down his chin as he leans against the wall, slumping down onto his shoulder. You drone mindlessly as you bring your hand over your stomach and whine. It hurts so bad. The shadow moves to stand over you and you close your eyes. 

“Please...” you beg. It’s definitely not your mom; they’re too big, too strong. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” the grizzly timbre tickles in your ears as something firm slips beneath you; one arm around your shoulders, the other under your knees. 

You float in the air, eyes threatening to roll back as you fight through the clouds, your form jittering uncontrollably against the blaze that surrounds you. The man is hotter than fire. You tilt your head up and see the tufts of his short blond beard. 

It’s him. It’s Professor Smith but why is he there? Where is he taking you? All those questions merely stir in your slanted consciousness as your head falls against his shoulder. You’re too tired to think and you’re done fighting. It never you any good anyhow. 

You feel the motion of his steps and how he angles you through the door. Down the stairs and outside back into the unbearable light. You squeeze your eyes tight. He continues on, laying you into something soft. You look at him between your eyelids and garble. 

“Sweetheart, just stay here,” he bids in his lilt, pulling a lever to recline the car seat. The vinyl smells brand new and the upholstery looks just as pristine. It stamps your vision before you once more hide inside your head. “I’ll be back.” 

You don’t protest. Why is he doing all this? For you? He’s your professor... it doesn’t make much sense. Nothing does right now. Everything is just messy. 

He puts the engine on. The low whir is comforting. He adjusts the vents to blow air, though it feels hot to you. He stands and removes his jacket, spreading it over your quivering shoulders and chest. He huffs and cranes to see behind him. 

The door shuts and locks at his back as he leaves you. You stay as you are. It’s as comfortable as you’ve been in days. Time stretches on, crackling in your ears. You drift off into a void, brought back only by the hollow thunk of the electric locks. 

Professor Smith tosses something in the backseat and snaps the door closed, moving to the driver’s. He sits beside you and lets the car idle. He reaches over to touch your forehead as your lashes flutter at him. He hums as he appears as a ghostly smear. 

“Very well,” he says and the car rolls into motion. 

📓

You jolt up, a splash of water flying up across your face and chest as you rip your hand away from the electrifying pain. You’re caught by the shoulder and hushed. You blink tightly and lean back, looking over at the man on the other side of the porcelain. Professor Smith reaches over to take your hand out of the water, the ripples scalding on the tormented skin. 

“It’s already infected,” he says, “you’ll make it worse. I’m trying to dress it so be still.” 

Your confusion nips at your ears as you look down at yourself. You’re naked, in a tub of steaming water, the scent of lilies roiling up with the wisps. He sighs and you hiss as he presses a wet swab to the burnt patches of skin. Some of it even looks green. 

His sleeves are rolled to his elbows and there are cuts and scrapes on his own knuckles. Even so, his nails are cut and tidy and his skin is clean. He is diligent in his attention to your own mottled skin. 

You put your hand over your lap, trying to hide but all modesty is spent. You’re too dazed to care that much. There’s bigger questions. Where are you? Why? 

“I couldn’t let you to wallow in such a horrid place,” he speaks as he works, his touch gentle despite the thickness and firmness of his hand. “And after our last interaction, I could not just tuck my tail. It isn’t of my nature.” He tuts as he wets a new swab with alcohol, “and the filth--” 

“Professor...” you slur. “What... why?” 

“There are many details, yes, I had to jump through hoops but you needn’t worry for all that. What’s more important is we get you clean. The state of it,” he shakes his head, “a day or two more and you might’ve died.” He stills his hands and looks at you. You dare to meet his gaze, shame scalding as hot as the fever, “it wouldn’t do.” 

You frown, “I didn’t ask for help--” 

“Well, you are getting it,” he scoffs and sets back to disinfecting. “And a mother like that. Neglectful...” 

“She’s... lost.” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? She’s still a mother. Bringing that man around. Certainly, he isn’t the first, either.” 

You lower your head. You wince and whimper as he carries on but you do not pull away. He works methodically. 

“We’ll get some antibiotics in you and tuck in,” he speaks to himself, “perhaps they can have some broth brought up to the room. Never fear, I’ve brought my own sheets and sanitized ever speck.” 

You cough and shake your head. You can’t keep up. 

“When you’re up to it, we’ll leave town. I do fear I will have to be back in office, at least my home office, within the week,” he takes out a roll of gauze and you wince. 

“I’m... what’s going on?” You ask. 

“Naturally, when you start something you need to follow through,” he says, “I’ve done and started this, haven’t I?” 

“Started what?” You utter. 

“Can’t take you back now,” he secures the bandage and lets your arm rest over the porcelain. “Don’t get that wet.” 

“Sir, professor,” you sit up, another spiraling sensation overcoming you. You look down and fold up to hide yourself, your exposure tingling over you, “what... please tell me what’s going on.” 

“Would you need help? Cleaning, I mean. Purely practical,” he offers, “I wouldn’t mind. Of course, I did wipe your face already, did my best with the hair...” he sits back on the low cushioned stool he’s on and puts his elbows on his knees, “there is soap and a fresh scrubber there.” 

“Can you please just--” you bluster and a faintness blows through you, sending you back against the porcelain. You slip down dangerously, your arm sticking up against the side of the tub. He catches your elbow, heaving you back up as he bends over you.  

“Yes, feverish still,” he says, “perhaps a hot bath is not the best for it.” He hauls you up and sits you on the ledge of the great basin, “hang onto me then, I will get you washed up.” 

You have no other choice but to obey. The humiliation cannot feed the strength you need to resist. You cling to him with your uninjured arm and lean your head on his shoulder. He pauses before he can grab the scrubbie and instead rubs your back. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he coos, “yes, right then.”  

His hand lingers before he reaches once more and swipes up the bottle and sponge, moving his arms around you. You collapse into him and groan. At least he isn’t hurting you. Not like Lee. 

[reds-writings]

souls further entwined

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: finally an update for these two! sorry to keep you waiting! I've got a lot of life changes in the works so updates might come a little slower over the next few months depending but i hope this tides y'all over for a bit! this takes place sometime after if only tonight we could sleep

word count: roughly 2.5k

warnings: (PLEASE LOOK BEFORE CONTINUING) discussions of abortion, child loss, forced/unsafe medical procedures, bad family situations, angst angst, cursing, semi-not-so-smut at the end, minors avert your gaze or else!!

The hidden gem of a restaurant that Rust had brought you to somewhere in the French Quarter was rather nice with its live jazz band playing in the corner and lavish decor. The tinkering of silverware layered on top of the low rumblings of fellow diners did what it could to fill the void of silence that had long settled between you and the man sitting adjacent. He had spontaneously asked you– well more like told you to go out with him tonight. Something about wanting to do things right once and for all after all this tiptoeing around.  The whole notion had taken you off guard, admittedly.

You’d been buzzing so bright leading up to tonight that you could've probably put a lightning bug to shame. He’d asked you on a real date. A step forward from the semi-clandestine meetings you’d both been settling on for far too long now. It was unlike him to outwardly admit to much but you doubted it was a wide occurrence that he’d take a girl on a date just because he was bored. This had meaning.

With that thought swirling in mind, you’d found your best dress and took what constituted as way too long of a pampering shower to best prepare for a promising night out with the man you'd become so deeply enamored with. It wasn’t often you got to get all prettied up for some fun given that work always managed to swallow you whole. 

God you’d been so excited. 

From the time you’d gotten into Rust’s Ford up until you’d sat down to eat he had yet to utter a single word to you. Hell, he’d hardly even managed to look at you either and it was starting to cause a distasteful rock that went by the name of dread to sink lower and lower in your gut. 

Dexterous fingers stayed picking at the table cloth as a form of lengthy distraction and you fought the bubbling urge to snatch his hand and demand what gives. It wasn’t hard to miss the anxiety bleeding from his form with those tense shoulders and that telltale faraway look in his eyes. You didn’t want to continue the cycle of jumping to conclusions when it came to the routine lack of forthcoming involving his more vulnerable thoughts out of insecurity so you bit the bullet,

“Y’know…usually on a date there’s a bit more talkin;. Maybe startin’ with questions like ‘what’s your favorite color’-- it’s blue by the way, or ‘where’d you get that lovely dress’. Could also do with lookin’ a little less green in the gills.”

That got him to stop fidgeting but a response was not yet prompted. You sighed and looked down at the vibrant cloth napkin in your lap,

“If you’re startin’ to regret this we can just forget about it and head back-”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need.” He all but blurted and it had your head shooting back up in suprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t…I don’t find myself being suited for marriage like before. I can’t give you kids because I don’t think it’s right-”

“Wait a minute just-...slow your roll for a second.” Your mind was going a mile a minute at his frank outburst and you were having trouble pinpointing just where it all came from. 

“First of all, I don’t necessarily need the promise of marriage to feel fulfilled. I’m about to hit 30 soon enough and I’ve supplied plenty for myself that I'm not sure some flimsy marriage papers can add on to. I’m not just sayin’ all this to make you feel better either so don’t go down that route.” You were tenderly stern in your delivery to make sure what you were saying was actually sticking without sounding offended.

All he could give was a slight nod as the tip of his thumb came to his mouth: a nervous tic.

“Secondly…” You cleared your throat slightly and gave yourself a moment of pause. The latter concern wasn’t that of an easy subject. For either of you. Besides your family and probably Marty, not many knew of your reality when it came to the idea of starting a family. 

“I can’t have children. So that wouldn’t even be on the table to begin with I suppose.” 

That seemed to stun Rust. His expression working out how, what, and when this came to be. You cleared your throat again. Talking about it was never easy no matter how much time passed.

“The gist of it is…well I got knocked up when I was sixteen. Total accident, shocker. And um…my pa didn't approve. Not one bit, bein’ the respectable county figure he was as a seasoned lawyer n' all.” 

Your sinuses began to sting but you willed away any threat of tears as you tried to explain. Rust didn't say a word, his expression hardening minutely with a knowing sense of where this was headed.

“I didn’t wanna listen. I was scared of course but the boy I was foolin’ around with at the time was nice and had a family who wanted to be involved so that was enough for me. My uppity family could shove it for all I cared,” You scoffed wryly but continued, “But pa was adamant. He couldn’t have some little whore of daughter muckin’ things up but we were a church family so abortion was obviously out of the question. At least one would think that was the case,” 

“Long story short he dragged me to some back alley clinic where things would be kept under wraps. They fuckin’ botched it of course and made me sterile. Didn’t really know how bad it was until another loss and a visit with the doctor after trying with a serious boyfriend some time ago…” You shrugged as you fiddled with your unused silverware. You hadn’t spoken with your family since then. Letting you be mutilated for the sake of preserving a frivolous public image was a hard thing to let go of.

You remember how sick you were afterward. Infection from the procedure and a decent amount of blood loss, go figure. You only recall the house's maids nursing you back.

Your pa had never been able to look you in the eye again. Your mama just pretended nothing had ever happened the way it did.

Sometimes your mind had the habit of taking a dark turn every now and then, wondering if they would’ve felt any remorse if their forced course of action ended up actually killing you. With a selfishness like they had you couldn't help but doubt it. 

They had always taken more pride in your sister anyway. 

“So yeah…you don’t have to worry about the possibility of kids when it comes to me. It’s not like with our line of work it’d be much of a good idea anyway. Marty’s a prime example I'd reckon.” Your laugh was brittle in a weak attempt to lift the heavy weight you felt like you’d set over the mood. 

Rust’s large hand reached over to encase your shaking one to garner your attention. Looking up you weren’t met with pity or disgust, but with recognition. One shared in the experience of grief. Of having something meant to be so precious ripped from you in the cruelest of ways. He didn’t feel sorry for you. He understood you. More than anyone else had or could. 

“You’re enough for me, Rust. I don’t know if you’ve noticed by now but there’s not much you can do to send me runnin’ for the hills. I like you as you are and I don’t need more. I wouldn’t expect you to change your mind over somethin’ like that anyway. It just wouldn’t be fair to ask.” His eyes glazed over at your words and he had to let go of the troubled breath he’d been holding. He brought your hand to his lips and kept them there as an unspoken thank you. 

After a moment or two he set your hand back on the tabletop, still grasped in his. 

“How about we find some shitty dive and let loose over there. This place is startin’ to feel a lil’ too stuffy for me.” Your light-hearted jab made the corner of his lips quirk up before he nodded,

“Yes, ma'am.” 

—

After a relaxing drive accompanied by the tunes of Willie Nelson in search of a dive bar that was sufficient enough, the ice from all the worries of earlier had melted as fast as they had formed. The establishment you ended up coming across was a more than welcome change of pace compared to that of the restaurant (as lovely as it was). It wasn’t big by any means but there was room to dance and plenty of open spots to sit around and drink. 

You looped your arm through his and leaned into his side as you made your way to settle down. There wasn’t enough time or clarity earlier to truly appreciate just how good he looked for the occasion but now you had all the time in the world to shamelessly ogle.

He’d donned a black dress shirt, forgoing a tie and leaving a few buttons undone in a way that had you feeling dizzy, as well as a nice fitting pair of jeans that had plenty of passersby’s eyes glued to his shapely form.

“The ladies of Louisiana might just beat me up for a chance with you. If your face ain’t motivation enough your ass surely will be.” You nudged him and he shook his head mirthfully. 

“One would say jealousy is unbecoming.”

“Who said anythin’ about jealousy? I’ve earned my stake in claimin’ you as eye candy fair and square. They can try all they want but they were just too slow to the draw.”

“With your pension for being scrappy, I’d say they wouldn’t have much of a chance to begin with.” 

“Gee, is that the only reason they don’t stand a chance?” You quirked a brow. You knew the answer but pestering him to fess up hardly ever got you far. 

“What d’ya wanna drink, Miss Envy.” He drawled, not one to fall into your traps so easily and you flicked him with narrowed eyes.

“Last time I checked my name don’t even come close to rhymin’ with envy so you can quit with that.” 

The shithead just smirked.

“I’ll take a jack and coke. Now run along.” You waved him away and he just shook his head. In his short absence you’d found a high top and decided to claim as your territory for the night. The music was clearer over this way and your heart jumped at the beginning notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Beautiful Child.

Upon his return, Rust had hardly been able to set the drinks down before you were grabbing at him to park yourselves out on the dancefloor. A few other couples were swaying in place so you figured it wouldn’t be all that awkward to steal a moment for yourselves.

It was strange, being able to be so open in your affections without the curious eyes of Marty or anyone else from the precinct to make judgments. You could just be yourselves. It was a breath of fresh air after all this time.

As the song gained momentum, you wrapped your arms around his neck, toying with the hairs at his nape while his strong ones made home around your waist to pull you in closer. A small spark of pride lit up your chest at him being able to be this comfortable with you.

As you rested your head along the expanse of his chest you felt the feather-light stamp of his kiss at your crown. The tenderness of the simple act almost had you turning into one hell of a mush puddle. You settled on burrowing deeper if that were any more possible as Stevie sang on. Fighting the effect he had on you was always going to be a losing battle. 

You wouldn’t trade this moment for a damned thing. 

—

It was nearing almost three in the morning by the time you arrived back home. Your mind had been pleasantly warmed by the drinks and all the dancing. Rust even seemed to have a newfound glow to him and it was triggering something innately carnal in you. 

Taking an opportunity from the pocket of silence, you scooted along the Ford’s bench seat to make a place for yourself along his lap. 

The relaxed daze displayed across his features was something you’d never had the pleasure of seeing before. It was nothing like the faraway trance he’d trap himself in with all the pills and whatnot in fruitless efforts of chasing undisturbed sleep. No, this was true content. 

“I had a good time.” You didn’t mean to sound so coy but it couldn’t be helped as your hands crept up to frame his fine face.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” He hummed as he took in every feature your beautiful face had to offer. It was like striking gold. Especially in this expansive wasteland of a state.

“When we get a chance we should do it again. S’nice to go out…feel normal…” Hair lying in his line of light distracted you as you moved it out of the way with a gentle sweep. The truck’s cab could probably burst with the steadily increasing tension so you did what any normal woman would do with such a man in front of them and kissed him with all you had. 

It started out syrupy and languid as if you had all the time in the world to be out macking in the car like a pair of careless teenagers. Your skin hummed like a live wire at his sudden grasp on the plush fat of your hips which served as the green light to go further. 

