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kentoxo · 2 months ago

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friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.7

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: im back!!! with part 7!!!! (i hope i tagged everyone who asked to be in the taglist). thank you all for your patience, and for your kind words from the last part! it brought up my mood entirely :) im sorry im so repetitive, but truly i am grateful. i hope this is well written (looked over it like 8 times)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Wednesday

It was around 2 A.M. when Haibara grudgingly entered the small speakeasy.

It was a small, cozy bar inside the facade of a greasy burger joint, which Haibara gladly ordered from. He peeled the wrapping of his hot smash burger like a banana while making his way towards the back of the restaurant. The bar was separated with a curtain, and it was immensely dim. The only goers were a few guys in the corner, and Nanami at the bar itself. Haibara squinted through exhausted eyes about 4 empty cups near Nanami’s folded hands.

Drunk, are we? He thought.

Haibara casually laps at his greasy fingers, crumpling the wrapping paper with his other hand as he strolled over to Nanami. With a now somewhat clean hand, Haibara pats on Nanami’s shoulder. “You look like a loser, and I’m tired. Why don’t we call it a night right now and do this some other time?”

“I can’t sleep,” Nanami begins quietly, wagging his finger in the air to beckon the bartender. “Please, two on the rocks.”

“Whiskey? Tequila?”

“Anejo, dark rum, please,” Nanami requests, bringing his hands up to his chin to rest on. He was pensive, but somewhat lost, as Haibara noticed the distance in his hazel orbs. It was unfamiliar, this version of Nanami.

Haibara grimaces, already unenthused by the selection of drink, “we work in a few hours, you know. Are you sure we want to drink this much? Because I’m not.” He passes the crumpled burger paper to the waitress that came over.

“I’ve seen you come into work after getting black out drunk, and run on an hour's sleep. Sit.” Nanami grabs the seat next to him and pulls it out for Haibara. His close friend stares at him skeptically, but takes a seat.

Haibara begins to take off his coat, the warmth of the bar melting him completely. Draping it over the back of his seat, he rubs his hands together, preparing himself for the night. “I’m never a responsible drunk, I can admit that. But you… this isn’t like you at all. What’s going on?”

Nanami emits a shaky sigh, trying his best to keep himself relaxed. But even slightly drunk, nothing to waive his nerves and the weight of his sporadic thoughts. “I feel like… I’m going crazy,” Nanami begins quietly, his eyes not daring to leave the bar. The two requested drinks make its presence known as they sat before the two men. “I just don’t understand why.”

“Let’s start with what happened,” Haibara begins. You called Haibara, once again in tears while you explained what happened just a few hours ago at the steakhouse. You fall asleep with that same woe, allowing Haibara to nap for a few hours until Nanami calls him up. “Did something happen between you and Y/N?”

Nanami raises his eyebrow, “how do you know?”

Haibara’s tongue was too slick, “Y/N came back down by herself, and returned to the office because you gave her ‘extra work.’”

“I could have, for all you knew,” Nanami huffs before taking his glass.

“You came back down and didn’t say a single word,” Haibara grabs his own glass. “Whenever you were spoken to, you’d shake your head and say ‘repeat that.’”

“All of a sudden you want to be meticulous,” Nanami murmurs before taking a sip of the dark brown booze. He looks up to meet Haibara’s eyes, which were stern and looking straight through Nanami. The blonde gives in, and carefully puts his cup down. “Y/N and I had a talk.”

“Clearly.” Haibara downs his drink immediately. Might as well get drunk while Nanami was paying. He waves at the bartender and silently asks for another round. “Give me the rundown.”

Nanami adjusts the collar of his crewneck, clearly becoming a bit shy, “No need for all of the details. Y/N, she um…- she confirmed the rumors regarding her feelings for me. They… aren’t just rumors.”

Haibara had to bite his lip to keep a smile from forming, “is that right?” Nanami’s eyes narrowed down at his glass, staring at the large ice cube slowly melting. The struggle to keep from smiling disappears when he realizes that this wasn’t Nanami. “I assume you rejected her? Like you always do.”

Nanami grimaces, looking away as if trying to shield his expression from Haibara. It was almost like… he was lamenting all his decisions that led him to this point. “...I did.”

“So, what’s wrong?” Haibara starts, his words emitted slowly as he wants to carefully tread this new side of his friend. “You aren’t interested in relationships, Kento. Was there something else that happened?”

“N-no, it's… exactly that, actually,” Nanami hums, his tone ornate with perplexity. “I rejected her… and it has made me unsettled since.”

“What makes you unsettled?” Haibara asks, curious over this new side of Nanami. “You can’t reciprocate her feelings, so you rejected her. She can’t blame you for being honest.”

“A-and, that’s the thing, right?” Nanami runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes a bit. He’s drunk, Haibara noted. “I was honest, and told her… not really politely, but I told her I did not feel the way she does. But now, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Alright, let’s make this easier for the both of us,” Haibara sharply interrupts. He slightly slams his glass down, gaining the eye contact of his dear friend. Guilty hazel eyes meet his own, but they don’t flicker away. “Just tell me what’s bothering you. Let it all out.”

Nanami stares at him for a moment, fixing his eyes on each of Haibara’s. He could feel the pit in his stomach, working with the feeling of his drunkenness. His body felt hot, but goosebumps danced along his skin as though he was freezing. He could feel his cheeks warm, not just from the ethanol, but from his unaddressed feelings. Feelings that he’s not even aware of. Feelings he didn't even know he had.

“I…” Nanami begins hesitantly. He downs another glass of liquor, a growl-like sigh leaving his dry lips. He was working up the courage to admit what was bothering him, but the conflict of why was keeping him silent. Haibara noticed this and quickly tapped his friend's shoulder. “Hm?”

“Bartender,” Haibara calls, “two cups of absinthe, please.”

Nanami lets out a chuckle, despite his feelings, “what do you know about absinthe?”

“A lot, actually,” Haibara amuses him, “you’re not gonna get me fucked up without having at least one sweet thing.”

“Absinthe is gonna fuck us completely,” Nanami replies, genuine laughter leaving him. A rare curse coming from Nanami. The two cups arrive, which both gentlemen take one. “You know it’s not that sweet… and it’s diluted.”

“Just drink,” Haibara hisses, the two lifting their cups and downing the alcohol. They immediately cough, leaning against one another to suffer the coughing and the laughter that follows. “Shit, I always forget how strong it is.”

Nanami covers his lips with a closed fist, laughter running around it, “it’s watered down for a reason.”

After the sea of laughter calms, Haibara nudges Nanami. He could tell they were both tipsy, Nanami more so as he was here for an unknown amount of time before his arrival. “Please, tell me everything that’s bothering you. Better to get it out of your chest than keeping it in and suffering that.”

Nanami gulps, but finds comfort in his friend's words. Haibara was right. He called him out here to do exactly that. And Nanami would feel worse if he dragged Haibara outside just to not confide in him. Carefully putting down his cup, he straightens his back and clears his throat. The liquid courage must not go to waste.

“I mean… what am I bothered by?” Nanami whispers. The tip of his index rubbed along the rim of his glass. “We’ve grown up together, Yu. You’ve never seen me with a woman, nor was I ever really interested.”

“But?” Haibara’s curiosity saunters with the alcohol in his system.

“I guess what really bothers me,” Nanami hums quietly, “is that of all the women I’ve met. From our school days, from outings, from work– it’s her. Why… is it her?”

“Is it bad that it’s her?”

“It’s not bad– not at all,” Nanami quickly says, “but how come I’ve become so taken by her? Without even realizing it? Am I that out of touch with my feelings?”

Haibara chuckles at Nanami’s small panic, “it’s not that you’re out of touch with your feelings, Kento. You’ve never had these exact feelings to begin with, so this is foreign for you.”

“But… as people, we aren’t that acquainted,” Nanami’s eyes lowered to his hands. “I don’t know anything about what she likes, her family, her hobbies. How can I like someone I know nothing about?”

“Let me put it in a different perspective then,” Haibara suggests. “What are things that you like whenever you two work together?”

Nanami looks up at Haibara and pauses for a moment. Then, his lips part, “I like that she always does things exactly as I request, even before I ask.”

“She’s quite the assistant,” Haibara agrees.

Nanami nods, “she is detailed in her work, extremely meticulous and doesn’t let any detail get past her.” He doesn’t pause at all this time, and keeps going. “She always knows what I like to have. I come into work knowing she has my cup of coffee, and wait for her to tell me what I want for lunch because I need not tell her.”

Haibara fights off a smile. It was extremely relieving to see his friend finally like someone. It was almost destiny that life had kept his heart dormant until now. Until you.

“I like that she’s honest without being rude,” Nanami says slowly, the ends of his lips forming a soft smile. "She has a sweet tooth, but she wanted to try my coffee after I confided its context to her.”

“She has a good head on her shoulders,” Haibara concurs, encouraging him to keep talking about you.

"I like the way she pushes back her hair whenever she has to deal with a more tedious task. And the way she smiles whenever she finishes all of her work for the day."

Haibara was cheering for you in his mind.

"I like..." Nanami begins hesitantly. "...that she's my assistant, and nobody else's." Haibara felt his own feels warm from his admittance.

Nanami finally feels his body go completely hot, his chest taking on the most warmth. He could feel his smile tickle his own cheeks, insistently forcing him to cup his mouth. It was overwhelming– realizing that he was wrong this whole time. He lied to you when he rejected you, albeit his newly discovered feelings. His free hand cups his chest, feeling his heart pumping at a speed alien to him.

“Yu,” Nanami begins quietly. He looks over at him, face suddenly pale, “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Haibara finally breaks, and starts laughing. He quickly wraps his arm around the blonde man. Haibara leans his forehead against Nanami’s, soothing his nerves from the simple gesture. “You’re not having a heart attack, Kento. You’re drunk and feeling things we both didn’t think you had.”

Nanami nudges him off, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t like I’d never like somebody,” Nanami huffs, bringing his cup to his lips to sip at the watered-down remaining alcohol.

“I can’t even count in 20 hands how many women you’ve rejected in the many years that I’ve known you,” Haibara scoffs. “You are sculpted like a Greek god, and yet somehow you’ve managed to waste it until now.”

Nanami shoves Haibara a bit, but chuckles escape his lips. Haibara joins him. It felt like to have such a heart-to-heart, especially with someone like Haibara. Nanami raises his hand to the bartender, pretending to sign a check in the air. “I’m so sorry for keeping us so late for my foolishness. But, thank you very much for being my friend, Yu. I know it hasn’t been easy, but I really appreciate it.”

Haibara rolls his eyes, “you’re right; it has not been easy, and I deserve to be compensated.” He then laughs through already soft words. “But honestly, it’s no biggie. I’m glad that you actually feel comfortable enough to talk about this with me. You’re usually one to keep to yourself.”

Nanami’s drunk smile remains, “that’s fair. But please feel free to call out if you don’t feel well rested. I can absolutely vouch that you had a family emergency.”

Haibara held his chest, his eyes full of surprise, “the work-obsessed and policy-abiding Nanami is willing to lie for me? You really do love me.”

The bartender comes with the check, and Nanami reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Although under the influence, Nanami couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face. “Yeah, well. I asked you to come out, so this is the least I could do.”

Haibara watches as Nanami tosses his credit card onto the bill. “But I have no plans of leaving you on your own tomorrow. We gotta really seal the deal, and finally be finished with our clients.”

Nanami nods in agreement, watching as the bartender returns and collects the closed bill. “You just reminded me that I should send an email to both Marketing and Sales to warn them about our new clients.”

Haibara nods, “yeah, they’re a bit much, aren’t they? Especially with how they stared at Y/N at the restaurant. Weird pervs.”

Nanami, without meeting Haibara’s eyes, says simply, “it was why I didn’t let Y/N assist me during this time. A bird informed me about their crude manner with women.”

Haibara chuckles, but immediately stops and looks over at Haibara. All the dots were connecting like the stars in the Big Dipper. “No wonder you kept mentioning that Takada shacho assigned you his assistants. I thought you kept saying it to boost your rep!”

Nanami shows a cocky grin, “that’s a given. But, I didn’t want Y/N to be a victim of that. Especially now that I understand what I’m feeling– I don’t think I would have acted decent.”

Through slurred words, Haibara chuckles, “you’re so whipped, Kent.”

“Whipped?” Nanami looks over at his friend, innocently tilting his head in confusion like a pup. “What does that mean?”

Haibara gets off from his seat, his body warm and stomach satisfied. He lifts off his coat from the seat, and begins to pull on the sleeves. “Come, I’ll tell you outside.” Nanami signs the check, and retrieves his credit card.

Walking slowly behind Haibara, Nanami couldn’t help but feel something. It felt like the cross between relief and anticipation. Suddenly, he felt at ease about the future, almost as if his unrecognized worry was now washed away. He felt hopeful that he could remedy his mistake, and start something new… with you.

Of course, that won’t be easy, as you were currently sleeping with a hollow, broken heart.

Taglist: [Now Closed]

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

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schluttforschlatt · 3 months ago

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Bartender Reader x Patron Schlatt

You’ve had your fair share of working in shitty dive bars, having been in both big cities and small towns

The patrons were always predictable, their life stories printed in the creases around their eyes and mouth

The bigger cities attracted a younger crowd, while the smaller townships collected middle aged farm hands and dock workers

You were currently working two part time jobs: waiting tables at a family owned diner in the morning, and bartending at a sleepy tavern in the evenings

You had your regulars at both establishments, but the bar goers definitely tipped better than the diner guests

Of course there were sleezeballs trying to feel you up at the bar, but you were desperate to make rent and didn’t mind an extra $30 for a light tap on the ass; men are simple creatures after all and you were able to brush it off by the time you were clocking out

However, every Friday night you noticed a solitary young man, gruff expression and wild facial hair with uncharacteristically soft eyes, tucked away in a booth occasionally sharing banter with other bar crawlers

You’d heard stories of him tipping measly dollars to your coworkers, the other bar tenders always disappointed after he would close out his tab and walk out the door

But when it was you cashing him out, he’d slide you a crisp $50 with a subtle wink, and you’d blush whispering a “thank you” every time

This would go on for a few months, him slipping you $100s closer to holidays. The first time, you pleaded with him to keep the money and use it for his own needs and care, but he smiled down at you and shook his head, muttering “you’re too sweet for this place, doll. Tips all yours.”

You came to eventually know him as Jay, who would slink in and order a top shelf whiskey or bourbon, then seat himself in a booth in the far corner of the bar. He would only speak when it came time to pay his tab, unless it was you

He would ask you about your life, what you were studying and why you were passionate about it. He’d ask about your hobbies and interests, offering input if it was something he was familiar with. And of course, he loved it when you’d sit in the booth across from him, scrolling through pictures of your cats at home.

