#but i don’t know. their age gap is just On The Line of acceptable.

[eye-of-yelough]

i’m fine i just need to rehearse these idiots’s timeline again

[satoruhour]

GO!

a/n: racer jjk men …….. mmgfnghgn..gg.f.. if u can tell i’ve never watched f&f, you would be correct. i only watched tokyo drift for research 😭 also im talking out of my ass by using random car terminology !!!! i don’t even know whether anything i said was possible so just close one eye please :3

warnings: essentially car sex & pet names & unprotected sex for everything, fingering, clit stimulation, praise, public sex, geto listens in on a call, riding, implied p → v penetration, implied creampie / breeding, implied threesome w/ stsg (gojo), clit stimulation, handjob, semi-public sex, p → v penetration, doggy, geto asks and then takes a pic of you, creampie / breeding (geto), praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, pleasure dom nanami, squirting, clit stimulation (nanami), age gap (reader’s early 20s, toji is forty), oral (m receiving) while driving, facefucking, semi-public sex, clit stimulation, daddy kink, implied p → v penetration (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“my, my,” gojo smirks as he looks over to you in his 1999 Nissan Skyline R34 when your hand makes contact with his thigh, “couldn’t wait till we reached there?” on the way to the races that gojo loved to bring you to, it was a silent rule that gojo was one of the people that ruled the underground racing scene in tokyo — that means leaving his opponent sighing at the steering wheel and being the object of your kisses at the end of it.

gojo was talented, but he knew he wouldn’t sit well in the driver’s seat if he didn’t share the victory with you. the racer speeds at any opportunity, but today he takes the time to drive his baby just so he could have more time to fuck her.

sometimes gojo rubs off on you in terms of disposition, because you’ve become fairly good with composing yourself into times of tribulation with your constantly-horny boyfriend. your calmness could be commended, but your breaths still give off your aroused state, his fingers continuing to draw a faint line up your legs which are rubbing and squeezing against each other. even with the aircon on full blast, you still feel undeniably hot.

“so wet…” gojo hums as his hand feels the wet patch that’s pooling in your panties before slipping it to the side, driving unaffected while he keeps his eyes on the road. he’s fucked you so many times already, memorised the feel of your body that it doesn’t take him much to insert his fingers and find that sweet spot. you squeal, hands flying to grab at his forearm. your pussy clenches around his fingers, and it makes him hum, pushing him to adjust his pelvis in his seat. no doubt your cute sounds are affecting him.

“s-satoru! the race?” you panic and hope to distract his attention elsewhere, but gojo’s a master at multitasking.

“what’re you talking about? we’re on the way, princess.” he’s right, taking you through the familiar streets of shinjuku before switching to a lane that takes the car into an underground tunnel. it’s a route you can remember, but you hardly give a shit currently where you can feel your juices pool below you.

“sato—” you whine, your squeezing thighs doing nothing to deter him, “your s-seat’s getting soaked.”

“s’fine, i’ll clean it up later,” gojo grins, sparing you a quick glance where he likes you the most: lips parted with moans escaping, knuckles white from clutching onto the seat and your pussy leaking your juices all over his palm. “c’mon, you’re a good girl, aren’t you? don’t you want to cum?” gojo knows all of your habits, so he taunts you, teases you by slowing down his fingers just a little and plays with your clit. a ringtone doesn’t distract him, easily accepting the call from his phone on the dashboard.

there’s a soft on the way? from the caller, seemingly whispering into the phone like he was hiding from something and you’re struggling to keep from moaning too loud by keeping a hand to your mouth. you’re hyperfocused on your boyfriend’s fingers that you don’t exactly hear what they’re talking about, but you do faintly make it out to be geto on the other end. you’re so close that you might’ve left bruises on gojo’s forearm.

“satoru, you might wanna camp out in a nearby parking lot before comin’ over. officers are patrolling around the starting line.” it wasn’t weird for races to be pushed back, by engines malfunctioning, by police officers doing their nightly patrol but while the black-haired racer is just a little agitated at the delay, you’re surprised to see your boyfriend sporting a shit-eating smile.

“good, that just means i have more time,” gojo pauses to groan when you start to clench around his fingers. he knows you’re close and you want to fucking kill him when he easily reaches the spot that has you seeing stars, all the while having his best friend on the line, “to fuck my lovely girlfriend.”

“oh f-fuck… satoru! ’m cumming mmf…!” you don’t bother holding back on your mewls and whimpers, then, not exactly caring if geto hears cause he’s shared you with him before. gojo fingers you through your orgasm, your pupils blown wide and jaw dropping as you seek refuge in the hot pink seats gojo got for you while you continue to cry out his name.

within minutes, he’s pulling into an abandoned parking lot and swerving the car into a secluded spot before making use of the modification he made to his Skyline, reclining his driver’s seat (courtesy of your suggestion and he was driving off to the mechanic the next day) and beckoning you over with a smile.

you could only return his sly smile as he removes his pants, cock already hard and weeping from its tip from all the teasing he’s done to you, hard from knowing he’s the only one to get you moaning like a bitch in heat. and when you sink down easily, it’s like heaven on earth, the adrenaline giving the both of you a high.

it’s no surprise when gojo easily wins the race later, receiving you with open arms and a sloppy kiss, all while his cum’s leaking from your panties and your cunt still feels a little empty — so when you both receive a message from geto asking for a late-night drive with just the three of you, you’re quick to leave the scene to get stuffed full again.

✶ GETO

“suguru!” you smile as you enter the garage that’s housed suguru’s cars since he was a high school student, the familiar gold and black accents spread throughout the large space. he was lucky to have a father who’s a manufacturer, and despite the many engines and parts he’s gone through, it was a wonder his dad hasn’t exactly uncovered his rising fame in the tokyo racing scene, even if he comes home with some cuts and a roughed up car to match.

“hey princess,” he calls out, still focused on the minute parts of the 13B-REW engine and switching out his outdated intercooler for the Blitz, something that he had to persuade his father with with good grades and exemplary behaviour in his after school activities. “just making some changes to the Mazda. how’s my baby doin’— oh wow.”

your immediate reaction is to grin at him, heat blooming throughout your face as you descend the steps to where his vehicles were, sporting a cute little miniskirt and knee high boots. it’s not that you haven’t dressed like this before, but every time you do, it manages to make his breath hitch. that’s not the main attractive point today, though, eyes dropping to the fat of your thigh where a new tattoo had found its home — a black widow weaving chinese knots and it looks so damn good on you that your boyfriend wastes no time in removing the hood strut and slamming the hood close.

you don’t usually sit on his 1997 Veilside Mazda RX-7 much, but geto is determined to change that when you’re propped up like a doll on the sleek black design of the car, wandering hands slipping under your skirt as you’re humming into the deepening kiss. the other groans against your lips when he finds your clit, rubbing languid circles into it and you spread your legs further to accommodate his fingers, exposing your neck for his lips to suck on while his free hand gets busy with your perky tits.

“you’re so… fuckin’ wet,” geto mumbles into your neck, stifling your moans with yet another kiss. the way he’s rubbing at your bundle of nerves is so distinct, you couldn’t even replicate it if you tried, usually left dissatisfied after cumming on your own fingers. “my pretty angel.”

“yeah? you like me on your Mazda?” you say with a lilt to your voice, and although the pet names bring another wave of shyness and fire to your cheeks, your hands speak otherwise as they trail down his torso to the trousers he’s got on. it’s you against him to see who makes the other break first — geto moans when you fish out his dick, already semi-hard from all the teasing and your hand’s warm like how your pussy usually feels, stroking him in a pace that matches the hand on your clit.

“fucking love you on it,” geto laughs breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your lips and hips bucking into your palm, “love your hands on my cock, too.”

“ditto, baby,” you reply in a breathy whimper, but geto mutters something else along the lines of too bad i need my cock in you now before a surprised yelp leaves you when you’re flipped over suddenly. with hands flat on the hood and a knee propped up, he’s careful not to bring any discomfort to your new tattoo. bit by bit, he’s sheathing himself into your dripping cunt, pleas and obscenities flooding the spacious garage as you beg him to move.

your boyfriend’s a racer, ’course he knows how to do that, but he takes pride in teasing you, letting you feel every last bit of his dick as he bottoms out. “suguru… fuck me, please.”

“planning on it — shit, you’re so tight — let me enjoy your cute lil pussy for a bit, princess.” geto has both hands move down the expanse of your back, appreciating your attractive arch, and then then down to your ass and folds where he’s filling you with his fat cock. and when he starts to move, your mewls become incomprehensible and your fingers grasp at anything, but you’re afraid of scratching the smooth finishing of his Mazda, settling for holding onto his forearms.

“suguruuu… oh my g-god!” you love the way your obscene noises fill the space, juices flowing freely down your thighs as the other finds a steady pace. “right there— f-fuck…”

geto is no different, hypnotised with how his length disappears into your heat that he doesn’t notice your twitching body, but he still knows you’re close by how your clamp around him like a vice, pussy tightening up to make sure he gives you all his cum. by this time, you’re delirious from the squelching noises of your cunt and the slap of his hips into yours that your orgasm comes unexpectedly.

“cumming, cumming, suguru—!” your thighs shake and shiver through the euphoric feeling, still riding the wave of the orgasm before geto wraps his arms tight around your middle, mumbling confessions into your ears until he’s spilling deep into you, too. geto cums so much, and you moan at the feeling of being filled up, body slumping forward. between geto’s help and an aching question, you’re content to lay on the stunning car as he snaps a photo of you before cleaning you up.

it’s not until later when you’re at getting pounded again by him when you see his phone screen light up — the screensaver photo being the one of you on his car with legs pried open and cum spilling out your pretty pussy — that you know you’ve got geto wrapped around your finger.

✶ NANAMI

“mr. nanami?” your father calls out in the deserted shop, empty apart from the clang of metal against metal and the late night radio droning on about some love story sent in by a listener. despite how it’s almost 11 at night, your father was always happy to help with people’s cars due to a love for them since he was young.

even if that someone’s car was a 1968 Dodge Charger with a LS3 engine that he only knew the US had. when he comes around the back, he merely rubs his fingers together.

“this guy’s got money money,” you burst out laughing, landing a hit on your dad’s shoulder at his comment, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. looking out from the supply room, the man standing near the entrance of the shop looked exactly like the part: rich, tall, blonde, hot, and donning an annoyed look as he scolds someone named gojo who’s on the other line.

there’s a firm expression set into his features before he lunges forward at the sound of his surname and his pondering expression melts away to make way for a smile, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. but you have no time for daydreaming, also emerging from the room to collect money and complete the transaction like you usually do with clients.

“my daughter here will take your payment,” the older man nods his head toward you after explaining the changes he made to the engine, specifically the crankshaft which contained newer journals with older webs — this particular combination made the oil system faulty and rigid, and even for a tamer temper like nanami’s, it still irritated him to no end when the Dodge Charger wouldn’t start properly.

this would’ve been a piece of cake to solve, though, if it wasn’t for your dad’s japan-only parts, which function minutely different to american engines. so your dad had promised another day to fix nanami’s car after the parts had arrived, even refusing to accept nanami’s apologies and offers to pay for the america-based engine the first time he came to you guys.

it’s like the initial demeanour had faded, bowing profusely at the kind-hearted nature of your dad and he waves it off, passing it off as a passion that still burned strong within him; he only wrote a receipt for the repair of the engine, after all.

“collect the nice man’s payment and close up shop, okay?” your father places a kiss to your template and bids farewell to nanami as well who’s feeling still a little flustered, “i’ll head off to bed first.”

“thank you, truly,” nanami bowed again to you as he felt around for his card, producing a black card for you to process the transaction.

“it’s nothin’. dad’s usually like that, always so generous with his services and then blames it on his passion,” you laugh a little and nanami does too.

“i understand, tell him thank you again.”

you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, handing him back his card with clammy palms and fidgety fingers. you both know you’re not exactly ready to say goodbye to this fine-ass man so you strike up conversation with a terribly stupid opener.

“so… you drive?”

“i would think so,” nanami chuckles as he makes his way over to his Dodge Charger, loving the way you almost want to dig yourself a hole from what you asked, “i race. actually.”

and you swear you can hear the pulse in your pussy quicken, swallowing a lump in your throat at the vision of being spread out on the hood of nanami’s car, blonde head of hair hidden between your legs.

you just didn’t know that vision would come true today; well — tomorrow, since one question led to a conversation past twelve, led to advances from the both of you and now you’re moaning out nanami’s name as your sensitive core is being devoured by the racer, kneeling at the front of his own car like the hood of his car is your throne.

you voice your concerns about being ate out so shamelessly with the garage door open, voice breaking as he eats and laps at your dripping cunt like a starved man, sucking hard on your clit as he plays with your hole, teasing his thick fingers around your entrance just enough for it to clench around nothing.

“it’s past 12, don’t worry your pretty little head about someone watching,” he reassures you, palms spread out against your stomach. “plus, you taste divine,” nanami groans from your core before he plunges a finger into you, causing you to jerk in shock at the intrusion — it’s so good you forget about your worries. “so tight too, shit.”

“nanami…” you drag out the last bits of his name in a whine, hips bucking up to take in more of his needy tongue and his replied hum sends vibrations throughout your body. you’re so wet that you’re able to take another finger. “just like that. oh my god, your t-tongue.” your hand naturally pulls at his blonde locks, pushing him deeper into your centre; he likes it, squeezing your ass in the process.

“can i cum, nanami?” you plead for it, the unexpected obedience has nanami reeling and he gives you the green light.

“’course you can, such a good girl, aren’t you?” the shop is filled with your moans and the dirty, sopping sounds of your pussy as he flicks his tongue, memorising the way your thighs clench around his head and how sweet you smell and taste. he’s definitely not letting this pussy go, “good girls get to cum.”

“i’m gonna— ooh shiitt…” nanami lets your hips go on their own accord and another groan from the racer is enough to have you cumming on his fingers and tongue, “fuuck, i’m cumming-!” he praises you like you’re his royalty while you gush all over him, squirting your release all over his face as he happily downs your juices like he’s done it before. he’s sure to do it again in the future.

“attagirl,” both the metal of his car and his affectionate names for you sends tremors throughout your body and legs, orgasming so hard you see white and it’s clear he enjoys giving head like his life depended on it.

you catch your breath briefly, brushing your fingers through his hair and admiring the sight before you until he returns to his intimidating and looming height, helping you to sit up and patting your thigh affectionately

“hope that’s enough payment for the parts. or would you prefer instalments instead?” he says the cheesy line with such a calm face you’d think he was in a business meeting, but the stoicism makes you stifle a giggle.

it’s not long before you’re returning your dad the money nanami had insisted on, but more importantly, being all dolled up in the passenger seat, his teasing hand on your thigh and a full pretty lace set underneath your miniskirt.

✶ TOJI

it’s not uncommon to find a veteran on the racing scene. fushiguro toji had his time of fame in the 80s, but now he’s back for more after fathering a whole child — something his close friends back then didn’t think he could do. it was an endearing sight, a large, burly man carrying something as precious as megumi but it didn’t halt his drifting trips on the mountains, taking his 1966 Chevrolet Corvette for a ride every time he needed to clear his mind; on a less safer note, megumi as a toddler was sometimes in the passenger seat.

megumi was already set to follow in his footsteps the moment he was born, showing a keen interest in cars more than robots or barbies (toji did buy one when megumi reached for a doll dressed in all black, though) and that only increased when he accompanied his dad on his drift trips, many times imagining himself in front of the wheel, gliding through the corners easily. even if the corvettes in the 60s weren’t exactly drifting material, he learned to do it perfect. plus, it still held memories for toji.

“who’s that?” your friend could hardly stop her jaw from hitting the floor after her comment, clearly a little flustered at seeing a forty year old stroll through the underground car parks like he owned the place. he did, 20 years ago, but his name seems to still precede him when hushed whispers and murmurs follow him. although he’s here to support his son’s first drifting race, he’s still fairly popular to be getting enquiries from curious mechanics and avid car enjoyers.

“megumi’s dad,” you grin with a hidden sense of satisfaction, because you didn’t just know him from afar. how his hips swayed when he walked or how he loved that stupid compression shirt, that was everyone’s perception of him, but you knew how his hips felt as it grinded against you. you always never fail to recall the raspiness of his voice against your ears as he mumbled the dirtiest things, only for you to hear. it’s why you revel in the way your friend’s jaw drop past the concrete into hell when the older man catches your eye (he always liked to look for you in crowds), and winks, prompting the gossip to only increase in volume.

“you’re in cahoots with megumi’s dad?” you didn’t care much if people suspected something going on between the two of you. even megumi didn’t exactly care, who was a few years younger than you in his last year of high school. he was content enough that his dad wasn’t alone after giving so much of him to raise megumi. anyway, you always had his trust fund to rely on and if anyone fucked you as good at toji did, you wouldn’t give two shits either way.

“hey doll,” toji’s grin matches yours, planting a sloppy kiss to your temple as you both wait at his Corvette, all roughed up from the race the day before. he hasn’t had time to fix it up, driving the familiar route to the mechanics before you sent him a text about how megumi’s got challenged to a race by some newbie at school — it was laughable so much so that it even prompted toji to use those emojis he hated so much.

it was a race worth seeing, especially if one of the contestants was the tokyo drifting king’s son. toji doesn’t need to say much, waving off megumi with a salute before the countdown begins like clockwork. the increasing revs of their engines draw you from your stupor, the newbie looking wrongfully excited despite the failure that’ll befall him in a few minutes. once go is signalled, they take off, giggling at you feel toji’s arm curl around your waist.

“he’ll win,” he’s as nonchalant as they come, but it rings true when he’s the one who had megumi going 15 rounds ’round the docks and mountains every week. with screeching tires, a RB26DETT engine and years of drifting lessons to back him up, megumi finishes the race first. he rolls his eyes when his friends and fans crowd his car like moths to a flame, but he can’t help shoot a wave to his father who smiles genuinely. it was unspoken that megumi was silently thanking him inside, before he drives off to celebrate the easy win.

“c’mon, baby. we’ve had our share. say goodbye like a good girl,” you pull your friend into a side hug who’s still barely able to wrap her head around the two of you, but she’s able to muster a brief goodbye before the rev of his Corvette draws eyes once again, speeding off into the night. it’s clear toji’s on a high from watching his son race and win, seeing it in the way he goes full throttle past shibuya square and down inokashira street with a laugh.

the fire in his eyes, the coy grin he’s got on reminds you of times you’ve experienced the feeling of toji deep in you, clutching onto the sheets on the tatami mats and face shoved into the pillow as he bullies his fat cock into you. the thoughts have you feeling up his thigh, and he doesn’t notice your wandering, needy hands until they come incredibly close to his cock. he shifts gears before grasping onto your wrist, shooting you a look of warning.

but you do anything but listen, rejoicing in your small victory when you feel the car slow down from his speeding spree so it’s safe for you. palming his bulge, you gasp at how hard he already is and he adjusts his lower half, clearly uncomfortable with his tightening pants.

“let me make you feel good, toji,” you mumble, hands fumbling with his belt and zipper before you pull his dick from his boxers, looking so pretty with its mushroom tip that leaks pre-cum. toji pulls lightly on your hair as a second warning before you’re able to twist your body to lean down, eyes flitting up to look at him in faux apology. “sorry, daddy.”

toji sighs once your mouth descends on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and hand squeezing your nape in pleasure. no matter how many times you get his length in his mouth, the size always catches you off guard and it causes you to choke when the car runs over a speedbump. you have to take a second to cough.

“sorry, babylove,” you wordlessly shake your head as a way to say it’s okay, because toji takes care of you without you needing to ask him; it’s only fair he deserves his own fair share of care too. “but your mouth— shit. feels so fuckin’ good on daddy’s cock.”

you suck in your cheeks and pump the places where your mouth can’t reach, sides already aching from the uncomfortable position but you continue to bob your head. toji’s groans and bucking hips has got you soaking your panties, spit and pre-cum dribbling down the sides of his length and you waste no time to lick a stripe to clean up, settling for circling your tongue around his tip.

toji moans out with a number of profanities and a fist tightly clenched around the steering wheel — your mouth is so soft and warm that he decides that he needs to pull over at a quiet parking lot behind a bar so he can focus on fucking your mouth and imagine it’s your tight pussy he’s plunging into, not that he has to imagine. your lips are still on him when the car halts and you feel more stable than ever, both hands pulling apart his thighs to take him deeper into your mouth.

“cock’s so big,” you babble and ramble like a little slut, slurping up your messy job with the help of your hands. just like your walls, the ridges along your mouth feel lovely and when his tip meets the back of your throat, he throws his head back. “need your cum down my throat…” 

“yeah?” toji breathes out, hands tangling themselves in your hair before tapping your skull, a discussed rule for the two of you: two taps on your head when he wants to facefuck you, and two taps on his thigh if you can’t breathe. “i’ll have ta fuck your little whore mouth first, can daddy do that?”

you nod lazily, steadying yourself on the compartment housing the stick shift before his hips lift off the seat and he starts a pace that even he can’t keep up for long. one look at your cute doe eyes has got him whining and mumbling about how pretty you look right now, clutching on your head so hard that it has his knuckle turning white.

toji’s thighs are flexing and contracting from the movement, but you can point out when he starts to fumble and tremble at the mercy of your mouth. his thrusts are getting sporadic, just like how you’re reaching your limit, too, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “g’nna cum down your throat, baby, ya want that?”

you sound a hum of agreement before toji’s hips still and he shoots his load down your throat, thick blobs of cum that spill from his tip, “that’s it, doll, take it all like a good slut,” and you swallow at least twice to get it all down. you show him a small amount of cum left on your tongue before he brings you up to kiss you harshly, giving your ass a firm smack and then you’re plopping down onto the seat again, wiping the side of your mouth like a good meal well devoured.

the wind is immediately knocked out of you as he brings up the speed with a hand inching towards your core, and you’re so glad he’s switched out his 327 small-block for a 427 V8 engine, the lampposts speeding past you and his fingers playing with your cunt enough to give you an adrenaline high to last throughout the night, cause toji’s far from done with you.

okay i digress. / pt. 2 here

[formulawolff]

xx. dog days are over - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 6.2k

warnings: cursing, toto being a mess, discussion of injury, mentions of a car accident, some tension between team principals, age gap relationships, teasing, slight angst, mostly real fluffy shit hehe, yadayadayada

a/n: ummm.. how did we get here? well.. this is the last chapter of my baby :’) i really hope you enjoy the ending! i really am so proud of this series and what is to come! <3

prev. | next.

a muffled voice floods your ears. 

blinking, your lids open, weighed down by this heaviness.

there’s a buzzing pain in your skull, muscles searing with a fiery sensation, burning as you prop yourself up. your helmet is off, tossed approximately three or so feet away. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you pant for just a moment, shaking your head as the air billows into your lungs. the action pours life back into you, leveling your racing thoughts, your blurry field of vision coming into focus.

alex hovers above you, concern plastered across his features as you stir, coughing slightly.

“what the fuck happ–”

his arms are around you, bringing you tightly against his chest. sobs wrack his torso, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

“holy fuck. h-holy fuck.”

“alex,” as you blink, your line of sight falls on your crumpled car, how the metal curled against the barrier, pieces scattered all around, littering the asphalt, “w-what happened?”

“there was a crash,” his voice is eerily quiet, “i’m not quite sure how it happened or who caused it, but you came flying towards the barrier. you rolled a few times. you were unconscious when i–”

another cry rings out, the driver burying his head in his hands. carefully, you squeeze him against you, “did you–”

you’re cut off as the medics jog up to the scene, an ambulance parked close by. 

“are you okay?”

“yeah!” you nod, “i’m fine.”

“we’re going to have to transport you to the nearest hospital,” the paramedic kneels to your right, “even if you show no signs of external injuries, we would still like to transport you. make sure that everything checks out.”

“do i have to?” you arch a brow, “i feel fine.”

“it’s just a precaution,” the paramedic’s voice is light, laced with a gentleness, “let’s get you on the gurney.”

“can i come with?” alex’s voice sounds to your left.

“don’t you have a race to finish–”

“i’m coming with,” alex repeats, his tone hardened. he rises to his feet, offering you his hands, “come on, let’s go get you checked out.”

“what about james?” you press, accepting his gesture, “what about your points? the fia? alex, you could get in so much trouble–”

“it’s one race.” he scoffs, helping you onto the gurney, “i think i can face the repercussions of leaving one race. i’m a big boy, i can handle it. besides, i’m your emergency contact. i need to be there with you. who’s going to call your parents? toto?”

toto. 

oh god. 

you eyes dart towards the pits, desperately searching for that mercedes logo. yet, it’s too late, as the paramedics start to haul you into the ambulance, alex following in suit. he clambers into the back end, taking your gloved hand into his. 

“you have no idea how fucking scary that was.”

“well that’s the perk of being a bad bitch,” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “and you know what that perk is?”

“you can’t kill a bad bitch,” the corners of his lips tug upward, fighting a smile.

“what about your phone?” you nudge the driver, “how are you going to get ahold of everyone?”

“simple,” he leans back, his head resting against the equipment, “once we arrive at the hospital and get you situated, i’ll use their phone to call lily. i’ll tell her to ask for access to my driver’s room. you’re lucky you left your phone with mine.”

“we can thank james for that,” you exhale, your body relaxing as the medic slips a pulse oximeter on your index finger. 

the adrenaline was beginning to dissolve, crumbling away to pain. sharp, aching, pain. the paramedic senses your shift in demeanor, clearing his throat.

“feeling some pain?”

“yes,” you wince as you adjust in the limited space of the gurney, “all over.”

“anywhere specific?”

“my neck,” instinctively, your hand reaches upward, rubbing the sensitive area, “i would say it’s a six out of ten there. the rest of my body is more like a two out of ten. i figure it’s just from the impact?”

“exactly,” a chuckle flows from the paramedic’s lips, “although this probably isn’t your first crash, and it won’t be your last, that pain is normal. especially from an impact-related injury. you’ll probably ache for a couple of days.

we’re mainly going to get you in for a ct scan. make sure you’re not bleeding anywhere internally. they’ll probably run a few other tests. i’m not the doctor, but i’m sure you have a concussion.” 

“will they keep me overnight?” the inquiry tumbles out, heart racing as you the anticipation builds, the paramedic sucking in a breath. 

“they probably will. just for observation.”

“great,” you fold your arms across your chest, a pout forming, “how am i supposed to give insight on my near-death experience if i’m stuck at the hospital?”

“don’t worry,” the paramedic shoots you a wink, “i could keep you company if you need it.”

“and she has a boyfriend i’m calling as soon as we get settled. he’ll be more than happy to keep her company.”

the iciness in alex’s tone takes you by surprise, the driver glaring daggers across the gurney. the paramedic shoots you an inquiring glance, earning a shrug from you in response. 

“what can i say? he’s right. and this man is probably losing his shit right now because he can’t be here with me.”

although your tone was lighthearted, in your heart you were well aware of the truth. 

the team principal was more than likely seconds away from losing his shit, barely maintaining his composure. 

and who knew how much longer he would keep it together before cracking completely. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“toto!” 

lewis hamilton pushes through the mass of mercedes crew, “toto!”

although there was much to celebrate today with the conclusion of the race, the british driver was well aware of the harsh reality. 

the team principal’s mind was nowhere focused on the team, his drivers, nor their accomplishments. 

he picks out the large stature of toto wolff, the team principal pacing back and forth, george situated in a chair, a hand holding his chin. there’s no clear emotion across george’s face, but there is a haze of pure and utter fear swathing the team principal, strings of curses flying from his tongue. 

“not doing too hot, is he?” lewis clicks his tongue.

“not at all,” george mutters, shaking his head slightly, “poor bloke is driving himself mad over here. i’m afraid he’s going to start a reign of terror over at the haas paddock.” 

