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pedrospatch · 9 months ago

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a safe haven l ten

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze.

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #tw dv #tw domestic violence #tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction

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pedgito · 11 days ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue.

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds.

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know.

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment.

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would?

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses. You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings.

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long.

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night.

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived.

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade.

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist.

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky.

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible.

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell.

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that.

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected.

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders.

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval.

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations.

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease.

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him.

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does.

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following.

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head.

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down.

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away.

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind.

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes.

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that��s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty.

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin.

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident. Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening.

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable.

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fanfic #joel x reader x tommy #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #my writing

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paperbackribs · 8 months ago

Text

tags: steddie, pre-canon, season S2-ish, tommy hagan will always have a crush on Steve Harrington

🩵💥🩵

“Someday, you're gonna get bitch-slapped, and I'm not gonna do a thing to stop it,” Steve hears the echo of his words in the Hawkins High boys’ bathroom. Spinning off the tiles, pinging against its corners and stabbing at Tommy who stands gasping at his best friend.

But Steve doesn’t care. This has been a long time coming.

Tommy is a prick and Steve thought there wasn’t anything wrong with going with the flow, ignoring the snide comments, looking away from the rumours that Carol would spread, as long as his friends remained by his side.

But Billy Hargrove had infected Hawkins High. Steve stopped swallowing the cool aid. And Tommy is fuming; red in the face and ready to take it out on any unfortunate soul that crosses his path.

Enter Steve.

Or, really, enter Eddie Munson.

Steve wasn’t sure if Tommy followed Eddie into the empty toilets or coincidentally came across him or whatever could be going on in the mixed up mind of his former best friend. But watching Tommy square off his stocky, muscular body against the other boy, boxed into the corner and wide, brown eyes only visible over Tommy’s shoulder, Steve swears that he’ll no longer look away from Tommy’s indiscretions.

So, he says it again, nodding to the leather clad boy in the corner, “Eddie’s going to take a swing at you and not only will I not defend you, I might even fucking taking a swing too.”

Tommy gapes, “What the fuck, Steve? I know we’ve been having troubles, but you’d take the freak’s side over mine?”

Eddie’s face twists in the background. Steve can see the anger warping his eyes and he doesn’t blame him, almost wishes that Eddie would take a swing and then Steve could just stand back and let it happen.

He sighs: he’s allowed a lot of things to just happen so far and it’s not to his credit.

Weirdly, Steve's resigned gaze meets Eddie’s incredulous look and, just for a moment, Steve feels like he’s met someone who gets it. Someone who sees the ridiculous, short-sighted nature of the petty bullying in the hallways of their high school and knows how stupid and utterly pathetic it is.

Steve swears that the corner of Eddie’s lips kick up at the irony of their shared understanding but is distracted as Tommy strides forward, knocking against his shoulder hard enough to send Steve spinning against the wood of a stall. He steadies himself as Tommy slams the bathroom door shut behind him with a clamorous bang and shakes his head: how could he have had such loyalty for a guy who won’t even stop to talk out their stupid shit together?

Steve thought he’d at least earned Tommy’s patience, a moment of Tommy’s time so they could talk this out and find a way forward again. He stares after his former friend, a hollow, gaping hole in his stomach as he grieves the friendship he thought they’d shared.

Eddie approaches with a gentle hand, laying it on Steve’s shoulder, “Are you all right, man?”

Steve swallows around the thickness in his chest and belatedly realises that his cheeks are wet. He clears his throat and, through a tight smile, says, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

The deep richness of those brown eyes regard him for a long moment and Steve feels stripped bare. He thought he was the guy rescuing Eddie, but he suddenly feels like the one vulnerable and exposed to the other boy.

Eddie smiles softly, “Yeah, got saved, right? How could I be anything but peachy keen?”

Steve snorts despite himself, amused by Eddie’s tongue-in-cheek tone, “Like a summertime in Georgia.” He can’t help but flash to Tommy’s retreating back and hates that his tone is already bitter, “Except I’m the stupid fucking tree alone in the grove.”

His head twitching slightly to the side, as if he were weighing Steve’s words, Eddie lightly responds, “Well, maybe it’s time to try another field. Wanna hang out sometime?”

Steve blinks, bewildered at the offer. The suggestion given so freely and without conditions seems anathema to his experience of friendship, and especially friendship in the complex halls of high school. He eyes the other boy suspiciously, but Eddie’s eyes remain clear, his body loose and almost curled towards Steve as if he were the north to his compass.

What could it hurt? Steve thinks.

Looking at what he can only describe as kindness in Eddie’s eyes, Steve thinks that a lot of things could hurt. Could burn or scald or stab, but the sweet, clear acceptance in Eddie Munson’s eyes has him thinking of a world where Steve can offer his loyalty and receive it in kind. A place where he can be good and feel like he’s doing good and perhaps a lovely brown-eyed boy would wait and tell him he’d done the right thing.

Eddie sticks out his hand in a gesture of friendship that only bolsters the words he’d already extended to Steve. And nothing moves in the cold room of Hawkins boys’ bathroom, no wind or breeze, but as Steve reaches out to clasp Eddie Munson’s outstretched hand, he feels a seismic shift that he can’t explain.

Steve’s fingers fold around the warmth of Eddie’s palm and Eddie’s full lips stretch into a smile, welcoming and true. A gesture that Steve can’t be sure of, can’t let himself fully trust; yet, nonetheless, Steve finds himself hopelessly following after Eddie’s extension of friendship.

And it'll eventually allow Steve to follow him to the confusing halls of the Hellfire Club.

To the strangely welcome space of Eddie's uncle’s trailer.

And Steve follows.

Because he is helpless but to follow this wide, brown-eyed boy who smirks at him with a knowing smile.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

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cjlouwho · 3 months ago

Text

Tommy and Eddie's Wild Adventure

**If you start reading and feel a bit concerned, please scroll all the way to the bottom for tags/spoilers. Otherwise, enjoy the ride!** (read here or on ao3)

“I'm gonna get us an Uber,” Tommy said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He was a slightly off balance, the couple drinks he and Eddie had hitting him harder than usual tonight. Before he could get his phone unlocked, it slipped from his hand and directly down the drainage grate underneath him.

“Damn it!” He bent down to try and reach through the grate to get it. It was useless though. His hand was too big, plus the phone had already sunk beneath God knows how many feet of water and sludge.

“It's fine,” Eddie said, tapping his back. “We'll use mine.”

He started feeling around for his phone, then paused, his lips pursed together.

“What's wrong?” Tommy asked, standing back up.

“I don't have my phone. I must've left it at home.”

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Great! So we're stuck here then. We're gonna have to-”

“Tommy, shut up!” Eddie whisper-yelled, eyes wide as he gripped onto Tommy's shoulder.

“What? Eddie, what are you-”

“Shut. Up!” He demanded. He pointed behind Tommy. “Look!”

At the end of the parking lot there was a dumpster, mostly hidden out of view. There was a small amount of light that glowed from a nearby lamppost, just enough for Tommy and Eddie to see two men tossing what appeared to be a body into the dumpster.

Eddie nearly pushed Tommy behind a tree before hiding behind him, both boys holding their breath until the men drove off and they were alone in the parking lot.

“Oh my God,” Tommy said, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

“Go, go!” Eddie pushed Tommy forward, following behind. They carefully but quickly made their way over to the dumpster, where a body laid on top of boxes and bags of garbage.

“We've gotta get her out!” Eddie said, already pushing himself up and into the dumpster. Once inside, he checked for a pulse. “She's gone,” he told Tommy.

He shook his head. “Damn it.”

Eddie hoisted the woman over his shoulder. Tommy reached out and grabbed onto her, pulling her out and onto the ground. He took Eddie's hand next and helped him out of the dumpster.

“What do we do?” Tommy asked, staring down at the blonde-haired woman.

“Call 911.”

Tommy huffed out a breath. “We don't have a phone, Eddie!”

“Well we can't just stand here,” Eddie replied. “The killers might come back.”

“Why would they come back?!”

“Have you never watched a Dateline? They come back to like admire their work, you know, like it's a trophy or something.”

Tommy looked around the area, searching for any possibility that someone was watching. “We've gotta go get help.”

“We can't just leave her here.”

“We don't have any other choice!”

“Shh!” Eddie waved his hands, getting Tommy to quiet down. “We- We'll take her.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Take her?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah, we take her with us. To the police station.”

“Just... We just carry the body all the way to the police station? That's like ten miles!”

“I think it's only eight.”

Tommy shook his head. “You're insane, Eddie!”

“You got a better idea?”

*****

“You know they've killed people for less than this,” Tommy said, gripping the woman's legs tightly.

“What? They have not.”

“Oh, yes they have! We get caught carrying this poor woman down the street and next thing you know, we're on death row being asked what our last words are.”

“Whoa!” Eddie exclaimed, his hand slipping from underneath the woman's arm. He adjusted her before continuing. “What would they be?”

“What would what be?”

“Your final words, Man. What would they be?”

“Jesus, Eddie, I don't know. Who thinks about that?”

“I know mine! Watch your step.”

Tommy looked back and took a step left to miss some trash on the ground. “So what are they then?”

“'La muerte es segura, pero su hora es incierta.' It's a Spanish proverb. At least, I think it is. My abuela used to say it.”

“What's it mean?”

“It means death is certain, but its hour is uncertain.”

Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, causing Eddie to nearly topple over the body.

“What the hell?” Eddie shrieked.

“Eddie, that's the stupidest last words I've ever heard.”

“What?! It is not!”

“Yeah, it is. First of all, you're about to get a lethal injection-”

“I'm choosing the electric chair.”

“Whatever. They're literally giving you an exact minute of your death, so your hour is very certain.”

“That's not-”

“And second,” Tommy continued, speaking over him. “You really want that to be the last thing Christopher hears coming out of your mouth? Before you're electrocuted in front of him? Really, Eddie? Think this through.”

“Christopher is not going to be at my electrocution, Tommy. I'll talk to him the day before.”

“Oh, he'll show up,” Tommy replied with absolute certainty. “He will show up.”

“Okay, fine, if my last words are so terrible, then tell me yours. Also, start walking again. She's heavy!”

Tommy rolled his eyes but resumed his walk. “I told you I haven't thought about it.”

“Well, get thinking. Final words. Go.”

“Okay, fine. First, lethal injection, because who the hell chooses electrocution, Man, come on! Second, Evan would be there, so I'd probably look at him and tell him he gave me the best years of my life.”

“Ew!” Eddie gagged. “That sucks. You suck!”

“It's better than your stupid proverb that doesn't make any sense. Okay, I gotta put her down for a second.”

They moved into a little alleyway and placed the woman down gently, then Tommy ran his arm over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. “There's gotta be an easier way to do this.”

Eddie peeked out of the alley, turning back quickly when he spotted people coming their way. “Act cool, act cool!” he exclaimed, leaning against the brick wall with one leg crossed over the other.

Tommy took a couple steps back, plastering himself against a dumpster with an elbow resting over the top.

The people passed without noticing them and they resumed their discussion.

“Okay, let's think, let's think,” Eddie said, bringing a hand to his chin. “Your phone is down a drain, mine is at home. We've got a body here that we can't leave behind, but it's too risky to keep walking along the street. Also, too painful.”

“Excellent recap,” Tommy deadpanned. “Can we start the episode now?”

“You know this attitude your giving is not helping,” Eddie said with a glare. “Why don't you come up with an idea?”

Tommy took a deep breath, then looked past Eddie out toward the street. “Taxi.”

“What is this, 1982? Come on-”

Tommy pointed behind Eddie, making him turn around. There was a taxi parked across the street, a group of women laughing and fixing their dresses as they exited.

“You distract, I'll put the body in the trunk,” Tommy decided, nodding at Eddie.

“Wait, what?”

“Go, Eddie! Before someone else gets the taxi. Go!”

*****

“And what's that button do?” Eddie asked.

“That's the button for the radio,” the taxi driver replied, giving Eddie an odd look. “Are you sure your friend doesn't need help with his luggage?”

“Oh, no, no. He's got it.”

Just then, the trunk slammed shut and Tommy was getting into the taxi. “Could you take us to-”

“Fountain Avenue,” Eddie interrupted. “Anywhere on the street is fine.”

“Sure thing.”

They settled into their seats as the driver headed off, Tommy staring over at Eddie. “The police station is two streets over from Fountain,” he whispered.

“I know. Going right to the police station will look suspicious. We'll walk there from Fountain.”

“They'll see Lillian before that.”

Eddie looked over at Tommy quizzically. “Lillian?”

“Yeah. Lillian.”

“Who the hell is Lillian?”

“Eddie,” Tommy gritted out, eyes darting back and forth from the driver to Eddie. “Lillian.”

“Oh! You mean the dead girl?”

Tommy gave Eddie a punch to the shoulder. “Lillian is our friend. That we're surprising. With the gift. In the trunk.”

“Okay, ow.” Eddie rubbed at the spot on his shoulder, leaning in closer to Tommy. “It's a codename. Got it.”

“Anyway, I think we should get closer to the station.”

“No. We'll deal with Lillian from Fountain. It'll be fine.”

“We're gonna get caught.”

“Then we'll explain.”

“I don't know how you explain that.”

“We'll tell them,” Eddie said in an annoyed tone, “the truth. That we found the bod- Lillian and didn't want to leave her.”

“O- Okay,” the driver interrupted, coming to a stop. “We are a- at your location, sirs.”

“Great!” Tommy clapped his hands together, smiling at the driver through the rearview. “Pop the trunk for me, please. Eddie, pay the man.”

“Oh, no! No payment necessary. I- It's my gift for the night.”