On one occasion, you’d had an actually deep conversation about working two jobs and studying, struggling to find a balance between the three while maintaining a social life and personal interests

You’d become acquaintances with him, and just as you opened up to him, he would open up to you, sharing pictures of his own cats (“I don’t trust someone who doesn’t like cats, there’s just something untrustworthy about it.” He’d say to you one night) and his travels across the states and abroad

One night in particular, he asked about a tattoo you had on your left forearm. You said it was from your favorite video game, which launched the two of you into a passionate conversation about console vs PC, then building your own PCs and rigs

He pulled out his phone and opened the Steam app, eagerly asking to add you as a friend with the possibility of playing together, which you happily obliged

He tipped you $250 that night, his bill originally only $45. That was the largest tip you’d received. There was no physical contact made, nor did he try to feel you up at any point, unlike other reoccurring patrons

The next time he sauntered in, he gave you a shy wave before ordering a whiskey neat, then retiring to the same dim booth. You’d taken notice of his messy hair, the usual Yankees cap missing this evening, and the stressed look on his face

On your break you made your routine appearance at the booth, scooting in with a warm smile. His eyes seemed distant this time, almost anxious. You opened the conversation joking about his missing hat, to which he let out a soft chuckle and cracked a half smile. He indulged about his current woes, how his job was weighing on him and he felt like he was hitting a wall

This was the first time you’d asked about what he did for a living, and suddenly the larger than average tips made sense.

He prattled on about running multiple successful YouTube channels on top of owning several smaller business ventures. He opened up about the podcasts he was apart of, and explained how Patreon patrons were the backbone of his multiple communities. It was endearing to see someone young, close in age to you, express the realities of burnout despite loving your craft

As your lunch conversation came to an end, you boldly asked for his number, if anything just to continue the discussion after your shift

However, he’d do you one better and invite you over to his place after your shift to talk shit about life and play old Nintendo games. He’d still given you his number, of course, but he’d also filled out his contact information with his street address, email, and had taken a silly selfie for the contact photo and poster

As you clocked out that night, he waited for you outside the entrance, scrolling through Reddit

You told him you couldn’t stay too late, as you worked your second (well, first, technically) job in the morning and needed at least a good nap before you’d have to get ready

He was more than happy to offer for you to stay the night at his place, and so you two made the walk to your apartment (you said you were fine to go by yourself, but he insisted on making sure you got to your destinations safe and sound). You opened up the door and invited him in, introducing him to your three cats and leaving them in the small living room while you packed an overnight bag. You could hear needy meows through the hall of your youngest cat, begging this new kind stranger for treats. Once she started, the other two kitties joined in, a chorus of

“I don’t know where your mama keeps them! But if I find them you’ll all get some!” You’d heard him whisper yell, smiling at the thought of this new found friend bonding with the most important things in your life

Once your bag was packed, you locked your bedroom door and waltzed into the cramped kitchen, pulling out a bag of cat treats and handing them to Jay

“I spoil them so give them each a small handful,” you smiled at him, handing the bag over. “But be careful of Mellie, she’ll bit a finger for a treat.” He chuckled and offered a smile back, eyes brighter now than they were at the start of the night

After getting the cats to settle down, you’d scuttle down the stairs of your apartment, and begin your trek to Jay’s

Coincidentally, he only lived a few blocks away, no more than a 15 minute walk. It was brisk outside, and you were hoping the pajama shorts you packed would keep you warm through the night

Once arriving at his condo, he unlocked the door and let you in. His own cats came skittering to the front door, immediately begging you, now the stranger to these cats, for treats of their own

“Guys, leave our guest alone, I know your feeders went off less than an hour ago,” he’d bent down to pet one of his cats, an orange one you recognized as Jambo, before throwing a mouse toy into the hallway, both cats running after it

“Did you want to change? The bathroom is down that hall to the left,” he informed, pointing you in the direction. “I’m gonna get the Wii set up in the living room, so take your time, Doll.” That was a pet name he’d use for you often, and you never thought anything of it, only that he was a nice guy who essentially paid for your groceries and gas in his tips

You smiled and nodded, taking off for the bathroom while he took off his jacket, draping it over the arm of the loveseat

It was a nice condo, you thought, colors fitting together charmingly. Blues and browns accented the walls, along with framed awards and trophies. It wasn’t braggadocious, you thought, but rather cute

You found the bathroom, which was also put together nicely, and began your nightly routine. Once you were changed out of your sticky uniform and with a washed face, you made your way to the living room, socked feet making gentle padding sounds to announce your presence. He turns and smiles at you, a gleam in his eye

“Here, lemme put your bag in my room,” he offers with an extended hand, and you gladly let him store it for later

You plop down on the couch, picking up a Wiimote and securing the wrist strap. You hear heavy steps from behind before a “You really use the wrist strap on these things? Pft-“ he joins you on the couch, you, player two, on the right side, and he, obviously player one, on the right

“Your place looks nice, and I don’t have the money to buy you a new TV if I go too hard in Wii Sports,” you quip back, earning a small laugh from the larger man

He continues to set up Mario Kart, turning back to see if you approve of his choice

“Ain’t worried ‘bout the TV, Doll,” you blush at the use of the pet name again. “Only worried about kicking your ass in Moo Moo Circut.”

It wouldn’t be long until both of you were shit talking each other, subconsciously scooting closer to each other, shrieks and laughs echoing through the room

Jambo and [Redacted] had found their places next to you and Jay, and something about this made you feel at ease, allowing you to loosen up a bit and sink into the comfort of his couch

A few hours had passed, and a handful of circuits had been played before you sheepishly asked for a blanket. He obliged, standing up to grab a giant plush blanket, draping it over your lap, then pulling the slack over his own after sitting back down. He’d throw a sheepish grin your direction after knocking your knees together

He’d subconsciously reach over and rub the spot under the blanket, causing you to gasp at the contact of his cold hand. He’d apologize and withdraw digits, refocusing on the TV screen, but you could see a faint blush begun to crawl up his ears

Another hour or so had passed before you were ready to head to bed, your need for sleep making its presence by intense yawns dragging themselves out in quick succession to one another, then contagiously spreading to Jay

Standing up from the couch and stretching, you’d follow behind the large man, with the cats following behind you, to a decently sized bedroom with a neatly made bed

“Beds all yours, I’ll take the futon,” he’d declare, causing you to blush, and insist he take the bed, and you the futon, but he’d stand firm on his decision. “‘S probably gonna be the only time you’ll sleep on a bed this nice, when you come over, y’know?” The smirk on his face told you everything you needed to know, so you’d nod and climb into the California King, feeling like the distance to himself on the futon was several zip codes away

The bed was indeed comfortable, but you tossed and turned because of how unbelievably cold the room was, the sheets feeling like blankets of ice and snow

Desperate to feel warmth you decided to slink over to the man on the futon, placing a freezing hand on the back of his neck. He jumped at the contact, a string of expletives leaving his mouth, before looking at you with concerned eyes. You bluntly said you were cold, and wanted him to either turn the AC off and give you a few more blankets, or join you. In the bed. The one bed. He gave a dopey grin

“All you had to do was ask, Toots.” And he came, pulling him onto the bed with him. And God, that was the best sleep you’ve ever had

~ lmk if anyone wants like an actual fic of this bc I fear I have motivation ~

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt fanfic #schlatt fluff #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt fic #schlatt fic #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt headcanons

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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naughtyneganjdm · 27 days ago

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Love's Second Chance: A Holiday Reunion - Chapter 9

Summary: Joel is having a hard time coming to terms with Y/N not wanting to be with him and Tommy tries to help him through his tough time. Negan sets up a surprise for Y/N's children and lets them get an idea of what his life normally is like.

Characters: Joel Miller, Tommy Miller, the reader (OC), Negan Smith, Elizabeth, Peter, Dale Horvath, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60501985/chapters/155702092

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, angst, depression, drunk Joel, Joel jerking off, smut, public play, unprotected p in v, etc.

Notes: This chapter probably takes a deeper dive at Joel's depression that he has in this story. If that's a trigger, I will warn people of that ahead of time.

Days had passed since Tommy had gotten that call from Y/N asking Tommy to watch over Joel after things went down with them. At the time? She had been very vague and when Joel came home that night, he tried to blow off like everything was okay, but Tommy knew better than that. No one knew Joel better than he did. So he could tell something was off with Joel. During the day, Joel would bury himself in work and during the night, he’d drown himself with the bottle.

Lately, Tommy had been spending a lot of time with Maria so he hadn’t really been around Joel much. When Elizabeth and Peter were home, he had nothing to worry about. But over the last few days, he knew that they would be with Y/N for something she had planned out. That’s when Tommy truly had to worry about Joel. Being alone meant that Joel would be alone to his thoughts and Tommy didn’t like the idea of that. Even though he had planned to spend time with Maria, he knew that he needed to check in on Joel. Especially with Joel being so closed off about everything.

Moving down the stairs, Tommy stood at the bottom of the steps when he saw Joel sitting sprawled out on the couch. There was a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in Joel’s hand. Both his hair and clothes were a mess. Whatever he was watching on the television was incredibly loud causing Tommy to cringe at the sound of it. Reaching the first floor, Tommy moved across the room and reached for the remote to turn down the volume getting a scoff from Joel.

“You look like shit,” Tommy commented, tossing the remote next to Joel on the couch who pulled himself up slightly from where he was seated on the middle cushion. Joel’s eyelids were heavy with an irritated expression covering his features. Pointing to the bottle that was in Joel’s hand, Tommy tried to get his brother’s attention. “Did you drink all of that in one sitting?”

Dropping his head down, Joel lifted the bottle of whiskey that was in his hand to look it over. Dramatically shrugging his shoulders, Joel dropped the bottle back down. Not giving Tommy an answer, Joel just went back to watching the television ignoring Tommy in the moment.

“We need to talk,” Tommy announced, moving around the coffee table to sit on it. Blocking Joel’s view of the television had him grumbling under his breath. Annoyed, Joel tried to look around Tommy, but Tommy leaned over to get in his line of sight again. “What’s going on Joel? What’s wrong?”

“Who said something was wrong?” Joel sneered, bringing the bottle up to his lips to take a swig of the alcohol. Hissing out when he dropped the bottle back at his side, Joel shook his head. Avoiding the answer was a common thing for Joel. Over the years he had gotten good at shutting himself down, but he didn’t usually drown himself in his woes with alcohol. “I’m just watching a movie.”

Leaning in, Tommy immediately groaned out and threw his head back after he got close to Joel, “Jesus, Joel! You stink. You smell like a fucking distillery and…you just overall smell bad.”

“It’s not that bad,” Joel grunted to himself, lowering his head down. Pulling his shirt forward, he took a whiff of himself and grunted. Dropping the material of his shirt back down, he dramatically shrugged his shoulders and grumbled. “It ain’t that great either, but what does it matter? I got no one to impress. I’m alone.”

“Give me that,” Tommy snatched the bottle of alcohol from Joel’s fingers. Standing up from the coffee table had Joel scowling out. Trying to reach for the bottle, Joel fell to his knees from the couch. Pushing his hand into the center of the coffee table Joel tried to balance his weight. That alone proved that Joel was severely inebriated. Stumbling over his feet, Joel tried to get the bottle from Tommy who easily avoided him at every turn. “It’s time to hide this shit…”

“Don’t do that!” Joel called out after Tommy who was swift to move into the kitchen in search of anything else that Joel could drink.

Grabbing every bottle, Tommy realized that his brother was having a very bad problem and he needed help. A loud crashing sound filled the air evoking Tommy to jump and pushed the bottles aside. Heading back into the living room, Tommy sighed loudly when he looked down to see that Joel was face down on the floor. The coffee table was flipped over with Joel’s leg still laid out over the top of it.

“That’s it…” Tommy was infuriated with his brother right now as he headed over in the direction of Joel. “This has to stop.”

“I’m fine,” Joel growled with Tommy turning him onto his back to make sure that he was okay. After confirming that he was fine, Tommy went over to the coffee table to pick it up and clean what had fallen off of it. Lifting his head, Joel noticed that the room was spinning causing him to groan out and drop his head back against the floor. Soon he felt Tommy returning, hooking his arms firmly underneath Joel’s armpits. With his strength, Tommy managed to drag Joel’s body toward the bottom of the stairs. Pulling him up into his arms, Tommy turned backwards toward the stairs so that way he could pull Joel up the steps. A thud filled the air with Joel’s boots hitting each step with every pull upward Tommy made. Hisses were escaping Joel’s throat with his ass colliding with the edge of each one of the steps. “Goddamn it Tommy! Let me go!”

“If you weren’t drunk, you’d easily be able to stop me,” Tommy reminded Joel, bringing attention to the fact that Joel was the stronger one between the two of them. But in this state? Joel could barely hold his head up. So he was in no condition to be making any kind of demands from Tommy. Each grunt from Joel’s throat grew louder until they got to the top of the stairs. Starting to swat at Tommy’s hands, Joel seemed pretty desperate to get Tommy to let go of him. Flopping much like a fish out of water would. “You’re drunk as a skunk big brother. You’re not gonna be able to stop me.”

“This is bullshit!” Joel slurred, his feet kicking against the floor of the hallway while Tommy dragged him toward the bathroom. As they reached the door, Tommy dropped Joel back onto the ground eliciting a loud groan from Joel. Anger flooded his veins, but at the same time Joel felt his stomach turning. Closing his eyes, Joel’s main focus at this point was not letting himself vomit everywhere. Right now? He was losing the battle. “Tommy? Tommy! Help!”

“With what?” Tommy was quick to look back over his shoulder after pushing open the bathroom door. Desperately trying to pull himself up to his knees, Joel was looking at the toilet. In that moment Tommy saw all of the color leaving Joel’s face and he swiftly reached down to try to assist his brother in getting to the toilet. The moment he was near it, Joel’s arms hooked around it. Thankfully they were able to get there in time for Joel to start throwing up immediately. “Fuck Joel!”

Standing up, Tommy brushed his fingers through his longer hair, slicking it back. The sounds that Joel was making proved to Tommy that Joel was miserable. It had been a very long time since he had seen his brother get this drunk. Noticing that Joel was having a hard time staying up on his knees, Tommy reached to brace his brother up. Doing his best to not get any throw up on him.

By the time Joel finished, he was hovering over the toilet heaving. Breathless, Joel’s body was shaking. Guilt was eating away at Tommy that he let his brother get this bad without realizing it. Brushing his fingers through Joel’s damp hair, Tommy got Joel to tip his head back so he could take a look at him.

“We need to get you into the shower,” Tommy announced, stumbling as he stood up. Moving for the shower, Tommy turned it on. Testing the water, he made sure it was warm before heading back for Joel. Reaching for the bottom of Joel’s t-shirt, Tommy tugged at the material, but Joel simply groaned and dropped his head to the side. Instead of focusing on that, Tommy reached for Joel’s boots pulling them off in a firm tug. Then he easily got Joel’s socks off. Trying to turn Joel, Tommy felt a large amount of restraint and he hissed. “Goddamn it Joel.”

Huffing out, Joel couldn’t put up much more of a fight with Tommy starting to undo his belt, “What in God’s name are you doing?”

