#Dumps like a truck {Tag dump}

[littlebirdy0301]

(cw grooming mention) TELL ME WHY IM JUST SITTING IN MY ROOM CHILLIN, REMINDED OF MEMORIES FROM EALRY HIGHSCHOOL AND ALL THE SUDDEN HIT LIKE A FUCKING TRUCK THAT I GOT GROOMED AT 14/15

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

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Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.

He’s perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute he’s living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesn’t regret this.

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.

You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.

The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what he’d done, at what you’d done, chillingly unfazed.

“We can’t leave anything that’ll point back to me,” he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.

“Or me,” you have to remind him tensely.

His eyes land on yours. He’s always only looking out for himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to worry about someone else.

“I’m serious,” you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. “I saved your life. You owe me. I won’t take the fall for this.”

“Well, neither will I,” he snaps.

“You shot him.”

“I could say you did,” Rafe replies. “And it’d be your word against mine. What then?”

You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.

“I saved your life,” you repeat. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

“We’ll look out for each other, alright?” he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. “Let’s just clean this up.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Pope’s name. Twelve missed calls.

You hope your friends don’t get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they don’t know where you went. You’re almost certain.

“My friends keep calling me,” you whisper.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. His friends aren’t worrying about him.

“You can’t answer them,” he snaps.

“I know.” You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “We have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?”

Rafe takes a beat to think.

“We dump him in the ocean,” he finally says. “We go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.”

“How do we move him so nobody sees? We can’t go through the house. We might run into someone.”

Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.

“There,” he says. “We’ll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.”

You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.

“Okay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,” you say. “And everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe there’s something with bleach in it around here?”

For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. There’s a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.

“Pick that stuff up,” you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. “I’ll try to find something to clean with.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Rafe mutters.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you huff before you turn towards the door.

You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.

You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.

The neighbor’s private beach can’t be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.

You’re glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.

“Tuck this stuff under his shirt,” you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying.

You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you can’t hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.

Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porter’s body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.

You have to jump the balcony. You can’t risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Let me go first. If you break something, we’re fucked.”

He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.

“Okay,” he says. “Go.”

You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.

You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. There’s no going back to it now.

You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafe’s arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.

“If someone comes,” he whispers in your ear, “run.”

Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you can’t bear to look down at the body on the ground.

Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.

Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.

You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.

You feel for your phone. It’s still in your pocket.

“Do you have your phone?” you whisper.

He responds after a moment, “Yes. Get in.”

“I think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,” you say. “We should–”

Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. There’s no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.

“Get the hell in,” Rafe mutters angrily.

You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight you’d just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.

“Holy shit,” Rafe chuckles, near elated. “We did it.”

You stare ahead, your head foggy.

This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than you’ve ever felt before.

What if you’d run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if you’d left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?

What if you’d never gone upstairs?

You’re destined to agonize over the what if’s of tonight forever.

You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. You’d wiped away the blood, but you think you’ll always see it on your hands.

You figure out that it’s a good thing you left Porter’s phone. If he was sharing his location, you’re sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. They’d know exactly where to look for his body.

“We should shut off our phones,” you realize. “I think they can track GPS history from cell towers.”

Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.

“How’d you think of that?” he mumbles with a laugh. “Is this not your first time doing this, Pogue?”

“Nothing about this is funny,” you reply.

“Relax,” he says. “We got away with it.”

“You can’t be so sure,” you say. “One fingerprint in that room and…”

You can’t think about it.

In the paroxysm of emotions you’re already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Pope’s most recent text before you power off your phone.

Answer the phone. We’re worried.

·········

The clock on Rafe’s dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.

“I’ll take a walk around to make sure we’re alone,” he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.

The car door slams shut and you’re left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.

Maybe you missed something back in that room.

You picture Porter’s phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, you’ll be questioned.

A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.

“We’re good,” he says. “Move.”

Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafe’s boat, you stand behind him at the helm.

Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, it’s that you can’t trust anyone.

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him.

“I should wait in the car,” you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boat’s motor hums as you rock with its movements.

“No,” he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull you’ve always felt towards him, you’ve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.

You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.

Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.

“Don’t feel bad for that asshole,” he mutters. “He asked for it.”

It’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?

“I don’t regret it,” you tell him, sure that he’s assuming that that’s why you’re so tense. “I’m just worried we missed something.”

“If we did, nothin’ we can do about it now,” he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the water’s ripples.

“We need to figure our story out,” you say. “How’d you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?”

“I stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,” he recalls. “Told him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I don’t think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I don’t know.”

“Why do you sell?” you ask, face pinched in confusion. “Why did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?”

“I gotta keep your tips coming, don’t I?” he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasé attitude, despising his cold arrogance.

He notices the angry scowl on your face. He’s convinced he’ll never break through the hatred you have for him.

“I want to make my own money. That’s why,” he admits. It’s half the truth, but it’s good enough.

It’s surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.

“Did anyone see you go upstairs?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Why were you there?”

You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. There’s no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And you’ll let him believe it.

Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much you’ve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?

“To buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.” You keep talking before he can ask anything else. “Are we far out enough?”

Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.

Pushing Porter’s body over the guardrail is harder than the other times you’d carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that you’re far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.

Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. It’s hard to. But you do it.

Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.

“You have blood on your face,” you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.

You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but that’s where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.

You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, you’re sure you’ll always be scared to be around men you don’t know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheep’s clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the ocean’s surface now.

You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, you’re glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesn’t deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.

·········

You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you won’t be caught in a lie.

As you talk, Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesn’t get how you do it. He’s always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.

“So, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “I got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. We’re obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.”

“What do you mean obviously?”

“You’re going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,” you tell him. “Everyone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You can’t lie about the coke. And they’ll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. They’ll find out anyway.”

Rafe sighs, knowing you’re right.

You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way you’d cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.

Even though calming a man like Rafe down when he’s angry sounds like it’d be impossible, you figure it’s the only direction your alibi can go.

“We’ll say I talked you down and…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t make sense that we’d stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.”

You worry it’s not enough. You’re certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.

“Maybe the cops would believe we hung out,” you mumble, “but nobody else would.”

Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, they’d say they saw it coming.

“They could,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“My friends would never believe it,” you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.

“It’s our only option,” he mutters sharply.

“You’re right,” you give in. “Then what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s the story.”

“Okay. It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do.” You check your phone for the time, only to remember it’s turned off. “Can you drive me home now? I’ll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where you’ve been.”

Rafe doesn’t admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.

·········

Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that it’s been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.

You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.

They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighbor’s beach for you.

As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, it’s the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.

You can see it in your eyes that you’re not the same. You can only hope that they don’t catch on.

·········

It’s been three days. You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself there’s no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesn’t stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.

All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didn’t need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.

If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldn’t talk about Rafe ever again. You never would’ve thought the reason would be because you’d committed a crime together.

You’re back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.

The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. He’s the closest to knowing what you’re going through.

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.

No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what you’d suffered through.

You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Who’d care? What would his dad say – at least it wasn’t Sarah?

He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. It’s not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.

When he sees the look on Porter’s parents��� faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows it’s fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesn’t care.

His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. You’re in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.

Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, you’re relieved to close the distance between you.

“You’re being obvious,” he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.

You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You won’t be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.

“Someone I know is missing,” you reply. “It’s normal to be worried about that.”

“What do you know about normal?” he scoffs.

You lock eyes, sure that you’re both replaying the night in your minds, sure that you’re both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that you’re not handling what happened as well as he is.

“Great talking to you,” you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. “We need to talk.”

next >

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[carlsangel]

FREE TO FUCK

carl grimes x fem!reader

(you and carl have a hideout.)

tags: oral sex (f!receiving)

masterlist here!

There were a good couple times where you and Carl had gotten caught. There was an occasion where you were having your weekly morning sex and Rick walked in, also one time Eugene sort of interrupted Carl eating you out in a truck. It was like you guys couldn’t win. There was almost never a time where there wasn’t a risk of you guys getting caught or interrupted.

You guys thought it was fun for a while and then it got irritating, it felt like everyone was constantly in your business. So, you were on a hunt to find a solution. You thought maybe just reducing your time together to nights but that wasn’t really an option after learning that Rick never cared to knock. During the day wouldn’t be a huge issue, but for some reason it didn’t feel safe in Alexandria. To have sex there, that is.

It’s not like it felt safer in the woods, in fact that’s the opposite but you just wished you had a nice hideaway. Somewhere where you were free to fuck. But anyway that wasn’t your top priority.

One day, while walking to your date spot with Carl in the woods, you decided to take a longer walk and return back to the tree later when you were less energetic. So you walk further along the trail with you almost never do. You come across a small cabin that Carl doesn’t quite pay any mind to. “Woah…” You slow down your steps and turn towards it, causing him to stop as well. “Oh yeah I found that a while ago. Cleared it, nothing really useful.”

You look over at him and nod, looking between him and the cabin but an idea. You practically dragged him over and bursted through the door. He did clear it, but it was still a mess. There was random papers and books all over the floor, the bedding for the bed was halfway across the room and the couch was missing some cushions.

“You know if we fixed this up a bit more and brought stuff from home we could make this such a nice place to hang out.” You ramble as you look around each part of the cabin as to what you could bring or how you could fix some parts. Carl wasn’t really following. “But why?” He’d ask, standing in the middle of the cabin looking around it just thinking it’s a total dump.

“Carl imagine coming here when everyone’s home. All we have to say is that we’re going on a date in the woods and we can come here. Mess around, hang out with the possibility of no one bothering us.” It all started to click in his brain and he began to imagine every little thing you both could get up to while alone here. It also didn’t have to be so sexual, though. He imagined just sitting in the cabin quietly, reading comics or listening to music together on the bed just enjoying eachother’s company. The only thing that was missing was a bath you two could sit in.

Regardless, you both got to work. You got a car and loaded some stuff inside that you knew some people in Alexandria wouldn’t miss. Before you knew it, the cabin was ready. The bed was ten times nicer (you stole a comforter and such) there were bean bags and books around that you’d enjoy and it was a lot less cluttered. Very quiet with warm lighting (you also stole lanterns and candles) so it was quite cozy.

─── ⋆⋅ 𐚁 ⋅⋆ ───

One particular day, a day before a large trade fair would take place in Alexandria, it was insanely chaotic. You were yelled at multiple times by seven different authoritative figures and there was a bit of pressure when in all reality it wasn’t that serious. Afterwards you really needed to wind down, so you dragged Carl somewhere far away.

To your cabin.

There, you’d settle into your guys’ bed into the comfy blankets which you’d take the opportunity to rant about your shitty day. “Also Tammy had such an attitude with me for placing the fucking crate of apples on the floor instead of the wobbly ass table Eugene was trying to level. What was I supposed to do, let them topple all over him? It’s complete bullshit.”

He rubbed your shoulder while you talked. He loved hearing you speak, hell he loved hearing you make noise. Which gave him an idea. He slowly pulled away while you continued to speak, silently propping himself between your legs so he can tug down your shorts. You were aware but you just let it him because it was sort of like a routine. It was either him fingering you while you ranted or he ate you out. Today was an oral type of day.

He’d start with just plain kisses on your thighs, looking up at you from between your legs. You were still complaining. “Also when I went back to the moving truck to get a box out, my jacket snagged on the hook that holds the plastic thingies and- Carl that feels so good- and it fucking ripped the pocket off.” You explained, still quite irritated. Carl however was still focused on you. He’d gently run his tongue over the fabric of your underwear and once he felt your hips jerk slightly as he grazed over your clit, he pressed a kiss at the direct spot. Your sentences were interrupted by your soft moans which just made him smile a little.

“I dunno. Mmh-I felt like everyone was out to get me today.” You end your rant there and Carl slides your underwear to the side to press a kiss to your actual skin before starting it gently lap at it. One after another, you got more and more wet which allowed him to suck your clit quite easily. “Oh fuck.” He moaned at your words as he found a nice steady pace to rock his head at, the vibration of his voice doing wonders against your heat. He was doing everything in his power to make sure you weren’t quiet for a second. “This is a really good way to shut me up by the way.” You tell him between moans, he smiles against you and lifts his head up so he can talk to you.

Just the sight of him was absolutely beautiful. His lips were red, like always. Your slick was just all over his chin but he looked at you so perfectly. Like you were the only being to exist. “I’m just trying to relieve your stress.” You look down at him quite happily and wait for him to continue. “Also you taste good.” He tilts his head and he just looks so sweet. At least sweet enough for you to sort of giggle at before your laughter was interrupted by Carl prodding his tongue straight into your hole.

You respond fairly loud, you’re very grateful for the cabin otherwise it’d be very awkward if you were in the house. Anyway, he slid his tongue up and down your folds, his eyes shut as he moves his head in circular motions with his tongue flat against you. He practically nuzzled into your pussy, flicking his tongue in and out fairly rapidly.

“Tha-that’s perfect.” Literally every word and every moan that came out of your mouth made him feel absolutely amazing. He loved knowing he was doing good for you, that he was pleasing you. He strived to make you feel loved. He continued the movements with his tongue, but his hands moved up your body and under your shirt to pull your bra down, giving him access to massage your breasts while he worked on you with his mouth. You’d smile at the amount of pleasure he was giving you, sort of giggling at how great it was.

You couldn’t keep quiet, everything he was doing was absolutely perfect. As you got closer he just flicked his tongue quicker, sucking harder; he could tell you were close because you started to squirm a little bit. He slid his hands down from your chest to your thighs to hold you down. “Please don’t stop-” You’d clutch his hair in your hands, gently tugging it every time he hit a spot just right. Everything was just turning him on as well but he was so focused on you, he didn’t even think about himself. He just wanted you to cum.

He knew you were getting close but you were speechless, he’s just depending on your noises and how your body feels to determine when you’ve finished. Between harsh flicking of his tongue and the sloppy noises coming from your heat and his mouth, you were right on the edge. You prop yourself up on your hands to watch him. He was intensely focused. His eyes were shut and he was licking long stripes up your cunt. It all began to be too much.

It didn’t take much longer before you came all in his mouth.

You fell back on your elbows and Carl pulled away, looking at you shyly. “You’re so pretty.” He blushes a bit before fixing your underwear back, then your bra. “You are.” You reply, watching him get closer and settling in on top of you. Once you’re all back to normal he gently holds the sides of your face to press a kiss to your forehead in satisfaction. “Thank you.” You mumble into his neck.

“Feel better?”

“Way better.”

a/n: i feel like im so bad at writing smut LMFAO like this physically pained me to write bc >_< it’s so shit BUT ANYWAY i loved this little idea of having a little cabin with him i think it’s sweet. I HOPE U LOVE IT

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[luxthestrange]

RoR Y/n's Thoughts#5

Y/n*Starring at your bacon sandwich and...cookies your mama gave you*Dude...why is bacon called bacon?...cand cookies called cookies?...if you COOK bacon....and BAKE cookies...

Raiden*In his bed...with no woman at all given you are a woman repelled after they all got existential crisis...which is a turn off*...Y/N PLEASE NOT NOW, IM TRYING TO SLEEP

Y/n*Looks at tags in your clothes*...do clothes in China...just say "Down the road"?...

Raiden is in bed dramatically looking at Jack...with a psychiatrist gets up with a pen and clipboard, humming listening to Raiden

Raiden:..Doc i...I dont know...the government says we can't leave our house anymore because all the questions they ask... is a threat to society!?!-...JUST LOOK AT LU BU HE IS OFF FOR THE COUNT-

Raiden took you out and dumped you in Qin Shi Huang's lap as he was speaking to Hades

Y/n:...If your shirt isn't tucked into your pants... are your pants tucked into your shirt?...

Raiden*Already leaving*AAAAAAAAAAAH!?

Hades:....

Qin Shi:...

Y/n:...If you are invisible...but close your eyes...*Looks at Hades*...can you see through your eyelids?...

Hades*Hums at the idea, rubbing his chin*Oh you read about my helmet!... You know I never tried that little one...that sounds fascinating to try

Y/n*Eyes widen and looks at Qin Shi...then at Hades, gets off Qin Shi lap and runs to sit at Hades's lap holding his face now*...DUDE A FIRE TRUCK IS ACTUALLY A WATER TRUCK-

Hades*Smilling a tiny bit liking your sudden Gung ho energy directed to him,holding your hips in his hands to keep you steady*Oh my~I suppose that is true~

Qin Shi*Didnt like how you up and chose Hades to lap over his lap*...

Part 5 of:

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Hell Has Officially Frozen Over

Prompt Day 9: Icy Roads | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Future Fic, Reconnecting in Your Hometown, Old Friends, Pre-Steddie

It's bad. It's really, really bad.

Eddie white-knuckles the steering wheel of his pickup truck wondering if he's ever gonna make it to Hawkins as he barely crawls along. Not only is it nearly impossible to see, but the roads are slicker than shit already. It's like this snuck up on them, and the state didn't even have time to salt the roads.

He should have left an hour earlier.

Hell, he should have left a day earlier.

It's heading towards being a whiteout. Which is pretty fucking gorgeous, honestly, but not when he's having to drive in these blizzard-like conditions.

Easing down the highway, not another car in sight, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. A slight glow, off to the left.

As he approaches, he's pretty fucking certain that he's seeing the faint glimmer of taillights off in the ditch. A car probably missed that little curve, and slid off in the ditch.

Fuck.

He should stop. But he isn't exactly sure how or where he might be able to do that safely.

Fuck it.

He hasn't seen anyone else out in miles, so he stops in the middle of the two-lane highway. He'll check real quick, see if there actually is anything, or if it's just his eyes deceiving him after all this white.

He turns on his flashers, but he's not sure that'll help anyone see him in this near zero visibility. 

Eddie pulls out his Maglite, and is thankful Wayne was always so adamant that he carried one.

He's pretty sure there is a car. Something covered in white, and lodged into the snowbank.

"Hey! Anybody in there!" Eddie hollers. 

He stops to listen, and he doesn't hear anything — then. A dull pounding. 

"Goddamnit," Eddie mutters, but slides down the ditch, and once he gets closer, he hears the pounding again. Hand against glass. 

The passenger window is covered in snow, and Eddie starts brushing it away as fast as he can. It's fucking freezing, even through his gloves.

He gets the window cleared, and a face appears.

"Eddie?!"

It's Steve Harrington. 

Shit.

Eddie leans down to get a closer look.

"You okay?" Eddie asks through the window and Steve nods.

"I'm stuck. I can't open either door, or the windows!"

"Want me to break in?" Eddie hollers, and Steve nods. 

Eddie moves to the back window of the car, and yells back, "Cover your eyes!"

Steve leans forward, and Eddie bangs the butt of his metal flashlight against the window. It doesn't give. Fuck. Apparently it's gonna take more power than that. 

He rears back and gives a really good whack this time, then another, harder, near the corner, shattering the glass into the car. 

"Hey! Still okay?" Eddie asks, brushing glass from the window sill with his flashlight. It's safety glass, and not sharp, but he can't imagine crawling out over it would be a whole lot of fun, still.

The soft glow of the lights Eddie could see goes out, and then Steve's head pops back into view as he crawls over the console of the car, and into the backseat.

"I'm good, I think. Just thought I might freeze to death before I was able to get myself out."

Eddie holds out his hands, and offers Steve help as he tries to slide out of the now broken window. It's a tighter fit than seems comfortable with his heavy winter coat on, but together they pull him out. 

"Sorry about the window."

"No, no. Thanks for stopping. I figured I was stuck until INDOT came out tomorrow."

They climb up the ditch and towards Eddie's pickup, to see if they can find something to at least cover the broken window.

After, Eddie can't get the traction to get going again. He looks around. He does have some gifts for Wayne, and unwraps one, dumping the contents in the seat, then with his pocket knife, cuts the box into four pieces, one for each tire.

It's enough. He's able to get them edging forward again.

Five miles to Hawkins.

But it seems like five-hundred at this rate.

"What were you doing out here?" Steve asks.

"I could ask you the same thing, Harrington?" Eddie banters back, and Steve laughs.

"Coming home from the airport-"

"That was a rental? Oh shit."

Steve laughs, but continues, "I promised I'd do Christmas at home this year," Steve admits.

"Oh, so this blizzard is your fault."