“who caused the accident?” lewis arches a brow, licking his lips.

“hülkenberg,” george tuts, rolling his eyes, “it was a complete accident, really. toto has only reviewed the footage a hundred times or so in the last hour. he thinks it was on purpose, but really it was just a mistake. we know it happens all the time.”

“well,” lewis begins, a sly smirk forming, “when his precious angel is involved, it was no accident. hey, lover boy!” 

toto swivels on his heel, bearing a tight-lipped frown, “what?”

“any updates on your babygirl? do i need to drive you over to the hospital myself? we can storm in and demand her room number.”

“alex texted me about half an hour ago,” george answers, fishing his phone from his pocket, “she’s getting some tests done but we should be able to visit soon.”

“you’re going?” 

“why wouldn’t i?” george shrugs, scrolling along, “that’s my future teammate. i want to make sure she’s okay.” 

“aww georgie,” a chuckle rumbles in the driver’s chest, “are we all going to become besties? a little trio?”

“well your days here are numbered,” george counters, “we won’t be a trio for long.”

“just because i’m going to ferrari doesn’t mean i can’t be your bestie,” lewis puckers his lips, “so, what’s the word? are we going to the hospital soon or what?”

“you’re coming too?” toto’s voice from behind startles the driver, earning a flinch. 

“holy shit!” lewis clutches his chest, “you about gave me a bloody heart attack!”

“you’re not the only one today,” the team principal inhales sharply, “i’m just shocked i kept it together throughout the debrief.”

well, that was not necessarily true.

although george had managed a podium, lewis in p4, toto was visibly distressed. his shirt, normally wrinkled after the chaos of a race day, seemed even more disheveled, his hair a haphazard, fluffy mess. even his piercing, eagle-like gaze was filled with nothing but anguish, an anxious, darkened hue. 

his voice shook throughout the entire post-race debrief. he could barely formulate coherent responses while he was interviewed by the various media outlets. during the press conference, you could just tell that he was nowhere on this planet, his attention barely present throughout the entirety of the event. when asked about the williams driver, the team principal short-circuited, completely shutting down any and every reporter that came near. he even cussed out a journalist who inquired about the driver, asking if he knew her current status.

it was very clear that the team principal was on the brink of a complete breakdown. 

but lewis was not going to mention that.

not the time nor the place. 

which, not like he could really blame his boss. 

he loved that girl, oh so dearly.

and to watch, completely helpless as she barreled into those barriers? holding his breath as alex held her unconscious body, pleading for the medic? with there being no communication regarding her condition as they hauled her away in the ambulance, how was he supposed to feel?

without a doubt, he would be a nervous wreck, pacing violently back and forth. 

or curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing. 

“is she even allowed visitors?” george’s brow furrow. 

“if not i’ll just pull the ‘i’m lewis hamilton and very famous’ card,” lewis waves a hand, “it’ll work like a charm.”

“are you going to fuck a nurse while you’re at it?” george teases, springing to his feet, “well, i am going to have carmen make arrangements for a ride to the hospital. alex says that she’s doing okay. lily is already there with him. he said he would give us more details when we arrive. are you riding with me or toto, lew?”

lewis shifts in place, turning to toto, “how are you getting there?”

“theodore is driving me,” the team principal shoves an arm in his jacket, glancing at his phone, “he’s going to be arriving in a few minutes. i do not care who you ride with. you can come with me. it is up to you.”

the british driver bites on his lip, chewing at it momentarily, “well, i guess i’ll ride with you, toto. you look like you may need some company.”

“well then,” the team principal lets out a shaky breath, “let’s get going. i’m not doing any further press conferences, team meetings, or events this evening. it will all have to wait.”

“look at you,” lewis whistles, following his team principal and fellow driver as they stroll out of the garage, making their way through the paddock.

“everyone, everyone! make way for the knight in shining armor! he’s on his way to save his damsel in distress at the emergency room!”

meanwhile, at the montreal sacred heart hospital, a driver sits in her bed, fiddling with the fabric of her sheet. two visitors hover in the chairs beside the bed. one flips through the stations on the television, the other scrolling through her phone.

“you have no idea how terrifying that was,” a voice pipes up, trembling slightly, “i was so scared that it was a lot worse than it really was. when alex pulled you out of that car, i swear the entire circuit was holding their breath.”

“i thought i was going to start throwing up in my helmet,” another voice chimes in, “i have never had that much adrenaline in my life. i think that was one of the few times my body was truly in fight or flight mode.”

“thank god you didn’t start running away,” you fight a yawn, the exhaustion slowly creeping in. 

or was it the muscle relaxers? you couldn’t quite tell. 

the entire crash was a blur. there were no minute details, as it all just was just one big foggy, blobby, mess in your brain.

the only thing you could remember were the memories of toto as you flew through the air, propelling towards that barrier. 

once you were all settled in your temporary room at the hospital, alex filled you in on what occurred. 

from what he witnessed, he stated that nico hülkenberg of haas had a malfunction with the car, causing him to start viciously spinning out of control. unfortunately, you were an innocent victim, as his car hit yours with such a violent force it sent you rolling. nico was able to regain control of the car before crashing out, leaving you as the one who suffered at the hands of the haas engineers. 

the fia was not going to punish nico, as it was not intentional. 

which, was fair. you could understand that. it would have been a completely different story if he was trying to overtake and pulled a sketchy move. unfortunately, it was just the dangerous aspect of life as a formula one driver.

you were going to crash the car. sometimes more than once in your career. 

even if it was not entirely your fault. 

however, there was nothing more than you wanted than to get behind the wheel of a car. your car, and finish the race. 

too late for that, though. far too late.

it was nearing nine p.m., and visiting hours were going to conclude here soon. 

since alex was at the top of your emergency contacts list, he was granted access to stay the night with you. which, you didn’t mind. he had been extremely gentle with you since the crash, tending to your every need. 

he had lily bring all of your favorite treats, packed your trusty stuffed animal, and even ensured that all your jewelry was safely tucked away in your overnight bag. 

additionally, he called your parents for you, explaining the series of events between the start of the race and up to the moment you were wheeled into your room. although everything had checked out, they wanted to keep you overnight for observation. 

after all, it wasn’t everyday you were colliding into a rigid surface at nearly one hundred miles an hour. 

approximately five minutes ago, you received a text from toto stating that theodore was pulling up to the entrance of the hospital. lewis was with him, carmen and george about ten minutes behind them. 

although they had left around the same time, somehow toto had gotten there first. 

you almost didn’t want to know how fast the car was going.

“you should have seen the way i was tearing at the car,” alex remarks, putting his hands behind his head, “i felt like goddamn superman.”

“he sure was,” lily lets out an airy giggle, “speaking of which, where is your–”

“guten abend,” an oh so familiar voice interrupts, thick with the accent you adored so dearly. 

your head swivels towards the entrance of the room, toto standing in the doorframe. in his hands is a bouquet of flowers, a bag slung over his shoulder. the moment your eyes meet, he softens, his lower lip quivering. 

“and he brought a friend!” lewis chirps, poking his head out from behind the team principal, “how are you feeling?”

“tired,” you blink, face scrunching into yet another yawn, “they gave me some muscle relaxers for my soreness.”

toto crosses over to the bed, pulling up a chair. placing the flowers on the nearest table, he sets his bag on the floor. although the actions were simple, it felt like minutes until two hands found yours, bringing it to his lips. 

“ich hoffe es geht dir gut. die blumen sind nicht die besten, aber sie reichen aus.”

“mir geht es nicht so gut,” waves of drowsiness crash over, your head meeting the pillow as toto chuckles, kissing each one of your knuckles. 

“zumindest hast du medikamente und gute freunde.”

“ich liebe dich,” you whisper, tears welling up as he leans over the bedrail, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. 

brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you swear you can see the hint of a sparkle in his gaze as he gives you one last kiss on your temple, trailing down to your cheek, “und ich liebe dich.”

“do we have the right place?” a new voice sounds from the entrance. 

before you drift off, the muscle relaxers sucking every last bit of energy, you make out george walking in the room, carmen giving you a slight wave as the world around you fades away. 

so much for visitors. 

however, the bunch remains perched by your side, conversing among one another as you doze off. toto remains as close as possible, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb, murmuring strands of hushed german. 

lewis can’t help but watch, his heart swelling at the pure, genuine love bursting in the team principal’s stare.

in that moment, you could have sworn toto was gazing at the stars.

“are her parents coming?”

george’s question is a pressing one, as this was something that had been on lewis’ mind as well. surely her parents would come, right? if his child was recovering from a gnarly crash, he would want to be there.

“no,” alex’s voice is thready, “her parents are still in the process of obtaining their visas. they are not able to make it, unfortunately. that is why i’m her first emergency contact in situations like this. toto is second on the list, actually.”

in the corner of his eye, lewis notices toto perk up, straightening in his chair, “w-what?”

“i’m not shitting you,” alex focuses his attention on the team principal, “you’re second on the list. she had it changed recently.”

“that’s–” toto begins, shock painting his features as he scrambles to formulate some sort of response, “i-i never would have–”

“i hope i’m not crashing the party.”

a new voice interjects, timid as it carries throughout the space.

glancing over his shoulder, at the sight before him, toto’s heart skips a beat.

there stands james vowles, hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. toto’s stare darts towards the clock, eyes squinting as he makes out the pointed direction of the clock hands. 

8:54 p.m. 

only six minutes until visiting hours were over. 

“no,” alex purses his lips, “come join us! the more the merrier.”

james saunters over to the bed, carefully selecting a place between alex and lily, closest to the wall. toto could sense the waves of anxiety radiating off the team principal, how his muscles were wound up tight from tension as he folds his arms across his chest. he swallows a lump in his throat, swaying slightly as he hovers behind alex.

hmmph. what a pussy. 

“hello–” a nurse pokes her head in, eyes widening at the large group, “oh wow! i was not expecting so many visitors! i was just popping in to remind you all that visiting hours will be wrapping up in approximately four minutes or so. those who are not immediate family will have to leave until the morning. the hours will resume at eight am.”

“is it okay if i stay?” alex pulls up his sleeve, exposing a wristband, “i’m family.”

“of course!” the nurse chirps, “those who do not have wristbands will have to leave. if you guys need anything, please let me know. i will be back in about ten minutes to make sure that everyone who is not family has left the room. it’s not the– oh my god. is that lewis hamilton?”

“indeed,” lewis waves, flashing a wide grin, “i’m just here visiting my friend.”

toto can’t help but roll his eyes as the nurse strolls over to the driver, a dusty pink hue tinging her cheeks, “is it okay if i get a picture?”

“of course!” lewis winks, “would you like a few? george can take them.”

“here we go,” george mutters, earning a chorus of laughter from the group, “sure, i’ll take them.”

as the three head over to the farthest corner of the room, toto wipes his palms on his pants, “i should probably head out then.”

“wait,” alex sticks out a hand, leaning over to dig through his bag, “i have something for you. they gave us three wristbands for the family. lily and i both have one, and she asked that i give you the other. you’re more than welcome to stay with us tonight. i’m not sure where you’ll sleep, but i’m sure we can ask for more pillows.”

“oh,” heat rises in the team principal’s cheeks as alex hands him a wristband, “are you sure?”

“she wouldn’t shut up about you,” lily adds, “she told us that if she fell asleep, she hoped that you would be the first person she saw when she woke up. she wants you to stay. we want you to stay.”

“all right,” his focus shifts towards the bed, where his golden girl was sleeping oh so peacefully, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, “i’ll stay.”

“we should probably get going, though,” carmen murmurs, glancing at her phone, “visiting hours are over. i’ll corral the two brits over there. we’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

“sounds good,” alex dips his head, “thank you for coming. i’m sorry she wasn’t awake long enough for–”

“don’t apologize for that mate,” george swiftly cuts off alex, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, “we wanted to come. besides, it’s always nice to see you.”

“it is always nice to see my boyfriend,” a chuckle flows from alex’s lips, “see you guys. thank you for stopping by.”

“of course,” george wraps an arm around alex, bringing him in close, “we’ll be back in the morning.”

“bright and early,” lewis brings a hand to his mouth, yawning, “let’s get out of here. i’m beat.”

“see you two tomorrow,” toto tuts, “you better get some good rest. especially you, george. no celebrating with the lady.”

“yeah, yeah,” george scoffs, waving one last goodbye to the group, “see ya!”

as the three exited the space, james runs a hand through his hair, “i guess it’s my turn to go, yeah?”

“you can stay a little longer,” alex shrugs, “i’m sure that nurse won’t mind. after all, she got her photos with the lewis hamilton. i’m sure her mind is other places.”

“actually,” toto begins, clambering to his feet, “james, i need to speak with you. out in the hall, please.”

james shrinks in his stature, “o-okay.”

as the two make their way out of the room, toto can feel his heart race, thumping against his rib-cage as james shuffles behind him. blood roars in his ears as he comes to a halt, bringing the team principal to a waiting area, settling in one of the chairs. james faces him, exhaling as he crosses his legs, his hands resting on his knee. 

this was the pivotal moment of the season. 

the defining moment in which determined toto’s success for the years to come. 

not only the success of the team, but the preservation of their reputation. 

this would be the start of contract talks among the two team principals regarding the release of the williams driver, where she would sign to mercedes for the 2025 season. 

all he needed was that blessing from james.

those few words that would give him the approval that he was desperately aching for. 

“surely you know what this is about.”

james forms a tight-lipped frown, “i do.”

“and what are your thoughts?” toto leans back, allowing james to take the floor.

“as much as i want her at williams until 2026,” james’ voice is nearly a whisper, “i know where her heart lies. she wants to go to mercedes, where she will be by your side. and you know, i have had to face the hard facts that i cannot stop her. she is going to do everything in her power to get to you. she’s made that very clear with me. 

and you know, i have had to do my own thinking about what is best for the team. if she is not happy with us, that is not ideal for the team as a whole. she’s unapologetically herself, and i know that she will speak out against us if she stays here. she will start to resent me, the williams name, and even start to resent racing. even the thought of driving a car will start to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 

i don’t want that. she is an exceptional driver. one in a million, actually. i have never quite seen such drive and desire to win in someone that young. she’s the best fucking driver on that grid and i’ll be damned to see her lose that fire burning within. i don’t want to be that person to quench those flames. so, toto, here is what i am going to tell you.”

he pauses, catching his breath before continuing.

“you have my blessing. we can start those contract talks. you have to promise me one thing, though.”

“what is it?” toto presses, cringing at the desperation dripping in his tone, “i’ll do anything you ask, james.”

“that you will take care of her. no matter what. if you two decide to end things romantically, you have to promise me that you will still look out for her. she has a good head on her shoulders, but she is her own worst enemy. she will lash out at the media, get violent with other drivers, and worst of all, doubt herself.  i need you to be the person who will lift her up. always.”

james, you have no idea.

“i will be,” toto sucks in a breath, “i will be that person who loves her unconditionally. no matter what. even if things do not end well between us, i will be that person who will continue to support her and lift her up when she needs it. that is my job as the team principal. and you know i try my best to do a damn good job at that. james, i have a question for you.”

“and that is?” he raises a brow. 

“do you have any idea of how much i love that woman?”

james tsks, shaking his head, “i have seen the interview with sky sports. i’ve seen the way you look at her. i think i have an idea.”

“well then,” toto leans forward, sticking out his right hand, “are we good then? i will probably contact my assistant and have her start drafting the necessary emails. we will get the ball rolling.”

james reciprocates the gesture, his hand interlocking with toto’s, shaking it, “we are good. i will keep in contact with you. i have full faith in you, toto. i know you will take care of her. i just have this fatherly instinct when it comes to her. i hope you can understand. i just want what is best for my american girl.”

you and i both, james.

and she will thrive at mercedes. without a doubt.

“james,” the corners of his lips curl into a meek smile, “i can promise you that i will give her the best and only the best at mercedes. i can promise you another thing.”

“and what could that possibly be?” for the first time in weeks, toto heard laughter erupting from the team principal’s throat. 

“i can promise you that i will make her a world champion. she will be the 2025 world driver’s champion. and she will be the world champion in the years to follow. i will do everything in my power to ensure that she gets what she deserves. there’s no doubt about that.”

☽༺ sunday, june 30th, 2024 ༻☾

“golden girl! look who we brought!”

turning your chin, you glance over your shoulder to see george russell and lewis hamilton walking towards you, lewis’ hands cupped around his mouth. behind them is toto, donned in his sunday uniform. 

“who said that you could call me ‘golden girl’?” placing your hands on your hips, you can’t help but giggle as lewis pulls down his shades, rolling his eyes.

“i thought it was a universal nickname, my apologies!”

“that nickname is reserved for the one and only torger wolff,” sticking out a tongue, you gravitate towards the team principal, feeling his arms envelop your frame.

you’re showered with kisses, his mouth roaming all over your head and cheeks, “good afternoon, my love.”

“hi baby,” rising on your calves, you graciously accept a chaste kiss, lewis and george curling their lips in disgust. 

“please get a room.”

“no, seriously. there’s places in the paddock for that.”

“are you ready for today?” toto’s mouth hovers by your ear, voice soft. 

“of course,” you nod, “i was born ready, remember?”

today was the infamous austrian grand prix, hosted at red bull ring. fans from all over swarmed the stands, pumping their fists and raising the dutch flag, in favor of max verstappen. additionally, there was a plethora of mercedes fans, as this was toto’s home race.

although you had yet to officially announce your departure from williams, the contract was signed. all you had to do was verbally state your intention to race for mercedes at the start of the 2025 season. which, you were holding off that announcement as much as humanly possible, even if the media generated dozens of speculations with each passing day.

in the weeks since montreal, life was nothing but a blur, the days blending together. 

there were several lengthy flights, a brief visit back home in the states, a few days in monte carlo, and most importantly, time spent with toto. 

since you suffered a concussion in canada, you were grateful for the two-week period between montreal and barcelona. you were given adequate time to recover without feeling the need to rush back into racing. 

although you were anxious to get back behind the wheel again, toto urged you to take it easy. 

so, you did, taking your mind off racing for a while and flying back to arizona for a week. toto accompanied you, where you got to show him around your hometown, introduce him to your parents, and even give him a taste of that good ol’ american lifestyle. 

at first, your parents had their reservations. however, your predictions were correct. once they met the austrian, they were wooed over by his charming personality and witty humor. the two of you were able to discuss your move to mercedes. which, resulted in the three of you holding each other, tears in your parents eyes as they profusely stated over and over again how proud they were.

your father was over the moon, as he knew how driving for mercedes was a lifelong dream of yours. 

and thanks to toto and james, you were able to achieve it.

the second you were discharged from the hospital, toto had arranged for theodore to pick you up. from there, you were taken to the airport, where you hopped on a flight to brackley. 

upon your arrival to the mercedes headquarters, you were met with the williams team, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you began to connect the dots. 

toto was able to get james’ approval. which meant that you were able to begin contract talks.

the negotiations only lasted half an hour, as the team principals sorted things out amongst one another while you were in the hospital. of course, you questioned the fia’s involvement in the matter, as they had made it clear they were to be present during the meetings. 

yet, toto and james informed you not to worry about a damn thing, as they had discussed matters with the fia prior to your arrival.

so, all you had to do was sign the papers. check the boxes when needed, initial here and there. 

once the contract was finalized, you were surprised by george and lewis, the two of them embracing you so tightly that you were sure you broke a rib or two. additionally, you were introduced to mick, who was absolutely starstruck by your presence. 

although there was the setback in montreal, there was still much to celebrate.

you were still the leader of the pack in terms of the driver standings, max and lando not too far behind. even after recovering from your nasty concussion, you were able to pull off a barcelona win, sharing a podium with lewis. 

part of you wished that you, george, and lewis could all share a podium together under the mercedes name.

yet, that was not possible.

besides, lewis was already bound to join ferrari. george would remain with you at mercedes, with mick as the reserve driver. lewis promised that the three of you would still remain close, even if he was in that unforgettable ferrari red. 

you were well on your way to making history as the first female world driver’s champion. 

and god, did that leave such a fucking sweet taste in your mouth.

“if i win your home race, will you come and kiss me on the podium?” 

“we’ll see about that,” there’s the glitter of amusement in his mocha depths, his dimples forming as his grin widens, “i don’t know if our pr teams could handle another mishap like monaco.”

“that was not a mishap,” you counter, “that will go down as one of the most unforgettable moments in f1 history.”

“perhaps you’re right, my love,” taking your hands into his, toto intertwines your fingers together, “you’re going to be careful out there, right?”

“right,” you affirm, “i’m going to be oh so safe.”

“unless she wants to overtake kevin again,” george whistles, “we’ll have to watch for that.”

“good thing i’m pole,” you roll your eyes, “shouldn’t you guys be heading back to the paddock? we’re going to start soon.”

“yes,” lewis’ head turns, focusing on the track, “we should probably get going. i just wanted to make sure that loverboy got a kiss before the race.”

“well thank you–”

“all right people!” james’ voice floats through the garage, “it’s go time!”

“oh shit,” you exhale, “i really have to go.”

“good luck, my golden girl,” toto leans in, pressing one more kiss on your lips, “i love you.”

“i love you more,” you can’t help but feel heat burning in your cheeks as george and lewis snicker, making kissy faces, “i’ll see you on that podium for that kiss soon, yeah?”

“you bet,” toto squishes you against his chest one final time, “i have to go, my love. see you soon!”

“see you soon!” you nod enthusiastically, zipping up your suit, “good luck lew! good luck out there george!”

“where’s my american girl?” james inquires, searching wildly for you as you enter the garage, “i need my american girl!”

“i’m here!” you raise a hand, “i was just getting my good luck kiss.”

“oh god,” james lets out an exasperated sigh, “well come on, we gotta get a quick debrief in before the race.”

before you know it, you’re behind the wheel of your car, gliding onto the track. 

easing on the gas, you sail towards the pole position, the rest of the grid lining up in their respective positions behind you. the lights on the track gleam red, signaling that the race was merely minutes from starting. 

as the crew gathers around your vehicle, swiftly prepping in that thirty second period, you can’t help but feel your heart rate escalate, adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins. clicking the visor down on your helmet, your body tenses, anticipating that final light. that final signal before it’s lights out in austria. 

swallowing the lump in your throat, you hum under your breath. it’s a simple tune, really, a song by florence + the machine. 

the dog days were over. 

you had truly braved the worst of storms in the past few weeks, from a terrifying crash to the revelation in monaco. you were dealt horrid hate comments, bizarre headlines from the tabloids, and the falling out of a friendship with someone who cared so deeply for.

but here were you, despite it all.

on your way to win yet another grand prix. another event to add to your personal history book. 

another milestone for the woman referred to as america’s sweetheart. 

there’s a beat of silence before the final light flickers, the roar of engines deafening. 

“and the austrian grand prix is underway! perfect reaction time for the american girl! she is off to a magnificent start! will she make history yet again?”

in seventy-one laps time, you would have that answer.

but for the time being, you were going to savor the moment. the thrill of it all. 

and for now, that would be enough. 

racing was never in the cards. 

but fuck, were you oh so elated that you ended up here, behind the wheel of a williams car, destined for greatness. 

the american woman who made history as the first female world driver’s champion.

that had a nice ring to it. a real nice ring, actually. 

abu dhabi could not come soon enough. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

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as always, if i didn’t add you or you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know! thank you all for the support on this series! it means so much to me, more than you’ll ever know! <3 i love you all!!!

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PLAYING DANGEROUS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

pairing: detective!johnb x reader.

cw: mentions of a murder, reader is a murderer, mentions of the law, slight age gap, abuse of power, sexual content.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day two.

nothing ever happens in this town.

nothing worth talking about anyway. only god knows why john b was stationed out here. what kind of detective work was there to do out in the sticks you might ask? jack all, that’s what. nothing but the occasional stolen tractor, and one time — oh, one time, somebody vandalised the town statue outside the city hall, leaving john b to figure out who did it. now that one was real exciting, he knows he’s not meant to — but he secretly loved the smart criminals. made his job just that bit more exciting. the vandal took out the security cameras facing the monument, and also had questionable motive for the graffiti. took john b the whole of two days to figure out who did it, and they didn’t even get an arrest. just a hefty fine. the criminals round here were boring as ever.

until you.

a murder, in his small town. it rocked everyone, as you can imagine. everyone knew everyone round here, which made things all that more interesting. a young man’s house had been burnt down, with him inside of it. john b had to commend you, you’d sent him out with a bang, not even bothering with a boring method of murder, more paperwork sure but god was it worth it. a real case, hell — he cracks this one and they might even move him up to the city. get him on some real jobs.

now not only were you apparently this young man’s scorned ex lover, the kid apparently being some kind of serial cheater — but john b had asked around, and apparently you hadn’t been careful enough to cover your tracks when purchasing large amounts of gasoline. to him, it was pretty obvious who’d done it— but there was procedures he had to take. things aren’t always as they seem, and john b couldn’t afford to jump the gun and ruin his chances at a promotion.

knock, knock, knock.

it’s late, he’s aware. 9PM isn’t the most appropriate time to show up at a perps door, but hell — with this case came a buttfuck load of paperwork that he hadn’t been doing before and it had taken up all his time. now it was time for some real action, his stomach stirs in excitement. shit, his cock almost hardens.

he starts observing you before you’ve even greet him. the sound of socked feet on wood. do you sound hesitant? frightened? confident and unknowing? is there an air of acceptance to your walk, knowing you commit the heinous crime? he pretends not to notice the jostling of curtains in the window at the front of the house as you undoubtedly take a peak. he figured that was fair, as it was so late — rocking comfortably back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back.

you take another minute to answer, so he frowns, letting out a little whistle and going to knock again. “uh, are you—”

you swing open the door, big stepford smile on your face. here we go.

“officer?”

“detective.” the brunette flashes his badge, tight and polite smile as he peers into your hallway. “i’m sorry to drop by so late ma’am is this… this a good time?” he’s awkward, young in nature and not so much in stature, the lines in his forehead and around his eyes already telling you he’s a bit older. as you observe him right back, he clears his throat and fixes his tie.

“of course, detective.” you correct with a smile, a knowing one — like you were sharing a joke between friends. he’s unsettled by your energy.

“‘don’t mind if i come inside then do ya? kinda… chilly tonight.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pivoting his body round to glance at the blowing trees. your expression settles like you’d been waiting for him to ask, and you widen the door gap — exposing all of you. you stand in the littlest night gown, white silk against your skin and john b feels like letting out a comical gulp. he didn’t think you’d be beautiful. where do beautiful girls get off murdering people? beautiful girls could have whatever they want.

“my, i’m a little shy standing here in my nightgown.” you converse as he passes you, acknowledging that you did infact catch him looking. he says nothing, just smiles and huffs out an awkward chuckle from his nose as he respectfully dusts his boots off on your welcome mat before strolling inside. the house was dark, lit only by candles and you follow him to the living room.

“tea? coffee?” you offer and he lowers himself into an arm chair, patting the quilted arms a few times with his large flat hands. he wants to scoff, knowing better than to take a drink from a probable murderer.

“wh— oh no no, this uh. this shouldn’t take long.” he watches you just as carefully as you watch him, and you make the conscious decision not to sit. you stay standing infront of him, skin glowing in the low light. you were wearing so close to nothing it was distracting to a pent up, perpetually single man like john b. he feels like loosening his tie.

“very well then, detective. what seems to be the issue?”

“do you know anything about a fire, ma’am?” he sounds hesitant, eyes wide but only in the way where he’s stiff with observation, not wanting to miss a second of a tell you might give. there’s a pause of hesitation before you nod, crossing your arms over yourself. unfortunately the only note taken there was that the action pressed your tits together.

“yes. very tragic.”

“yeah, no for sure… not many fires in this town right? got down to a record break last year. only three fires and they were pretty small.” he converses, relaxing a little into the seat. you stay on your feet.