Forcefully pulling off Joel’s jeans had Tommy pulling Joel toward him against the bathroom floor. Tossing Joel’s jeans aside, Tommy gave Joel a glare and then went back to work on getting the dark blue t-shirt that Joel was wearing off of him. Not being sensitive with it, Tommy yanked the shirt up causing Joel’s limp arms to go with the movement and Tommy tossed that to the ground too.

Leaving Joel in his boxer briefs, Tommy dragged Joel toward the shower and braced him against the corner of it. Directing the water at Joel had him hissing out in anger with the water flowing down over him. Kneeling down beside Joel, Tommy was doing his best to make sure that his brother didn’t pass out.

“The hell happened to you?” Tommy inquired reaching for the shampoo to pour a large amount in over Joel’s head. It had Joel’s dark eyes locking with his and if looks could kill, Joel’s glare would have killed him. “It’s been a long time since I found you like this.”

“I’m not a baby,” Joel huffed with Tommy caressing the shampoo into his hair to lather it up. In this position Joel felt like he was a child being reprimanded.

“You’re acting like one,” Tommy’s deep southern drawl echoed throughout the room. There was frustration in his eyes while he took care of his brother. Swatting at Tommy’s hand, Joel hissed when Tommy smacked back at him. “You don’t want to be treated like a child? Then stop acting like one!”

“I’m not!” Joel growled, dropping his head down while Tommy worked his fingers through his hair to help get the shampoo from it.

There was a whole lot of bickering and trying to push Tommy away. Until finally Tommy stood up. Instead of leaving, Tommy just reached for the bottle of body wash. Holding it over Joel, Tommy started to squeeze the bottle covering Joel’s body with it.

“Now either clean yourself up, or I will do it for you!” Tommy snatched the clean washcloth that was sitting on the counter of the bathroom sink. Tossing it at Joel, it landed at the center of Joel’s chest. Biting down on his bottom lip, Joel did his best to pull himself up enough so that he could scrub at his body to the best of his ability. When Tommy thought the soap was washed away from Joel’s body he turned off the shower and tossed Joel a towel.

“Dry yourself off,” Tommy demanded, leaning against the sink. Joel was still sitting in the shower looking rather pathetic. Right now Tommy’s heart was pounding inside of his chest. That whole thing was quite the workout and he was furious that it had to get to this. This wasn’t normal for Joel. Tommy couldn’t even recall the last time he found Joel this drunk and in this kind of condition. Joel looked like a wet dog just sitting there with the towel in his lap. Joel’s hair was in front of his face and there was a pathetic expression over his features. “Now Joel!”

Rolling his eyes, Joel lifted the towel to start wiping at his face and his chest before dropping the towel back down. By the way he did it? Joel just seemed to give up and Tommy didn’t know what he was going to do. It looked like Joel was about to explode, but instead he dropped his head down and started sobbing, “It’s over.”

“What’s over?” Tommy was confused, his eyebrows furrowing with Joel’s sudden outburst. Joel was not the kind of person to cry like this. Even if he was drunk, so Tommy just stepped forward and stared down at Joel. This was not a situation he knew how to fix.

“My relationship with Y/N,” Joel buried his head into his hands. Lowering down, Tommy knelt beside his brother, tipping his head to the side.

“That’s been over for four years Joel,” Tommy reminded his brother with a shake of his head. Tossing his right hand out, he tried to get Joel’s attention but he was lost inside of his misery and his tears. “You’re kinda late to react big brother.”

“No! You’re not listening to me!” Joel whined, dropping his hands down at his sides causing the towel to drop in his lap.

“Well you’re not making much sense now are you?” Tommy fought back with Joel who reminded Tommy of a child with the face that Joel was making.

“She doesn’t want me anymore,” Joel responded with a whimper, his cries broken. Tommy had never really seen Joel act like this before so he was still tense. Joel was not known for having meltdowns. “I did the most romantic thing I’ve ever done. I reckon you wouldn’t even believe me if I told you what I did.”

“Try me,” Tommy shrugged, waiting to hear his brother’s story. “You’d be surprised what I would believe these days.”

“The other day? I bought this dress for her. When we were married, we were walking through this shop and she was breath taken by this dress, y’know? But it was so expensive. We couldn’t afford it at the time. So I thought by buying it for her, she’d appreciate it. I laid the dress out on her bed with a flower and a note with directions. I sent a car to pick her up. I had it take her to the high school. I put up signs for her to follow. It took her to the planetarium where I explained to her the first time I fell in love with her was in that room. I explained how much I loved her,” Joel rambled having to cover his mouth for a moment when he thought he was going to throw up again. It took a minute for the feeling to go away before he started up again. “I sang to her. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve sang?”

“I imagine a long time, hmm?” Tommy replied back seeing Joel drop his head into his hands again. “What has you so sad Joel?”

“We slept together. It was romantic. It was perfect,” Joel rambled on, his head shaking while he spoke. “But then after? She told me that she thinks that I only want to be with her again cus’ Negan is there. That the only reason that I want her back is because she has someone else in her life. She doesn’t think I genuinely love her,” Joel explained with a broken breath, his whole-body aching while he sat what felt like in a puddle with his soaked boxer briefs.

“Do you wanna get back with her because Negan is in her life?” Tommy questioned, his eyes curious with Joel throwing his hands up again. Even though Joel was frustrated, Tommy was going to push the subject. “It’s a good question Joel. You didn’t make a move for four years. I could see why she would think that since you never made a move before.”

“But see! That’s not true!” Joel stressed to Tommy knowing that he didn’t always tell his little brother about their relationship. “We had sex all the time after we got divorced. So many times. Even when I was with Tess. So I’ve obviously still been clinging onto her. It’s not like I never truly made a move.”

“But did you ever do something like you did at the school? Something romantic? A gesture that would sweep her off her feet?” Tommy pressured Joel to answer the question, but by the way Joel looked at him, Tommy had his answer. “She loves you more than anything Joel. Except your kids. Y’know that. Anyone with eyes knows that. I’ve never seen a gal look at someone the way that she looks at you. I could only wish to have Maria love me that much in the future.”

“Then why doesn’t she want to be with me?” Joel bit down on his bottom lip, the droplets from the water falling from his hair trailing down his face. Sadness was eating away at Joel and Tommy could visibly see that his brother was shattered over all of this.

“Joel, I love you. You’re the man I look up to the most in this world, but you forget the things that you did to her. You left her Joel. You broke her heart,” Tommy claimed, recalling their past together. Outstretching his hand, Tommy pat Joel on the side of his face to get Joel to look up at him. “You were everything to her. There wasn’t a person that questioned how much she loved you. I saw it when I was a kid. I see it now. But when you left her? I don’t even know if you realize how much you truly broke her.”

Hearing this from his little brother didn’t help. Dropping his head, Joel swallowed down hard with Tommy explaining things to him, “You have to understand what a shock everything was to everyone. Your relationship was so good for so long. The two of you were like the town super couple. You fought all the obstacles and you won. You both gave up your lives to take care of me. And then she got pregnant with Elizabeth and her parents disowned her. The two of you had to face the world completely on your own and you succeeded. You made a life for yourselves. Most couples never accomplish that. No matter how much help they have.”

“Tommy…” Joel breathed out, the reminder of the past causing the ache at the center of his chest to grow.

“No, you don’t understand Joel. You and her? You were the couple that everyone wanted to be like. The two of you? God it was sickening during the first half of your marriage. The way the two of you looked at each other? I’ve never seen a love like that. It was why you two won that stupid snow king and queen every fucking year big brother. You were a team. But not only that? You two were so in love. And your family was perfect. You were like a couple that walked right out of a television show. Yeah, you were young but it was beautiful.”

The sobs of Joel started up again, his head burying into his hands to try to hide from Tommy that he was having a break down about his past, “You never fought. You never got angry at each other. And then all of a sudden after how many years of perfection, you just started getting so angry. And it was bound to happen at some point. The fighting. All couples fight. No one believed it when you separated. It was never Joel. It was never Y/N. It was Joel and Y/N. Together since their teen years.”

“I got confused,” Joel declared, shaking his head when he thought about his past. “I made a horrible mistake. I was depressed and I let that cloud my judgement. I didn’t seek help and…it made me make poor decisions.”

“Then why did you wait until now to do something about it Joel?” Tommy was asking the same question that Y/N did which frustrated Joel.

“I don’t know!” Joel growled, grimacing when he thought about that answer. “Tess and I broke up because I never showed her affection. I didn’t tell her I loved her even though I did care about her. I just…I always loved Y/N. Tess knew that. I knew that. No one I slept with was gonna get from me in a relationship that Y/N did.”

“Which honestly isn’t much at this point Joel. The old you? Sure. This one? It’s not the same man that I grew up with,” Tommy informed his brother with a frown. Even though Joel was an amazing human being, he failed at certain parts and Joel needed to hear it. “You are the best big brother. I owe everything to you. I do. And I’m gonna look up to you until the day I die. And you’re a great dad. If I have kids? I wanna be just like you. Pete & Ellie love you so much. You’ve been an amazing dad. But you? You’re lacking in the emotional department.”

“Thank you,” Joel didn’t appreciate that comment, but Tommy was just being honest with him.

“After our parents died, you just shut down. I’m surprised that you did so well with Y/N for so long,” Tommy declared wondering how they made it as long as they did in the first place. “I just never thought it would be you leaving her. I thought it would be the other way around when you started getting so fucking angry. That woman loved you endlessly. If I have someone love me that much in my life, I could only be so lucky.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Joel spoke quietly, trying to faintly dab at himself with the towel. “I want her back. But there is Negan…”

“Joel,” Tommy started, going to say something but then stopped. Biting down on his bottom lip Tommy considered what he should and should not say. “Do you love her? Like really really love her?”

“I do,” Joel answered quickly without missing a beat.

“Then maybe you need to let her go. I’ve seen her with Negan,” Tommy stated with a frown, knowing this was likely not the advice that Joel wanted. “He makes her happy Joel. Real smiles. He makes her laugh.”

Hearing that gutted Joel and he forced himself to look away from his brother with his jaw flexing, “Every time she is with you, I see her crying. I know she loves you. I do. I see it. But you broke her heart. You hurt her. Without meaning to Joel. Maybe if you want her happy, you have to let her go.”

“But what about me?” Joel blurt out having Tommy inhale sharply. “What am I supposed to do when the only one for me is her?”

“Joel,” Tommy began, his words stopping. Reaching for his brother’s hands, Tommy pulled Joel up to his feet. Leading Joel out of the shower, Tommy was careful with not getting Joel to slip. Once he had him on the rug, Tommy pat his brother on the shoulder. “I think you’ve had so many chances at this point that you’re just gonna have to find a way to make things work.”

Instead of responding to his brother, Joel wrapped the towel around his waist. Carefully working off his boxer briefs, Joel kicked out of the wet material. Bracing his hands on the counter beside the sink, Joel looked at himself in the steamed over mirror. He really did look terrible.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” Joel grumbled under his breath attempting to wipe at his face with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy dug into his pocket to reach for his cell phone. “I was supposed to go out with Maria, but I’d rather be with you right now. Keep you from drinking more.”

“No, no. Don’t,” Joel shook his head, struggling to keep himself up. Turning to face Tommy, he kept himself braced on the counter. “I don’t want you to be like me. You go out with that girl and you be happy. Because one of us needs to be.”

“It’s okay Joel,” Tommy went to continue to call Maria, but Joel reached for Tommy’s phone. Shaking his head again, Joel swallowed down hard and sighed. “We can watch the movie together. I can go out with her tomorrow.”

“Little brother, I’ll be fine,” Joel tapped Tommy on the side of the face while handing him back his cell phone. “I reckon I’ll go lay down. Close my eyes and try to rest.”

“You sure?” Tommy confirmed with Joel, his dark eyes worried about his older brother. “I don’t mind.”

“I insist,” Joel winked taking his time to balance his weight. Slowly moving to the bedroom, Joel did his best to make it to the bed. Dropping onto it, Joel noticed behind heavy eyelids that Tommy was watching him. Confliction filled his body before Tommy went to go get ready. Reaching for a pillow, Joel buried his head underneath it. Trying to focus on something other than the sadness he was feeling, Joel eventually heard footsteps in his room. “I’m fine Tommy.”

“Just call me if you need me,” Tommy begged of his brother having Joel push the pillow away from his head. “I will be here in an instant if you need me.”

“Will do,” Joel gave a sign with his hand that it would be okay. “Go enjoy your girl. I’ll survive.”

It looked like Tommy thought he was making a mistake in leaving. But when he did, Joel stretched his arms out. Hearing the front door open and close, Joel gave it a few minutes before pushing himself up into a seated position. Reaching his hand out to grab his laptop that was on the dresser, Joel opened it up and put in his password. Looking through his folders, he stopped on one that he looked in often. Swallowing down hard, he opened it up and scrolled through until he found the file that he wanted.

Setting his computer on the bed, Joel rest back on his elbow and sighed staring out at the video. Stretched out on their old bed, Y/N was naked while Joel set up the camera. In their past years, Joel was always very big on recording things and she allowed it. Although, she had always requested him to delete the videos after so the children would never find it but Joel had a hard time getting rid of their past together.

Biting down on his bottom lip, Joel grumbled under his breath when he watched a much younger, leaner version of himself entering the screen in just a pair of light jeans. Maybe it was wrong watching something like this, but Joel didn’t give a fuck at this point.

Keeping his eyes locked on the screen, Joel watched the video closely. His pulse leapt in his chest when he heard her moans start to flood from his laptop when the younger version of himself started going down on her. Even though the video wasn’t the best of quality, Joel could remember perfectly what this moment was like. The taste of her. The sounds that she made.

Unhooking his towel, Joel lowered his hand and started to palm in over his length. Closing his eyes, he pictured what it was like to be with her. That it was her hand touching him and not his own. The sounds of her crying out his name in the video had him hissing out. At this point he would have done anything to be with her like this again.

Opening his eyes, Joel watched as his younger self stood up from the bed and pushed his jeans down his legs. Even back then the way she looked at him took his breath away. Tommy was right. The way she looked at him was unlike anything he had ever felt before. In the video he crawled in over her and the sound she made sent chills throughout his body. There was something in the way that Y/N touched him in the video that made him bite down on his bottom lip.

“I love you, so much,” Joel could hear her words lingering when they started making love. Their breathing was loud with her telling him how much he meant to her.

“I love you,” Joel groaned, curling his fingers around the shaft of his erection after hearing him whisper the same thing back to Y/N in the video.

Maybe this would be the only sexual interactions he’d have with anyone from here on out. Maybe this was all he deserved and he would have to learn to accept it. Now that he was alone, there weren’t many options really at the end of the day. And that was his own fault.

----

“I don’t understand why we have to wear these, but mom doesn’t,” Peter complained with the pressure of Negan’s hands over his shoulders leading him in the direction that he needed to go. Today Negan told them that he was taking them somewhere special, but halfway through the drive both Elizabeth and Peter had to put blindfolds on. Elizabeth was being led by Y/N and Peter was being led by Negan. “Why can she know where we are going?”