"Huh?" Steve questions, confused.

"Hell has officially frozen over," Eddie teases.

And Steve laughs. Eddie has missed him. It's been too long since any of them have gotten together. Once out of Hawkins, it's been really hard to return.

"Something like that," Steve says, but he's smiling at Eddie, "What brings you home?"

"Wayne," Eddie says. Wayne's the only reason he'll step foot into this town these days. 

There are no other cars on the road. They're the only dummies out and about in this shitshow.

When they pull up in front of the Harrington house, Eddie turns to look at him.

"Thanks for rescuing me," Steve says, meeting his eyes in the dark.

"Hey, I definitely owed you one. You rescued me first."

Steve reaches over and squeezes Eddie's hand, "You didn't owe me anything. It's been good to see you, man. You look good."

Eddie flips his hand over so he can squeeze back, "If the parents get too stifling, come to Wayne's," Eddie offers.

"Expect me. How long you here?" Steve asks.

"A week, you?"

"Same."

"Let's definitely catch up," Eddie offers, and Steve's nodding, hard. 

"Yeah, let's do that. You and me."

"The Hideout," Eddie laughs.

Steve grins, "All the shitty beer we can drink."

"Where's Buckley?" Eddie asks.

"She'll be here in two days, weather allowing."

"Let's gather up everyone who's home. Do something together again. We survived Hawkins once."

"Hell yes we did," Steve says, his blinding smile proof they can do it again.

This time, it's only Hawkins for Christmas.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | 10. austin

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel travel to Austin to meet with a lawyer.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, flirting, sexual tension, emotional abuse, infidelity, some recapping of DV and SA situations but nothing new, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected (reader previously mentions she's on bc) piv sex

WC: 6.6K

A/N: I have started a notification blog - @punkshort-notifs if you are interested in following for fic updates (but I will be keeping the tag list for this series until it is over)

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Life carried on the way it always does. Without permission, regardless of any pain or suffering, it always remained a constant. Whether you were present or not, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or hide from it, it didn't matter, because life always carried on.

The first week was the worst. A week of what you could only describe as depression. A week of being alone. Safe, but terribly alone. Going to work helped distract you, until he came in for lunch like always and it felt like your heart was being torn in two all over again. And you could tell it hurt him, too, but you both seemed willing to withstand the pain over not seeing each other at all. Because even though it hurt, it was a reminder you were alive. A reminder that you could still care enough about somebody else, despite everything.

The second week was when you could no longer smell him in your bed. You woke up one morning, eyes barely even open as you searched around the pillowcase, then the sheets, grabbing and pulling at the fabric, desperate to seek out his scent to no avail.

The third week was when you finally didn't have to fight the urge to call or text him, even though he said you could, you knew it would just make things harder. And he must have agreed because he didn't reach out, either.

The fourth week was when you began to feel like you were finally coming out of your slump. You could go to the grocery store or pharmacy and didn't feel your heart skip a beat, you didn't scan the parking lot for his truck in the hopes of running into him. You didn't stop thinking about him, but it just hurt less. That is, until you ran into Hailey coming back from work one evening.

She was out on the sidewalk, cleaning up some garbage from the picnic tables in front of the pizzeria when you waved and caught her eye. You could immediately tell something was wrong by the pained smile she gave you.

"Hey," she said, the smile not reaching her eyes as she leaned up against her broom.

"What's going on?" you asked her. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah, I know, sorry. Work's been-" she waved in the direction of the propped open door and shook her head. "But I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"It's about book club," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground. "And I just want to let you know, I voted against it-"

"They don't want me back, do they?" you offered, trying to make it easier for her. She sighed and shook her head.

"It's all so stupid, I'm sorry," she said, looking up at you again. "Nikki's got all those old ladies wrapped around her finger and they're just pissed Joel dumped her for... well, y'know."

"They know we aren't together, right? I mean, I'm married..." you trailed off, not wishing to go into too much detail when you knew eventually when you went to court, all your dirty laundry would be aired.

"Yeah, they do. Still, they blame you, and it's stupid, like I said. They should be mad at Joel, it's not like it's your fault, and I swear I tried explaining that-"

"It's okay," you said, holding up your hand and giving her a sad smile. "I appreciate it, but it's fine. I have a lot coming up, anyway. I won't find that much time to read."

"But we can still hang out! Do you wanna go get drinks this weekend? Or maybe see a movie?" Hailey asked, and you could tell she genuinely felt bad.

"Yeah, either of those sound great," you said. "I'll text you and we can figure something out."

You made a hasty exit and dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment. Even though you probably wouldn't have continued to go, the rejection still stung.

For a while, the silence was deafening. Without a TV to even distract you, leaving you with endless amounts of time to overthink, you were worried you were going insane. You lucked out recently and found a decent TV at a thrift store, so you at least had something to occupy your time, although you knew it would be short lived. In a couple days, you had an appointment to meet with a law firm in Austin. An appointment Joel had set up and offered to attend with you, and at the time, you were so desperate for anything to do with him, you agreed, but now you were wondering if that was a bad idea. Almost two hours in the car alone with Joel? No, that didn't seem like a good idea at all.

"Whadd'ya mean, you wanna drive separate?" Joel asked as you refilled his coffee. "That doesn't make any sense. Waste of gas."

"Yeah, but I was thinking of staying an extra day. Check out the city," you lied, turning your back to him so he wouldn't be able to see through you.

"Alone?"

You cringed at the word, but nodded. The little dinner bell rang in the window and your eyes jumped up just in time to see Thor put Joel's sandwich on the small shelf. You grabbed the plate and set it down in front of him, his eyes still boring into you, waiting for a better explanation.

"I think it'll just be easier," you said quietly, the words only meant for his ears. When he connected the dots, he leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"Oh," he said, gaze drifting down to his food. "That's a shame. I was lookin' forward to it."

"I'm sorry," you told him, grabbing a rag and pretending to wipe down the counter so your conversation didn't invite gossip and speculation. "So was I. That's the problem."

"And if I promise to behave myself, would you reconsider?" he teased, finally making you smile a little.

"I think you're incapable of behaving yourself, Sheriff," you replied, making him chuckle.

This was what your relationship had been reduced to: quick, flirty exchanges over coffee and turkey clubs. You supposed it was better than nothing.

"C'mon, it's just a couple hours. If you want, you can nap or listen to music," he said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.

"Fine," you relented, but only because once you offered taking two cars out loud, you realized how stupid it sounded.

"Pick you up at 7?" he asked around a mouth full of food.

"Sure. Do I need to prepare anything? I've never gotten this far in the process before," you told him, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Nope. Helen already sent over all the reports and once the process gets started, they'll reach out to whatever hospital you went to back in Philly to get your emergency room medical reports," he explained, and you nodded along, feeling fidgety. "I'm sure they'll do some more digging while they're at it. Reach out to his police captain and all that."

"Right," you said, biting your nail.

"One step at a time, alright?" he told you softly, picking up on your nerves. "You already did your part, now let the lawyers do theirs."

"But I'll have to testify," you reminded him, and he slowly nodded.

"Most likely, yes. You don't have to, but it'll help your case if you do."

"And he'll be there?" you asked, wringing the towel between your hands.

"Yeah, he'll be there," Joel said, watching your face fall. "But I'll be there, too. You just look at me when the time comes, don't look at him."

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. You knew this would be hard, but you also knew it was necessary. "And this lawyer - they can help me get a divorce?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay," you said again. You forced yourself to smile even though the anxiety was already creeping up. "I can do this," you told him, trying to sound confident.

"Hell yes, you can do this," he replied. "That's my girl," he added, picking up his sandwich then pausing before taking a bite. He glanced up at you and gave you half a smirk when he noticed the look on your face at the term of endearment. "Sorry, I'll behave."

You had initially dreaded waking up so early, but after the restless night's sleep you ended up having, it turned out it didn't make much of a difference. Your appointment was at 9:30 and it took about two hours to get to Austin, so Joel arriving at 7am gave you a decent cushion in case there was traffic.

Already two cups of coffee down, you poured the rest into a travel thermos and grabbed your purse before jogging lightly down your stairs. You locked your door and turned towards the street to find Joel's truck parked right out front. Glancing around, you noticed it was fairly quiet still, which was a relief. Joel didn't have to take you to see a lawyer. His job was technically done until the trial. He was doing this for you, to give you some support and advice and it would be ideal if you could keep people from gossiping about it for as long as possible.

"Mornin'," he greeted you with a lazy smile, which perked right up when you handed him the thermos. "Oh, you're an angel, baby," he murmured, taking a sip with an appreciative groan. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on your seatbelt. Less than two minutes and he already had you squirming in your seat.

The first hour of the trip actually turned out to be relatively quiet. You sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the radio while Joel hummed along and tapped the steering wheel and if you closed your eyes, you could imagine the scene just a little differently. Instead of Joel taking you to see a lawyer in Austin so you could press charges and divorce your abusive husband, you imagined you were taking a road trip together. Maybe with no destination in mind: just the two of you and the open road, stopping whenever you saw fit to explore and staying at roadside motels with stiff sheets and shag carpets, limbs tangled together as you panted into each other's mouths. No secrets. No drama. You smiled to yourself, the fantasy giving you a pleasant reminder of what you could have if you just stayed strong.

"What're you smilin' for?" he asked, and your eyes opened to look at him.

"Nothing," you said, and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. God, you missed that tongue and what it could do.

"When all this is over, do you think we can take a road trip together?" you asked him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah, 'course we can," he replied, glancing over at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Where did you wanna go?"

"Doesn't matter," you said, rolling the back of your head against the seat. "Just wanna be with you," you added, softer this time. He looked over at you again, examining your face quickly before focusing back on the road.

"Me too, baby," he said, just as softly.

Joel stopped at a gas station just outside the city to fuel up and stretch your legs. After using the restroom, you wandered up and down the aisles while Joel pumped gas just outside. You were the only one in the store, aside from the sleazy cashier with greasy hair and nicotine stained teeth leering at you every time you crossed his field of vision.

You decided on a couple waters and some sugary pastries and made your way up to the front, forcing a polite smile for the cashier, whose eyes were greedily raking up and down your frame as you approached. You were wearing a modest dress with a cardigan, doing your best to look put together for your appointment, but that didn't stop the cashier's eyes from roaming.

"That all?" he asked as he began to ring you up. You nodded and hummed before glancing out the window, watching as Joel replaced the nozzle on the pump.

"$8.32," he told you, his eyes dropping to your chest as you pulled out a ten dollar bill from your wallet and handed it to him. Your fingertips tapped impatiently on the counter as he slowly counted out your change, clearly trying to prolong the interaction longer than necessary. When it appeared he was ready to hand over the money, you held your hand out, but he pulled your change back a bit and leaned forward.

"You from 'round here?"

"No, just passing through," you said, lifting your hand again, but he clenched your change in his fist.

"What's a pretty girl like you doin' out here all by yourself?" he sneered, his hand dropping below the counter to not so subtly adjust himself in his pants. You made a disgusted face and he smirked.

"She ain't alone," Joel's deep voice rang out from behind you. The cashier's eyes drifted over your shoulder and looked like he was about to make a snide comment when you felt Joel's hand around your waist. His eyes fell to Joel's belt and saw the badge and gun and the smirk he was sporting a moment ago vanished. He quickly handed you back your change and busied himself with organizing the cigarettes while Joel tugged on your waist, urging you to back towards the parking lot.

"And you wanted to drive separate," Joel teased as he led you towards his truck. He opened the passenger door and stepped back so you could get in but you paused and looked up at him. His forehead crinkled as he grinned, his eyes squinting in the sun and all you wanted to do was kiss him and never stop.

"What?" he finally asked when you didn't make a move to get into the car.

"I really want to kiss you right now," you murmured, and you watched the grin slip from his face and his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"We can't," he replied, his voice pained as his gaze continued to drift from your eyes to your lips.

"I know," you sighed. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering a moment longer than you should have before climbing into his truck. His breathing stuttered, the feeling of your lips on his skin again sending him into a tailspin. He took a deep breath and looked up at you in the cab, putting on your seatbelt.

"Soon," he told you, giving your leg a squeeze before closing the door.

"So you mentioned you know some of these lawyers?" you asked him as he drove through downtown Austin.

"Yeah, I've dealt with this law firm a lot on some cases over the years. They're good people, as far as lawyers go," he joked before making a right hand turn. "I asked to meet with one of the women. Her name's Madeline. She's nice. Been there a real long time. Thought you'd feel more comfortable with that," he said, and you nodded.

"Thank you," you told him for maybe the twentieth time that day. You were convinced if not for Joel, you never would have made it this far. You would have had no idea where to even begin, but he knew the answers to all those questions and helped give you the confidence you so desperately needed.

Your hands began to shake and your stomach felt like it was in knots as the two of you walked up to the front doors of the impressive four-story building. Men and women streamed in and out of the doors, most dressed in suits and pencil skirts and talking on their phones hurriedly. You swallowed the lump in your throat once you got to the front of the building, but Joel held the door open for you with a reassuring smile.

"Don't be nervous, it'll be alright," he murmured as you walked up to the large receptionist desk that housed two women with headsets on, typing furiously into their computers. One looked up and caught your eye, giving you a friendly smile.

"Mornin'," Joel said, telling the young woman your name and appointment time. She glanced at her computer and nodded before looking back up at you both with another smile.

"I'll let her know you're here, you can take a seat. It shouldn't be very long," the woman said, casting Joel one more admiring glance before she turned back to her phone and dialed a number.

Joel led you over to some plush couches and chairs and you nervously picked up an old magazine. You skimmed through it, just looking for something to occupy your hands as you waited. He sat down next to you, then inched closer so he could rest his arm along the back of the couch. It felt like he was wrapping his arms around you without actually touching you, and it gave you a temporary sense of peace.

After a few minutes of listening to the receptionists answer the phones and transfer calls, you finally heard your name and Joel's. You both looked up to find a thin, middle aged woman with short, blonde hair and glasses and a kind smile waiting for you.

"Maddy," Joel said warmly, and the hairs on the back of your neck went up. He wouldn't have asked an ex-girlfriend to represent you, would he?

"Joel, long time no see," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before introducing herself to you and shaking your hand.

"That's usually a good thing," he reminded her as the two of you followed her down a long hallway, passing by a few empty conference rooms and closed doors that presumably lead to offices.

"Yes, very true," she agreed with a chuckle before stopping in front of her office. She extended an arm, inviting the two of you to enter first before she followed and closed the door behind her.

"How's Tracy?" Joel asked, glancing at a photo on her desk as you sat down.

"She's great. It's our ten year anniversary this summer. We're planning a cruise," she said, settling into her desk chair and shooting you a smile.

Okay, so probably not an ex.

"Alright, let's not waste any time. I know you drove a long way to get here," Madeline said, clasping her hands together on her desk and giving you another smile. She gave off a positive energy, and you could feel yourself loosening up. "I read over everything Joel sent over so I know the basics, and I am so sorry for everything you've had to endure," she said, her eyes softening. "But can you explain to me why you've never tried to come forward before? Trust me, his lawyer will bring it up."

"Well, I have tried," you began, your fingers tangling together in your lap. "I've gone to the police a handful of times but every time I thought I was making progress, Patrick would do something - call in a favor, I don't know," you said with a shrug. "And my police reports magically disappeared. I've gone to the hospital on several occasions-"

"That's right, I did read that. Which hospital?" she asked, picking up a pen, the tip hovering over a legal pad.

"There were a few different ones," you said, then rattled off the names and approximate dates you visited each hospital.

"Okay. We'll reach out and get copies of those records for the trial," she said, dropping the pen and looking at you to continue.

You went on to tell her about your experience with the police back in Philadelphia and how angry Patrick would get after those visits. You told her about his disappearances for days at a time and how he would come home in a haze, no doubt with alcohol and some type of drug in his veins, how those were the times he hurt you the most.

By the time you got to the part in your story where you packed a bag and left Philadelphia during one of Patrick's benders, you felt a lot more at ease. Your nerves were gone and Madeline's comforting gaze made it so much easier to tell her everything.

"So the next step in the process is discovery. Our team here is going to be digging up dirt back in Philly, and I am sure Patrick's lawyer is already doing the same thing," she said, putting down her pen and looking at you over her glasses. "That being said: is there anything I need to know? I don't like surprises in court. I don't care if you ever smoked weed or pushed him back, I just need to know so I can get ahead of it." You quickly shook your head.

"No, I've never tried drugs and I never hit him back." You glanced over at Joel for the first time and found him staring at you with a look in his eye that made you believe you were thinking about the same thing. After a moment, you turned back to Madeline, about to open your mouth to speak when Joel cut you off.

"There's one more thing," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. She looked at him curiously, clearly not expecting him to have anything to add. "We, uh," he cleared his throat and glanced over at you. "We had a brief, personal relationship," he said. Madeline sat back in her chair and you could have sworn she was glaring at him. "It's over. It was just once," he continued, and you nodded quickly, trying to help him out.

"Nobody knows, either," you told her, drawing her gaze back onto you. "Patrick had his suspicions, but he also accused me of sleeping with two cooks from work, which is untrue," you clarified, "he's just jealous and angry."

"How can you be sure nobody knows?" she asked, and you paused.

"W-well, nobody..." you trailed off, looking at Joel for help.

"It's a small town, Maddy. If people knew, they'd be talkin'. Trust me," he said, rolling his eyes. "The most anyone knows is I had a little crush on her, but nothin' more."

"Besides. Patrick's cheated on me for years. I'm not an idiot, I could smell the perfume on his jacket and found the condom wrappers in his pants pocket," you told her, but she shook her head.

"This is a little different, hun," she said, leaning forward. "Joel's the town sheriff. He arrested Patrick and broke his nose. It's going to look like he had ulterior motives," she said, lifting up a piece of paper in front of her to double check her notes.

"I didn't break his nose, the table broke his nose. It was self-defense. The guy's got nothin'," Joel scoffed.

"Yeah you're probably right, but he's still going to make your life a living hell in court," Madeline said. "You looking for representation, too?"

"What?!" you exclaimed, turning in your seat to look at Joel. "He's suing you?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal. Happens from time to time, nothin' ever comes from it," he said casually.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you asked, your voice softening.

"Didn't wanna worry you. You gotta focus on this," he said, pointing to Madeline. "The other shit doesn't matter."

You wanted to argue with him but you knew your time was running short, so you let it go.

"Well at least you had the good sense not to take her statement," she said, glancing down at the papers before her. "Let's just hope it doesn't come up, and if it does, I'll be prepared," she said, making a note to herself before giving you her attention again. "I'll do my best to fast track this and set a court date. I'll have my team call his superior officer and we'll run some checks on him, call the hospitals, and start building your case. I'll be in touch soon about any potential witnesses you can bring to the stand that you trust. Anybody who might have witnessed Patrick abusing you, even if he was just yelling or twisting your arm. People you confided in. Anybody you might think can help, start thinking about it now and gathering contact info, okay?"

"Okay," you said firmly. You were starting to feel better, like this was the beginning of the end. And you had the feeling that Madeline was the right person to fight for you. She seemed honest and straight forward, understanding yet tough. This was someone who would give you your freedom back.

"And I can get a divorce?" you asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, I'm going to file the petition this afternoon and he will be served the papers," she explained. "If he contests it, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, but I'm hoping with all the fire we're throwing at him, he won't want to put up a fight."

"Thank you," you breathed, feeling even more at ease now that something was actually happening today. Any amount of progress at this point made you feel good.

You stayed another hour to review an endless amount of paperwork: the contract with the law firm, reviewing your statement for any inaccuracies, initialing and dating next to so many paragraphs on the petition to be filed that your eyes were going blurry by the end.

As you both stood up to follow Madeline out of her office, you stopped short.

"Wait, what about payment? I don't think we discussed legal fees in the contract," you said, frowning as you pulled your copy of the contract out from under your arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought Joel already told you," she said, glancing over at Joel, who dropped his gaze to his shoes. "The partners picked your case pro bono. The firm has to do a certain number each year and Joel suggested to a few of the right people that your case should be considered."

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.

"Are you kidding me?" you whispered in shock, trying to fight the tears that were beginning to spring up. You looked at Joel but he averted his gaze before awkwardly clearing his throat.