Your delicate fingers carded through his soft waves as the muscle of his tongue took dominance over the kiss. A meek whimper cracked within your throat as you tried to keep up with what little oxygen you had remaining. When Rust kissed, it was all-consuming. It was no act he took passively when it came to you which had been made crystal clear to you by now. With each pass of his wet-hot caress, you could feel everything he wanted to say to you without complication of expression through words. 

His mouth traveled across the apple of your cheek down the expanse of your neck, nipping and sucking with such lax reverence it had you arching as if you could fuse your ribs with his. Souls to be permanently intertwined.

With a starting grind of your hips that your body had no willpower to control you could feel him hardening with each intensifying roll. His choked moan had you remembering where you were and you’d be damned if your first actual night with him was in this old, damned truck right outside your house. 

“D’ya wanna take this inside?” You offered in a breathless huff, trying to catch your breath in vain. You’re sure that even in the dark of the truck’s cabin the heat of your face could set the whole space aglow. He nipped at your bottom lip and soothed it with another peck,

“I would.”

The sudden tangle of limbs clambering to make haste towards the beacon of your front door would’ve been downright hysterical had you any hubris. 

a/n: sorry to blue ball you lmao. I HOPE THIS WASN'T CRINGE AHHHHH. i'll probably come back and edit this later. feedback is always appreciated!

[eviesaurusrex]

—ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ

GIFs not mine!

summary: Perfect moments with their best girl.

word count: 5.5k ooooopsie

warnings: nothing, tooth-rotting fluff because these two deserve the world, kissing, two big, strong men being softies for their girl, but also sometimes in overprotective mode, reader is described as shorter than them, allusion to smutty smut and lingerie, short make-out session, an ex is making a short appearance, not entirely proofread

author’s note: I’ve never written something for Stucky, but thanks to tumblr, I’ve shipped them for a very long time and had to do this, so here we are. Don’t hate me for this being utter shit, thanks.

* * *

Sunny days were her favorites. So, sunny days were naturally entirely reserved for her when everyone had gotten time off missions. When the weather forecast predicted sunny days ahead, Steve and Bucky did everything to try and get these days off, especially when the weeks lying behind them had been filled with rain and clouds.

Their best girl was a vitamin D junkie, so they became vitamin D junkies as well.

Her sigh, full of contentment, let hearts flutter as Bucky watched the woman they loved bathing in the warming rays of sunshine, his shades perched on her pretty nose. Nothing of her wasn’t pretty, especially when the sun tickled her skin and let her seem as radiant as the burning star itself.

She had her arms crossed under her head, an opened novel resting on her slowly moving chest, her pretty lips slightly parted, and her eyes closed behind the tinted glass. At the sight of her relaxed state of mind, cruel but crucial missions finally somewhere in the very back of her head, Bucky couldn’t stop himself. Staring wasn’t enough to satisfy his craving at that particular moment, and he bent his head to press a sweet kiss to her even sweeter-tasting lips, humming in amusement at the little gasp leaving her mouth before she herself hummed in contentment and kissed him back.

“What was that for?” YN asked, eyes now opened to stare up at the handsome brunet looming over her as he still was propped up on his arm right next to her on the picnic blanket they had placed somewhere in Central Park near the lake. He started playing with strands of her hair and shrugged one shoulder, a breathtaking smile slowly stretching over his face, even reaching his pretty blue eyes and making them sparkle with happiness. “Nothin’, doll. Just felt like kissin’ ya,” Bucky mumbled close to her lips after he had bent down again, but Steve’s voice made him stop a mere millimeter apart from her. “Already startin’ without me even though I got’ya some food and iced coffee on my way here? Rude.” But his smile told something else.

Pushing Bucky off of her with a hand pressed against his chest, YN reached up as soon as the blond super soldier had knelt on their blanket and tangled her fingers in the neckline of his light blue shirt. “He started,” she whispered conspiratorially with a giggle, well knowing that the other super soldier could hear her words just perfectly. His quiet scoff just underlined it. But Steve only grinned happily and obliged without so much as a second thought as YN pulled him downward to her face and kissed him Hello. “You said something about iced coffee, if I remember correctly?” He hummed in approval and reached for the paper cup holder to get her current favorite summer drink. “Couldn’t let you enjoy the day without it.” Another kiss came close after before his blue eyes followed YN’s movements as she grabbed the cup, took a deep sip, and lay back down again, snuggling closer into Bucky’s chest.

Steve followed close by, putting down the food and the other two drinks he had gotten for them, and settled on her other side onto the blanket, his long legs stretched out and crossed at his ankles. Bucky smiled at him over their best girl’s body and couldn’t stop himself from bending over YN to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s cheek, grinning at the blush creeping up into his cheeks, still not used to the openly shown affection from either of them. It was like a dream, and he loved how his life had turned—how all their lives had turned.

YN had watched her two lovesick men with a gentle smile before littering both their handsome faces with kisses until it was her who was showered in kisses, turning her into a giggling mess underneath the sun. They ignored every single look thrown their way, not caring for the people and their silly thoughts because they were as happy as probably humanely possible. They bathed in her adorable sounds, savored every single touch of her skin, and every single look and smile she showed them.

“How’s our sun girl today,” Steve mumbled against her lips, feeling Bucky’s fingers carding through his hair and YN’s thumb caressing his cheek, her smiling lips pressing almost open-mouthed kisses to his. “Perfectly and utterly content.” It was only a sighed whisper, but it was enough to make both their hearts flutter again. It still was a somewhat adrenaline rush to realize how happy they made this woman, how lucky they’ve been that she loved them both, just as they both loved her. It still continued to blow their minds how open they could be nowadays, how little the majority of people cared when they saw the trio strolling through the city, sharing kisses, holding hands, walking as closely next to one another as possible. Sometimes, Steve just had to think that all this was nothing but a dream and that he would wake up any minute now, back in his sickly body and his loved ones entirely out of reach.

“Hey.”

Bucky drew him out of his mind and back to their cozy little spot in Central Park, blue eyes meeting blue eyes, dark brows worryingly drawn together. The blond super soldier only shook his head slightly, a smile tucking at the corner of his mouth as he looked from one worried face to another, swiftly pressing easing kisses to both their cheeks. “It’s alright. I’m okay. Jus’ tired and too much in my head. Wanna try one of these loaded donuts I found on my way?” YN squealed at that and sat up faster than both men would’ve considered possible, smiling at one another behind her back before following close to at least get a single bite of those treats before they vanished right before their eyes.

Sometimes, this woman really blew their minds.

* * *

It was already dark outside; the night stretching across the window-covered wall of their shared room at the compound, and the moon shining brightly into the dimly lit bedroom. Steve was lying on his side of the massive and custom-manufactured bed Tony had gifted them last Christmas after he had been tired of hearing YN groan and whine about the little space she had between two buffed super soldiers. Now, she was sprawled like a cute little sea star over him and the rest of the bed, almost seemingly covering every bit and appearing a lot taller than she actually was compared to the two men she called the loves of her life. Steve sometimes had to ask himself how she managed to cover basically every inch of the bed while also being sprawled atop their bodies, and some nights even managed to fall out of the bed.

This woman was an enigma to him, but Steve loved her even more for that. It didn’t matter that some nights he felt a foot or an elbow in his ribs or that Bucky always woke him when he single-handedly manhandled YN back into her designated spot of their bed without paying attention to where Steve was sleeping. Even if he could change everything, he wouldn’t change a single thing. This was what he’d always wanted back in the days, what he envied people for. It simply was perfection.

One of his large hands softly and lovingly drew indescribable patterns on YN’s partly exposed skin, his other hand holding the novel he was currently reading after she had bought it during one of their many dates in the city. It was her love language—picking books and gifting them. And Steve happily obliged and started reading it right away. His eyes couldn’t leave the words on the pages, already deeply enraptured by the story unfolding in front of his eyes, head sometimes dipping to his right to press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. Her slow but deep breathing was the only sound except for his in the room, and in his eyes, it was the only thing he’d ever need in his life—that and Bucky’s heartbeat next to hers when they all drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, he felt YN moving more in her sleep, her fingers grasping his shirt like a lifeline, and a small whimper escaped her lips, brows deeply furrowed. He let the book rest on the blanket thrown over both of them and started humming the tune of one of her favorite songs while also pressing feather-light kisses to her forehead, trying to pull her unconsciousness out of the bad dream and back to something bright and joyful. And it worked like a charm, just as it always did, and soon, YN rested unmoving against his chest again, her breathing back to the long deep breaths of deep slumber.

Steve picked up his book where he had left off, only to let his motion stop midair as his eyes found Bucky leaning against the doorframe, watching his two people with a small smile on his lips. “Bad dream again?” The blond nodded and put the book on the nightstand. “They come and go as they please.” Bucky had more experience with them than he had, so he just nodded in understanding and walked over to them. His duffel bag leaned against the wall as he sat down on Steve’s bedside, hands finding together and holding tightly onto one another. The brunet kissed the blond first before pressing a lingering kiss to YN’s forehead, sighing deeply as their familiar scent enveloped him and soothed his mind. “I’m too tired to take a shower, but she’ll tell me a piece of her mind when she wakes up and realizes I climbed into bed in my tactical gear,” Bucky groaned quietly, head resting at Steve’s shoulder, but then chuckled and pushed himself back up after he had felt a kiss to his temple. The Rogers grinned at that.

Yes, they were decades-old super soldiers and fought off the most dangerous people on this planet, but they feared the wrath of this tiny, delicate woman more than anything else in this world. And they never liked to upset her in the first place.

“Just a quick rinse. It’ll make you feel better,” Steve nudged Bucky gently and smiled lovingly at his deep sigh, watching his shoulders slump down and his body succumbing to the exhaustion after a mission. “Only a quick one. And only because I love you two.” With that, Bucky let his hand wander into Steve’s neck and pulled him towards him, but only so much as not to disturb YN in her much-needed sleep, and exhaled slowly as he felt their lips touching. “I could join you,” Steve mumbled into the kiss, feeling excitement rushing through his body at the thought alone, but knew Bucky would shake his head even before he actually did it. “You need to take care of our girl here. Y’know how easily she wakes up when no one is next to her.” Then, he smirked and kissed Steve slowly and languidly. “Remember, we have the entire weekend to ourselves. Just the three of us in here, unoccupied time. The little something I found for her should arrive tomorrow.” Steve’s breath hitched in his throat as the memory of a night spent online shopping moved back into his mind, accompanied by the mere anticipation he had felt when Bucky had found the scandalous piece they both knew she would love—until it would be on the floor, probably in lacey shreds.

Bucky chuckled as Steve finally pushed him off the bed. “Go and take a shower, sarge. I know someone is in need of her big spoon.” And he was right because as the other man climbed into their bed and pressed his chest against her back, YN smiled in her sleep and wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, nuzzling closer into each of her super soldiers, the bad dreams entirely gone for the night.

* * *

Choreomania echoed through the still empty apartment somewhere in Brooklyn, the sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, facing Prospect Park in its green beauty. YN hummed and sang along to the vinyl of Florence + The Machine, wearing an old pair of sweatpants—she wasn’t even sure who they belonged to, either Steve or Bucky—and an old tank top, and now, after hours filled with painting the walls, she was covered in paint splotches, her fingers raw from removing the old wallpaper meticulously, so she could paint the walls just like they preferred.

This would be their home. This would be their safe space. This would be the home of their family. And therefore, it had to simply be perfect. And that’s why YN was already in here, already working hard for their dream home to become a reality instead of a fleeting image in their heads, even though they had decided to do this together after Steve’s and Bucky’s last mission for the month. But she couldn’t wait. She wasn’t able to sit around at the compound, reading her books and watching her shows when she already had all the time possible at hand to do something.

Dipping the painter’s roll back into the color, YN quickly climbed the ladder to check the painter’s tape one last time, only to rearrange and re-stick it again. She was satisfied with the result after the adjustment; the blue tape line was now perfectly even, and the wall was ready to be painted. With a nod, the Avenger started to climb down the metal ladder, only to slip off it on her sock-clad feet. A shriek thought its way out of her throat as she felt herself falling and following earth’s gravitational forces until a pair of strong arms caught her mid-air and pressed her against a broad chest.

“Woah there, doll,” Bucky’s voice murmured close to her ear, and instinctively, YN’s arms circled his neck. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’ here all by yourself, hm?” She searched his crystal blue eyes with her own and shrugged, almost helplessly, at the sight of his worried gaze and his scrunched-up brows. YN couldn’t even get a word out of her mouth because suddenly, heavy steps echoed through the hallway, and Steve entered the living room, brows just as worriedly furrowed as his boyfriend’s. “What happened?” Immediately, he let go of the bags he had carried, letting them tumble to the hardwood floor just as she had almost done and hurried himself over to the pair, his eyes already scanning for possible injuries before his hands followed. They softly wandered over her arms and her legs, and Bucky let his hand feel her back up and down, only to hum, satisfied when she didn’t flinch in pain.

YN shrugged again and looked from one high-towering super soldier to the other. “I thought I could start on the walls already while you two are still in Prague.” Now that she thought about it… “What are you two doing here, anyway? You weren’t supposed to be back until, what? The day after tomorrow?” Then, she had to add: “I don’t mean I’m not excited to have you back already, in one piece, because I am—excited. Welcome home.” Her eyes almost teared up when she first pulled Steve down at his neck and kissed his soft lips gently before turning her head to Bucky and kissing him just as lovingly. The two soldiers smiled softly down at the woman between them, still lying in Bucky’s arms, and recognized the feeling swirling inside them instantly: pure happiness and domestic bliss.

“You should’ve waited for us, baby girl,” Steve muttered after the brunet had sat her back on her feet, and he had the opportunity to take a gentle hold of her hands. The delicate tips of her fingers were an angry red, her skin plastered in probably toxic paint, and the grumble of her stomach had been heard by the two men downstairs when they first arrived at their new home. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, really, Stevie. The mustard-yellow wallpaper just put up a harder fight than anticipated, but I conquered it.” Her proud grin warmed the two men from the inside, and Bucky wrapped his arms around her shoulders, propping his chin atop her head. “Well, that fight must’ve been a sight to behold,” he chuckled before his metal thumb started to draw circles into her upper arm. “But I think someone forgot to look after herself, so you’ll take a break now and eat something while we’re dealing with the walls. Alright, doll?”

Quietly muttering, YN obliged and nodded because she knew this wasn’t a fight she could ever win. Steve and Bucky were too protective for that, too worried about her well-being to let her have her way now. So she let these two settle her on their folded jackets, back propped up against the wooden passage frame, and takeout from her favorite Chinese restaurant in hands. Her eyes never left them, watching them as they quickly tried to wipe her skin clean of the smelly paint before pressing kisses to her face, reminding her to eat her lunch, and went to work.

They stared at her progress for a moment, trying to figure out what her vision had been for their living room, before grabbing the painter’s rolls and rolling off the excess paint in the plastic bins. “You did such a great job, doll.” Bucky smiled over at her, his heart aching beautifully as he watched his best girl starting to smile radiantly with the chopsticks between her lips, and he was sure she had never been more beautiful than now. “Oh, definitely. This will be done before you finish your food,” Steve added to the praise, smiling himself, as he started to paint the first wall while Bucky climbed the ladder to treat the bare wooden planks with oil.

“You two should do this all day, every day. You look hot renovating our home.” The words were almost swallowed by the bite of Chinese takeout and chopsticks still in her mouth, and YN felt her cheeks blushing when they both turned and looked over at her. “Oh, yeah? Maybe we should take off our shirts then, baby girl?” Steve wiggled his blond brows teasingly, and a laugh escaped him, head thrown back, as YN bombarded him with a napkin. “Don’t you dare. See that window over there?” She pointed to the window at one of the sides, facing the house on the other side of the street. “That woman living there already ogled you two when we first went here. It obviously doesn’t matter that she’s married, but you don’t have to fuel her ego or whatever.”

Quietly grumbling, YN stared down into the box of takeout, the urgent feeling of hiding her two boyfriends from the world almost overwhelming again. Sometimes, she couldn’t help herself and felt overly protective of them, and sometimes even jealous, especially when women tried to take them away from her. It was stupid, she knew that because she knew that these two would never leave her—and neither would she. The thought alone hurt. But sometimes, her brain morphed back to the state of mind she had before them when men always only played with her and never meant what they said. Steve and Bucky changed that, changed her. And now, she was certain that these men would never dump her.