“was bound to happen at some point i suppose. men have a habit of being reckless, leaving things switched on and so on. probably fell asleep with a candle burning.” you sway, eyes flickering to your own candles like you were imagining the same fate for yourself.

“for sure, for sure…” john b nods slowly, taking a moment to look down at his lap as he thinks. where he looks back up, you’re staring.

“he was a uh, boyfriend of yours — if my intel is correct?”

“ex. ex boyfriend.” you correct, jaw tightened just a smidgen like you couldn’t help yourself. john b stares you down, infact he could swear his lips quirk upward just a tiny bit. he’d so got you.

he settles a little more, resting his elbow on the arm of the seat so he could prop up his chin, staring at you with a knowing look.

“mind telling me where you were on sunday evening?” shit.

he watches the shift of emotion on your face, the way it falls ever so slightly before immediately lifting again, like you had full faith on yourself. you smile, huffing out a breathy little giggle as you tilt your head to the side like a confused puppy.

as you speak, you slowly begin to slip the strap of your nightgown down the smooth skin of your shoulder. “gosh, i barely remember. i spend so much time here… all lonely… was probably… keeping myself company, if you catch my meaning, officer.”

“detective.” he rasps, eyes following the strap like the weakling he is. he clears his throat.

“apologies, detective.” you correct, before pulling down the other strap. “you mind if i slip into something a little more comfortable before we continue with this?” you shoot him the innocent doe eyes. he raised his eyebrows, and you drop the nightgown to your feet anyway, naked as the day you were born. “much better.”

john b chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at you. “this what we’re doing now?” he deadpans with that warm friendly smile that drew you closer.

you giggle, and this time it’s actually authentic, stepping closer until you brave straddling his lap. he winces like you’d placed hot iron on him.

“is it working?” you try your luck, and he’s distracted by the fat of your hips, his coarser hands sliding up them to grab at the meat of them, watching the way your folds part around his growing bulge through his black work pants.

“ugh, i don’t know.” he groans quietly. he knew there was another version of him somewhere, behind glass, watching this all go down. he’d pound on the glass, telling himself to stop, that he was throwing away everything all for some pussy — but the truth was, he was lonely too. this life didn’t leave much room for… socialising.

knowing you were close to breaking him, you roll your hips, letting out an exaggerated whimper as you watch his hands slide up to your tits. “m’sure i can change your mind somehow detective. you really don’t wanna put those tight handcuffs on me, i’m only a fragile girl.”

“fuuuucking shit.” he groans in despair, and you feel his hardness wedged up beneath you.

it’s not even five minutes later and you’ve got him inside of you, his pants around his ankles — a true testament to the way you’d caught him out, used his loneliness against him and it didn’t even take any convincing, he cracked pretty much immediately. shit, he loved his job — but maybe he didn’t wanna go big city cop after all.

your hips went from rolling to aggressive bouncing, your teeth grit, primal and forceful like you couldn’t help yourself. the sweet little mewls you let out after each bounce didn’t match the sheer force at which you were milking him. over the harsh plap plap plap sound — you lean forward to his ear.

“why you lettin’ me get away with it detective? s’it cos you like me? do you like me?” god you were insane, but the neediness in your voice filled a hole he’d craved. he’d always wanted one of those girlfriends, the type that cares too much, wanna know his every move. he knew it was wrong, hell — you’d killed someone. but something about it was getting him off just as much as it was you.

despite being older than you by quite a bit, his eyes held this puppy like quality to them, a youthful gaze he stares up at you with. “because you’re pretty. really pretty, and uh — you’re young.” wow, he was messed up. he’s not even sure why he said the last part, everything was just so twisted.

he was aware of how much he was screwing himself. but hey, john b had always been a sucker for doe eyes and pretty tits, so who could blame the man?

[thevelvetvampyre]

Pink lace - Raymond Leon x stepdaughter reader

Summary: Raymond finds his stepdaughters lacy thong and has a *hard* time accepting how much she’s grown.

Warnings: angry sex, face fucking, age gap, slight incest, he’s aggressive😍, squirting, ROUGH, p in v , small sprinkle of ‘daddy’ and ‘little girl’ but not much, general adult content and smut (one small mention of story line / time as money reference) no context at all basically just porn - no foreplay just basically desperate angry fucking

I feel like this is shit xx

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

Tutting as he rummaged around the pile of dirty laundry to find his favourite black pullover, your stepdad Raymond was growing agitated at its lack of presence in the basket.

Flicking the fabric around as his wrist threw countless pieces of material, he internally complained about your mother and her inability to wash his clothes on time.

Useless bitch.

Huffing out as he stopped his search, his eyes remained on the pile as he furrowed his brows at the baby pink that slightly peaked out around the surrounding darkness.

Blinking at the pop of colour for a few seconds before reaching in and pulling the fabric out, his eyes widened as he clenched his jaw at the lacy, soft pair of pink panties in his fingers.

Slightly rotating them in his hand as he continued to pinch around the hip, the vein in his neck protruded as his blood pumped in disgust.

His face heated up and his teeth grated, ignoring his hardening cock pull at his core as he analysed how slutty the panties were, how pathetically thin the material was and how the size of them were a lame excuse for underwear.

Knowing they didn’t belong to your mother as she stopped making an effort to arouse him way too long ago, he swelled under his waistband as he pictured your young, tight body in nothing but the soft lace he held in his fingers.

His anger flushed across his skin as he thought he raised you better than this, better than an easy whore who wore close to nothing to cover her cunt under her clothes.

Clenching his jaw painfully shut and fisting a ball around your panties, he turned around and stormed through the hallway to your bedroom.

“What do you call these?”

The door swung open and his voice boomed through your walls, shooting your head up in fright as his intrusion into your room was aggressive and heart pounding.

Looking up at him, he stood proud with your panties dangling in the air and your cheeks flushed a warm red, embarrassed that your stepfather was showing you your own underwear and questioning your choice of undergarment.

“A thong? Really? I didn’t raise you to be a whore!”

He dropped his hand and furrowed his brows at you, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat on your bed hoping the sheets would suck you whole.

“Why are you touching them!”

You blurred out, your voice louder than what you had intended.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me…”

He held his finger up and you pouted at his tone.

“If your mother wasn’t such a useless wife I wouldn’t of found these.”

He spat through his teeth and spoke his words like venom, a strong vibration of hatred bouncing off of him as he spoke.

“I’m a grown woman! I can wear whatever-“

You crossed your arms as you defended your clothing choices, wishing he’d just drop it and leave you alone as per normal.

“Yeah? You’re a grown woman huh?”

He spoke sarcastically and waved his hands to his sides in unison to his words, mocking and belittling you in your own room.

“Yes! I can wear whatever I want.”

You stated yourself obviously, his face cringing in disgust at your proud words.

“Grown enough to dress like a slut?”

Your cheeks deepened with his words, thrown off guard by his explicit language.

“Grown enough to be wearing practically nothing around your cunt?”

He started walking closer to your bed, your core heating up as you’d never seen him so seething before.

Covering your ears in response to his filthy words, he held your panties up in front of him and cocked his brows in irritability to your lack of responses.

“Stop! Please… stop.”

You squeezed your eyes yet felt your cunt pool in your shorts, a confusing mix of arousal and humiliation to his harsh words.

“Disgusting.”

He threw your panties onto your bed and you snatched them, removing them from his sight in hopes he would soon leave your room after making his point so clear.

Unfortunately, he turned to your dresser, stomping down as he ripped open the top drawer and widened his eyes at the array of lace, pink and white that coated the base of the wood.

“What’s this?”

His words were sharp as he pulled out a white corset.

“Fuck… what’s this?”

His words sobbed, now pulling out a sparkly pink bra your mother got you when you turned 16.

He continued to rip out items of lingerie as his face pulled into a more disgusted look than it was a few seconds prior, contradicting his leaking, pulsating tip at just how soft and plush your lace was.

You watched as your expensive panties and bras were chucked onto the floor, the humiliation stinging your chest as with each piece he pulled, the angrier he seemed to become.

“Oh my god… stop!”

You screeched at him. He stopped instantly but remained paused in his position for a couple of seconds before dropping his hands slowly off your drawer and turning his neck onto you.

His hair was falling in his face and his cheeks were flushed, his irritation proving apparent on the cringed look on his face.

“Is this what you wanted?”

His voice was soft and quiet now, pulling your back up straight as it jarred you to see him so emotional.

He was never not emotional, just he didn’t have a good relationship with your mother anymore. Fuck, did anyone? She hadn’t even been home for the past few days, unsure of her whereabouts created tension between you and your stepfather that you didn’t dare address or talk about.

“Is what what I wanted?”

You spoke through exasperated words, tired of his fickle mood and unnecessary anger.

“This…?”

He turned around and walked fiercely towards you, reaching down to his crotch and grabbing his thick, throbbing cock.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He walked over to the side of your bed, pulling you by your hair to sit on the edge and grasping your scalp violently as he shook you to his words.

“To see your step daddy’s hard cock in your face?”

He held you inches away from his groin, his fingers wrapping around his painfully obvious veiny shaft. Your cunt dripped at how deliciously huge he was, feeling his heat so close to your face made you burn an internally feral heat to your core.

“N-no.”

You muttered out, licking your lips as they swelled and your face heated with arousal.

He groaned a throaty growl as his fingers pressed further into your scalp. Panting slowly as he felt his cock grow angry in impatience.

“Fix it.”

He spoke through his teeth, shaking your scalp to bring you closer to his erection.

Moving as fast as you could as soon as he gave you the green light, your delicate fingers worked on his zip and shook his jeans down, watching as they pooled at his ankles and biting your lower lip in anticipation.

Pawing desperately at his piping hot, clothed cock he groaned and rolled his head back, his eyes rolling with his neck and his jaw clenching in an attempt to hide his animalistic groans to your soft touch.

Feeling at his erection through the cotton of his underwear, your cunt was leaking onto your bed sheets as you had waited so long to finally feel him.

Ripping his waistband away from his hips, his massive, needy cock sprung out and landed close to your face, a squeak leaving your lips as he looked even bigger free than he did behind the prison of his underwear.

Opening your mouth slightly to take his salty, pre cum covered tip in your mouth, he swung his head down and furrowed his brows as his jaw dropped at how cute you looked with your stepfathers cock on your lips.

“Oh fuck… suck your daddy’s cock.”

He mumbled through a groan, listening to his instructions you took a couple of inches of him into your mouth.

Just after his tip was wrapped in your wet lips through your delicate, soft sucks, he gripped tighter at the back of your head and snapped his hips forward.

His balls were on your chin and you gagged around the size of him, your nose on his pubic area as your eyes swelled and you sobbed out through your nose.

You squirmed beneath him as an acid kicked in your chest, his huge cock breaching your neck and suffocating you as he groaned at how tight your throat was.

“Oh baby…”

He pulled his hips out and flexed at the string of spit that followed, his brows knitting tighter together and his breath leaving his lungs.

“Fuck!”

He winced, snapping his hips forward once again and slamming his tip well past your tonsils.

Grunting at the feeling your mouth around him, he continued to grasp at your hair till your scalp stung as he fucked your throat violently, snapping his hips forward in a painful force and dragging his cock out even faster.

You began suffocating as your eyes poured with pained tears and your palms rested on his upper thighs.

Your plush room was filled with sounds of you gagging, sobbing and his groans. Your spit began to pour outside your mouth, dripping liquid out your cunt and mouth simultaneously.

“Look at you go little girl…”

He grunted through quick pants, praising how well your throat was taking his cock as he repeatedly slammed himself into the back of it.

“Taking me so well.”

His voice was possessed with growls.

You thought you may pass out, your eyes rolling at your lack of breath and the sting in your scalp, your nose running and spit pouring as he fucked the hole in your face with no sympathy.

After fucking your mouth for what felt like hours, he dragged his hips out and his pulsating tip bounced in front of your face, glistening with his pre cum and your saliva against your pretty fairylights.

Quickly reaching past you, he lent over and grabbed your panties you attempted to hide from him earlier.

Shoving them in your mouth and as you muffled ‘mhm’ at the taste of yourself, he shoved your shoulders down onto the bed and began stroking his swollen cock at the sight of you whoring yourself out to him.

“Look how fucking easy you are…”

His knees stood strong as he watched over you, your eyes brimming with tears from his violent thrusts and your pussy leaking out onto the bed.

He let go of his cock and hooked his fingers under your shorts, ripping them from your body and groaning at your dripping cunt that glistened beautifully in your room.

“Such a slut.”

He spat his words, your muffled moan leaving a wet spot on the cotton in your mouth.

Dropping his body over yours, his hand fell next to your face as his neck stayed down to watch his tip get soaked by your desperate, leaking cunt.

“Oh yes… soak my fucking cock.”

His voice was low as he dragged his tip along your aching slit, needing his cock to fill you and fuck you till you hurt.

You muffled through the used underwear in your mouth and your brows furrowed, wiggling underneath him to attempt to show him how needy you were for him.

Grasping at one of your hips to keep you still, he grunted angrily and snapped his eyes to yours.

“Don’t be so fucking desperate.”

He spat on your face as he scolded you, your eyes swelling at his words and your core aching impatient for him.

Stroking his tip once more from your clit to your hole, he sunk into your cunt and your back arched at the feeling of him stretching you out.

Dropping his head into the crook of your neck and feeling his groan vibrate into your skin, your eyes swelled as he rolled deeply into your body.

Pulling his palm from the side of you to your mouth, his head remained in your neck as his hand covered your already cotton gagged lips.

Pulling his hips out as you shook at the feeling of his huge cock leaving your tight hole, your pussy swelled around him and clenched as he pushed into you once more.

“So fucking tight princess…”

You felt his legs shake as his hips met yours once again, his cock filling you to your tummy and leaving you fuller than you’d ever felt.

Pulling out and slamming into you once more, his pace fastened as he furiously fucked your tight cunt and moaned in sync to your clenching walls.

Feeling the knot in your groin heat up as your orgasm chased you, he felt your body tense and fucked you in the same spot, hitting the soft point inside of you as your sobs became deafening.

Feeling the heat come undone, you squirted and leaked aggressively against his lower stomach and your walls filled with a loud wet, squelching noise as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

Convulsing under him, you shook violently as the rush ran over your skin, your stomach sticking to his with each thrust.

“Making such a mess around your daddy’s cock.”

His eyes pulled up to meet yours, admiring the way you looked cock drunk beneath him.

He groaned and his neck fell forward once more, his eyes meeting the back of his head as you fluttered around him.

Tears were pouring out your eyes as you muffled a scream into the cotton, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were grasping at the sheet below you.

Pulling his head up once more to meet your eyes, his face was red and flushed as his eyes were wet and lips moist.

“Let me hear those- oh fuck- pretty moans baby.”

He ripped the cotton out your mouth, a large sigh escaping your lips now that you could finally breath.

You moaned loudly, whining in pain as his cock continued to plough into you unforgivingly.

“Yes- yes… fuck!”

His strokes continued to fuck you as they turned sloppy and weak, his balls tightening as they emptied his cum into the back of your walls.

The sound of you moaning sent him over the edge, spilling his seed into you as you bounced on the bed beneath him.

“God- gonna have you dripping my cum all week.”

His voice was husky as his hips snapped into yours for the last time, holding them close to your skin as you felt his cock flex inside of you.

You watched his face blush and his brows furrowed, a slight sweat glistening over his skin as his lips were swollen and wet as he came hard inside of you.

A choked moan left his lips and his eyes squeezed, a look that could be mistaken for pain is what you would’ve thought he was feeling if he wasn’t shooting his thick, white liquid into the back of your pussy as he did so.

Leaving his softening erection inside of you, he rested his forehead on your chest as he breathed heavily in an attempt to catch his breath.

Your sticky stomach was connected to his and your room filled with the smell of sex and sweat. Grunting, he pulled out of you and rolled next to your panting body.

“Don’t let me catch you with those again…”

He turned his neck to look at you. Your pussy stung against the cold air as his violent thrusts had split you in two.

“Unless if that’s all you’re wearing.”

Suddenly, your mum not being home was a good thing. Laying there as you stared at him next to you, a grin grew on your face as his cum trickled out of you.

[spitgobbler]

I ♥︎ Daddy

here is todays shower thoughts blurb since i randomly thought of those ‘yes, daddy?’ panties(pls don’t let me be the only one who remembers them circulating at one point?!)😭 … enjoy my ted talk 🫶🏻

pairing: leon kennedy x fem reader

tags: daddy kink into slight ddlg, age gap, leon uses his fingers on you, dirty talk, clothed, aftercare, uhhh yeah!

It was always just a joke, a tease you did to Leon. A brief ‘yes, daddy’ falling from your lips whenever he asked if you ate that day or if you could grab him a beer from the fridge.

You never thought much of it but Leon had lots of thoughts about it. Always made him so fucking hard each time that damn name spilled from those sugary sweet lips of yours.

Had him manspreading even more on the worn couch of his apartment to hide his hard on while accepting the alcoholic drink with an appreciative kiss. He didn’t want you to think he was a creep.

Leon already had a few moments where he felt awkward from the looks the two of you sometimes received while out on dates. The misunderstandings of him being your dad. You never cared when it occurred, responding with an easy “No, he’s my boyfriend,” and moving on with the date without a care in the world.

At least that made him feel better, it reassured him. Leon didn’t exactly date you because you were so much younger. Well, it was a bit flattering he still managed to pull such a pretty young thing at his age but he also loved you for how smart and attentive you were. But he also loved how much you needed him, maybe it was a bit of a complex he developed from his line of work.

He knew another one of your jokes were about to take place when you pull away from his side, his strong thighs feeling empty without your smooth legs laying across them now, and yanking the front door open to retrieve a package.

“What’s got you in a hurry baby?” Leon sat up slightly on the couch with curious look.

Leon was met with a giggle and a mischievous smile, not any proper answer though as you opt to flee off into the bathroom. He’s left scratching his head at your typical silly behavior but he just remains seated back on the couch.

It’s not long before you come back, blocking his view of the TV. Arms crossed and a cute grin pulled up on your face.

He lets a brow raise, “And now you got this bratty look…”

Oh, but he’s quick to watch you as your hands grip the waistband of those adorable fuzzy hello kitty pajama pants you made him buy you.

“Hey, I’m not a brat!” You get caught up easily in protesting against his words, nothing in that sweet little head of yours except Leon and whether or not Mocha and Usahana would get a build-a-bear plush.

Leon simply just gives you a look, as if you’re foolish for trying to deny it. “Uh huh… just continue.”

And there it goes again, that saccharine voice saying ‘yes, daddy’ while you inch those pajama pants down your hips and legs.

Fuck, why is it like a sucker punch straight to the gut every time you call him that? He bites back a groan but his darkening eyes say everything when he sees those light pink panties on you. The words ‘I ♥︎ daddy’ printed in a darker pink right where the cotton fabric clothes your mound and on the back right on the swells of your bottom.

Leon tries to compose himself, he can’t handle these jokes anymore and frankly, it’s feeling like it isn’t a joke anymore.

“Sweetheart, what’s this about?” He asks.

You tilt your head at him, responding like it was no big deal. “Huh? S’just a joke Leon. Like how I tease you and call you daddy because you’re old enough to be my daddy?”

Head falling back against the couch, he groans and mumbles. “Just a joke? Just a joke.”

You’re left feeling confused. Usually he’ll laugh all sarcastic, sometimes even spank your butt in playful retaliation.

The older man lifts his head up, eyes boring into yours then down to those panties again. Before you know it, his strong calloused hand is pulling you onto his muscled thighs, chest against your back.

“Just a joke?” Leon repeats huskily against your neck, keeping your thighs open by resting your legs outside of his.

A shiver runs down your spine and heat invades your cheeks. You try to nod, “Y-Yeah, seen em’ online randomly.”

The rough fingertips of his right hand graze up and down your supple thighs. Back and forth, back and forth like waves. You feel it, that tingle in your core as he teases you. Maybe it’s what you deserve after torturing the poor man.

“You think a man at my age is stupid, baby?” Leon asks softly, his fingers finally touching your clothed cunt. “I may still use a flip phone but I know it wasn’t random, you got an algorithm.”

Your breath hitches at his touch and words. You kick yourself inwardly for being so damn obvious, attempting to whimper out a protest at his statement.

His padded fingers rub at your cunt, the cloth of those silly panties adding delicious friction. The soft pink gusset darkening as your arousal begins to taint them. Just how he wanted.

It’s hard to stay still as his fingers move upward to rub soft circles against your clit. Back pressing against his chest as you squirm in pleasure.

“S’Okay baby, I know dumb little girls like you need a man like me. A daddy to care for them and provide.” Leon cooed, letting himself indulge in the very thing he was at conflict with since it was very clear both of you were on the same page.

Your thighs instinctively try to clench together from pure arousal at his words but they are kept open by his legs. Mind turning mushy at this point and Leon just kept saying all the right things.

He rubs at your needy little cunt with more pressure, sending consistent pulses of heat to your tummy.

“And I’m so very happy to do that for you, doll.” Scratchy stubble brushes against your soft warm cheek as he kisses it. “Make you hold onto your plushie as I take you like a good girl.”

Your hips buck at that and a desperate moan spills out. The older man couldn’t hold back a groan of his own, fingers pressing and rubbing at your panties with fervor.

“Wonder you good you could color in the lines while I spoil your pretty little princess parts.” All of his dirty thoughts are spilling out as he plays with you and it’s sending both of you into a heated frenzy.

Rough messy circles on your clothed clit has you trembling and a lewd squeal rings out. “Daddy, daddy!” Is all you can manage to slur out and it just makes Leon’s cock ache even harder against you.

Leon doesn’t let up though, rubbing and rubbing at that bundle of nerves, spoiling it with his calloused fingers as he turns you into a mess. Showering your needy little pearl with affectionate caresses that set you ablaze on his lap, squirming and gasping as your heart pounds.

Leon allows himself to manspread even more, your legs pried open even wider. “If you love your daddy so much then you’ll be a good girl and show him how much you love him, won’t you?”

Several harsh rubs against your swollen clit has your back arching off his chest and your toes curling. Warmth and shivers flooding your body as you fall over the edge and cum.

“Thank you daddy, thank you.” You blabber out messily.

Panting as your hips buck from the intense waves of ecstasy course through your heated body. Leon guides you through your orgasm and stops before overstimulating you.

Almost instantly he closes his legs just slightly to help ease the strain and make you more comfortable. His affectionate cooing started right away, holding you closely to him as you come down from your high.

“So good for daddy,” Leon mumbled and pressed several kisses to your cheek. “Let’s get you comfy and clean.”

You nodded a bit sluggishly at his words, turning your head to try and kiss him properly which he laughs softly at. Leon lays you down gently on the couch and changes the tv to play something more your speed.

His hands reach for your soaked panties, pulling them down and off your legs, wordlessly pocketing them before making way into the kitchen. He’s not gone for long, coming back with some water and a wet rag.

“Drink this, baby.” The cup of water had a straw in it and he looks at you seriously but you had no problems obeying him.

Leon hums as he carefully cleans up your sensitive parts since he didn’t want you to get oversensitive and feel pain instead.

Now, with everything in order, he sat down and situated you so your head laid on his lap. His hands caressing and playing with your hair soothingly.

“I meant what I said, you know?” His voice a calm rumble. He gives you time to voice your disapproval but when you don’t, he continues. “Think about what you want as a reward for being so good for daddy, for now though, get some rest.”

You respond with a ‘yes, daddy’ and your daddy squeezes your cheeks playfully. The response reminding him of all your jokes but perhaps hints was a better word for it.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary | both the miller brothers had a thing for you and you had a thing for them. they give you an ultimatum and you don't like that. so, instead of one, you choose both. [9k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader x tommy miller

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, age gap (sort of, it's not specificed by tommy & joel are late 40s/early 50s and reader is labebled as younger) bar owner!joel, bartender!tommy, 3somes, flirting, soft!joel (in the beginning), tommy is a little bit of an asshole, oral ( f & m receiving) unprotected piv, aftercare, joel is selfish

author’s note | joel and tommy have no interaction together in this, at least to that extent. so heed the tags and don't read if you don't like, xo.

“Actin’ like you ain’t never gripped a damn bottle in your life,” Tommy grumbles over your shoulder, fingers wrapping around your own until you have a secure hold on the neck, “tight–alright?”

Your lips pull together tensely, forcing down the urge to roll your eyes as he guides your hand through the motions as you fancily flip the bottle upside down to pour out the liquid into the glasses on the counter in quick, careful precision as you filled each one to a certain amount before moving onto the next, but somehow keeping up the swift pace Tommy was asking for.

Or, really, demanding.

He nods quietly behind you, staring back to admire his handiwork, knowing most of that was his own doing and his ability to perfect his showmanship over the past several years of heading the bar under his brother Joel, who owned the bar. 

Your relationship with Tommy was…tricky, but Joel—that was an entirely different mess.

He passes the shot off to a few waiting customers enjoying the show, and you have half the mind to think that Tommy is getting off on the fact that you’re openly embarrassing yourself in front of the patrons, but really, he’s just an asshole.

Though, you’ve come to understand that was how Tommy showed his fondness and if he was being overly nice than you’d know something was up—hell would freeze over, pigs would fucking fly, and you might actually accept his advances for once. Not today. Not with him breathing down your neck as he motioned for you to repeat the process on your own.

You take a deep breath, lining up the shot glasses uniformly and turn your wrist to grip the neck of the bottle, finding Tommy in your peripheral as he nods, “Tighter,” He mumbles, “don’t need that thing slippin’ out of your hand mid-rush and Joel chewin’ my ass out over a wasted bottle of bourbon.”

“I dunno,” You tease playfully—

Tommy surges forward and tightens your grip around the bottle.

“Think you’d know a thing or two about a good grip but goddamn.”

“If you keep this up I’m talking to Joel,” You threaten lightly, an airiness to your voice that shouldn’t feel as menacing as it does, but Tommy backs off slightly, grumbling something under his breath, “—good boy.”

Tommy rolls his eyes in annoyance, rolling his shoulder backwards as he rests his hands against his hips. You continue, swinging the bottle around less clumsily than before and pouring out the shots in quick succession—no mess, no spill. It was perfect.

Tommy scratches at his jaw, slightly dejected now as you turn back to look at him.

“What’s next?” You ask with a flashy smile, shoving the bottle square into the middle of his chest.

-

Joel catches you near the end of that day, shoving a few things away in your assigned locker, thick fingers curling around the open door, subtle smiles gracing his features as he greets you with a nod.

“It’s been a few months,” Joel reminds you, thinking back briefly on how much has changed for you in such a short time—you had friends, a solid job, a place to live, and two boys who you couldn’t help but fawn over—it was natural luck you ended up in this position, “how you holdin’ up?”

And while Joel wasn’t as forward as Tommy in his attraction, you sense it in the way he looks and speaks to you in private, no watchful eyes to spy on you. Besides, Joel seemed private and reserved, so it wasn’t that odd that he felt comfortable approaching you in private.

“Okay, I think.” You answer truthfully, playing with the curled paper of the calendar taped to the inside of your locker, your own fingers curling underneath Joel’s own, pointer fingers touching but unmoving, you glance at him hesitantly before averting your eyes to somewhere beyond him, following the eyeline of the bar as you watched Tommy wipe down the front of the bar.

“Tommy ain’t givin’ you anymore trouble?” He asks, “I know he’s technically your boss and all—”

“And you aren’t?” You chide playfully, eyebrow raised slightly as you pocket your phone and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “And yeah, but…no more than usual. I can handle Tommy just fine, you know?”