"It's no big deal-" he began, but you cut him off.

"No, it is a big deal," you told him, and he clamped his mouth shut. Madeline's eyes flicked between the two of you for a moment, watching as you tried and failed to come up with the right words to convey your gratitude.

"The firm is happy to represent you, hun," Madeline said, breaking the silence. "We're gonna make sure this guy gets what's coming to him, understand?"

You tore your eyes away from Joel, who was finding it difficult to look anywhere but the floor.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," you told her, and she smiled before extending her arm towards the door.

As you walked towards the lobby, she was reminding you to expect a call in a few days with an update and to have a list of contacts ready for her, but you just nodded along numbly, barely listening.

Joel had already gone above and beyond by finding you a good lawyer and coming with you for support, but to also convince them to handle your legal fees? He didn't have to do any of this, but he did, and he didn't expect anything in return. Nobody had ever expressed so much concern about you before. And as you walked in silence towards the parking garage, you realized there could only be one explanation. There could only be one reason why he would do so much, and the thought had your heart pounding in your chest.

You drove in silence for a while, the atmosphere in the truck tense. He tried putting music on but you couldn't focus on anything other than everything that happened in the past few hours. Then you started to go back even further: cleaning your apartment and finding you furniture after Patrick vandalized it, walking you home during a rain storm, fixing your fucking sink when you had barely spoken two sentences to him. You rolled your head to the side, watching him as he focused on the freeway, his grip tight around the steering wheel.

"Look at me," you said quietly, and you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. After too long of a pause, he just said one word.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm drivin'."

"Bullshit," you said, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed nervously. You continued to stare him down, willing him to look at you, needing to see into his eyes to confirm your suspicion.

"Please, Joel," you finally said, your voice small. You could see the conflict in his face. The way his lips formed a hard line and his brows pinched together as he fought the urge, but once again he found he couldn't say no.

Slowly, he pulled his gaze off the road and forced himself to look at you. Your lips parted as you looked right through him and he knew right then and there he was fucked.

"Pull over," you mumbled, and he just nodded. He could feel the heat of your gaze on him as he took the nearest exit and pulled into a parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned department store.

He didn't need to ask and you didn't bother to explain.

Once he parked, doing his best to choose a secluded spot, you each ripped off your seatbelts. He reached down to pull the lever below his seat and slid it back as far as it would go and in broad daylight, you climbed over the console to straddle his lap. His hands flew to your hips as you gripped the sides of his face, searching his eyes frantically before your mouth crashed down over his with a moan.

Joel was normally a strong man, but something about you always made him so weak. Weak and selfish and desperate and he wouldn't have it any other way. That's why, even though he knew it was a mistake, he kissed you back. Your tongues tangled together and when your hands slid up to his hair, he was done for. You were too warm and tasted too sweet and felt too fucking good, it was a miracle he came to his senses when your hand dropped down between you to land on his belt and he managed to pull away.

"That's not why I did all this," he said, each of you panting for air. "I didn't do it so I could fuck you."

"I know," you assured him, cupping the back of his neck. "I know why you did it."

He gazed up at you and slowly nodded.

"Reckon it's pretty obvious, huh?" he said softly, toying with the hem of your dress.

You didn't say anything in return. Instead, you lowered your mouth hungrily over his and he happily obliged. And when your hand drifted back down to his belt, he didn't stop you. He couldn't deny it any longer. He tried, he really did, but it was hopeless.

He wouldn't say the words out loud, and you were grateful. Because if he had, you weren't sure you would be able to convince yourself this was a one-time thing. Madeline's disapproving glare was seared into the back of your mind, her comments about Joel's own lawsuit still very much a concern, but when you lowered yourself onto him, each of you groaning your need into each other's mouths as you stretched around him, it all became a distant memory.

"Missed you so much," you mumbled against his skin as your mouth dragged down his jaw. You rolled your hips, slowly at first, but picked up the pace when you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot and didn't have much time. "You feel so good," you continued, feeling his arms tense around you as he tried to hold himself back. "Think about you all the time. Especially in bed - ah!" you cried out when he began bucking up into you.

"Yeah? You touch yourself when you think about me?" he grunted in your ear, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you nodded. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements up and down while his mouth ghosted over your chest, wishing more than ever he could glide his tongue over your nipples, but he was too aware of where you were. He settled for yanking the sleeve of your dress down, exposing your shoulder so his teeth and facial hair could leave little red marks, hidden from view.

"Can't get enough of you, can't fuckin' stay away," he groaned, watching as you circled your hips, greedily chasing your own pleasure. Your arm shot out to the side, seeking leverage against the now foggy window, your fingers leaving telltale streaks as your hand slowly dragged downwards so when he got into his truck the next morning, he would see the ghost of your hand in the early morning dew.

"Joel," you whined, tossing your head back while you began to bounce, your ass accidentally beeping the horn and making you both laugh. Nothing could harm you here. Not when you had each other. Not when you had the feel of his rough hands over your skin and his soft lips against your mouth.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "C'mon, baby. Want you to feel me tomorrow," he said, lifting his hips up to meet yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You gasped as your body went rigid, a white hot heat ripping through you while your legs began to shake and you whimpered his name over and over. You heard Joel groan and say something, probably a warning he was close, but you couldn't be sure. You nodded and mumbled some encouragement but your mind was still too fuzzy and your ears were practically ringing from the force of your orgasm. But when his teeth sunk into your shoulder, the slight pain snapped you out of it. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you down firmly onto his lap until his body stilled and he grunted into your skin.

You rested your cheek on the top of his head while his face stayed buried in your chest, both of you fighting for air as reality slowly began to sink in.

"Guess I didn't behave myself," he finally said with a chuckle. You grinned and lazily raised your head up so you could look at him.

"I think I'll take the blame for this one," you said before lifting off of him with a little gasp and moving your underwear back in place. You were about to swing your leg back over to your seat when he stopped you.

"Just another minute," he said, his hands mindlessly sliding up and down your thighs, and you draped your arms around his neck.

"We shouldn't do this again," you finally said, breaking the spell. He sighed and nodded but his hands continued to glide up and down your legs.

"I know."

You cupped his face and tilted his chin up to look at you. Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks as you stared into his eyes, still seeing everything he didn't have the courage to say. Leaning down, you pressed a tender kiss against his lips, then rested your foreheads together.

"Thank you, Joel."

"You're welcome, baby."

As promised, a few days later, Madeline's secretary reached out for a list of contacts that could be called upon to support your case. You didn't have many people in your corner, but you gave her your cousin's information back in Philadelphia, an old co-worker who you had partially confided in when the abuse started, a few friends who had noticed bruises but you had made up excuses for them at the time, and you reluctantly gave your mother's information, with the note to discuss with you first before contacting her.

You had hoped Madeline wouldn't want to call on your mother to testify. You hadn't spoken to her since you ran away to Texas, and given the way she responded when you told her what Patrick was doing, you weren't confident she would be a good witness. But it was still someone from your past who you confided in, and that was what Madeline was looking for: a trail of evidence, cries for help, anything to prove the most recent incident was not a one off situation.

"Madeline called me today," you told Joel after picking up his empty plate.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"She reviewed all the contacts I gave to her secretary and she scheduled another appointment for next week."

"Great, what day?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

"Tuesday," you said, replacing his coffee with a glass of ice water. He glanced up at you and quirked an eyebrow. "You drink too much caffeine," you explained, and he grinned.

"Ah, shit. I have a thing at Sarah's school that day. Lemme see if I can reschedule it-"

"No, go to Sarah's school, I wasn't telling you so you would come with me, I was just... letting you know," you said with a shrug.

"You sure?" he questioned, and you nodded.

"I'm sure. I know how to get there now and I feel comfortable with Madeline. I swear, I'll be fine," you told him. He put his phone down on the counter and thought for a moment before leaning forward and lowering his voice.

"This ain't 'bout what happened last time, is it?"

"No!" you said in surprise, and he looked relieved. "Not at all. I'm just trying to... I don't know, take control of my life, I guess?" He nodded but he still looked confused. "What I mean is, I think it's important I do some things for myself. Not that I don't appreciate-"

"I get it," he said with a chuckle as he stood up from his stool. "You just let me know if you change your mind."

"Okay," you replied with a smile, but stopped him when you realized he hadn't touched his water. You held the glass out to him and he stared at it, then looked at you with a sigh before plucking it from your grip and downing the whole thing in one gulp.

"Happy?"

"Very," you said with a grin, and watched him as he walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to chat with Maria before heading back to work.

Joel shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants as he walked back to the station, nodding to a few people along the way. He couldn't stop his gaze from traveling up to the window above the pizza place every time he walked by, smiling to himself when he noticed a new plant in your window.

The bullpen sounded quiet as Joel made his way back to his office. He liked quiet days. That was always a good day, in his book. He sat down in his chair with a huff, the little orange light on his desk phone blinking angrily at him, indicating a voicemail. He picked up the phone and punched in his passcode. He was reaching for a pen when the voice on the other end of the phone made him freeze.

"Joel, it's Maddy. Give me a call back when you get this, it's urgent."

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things@whxtedreams@ashhlsstuff@little-pookie@serenadingtigers@paleidiot@ashy-kit@lizlil@detectivejuliuspepperwood@buckyispunk @fckinel @sarahhxx03 @krispeenuggiez @flippittygibbitts@picketniffler@pedroslittlelady

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[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items. 

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email tmill@aol.com with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you. 

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns. 

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme. 

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him. 

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink. 

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!” 

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?” 

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher. 

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core. 

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door. 

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body. 

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch. 

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him. 

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure. 

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck. 

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[sheepispink]

Hornets, Wasps and cuddling— wait what?

Masterlist AO3 ver

summary: Rational and calculated: those are the traits that kept you alive on the field and thus made you popular for how you seemed to never crack under pressure. That’s exactly why Ghost was confused when he found you breathless in the hallway after hearing a barrage of footsteps down the long corridors of the barracks and, of course, still clad. in your pyjamas.

Tags: Simon “Ghost” riley/reader, fluff, cuddling, wasps obviously, reader has paranoia, slightly gory description (mentions of skin being scraped out), slowburn, platonic/romantic (can be seen as either), hurt/comfort

WC: 6k

Gifted to python333 on ao3, i love all ur fics

It was almost half past one in the morning when you entered your room in the barrack; the fresh air blowing around your room was absolutely perfect considering how sweaty you were after returning from your mission. Your usual routine went as follows: dump your uniform into your laundry basket, take a warm shower (shampoo like three times; you always did so after missions), dry off, and apply a very simple skincare routine before knocking out until someone dragged you out of bed the next morning. It wasn't like you missed your alarm; Price has written the force a day off so, for once in your life, you’d actually get the sleep you needed after such a tiring week in the field.

While you undress, your mind starts to drift to all the close calls your own small team had faced today due to an unforeseen event changing the plan. You seemed to be the only one there who ever had their head on their shoulders, but then again, most of them only had a few months actually doing field missions, and the others were fresh out of training. Due to that, the mission was obviously not very high risk, and so you weren't setback that much, but damn, it did tire you out having to always watch out for each member on the team. The bathroom tiles are cold against your feet as you step inside, turning the handle of the shower and slowly climbing in once the water becomes warm enough.

Soon enough, you’re feeling a lot cleaner and relaxed, the tension in your temples disappearing as soon as you wash the cleanser off your face. With a small dollop of cream now rubbed into your face, you climb into your small bed in the corner with a soft sigh. The duvets aren't nearly what you used to indulge yourself in before you joined the military, but damn anything is better than those annoying uniforms. You allow your eyes to finally slip close once whilst the wind whistles past your curtains again, the slight coldness making you snuggle up to your pillow as you grow sleepier by the second. You’re so close to dreamland now, the usual worries no longer clouding your head like they’ve been sucked away by your fluffy pillows.

bzz

It was probably just a notification, and knowing how dry your phone was, it was likely going to be the weather app with the latest forecast. You roll over onto your side, pressing your cheek into your pillow to hopefully drown out your constant thoughts.

Then you hear it again, louder and intrusive, like it’s right by your ear. It’s threatening to crawl in and eat away at the skin of your ear until you wake, scratching at your ear canal until blood begins to seep and your brain—

With a small gasp, you jolt awake, your eyes searching the perimeter frantically for the source of the noise. Driven with confusion and a slight terror you wouldn't ever admit to feeling, you scramble out of bed and pat down the curtains, your desk, and the laundry basket. Though nothing appears—not even a damn mosquito or the like. You were sure you heard something, absolutely positive but you can't exactly fight the air, could you? Reluctantly, you pull the covers over yourself and settle back into the bed. It’s probably an annoying fly that escaped through the window— not exactly something to concern yourself over. It’s not like you haven't slept through rickety army trucks or the loud whirring of helicopter blades before; it shouldn’t bother you any longer. With a groan, you close your eyes again and lean back, ready to let your exhausted mind enter that quiet state again.

BZZ

It doesn't sound like a fly now, nor a wasp or anything familiar. It’s noisy and destructive, buzzing in calculated yet violent ways. It makes you jump up straight again, only to be met with the sight of your plain old room. Had all those explosives really banged up your hearing? You’d have to get it checked out at the infirmary tomorrow, but for now you couldn't say you were a little paranoid. It was just a little strange how it always seemed to appear whenever you were on the verge of sleep, and even though you’re exhausted, you decide to just wait it out at least a little bit. Just in case.

After twenty minutes of no noise, you finally get tired enough to just fall asleep without knowing, your head slightly turned to the side as you nod off peacefully, now without a doubt that it really must’ve been a trick in your mind, nothing to worry about in the slightest.

Unfortunately, you were proven wrong when you woke up the next hour, the buzzing extremely loud and the sound bouncing around your ears like you’re in a cinema. Your limbs feel like they’ll fall apart as it is, and you silently swear to yourself that if Soap is trying to piss you off again, you will slap him this time. Cracking your eyes open, your worries immediately fester into terror as you see whatever the hell that is, running rings around your ceiling. It’s larger than the average fly, even more so than a wasp, and by the sound of how aggressive it’s buzzing is, you’re likely to become it’s next meal. Before you can consider your next move, your hand is already wrapped around your phone and your feet tucked up in your fluffy slippers as you immediately make a run for it. You’ll be thankful later for the automatic locking on your room door, but for now you couldn’t give more than a passing thought as you practically ran down the hallways of the barracks. Your head is empty, just focused on the nightmarish idea of that buzzing wasp, hornet—vile creature—flying around your room for the whole time while you were deep asleep. What the hell are you going to do? It was almost deafening how loud it all was, now you’re starting to think further into it, wondering if there was more than one in your room; hell, maybe there was even a nest in there. Now your lungs feel like they’re being blown up from how heavy you’re breathing. Your heart is hammering against your chest, almost painfully, before you finally snap to reality once you realise you’re about to crash into the doors that lead to the rest of the base. Now out of breath, you force the adrenaline to skid to a stop and quietly pant, trying to get back to your senses, which are clearly left behind in your bedroom with that horrible thing.

“When Capt’ said to keep on top of our training even after missions, I’m positive he didn't mean this.” A gruff voice states, slicing through the panic in your heart to make you look up in surprise only to be met with the familiar face of the other team’s lieutenant. He had been yours for a mission, but other than that, you had no experience talking to him other than the shared chats in the mess hall with a couple other sergeants in his team. You often made an effort to catch up with others on the weekend, and despite not even being in their taskforce, you wormed your way into being invited to all of their small chats.

Even so, this was very different from just a normal chat about the new K9s or the tough Russia mission another group was on. It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and if you weren't so shook by the buzzing creature, you definitely would’ve noticed the way his eyes rake slowly over your trembling form. Not like he was trying to check you out—jaw-dropped and tangled hair definitely was not your best look. When you don’t respond but instead just look at him like a deer in headlights, he raises a brow beneath the mask, his eyes visibly widening as your shaking state. “You look like someone just threw a grenade into your room.” He scoffs, still trying to figure out why the hell you’re just panting like that. “Get in here.”

Soon enough you manage to push your feet to walk past his intimidating form into his private quarters. You can’t tell if you’re lucky or extremely cursed to have garnered his attention of all people, considering he was known for being a no-nonsense type of guy. At least with Gaz or Soap, you could’ve at least tried to argue why you were absolutely terrified of such a small bug. He doesn't fail to notice the way your head flings back when the door buzzes as he locks it, your eyes turning into saucers before you quickly realise you were worked up over nothing and snap your gaze back to the ground. As predicted, he doesn't bother to ask you to sit and gets right to the root of the problem.

“So are ya gonna tell me why the hell you ran down from your room, at the end of the barracks, to the entrance?” If he wasn't covered by that black balaclava, you’re positive he would’ve raised a judging brow at you long ago. He doesn’t let you escape it just because of that and instead opts to narrow his eyes to really enforce it. “Well um..” You begin, suddenly at a loss for words for once in your life. Maybe it’s because you’re still shaken, or the fact you’re in fluffy bunny slippers in front of a lieutenant, or maybe it’s because he’s staring down at you like you’re a kid again, wiping the spilling tears from your eyes as you try and steady your voice. That’s far too many maybe’s to let you think straight, so you opt for the best response—the vaguest one—in an attempt to save a shred of your dignity. “I got startled by something.”

Great, he’s eyeing you even more than before; you should’ve cartwheeled down the corridor too while you were at it—maybe you could have convinced him you were in the circus. “Which was?” His large arms cross over his torso, years of strenuous work hidden by just a thin black shirt. Your teeth graze your lips awkwardly, trying to ignore the small pit of shame in your stomach for overreacting so much. This wasn't you, and yet you were still somewhat trembling where you stood. “It was..” Placing your hands on your hips, you force a sheepish smile, pretending like it wasn’t as serious to you. “There was a…uh.. thing flying around my room. Buzzed a lot—you know those um, things..” You babble, trying to reach the point and yet not getting even close to the answer he wants in the slightest. He lets out another scoff at your reluctant demeanour, clearly on the tipping point with how terrified you looked, stumbling over your words and your eyes practically like moons in their sockets. “A fly?” He suggests as he tilts his head down at you, which makes you shrink just a little.

“No.. uhh. bigger.”

“A bee?”

“No.. the uh.. the ones that can sting multiple times.”

“A wasp?”

“Yes- but no… worse than those.”

“Damn it, sergeant, spit it out!” He exclaims, his head shaking exasperatedly as he places his rough hands onto your shoulders, and gives you a light shake. “It was a hornet—a damn hornet, okay? I was terrified of a hornet in my room.” He suddenly lets go of his firm grip on your shoulders and you almost topple over from the lack of support keeping you upright since your heart is way too occupied trying to compensate for all the oxygen you just used acting like a lunatic. When you see him let out a heavy sigh and rub his temples with his hand, you’re already planning the walk of shame out of his room and back into the hell you only just escaped. “I- I overreacted; it’s fine. I’ll just go back-“ You begin, scrambling to save the shards of your dignity that shattered the moment he caught you in this pathetic state. Your foot pivots, ready to turn on your heel and make a dash for it before his hand swiftly catches your wrist, halting any movement you intended to make. ”Where is it?”

”What?”

”The hornet, where is it in your room?”

The walk back to your room is deathly silent, partially because it is three thirty in the morning and partially because Ghost has never been on the vocal side anyway. It’s not like you were intent on filling the quiet anyway, already dreading having to hear that horrifying thing again. Eventually, you reach the door of your room again and you open it with the spare key attached to your phone case. It’s more of a card than a key, and the room opens with another small buzz, which of course makes your heart jump no matter how much you mentally pumped yourself up before reaching the door. Of course, that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he turns to you before he unlocks the door, looking a little annoyed, but you can't really tell as you try to calm the thump. “Stay here.”

Despite your fear, you can't help but peek in after he enters, watching how he stalks around the room like he’s preparing for a murder. He checks the bed first, shaking the sheets to see if it has landed there but nothing seems to come about. Thankfully, he seems to take your fear somewhat seriously, and even waves your spare towel around the room to startle the creature out of hiding so he can chase it out for good. Just your luck; nothing appears in the slightest, and he’s approaching you again, a tired look in his eyes, and you suddenly feel guilty for wasting his time. Why did that damn thing just have to disappear right now?