YN didn’t realize the lack of sounds—the wet noises of even wetter paint against a dry wall and the occasionally rusty sound of the ladder when it ached under Bucky’s weight—too focused on munching on her food to distract her mind and think about anything but that awful woman on the other side of the road. She didn’t even hear the sounds of heavy steps creeping closer to her sitting form, and she only realized how close they were when Steve lifted her off the ground and into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips and carrying her over to the aforementioned window. The woman felt the glass pressed against her back, and she swallowed the last bite down, cocking one brow at their antics. Bucky had settled himself right next to them, leaning sideways against the wall next to the window and letting his hand cup her cheek.

Switching between their faces, YN looked from one to the other, both brows now almost touching her hairline, and her head cocked to the side questioningly. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded more breathless than initially planned, and her lips parted slightly when Steve turned his attention to her exposed sensitive neck, softly breathing against it before kissing it languidly. “We can’t have our doll being all broody and jealous,” Bucky whispered in Steve’s place, his thumb slowly caressing the skin over her cheekbone. “We can’t have our best and only girl think that stares of some woman would let us react in any way possible.” Now he bent his head to start kissing from her collarbone upwards to her chin, slowly and teasingly. “Need to show that woman who we belong to.” Steve hummed in agreement before he nibbled at her most sensitive spot, gently sucking the skin between his lips, and chuckled when he heard the familiar sound of a gasp of air. “And we only belong to one woman,” he finally mumbled, lips pressed against lips, kissing her like a man possessed, before he backed off to let Bucky get his turn with their girl. He kissed her like a man starved, all tongue and teeth until they both needed oxygen and parted with labored breaths, all the while Steve had his chin propped up on her shoulder, eyes staring contently out the window and occasionally kissing her neck.

“I think that woman will never look at us again, baby girl.”

* * *

Following her through her favorite bookshop was a simple task—and a simple pleasure. They loved to watch their girl strolling through the aisles, her eyes wandering over the colorful book covers in different designs and art styles, stopping more as she actually walked, always a new book in sight that had picked her interest and curiosity. They followed her like two broad shadows, always shielding her from the outside world because they knew how much she needed those hours of mindless strolling and discovering.

YN stopped again at that moment, eyes wandering over the entire length of the bookshelf until they stopped at a book in the top half of the shelf. Pressing herself onto the tiptoes, she tried to reach it, but still, she was too short. With a huff, the woman lowered herself again and turned to her two boyfriends, looking up at them with big, round, pleading eyes, even though YN knew very well that she didn’t need to beg. “Could you…?” She couldn’t even get the entire question out before Bucky was right at her side, one of his big hands resting on the small of her back. “Which one, doll?” Her finger instantly stretched out and pointed to a blue and purple book spine which the brunet grabbed without any signs of effort and handed it to her with a smile and a kiss to her lips. “Thank you, baby,” she grinned up at him before reading the blurb on the back of the book and decided to give it a new home on her bookshelf.

Finding its way into the crook of her elbow, YN continued down the aisles and didn’t even have to turn and ask one of them to grab her another book because both men knew that title by heart now. And it was the main reason they headed to the shop today. Steve pressed himself against her back as he took it from the shelf, one hand resting on her shoulder and lovingly squeezing it, his lips wandering from exposed shoulder to her neck. He reveled in the sounds of her soft giggles and grinned against her skin when she whispered a Thanks, Stevie, when she gathered the third book of her favorite series in her arms. “Any time, baby girl.” It was only a soft whisper against the nape of her neck before Steve took a step back for her to continue her strolling and gathered Bucky’s hand in his to intertwine their fingers.

“We will leave a tremendous amount of money again,” he chuckled as they watched their girl picking up two other books and piling them in her arm, and Steve laughed softly at that. “Try and see it as a donation and continued support of local businesses,” the blond countered, the grin still on his face as he nudged Bucky’s side lovingly with his arm. “At least we earn enough to keep up with her small book addiction.” Steve threw Bucky a look at that and couldn’t contain his laugh as the brunet winked at him and pulled him closer to his side to press a kiss to his lips. “Just wait for what books she picked out for us again. We still need you to let go of The Hobbit for a while,” teased Steve, a bubbling laugh bursting out of him when Bucky nudged his side now and rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah yeah, whatever.”

But then, he stopped for a moment as he looked in the aisles ahead of them—the empty aisles ahead of them. “Where did she go?” It was common for them to lose YN at some point, but it never happened so quickly and without either of them realizing it until it was too late. Steve softly rubbed his shoulder when he felt Bucky’s anxiety getting the best of him. “She’s probably just around the corner in the next aisles, Buck. Remember the list she wrote and forgot on the coffee table? She should be somewhere left of us now. C’mon.” Lovingly, Steve coaxed him to come with him, well knowing how Bucky tended to think the worst when YN just disappeared, still not entirely processing the fact that Hydra was destroyed and no one would ever come for her again.

But when they rounded the shelf and looked into the aisles where Steve had thought YN must be by now, only to not find her there, even his heart skipped a couple of beats. Bucky swallowed thickly next to him, his eyes jumping from one face to another, trying to find her between the shopping people. “It’s okay, Buck. See?” He pointed to the books and the sign reading Non-Fiction hanging above the bookshelf. “They reorganized. She took a right turn then. Okay?” The brunet inhaled deeply and nodded slowly, still not fully convinced. “Let’s find our girl before she raids the entire store,” Steve tried to lighten the mood when he pulled Bucky with him, only to pick up YN’s voice in the aforementioned right aisles.

“What do you want, Chandler? You see, I’m busy buying books which is way more important than your sorry ass. So… Off you go.”

Both super soldiers stopped at the crossing and stared the man down who had the audacity to cheat on this gorgeous woman in front of them. He never deserved her, and they had picked up the pieces he had left and built her up again. And now, he had the audacity to talk to her, to even breathe the same air as she did.

“Chandler.” Bucky’s voice was as deep as it gets, sending chills down every spine of every person who never heard the growl before. But Chandler was too stupid to sense the danger he found himself in because he had dared to talk to her. His eyes moved from them to YN before he chuckled lowly. “So, it’s true? You not only sleep with one but two of them? Or are you just a spectator when they’re at it?” Steve grabbed the shoulder of his boyfriend to hold him back, even if he felt like punching that idiot himself, especially when he leaned closer to her than they both liked. “Always knew you’re a fucking freak.”

They both were on their way to beat the hell out of him, but YN beat them to it. She let go of her books, only for the stack to softly levitate in the air instead of following the gravitational laws of this planet, and with one hand, she grabbed Chandler’s neck and pushed him against the bookshelf with astonishing ease. He gulped and looked helplessly at the two men, trying to get their help, but they just watched their girl being the badass they knew she was. “Listen, dumbass. You can insult me all you want because I couldn’t care less for your opinion about me, but—“ YN let her fingers grip tighter until he had trouble getting enough oxygen into his lungs. “—but don’t you dare and insult my men. I don’t take those lightly. Are we clear?” He nodded quickly, and she let go of him, a radiant smile now on her face. “Perfect. Then off you go now. Go go. Your little dolly is waiting over there, round eyes and all. You should check on her. That’s what you always could do best anyway.”

With a barely seen flick of her wrist, the books landed in her arm again, and with another smile, she turned to her two boyfriends, staring proudly down at her in her pretty sundress and her new possessions in hand. “I think I got everything I need for now,” she smiled up at them and let Steve grab the piling stack of books out of her arms to carry it for her.

Bucky pulled her into his side, his arm thrown over her shoulders and lips pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of her head as they followed Steve to the counter. “You didn’t have to do this, doll.” It was only a mumble, and YN almost didn’t hear it but caught up to it just in time to look up at him and wrap both arms around his middle. “Yes, I had to. No one is talking like that about my boys in front of me, ever. You wouldn’t take shit about me either, won’t you? You wouldn’t allow it.” He stopped to wrap both arms around his best girl and pulled her into his chest, bending his head to kiss both her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “You know we would never take anyone’s shit about you, doll. Never. Even if it’s minor, we would step in and stop it.” The thought alone that anyone would hurt her, physically or mentally, almost broke him. No, they would always protect their best girl; the cost didn't matter. It would always be them against the entire world.

Her smile illuminated the shop, and he oh so willingly let his face get pulled down by her fingers wrapped around his chin to be kissed once again. He would never get enough of her, either. “See?” She now grinned and grumbling, he caved and nodded. “Okay, Okay, I see your point, doll,” he finally muttered, a smile tucking at his lips nonetheless because he could never be mad at her.

Giggling, YN received the paper bag full of new books—even though she still had piles over piles of TBRs waiting at home—and let Bucky take it out of her hands, so she could walk in between her two super soldiers and hold each of their hands. But instead of following them on their familiar route after a successful book shopping tour, she gently but urgently pulled at their hands to make them turn right instead of left. Steve furrowed his brows and looked down at her, not really knowing what was wrong. “Baby girl? The coffee shop is this way.” He already softly pulled at her hand, always having his strength in check. “But I don’t wanna go there,” she started, and immediately, both grew worried again. It wasn’t like her not wanting her iced coffee alongside her new books, so she could sit in the sun and start reading. Steve’s thoughts already wandered to the bookshop situation, blaming it on Chandler and wanting to beat him up just like the boys back in the day beat him up. “If it’s because of him, we’ll make sure that he leaves if he’s even there,” Steve promised with an undertone, ready to move heaven and earth for their woman, but the shake of her head stopped him right there. “No! No, I just wanna… Well, maybe it’s because of him, but not because I’m upset about it, but because you are clearly upset about it. So, I just wanna head home, order some food, and read in bed while cuddling with you. Would that be alright?”

She looked from one towering man to the other and let her eyes fall shut as they both pulled her in, wrapping her in their wonderfully tight hugs. She let them kiss her in the middle of the sidewalk and felt loved and cherished to an extent that wasn’t possible before Steve and Bucky entered her life.

“Of course, doll.”

“Whatever you want, baby girl.”

But deep down, Bucky and Steve couldn’t get over the fact how perfect their best girl was.

* * *

Thank you for reading (even though it wasn’t the best thing ever written)! As usual: reblogs would be absolutely great, just as overall love for this piece, and I’d love to read whatever you thought while reading!

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Thirteen

Words: 6.4k

Joel and Tommy head to the town to search for Ellie, not knowing the danger they're heading into. Furious, you ride with Shauna, hoping to find Ellie and intercept Joel before any infected find them first.

Chapter warnings: Description of death by suicide, canon-typical violence, blood, Shauna's a piece of shit (again)

Twelve | Series Masterlist | Fourteen

Joel had felt this before; this twinning, this divergence. Needing to be in two places at once.

Had felt it as he held Sarah in his arms, needing to stay in the moment with her, to breathe with her as she gasped out her last, and also to run, to evaporate, to pump his legs as fast and as far as they could carry him. Away from the smell of her blood on his clothes. Away from the silence, the stillness, in her little body as he held her.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so quiet. She arrived, screaming from her mother’s womb and into his warm arms, and didn’t stop squawking until she departed, his arms quaking around her. He blinked away the memory, his stomach churning.

He needed to be in the town. He needed to be in the moment, scanning the road for any sign of Ellie. He needed to breathe.

‘Easy, brother,’ Tommy called from two horse-lengths behind him. ‘We need to watch for any signs of her.’

‘She’s a fast walker,’ Joel pushed out through his straining jaw. ‘Even more so when she’s angry. We gotta…we gotta get there, Tommy.’

‘We don’t even know she came this way,’ Tommy reasoned, but Joel shrugged this off. He’d seen the way Shauna had been hiding something, had been the only one to see it. She knew something he didn’t, yet. About the town. About Ellie.

The two brothers rode in silence, Joel doing his best to keep his eye on the path. He didn’t see any tracks, but he’d taught Ellie better than to walk out in the open. Out here the road was wider, the trees set further back. She would have been smart about it, making her way through cover.

‘Why did you fuckin’ do this…’ he pondered aloud, his thoughts suddenly too loud to stay tucked up in his head. He heard his brother scoff behind him, even over the pelting of the horse’s hooves.

‘Really, Joel?’ he asked, causing Joel to pull up on the reigns, ease the horse into a canter, letting his brother catch up beside him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’ he asked.

‘You can’t think of a single reason why Ellie might have taken off? Not one single person who might have given her a reason to run?’

Joel held the reigns firm in his hands as he stared hard at the ground. Of course he could.

‘They were startin’ to get along,’ Joel said. Tommy stared at him, even as they rode.

‘Were they?’ Tommy asked. ‘Or did you just stop lookin’?’

Joel felt the back of his throat go dry. ‘Easy, brother,’ he said, by way of a warning. But Tommy was having none of it.

‘Ya selfish fuck,’ he said, simply. Joel turned his head to his brother, blinking at him. He hadn’t noticed how worked up Tommy was, how hard he was holding his own reigns.

‘Tommy, I…’

‘I know… “because of Sarah”,’ Tommy groaned. Joel could see he was upset, now, agitated and wiping hard at his cheek. ‘But you had another chance, with Ellie, and with Teach if you wanted it. You let it all go to shit for Shauna, even after everything she did.’

It would have been less painful, Joel considered, if he just turned himself inside out, so strong was his instinct to crowd in on himself.

‘I…’ he started, but trailed off. He didn’t have the words to fight, knew that his brother was right, in an insane moment almost resented him for not saying something sooner, before Joel had let everything decay.

‘You’re not the only one who lost her,’ Tommy said, after a while, quiet. His voice carried on the wind, echoing against the wood, the trees.

‘You ain’t lost a daughter,’ Joel grit out, misplaced fury flashing hot across his sternum. ‘You ain’t got any idea what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Don’t I?’ Tommy asked, and he turned to his brother, then, let him see his face. The tears tracking down his skin, the red of his eyes. ‘I know she wasn’t my daughter, Joel, but she was my family. Saw her nearly every damn day. Loved her just the same as you.’

Joel felt his jaw tic. ‘No one loved her the same as me,’ he said, but he could feel the venom leaking away, leaving only the desolation in its wake.

‘But I loved her, Joel. You gotta know that.’

Joel did know it. Remembered the way Tommy had pulled him along, for months, and then for years, after Sarah’s death. Kept him going, made him eat, stayed up all night keepin’ watch just so that Joel could toss and turn in his bed and cry out for his girl. Through all of it he knew Tommy was hurting, too, swept up in the same wave of grief that had near obliterated him. But it was that same crashing water, that same briny foam over his head, that stopped him from helping his little brother, that stopped him from guiding him through it. That had made it impossible for them to be together like they had been, easy and fun and oblivious to the true horrors of the world.

‘I think about losin’ Robin,’ Tommy said, pulling Joel from his thoughts.

‘Don’t…’ Joel said, raising a hand to stop him.

‘I do! I fuckin’ do! You think you’re the only one…’

‘No, I mean don’t think about that,’ Joel interrupted, the fight gone clean out of him, his shoulders slumped. ‘Trust me on that, little brother. Don’t think about it, don’t imagine it. It’ll eat ya up f’ya let it.’

The two rode in silence, the road winding down the slope towards the town. Just over the tree line they could make out some crumbling roofs edging the valley.

‘You remember my Michael Jordan basketball?’ Tommy asked, suddenly, his voice distant as he stared out over the valley.

‘Your what?’ Joel asked, happy for the distraction but confused all the same.

‘My Michael Jordan basketball? Had it signed and all, Dad bought it back from Chicago for my eighth birthday.’

Joel had a distant memory of it – red and black in the Bulls colours. He’d only ever caught glimpses of it, had only been allowed to touch it once, and even then only after Tommy had supervised him washing his hands.

He grinned at his brother. ‘You loved that thing,’ he said.

‘I did, my most prized possession,’ Tommy agreed. ‘That thing made me happier than anything else in the world.’

Joel nodded as they started to ease down the slope, his eyes still watching the road for any sign of Ellie. They started to pick up the pace.

‘I hardly ever saw you play with it,’ Joel observed, and Tommy tutted at him.

‘That’s just the thing, brother,’ he said. ‘Something that precious, you can’t play with it. You gotta keep it safe and clean in your closet, gotta bury it under old – but clean – clothes, in case your dumbass older brother comes snoopin’.’ At this Joel huffed out a laugh. ‘You gotta…protect it,’ Tommy finished.

Joel nodded at this. ‘Makes sense.’

‘But then you can’t enjoy it,’ Tommy went on. ‘You spend all that time with it locked away, you never get to bounce the damn thing.’

Joel felt, for a moment, that he’d been tricked. He swallowed tar and glue down his throat, felt sawdust stuck to the roof of his mouth, collecting behind his teeth.