“You sure?” Eddie asked.

“Mhm. Please, it's fine.”

Eddie shrugged. “Alright. Thanks! Have a good night.”

*****

“I'm never going out with you again,” Tommy said, back in position with his hands under Lillian's shins. “I should have stayed home with Evan. My back will never recover.”

“Oh please, when did you become such an old man? I'm carrying most of the weight here anyway.”

“You are not!”

“I am too!”

“Okay, I'll just let her go then. You can carry her the rest of the way yourself.”

“Don't you dare, Thomas!”

“Don't you Thomas me, Edmundo! What the hell are we gonna say when we get to the police station?”

“I'll go in first,” Eddie said. “Explain everything. You stay outside with the body until I get you.”

“Me? Why don't you stay outside with the body?”

“Because you asked me what we were going to say when we get to the police station, which means you obviously have no idea what to say, and I can just bat my eyelashes and get the lady behind the desk to listen to my every word.”

“Assuming it's a lady behind the desk is very sexist.” Tommy pulled a hand away to wipe the sweat from his hand onto his jeans, then switched to do the same with the other hand. “It could be a very handsome gay man.”

“Okay, so I bat my eyelashes at the man behind the desk. For the love of God, walk faster, Man!”

“I've been the one walking backwards this whole time, you try it! Also, no offense, but I've seen your game with women, I do not trust your game with men.”

“Don't be an ass,” Eddie glared. “I could've gotten you if I wanted you.”

“Ha! Don't flatter yourself.”

Eddie stopped, mouth agape and clearly offended. “You're seriously trying to tell me that Buck could get you by injuring me and moan about trying to get your attention, but you think I have no game? You're crazy.”

“And you're chronically single.”

“Take that back!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Tommy, I swear to-”

The sound of a siren cut Eddie off. Bright, flashing red and blue lights pulled up beside them. They froze in place.

It took a couple of seconds, but soon enough the driver's door opened. They both had to squint to make out the figure coming toward them.

Athena.

The passenger door opened as well, and there came Buck, his hands tucked inside the hoodie he was wearing.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Athena asked. “We have been chasing your behinds half the night.”

“You're not gonna believe this-” Eddie started as Tommy spoke over him.

“Evan, I swear this isn't what you think-”

“Both of you, quiet!” Athena demanded.

“It looks like you're, uh, trying to carry a body to the police station,” Buck offered.

“Then... Then it's exactly what it looks like,” Tommy breathed out in relief.

Eddie, still holding the body from underneath her arms, moved closer to Buck and Athena, forcing Tommy to move as well. “We saw her get dumped and we didn't know what to do because Tommy lost his phone and I don't have mine. We couldn't just leave her there so we decided to bring her to the station ourselves.”

“You don't have your phone, huh? And it didn't occur to either of you two walk right back into the bar and ask to use their phone?” Athena questioned. “Any phone?”

Eddie lowered his head. “Can't say that it did.”

Athena took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That body you're holding,” she said, pointing toward it. “That's a sex doll.”

Both Eddie and Tommy's eyes slowly turned to the doll. It took a few seconds for the realization to hit, but once it did, they both dropped it to the ground with a simultaneous, “Ew!”

“I gotta say,” Athena started, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don't usually see men your age getting drunk and pulling these types of dumbass stunts.”

“We're not drunk!” Eddie protested. “Just had a couple beers. Maybe someone drugged us!”

“I don't think so,” she answered, pulling a small memo pad from her back pocket. “We went and spoke with the bartender and he informed us you two started with a couple beers, then moved onto shots, then decided to try some specialty drinks and ended with something called a Fruity Tutti, which you apparently made up yourselves.”

“That... That does sound vaguely familiar,” Tommy said, his hands going to his hips.

Eddie smacked a couple times. “Is that why mouth tastes like an entire packet of lifesavers?”

“How did you guys find us?” Tommy asked.

“Eddie's phone.”

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed. “I told you I don't have my phone.”

“Yeah, you do,” Buck said with a nod. “It's how we tracked you.”

“Guys, I'm telling you, I do not have my phone!”

Tommy moved toward Eddie, peering around him to look in his back pocket. He reached around and grabbed at something before holding it out in front of Eddie.

“Well look at that!” Eddie smiled as he took his phone from Tommy. “My phone!”

“You butt dialed me twice,” Buck explained. “When I overheard you two talking about finding a body and trying to carry it to the police station, I figured I better give Athena a call.”

“And as it turns out,” Athena continued, “the driver from the taxi you two were in also called the police, because, and I quote, “Two men were in the backseat of my cab, loudly whispering about a body they had put in my trunk.” Poor man was too scared to call the police until you had left.”

“You two were also carrying the doll through the streets of Los Angeles on a Saturday night,” Buck informed them. “Dispatch got lots of calls from concerned citizens.”

Eddie sighed. “I didn't think anyone saw us.”

“Oh no, the majority of the county did,” Athena replied. “Come on, boys,” she said, taking a step back and waving them toward her car. “This'll all have to be explained again in the morning. Let's get you home.”

“Can I go to you guys' place?” Eddie asked, pouting. “My home is so far.”

“Your home is ten minutes from ours,” Buck reminded him. “But it's late- or early- and I'm tired, so yes, you can. Athena's gonna take us. Let's get in the SUV.”

“Oh, Evan, can we snuggle?” Tommy asked, moving toward Buck and draping an arm over his shoulder, leaning in close. “I love to snuggle.”

“Gross,” Eddie whined. “I get shoved in a guest room while you two get it on two doors down.”

“Nobody will be getting it on tonight,” Buck assured him.

“Hey, if you want snuggles you can bring Lillian,” Tommy said, gazing down at the doll. “She will give snuggles.”

When Eddie stared down at it for a bit too long, Buck reached over and gave him a smack to the back of the head. “You're not bringing the doll. Come on, let's go.” He grabbed at Eddie's shirt, pulling him away from the doll. “Now!”

*****

When Athena pulled up to Buck and Tommy's place she got out and helped bring the boys into the house. Eddie leaned on her while Tommy leaned on Buck.

They headed for the guest room first, Eddie plopping onto the bed with his shoes still on.

“Absolutely not,” Buck said, helping Tommy to rest against the doorframe so he could go over and pull off Eddie's shoes.

Once they were off, Athena helped Buck maneuver Eddie so they could pull the comforter down from under him.

“God, I'm tired,” Tommy mumbled. He toed off his own shoes and walked over the other side of the bed, falling down face first against the pillow.

“Tommy!” Buck exclaimed. “This isn't our room.”

“Sleepy, Evan,” Tommy murmured into the pillow. “So sleepy.”

“Okay, well, you can go to sleep in our room,” he replied, pulling on Tommy's arm.

Tommy groaned, causing Eddie to open one eye and glare over at Buck. “Just leave him. God, he's so whiny!”

Tommy threw his arm out, shoving over at Eddie. “You're whiny!”

Eddie reached over and shoved back. “You are!”

“Boys, I have a gun!” Athena yelled, causing them to stop immediately. They both drew their arms in and away from each other, but refused to move otherwise.

Athena looked over at Buck. “Should we try to get Tommy up?” she asked.

Both boys breathing had already started to even out, clearly falling into a deep sleep.

“Eh, leave him,” Buck decided, tossing the comforter over them. “They can puke on each other.”

**tags/spoilers: there is no actual death involved in this story. the boys are very drunk.**

#bucktommy #eddietommy #tommy kinard #eddie diaz #911 #evan buckley #athena grant #it's platonic eddietommy #also im sick and don't feel like reading all of this for errors so if you see any... no you don't

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 27 days ago

Text

Meet the parents

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 13

Prompt: Family Dinner

Rated: T

Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Meet ugly; Fake dating; Fake identity; Past Stommy

Eddie straightens his tie for the twentieth time, running a hand through his hair to check his bun. The restaurant across the street looks even fancier than in the pictures on his phone. He feels stupidly out of place just standing in front of it.

He's just lucky nobody he knows can see him now.

He imagined making it big in the city, performing in sold-out clubs, not squeezing into a suit and playing jazz music for rich farts.

But apparently the place needs a guitarist, because the rich farts enjoy live music with their overpriced dinner. And Eddie enjoys being able to pay his rent, so here they are. He squares his shoulders, adjusting his guitar case on his shoulder and fixing his tie. Again. The manager said to be here on time.

“Hey! You! Yes, you, guitar guy.”

Eddie pauses mid-step. A young man has emerged from the restaurant and is now weaving through the throng of passers-by. Eddie’s sure he's never seen him before - not just because he just called him guitar guy, but also because he's pretty much exactly his type - sun-kissed skin and caramel hair and a boyish smile that makes his eyes hazel sparkle. Eddie wouldn’t just forget a face like that. And yet, the guy keeps jogging towards him, waving and smiling. He comes to a standstill just in front of Eddie, pausing to catch his breath. He's evidently never heard of private space, because he's close enough for Eddie to count the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Wanna earn two-hundred bugs?”

Eddie blinks.

“Erm, I guess,” his mile-a-minute mouth replies while his brain is still trying to parse through the situation. “What-”

That smile goes impossibly brighter.

“Brilliant,” says the guy. Then he kisses him.

It's over as quick as it started, and before Eddie has a chance to recover, the guy has linked their hands and is pulling him towards the restaurant.

“Name's Steve, by the way. Yours?”

“I- um, Eddie,” says Eddie. His lips are still tingling.

Steve smiles tensely.

“Alright, I-um-Eddie. For the next one-and-a-half hours, you smile and nod, and leave the talking to me, okay? Oh, and your name's Tommy.”

“Wha-?” Eddie squawks, but Steve has already pulled him through the doors and to a table overlooking the busy street.

“Found him! Mom, Dad, this is-”

“Tommy,” says the man sitting at the table. He holds out a hand, which Eddie is too dumbfounded to not shake. “So glad you’ve made it. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Yeah, um-” Eddie says, shaking the woman’s hand as well. She wrinkles her nose like his fingers are something gross, and he wonders frantically if he did anything wrong. Was he supposed to kiss her knuckles? Do rich people still do that? He doesn’t know, so he quickly withdraws his hand and pretends to be very busy settling into his chair. “Nice meeting you, Mr. …”

He casts a helpless look at Steve, because he never mentioned his last name, and he can’t very well call the guy Mr. Steve’s Dad, now can he?

“Oh, please,” says the older man, “Call me Richard. And tell me about yourself, Steve has been awfully secretive. I hear you study business economics?”

“Um,” Eddie looks back at Steve, who nods imperceptibly. “Yeah, totally, it’s great. I love business, man. And economics. Can't get enough- ow!”

Steve smiles sweetly, like he didn't just kick him under the table like some sort of demented mule with anger management issues.

“And you're a musician as well?” the woman chimes in, eyeing his guitar case curiously. Eddie's assuming she's Steve's mom, but what does he know? All he’s certain of is that his shin is still hurting and he doesn’t wanna get kicked again.

“He’s been taking guitar lessons,” Steve says with barely a hitch. “To have- … how did you put it, honey? A creative outlet when you want to unwind from work, right?”

“Right,” Eddie parrots. “An outlet. Undwinding’s very important.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” the woman gushes. “You’ll need to play for us under the tree this Christmas.”

Now, it’s Steve’s turn to look petrified. “I dunno, Mom. Tommy probably has other-”

Richard makes an impatient noise and flips open the menu.

“Come on now, don't be like that. Guess you’re joining us for Christmas, Tommy. Hope you like skiing?”

“Okayyy,” Eddie drawls. They’re standing in the parking lot, hand in hand, waving after Steve’s parents in their abhorrently expensive limousine. “Now spill. Who’s Tommy?”

“My boyfriend.” The moment the car rounds the corner, Steve withdraws his hand. There’s an unhappy scowl on his face. “Well, my ex, I guess. Who broke up with me via text message five minutes before he was supposed to meet us.”

Eddie whistles lowly. “Whoops, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “He's an ass. So, you wanna give me your number? I’ll transfer you the money and text you about Christmas.”

“Yeah sure, gimme a-” Eddie, already fumbling for his own phone, freezes and almost drops his guitar. “Hold on, what are you talking about?”

Steve gives him a look. “You heard my parents. They want you to spend Christmas with us.”

Eddie gawks at him. “So? I’m obviously not doing that. Just tell them Tommy and you broke it off, what’s the-”

“I can’t do that,” Steve blurts. “They’ll cut me off, and I need that money.”

Eddie almost makes a snide remark, but there’s this panicked look in Steve’s eyes again, and something tells him that this is about more than just a spoiled rich kid fearing for his inheritance. He sighs.

“I want a thousand bucks,” he says. “I’ll need to cancel Christmas with my uncle, so I think that’s a fair compensation. Plus, I’m not going on any skiers.”

More holiday drabbles

They shake on it, and just like that, Eddie finds himself with both a new job and new plans for the holidays.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2024

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unhingedangstaddict · 2 months ago

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tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by the lovely @desert--moonchild I've been working hard on my fix-it fic and hope to have it posted soon, but in the mean time here's another snippet

Hen’s heart was breaking for Tommy, seeing how little he thought of himself. It was shocking, for a man who exuded so much confidence, so much self assuredness, to open up like this, to see him peel back his armor and show his true self. Someone who’d been hurt and broken and was desperate for love yet didn’t feel worthy of it, who felt he wasn’t enough.

In a way it was almost poetic- Evan "Buck" Buckley who often felt like he was too much, and Thomas "Tommy" Kinard who didn't feel like he was enough.

“And then I met Evan.” Tommy sighed and sipped his coffee. “And now I just wish I could forget how it felt like we almost had it all.”