“Ghost—I swear, it was literally buzzing around like crazy. I could hear it like it was literally in my ear!”

“Must’ve flown out. Just close your windows; It’s yer fault for opening that big anyway.”

The exasperated look quickly returns to his face as he starts to head for the door, convinced by the theory he had chosen.

”But what if it’s still in the room and I close the windows? I’d trap it with me!” That makes him pause for a second—what the hell has gotten into you?

”What do you want to open the window and coax another one in? You’d rather two than one?”

By the tone of his voice, though it never really changes, it’s clear he’s not impressed by your very irrational thinking, and you can’t exactly argue with his words. However, having to sleep with even one of those things near you was a million times worse in your head than being an idiot in front of him and whoever else might’ve witnessed your antics earlier. That’d be revealed the next morning, but for now you were pretty adamant about your own words.

”Ghost, you have to believe me. Before I went to bed, I heard the buzzing, and I literally searched the entire room like it was an assigned mission! Then as soon as I woke—It’s just there in my face; my windows aren't open that much anyway!” You say frantically, your voice rising to a much higher pitch which leaves your fear on clear display for him to see.

He cannot deny it; he’s never seen you so worked up in the past four years he’s known you. Even with spiders, other bugs, and bees, you had never been this stressed over their existence, but it seemed to shake you to your very core this time. Hands flailing about, flushed cheeks and hair like a bird's nest on your head— the last time you were this dishevelled it was because of a damn explosive that went off right next to where you were stationed. He’s about to open his mouth when he hears a sudden buzz, but it’s not in a specific part of the room, and even for a lieutenant like himself, he can’t even figure out what direction it is in. You squeal before he can even glance at you, already dashing to hide right behind him, which happens to be right next to the door as well. He can't exactly argue with that when he had just heard it himself. “Wait outside the room.” He orders, and this time you don’t hesitate, closing the door firmly behind you.

Anxiously, your slipper taps against the floor as you wait for him to emerge from the room and tell you the news you wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it was much worse than you originally expected. “Seems to be a wasp nest near yer window.” His arms cross over his chest as he leans against the door of your room, unaware of the way your heart just stopped at that single sentence. “There's nothing in your room, though. They’re in the space between yer ceiling’s insulation and the roof.” He attempts to reassure you, thinking surely you’d just go back to sleep since you’re usually quite rational.

He definitely wasn't expecting your teeth to graze your lip as you bite down, trembling with eyes practically wide as saucers. “There’s a nest…?”You practically whisper out, not even daring to blink for a second. That makes him raise his brow— didn't he just tell you that? “Yes but it’s in the rafter—“

“I can't sleep there—I heard it, I saw it above me! What if they get fed up with the lack of space and come into my room? What if someone next door makes a loud noise and it scares them so hard they all come into my room?!” You begin, practically pacing back and forth outside your room now with him left in complete shock.

What the hell are you talking about?

“Sergea-“ He begins, but you cut him off, still frantically pacing and reciting all the possible outcomes in hushed whispers.

“They could like the smell of the perfume I bought and come in, or maybe they’re already in my room stuck behind a cabinet or somewhere—they’ll be so angry when they come out, right?” You suddenly halt to a stop and look down at your pyjamas, the bunnies patterned across, though your shorts has a flower printed across the pocket.

“Ghost— what if they think this is a real flower and chase after me?!” He slaps his glove across your mouth before you can continue your incessant talking, leaving you mumbling against his hand with your pupils blown wide.

“They’re the damn size of yer thumb, Sergeant. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Even though it’s the same gruff British voice, there's a hint of concern beneath it as his sharp eyes bore into your own. You’ve never quite been this up close with him before, especially since you were more of a friend of a friend than his actual friend. Though, then again, you had no idea who he even considered his actual friends. You didn't know much about him at all. So you instantly fall quiet, even when he eventually steps back and crosses his arms, still close enough to intimidate you. “They’re really loud...” You say, voice still a hushed whisper since it is the dead of night and you’d rather not get a scolding tomorrow. “Sorry.. I- i’ll just go to sleep.” He lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you stiffly turn on your heel, turning back into the lion's den, also known as your room.

Ghost is a straightforward man; he doesn’t mess around with what-ifs or irrationality. He prefers to get the job done as soon as possible and as efficiently as possible. He didn’t get his reputation for just doing his work; it’s how he does his work. That also includes knowing the people around him, especially the people in his team—working solo isn't always the way to go; he’s not stupid to compromise the mission just because he prefers his own company. It also meant he grew to appreciate the help of other soldiers—specifically the way you constantly saved him and his teammates’ asses on the last mission. In fact, he saw it all too well the way you had a constant eye on them, no matter how experienced they were compared to you. You were quick to give up your rations for Soap, even faster to bandage up Gaz’s scrape when you reached the safe house. He supposes you deserve at least a good night's sleep after all you’ve done.

When he sees you practically trembling, trying to turn to the door handle, his hand lands on your arm, stopping you before you enter.

“I never said you had to sleep there.” He could practically feel your fear radiating off of you, and despite his usual notions, he couldn’t just leave you with the way you were shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Then where am I supposed to sleep..?”

He turns a blind eye when you suddenly hook your finger around the sleeve of his shirt, having heard a small noise that startled you. Now that you’re sure you’ll be safe from the hornets, you’re able to finally relax your mind, and you start to let your eyes wander. That's how you suddenly realised that Ghost was in his usual training outfit, a tight black sleeve shirt and dark grey sweatpants. You had seen him in this before, but you never knew that he trained this late at night.

“Were you training before I.. y'know, ran down the corridor?” You tilt your head as you walk alongside him, your slippers making soft patters against the flooring. “Yeah, I had just come back when I heard you making a racket.”

“I was not making a racket!”

He gives you a deadpan look, making you drop your hand from his sleeve and a small frown to curve on your lips. “Alright, maybe I was a little loud. Is anyone even in the gym this late..?” You ask, a finger tapping your chin thoughtfully, and he just lets out a grumble in response.

“No.”

“So you’re trying to avoid everyone?”

“You’re still making a racket.”

He opens the door of his room for you the second time that night, allowing you inside. His room is the standard: desk, chair, bed, and closet although he has a few weights in a corner too. Does he ever stop training? He gestures for you to walk forward, which you do without question, and he follows behind you before patting the bed and speaking once more.

“Go on, I'll take the floor. You’ve been up long enough.”

You give him a grateful nod, sliding your slippers off at the foot of his bed before awkwardly walking over to the edge of his bed. Just before you get in, you pause, your teeth scraping against each other uncomfortably before you glance at him. “Are you sure? I can just go back, y'know, suck it up. It’s just an insect.“ He cuts you off as he heads to his closet, pulling back a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants to wear to bed, wanting to get out of his sweaty gym wear even if you couldn’t smell anything when walking beside him. “For the most rational soldier of your age in this base, you sure did act like you’d been shot. So no, I don't think you can just go back with how terrified you clearly are.”

“But-“

“Do you want to shit yourself over a hornet hiding underneath your pillow?”

You have to hold back a squeal at the mere thought and quickly nod, climbing beneath his thick duvets and settling your head onto the pillows. It’s obvious you're exhausted by the way your eyes are drooping, and he quietly steps into the bathroom to shower and change, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by his presence looming around. Unfortunately, when he returns, you’re still tossing over, jumping at every little creak of the door and whistling of the wind from his curtains.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks gruffly, some part of him knowing well that he won't even get a proper answer to that question.

“Nothing’s wrong..” The voice that had previously been frantic and panicked is much quieter now, slightly muffled by the covers as you bury your face into one of his pillows. He can't even stop himself as he makes his way over to the side of the bed where you lay, sitting on a chair and rolling it forward so he’s in front of you. Your cheeks are smushed against the bed, duvet tight over you, and covering your ears as well. He faintly remembers you mentioning that you could hear it in your ear, so he’s sure you’re likely traumatised by that too. “You still haven’t fallen asleep, and it’s four am. Didn't you just get back from a mission?”

“Yeah, but..”

“But what?”

“I feel bad.” You murmur, letting out a small huff in annoyance. “Can’t you sleep in the bed too? I don't want you sleepin’ on the hard floor.”

He rolls his eyes at your incessant complaining, placing a steady hand onto your head to annoy you with the sheer weight of it. Surprisingly, it’s less of a scolding that you’d receive in training and more of a pat. You hadn't realised he could actually be well…nice. “I’ve slept in far worse places, trust me. I have a feelin’ that's not what’s still keeping you up though.” Most would let you get away with such a thing, but he’s determined to at least get you to admit the core cause of this whole issue. After all, he can’t help if he doesn’t know, and seeing as you’re still shaken, there's definitely a reason behind this. “My feet barely touch the end of this bed; just get in.” You ignore the second part of his statement entirely, quickly butting it with our small voice. He wasn't used to sleeping beside someone, not that he’d ever get worked up if the situation came to where he had to do so. It was the same with touching people—he didn’t like it, but he was no coward; he liked to think that he could handle anything thrown at him. Not that he has an ego either.

So, with a reluctant grunt to show his annoyance, he slides underneath the covers beside you, his large body practically engulfing your shorter form. This is exactly why he didn’t want to— you were practically going to fall off the bed at this rate. It’s obvious you’re on the same page as him now as you shuffle around, trying to not touch him yet also not meet your fate for the second time tonight. It wasn't like you’d consider complaining anyway; you had practically disturbed enough of his night, and you were also slightly terrified of worsening his current opinion of you.

”You’re uncomfortable, aren't you?”

You can’t help but nod as you slowly roll over, meeting his brown eyes that narrow at you through the holes in his mask that allow you to just read a hint of emotion on his face if he ever decides to let it show. He’s about to get back up again when he watches your eyes widen and you quickly speak up. “I shouldn't even stay here; I'm not even going to be able to sleep..” That makes him raise a brow, and for some reason, he pulls the covers higher over you as he settles on his back, head slightly turned to face you. “Why not?”

”I’ll uh.. I'm worried that I'll hear it again, yknow, the hornets.” You mumble out, not wanting to beat around the bush much longer than you have. If he must find out that you secretly are a coward, especially to insects with stingers, so be it. It’s better than lying to him and then he forces the truth out of you.

You’re expecting your fourth judging look of the night when he just lets out a heavy sigh, resting his arms behind his head. “So, you’ll be too scared to sleep?” He doesn't need to turn his head to imagine your sheepish nod. “You know, I'll kill it, right? I don’t ever give those cheeky bastards a chance.” However, there’s still an uncertainty in your voice, despite his confidence in his own abilities. “But what if you can't find it and-“ It’s clear it’s more than the idea; it’s a deep-rooted paranoia that sets you off as soon as you hear the noise of them. He’d never thought he’d come close to ever thinking about doing this—even when Johnny teased him when he was caught staring in bars or even when he had been younger and his hormones had been wack. In fact, he’s been more affectionate to that K9 Riley than he’s ever been with a woman, yet here he is, lifting his arm and beckoning you over.

”Come ‘ere then. You’re shaking, Sergeant.”

You glance down at your hands, which are indeed trembling, but you’re more occupied with his invitation to come and lay down beside him—literally to press your face against the side of his chest and have his arm tucked behind your body as you doze off. The mere thought sounds like something that should be forbidden, especially with someone as stoic as him who has plenty of rumours surrounding his deadly skills on the battlefield. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, the need to settle the fear in your heart leading you to shuffle a little closer before you catch yourself; your body goes stiff as a board as you contemplate the situation through your muddled head. If you said no, you’d make it weird, but if you said yes, does that change anything between the two of you? When he speaks again, you’re half expecting him to tell you to hurry up or the like, but instead he just lets out a gruff shrug. “You don't have to, just an offer.”

That’s enough to convince you, and you finally give into your fears, settling right beneath his arm. He doesn't bother to ask this time, taking your movement as permission as he tucks his arm around you and pulls you easily into his side. “Breathe; you’re as tense as a damn rookie.”

“Fine, don't go complainin’ then.”

His insistence makes you grumble, slowly growing frustrated at your own pathetic display of fear that you press your cheek into his shoulder and an arm lazily resting over his chest—half expecting him to scoff at your slightly clingy behaviour. You don’t quite see the smirk he hides beneath the balaclava, tugging the duvets snugly over your huffy form before his hand lazily pats your back, easing the anxiety that knotted your muscles.

Trying to stay professional is near impossible when you can hear the thump of his heart beneath your ear—the sound crawling through the canal and seeping into your brain like a sweet serotonin shot. It’s steady and somehow peaceful, a constant reminder that you’re now safe from the deadly silence that makes you wait for the worst. It allows your lashes to finally press against your skin, the lines in your forehead easing as you begin to lose yourself. You know for absolute sure now that for as long as you hear the thump of his heart and his arms swallowing your smaller stature whole, no fears will consume you tonight, nor will anything harm you ever again.

bonus:

“Five more minutes..”

The mumbles leave your mouth as you steady the horse you ride upon, a lasso in your hand as you ride through the barren land. It’s so exhilarating—the air on your face as you rush through the land—well, it would be if not for the constant nagging you feel on your cheek.

“Stop that—“

You frown, bringing a hand up to your cheek as you force you and your horse to halt to a stop, surprised to feel something there despite you being the only one upon this beauty.

“What?”

You snap awake, eyes fluttering open to see the blur of a skull balaclava before you and your body being slightly squeezed. Not to mention, your hand was holding another’s which was gently prodding at your cheek but now stopped.

“G-ghost?”

You blink in confusion, the world before you finally clearing up before you finally realise that you’re still curled up against him, though much closer to his neck now, and well, your legs have somehow managed to hook on top of his.

“Took ya long enough, sleepyhead. Kept mumbling about your next ‘bounty’.” His gruff voice rings out, the air from your dream now revealed to be his warm breath before he sits up properly as do you.

“Had a dream that I was a cowboy..”

You reluctantly admit, still half awake as you rub at your eyes, unable to escape from his comfortable hold on you.

“Try explaining that to the others then. They’ve been waiting all morning for you to reply to their messages.”

That makes you blink again, grabbing your phone just to realise it was twelve in the afternoon. Now that you think about it, Ghost had his gloves back on as well as his typical army shirt and cargo pants.

“What?! Why didn't you wake me?”

You exclaim, scrambling up before he rolls his eyes and almost hesitantly pulls his hands from you.

“You were out like a light; besides, it is your rest day. I’ve already cleared out your room and called pest control for the nest to be removed, so get your ass up and go get changed; we’re leaving at twenty.”

Your eyes light up at his confession of what he had achieved all while you had snoozed in his bed, lips slowly widening as you realise he had sorted the problem right through the core for you. Quickly, you swing your legs off of the bed and back into your slippers again before noticing the army attire he had brought for you to change into so you didn't have to walk the halls in your pyjamas.

“Thank you, Ghost.”

You say warmly, bundling the clothes in your hands. “I mean it.”

“Hmph. And I mean it when I say you’ll be late.” He huffs out, watching as you stand before him, all giddy and raring to go for the first time in a while. “You weren’t wrong by the way. They’re mostly active in the early hours of the mornin’ so that’s why you didn’t see anything until you woke up a few hours later.” Your face falls in relief at that, looking happier than before— if that was even possible.

“I suppose if you’re still scared that they could magically return—“ He rolls his eyes, emphasising your irrationality from the night prior despite having just proven that wrong. “— you’re welcome to sleep here. Only in emergencies, got it?”

“Yes sir.” You grin before he quickly dismisses you, getting up from bed to continue his duties around base. “18 minutes now; don’t make Johnny wait for you.” Your eyes go wide, and you quickly scamper into the bathroom to change, his eyes still locked onto you until you disappear behind the door. He kind of regrets fixing your problem now; he should’ve at least let it fester for a day or two more.

[wintfleur]

can we have a blurb of stella and her siblings when there younger, maybe stella getting hurt?

ꔫ broken bratz dolls and hello kitty band-aids

°. — pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X siblings! Hughes brothers )

°. — details ( g; fluff, little bit of angst, siblings being siblings. w; mentions of blood and sibling fights, Stella being the cutest, Jack just having a emotional moment, Luke being Stella’s protector, and Quinn being a tired big brother. wc; 2k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I love writing the Hughes sibling dynamic sm! Thank you for requesting, I really hope you guys enjoy this!! Please don’t be a silent reader, I love to hear your thoughts!! )

°. — ( Stella is 5, Luke is 6, Jack is 8, Quinn is 10 )

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

It was a regular day for the four Hughes siblings. The two eldest brothers were dressed in their favorite jerseys and hockey gear as they practiced shooting. The youngest brother was playing with his dump trucks in the dirt, and Stella was playing in the grass with her bratz dolls, she was wearing a pink sundress that matched with her cloe doll. Her hair was a mess, she had asked Luke to try to recreate the ponytails one of her dolls had with her hair. 

“And Jack Hughes scores” Jack cheers after his goal, a big smile on his lips and even though Quinn was annoyed that he scored on him the older brother couldn't help but smile too as Jack celebrates. Stella paid no attention to her cheering brother as she moved from the grass to the driveway, looking for the missing guitar for her doll. Her eyes light up when she sees it laying in the middle of the driveway, it must have fallen out of her basket when she ran from Luke who was chasing her with a handful of dirt earlier. 

“Watch my sick celly” Jack shouts at Quinn, holding his stick out and spinning around. The grin on Jack's face from scoring quickly vanishes at the horrifying sound of the toe of his hockey stick smacking against something as he spins around. Stella was so caught up in her own imagination to notice her brother and his stick until it's too late. Jack’s eyes widen in fear as he watches Stella fall back on her butt, the doll in her hands falling and breaking. Her favorite doll. 

Quinn and Luke's eyes are immediately drawn to the loud sound of the smack and their eyes widen at the sight of their little sister on the ground of the driveway and Jack standing in front of her with his hockey stick in the air. The three brothers watch as blood starts to drip down from her quivering lip and down her now red chin, her big brown eyes are immediately filled with tears that quickly roll down her face. She silently cried for a few seconds as she was still in shock, but her brothers watched as she brought her dirty hands to cover her bloody lip, loud sobs leaving her body. It happened so fast. 

Quinn immediately skated to her side, dropping down to his knees and trying to pry her dirty hands from her face. He muttered reassuring words to Stella, trying to convince her to move her hands so he could see but she just cried harder. Quinn looked at Jack who still stood there in shock, there was so much blood coming from her lip and dripping down her face and onto her pink dress, Quinn shouted at Jack to go get mom. 

Jack quickly nodded and dropped his stick, turning around and quickly skating towards the front door. Luke, who was watching the scene with a look of fear, turns into a look of anger as he drops his toy truck and rushes to his feet, a sound of surprise and pain leaving Jack's lips when he's jumped on from behind. Jack lets out a cry of pain when he feels his chin get cut on the driveway at the impact. 

“Get off me” Jack screeches at Luke, a shout of pain follows when Luke tugs on Jack's hair, his knee digging into his back. Quinn looks at his brothers in disbelief, yelling at them to stop. Luke, who was angry at Jack for hurting Stella, doesn't stop his attack. Stella starts to sob louder, absentmindedly leaning against Quinn as Jack and Luke continue to shout at each other. Quinn tries to calm Stella but he himself was getting overwhelmed, thankfully the shouts of Jack and Luke got the attention of their mother who was getting ready to start on dinner. 

 “What is going on here” Ellen shouted as she rushed out of the house, she left her children alone for 5 minutes to preheat the oven and she's welcomed back with a brawl. Ellen moves to her two youngest sons and pulls an angry Luke off a crying jack. “Luke, get off your brother now!” 

“Mom!” Quinn shouts her name to get her attention. Ellen looks away from her sons and a worried gasp leaves her lips at the sight of her bleeding and crying daughter. She rushes over to her only daughter; she didn't hear Stella's cries over her son's shouts. “It's okay, let me see” Ellen coos as she pulls Stella's hands from her face, Ellen holds in her wince at the sight and moves her hands under Stella's armpits to pick her up and bring her to her chest. 