‘What happened to it, in the end?’ he asked, and Tommy sighed.

‘It deflated, then it warped. The rubber went kind of weird and it never looked right again.’ Tommy urged his horse forward, picking up the pace again as the road levelled out. ‘I left it in there. Didn’t feel I could get rid of it, but lookin’ at it made me sad.’ 

His little brother was right. Of course he was right. All this time he’d kept it buried under a pile of old clothes: beating but bleeding out through the cotton, protecting it, protecting her. Even after she was long gone. All that time his heart hidden at the back of the closet, stashed to keep the pain away, and taking all the goodness with it.

At the time, it had felt like saving himself. Locking it all away, letting it warp in the darkness, not caring that it took with it all the kindness, all the tenderness, not caring that without it the world turned almost entirely to grey. He had no use for colours without Sarah. Had no use for light.

Then one day he’d felt you, standing just outside the door, your hand pressed gently to the wood. He’d wanted you there and also couldn’t tolerate it. Craved you and stood, terrified, in your way. It had been too long, and he wasn’t even sure what it looked like in there anymore. Couldn’t account for what you might find.

Then Shauna had shown up and pulled the damn thing off its hinges, rifled around in there, hurled everything out of their drawers. He’d hurt so many people he’d cared about trying to shove it all back in again. Trying to bury it. Trying to hide.  

And now, Ellie was gone. And you were out there, out in the wilderness beyond the wall, trying to find her, and he and his brother were riding into God knows what to pull her back. He cleared his throat trying to let out the sob but there was no masking it, the little whimper sneaking away over the top of his breath as he felt his brows saddle.

‘Jesus…’ he said. The way he had let her banish herself to the studio in the garage. The way he had known it was wrong and he’d let her do it anyway, just to keep the peace. Just to keep pushing it all down, the anger and the loss and the despair of it. ‘Tommy, I…’ he started, but he didn’t have the words for it, could speak for a thousand years and never find them.

His brother leant over and put a firm hand on Joel’s knee.

‘I’m so sorry…’ Joel sobbed, his voice catching on the words.

‘It’s OK, brother,’ Tommy assured him. ‘We’ll always be family.’

‘Yeah, but my girls…’ Joel said, feeling his heart kick up at the thought of you both. ‘Jesus Christ, Tommy, I’ve hurt my girls.’

You, grinning from his table in his kitchen after he finally made some decent mac and cheese. You, under Ellie’s paper stars in the mess hall, making magic for teenagers out of twenty-year old school supplies and determination. You, holding his arm and helping him breathe through it after he’d found Ellie’s studio empty, when the world opened up and swallowed him whole.

Your face fallin’ as you realised the eggs were a consolation prize. Your sweet body pressed against his as you practically begged him to stop hurtin’ ya, to leave you be. All the little ways he’d failed you, so wrapped up trying not to fail a girl dead twenty years.

‘You love her,’ Tommy observed, watching his brother’s face fall as he reckoned with all he’d avoided for so long.

‘Course I do, she’s practically my daughter,’ Joel muttered, blinking hard to clear away the tears.

‘Not her,’ Tommy said.

Joel felt little sparks across his chest. The kind that come from exposed wires, that start house fires in the dead of the night. ‘Yeah,’ he said, eventually, because he knew even then there was no sense in denying it, that his body wouldn’t let him even if his mind tried.

Tommy nodded, the two brothers falling into silence as they approached the outskirts of the town. For the first time in a while, he felt like his big brother was back.

--

Some of the houses looked well enough maintained that for a moment Joel struggled to remember the twenty years of decay. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to it; two houses in a row could be decrepit, roofs collapsing under the weight of rotten wood and the third almost entirely intact, as if the occupants were just called away for a surprise holiday that went longer than expected. It unnerved him, the unpredictability of it.

Proceeding on foot, the two brothers rounded on the town from the South, down behind what once would have been a soccer field, the bleachers standing untouched for decades, the paint peeling in the breeze.

The mud beneath their boots muffled their footsteps, but their progress was still frustratingly slow, if silent. Joel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing, could feel the way his pulse thrummed erratic and needy in his chest. He wanted to bellow for Ellie, wanted to rip any man, woman or child between him and his daughter limb from limb. He saw the worried looks Tommy shot him from over his shoulder, both men inching forward with rifles raised. There were signs of activity, a campfire long snuffed out, fading tracks in the dirt. Joel had a sense for it, anyway, honed over years. Knew when he wasn’t alone. His eyes scanned the windows, watched for movement in the curtains, for reflections or shadows in the wrong places.

It was still. Quiet. Joel swallowed on a rough throat.

‘Something’s not right,’ Tommy hissed to him, his whisper catching on the wind. Joel nodded at him, held up a hand to be quiet. If they could get to higher ground they could survey the perimeter better, could figure out a plan of attack. He looked at the crumbling roof of what used to be the local library. Joel didn’t like the chances of standing on a shifting roof tile and breaking his neck, of making enough of a ruckus just trying to get up high enough to be able to look down.

Wordlessly, he gestured to Tommy to go left behind the library, while he went right towards what he guessed was the centre of the town. Tommy shook his head, a combination of terror and frustration on his face, but Joel knew it would be better to cover more ground. He wasn’t sure she was here, but if she was he knew he had to get her out, get to you, get you both to safety. Then, maybe, he could breathe.

His boots slipping in the mud, Joel went right, picking his way through abandoned cars and rotting fences until he came up behind a two-story wooden building with a crumbling staircase out the back. One hand still holding his rifle over his shoulder, he opened the door and stepped back, flush to the wall, listening for any outcry. Willing his hands to stop trembling he counted to five under his breath, before cocking the rifle over his shoulder and swinging his torso in through the door.

It looked like it had once been a post office, the backroom stuffed with dry paper and mildew. He could tell any packages had already been pilfered, that desperate travellers had already split open every box in the place to rifle for anything to eat, to drink, to trade. All that was left behind was ancient bills, handwritten notes to loved ones, letters hawking insurance. The air was heavy from the dust and the decay of drying paper and Joel stifled a cough into his sleeve. There were patterns in the dust, swirls of footsteps leading to the front counter, and Joel tracked them through to the shopfront. As he inched forward he saw on the ground a collection of blankets, a stained pillow, a book or two piled up neat in a pile. He nudged the heap with his foot, his rifle trained on it in case it made any sudden moves. The air was stale, the room draughty and unlived in for some time. Whoever had been here was long gone, Joel thought. Or at least, hadn’t been able to return.

A creak behind him caught his attention and before he’d even had time to consider it, he swivelled, rifle raised, to the direction from which he had just come. Tommy immediately raised his hands, eyebrows high enough to reach his hairline.

‘It’s me…’ he hissed, and Joel rolled his eyes, lowering the rifle to the floor.

‘I told you to go left’ he whispered, the sharpness of his words spearing the dust motes floating in the sunlight between them.

‘I did, but I don’t think we should split up. Something’s wrong out here, brother,’ Tommy said, and Joel could see he was scared, the way his eyes were darting around the room. Joel stepped back, revealing the heap of blankets at his feet.

‘What the fuck…’ Tommy muttered, coming closer to inspect it before Joel held out a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

‘Easy…’ he said, Tommy immediately shrinking back behind his brother.

‘Where’d they go?’ he asked.

‘Don’t know yet,’ Joel said. In front of him the front windows were boarded up, sheets of old paper stuck to the glass. Little shafts of light shone through the gaps. He shuffled forward, careful not to trip, and raised his eye to it, gazing out at the main street.

It appeared still. He shuddered. Wondered if he would have preferred someone to be out there just to ease the tension currently clawing at his throat.

He tried the door, and it creaked on its hinges as it swung open.

He felt Tommy behind him, coming up over his shoulder, lifted his rifle as they prepared to step out.

 --

Even as the horse galloped underneath you, even as the breath was knocked from your chest every time the hooves hit the ground, you yelled over your shoulder to Shauna. To keep up, to hurry, to tell you what she knew about the layout of the town.

You could feel the rage in your belly, but you needed to find a way to tamp it down, to concentrate, as you headed down the road at full speed. Approaching from the west you could make out the way the streets curled around each other, cul de sacs that would make it impossible to see or hear from one end of the street to the other. Perfect places to hide out, but complicated to search.

You could see tracks, now, occasional footprints in the dirt beside the road, and it spurred you on even as the fear licked at your chest.  

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ you screamed over your shoulder, your voice carrying in the wind.

‘You seemed so sure!’ Shauna called back, grunting under the strain of trying to stay upright on her horse. ‘I thought you knew her better than me.’

‘You couldn’t even mention it? That Joel and Tommy were heading into a nest of infected?’

‘I don’t know that they are, maybe they’ve all moved on…’

‘Shauna for fucks sake,’ you muttered, biting down hard on your teeth to stop the fury racing up your throat, clouding your vision. ‘Just tell me the fucking truth for once,’ you called to her.

‘I was scared, OK? I’m a bad shot. I thought…if there’s infected down there, who better to send than Joel and Tommy?’

You let out a shaky breath, trying again not to let the rage take over, instead scanning the horizon as the town loomed closer.

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Shauna continued. ‘Let’s be real, honey. I’m not the heroic type.’

‘There was so much you could have done,’ you said, pulling your horse up to slow, decaying fences and overgrown backyards appearing in front of you. ‘You could have fucking warned them, you could have been honest with Ellie in the first place. You could have…you could have told me when we were hours in to following the fucking river!’

‘OK, I’m sorry, I thought it was safer out of the way…’ Shauna said, struggling to manage her horse even at a slower pace. You reached over and held her horse’s reigns, pulling her along beside you.

‘You fucking coward,’ you said, suddenly exhausted. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to will away the blooming ache behind your eyes.

‘Strategy,’ Shauna said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘You think you can make it this far in an apocalypse blundering into fights when you’re outgunned?’

‘So, you send other people to do your fighting for you.’

‘Other, more qualified people, sure.’

You pulled both of your horses up, slipping from the saddles. You took the second rifle from your horse.

‘Tell me you weren’t trying to get rid of Ellie,’ you said, point blank, staring her in the eye, as Rose cheered you on over her shoulder. ‘Tell me.’

Shauna glanced down at the rifle in your hands. ‘Of course I wouldn’t…’

‘Tell me. Say it. Say “I didn’t try to get rid of Ellie.”’

‘I didn’t try to get rid of Ellie,’ Shauna said, pouting.

You noticed the inflection. Weren’t surprised to hear it, not really. You knew Shauna’s type, the people who survive at FEDRA by being the biggest crabs in the barrel. Who pull others down to stand on their backs. Shauna may not have expressly set up the situation, not intentionally, but she was going to let it play out because she knew as well as anyone else that Joel wouldn’t withstand another loss like Ellie. Knew more than anyone that a weak man, a grieving man, a man so broken down by the world around him, is a man who will accept any arms willing to hold him.

‘You didn’t try to save her, either,’ you observed.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ she spat back at you. You nodded at her, throwing her the rifle.

‘Try not to shoot yourself in the ass,’ you said. You took a step forward, looking back at her over your shoulder. ‘Silent from now on. No more fucking talking.’

The road gave way to simple streets, little houses dotting the outskirts of the town. Over to the South you could make out a couple of taller buildings, maybe a library or a town hall. As much as you could, you stuck to the tall fences, hiding behind rotting fence palings and tree trunks thickened over twenty years uninterrupted by mankind. Above your head telephone wires blew free from their poles, waving like ribbons in the wind.

It would grow dark and cold before long. You shivered, scanning the houses for any sign of life. On this side of town things seemed more weather-beaten. You guessed that no-one, not even the raiders, had inhabited this area in a long while.

You saw Shauna waving to you out of the corner of your eye and you turned to her. She pointed to the end of the road, where it curved left towards the rest of the town. You nodded at her, watching as she fumbled the rifle in her shaking hands.

Following her, and putting more faith in her than she deserved in the process, you came around behind a motel. As she ducked down behind a dumpster you followed, squatting beside her so she could whisper in your ear.

‘That was where we were camped, in the motel. Another couple of rooms over was where the…others turned.’

You nodded, noticing now that some of the motel doors were ajar. The air smelt of rot and dirt, and you weren’t sure if it was the smell of the fungus or just general suburban decay. You watched for a while, the stillness setting your teeth on edge.

‘Were there others?’ you asked, and she nodded.

‘There was another camp, out by the gas station.’

You looked back at the motel. The breeze was blowing a curtain through an open window. Other than that, there was nothing to say anyone, or anything, was home.

‘We’ll try there,’ you said. Shauna nodded, gathering herself to stand.

‘It’s down behind the main street,’ she whispered, as you glanced up at the sky. You estimated you had maybe an hour before you’d need to find somewhere safe to camp overnight.

‘Should we try and find Joel?’ she asked you, and you shook your head.

‘No, we cover more ground split up.’

‘What if they’ve already found her?’ she asked, and you steadied yourself.

‘Then when we’re done searching we go back to Jackson, and we’re all very happily reunited with the girl we all care so much about,’ you hissed back. You could feel the top lip curling, exposing your teeth.

Shauna nodded, seeming for the first time to sense your fury.

‘Are you going to tell him?’ she asked, and you could see fear there. You stood up, pulling her with you.

‘Where’s the gas station?’ you whispered, and let her lead you on.

--

On the other side of town, Tommy and Joel were attempting to silently jimmy open the door to what appeared to be the town butcher. Joel felt his stomach roiling, steeling himself for what they might find inside.

‘You sure about this?’ Tommy muttered, and Joel shook his head.

‘Not at all, but we’re goin’ in anyway,’ Joel whispered back. He knew how cool rooms could be turned into cells. What things could be hung up on meat hooks.

Twenty years of neglect finally won out over the bolt, and the door swung open. Swinging his rifle over his shoulder Joel instead reached for his knife. In such close quarters the weapon would be useless, and he was suddenly realising he didn’t want to draw the attention of the rest of the town.

Beside him, Tommy sniffed. ‘Y’smell that?’ he whispered, and Joel nodded. Blood. Not fresh, but enough of it to still be lingering in the air. He held his finger to his lips to indicate silence. Tommy nodded, his eyes wide and adjusting in the dark.

Joel navigated around the counter to the back, stepping carefully over broken glass and trash. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a smattering of blood, droplets dried and tarry, leading from the main room to what he guessed was the cool room behind the door. Tucking his nose in under the neck of his shirt he silently pulled the handle.

The smell was overwhelming, the copper and bile. At first Joel thought the man had hidden himself away, that he had been running from his attackers. But then it didn’t make sense that he had bled to death, surrounded as he was by sticky clouds of dried blood. Maybe he had been dragged in here and left after an injury, maybe some kind of punishment, whatever might count for justice at the end of the world.

Joel saw it, then, the bloodied knife on the floor by the man’s hand. The clean slice of his wrist, travelling almost all the way up to his forearm.

‘Joel…’ Tommy said, peering in over his brother’s shoulder. ‘The ankle.’

And then it made sense, the bite mark peeking out from under the man’s pant leg.

‘He took himself off here to…’

‘In case the knife didn’t work, so he wouldn’t hurt anyone, I guess,’ Joel finished for his brother. Cool rooms make effective cells because they rarely have handles on the inside. Many an enterprising raider had discovered that fact in the last twenty years.

Bile rose in Joel’s throat and he swallowed it down. He wasn’t sure why it was, even after all these years, even after everything he’d done, that the scene in front of him was getting to him. Something about the way the man had tried to protect the others. Something about the sacrifice, the locking himself away to face the end on his own. Something about the love and the fear in it.

He turned away before it could work any further under his skin.

‘We should keep goin’,’ he said to Tommy, who nodded but still hadn’t looked away, eyes a little misty even in the darkness of the room around them.

Back out on the street the brothers considered their options. There had been only scant signs of life, and no sign of Ellie. Both were aware of the dwindling light, but the man in the cool room had been bitten, which meant there was still a threat.

‘I ain’t goin’ back,’ Joel said, as if he could read his brother’s mind. Tommy nodded.

‘We can hole up somewhere here tonight if we gotta,’ he agreed. ‘Should we go back and get the horses?’

Joel shook his head. ‘We keep searchin, wanna clear the main street at least. Then we go back to the horses, find a house with a garage, hide ‘em away til sunup.’