“Because I asked her if she would be okay with it, so she knows where we are,” Negan’s deep raspy voice grumbled from behind Peter who huffed loudly. “Just a few more steps and you are going to be okay,” Negan instructed and it felt like they were walking for quite some time. “Watch your step. The ground is gonna feel weird.”

“When can we take these off?” Elizabeth stammered, letting out an uncomfortable breath. Keeping her hands out in front of her trying to prepare herself from not running into something.

“A few more steps,” Negan instructed finally stopping and patting Peter on the shoulders to alert him that they were ready to go. Wherever they were, it was cold out. So Peter easily figured out that they were outside, but what was weird is he thought they had walked into a building at first. “Okay. I think you can take them off now.”

“Finally,” Peter groaned, dramatically pulling the blindfold off letting out an astonished sound when he realized that they were standing at home plate of the baseball stadium that Negan’s team played at. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Peter,” Y/N laughed, helping Elizabeth get her blindfold off. By the expression over Elizabeth’s face Y/N could tell that Elizabeth was in awe of it. Both her children loved sports so when Negan asked her if he could bring the two of them here, she was eager to allow it. And by the looks on their faces? That was all she needed to know that she made the right decision.

“Mom, this is so fucking cool,” Peter retorted with a snort throwing his hand up in the air to stare out at the slightly snow-covered ground of the field. His big, brown eyes were full of amazement and he bounced somewhat in place. “We’re on the actual field. Most people that end up here go to jail for being where we are. Unless it’s the team, obviously! But we’re nobody and we are standing on the field.”

“Hey,” Negan hushed getting Peter to look back at him. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a nobody. None of you are. All three of you are someone.”

With a smirk, Y/N reached out to squeeze faintly at Negan’s shoulder appreciating hearing him say that to her son. Giving her a wink, Negan leaned in to press his forehead to hers before leaning back.

“What do you think?” Negan stepped forward, loosely wrapping his arms around both Peter and Elizabeth’s shoulders. Both of the children stepped in closer to him as they gazed upon the stadium from where they were standing on the field. “Obviously, this will be cooler in the summer and spring when I can bring you out here and maybe you will get to enjoy it without the snow.”

“This is really cool,” Elizabeth noted, gazing over at Negan who gave her a wink. Giving them both a firm squeeze, Negan released them and then stepped back to reach for Y/N’s hand to hook his fingers with hers. “How did you do this?”

“Well, I kind of work here,” Negan snickered drawing Elizabeth to roll her eyes and turn away from him. Snorting out, Negan shrugged his shoulders and swallowed down hard. “I thought you two might want to see this since you both love baseball so much. I called in a favor with my coach to let the two of you come here. I have an apartment in the city that the four of us will stay at tonight. So…yeah. I thought you might enjoy getting to experience this.”

“Can I run around?” Peter begged of Negan, looking over his shoulder. Smirking, Negan gave a single nod and watched Peter immediately take off running through the small amount of snow to run around the field.

“You can check out anything you want too,” Negan offered to Elizabeth who stood there for a moment trying to act like the older more mature person over her little brother. That didn’t last long though because soon she was running toward the middle of the field to look out at all the seats that were surrounding them.

“You have provided these two with so much bragging material over these last few weeks,” Y/N declared letting go of Negan’s hand so she could wrap her arm around his waist. Almost instinctively Negan wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer to him. “Do they really let you come here whenever you want?”

“Not really,” Negan stammered, smirking with the way that Peter and Elizabeth seemed to be getting a kick out of being here. Peter did a roll on the ground that had Negan snorting out at his antics. “The coach just owes me some favors. I also told him that I was looking to impress my girlfriend’s children.”

“And that worked?” she was surprised to hear that, tipping her head to the side so they could lock eyes with one another.

“Yeah. The team has been trying to get me to date since I lost Lucille. They thought I would play better if I had someone I was with,” Negan claimed, recalling what things were like over the last few years. “Hearing that I had a girlfriend, he immediately jumped on it.”

“So you’re telling the people you work with that I’m your girlfriend, huh?” she inquired, her eyebrows bouncing up in curiosity. Pressing her hand in over the center of his abdomen, she turned in closer to him and couldn’t help but smile. This was all starting to get very official between them.

“Well, you are,” Negan countered leaning down enough to nuzzle his nose in against hers. Depositing a faint kiss over her lips, Negan hummed and lifted his head back up to watch the children. Pointing to the camera that was hanging near Y/N’s chest from the strap, Negan tried to bring her attention to it. “You should be taking photos of them. They are gonna want that bragging material and since their mom takes good photos? Go for it.”

“Yes sir,” she tipped up on her toes to kiss Negan once more. Stepping away from Negan, she started using her camera that she brought to take photos of Peter and Elizabeth while they played. Noticing Negan’s silence, she looked back at him to see that he was eyeing over the stadium. Instead of having that excitement that Elizabeth and Peter had, there was a sadness lingering in his eyes. Snapping a few photos of him without him realizing, she knew that it had to be him thinking about this upcoming season being his last.

“They look like they are having fun,” an older voice called out to them causing them to look back to see the coach of the team approaching them. Moving in beside Negan, the man pat Negan on the shoulder and sighed loudly. Seeing Elizabeth and Peter running around seemed to impress the coach and he couldn’t help but smile. “I take it this means it was a success in impressing the girlfriend’s children?”

“You tell me,” Negan held his hand out to where Elizabeth and Peter were now tossing snow at each other from where the pitcher’s mound was. Y/N lowered the camera and moved in when Negan waved her forward. “Dale, this is my longest friend and my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dale outstretched his hand to take Y/N’s in his politely to introduce himself. “You have to be a very special one to finally land this one. I never thought I’d see the day when he’d get with anyone after he lost Lucille.”

“It’s still new,” Negan informed Dale with a whisper causing his eyes to bounce up. “But we’ve known each other most of our lives. We just lost contact for a while. We were best friends growing up.”

“Ah, so we can probably share secrets,” Dale teased Negan elbowing him in the ribs eliciting an uncomfortable laugh from Negan. Bringing his attention back to Y/N, it looked like Dale was searching for something to talk about with her to keep the conversation going. “I take it your children are fans?”

“Big fans,” she explained with a bright smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you after watching you on the screen for so long. Or out in those seats. I’m sure once Peter and Elizabeth realize you’re out here they will be excited to meet you too.”

“I’m not much,” Dale assured her, waving his free hand about. A hearty laugh fell from his throat and it was charming. The coach actually seemed like he was a pretty nice guy and that impressed her. “So…is this guy treating all of you good?”

Negan’s arm hooked loosely around Dale’s shoulders, his thick eyebrows bouncing up after Dale’s question.

“Very good. Negan is an amazing man,” she stressed knowing that Negan was beyond good to her. Clinging to her camera, she sighed loudly and shrugged her shoulders. “Do you two want a photo together?”

“He’ll break the camera, but it’s not a horrible idea,” Negan joked letting out a hiss when Dale elbowed him firmly in the ribs. Both of them laughed, pushing slightly at each other in a moment of fun. The two of them posed for one of the photos before Dale playfully shoved Negan away again.

“You’re a photographer, huh?” Dale was curious when he moved in beside Y/N to look at the photo of the two of them that she took. By the way he was squinting, it looked like Dale was having a hard time focusing on them. Putting his glasses on, he let out a long exhale when the photos became clearer. “Are you any good?”

“She’s very good. And she’s a great writer too,” Negan answered for Y/N, wanting to bring attention to her talents. It had color flooding into Y/N’s face, her eyes lifting from the camera to look up at Negan. “She always wanted to be a journalist when we were growing up. You’d be surprised just how talented she really is.”

“May I?” Dale pointed toward her camera. With a nod, she allowed him to take her camera to look through the photos she had taken. Truthfully? Over the last few years she had gotten self-conscious about the things that she had done. So having this stranger looking at her photos made her feel nervous. Especially since he was Negan’s boss in a way and the coach of a professional baseball team. Taking a moment to look away from the photos, Dale’s eyes looked over his glasses and he locked eyes with Negan. “Why aren’t you hooking her up with a job Negan?”

“I guess that’s a good question,” Negan snickered stepping forward to move in beside Y/N. Curling his arm around her waist, Negan gave her a firm squeeze. The way he smirked drew attention to his dimples and it sent a warmth throughout her body. “It’s one I will have to consider.”

“I have a job,” she alerted them, speaking up with Dale going back to looking at her photos. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to say that. It was a job, but it wasn’t much of a job. She knew that it wasn’t one that would impress others.

“As a photographer? Or a writer?” Dale wondered, giving her his attention in that moment. It had her lips parting and she was considering telling him the truth. But? What would be the point of that? It wouldn’t impress him and it probably would have him thinking less of her. Negan was this famous baseball player. And what was she? So instead of giving him an official answer, she just shook her head and looked away from him. “Then why not use your boyfriend to get what you want in life? He’s got the connections. It’s the least he can do for you.”

“Truthfully? I just appreciate having him in my life,” she claimed, locking eyes with Negan who gave her a smirk. Winking, Negan extended his hand out to hook his fingers with hers firmly. “Just getting to be around him is helping me enjoy my life. I don’t need him to hook me up with something else. I just want to be near him. Negan has brought me a sense of happiness that I haven’t felt in a very long time.”

“Oh, I like this one,” Dale noted, pointing at her before lowering his head back down to look at the photos. A laugh fell from Dale’s lips when he turned the camera to show one of the photos that Y/N had taken of Negan in his black boxer briefs and his opened black button down on the first night they slept together. “Can’t keep your clothes on, can you?”

“Forgot to delete those,” she announced with a warmth flooding to her cheeks when she reached for the camera to politely take it back from Dale who was snickering. Looking to Negan, she lowered the camera down at her side and felt bad that she left those photos on the camera. “Sorry.”

“Oh, he’s not embarrassed,” Dale assured her with a wrinkle of his nose. Pointing to Negan, Dale snapped his fingers together as if he was trying to remember something. “I’ve seen worse from Negan. I was there for that photoshoot of yours that they had you do Negan. Remember that?”

“Ah! Yes! Dale here was perving,” Negan stated with a laugh, stepping in closer to Y/N after she hooked her camera back around her neck to let it rest against her chest. “Giving the photographer ideas for poses. Neither him nor I are shy.”

“This is very true,” Dale rubbed his hands together nodding his head back toward the building. “Do you have a minute to talk about something Negan?”

“Sure. Just let me get the children to come inside with us. I want them to see the locker room,” Negan motioned Dale to wait, looking back over his shoulder. “Liz! Pete! Do you two wanna meet the coach and see the locker room?”

“Fuck yes,” Peter blurt out excitedly eliciting a groan from Y/N with how her son had no filtering system right now. Both of her children ran back to introduce themselves to Dale. Small conversations came from it where it took a while for them to get back into the building, but when they did both Elizabeth and Peter seemed happy to see everything behind the scenes. “This is so cool Negan.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Negan found amusement in how eager both Elizabeth and Peter were to look at everything they could. This was a place he had gotten so used to over the years that he barely noticed the things that they did. They were just part of his environment, but for them? Everything was so new and exciting. “Come on, I’ll show you the clubhouse.”

Waving them to follow him, Negan led them into the area and over toward his player stall where his things were hanging, “This is where I spend a lot of my time, obviously.”

Peter dropped down into the seat that was in front of Negan’s area and spun around letting out an excited breath, “This is so cool.”

“Did you show them the batting cages?” Dale spoke up drawing their attention again with Negan shaking his head. “We have them here for training. I think before you leave you should take them there so they can play around a bit.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Negan motioned Dale to a wait a minute with him turning to Y/N and the children. “You guys can look around. I need to talk to Dale about something real quick here.”

“Take your time,” Elizabeth was gazing over all of the players’ names that were over their individual cubby area, her eyes big while she read each one of them.

Snapping his fingers, Negan pointed at Peter and got him to raise his eyes from where he was looking, “Don’t steal anything, okay?”

“Hey! Why are you pointing at me?” Peter placed his hand in over the center of his chest like he was feigning being offended by what Negan was saying. With a wicked smirk, Negan’s eyes narrowed and Peter chuckled. “I swear, I won’t.”

“Good boy,” Negan winked, back stepping toward the office at the back of the room to go have a discussion with Dale.

Like her children, Y/N walked around the clubhouse, taking her time to admire what everything looked like. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see that Peter was gazing over something that was on one of the benches.

“Hey!” she called out noticing that Peter looked like he was about to swipe it. “What did he just say?”

“I was just kidding!” Peter scoffed with his cheeks blushing over. Lowering it back down to where it was previously, Peter back stepped away and held his hands up in the air now that his mother’s eyes were locked on him. “Seriously mom.”

“I’m not taking my eyes off of you,” she declared, turning to face her son. When she did that she could hear the sounds of Negan and Dale talking through the crack of the door that was left open.

“I kind of need an answer kid,” Dale pushed causing Y/N to look over her shoulder to see that Negan was slouched over in the seat that was in front of Dale’s desk. His head was buried in his hand and Negan looked tense. “The owner is pushing for some kind of response from you. Everyone here wants you to take the offer. I want you to take the offer.”

“I don’t know yet,” Negan grunted, his head raising slowly with him throwing his hand out in the air. “You know I would prefer to play. This is a big decision for someone like me who was just meant to play.”

“I think everyone knows that you would prefer to play. You’re a God out there. You were destined for this shit kid. But we both know that if you have one more serious injury to your knee that you could be walking with a cane for the rest of your life. You’re testing your limits even playing a final season,” Dale reminded Negan who slid down further in the chair. Nervousness overcame him with Negan bouncing his good leg. “You will still be making the same kind of money. You know this sport just as much as I do. If not more. It’s my last year. It’s yours. We should end it right.”

“I really wanted some time to think it over,” Negan exhaled loudly, his eyebrows furrowing with the lines in his forehead growing.

“They’re going to pick someone else Negan if you don’t given them an answer soon,” Dale assured Negan, placing his hands over the top of the desk when he leaned forward to get closer to Negan. “What’s holding you back?”

“A few…things,” Negan swallowed down hard lifting his fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Whatever they were talking about sounded serious and it made her wonder what it was. “Give me until New Years and I’ll have an answer for you.”

“I’ll try and get them to hold out until then,” Dale offered throwing his hands up in the air, confused as to why Negan seemed so uncomfortable. “I think you need to take this offer Negan. It’s the best for your future. It’s best for the team. This was the life you were destined for. The fans love you. The players love you. I think this is the best option for you.”

“Yeah,” Negan bit down on his bottom lip, humming to himself for a second. “Let’s say I answer yes, do you think they will do a few favors for me?”

“Like what?” Dale’s eyebrow arched in curiosity causing Negan to shrug. “If it’s within reason, I’m sure they would. They’ve already pulled so many strings for you as you know. When you wanted to take that time off to be with Lucille, a lot of people wouldn’t have gotten away with that.”

“And I’m thankful for everything they have done for me,” Negan placed his hand in over the center of his chest, patting where it was rested.