“Tommy, you can still have it all with Evan.” Hen insisted. “Look, was Buck’s asking you to move in with him a little ridiculous? Of course it was. But he’s done the impulsive ‘hey move in with me’ before. He learned his lesson. Was it sudden and unexpected and dumb considering you own a house? Sure. But I’m telling you Tommy, Buck thought through it. He didn’t just ask because he felt like he had to do something in the heat of the moment.”

Tommy shook his head.

“I’m serious. Tommy I’ve never seen him like this with anyone before. He’s happy, he’s content, he’s off his damn hamster wheel and he’s ready.” Hen insisted. “Just because you’ve been hurt before doesn’t mean it’s all you’re ever destined for, Tommy. You deserve your happy ending, and you can still have it with Buck if you want it.”

“You really think so?” Tommy looked up at Hen.

“I don’t think you’ve broken what you two had beyond repair. You can fix this, and you can have your happy ending Tommy. You just gotta fight for it. Think you can do that?” Hen wondered.

Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah I think so.”

“Good.” Hen smiled.

(not tagging anyone because idk who's up for it and/or already participated today)

#911 fanfic #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #hen wilson #bucktommy fanfic #fix it fic

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buddieism · 2 months ago

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i just think the physicality shown in 8x05 between buck, tommy & eddie was so interesting.

tommy hovers outside buck’s hospital room while eddie is already sitting inside talking to the doctor—tommy comes in but eddie stays. buck is the patient, tommy is the visitor (name tag and all), but eddie is simply there; a permanent fixture.

in buck’s loft, tommy sits at the table across from buck and eddie. tommy recoiled from buck when he first saw the boils, and even though eddie is grossed out by them too, he’s the one getting up in buck’s personal space to check them out.

at the hospital waiting for news on denny, tommy is sat right next to buck but is simultaneously excluded from buck’s personal bubble through the 118 group chat notification—which was specifically called out in the dialogue. eddie stares buck down while sucking on a ring pop which of course could mean nothing.

finally, at the cemetery, tommy is standing entirely separate to buck; not by his side the way cough buddie cough were in s6. the ending shot was the *perfect opportunity* to establish bucktommy as a serious relationship. buck could’ve taken tommy’s hand with the two of them walking into the distance together—instead, buck strides away without looking back while tommy jogs after him.

and that’s not even bringing up how there was quite literally zero explicitly romantic affection between buck and tommy the entire episode, even pre-boils (because hey after that fair enough). without those romantic cues, it becomes so much easier to draw comparisons between buddie and bucktommy (both physically and emotionally) and see how eddie is consistently occupying the role in buck’s life that tommy can’t even begin to try and take on.

#yk midterms stress is bad when it’s got me rambling on this app again #but HEYY here’s some meta i’ve been chewing on #buddie #buddie meta #evan buckley #eddie diaz #anti bucktommy

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hawkinsbnbg · 4 months ago

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shooting stars

prompts: backseat, bruise, clothes on | @steddiesmuttyseptember

tags: mutual pining, fwb to lovers, hand job, blow job, come swallowing, soft dom Eddie Munson, good boy Steve Harrington.

word count: 2k4 | rated: E | ao3

Steve didn't know how he ended up having Eddie Munson between his legs in the backseat of his car of all places.

Oh yeah, the spinning bottle had pointed at him and Tommy had dared him to go teach The Freak a lesson.

Steve doubted Tommy would've come up with that if he knew the little game Steve had been playing with Eddie since the beginning of his senior year.

Still, he complied. There was no way he would pass up such an opportunity to go search for Eddie without raising suspicion on them both.

"No, you stay here," he gave Tommy a cocky smile, tuning up his King persona to the ten. "Sending me is already overkill. It'd be a fucking joke if I even need you to take down The Freak."

Steve let the hollers and mocking laughter wash over him, feeling both at home and wrong-footed in the skin he was wearing.

He couldn't wait to get out of there and be as far away from those people as possible, knowing Eddie would make everything right again even just for a night.

The party-goers had been none the wiser when he wandered to the backyard of Tina's house, heading to Eddie's regular dealing corner and told the metalhead to meet him at the quarry where no one would bother them.

One thing led to another, instead of dragging him to the back of the van like usual, Eddie chose his beamer to be their destination of the night.

Given the limited space, their frantic movements slowed down after a while, panting into each other's mouths and melding their tongues together.

And yet, their clothes were still on because they liked to keep up the pretense, liked to deny that they cared.

As if Steve didn't secretly protect Hellfire from the jocks all the time, as if Eddie didn't shush him softly as he cried the other night, shield him from the darkness and call him baby.

It was confusing, the trajectory of their not-friendship; but it was intoxicating, the way they gravitated to each other without fail.

"Why here?" Steve asked, chest heaving up and down as Eddie quickly worked his belt and flies open.

The inside of the beamer's backseat—however spacious it had been before—was now cramped with two grown boys, all muscles and gangly limbs.

And Steve was no cheerleaders, either. He couldn't curl up to make himself as small as those girls. Fortunately, he was flexible enough for Eddie to mold however the metalhead liked, forcing his legs apart with pure teenage brawn.

"Wanna see what's the fuss over the famous Harrington Backseat about," Eddie murmured, licking a stripe on his hand before shoving it down Steve's briefs, stroking him right away without any lube.

Steve hissed at the burning stimulation and the raw friction of those chunky rings, but he was already dripping too much precum to feel uncomfortable with them. If anything, he quite enjoyed it whenever Eddie was a little rough and mean to him.

"Yeah?" Steve bit his lip, aware of those dark eyes following his movements like trackers, sending shivers down his spine. "And what's your opinion so far?"

To be honest, Steve never understood the appeal of having sex in the backseat. The space was never enough for two people to move freely.

He simply did it because it was more convenient that way; less risk of falling off the roofs and windowsills, less time of cleaning up, no need to worry about which ways were better for sneaking out once the deed was done.

Then again, with Eddie looming above him and those calloused fingers enclosed his cock like heated brands, he supposed he finally got it.

"Not as bad as I expected," Eddie mouthed at the column of Steve's throat when he threw his head back in a strangled moan. "Maybe it's because of a certain pretty thing here."

Steve whined and bucked his hips, wanting to fuck into the tight circle of Eddie's palm, but he was pinned in place by Eddie's weight—solid and warm and heavy. It messed with his tipsy brain, making him feel small and helpless, knowing he was entirely at the older boy's mercy.

"So wet already," Eddie kissed his jaw, thumb rubbing Steve's sensitive tip meanly, prompting another breathless moan from him. "Just needing someone to take care of you, hm, little prince?"

Cheeks flaming red, Steve felt his breath hitched, felt his inside loosened up and turned into molasses.

He knew it was just an act to set the mood, but Eddie's honeyed words did weird things to him, causing his heart to stutter and soar higher and higher, reminding him too much of love that it was a little bit scary.

Although Steve couldn't physically melt into the leather seats, he felt like he already did as Eddie played with his cock, pulling embarrassing noises out of him effortlessly, feeding him sweet filths between fervent kisses, gnawing his lips until they swelled up, until they were red and shiny like cherries.

Those sharp teeth trailed down his neck, sinking into the tender flesh and carving their marks on the bronzed skin, leaving bloody bruises behind.

The pain made it real, made Steve feel owned, possessed.

As if he was good enough to be kept, as if he was worth more than a pretty face and a quick fuck.

Steve knew he wasn't thinking rationally, he should be realistic and stop expecting Eddie to reciprocate his hopeless feelings.

He longed for it still, yearned to be touched, to be held by those arms every night, unable to keep himself from daydreaming about the what-ifs.

"Tell me," Eddie wrapped a hand around his throat, never too tight but always enough to turn Steve's head fuzzy. "Who do you belong to?"

The question came out of nowhere, shocking Steve to the core. Because whatever they had between them wasn't like that, was it?

Steve was The King and Eddie was The Freak. Two parallel lines that would never meet.

And yet, they crossed paths. Innumerable times. Rushing into each other like moths to the flame, knowing they would burn and explode, knowing they would ignite and crash like shooting stars.

Transient.

Beautiful.

But Steve refused to let them be a tragedy as long as he could help it. Refused to hide behind the forsaken fortress he had built up for years.

Because Eddie deserved better, and all Steve could offer was himself.

"Y– Yours," he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as if he was drunk. "'M yours, D– Daddy."

Eddie's gaze was dark and heavy on him, bottomless and ravenous as they drank in his debauched state; disheveled hair, flushed skin, teary eyes, swollen red lips, redder cock drooling over the white cotton and thick denim.

For a second, Steve was afraid he had ruined it, had exposed himself too much with that slipup, but Eddie didn't even pause, he just grinned wildly, looking unhinged as he made his demand.

"Again."

"'M yours, Daddy," Steve babbled, losing his mind over the encroaching orgasm, curling his toes and arching his back off the seat as he reached the peak. "Yours."

Without preamble, Eddie spat into his gaping mouth and Steve's eyes just rolled back as he shot off, dirtying his jeans and shirt as well as Eddie's hand.

Eddie kissed him—for no other reason than to eat his whimpers right from his mouth—humming and moaning as if tasting ambrosia, not just saliva and the lingering sweetness of cocktails Steve had religiously knocked back during the party.

What came next was the belt's clacking noises. It sounded distant to him, like his brain couldn't catch up with his surroundings anymore.

But Steve was a man of habit. So it was no surprise when moments later, he blinked back to reality and found himself sucking the head of Eddie's cock, tonguing the slit and tasting bitter musk as Eddie groaned and gave a few quick strokes before coming into his mouth.

Greedily, Steve swallowed everything, licking and drinking until Eddie grabbed his hair harshly to stop him.

He was still quite dazed as Eddie cleaned him up, as Eddie redressed him, as Eddie guided him to the van and bundled him in a soft quilt that smelled like weed and smoke and drugstore soap.

The quilt was his comfort blanket, which Eddie never questioned him about, just always happened to have it around whenever Steve needed it.

And somehow, that was the first reason Steve fell for him.

Shaking his head to the joint Eddie offered, Steve leaned on the metal wall of the van and sipped slowly from the bottle of water he had been handed, basking in the peaceful silence that he rarely had for himself these days.

Then, he shifted his gaze to Eddie, meeting those intense eyes, and set the bottle down beside him.

"Thank you."

"What for?" Eddie tilted his head, as if curious, as if wanting to observe him more clearly.

"Everything," Steve shrugged and toyed with the hem of the quilt, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I mean, I was and still am an ass to you. But you always treat me with kindness, and well, make me feel like a real person, not just some– some puppets mindlessly dancing to the music. And I'm glad that I had accepted your offer that day."

"Don't sell yourself so short, Harrington," Eddie snorted, turning his face away briefly to blow out the smoke before looking back at him. "I get it. You have more things to lose than I do so 'course you gotta put on some acts to ward off your nosy subjects. Besides, it's not like I don't benefit from our transaction, or I'm a Saint, either. But it doesn't matter, does it? You and I, we both got something out of this. And that's enough for me."

Steve felt his stomach drop. So that was just a moment of heat, then. He was the idiot to believe it had been real.

And Eddie had said all of that so bluntly, leaving him no delusions to think there was something more between them.

"Okay," he said dully, pulling the quilt tighter around himself to keep the sudden coldness away.

"Fuck," Eddie cursed under his breath and snuffed out the joint in the ashtray nearby before moving closer to him. "Stevie, sweetheart, please look at me."

He had half a mind to ignore the older boy, but his gaze could never not be drawn to Eddie. It was as easy as breathing, a natural thing that had been written into his DNA.

"What?" He looked up, allowing some irritation to seep into his voice.

"I'm not good at this, Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered, fingers carding through frizzy hair and pulling a curl to chew on it anxiously, big brown eyes honed on him. "I'm gonna be honest with you here, Stevie. I never thought I'd have a chance with you, let alone kiss or touch you. But then I did and that's already crazy, you know? 'Cause we're not even friends who greet each other in the hallways like real people. We're just what? Strangers with benefits? Fuck-acquaintances? And don't forget that you had to lie to your friends to sneak out to see me. That they're still thinking you're beating me up right now."

Which was sadly true.

Steve could see why Eddie was so reluctant to get close to him. There were too many problems between them, and they were complicated enough to give Steve a headache.

Then again, he still wanted to try. Because Eddie was the only one who really looked beneath all of those layers to see him. Which was already much more than what other people (including his parents) had done for Steve.

As if reading his mind, Eddie chuckled wryly.

"And you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"That no matter how hard I tried, I still can't get you out of my mind."

Steve inhaled sharply.

"Yeah," Eddie smiled self-deprecatingly, one hand coming up to brush the bruises on the side of Steve's neck. "And the thing is I don't like to share. I'm a possessive motherfucker, sweetheart. Once I'm obsessed with something, I'm gonna keep it and take good care of it."

Eddie sounded insane even to Steve's muddled brain, and that was saying something. Still, he only found himself enraptured by it, deaf to the siren blaring in his head.

"But you're too pretty to be hidden away, sunshine," long fingers moved up to tuck a hair behind Steve's ear, sliding down the curve of it to trace the line of his jaw and his cheekbones, drawing constellations on his skin. "You should be put on the altar, put on the display to show people how gorgeous you are. Let them covet, let them beg for a glimpse of your beauty."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut as those fingers enveloped his throat again, squeezing just right to make his head go silent.

"And I'd be there," Eddie murmured in his ear, making the heat travel down his navel. "Befoul you with my devotion, and brand you with my name. And they'd be so jealous of me, 'cause the angel they worship is already mine."

Steve groaned, growing hard again at the vision Eddie conjured up in his mind. He felt dizzy, floaty, and tender. He wanted to live in this precious moment forever.