If Tommy had asked him, Joel wouldn’t have been able to say how he was so calm. He wondered if it was just years of survival, years of workin’ against impossible odds to stay alive. Wondered if his brain hadn’t caught up yet, that some part of him wasn’t even fully aware of what was actually going down. Wondered if it was knowing you were out there, searchin’ for his girl, that you were as stubborn as he was and loved Ellie nearly as much, that you wouldn’t give up on her, would never give up on her, and that between the two of you you’d have to bring her home.

--

You blinked cold air out of your eyes, straining to hear above Shauna’s sodden footsteps beside you. She held her rifle loosely, too loosely, as you gripped yours. She sighed, loud enough to attract attention, and you glared at her. Guilty, she shrugged, which you guessed was her best attempt at an apology.

You were making achingly slow progress, the bulk of the town behind you as you inched towards the gas station on the far perimeter. You didn’t like how exposed you were, even as you stayed close to walls and fences. Shauna was crap at checking her six, and your neck was aching from having to check it for her.

The light was dying, cold setting in. You shivered as the wind whispered your name.

You blinked, turning to Shauna. The other woman, distracted, was watching the road. You held still, straining your ears.

‘Teach…’ you heard, your heart hammering in your chest.

Taking three or four unwise steps into the centre of the road you swivelled your head, trying to locate her. Finally, just when you’d decided you were actually going mad, her little head popped up over the edge of a two-storey building to your left. It looked like it had once been a doctor’s office. The red of the door was peeling away to expose the wood.

‘Ellie!’ you stage whispered, waving your hands over your head as if she hadn’t already seen you, as if she hadn’t been smart enough to get to higher ground, to survey the area while keeping out of sight.

‘Ssssh!’ she motioned to you with her hands. You grabbed Shauna before she could take another muddled, deafening step, directing her gaze to the rooftop. You watched her eyes widen as she took in the teenager.

You were proud of her. So proud at her survival instinct, at her quick thinking. You beamed up at her, relief surging through your belly before you realised she wasn’t smiling back, was instead motioning to something around the corner. You saw the panic on her face.

‘What?’ you mouthed to her, and she rolled her eyes in return, because she was still, even in these most extreme circumstances, Ellie. Standing more fully upright she pantomimed a clicker, gnashing teeth and curled fingers and all, before gesturing again to the corner.

‘Oh fuck,’ Shauna whimpered beside you, and you clamped a hand over her mouth.

‘How many?’ you mouthed to Ellie, who held up two fingers. You shuddered. One you might have been able to handle, but two would require the participation of the woman you currently held gagged in your arms.

As silently as possible you let Shauna go, motioning for her to stay put, and came forward, spying a dumpster pushed up against a wall you could just vault yourself onto. Slinging the rifle over your shoulder you watched as Ellie disappeared behind the eaves of the building, reappearing at the gutter above you as you stretched on tippy toes towards her.

‘I can’t reach you…’ she whispered, her hand outstretched, before you shook your head, instead pulling your rifle around to the front of your body and handing it up to her. She shook her head, face going pale even in the fading light, but you insisted, bouncing on the balls of your feet to make her take it.

‘Be safe…’ you whispered to her. ‘Stay out of sight. Joel is coming.’

‘What about you?’ she whispered back, but you were already moving away, climbing down as quietly as you could to the cracked pavement below.

Shauna’s eyes were wide, watching the scene play out in front of her. She gripped her own rifle harder now, holding it fast to her chest, as if terrified you were going to pull it from her. As you made your way back to her, preparing to pull her back to the horses, back to safer ground, she took a step away.

‘Why did you give her that?’ she hissed, eyes swivelling between you and the corner.

‘She’s a good shot,’ you said, wondering if this was true but confident none the less that Joel would have taught her, wouldn’t have let her flounder, and that Ellie would have insisted on it even if he initially tried to resist.

Casting a look over your shoulder you saw her regain her position on the roof, her back to you as she watched the clickers around the corner.

‘We’ll find Joel, tell her where she is. So long as she’s up on higher ground she’s safe enough for us to get her out,’ you explained, as much as you could in a whisper, while you tried to grab Shauna and pull her away. As you took her arm you felt her shaking. You swallowed. You could see, now, the white knuckles on the barrel of the rifle. The sweat dotting her brow.

‘Shauna, we’re OK,’ you said, as low as possible, hoping that the wind would quiet your voice enough. ‘Just breathe.’

Her eyes swivelled back to you, putting you in mind of a doe staring down the jaws of a bear. You hesitated, the panic in her eyes making your stomach turn.

You heard it, then. A high-pitched squeak, a footstep. You felt your breath catch in your chest, your head turning achingly slow to the corner. Above you Ellie waved silently, rifle over her shoulder, terror in her eyes.

‘Oh shit…’ Shauna whimpered again, too loud, but you were frozen, unable to clamp your hand on her mouth again.

It had been so long since you’d seen one, and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen a clicker properly in the daylight. The bloom of fungus from the side of its head, obliterating its left eye, put you in mind of the coral you had tried to teach your students about, before Joel had whittled you a few visual aids. It lurched from side to side as it moved, one ankle twisted almost completely in the wrong direction, its clothes torn across its torso. It had been a man, a young man, you realised.

You could have sworn you’d seen that shirt before. Fleetwood Mac, the same as the one Tommy owned, before his belly grew from general safety and particularly proximity to the mess hall, and he donated it to the Jackson clothes swap. They used those clothes for when newcomers showed up with nothing. Like Shauna had. Like Steven, and Wren.

You felt your eyes start to water. Wren.

Unaccountable anger flashed up your spine then, jolting you into turning your back to him, rounding on Shauna. You wanted to scream at her, wanted to throttle her right there in the street, grab her chin and make her watch as he lurched towards them, the sum total of all her shitty decisions to this point.

But the sight of Wren had steeled something in her, too, you saw. The panic was gone, replaced instead with something colder, something burning brighter. You almost thought you saw a smirk appear on her quivering lips.

Gripping the gun to her chest she wrestled her arm free of you, with enough force to send you reeling, your arms wheeling around your body to stop yourself falling heavy to the ground. You righted yourself, staring deep into her eyes as she backed away. Somehow now she was moving more silently than she had all day, her eyes trained on you as you heard Wren lurching, sniffing at the air, behind you. He was maybe twenty paces away, swivelling, taking one or two steps in one direction, turning around and doubling back.

You stared at Shauna as she retreated from you. She was going to leave you here, was going to make off with the only weapon either of you had. She was going to let you be bit, was going to do nothing to stop it, was going to let you be the bait while she made it out. She was going to tell Joel it was an accident, that she couldn’t help you, say that Ellie didn’t have a good enough vantage point to see it the way she did.

And she would fucking smile as she did it.

You turned your head back to Wren, seeing that he had managed to advance several paces. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Ellie drawing her rifle, aiming for him, but you frantically motioned for her to stop. There was another clicker loitering somewhere beneath her and the shot would draw their attention, and if they crowded around the building she would have no way to get down.

You felt something still within you, something lift from your chest. For a moment you let your gaze drift up and away from the street to the mountain beyond you, watched the way the dusk turned the snow pink and orange in the last light of the day.

You supposed you had already decided, didn’t need to confer with Rose. You knew, standing in the middle of the street in that moment, that you would draw them to you, take off in a sprint past Wren and lead the other away from the building, hopefully far enough that Ellie could get back to your horse. With both horses and both rifles she and Shauna had a pretty good chance of making it back to Jackson.

Joel would have his girl back. You could be with Rose.

You considered, in this moment of calm, that perhaps it had all been leading to this. You crouched, readied yourself to sprint, shifted your weight to the balls of your feet.  

Ellie’s voice rang out above your head, clear as a bell and straight as an arrow to the street below her. ‘HEY YOU FUCKERS, COME AND GET ME!’  she yelled, stealing the breath from your lungs.

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[lokideservesahug]

A Whole New World

Part of the 𝓕1 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!reader (Aladdin AU)

Warnings: No descriptions of reader except she has hair, sexism, Abu is actually Max Fewtrell

Notes: Here is the first of two parts for the Lando/Aladdin au. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Princess Y/N has turned down many suitors over the years. So why is it that a certain 'Street rat' has captured her attention?

Word Count: 4.1 k

Part 2

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Throughout your entire life, all you have known is the confinement of the Palace walls you were raised in. You understand why you were kept in the grounds of the palace but it didn't make things any more exciting.

So with that train of thought, you devise a cunning plan one morning. No one could let you leave the Palace... but practically,  could leave if no one knew. So that's what you did. You waited until the right day came (when the guards that always fell asleep were on rotation).

For a place that was wanted to be so "heavily guarded", it was surprisingly easy to sneak out. All it took was a moth-bitten, aged brown robe of your mother's, may she rest in peace, and a calculated amount of agility (that was all but taught to you in your lessons of grace and decorum as a child). When you finally step foot outside the Palace for the first time in your life, you are left awestruck.

Colossal warm-toned pillars towered over you; despite your power in the country, they make you feel insignificant.

Despite this foreign territory, you find that the city is easy enough to navigate, just as long as you remember the way you came. City life was unsurprisingly bustling yet the unfamiliar loud noises make you smile rather than wince. It truly was a nice contrast to your regular surroundings.  When you eventually reach the centermost part of the town, a plethora of market stands decorated in all sorts of attention-catching fabrics line every corner. As you trek further, someone runs past you, pushing you slightly to the side. When you turn to berate them, however, you see that it's only one of many children playing - by running slightly too fast.

Your heart warms at the sight. However, your attention was drawn to a pair of boys, no older than about 8 standing in place, longingly staring at the baker's cart. You crouch down to their level and think about how best to approach this interaction with the first stranger you've spoken to in years.

"Oh gosh. Are you hungry?" You ask the scrawny boys. The taller of the two looks at you and the wordless answering his eyes is enough to act. You grab a loaf of bread from the cart to your side and hold it to the boy staring at you in what now appears to be awe. "Here. Take some bread." At your actions, the pair light up like children on Christmas day and proceed to run off with a newfound pep in their steps.

As you watch them run off, you hear a new voice begin to shout. "Hey! You are stealing from me?" Left dumbfounded at his words, you try and utter a response. "Stealing? No, I was just-" The man doesn't even begin to let you explain your actions as he cuts across you "Well you have not paid!" You see his eyes give you a quick one over as he continues "You either pay, or I take your bracelet."

Once more, you try and explain your predicament. "Sir I don't have any money" At your words, he grabs your bracelet-clad arm and begins to try and pry your jewelry from you. "Let go of me!" Despite your words, the man does not stop his attempts at removing your accessory. Your aggressor once more goes to shout in your face when suddenly, someone steps between you and the vendor. "Woah, take it easy man."

"Kalil walks away from the stall and she" The added emphasis on the pronouns makes you shrink into yourself "steals the bread." "Those children were hungry" This man's behaviour was outrageous. How can he be so cruel to those so unfortunate?

"Those children were starting. I did no-"

"OK. Just give me a second" After he speaks, your 'saviour' turns to you as the man behind him says "Keep your street rat nose out of my business! Huh?" The younger man turns to you again and asks in a soft, quiet tone "Do you have any money?" "No!" Your response comes as his hands easily find a place around your bracelet-clad wrist. "OK," His look becomes much more determined as he says his next words "Alright. Just trust me."

Before you can fully register his words he has turned around and you notice your bare wrist as he speaks to the vendor once more. "Here you go" You don't even have any time to protest. "This is what you wanted right?" He holds up your bracelet almost like a trophy and his actions make you sick to your stomach. The street vendor then sports a massive grin as he resounds to the man you thought was your Knight in shining armor. "Yes. Thank you." The younger man adds "Oh and an apple for your troubles."

By the time the fruit has left his hands, he has already turned and grabbed your wrist to swiftly guide you away. "Hey! That was my-" You let out a frustrated huff " I think not leaving without my bracelet." "You mean this bracelet?" The younger man all but huffs lowly. "Come on."

His actions leave you starstruck but as you hear the vendor shout, you begin to worry. "Lando. Thief! Lando." "Are we in trouble?" You turn to the man to your left. "Only if we get caught."

"Lando!" "Down that alley. The monkey knows the way." You'd been so wrapped up in the unwilling events that you had somehow managed to miss the monkey sitting on the man's (Lando you assume) shoulder. You can hear the vendor shout in the background but you're more focused on the freaking monkey moving from his shoulder to yours.

You go to protest but his gentle murder of reassurance that "You'll be fine" leaves you with no room to argue. As promised, the monkey really does know the way. You find yourself darting over and under places you never would have dreamed existed as you can hear the distant shouts and murmurs of the so-called "street rat's" escape.

As you dart around yet another corner, the man almost runs into you. Damn, he's good at this. You watch in amusement at his theatrics covering his elution of the guards. After kicking over some scaffolding with some Kingdom guards on, he turns to you. "Together on three." You repeat his words back to him to show your understanding. "We jump." "We jump?" There isn't much time for your confusion before he smiles and leans down. "There's no need to repeat everything I say"

He begins his counting and as he reaches the final "three!" He leaps from beside you. You look down at his safe landing but when he notices your absence and whips around to find you, you can't help but apologize. "I'm sorry. But I just can't do this." His eyes never leave yours despite the increasing volume of shouts "Look at me. You can do this." You spare a glance at the guards. Well, you have nothing to lose if you jump (aside from your life).

You aren't even fully aware of your feet leaving the ground or even your body in the air. Yet you certainly notice when you land tangled up with your savior. You glance nervously at the man and quickly detach yourself as he stands up and begins to run away. With no choice but to follow him, you find yourself running along rooftops and jumping (albeit smaller gaps) once again.

You lose sight of him for a moment but when you see the monkey from before look over and squeak at the edge, you begin to worry. That disputes when you see the man stick his head above the edge. "Let's go. I know somewhere where we'll be safe."

He leads you down to the ground once more. You can't help but stop and ask "Where are we?" His only response response "You'll see" as he grabs a rope. Suddenly, the sound of mechanical wiring fills your ears and in front of you where there used to be nothing, a set of stairs appears.

"Woah. Is this where you live?" He smiles in response to your words. "Yep. Just me and Max who come and go as we please." So Max is the name of his monkey you note. When you reach the top of the stairs, your eyes are greeted by a tremendous sight.

A giant cloth roof hangs over the brick space with smaller paper lamps hanging off the material. Your attention however is caught by the balcony on the far side of the space that you instantly rush to. You take in the city skyline for the first time properly. You shed your cloak as you began "I can't believe..." "What?" "I can't believe that we just did that. That we're even alive. With that chase and all of the running and jumping. It was amazing." "Tea?" He asks yet you don't focus on his words.

"Thank you. And thank you for getting me out of there... Lando? Was it?"

"Uhm You're welcome..." At his silence, you try and rack your brain for a quick lie. "Dalia! I... am Dalia" "Dalia. From the Palace?" Your eyes widen at his words. Oh no. "How could you tell?" "Well only someone from the palace would ever be able to afford a bracelet like that. Oh obviously and that silk lining is imported as well. It goes from the merchants at the Dock straight to the Palace. You look down as if you've been caught.

"At least not to servants" Oh no. He really was good. "Well, not to most servants. Meaning you must be a handmaiden to the princess!" You let out a sigh of relief at his words. "Impressive." "If you think that's impressive, you need to see the city from up there." He points to a ledge above the balcony and you turn in excitement to view more of this spectacle. You climb up and look upon your city in awe. It truly is beautiful. You mumble to yourself about how you should get out more (the irony not being lost in your mind) but Lando overhears your words.

"You should tell the princess to get out more. No one has seen her in years." "They won't let her. Ever since my-" You catch yourself before eyes dully slip up "the queen was killed in cold blood the sultan has been terrified for the safety of his daughter. So she's kept locked away." "It seems everyone has been afraid since then. But the people really had nothing to do with it. The people truly loved her." You can't help yourself smiling "They did, didn't they?"

You pick up a small, guitar leaned up against the wall. "Is this yours?" Lando doesn't look you directly in the eyes as he responds. "Sort of, it's borrowed." You then begin to play a tune of your past. "My mother taught me that song" He sounds almost sorrowful as he says it. "Mine too.: "It's all I can remember of her." You frown at his words. "You say you live alone? What happened to your father?"  "I lost them both when I was extremely young. I've been on my own ever since. It's alright it's just..." "What?" He begins to make his way up the stairs to your level as he continues "It's a little sad. Having a monkey be the only authority figure in your life." His words cause you to laugh slightly. And for the first time since your meeting, you finally have the time to take in his features.