“I know, I know,” He laughs softly, hand moving away from the locker to pat at your shoulder, squeezing gently at your bicep—touches were so familiar with Joel. A hand on your back, a subtle touch of his fingers in the dip of your neck. He had respected your space in the beginning, even with how witfully you charmed him with ease. You enjoyed touch, viewed it as a language of love and didn’t mind when Tommy initiated it either. Often finding your own subconscious movements to cling to and touch the people you conversed with or felt comfortable around—he doesn’t mean much by it, you think, “but, he does still have to listen to me. I am his boss.”

“I pulled that card on him today, actually,” You admit, hand rising to rub at his elbow comfortingly, “he simmered down pretty quick.”

Joel sees the hold you have over his brother, both with your personality and general attraction Tommy felt with—well, most of the people Joel hired to work under him. But, Tommy is teasing with you, testy, and he’s not like that with the others. He’s comfortable enough that he can come off like an asshole knowing you won’t take it personally.

Joel chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder at Tommy before turning back toward you and rubbing a comforting finger under your chin, “Good girl.” He comments sweetly, it has your stomach doing flips no matter the context. It was a normal sort of endearment from Joel, but given the context, it feels like a praise rather than an outright compliment.

You smile shyly and shove his hand away.

“You know, we’re cooking out this weekend if you wanna swing by,” Joel offers, “it’s, uh—for Sarah.”

Sarah. You didn’t know much about her aside from the fact that she died young, around thirteen—it’s been close to twenty years now, but Joel still celebrates her birthday.

You nod half-heartedly, “Yeah I’ll—I’ll try to swing by.”

Joel smiles warmly, before pointing an accusatory finger at his brother across the bar, “Keep his ass in check, alright?”

You smirk, an underlying feeling of…something, feeling dizzy from how openly Joel adored you when it was just the two of you, “Always.”

-

Austin heat is sticky and humid, clinging to the bare skin of your legs exposed by the short summer dress you wore, strappy and flowy and—while it wasn’t an unusual sight to the Miller boys, they didn’t see it as often as they liked. So, of course, they gawk.

You shove the case of beers into Joel’s waiting grip, a subtle wink as he acknowledges your presence. Quickly crowding in by Tommy who’s already a few beers in, just by his loose nature as he slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing gently. He sips generously on the last bit of his beer before allowing the rim to hang slack between his fingers.

“Tommy,” You acknowledge graciously—there was always a slight tinge of annoyance with him, not the type that made you angry or upset, but frustrated. Whether just plain frustration or sexual, you couldn’t put your finger on, “already starting the party without me?”

“Come on now,” Tommy teases, “you know it wouldn’t be a real party ‘til you got here.”

“Is anyone else showing up?” You ask curiously, leaning subconsciously into Tommy as your eyes spot Joel several feet away in the kitchen, unpacking the beers. “Tess? Bill?”

The bar was closed today. Always was. It didn’t matter what day Sarah’s birthday landed on. 

They had food, drinks, a cake—it was a real party, only missing its esteemed guest.

You’ve only seen Sarah through pictures and heard through stories told by word of mouth, but Joel has never cared about anything more in his life, not until the bar and long after Sarah’s death. He’d named the bar in her honor, a simple but beautiful nod to someone so special in his life. The Monarch.

She loved butterflies. And know, whenever you see them—it’s a little reminder of her presence.

“They can’t make it,” Joel speaks from the kitchen, his mouth downtrodden in its usual scowl, his natural resting face, “so—looks like it’s just us.”

“Can you handle that?” Tommy whispers teasingly in your ear and you elbow him gently in his side, “Hey—she’s already hittin’ me, Joel.”

“Stop pissin’ her off then,” Joel offers, “mind helping me, sweetheart?”

He nods toward that back and you nod quickly in response, but not before pressing a quick hand into Tommy’s side as you pinch him playfully and earn a pitiful shout, giant grin growing on your face as you depart and follow his older brother, giving Tommy an eyeful of your swaying hips, dress barely dipping past the bottom of your ass.

She’s a friend dammit. That was it.

But, it didn’t stop Tommy from crushing on you. Hard. Even at his grown age.

You follow Joel outside with a spark in your step, meeting him at the grill situated on his back deck as he flipped some of the cooking meat, an open beer in his left hand. 

“What did you need?” You ask curiously, noticing that he wasn’t speaking now.

“Nothin’,” He admits, “just like having you around.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep, feeling the muscle flex under your touch instinctively, his head turning to glance at you. He huffs out a soft laugh through his nose before returning his attention to the open grill, meticulously flipping the meat.

“Think if I kiss up enough to the boss he’ll give me the day off tomorrow?” You ask curiously, a hint of mischief gracing your tone as you train your eyes where he was looking, even if his gaze flicks toward you for a brief moment.

“Depends.” Joel responds gruffly, setting down the utensil to close the lid of the grill.

You huff a laugh at his ease to respond to your subtle attempts at flirting, completely harmless, but the unspoken tension lingered like a constant. 

“On?”

“If you’re being’ literal or not,” Joel offers and it sends a tingle down the base of your spine, his knuckles brushing against your hip from where you’re hanging off of his arm, “cause that can be arranged.”

There’s a brief moment where you think he’s being serious—and in Joel’s mind, he is. But, the slight widening of your eyes as the words leave his mouth have him worried, like maybe he read into this wrong.

He smirks, “I’m kiddin, sweetheart. Long as you can find someone to cover your shift—“

You interrupt him abruptly, calling out to his brother.

“Tommy!“ You half-shout over Joel’s shoulder, causing him to wince and chuckle at the suddenness of it.

Tommy’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t been staring this entire time from across the kitchen, eyes locked on your figure as you draped yourself over his brother, face lighting as you talked and the subtle touches that should be him—at least, he wished it was him.

He clears his throat and heads toward the back door, head popping out before the rest of his body, “Y’all need somethin?”

“Can you cover my shift tomorrow?” You ask, a saccharine smile and a look that Tommy fell for every time, finding you hard parted from Joel now, he notices how your hands smooth out the dress that barely covers your thighs. “Please?”

“Is this what you two are doing now?” Tommy asks, now fully in view as he closes the sliding glass door behind him, “Plottin’ against me—you can’t give her special treatment, you know—“

He points an accusatory finger your way that you swat away, both of your eyes locked on Joel who seems less than interested as he sips on his beer.

“She’s gotta find someone to cover her shift,” Joel explains, “same as everyone else.”

Tommy calls bullshit, knowing Joel would figure it out himself or cover for you—it wasn’t like you did this often, but Tommy was more than aware of all the times he came to your rescue, almost like you were using it against him. A ploy. A devious plan to get under his skin.

He knew Joel liked you—but dammit, he did too.

And even in his steadfast attempt to deny you, you reach out and grab his hand, uncurling yourself from Joel as you approach him—sad eyes and a fake pout.

“Stop that—“ Tommy warns, his voice soft and anything but demanding, but you only lean in closer, and as strong of the man Tommy thinks he is, he breaks, “—god, Fine. I’ll cover your shift.”

You smile wide, right on the edge of celebrating before Tommy is snuffing the joy out.

“On one condition—“ Tommy holds up a finger, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing there was always some sort of but coming with anything Tommy agreed to, “remember that date you flaked out on?”

It was one time—within the first week of you working at a bar. Tommy didn’t waste any time and given your eagerness to try new things, you didn’t shut him down.

But, you psych yourself out and cancel.

Tommy’s always remained slightly jaded by the ordeal and part of that has contributed to your hot and cold relationship and willingness to tease each other but still have no restraints in your frustration toward one another.

“Hey—that’s not,” Fair dies on your tongue, his shoulders shrugged in a firm response, “—fine, yes. I do.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows in obvious question.

Date?

You scrunch your nose in annoyance but quickly relent, “Okay—but I’m picking the place this time. No fucking bars, Tommy.”

Joel listens to the conversation with a scowl, completely unassuming since it was his usual state of emotion.

Tommy holds his hands up in defeat, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Glad y’all got that settled,” Joel interjects with a tone that pulls your attention back to him, “if you’re done flirtin’ with each other I need some help.”

You and Tommy appease Joel quickly, helping him with the food and when you’re finally through dinner, spending a quiet moment around the cake. You don’t sing or anything—Joel hates it. But, he does light a candle and blows it out, signifying another year of her absence.

There’s a quiet moment with Joel toward the end of the night—Tommy is off somewhere in the backyard, presumably cleaning up the grill for he and Joel’s shared space. They were both unmarried and found that living together and splitting the pay was easier than anything else.

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Joel tells you, slipping the dirty dishes from your hands as he discards them in the sink, “we’ll handle it.”

“You sure?” It felt like the least you could do.

Joel nods, shrugging as he sets his half-drank beer bottle on the counter—he’d lost track of which one it was. Enough that he feels a faint buzz in his system as he thoughts run and he admires your curious face as you tilt your head, wondering why he seemed so…lost.

But, really—it was just that kind of day. It was never good for him, as much as he tried to act like it was. Yet somehow, with you here, he feels more at ease.

“What?” You ask curiously, a playfulness to your tone. “Keep starin’ and I might just have to give you those kisses, Joel.”

And really, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Joel gradually moves closer, looking back briefly over his shoulder at Tommy.

He smirks slightly as he turns back to you, catching that soft, familiar smile on your face.

“Don’t think he’d be too happy about that.” Joel tells you, playing with a bracelet clasped around your wrist, his front nearly pressed against your own, so close you could reach out and slip your hands under his flannel, touch the bare skin and finally find out what those older women at the bar were talking about—Joel didn’t get around, but he wasn’t a stranger to a casual hook-up.

“Maybe I want to,” Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “what does Tommy have to do with that?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes and you can’t resist, slipping a few trailing fingers under his shirt, which he quickly grabs with his own hand, tightening around your wrist, “I’m your boss, I can’t.”

The buzz of alcohol impedes you both, smart decision making out the window now.

“Like you don’t already give me special treatment,” You reply flippantly, teasing his obvious weakness, “....Joel.”

You.

Joel kisses you suddenly—you’re only half-expecting it as his large hand rises to cup your face, the other locked firmly around your wrist and he presses his lips firmly against your own.

He tastes like beer and the sweetness of frosting as you lick into his mouth, the hand not held tight in his grip finding its way into the front of his shirt, bunched into the fabric as you sigh into his mouth, the kiss quickly divulging into a battle of who could hold purchase on more of one another, hands exploring as Joel hands find their way over the back of your dress, the tips of his fingers grazing bareskin as he grabs and squeezes your ass, your teeth grazing against his bottom lip as you pull away suddenly, but not by your own doing.

It was Joel, his face flush from the alcohol in his system but also the intensity of the situation. There’s so much unspoken there and both of you want to speak and Joel nearly does before Tommy is shattering the moment, announcing his re-arrival into the house. You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully as you glance between the two brothers, feelings and thoughts battling in your head.

Tommy was wild and unpredictable and you craved that.

Joel was practical and determined and that’s what you needed.

And selfishly, you wanted them both.

-

The conversation that happens later that night between Tommy and Joel is anything but civil.

“She agreed, Joel—it’s not like I’m forcin’ her,'' Tommy argues, “She could’ve said no and I wouldn’t care. She knows I like her, ain’t my fault she seems to like me back.”

“You’re still her boss.”

 As if he had any leverage, it pops Tommy out of his chair and toward Joel with an accusatory finger.

“And you? You’re my fuckin’ boss so how is that any better? ” Tommy asks and Joel looks away briefly in annoyance, fists curling at his side, “Think I didn’t catch you two earlier? Cut the shit, Joel.”

“This ain’t high school, Tommy,” Joel retorts, “We aren’t fighting over her.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty fuckin’ clear when you decide to make a move on her in the kitchen and then you’re standing here tellin’ me I can’t have her—how about you treat her like a normal person and let her choose, Joel.” Tommy retorts, “Or is that too damn hard for you? Not getting what you want?”

It sparks a deep fire inside Joel. Tommy too. And you really have no choice but to give them an ultimatum—besides, you wanted both. You were getting both.

-

It isn’t like they planned it, but somehow they manage to coincide and corner you at the same moment—Joel coming out of his office and Tommy rounding the door into the backroom, your frame bent over a box of bar snacks. When you look back, your eyes widen slightly.

“Shit—am I—are you firing me?” You ask, deeply concerned. You weren’t the best bartender, but you tried.

Tommy and Joel share an equally confused look.

“No—no why would you think that?” Joel asks.

You wave your hand vaguely between them both, a serious and concerned look on both of their faces. It wasn’t out of the norm for Joel, but for Tommy, it was unsettling. 

“Then, what?” You ask, only slightly annoyed. “We’re not exactly slow on customers right now—”

Another shared look, this time tense. Which one speaks first—it feels like race.

“Look, I already told Joel—” Tommy begins.

“Sweetheart, you need to know somethin’—” Joel interjects.

And it clicks quickly. Very quickly.

The shared look of frustration as they both purse their lips in a tight line, identical hands resting against their hips. This was ridiculous—the fighting, the silent arguing without actually sharing words.

“I’m not choosing.” You tell them forthright and their reaction is less than ideal, like two sad puppies who’ve just been scolded for bad behavior, but they both stay quiet and hang on your words, seeing that you weren’t finished. “If that’s what you’re expecting me to do.”

“No, that’s not—” Joel tries to argue, his voice fairly level for how distraught he seemed.

“I want you both,” You shrug, rising with the box in your grip, “so, if I can’t have that—then no.”

And you leave them with that, stewing in their own thoughts. Their gazes follow you as you walk, shoving past them gently.

“I’m not givin’ up.” Joel tells Tommy instantly, a look of defiance from his younger brother is thrown his way–Tommy was just as stubborn as Joel, if not more.

“Yeah, neither am I.”

-

Of course, you already knew how you wanted this to go.

You spoke to them both separately, promising a proper date at a specified place on a specific day and time—they wanted you and you wanted them. But, you were doing things your way.

And that is how you end up at the Miller’s brothers home again, a few weeks later, both of the men dumbfounded at how you mastered this plan. They were both wholly faithful to you, agreeing to go along with your plan to lie to the other brother so they wouldn’t get suspicious or upset, but really, you just wanted them both chasing their own tails.

They didn’t realize what was going on until they found themselves both getting ready at the same time that day, something lingering in the air that they couldn’t put their finger on until you were knocking at the door, a wide smile on your face. Joel answers, but Tommy isn’t far behind.

It’s how you end up on the couch later that night, squeezed together and eyes droning into the movie playing on the television screen, lingering touches like burns against your skin. Joel and Tommy are trying to avoid each other, but sometimes they’ll bump fingers and shoot a scowl at each other, but then you’re adjusting yourself to find another comfortable position and their attention is quickly drawn back.

Some of it is spent against Tommy, head resting against his solid chest but Joel’s hands never stray too far, a warm and comforting presence against your shoulder or thigh, a tender rub of his thumb into your sore muscles. Tommy likes to run his fingers along the shell of your ear, his chest shaking with a laugh at the movie every so often—there was little conversation happening and you blamed that on the obvious tension in the air.

When you trade Tommy’s touch for Joel, he’s ready for you.

You tend to like wrapping yourself around him, arms snug around his own like you’ve done a million times before, but you find your fingers dragging along the length of his forearm and he’s more shifty than usual, socked feet crossing and uncrossing as your touch grows, all the while Tommy’s hand firmly on your thigh, squeezing when you squirm a little too much, feet hiked up and resting in his lap. His thumb circles your ankle and rubs, a gentle massage to your bare feet as you sigh and that—that is what catches their attention.

“That feel good?” Tommy asks casually, a genuine question.

You weren’t one to complain about sore, achy feet and muscles from long shifts at the bar, but you weren’t going to turn down a nice massage or welcoming touch. You nod and Tommy smiles, allowing his deft and strong fingers to dig into the muscles of your foot, pulling another sated sigh from your lips. Joel hears the soft release of a breath from your lips and turns his head toward you, a subtle smile pulling at your lips as he stares at you more unabashed and open than usual. It’s the same look he gave you before kissing you the night of the party and you feel it, see it before it happens.

And somehow within the shared exchange, Tommy’s hand has climbed higher along your calf as he massages tenderly until he’s nearly at your apex, supple muscle pliant other his skin as he squeezes. Joel whispers something to you as he leans in, feeling the shift in the environment.

“This alright with you?” Joel asks quietly as you look over at Tommy, who despite himself looks just as eager if not more, like they weren’t completely turned off by the idea that you wanted both of them

Possibly at the same time.

“I think I should be asking you two that…” Your voice trails as Joel’s free hand slips to cup the back of your head, fingers molding with the shape of you as he tilts your head back, allowing him the lead willingly—and Tommy is there, right there at the apex of your thighs and you want is so fucking bad it pains you, physically and mentally.

“Oh, darlin’—there’s a few stories I could tell you,” Tommy offers, fingers lingering over the button of your jeans until you nod, quickly popping the thread apart and allowing his fingers to curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging gingerly, “but that’s not important.”

Joel mouths at the line of your jaw instead of capturing your lips immediately, dragging out your suffering longer as you assist Tommy in his tug at your jeans, kicking the denim of your ankles as his large hand settles of your clothed pussy, panties damp at the center despite how hard you’ve tried to ignore the instant pleasure they’re touch gave you.

“No, no tell me.” You nod furiously, feeling Joel grins against the side of your face.

“It was a long, long time ago, sweetheart.” Joel defends, “Back in high school and college when Tommy just couldn’t go off and have his own things, always wanting everything his brother had.”

Tommy scoffs, scooting closer to you as he drapes a leg over his lap, spreading you wider for him, his hand following a slow path back and forth—all the way down to the apex of your knee before gradually back up to your pussy, throbbing underneath his touch as his fingers press into the sticky, wet fabric.

“That’s a stretch,” Tommy scoffs, “Anyways, darlin’—we used to, uh—”

Tommy doesn’t know why he feels ashamed to admit. So, Joel does it for him.

“We like to share, sometimes.” Joel explains. “I mean, I’m not in favor of sharin’ you but if that’s what you want…”

You nod furiously, the press of Tommy’s fingers grow stronger as he slips them past the side of your panties, touching the bare seam of your pussy, covered in the copious amount of sweet slick that had accumulated between your thighs.

“Oh, that’s what she wants,” Tommy surmises, a small chuckle hidden within his speech as his mouth hangs open slightly, watching yours grow wider as you gasp, his bare touch like a spark, “isn’t that right?”

You nod again, but that isn’t what he’s looking for.

“Need you to say it, sweetheart.” Joel demands, his hand squeezing at the thigh that wasn’t stretched out over Tommy’s lap, the other resting against your neck now, squeezing the muscle gently under his grip, his lips only a few millimeters from your own now. “Say you want this.”

“I do—fuck, I do,” You whimper, a single digit slipping past your entrance and into you, the stretch not quite what you’re looking for but the touch alone—from Tommy, is enough to drive you mad, “I w—want it. Both of you.”

“I think we can make that happen.” Joel agrees easily, capturing your lips in a searing kiss—heated in a way that has your stomach doing flips and your free hand gripping his grown out hair, peppered with grays but so fucking soft between your fingers.

Tommy slips in a conspicuous second finger in the midst of the heated kiss and it surprises you how good it feels, just graced by the thickness of his fingers but you need more. Want more.

There’s a subtle snarl to the way Tommy admires you so openly, his eyes dragging along the slow rise and fall of your chest and the way you cunt sucks his fingers in with greed and nothing else. He wants to taste you. 

There’s a brief look he offers as you break apart from Joel, breathless as you turn your head toward him, Joel’s following as his eyes trail toward the point where Tommy’s fingers are buried inside of you.

“Use those words,” Joel whispers against your cheek, a smirk growing on his face, “don’t be afraid.”

“Whaddya need, darlin’?” Tommy asks enticingly, removing his fingers in an anxious anticipation, wet fingers dragging along your thigh. “Gonna let me taste you?”

“Please, god—please.” You whine pathetically, watching as Tommy dicends without question, removing your panties with a swiftness that deafens the task at hand. It takes a moment as you untangle yourself from Joel to settle more central on the couch, squealing softly as Tommy manhandles your thighs over his shoulder, settled on his knees and his palms pressing flat over the tops of your thighs.

Joel settles solidly behind you after some maneuvering, a sturdiness to his chest that takes the brunt of your weight as you relax against him, his hands quickly finding their way under your shirt and pulling it up until the fabric is bunched under your skin, bare breasts on full display as he runs a gentle, testing touch over them with his palm, eyes closing at the overwhelming sensation of both of them surrounding you. You don’t even have the guise to feel shy that this was the first time they were seeing you like this–it felt normal, like this is what was supposed to happen.

Tommy floats a hot breath against your skin, kissing a line up the inside of your thigh before he speaks, “I got you, darlin’,” He assures you, “—tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You nod shakily, looking up hesitantly at Joel over your shoulder and he can only offer a grin, though his eyes harbor something much darker. “Tell ‘em, baby.” He urges, “You want him to eat your pussy, right?”

You nod obediently and Joel grabs ahold of your chin gently, guiding your gaze back toward Tommy, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into you.

“Need your mouth, Tommy,” You beg, earning a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement from Joel against your chin, who leans in with a gentle whisper of tell him where as you exhale an even shakier breath than before, “on my pussy—please—”

Tommy snickers softly before he obliges, a slow, languid lick of his tongue through your folds as he starts, ripping a quiet gasp from your chest as your hand instantly finds his hair, overgrown like Joel’s but stark black and gelled back like usual, never a hair out of place.

That wasn’t going to be the case much longer, fingers fisting into his hair and using it as leverage, the slow licks between your lips quickly exploring inside of you, teasing dips into your hole as he chuckles a soft breath which each and every squirm you offered, all while under the intense gaze of Joel, who was clearly holding out—he wouldn’t kiss you as hard as you tried, trained on your face as you challenged his eye contact, not daring to let it go unless he physically forced you to look away. His hand still lingered against your chin but occasionally fled for a comforting touch when things got intense too quickly and you were almost teetering over the edge, but he quickly brought you back down.

And within that, you’re so blinded by pleasure to not realize that he’s instructing Tommy the entire time, only catching onto the last few commands as Tommy devours, making his own selfish noises as he groaned when you pulled a little too tight on his hair, mumbling praises of depravity and a ‘so fuckin’ sweet—always knew you were, darlin’ and the occasional, breathier ‘come on baby—use my face, fuckin’ take it.’.

Joel speaks to Tommy directly, despite keeping his eyes on you.

“Oh, you’re right there, huh?” Joel asks you goadingly, “Need more?”

You nod eagerly, despite how good Tommy’s mouth feels, he was lacking in one important aspect—you couldn’t blame him, he was a little overwhelmed with everything, as were you. But, Joel, he seemed the most-level headed and you were so fucking thankful for it.

“Want him to play with your clit, sweetheart?” He asks, “S’that what you need?”

“Ye—Yes.” You stutter, the gentle squeeze of your breast under Joel’s grip causing you to clench around Tommy’s tongue and he flicks his eyes up toward you both and there was no telling how pathetic you looked, but Tommy seemed just as equal on that playing field.

“You heard ‘er, Tommy.” Joel tells him, “give our girl what she wants.”

Our girl.

It doesn’t take long when his tongue presses against your clit, circling maddeningly until you have no other choice but to grip onto the couch and moan, the tightening, agonizing feeling in your stomach bursting at the seams as you come against his tongue. Joel captures your mouth to swallow the moan, not trying to give Tommy the satisfaction just yet while his brother greedily licked away at your pussy, cleaning up the mess you’d made, a gentle smile on your face as you finally came back down, allowing Joel to lick greedily into your mouth before you chanced a glance at Tommy, his pupils blown out in pleasure.

“Think we should move this to the bedroom?” Joel asks preemptively, a soft laughing bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah—yes, please.” You agree, but your legs feel weak, unable to bear your weight.

“I got you, baby.” Tommy assures, helping you to your feet gently, a comforting hand on your waist as he led you toward what you could assume was Joel’s room–considering he had the bigger of the two, Joel following closely behind. 

The deafening click on the door is both a promise and a warning.

This was a secret held within these walls and whatever took place could not be reversed.

You were willing to take that risk though, selfishly.

And you were sure the Miller brothers shared the same sentiment.

-

And for some reason, you didn’t think it was that important you come again. Not after the first, seeing as how they had proved their point in wanting you, nearly brought you to tears with your first orgasm and maybe—maybe you could just blow them both and it would be fine, even the playing fields and leave it at that. 

But, no. That’s not what they wanted. Or planned for.

Joel eats your pussy for fun, he doesn’t even try to make you come. You manage to convince Tommy out of his jeans early, using the fist you have wrapped in his shirt as leverage as you hover on your hands and knees, gripping his thick cock in your free hand and giving it a few slow tugs, knowing that if he was this big, there was no telling what Joel had to offer. 

He’s uncut and girthy, thick veins lining his cock as you lapped teasingly at the head, pulling the foreskin back as you took him into your mouth, a moan reverberating over his cock as Joel ate you out from behind, ass high in the air as he settled on his knees. It wasn’t an ideal position, but Joel wasn’t complaining and neither were you.

Joel had always stripped at some point, still clad in his boxers but devoid of everything else. He’s much wider than Tommy but not nearly as firm—where Tommy has a more chiseled chest and stomach, Joel carries a softness that still beckons with strength. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Tommy sighs, “got a goddamn mouth on you, you know that?”

To some extent, you did. He knew you liked to argue at every possible opportunity, throw back witty remarks that sometimes he didn’t even have a response to but this—this is more than he could imagine. Wet, hot heat surrounded his cock in a way that could have him coming within a few strokes, but he was determined.

You nod with your mouth latched around his cock, taking him to the base until he nudges that back of your throat, trying desperately to ignore how it makes your eyes water, hearing Tommy groan deeply with the feeling of you swallowing around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Tommy warns, “—go on, baby, pull off if you wanna.”

You shake your head defiantly, feeling Joel chuckle against your cunt from behind you.

“She’s greedy, brother,” Joel comments slyly, “You should know that.”

Tommy comes with a low groan, fingers wrapping around the arm still gripping his shirt, thumb rubbing against the skin to soothe himself and keep him anchored here, feeling like he might teleport to another goddamn dimension with how eagerly you swallow down his cum.

You pull off with a soft pop and look at Tommy, grinning proudly. He can’t even hide his adoration, chuckling behind a toothy grin as you pull away from Joel, turning in Tommy’s lap and pressing your back against his chest.

“You think I’m greedy?” You ask Joel teasingly.

“Look at you,” Joel comments snidely, though there’s a playfulness to his tone, “couldn’t settle for one of us so you’re gettin’ both—that seems pretty damn greedy to me.”

You nod mawkishly to his words, watching as he grew closer, shifting on his knees as you leaned forward slightly, feeling the gentle press of Tommy’s palm against your back, his spent and softening dick, pressed against your bare ass. He knew it wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and he’d be even harder than before, unable to resist you.

“And if I want more?” You ask curiously.

“More what, sweetheart?”

“Well, for starters—I want your cum, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “Can you give me that?”

“Dunno, you think you deserve that?”

Tommy’s watching the exchange with an amused grin, feeling it was a well-deserved punishment to Joel with how often you and him argue this way. Joel was finally getting a taste of the medicine he so often mocked Tommy for complaining about.

“Come here.” You beckon, grabbing lazily at his wrist and pulling him toward you.

He seems hesitant at first, but he leans over you, sandwiching you between him and Tommy as you press your lips in a featherlight touch against his own.

“Kiss me.” You demand.

“What?” He asks curiously, like his brother hadn’t just come in your mouth.

And that’s exactly why–it doesn’t make your skin crawl, in fact, it only turns you on more.

“Please, Joel,” You pout, “just a little peck and then I’ll let you fuck me while Tommy has to watch–that’s what you want right? Wanna pull some claim over me while your brother can’t do anything about it, am I wrong?”