"Still wanna be my boy, sweet thing?" Eddie nuzzled his cheek. "When you know how crazy I am?"

"Keep me," Steve whispered, swaying into the only source of warmth that he knew of. "Don't let me go."

When I've got you, baby was pressed on his lips, when those arms caught him and tugged him close, embraced him with promises of love and protection; Steve knew he was finally home.

If the following day, he pissed Tommy and probably most of the jocks off by sticking up to The Freak, then well, Hellfire was ready to extend an olive branch to the former king of Hawkins High.

Because who was they to not welcome their DM's beloved prince?

And some years down the road, when Steve became a primary teacher and Eddie opened up a garage, when they bought a house and settled down together, they would tell their children that they used to be high school sweethearts.

And it wouldn't be a lie.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie smutty september #sionewritesatmidnight

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 11 months ago

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along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email [email protected] with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

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

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

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

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

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

“Get a room!”

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

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

“I took a cab, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since you asked so nicely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was—“

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

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

“You can stay…if you want.”

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

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

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

“What do you want, Tommy?”

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

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

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

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

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #tlou fanfiction #tommy tlou

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burnthatbridge · 3 months ago

Text

8x03 coda

buck being melodramatic about gerrard 'taking him under his wing' also on ao3 if you prefer

Buck spends an age in the shower at the end of their shift. He’s sooty, yes, sweaty, definitely, but no worse than usual, a lot cleaner than he has been on certain occasions — like after trying to dig Eddie out of forty feet of mud, for example. But, even when the water has long run clear, he can’t shake the sensation of being covered with dirt.

In fact, when he finally shuts off the water, wraps a towel about his hips, his skin scrubbed pink, he almost feels worse, dirtier than when he got in. The surface layer of grime gone, uncovering the muck at the core of him.

The locker room is almost empty, A-shift long departed: Chim home to Jee and Mara, Maddie heading out for her own shift; Hen meeting Karen for dinner, Denny at a friend’s. And Buck’s been trying to wash himself clean for long enough that B-shift have passed through, all changed from their civvies to their uniforms and headed out into the station, some away on a call.

The locker room is almost empty. It would be completely so if it weren’t for Eddie. He’s seated on the bench, fully dressed in his street clothes and shoes, hair almost completely dry from his own — significantly shorter — shower, scrolling through his phone. But he looks up as Buck shuffles into the room, eyes on him as Buck opens their locker, hefts out his bundle of clothes and dumps them on the bench, a couple of feet along from where Eddie is sitting.

“You okay?” he asks, locking his phone, tucking it away in his pocket, entire focus shifted now that Buck’s there.

Buck nods, reflexively. “’M fine,” he states, aiming to sound it. As he tugs on his boxers, he tries to change the subject, “Thought you’d be out of here by now.”

He and Eddie don’t have plans this evening, and Buck had mentioned at the start of their shift — back in the inverse of this moment, when he’d been sitting on the bench, ready, but chatting to Eddie while he got changed — that he was probably going to see Tommy tonight, so Eddie can’t be expecting them to make any impromptu ones. But there’s no denying that Eddie’s been waiting for him, all the way through his endless, hopeless shower.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything further.

Buck towels his hair furiously, then rubs his shoulders, his chest, his arms down, hard. He feels itchy, like there’s a film over his skin, a coating of filth. He tugs his t-shirt over his head, slides his sweatpants up his thighs. Collapses down on the bench and reaches for his socks, pulls on one, then the other.

The clothes are clean: the tee, socks, and underwear fresh, and the sweats only donned for an hour that morning, for his trip to work. And yet, he still feels unclean, tainted.

Buck looks over at Eddie, finds him slouched on the bench, arms braced behind himself, already looking back.

Buck looks away. Plucks at the fabric of his pant leg, scuffs one socked foot against the other, shrugs his shoulders against the scratch of his shirt tag at the back of his neck. Sighs. Glances over at Eddie again. Finds warm brown eyes still watching him, waiting for him, soft and open.

“I hate him,” Buck says, low, even though Gerrard has absolutely already left for the day, isn’t around to hear his words, and turns his eyes to the concrete of the floor.

“I know you do.” Eddie’s voice is as gentle as his gaze. “You’re not alone in that.”

And that’s true, but it’s also not, because– Because Buck has been singled out. And he knows what that means. Has heard all the stories of Gerrard’s first reign of terror, from Hen, from Chim, from Tommy. Knows about the people Gerrard had it out for back then, and the people he had on his side.

“No,” Buck says, hears how frustrated it comes out, but also how plaintive, “I really, really hate him.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, waits Buck out, while he tries to work the tangle of his thoughts into something resembling a coherent statement that he can say out loud.

Because he does, he hates Gerrard, who has been so awful to them all, Buck included, but especially the people Buck loves most. Hates him for holding nothing but contempt for them being the thing Buck loves most about them: themselves.

“He’s– he’s so fucking horrible to everyone.” Buck says, needlessly, because of course Eddie knows this, has been both the subject of Gerrard’s disdain and witness to him turning it on the rest of them.

Only now, since Buck attempted to murder him and inadvertently ended up saving his life, Buck isn’t included with the rest of them, isn’t subject to Gerrard’s terrible treatment anymore.

“But, now, he’s being nice to me. Taking me ‘under his wing’.” Just quoting Gerrard’s horrifying pronouncement from that morning makes Buck feel sick, nausea turning his stomach, climbing his throat. He can still feel the ghost touch of Gerrard’s arms around him, poison leaching into him at all the points Gerrard’s body touched his own. “It’s like he wants to mold me into someone just like him.”

Gerrard has seen something in him, recognized the same rot in Buck that resides in his own core. Like calling to like.

“It’s like I already am.” Buck shivers, scrubbing his hands up and down his own arms, trying, fruitlessly to slough off this feeling, to shed his own skin. The first shower didn’t work, and he could hold out a futile hope that if he takes a second once he gets home it will finally work, but he fears no amount of water can wash him clean of this. The stain on him Gerrard has spotted and identified as kin permeated too deep, sunk too far, into his soul to ever be cleansed.

“Hey.” Eddie grabs for one of his wrists, squeezes and pulls Buck’s arm down, holds on as he says, “You are nothing like him. And you never could be.”

“But,” Buck argues, clenching his free hand into a fist, taking the pain of his fingernails piercing his palm as penance, “If he wants to– to mentor me, he has to think he can turn me into the sort of man he is. He– he must think I’m like him.”

Eddie snatches Buck’s other wrist, puts pressure into his grip until Buck relaxes his fist, fingers no longer biting into his flesh. “Even if he thinks that, he’s wrong.” Eddie’s tone is vehement, but turns to a scoff as he goes on, “And if that’s his idea of mentorship, he’s as bad at it as he is at being captain. You’re not supposed to coach someone into a version of yourself, you’re supposed to help them become the best they can be.”

“He definitely wants to coach me in his evil ways.” Of that Buck is sure. And it feels like certain doom.

But Eddie snorts, amused at Buck’s phrasing, not seeming to believe that Buck is standing on the edge, about to fall into an irredeemable version of himself. “I’m sure. But he’s not going to have any success in that, Buck.”

“He’s not?”

“Definitely not. Sure, he’s going to give you terrible advice and you might have to go play golf with him, and do whatever other horrific bonding activities he wants, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to turn you into him. That’s impossible.”

“Really?”

Eddie nods. “He’d have more luck getting Chimney to agree you should always be allowed the clipboard during stock checks, and we all know how likely that is to happen.”

“Chim would never,” Buck says because, really, Chim would never.

“Exactly.” Eddie releases Buck’s wrists, lifts one hand to grip his shoulder instead. “I know it sucks right now but we will be rid of him eventually. And we’ll get Bobby back, your real mentor.” Eddie smiles at Buck then, a tilted, lopsided curling of one half of his mouth. “Not that I think you need mentorship. You’re pretty excellent just the way you are.”

Buck nods, hoping so hard that eventually will come quickly, that they get Bobby back sooner rather than later, and trying to believe in himself. He kind of has to when Eddie believes in him, because he will always believe in Eddie, trust in what he says. But he still feels the cling of Gerrard to him. He scrubs at his bare arms once more.

“You’re cold,” Eddie says, misinterpreting the motion, perhaps purposefully so. “Here.” He tugs the hoodie he’s wearing up and off, holds it out to Buck. “Take this, you’ll feel better.”

“You don’t need to give me that,” Buck protests.

“Well, I am,” Eddie says, shaking the garment slightly, coaxing Buck to take it. He grins. “Besides, it’s yours anyway.”

It is, Buck realizes as he lets Eddie hand it over, the fabric familiar to the touch, soft and comforting.

Eddie stands from the bench, shoulders his bag, smiles at him. “Have a nice time tonight. Tell Tommy I said ‘hi’.”

Buck nods as Eddie crosses to the door and leaves, calling a see you tomorrow back over his shoulder. Buck watches his progress out of the station through the glass wall.

Once Eddie passes out the bay doors, out of sight, Buck pulls the hoodie on. And in it, still warm from the heat of Eddie’s body and smelling like a mix of both of them and the laundry detergent they use at the Diaz house, he finally feels clean.

#i fully believe that gerrard adopting buck is going to be played for laughs but my brain is only giving me angst atm #911 #911 spoilers #911 abc #911 fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #(i mean not explicitly and tommy is mentioned but when is it not buddie fic in my heart let's be serious)#myfic

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thisapplepielife · 8 months ago

Text

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Graduation challenge.

What's A Little Grand Theft Auto Between Friends?

Prompt: Graduation | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Nudity for Comedy, Smoking, Brief Mention of Underage Drinking | Tags: Post S2, Class of '85 Graduation Party at the Quarry, Randomly Teaming Up, And Then Having Fun Together, Steve Gets an Alternate Introduction to Eddie's Hot-Wiring Skills, Steve Ain't Body Shy, He Spent Too Many Years in Locker Rooms, Pre-Steddie

Coming tonight was a mistake, he's realized, because Steve isn't comfortable with this crowd, not anymore.

Decision made: He's leaving.

He places his plastic cup down on the open tailgate of a truck he's passing by.

"Thanks for the trash, Harrington," comes the snapping snarl, and Steve stops. He hadn't realized there was anyone sitting in the back of the truck. But there's Munson, in all black, blending into the night. The only thing visible, the cherry on the end of his lit cigarette.

"Sorry, man," Steve says, leaning up against the side of the pickup, "I didn't want to just, you know, throw it on the ground."

"How noble," Munson says, dripping with sarcasm.

Steve's too tired for another snotty showdown. Graduation party at the quarry sounded neutral enough, but he was wrong. He's done dealing with everyone, and everything, from Hawkins High.

Except Henderson and the kids. But they haven't started HHS yet, so they totally don't count, and tonight he can hate everything about the place.

Including the crown prince of shitty attitudes, Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

Steve takes the few steps back, grabs the cup, slings the beer that was mostly untouched into the grass. Holding up the empty cup to show Munson he's corrected this horrible offense.

"That's more like it," Munson says, cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Well, that's my cue," Steve says, and keeps walking.

"Wait! Wait a second," Munson asks, no demands, and Steve has no idea why he even thinks about going back, let alone does it.

But he does.

Backpedaling the few steps until he can almost see Munson again.

"What?" Steve asks.

"You leaving already?" Munson questions, and Steve just bobbles his head, because yeah, obviously.

"Can I get a ride back to town?" Munson asks, and Steve arches an eyebrow.

"Is this not your truck?" Steve asks.

"Nope," Munson answers, and Steve's hand flies up to toss the empty cup right at Munson's forehead.

Munson bats it away, laughing, as it clatters around noisily in the truck bed.

"You're a dickhead," Steve says, but then just wheels his arm around, silently telling Munson to hurry up if he's coming. Munson grins, wide and wolfish, hopping over the side with ease, landing on both feet with a resounding thud.

Then he holds out his arm in a sweeping after you gesture. Steve shakes his head and starts walking back to his car, hoping like hell he's not blocked in.

He is.

"Well, shit."

"I got this," Munson says, trying the doors of both cars boxing them in, nearly touching bumper. Billy and Tommy, of fucking course.

The Camaro is locked, but Tommy's isn't, and Munson slides into the driver's seat. Curious, Steve sinks into the passenger seat.

Munson pulls out a multi-tool of some kind, and before Steve has a chance to realize exactly what he's doing, Munson has the cables pulled out from under the dash.

"Holy shit," Steve says, leaning closer, "where'd you learn to do that?"

"Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. Now, I swore I wouldn't wind up like he did, but they wanna be dickheads? We'll all be dickheads. What's a little grand theft auto between friends?"

Friends. They aren't friends, and Steve's aware of that fact, acutely. But he'd be lying if it didn't feel kinda nice to hear from someone, even as a lie.

So, Steve grins, "Not a thing. Friend."

Eddie backs up Tommy's car, then pulls the wires, killing the engine. Afterwards, he stuffs everything back up under the dash.

"Won't that-" Steve starts.

"Yup," Eddie answers, "gonna be deader than shit and he's gonna have no idea why."

"My man," Steve says, holding up his fist, and Eddie eyes him, but eventually bumps it back. "Thanks. This is hilarious, and he'll never suspect me. Like, I can't do that, and Tommy knows it."

"That's why it's good to have shady characters on your side, Harrington."

"Guess so," Steve agrees, and once they're back in Steve's car, Steve backs up, pulling away, easily.

Eddie digs his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, "Can I?"

"Only if you light me one," Steve answers, watching as Eddie slides the cigarette along his own bottom lip, into his mouth, puffing as he lights it, then reaches over to place it between Steve's parted lips.