“Hey mom!” Peter was loud calling out to Y/N causing Negan to look toward the door. It had her stepping away with a nervous breath knowing that Negan had just caught her eavesdropping on the conversation. Great. She should have just minded her own business.

Shuffling over to Peter, she went to join him to see what he was calling her over for. A few minutes later Negan came back out drawing all of their attention as Dale followed him behind holding two baseballs in his hands that were in protective cases.

“Come here,” Dale urged the children forward noticing the way their eyes got big when they saw the baseballs were covered in signatures. “Now I usually save these for auctions to make some money for things, but since Negan here says the two of you are such big fans, I thought you might be interested in having these. Just don’t tell anyone how you got them. Or if you do tell them, say this guy got them for you.”

“Seriously?” Peter was thrilled, reaching out to grab the case to look over the ball that was inside. “You’re giving this to us?”

“Do you like it?” Dale was curious and it had Peter nodding immediately. “Then yes. It’s a gift.”

“Thank you so much,” Peter turned to Y/N to show his mother the ball causing her to laugh at how excited he got.

“Here you are,” Dale held the second one out to Elizabeth who gazed between Dale and Negan.

“This is so nice,” Elizabeth finally accepted the ball having her eyes gazing over it with adoration. “Why give us this? We didn’t do anything to deserve it. And I’m sure these cost a ton. Wouldn’t they be better off with someone else? Why us?”

That question got Peter to glare out at Elizabeth making it obvious that he wasn’t ready to give it back after he was gifted it.

“Why not you?” Negan stammered back, his eyes narrowing when she lifted her head to look at him. “At least we know it’s going to two people that are going to cherish it for the rest of their lives, right? They aren’t going to try to sell it to make a profit.”

“Totally!” Peter answered before Elizabeth could and he eagerly jumped forward to hug Dale. It had the older man gasping out, then letting out a big belly laugh at the excitement from Y/N’s younger son. “Thank you!”

“You remind me of my grandson,” Dale explained with another hearty laugh. Peter pulled back, looking up at Dale with a big cheesy smile. “I like you.”

“At least someone does,” Elizabeth piped in, teasing her brother eliciting an angered breath to fall from him when Peter stepped away from Dale. Reaching out with her free hand that wasn’t holding the ball, she playfully ruffled Peter’s dark hair.

“You two want to see the batting cages?” Dale inquired getting both Elizabeth and Peter to nod. “Follow me then…”

Instead of following Dale, Negan remained standing in the middle of the clubhouse and it made Elizabeth stop, “Are you coming?”

“I want to show your mom something real quick. We’ll be right there,” Negan winked, pushing his hands into his pockets. Dale led the children toward the door and it had Y/N’s head tipping in curiosity.

“You trust him with the children?” Y/N wondered looking back toward the door to see that they were gone.

“I trust that man with my life. He’s a good man,” Negan assured her, moving around Y/N to close the door so they had a moment alone. Having him do that made her nervous. Was this because he had seen that she was eavesdropping? “I need to ask you something.”

“If this is about what I heard, I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on purpose,” she stammered immediately having Negan’s eyebrows bounce up in amusement. Throwing her hands up, she tried to think of a good excuse, there just wasn’t one. “It’s just…I heard you two talking and I kept listening to it. I know it was wrong, but…”

“I don’t mind,” Negan hushed her, holding his hand up to stop her from continuing. Once again he appeared to be amused with her instead of upset over what happened. “This has nothing to do with that. I just want to ask you something kind of important.”

“Alright,” she felt awkward with Negan stepping in closer to her, towering over her.

“I know you said that you don’t mind all the baggage that comes with being my girlfriend,” Negan started, tipping his head from side to side. Dragging his hand up over her arm, Negan stopped at her shoulder to give it a firm squeeze. “But with this being my last season, I’m going to have a lot of paparazzi, reporters and fans around. All the time. I need to know that you are okay with that. People might start trying to get into your personal life. It will probably be short lived, but people are…intense. I need to know that you will be okay with that.”

“What exactly are you expecting?” she outstretched her hands to caress in over Negan’s arms hearing him breathing loudly. “Are you going to dump me if I have a certain answer?”

“God, no,” Negan shook his head, refusing the idea of that. “It’s just, I really want to be with you. I want us to try something here and give it a chance. But I know my life is hard. Lucille hated it. A lot. At first she thought it was cute, but people suck sometimes and they will get in our business. Even if we try to be private. It can be overwhelming.”

“I’m not with you because you’re a celebrity Negan,” she reminded him, it had Negan nodding his head about sucking in a sharp breath of air. “I’m with you because you make me smile. You make me happy. You bring a lot of happiness to my children. And it’s only been a few weeks. You could be a celebrity. You could be poor. I don’t care because all I want to do is be near you. I don’t care what comes with it. As long as I’m with you? That’s all that matters to me.”

“I love you,” Negan breathed in a low rumble of a voice causing her heart to hammer in her chest. Sweeping his index finger in underneath her chin, Negan tipped her head back and lowered down slowly. Clearly he liked her answer. “So much.”

Bringing their lips together in a passionate sweep, Negan hummed against her lips when she braced her hands against his chest to balance herself. Palming down over the center of Negan’s chest had him smiling when he broke the kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’m in awe of you,” she insisted, stroking her fingers over the side of his face. It impressed her the man that Negan was considering where he was in his life. There were a lot of things that could have made him a horrible person, but he wasn’t. At least not with her or her family. Taking a look around, she swallowed down and bit down on her bottom lip. “Are there cameras in here?”

“I…what?” Negan snickered, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in curiosity since that was a very random question to be asking him. Nodding her head about, she waited for and answer and he gazed back over his shoulder. “I mean, considering the teams gets naked in this room, not really…”

“Good,” she bit down on her bottom lip reaching her hand out to hook her fingers into the waistband of Negan’s black jeans getting him to stumble forward in closer to her. Tugging firmly on his belt had his lips parting with his eyebrows bouncing up in curiosity. “You deserve the world, you know that?”

“Hey,” Negan rumbled while she pulled apart the belt in his pants. Grunting, Negan realized she wasn’t gentle about the way that she was pulling apart the material of his pants. Fluttering his eyes to a close, Negan felt her dipping her hand beneath his pants to palm over his manhood through the material of his boxer briefs. Cupping her face in his large hands, Negan got her attention back on him and he shook his head. “I have the world right here in my hands.”

“Fuck,” she slurred out, her eyes locking with his. Hearing him say that took her breath away. With him saying that, she actually believed that. It had been a long time since she had felt that from anyone. Meeting Negan’s lips in a desperate kiss had him wrapping her up in his arms. There was something in the way that Negan looked at her and kissed her that made her feel like the only person that mattered in the world. “Everything about you is perfect.”

“Not everything,” Negan mused against her lips, his words vibrating against her flesh. Again her hands tugged at his pants getting them further open with her pushing down the front of his boxer briefs to get his semi-erect manhood in her palm to caress over it in slow, firm strokes.

“You have such a nice cock,” she commented eliciting a wicked smirk from Negan who lowered his head to watch her touching him. “I can’t believe I didn’t jump on it sooner.”

“To be fair, you tried. Many times,” Negan reminded her, sweeping his thumb over her bottom lip. Growling out with her lips sucking at the tip of his thumb, Negan’s long eyelashes fluttered to a close. “The world just didn’t want it to happen.”

“Completely unfair,” she gave Negan one final kiss before carefully lowering down to her knees. Stroking over his body, she enjoyed watching his reactions to her touching him. Negan was a very verbal and visual lover. If he liked something, he let you know. Sure, he could still be cocky at times, but he wasn’t afraid to show you what he liked. Pressing faint kisses against the tip of his manhood had him licking his lips with his fingers loosely curling around the back of her head. Each kiss grew in wetness having Negan breathing heavily before her stroking his free hand against the side of her face while she pampered his body.

“So good,” Negan grunted with her wet kisses that had the warmth of her tongue dragging out against the sensitive tip. Starting to take the tip between her lips, she swirled her tongue around his body having his muscles in his ass and thighs flexing drawing him forward toward her. Humming against his flesh, every bob of her head she allowed more of him into the damp heat of her mouth. Dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft with every pull back had him moaning out. Taking her time to vary between giving him a blowjob along with pressing hot, sloppy kisses against the head had him bucking his hips up toward her. Having her starting to take him back further in her throat had Negan biting down on his bottom lip firmly trying to hold back the sounds he wanted to make. “Enough.”

Urging her from his body with a wet popping sound had her staring up at him with her big eyes waiting for what it was that he wanted. With her lips shimmering and her breathing heavy, Negan leaned down to hook his arms around her to get her up to her feet.

“Everything okay?” she licked her lips, letting out a surprised sound with Negan turning her to face the wall. Bracing her hands against the wall, her eyes closed tightly with Negan swiftly pulling at the back of her pants to get the material down over her bottom. Hooking his left arm around her hips, Negan pulled her flush back against him having her whimper with the warmth of him pressing against her flesh. Faint kisses were being pressed at her neck with Negan using his free hand to reach between them to lead his body into hers. Gasping out, her eyes closed at the stretching sensation she felt and she hummed out. Tipping her head back giving Negan better access to her neck and her jawline with his moan vibrating against her flesh.

“Fuck,” Negan winced, his right hand reaching up to hook his fingers with hers. Starting with slow, steady thrusts, Negan nuzzled his nose in against the side of her neck sporadically pressing kisses against her skin.

Closing her eyes, she tried to stifle her moans with every forward thrust he made against her with his hips bucking up against her bottom. Squeezing her fingers tighter around his, she knew that they were stepping into dangerous territory considering where they were, but it was a moment where he truly had her swooning over him.

“You mean everything to me,” Negan grunted, nipping at her jawline drawing a cry from her parted lips. “I would do anything for you. I hope you know that.”

Reaching back with her left hand, she curled her hand around his body to urge his movements to go faster. Winces filled the clubhouse with her starting to meet his thrusts, bouncing her hips back against his leaving a smacking sound filling the air.

“Fuck,” Negan moaned, doing his best to stay quiet with her movements determined against his. A whine fell from her when he pulled his hips back leaving her with an empty feeling. A moment later, she was being turned so that he could press her back against the wall. Breathlessly, Negan stepped forward and curled his fingers around her wrists to press them back against the wall firmly. Hovering his lips over hers had her whimpering involuntarily wanting him to kiss her. “You are fucking beautiful.”

“So are you,” she tipped up, dragging her lips over his having him smile against her lips. “We need to make this quick because the last thing we need is the three of them coming back looking for us.”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan hummed, finally bringing their lips together giving her what she wanted. Working her pants further down her legs, Negan adjusted his position. Adjusting her wrists, he made sure to clasp them in one hand while his other hand reached down to grab a firm hold of his erection. Breaking the kiss to look down between them, Negan teased the swollen tip of his cock over her clitoris having her arch her hips forward toward him. “You’re something else. Y’know that?”

“And you’re teasing me,” she frowned letting out a gasp. Leading his length back between her thighs, it had her head tipping back when he sank into her. Having her thighs close together made it a tighter fit and it had Negan moaning out immediately. Pressing his forehead to hers, Negan started thrusting into her again and again working to get them both to a release. Whimpering out, she did her best to wiggle at her wrists wanting to touch Negan, but he was keeping her where she was. There was some force being squeeze at her hips helping to aide her hips forward and backward with him fucking her face to face. Lowering her head, she watched his lengthy cock thrusting into her time and time again with her muted cries falling from her throat. “Holy shit.”

“Too much?” Negan started slowing down his thrusts which caused her to immediately shake her head begging him to keep moving. Dropping his head back drew attention to the prominent vein at the side of Negan’s neck that was bulging with her gasps growing louder with every movement he made inside of her.

“Let me finish,” she begged knowing that while she enjoyed this position, there was a position that she wanted to try in here. Stepping back allowed his length to pull from her body with his cock bouncing. Allowing her hands to drop at her sides, she shakily led Negan over toward the seat in front of his locker area. Shoving him into the seat let her look him over and it was so attractive with the way he was staring at her. Turning her back to him, she carefully moved in over him balancing her hands on his hairy thighs. Helping her lower herself down over his swollen erection had her whimpering out with the sensation of him filling her again. “That’s good.”

“You’re so wet,” Negan slurred against her earlobe, his right arm hooking around her hips to help aid her movements while she bounced herself over Negan’s cock leaving a wet smacking sound to fill the clubhouse. Hearing her cries getting louder, Negan knew she was reaching that point where she was right on the verge of orgasming.

“Fuck,” she panted, dropping her head back against Negan’s shoulder having him kissing in over her jawline when she took all of him into her. Simply circling her hips in small motions had him moaning against her flesh and it sent chills throughout her body. Knowing that they had to quicken this, she went back to rolling her hips firmly over Negan which had him moaning out. Almost knowing that she was right on the verge, Negan reached around with his other hand to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough fingertips. “Negan…”

“That’s it,” Negan growled, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth with the sensation of her warmth contracting around his cock. Breathlessly she continued to move her hips over him, not allowing herself that moment of pure ecstasy with her eagerly trying to get him to reach his orgasm. Wincing, Negan felt his body tensing up, his member starting to throb and twitch inside of her. Her movements slowed down with the warmth of his release filling her. Her fingers were digging so hard into his thighs at this point that he was certain she’d leave a mark, but he was okay with it.

Shakily pulling her hips up had her whole body trembling and Negan helped her carefully raise to her feet. Turning her to him, he peppered her with loving kisses before reaching down to pull his pants back up over his hips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Negan picked her up in his arms surprising her with just how strong he appeared to be when he took her to sit on one of the sinks in the bathroom. Cleaning her up, she couldn’t help but be impressed with him and the way that he took care of her. Once he was done, he helped her pull her pants back up her legs and pampered her with a few more kisses. “Will you be okay for a minute? I probably need to clean up my area just in case we got some body fluids in places they aren’t meant to be.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a smirk, playfully reaching out to smack his ass. It had him stopping and looking back at her with an amused expression. “I can’t help it, you put it in front of me and I’m going to react.”

“I’ll remember that,” Negan chuckled, leaving her alone to herself. Squeezing her fingers around the sink, she took notice of how her legs were still tremoring. It was certainly a different experience having sex with Negan in a very public place like this. Sure, when she was younger she had sex with Joel many times in a locker room, but they were still young. It had been a very long time since she had ever done something like that. Great. There she was thinking about Joel again. That seemed to be happening all the time no matter how often she tried to get herself to stop doing that. Footsteps entered the room making her lift her eyes up to see Negan rubbing his hands together. “All clean. You wanna go check on the kids?”

“You might have to hold me up. My legs feel like Jello,” she declared having a wolfish smile expand over his lips. With a single nod, Negan moved in beside her to wrap his arm around her mid-section, helping to brace her against him.