Joel kisses you so intensely it forces you back against Tommy, a small mmph leaving your mouth as Joel quickly gained the upper hand and wraps his large, rough hands under your ass and scoots you further down the bed until the back of your thighs press against the top of his and you moan as he licks into your mouth, knowing that the lingering of Tommy’s headiness touches his tongue and you bite down harshly on his bottom lip as he pulls apart for a brief, lingering moment. 

Here it comes—the questioning consent, the lingering wonders.

“I’m covered, Joel.” You assure him, “We don’t need them. I trust you both are clean.”

Assuming that Tommy was going to fuck you too—which, god, you fucking hoped.

That’s all Joel needs, nodding before he grabs ahold of his shaft, dragging the tip of his cock through you wetness, gathering it in a slow teasing trail before he presses inside slowly, watching the stretch of you around his cock. You can’t help but keep your eyes locked on the same point either, because what Joel lacked in slight girth he made up for in length, feeling the numb press of him inside of you before he was even fully sheathed.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” He says, voice strained, “that’s a tight fuckin’ fit. Think you can handle it?”

You laugh brokenly, Tommy’s hands comforting over your shoulder before they trail to your breasts, teasingly rubbing a nipple between his fingers, watching it pebble underneath his touch.

“Do you want a pat on the back or something?” You retort, “Fuck me, Joel.”

“There she is,” Tommy comments in amusement, “I knew you were in there. Give it to ‘em, darlin.”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Joel snaps, “Know what, sweetheart, I got a challenge for you.”

Joel moves his hips slowly, pulling out slowly before pushing back in even more agonizingly slower. “No touchin’, how’s that sound? Think you can handle it.”

You shake your head. Honestly, Joel could respect it.

“Fine—Tommy, hold her hands.” Joel settles and part of you expects Tommy to argue.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks just as greedy about the idea. And he knows if you were uncomfortable with it you would speak up, because secretly—it was exactly what you wanted. Render your power and your own autonomy for a brief moment and give yourself over to them equally. Tommy holds his hands out in wait, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

You hand them over with a soft sigh, feigning annoyance. He guides them to wrap around his waist behind you, arms stretched over your head as Joel has a solid grip on the underside of your thighs, hips still moving slowly throughout, so slow that you forget he’s actually seated inside you until he snaps his hips once, twice, his resistance snapping when he sees you settle.

Tommy settled on his own knees, though sat deeper into the bed, his hands a tight, mindful presence against your wrist as you squeeze and claw at his skin as Joel pistons his hips with a ferocity that seeks vengeance, or something there of. 

“Squeeze my cock, sweetheart,” Joel goads, feeling you do just that as your eyes roll back, “yeah—don’t act like this wasn’t what you planned from the beginning.”

“Our girl’s good at that,” Tommy comments, staring down at you with a mischievous smirk, “playin’ us both—kinda like it though, I’ll admit.”

“Shut up,” You groan, “Both of you.”

You pointedly pinch at Tommy’s skin and he tilts his head in both amusement and confusion.

“I think she’s gettin’ a little upset,” Tommy acknowledges, “You don’t think it’s fair, darlin?”

You almost have the courage to reply when Joel’s thumb drags over your clit, rubbing in quick and determined circles to match the intensity of his thrusts, using his spread knees to keep your thighs wide and open for him, eyes locked on your cunt as you squeeze around him repeatedly, moaning wantonly into your bicep as you turn your head to the side.

But, Joel doesn’t appreciate that. He grabs your chin quickly, and clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You keep those eyes on Tommy. Let him see how good I make you feel, alright?”

You pout slightly, biting harshly at your bottom lip as Joel shifts his hips slightly, but it feels earth-shattering, one hand planted into the mattress to allow for him to reach something deeper inside of you, if that was possible.

“I’m right—right,” You sigh, eyes tearing up as you looked at Tommy, clawing gently at his sides, “fuck–I’m right there, Tommy.”

Despite Joel being inside you, his name slips out. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. And he wants to give you relief but really, he’s just eager to be inside of you too. He knows the quicker Joel finishes up that he can have you, so he encourages his brother. And Joel is too desperate for his own release to argue.

“Ask him, sweetheart.” Joel notices your eagerness for approval from Tommy and plays into it, feeling the familiar feeling building in his gut as he grits his teeth.

You nod furiously in understanding, eyes trained on Tommy. “I need to—can I come, please?”

“Go on, baby.” He agrees softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your chest as he feels your body shake with your orgasm as Joel swiped a thumb over your clit before everything goes white, gasping sharply at the intensity, but you don’t have much time to recover before Joel is pulling out and allowing Tommy to assist as you sit up slightly and feel the press of Joel’s cock against your lip, the blurriness in your eyes quickly clearing as he comes in long, forceful spurts over your tongue.

You lap greedily, swallowing visibly as Joel squeezes at his cock and forces out the last few bits of cum he had to offer, rubbing the tip against your tongue as you giggled softly, kissing his cock head gently.

There’s a brief second where you think they might allow you a break, a moment to collect yourself, but Joel is staring at you with his head cocked to the side, palming his softening dick as he glances over you at his brother.

“I dunno if she’s up for it,” Joel offers, “I think that might’ve taken it out of her.”

A shame, really. But, your eyebrows furrow in defiance as you quickly shove Joel, gently and not at all enough to really move him more than a few millimeters. It causes Tommy to chuckle.

“He’s just playin’ around, baby.” Tommy comforts, “You think you can handle it?”

You nod eagerly, turning on your knees as you rise to meet him with an eager kiss, something you haven’t had the chance to do all night. Tommy kisses with more eagerness, more passion—it’s less experience than what you feel with Joel. Tommy has so much he wants to match with you; the curiosity and unity in the way you touch him. You kiss like new lovers and it feels your body with warmth, both of you laughing softly against each other’s lips.

“I can handle it.”

Tommy eyes you seriously, following your playful gaze.

“Get to the edge of the bed.”

And—oh, that’s…different. Like a switch and you can barely recognize him.

Joel and Tommy switch with a trained ease as Tommy guides you to the end of the bed, the top of the mattress pressing at your waistline and giving you easy leverage to lean against and Joel is right there, in perfect view and waiting for you. He seems softer now too, more relaxed.

You think Tommy might give you a moment but he’s already hard again and eager, sliding inside of you in one go—hard and sharp as your hands press into the mattress between Joel’s thighs, gripping the sheets tightly.

=

Tommy grips tightly at the back of your neck and pulls you upwards, pressing his face into the side of yours and speaking tensely against your skin, “Why don’t you be a good girl and give my brother a taste of what your mouth can do, huh, baby?”

You nod obediently, shivering at the way Tommy mouths at your skin greedily before forcing you back down against Joel, his hands spread out beside him, cock hard against and resting against his belly.

He’s almost positive he won’t be able to come again–not this soon, but he isn’t going to deny himself the taste of your mouth, watching as you move with eagerness to please him and Tommy. The sharp snap of Tommy’s hips makes it a little difficult and Joel wants to scold his brother’s eagerness and lack of restraint, but he knows—Joel knows how good you feel and he can’t even blame him. 

He offers a guiding hand as you swallow him down, swirling your tongue around the tip a few times, repeating the process with his hand resting gently against the side of your face, thumb rubbing tenderly at the joint in your jaw, feeling him stretch you and heightening the growing ache that will linger for a while.

“Fuck, our girl’s got such a sweet pussy, don’t she?” Joel comments snarkily, eyebrows furrowing when you take him a little too deep, “Can’t get enough of it—just like this goddamn mouth.”

You moan pathetically and Joel can’t handle it, gripping your face between his palms as he presses his lips to yours forcefully, swallowing the whine that leaves your mouth as you feel Tommy’s hands roam and tightening against your body, soft expletives leaving his mouth as he fucks into you and hand gradually arriving at your shoulder and tightening around the skin, pulling him back against your harshly.

Joel rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, eyes locked on yours, “Yeah—think you can come again, sweetheart?” A third? Not a fuckin’ chance. You shake your head weakly, ‘You can, I know you can,” And there’s Joel’s soothing voice, the one you hear so often at work, “You keep your eyes on me, alright? Nowhere else.”

“Listen to ‘em, baby.” Tommy interjects after a long bout of silence, too lost in his own head as he relishes in the squeeze of you around his cock, committing it to memory. “Gonna make sure you feel us tomorrow while you’re at work.”

Joel chuckles at that, the slow trail of Tommy’s hand as it finds your clit and begins slow circles, easing into it, “Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel comments teasingly, “maybe we just can’t resist ourselves and we can take turns fuckin’ you in the back office. But, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You moan sheepishly, eyes falling shut up.

Joel tsks, “Eyes on me means you keep ‘em open too, baby. Answer me.”

“Yes—yes, fuck—I would. I would.” You rush out, feeling Tommy’s pace quicken and the ache in your stomach builds and builds, tears building in your eyes as you keep them locked on Joel. 

Despite his demands his face remains gentle and you find yourself sobbing softly into his hands as Tommy snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a deep, guttural groan as he tips you over the edge too. It’s too much, overly-sensitive and your muscles burning with more ache than when you started you let out another sob, falling against Joel.

“Go on, get somethin’ to clean up,” He tells Tommy over your shoulder, “I got her.”

You fall slack against him, feeling him adjust himself on the bed until you can sit properly, leaning you against his body as he hands run along your back, soft sobs wracking your body.

“Hey, you still with me?” Joel asks hesitantly. “Was it too much?”

You feel yourself start to calm under his touch, quickly shaking your head.

“Just…overwhelmed.” You admit, “Too much.”

“Too much?” Joel echoes with an endearing chuckle. 

“Yes,” You admit amusingly, “I guess I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“That’s fair,” Joel offers, gripping your hand in his own and intertwining your fingers, “this doesn’t—we don’t usually do this. We haven’t in a long time. I don’t want you to think this is something you're bound to now.”

“Like he could fire you if he wanted to,” Tommy interjects with a sly grin, somehow managing to redress amidst your talk with Joel, just a pair of dark colored briefs but it allows what just happened to settle in more deeply, “come here, darlin.”

Joel switches off, pulling his own underwear on somewhere near the other side of the bed. And you welcome the warmth of the washcloth as Tommy drags it between your legs, hissing only slightly, “I know, you’re pretty sensitive—m’sorry.” Tommy mumbles, gingerly cleaning you up, dragging the wet wash cloth along your thighs as well, tender from his and Joel’s teasing bites at your flesh. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You say softly, his free hand gripping your waist tenderly.

Joel offers up your clothes silently, eyeing his brother wearily as he bounds around the room, gathering his own clothes and re-dressing, though Joel stays in his nearly bare state of undress, briefs allowing him some modesty.

“I’m gonna check the bar,” Tommy offers, “should only take an hour or so.”

Joel nods, “Alright, just…keep me updated, I guess.”

He isn’t ushering you out either, his lingering presence by your side as you pull your underwear up your thighs, a gentle touch of reassurances as you wobble on unsteady legs. Tommy chuckles lightly at the sight, winking when he catches your disgruntled gaze, nose scrunched up in annoyance. 

“No fun without me.” Tommy jokes.

“Tommy—” Joel says steely as his brother throws his head back over his shoulder, slipping on his boots, “get the fuck out of my room.”

Tommy offers a mock salute and does just that, leaving you alone with Joel for the first time that night.

“I’m guessing the same rules apply to me?” You ask, shoving your arms through the holes in your shirt, yanking it over your head and you catch Joel shaking his head, pulling you to your feet with a hand when you finally look at him.

“I got you all to myself now,” Joel says quietly, “think I deserve to be a little selfish.”

You wince at the thought of any more sex tonight, but are thankful his hands down stray from your side when they settle there.

“Joel, I can’t—”

“Sleep here tonight,” He offers, “I’ll cook breakfast in the morning."

“I think you just want to keep to yourself all night so Tommy can’t have me, don’t you?”

Joel grins, leaning in for a gentle peck of your lips, “You’re damn right, sweetheart.”

[dc418writes]

Trial & Error

Summary🪄: Joel tries to help you get some rest

🚨: no outbreak!Joel, minor age gap (reader is late 20s, Joel is mid 30s), AU with no Sarah (pls don’t hate me 🫣) pretty much all fluff💕

A/N🎤: this is my submission to @beefrobeefcal ‘s Married Joel Sat on Me challenge (please check out the other works and/or submit your own if you’d like☺️!), and I hope you guys like what I came up with✨

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest. Although my writings are imagined with a black reader, anyone can read and enjoy😌*

“Baby,” Joel drawls in that deep voice smooth like silk that always makes you melt, “you should be sleeping.” His lips sweetly press against your forehead after carefully tilting your head back so your doe eyes would be on him.

He wasn’t surprised to see your silhouette through the front curtains as his black pickup pulled in the driveway. The living room illuminated with flashes of blue as you watched something he couldn’t quite tell - if he had to guess, probably one of baby Morgan’s favorite shows you tended to play so she could calm down.

It had been a bit of a habit now with your newfound insomnia. And having to take care of a sick five-month-old while being under the weather yourself didn’t help.

“I’m not tired though.” Even upside down, it was obvious to see the exhaustion in those pretty features that had him addicted from the first time he saw you. The darkened puffiness under your eyes. The dull look to your usually bright skin.

“But you need sleep. The past couple days you’ve only been gettin three, maybe four hours.” Although calm, you could feel his concern. Knew he was stressed that his two girls were dealing with things he couldn’t seem to help with. Especially not with this new house taking up all his time.

“I don’t know what else to do.” You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder as he sits beside you draping his arm around the back of the dark sectional. Any other time, his overall presence along with the warmth emanating from his wood and leather scented skin would have you relaxed enough that you could easily find rest. Now it was just one of a long list of futile attempts.

“Wanna try those sleep gummies again?”

“I think my body’s used to it since it didn’t work that first night.”

His deep hum rumbles under your fingertips on his sternum. “Tea?”

You shake your head, “Being sick made me all tea’d out. Plus I think the chamomile’s gone.”

“Could always try warm milk?,” he suggests with a slight grin. He already knew your answer, but he loved watching your cute, button nose crinkle in disgust.

“I’d rather be knocked over the head,” you answer making your husband deeply chuckle. “Let’s face it, this is just how things are for now. I’ve tried pretty much everything.”

Joel wasn’t one to easily accept defeat though thanks to his stubborn nature.

“I uh was talkin’ about it with a buddy on the job. He mentioned something about a..weighted blanket? Said it works for his kid so I tried to find one at the store, but the lady said they’re all out for now.”

Tilting your head up, a soft smile curls along your lips meeting Joel’s cocoa gaze focused on you. It shouldn’t be anything surprising at this point of your relationship, - being together for three years and married for two - but you can’t help how your heart flutters at how caring he could be. If a certified cure was revealed today or tomorrow, you know he’d make a way to be the first in line.

Leaning forward, you peck his lips once before moving to his bearded jaw, “Thank you for trying.”

His mouth finds yours again easily sliding your hips, with his thick hands, to sit across his lap making you giggle between each nip and press of your lips against his. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to check again. Try that other store across town too.”

As if feeling left out from all the love, Morgan first whimpers then cries from her nursery just off from the living room. You mentally groan dreading how long it’ll take to get her back to sleep.

“I got her,” Joel states leaving a last kiss on your forehead. “You try to rest.”

“No it’s okay, I got her. Plus I’ll have to check her temp-,”

His hands only tighten on your hips preventing you from standing. “Baby I can do it. Relax.”

“What if she’s hungry?”

“I can warm a bottle.”

“I can at least help though,” you pout trying to wiggle free. Instead, you’re manhandled to lie down with your husband sitting on your lower back and butt pressing you into the plush cushions. Turning your upper body as much as you could, your eyebrows slightly furrow in shock and amusement while Joel just crosses his arms as if you’re now permanently part of the furniture. “J-Joel! Wha-?”

“Ya left me no choice. It was the only way I could get you to stay.”

“By crushing me with your big ass?!”

You could be so dramatic. “Hey, this big ass is your fault,” he laughs. “Fillin’ me up with all that food and pastries.”

Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. His once toned abdomen now a pleasant pouch and thighs a bit thicker causing him to go up a size in his jeans - and even then they still hugged tight.

Not that you minded. You loved Joel’s new ‘dad bod’ just as much as his more slender form. Sometimes even more as you watched him get ready for work or walk around in his sweatpants as he carried and played with Morgan. If it wasn’t for your current situation, you might even be pregnant with baby number two you were so attracted to him.

“Sure, it’s my fault and not that burger and fries you get every day for lunch,” you playfully huff trying to shimmy your way from his hold.

He slightly tilts his head from left to right knowing you had a point, “Alright fair.” Eventually, you finally submit to the fact you weren’t leaving letting your arms extend in front of you. And dare you say, it even began to feel comfortable. “Now, if I get up I trust you’re gonna stay here?”

“Yes seeing that my back is broken,” you reply rolling your eyes. That earns you a warning - yet always playful - smack to the back of your thigh as he stands now leaving you to the cold, open air. “Good girl. I’ll be right back.”

The softest of smiles forms of your lips rolling onto your back to watch him happily stride to tend to his baby girl. “Hey love bug! How ya feelin huh?” Her cries instantly silence into hiccups as soon as she’s lifted to lie on his chest. She even babbles as if having a full conversation while he presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fever that’s good.”

A certain, familiar smell clues Joel to what the issue is though. “We gotta get this diaper off you babygirl,” he states moving to lie her on the changing table. “That’ll make you feel better right?” It’s like she understands every word reaching her chubby arms up with a short giggle. They grow into excited squeals as Joel takes turns blowing raspberries onto her bare stomach and tickling that spot under her chin between cleaning her up with baby wipes.

Such a daddy’s girl through and through.

It takes maybe ten minutes more of coos mixed with rocking and bouncing before Joel has her asleep again; carefully lowering her into her crib for the night. ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ playing on a low, constant loop from her star projector to make sure she stays that way as he eases out her room and shuts the door behind him.

His ebony eyes are trained on you now padding the short distance to the couch and leaning over your body. That one curl at the top of his head tipping forward. “Alright, your turn princess.”

You only lift your arms with a smile letting him lift you over his broad shoulder to carry you down the hall to your shared bedroom. Luckily you’re already in your pajamas when you gently flop against the brown comforter. He leaves you to get comfortable - shifting under the covers and wiggling to find that sweet spot - while he discards his clothes in the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

In a few minutes, he’s appearing through the misty doorway with wet almond strands still trying to dry and a pair of black boxer briefs over his hips. The little “ooh” that slips from your lips as he slides into bed makes him furrow his brows in confusion while you twist to lie on your stomach reaching back to pat your bottom. “I got an idea.”

“Yeah?,” he smirks wetting his bottom lip. “We definitely haven’t tried that before.”

“Jesus, get your mind out the gutter. I mean crush me again,” you laugh.

Although he scoffs in faux offense, he still does as you say positioning himself so half his body covers yours and long leg nearly straddles your back. His nose mere centimeters from yours blowing steady streams of air as you practically share your pillow. “What’s your plan here?”

“Well, until we find one, I was thinking..maybe you could be my weighted blanket,” you shyly explain. “I know it’s probably dumb, but earlier-,”

“Worth a try,” Joel winks closing the small gap to peck your nose then lips. His fingertips tracing soothing lines back and forth along your neck.

For a while, you both just lied there talking about your respective days or whatever came to mind. Around one in the morning, Joel could see your blinks become slower and slower until it was an apparent struggle to keep your eyes open. Your words even beginning to slur and answers sound like adorable nonsense.

You hadn’t even realized you eventually drifted off until the next morning when you were woken up by Morgan’s cries through the monitor. The sun shining a bright golden hue through the crack in the curtains.

A note on the nightstand is the first to catch your attention - clearly written by your husband from the tilted and slightly mushed together handwriting - making you tiredly smile.

‘Glad to see you got some rest xx’

[urhoneycombwitch]

howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road. 

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety. 

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down. 

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits. 

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee. 

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand. 

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice. 

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. 

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that. 

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected. 

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed. 

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed. 

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face. 

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere. 

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar. 

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages. 

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.” 

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.” 

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help. 

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting. 

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers. 

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing. 

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both. 

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater. 

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing. 

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides. 

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you. 

“Unfortunately so.” 

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt. 

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side. 

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror. 

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band. 

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued. 

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window. 

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you. 

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies. 

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man. 

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees. 

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on. 

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie. 

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed. 

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor. 

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band. 

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 12

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about it, Holly?” Steve’s voice brings you back from your trance.

You only realise then that you’ve zoned out. You look down at your plate, your burger half-eaten and the salad mostly gone. As your mom babbled on, you’d lost yourself staring out at the lawn. It didn’t really matter, she barely acknowledged you since you came out with dinner.

You glance between her and Steve, lost in the conversation already underway.

“I’d love that, it will be nice,” your mom answers, beaming across the table; the shade of the umbrella gathering in the lines of her face.

“How about you, kiddo? Grab you pajamas and join the party,” Steve looks at you.

“Huh?” You and your mom utter in unison.

“Both of us?” She asks in a brittle quaver.

“Yeah, sure, it’ll be a nice way to connect. Holly, I know you’re a mother first, it’s a package deal.”

“Mm, yeah, I just... I misinterpreted,” she puts her hand against her neck. “A sleepover, that’s fun.”

“I felt bad about last time. Don’t want anyone left out of movie night. I got popcorn, mph,” he turns to you again, “do you like cream soda? I got some cane stuff in the glass bottles--”

“That’s a lot of sugar,” your mother murmurs.

“It’s one night,” he shrugs, “it won’t hurt. Lots to go around.”

“I guess...” she forces a smile.

“Well, we can always hold off. I did promise ice cream,” he sits back and claps his thighs. “You all done?”

You stare at the table then look up in the silence. You don’t realise he’s talking to you. You nod. Your stomach won’t settle. It’s been off all day; you wonder if maybe the maple syrup was a bit too much yesterday.

“I’ll wrap it up for you, you can have it later if you want,” he stands and takes your plate, then your mother’s and his own. Where you nibbled through barely half, they had nothing left.

You sit back and cross your arms as Steve goes inside. Your mother sighs and glares past you. She’s annoyed even if you hadn’t made the decision yourself. You didn’t even accept the invitation.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “you just can’t help but get in the way.”

She leans forward. When she’s angry, her tremors worsen. She’s barely able to keep her head still.

“I didn’t...”

“Oh, be quiet. He only feels bad for you because he knows I can’t get rid of you,” she sneers. “He knows you have nothing go for you. No job, no friends, no hobbies.” She sits back and huffs, “I tried to raise you better. I really did. I don’t know what happened.”

You lower your head. Maybe you can come up with a lie. If you can find an excuse to leave, she won’t be able to hate you.

“I could say I’m not feeling well--”

“Just stay out of the way,” she snarls.

You sniff and turn away, hiding the gloss of tears in your eyes. Sometimes, you don’t do anything at all and she’s mad. You hear Steve coming back out and you wipe your nose, keeping your face down as you shrink.

You can be invisible. You’re good at that.

🏠

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you accept a bowl of ice cream and finish it. Strawberry. It's delicious but you just can't enjoy it. You're uneasy, unsure.

You go to grab some pajamas, your mother issuing another warning before you return to Steve's. You wear a pair of polka dot bottoms and a jersey shirt. You'll just be watching tv, and hopefully, if you can settle down, sleeping.

Your mother sits on the couch. You can see the fatigue quivering in her lip and drooping in her eyelids. She never did as much before your new neighbour. You only ever stayed inside and wilted in the sunlight.

"Holly, you need anything?" Steve asks as he pushes up the ottoman, "how about you put your feet up. I just wanted to show her something."

"What's that?" Your mom asks.

"Oh, yeah, well, I know she likes art so I wanted to show her my studio. Or office, whatever you wanna call it."

"Mm, right. Upstairs, huh?" She grumbles.

"Right," he confirms, "we won't be too long. You can find a movie." He hands her the remote, "I had some extra pencils and stuff I found on the move. Figured she could take em off my hands."

"Sure, sure," she yawns and leans her head in her hands. You can't tell if she's witholding herself out of exhaustion or for Steve's benefit.

"Come on. We'll just pop up for minute," Steve nudges your arm.

You hug one arm across your stomach and push your shoulder up. You take his direction as he points you actoss the room. You go to the stairs and climb one by one.

Further down, he takes you into another room, just across from an open bedroom. You shuffle inside and can't help marvel at the interior. The walls are hung with still lifes in pencil, charcoal, and ink, and an easel stands by the window, a large drafting table at the center of the room.

"You do these?" You ask bluntly.

"Ha, yeah, I... when I saw your sketchbook, I admit, I got a bit excited. A fellow artist."

"You're an artist? You make money off of this?"

"Sure do," he smiles proudly. "Did some time in the army then had to get out, find some peace. Always found painting calms me."

"Oh."

"I wanted to say something sooner but I wanted to show you," he enters and brushes by you, hand dragging across your back. "Let me find those pencils."

You nod and pace cautiously around the table. There's an open sketchbook. A woman's naked back greets you, a piece of fabric draped around her hips as her refined profile is etched perfectly.

He's good. Better than you. You back away as he sorts through the shelf.

'Ah, here," he turns to you again, "pencils, sketchbook, oh and maybe you'll want these watercolours. I was sent two by accident."

"Oh, uh, thanks, but... you don't have to."

"You're talented. You'll make good use of them, I know it."

"Mm, I... try."

"There's this place I know. Great view. Maybe you can come one day. Good fodder," he offers. "Trees, water, and the sunset..."

"Maybe," you agree half-heartedly.

"Then maybe you can bring it to my next art show."

"Art show?" You mutter, eyes rounding.

"Sure. It'll be good for you. I know you take care of your mom and that's sweet but you gotta make your way. Eventually."

"I know," you slump and take the sketchbooks and flat tins from him. "Thank you. I..." you look at the brand names. You know they're expensive from the catalogues you look at but never buy from. "No one... these are so nice. I appreciate it."

"No problem, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything else. Hell, if you want a quiet place to work..." he stops behind you and looks around, "even just an escape..."

“That's okay,” you say as you go back into the hall.

You head back downstairs, the pencils clattering just a little in your hands. As you enter the living room, you hear a snort. Your mom's head lolls back against the couch as she snores. Steve walks into you from behind as he stops too late.

“Oop,” he frames your hips for just a moment as he presses again your back then parts. “Sleepyhead,” he chuckles and sidles past you, a waft of his cologne filling your lungs. He didn't smell so strongly before. “Well, guess it's your choice, sweetie,” he takes the remote and holds it out to you.

“Oh, uh, you choose,” you try to wave him off but he pushes the remote into your hand.

“You can put your stuff on the table,” he points to the sketchbook clutches against your chest, “better get cozy while I get the popcorn going.”

Before you can argue, he's gone. You turn to look at your mom. Why did she have to fall asleep? She could've said no to all of this, that she's too tired. Now it's you and Steve. Hopefully, the movie keeps the chatter to a minimum.

[cellythefloshie]

;; I Did Something Bad Dedicated to @hockeyboysimagines

Summary: After you send a sexy snap to the wrong Brady, you and your stepbrother cross a line that you had never considered crossing before. Kinks & Tropes: Age Gap (18 vs. 22). Stepcest. Phone Sex/Sexting. Praise. Mutual Masturbation. Protective Big Brother. Reader Nickname: "Sissy". PLEASE NOTE, this work of fiction depicts a budding sexual relationship between step-siblings who grew up together from ages 10 and 14 - step-siblings who always considered one another siblings. -- Set during Brady's time as a New York Ranger. Word Count: 4k+ A/N: Happy Birthday to the lovely @hockeyboysimagines ! You have been the best worst influence for me as a writer, always encouraging me to write what I want to write instead of what I should be working on. And you very well know October was meant to be spent with the filthiest of Brady Skjei content. This is very much the tip of the iceberg for Brady and his stepsister, and I couldn't be more thrilled to get the two of them going because of your birthday. This fic is in no way groundbreaking, but it's filthy and fun and maybe even a little toxic. But if I know someone who is going to appreciate it for their birthday, it's you! AND a quick little shout out to @hagelpoint-3821 who was around when my filthy mind birthed this idea probably 2 years ago now! It's finally happening!