His brown hair juts out in many directions with one curl in the centre hanging over his forehead. His blue eyes staring at you are enchanting. As you look down during your chuckle, you can't but notice that (unsurprisingly with his lifestyle) his physicality isn't bad on the eyes either. His words bring you back to reality as he continues.

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm" "Trapped." You finish his words off, knowing exactly the feeling. You continue as his gaze fixes on you again "Like you can't escape what you were born into?" He murmurs a quiet "yes" whilst nodding. The two of you continue to stare into each other's eyes when you both hear the shouts of sailors coming to Dock. "Welcome Prince Anders" the guards exclaim. A giant extravagant ship, carrying a royal crest on the sail shatters your brief, calm fantasy.

"I have to get back to the Palace!" "This way." Lando nods to the way you came. And once again, you did yourself blindly following the man (after you pick up your cloak of course). You begin to gravel the way you came but with increased pace. Lando smiles behind you at your urgency. "It's just another prince coming to try and court the princess." You stop briefly. "Yes. And I need to prepare her... Oh! Do you have my bracelet?" "Yeah," He rummaged in his pocket whilst you scan the horizon to gauge how much time you have. "I'm sure I put I in here." His movements become more frantic as he tries to search for your lost jewelry. "Somewhere... Max, did you take it?" The monkey stares at him and just scratches his head.

"That was my mother's bracelet..." You feel almost, lost. "Yes. And it's truly beautiful." You suddenly come to a realization. "You are a thief." "Yes but-" "And I am so naïve" You quickly then away from him and begin to rush towards the Palace as a mix of disappointment and sadness swirl in your gut. You hear his shouts behind you but you can't even bring yourself to turn around and look at him.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Welcome Prince Anders" Your father's words become a blur as you stand at the top of the palace stairwell. You began to descend the stairs as you pondered. Your patience was growing thin with the amount of suitors coming to court you. It wasn't that you had an issue with marriage, it was just that you had an issue with the suitors that kept coming. Every single one was here for power (which you understood you suppose) but all had fatal character flaws. They were either too involved with the patriarchy or wanted 15 children or some other outlandish thing. You hadn't found the perfect suitor yet. You couldn't even think of what this perfect man would be like but you knew that you would just know. Your brain drifts momentarily to the blue eyes from earlier and you don't have any time to ponder on it before your father's words cut through your thoughts.

"Prince Anders, this is my daughter Y/N." You hear a gasp from the man now standing opposite you. "Wow. Why did no one tell me of your beauty?" "No one mentions yours either." Your words (arguably a jab) at the man only make him chuckle. " Oh! Thank you. They say that in Skånland. Yeah. Right?" He turns to his men behind him. They laugh with the prince but if it's genuinely funny to them or just to amuse their leader, you're unsure. "It is very amusing." "Is it?" Your words cut him off slightly. "We have the exact same title yet are never described the same way." Your father clears his throat and mutters your name as a warning.

The prince awkwardly nods his head in agreeance with your words when he suddenly spots your tiger growling slightly. "Oh! What is that? Wait, don't tell me. It is a cat... with stripes." A distant voice calls to the prince "He likes you." Once more, the prince continues to talk of his greatness by adding "Oh yeah! In Skånland, cats love me. Here kitty. Pst pst." He begins to approach your four-legged companion and with this, the tiger to your side begins to growl with increased volume. You aren't even looking at either of them when you hear a scream followed by many sets of laughter.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

After you kindly dismissed the prince with soft apologies and promises of friendship. You find yourself wandering the halls of the palace in search of your father. You assume that he is in his regular place in his office. But as you walk down the corridor, you hear shouts that you can't quite make out and then two murmurs of "Invading Shiribad is the" You cut across your father's words "Invade Shiribad?" You turn and look at the man accompanying your father. Jafar, your father's second in command and a true thorn in your kingdom's side sometimes. "Why on Earth would we invade the kingdom of my mother?" "We would never, ever invade Shiribad" At your father's agreement, you opt for a sharper glare to give Jafar. "But an ally I'm Skånland would improve our situation." You brush off his accusatory tone as your father answers him. "Yes. If you consider giving Prince Anders a chance-" "To rule? Father that man is power-hungry and clearly only cares about his own image. Even Rajah would make a better leader than him!" You point to the tiger sitting beside you. "My dear, I am not getting any younger and as more time passes, the urgency of finding you a husband increases. And we are running out of kingdoms."

At his chuckles you roll your eyes. "What...foreign prince could care for our people as I do? I could lead if..." "My dear, you can not be sultan. It has never been done in the 1,000-year history of our Kingdom." "I have been preparing for this my entire life. I have read every book possible, I have-" "Books?" Jafar finds a way to weasel know your conversation. "You can not read experience. Inexperience is lethal. People left unchecked will revolt. Both walls and borders will be attacked if left unguarded."

"Jafar is right. One day, you will understand. You can leave now." Your father's words cause you to huff in frustration but flee the room.

As you exit with Rajah following closely behind you, you hear footsteps pacing towards you. Rajah growls as Jafar says softly yet condescendingly "Life would be kinder to you princess. If you were to accept these traditions and understand that it is better for you to be seen rather than heard."

You refused to meet his eyes and after he was clearly done with his demeaning speech, you walked away to your Chambers.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Surely there is something I can do." You speak to your handmaiden, Dalia (the real handmaiden Dalia) as she rubs your shoulders. "Oh, what a hard life you lead. I wish I would have the struggle of having to choose which prince to marry. Oh, the tall and clever one or the clever and handsome one. A handsome prince wants to marry you, when will life get easier." You disregard her sarcastic tone "It's not that I don't want to marry. It's just... "You want to be sultan. But why would you with  life like yours?" You turn and smile at her. "Do you remember remember my mother used to say? We would only ever be as happy as" Dalia choruses the last few words as you say them " our least favorite subject." You paused. "If she saw what I did today she'd be shattered." Dalia takes your hands and gives you a sympathetic smile. "She would also want you to be safe. And clean, I'll draw a bath"

"Jafar's guards on every corner? What kind of dystopia are we living in? I can help." You then look at the woman now behind you. "I know I can. I was born for so much more determined just marrying some useless prince!" "If you had to marry a useless prince prince could certainly do much, much worse than this one. Who's tall and dreamy? And he may be a little bit dim but you're only getting married. It's not like you'd have to talk to him." You furrow your brows at her. "But you'd much prefer that boy from the market." You feel your cheeks heat up. She laughs as she walks off and you can't seem to find it in you to disagree with her words.

As promised, she leaves to go to the adjacent room and draw a bath for you. Suddenly, a loud knock cuts through the quiet night breeze. That's odd. There aren't usually visitors coming to see you at this time of night. You open the tall door (that is surprisingly light) and you are met with the same blue eyes that have been plaguing your thoughts all afternoon. You don't even register your gasp before he is asking the same thing as he asked you this afternoon. "Tea?" He smiles warmly at you. "You... You! What on Earth are you doing here?" The sound of guards growing nearer fills your ears. "Get in here." You grab him and push him into the room whilst also surveying the corridor.

"I needed to come and return your bracelet." You freeze momentarily at his words. "What? Where is it?" You can hear his subtle smirk as he says "Already on your wrist." You glance down and as promised, your mother's bracelet once more on your arm. You can hear Lando compliment your interior design choices but your biggest worry is "How did you slip past the palace guards?" He turns to look at you, tray of tea and saucers still in hand. "I'll admit, that was challenging. But I have my ways." Once more, an accomplished smile finds its way on his face.

"Whilst the princess is out, would you perhaps like to go on a stroll?" You almost forgot about the Alias you adopted later... "Have a little chat?" "You are unbelievable. You can't just break into a palace and begin to walk around like you own the place!" Despite your reprimanding him, you feel a slight smile tug on your lips at his sheer boldness. "Well, you have to act like you own everything if you own nothing... So what do you say? I did find your bracelet after all." "Find it? You were the one that stole it!" "Actually, the monkey stole it." "He's your monkey!" "He smirks and says "Still a monkey." His words make you laugh and you can't remember the last time someone made you this happy.

"Who ordered the tea?" You didn't even notice your handmaiden return but at Dalia's words, you both quickly spin to look at her. All Lando can muster is a simple "Uh..." Before you cut across him " I did!" You go to move behind Lando so you can subtly communicate with Dalia. "For you, Princess Y/N."  "Your majesty" Lando bows as Dalia shoots you a very confused look.  but you respond by pointing to your returned bracelet. "Why are you being weird?" Dalia's confusion annoys you. You were trying to keep this storyline up!

Lando turns and gives you an awkward smile in almost support of what he thought your predicament was. You try again. You point to your bracelet and then to Lando. As if by magic, her eyes light up in realization of what you were attempting to do. "Oh, I'm the princess...Yes" Her recovery isn't the best but it works "And it truly is good to be me with all of my fancy dresses, one for each minute of the day and my giant karts of gold things and palaces." You gesture at her to wrap up her truly painful attempt at a lie. "Now it is time for my cat to be cleaned. She walks away and you can't wait to laugh at her display later.

"She doesn't get out much." Lando just hums in agreement as he places the tea tray down. "Clearly." Your tiger then begins to growl at him. "Aren't you supposed to be in the bath?" Lando shoots you an uneasy look as the cat sniffs his hand. Before you can think on it too much, Dalia's voice is heard once again. "Oh servant girl, this cat isn't going to clean itself." "Don't cats clean themselves?" You turn to Lando, eyes wide "You have to go." "Alright. But I'm coming back tomorrow." You go to protest but he continues. "Meet me in the middle of the tea courtyard by the giant tree when the moon is above the highest branches. To return this." He pulls out your hairclip and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. "I promise." You see him walk off and can't help but smile at him and his antics.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, a certain second in command to your father was alerted as Lando entered the palace and the guards had finally caught up to Lando. He looks at the head guard as the man gruffly speaks. "Evening." Lando can hear his voice break as he replies. "Even- good evening." He doesn't even need to ask to know that there are more guards behind him and he feels well and truly stuffed.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

I hope you enjoyed this! As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

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[this-game-has-themes]

part 2 of 3 (part 1)

‘Shouldn’t be much longer now’, was what Abe said, much longer ago. The ridges of mountains on either side were the only indicators that they were moving forward, as the trees may as well have been identical after hours of travelling.

Howler trudged behind Abe, feeling her age as her knees clicked. It didn’t help that she shouldered their supplies; she suspected that Abe employed a touch of manipulation of her blossoming drone instincts to get her to do so. She wouldn’t have agreed to take both of their bags before, but now being called big and strong turned on something in her brain. Was it because Abe was becoming a queen? Would she have even noticed it if he didn’t tell her?

As curious as she was, it wasn’t any of her business. Just like it wasn’t any of his business as to why she was transitioning, herself.

Abe looked virtually unbothered with travelling on foot by comparison; he was ahead of her by a few paces at all times, to the point of occasionally stopping to let her catch up. His kindness, as always, came off as patronizing. He looked over his shoulder at her, leaning casually on a walking stick. “Any of this startin’ to look familiar to ya?”

Howler scoffed. “Nah mud, I didn’t go very far from the village.”

The more of her past she let slip, the more Abe’s curiosity piqued. She could see it in his eyes. “Too young?”

“Yeah. And when you’re the only princess, the tribe is gonna watch you like a steef.”

It felt alien still, to speak of her life before capture. The life she felt wasn’t hers anymore, that she almost didn’t deserve to keep in her heart. Though her past had faded at the edges in her mind, speaking it aloud brought some clarity to it again. It made it feel real.

Abe kept encouraging her with careful questions throughout the day, though she started to suspect it wasn’t just out of an interest in her tribe and culture. “Ah, so they were overprotective?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It was… a big thing for them, me hatching. A queen can only bear princesses after she’s settled, and settling is a big deal.” Howler glanced over to find Abe hanging onto her every word. Just as she suspected. “So, did that mask-holder ever tell you anything about queenhood?”

A purplish flush rose in Abe’s cheeks. “He uh, he doesn’t know about… you know.” He gestured with little subtlety to the chest he kept covered. “None of the natives know, actually. I’m kind of figuring out how to tell them.”

There it was. Howler’s drone crest perked up in interest. “That so? You know, it’s gonna start becoming obvious real quick.”

“So were your drone feathers, and you still hid those.” Abe countered. It was Howler’s turn to go violet.

“... Alright, fine. Ya got me there.” She rolled her eyes at his sly little smile, and shifted the weight of their bags over her broad shoulder. “So, what do you want to know?”

Abe did a double take, his pace faltering. “Huh?”

“I said: what do you want to know about being a queen?” It was only a little satisfying to catch the branded mud off guard. She watched the embarrassed blush reach his forehead and neck.

“Well, uh. Everything, honestly. It’s not just that you’re - you were - a queen, you didn’t end up…” Abe’s voice was suddenly lost in his throat. A familiarly harrowed look passed over his face. “You didn’t end up an industrial queen. Like my mother.”

Howler considered his words for a moment, then said, “How long have you been on hormones?”

“Four months, at least.”

He watched the still-developing drone nod sagely. “No suitors yet?”

“Oh, uh, heavens, no.”

“You lookin’ to settle?”

“I don’t know what that means?”

“Settling is what queens do when they build a tribe.” Howler gave him a serious look. “Layin’ on the regular, becoming sedentary.”

Abe swallowed, hard. “I don’t know, honestly, I don’t… I don’t know if I can.”

“Well you’re scrub stock, so I don’t have high hopes, myself.”

He let out a sardonic groan at that. “Thanks.”

“It's for the best.” Howler picked up the pace. Ahead of them they could see the gradual end of the tree line, and at this point any change in landmarks would be welcome.

Abe caught up with her easily, unburdened and more suited to travelling on foot. “What do you mean by that?”

“Settling makes you vulnerable. You become the tribe’s most valued asset, and its biggest weakness.” Howler grimly stared straight ahead. “A queen gives up her entire life for her tribe, in more ways than one. Especially when industrialists come knockin’ on your door; if they take you, it’s worse than death.”

Abe knew exactly what she meant, and that understanding went unspoken in the look they shared. The branded mud carefully asked, “did they take your mother?”

Howler clammed up at that, and for a second Abe thought he had lost all that process opening her up in an instant. In truth, she was distracted by the treeline opening up before them. The valley they were entering held a wide, flat, golden field of tall grass; lined on either side by steep hills and rocky faces. Abe noticed a landmark on the far end, and pointed it out excitedly. “Hey, that’s gotta be the place, right?”

He was looking at the distant dome shape carved into the face of a cliff. Howler’s eyes had already lit up; but as she dropped her bags and jogged into the field, it was clear that it wasn’t what she was looking at.

Abe only passingly acknowledged the herd of very large, dome-shelled insects that grazed in the clearing. He was familiar enough with meetles, though they weren’t as common in the smog-choked industrial wastes and the Monsaic Lines beyond. Howler looked back at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

“I can’t believe it, all these years and they’re still here.” Emotion crackled in her synthetic voice. Abe felt a tug in his chest, empathetic even if he never had a home to go back to himself.

He considered catching up to her, but as she approached the meetles it became apparent that they were very large; much larger than a scrab, or an elum. With their size, it made sense that they didn’t seem to see Howler as a threat, though maybe there was more to that.

She circled around to the face of one, and it regarded her with a placid look in its four eyes. It continued to grase, ripping up the ripened, golden grass in front of it. Carefully, she placed a hand on a head that looked partially retracted under its broad, protective shell.

Abe flinched warily on her behalf. “Be careful-”

“Nah mud, it’s fine.” Howler waved him off, and pointed to the side of the grazer’s shell. A symbol had been scratched into it, old enough to only be faintly visible amongst the accumulated scratches and knicks it accrued from years in the wild. Abe internally compared the symbol to the shape of the temple in the distance, and it all suddenly clicked.

“Oh, these are Mudellan meetles, aren’t they?”

“And they’re still kickin’!” Howler patted the meetle’s shell firmly, and it made a pleasant drumming sound. “Thought the sligs would have driven them off. I guess they came right back during migration anyways.”

Cautiously, Abe approached the enormous creature, and gave it a tentative pat. He flinched back when it huffed in response.

Howler looked over the grazing herd with a prideful smile and misty eyes. “Oddamn, there’s so many of ‘em now.”

“They certainly got busy with no one else around, huh?”

“More like wild bulls must’ve settled right in…” Howler trailed off. Her face fell. “...Look.”