Walking unhurriedly with Negan, they went to where Dale was allowing both the children to take turns with the batting cage so they could watch each other. After a few tries, they asked Negan to do it so they could see him do his work in person. By then she could brace her weight on her legs and she let him go. It was kind of amazing how strong Negan really was. Every hit that collided surrounded them with a booming sound with the baseball hitting the metal with a firm thud. If Negan didn’t have a bad knee, she was certain that he still had plenty of years still left in him to play the sport.

After Dale announced that he had to leave, they stopped at the batting cages. Finalizing things, Negan gave them a quick tour of the places they hadn’t seen yet. Negan promised that he would bring them back during the season and then they left.

Inside the car, she listened to the children excitedly talk about what just happened along with calling a few of their friends. This was a big deal for them and she knew that. So she allowed them to have that moment. Before they got to Negan’s apartment, Negan picked up some pizzas for them. When they pulled up to the building that she assumed Negan’s apartment was at it actually gave her a sense of anxiety. It was high end. Very high end. In the expensive part of the city and in a way she felt like she didn’t belong there. Having Negan taking them up on the elevator had the children excited to know that Negan had the whole top floor to himself.

“Holy shit,” Peter walked off the elevator, stopping in his tracks with Negan walking off into the apartment like it wasn’t a big deal. Surprise flooded her veins at the sight of Negan’s apartment. It had had a high ceiling, with large glass panels to serve as full length windows to stare out at the city. It was the twenty-sixth floor so they were high up enough as it was. Looking at both her children, they were just as shocked as she was. “This is fucking huge.”

“This time, I agree with him,” Elizabeth noted with Y/N stroking her fingers over the top of Peter’s head. Walking around the corner, Negan stopped in his tracks throwing his hands up motioning for them to follow him further into the apartment. “This is your home?”

“For part of the year. I have this, a small waterfront property and then a home that my late wife wanted really bad. It’s a lot of land in the middle of nowhere. That’s probably my biggest place and the home I spend the most time at,” Negan informed them waving them to start moving with him toward the kitchen area of the apartment. He had a dining room area and a few stools that were lined up along the side of an island which is where they all took a seat.

“And by small, what do you mean exactly?” Elizabeth was curious because small obviously meant something very different to her than it did Negan. “Like bigger or smaller than my mom’s home?”

“Smaller. It’s just one floor. I don’t need much when I’m by the water. Give me a seat, sit me down next to the ocean and I’m in my happy place,” Negan explained, handing out the pizza, but he noticed that everyone was eyeballing every part of his apartment.

There was a large sectional couch in the living room area with a gigantic television. In the distance they could see that there was a door open to an entertainment area that Peter was desperately trying to wiggle back and forth on his stool to get a look at.

“Before you break one of your bones by falling, go on. Go look,” Negan instructed Peter who eagerly shot up from the stool to run across Negan’s apartment to go take a look at everything that was inside. There were multiple arcade games, a ping pong table, a pool table and a video gaming area off in the far corner.

Elizabeth joined in beside Peter at the door finding herself amazed with Negan’s set up as well, “This is insane.”

“You should see the balcony,” Negan grumbled with a mouthful of pizza, pointing off in the direction where they could go out onto the balcony. Scrambling to go look had Negan chuckling and Y/N could tell that her children were no longer interested in pizza. “Well at least they are having fun.”

“Sure,” Y/N didn’t know what to say with Negan polishing off his first piece of pizza and reaching for another. “Negan, you are…fucking loaded.”

There was a silence between them with the chews of Negan slowing down. His hazel eyes seemed uncomfortable with his thick eyebrows bouncing up, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I just…” she felt stupid considering she knew that he was a famous baseball player that was the main draw of the team that he was currently on. Especially now that he announced his early retirement from his injury. “I just think about the house you rented back at home and you…”

“This isn’t me…” Negan threw his hand up in the air looking around at the place. “I mean yes, I really like the view from the balcony, the game room is totally me and the bedroom is mostly me. But I didn’t need something this big. They just persuaded me to get this apartment so I could do some kind of special for a magazine.”

“Elizabeth probably has that around somewhere,” she attempted to make a joke knowing that she was actually uncomfortable being here and it was hard to explain or even think, but she was. “You have three homes?”

“For now,” Negan answered her with a slow nod of his head. “Sometimes I need a change of scenery so it’s nice having the three of them, but I think when I’m done playing I will probably sell this apartment. It’s lonely here anyways. I don’t like how cold everything feels here. This is just the place that I would have interviews at. Photoshoots. Lucille decorated the other two homes to feel homey and they are much more comfortable.”

“I bet you brought a lot of women back here to get laid,” she commented having Negan swallowing hard and lowering his pizza to give her an awkward glance. “I’m sorry. I’m just saying you bringing anyone here would probably have someone immediately wanting to have sex with you.”

“Is everything okay?” Negan inquired, pushing his plate slightly forward having her let out a tremoring breath.

“Mom!” Elizabeth called out to her mother, waving her hand to have Y/N come out with them to see the view. “This is amazing. You have to come see this. It’s crazy.”

Getting up slowly from her seat, Y/N noticed the way that Negan seemed tense when she walked away to join the children out on the oversize balcony that overlooked the city. It was near sunset so the light was hitting the skyline a certain way that had light reflecting and it looked absolutely beautiful being there.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see that Negan came out onto the balcony with them and was leaning back against the glass paneling watching them with his arms folded out in front of his chest. Both children flooded Negan with questions about this apartment which Negan happily responded to. After all the questions, they went back to eat their food and then had Negan give them a tour around his apartment. Negan set the children up with the rooms that they were going to be staying in and toward the end of the night the children were in the game room while she was sitting out on the balcony with Negan. It was dark outside with the lights of the city drawing her attention.

“So…” Negan breathed out cuddling his nose in against the side of her neck having her laying in his arms in the lounge chair they were sitting on. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s going on? Or am I gonna have to guess?”

“It’s complicated,” she explained to him feeling guilty that she had immediately shut down when she entered Negan’s apartment. “I was poor most of my life Negan. Even now, I’m just keeping my head over water. And then I come here and I’ve never felt like I didn’t belong somewhere more.”

“That’s silly. You’re always welcome in my home,” Negan assured her letting out a disappointed breath when she turned to face him, her eyes full of worry. “I don’t care about money. Or this whole status idea that people put on things. You and I grew up in the same place.”

“Yeah, but I can see the headlines now. Negan Smith hooks up with a gold-digging gutter slut,” she caused Negan to choke with how she vented about things.

“If someone says that about you I will happily fucking knock them on their pathetic asses for saying something so fucking stupid,” Negan suggested reaching out to hook his fingers with hers, bringing her hands up to pepper kisses over the backs of them. “You’re not a gold digger. I know that.”

“I don’t belong in a place like this Negan. You should be with someone…” she began feeling very down on herself, but Negan curled his finger in underneath her chin to get her to look at him. “I’m a nobody, Negan.”

“You’re very much a somebody,” Negan huffed out, sliding in closer to her to sweep his fingers over the side of her face drawing her closer to him. “In fact, you’re one of the only people I give a fuck about in this world. So you’re one of the most important people in the world for me.”

“Negan,” she frowned knowing that he was really stressing how special she was and with him palming in over the side of her face it had her leaning into his touch. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the way his fingers sank around the back of her neck to sweep at her skin. “You’re one thing.”

“I’m the only thing that matters,” Negan cut her off before she could let her thoughts linger any further about things when it came to money. “This was the life that you wanted. Isn’t it? To live in the city, be a famous journalist and focus on your skills in photography? What makes you believe you don’t deserve this life?”

“The last thirty plus years?” she suggested with a frown hearing Negan snort and let out a long sigh. “I’m trash Negan.”

“If anyone else was saying that about you, I’d knock them on their ass,” Negan retorted with a scoff, hating to hear that she was talking about herself like that. “You’re not that. At all. You’re special. You’ve made a good life for yourself and your home is very nice. You just had a stone thrown in your river and it changed the direction you wanted life to go, but that doesn’t make you any less special. Y’know?”

Staying silent, Y/N wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Negan. Getting up from the chair, Negan held his hand out to her. Accepting it, Negan pulled her up to her feet and led her over to the edge of the balcony. Outstretching his hands, Negan held onto the railing while standing behind her allowing her to look out at the city.

“If anyone deserves a life like this, it’s you,” Negan informed her with a long exhale, depositing faint kisses over the side of her face with her leaning back into his warmth. “You’re hard working. You’re a good mom. You’re a good person. You’ve gone through a lot of shit. Stop thinking the worst about yourself and for once realize that you deserve good shit in your life. Allow yourself a fucking break. Because if you don’t give yourself one? No one else is gonna.”

----

Tags: @chainsawsangel @fancypeacepersona @violent-darkness @negansbestie @elegantfanficluv

@sanctuaryforthelost @dead-of-niight @dilfsandmartinis @jennydehavilland

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howlett-n-morgan · 3 months ago

Text

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell.

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp.

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang.

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth.

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound.

The men did eventually pass out, all except two.

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective.

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach.

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face.

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it.

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you.

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds.

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.”

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened.

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit.

“Poor Abigail.”

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?”

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more.

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur.

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?”

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over.

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months.

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included.

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name.

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why.

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack.

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself.

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still.

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off.

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone.

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant.

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning.

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you.

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show.

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second.

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?”

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face.

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against.

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again.

“M’not, just the truth.”

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel.

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you.

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place.

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving.

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent…

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?”

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely.

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own.

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy.

“Where does he live?”

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son.

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness.

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.”

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before.

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.”

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…”

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future.

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty.

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul.

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses.

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly.

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly.

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older.

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty.

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night.

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time.

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…”

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving.

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future.

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face.

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?”

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes.

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp.

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink.

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you.

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day.

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John.

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?”

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire.

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about.

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing.

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder.

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did.

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you #texas red

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llxferim · 29 days ago

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Choose Part 2

a/n: FINALLY a part 2 for yall anddd sorry I wasn't in the mood for smuttt. Also, Should I write a Natasha endgame version?

edit: Hello, Aziz really needs help reuniting with Family, if you can help by either donating or sharing this link, please do!

https://gofund.me/fc144e48

here's part 1 if you haven't read it!

Pairings: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: After that night, all you could think about was Wanda and Natasha. You took a few days off and holed up in your room to think but then, you got a call.

Warnings: Bad language, fem!reader, no y/n used, fluff, drunk reader, alcohol (tell me if i missed anything)

Word count: 2k

After last night, you stayed holed up in your room, the weight of everything pressing heavily on your chest. You had taken a few days off, hoping the time would help you sort through your tangled thoughts. Going on a date with both Wanda and Natasha was supposed to help you choose between them, Instead, it had only deepened the confusion, leaving you trapped,

You didn’t want to hurt either of them—But avoiding the situation wasn’t helping. Silence would only make things worse, and you knew it.

Lying on your bed, the soft hum of a TV show filled the background, though you weren’t paying attention. Your phone buzzed, the vibrations traveling through the mattress before finally reaching you. You picked it up, heart pounding, hoping—no, expecting—it to be Wanda or Natasha. But the screen read, Kate.

Disappointment flickered for a moment, but you answered anyway.

“We’re going out,” Kate declared, her voice brisk and unapologetic. “Get dressed. I can’t stand you moping around like this anymore.”

You blinked, startled by her abruptness. Before you could get a word in, she added, “You have an hour. Bye,” and hung up without waiting for a response.

For a moment, you just stared at your phone, the call already disconnected. Kate’s words rang in your ears, and you couldn’t ignore the sting of truth in them. Had this whole Wanda-Natasha situation really gotten to you that much?

You sighed, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside you. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe you did need to get out, even if just to clear your head.

***

You were in a bar, one of the more popular spots in town, but on a Wednesday night, it was surprisingly quiet. Most of the regulars seemed to be staying in, leaving you to wallow in your own chaos. You were on your fourth shot of whiskey, the fiery liquid blurring the edges of your thoughts. You were pretty sure the entire bar now knew about your messy situation, thanks to your drunken rambling.

Kate wasn’t much help—she’d long since ditched you to dance with some girl she’d just met. You were left at the counter, propping your head on your hand as you unloaded your woes on the bartender—who seemed so uninterested in anything you had to say, but you were too drunk to care.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you slurred, the whiskey loosening your tongue, “Natasha, she’s… she’s amazing. So strong, so beautiful—” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “But Wanda, god…” You trailed off, covering your face entirely with your palms and sighing deeply. “Ugh. Never mind.”

A familiar voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. "No, please, continue," Wanda’s voice was soft, but it had that unmistakable edge that made your pulse spike.

Your heart stuttered as you turned to face her, blinking in disbelief. Wanda. Sitting right next to you, a smirk playing on her lips.

"What—" hic "What are you doing here?" You stammered, your breath catching in your chest.

Her eyes softened, though there was still a playfulness in her gaze. "How much have you had to drink, darling?" she asked, her voice low and teasing as she casually slid your glass from your hand and set it aside, taking money out of her pocket.

“You don’t have to- i have money” You protest, not wanting her to waste hers, but of-course she refuses.

She raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment. "You good to stand up?"

You blinked, disoriented. "Yeah, sure. Where are we going?"

You tried to stand, but the room swayed beneath you. Just as your knees threatened to buckle, Wanda’s arms slid around your waist, steadying you, her touch firm and warm.

You look up at her as a red blush creeps onto your face. you clear your throat, “thank you”

“You’re really cute when you’re shy, did you know that?” She helps you to your feet, before using her arms around your waist to guide you outside.

“wait- Kate-“ You start to turn around right at the door but Wanda stops you, “i already Called Yelena, she’ll be here any minute, it’s okay” she reassures you.

“oh- okay” You mumble as you follow her lead, outside the door. The cold reaches you immediately, your first instinct being to lean into her warmth, resting your head on her shoulder.

You finally reach Wanda’s car, your head still spinning, but a but better than before.

She helped you into the passenger seat, her hands brushing yours as she fastened your seatbelt. For a moment, the world felt like it was slowing down—the soft scent of her perfume, the way she seemed to be in perfect control, her gaze flicking over you with something unreadable. The closeness of her body, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin...

As she straightened, your eyes locked for just a second, and in that moment, the rest of the world fell away. You couldn't help it. You leaned in, your lips almost brushing hers.

But then she pulled away, her breath warm against your cheek. You blinked, frustrated, and mumbled something incoherent.

"You’re not sober, love," Wanda’s voice was gentle.

She sits down next to you. “C’mon, drink up” she says, giving you a cold bottle of water, which you down in seconds. You lean back into the seat as she starts driving.

You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to will the drunken fog away, but your thoughts kept circling back to her—her touch, the look in her eyes, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room. you let your eyes rest for a second, savoring the feeling of being with her.

Next thing you knew, Wanda was helping you out of the car, “Do you feel better, Love?” She asks softly. “Yeah, thank you” You mumble out, embarrassed, The embarrassment of your earlier behavior clawed at you. “I’m sorry i ruined your night,” You apologized, opening the door, and called the Elevator. “What do you mean?” She asks with a confused tone, leaning against the elevator Frame.