“Inside you two, i expect a good explanation on what happened” Ellen scolds her two youngest boys as she rushes a still crying stella into the house. Quinn helps Jack up from the ground while a glaring Luke follows after Stella and their mom, Jack pushes Quinn's hand off him and quickly wipes off his tears before shouting at Quinn. “I’m a terrible brother! Luke and Stella hate me!”  

“They don't hate you” Quinn starts but before he could finish comforting his brother, Jack quickly skates off into the open garage, jack pressing on the button to close the garage behind him. Quinn sighs and takes off his skates before entering the house through the front door, he knows jack would need a moment to himself, he was an emotional boy. 

Quinn hears the sound of Stella's crying as he walks into the kitchen. Stella was sitting on the counter with Luke by her side, holding her hand while their mom stood in front of her and tried to clean the blood off her face so she could clean the cut and bandage it. Stella's eyes go to Quinn, and she immediately cries out for her big brother “Quinny it hurts.” 

“I know but moms gonna fix it all up and it won't hurt anymore” Quinn spoke softly as he moved to his mother's side, holding onto Stella's other hand. Stella squeezes her brother's hand tightly when Ellen starts to clean the cut. Stella sniffles and blinks away her tears “Promise?” 

“I promise” Quinn promises, softly squeezing her hand back. Ellen smiles proudly at her eldest child, before pulling out Stella's favorite band aids. Jack quietly walked into the kitchen, and he felt even more guilty as he watched his mom fix up Stella's lip and chin. He honestly didn't mean to hurt her, he would never! Jack makes eye contact with Luke who is already glaring at him. Yeah, he felt really guilty. 

Jim was not expecting this sight when he walked into the living room after he got home from work. It was oddly quiet in the house, and that was rare.  His four children were sitting side by side on the couch, Luke sat at the end of the couch with his arms crossed and a glare on his face. Sitting to his left was Stella, she was now in a new dress and her chin and lip was decorated with her favorite hello kitty band aids. 

On Stella's other side was Quinn who was holding her hand as she rested her head on his shoulder. Then there was Jack who sat on the other side of Quinn, his arms were crossed as well as he angrily looked down at his socks. Jack, who looked up once his dad walked into the living room could be seen with a pink hello kitty band aid on his chin. 

“What's going on here?” Jim asked his wife and children, moving to stand by his wife's side. Ellen was standing in front of their children, just finished questioning their kids about what had occurred outside. Ellen greeted her husband with a smile and crossed her arms as she looked back at her kids “Why don't you guys tell your father what happened, hmm.” 

None of the kids spoke up, Quinn sat there as still as a statue as Stella snuggled closer to him and hid her face in his shoulder. Luke kept on giving Jack the side eye with a glare on his face and Jack refused to look up from his dinosaur patterned sock covered feet. Ellen sighed and tilted her head to look at her husband, telling him what had happened between their children. 

“Luke, why did you hit your brother?” Jim questioned his youngest son, crossing his arms as well. It wasn't like Luke to start fights with his siblings, especially physical ones. Jack rolled his eyes while Quinn turned his head to look at his youngest brother, curious on what he was going to say. Luke sent jack an accusatory glare before looking up at his parents “He made stella cry and break her doll.” 

Jack's jaw and fists clench as he listens to Luke retell the story of him hitting Stella with his stick, he felt tears of anger form in his eyes the more Luke talked. Jack couldn't hold it in anymore, he jumped to his feet and shouted out emotionally “It was an accident” Jack continued to speak loudly as fresh tears rolled down his face, his fists clenched at his side “I didn't mean to hurt you stella! I’m really sorry, and I’m sorry i broke your doll ⸺ I’ll sell all my toys and get you a new one!” 

Luke and Quinn’s eyes widened at their brother's outburst, and Luke started to feel guilty as he watched his older brother break down. Ellen moved to step towards Jack so she could comfort her son, her heart hurting at the sight of him crying so hard. But before Ellen could reach out to pull Jack into her arms, someone beat her to it. 

The rest of the family watched as Stella tried her best to wrap her arms around Jack's waist, resting her chin on Jack's chest and looking up at him with her brown doe eyes. Jack was quick to hug her back tightly as she spoke in her soft voice “It’s okay jacky i know you didn't mean to, please don't cry.” 

Quinn nudged Luke's shoulder causing the youngest brother to give him an annoyed look. Quinn mouthed at Luke to apologize to Jack, Luke huffed before he got off the couch and moved over to his brother and sister, Quinn rolling his eyes at Luke's dramatics. Luke lets out a loud groan and opens his mouth to complain when Jack pulls him into joining their hug but closes his mouth at the look Stella gave him before she turned her head to Quinn, her eyes begging him to join their group hug. 

Quinn shakes his head no, but he lets out a defeated sigh and stands up once Stella pulls out her signature move of her puppy dog eyes and quivering lip. Stella smiles triumphantly and pulls her eldest brother into the hug, smiling happily at the feeling of her and Jack being smushed into the middle of the hug. 

“So, you and Luke don't hate me?” Jack asks but it comes out muffled since his face was being smushed into Quinn's chest. Stella giggles and luke shakes his head, luke mumbles “I don't hate you jack, but you said to beat up anyone who makes stell cry” Stella moves her head from luke’s chest and gives jack a toothy smile “I don't hate you jacky, but you have to get me a new dress too!” 

Ellen smiles and leans against her husband's side, the parents watching as their kids continue to hug and listen as Stella excitedly talks about the new pink dress she wanted. Ellen kisses Jim’s cheek and whispers “C’mon let's go finish up dinner” the parents leave the living room, but none of the kids notice, they were too caught up in their new conversation. 

Jim and Ellen finished making the family their dinner as they listened to their children talk and laugh from the living room, grateful to be raising such good children.

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I LOVE THEM SM, please tell my what you like the most? )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @juraj-slafkovsky @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

[redvexillum]

A/N: My request list was getting scary long so I decided to buckle down and start going through some of them.

SUMMARY: Alastor simply wanted to wake you up...in more ways than one.

WARNING/TAGS: f!reader, oral s*x (receiving), teasing, Alastor didn't forget and is petty AF, established relationship, fing*ring, edging, ruined org*sm, dom/sub undertone, Reader is a brat

He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, lingering there as he sighed softly, “Good morning, darling.”  

There was an itch in your brain. You knew Alastor was playing a game with you; you had known him long enough to sense he was up to something. Pressing the front of his hips against your cunt with your legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Alastor,” you keened, grinding against his hard length.   

You were not above begging if it meant starting your day with a mind-blowing orgasm.   

“Please,” you whispered, your voice a mixture of desperation and desire, “I need you.”  

His grin widened; his eyes gleaming with wicked desire. “Oh, darling,” he purred, “I know you do. But patience is such a virtue.” His cock teased you mercilessly, sliding against your slick folds, keeping you on the edge.   

You whimpered, arching against him, your need palpable in your voice. “Please, Alastor. Don’t tease me like this.” The moment you uttered those familiar words and Alastor’s grin ripped through his cheeks; realization hit you like a dump truck.   

Oh, that sonuvabitch.   

((Release date: August 18, 2024))

[papurgaatika]

Keep A Leftover Light Burning

Pairing: joel miller x Ceramicist! reader

MINORS DNI WITH MY WORKS PLEASE !!

A/N: howdy howdy and welcome all now this is a very special fic for @burntheedges for the @pedrostories secret santa event!! I hope you like it and find it as fun as i did. I think this isnt a trope that we see very often, but after a healthy dose of tiktoks (and watching the scene from ghost again) this came into being. As always thank you to my beloveeeeeeed @carlynkurin for beta reading, and peace and love on the planet earth from me, xoxo Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! tags: Ceramicist reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), publicish sex, strangers to lovers, lots of wet clay, joels arms require their own tag Word count: 3.4k Summary: Sarah forces joel to go take a day to himself, pushing him in the direction of your pottery studio. Despite calling yourself professional and priding yourself on your morals, you can’t help but… fantasize about the man in front of you. 

Joel needs to take time for himself. He’s always on, always ready to go at the flip of a switch,  never taking time to sit and breathe. Everyone knows how hard he works, and despite what he says, Sarah knows that he needs to do something calming. Something that doesn’t involve carving wood or going to the shooting range with Tommy on the off chance that both of them are free for long enough. So being the perfect daughter that she is, she enrolls him in a ceramics workshop that she had gone to once. It was a small studio, tucked away next to the Palace Theatre in downtown Georgetown, soft and quaint in the suburbs, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Sarah managed to get a hold of you over the phone and explain the situation, a smile threatening to creep onto your cheeks at the sheer amount of care she had for her father. You tell her not to worry about the price and that you would stay open for an extra hour next weekend just to get him in, a squeal on the other side is all the confirmation you need as you pencil it into your schedule. 

Sunday rolls around and Joel… Well, he was being Joel. Stubborn and groaning as Sarah essentially pushes him out the door to make the drive up IH-35, complaining about “I build things for a living,” and “it’ll be a waste of time.” but Sarah is hearing none of it and one look from her has Joel slipping on his boots. In any other circumstance, he would have praised her for holding her ground, but right now he just sighs and gets into his truck realizing just how much of his stubbornness had rubbed off on her. 

He ends up at the studio just before 5, the sun starting to dip under the horizon, casting beautiful pinks and oranges around the sky. He’s still bitching and moaning as he makes his way to the building, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. You barely even hear the jingle of the little bell above your door, too busy fighting with your sink: now clogged with clay from your last class with 3 kids under ten who didn't understand that when you told them not to dump clay inside the sink. You had meant it. “Fucking thing!” you groan, poking a paintbrush into the drain, hoping to get enough clay out of it so that it would run again. 

Joel stares at you, half confused and half amused with the scene in front of him; your hair a mess, your apron covered in clay and paint, hacking into your sink in ways that he knows won't do you any good. He clears his throat after watching you struggle for about 30 seconds, stifling a smirk when you jump and look back at him. “Need some help? I’m s’possed to have a class now- my daughter-” he shakes his head at the idea of sharing the whole story again “Did I get the wrong time?” 

You look absolutely mortified, dropping the paintbrush in the basin and giving the man in front of you a weak smile “No! No, I just got a little... occupied… you’re on time” You wipe your hands on the front of your apron, not even bothering to attempt to fix your hair, before walking over to greet him. Properly this time. “You must be Joel. Your daughter was very persuasive on the phone.” 

Joel’s smirk shifts into a full-blown smile at the mention of Sarah, the pride he has for the girl shining through. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” he praises. Despite his reluctance to listen to her advice, he knows just how good her heart is, and how much she cares about him. I “Ain't sure what she told ya, and to be honest she hasn't told me what I'm s’possed to be doing here either”

You can't help but smile at his words, the pure adoration for his daughter combined with the slight nervousness in his voice was endearing in ways you weren’t sure how to describe. “No worries, I promise it isn’t anything scary.” You glance around the studio. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, the soft lighting of the different lamps inside the building casting the both of you in a warm glow. The glaze on the ceramics you had on display was a wide assortment of colors: intricately painted motifs, bright splashes of colors, silly cartoons, almost anything you could think of. You pick up a faded apron and hand it to him, watching him stretch as he puts it on. A brief flicker of guilt passes through you as you ogle him, but then you see the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and the guilt gives way to something primitive. 

He turns back around and you look away with a cough, a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks when he raises his brows at you. “Right um-” you stumble over your words, more unrefined than you would have liked to be “Sorry, sorry. We’ll start with choosing what you’ll want to make. I always recommend something easy, like a bowl or a spoon rest..” you pick up a pencil cup that had been painted to look like a pencil and a spoon rest that was a simple blue color, to show him “I already have the clay prepped so we can get started straight on th-” 

Joel cuts you off as he glances around the studio, pointing at a lidded cookie jar “That one.” His words leave no room for argument but certainly bring questions up to the surface. “I'm gonna do that one.” You had been making ceramics for years, starting with air-dry clay in school, continuing to use the wheel throughout university, and eventually quitting your day job to start the studio. You knew the skill level it took to make a jar, the precision and technique to keep it balanced, and it just wasn’t a beginner project. 

“I'm sorry, the cookie jar?” You try not to let your voice betray your disbelief. It wasn't that you lacked faith in the man in front of you, you made sure to be confident in all of your clients, it was simply an issue of skill. “I don't know if that’s the one for you to start out with, it’s a little advanced-” 

But Joel was having none of it. If he was going to be forced to sit here and make something to “calm him down” then damn it it was going to be something that takes skill and effort. Something that he could bring home to Sarah and brag about slightly. Was it a little strange that he wanted to one-up his daughter and prove that he didn't need to be here? Maybe a little bit, but he didn't dwell on it. “Yes ma'am.” His voice is set in the decision. “I'm sure it can't be that bad, let me at it.” 

Never one to truly tell people no, you simply nod and get the prepared clay out. It was soft and slippery, staining your hands a taupe color as you brought it to the wheel, plopping it down on the wheel, and pressing down on the sides to make sure it stuck. “Alright, so with the jar..” you gesture for him to take a seat in front of the wheel, moving to stand behind him “It’ll be a little bit more involved than something simple, but you're in good hands I promise.” Your words are soft, and frankly, you were excited. You didn't throw fun projects with clients as much as you’d like to anymore, focusing more on teaching the basics, so this was honestly a welcomed surprise. “We’ll just start with getting the basic shape of it, you’ll take your hands like this, and we’ll work it up.” 

You sit on your stool behind him, usually, you’d be able to reach around and help with hand placement but good god was he broad. You adjust and readjust your position a few times, finding it oddly difficult to find the right mix between comfort and functionality, eventually ending up with your legs spread a little bit past their comfort level, so that you could lean over his shoulder and help him with the shaping. You squeeze some water onto his hands, moving them to cup the base of the clay and pop the wheel to life. His hands were big under your smaller ones, the roughness contrasting both the soft clay and your skin. You can't help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside you as you help him bring the clay up and down, your hands guiding his. Joel’s brows were knit together in concentration, both endearing and attractive as you watched him focus on the clay. The movements of his hands under yours were careful, almost hesitant, his eyes peeking back at you every so often for assurance. 

Once the clay was at an appropriate size you moved your hands off of his, the wheel slowing to a stop. You swear that you see his hands twitch to stay under yours, but your mind might be playing tricks on you. “Now call me unartistic but this ain't really lookin’ like a cookie jar yet.” Joel raises his brows, a slight hint of teasing hidden in his southern drawl, and you can’t help but snort at the comment.

“I will not call you unartistic, it isn't supposed to look like a jar yet.” You hum and wipe your hands on your apron “We’ll do the lid to it later, but you have to actually make it into a bowl first.” your thumbs gently press down onto the center of the clay to form a soft dent. The wheel starts back up again slowly and you start to open the center up a little bit. “Right so now you just gotta take your thumbs like I did and- perfect!” Joel manages to press his fingers slowly against the clay, working it open, and god you wished that was you more than anything at that moment. You press on the sponge, the water dripping down his hand and onto the clay, almost sensually. Your eyes are locked on the way his thumb dips into the clay, the way the clay comes up onto his skin. Your mouth is dry, and you cough as you stand up, needing to take a deep breath and try to compose yourself. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel's voice rings out from behind you as you move to take a drink of water, and you swear if his voice was just a tinge deeper, you would have choked right then and there. In the rush of getting up, your brain had ceased to realize that moving off the pedal would stop the wheel from turning.

You feel like an idiot. A stupid, hormonal, completely unprofessional idiot. You take a moment to scold yourself mentally before turning around to face him again. “Yeah, yes. Sorry I just realized how thirsty I was, I just needed water.” You move back to your stool behind him, halfway composed, and move to start the next step. If you'd been in front of him for one more second, you would have seen the knowing smile on his face. There was no denying the attraction between the two of you. Pressed up against each other, hands touching, dim light surrounding you both, it was inevitable. You move your hand to show him the right finger position “so you’ll want to take your middle and ring finger-” You press the two of yours inside of the bowl to give him an example and you swear he laughs a little bit. 

“Oh, believe me, darlin” his voice rings out, big fingers expertly finding their way into the exact position. “I know all about this one.” You watch his fingers glide up and down the inside of the bowl, your hand on top of his, steadying his wrist. You bite at your lip, fingers shaking slightly on top of his. Your chest was pressed against his back and you could feel your nipples hardening. You were annoyingly turned on. This wasn’t normal for you, this wasn't something you do, get the hots for a client, but here you were. And with the way Joel's fingers were methodically moving over yours, you were begging that he felt the same way. “Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya all I know about it.” The want in his voice makes you clench subconsciously, your breath faltering for a second. 

You hold your breath for a moment as if trying to make sure you hadn’t imagined his words in a haze of horniness, only to be broken out of that haze when he shifts and pushes his stool back, and turns around to face you. Both of your hands were covered in wet clay and your aprons were messy, neither of which stopped you from pressing your lips against his. You sigh against his mouth as your hand's fist in the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric with readily drying clay. “I don't usually do this,” you murmur when you pull away for air, your lips swollen and red. 

Joel just grins at your words “S’alright, honey,” his lips find their way to your jaw and move down to your neck, his nose nudging at the fabric of your shirt. “Don't gotta explain anything to me.” His voice is like molasses, smooth and syrupy, keeping you stuck on his every word. You let him move you around, the small wooden stools were less than ideal for either of you. In the mess of standing up and finding a table to bend over your shirt comes off and he groans at the sight of you, his hands grabbing at your waist, staining your skin with water. “Good god… sight for sore eyes…” You can't help but flush slightly at his comment, feeling more exposed while you stare at his fully clothed figure.

 Joel picks up on it, his hands moving from your waist to his shirt and apron, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth when the knotted strings keep him from taking it off. “Let me,” you whisper, reaching around to undo the strings, the fabric of the apron sagging and then getting tossed to some other corner of the room. You stare at him. You couldn't not stare at him. At the hair covering his chest leading down to his belt, the soft yet strong features of his body, at his hand undoing his belt. Your own shorts had been removed, your hands moving to reach into his jeans until he stopped you, a pout and protest forming on your lips. 

Joel just shakes his head at you, picking you up and setting you on a relatively clean table, his body wedged between your legs. “My momma raised me to be a gentleman,” he hums against your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts, nudging your nipples with his nose before giving each of them their own kisses “I didn't take ya to dinner, at least let me get my fill yeah?” Your back fully arched into his mouth as his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white. The feeling of his tongue flicking against the hardened bud had you moaning out in ways you had never imagined you would, and you swear you could feel him smirk even as he licked a stripe down the soft skin of your tummy. 

His knees crack as he settles between your legs and the sight of him is so sinful you can't help but moan softly. He raises his brows at you, a warm chuckle leaving his mouth at the sound, his lips pressing against the inside of one of your thighs “Look that good?” His voice is laced with a gentle mocking as he presses another kiss, a hair's breadth away from your aching cunt “think I got the better view though.” You don't even have the time, nor the brainpower, to reply before his lips press against you, a groan vibrating against your skin as he tastes you. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had… could get damn addicted.” 

Your lips are parted as his tongue swirls around your clit, your whines and moans spurring him on even further. “F-fuck joel-” you manage at some point, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs spread apart, despite how much they’d like to clamp around him. He was good at this and he knows that, moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, the words giving him a newfound energy. You feel his warm palms against your thighs keeping you spread open for him, and you almost whine when his tongue leaves your clit, only to cry out in ecstasy when his tongue prods at your pulsing hole. His nose is pressed up against your clit, giving you just the right amount of friction as he gathers your slick on his tongue, cycling between fucking it into you and laying it flat over your cunt. “Joel- joel oh fuck-” Your moans are frantic as he continues to send you closer and closer to that edge, his motions only getting faster as your hand fists in his hair. “Oh my god- fuck fuck fuuuuck-” your legs shake around his head, his hands keeping them apart as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you were spent and hazy, laying back on the table with shuddering breaths. 

Your eyes were pressed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of your orgasm, only to peek open when you hear the clink of his belt. His mouth was covered in the sheen of your orgasm, a hungry look in his eyes as he spits into his hand and pulls his cock out. “Tasted like a damn dream,” he groans while he strokes himself. “Gonna remember this forever…” Your eyes are locked on the motions of his wrist, the steady pace, the pearly precum that was leaking from his tip. “Fuckin’ perfect… makin’ me feel like a damn teenager again.” You wait with bated breath as he continues to stroke himself, wiggling your hips in order to entice him. 