“Do you always think of me when you touch yourself?”

Your blood ran cold. You recognized the voice in an instant, and it wasn't the one you expected to hear when you answered the phone. And it was nowhere near anything you thought would leave your stepbrother's mouth. 

His words sent a rush of heat surging through you. It sent your skin red hot with embarrassment as you lay in bed, one hand still in your panties and the other holding the phone to your ear so tightly your hand ached. You wished the embarrassment could have been for him. That he had somehow dialed the wrong number. That he meant to dial whichever slut he had in whichever city he was in for the night. But that was just a dream of a possibility, because he knew exactly what he was doing when he phoned you. 

Silently, you drew your phone back from your face, a quivering breath trembling through your body as you opened Snapchat on your phone and looked at your last sent messages. At the top of the list was Brady, the red and white arrow beside his name showing you the last message sent to him was minutes ago. And just below him, the intended recipient of your message, Braedy. He was an idiot you’d met in the back row of your first year psychology class. You’d exchanged numbers on the first day, which led to helping him with assignments while he helped you with orgasms. But while he was in his dorm room across campus, rock hard and waiting for your next risque picture, you lay still in bed with your stepbrother on the other end of the phone. 

Swallowing hard, in an attempt to moisten your dry mouth, you accepted that the silence had been too long to pretend that you hadn’t accidentally sent him a picture of your hand in your panties. 

“I-” you started, but you formed no words. Anything you could have thought to say became strangled in your throat.  "Sissy, was that picture not meant for me?" Brady asked, saving you from the need to provide him with some sort of explanation, but it didn't make you feel any better. Your heart continued to pound against your chest as it flooded with panic and embarrassment.

“No, I, ah-” you breathed, your attempt at words more of a stutter than the beginnings of an explanation. 

“And I thought you were being a good girl-” your core clenched “-focusing on your studies on campus. I don’t have to come down there and check in on you, do I?”

You shook your head slowly as if he could see it, your hair becoming a mess on your pillow. Your breathing was shallow and uneven, your body hot and sweaty even as you lay there in nothing but a cropped t-shirt and your panties. Panties that your hand had yet you leave and your crotch was still damp with arousal from the brief exchange of photos before Brady’s interruption. An interruption that should have dried you up like a desert. Yet, you were just as wet as when you answered the call, if not wetter. 

“Are you still there, sissy?” It was only with his words that you realized he couldn’t see your response. 

“No, I-” your throat caught your words as you fumbled with what exactly to say. Brady’s words were so calm, sounding cautious and thought out, while your mind was so frantic you couldn’t even think of the right words to say. 

“I’m still here,” you confirmed with a breath, “and no, you don’t need to check on me.” 

“I’ll be in the area next week,” he hummed slowly, and your eyes darted to the calendar that was on your bedside table. The Rangers would play in Minnesota soon, and while you were sure the team wouldn’t give him time to come visit you on campus, Brady never seemed to fail at scaring any prospecting partners away. It was the big-brother thing to do, or at least that’s always what you guys told yourselves. But as he spoke with his words so thought out as if he was trying to tiptoe through the situation with caution, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was and had always been a little more than that. 

“No, no,” you protested, “I’ll be good.”

“Will you?” Brady challenged. “Be a good girl and block that boy for me.”

“Brady-”

“Do it and show me.” The firmness of his voice sent a wave of heat through you. There would be no fighting him on this, so you obliged.

Slowly, your hand left your panties, the elastic waistband snapping against your hip before you brought your now freed hand up to your phone. You cradled the phone in both hands as you turned on the screen recording and captured blocking your classmate, Braedy, on Snapchat and his phone number. Then you sent the video to your stepbrother, Brady. 

“Good girl,” he praised you, “keep it that way, alright, Sissy. No distractions. Promise.”

“I promise,” you breathed out, though you were fully entertaining the idea of unblocking Braedy as soon as this awkward phone call was over. What Brady didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or you. 

“Good girl,” he said again, your body reacting the same to his soft praise, and it nearly left you reeling against your pillow. You shouldn’t be feeling that way, especially with Brady on the phone. Yet, you forced out a quivering breath and chalked it up to coincidence and the poor timing of his call. “Are you in bed?” he asked you slowly. 

“Yes,” you confirmed. 

“Wearing those pretty little panties?”

You lay there in the same silence that had consumed you when you had heard his voice when you had answered the call. Had you just heard him right, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Or maybe, just maybe, you had fallen asleep watching shitty pornography, and this was all just a dream. 

You pinched yourself. 

No, not a dream. 

You had accidentally sent your stepbrother a suggestive photo, and now he was what, trying to have phone sex with you? It didn’t make sense, but did all at once.

The two of you had always been close, even if your parents hadn’t married until you were 10 and he was 14. He had snapped into your life so perfectly. Brady was the big brother you had always wanted. From helping you with your homework, to attending both his high school football games and his hockey games, too. The two of you did it all together. Even when he was off to college, you were there supporting him, counting down the days until you too would attend the same university in his footsteps. And then there were the jokes, made by your own parents, that if the two of you weren’t siblings, the two of you would get married. It was always a joke, one that both you and Brady had laughed at - but it was all coming to crest now. Had the joke always been funny because it was true?

The two of you just never admitted it - or fully entertained the idea - until you had forced it all by accident. 

Biting down on your lip, you chewed it slowly as you took in a slow breath. You had a decision to make, and the weight of it rested heavily on your chest. You could answer him, paint a sexy little picture for him with your words, or you could hang up. 

“Brady,” his name was weak on your lips, your tongue darting out to run over your lips slowly. 

“Sorry,” he spoke quickly, “I can hang up. We can pretend this didn’t happen-”

“No, don’t,” you spoke out too quickly as you shot up in bed, “don’t hang up.” 

He replied with nothing but a soft sigh, one that sounded like a smile and relief. 

Slowly, you pressed up onto your knees, your thighs pressing firmly together to ease the tension that continued to build throughout your body. One hand left your phone and tucked your hair behind your ears and out of your face before falling to rest on the top of your thighs. “Where are you right now?” 

“My hotel room in Detroit,” he answered slowly. 

You swallowed hard. “Alone?”

Brady hummed his confirmation into the phone, sparking a sense of excitement into you. “Maybe,” your lips curled up into a soft smile as you spoke, “I could send you another picture. Would that be wrong?”

Yes. Yes, it would. But he didn’t stop you. Instead, Brady encouraged you. “Wrong? No. It’s just a picture, right?” You weren't sure if he was trying to convince you, or if he was trying to convince himself that what you were about to do was okay. 

His words made you giddy when they should have. And with a stupid smile, your phone left your ear as you positioned yourself on the bed. You knelt there with your legs slightly spread so he could have a clear view of your panties. Snapping the picture, you wrinkled your nose at the outcome. You didn’t like it. You posed again after fixing your shirt just right to show off just the right amount of under-boob in the next picture. It was great, but there was one issue: you could see your face. Thumb hesitating over the send button, you contemplated about taking another, one where you couldn't see your face. A picture like the ones you had sent your classmate earlier. Yet, you hit send. Because this was Brady, and if he shared it with anyone else, he would get into as much trouble as you would. 

“There, I sent it to you,” you told him as you brought the phone back up to your ear.

You could hear Brady's satisfied hum through the phone as you relaxed back on the bed. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he told you and you threw yourself back on the pillow with a too wide grin. “Such an amazing body you have, Sissy.”

Your cheeks flushed with color. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen so much of your skin. Your family had taken a vacation somewhere hot every year for as long as you could remember, but this was the first time Brady could really comment on it. 

“Can I show you something?” Brady asked, and your heart quickened. 

“Yes,” you nodded eagerly, and you waited patiently, your face half buried in your pillow as you waited for his picture to be sent. 

Yet, when that red square popped up on your screen, you hesitated to open it. It was one thing to send a picture, but to receive one. Opening it would mean you both crossed a line and there would be no coming back from it. Then, as you did most decisions, you took the risky option with no consideration for the repercussions you would face in the future. You held your thumb down on the screen, the sight it unlocked leaving your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. 

Your eyes went to the shadow of his abs first and traveled down the dark trail of hair on his stomach as it began just below his navel and disappeared behind the gray fabric of his sweatpants. Licking your lips, you indulge yourself in the sight of his cock tenting up against his sweatpants. You had no words, your mouth falling agape in a heavy exhale as you tried to keep your body calm. But it was too late. Your skin was hot with arousal and on the verge of sweating, and as you pressed your ass down into the mattress, you could feel just how slick you were between your thighs. 

Raising your phone back up to your ear, you greeted Brady with a quivering breath and he spoke with confidence into your ear. There was no need to tiptoe around things now. “You see what your little accident did to me?”

“Oh? Did I do that?” you answered his question with a question, your words knowing and sickeningly sweet as you let your hand run down your own stomach and stopped at the waistband of your panties. Your fingers traced over its edge slowly, craving to dip deeper, but you would wait. 

“Do you think you can help me take care of it?” Brady asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice. You bit your lip, hiding your own smile from yourself, and he must have taken it as a moment of hesitation because Brady’s words found your ear again. “You have such a great body, Sissy. It’s so hard to ignore, and that picture,” he let out a long exasperated breath, “send me another one?”

“What do you want to see?” You asked him. Your words were a breath that you thought he might not even have heard. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable showing me,” Brady answered. 

His words had been soft, melting you further and further into the mess of a puddle that you were. “Let me just,” you hummed out, “give me one second.”

Peeling the phone away from your ear, you opened Snapchat again. You tried to take a picture laying down, but each one left you feeling undesirable. Then you rolled over onto your side where you knew your cleavage would be the star of the show if you had been wearing anything else, but the high neckline of your cropped sleep shirt kept your breasts at bay. You let out a frustrated huff as you moved to the edge of the bed and spread your legs. At this angle, he could see just how wet the crotch of your panties was. 

With your phone in one hand, you posed with the other. You placed it on your inner thigh first, but you didn’t like that. Then, you rested it over your panties but decided it was too close to the first image he had received. You almost gave up, but then, with the quick swipe of your thumb over the screen, you were recording yourself as your fingers dipped inside the fabric of your panties and found your clit. You pressed into it with the pads of your fingers and stroked it in two slow, agonizing circles before you sent it, without reviewing it, to Brady. 

Your hand didn’t leave your panties as you sprawled out lazily over the bed. Stroking yourself slowly, you listened to Brady breathe into the phone, undoubtedly watching the clip you had just sent to him. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you pressed into your clit harder, “so beautiful, sissy. You’re so wet,” Brady let out a low groan, “you make my cock so hard.”

“Are you touching yourself, Brady?” You asked him, your words breathy, “Touching yourself, because of me?”

“I am,” he confirmed with a heavy breath into the phone, “you want to see it, Sissy?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, your feet leaving the floor to dig into the mattress. You dipped your fingers down lower, parting your wet lips and teasing the entrance of your core as you waited for the notification to buzz against your ear. It almost startled you when it did, even if you were expecting it. 

Lulling your head to the side, you let the clip play. Brady was laying in the hotel bed now, his sweatpants pulled down just below his balls. His hockey hardened hand wrapped around his thick cock as she stroked it slowly. Up and down, then up again, making sure you could see the very length of him. 

Your eyes shut as the clip disappeared, trying to keep the sight of it in your mind as you plunged two fingers into your dripping core. 

“Brady,” you gasped out, your phone laying back on the bed almost completely abandoned until you had reached out quickly to put the call on speaker. You couldn’t hold it any longer. You needed both hands now. With your two fingers in your cunt, your other hand dipped beneath the cotton and found your clit again, rubbing it in those same slow circles. 

“You like that, Sissy?” Brady’s voice erupted from the phone beside you, and you were suddenly thankful that your roommate had been spending the night at her boyfriend’s place. No one would overhear him saying things stepbrother shouldn’t say, and no one would hear you moan. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, and it sounded like a whine.

“What are you doing now?” Brady asked you slowly, his words quick as he breathed through the pleasure of his own hand. “Your hand still in your panties, Sissy?”

“Yes,” you gasped out, “they feel so good.”

“What feels good?” Brady asked you slowly, “tell me.” 

“My fingers,” you squeezed your eyes tighter, fighting to speak your words when all you wanted to do was moan. “My fingers in my cunt.”

“That’s so sexy,” he told you and a wave of heat hit you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge that you already felt on the verge of falling over. “How many?”

“Two,” you panted out. 

“Two? That’s not nearly enough.” A lump formed in the back of your throat as he spoke. “No, no, I think I’m at least three of your fingers.” Your walls clenched at the very idea of sliding a third finger into your core, and your hips wiggled, taking your own fingers until they were knuckle deep at the very prospect of pretending that you were being fucked by his thick cock. “Can you do that for me, Sissy? Put a third finger in for me?”

Withdrawing your fingers, you brought three fingers together and pressed the very tip of them to your entrance. You gasped at just how much more they would fill you. “Brady, that’s too much,” you gasped. 

“Would I be too much for you, Sissy?” His question made you shiver. “Is my cock too big for that pretty little pussy of yours?”

“I-I,” you stammered, your heart racing deep in your chest as you hesitated to even try. 

“Take a breath, get nice and relaxed for me,” his words were soft as he guided you, “circle your cunt with three fingers for me. What do you feel?”

“I’m dripping,” you told him with a quivering voice. “I can feel it all down the back of my hand.”

“Good girl,” he cooed, “so slick and horny for my cock. Slowly press just the tips of your fingers. Nice and slow.” His words were gentle and encouraging as you followed his guidance, your core feeling so tight around the tips of your fingers, but the longer you held them there, still inside your cunt, the better it felt. 

“And when you’re ready, press in just a little bit more.” Delving your fingers in deeper, you let out an audible gasp, one that left Brady moaning on the other end of the phone. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you assured, your toes curling over the edge of your bed as you pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping core. “It feels so good, Brady.”

“I can hear how wet you are, Sissy,” Brady groaned. “You like this? You like thinking of me when you touch yourself. Talking to me when your fingers are buried in your cunt.”

“Yes,” you groaned through your grit teeth, “yes! I’m so close, Brady.”

“Don’t hold back. I want to hear you come. I want to hear what you sound like when you moan,” he encouraged you, and you could hear his hand pumping at his cock. 

Your body reeled in your bed, your hips jutted into your own hand as you gasped and moaned out. Core clenching around your fingers, squeezing them as if they were desperate for the come of his cock. You rolled over, so you were laying face down in the bed. Your hips angled, taking your fingers down to the knuckle and humping them until you fell into the dreamy haze of your release. It left you dazed, so ready for sleep, as you lay there staring at your phone, panting. 

The air was silent for a long time, nothing heard but your own breathing as you calmed. It was a silence that lulled you close and closer to sleep, and Brady must have known it. “Are you going to sleep now, Sissy?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

“Good girl, get cleaned up and rest. I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?”

You hummed out in approval, “okay, night Brady.”

“Night.”

The line cut, leaving you in the silence alone with nothing but the weight of what just had happened. It should have bothered you, you knew it should. Instead, you were calm as you rolled out of bed and stepped out of your wet panties. Abandoned on the floor, you left them there as you reached for the makeup wipes you kept on your bedside table. The cold wipe was a shock to your skin as you wiped your hand clean and then used another to clean up the inside of your thighs. A proper shower could wait until morning. 

Clean, or rather clean enough, you crawled back into bed and pulled up the covers only to get him in the face with your phone that had become lost in the mess of your blankets. You let out a low curse as you pushed the covers off to climb out of bed once more to plug in your phone. Blocking your path were your panties, and your heart raced as a mischievous ideal struck you. The idea had you regretting taking them off so quickly, but it was nothing another makeup wipe wouldn’t fix. 

You stepped into your panties and pulled them back up again. Then, you propped up your phone on your desk so that the camera focused on the space between your hips and your mid thighs. When you pressed record, you took a half step back and hooked your thumbs on each side of your panties. You dragged them down slowly, your legs spread just wide enough for the camera to capture your arousal as it webbed and beaded as you peeled your panties from your body. You dragged them down your leg, leaving wet trails down the inside of your thighs until you stood there naked from the waist down in front of the camera. 

You were giddy when you stopped the footage, your cheeks flushed as you sent it off to Brady with no shame. It gave him something to wake up to in the morning. A little reminder of what just had happened, and how your body responded to his words and his guidance. It was fun, though the only person you would ever admit that to was yourself. Not even Brady could know. Not when you were sure he would wake up in the morning with your little gift and be hit hard with the reality of the situation. That one picture accidentally sent to him spiraled further than you both should have let it. 

And as you crawled back into bed, you kept telling yourself: It was just a picture. It was just a phone call. What you did wasn’t wrong. It was a happy little accident, something that only happened one time, and you told yourself it wouldn’t happen again. That was until you woke up the next morning and found a text message from Brady on your phone. 

You hadn’t even left your bed yet when you opened it. Your own video met with his own, one that you could hear your own moans in the background of. While you had been riding your own three fingers, Brady had been thrusting into his hand and was capturing it all on camera. It was a video you were sure he was saving for himself. A dirty little secret he would watch when he wanted to remember what you sounded like when you came. But it was more than that now that he sent to you. Because it wasn’t just a recording of the soft sounds you made, it was also a video of how Brady let out a sigh that you didn’t remember hearing. A video of how his cock twitched and throbbed as it was so close to release–and how he sighed out your name as he shot thick webs of his release up over his toned abs before the phone dropped and the screen went black. It was the video that put everything in perspective. Together you and your stepbrother had created a fucked up little fantasy, and while it was wrong, you didn’t want to stop.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvoteu , @couldawouldashoulda50

[dancingtotuyo]

9. the fear of what's to come

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel navigate life changing news.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of potential pregnancy complications including but not limited to miscarriage and stillbirth, single reference to a fetus being a child (not intended in a pro life way), angst, grief, complicated feelings surrounding pregnancy.

Notes: A huge thanks to my amazing beta readers and friends @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin & @janaispunk

If you have not checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3088

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You know three weeks after your missed period what is happening. It’s not hard to figure out. It’s just like last time. Menopause crosses your mind briefly, but the symptoms don’t line up. You’re sensitive to the same foods, nausea rolls in and out like the ocean tides throughout the day. The insatiable craving for a tomato sandwich cements it two days later. Tears run down your cheeks as you quickly finish off the sandwich and prepare another. 

You don’t get excited. You don’t make plans, and most importantly, you don’t tell Joel. You’re 45. Joel is in his late 50s. You know the statistics, the pre-end-of-the-world ones. You can’t imagine they’ve improved. 

Instead, you just hope that when it happens, nothing goes wrong. There’s no DNC, no pills to make sure everything passes properly or ensure no infection sets in. You’ve aided many women through this, many much younger than yourself. Some make it just fine, others have complications with nothing but prayer, poultices, and 20-year-old antibiotics to help. You’re not sure what actually does it when the women make it through. Some of them you've buried. Their faces flicker through your mind. You cannot be one of them. You cannot leave Carter without either of his parents in this world.  

You tell Maria. You tell her everything she needs to know. What to do step by step when it happens. Since Adam’s injury, Dr. Pooley refuses to practice anything more than simple first aid. You’re both certain it’s dementia. You spend most mornings listening to him talk through different lectures he attended. On the mornings his brain won’t cooperate, you sip tea together. He’s writing down what he remembers, but you have to fact-check it. He’s already taught you most of it anyway. 

“You have to tell Joel,” Maria says when you tell her. 

You refuse. You won’t do it. You won’t bring him into this. You have this silent agreement that you’re partners in this world, but he still lives in the house across the street with Ellie. There’s never been discussions about moving in together or anything past that. You don’t call him your boyfriend. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. Making those commitments, those plans, it will hurt too much when the world takes him away. 

Carter calls him “Daddy.” It makes Joel smile every time. He’s accepted that commitment. It makes you smile too, but there’s still a little ache in your heart each time. Carter knows about Gabe. You tell him stories all the time. If you ask him, he says he has two daddies. One here and one in heaven. 

But you won’t tell Joel about this child. He’s lost one. He doesn’t need to lose another. 

Maria fights you on it. She looks at her son pointing out that she was 2 years older than you are now when he was born healthy. You don’t remind her she almost died, but she sees it in your eyes. You still have nightmares about that night.

You’re firm. You’re not going to tell Joel. Neither will she, and she damn sure won’t tell Tommy either. 

You wait for the cramps and the blood, but they never come. You hit the 3-month mark, your 2nd trimester at the beginning of October. You don’t cry in the bathroom. You square your shoulders. Second-trimester miscarriages happen. Stillbirths happen, but hope gathers in the depths of your soul, growing with each day. You push it away with logic and reasoning. 

Two sides of you war against each other. You can’t bring another life into this world. At one point you were okay with it. You felt safe here, and while you still do, it doesn’t feel okay anymore. The world still digs its ugly claws into this community. Yet, the hopes you used to hold in your mind, the ones you had with Gabe, and the ones you had before the outbreak still linger. In a perfect, uncomplicated world, this is what you would choose. 

You hide the sickness from Joel with relative ease. He’s often awake and out of bed before you for patrol shifts, early morning chores, or waking up with Carter so you can sleep in.

You deliver the Crosby twins a week later without complications. Melissa is only a couple of years younger than you, but at your age, you know how crucial those few years are. When you finally reach your front porch, you sit in the darkness of Wyoming and finally let the tears fall because fate seems to be telling you that this is happening, or just sending you another person to lose. The realization hits you like a freight train. Time is up. You have to tell Joel. 

You crack open the door to Carter’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep and it relieves you to know he's here. You’re less on edge when he’s close, and It means Joel picked him up from Maria and Tommy’s. It means Joel is in your bed.

Sure enough, he’s there when you creep in. He sleeps on his side curled up over your pillow. You roll your eyes. Yes, it's endearing, but it’s also a pain in the ass to get your pillow back.

The bathroom light is blinding at first, but your eyes slowly adjust as you turn on the shower and steam fills the space. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you undress, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You’ve noticed the subtle changes in your body over these past couple of months, but they’re becoming more noticeable. Your breasts have grown, they’re so sensitive, and your sports bra pulls at the seams. Joel commented on it last week. You joked you were packing on extra weight for winter acting like it was nothing. 

Your favorite pair of jeans no longer fit. You’ve mostly stuck to leggings since. You’re starting to clock the subtle changes in your body. They’re happening faster than with your last pregnancy. The past week, you’ve shut Joel down sexually, scared he would catch on despite your sex drive skyrocketing. It’s been difficult. 

The shower washes away everything: the sweat and grime of the day, your tears, the tension in your muscles. You stand under the water until it runs cold, slipping on Joel’s worn soft t-shirt.

Your pillow is back on your side of the bed, Joel still on his side. A smile creeps onto your face. He keeps his eyes closed, but you know he’s awake. You don’t say anything as you slide into bed, but your anxiety spikes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You have to tell him. 

You’re staring at the ceiling when he breaks the silence. “What happened?” 

You suck in a breath. He thinks something went wrong tonight. He’s probably preparing to dig a grave. “Nothing, mom and babies are fine.”

“So it was twins?” 

“Yeah.” You had suspected as much, but the ultrasound machine doesn’t work, try as you might to get it operational. You hadn’t been able to find a second heartbeat with the Doppler. 

“So what’s buggin you?” His drawl is deeper, soaked with sleep. 

He scoots a little closer, hot breath tickling your ear. You can’t move. You should look him in the eye when you tell him, but you can’t. The words are at the back of your throat surging forward toward your lips. The anxiety in your chest feels like a herd of buffalo stomping across the countryside. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and stop it.

“Sweetheart?” His hand reaches toward you, eyes trained on your profile as concern laces his brow. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

His hand stops over your arm. You feel its warmth so close, and then it goes away. You dare to look at him. You expect him to get out of bed and bolt. You don’t know why. He’s only shown you otherwise the entirety of your relationship, but this is more than either of you signed up for. Instead, you watch as it sinks in. He connects the dots, all the symptoms and signs that were right in front of his face, his subconscious absorbing them, but refusing to put it all together. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

You look back toward the ceiling, tears slipping from your eyes. 

His hand covers your abdomen, forehead pressing against your temple. He starts to feel the changes to your body for what they are. You shudder. 

“How long have you known?”

There’s not a trace of judgment or fear in his voice, but it does little to assure you. You’re scared. It doesn’t matter what Joel says or does, the fear is overwhelming. 

“Beginning of August.”

“Shit, baby.” He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest. “You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t think it would last.” After months of holding the tears back, you finally let them out, a mix of relief and fear. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to-” 

You can’t finish it. You can’t say it out loud, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. You didn’t want him to lose another child, and it wrecks him. His grip on you is crushing, but it soothes your shaking frame. Just as you come down, his sobs greet your ear because he’s scared too. Every single fear and anxiety that has come over you the past months, he feels too. Maria’s labor and delivery flash through his mind. If that happens to you, who’s going to save you? 

You reach up to cradle his face. He presses into your neck. Your skin is sticky and salty again, but you don’t even think about it as the man you love and can’t tell cries in your arms. You’re unable to return his soothing squeeze, but you lay there to provide any comfort you can. The two of you fall asleep tangled in each other. 

You feel Joel’s fingers dancing across your abdomen before you’re fully conscious. There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements. His other hand brushes over your temple and through your hair. Every once in a while you feel his breath and lips across your neck, up and down your arm, over your collarbone. It feels like he’s memorizing you, fear present in all of his movements even now. 

You finally open your eyes. His movements still as you look at him. There are tears in his eyes as his head falls forward, resting against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” You reach out, nails raking across his arm. 

He shudders under your touch. “I wish you told me sooner.” 

You bit your lips. “I’m sorry.” 

He lets out a deep sigh, kissing your forehead. His hand drifts to your abdomen again. You watch his eyes, so expressive filled with fear and anxiety and maybe a little bit of awe and guilt?

“I should’ve been more careful.”

You press your head to his, inhaling softly. “We.”

Joel’s fingers scrape along your jaw, his beard rough against your chin. “I like being a we.”

“Me too.”

Silence settles between the two of you. The wind knocks against the window, but it’s warm next to Joel. His arm snakes around you, tugging you closer to him. 

“I suppose you’ve told Maria?”

You can’t hide the guilty smile on your lips. “If it makes a difference, she told me I needed to tell you right away. Pretty sure she was gonna tell you herself if I didn’t do it soon.” You mess with the collar of his shirt. 

“How long do we have?”

“Figure it’ll be May. If we get that far.” You say. Joel nods and something clenches around your heart, a need to protect him, warn him of the danger. “You know there’s a lot of risks. No guarantee…” 

“One day at a time.” He kisses your cheek but you see all the fear he’s pushing away plastered to his face like a movie poster. 

Joel asks you how you are, but other than that, you don’t talk about it. You feel like a weight has lifted off your shoulders but there’s an anvil hanging above your head, waiting to drop at a moment’s notice. 

You’ve outgrown your last pair of jeans. When you manage to trade with someone, they give you a look, like they know what’s going on inside your body. 

You take more naps, sometimes at the clinic, sometimes on the couch. You’re constantly tired. Maria brings dinner to the house every few days. She never asked, but you don’t complain. 

One evening you open your eyes to find Ellie staring down at you, worry etched in her features. It startles you at first. 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” She says. 

“You’ve noticed?” You pull yourself into a seated position. It feels like someone shoved a bunch of cotton into your mouth. You reach for the now room-temperature water on your end table. 

“You only take naps when you’re sick or depressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms as if to say she knows you’re neither right now. “What’s going on?”