Steve feels funny about it, in a way he doesn't exactly understand, just for a second, before shaking it off.

"So, why was King Steve bailing so early tonight?" Eddie asks.

"Eh, I don't know. Guess I realized I'd graduated and had no interest in seeing any of those assholes again."

"Well, I didn't graduate, but same."

"You didn't graduate?"

"Nah, maybe the third time will be the charm," Eddie answers. "Going from King Steve, to running as fast as you can. I'm proud of you, big boy."

It's so unexpected, Steve's sure he looks stupid, before he busts out laughing, "Well, that's a new one."

"Really? Are the rumors not true? I'll be so disappointed," Eddie asks, looking dramatic, feet now resting on Steve's dashboard. Steve doesn't have the energy to tell him no.

"What rumors?"

"About your big dick, man. Girls talk. I listen."

What? That's. What?

"Well, I gotta piss, so you can take a gander for yourself, I guess," Steve banters, parking and hopping out of the car along the dirt road.

He knows Eddie doesn't actually wanna look, but two can play this game.

So, Steve doesn't go to the trunk, to the cover of darkness. No, he heads right up front, illuminated by headlights, and takes his dick into his hand. Lays it on his palm, like he's presenting it.

He looks through the windshield, but can't really see Eddie's reaction. Bummer.

But, then Eddie's hand pops out of the passenger window, giving him a big thumbs up.

And Steve tosses his head back, laughing.

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

If you want to see more of my entries into this challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #graduation #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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loullaby · 6 months ago

Text

Once Buck sees the helicopter, he stops running. He could feel his emotions wanting to come out because his head was going a million miles an hour, thinking of all the possible ways he could find Tommy.

Hen and Chim are already there, but he feels Eddie's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but the way he looks at Buck is enough. Because Eddie knows what they may find, and he knows how it feels to find it.

They run together until they get to the rest of the team, who are trying to get the door open. Buck doesn't look through the window, because he knows his focus will break once he sees Tommy.

Hen and Chim start getting the med kit ready while he and Eddie work on the door. They don't have the best tools, didn't have time or permission to get it, but he hopes the rush of adrenaline gives him enough strength to make it work.

And he can see the same determination in Eddie's eyes. Because Tommy is not just Buck's boyfriend, he's his friend. His friend who is stuck inside a helicopter, which in Eddie's case is probably the worst place a person he cares about can be stuck on.

The door opens. And there he is. Blood on his face, soot everywhere, and still, it's the best thing Buck has ever seen. Because Tommy is looking at him.

"Tommy…", Buck puts a hand on his cheek, careful not to move his head.

"I told you saving people and dating them wasn't a good idea", Tommy says weakly, barely keeping his eyes open.

Buck chuckles, but his eyes are full of tears that he knows will fall once they are all safe.

"I'll make an exception for you", Buck answers.

tagging some mutuals so i don't overthink and delete this 😂

@evansboyfriend @disaster-j @wenellyb @somethingaboutfirefly @v88sy @repressedqueen @bucksboobs

#that's the first complete thing I've written in over 10 years #but i woke up thinking about this and had to write it #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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chiriwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

The Girl in IT - 2. Off to the Races

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

Previous Chapter │ The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Preview: You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful." "The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration." "and the carnations?" "For fascination and enchantment." "Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?" He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Joel Miller is hungry and wants to EAT, Smut, One massive Tess sized-cockblock, Boss x Employee relationship, Time Jumping to and fro, Joel Miller is a silly flirt, Joel jumps right in, Explicit language, Did I mention smut?, Soft boy Joel Miller

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: You GUYS. YOU GUYS (!!!!!)

Thank you so much for all of the love for the first chapter of my silly little series with my even sillier Old Man Joel and his Sugar. I am absolutely flabbergasted by all of the likes, reblogs, and comments from all of you, it really means a lot to me! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much it means to me.

I have the first few chapters written and planned out, and I hope to post at least a new chapter once a week. I can't make any promises as I go back to work next week, but I will try. I apologize in advance if I skip a week, it is not my intention to let you guys down.

I hope you all enjoy!

Today.

[Hey Sugar, are you in your office right now?]

Yes, did you need something, Mr. Miller?

[Yes, actually, I do. I'll come to you, don't leave!]

A knock on the door startles you.

"Hey, Sugar?" Tommy Miller's voice rings out from the other side of the door. "Have you seen Joel? I know he said he had to ask you about something, but that was an hour ago-"

"Yeah?" you reply, almost in a whine, your head tipped back in pleasure as you try to muffle a scream. "Joel? No, haven't seen him around. No, not since this—"

There's a pause, and then Tommy's voice comes again, this time with a hint of amusement. "Still wrestling with his laptop, huh? The man can't even change his wallpaper without causing a crisis. I'll check his usual spots. If you see him, tell him Tess needs him in her office, pronto."

Just then, the muted sound of a cough under your desk catches your attention. You look down to find Joel, crouched beneath the desk with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Now, where were we?" he chuckles, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievous glint.

“Joel!” You smack him playfully as you roll your desk chair back. “Tess will have your head if you don’t show up soon!”

“But I’m starving, baby! Just let me have a little snack-“ he pulls your chair back to him as he situates himself under your desk, lifting your skirt as he smiles at the sight of your barely-there scrap of lace one would call underwear. “Shit baby, is this for me?” He lowers his head to your aching cunt, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you closer to his mouth. He rubs the tip of his nose along your slit, a satisfied smirk forming on his lips. He licks at your covered mound, the tip of his tongue adding just enough pressure for you to gasp out in pleasure. “I asked you a question, baby girl. Who did you wear these panties for?”

“You,” you say breathily, covering your mouth to muffle up your moans as he plants kisses along your thighs. “You, Mr. Miller. Only you.”

“Who owns this pretty pussy?”

"You do, Sir."

"Damn right, I do." Joel licks his lips as he pushes your panties aside, licking your clit. "Fuck, she's aching for me, isn't she?" He locks his eyes with yours, his mouth hovering over your pussy. "Can I?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to keep quiet.

Joel shakes his head, displeased with your answer. "No baby, use your words-" he growls, nipping at your thighs as you wince in pain.

"PLEASE Joel, keep going!" He smiles at your eagerness, licking and parting your folds with his tongue. He pins you against his face, tightening his hold on you as your body trembles.

"Fuck, you taste so fucking sweet-"

"JOEL!" Tess's voice reverberates through the hallway, the urgency evident in her heavy-footed approach, each step echoing past your office door. "Has anyone seen him?!"

Joel lets out an exasperated groan, his head dropping onto your lap as you suppress a giggle. "Duty calls, Mr. Miller. Can't keep your boss waiting, can you?"

"I am the boss, just so you're clear on that."

"Sure, Joel, keep telling yourself that."

Joel crawls out from under your desk with a grunt, stumbling onto the carpet with a thud. "I'm definitely too old for this shit," he mutters, trying to regain his footing.

"It's your list, Mr. Miller. You make the rules, I just help you execute it," you quip, smirking as you extend a hand to help him up.

He takes your hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He yanks you towards him, and you end up falling into his lap. "Right where I want you," he smirks, capturing your lips in a kiss.

You smile as he starts to kiss along your jaw. "You are insatiable."

"Only for you, Sugar."

"JOEL, FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Tess bellows from across the building.

"You better go before she breaks down all the doors," you wince as you give him a small frown. "Again."

Joel sighs, pressing one last kiss on your forehead. "Fine, but once I'm done with Ms. Pain in my ass-"

"You're going to go back to work like a good boy?" you reply sweetly, straightening out your skirt as Joel heads towards the door. He gives you one last glance as he turns the doorknob, a hungry look on his face.

"This isn't over, baby girl. When I come back, I expect to eat."

Ten years earlier.

"Joel! Tommy! Thank you so much for coming! Please, come in, come in!"

Joel straightens up and smooths out his flannel, nervously fiddling with his tool belt slung taut on his hips. He gives a curt nod to the client, turning to his side expecting to find Tommy next to him. His eyes narrow at the empty space. "Tommy, you fuck," he hissed under his breath at his brother, who was casually smoking a cigarette off to the side of the client's perfectly manicured lawn. "Put that out and stop fucking around, we're getting paid for this shit!"

Tommy takes a long drag, exhaling a long plume of smoke before flicking the cigarette onto the street. "This is small-time shit, Joel. We should be playing with the big dogs, not wasting our time doing residential work. How much was the bid?"

"20."

"Bullshit. This is no more than 5, and you know it. It's just a fucking scorched roof, and at only one side, it's not even a complete replacement."

Joel scoffs at his brother, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Have you seen the size of this fucking house? We're in fucking Westlake Hills, for fucks sake. Think of the potential! Maybe we can convince them to replace the entire roof, replace their windows... fuck, I just want to make a good impression!"

"Oh, so is that why you're dressed like a fucking moron? Cowboy boots? Really? You're 46, not 26." he appraises him as he makes his way towards the front of the house. "Don't tuck in your shirt, man. I can see your fucking beer belly from here!" Tommy looks towards the front door, the client having already retreated into the home. He cocks his head and whispers to his older brother. "Is the wife hot? Shit. Maybe I should have run a comb through my hair-"

"They want this project done in a month."

Tommy whips his head towards Joel. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME? JOEL-"

"Boys!" The client's voice cuts through the building tension between the brothers, a sweet conspiratory smile on her face. "Are you coming?" She looks out into the distance beyond the brothers, a big smile blooming across her face. "Oh, Sugar! come and meet the boys who are fixing up the roof, you know, the side where your antenna thing exploded?" She beckons to the figure who was suddenly behind them, motioning her to join their conversation.

She's a sweet little thing, Joel muses, all nerves and jitters like a baby calf attempting to walk for the first time. So fucking cute, he thinks to himself. You were dressed for the brutality of the Austin summer, with barely there cut-off shorts and a tiny white baby tee, the sweat forming on your skin wetting the thin fabric, and if Joel looked hard enough, he swears he saw the outline of your nip-"

"Baby," the client rings out, forcing Joel to look away in embarrassment, a blush forming on his neck all the way up to his face. "You remember Joel Miller, the contractor we ran into in the mall?"

"Yeah. I remember. Hi, Mr. Miller."

You cringed as you approached, your head downcast as you awkwardly reached your overbearing mother. "Tommy, come and meet my daughter, we call her Sugar, because she's so sweet! She's back home from UT Dallas, she's working her way up to her master's in IT! We're all so proud of-"

"Mom," you whine, glaring at the ground as you shift around uncomfortably. "I don't think they care about what I'm doing at school."

"Don't be silly, Sugar," the mom chided with a dismissive wave. "These fine gentlemen surely appreciate a smart, capable woman, right, Joel? Tommy?"

Joel, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected introduction, nodded with a friendly smile. "Absolutely, ma'am. Education is valuable, and we're glad to have such esteemed company. It's hard enough to go through earning your bachelor's, I'm sure it's hell trying to navigate trying to get your masters!" Joel clears his throat as he gives her a nervous smile. "You look great, by the way. You look well rested, I reckon this break is doing you some good."

Tommy, giving Joel an amused look, chimed in. "Smart is the new sexy, Sugar. Nothing to be shy about. I agree," Tommy winks at his brother as his smile widens at Joel's nervous shuffling. "Joel sure likes them smart and capable, alright."

You blushed, still uncomfortable with the attention. "Well, uh, nice to meet you, Tommy, and it's nice to see you again, Joel," You mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Pleasure to see you again too, Sugar," Joel replies.

Tommy chokes on nothing as he witnesses his brother taking the girl's hand in his, placing a soft kiss on it.

"Oh, brother of mine," he whispered to himself, shaking his head at seeing how smitten his brother was for you. "For fucks sake, what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Six Months and One Week ago.

"Sugar? Is that you?"

You turn towards the deep voice, smiling at the body that it's coming from. "Mr. Miller, it's nice to see you again. Thank you so much for this opportunity-"

"I heard from your mother that you got that Masters, I'm proud of you, girlie."

"Oh," you stammer, "It was nothing-"

"Don't do that," Joel says with a frown, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Do what?" you ask, matching his frown as he steps towards you. You can't help but gasp at his sudden boldness. You keep your hands glued to your sides, willing yourself to not reach out to his chest. You forgot just how much he affected you, even if it's been a decade since you've seen him last. He's older, sure, with strands of grey peppered throughout his curly hair... but he's different too, the remnants of his boyish charm morphing into something harder, more rugged, more broad. You tremble under his scrutiny. You force yourself to meet his heavy gaze. "Do what?" you repeat out louder, your voice getting caught in your throat as you push an errant strand of hair away from your face.

"You shouldn't downplay yourself like that. Earning something like your Master's is a big deal, don't sell yourself short like that, okay?"

You grant him a small smile. "Okay."

Joel, satisfied with your answer, nods. "Want to grab a cup of coffee with me?"

Six Months Ago.

"Are you sure she's good? Joel! Are you fucking listening?" Tess snaps, her fingers snapping for emphasis as Joel jolts in surprise. "It says here that she's been working at the Geek Squad for the last eight years; that's hardly enough experience to run an entire department—"

"She has her masters in Management Information Systems from UT Dallas, and the person who vouched for her-"

"Yeah, her mother? If she's as old as you, I highly doubt she can grasp what we need... what are we doing Joel? Are we just letting little old rich ladies headhunt for us now? I don't need no privileged priss in some ball gown running IT, we're a multi-million dollar company-"

"... who didn't even have a decent IT department in the first place, and now that Gloria is retiring, shit, Tess-" Joel runs his hands through his hair as he groans in frustration. "... she's better than everyone else we've interviewed, hell- at least we know that she's a lifer, being that she's worked for minimum wage at Best Buy for almost a decade! We have a chance to bring someone in to help out with the draftsmen, shit, she's even proficient in Revit! Tess, level with me: with her knowing that 3D modeling shit - we need her! More than she needs us!"