 “Joel,” your voice is soft, but so heavily full of need it was almost painful “Please… I want you.” If you were being honest, you thought that it would take more convincing, that you would have to ask more, but Joel was desperate, maybe more so than you were and so when he sinks his cock into your dripping cunt it was ecstasy for both of you. Your eyes fall shut again at the feel of him, the stretch so much but so good. “Oh my god…” you whine, pushing yourself onto him further, your breathing stuttering when one of his hands palms at your breast, the other one gripping your hip with so much strength you think it would leave a mark. 

“That’s it…” he groans, slipping into you all the way. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, like she was made for me.” His words are punctuated with shallow thrusts that fill you up again and again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. The feeling of his hips pressing against yours is something you would never be able to get out of your memory. 

You both lay there, bodies pressed against each other, his hips rocking into you slow and steadily, the dim lighting of the studio casting an ethereal glow over the scene. His hips move at a steady pace, keeping you full of him as the coarse hairs around him press against your clit with the right amount of friction. It doesn't take much time until he's panting on top of you, your lips pressed against each other's in a heated kiss as you feel him spill inside you. 

“That was…” you were breathless, his chest still against yours, the rhythm of your hearts syncing up. 

“Yeah…” He grins, pressing a kiss against your forehead gently. “I know I told ya I was a gentleman but, I really would like to see you again… of course no pressure if you don't want to or anything-” 

You cut him off with a small laugh before he can keep going, nudging your head against his. “I want to, Joel.” You smile gently at him “Plus, you didn't finish the jar.” You grin, looking in the direction of the unfinished work of art he had started. “And then I have to fire it, then glaze it, then fire it again, then… well you get the point, I think I’ll be seeing you quite a few more times, Joel.”

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE;  HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[pedrospatch]

to do the right thing l part iii

Post Outbreak!Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: You go into labor earlier than expected in the QZ; Joel and Tess help you deliver the baby; after giving birth, you and Joel follow through with a heartbreaking decision.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA. ((TW)) PREGNANCY, mentions and references to adoption. mentions of dead bodies, child death (not what you think), descriptions of childbirth. angst. soft, protective Joel.

word count: 7.9k

a/n: Please do not hate me. That is all. (:

June, 2020

 Disposing of the infected was a shity job.

But then again, most of the civilian jobs in the Boston QZ were pretty fucking shitty.

Still. This particular one had to be the absolute shittiest of the shitty.

Having to haul dozens upon dozens of dead bodies, the accidental inhale of soot and smoke even through your makeshift mask, not to mention, the nauseating smell of burning human flesh—you’d hated getting assigned to this work detail before, but now that you were only just a few weeks shy of being nine months pregnant, it felt like actual fucking hell on earth. And, to make matters even worse, Joel had been asked by one of the officials to head over to a different site and work a different job at the very last minute. He wasn’t by your side to lend you a hand like he usually did. Before being forced by authorities to leave the site, Joel instructed you to find a familiar face and do whatever you could do to get someone to help you when you needed it.

Luckily, on the other side of the open fire pit, you’d spotted Kevin. A younger man in his early twenties, you knew Kevin was something of an avid pill popper and one of Joel’s secret regulars. In exchange for a couple of oxycodone pills that you produced from the pockets of Joel’s jacket you were wearing, he had agreed to help you haul the heavier bodies and toss them in the fire pit.

“You know, you used to be real strong,” Kevin mused out loud as he took the shoulders of a heftier male body. Through a labored grunt, he continued, “You never needed anybody's help.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you took the lower half of the body into your arms, taking subtle care not to strain yourself to the point of hurting yourself—or the baby. “Shut up and move, Kevin.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Seriously, Kevin,” You managed to say to him through gritted teeth as you helped him carry the body. “I’ll throw in another fucking pill if you just shut the fuck up, how about that?”

“Never used to be so cranky, either. Jesus, Miller’s really rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

Ignoring him, you inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it as you two lifted the body and flung it into the pit. As you turned back towards the canopied pickup truck for the next one, your eyes fell on the tiniest little body that you had ever seen and you simply froze, a chill running up the length of your spine.

While it wasn’t the first time that you’d ever had to dump the body of an infected child, this one had to be the smallest—the youngest. Though his head had been covered with a brown, burlap sack just like the rest of the bodies, anyone with two fucking eyes and half of one brain cell could guess that he was, at most, around the age of a toddler.

“Jesus,” You whispered, noticing the dirty, bloodied white bandage around his teeny little arm. That’s where he’d been infected.

Kevin’s voice came from behind you. “Oh come on, this can’t be your first time seeing a kid, right?”

Your mouth had gone as dry as sandpaper. “I—I’ve never seen one this young,” You told him, feeling your heart sink into your stomach. “He couldn’t have been older than three or something.” Unable to fathom what had to come next, you turned to Kevin and shook your head. “I’ll need you to do this one. I just can’t.”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks.” He raised an eyebrow and looked around before lowering his voice. “Just as long as you go back home tonight and let that guarddog boyfriend of yours know how much I helped you out, you know, since he wasn’t around to do it himself.” He paused, his beady, dark little eyes twinkling in sheer delight. “Maybe a two for the price of one discount during our next business transaction would be an appropriate way for him to show me some gratitude?”

If Joel could see the smirk on Kevin’s face, he’d knock it right off with his fist.

“Greedy motherfucker, aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, before finally nodding your head in agreement. “Fine. I’ll make sure Joel hooks it up on your next deal.” Fat chance of that happening.

Satisfied, Kevin grinned and pushed past you, picking up the child’s body.

Unable to bring yourself to watch him toss it into the roaring flames, you hurriedly walked around to the side of the pickup truck, yanking down the red bandana you used as a mask down from over your nose and mouth. Placing a hand on the side of the truck, you hunched over and closed your eyes for a brief second. “Jesus Christ,” You groaned in a whisper to yourself. “I think I’m going to be fucking sick.”

You half expected to toss your afternoon crackers right there onto the pavement in front of you. However, instead, just a split second later, you felt a sudden cramp in the middle of your pelvis—subtle, but still enough to make you wince. It was immediately followed by a feeling of intense pressure between your legs. Before your mind could even wrap itself around what was happening, there was a gush between your thighs, and warm liquid started trickling down the sides of your legs.

Shit.

Terrified, you glanced down.

Though they were dirty, you could distinctly see the wet patches on your faded, dark blue jeans. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s too fucking early—”

“Hey! What the hell are you doing over here? Who the fuck said you could stop and take a break?” One of the FEDRA officials who had been assigned to stand guard at the work site came up behind you, his weapon gripped tightly in his hands. When you whirled around to face him, his eyes fell and instantly noticed your soaked jeans. A look of disgust crossed his face. “Jesus. Did you just fucking piss yourself?”

“No—” You stopped yourself, realizing this could be your ticket out of there. “Yeah,” You replied, nodding your head, causing him to let out a repulsed noise. “Sorry. I just saw a little kid, must have made me—”

He held up one of his hands, stopping you. “Save it. I don’t give two shits,” he told you with a shake of his head. “Get your ass home right now and change your clothes, then come back. Make it quick. There’s still a lot of work to be done around here. Understood?”

You nodded again. The muscles in your pelvic area tightened and the feeling drew the tiniest of sharp breaths from you—your contractions were starting. “Yeah,” You managed to say to the official, keeping a straight face. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

He dismissively waved you away with his weapon and then stalked off back over to his post.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you turned on your heel and started to make your way back to the apartment as quickly as possible.

Although the building was about a mile and a half up the road, it felt like you were trekking your way across the fucking country. You felt two more contractions along the way, and while their intensity was still pretty low in such an early stage of your labor, they still hurt like hell. They started around your lower back and gradually moved around to the front of your pelvis. You tried to push past the discomfort in order to get home as quick as possible, but every now and again, you found yourself having to stop in the middle of the sidewalk for just a brief second or two, only long enough to recollect and remind yourself that you needed to get a goddamn grip before someone noticed your strange behavior. Once the building finally came into your view, all you could do was silently pray that by some fucking miracle, Joel would be up there in that apartment, home from work detail.

Your prayer went unanswered.

When you opened the door to your quarters and walked inside, you’d found Tess home by herself. She was sitting at the table, sipping on a glass of whiskey and mindlessly flipping through a decades old newspaper.

“Tess,” You said her name, causing her to look up. “Where’s Joel?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s fucking happening.”

Tess stared at you, her eyes widening slightly. “Wait, what?”

“The baby’s coming,” You informed her, pointing down to your damp jeans. Though you were panicking on the inside, you tried your best to remain as calm as humanly possible. “Where the fuck is Joel?”

Tess tossed aside her newspaper and stood up from the table. “I told you, I don’t know. I know he was reassigned but I’m not sure where—he sure as hell wasn’t with me.” She walked over to you, taking you by the elbow. She pulled you over towards the couch and helped you sit down. “I thought you said it would be at least a few more weeks before the baby came.”

You couldn’t help but shoot her an annoyed look. “Well, he’s coming now, Tess. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“How long ago did it start?”

“About half an hour ago, maybe. I was at the pits and my water broke after I saw—” You trailed off, deciding the details of what you had seen back at the work site weren’t necessary to disclose to her. “I’ve had a couple of contractions, but they’re pretty far apart.”

“It could be several hours before the baby comes, but there’s still no fucking way that we’ll be able to get you over to Bill and Frank’s in time.” Tess chewed anxiously on her bottom lip as she wracked her brain for any other possible options—it took her mere seconds to realize that there weren’t any other options. “You’re going to have to give birth here.”

“Fantastic,” You deadpanned, leaning back into the couch.

“Okay, here’s the deal. You stay put and I’m going to go out and find Joel. I know there’s a couple of places where he might have been assigned and if I’m right, I can be back with him quickly.” Tess pulled off her watch from her wrist. It was old and cracked, but otherwise, it still worked fine. “I need you to time your contractions. Try and be as accurate as possible.” She then reached into the back pocket of her jeans, producing a red handkerchief.  She handed it to you along with the watch. “Listen. I know it’s going to hurt like hell, but you need to be as quiet as possible. Last thing we need is for someone to hear you and come running in here, especially while I’m gone. If you need to, you bite down on this to keep quiet, alright?”

You swallowed harshly, taking both of the items with nearly trembling fingers. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to find Joel and we’ll be back,” she promised you. “You stay right here, okay?”

“Because I’m such a fucking flight risk right now?”

“Even during labor, you’re still a fucking smartass, huh?” Tess rolled her eyes and reached for her jacket. 

You watched her as she readied herself to take off. “Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry. Please.”

“Fuck,” You hissed, both of your hands planted on your lower back as you paced back and forth in the kitchen, trying your best to breathe your way through another contraction.

 It had been over an hour and a half and Tess still hadn’t returned with Joel.

Your labor was progressing a lot quicker than you’d anticipated and while it could still be at least a couple more hours before the baby was born, you were still terrified at the mere thought of having to deliver him alone. You needed Joel—you didn’t want to have to do this without him.

“Jesus, fuck,” You cursed through clenched teeth. The waves of pain that were coming at you were almost enough to physically knock you off of your feet and right onto your ass. Tess had been smart to give you her handkerchief. During one particularly painful contraction, you’d shoved it into your mouth, muffling your cries of agony.

Another hour had passed and you were genuinely starting to believe that you were indeed going to have to give birth to the baby all alone in that apartment. “Where the fuck are you guys?” You mumbled to yourself. Perhaps something had happened to them—Joel and Tess had spent ample amounts of time in FEDRA lockup for the stunts that they pulled and it wouldn’t surprise you if they had gone and done something stupid, putting themselves behind bars for the night.

In an attempt to keep your mind from continuously wandering to worst case scenarios, you walked over to the kitchen sink and quickly filled up a large, chipped porcelain bowl with water. You rummaged around for the cleanest washcloth that you could find and then picked up the bowl in your hands, taking care not to spill as you hastily made your way around the single wall that divided the kitchen from the bedroom. You placed the bowl of water on top of the old, cherrywood dresser that separated yours and Joel’s bed from Tess’s bed and immediately started peeling off your dirty clothes. Wanting to hurry before another contraction came along, you dipped the cloth into the water and started running it all over your body, wiping away any soot and dirt that you’d brought home from the work site.

After you had finished cleaning yourself off as best as you possibly could under the circumstances, you searched through the drawers and grabbed one of Joel’s cleaner t-shirts, tugging it over your head. Even with the size of your swollen midsection, his shirt still fit you loosely enough, the hem of it falling to the top of your thighs. You’d finished just in time—another contraction starting coming on and you dropped down onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as you hunched over in a world of hurt. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

As it subsided, the sound of the front door opening caused your head to snap up and your heart to skip a beat. Had you been too loud? Or perhaps a neighbor had walked by and heard you?

“Baby?” Joel’s deep voice filled the small apartment. When he appeared around the wall and saw you, a look of utter relief crossed his face and he rushed over to you, Tess following behind him. He crouched down in front of you, both of his hands flying up to the sides of your face. “M’sorry darlin’, I got here as fast I could—”

Though you could have nearly cried from happiness that he was right there in front of you, you found yourself snapping at him, “What took you so fucking long? It’s been fucking hours!”

Tess jumped to Joel’s defense. “I’m sorry, it’s on me! It’s my fault. It took me forever just to fucking find his ass and then we had to find a way to sneak him away from the work site without anyone noticing,” she explained, holding her hands up. “Not to mention, he was on the other end of the fucking QZ. We got here as fast as we could—how far apart are they coming?”

You winced. The truth was, you’d been so busy trying to get through the contractions that you hadn’t been timing them at all. “About that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I gave you one fucking job—”

“Look, they’re still decently far apart by a few minutes.” You placed a hand on your stomach, suddenly admitting, “But I do feel the urge to push already.”

Joel’s hands slowly dropped from your face and he glanced over his shoulder and up at Tess, looking confused. “Think it’s time?”

She shook her head. “I know it’s going to feel like you need to push as you get closer, but don’t,” she warned you, firmly. “Not yet. They need to come closer together, about a minute to thirty seconds apart. If you start to push too early, you could hurt the baby. Or tear yourself apart.” Tess took off her jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. “Joel, keep her as comfortable as you can. I’m going to start gathering some supplies. She may not be ready to push now, but I’m thinking within the hour, it’ll be time.”

“Within the hour?” You nearly squeaked.

Joel turned back to you and cupped your face again. The familiarity of his rough, calloused hands on your skin brought some calmness, not enough to completely take your fears away, but just enough that you were able to stay somewhat level headed, even through every single emotion that you were feeling. “Baby, I know you're scared,” he said, his thumb grazing against your cheek. “But I promise you, everythin’ is gonna be just fine, alright? Look at me, right here, look at me,” he urged as he held your face firmly in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Joel, it’s childbirth,” You reminded him, smiling wearily. “Don’t make a promise you don’t know if you can actually keep.”

Though he knew deep down inside that you had a point, he repeated himself. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Okay?”

You offered him a small, meek nod. “Okay.”

Joel lifted himself, pressing his lips gently to yours. He pulled away, murmuring against your lips, “That’s my girl.”

The hour that followed had been nothing short of horrific—the pain had become almost unbearable by this point. There wasn’t a single inch of your entire body that wasn’t drenched, soaked in perspiration. Your hair was an absolute mess, plastered to your forehead and to the sides of your face. Tess sat on her bed, waiting on standby for when it was time to deliver. Meanwhile, Joel, could only hold your hand in his and watch helplessly as you tried not to cry out too loudly.

“Joel,” You nearly pleaded his name, as if pleading for him to take his gun and put you out of your misery.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, squeezing your hand in both of his. “I know it hurts.”

“What if I can’t do this?”

“Sorry, sweet darlin’ but you don’t have much of a choice,” he reminded you. He looked and sounded so fucking tired, so fucking exhausted—and he was. He was exhausted from having to sit there and witness you hurt while there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Once the contractions started coming in at less than a minute apart, Tess checked you. “I can feel the head. It’s time to start pushing,” she announced. Rolling up the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows, she started giving you instructions. “You’re going to bear all the way down into your bottom as hard as you can. We’ll do ten second counts with short, quick rests in between each push until he comes out. Alright?”

You just about panicked. “Joel—”

“M’right here,” he quickly assured you. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

During the process, Joel had decided to sit behind you, his long legs on either side of you as he held you up at just a couple degrees shy of a ninety degree angle. Tess kneeled on the mattress between your legs, holding your knees apart as she counted through each push out loud for you.

You sank your front teeth hard into your bottom lip, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth as you tried your hardest from screaming out.

“One, two, three, four—” Tess counted the numbers aloud until she reached the number ten. She watched you as you released a breath, and tapped your knee gently. “Come on, we’re almost there. He’s right there, you’re so fucking close. The harder you push, the quicker this will all be over. So give me one more big, strong push, alright?”

Joel squeezed your shoulders, his lips at your ear as he whispered to you over and over again, “C’mon baby, we’re almost there. It’s almost over.”

You were completely spent, exhausted both physically and mentally beyond what mere words could even explain. Close or not, you simply didn’t have it in you to keep going.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” You moaned, shaking your head as you slumped back against his chest, your head falling into his shoulder. Your body felt like it was just moments away from giving out on you. “I can’t do it, Joel. I just can’t fucking do this—”

“You can and you fucking will,” Tess all but snapped at you, forcing your knees further apart. “Come on, all I need is one more push. Just one fucking more.”

“But—”

“Baby, please,” Joel begged into your neck. “You have to do this.”

You whimpered. They were right—you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay. One more.” You gave a small, weak nod of your head.

Joel helped you sit back up into the previous position, using his body to help support yours. He kissed the back of your head, his hands on your shoulders again. “Good girl,” he praised, bracing himself to help you through the tail end of the delivery.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Tess positioned herself, her hands ready to receive the baby once he was born. “On the count of three. One, two, three—and push. Come on, that’s it. Come on.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you followed her encouraging words, bearing down as hard as you could muster while Joel counted you through that last strenuous push. “Baby’s out!” Tess nearly cried, and you quickly opened your eyes to see her holding the baby in her arms. 

“Is he okay?” You panted, your chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. Only mere seconds had passed, but already you found yourself in a state of anxiety over the fact that the baby hadn’t made a single sound yet. “He hasn’t cried—why hasn’t he cried?”

“She,” Tess corrected you, her eyes fixed on the newborn as she worked to clean her off with a damp washcloth. She rubbed her chest in quick, firm circles in an attempt to get her to take her first breath.

Your heart skipped a beat—you’d had a girl?

Behind you, Joel inhaled sharply, his body stiffening.

You watched in concern, your lips parted slightly at the sight before you. Not having the proper tools to clear the child’s airway, Tess tried everything and anything that she could think of to help the baby breathe. As the seconds turned into a minute, and then into two, your heart had all but climbed its way up your throat—never had you heard a silence so deafening.

“Tess,” Joel said her name, his tone dangerously low.

“Fuck Joel, I’m trying here!” Tess snapped at him. She let out a small, frustrated sigh and then turned the baby over onto her forearm. She started patting the infant’s back with her opposite hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Come on, you’re alright. Please breathe. Please—”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the baby sputtered and let out a wet cough before a small, quick cry filled the entire apartment. 

“Fuck,” You breathed out in complete and utter relief. You sagged back against Joel, who’d also released the breath he’d been holding.

“Shh,” Tess soothed her, flipping the baby back over and bouncing her in her arms in an attempt to quiet her.  

Joel carefully climbed out from behind you, helping you to lean back, up against the wall. “You alright?”

“Better now that I know she’s okay.”

“She’s small, definitely at least a couple of weeks premature, but she looks healthy,” Tess observed. She single handedly clamped the cord, cutting it with a pair of sharp shears before she finished cleaning her off. She reached for the flannel throw blanket next to her, however upon picking it up, she had realized it wasn’t a blanket at all. It was Joel’s flannel jacket, the very same one that you’d worn for most of your pregnancy. But it had been washed the day before and it would do for the time being. Tess wrapped the baby in the jacket before easing her into your arms. Knowing that you’d never held a baby before, Tess reached out and maneuvered your arms, making sure that you were holding her properly, supporting her head and neck. “That’s it. There you go.”