“You probably went there to unwind or- have fun-” you start rumbling, the drunken feeling still slightly there. before you could continue you were interrupted with a chuckle coming from Wanda, “What- What’s so funny!” You ask with a pout, frustrated. “You don’t remember texting me?” She asks as your face warms up, “i- what?” you felt dumbfounded, did you text her something weird? Something embarrassi— “You texted me to come and get you because you missed me” She snaps you out of your thoughts with a soft giggle, before heading into the Elevator, dragging you with her, her hand still protectively around your waist, just in case.

“Fuck” You sigh, covering your face with your hands, leaning back on the elevator door. you feel her footsteps getting closer to you, her rough hands grabbing on to yours, pulling them away, revealing your flushed face.

“I’m sorry” You apologize, finally looking her in the eyes. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Darling.”

After a moment of silence, the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at your floor. Wanda's hand slid down to intertwine with yours, her touch both grounding and electrifying. "Come on," she murmured, leading you toward your apartment.

You followed her, the world around you fading into the background. All that mattered was the warmth of her hand in yours and the way her presence seemed to anchor you in ways you didn’t fully understand yet.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, swaying slightly. Wanda’s hands were immediately on your shoulders, steadying you again. "Alright, sit," she instructed, guiding you to the couch. Her tone left no room for argument, but there was a tenderness in her voice that made you comply without hesitation.

She comes back with a cup of water and aspirin “Take these” she said softly, crouching in front of you and placing the items on the coffee table. Her green eyes met yours. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“Of course i do” she says.

You hadn't even realized how much you craved this—her attention, her care, the way she made everything feel right. You could feel the tension in your chest loosening with each breath.

Wanda sat beside you, her eyes focused on you as you slowly took the water and aspirin she had handed you. The cool liquid slid down your throat, soothing the remnants of the whiskey’s burn. You felt her gaze on you, not judgmental, but understanding. She wasn't in a rush. She wasn't going anywhere.

You shifted on the couch, your hands feeling oddly restless, unsure whether you wanted to speak or just keep your thoughts to yourself. But the silence hung between you like an unspoken question, a question you knew you couldn't avoid forever.

“Wanda...” You started, your voice quieter than you intended. “I’ve been… I’ve been thinking a lot. About all of this.

Her eyes softened, and she shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating against yours. She didn’t interrupt you, didn’t push you to speak faster.

“I—” You stopped, unsure how to voice the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. You knew what you were about to say, what you needed to say, but the words didn’t come easily. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “You make me feel... alive, Wanda. In a way that I never expected. And I—I don’t know how to say it, but…”

You trailed off, letting the silence hang between you as you gathered your courage. The weight of the decision was pressing down on you, and at that moment, it felt like your heart was demanding you make a choice.

Her hand found yours again, her thumb gently brushing across your knuckles, grounding you. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, love,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “But I’m here, no matter what.”

The words felt like a lifeline, and it was like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. You didn’t need to explain everything, to find the perfect words. What mattered now was the quiet truth that had been sitting in your heart all along.

Wanda was the one you wanted. She was the one who made you feel safe, and seen, in ways that Natasha couldn’t. It wasn’t that Natasha wasn’t incredible—she was—but it was Wanda’s presence that soothed you, that made everything else feel right.

You squeezed her hand, your heart racing now, the decision clearer than it had been before. “I think... I think I’ve known for a while now,” you said softly, looking directly into her eyes. “I just needed to admit it.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, studying you with those knowing green eyes. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but she said nothing, waiting.

“I choose you, Wanda. I’ve been scared to admit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling a little. “But I choose you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just watched you with an intensity that felt like she could see every thought and feeling you were hiding. Then, her lips parted in a soft smile, the kind of smile that felt like home.

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, her voice full of warmth. And just like that, the tension that had been gnawing at you for days melted away. Wanda leaned in then, her forehead gently resting against yours, her breath warm and comforting. “You don’t need to be afraid with me,” she murmured.

You closed your eyes for a moment, basking in the simplicity of the moment—the clarity, the relief, the way it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before her hands were cupping your face, drawing you closer, her lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t thank me,” she whispered back. “Just... trust me, love.”

And in that moment, you realized you didn’t need to say anything else. You trusted her. You trusted her with everything.

And that was enough.

#fanfic #no y/n #fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #mcu x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel x reader #marvel #fluff

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cassiachales · 9 months ago

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Journal Entry Two [And Realising That Grayson Hawthorne Has A Slutty Waist]

note: i actually didn't expect people to like this and actually read it ajhhagfrkyuesyrk thanks for all your nice comments <33

Sunday– Simply put, I’m fucked. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xander’s amazing plan began by throwing a party in Hawthorne House, and honestly, after drinking a bit too much last night, you didn’t find enough courage in yourself to drink more.

Because Xander’s parties always, always had a game of Whiskey Woes, and whiskey made your head spin.

Xander: Honestly, you should be glad I’m not locking you two in a room together 😏

You read and re-read that message countless times, not believing that Xander was actually trying to set you up with Grayson.

Like seriously?

You, someone who has life, and him, who’s a living statue? Even a random person on the street would say that the two of you didn’t belong together, no etceteras at all.

You: I don’t think whatever you’re planning is any better

Xander: Trust in me

Trusting a Hawthorne is the biggest mistake one can make. It’s a bad idea.

Unfortunately, you’re filled to the brim with bad ideas.

That’s how you found yourself in the sunroom of Hawthorne House at eight p.m., unopened whiskey bottles on the floor and papers with pens. Every single Hawthorne was there, except for Nash.

Bartending, apparently.

Avery was there too, sitting on the sofa with Jameson at her feet. And then there was Maxine Liu, who you knew to be Avery’s best friend.

Grayson was on an armchair, his legs stretched out and his body leaning to the side, his index finger on his temple and his elbow settled on the armrest.

Xander cleared his throat, and you began to dread what he was planning.

“As everyone here knows, no party is complete–or begins–without Whiskey Woes. Usually, we write a secret on a piece of paper, a secret that completely breaks you, and throw it in the Bowl of Woe.” He points towards a flowery plastic bowl in the middle of the room, decorated with chipped paint which illustrated roses and lilies.

“And then, we sit in a circle and ask questions. Each of you get one bottle of whiskey, and each time you pass a question, you drink a whole glass. When your bottle is over, you read out your woe. But this time, we’re doing things differently.”

Oh, no.

Xander smirked, and Jameson’s back straightened. Grayson’s eyebrow raising was the only sign of interest he showed.

“This time, we’re doing this in pairs. Choose your partners wisely.”

And then Xander extended his hand to Maxine, and Maxine took it.

They settled on the floor together, pulling one bottle of whiskey each and two slips of paper and pens.

“Well then, Heiress?”

“As if I’m choosing someone else.”

Jameson took his place on the sofa, bringing with him the supplies to play the game.

That left you, and a certain Grayson Hawthorne.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Whiskey Woes in a group is pain, but in pairs? With Grayson Hawthorne? No. Just no. Someday, I’m going to kill Xander for this, because it’s not like Grayson had any other choice other than teaming up with me. Whiskey, a game, and Grayson Hawthorne? Recipe for disaster. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Do I have a choice on not playing?” Grayson asked, and honestly, points to him. You don’t want to play a game with whiskey involved with him.

Xander smirked again. “Do you want to quit, Gray?”

Grayson stiffened.

“Oh, and another rule. If you don’t want to drink the whiskey and not answer a question, you remove an article of clothing from your body.” Xander continues.

Now, you glared at him.

“Sounds like you’re trying to mix in Strip Bowling.” Jameson said.

Xander shrugged. “I made the game, I make the rules.” Then he says your name. “Planning on playing? Gray’s the only one left, by the way.”

“Can’t I just drink without playing?”

“No.”

You sigh, getting up from your seat on the floor and moving towards the armchair Grayson sits on.

He looks at you walk towards him, and you want to combust.

You extend a hand. “Partners?”

He sighs, sitting up straight in his chair before lifting one hand and clasping yours in a stiff shake. “Partners.”

“Great.” You sit on the floor again. “Now sit down.”

He looks at the floor distastefully. “Must I?”

“It’s either you sitting on the floor or me sitting in your lap. Take your pick.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── And you know what’s worse? I told him to either sit on the floor, or let me sit on his lap. I DIDN’T MEAN FOR IT TO COME OUT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR. IT SOUNDED LIKE I WAS GOING TO DO THAT SEXUALLY OR WHATEVER BUT SERIOUSLY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?” He doesn’t let you repeat what you said, though, sliding down from the chair and loosening his tie, sitting on the floor as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

He removes his jacket, throwing it on the armchair and rolling up his sleeves till the elbows.

You can’t stop looking.

“Done staring?” He asks, dryly.

You ignore him, writing your woe on the slip of paper instead.

I find Grayson Hawthorne hot. Yes. That’s it.

There. Something not too bad, but still suitable for Whiskey Woes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Trust me. I’m not going for sexual. It just happens. And no, I’m not writing down what I wrote. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson tries to get comfortable when he writes, one long leg bent with the knee upwards, and near his head. His hair falls over his face as he writes, the paper on the floor.

He looks devastatingly handsome.

He takes your folded slip of paper and walks towards the Bowl of Woe, depositing the slips in the bowl and bringing back two bottles of whiskey.

He pours his whiskey into a glass, to the brim, and uncaps your bottle to pour in your glass too. And then:

“You start.”

You scramble for a question, before you settle on one.

“Do you actually tango?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I am embarrassment in a body ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?”

You blink once, twice, thrice before you look away, “Forget it.”

“Pfffft.”

His lips are in a small smile, which he tries to cover with his fingers.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But tell me, Why. Is. His. Laugh. So. Hot. It wasn’t even a real laugh. Just a small pfffft and it was both cute and hot?? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Yes.” Grayson says, answering your question. “I’m assuming you get into tough situations a lot?”

You nod. “Now ask your question.”

His look is almost smug. “That was my question.”

“Did you know you’re almost cute when you don’t act like an entitled asshole?”

He drinks the whole glass of whiskey.

You blink. “That wasn’t a question but I’ll accept it.”

Grayson shrugs. “Everything’s a question.”

You don’t know how you ended up in your position around five minutes later. Around half of your bottle is empty, and his is almost over.

“Do you really have to ask such prying questions?” He asks, his eyes almost tired.

“Yes. My turn. Who’s the girl you kissed in Harvard?”

He frowns, taking a look at the bottle of whiskey.

Then he sighs.

You expect him to answer, but he doesn’t.

Instead, his long fingers move to his tie and removes it completely. He tosses it to the side. “One article of clothing.”

You hear Xander tut. “A tie doesn’t count, Gray.” And then the youngest Hawthorne downs a whole glass of whiskey.

Grayson’s fingers begin to undo the top button of his shirt, and he sighs again. “I absolutely loathe this game.”

It’s like watching a show. His long fingers unbutton each and every button before he removes his shirt and tosses it to the side.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But then, guess what happened. He fucking removed his shirt. I will not tell him this, EVER. But Grayson Hawthorne has a slutty waist. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry One ☆ Journal Entry Three

#grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne #au #fanfic #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne

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milkmanxreader · 9 months ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

You paused brushing your hair mid-stroke, head quirking to the side to look at the door. Faintly, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut could be heard. Dammit. You had really hoped your husband— Robert, a short round man with messy dirty blonde hair and dull brown eyes— would be working late, yet again. With a sigh of unease, you heaved yourself up from the stool in front of your vanity, gazing at your tired face in the clean mirror.

When had your appearance changed so much?

Of course, you were still stunning, your hair neat, and a nice colour. Despite all the years of a loveless marriage, your {E/C} eyes were still magnetic, and full of hope. Part of you really did hope your awful love-life with Robert could be fixed— even if deep down you knew it was far beyond repair. But it was a nice thought none the less.

"Where the hell is my food?" An irritated voice called from downstairs, snapping you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you made your way down the stairs with your hand gliding along the railing next to you.

For the most part, you loved your life, and home. Robert had a nice job, which meant you'd be able to live in this nice, large home, and not have to worry about getting a job you'd end up hating, though you didn't much like being a housewife either. You found it boring, and often fretted the common thing of husbands' cheating on their wives whilst out "working late."

Once you made it downstairs to the living room, you saw Robert pouring himself a glass of amber liquid, ice in the bottom of the glass. He brought the glass to his lips and quickly downed half of the whiskey. "Hello, honey," you offered lamely, brows upturned and a small smile plastered across your face— even if you didn't feel like smiling. He liked women who smiled, and Robert being happy meant less arguments in the long run.

He sharply turned his head to face you, glaring at you with contempt.

"..I'll get your supper dished out,"

Robert nodded, before turning his head back around and going back to his drinking. Fucking asshole. With meek steps you scurried to the kitchen. Once there, you opened the oven, a pan which was still — thankfully — warm sat inside of the interior, and it smelled wonderful too. Putting on oven mitts, you took out the pan and set it on the counter. Meatloaf.

Supper was silent, the only noise being the quiet sounds of eating, and forks scraping against the plates, a sound which made you cringe slightly. Robert acted like you weren't there. And maybe mentally you weren't.

Why on Earth did you want this life? To be a housewife? Growing up your mother was unmarried, nor was she dating anyone. She had always romanticized this life, her words laced with honey as she would pour out her dreams of finding some rich handsome man. Of course, she never did. But her raw adoration for such a simple, yet attractive lifestyle made you crave it just as much as she.

It was the worse mistake of your life. You loathed this, loathed Robert. His passion was long gone, with it your happiness, and sexual pleasure. Whilst "love"-making wasn't completely vanished, any of your pleasure being priority was. He was fast, rough, and awfully bad, too. Not a good combination.

Not to say at one time you didn't mind the roughness, or fast pace, but that was back when he loved you. Now, he treated foreplay like a chore, and all you'd receive was bad dirty talk, and mediocre fingering, and hardly much of the latter. It was just all that— a chore.

You didn't even have anyone to properly weep your woes to. Robert didn't like you shooting the breeze with other men, and all of your women friends were cherry-picked by him, the wives of his friends

They were all rude bitches. It was as if they saw just because they were a bit older that they were somehow better than you. Or maybe they felt that way because of your lack of children.

Not that you were infertile, no, you could have a child if you wanted it. But that was just it, wasn't it? You didn't want children. Occasionally you'd have to look after one of your "friends" ankle-bitters, and they seemed much more trouble than they were worth. If you wanted something to take care of; just get a cat, or dog.

Robert seemed a bit upset with your lack of child, too. It was often a sore subject which led to arguments, so you seldom brought it up. And he did the same, for which you were grateful.

You were a lonely housewife looking for some form of escapism. Cheating was never on your mind, but you craved excitement, and something far away from Robert.

Without wasting a single moment, the second Robert had finished eating he stood up and walked away, likely to the shared bedroom. With a grunt of irritation, you stood and collected up the freshly emptied plates, taking them to the sink to wash them.

Your hands slowly scrubbed the plates, wanting to prolong the time you stayed up into the night. Robert seldom cared if you laid with him at night, but the way he just.. ignored, turned away, or shoved you off stung, and often you'd have to blink away tears.