The meetle she pointed to stood out among the others, mainly for the faded, embroidered canvas still stretched around the dome of its shell. The saddle atop it was nearly falling off, but straps still remained in place for so long they cut deep grooves into the edges of its shell.

Abe watched as Howler approached, and the meetle acknowledged her more animatedly than its grazing fellows. It made a low, vibrating, gutteral sound, as if to greet someone it recognized. It hit Abe belatedly that maybe she did look like someone it recognized, now that she was a drone.

“Oh, you poor thing. You must’a had this thing on for years.” Howler tested the straps that anchored the canvas to its chell, and waved Abe over. “C’mere n’ help me with this, wouldja?”

Abe wasn’t much help, as Howler did most of the work using her bare hands to break the bonds without putting more distress on the meetle’s shell. It would have been easier to point out he still had a hunting knife amongst his travelling supplies, but… there was something impressive about watching her. Droning had certainly brought out the definition in her arms. Were her shoulders always that broad?

Not that he was staring. Or that he was still internally grappling with Howler’s transition. He had never cared for huge, flashy, preening drones before. But, he could admit those feathers were handsome on her, though they still had some growing to do. The thickset frame she had as a queen was redistributing all of that bulk into a more masculine shape, though her hips remained broad and her third row of breasts still threatened to slip out from under her shirt every time she raised her arms. She was very… distracting, now.

Abe hastily re-focused his efforts on helping the meetle. His own soft spot for animals made him wince, seeing the state of its shell from years of having it bound; it had become brittle looking and dull, sickly pale where the material had covered it. Watching the saddle get pulled off of it finally certainly looked like a massive relief for the animal.

As soon as it was free, the meetle grumbled in its low tone again. Abe imagined it to be a thank you, or at least a sigh of relief. The sections of its shell shifted for a moment, and with a measure of effort it opened to unfurl crumpled, misused wings. Howler winced in sympathy.

“It’s a miracle it survived this long not being able to fly, gettin’ left behind every migration.”

“Well, it looks like his herd never forgot about him.” Abe pointed to other meetles around them that mirrored their recently freed brethren in unfurling their wings. The sound of buzzing filled the air and made the grass ripple without the need for wind. When he glanced back at Howler, he found her inspecting the ruins of the saddle curiously.

There was still a silver charm tied to the fringe of it, an old decoration that hadn’t yet fallen off. The symbol of the Mudella, a facsimile of a meetle’s four-eyed face and dome shaped shell. Howler tried to look passive as she stared at it for a long moment before pocketing it.

“Guess that’s one thing to bring back.”

-

Traversing the field was not without its distractions, both from Howler gently harassing the meetles and the younger, feral members of the herd regarding the muds with caution and the occasional aggressive display. Howler, ever the stubborn one, retaliated by spreading her arms wide to mimic their raised shells, sending her own warning in their own language.

For as much as Abe acknowledged she changed, some things would always stay the same.

Thunder rolled faintly in the distance. Howler’s head snapped towards its direction before Abe could acknowledge it. Unlike her, he shrugged it off. “Hopefully we'll be inside by the time it rains.”

“If we can even get inside.” Howler muttered to herself.

The temple loomed before them, cut into the face of the cliffs; carved pillars held up a high ceiling at the entrance, shielding the door from the elements and covering it in shadow. As they got closer, it became increasingly apparent that there was no way to get up to it, from where they were at.

Howler paled a little at how far up it was. And how there seemed to be no walkways, stairs or ladders leading up to it.

Abe pointed out the shaggy fringe of foliage above it, at the top of the cliff. Faintly, one could make out the remnants of a rope bridge covered in vines. It hung limply over the edge, long since cut. “I guess that used to be our way to get in there.”

“One way to keep raiders out.” Howler noted.

They both stared at the sheer wall of rock that stood between them and their goals. Abe cracked his bandaged knuckles. “Welp, better get to it.”

Howler watched him promptly start scaling the wall. For a Mudokon, a surface like that was easy to simply climb… if they were a mud that could stand climbing.

He was about ten feet up before he looked down to find her keeping her two feet firmly on the ground. Howler tried to play off her hesitance with a shrug. “You uh, you go ahead, mud. I’ll keep watch down here.”

Abe glanced at her over his shoulder. “Aw c’mon, it’s not that high.”

“You jokin’? That’s like a hundred feet up! I ain’t fuckin’ climbing that.”

Abe dismounted, and landed on his feet. Unlike her, it seemed like he only got more nimble over the years. “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of heights.”

Howler folded her arms, immediately going on the defense. “I ain’t afraid of heights, I’m afraid of falling.”

“I remember when you used to hold my hand on the catwalks up at the farms.” The teasing smirk Abe gave her was incredibly punchable. “I wonder what your boys think of a big tough guy like you being afraid to climb a few feet.”

“My boys never let me hear the end of it, let me tell ya.” Howler scoffed. Her drone crest fanned out irritably. “I ain’t exactly a spry little featherweight worker, if you haven’t noticed. I ain't haulin’ my fat ass up any mountains.”

“Well, I can’t just leave ya down here.” Abe scratched at his feathers thoughtfully for a moment. His eyes wandered in the direction of the fields they came from. “Say, meetles fly, right?”

Howler gave him a disapproving scowl. “You better not be doin’ what I think you’re gonna do with my meetles.”

“It’ll just be for a minute. I’m not gonna hurt them, or anything.”

“I’ve seen you turn people inside out with that kata shit-”

Abe held up a finger. “I turned sligs inside out. I don’t hurt animals if I can help it.”

“You ever even possess a meetle before?” Howler didn’t get an answer from him. Abe was already hunkering down into a position more comfortable for meditation, his head bowed and his hands clasped.

His chanting was quiet, but it still thrummed in Howler’s chest; a low and steady accompaniment to the beating of her heart. There was something striking about hearing it still. Something that made her want to join in, an instinct shared through generations of Mudokons. The kata was part of a mud’s soul that couldn't be bred or beaten out of them. The scar on Howler’s throat had been proof of that.

Howler had tried to harmonize with him before, and found the tones taught in their respective parts of Mudos differed too much. An off-key chant was fine for everyday ritual and meditative harmonies, but it wouldn't do for this. Still, humming quietly along with him under her breath satisfied that instinct.

A familiar buzzing came from behind them. Howler watched the lone meetle fly over the treetops, lower than it naturally would. With a resigned sigh, Howler held out her arms, and braced herself.

“You better not drop me, ya hear?”

She shut her eyes tight when she felt the meetle’s legs wrap around her, holding her close to the underside of its thorax. She gasped when she felt her feet lift off the ground. It was all Howler could do to force herself to swallow her panic, and pray that Abe knew what he was doing.

She couldn't open her eyes again until she felt her dangling toes brush against a cold floor. The possessed meetle dropped her rather unceremoniously, but it had successfully flown her to the entrance all the same. Holding onto a pillar cautiously, Howler looked down to watch Abe pilot the meetle all the way back down to the ground, and have it land safely before breaking his concentration.

As soon as its mind and body was its own again, the meetle seemed to look around its unfamiliar surroundings, disoriented and confused that it was away from the herd. Its upset lasted only a few seconds before it took wing again. Abe looked up at his traveling companion, and at this distance Howler could only assume he had a smug smile on his stupid stitched face.

Abe climbed his way to the top, himself. He made it look easy, save for the few missteps and broken handholds that made Howler clench everything in anticipation. She knew he wasn't the most graceful of muds. The saviour of the Mudokon race falling and breaking his neck would have been pretty unfortunate news to return home with.

When he reached the edge, Howler pulled him up the rest of the way with such ease that it made the branded mud gasp. Being manhandled didn't make his heart flutter like that before - or at least, being manhandled by her didn’t.

Their hands lingered on each other for a second too long. They both pointedly looked away from one another. Howler turned her attention to the door.

The circular stone door was easily twice their height, the stylized meetle face on it serving as the symbol of the Mudella. Its eyes were chunks of red rock, and the grooves that traced patterns around them looked more conspicuously deliberate than decorative. Howler preemptively groaned.

“Oh no, it's a puzzle.”

“Oh boy, it's a puzzle!” Abe clapped his hands together eagerly as he walked up to it. He looked over his shoulder to find Howler rooted to the spot. “C’mon Howler, it can't be that difficult if it's for the front door.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that, then.”

He ignored her remark, and focused on pressing in the ‘eyes’ in different sequences. Several failures were met with no response from whatever mechanism sealed the door 

Eventually, Howler sighed and ran a hand through her feathers. She butted in to make her own attempt.

“Here.” she pressed the buttons in a combination she seemed familiar with. To Abe's surprise, a dull clicking heralded the mechanisms springing to life; with the grinding of stone against stone, the two halves of the face parted to slide into perfectly fitted openings in the rock. Stale, ancient air blew hit their faces.

“How the heck didja get that in one go?!”

Howler rolled her eyes. “I drew the Mudellan letter for ‘M’. You know. For Mudella?”

She went ahead and entered first. Abe narrowly sidestepped her shoulder-check. “Well it sounds obvious now that you say it.”

The sun bleeding through the doorway had to have been the first light to touch the temple in untold years. With each tentative step inside, they both kicked up glittering plumes of dust in the sunshaft. Squinting in the shadows, Abe made out the unmistakable shape of an unlit torch on the wall.

“That’s helpful,” he pointed out, smiling to himself. He handed it to Howler, because predictably she was the one who kept a lighter on her person. “More of these places need these right at the door. I’m always stumbling in the dark in temples.”

Howler smirked as she lit it up for him. “Thought a hero-type like you would come more prepared.”

Abe sighed; he didn’t find the jab so lighthearted. He took the torch a little too curtly, and mumbled, “do you even want me here or not?”

Howler’s heart sank a little. “I didn’t mean it like that, mud.”

He went off deeper into the chamber without her. Howler had to find her own torch before she could catch him. She found him still giving her the cold shoulder. “C’mon mud, you know my n’ my own tell each other to kill ourselves a dozen times before breakfast.”

Abe stopped, and held out the torch towards a wall. In the orange glow of firelight, stylized carvings of familiar figures decorated the walls. Muds, meetles, elums… Glukkons. Abe leaned forward to squint at the vertical lines of writing that accompanied them. “Say, can you still read this? I only know south Mudanese.”

She was still rusty at it, having no opportunity to even see Mudellan characters since… odd, since seeing what was left of them in Necrum. Or what wasn’t left of them. Seeing more complete sentences tripped her up.

“We remain… standing - no, unmoving - against the ‘lo-’ - no, ‘lūr-’... I think this is just straight up callin’ the Glukkons a slur.”

“They really are your people, huh.” Abe said flatly.

“Mudellans were all high n’ mighty about standing their ground against the deforestation industry, up until they couldn’t be.” Howler took a step back, taking in the whole scene. “They dug their temples into mountains and carved their names into rocks, letting everyone know they were stubborn and unbothered as meetles. Up until they weren’t.”

There was a beat of silence. The fire of their torches crackled gently. Abe looked at Howler from the corner of his eye. “Sounds like someone I know.”Howler sighed, and continued onward. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep movin’.”

[lush-escape]

INDIGO

Part 11

Southern!Jason Todd x Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Part 11 || Part 12 || Epilogue ||

There's a gentleness to Jason that you hadn't expected when he's cleaning you off. The rag he uses is warm and soothing and each swipe is delicate, like you're made of porcelain. He continues to whisper praises to you but it's like he's saying it more for himself than you.

"Did so good f'me", "looked so pretty taking me like that", "'ve never cum so hard in my life". That one makes your cheeks warm.

When he's finished he lays down beside you, one arm wrapping around your waist to pull your back against his chest.

"I think that was one of the best wake up calls I've had, darlin'." He smiles into the back of your.

Darlin'. No longer baby girl. It's in that moment you know this is a one time thing. Nothing serious.

This was just a farewell gesture.

Your throat is suddenly tight, your heart heavy, and you can't help but feel the crushing weight of your reality on your shoulders. But you try to shove those feelings aside and just enjoy the moment. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, as if his lips are trying to communicate something he can't say out loud.

"Yeah, s'not such a bad way to wake up." You respond quietly with a barely there smile.

Jason makes a soft noise, the one that sounds like he's amused. He pulls you closer, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Glad ya think so. I'll have ta wake you up like that more often." He mumbles into your hair.

It's an off handed comment. Something said before fully thinking it through. More often. Your stomach tightens uncomfortably but you try not to react. You're still in the after glow of an intimacy you both knew was wrong. But it felt so good, so familiar, like a drug that you crave after leaving behind for so long.

Jason realizes his error as soon as the words leave his mouth but he tries to play it off by letting out a laugh.

"But I don't think I have the stamina to do that every morning." He mutters. He's trying to make a joke, make light of the awkward moments, but he just keeps pushing his foot further into his mouth.

"Maybe we could switch it up. I let you wake me up sometime." He winces and silently chastises himself.

"Yeah, maybe." You respond in a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah, y'know, maybe... maybe next time or-" He pauses, sighing. "Or maybe I need to stop talkin' before I say something stupid." You laugh quietly, shaking your head.

"Yeah, maybe you should stop while you're ahead." You retort back with a smile. Jason groans softly, burying his face in your neck with a huff. He mutters something against your skin that you can barely understand.

"Shaddup, smart ass."

"What was that? Couldn't hear you there." You can't help but let out a soft laugh, you could never give up a chance to tease him.

He's snuggling further into the back of your head, eyes closing. He lets out a low amused laugh. The tension between the two of you slowly lifts.

"I can't believe you just let me say all that stupid crap."

"I can," you quip back without missing a beat, "it's always fun watching you put your foot in your mouth."

"Oh shut up. I was havin' a moment. Ain't my fault you do funny things to my brain, darlin'. Makes me wanna say dumb things, it ain't fair."

"Oh yeah?" You let out a small laugh.

"That's your excuse? That I'm responsible for those dumb things that come out of your mouth?" You tease, tilting your head to bury it further into your pillow.

"Well yeah! You're just damn distracting. You make me lose my head. Startin' sayin' things without thinkin' about them." A thought seems to occur to him and he growls softly. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Made me all flustered, all loose lipped-"

"You're just pussy drunk." You snort without thinking much of what you're saying.

Jason inhales sharply, clearly surprised at your use of language. He pauses, seemingly speechless for a moment.

"Damn-" pussy drunk? The words ring in his head and his grip on you tightens briefly as that's processed. He huffs again and mutters something about how that ain't appropriate language for a young lady.

You bark out a laugh at Jason's reaction, turning over in bed so you're laying on your back looking at him.

"What? Didn't think I'd stay an innocent little thing forever, did ya?"

Jason props himself up his elbow, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. Even though he's trying to look disappointed you can see the amusement in his eyes.

"You always had a mouth on you." He mutters, his free hand resting at the base of your throat in a gentle grip. "Always been a bit of a smartass." Jason's thumb runs over your pulse point. "But that? That was somethin' else."

"Yeah? You like that one?" You ask with a small laugh. Before Jason can respond your phone starts ringing on the bedside table. The air between you suddenly turns tense as you grab your phone.

"Sorry.. it's.. the realtor." You say quietly and Jason gives you a nod in understanding. There's a short silence before Jason shifts, his hand moving from your throat to the bedding. His muscles are still taut but he nods. He leans down, hovering over you for just a moment before giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

"I'm gonna... go make some coffee, darlin'. Be right back."

It's like a switch has been turned on. Reality crashes down. The soft moment we were having has been cut short and the realization of what we did, of what's going to happen next, starts to settle.

Jason sits on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, trying to ground himself, before he slips on his boxers and heads for the kitchen. The light sound of the coffee machine starting up drifts down the hall.

The phone call is short. You speak with the realtor for a few, short minutes. It feels like the air has been sucked from the room, any remnants of our earlier intimate conversation gone. The realtor asks you if it's possible to meet later that day instead of next week and you agree.

You end the call and let your phone fall onto the bed. You close your eyes and your mind flashes to the events of earlier, the weight of your reality slowly creeping back in.

Jason sits in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hands. He stares off into the distance, the silence of the house around him the only sound being the ticking of the clock. He looks up when he hears your footsteps approaching the kitchen, his coffee forgotten in his hands.

"Hey um..." You clear your throat quietly. "I need to head down to the realtor's office soon, so."

So you need to go. Goes unspoken.

Jason sets his coffee down, the coffee left ignored as he turns to look at you. "Oh.. yeah, right. Yeah. Um..." He crosses his arms over his chest and he's suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

"I'll just... go grab my clothes and get outta your hair." He mutters after an awkward silence, finally looking up at you.