Your heart swelled to twice its normal size inside of your chest and an inexplicable warmth radiated throughout every fiber of your being the moment you laid your eyes on her sweet, tiny little face. “Hi, there,” You cooed gently to her. “Welcome to the shitshow.”

Tess chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Son of a bitch. We fucking did it.”

“What the hell do you mean we?” You rolled your eyes in a joking manner. The truth of the matter was that you would forever be in her debt for all that she had done to help you, not just through childbirth—through everything. 

You then glanced over at Joel, who stood silently behind her, hands planted on his hips.

He said nothing, but his dark brown eyes were glued to the newborn.

Tess cleared her throat lightly, breaking the momentary silence that had suddenly fallen over the three of you. “I’ll give you a minute to take a breather while I go clean myself up. I’ll be back to show you how to feed her.”

She excused herself, heading off towards the kitchen.

Joel shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. “You—uh, you sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm,” You replied with a nod, unable to contain the small smile that crossed your lips as you drank in the sight of the beautiful baby girl in your arms. She had been born with a head full of dark hair—instantly, she reminded you of Joel. “She’s so little.”

Joel said nothing.

Looking up, you noticed the way his eyes took her in—the same way yours did. 

Part of you almost wanted to ask him if he wanted to hold her.

But you knew better.

“We’ll radio Bill and Frank tomorrow in the morning to let them know she’s here ,” Tess said, coming back into the room. She used a damp cloth to wipe away the blood and other fluids from her forearms. “As soon as you’re able to move, you’ll have to get her over to them.”

Your face fell slightly. “Wait, how soon are we talking?”

“Thinking maybe in a couple days—soon as you can walk.”

Your heart sank deeply into your chest.

Just a couple of days? 

That’s all you would get with her?

Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel nodded. “Tess is right,” he agreed. “We can’t hide a cryin’ baby in this apartment for too long without someone catchin’ on. The sooner we get her over to Bill and Frank’s, the better.”

You somehow managed to swallow the lump of emotion that had risen in your throat as you looked back down at her tiny face—your daughter’s tiny face.

“Think of a name for her yet?” Tess asked you, tossing her dirty cloth aside.

Joel quickly stepped in and answered for you. “Best you don’t.”

“What?” You stared at him in disbelief. Although neither of you had discussed it, you’d thought that at the very least Joel would allow you to name your child—his child.

“The less attached you are to her, the better.” His tone was short, almost curt. “Less harder it’ll be.”

Even Tess was taken by surprise. “Joel, come on. Are you fucking seri—?”

He held up a hand to stop her. Whirling around on the hell of his boot, Joel said over his shoulder as he left the room, “I’ll be outside. Need some air.”

Your lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. “I guess he’s right.”

The mattress squeaked, shifting slightly as Tess took a seat right next to you on the bed. “You know it’s going to hurt him too,” she told you, quietly. “He’ll never admit it. But when the time comes, it’ll hurt him too.”

“I know,” You whispered, grazing the baby’s cheek lightly with the tip of your index finger.

“Joel loves you, you know.”

Tess’s words caught you by surprise. “Tess—don’t. You don’t need to do this.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You know, I never thought that man could be capable of loving anyone else ever again, not in this life. Hell, I tried for fucking years just to get him to feel a fraction of what I felt for him and nothing.” Her voice became thick with the emotions that she’d undoubtedly been suppressing for the last few years. “I don’t know what is about you, what drew him to you. But he does love you. More than fucking anything.”

“He’ll probably never admit that either.”

Tess smiled sadly. “I know.”

The five hour trip on foot from the Boston QZ to Lincoln was one that you had gotten used to over the last couple of years, but this trip had been something of a struggle for you, to say the very least.

Between being only a couple of days postpartum, having to make frequent stops to feed the baby, and having her strapped tightly to your chest in a makeshift baby carrier—which in reality was actually just a bedsheet that wrapped around your upper body—you felt quite worn out by the time you and Joel finally made it to Bill and Frank’s.

“Come in, come in,” Frank placed a hand gently on your back as he ushered you inside of the house. “How are you doing? Are you okay?” He tossed a little glare over his shoulder at Joel. “Shame on you for making her walk three days after giving birth! Surely you could have waited at least a few more days before making the trip?”

Joel let out a small, impatient huff and rolled his eyes in response.

“We didn’t wanna risk being caught with her,” You quickly explained as he led you both into the living room. “Our walls are paper thin and she cries real loud. We didn’t wanna risk having the neighbors reporting us to FEDRA.”

“She’s a crier?” Bill, who kept his distance, scoffed. “Great.”

“Oh, stop it, Bill. I’m sure she’ll be a very good baby,” Frank waved his hand dismissively at him. 

“Can you guys help me unwrap?” You asked, lightly tugging at the sheet. “This thing is so uncomfortable.”

Both Joel and Frank helped untie and remove it from around your body.

“Oh my word.” Frank’s hand flew to his mouth and tears instantly welled in his eyes as soon as saw her. “I never thought I’d see—” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. He never thought he’d see another child ever again, much less a newborn baby. Frank knew better than to overstep or to push you too quickly, and despite his immediate urge to ask you if he could hold her already, he simply settled for lightly touching his fingertips to her tufts of soft, dark hair. “Oh, she’s so beautiful! Isn’t she beautiful, Bill?”

“Looks like an ordinary baby to me,” he grumbled, though as he eyed the child, there was a strange little glint in his eye. Bill, like Frank, also never thought that he’d ever see something like her again.

Frank sniffed, dabbing his tears away with the back of his hand. “Oh! I have some onesies from the boutique, let me grab one for you,” he stated, realizing that the baby was naked, with the exception of the improvised diaper you had her in. “She’s kind of small, even for a newborn. Do you think she came early?” He asked over his shoulder as he walked over to the other side of the room towards a pile of cardboard boxes. “I know it’s hard to tell what week you reached gestation.”

“We think so,” You said, carefully taking a seat on the couch. “She’s small, but she’s healthy. She eats well, she mostly sleeps through the night unless she wakes up hungry or needing to be changed.”

“Here.” Frank walked back over to you and handed you a cream colored onesie printed with yellow sunflowers. He also handed you a matching cloth diaper. “They’re preemie size, but I have a box of newborn sizes too if they’re too snug on her. You let me know what you think is best, alright?”

It didn’t take you very long to realize that Frank was allowing you just a taste of what it was like to properly and normally care for your baby, just like any mother would in a pre-outbreak world. 

Part of you wished that he wouldn’t bother, but you still appreciated his kindness nonetheless.

Frank laid a soft, pink blanket on the couch for you to lay her on.

As you changed her, you felt Joel watching almost intently.

Since she’d been born, he still hadn’t held her. You didn’t take offense to it, nor did it hurt your feelings that he refused to touch her, because you knew how he was feeling—what he was feeling. You would often catch him stealing long, lingering glances at her whenever he’d think you weren’t paying attention. Deep down in your heart, you knew he ached to interact with her, that he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and give into his paternal instincts. But he was simply trying to make this process as painless for himself as possible. Joel didn’t want to risk developing any kind of attachment to her. 

“Does she have a name?” Frank asked, holding his hands behind his back as he watched you button up the onesie. At this point, he was itching to hold her for the first time, but he wanted to respect what little time you had left to interact with her.

Sure, you would be able to see her every now and again, but Joel was adamant of keeping visits to a minimum.

“She doesn’t,” You replied in a soft voice. “We didn’t name her.”

Joel, who had taken a seat in the rocking chair next to the couch, raked a hand through his hair as Frank shot him glare, as if he knew whose idea it had been to not give her a name. “S’only right for you two to choose a name. We ain’t got no business givin’ her a name.”

“He’s right,” You said, before Frank could protest. “It’s best we leave that to you and Bill.”

Frank touched your shoulder. The sympathy in his eyes nearly made you burst into tears on the spot. Wanting to allow for a brief change of subject, he offered, “How about we all have a bite to eat? Hmm? Surely you must be starving after that long walk.”

You forced a small smile. Food was the last thing on your mind. “That would be nice,” you fibbed. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you refused to put the baby down.

Your arms ached from holding her for so long—but you couldn’t care less. It was one ache that you would happily deal with for the rest of your natural born life if it meant never having to let her go.

Frank had been completely understanding of your desire to keep her with you for as long as you possibly could. Being the incredibly sweet, kind soul that he was, he showed you nothing but patience and didn’t question you, nor did he push you or grill you on whether or not you had changed your mind about leaving her in their care. Bill, being Bill, had muttered a few, passive aggressive incoherencies towards you under his breath over lunch—something about how for someone who claimed they wouldn’t have a problem giving up their baby, you sure as hell seemed to have a hard time letting her out of your grasp.

However, once the late afternoon finally rolled around, you knew that the time for you to say goodbye was on the horizon. As much as you fucking wished you could, there was no changing your mind, not if you wanted your daughter to live safely, happily.

“Bill? Frank? Do you think we can have a minute with her, just the two of us?” You asked them. You had all moved back into the living room after lunch. Knowing time was running out, you hoped that you and Joel could have one last moment alone with her before it was time to leave.

“Of course.” Frank nodded and tugged on Bill’s arm. “We’ll be out in the front yard—the plants need some watering.”

You shot him a tiny, grateful smile. As they disappeared, you leaned back into the couch and made yourself comfortable with the baby.

Joel, who sat over in the rocking chair as he had earlier, pursed his lips. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he said, shaking his head at you. “We really should just hand her over and go home.”

“It’s going to be hard no matter what, Joel. May as well enjoy her for a while longer.” You glanced down at her just as she started fussing herself awake. She looked up at you with her dark eyes. “Hello, sweet girl,” You greeted her in a soothing voice as she cooed. 

Joel watched with a heaviness in his heart as you kissed the infant’s cheek delicately. How he wished you would just fucking listen to him.

“You’re going to be safe here,” You told her, lifting your hand to her hair; the ends were beginning to curl slightly. “I know you might grow up and have questions one day, and who knows, maybe when you’re all grown up, you’ll know the truth about everything and you’ll understand why we did what we did.” You paused. “This is the right thing to do, sweet girl. It's the best thing for you. Frank is going to make a great dad, and Bill—well, Bill is Bill. But I know you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time. I promise there’s a softie underneath that grumpy exterior, just have to bring it out of him, is all.” Despite it all, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

Joel craned his neck ever so slightly to get a better look at her. “She’s so alert,” he observed. “Y’know, for bein’ a couple days old and all.”

You glanced up at him. Somehow, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Joel? Do you want to hold her?”

Joel hesitated. But you were shocked he didn’t immediately decline.

That meant that he did.

You carefully stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to him. Giving her another kiss on the cheek, you held her out towards him.

Joel looked at her reluctantly, but then gave in and took her into his arms. He leaned his weight back into the chair and started rocking, knowing the movement would be soothing for the baby. “She’s got your nose,” he murmured, watching as the motion started luring her into another slumber.

“That head of hair is all you, though,” You told him with a tiny, sad smile. “I’m going to go get a glass of water from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, when you’d returned, you stopped in your tracks out in the hallway when you heard Joel speaking. Furrowing your brows, you leaned your back against the wall and listened in to what he was saying.

“Hi babygirl,” he started, his voice low but gentle. “Everythin’ your mama just told you, well, she’s right. We’re doin’ this to keep you safe. We wanna give you a chance at a decent life. She doesn’t wanna give you up. Neither do I,” he confessed. “But we can’t—I can’t keep you safe. I can barely keep your mama safe most of the time, y’know.”

You hung your head, willing yourself to hold back the tears.

“I didn’t want you, at least not at first,” Joel continued to say, an ever so slight tremble to his voice. “Thought you were the biggest mistake we ever could’ve made. But now that you’re here and I’m holdin’ you in my arms, I realize I was wrong. I’m glad you’re here, babygirl. This world is ugly, but you remind me that there’s still beauty in it. Not a whole lot, but just enough to shine a little light in the darkness.”

Joel paused and as you peeked around into the living room, you saw him press his lips carefully to her cheek, right where you’d kissed her too. “You won’t be ours after today, but that doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day, you’re always gonna hold a place in my heart. Right next to your big sister. Alright?”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away with the back of your free hand. As soon as you were certain that he’d said all he had needed to say, you walked into the living room and offered him a sip of your water, behaving as if you hadn’t just heard him pour his heart out to his baby daughter. Joel moved over onto the couch with you and for the next couple of hours, the two of you took turns holding her. By the time early evening arrived, you realized that you and Joel were really pushing it. And knowing Bill, you were absolutely overstaying your welcome.

“So, we just wanted to check in with you two,” Frank said tentatively, nervously wringing his hands together as walked into the room with a very unhappy Bill trailing behind him. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

You and Joel stood from the couch; he handed the baby over to you.

Your heart lodged in your throat, you walked over to Frank and eased her into his arms. “Here you are.”

Taking a step backwards, you watched as he looked down at her, his face beaming.

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” You couldn’t help but tell him. And you meant it.

Frank was going to make the most incredible, loving father. 

“Does it?” Although he was smiling, he sounded nervous.

“You’re going to be a natural,” You touched his arm lightly. “We know she’s going to be in the best possible care.” Dropping your hand back down to your side, you glanced over at Joel, who stood there silently, his jaw clenched. “We’d better be going.”

“You know you’re more than welcome to come and see her whenever you’d like,” Frank offered. “We really wouldn’t mind that.”

“Don’t take that too literally,” Bill gruffed behind him. “The less visits, the better.”

You nodded, your voice cracking slightly as you said, “We know.”

“Let’s get a move on.” Joel nudged you lightly with his elbow. Did you just hear his voice break a little too?

After one final goodbye, about five minutes later, you and Joel found yourselves on the other side of the fence.

Joel noticed the expression on your face. He could see you crumbling right in front of his very own eyes like a pastry. He didn’t know what to say or do to make it better—hell, he knew nothing was going to make it better. He wanted so badly to reach out and put his arms around you, but he was afraid that one touch would cause you to come undone. “C’mon, we need to get movin’ before it gets too late or we’ll freeze our asses off,” he reminded you quietly. He started leading the way, but turned around when he realized you weren’t following behind him. “Baby—”

And just like that, the sob you’d been fighting finally escaped you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You quickly shook your head, trying desperately to stop the tears, but it was too late.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright—”

Before Joel could reach out for you, you sank down to your knees on the gravel. You placed your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. You knew it would be hard, but nothing could have prepared you for the god awful feeling of leaving Bill and Frank’s empty handed, without your baby daughter in your arms.

Joel sighed softly and crouched down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Shh, baby. I know,” he tried soothing you, one hand around your shoulders and the other gingerly stroking your hair. “I know.”

Though nightfall was fast approaching, he didn’t push you. He simply held you until you eventually ran out of tears and little hiccups were all that was left. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop fuckin’ sayin’ you’re sorry,” Joel said, squeezing your body against his to keep you warm against the chilly, evening breeze. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for, alright?”

“It hurts. I know we did the right thing, but it hurts so fucking bad.”

Joel pulled away and looked down at you. The sadness was evident in his gaze. “We did do the right thing. She’s going to be safer here than she could ever be with us in the QZ,” he reminded you, as if you didn’t already know that. “At least here, she’ll be well fed. She’ll have running water. She’ll get to enjoy fresh, clean air. She’ll get to run around the front yard and play in the grass. She won’t have to walk home from fuckin’ FEDRA school past a fire pit full of burnin’ bodies every goddamn day.”

“Maybe it’s just me being selfish, but that doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less, Joel,” You confessed, the guilt causing a fresh batch of tears to brim your eyes. “I know we’ll still get the chance to see her every now and again, but it’s not enough. It won’t ever be enough for me.”

He leaned down, leaning his forehead against yours. “I know. Won’t ever be enough for me either.”

You closed your eyes, another tear finding its way down your cheek. “How the fuck are you supposed to go on when you feel like a part of your heart is missing?”

“You just do,” Joel whispered. “You just move on. Try to, anyway.” He rose to his feet and pulled you up with him. “When I lost Sarah, I had nothing. Nobody. Tommy wasn’t someone I could count on, he was too busy thinkin’ he could save the fuckin’ world.” He chuckled bitterly. “So I carried that grief with me for years, all on my own. Like the weight of a thousand bricks strapped to my fuckin’ back.”

“Joel…” You opened your eyes, your gazes meeting together.

He lightly brushed his lips against forehead. “You ain’t alone, darlin’. You have me and I ain’t gonna let you carry this pain alone. You understand me? Never.”

“I know that,” You choked out. 

Joel pulled you against him once again, his arms wrapping themselves around you. 

“I love you.”

It was just above a whisper, barely audible but you’d heard him.

Clutching fistfuls of his jacket, you buried your face into his chest, uttering, “I love you too.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Three Shots: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @ladychaos1525

Companion piece to:

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

Such A Good Girl - Ryan makes a realisation about your undercover op.

It’s the gun shots that change everything.

There’s three of them, each one a loud retort that echoes through the clear night air as Ryan sits behind the wheel of his truck, that casefile on his lap. He’s out of the vehicle in an instant, heart hammering in his chest as he races towards the house with his Glock in his hand.

This shit right here, this is his nightmare.

The door is unlocked when he reaches it, it’s the way of people who buy second homes in remote areas like this. They don’t think to lock the doors because whose around to open them anyway.

The stench of cordite hits him the moment he steps into the hall way, he can taste it on his tongue as he searches the house for you with a franticness he feels in the very depths of his soul. It’s in the study he finds you and the scene… it’s nothing like he expected.

You’re sitting in a leather chesterfield with Myer’s dead body at your feet and your gun in your hand, resting lightly on the arm of the chair. Blood blossoms across the expensive cream sweater the other man is wearing, saturating the fabric as crimson spreads underneath him. It’s the expression on his features that gets Ryan, the look of absolute surprise that his life had ended this way.

“Katalina.” Ryan says softly trying to understand what happened and you look up at him without so much as a hair out of place.

“I found that.” You tell him as you gesture to the laptop on the coffee table. “And I just couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Ryan folds his sleeve over his hand, careful not to leave a fingerprint as he presses the space bar. A video starts to play and it’s the worst fucking thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“There’s one for each of them.” You tell him, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “One for each of the girls he raped and then dumped on the reservation.”

It’s then that it dawns on Ryan, what happened here tonight. Myers hadn’t attacked you at all. You’d executed him.

Three to the chest, just like they taught you at the academy.

“You need to make the call.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his with a clarity he finds harrowing. “Tell them what you found when you walked into this room.”

“I’m not letting you go to prison for putting down a fucking animal.” Ryan tells you and he can tell your surprised by the expression on your features. “He doesn’t get to take you down with him.”

Already his mind is working damage control, the same way it does with every single mess he’s ever had to clean up for the Duttons.

“You found the video and he attacked you.” Ryan informs you as he starts to stage the scene in his head. “When you shot him, you were in fear for your life.”

“Ryan.” You say gently as you stand up and step towards him. “Nobody’s going to believe that, there’s not a mark on me.”

“Well baby.” He sighs as grasps your arms and rolls up your sleeves. “We’re gonna have to change that.”

The next couple of minutes are a true testament of love and Ryan hates every fucking second of it. He grips your arms so tightly, he leaves finger marks embedded in the flesh. He tears your shirt, sending the buttons careening in different directions. He fucks up your hair, yanking it out of that neat braid so it’s mused up and loose. When it comes to the crunch, to actually inflicting violence on you, he just can’t force himself to do it so he steps back, surveying the mess he’s made of you.

It’s not enough, he realises, his heart sinking and that’s when you take the intuitive.

“There’s a rolling pin in the kitchen.” You tell him, your voice resolute. “I need you to get it for me.”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics.

When I Think About Seventeen

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Ball | Steddie Song Fics Prompt: New (Springsteen by Eric Church) | Word Count: 2795 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sexual Innuendo | POV: Eddie | Tags: Baseball, Big Dreams, Canon Divergent Interactions: Childhood, Post-S1, Post-S4, Time Skips, Eddie Munson Lives, Crossing Paths Over The Years, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers

Also right here on ao3.