"So it's not that you want to fuck her, then?" Tess rolls her eyes as she throws your resume on his desk. "Yeah, Tommy mentioned your little high school crush on her, it's funny, you conveniently forgot to mention that-"

"Tess, don't."

"So if we decide to hire her, I won't catch you fucking her in your office? Her office? The conference room, the supply closet..." She glares at him, tipping her head back as she pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

"For fucks sake Tess, are we hiring her or not?"

Tess rises from her seat, running her hands down her slacks to straighten them, and gives Joel one last glance. With a half-smile, she shakes her head as she heads toward the door. "I'll email her an offer. If she takes it, she takes it... But, I will be starting her off at our base pay."

Joel nods, suppressing the urge to beam as much as he'd like. "That's fine."

"Oh? And Joel?" She pivots back to Joel, hand on the doorknob. "I didn't hear a no. If I catch you guys in my office, I will fucking castrate you, you hear?"

Two weeks ago.

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Subject: About that list...

11:30 am (30 min ago)

Sugar,

Thanks for saving my ass last night. The meeting with The H Hotel went off with a hitch and Tess was none the wiser for my little mishap... no harm, no foul, right? Right.

About earlier today, when you said "Let's do this", was that a "Yes, maybe?" or a "Yes, definitely?" because I would very much like to do this, with you, at your pace, of course. I don't want to pressure you or anything. I'm just fucking excited, you know? You have no idea how much I've wanted to talk to you back then... I let shit get into my head, you know? Fuck. I'm rambling.

Thank you for giving me a chance, Sugar. I promise I will do everything in my power to make it worth your while.

Joel

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Subject: RE: About that list...

11:45 am (0 min ago)

Yes, definitely. Yes to all of it.

When do you want to start?

One week ago.

[Hey Sugar, are you busy?]

Not at the moment, I'm about to clock out for lunch, what's up? Did you click on a phishing link again?

[Sugar, have a little faith! Say, I'm about to head out to lunch too, meet me in the parking lot in 5?]

That's rather forward and presumptuous of you, Mr. Miller. What if I had already brought lunch from home? What if I was looking forward to eating my adult lunchable?

[What the hell is an adult lunchable? It sounds terrible! What if I take you to that little Sushi joint down the road? Would that be enough to convince you to come out with me? I'll let you snack on the lunchable on the way there.]

Hey! Don't knock my charcuterie! Also, Doesn't that "little sushi joint" have a two-month waiting list? It's impossible to get in! I thought that it was only open for dinner?

[Baby, don't you know that we built that restaurant? Masayoshi is a good friend of mine, and he owes me a favor. All it takes is one call, what do you say? Nothing's impossible for my Sugar.]

Nothing's impossible for my Sugar. Sugar. My Sugar. You read Joel's message over and over again, your stomach growling as you contemplate the current state of your life. If someone had told you six months ago that you would manage to not only crawl your way out of the depths of Geek Squad hell, snag a decent job, and catch the eye of your hot-as-fuck boss, you would have laughed in their face at how ridiculous that sounded. It is ridiculous - how one little mistake led to having everything you could have possibly wanted out of your minuscule life, hot man included. So what if you haven't had a serious relationship since college? It's not like you were with your ex long enough for you to go all the way, and even then, you weren't remotely even into him, he was too skinny and nerdy and didn't scream 'man' at all. His nervous laughter and awkward shaking did nothing for you. Joel, on the other hand- now that was a man. A man you wouldn't mind climbing like a tree, all thick and firm and sturdy...

[Sugar? You still there? Are we doing this or not?]

You snap out of your daydreaming, your decision already being made. Your hands shake as you type out your response, your fingers striking the keys with a finality that you never would have thought you would ever have the courage for. Well, you think to yourself as you press enter. Here goes nothing...

I'll be right there. See you soon.

[That's my good girl.]

"Hey, Sugar," Joel greeted with a playful grin from the driver's seat of his F-150, his arm casually resting on the open window. His eyes lingered on you as if savoring the moment. "Hop in, Masayoshi is heading over to the restaurant now."

You rolled your eyes with a teasing smirk as you approached the passenger side, clamoring into the cab with a bit of awkward grace. "Just like that? A single call to your chef friend, and he drops everything to cater to your every whim? Color me impressed, Mr. Miller."

Joel chuckled. "Well, what can I say? I am sort of a big deal." He reached for your hand across the center console, fingers intertwining, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. "Is this okay, Sugar?" He lifted your hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a delightful flutter in your stomach. Turning your head away, you mumbled, "It's very okay, Mr. Miller."

"Now, what did I tell you?" Joel teased, a glint in his eyes. "It's Joel, none of this Mr. Miller nonsense. Save that for when we're crossing off items on my list, alright?"

You couldn't help but laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks as Joel's easy charm and forwardness caught you off guard. "You're going to be the death of me, Joel," you quipped, half-jokingly, half-serious, unsure how to navigate the sudden closeness. The air in the truck seemed to hum with a subtle tension, and you wondered if Joel could sense the rapid beating of your heart.

Joel's gaze held a playful sparkle, and he grinned. "Well, Sugar, I hope it's a good way to go." He revved the engine, and the truck rumbled to life as he pulled out onto the road.

"So, Sugar, tell me something interesting about yourself," his fingers tapping the steering wheel to an imaginary beat.

You chuckled, playing along. "Well, Joel, I like to teach myself new things, I have a British shorthair named Sir Bubbles, you know, because I was obsessed with Bridgerton, And, by the way, it's Mr. Miller only when executing things on your list, right?" you teased, recalling his earlier remark.

Joel shot you a sly grin. "Sharp memory, Sugar. You're catching on quickly."

As you neared the sushi restaurant, the conversation seamlessly transitioned to lighter topics. Joel shared stories about his work, and how it felt working with Tommy and Tess, and you found yourself drawn into his earnestness and honesty. The playful banter continued as Joel made his way towards the edge of town, your cheeks hurting from how easy it was to smile in his company.

Parking the truck, Joel turned to you with a playful glint in his eye. "Ready for some sushi and more of my irresistibly charming company, Sugar?"

You roll your eyes, feigning reluctance. "Oh, the charm? I don't know if I can handle it, Mr. Miller."

He grins, opening your door with a flourish. "Well, brace yourself, because it's coming."

As you step out, Joel pauses, reaching behind your seat. "Wait a sec," he says, unveiling what looks like the botanical equivalent of a small garden. "A little something to brighten up your day."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is this part of the list?"

Joel chuckles. "Maybe."

You hesitantly reach for the massive bouquet, looking at the beautiful mix of colors in awe. "Joel," you breathe, "They're beautiful."

"The woman at the shop said that certain flowers can have meaning. She asked me about you." He points to the flowers in your hand. "Lilies, well, they mean infatuation. Chrysanthemums, for excitement." He points to the pink rose. "For sweetness and admiration."

"and the carnations?"

"For fascination and enchantment."

"Joel.. you don't mean that, do you?"

He chuckles. "Oh, I absolutely do, Sugar. Those flowers are just my way of expressing what I already know."

You playfully roll your eyes, holding the bouquet to your chest. "You're quite the charmer, Mr. Miller."

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, taking your hand as you both head towards the sushi restaurant. "After you, baby girl."

After lunch, you and Joel emerge to find the heavens have opened up, rain pouring down in sheets. Joel stops you in your tracks, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of sincerity and mischief.

With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, "Mind if I tick off the first thing on my list?"

You smile, stepping closer to Joel as he tucks an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the both of you soaked to the bone.

"Yes please, Mr. Miller."

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,

@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

As always, dividers by @saradika-graphics

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dancingtotuyo · 8 months ago

Text

High Infidelity Part V

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature Explicit

Summary: Tommy is released, but he only pushes you further into Joel's arms.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: prison, mentions of war, fighting, LOTS OF TEARS, emotional and physical affair, cheating boundaries, smut (P in V), Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: And so we reach the end of this story. I know there's a lot to wrap up. Thank you all for all your amazing comments and thoughts over the last month. It really means the world to me.

I know I say this every chapter but a huge thanks to @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin. They have beta'ed every chapter one top of listening to me scream about this story for hours over the course of months! I adore you both so much

Words: 7234

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

They warn you that Tommy’s transition home will be difficult. An adjustment period they call it. You prepare for him to struggle, thinking he would try to leave the house in search of trouble, but it’s the opposite. Joel picks him up from work in the morning and drops him off in the evening. Then he goes out on the back deck and drinks sitting out there in utter silence. At first, you join him, letting Nathaniel play in the backyard but he refuses to talk, hardly looks your way. Sometimes he tracks Nathaniel, but not all the time. He seems so far away, like he had those first couple months home after Desert Storm, but he came back to you, as Your Tommy. At least for a little bit.

At night, he pulls you into his arms without a word. He holds you until you fall asleep, but on several occasions, you wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. Usually he’s sitting on the bed or standing as he stares out the window. Sometimes you hear him pacing the house. You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about much anymore except for the weather. He’s ultra focused on the weather it seems.

He hasn’t tried to touch you. Sexually that is. Any kiss he lays on you is chaste almost like it’s his duty, but sometimes you catch more behind it, like he’s pushing down his own desires. When you try to progress things, he walks away.

It hurts. A lot.

You have Julia and Micky over for dinner a month after Tommy’s release. Tommy comes out of his shell a little bit. He wears a smile, laughs with his head thrown back at some inside joke Micky cracks. He looks easy, relaxed for once. Under the table, his hand lands on your thigh sending little jolts of electricity through your body. He’s feeding you more and more loose threads of his old self to hold on to. The ever present tension in your chest eases. You hate that it feels like you can breathe again. A small, small assurance that he will come back to you in time.

Micky and Tommy take the boys outside after dinner. Micky talks about a support group for Veterans he goes to. You watch from the window, you can’t hear them, but you see when Tommy brushes him off, his body going rigid. You try to push it out of your mind, but you already feel the threads slipping through your fingers as you push back tears with a glass of water.

Tommy goes to bed before you that night, but when you slip into bed, he still pulls you into his arms. When you wake up a couple hours later, Tommy stands by the window, gazing out of it like a statue keeping watch.

You don’t usually say anything. You don’t let him know you know he’s not sleeping, but something tugs you into an upright position. “Tommy.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. You get no indication that he even hears you. You throw back the covers, joining him next to the window. You repeat his name, laying a hand on his shoulder. You catch a small twinge in his jaw. “Come back to bed?”

His eyes dart from the moon to his feet. He leans away from you, just enough for you to pick up on it. You can’t ignore the stab of hurt that shoots through your body. Your hands fall back like you’ve been burned. You wish you had the energy to yell at him, fight him, but you don’t, so you crawl back into bed, back turned to him. Silent tears soak your pillow before you fall back asleep.

Tommy’s gaze moves to your still frame, praying for a release from the chains he can’t seem to shake. The ones that he keeps hurting you with, but he doesn't know where to find the keys.

So life continues like that. Weekly dinners with Micky and Julia, glimpses of Tommy and threads that slip through your fingers. Most days it feels like one step forward and two steps back. Your patiences frays, your emotions unraveling each time he pushes you away only to pull you close at the end of the day. You’re not sure what does it, if you’ve reached the end of your rope, completely unraveled, or multiple tantrums Nathaniel threw all day, but when he reaches for you one night, you snap.

“Stop.” You pull out of his reach.

“What’s wrong?”

Dry laughter falls out of you as you roll out of the bed. “What’s wrong? What’s not wrong?”

“Baby…”

“No, you don’t get to try and soothe me!” You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears of the past months from your eyes. You can’t break down right now, in front of him. “You’re pushing me away! I’m trying to be here for you, I really am, Tommy, but I am exhausted! I don’t know what to do.”

He looks away, body looking deflated. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

“No- Stop,” you hold your hands up. “You know why I’m here. I love you, but love only gets us so far.”

“I’m trying-”

“No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know-”

“People who are trying don’t sit out on the porch and ignore their family every night! They don’t ignore their wife!”

“If that’s how you feel, maybe you should just leave me now!” he snaps. “No need to delay the inevitable.”

It pulls the air from you like a punch to the gut. Tears well in your eyes. “Is that what you want?”

He looks away from you again. You march up to him, grabbing his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Tell me!”

There’s nothing in his eyes, they’re the same eyes you fell in love with, but they’re hollow now. It sends a heartbreaking chill through your body. His eyes fall to the corner, the only way he can get away from your searing gaze.

You drop his face, stepping away before you lose it in front of him. “Okay then.”

You can’t stay here, in the room, in your home. Tommy hangs his head as you flee from his presence. The house rattles when the front door slams behind you. Only then, does Tommy let the apathy bleed out of his body and the tears fall.

A knock on the front door jolts Joel awake. The TV plays lowly, casting harsh light and shadows across the dark living room. He feels confused, disoriented. Another knock pulls him through the fog a little bit. He opens the door to find you, tears streaming down your face. You push past him, crossing the threshold without an invitation. You don’t need one.

“What’s wrong, Darlin?”

You inhale, preparing to let the words out, to scream if necessary, and then your whole chest quivers, and the tears pour out again sending you into a blubbering mess. Joel’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the couch before you collapse right in front of him.