Half the time you couldn't even register your own feelings. Maybe isolated. Definitely lonely.

But, surely there was more out there for you, wasn't there? Maybe you could divorce Robert, move far, far away. You'd for sure be shunned if you got a divorce, nobody would want you— a woman who couldn't even be a right wife? Awful. But if you moved away, you could tell the new folks that you were.. a widow, or something.

That sounded nice.

Even if deep down,

you knew,

Robert would never allow you to divorce him. It'd hurt his ego far too much.

#francis mosses #francis x reader #thats not my neighbor francis #francis mosses tnmn #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #milk man #milk man x reader #fanfiction #x reader #prolouge

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notjoelmiller · 2 years ago

Text

see you on the other side

MDNI

joel miller x reader summary: You're drifting from Joel, but you promise him you won't leave Boston. Even as things get worse. wordcount: 3k warnings: smut (p-in-v, m-receiving oral), angst, death (non-major characters), violence, injury, mention of alcohol and painkiller consumption a/n: no spoilers as long as you've seen ep1. hope you enjoy <3

Joel never liked Boston. He visited as a boy then again with Sarah. Both times he came to the same conclusion: Texas was home.

Now Boston’s home. Not by choice, certainly. Tommy wanted security and community. He had a pipe dream about a sense of normalcy like before and somehow convinced Joel that a quarantine zone would be worth the trouble.

It was, like Joel predicted, not worth it.

Add on top of it the chilly winters and gray skies, Joel wanted to up and leave.

You moved in a year after them, in the next door unit in the designated “childless” apartment building– more like a barracks.

Tommy tried flirting with you the moment he laid eyes on you. Joel was there– standing behind him and rolling his eyes so hard that he nearly missed the way your eyes flickered to his figure in curiosity. Dejected by your rejection, Tommy slips into Joel’s place too soon to notice the bashful smiles you two exchange.

Within a month, a picture of you and him sits on Joel’s fridge.

****

Tommy joins the Fireflies a year after you move in with Joel. Joel can’t understand why. He spends the better part of that winter tormented by migraines as he tries to understand where he went wrong. He hasn’t spoken to his brother in the better part of the season.

He worries for Tommy. He convinces himself that his brother has gone off on a suicide mission. He chest tightens with each step into the town square, convinced his brother’s body will be hanging. Dread of the possibility that he’s spoken his last words to Tommy looms over Joel’s head.

You’re less worried than Joel. You actually talk to Tommy, truly listen to his side of the story without letting rage take over. You become Tommy’s advocate. The Miller’s middleman.

He’s not stupid Joel. You know that.

Try sayin’ that when he gets his neck snapped by FEDRA.

Joel handles his anger– his premature grief –better than most people these days. He talks to you when things get bad, vents until he runs out of energy to talk. It’s usually those nights, when he’s loosened by frustration (and some whiskey), that you have your longest, most heartfelt conversations with the man. It’s during those conversations that your relationship progresses the most, albeit baby steps. They include the nights when he asked you to move in, first told you he cares about you, and told you about his daughter.

You distract him. He spends less time draining his decanter in favor of drowning his woes into you. He wakes you up at night, when the thoughts get too much for him, with a hand trailing up your side and his mouth on your neck.

He takes it slow those nights, on your sides and him behind you. He whispers to you, words emphasized by the slow pistoning of his hips. He thanks you, praises you. He begs you not to leave.

Afterwards, with his seed drying on your skin, his arm tossed over your still-clothed chest, you always tell him you love him. He never says it back.

****

The first time you sneak out, you confess immediately afterwards. Tommy needed help with a job, not for the Fireflies, but one he didn’t trust Joel to act hospitable enough for. You leave in the blanket of night and return before curfew ends, unscathed, but with a look of guilt in your eyes.

The next time you sneak out, you spare the details. Tommy had a job, you say. There’s less guilt in your eyes, especially when you tuck a thick pile of ration cards into the stash.

After the third night you sneak out, Joel accepts it as a routine. He knows not to question a good thing. Ration cards are a blessing, and your work with Tommy keeps the food coming in when Joel’s smuggling falls short.

Things turn after that. The Fireflies pull a stunt. They line up half of a dozen off-duty FEDRA workers in the square and beat them to death. Their blood flows down the street the next morning, leading crowds to the scene. Their bodies are marred, sitting in a pile underneath a messy Firefly, painted on an old brick wall.

They post their manifesto all around town, and for the first and only time in a year, the Miller brothers reunite.

You stand between them, staring down at the bodies collecting flies. The scent of cadaver fills the air, the spread of the scent expedited by the summer sun.

Tommy’s shocked.

Joel tells him, “It’s what you signed up for.” They’re his parting words.

FEDRA leaves the bodies on the street for the day, letting the people of the quarantine zone watch wives and children publicly grieve. It was their way of garnering support, of encouraging compliance. Every sob that echoes through the city is a question.

A mother cries for her son. Is this what you want?

A brother falls to his knees. Does freedom require such violence?

A child learns that their father won’t come home. Shouldn’t the Fireflies pay for what they’ve done?

The Fireflies fail, and their manifesto is ignored. FEDRA increases security within the zone. They crack down on illegal activity, not just the Fireflies. Jobs with Tommy become more risky. More hours go into planning, and execution takes twice the time.

Joel’s smuggling ring comes up with a code, something with decades of music. He refuses to share the details with you. He spends hours at a time sitting at the radio, scouring its stations for any sign of whatever. Some days he completely disappears into it, songs you haven't heard in years filling the apartment as incoming and outgoing signals.

Joel worries. You worry.

There are hangings in the streets almost every day. It used to just be Fireflies. Now it’s everyone: kids sneaking out past curfew, the elderly pocketing extra ration cards, just about anybody they can deal an infraction to.

One night, when it’s too dark for him to read the vulnerability evident on your face, you tell Joel the truth.

“Tommy’s thinking of leaving.”

Joel scoffs. “That’s a stupid thing to do”

“It’s dangerous here.”

“It’s dangerous out there.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not thinking of leaving.”

You’re not thinking of leaving. It’s a statement, so presumptuous it makes you dizzy. But it shouldn’t. He’s right. You’re not thinking of leaving. You couldn’t leave Joel. He’s become a part of you. Leaving him would splinter some vital part of your very soul. It would shatter the pipe-dream of love in this world that you’ve somehow made true.

“I wouldn’t leave you, Joel.”

I can’t leave you, Joel. Not now.

****

He’s awake when you shuffle through the door. You don’t turn on the lights, just stumble through the apartment to the bed. You keep your right leg straight as you lower yourself next to him. Your pants are off already, shucked off by the door, he assumes. A bloody bandage wraps around your knee. It seems to stare back at Joel.

It’s blizzarding out. It’s one of the things he hates most about Boston. The bone-chilling storms that never seem to let up. He wonders if that’s why you’re back so late.

“Rough night?” He asks. You don’t answer.

You speak less these days. He doesn’t raise a fuss because when you do speak, you’re arguing. The two of you dance around each other, pretending like there isn’t an invisible wedge driving itself between you. Intimacy evades you, and your features come to harden more and more each time you sneak in past curfew. There are still peeks though, of that woman who smiled so bashfully at him: the way you smile when he greets you with a kiss, laugh at his dry humor, sigh as he sinks himself into you.

“Been two days,” he says.

You hum in what Joel assumes is your attempt at a response. Your eyes are closed, that he can make out from the moonlight streaming through the window. You’re breathing heavily, either from frustration or pain from your leg. He selfishly hopes it's the latter.

“You should have left a note.”

“If I knew it’d be long, I would have.” Not an apology.

“You didn’t know?”

You sigh, and for a moment Joel thinks you’re going to ignore him, just turn on your side and fall asleep. But you push back, a warning lilt to your voice, “Things went wrong.” He can hear it between your words, I don’t want to do this right now, Joel.

He wants to stop, roll over and pull you into his arms and pretend like your lives aren’t on the line, like everything’s okay. But he’s worried. “Tommy’s gonna get you killed.”

You sit up, so fast Joel thinks you’re going to knock him off of the bed. There’s a sparkle– no, simmering –in your eyes. “Joel–” You stop yourself, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose.

Silence returns to the apartment. You look older in the low lighting, stress pulling unfavorably on your features.

Joel knows he should apologize for his roughness, but remorse isn’t something he can find within himself. Apologies come hard these days. He lets his anger, fear, and hurt control him, afraid apologizing would let all those feelings melt away, and leave him with an emptiness and need to face his cruel reality.

“Can we not do this?” You whisper, “Not tonight, please.”

Joel purses his lips, pulling you into his side. You let him hold you, feeling the pulsing of his heart beneath his ribcage.

Your hand slips from his shoulder. Lower– to his ribs. Lower– to the softness of his waist. Lower– to the band of the jeans he fell asleep in. He knows what you want. What you need. Most of your arguments end the same way. One of you stops it early, before things get nasty. There’s no resolution, just anger and hate and energy sitting in the air. It needs to be spent somehow.

But he’s tired. You’ve been gone since yesterday morning, longer than you’ve ever been out. And he was awake, waiting for you to walk through the door, weighing when and where he needed to storm off to find you. Adrenaline has come and gone and turned Joel to a husk.

“Tired, baby,” he mutters, placing his hand over yours.

“No, no,” you whisper, though you stall your movements. “Don’t worry about me, baby. Just let me take care of you.” You look at him expectantly, begging silently.

Joel nods and you send him the most honest-to-god beaming smile he’s ever seen as your hands unbutton his jeans. He’s– shamefully –half-hard by the time you work him out of his jeans, and the way you take his tip into his mouth, hands working the rest of his length, has him solid so fast he’s dizzy.

It’s unceremonious and awkward. You lean over your lap to fit him in your mouth. Your bad leg rests on the ground, straight at the knee. He wants to stop you, tell you to move into a more comfortable position, but then his tip hits the back of his throat and all bets are off. His hands knot in your hair as he groans.

His length pulses in the wet heat of your mouth. He bites back a curse along with the carnal need to take control, hold your head and just thrust. You’d let him, too. That was the worst part of it. You’d let him just take control and abuse your throat. You’d look up at him with wide eyes, tears building up, maybe they’d spill over.

You’d let all that happen because you were just so fucking good to him. So he stops you, pulling you off of his length with the hand fisted in your hair. You mewl, looking back at him with confused eyes.

The hand in your hair comes to your chin, bringing your face to him. “Lay back down, baby,” he mutters against your lips.

He doesn’t take off your underwear, just pushes it to the side as he presses a finger to your clit in a languid circling. Your hips chase his touch as best you can, mindful of bandages that seem to have just gotten bloodier over time.

“Careful,” he tuts, though he allows two fingers to slip into your heat. Soaked.

Joel rolls himself on top of you, and your good leg comes to wrap around him, hugging him close. He wastes no time in sinking into you, starting with a brutal pace.

You entangle yourself in him, reaching to get as much of Joel into your arms as you can. You tangle your hands in your hair, trace the line of his jaw, put a hand to his mouth while he plants a kiss on your palm– you’re trying to get close to him, as much as you can without making the pain in your legs scream even more.

He wants to tell you he missed you, that he’s worried, but then you flex around him, squeezing around his length. He’s reminded of how positively debauched this all is. The morning. He promises himself he’ll tell you in the morning.

His thrusts get sloppier, its staccato less rhythmic as he reaches his peak. You worked wonders on him with your mouth, and it’s biting him in the ass. The lingering of your touch and sensation of being close to you, after so long, has him fighting the urge to let go.

“Where?” He gasps, hips unrelenting in their assault. Your hands fist in his shirt, nails digging to bite at his skin through the fabric.

“Inside,” you rasp, and he almost finishes at the thought of his cum dripping from your cunt. You’d keep it in,

“So fucking good to me, baby,” he grunts.

He’s close. You’re close. You’ve given up on biting back your moans– your neighbors be damned. You’ve begun murmuring beneath him, words of admiration he can’t hear with his bad ear, yet you mutter them all the same. You take advantage of these moments to share the most intimate parts of yourself without fear of his cold judgment. The same intimacy he’s never reciprocated.

He spits in his hand and slips it back down to your clit. He circles it once, twice, and you melt. The sensations are too much for you, the drag of his cock, the wetness of him swirling at your clit, his choked moans in your ears– they’re all cruel and make your vision go white.

Your orgasm pushes him over the edge. He curses, a rare sound in your ear, but continues his drilling into your cunt.

“So. Damn. Good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, pushing his spend deeper into you. You clench around him, a vice-grip emphasizing the way he just fills you.

His cock twitches one last time before he draws himself out. A pear of your mixed release slips out with him. You watch his face as his eyes fix on the drip, as he contemplates it before scooping it up and back into your abused cunt.

He lowers himself unceremoniously back down on the bed. Your eyes aren’t on him anymore. They occupy themselves with the ceiling, glazed over with something akin to coldness. You reach for his hand, though, taking it in yours and pulling it to your chest. He leans into you. The arm over your chest pulls you close, while a thick leg traps you beneath him. His head nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your heady scent.

“I need you,” he mummers into your skin.

“I love you,” you say.

He doesn’t say it back.

Drifting to sleep, Joel hears a sniffle, muffled into the fabric covering his chest. It’s just the cold, he tells himself. You’re sniffling because of the cold.

****

He wakes up alone, head pounding with the beginning aches of a migraine. Not now, please. The last of the painkillers were traded to pay for winter heating in the apartment. The chill still finds its way in the crumbling walls of the building, though. Most days it’s bearable, when he can pull your body up against his. But you’re not here.

It’s dark out, still. There’s no way curfew was up. How much sleep did you even get last night? Did you even sleep?

He calls your name. His voice fills the space. When the sound echoes back to him, something in his stomach curls.

Your boots and bag are gone. In fact, your sneakers are missing from the small line of shoes by the door.

He takes a moment to ground himself, breathing deeply before the pang in his stomach comes to consume him. Emotions aren’t easy to regulate, not when they come to you. Especially not when you’re out in a blizzard. Injured. And tired.

He goes about his day after that, anxious at your absence, but there was business he needed to tend to. It’s not until dinnertime, when the emptiness in his stomach is too much to ignore, that he discovers it.

The photo on the fridge has been his favorite. Tommy took it with an old polaroid. You’re tucked under Joel’s arm, beaming as he plants a kiss on your cheek. When you’re gone, and Joel’s feeling lonely, it keeps him company. It reminds him of an easier time, when FEDRA wasn’t on your tails. When being together was easier.

The picture is gone, and in its place is a note, scribbled on a single, crumpled piece of paper.

He can’t read the letter– refuses to put himself through loss like that again, even at the cost of closure– but his thumb traces the last line of the note. It’s written in bigger, messier text. He still recognizes it as your own. Perhaps it was an afterthought. Perhaps you didn’t want to be presumptuous, just to disappoint.

See you on the other side.

For the first time since you smiled at him in that hallway, Joel Miller feels alone.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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