I bumped into you by happenstance, You probably wouldn't even know who I am, But if I whispered your name, I bet, Still be a spark, And back when I was gasoline, And this old tattoo had brand new ink - Springsteen, Eric Church

1974

Eddie wiggles his four fingers, calling the pitch from behind the plate. A change-up. Harrington's the only pitcher on their team that even has different pitches. With everyone else, Eddie just needs to try and catch whatever wild throw comes free of their hand as they pretend they did it on purpose. 

Not Steve Harrington, though. Steve can place the ball, and it's no different today when the championship is on the line.

Steve nods, accepting the call Eddie's made.

The final pitch hits Eddie's mitt, a strike, the third out. 

It's over, the Hawkins Hawks are finally done for the summer.

And Eddie's done forever.

The rest of the team is jumping all over Steve Harrington on the mound, Tommy Hagan hanging off him, as they all wait for their little gold trophies, and Eddie waddles back to the dugout. He starts stripping off his catcher's gear. The leg guards, and the chest pad. It's all borrowed, not his own, and never quite fit perfectly, anyway.

He lays it in the corner, up next to the chain link fence near the bats. Coach will take it, get back where it needs to go.

Because he's done.

Eddie promised Wayne he'd make it through the season, and he did that. 

But now he's done.

He doesn't like these boys, or this sport, not anymore. And he's not going to force himself to play next year.

Or ever again, for that matter.

He exits the dugout, not sticking around for the trophy presentation or the group picture. 

Wayne doesn't try to make him, just puts an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards his truck. 

"Proud of you, kid. You did it," Wayne says.

Eddie did do it, and now he'll never have to do it again.

1984

Someone is playing Springsteen. Loudly. Eddie doesn't recognize the songs, but the voice, definitely. School's out for summer. Eddie should be done for good, but he failed his senior year and now he's moping about it. 

There shouldn't be anybody at the school right now. He's only here because he had a meeting at the picnic table earlier, and just stayed to draw some. But now Eddie stands near the edge of the woods, and watches Steve Harrington practicing all by himself. He's pitching into a net, and then having to collect all the baseballs himself before starting the whole process over again.

This goes on for several rounds, until Eddie finally can't take it. He's too nosey. 

"What are you doing?" Eddie hollers, and Steve jumps, clearly having no idea he wasn't all alone on the field. His head whips around, looking for the voice that startled him.

"Goddamn, you scared me, Munson," Steve says, when he lays eyes on him, finally.

Eddie chuckles, walking across the field towards him, "Isn't baseball over?"

Steve nods his head, "Yeah. I just…"

"What?" Eddie prods. There's no way Steve Harrington is worried about his starting position for next year. It's summer. He should be playing Babe Ruth, and enjoying his last summer league season before he ages out. Even with whatever weird vibes he's got with Tommy Hagan and the rest of the asshole jocks these days. Eddie has eyes. He knows something is up with all of them.

Eddie doesn't give a shit about sports, the jocks and their problems, but even he knows that Steve Harrington is captain of the swim team, a basketball starter, and has been the starting pitcher since before Eddie got dumped in town.

This is all non-negotiable.

"They're having exhibition baseball at the Olympics this summer."

Eddie laughs, "And you thought, what? As a high school pitcher from Hawkins High, you'd be a shoe-in?"

Steve laughs at that, "No. Not at all. I just, well, what if it isn't an exhibition in 1988? Or 1992?"

Eddie can't argue with that. It's a lofty dream, but shit, Eddie's got some pretty absurd dreams himself. But as far as Eddie knows, Steve isn't even being recruited for college baseball, or anything else for that matter, so the Olympics seem a little far-fetched.

"Well, good luck, I guess?" Eddie says, and turns to head back towards his office in the woods.

"Hey, wait. Would you want to catch a few pitches?"

Eddie thinks Steve must have lost his mind. 

"I don't know anything about baseball, Harrington."

Steve cocks his head to the side, looking more like a confused dog than anything else, "You didn't catch for me?"

Eddie nearly chokes. He'd catch for him, all right, and all the filthy jokes rattle through his brain, like a rapidly fluttering Rolodex, where he can't decide which one to choose. Which one would make Harrington stumble over his words and blush and–

"In Little League. When we were kids? That a different Eddie Munson?" 

Instead of any of those witty comebacks, what comes out is, "You remember that?"

Steve laughs, and offers up a grin, "Was I not supposed to? You were the scrappiest catcher I've ever played with. Nothing snuck between your legs."

Well, that's an image.

Eddie thinks he might be the one blushing. Sports weren't for him. But it's true, balls rarely hit the dirt with him behind the plate. He gave it up because he hated the team aspect. Hated the other boys, and never really felt like he belonged with any of them. Not after losing his mom. Not after moving to this shitty town where the only bright spot has been Uncle Wayne.

But he was good behind home plate.

His own island. Them, all facing one way, and him facing the other.

Seems apt, maybe even more so today.

"I'm sure I'm rusty," Eddie answers, because, you know, it might be fun to see if he's still got it. Just for a minute. What could it hurt, besides his ego and pride? He just failed high school. Those things have already been trampled into the dirt.

"Rusty's fine. You gotta be better than the net," Steve teases, and digs through his baseball bag until he finds a catcher's mitt, tossing it to Eddie.

Eddie squats down, getting into the stance he hasn't been in, in a long time. He pounds his fist into his glove and really hopes he doesn't take one square between the eyes.

Or in the shin. That fucking hurts.

Or, god forbid, his nuts.

He doesn't.

It's like riding a bike. Steve throws strike after strike, dead-on, and Eddie catches them. Steve's better now. Can throw faster. Harder. But Eddie still keeps up. It's muscle memory, even if those muscles haven't been used in a very long time.

"What is this?" Eddie hollers, as Springsteen shouts about baseball and glory days. It's all very on the nose. 

"Springsteen," Steve hollers back.

"No shit, Harrington. What album?"

"Oh," Steve says, "I stopped by Klein's today and bought it."

Steve reaches down and grabs the tape case and brings it over to Eddie. It's Springsteen's ass in blue jeans, a hat shoved in his back pocket. Eddie's pretty up to date on music, all music, and he's never seen this in his life.

"Is it new?"

"Yeah, out today," Steve says, taking it back.

They reset, Steve throws him another fastball, and Eddie throws the ball back again. It hurts a little, he'd just gotten a new tattoo over the weekend. Black bats, stark against his skin, on this throwing arm. He ignores it.

Then, Eddie calls pitches. Sometimes Steve will agree, and sometimes he'll argue silently. Holding up his glove, waving it to indicate what he wants to throw. Eddie lets him. This is his rodeo. Eddie's just along for the ride.

They play, and Eddie feels ten years old. It's actually kind of fun. He's not into sports, not anymore, but there's no pressure here. Just the two of them. Batterymen.

It all ends when it finally gets too dark to see. 

"I know it's a pipe dream," Steve says, soft and low as they pack up the equipment, "I just need out of this town."

Eddie glances over at him, "Me too, Harrington. Me, too."

They part ways, and Eddie doesn't really think about Steve Harrington again until two years later, when he's in a boathouse, running for his life, a broken bottle pressed to Steve's neck.

He lives, they all live, and then part ways.

Such is life, he supposes.

1996

Another bar, another gig on this never ending van tour they've been on for years. It's not good money, but they can make a living playing music, and not everyone can say that. They've been making it work for several years, and they'll keep at it until the wheels fall off.

They aren't famous, will never be famous. But that's okay. They get to do what they love.

Eddie looks up at the television mounted on the wall behind the bar, and it's the Olympics. Baseball.

He smiles, because it suddenly makes him think of Steve Harrington. Makes him think of him at seventeen, at nine, at nineteen. He wonders if he made it. Wonders if he's doing what he loves. Wonders if he'd even remember Eddie if they ran into each other. It's been ten years.

"Hey, it's baseball," Eddie says, and the guy behind the bar chuckles.

"It is."

"Is there, like, a lineup? Who's pitching for the US?"

The guy next to him turns, like he's been waiting for this his entire life. He starts listing off players, and where they're from, what colleges, giving far more information than Eddie wants, but Eddie quickly realizes they're all about twenty-one. College kids, headed for the draft, maybe. 

Steve's nearly as old as him.

There are definitely no thirty-year-old former high school pitchers on Team USA.

Eddie's a little disappointed, and he doesn't know why. It wasn't his dream. He's living his dream. He just thinks Steve should have gotten to live his, too. That's all.

He sits down on the open stool, then gets right back up again, heading to the payphone stuck in the back corner of the bar. He calls Henderson.

"You got a number for Harrington?" Eddie asks, not giving the kid a chance to get wound up about the fact that he hasn't heard from him in a while.

Henderson harasses him, of course he does, but he still coughs up the digits and Eddie drops more change into the slot, then dials.

Steve answers, and Eddie doesn't even greet him, just asks, "What are you watching?"

"Baseball. The Olympics. The United States is trouncing Japan." 

Steve doesn't ask who Eddie is, but Eddie knows he already knows.

"Well, that's funny. Me too. And I wondered if Steve Harrington was their pitcher."

Steve laughs, "Definitely not. I can't believe you even remembered that. That was dumb."

It wasn't dumb, and of course Eddie remembered. He's never forgotten anything about Steve Harrington, especially not after that spring break. He saved his fucking life, and then waved it off like it was nothing.

It wasn't nothing. It was everything.

"You still play?" Eddie asks.

"Baseball? Well, I'm on a co-ed slow pitch softball team with Robin. She's still so uncoordinated, it's ridiculous. Nothing's changed there. But it's fun."

Eddie laughs, "Oh, that hurts my knees to think about."

Steve Harrington giggles in his ear, and Eddie's glad he called. Glad he saw that baseball game and thought of him.

They lull into a bit of silence, and Eddie wonders if this is wrapping up. If it's gonna be over as soon as it started.

"Well, if you're ever in town, come play catch with me. We'll catch up."

Eddie laughs, but mocks his bad pun, "That was awful."

Steve doesn't care. Just laughs like he's absolutely delighted that Eddie called.

Eddie decides he wants to cover Glory Days during their set, and the band goes along with his whim without asking questions. He sings about his friend that was a baseball player in high school, and the band has to know what this is about. 

When he transitions into I'm on Fire, he knows he'll get shit, but he doesn't care. He's gonna sit in this nostalgia for a minute. He's got a bad desire.

A couple months later, fall is cooling everything down, and the band finally have a long enough break to justify venturing away from each other, and he finds Steve in another small town, not all that different from Hawkins. Except, the bad memories aren't tainting it. It's nice. The town, his house.

Eddie climbs the steps to the porch, and knocks. Steve's not expecting him. He might not even be home. But the door opens, and Eddie just holds up his mitt.

The smile that crosses Steve's face is blinding, and Eddie has butterflies. It's unexpected, but not really. Steve swings open the screen door, letting it snap closed behind him, as he yanks Eddie into a hug, like this is something they do.

Maybe it is.

Eddie hugs back. Steve Harrington is an old friend of his, somehow. Ten-year-old Eddie, who hated everything about that damn baseball team, wouldn't believe this turn of events.

Steve ushers him inside, and digs his glove and a ball out of his hall closet.

In his nice, fenced-in yard, Eddie's knees crack when he gets into his stance, and he laughs. He's a rough thirty-one. He knows that. Muscles gnawed away at by bats doesn't leave you exactly the same, Steve knows that, too, but Eddie thinks he's still capable. Maybe. But when that first pitch hits Eddie's hand through leather, Eddie feels at home in a way he didn't even know he could. Not anymore.

Eddie tries to call a pitch, and Steve keeps shaking his head. Fine.

Steve winds up, and the ball seems to float, doing unpredictable shit, before Eddie's able to snag it at the last second.

"Was that a fucking knuckleball?!" Eddie yells. Steve didn't have a knuckleball at nine, that's for damn sure. And he didn't have one at seventeen either, at least not that he showed Eddie during that one, weird afternoon.

"Maybe," Steve teases, coyly. 

"You're trying to trip me up with a passed ball, ruin my stats, is that it?" Eddie accuses, but he's grinning. "Not on my watch, asshole."

Steve just grins, "Well, don't worry. You still got it, old man. We were always a pretty good battery. You and me."

They were. Eddie smiles, and throws the ball back. 

Maybe they've both still got it. Together.

Eddie catches a few more, then stands up, "You got a boombox?"

Steve nods, and they lay down their mitts and go inside. Eddie squats in front of Steve's rack of CDs. Not tapes, not now. Times have changed.

"What are you looking for?" Steve asks.

"Mind your own business, Harrington," he quips and Steve shakes his head.

"Fine, I'll take this out. If you find something acceptable, you bring it on out."

They aren't in any order that Eddie can discern, but finally finds what he's looking for. He knew he'd have it. At least, he hoped he would.

Outside, Eddie shoves it into the top of the boombox. Then he advances through until he gets to track ten. Steve just looks amused, and then he laughs when The Boss's voice fills the air.

"Seems fitting. I, too, had a high school friend that played baseball."

Eddie squats, and his knees don't betray him this time, but Steve's just standing there, looking at him. Not throwing the ball.

Eddie pats his glove. Only short of offering him an engraved invitation to throw the ball.

Steve just looks at him.

"What?" Eddie asks. But he knows what. That look on his face. Eddie understands that look. A hungry heart.

Oh shit.

Eddie swallows.

Steve throws his glove to the ground, and stalks towards him. It should look intimidating, but it doesn't. Eddie knows what's about to happen, and falls back onto his ass in the grass.

Steve sinks to his knees, and then crawls forward, leaning in, and he's gonna kiss him. He's gonna do it. Eddie reaches up, sliding his hand into Steve's hair, inviting him to please do.

And then he's kissing Steve Harrington, lips, tongues as Steve presses him back into the grass, covering Eddie's body with his own. Eddie lets his thighs fall open, letting Steve slot in between his legs, and goddamn.

He didn't.

He hoped.

But he didn't actually expect this. 

Eddie can't believe it is happening. Him and Steve Harrington. Though, it seems kind of fitting that The Boss is currently growling out of the speakers that you can't start a fire without a spark.

And what a spark this is.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! ⚾

Notes: If you aren't an Olympic junkie, baseball has always came and went. And in 1984 it was back, after a twenty year hiatus. So, the first time in Steve's lifetime. At first I was like...maybe? Pros still couldn't play in 1996, but then I really looked at that 1996 roster. They really were all about 21 years old, born between 1974-1976. The oldest, the catcher, was born in 1973. So, Steve was just too old. I was like, could he coach?? And even that seemed far-fetched, so I went this way, which I think turned out far more realistic, anyway.

Lots of Springsteen references abound in this one, lol. Born in the U.S.A. came out June 4th, 1984. It had the song of the same name, Glory Days and Dancing in the Dark, on it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unwanted 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, insults, body insecurity, perversion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You’re used to being unwanted, but a strange man might just convince you that’s a good thing.

Note: this is a sequel to Unsolicited/Unexpected, but with a different reader. This is Lloyd’s sequel. Peaches is flourishing somewhere else.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wait just outside the door as you watch the driver get closer on the app. You see the silver Elantra drive through the gates and you let out a breath of relief as the tinted windows approach. You still can’t shake that man in his red car and his nasty words. 

You match the license plate in front of you to the one in the app and get in. You put your bag in your lap as you pull the door shut. “Hi, how are you?” Sometimes they answer, other times they don’t. 

The music lowers as the man in the front adjusts the mirror, “pretty good, baby cake.” 

You meet the mustached man’s blue eyes in the mirror. No. It’s him. Lloyd? You can barely think his name without your adrenaline going up. 

The locks thunk into place as he puts his foot on the gas. You grab onto the door handle too late. How did he do this? 

“Nathan keeps a nice car. Sirius FM and everything,” he chortles as he flips through the stations, “but all his favourites are butt rock.” 

“Let me out,” you yank on the handle helpless then pick at the unmoving lock. 

“Hey, can cans, that’s a safety hazard. Buckle up,” he steers back around to the entrance. “No need to make a big fucking deal. I’m driving you home. Like a gentleman.” 

“Why are you doing this? Please? What did I do?” 

He snickers as he turns onto the highway. “What you did was have an ass wider than a fridge, sugar pie. I mean, that dump truck--” He shifts in his chair, “if I keep talkin’, these pants are gonna get even tighter.” 

“Look, I don’t want to be rude but I’m not interested,” you hug your bag and he slams on the brakes. You hit the seat with a yelp. 

“Told you to buckle up, babe,” he tisks and eases onto the pedal once more. 

You push yourself back and reluctantly pull the belt across your body. You click it into place and shrink as much as you can into the seat. He leans an elbow on the console as his other hand rests casually on the wheel. 

“You don’t know what you’re interested in, thunder thighs. I can tell. Trust me. If the rest of your family is anything like the turd you call a brother, then you’re keeping the wrong company,” he expounds. “I’m offering you something you could never dream of...” he speeds down the highway, reclined against the seat without concern. “Me.” 

“You? I--” 

“Look at you. Living with mommy and daddy, working twelve hours a day with these hillbillies, and what do you have to show for it? Taking Ubers home alone so you can flick your bean in the dark and hope no one hears through the wall--” 

“Ew, please, stop.” 

“I can flick it so the whole city hears you,” he looks in the mirror and pokes out his tongue, “got the tickler ready special.”  

He winks and brushes his finger over his mustache. Your blood turns cold. You’re mortified. It’s not that you think sex is shameful, you just don’t have much experience and having this man say these things about you is too much. 

“You’re thinking about it,” he boasts as your silence. 

“I... I think you’re too old for me,” you suggest flatly. “I’m not... I mean, you’re probably... older than me, right?” 

“That don’t matter. This is about chemistry, sweetheart, and I feel my cum boiling, ready to burst.” 

He’s so gross. It shocks you once more into silence. You lean into the door. You just want to get out. 

“And I’m not that old. Just so you know. Dick works. No problems. It’s rock solid right now. You can hop in the front seat and check if you want.” He scoffs. 

“No, no thank you, sir,” you say as you turn your face to the window. “Please just take me home.” 

“Boring,” he sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t get it, baby. Your life is boring, but I can make it fun as fuck. I can turn that dough into pretzel dough. I’ll put those knees by your ears easy.” 

You drop your face into your hands as your cheeks burn. You want him to stop. It’s so nasty and disgusting. And confusing. Men don’t want you. They want the pretty ones, the smaller ones, or the interesting ones. You’re not those things. 

“Yep, oh, or how about...” he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it. He grits as he lets it out slow, “I’ll put you on your knees, get that ass up, face down...” he inhales again, “oh yeah, fuck. I see it now. Your cheeks bouncing, clapping for me,” he huffs heavy. “My hand on the back of your neck, and those little noises...” 

He groans and you hear something else. Over the low drone of music and the whir of the hybrid engine, you hear a noise that makes you sick. You part your fingers and peek out between them. You can see his arm against the seat as it pumps with his raspy moans. No way. EW! 

“Ah, please, dont—can you stop that?” You squeal. 

“Mm, louder for me, sweet cakes. I like it when you hit that note,” he growls. 

“Ugh, no, no, no,” you close your fingers and bury your face deeper into your hands. 

This can’t be real. This maniac has followed you to work, stolen an Uber, and now he’s... doing that. You panic and peel your hands away from your face. You search your pockets. 

“I’m... I’m calling the police,” you warble. “So, you better... better take me home,” you warn. You sound pathetic.  

“Relax,” he hisses and slows, coming to a full stop, “I’m almost--” he grunts and pushes his head back, furiously working his arm, “done!” 

He twitches and shudders in the seat and your phone slips out of your grasp. He chokes on thick snarls as he slows his strokes and his breaths let out little by little. He braces the wheel with his other hand and still completely. You sit in shocked silence. 

“Hope Nathan knows a good car wash,” he laughs as he swipes a kleenex from the box between the cupholders and mops up his lap. “Imagine the look on his face when he gets this thing back. I’m sure he’ll be fucking surprised.” 

You bend to pick up your phone. You shakily bring it over your bag and stare at it. You’re too humiliated to look anywhere else. He clears his throat and shifts into gear. 

“Fine, I’ll take you back to your parents’ place, little girl,” he sneers. “But that isn’t your home. You’ll see.”