He leaves you for a minute. The faucet runs in the kitchen. Joel sets a cool, heavy glass in your hands, watching over you with concern knit brows. Every time you try to talk, your chest rattles again and tears overpower you.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

You sip at the water, rotating between complete serenity and total chaos. Every time you think you might be able to speak, the words turn into incoherent sobs. Finally, you give up trying to talk until the glass is empty. Joel takes the glass from your hands, setting it on the coffee table. You don’t attempt to talk until your breathing is fully evened out. Joel holds your shoulders, thumbs running smoothly over your skin.

“I’m just so fucking tired,” you say. “All the time.”

Joel frowns. “Tommy?”

“He won’t talk to me.” The tears gather behind your eyes again, creating pressure in your head. You feel the blubbering start to return. “I knew things would be hard, but he just acts like I’m not even there half the time.”

“Is he going out again?”

You shake your head. “No- he’s home all the time, sulking, being mad at the world for whatever reason he can come up with. I’ve tried so hard. I don’t know what else to do.” Hot tears spill from your eyes. “It shouldn’t be this hard. I’m used to doing everything alone- but now I’m doing it with a ghost in my home. It wears on a person, and tonight- “ It hurts like citrus in a fresh cut to think about.

“Come here.” Joel sighs, feeling his heartache for you. He pulls you into his chest, allowing you to soak his shirt until it sticks to his skin. His hand caresses your back, doing his best to soothe you as best he can. Though by now, he’s a pro at it.

Eventually, your head falls into his lap. The sobs don't seem to rattle your body the same, but the tears don’t stop.

Annoyance begins to grow in Joel. How many more times does he have to do this before you come to your senses? He thought Tommy’s stint in prison would help, yet here you are still crying on his couch. This can’t keep happening. It’s not fair to you.

Joel loves his brother. He would do anything in this world for him, except when it comes to you. Because Joel loves you too. He loves you more and in more ways than a brother-in-law should. He hasn’t minded being just your brother-in-law and friend until now. You deserve better.

When you finally sit up, wiping the tears from your eyes, he knows he won’t be able to stop the words at the cusp of his mouth.

“What time is it?” You look at the clock on the wall with a sigh. “I should go home.”

“Darlin,” Joel grabs your chin. Your eyes snap to his. There’s a seriousness in his eyes you’re not sure you’ve seen before. “How long are you gonna let him keep doing this to you?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

You close your eyes for a second. Another tear falls with your eyelashes. Joel swipes it away with his thumb. “What am I supposed to do, Joel? Where would we go?”

“You could stay here until you find somethin.”

A little huff of laughter manages to escape. “Yes, I’m sure Sarah would love having us invade her space when there’s a perfectly good house down the street.”

“She wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t want to leave him.” You put your hand on Joel’s wrist. “He’s a dick, but I love him.”

“It’s killing me to see you like this. You deserve better.”

He’s right. You know he’s right, but there’s something else in his eyes. The way he’s looking at you. There’s a heat in his gaze, something that feels so familiar, but you haven’t seen Tommy in years, the same look you saw that night at the beach. It sends tingles through your bloodstream, little pinpricks of excitement like the night you got yourself off in his bed, said his name and then heard him. You’ve managed to push down the question until now, but you know for certain now. He heard you. You swallow, your breath feeling like it’s being pulled out of your lungs.

Do you tell him what Tommy said tonight? Do you tell him that you heard him that night? Do you tell him you’re being pulled into different directions?

“Joel…”

His hand falls to your waist. The other cups your neck. You feel like you’re falling toward him, helpless to stop the inevitable. “I’ve got you, Darlin.”

He’s been here. He’s always been here for you at the drop of a hat. Your firm foundation when it felt like the rest of the world was sinking. You always assumed you were just a promise he made to his brother, but what he’s been to you and what you’ve been to him, it’s more than a promise to a brother. It’s more than a love for family.

It sparks a flame inside you. You haven’t been looked at like that in years. Haven’t been touched in just as long. Tommy hasn’t made a single move on you since he got out. He’s run every time you’ve tried to initiate something.

Your eyes dip to his lips, centimeters from your own. Joel echoes the statement again, quieter this time as your lips touch his. He shutters under you, lips quick to take over. Arms wrap around your waist. You’re thankful for it. Thankful not to have to think about any of it. Content to let him have complete control as you straddle him.

He inhales with a faint shake to his breath, lips still touching yours. Then, he returns in full force, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. His hands crawl up your body, greedy and searching. You give in, nails wracking through his hair. Years of pent-up desire behind both of your movements.

You play with the top buttoning of his shirt, popping them open, lightly scraping your nails across his chest. A moan reverberates from his chest. The bulge in his pants grows against your crotch, sending electricity through your veins. You tug at another button before Joel’s hand covers yours. He manages to pull away just barely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not here.” He pants. “Sarah.”

Your eyes widen, realizing how easily you could’ve been spotted by your niece. Joel caresses your jaw, eyes hooded with lust. He bucks his hips up, brushing your clothed crotch again. You gasp, making him smirk.

His voice is raspy with need. “Gotta get you into my bed, Darlin.”

You barely manage to pull yourself off his lap, your legs feeling like wet noodles. Joel smiles, he grabs your hand, tugging you behind him. He’s quiet on the stairs, eyes glued to Sarah’s bedroom door the entire way up.

His bedroom door clicks softly behind you, your shirt thrown off before Joel can turn around. He lets out an appreciative groan, pulling his own shirt off as he stalks toward you. Want pools low in your belly, the walls of your aching cunt clench. Your breath quickens as he edges nearer, a solid arm wrapping around your waist. His contained erection pushes against you making you grin. “Happy to see me?”

“More than you know,” he growls, kissing you again. Hand roaming your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You moan softly and then a little bit louder. Joel shakes his head. “Music to my fucking ears baby.”

He pulls and tugs at your bra, unable to get it opened to the point you’re worried he broke a clasp. Finally, you pull it over your head and let it land with your shirt. He takes you in, topless in his bedroom for just him to see. You’re a fucking work of art, water to a wanderer in the desert.

He cups one of your breasts, pulls the other one into his mouth. You gasp, head falling back, moisture collecting in your underwear. His thumb plays with your exposed nipples while his tongue swirls over the other. You moan his name softly, being cautious of your volume.

He palms himself through his jeans, switching to your other breast as he does. You fight the urge to fall back on the bed, hands playing in his hair, nails scratching his scalp. He hums softly against your chest, sending an extra wave of pleasure through your body. He pulls back, saliva connecting the two of you, eyes glued to yours. He kisses you until the back of your knees hit his mattress, but he doesn’t let you fall to the bed yet.

“How long has it been?” he says, muffled against your lips. His fingers play with the button of your pants

“What?”

“How long has it been?” He pulls back, the button of your pants popping open as he sinks to his knees.

Confusion flashes through your face until you realize what he’s saying, what he’s asking. You swallow, unsure of how to answer.

“Darlin?”

It’s embarrassing because you can’t remember the last time you were touched like this. You shake your head. “I don’t know. Before?”

The sound from his throat is guttural, almost a growl. He’s been out for three months. Three fucking months and he hasn’t bothered to touch his wife.

Joel tugs your jeans down, pressing a kiss just below your belly button, continuing down to the band of your underwear. Your pussy clenches again, dripping with need.

“Lay down.”

You obey, bottom hitting the soft mattress first and then your back. His smell is everywhere now, seeping into your skin, just as it always has when you curled up in his bed.

His hands run up the length of your torso, tweaking your nipples before sliding down, continuing over your thighs. He pulls your jeans free, pressing his nose to your center. “Smell so good for me, baby.”

Your stomach flutters, hips pressing into his face. He lets out a low chuckle. “I’m going to take care of you, Darlin. Don’t you worry.”

You whine, hands gripping the sheets beside you. “Please, Joel.”

He tugs your underwear down, tortuously slow. His fingers trace down the entirety of your legs. You can see just enough under the hood of your lust-filled eyes. He props both of your legs on his shoulders, pressing slow kisses to the inside of each leg as he edges closer and closer to your core.

When he gets there, he pauses, eyes locking on yours. It’s intentional. You have the urge to cuss him out if he doesn’t put his mouth on you soon. The need is strong enough you could cry or scream of frustration.

Slowly, he spreads your legs, fingers creeping toward your sopping folds. He runs his pinky through them, barely nudging your clit, but it’s enough to have your back arching off the mattress. He grins up at you. He spreads you further. The evidence of your arousal glistens in the dim lights. “Fuck, Baby. So wet for me.”

You bite your lip to keep from yelling at him. “Please, Joel.” Your voice is hoarse and strained already.

He groans, practically falling into your spread pussy. His tongue flattens against you, running the length of your folds. Your hands tangle in his hair, repeated moans falling from your lips, ones you both know you’re holding back for the sake of being quiet. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely touched you.

Joel wants to take his time, savor the moment, memorize every piece of you. He wants to pull you apart piece by piece and put you back together again. He knows he may not get another opportunity again, but you’re addicting. He wants to pull those sounds from you on a loop and feast on your juices. He sucks your clit, swirling his tongue around it, eliciting another glorious moan from you. Each one grows louder until he pulls away for the briefest second and a pillow hits your face.

“As much as I wanna hear you, Darlin. Use that.” He grins. “Don’t hold back on me anymore.”

His mouth is on you, doubling his efforts. Bringing you to the edge of bliss. You’re so close, moans filling the pillow case that smells like him. He inserts a finger, giving you something to clench around, softly brushing against your walls. His tongue laps over your clit and the tension building in you snaps in one beautiful crescendo.

His thumb replaces his tongue as he works you through your orgasm, chest heaving as you catch your breath. “That’s right. Just like that.”

You toss the pillow to the side, locking eyes with him. He smirks at you, pressing a kiss over your hip. He leaves behind some of your juices, his face slick with them. Standing back to his feet, he undoes his belt shucking off his jeans and boxers.

Your breath catches again as you hurry to sit up. He chuckles at you, catching your hands in his as you reach for him, for his cock. He pushes you back down to the bed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “As much as I’d enjoy that, Darlin. It was all I could do not to finish in my pants like a damn teenager.”

Your breath quivers against him, words barely coherent in your brain. He releases one of your hands, reaching into his drawer for a condom.

“Joel, I-” Your hand runs down his side, soaking in the feel of his skin. “Please.” It’s all you can manage. Years of pent-up desire begging to be freed.

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

He rips open the foil packet. Your eyes follow his every movement as he rolls it over his cock. Once it’s on he crawls onto the bed, hovering over you, gazing down at you like you hung the moon and stars. He’s your oasis in the desert and you’re his. Your hands roam his back and shoulders and hair. He leans into your touch, soft noises of contentment falling from his lips.

Before you know what you’re doing, you manage to flip him onto his back. His arms fly out, a thunk sounding through the room as his wrist collides with the night stand.

You can’t help the laughter that spills from your lips as you settle on top of him. “Are you okay?”

“Glad to see you’re so concerned for my well being.” He chuckles.

“No- Really.” But you can’t stop laughing. “Are you okay?”

“My watch caught it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joel smiles, cradling your face in his hands.

You lean down, hands spread over his chest as you press your lips to his. His hands are all over your bare skin again. He shifts your hips, positioning you over him, ready for you to sink down on to him, feel you wrap around him.

You run your thumb over his bottom lip as his eyes roam over your face, breath held in anticipation, waiting for you.

“Are you sure?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Never been more sure.” His hands settle over your hips, holding them softly.

The air seems to evaporate from the room and the world goes silent before you take that final, fatal move and sink onto him. A soft whimper leaves your lips before Joel captures your lips, swallowing it.

The moonlight reflects off his watch face. Neither of you are aware that it’s stopped, sealing your sins under its glass.

You lay in Joel's arms long after you’ve both finished, sweaty and bare. The ceiling fan turns above you offering little reprieve. It’s nice, at first, but the longer you lay there, the longer it begins to sink in, the more you start to feel the stickiness on your skin and the unexplainable need for a shower.

You pull out of Joel's arm’s without a word, eyes searching for your clothes strewn across the room. Why does it feel like the walls are closing in? You need to get out and think.

“Darlin?” Joel sits up, reaching for your shoulder.

“I should go home,” you say, rising to your feet before he can touch you. “I need to go home.”

“I told you you can stay.”

“I need to go home!” you snap, tears glistening in your eyes. This is wrong. It’s all wrong.

“Shit,” Joel’s head drops. He lets out a huff, a hint of sarcasm to it. You grab your shirt, pulling it on, too busy locating your items to pay him any mind. “So that’s it? You’re just going to go back? Nothing’s gonna change.”

Your head snaps up as you pull on your jeans. “This can’t happen.” Your chest shakes. “It shouldn’t have happened, Joel. We both know that.”

“Or maybe it was supposed to.” He slides out of the bed, pulling on his boxers.

“Joel-”

“He doesn’t treat you right. We both know that.”

“He’s my husband!”

“He doesn’t get to walk all over you just because he’s your husband!”

“That doesn’t make this right!”

“It was the most right my life’s felt in years,” Joel says, eyes landing on yours. You bite back tears, trying not to let him get to you as you turn away, but he grabs your wrist. “It always does with you.”

You turn your head away from him without a response.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty.” His thumbs press into your palm.

You slip his grip. “I love him. I know I shouldn’t anymore, after everything, but I do.”

“I’ve always been here.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” You want to curse as your emotion wells up again. How much can a person take in a single night? “My life would be so much simpler if it was you.”

“It could be.”

“No,” your head shakes. It hurts more than you expect it too. You do love him. You wish it could be him. As if the past three years weren’t enough, you know what it’s like to be with him now, but it’s still Tommy, and you hate yourself for it.

Joel seems to read it in your eyes, the sadness, the acceptance, lingering longing for what could have been. His throat bobbles as he steps back to give you space. You release a slow breath.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don't apologize. I should have known better.”