Your eyes meet, and it's a silent exchange. You both know that this is the conclusion. You were leaving and he was staying. There was no discussion to be had, it was the way it's meant to be.

_______

taglist: @lettucel0ver @sinnamon-bunn

[pacifymebby]

I Just Ride // Chapter Two

"Well hey... What happened to you?"

Danny's friend cocked his head to one side, really taking you in as he watched you shivering in the middle of the road. It was a quiet street with only the breeze in the night to disturb you and, with you lit up by his headlights Johnny could see every disturbance in the way your white dress rippled against your upper thighs. It was a pretty sight, even despite the dirt which stained your dress and your soft tanned skin. The blood on your grazed knees.

He might have sat back and admired you a little more had he not also been able to see the tracks of your tears running down your cheeks. The fear in your eyes, the way you stood with your arms crossed over your chest, back stiff and straight trying not to seem so scared. It was admirable really, the brave face you were trying to put on for him.

"There was a uh... Fight..." You said, doing your best to hold it together, to stop your voice from trembling. You didn't want this rough, gruff stranger knowing just how terrified you were, even though something about him told you he wouldn't take advantage of your fear.

"A fight huh?" He asked, he took his time with his words, as if he were taking his time to think everything over. His eyes always fixed on you, making you feel as though you were being studied. "Tell me..." He started, waiting for you to fill in the blank and give him your name. You realised that a moment too late however the result of which was a thick silence which lingered a little too long and left you stuttering when you realised what he wanted.

"...y/n..."

"Tell me y/n... Who you been startin fights with?"

You stammered then, your voice caught in your throat. The evening had clearly taken its toll on you because there was no way that on any other day you wouldn't have recognised his affectionate teasing smirk.

"I... I wasn't..." You started to say, "it wasn't me..."

"It wasn't?" He asked, both his eyebrows rising in faux shock, his mouth a little oh, "it wasn't you... Well how about that, it wasn't you..."

"No sir.. I mean...uh.."

"I'm Johnny, it's nice to meet you y/n, now how about you let me give you a ride home?"

You looked from him to the bike humming between his legs. You looked at his dirty knuckles, the bruises you could see on his hand. You wondered how he got them, though the rock in your stomach told you you already knew. Perhaps he was being friendly enough to you but something told you this Johnny could be just as mean as those men who had stormed into your bar earlier that night.

Now his bike... Well that looked mean too. It grumbled and growled like some kind of wild animal and as you stood there watching it tremble you felt your nerves tangle all the more tightly.

You didn't really have a choice though.

"I uh... I ain't never been on a motorbike before..." You said it so timidly, with this impish curiosity there in the shadows, in the undertones. An impish curiosity which Johnny picked up on, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh you ain't?" He asked softly, he flicked his cigarette away into the road and you followed it with your eyes, watched it smoulder and die in the street. "Well y/n how about you let me be your first?" He asked, the question so clearly pointed that even you couldn't miss the obvious flirtation in his tone.

You couldn't help the blush which rose to your cheeks. No one had ever spoken to you like that before. So quietly confident and yet dismissive of their desire. He said the words like they meant nothing at all and yet the way his eyes trailed the length of you and then returned to your open mouth without starting from you for even a second. It sent an unfamiliar current through your body, right down your spine, settling with a glow in the pit of your tummy.

It lured you in. Tempted you beyond saving. You'd known you didn't really have a choice but to hop on the back of his bike and let him take you god knows where, but now as you stepped forward, you actually wanted to climb onto the back of his bike and let him take you god knows where.

"Where you gonna take me?" You asked standing just in front of his bike. Now that you were closer you could see the details of his face much more clearly. You could see the grease in his hair, could see the oil stain on his neck, you could see the stubble on his cheeks and chin. The ridges of the wrinkles on his forehead which rather than make him look old like an old man, made him look like an aged Hollywood heart-throb.

You bit your lip as your eyes met his.

"You're Danny's girl?" He asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched you, his gaze seeming to linger on your lower lip caught between your teeth.

"Uhuh," you said softly.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. Couldn't help but question your luck, this miracle which had been sent to save you in the form of an aging biker with bruised knuckles.

He stroked his chin and then he nodded.

"Then I'm gonna take you to Danny..."

"Um... O.. okay," you said softly without making a move to climb on the back of his bike. Even when he gestured with his arm for you to hop on, as if presenting the bike to you, still you didn't move.

Instead you stood watching him, watching the bike trembling, holding yourself, rubbing your arms to keep warm, one leg crossed in front of the other hesitantly.

Johnny realised what was happening of course, saw how your brave face was beginning to fade away. Saw how in the light of his headlights you were once again revealed in a tragic shade of honesty.

"Hey y/n," he said a little softer, his smile quirking once again for you, his dimple was deep and echoed with a smile line and something about the ridges in his complexion reminded you of the ridges in a tree trunk. Made him seem so firm and sturdy. Trustworthy. "Don't worry."

When you opened your mouth to reply and no words came out your lips remained parted and still. Your eyes wide and blinking back at him so sweetly.

"Yeah," he nodded, "don't worry about nothin alright, Johnny'll take care of you." He said nodding over his shoulder for you to get onto the bike. As he did so he shrugged his leather jacket off his shoulders and held it out for you. He didn't say a word to instruct you, just waited for you to slip into it yourself.

And as you slipped into it you were overcome with the warmth of it, the leather soft and warmed through by his body heat. It smelt like the road, and like a long day, a little sweaty, a little like some kind of aftershave. Like oil too. And the weight of it on your shoulders, it felt like Johnny himself was holding you in his arms.

He hadn't exactly said much but something in the warm glow of his trouble eyes had told you to trust him. Had made you want to trust him. So you did as you were told and climbed awkwardly onto the back of his bike. Immediately you felt the rumble between your legs, the engine purring. The warmth of the leather seat. Your dress was far too short for you to be opening your legs around his hips and you couldn't help but feel a shy flush burning your cheeks as you felt your dress rise up a little too far. You were only glad that it was dark and that Johnny seemed to be concentrating on the road rather than on your legs.

"Now hold on tight alright honey..." Said Johnny as you tried to secure yourself to him.

You felt stupid for feeling so shy to hold onto him when you knew you had to, but you couldn't help it. You'd never been so close to a man before in your entire life. Your legs open around his, your chest pressed tight to his back. You could feel his heart beat through your breast bone and something about that felt so intimate. So revealing.

Not that Johnny seemed to notice.

"There's a good girl," he purred, "nice and tight..."

You wrapped your arms around his waist hesitantly, shy to let your body press against his, for your arms to hold tight around his waist. You locked your hands together but you sat straight, trying to keep some kind of a distance between you and him.

"Well," he said with a smirk, "everyone's gotta learn sometime..." He said before trying once more to offer you a little reassurance, "now don't you worry about nothin alright honey, y'know I'm pretty good at this..." He said with a little chuckle before kicking off.

And when he revved that engine and sped off well, suddenly you weren't so shy.

The second you felt the air rushing by you your arms wrapped around Johnny's waist so tightly, you just clinging onto him for your life. You squeezed your eyes tight shut, a little yelp of fear escaping you as you bowed your head and buried your face in the shirt he wore.

Your fingers curled inwards to get a better grip and you felt your body pulled in towards his as if by gravity until your thighs were squeezing against his, your chest pressed tight to his back. You could feel every shudder of that bike as the motor rumbled and the two of you sped through the streets at an almost definitely criminal speed. You were sure he must be running through stop lights and you darent open your eyes to find out. Instead you just clung to him shamelessly, like your life depended on it. It did really.

Eventually however you began to settle down. Your heartbeat still raced but your mind began to adjust. You were racing through the city so fast, the wind chilling you, the city sounds all blurring and fading behind you. But you were fine. And Johnny felt warm beneath your breast, he seemed relaxed too. He wasn't tense the way you'd expected him to be, he felt calm though you couldn't see his face to be sure.

Not until you began to slow and the engine began to soften. Out on a long straight stretch of road. He turned his head back to catch a glimpse of you, and when he did you saw his smirk etched into his skin, the ridge of his smile lines so warm despite their shadows.

"What did I tell you y/n... Don't worry about nothin..."

There was something about him, the trouble there flickering behind his eyes that made you feel a little more brave than you had before.

Something in the quiet of that empty middle of nowhere road. When you turned to look behind you the lights of the city were an illuminated blur, like the aurora had sunk in the sky and rippled it's way through Chicago. And even though you felt very far away from those lights you didn't feel alone. You knew that you were perhaps now more vulnerable than you had been hiding in that doorway, alone with a strange man in the middle of nowhere. But you didn't feel so scared, knew this strange man wasn't going to hurt you.

"I ain't worried..." You said, your voice was a little shaken and you knew you sounded worried, you only hoped he'd let you get away with it.

"Thats my girl," he flashed you a grin, his eyes lit up with mischief sparking a sudden wave of pride in you. You could feel it glowing from you and you almost felt childish for the toothy grin that formed on your lips. But Johnny seemed to like it, seemed warmed and endeared by it.

"Alright y/n, won't be long now honey," he said, "I'm sure your Danny's waitin for you now..."

He'd already turned away, eyes back on the road, so you didn't see the shadow which crossed him when he said the younger man's name. Didn't see the flicker of disappointment. Didn't see the way that too wavered when you clutched him a little tighter and nuzzled into his back, letting your cheek rest against the soft leather of his worn out jacket. The wind in your hair soothing you, taking the edge off the night as you held onto this warm stranger who already felt like a friend.

You closed your eyes for a moment, not quite falling asleep, just awake enough to hold on tight. Exhausted enough that time seemed to change its boundaries. The journey hazing so that by the time you opened your eyes again you felt as though you were waking from a dream.

The engine died and the bike grumbled to a halt on a street which might have been quiet had it not been for the bar still wide awake, rock an roll music leaking out the door every time she swung open and another bedraggled drop out kinda guy stumbled out with a cigarette already between their teeth.

You didn't slip down from the bike immediately, didn't even let go of Johnny until he gave you the gentle reminder.

"Now how you gonna go find Danny when you're still sittin on my bike?" He teased you, his big hands displacing yours so easily. Still he was careful with you, seemed to be being extra careful with your fingers as he pried them loose.

He swung his leg over the body as if the movement came naturally to him, and when you tried to copy him and got yourself stuck, he chuckled sympathetically and offered you his hand to help you down. But his hand wasn't enough because you were too hesitant to try again, especially when you were only wearing that little white dress, a dress which was far too short to be opening your legs so carelessly.

"Now y'see honey the problem you got there yeah well it's all up here..." He said tapping your temple with his pointer finger, smirking at your wide eyes getting wider. "You gotta believe in yourself a little more honey, that's all..." He said placing his hands on your waist, lifting you up with ease as he staggered half a pace back and your body fell into his. The movement shocked you, snatched the air from you as he held you tight against him for a moment, your heartrate rising rapidly before he placed you down on the dirt track. He held you still against him for a moment letting you get your bearings, letting you catch your breath as he rubbed your back soothingly in three slow sweeps up and down and up once more. He let his hand linger then, palm open fingers spread between your shoulder blades, and he didn't move until the door to the bar swung open and a ruffled up looking Danny came stumbling out.

The younger man's eyes were wide and he had that frenzied worry about him. That is until he saw you.

"Y/N, hey baby..." He grinned, relief flooding him at the sight of you safe and sound and seemingly unharmed.

You felt your heart in your throat at the sight of him, eyes welling up with tears of relief before you could stop them. And you didn't get the chance to hold them back either feeling them trickle from your long lashes and down your dusty cheeks, leaving little rivulet streaks staining your skin.

"Danny!" You gasped your frail voice getting caught in your throat as you rushed to him, falling into his open arms without a second thought for the drama you were causing. The Hollywood movie scene you were inviting all his friends to watch.

And watch they did.

"You're okay..." Breathed Danny as he finally held you in his hands and took a moment to look at you, "I was so worried about you baby what happened?"

"There was a fight..." You started to tell him, your body trembling at the memory of the violent scene you'd fled on your hands and knees earlier that night. "An I had to get outta there so fast I left my bag in there and it had my apartment keys an my money an..." You trailed off realising that you were panicking yourself, working yourself up into an anxious little frenzy that would only end in tears. So you stopped and tried to take a breath feeling ever so childish as you tried to collect your emotions and halt the tears gathering in your eyes.

"Hey, hey hey, it's okay baby you're here now alright, I'll look after you... You're here an you're safe an that's all that matters alright?"

You looked up at him and tried to give him your bravest smile, dabbing at your eyes again, trying to save the mascara you knew you'd already ruined hours before.

Danny stroked your cheek with his thumb and wrapped his arms around you a little tighter, enveloping you in a careful hug and kissing your cheek not once but twice. Holding you tight against him for a moment too long.

You hadn't noticed the others come tumbling out the bar to get a better look at who exactly it was that had caused such a commotion. But that didn't mean they weren't there watching and when Danny cupped your cheeks in his hands and pushed a kiss to your forehead, another to your trembling lips, the pair of you were interrupted first by a wolf whistle and then by a chorus of rough raucous laughter. Men you'd usually have run a mile from jeering at you, calling out crass suggestions to Danny.

"Hey you make sure you give her one from me Danny boy!"

Danny flushed pink, his eyes going wide at the sound of the other man's voice. His whole body stiffening a little awkwardly as he turned over his shoulder with a nervous laugh of his own and told them to pipe down.

"Get your own girlfriend Corky..." He chided back, his grin lingering as he offered you an awkward apology.

"Ooo Danny's got himself a girlfriend..." Came the chorussed response, all sniggering boyish laughter, hollers and woops. You just blushed and smiled and laughed shyly, too relieved to be bothered by the fuss his friends were causing. The way they were revving their engines and leaning down on horns almost comical in it's brash childishness.

"S'okay," you sniffled trying to wipe your tears, looking up at Danny shyly when he tried instead to catch them with his thumbs and swipe them away. "Just glad you're here... An that your friends are well... You know friendly I guess..."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "don't let them bother you babe they don't mean any harm they're just jokin around..."

"Yeah," you said with a smile, "they're funny I guess..." You said softly, remembering then who you owed for your rescue. Remember the man who had raced you through the night to bring you here, to see you back in the arms of your Danny.

But when you turned around to look back at where you'd left him beside his bike he was already gone and you felt your stomach drop. Disappointed in yourself for having fled his side without saying thank you.

"Oh..." You said softly, your disappointment palpable as you gazed out at the empty street. His bike was still there exactly where he'd left it but the man himself was gone and you felt your heart sink.

"What's the matter doll?" Asked Danny softly, his hand finding yours and tugging you a step back into his arms. He wrapped them around your shoulders from behind and placed another kiss to your cheek as he followed your gaze towards Johnny's bike. "Oh, don't worry about Johnny hon, he'll be inside with the boys, you pulled him away from a big night..."

"What?" You cried all the more mortified and regretful to learn you'd ruined not just Danny's evening but perhaps many others too. But Danny only laughed, chuckling into your neck as he placed another scattering of kisses to your shoulder.

"Hey, dont worry darlin I'm sorry, m'only jokin I promise, just a normal night an you haven't ruined anything... Trust me... I'm just glad you're here safe an sound yeah?" He asked a little more seriously then, turning you around so that he could get another look at you. Looking down at you a little more carefully this time.

"y/n..." He asked as his eyes trailed the length of you and he saw your grazed knees and the scratch up your thigh. The way the hem of your dress was dirty and frayed. The way your hands too were filthy, dirt and blood beneath your fingernails. "Are you sure you're okay?" He was frowning, the furrow of his brow so tense and yet his eyes when they met yours were so soft they melted your heart and you didn't want to worry him anymore than you already had.

So you forced a smile, a toothy grin that said Don't worry about me!

"Yeah," you said flicking your hair over your shoulder, "jus' a little shaken up that's all, nothin a beer won't fix?" You asked, the cheeky dimple popping in the corner of your smile lighting his eyes up as relief washed over his sweet boyish features once more. He threw an arm around you lazily, promising you the coldest bottle in the fridge as he walked you inside and warned you once more not to mind anything any of the guys said.

Of course when you stepped inside that run down bar you realised that either Danny had been lying and this was in fact not a "normal night" or that he'd been telling the truth and that what might have counted as "normal" back home, certainly wouldn't stand up here...

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@zablife