You finish off the water. Despite its temperature, it helps. “I’m fine.” You reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it does nothing. At 17 years old, Ellie is turning into a woman before your very eyes. At times, you’re convinced any semblance of childhood has been replaced with adulthood, but there are other times you still see the slivers of the girl you met two and a half years ago. Right now, she’s the one sitting in front of you.  

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Joel have been acting weird.”

Had things really been that different in the past couple of weeks? You open your mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. You and Joel hadn’t talked about telling anyone, which seemed silly. You can’t hide this forever. 

The door opens and Carter bursts in with Joel on his heels. A smile instantly finds your lips. 

“Mommy! Look!” He holds up a package of seemingly new Crayola crayons. 

Your eyes widen with exaggeration. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome.”

“John Lacy found a bunch of them on patrol. They handed them out today,” Joel smiles. “Grabbed you some colored pencils.” He hands a set of non-crayola pencils to Ellie.

“Thanks.” She smiles but is still distracted by her worry over you. 

Carter crawls up beside you, eagerly pulling out the surprisingly intact crayons one by one. Joel leans over to kiss your cheek and tousles Ellie’s hair. She makes a face of displeasure but doesn’t fight him on it.

“You two look like you were talkin about somethin serious.”

“I was trying to figure out why the two of you have been acting weird,” Ellie says. 

Joel’s drops to unreadable. He looks at you and you shrug in response. “We have to tell them eventually.”

Worry makes its home on Ellie’s face. “So something is wrong with you.with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” You sigh deeply. You run your fingers over Carter’s head, kissing it. 

“You’re sure acting like there is,” She says impatiently.

“Ellie,” Joel reprimands, traces of his asshole voice laced into it. 

Ellie bites her lip. It looks like she might be fighting off tears as she looks directly at you. “I’m worried about you.”

You force a smile, leaning forward. Your forearms rest on your knees. One would think it would get easier to say each time. Instead, it’s like picking at a scab that’s not healed. You’re forcing yourself to say something, your brain isn’t ready to accept. “I’m pregnant.”

Ellie sits up straighter, her eyes widen with shock. “Oh wow…”

You wonder if the pictures fill her mind too. She saw Maria the night Elias was born. She saw the blood that covered you. Joel’s fingers brush over your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before they run over the back of your neck. You lean against him. “I’m sorry we worried you. We’re still getting used to the idea,” You say. 

She nods and then her arms around your neck. She basically knocks you backward with the force of it. “I’m glad you’re not dying.”

You squeeze her tightly, a faint lilt of humor in your voice. “Me too.”

Then her voice drops to a whisper right at your ear. “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”  

Your head rests on Joel’s bare chest that night. The full moon sends light drifting through your window, casting the room in a cool glow. You play absentmindedly with the hair on his chest. His heart beats under your ear. The room is otherwise silent. 

“I told Tommy today.” 

You nod. 

“He wanted to know why I was so quiet. Told him I was always quiet.”

That pulls a smile across your lips. “Surprised he shut up long enough to notice.”

Joel chuckles. His arm around you tightens. His lips find your forehead. “I know we’re not ready to think too much about it.”

“Don’t think it’s something we can really ignore.” You nuzzle further into him. 

“Baby steps.” He kisses your nose this time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Baby steps? Really?” You flip onto your stomach while you still can.

He chuckles. “Poor word choice.”

You kiss his bicep and then his shoulder. He looks at you like your entire world and your stomach erupts in butterflies and twists in knots all at the same time. You still won’t let him say it, but you feel it every time he looks at you like that. 

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “What are these steps you had in mind?”

His thumb traces over your jaw and cheek. “Don’t bolt on me, okay?”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

He chuckles and then inhales deeply. “I think we should probably share a house. I figured you’d prefer to stay here, but it’s up to you.” He searches your eyes for any signs of panic or signs that you might shut down but finds nothing. In fact, you’re so calm that it’s hard to read. 

“It would be nice to have you officially living here,” you say. It feels right to say, to think about. “And Ellie if she wants.” 

“That was easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“You pretty much live here as is.” You turn on your side, nuzzling back into him. “I’ll miss your fireplace though.”

Joel smiles. “Guess I'll just have to keep you warm instead.” 

[southsideserendipity]

I saw your post about Mikey so I hope this is okay & what you were looking for. Mikey meets a girl that is like sunshine whenever she walks in the room & makes him finally feel worthy/valued so he’ll do anything to make her feel special in return

Sunshine (Mikey Berzatto x Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weed and alcohol.

Word Count: 4.2k

I found a good boy and he's on my side You're just my eternal sunshine, sunshine

“John, John- you listenin’ to me?!” Mikey was pacing his office, trampling over receipts and month-old sticky notes while aggressively combing his hands through his tussled black hair. “I’ll have your money. When have I not paid you, goombah? I didn’t see the invoice, you should see this fuckin’ office, not enough time to organize this damn shit show” he responded, kicking a stack of papers in the process. 

Bending down, he began rummaging through the various papers littering the office floor, attempting to compile them into categories. “John! You there?! Fuck.” Mikey frantically pat himself down, a sudden yearn for nicotine overcoming him. Finding his carton of Marlboros, he slipped the end of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Letting out a sigh, John grunted, “Yeah, I’m here, Mikey. I’ll give you a couple more d-” before being interrupted by the vibrations of Mikey’s phone. 

“Fuck me, that jagoff is calling” Mikey thought out loud. “Listen, John, I hear you, you’ll have your money, mmkay? On my ma, I swear to ya, I gotta go though there’s another ball-buster on the other line. K? Ciao.” Before John could respond, Mikey stood up to accept the other call.

“Mark, brother, hey, before you start… I know, I know.” He picked up his phone, taking it off speaker to slip it under his ear. “I— Listen, I know. I hear you. I- Hey, you gon’ let me speak, or wha’?!” Speaking with his hands he continued to pace around the room, his booming voice stifled by the cigarette. 

The lunch rush at The Beef was dying down, exposing you to increasingly longer bits of the chaotic conversation occurring in the office. This was Mikey’s typical presentation; disheveled, malnourished, and overexaggerately buzzed off of caffeine, nicotine, and italian-ness. Although he was impossible to reason with in this state, you took it upon yourself to fix him up his favourite; a mortadella sandwich with sundried tomatoes, pesto, and mozzarella.

“You think I don’t know that? Pft, c’mon! Mark, man, you’re killin’ me!” You stood in the doorway, observing Mikey as he stood with one hand on his hip, the other flailing around to exemplify his frustrations. In one of your hands was the plate holding the lunch you made; in the other was a Chicago Bears BIC lighter.

Subtly knocking on the already open office door, Mikey whipped around to face you, his inconvenienced facial expression seamlessly evaporating into his wide-tooth grin. Mouthing ‘meet me outside’ was all it took for him to fake an excuse off of the phone and trail in your footsteps.

Albeit cheesy, you had that captivating effect on him, your hidden-well insecurities and past failed relationships blinding you to the fact that Mikey was infatuated with you. That, in combination with the 15-year age gap between you two. For Mikey, none of those factors changed the fact that you were his daylight, sunshine in human form.

Outside in the back you sat on a milk crate, the pre-Spring Chicagoan air fluttering over your skin. Moments after, Mikey joined you by sitting on an adjacent crate close to you after propping open the door. “Thanks, Bella” he said as he leaned over, his palm squeezing your thigh in an attempt to physically communicate the appreciation he held for your act of service. 

You offered out the plate to him, prompting him to begin devouring. He gruffly moaned after taking his first bite. “Mhhhh, shit, this is like Marry Me chicken but in sandwich form.” You giggled in response with your hands resting in your lap, watching as he attacked it hungrily. Mid-bite, he motioned with his head towards the other sandwich on the plate, “Ain’t gonna eat itself, Italiana.”

“I’m not hungry right now, Mike,” you responded, suddenly losing your appetite as you thought of the most effective way to check in on him without him brushing it off. Mikey had a fortified ‘I’ll deal with it maself’ attitude; his hard-headed, traditional Italian, ‘Godfather’ persona caused him to keep you far away from the messes he had gotten himself into. In his eyes, you are more than capable of dealing with life’s bullshit, but his innate urge to protect you from harm’s way and unnecessary stress made it difficult to involve you.

“What was going on in there?” you motioned towards inside with your head. “Ah, nothin’ doll.” He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the topic, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Just some bills that need payin’, I got it covered. Business good today? Any jagoffs give you trouble?” He frantically read your face, urgently hoping you’d buy his not-so-discreet attempt at changing the topic.

“C’mon, Mike. Cut the shit. You’re suffocating in that office.” The only person whose bluntness Mikey could listen to happened to also be the only person he’d accept ‘Mike’ from. He took the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips in his office out of his shirt pocket and proceeded to light it. Taking the first drag of it, he flicked it, holding it out to you.

Pursing his lips to blow out his puff, he responded confidently. “I got it all figured out, sunshine. Plus, I got cousin helpin’ me with the books and shit. Just gotta pay back those muthafuckas who keep callin’ me. They’re all, ‘where’s my money!?’” he playfully rolled his eyes, making hand gestures and displaying a funny face as he imitated the callers. You both knew damn well they had every right to be calling him. 

“You telling me that Richie is on the books is supposed to bring me a sense of comfort?” Asking him that question with pure seriousness and handing him back the cigarette, Mikey stifled a laugh. “Hey, him and the IRS are like this” he crossed his middle finger over his index while winking and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

“Cousin, where the fuck are the receipt rolls, the office looks like an abandoned and pissed-in office depot” Richie’s exclaiming became increasingly louder the closer he got. “Feels like we change the damn paper in that thing ever- oh shit, pardon my interruption to your rendezvous. Were you guys about to fuck? I can leave” Richie pointed with his thumb towards the kitchen as he sported a fake-worried and devious expression, slowly inching backwards.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “No one’s fucking anyone, Rich.” Mikey looked to the ground as he faked a chuckle, ignoring the slight pang of hurt in his chest.

“You want a mortadella sandwhich?” You held out the plate to Richie, knowing he couldn’t resist. “Uh, DUH,” Richie grabbed an additional crate to join the two of you, immediately beginning to eat.

“Oh fuck, are you fucking serious right now?! Mikey, if you don’t marry this girl I’ll do it for you. ‘S like a mouf orgathm” Richie had just begun eating yet he already had food on the corners of his mouth. You chuckled, choosing to ignore the marriage comment. “Here, you child. You’re such a slob” you threw him a napkin you had stored in your apron. 

“Hey, the real slob is right over there” he pointed directly at Mikey, not even bothering to wipe his mouth but proceeding to take a another massive bite. “Something’s gotta be done about that cesspool of an office,” Richie shook his head disapprovingly, despite also functioning well in chaotic enrivonments. Mikey took yet another drag, the stress of you and Richie’s indirect demand to get his shit together getting to him. “It’s organized chaos, I know where everything is, s’all that matters.” 

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

This was the third night in a row that you had difficulty falling asleep. You had tried everything in your arsenal of melatonin-producing activities, and yet, your brain was spiraling, most of your thoughts pertaining to Mikey.

You weren’t going to kid yourself. You needed something and you knew exactly who to get it from. Picking up your phone, you made the call.

“Rich?? You awake?” You rolled over to your side, holding yourself up by your elbow and propping your head up with the palm of your hand. “Yeah I’m awake, but why the fuck are you awake, missus?” “I need a favour…” 

Richie’s dirty mind figured any call from a woman at this hour was for sex, but he also knew about Mikey’s schoolboy yearn for you and wouldn’t dare make any advancements. The silence on his end was telling. “Not that type of favour, God, Rich! Stop being a man for a second. I need weed.” You huffed out, a whiny tone of desperation heavy in your voice. 

“Now that I can help you with” he chuckled.

“YES thank you, Rich, oh my god” You sprung up out of bad as if there were hot rocks in it. “I will meet you at The Beef, okay?!” And that was where he met you.

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

You and Richie sat at the back of The Beef, exactly where you had had lunch earlier that day. “You want to do the honours, stoner?” Richie held out the joint and lighter for you. You faked an annoying look and exaggerately took them from him. “I’m not a stoner, Rich. I just have an undiagnosed sleeping problem.” You put the joint between your lips and lit it, taking an ungodly large pull from it. 

“Woahhhhh cheech and chong, relax” Richie practically yanked the joint from you. You immediately began coughing as you hadn’t smoked in a while. “What or who the fuck are you trying to forget, Italiana?” Richie’s joking tone didn’t conceal his concern as he took a puff himself. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side to signify confusion.

Richie took another pull before returning the joint to you. “If you’re calling me at 12am to smoke because you couldn’t sleep, it tells me your big brain was overthinking.” You took a moderate inhale this time, the buzz beginning to radiate out to your extremities. “What were you thinking about, Richie? Something tells me you were awake for similar reasons.”

“I’m not sayin’ anything ‘til you do” he responded whilst shrugging. 

Making a sour face, you attempted to restore the saliva in your mouth. “I have cotton mouth like a bitch, I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?” you asked, heading inside before he could interrogate you further. “Get me a brio!” You chuckled to yourself, shouting back “You know you’re not Italian, right?!”

You walked over to the walk-in fridge, grabbing Richie’s Brio and a Fresca for yourself. On the way back out, Mikey’s office door caught your attention, and you suddenly had an idea. “Rich. Oh my god. I know exactly what we can do.” 

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

“I… I think we just made things worse.” Looking up at Richie in horror, he mirrored your reaction. “Yeah, we fucked up cousin. We’re in some deep shit.” 

You and Richie were both sat on the office floor, waist deep in the paper equivalent of a small forest. You took a swig from your Fresca, attempting to decipher where to start. “We can do this. For Mikey. He deserves this, and fuck, let’s face it, he was never gonna do it himself!” You attempted to motivate Richie, knowing his child-like attention span and patience were on their last legs. 

Picking up various pieces of paper, you attempted to make sense of them. “Okay… I’ll make one pile for receipts, and I’ll sort them by date, and then-” You felt Richie’s eyes burning a hole into you, causing you to look at him and flail your hands around. “What?!” Impatiently waiting for his response, you began gnawing on the inside of your cheek, nervous that he was onto you. 

“You like him.” Richie slowly grinned from ear to ear as he stated it matter o’factly. “You like like him.” You flung your head back and groaned. “‘Like like?’ C’mon, Rich, what are you, 12? Shut the fuck up and help me.” The blood rushed into your cheeks almost immediately at his accusation, the THC physiologically betraying you and making it impossible to put on a front. “You like him. Oh my god. I fuckin’ knew it,” he giggled. 

“I don’t know whether it’s the weed or the fact that it’s 3am and I’m reaching the point of delirium, but since I’m not a pre-teen, I’ll admit that you’re not wrong. But it’s never going to happen. He’s mentally ill with a fucked up family and so am I- that doesn’t tend to be the ideal romantic combination. Now, lets finish this so we can still go home and get some rest before shift starts.” You looked at Richie with a stern look; he was shocked at your mini rampage, and internally, you were petrified about the fact that you had just spilt your guts to Mikey’s bestfriend.

“And don’t get any ideas, because this conversation does NOT repeat itself, you hear me, Jerimovich!” When you addressed someone in the kitchen by their last name, they knew you meant business. “Uh-huh, yup, yes ma’am.” Richie gulped, considering you just displayed more emotions in the last 5-minutes than you had for the entire length of time he has known you. It didn’t help that he was beyond stoned and couldn’t quite comprehend the nature of what you had told him. 

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“Cousin! What the fuck is this? Why can I see the floor?” Mikey was standing at the doorway of his office in utter disbelief that morning. Richie jogged over peaking his head into the office. “It was Italiana’s doing, she just told me what to do. We were preeeetty fried” he chuckled to himself, recalling last night’s events. “Surprisingly, we didn’t throw anything out. She’s got a real knack for organizing, should’ve let her do this months ago. The IRS and I aren’t going to have anymore beef, see what I did.” 

Richie couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. His nervous rambling was an attempt to not tell Mikey about your confession. Knowing how much Mikey admired you, it was killing him to not be able to tell his own bestfriend that the girl of his dreams reciprocated his feelings. Mikey slowly turned to look at Richie, hands still on his hips. “What the fuck did you smoke, crack? Why are you acting all fucked?”

You had walked into the kitchen at perfect timing before Richie blabbed your secret. Going to hang your purse up, Mikey called you over; he didn’t even need to see you to feel your presence. “Italiana, come ‘ere!” You sped walk over and stood in the entrance, your hands folded in front of you with a nervousness. A part of you was worried that messing with Mikey’s ‘organized chaos’ was going to disorient him, but you wanted to lessen the stress he was experiencing. That was what you did for the people you loved; especially the man you loved. 

“You did this?” He looked directly at you; despite being an expert in Mikey’s nuances, you couldn’t tell whether he was pissed or overjoyed. “Uh, yeah! It’s all pretty self-explanatory but I can go through it with you if you want? I just thought it’d make your life a lil easier. And Richie’s! Of course.” You rubbed your arm with your hand as a means of self-soothing.

“This is great, Bella. Truly. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble, I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen it look like this ever” he motioned towards the filing cabinet and the paper baskets you had labelled appropriately, using his other hand to comb through his hair in shock. “I couldnt of done it without Richie. And Richie’s weed! It was nothing, Mike” you smiled at him and showed yourself out as nonchalantly as possible. 

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You were waiting the last tables of the day - mainly consisting of left behind beer bottles and plastic sandwich baskets - when Mikey came up behind you putting one hand on your waist. “Meet me in the office when you’re done here, yeah?” As he whispered into your ear, you had to keep your knees from buckling. “Yeah, Mike! Okay!” Fucking Richie.

You attempted to stall for the inevitably painful conversation that awaited you, slowly walking towards the kitchen. While washing your hands, your brain began to spiral. Wiping your hands on your apron, you attempted to bravely walk towards the office, standing in the doorway. 

“What’s up?” You halted in your tracks almost immediately as you noticed the charcuterie board Mikey was standing in front of and the bottle of red wine in his hands. “Fuck me. Okay, listen.” You walked closer to him. “Before you say anything, I don’t know what Richie said to you, but as someone who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re, he has no idea what he’s talking about. You didn’t have to do any of this.” 

Mikey looked at you like a deer in headlights. “What the fuck are you talking about,” he chuckled. There was that dimpled smile. And now you were confused (and distracted) before you realized Richie didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to thank you for organizing the office…” Mikey explained, twisting the bottle of wine open and pouring you a glass. “I know how much you like your charcuterie. If Starbucks ever stops selling those little boards I’ll wonder what you’re gonna eat.” He earned a laugh from you for joking about your mild salami addiction.

You sported the fakest wide tooth grin you could muster. “Hey, I’m Italian. I can’t help it. I think I’m keeping them in business though” you joked in response. He held out the glass for you and winked. “Thanks, Mike” you smiled, hoping he couldn’t pick up on your nervousness. 

“Okay, let me show you what we’ve got here.” He clapped his hands together, excited to introduce you to his concoction of Italian meets and cheeses. Hunched over his desk with both of his hands planted on the surface to support him, he pointed at each meat and cheese as he went through the board’s contents. 

“We’ve got cacciatore, prosciutto, mortadella, then I added parmesan - I know how much you like it - along with romano and gorgonzola. I was thinking we can add it to the menu. We’re no hipster yuppies but throw some olives and overpriced crackers on here and I mean, we’re talkin’ business, baby.” Looking up at you, he attempted to read your face for your thoughts.

Mikey was passionate. That was his entire nature. And when he presented you with ideas, he seemed to put your approval and opinion on a pedestal. You had helped significantly with business at The Beef, assisting in bringing Mikey’s visions to fruition while also providing your input where necessary; he valued your insight more than you realized. 

Taking a baguette slice, you added cacciatore and parmesan onto it and bit in. “Fuck, Mike.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a near moan. “We gotta add this. It could even be part of a date night special. The charcuterie as an antipasto, a soup or salad, a main, and then dessert” you presented.

Mike glanced up at you with a smirk, content with your proposal. “Have I ever told you that I love your brain, Italiana?” You giggled as you continued to devour the board, attempting to ignore his blatantly obvious attempt at flirting as you couldn’t believe he could possibly be interested in you. 

The rest of the evening was spent brainstorming business ideas, reminiscing on memories shared between you, Mikey, and Richie, and consuming copious amounts of wine. 

“Oh my god, Mike. You remember when Richie tried picking up that blonde girl at the bar with a magic trick, and you- y- oh my god.” You flung your head back as you cackled; you were wine drunk and snortling to the point of incoherence. You were sat across from Mikey who was planted behind his desk, his ankle resting on top of his other knee. His forearms rested on the arms of his chair, and he loosely held a glass of whiskey as he watched you with amusement and a sly grin of admiration. 

“You had to go over there and save him from the embarrassment. Poor thing.” You chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the chick he was tryna bag had started flirting with me,” Mikey said, taking a sip of his whiskey and raising his eyebrows as he attempted to recall the events of that evening. 

You looked intently at him, not breaking eye contact. “Can you blame her?” The wine encouraged a new-found confidence to emerge from within you. There was no way you would’ve been this direct with Mikey while sober. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikey leaned forward to put his glass on his desk then returned to his laid back position. With a dumbfounded look on your faced, you laughed then displayed a look of annoyance. “Don’t play stupid. Look at yourself, Mike.” You stood up, put the wine glass down, and rested both of your hands on his desk, leaning forward until you were mere inches away from his face.

Looking into his right eye, glancing down at his lips, and looking back up to his left eye, he began to shift in his seat. It was evident that you were both under a hazy and horny alcohol-induced influence, the sexual tension very obviously suffocating the room. “Now take me home before I say or do something I’ll regret.”

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

As Mikey walked you back to your apartment, you held onto the side of his frame with all your might. He guided you through the streets of Chicago with ease; he was nowhere near the level of drunk that you had achieved. “You okay, darlin’?” He looked down, a slight smile on his face as he recognized your drunken effort to walk in a straight line. “Yeah, Mike. Thanks for tonight. No one’s ever gone through such an effort to appreciate me.”

You peered up at him with a smile; you wanted to put into perspective how much his actions meant to you, however, Mikey felt an even stronger urge to spoil you moving forward. Quite frankly, he was bewildered that his small gesture that evening exceeded all that you’ve known. 

Arriving to the door of your apartment, you began rummaging through your purse for your keys. Finding them, you held your arm out straight and dangled them in front of Mikey. “You’re gonna need to unlock the door, mister. I do not currently possess the fine motor skills” you joked, earning a laugh from him.

You caught the glimmer in his eyes. Mikey felt like your fierce protector. You both knew you didn’t need protecting- while this was a part of you he admired, his masculinity often fought for dominance; for the chance to show you how well he could look after you and how much you deserved it. 

He opened the door, propping it open for you as you stumbled through, immediately attempting to take off your shoes. You hadn’t thought this out thoroughly as you ended up toppling over, Mikey catching you in the process. “Easy, doll. Here, sit down,” he motioned toward the ottoman in the foyer of your apartment, guiding you as you lowered yourself. 

He crouched down at your feet and placed the heel of your foot on his thigh, proceeding to untie your shoes. Grasping your ankle one at a time, he wiggled your feet out. You looked down at him, admiring his gentle touch, the concentration present in his furrowed brow; you loved to watch him, whatever he was doing, and you’ve known for a long time that you’ve loved him.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Holding out both of his hands for you, you stood up, letting him walk you through to your bedroom. You had a case of the over-tired drunken giggles, prompting you to laugh as you slurred your intentions to take off your make-up.

Mikey picked out some pjs for you, then proceeded to pour you a cold glass of water while you got changed. Opening the door to your bedroom, you motioned for him to come inside. “Sleep next to me?” You proposed with a curious tone despite knowing he’d decline as he (annoyingly) insisted on being a respectful gentleman at all times. “S’all good doll, I’ll be good on the couch” he motioned to the living room with his head. “Lemme tuck you in.” 

As you got under the covers, Mikey offered you the glass of water to which you happily obliged. Handing it back to him, he placed it on your bedside table as you snuggled yourself into the sheets. He turned off the lamp, the room engulfing with darkness save for the midnight blue hue that the window cast in. 

Mikey began to walk out of your room when you called out to him. “Hey Mike, c’mere” you turned over, watching him as he slowly approached. Motioning for him to come closer, you whispered into his ear. “I like like you.” 

Knocking out after the words escaped your lips, as if they were made of melatonin, Mikey smiled to himself as he looked down at you. “And I love you, sunshine.”

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EEEEEEEEK my very first Mikey imagine! Which means I am still learning to integrate his personality into my writing- it’s hard when he has extremely minimal screentime. ALSO I am writing this in whatever year Mikey was operating The Beef, so Carmy, Syd, and the others aren’t there, and Richie and Tiff are still together. I am completely open to feedback and would also love to get more requests for Mikey. Let me know what y’all think!!! :)

[itstheoneshot]

Misdemeanour

request

Summary: All you had to do was sit still and listen, but that was asking too much of you, wasn’t it?

Word Count: 2.9k

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Power Imbalance, Age Gap, Dubcon, Breeding Kink, Brat Taming, Degradation, Unprotected Sex.

“Are you going to answer?”

You snap out of your daze, focusing in on the source of the voice. You heard your name and were unsure if you were daydreaming, but now with your lecturer standing in front of your desk, you accept the truth.

“Answer what?” You ask in monotone, not even attempting to feign interest.

You couldn’t care less about this class, one of the mandatory units you need for your degree, only here to pass and nothing else, you don’t care about high marks.

“I asked you,” He sighs, clearly frustrated, “To speak on what the author meant on page 14… were you even listening to me?”

You lift your head up to make eye contact with your teacher. Professor Byun Baekhyun. Barely in his 30s, and way too smart to be wasting his time with a student like you. He’s handsome, witty, and you know that if you cared about the topic, you would probably try for his sake at least, but truth be told, all you can think about right now is the day ending so that you can go home to bed.

“No,” You smirk at him, “And no, I wasn’t.”

You watch the vein in his neck bulge as he draws in a sharp breath, and you stifle a laugh, though you can’t wipe the smile from your face. You were never a well-behaved student, not in any of your schooling years, and still now in university you just thrived off frustrating your teachers. You could never really pinpoint why, but you were sure that your psychology lecturer, the one right in front of you now, could do so.

“Stay back after class,” Baekhyun murmurs, an order, not a question, “We need to speak about your attitude.”

You roll your eyes at him in an attempt to dissuade yourself from stamping your feet in protest. You know that you’re not the only one in class who doesn’t pay attention, but you have no idea why he singles you out.

“Are you kidding?” You ask him, “Sir, I have shit to do tonight.”

Baekhyun narrows his gaze, jaw clenched as he holds himself together, “Mind your language,” He warns you, “I won’t keep you too late if you can act like an adult.”

You don’t get a chance to clap back before he turns to walk to the front of the class, resuming the lecture and seemingly forgetting that he had asked you to join in the discussion. Though you should, you still don’t focus for the rest of the class, leaning back in your seat and staring at the clock on the wall, waiting for the session to end so that you can get this stupid talk over and done with.

“My office,” Baekhyun murmurs as you stand up from your desk, “Follow me.”

You roll your eyes once more, and drag your feet for good measure while you make your way over to him, but you do as you are told and follow him down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to his private office. As expected, the walls are lined with shelves full of books, and you scoff thinking about how boring they all must be. Baekhyun closes the door behind you before making his way to his desk, sitting behind it and gesturing to one of the chairs in front for you to take.

“Do I need to be here?” You ask, glancing down at your watch, “This is a waste of time for us both.”

Baekhyun stares blankly at you, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Even earlier when he was calling you out for your inability to pay attention, there was still a niceness to him, but not now you are alone.

“You definitely need to be here,” He replies, “And the fact that you don’t think so proves it for me.”

You raise a brow in confusion, not quite sure what he means by that at all.

“Cut the attitude,” He continues, “You won’t get anywhere in life if you continue to act this way.”