You cringe. You want to tell him it’s not all on him, but he’s giving you an out. You’re too exhausted not to take it. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Yeah.” Joel moves about his room like he’s searching for something.

You’re not sure if you should say something more, or leave. Leaving would be easier. A clean break, and you take it, but Joel’s voice stops you before you can open the door. “He wasn’t faithful to you.”

Your hand freezes over the door knob, eyes squeezing shut. You can’t do this. You can’t have this conversation right now, but your body is frozen in place.

“I think you should know.”

Nails bite into your palms as you steady your breath, eyes focused on the wood of the door in front of you as rage begins to grow in you. “He already told me, but thanks for dredging that hurt back up three years after the fact.”

“Darlin-”

You spin on your heels. “Fuck you, Joel!”

Joel’s eye’s fly wide. “I just thought you should know!”

“No, you were using that for your own good!” You can’t take this. Joel throwing Tommy’s betrayal in your face years after the fact is its own form of treachery.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I live in a constant state of hurt! You were supposed to be my reprieve!” Your fists shake, voice raising. You don’t care if you wake Sarah, you don’t care if your sins come to light. There’s only so much a person can take in a single night. “If you actually cared about me, you wouldn’t have kept that a secret for years! And you damn sure wouldn’t have used it for your own good!”

Joel doesn’t break eye contact with you, but you see the regret fill his eyes. Fire buzzes in your bloodstream and tears prickle your eyes. You’re not sure how you have any left to shed. In the blink of an eye, you flee from his room and home before he can attempt to draw you back in.

You take the long way home, letting the Texas darkness swallow you whole until you’re ready to go back home.

The house is dark and quiet. You flip on the lamp, a deep tension forming in your head. Tommy sits on the couch, eyes latching onto yours. He looks like a lost puppy. Your breath catches. You must look a mess- eyes stained red, and clothes wrinkled. You worry you smell like sex or Joel, running over the nights happening for any chance Joel left a mark on you- not that Tommy would notice that.

“I was getting worried about you.”

You toss your keys on the end table, throwing off your shoes with a sarcastic huff. “That’s ironic.” Tommy cringes. For once, you’re the closed-off one, too emotionally hardened or drained for his antics.

“I deserve that.”

“Ya think?” You cross your arms.

“Baby…” He eases to his feet. “I’m sorry- for all of it.”

“Sorry? Sorry! What the hell am I supposed to do with that, Tommy!”

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It reminds you of Joel. The thought makes your blood run cold. “I don’t know.”

A humorless laugh leaves your throat. “You don’t know?”

“What the fuck can I say? I fucked up. Quite frankly, I don’t know why you’re still here!”

“Because I love you, you fucking idiot!”

“Why!?”

The question catches you off guard. “What the fuck do you mean? ‘Why?’”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Wow, you’re on a roll tonight.” Your eyes roll.

“I mean it.”

“Do you want me to leave, Tommy?” Yours and his transgressions filter before your eyes, making you cringe. Two wrongs don’t make a right. “You're done with me and you can’t bring yourself to say it?”

“I’m not good enough for you anymore!” Tears swell in his eyes. “I’ve done nothing but hurt you! But I can’t let you go!”

“I don’t want you to let me go, you big idiot!”

“Why?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you take a deep breath. Joel behind your eyelids. His stability. His care. His love. You could have that, but it would never quench your longing for Tommy. For better or worse, he’s yours. You want him even if it’s bad for you. “I don’t know.”

Tommy enters your space. His arms slip around your waist, eliciting a soft gasp from a place inside you you thought long gone.

“You still believe in me?” He presses his forehead against yours. The callus on your heart starts to lift away, easier than you want to admit. He’s still in there somewhere, the man you fell in love with. You’re seeing more of him than you have in a long time. His hands feel hot against your back and he tugs you closer. You’re compliant under his touch. Whatever he wants from you, you’ll let him have it if he’ll just stays like this.

You sniff back the tears, head nodding. “Yeah. I think I always will.”

“Let me make it better. I’m going to do better, Baby.” His breath is hot on your ear, lips pressing right behind it, and then to the corner of your jaw. Your body takes over as you lean into his touch. “I’m going to be here and present for you and Nathaniel.”

“You promise?” If the Tommy you fell in love with comes back to you, you won’t survive losing him again. You feel his hands in places he’s not even touching, heat sprouting all over your body.

“I promise, Baby.” He kisses your cheek and then your forehead.

You feel the pull of his current tugging you back under, clouding your judgment. You should send him packing or at least to the guest room until you wash his brother’s scent from your skin, but your body calls for him. Tommy’s touch is your addiction, your late nights running wild, your stint in prison.

His breath fans over your face and before you know it, you’re pulling his lips to yours. The undertow sweeps you away, tugging you under the surface. Tommy’s never been the safe option, but you never claimed to need safe.

He tugs you up the stairs. The lock on your bedroom door clicks and he’s on you like a starved man, hands wreaking havoc on your body, pulling clothing from your body like pretty wrapping paper on christmas morning. It doesn’t matter that you were sated well over an hour ago, your body responds to Tommy like a horny teenager. He knows you. He knows how to touch your body just right, he knows exactly how to make you writhe and moan and scream, and he hasn’t forgotten either. He plans to put his memory to good use tonight.

Your hands are as ravenous as his, tugging his hair, at the buttons of his shirt, and pants. His teeth scrapes your bottom lip before he lays you down on the bed, bared to him and the moon streaming through the curtains. He smiles at you. It’s breathtaking.

He takes his dear, sweet time with you, pulling you apart piece by piece and gluing you back together. Each time your brain dares to wonder into forbidden territory, he reminds you why he’s your husband, that he still knows you better than anyone else. It erases the rest of the night from your memory and the last two years until it’s just you and him, coming together as one like it was always meant to be. You and him. Bonnie and Clyde.

He finishes deep inside of you, a feeling you’ve missed. All of it you’ve missed. His skin on yours, sweat mingling together. You lay there staring up at him in awe. He locks eyes with you. He’s there. Your Tommy. The Tommy you see every time you think about him, with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin.

He leans down, lips pressing to your forehead. He wipes a stray tear from your cheek. “I never want to be the cause of these again.”

“Let’s be real, Tommy, you made me cry even when things were good.”

He chuckles, falling beside you. His chest moves with his heavy panting. You think he might be the most handsome man you’ve ever met. “Yeah, suppose I did.”

“You’re gonna try, for real?”

“I’ll probably fuck up here and there.” He gathers you into his arms, skin pressed to skin as you breathe in the same air.

“I know you will.” You tease. He scowls, but it’s all in good fun. Another flash of fresh air, a promise that things could go back to normal.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You laugh, fingers tangling in his black waves. His hair has gotten so long. You wonder if he’ll keep it this way. “It’s gonna take at least that.”

He nods, a hint of seriousness showing in his face. “I know.”

And you know he means it.

“I think you should go to that group Micky mentioned. You need people who understand.”

Tommy shifts slightly. He doesn’t like the idea. That much is clear. “Baby…”

“This is how you do better, Tommy.” The firmness in your voice catches you off guard. Tommy too.

He nods, Adam's Apple bobbing. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Every week?”

“Every week.”

The next morning, you wake up the same way you fell asleep, in your husband’s arms.

Tommy never says a word, but he smells it on you that night. Something familiar, but out of place. It doesn’t belong on you, but he can’t put his finger on it. He knows what it means. He’s no idiot, and he doesn’t blame you for any of it. He’s had his indiscretions. Lord knows you’re allowed yours.

You sit on the front porch with your coffee the next morning, the creaking of the porch swing playing in the background of your racing mind. You feel guilty for all of it. What you did to Tommy. What you did to Joel. But more so, you feel guilty because you know you can keep this buried for the rest of your life if it means keeping Tommy, and you’re pretty sure it makes you no better than him. At least Tommy had the balls to own up to what he did, but Joel isn’t some random girl at a bar. He’s your friend. Tommy’s brother. If it had been some random man, you could own up to it, but not this. Not Joel.

“Aunt Bonnie!”

The familiar voice pulls you from your thoughts as Sarah waves from the sidewalk, other hand clutched tightly in Joel’s.

“Hey!” You force a smile to your face, waving back to her as they climb the porch stairs. She rushes over to you, arms open to give you a hug. You return the gesture, crushing her against your frame. “What’s up?”

“We’re just walking. I wanted to come say hi.”

You kiss her cheek. “Well I feel honored. Nathaniel and Uncle Tommy are inside if you want to say hi to them too.”

“Okay,” Sarah returns your kiss, curls bouncing behind her as she darts inside.

You keep your eyes focused off to the side as Joel’s footsteps draw closer. Your finger plays along the rim of your coffee mug. You feel small, like a child in trouble. Joel eases next to you on the swing, shoulder brushing yours as he does. You bite your lip, knee bouncing softly.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says. “I shouldn’t have let that happen last night.”

Your eyes glaze over. “It’s not all on you.”

“Let it.” Your head snaps toward him. He looks tired, like he didn’t sleep much last night. He clasps his hands together, leaning over his knees. “You weren’t in a good place. I took advantage of that. Let it be my fault.”

Tears glaze over your eyes. He’s giving you an out.

“Joel…”

He nods at you, a silent assurance. You shouldn’t take it, but you do. You lean into it, and it covers the guilt some, even if it’s all lies. You knew what you were doing.

He kisses your forehead as the words leave your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Darlin.” More lies to make you feel less guilty. He’ll feed them to you as long as you need him to.

He stands up, eyes flickering between your door and the way back to his house.

“I can walk Sarah home later.”

“Thanks.” He nods before leaving your front porch. He doesn’t look back.

Things with Tommy don’t magically get better overnight. Life doesn’t work that way. It takes time. It’s gradual, sometimes it feels like you’re moving backward, but slowly Tommy comes back into himself. He’s never the exact man you fell in love with, the one you married, but you’re not the same person either. Time changes things. People grow, but with some work, you find new versions of yourselves that still fit together. Most importantly, this new version is still your Tommy.

Your memories with Joel don’t go away. You keep them tucked deep in your soul, but the two of you find your new rhythm, your friendship too important to lose.

One Year Later

The five of you gather at Joel’s on Sunday morning for breakfast, rotating houses each week. It’s a carry over from the routine you and Joel developed. It’s different, obviously. You and Nathaniel don’t stay the night. It takes time for Tommy to find his place in the well oiled unit the two of you became. It feels awkward and clunky at times, but you get through it and slowly the kinks work themselves out.

Joel bounds down the stairs, hair wet from his shower as he joins you and Tommy around the coffee pot.

“Figured y'all would have breakfast ready by now,” Joel says, squeezing next to Tommy to get to the coffee.

“Last I checked, we’re guests in your house,” you say, quirking an eyebrow, teasing lilt in your voice. Joel’s eyes roll but a smirk quirks his lips none the less.

Tommy hears a ringing in his ears as the scent of Joel’s body wash filters through his senses, still strong on his brother’s skin. His eyes narrow at your and Joel’s banter. There’s nothing unusual about it. He knows you two are close. It doesn’t bother him, but he knows that scent. His mind pulls it from the fading archives quickly. He smelled it on you that night.

Tommy sets his mug down, not saying anything as you and Joel go back and forth over breakfast traditions, the two of you falling into predetermined roles in the kitchen. You dance around each other, like a sixth sense, always knowing where the other one is and where they’re going.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tommy’s not sure how he hadn’t caught it before. Maybe his brain wasn’t ready. He’s lived a lot of his recent life in a fog, maybe it had just cleared enough now.

He doesn’t catch any longing glances or stolen touches. Everything is above board. He knows he has no right to be angry, not after what he's done. He’d pushed you away. Maybe he even pushed you into Joel’s bed that night. Maybe there were nights before, but he hasn’t smelled another man, hasn’t smelled Joel on your skin since. You’ve spent every night next to him, in his arms, body pressed against his. At the end of the day, that’s all he needs.

He can get past the hurt like you did for him. He can push away the questions. How long did you wait? How often did you find solace in his brother’s bed? He wants to ignore the questions, stomp them down so they don’t fester, don’t ruin what you’ve helped him rebuild.

“Daddy?” Nathaniel tugs on Tommy’s shirt, pulling him from his thoughts.

He smiles, pulling his son into his arms with an exaggerated groan. At five and a half, it won’t be much longer before he’s too big to pick up. It hits again, like a sledgehammer to a cinderblock wall, how much of his son’s life he’s missed. Nathaniel laughs, pressing his forehead to Tommy’s. Is there a sweeter sound in this world?

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“I love you.” He whisper yells.

Tommy chuckles mimicking Nathaniel’s tone. “I love you too.”

Your laugh floats through. Tommy looks up to find you smiling at them, so much love and affection sparkling in your eyes. Something stirs in him, possessiveness, maybe as he strides across the room, shifting Nathaniel to his side so he can pull you flush against him. You melt against him. That’s how he knows, knows you’re still his and he's yours. He won’t ever say a word. He won’t risk losing you again or causing you more grief than he has.

Tommy grins at you, voice lowering to a growl. “And I love you, Momma.” Then he kisses you like he’d reclaiming you.

Neither of you catches the way Joel turns his back and puts himself out of ear shot. You never catch the way his gaze lingers. He conceals the way his fingers itch to touch you like he used to.

Nathaniel squeals in disgust, sliding out of his father’s arms. You both share a laugh and then both Tommy’s arms are tightly around your waist, lips pressed to yours again. Your hands rake through his long curls.

As long as you still look at him like that, continue to touch him like that, Tommy doesn’t care that you fucked his brother. Your heart belongs to him.

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