Exhaling deeply through your nostrils, you close your eyes to try and centre yourself, but not before Baekhyun continues to berate you.

“You think you’re funny, disrupting the class the way that you did today,” He states, which is not a lie, “But that’s just because you’re insecure, isn’t it?”

You suddenly feel bare, exposed, how the fuck can he read that from your behaviour? You know he has a doctorate but really? It’s that obvious?

“I am not,” You try to cover yourself, “I just don’t give a fuck about your stupid class.”

Now it is Baekhyun’s turn to compose, breathing deep into his chest, “I said,” He begins, “Cut the attitude.”

You break the intense eye contact to glance down at your watch again, how has it only been five minutes? “Can I leave now?” You ask, more persistent this time, “I am getting nothing from this.”

Baekhyun stands up, towering over you even though he is not the tallest man you know. You would never admit that it frightens you a bit, but if he is as good at reading people as he makes it seem, he would be aware.

“You need to learn to do as you’re told,” He states, “And you aren’t leaving this office until you can do that.”

You know that from his position, he has a good view of your body, and if you can be sure you’re not insane, you just caught him staring. Your shirt is a little low cut to be worn to Uni classes, but you had planned to go out for drinks after, so wanted to save the need to change.

“What are you insinuating?” You ask, “Baekhyun… seonsaengnim.”

Baekhyun’s lips curl up in a playful smirk, and you feel your stomach drop. You hate that he has gotten under your skin with such seemingly simple words, and such small actions.

“I’m insinuating,” He replies, “That if you don’t do as I tell you, that you may have to repeat the whole year…”

Coercion? He’s using coercion on you? But you don’t break so easily.

“I don’t care,” You respond with another flat out lie, “I’m not doing anything.”

You can feel his patience waning, but this only fires you up more, ready to fight, wanting to make him pay for making you feel so fucking… subordinate.

“I don’t think your parents would be happy to hear that their daughter is wasting their hard-earned money,” He murmurs, “I know they pay for your studies, and they’d be very, very disappointed if that money went to waste.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. The only people who you really care about, your parents, would be devastated both emotionally and financially if they had to fork out the fees for an additional year of university. He has you backed into a corner, and you know it, he knows it too, and he is just waiting for you to give in.

“What do you want from me?” You ask him, your tone softening in what is probably fear, though you don’t feel it often enough to know for sure, “What do I need to do?”

Baekhyun smiles this time, showing those perfect teeth of his, and it makes your skin crawl. Psychologist or psychopath, you have no idea, and you take deep breaths to center yourself awaiting his response.

“I said, obey me,” He replies, “I know what you do outside of class, all the boys talk, so I’ll be making my own judgement today.”

Your breath catches in your throat, mind racing as you begin to realise exactly what he is speaking about. You are embarrassed, maybe a little ashamed, knowing that your stupidly attractive professor has heard about your… indulgences… It makes you crazy.

“What is your order?” You ask, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, “Is this even allowed?”

Sure, you’re an adult, well and truly, but he is so much older than you, ten years at least, and the imbalance is evident. You are mature, but nowhere near to his level, but you can see in his eyes, and feel in your body, that neither of you are upset about that.

“I make the rules,” He smiles at you again, he might be crazier than you are, “And the first one is I need you sitting up on this desk.”

You try not to be afraid, though your legs are a little shaky as you do what you are told, moving from behind the desk, to in front of him. He moves his chair back far enough that it hits the wall behind him, giving you plenty of room to sit down, and you cross your legs, not quite ready to give up without a little fight.

Baekhyun stands to join you, loosening his tie before reaching down to pry your legs apart. Your skirt rides up, exposing most of your thighs, and you feel so… impure.

“Much better,” He nods approvingly, his long, delicate fingers trail up your bare skin, “If you take me well enough, you may even see your marks improve. Your parents would be so proud, wouldn’t they, honey?”

Bile rises in your throat, but you swallow it down to return an even sweeter smile. It’s true, your parents would be overjoyed to see you do better, but of course they could never find out why. You watch Baekhyun as he scans your body, clearly pleased with what is laid out in front of him, fuck it, he’s too hot, and the benefits of this are enough to give in, of course, he wins.

“Use me,” You mumble, clearing your throat, “Take me, teach me my lesson.”

Baekhyun laughs, his hands sliding under your skirt to trace his fingers over your too-thin panties, “Such a slut,” He growls through gritted teeth, fingers pressing against you a little harder, “Ready for any boy to use whenever they want… but none are as experienced as me.”

You have no doubt that he is right, and it excites you more than you would care to admit. You whimper softly at the feeling of his fingers, close but not close enough, and you move forward just slightly to show your neediness.

“I didn’t think you’d give in so easily,” He teases, “I guess what they all say about you is right.”

“You don’t want me to play nice?” You ask, stuttering over your words as you feel his fingers slip under the elastic of your panties.

Baekhyun’s fingers breach you, two of them, deep and curled up at an angle. You dig your nails into the desk either side of you to keep still, not wanting to seem as turned on as you truly are.

“I might have hoped for a little more fight,” He purrs, pulling his fingers out only to thrust them in again, “But that’s okay, I’m sure I can break you more.”

The subtle threat has you reeling, though you’re quite distracted with his fingers inside you. You don’t know what to expect, glancing down to his crotch, the bulge evident, even through his slacks. You gulp, and stifle a whine when he takes his fingers from you, using them to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his suit pants, letting them drop down and pool at his ankles.

“Sir,” You mumble, realisation setting in, “I… do I have to?”

It is a little bit of an act, your hesitation, but at the same time it isn’t, fearful that a few teasing motions of his fingers weren’t quite enough to get you ready for what looks to be an exceptionally large cock. You brace yourself as he tugs down his underwear, and watch as he strokes himself, though already at full hardness, just to slick himself up with the little bit of arousal that he pulled from you.

“You do,” He nods, stepping forward so that his thighs almost hit the desk, “And you will.”

He lets go of his cock to grab you under the thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. You grip tightly to stop yourself from falling, and Baekhyun holds you with one hand on your hip, the other reaching for his erection. With a skill that you find way too hot, he uses two fingers of that hand to pull your panties aside, and guides his cock to your hole, teasing strokes along your slit, anticipation rising as you await his next move.

“Fuck!”

Baekhyun lets go of your hip to cover your mouth with his hand, “Quiet!” He orders you, but fuck, it is hard. His cock fills you painfully, thick, long and throbbing, your eyes roll back as you try to compose yourself, overwhelmed and now fully submitting out of fear.

He doesn’t give you any reprieve, keeping your mouth covered as he fucks you, hard and fast with no time to adjust. Your whines and moans are muffled by him, and you can’t quite pinpoint when the pain subsides and pleasure rolls in, but oh wow, it does.

“So tight,” Baekhyun groans, “This is all you’ll ever be good for if you don’t start focusing in class.”

You don’t respond, too distracted by the way he fills you up, and fucks in to you with no care for your own needs. It is degrading, his words and actions, but it turns you on more than you can explain.

“Or would you like that?” He continues, “Just serving me for the rest of your life instead? Wet and ready whenever I need my fill?”

Right now, you probably would say yes. Forgetting the degree you are so close to finishing, if you pass this year, you are drunk on his cock and would probably do anything for more.

“I might just get you pregnant,” Baekhyun goes on, and your body clenches as you realise he didn’t put a condom on, “Knock you up, force you out of your family, keep you as mine, so I can fuck you every single day.”

You are dizzy with both pleasure and with the lack of airflow, having your mouth held shut. You are sure that you look pathetic, but Baekhyun likes that, likes how easily you let him in, how utterly powerless you are compared to him.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He sneers, “Turns you on so much when I treat you like the filthy slut that you are, doesn’t it?”

With tears in your eyes, your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking and nails leaving scratch marks on the wooden desk as you moan silent cries. You don’t know if any guy you have slept with ever got you to orgasm from penetration alone, so you are addicted to the way that Baekhyun has you feeling.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” He warns, “I want to see your tummy bulge, be a good girl and take it all.”

You whine a little as he moves his hand back down to your hip, now free to breathe again but still choked close to silent with the remnants of your orgasm. Baekhyun’s thrusts speed up, the harshness of them tenfold, and you watch sweat beads form on his forehead, biting his lip before he too climaxes, cock twitching in you with further thrusts, releasing his seed as deep into you as you can take it.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, pulling out of you slowly, but replacing his cock with his fingers to keep you plugged, “Can’t let any of this go to waste now, can we?”

You look up at him with glassy eyes, lips raw from biting on them to keep your volume down. You feel crazy, dazed and confused, a little afraid but still too fucked out to really process what is happening.

“Are… are you going to fail me?” You stutter, words a little slurred as he presses his thumb to your clit, fingers working to bring you to climax again.

Baekhyun works fast, wanting you to fall apart even further, and you aren’t sure how much more you can take. You can’t push him away, and you’re not sure if you even want to, focused on how good he makes you feel.

“Cum for me again,” He orders, “Need to feel you sucking me in, and then, I’ll make my decision.”

It isn’t hard to obey this order, the man is talented, and you wonder for only a moment, how many other students he has had on this very desk. Your thought is interrupted as your body seizes, cunt clenching to his fingers as your peak comes to head, biting your tongue to stifle the pitiful cry that escapes you, throwing your head back as tears roll down your face.

“Good girl,” He praises you, finally slowing down and extracting his fingers, readjusting your panties before he moves back from the desk, “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You watch him as he pulls his pants back up, after wiping his hands with a tissue and sanitiser, and you catch your breath before asking again.

“So,” You start, “Am I going to fail?”

Baekhyun smirks at you, cocking his head to the side. He is so arrogant, and you are back to being mad at him again.

“No, I think you’ll pass,” He replies with an almost cheerful tone, “But if your attitude doesn’t change, just know I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one (this one) // part two: Afterglow

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Miguel falls for the sweet spider girl that opens a bakery on the HQ. Of course he had to ruin it, but… Did he lose the girl? 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ age gap (legal, not specified), implied Hispanic reader, angst, asshole Miguel, pastries and sweets,idk, no proofread 𝐀/𝐍_ read along cruel summer from my playlist!<3 (cruel summer coded fic)

♪ ♫ My Miguel O’Hara playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Miguel O’Hara thinks you’re annoying, always giggling like a toddler and gossiping with everyone. Except him.

He had to accept you were creative; your iridescent suit was proof of it.

Your friendship with the spiders that gave the most terrible headaches to Miguel was annoying.

You’re laughing very hard with Gwen in the middle of the gym sector.

When Miguel looks up, he sees Miles tangled in a tight of webs in the ceiling.

“What is going on here?” He asks, walking in completely.

“Oh-“ Gwen mumbles, the laughing seizing.

“Hey, Miguel!. Can you help me come down?” Miles asks, causing you and Gwen to start laughing again.

Soon, silence reigned again after Miguel sent you and the blonde girl a death look.

The man rolls his eyes and sighs, tired. However, he goes and helps Miles to get down.

“pss…” Gwen whispers, indicating you quietly leave the gym. You nod, smiling.

It had been almost a year; since Miles learned about his destiny since the spot almost killed everyone, and since you joined the Spider society.

Yeah, a lot happened.

“I never said you two could leave…” Miguel spits without even looking. When he does, you and Gwen are holding hands, looking scared as if a spook was in his place. He could laugh if it wasn’t because of the image he had to maintain.

“I asked for that earth-01989 report two hours ago…” he said, frowning at Gwen.

“And I needed you in today’s mission with me,” so Miguel wanted you; he needed you out of all the spiders in the facility.

“I was in the nursing room getting stitches. See?…” you say, lifting your arm to show your bare skin sewn with a fine thread. Some blood was decorated around the long line that would likely transform into a scar.

Miguel’s angered face softened.

“Are you okay?” Even Gwen seems abashed when Miguel asks you that.

“Yes. It was this tedious variant of Mysterio and his projectiles” Miles finally appears on Miguel’s side, hearing the conversation.

“I don’t want you on any mission until that heals”

“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously, thinking your boss was exaggerating.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He could not be intimidating. Always making sassy comments, with a monotonous tone.

“I guess not…” Your face barely brushed his chest. And the one and only time his hand holds your body, you feel like a porcelain doll, small and delicate.

“Buena chica….” He finalized petting your head and starting to leave. It annoys you; you weren’t a dog.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Use your imagination, y/n. You’re a creative spider…”

Gwen, Miles, and you just stare in silence.

He thought you were creative; how sweet.

…

Miguel just finished a debriefing. He was finally alone until Jess entered the room, at least without her loud motorcycle.

“What are you doing? It’s lunchtime,” she points out.

Miguel smells sweet, sugar… or something soft.

“I don’t take my lunchtime. You know it…” When the woman stands beside him, he sees it.

There’s a little plate on her hands. Spider cupcakes and a cookie… with his mask as a decoration.

“What’s that?” He asks in disbelief.

“What? This?. Oh, it’s from y/n’s bakery” Miguel looks confused.

“…y/n’s bakery?” Jess shrugs, biting the cupcake.

“Yeah, you said the aisles beside the cafeteria could have a renovation.”

“I never approved a bakery.” He wasn’t mad but wanted to know why you didn’t ask. He would have said yes, only to you.

He started to move towards the exit and heard Jess sighing.

“Don’t be harsh with her, Miguel. It’s making everyone happy…” he didn’t say anything.

…

Half of the aisle was a cabin in the woods, with moss, bulb lights, bookshelves, and the smell of espresso all over.

The other half was the Italian Renaissance, similar to the Bradbury building of LA. Black and white floor tiles with a dark and elegant vibe.

Very interesting.

Some spiders greet him and say he needs to try his own cookies. Miguel doesn’t know if it annoys or intrigues him.

Until he walks to the cash register, you are with Pavitr and Margo giggling. Margo is taking the orders, and Pavitr helps you with the baking.

Miguel sneaks through the back door for the kitchen and grunts, making you and the boy turn around.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” Miguel asks. Pav drops some dishes and stares in shock at his boss.

“So-… I’m leaving,” Pavitr mumbles before calling it quits. You send him a lousy look before washing your hands from the dough in the process of being finished. Finally, you stare at Miguel with a smile.

“This is The spider’s lounge cabin bakery.”

“That’s a long name,” you laugh hard, slight dimples forming. And Miguel is annoyed. Cute

“Why I wasn’t noticed of this?” you blush, scratching your forearm. He never thought you would build a bakery while you healed.

“I wanted to tell you. But you’re always busy. Jess said she would tell you.”

Jess never said anything. He could always make time for you.

“Then she must’ve forgotten too,” you nod. Suddenly you don’t know what to say. Miguel feels the air shift; Margo keeps taking orders, and people keep picking cakes and cookies, but deep down, everyone wants to hear what Miguel is saying to you,

“I’m not mad, y/n.” He really is not.

“But I’m not happy either.”

“Just.., just try something,” he’s surprised but looks at the showcase shelves with many desserts; crème brûlée, cupcakes, a pink mousse, and slices of cakes. But there was a section that captured his whole attention; pan dulce. Pieces of conchas, torcidos, mantecadas, there’s even chocoflan, arroz con leche and more.

“Oh, yeah… you know about my Hispanic heritage. And… I did this whole section for you” his heart beats faster. But as the stubborn spider, Miguel only asks Margo for a polvorón. The girl hands him the cookie, which is small and covered in white dust that is sugar.

Honestly, you’re sweating. Too nervous to digest Miguel’s upcoming reaction.

He takes a bite of the cookie and slowly starts chewing it.

“Please don’t fire me…” he hears you but says nothing.

He has to suppress a moan from how good the polvorón tasted.

The cookie was perfectly baked, with small pieces of walnuts appearing once in between bites. And the sugar melted in his mouth.

“I want a report on how this is doing….weekly,” you nod. But there’s a little smirk on your face; you know he must’ve liked the cookie.

“As you wish. Thank you” he only offers you a slight nod before leaving.

He didn’t need a report. It was useless. But that meant he could see you around oftenly.

…

Jess was right. Everyone seemed to be happy with the Spider’s lounge cabin bakery. Miguel had to see donuts, cakes, and more, dedicated to different spiders or seasons.

And somehow, Miguel grew fond of you, but was terrified.

He promised to stay away from catching feelings. Maybe it was because of the sweet smile you always offered him whenever he passed by the bakery.

Or the stupid cookies you kept doing based on his mask.

It must have been because of your jericallas, his favorite dessert.

Every Friday, Miguel was there, watching you bake. There wasn’t a lot of talking, mostly just him finishing some reports and planning missions as you decorated pastries. It was a pleasant silence, though.

Quickly, after some weeks, both of you were used to it.

You sigh, looking at Miguel. The spider society was almost empty on a Friday night. But he was there sitting on the little desk. He looked ridiculously broad seated there.

He must feel tired, but he’s a workaholic. You admire him cause of that, only you can’t help but feel some sadness. Loneliness must haunt him. And you would love to be his company.

Suddenly Miguel smells something; herbs and sugar.

“Miguel…” you call him. Hoping to catch his attention, and help him to relieve the stress he was always in.

A cup of hot tea and a slice of pan de elote appeared before him.

“What’s this?…” you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re tired. And you didn’t pick any empanadas today. Please, eat something…” he didn’t know how perceptive you were of him. He was glad you were.

“Fine,” he accepts. You cheer, and he can’t help but smile.

The tea is sweet but no more than the pan de elote. It’s perfect, soft, and made by you.

“Do you like it?”

“You know I love everything you do…” you’re shocked. The feeling of getting blushed only increases.

He probably referred to your baking; that’s it. Maybe he referred to everything else.

“That’s so sweet of you, Miguel” Now he was blushing. Staring at each other, you’re the first to break contact, hiding your gaze by placing some hairs behind your ear.

“So you do this in your earth?”

“My grandma taught me everything. And then, I worked in a bakery for a while. Now I’m just in college,” he nods, taking another sip of the tea.

“Coding, right?” Now you nod with a smile, surprised that he remembered your major.

“Yeah. I wanted to major in arts, but my parents thought it wasn’t good enough to give me a stable income.” Miguel had some idea of the economy being totally different than the one on his earth. However, he’s very intrigued to know more about you. He thought it would be harder to converse with you, but surprisingly, that was not the case.

“What else do you like to do?” You realize you’re having the most extended conversation you’ve ever had with Miguel since… ever.

“I’m a home girl. I like staying in my room and reading and watching movies. I’m pretty boring. Anyways…What about you?”

“I-I really don’t have time for anything” Somehow, Miguel was embarrassed. His life revolved around being Spider-Man and leader of the spider society. And since he lost his family… that’s all he was.

You offered him a warm smile. You could feel he was not proud of that. And you blamed the trauma he had with his past. And from the bottom of your heart, you leaned to caress his big shoulder.

“You deserve a break, Miguel. The spider verse won’t collapse for you wanting a life” Something from your words touched him. He looked into your eyes and found kindness. You were what he needed.

“Would you hang out with me?” It was too late to analyze what he had said, basically a date. Miguel wanted to bang his head against the desk. Maybe you didn’t want to do anything with him, only coworkers. He was older than you and-… No. He was afraid of the date going well. Cause if that happened, he wasn’t sure if he would give in to you.

You’re blushing again.

“For real?…like friends? Or like… a date?” You were babbling. Never in your wildest dreams, you thought Miguel O’Hara would invite you to hang out with him.

“Whatever it pleases you,” there was no turning back. He was happy, though.

“I would love to have a date with you” The touch on his shoulder sends him a wave of tranquility. For one day, Miguel promises to not think about his past and enjoy the moment. He thinks he’s choosing a woman like you; intelligent, realistic, sweet, and kind. Everything could quickly go well.

“Okay then. It’s a date…” he smiles; it’s a short smile, but you’re more than pleased.

He stands up and cleans the desk. While he does, you have a dorky smile plastered on your face. And you are eager to find out Something.

“Miguel?” He keeps cleaning.

“Hmm?” His back faces you, but he can see you smiling.

“Why me?” Finally, he turns around.

You are so small. He can’t wait to see how your little hands will feel tangled with his. Your ear will barely press against his chest as he hugs you tightly. He couldn’t hide it anymore… he had feelings for you.

“You match what I need,” he said before leaving, not before giving you another brief smile.

Before that day, you weren’t even sure if Miguel cared about you. You were technically new to the society. And he barely shared glances with you.

But you matched his needs, and that was lovely.

…

A thrift store dress was always a good purchase. For this occasion, it was lilac, a y2k nostalgic dress. It matched your red lipstick, red purse, and chunky boots.

You were going to have a date with Miguel O’Hara.

He would meet you to see a movie at your New York historic theater and then… dinner.

Simple.

A few days before the date, you dared to kiss Miguel on the cheek after heading out of the HQ.

He blushed, and you loved seeing him like that.

Then Gwen and Lyla cheered and were all about your date. Jess, on the other side, was a little suspicious. However, she told you everything was gonna be okay. You didn’t understand what she meant.

When you showed the lilac dress, Lyla was sincere in telling you how pretty you looked and how it highlighted the best features of your body.

Everything seemed to be okay.

So you arrived five minutes late to the theater; 7:36 pm. And Miguel wasn’t there yet. A lot of couples were in lane to buy tickets. The popcorns smelled amazing, and you wanted to try the burgers beside the historic building. You were getting impatient, hoping to see the giant silhouette of Miguel.

But he was a busy man, so you waited.

You waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.

8:59 pm; he never came.

…

Gwen Stacy opened your bedroom window only to find the room empty.

Your butterfly lights that decorated your bookshelves are on. Your family is not home, Gwen can assume.

So she hears you; you’re sobbing loudly.

She panics and starts looking for you until she steps into the kitchen, and you punch a big chunk of dough… or something.

“Y/n… What happened?” The blonde asks, hurrying to come to your side and look at your face.

When you turn, your nose looks like a cherry and swollen and red eyes keep squeezing out tears that fall across your face and land on the dough.

“We were worried for you. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, returning to your baking, sniffing. Gwen sighs, taking her mask off.

“Miguel was looking for you like crazy.” The blonde noticed that, as he mentioned Miguel, you sobbed harder again, so he started to worry again.

“He can especially go and fuck himself,” you mumble with a broken voice.

“What? So the date didn’t go well?” When you try to reach for a bag of cocoa powder in the drawers, Gwen gets it with her webs.

“The date didn’t even happen because he stood me up” Your friend is in shock, her mouth is open in disbelief, and her eyes are wide open.

“NO WAY!. But-…No, Something must’ve happened. Why would Miguel do something like that?”

“Because he’s a fucking asshole,” you spit with so much venom. Even Gwen notices it, Something that it’s highly unusual for you.

“If he wasn’t ready, if he didn’t even like me, he could have avoided all of this,” you explain, trying to sound calm. But it’s nearly impossible with how much you’ve been crying.

“There must be a reason, y/n. Miguel seeme-”

“I don’t want to know, Gwen” She respects it, she stays quiet. You tilt your head, planning to sound softer with your friend.

“Look, I want to cry the whole day. So tomorrow, I’ll be able to walk into the HQ like nothing. So from now on… This never happened. Okay, Gwen?” She nods.

She helps you with a chocolate cake and gets at least three smiles from you.

You offer half of the cake for her and Hobie, as you promised to give Peter, Pav, Miles, and Jess a slice too.

But the whole night, you can only think about Miguel.

Why he had to be such a fucking jerk?

…

Miguel is working on a new serum when Gwen stomps in. She makes sure she’s being loud enough to draw their attention.

“You can’t be here,” he says to the girl.

“Why did you stood up, y/n?” That was enough to pull him out of his experiment. Miguel exchanged looks with Gwen before he remembered it.

The fucking date. He never came; he didn’t even let you know what happened.

“Mierda…” he whispers.

“So?…” Gwen asks, reluctant, arms crossed on her chest, demanding an answer.

“Didn’t Jess tell you?” Gwen shook her head, confused.

“A variant of the green goblin tried to make his own super collider. It was a mess…” Until that moment, Gwen noticed a patch on Miguel’s arm. She admits to herself it must’ve been pretty bad to make the great Spider-Man 2099 injured.

“If you didn’t come to say that, I wouldn’t have remembered it. How is she?” He tries to sound even; calmed. But he’s not; he’s stressing, and the embarrassment quickly invades him.

That Saturday, he was getting ready for the date when Ben called. Miguel grew worried about another super collider being created, so he ran back to the HQ.

The fight was very tough; he injured his whole arm, and when he returned home, he was knocked out. And the following day, he forgot about the date entirely. But he didn’t forget you, 'cause he looked for you like crazy.

“Not okay. She thought you stood her up. Which you did, but…”

“I didn’t mean to. I would never purposefully hurt her,” Gwen nods. Knowing she won’t be able to read Miguel’s face.

“Well… tell her, not me. But I warn you if this changes her forever…I’ll blame you forever” Miguel had an idea of Gwen’s words. You only had one true love before, your Harry Osborn, who died in your arms. You were only fifteen and since then… No love for you.

“I’ll fix this, Gwen. I promise…” he assured her.

…

Miguel was taking longer than intended to fix things.

He spent around an hour looking for you in the HQ, only to learn from Jess that you were on a mission with Peter and Hobie.

“Gwen said you stood her up. Why the hell did you do that?” Miguel knew the woman was mad at him. Even when Jess was older than you, she liked you a lot. Everyone did.

“You know what happened. You were there with me.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t aware it was the same day as the date. You could have let her know when you knew about the anomaly, Miguel.”

“I know, Jess. I know…” he was stressed… a lot. Jess shook her arms in surrender. But she also knew she could help her friend.

“Just talk with her. She might understand… both of you should give it a chance” She was right because the more Miguel thought if it was okay to court you, the more he realized he liked you.

“She’s arriving in ten minutes… be gentle,” he nodded. Looking at his gizmo, he saw you just entered Nueva York and were heading towards the showers.

Slowly, he made his way there.

A long hallway connected the pools and showers for different genders. Miguel found himself walking through it. Many spiders were in the pool, and some greeted him, but Miguel was fixated on seeing you.

A door opened; the ladies showered. You came out with wet hair, sweatpants, a baggy tee, and sandals. Miguel had never seen you without your suit before. Just a picture Peter showed him of an evening you spent with him and Mayday. That day you had a pretty sundress, and your hair was in a cute braid.

However, now…Miguel knew everything was different. Now he has a personal issue with you. One that he caused in the first place.

“Hey…” he called once he was an inch behind you. You turned to face him, only to roll your eyes and walk away towards the exit.

“Please, y/n. We need to talk,” he insisted, gently grabbing your forearm.

You weren’t expecting him to come and find you, but how regretful he was trying to sound enrages you.

“Now you wanna talk?. I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to talk” The hostility in your voice takes him aback.

“I just need some minutes, please,” you sigh. You don’t want to be immature but still think it’s unfair.

��Really? I just needed five seconds, Miguel. In five seconds, you could have told me an anomaly came in” he’s embarrassed. Gwen must’ve told you.

“I know you’ve suffered enough to open up again with somebody. But I’ve been there too. And if you weren’t ready or didn’t even like me… you could have avoided having me waiting an hour in that theater like an idiot.”

“But I do like you. And it’s been a while since the last time I’ve felt like this” At that moment, Miguel didn’t know he had chosen the wrong words.

“SHUT UP!” A lot of spiders turn to see you and Miguel. You eye them shortly, slightly embarrassed.

“You’re an asshole, Miguel O’Hara. And if you ever try to play with me again, I’ll leave the spider society and make sure you can never come to my earth again.” You don’t even glance at him. But you want to. You want to forgive him so severely, to ask about the injury in his arm and bake him something. You open a portal with tears in your eyes as you head home.

You won’t. You know the pain of a broken heart, and you won’t go through that again.

And poor Miguel, chooses a woman to try again for love, and he messes everything. But he’s optimistic; he had chosen a woman and was confident it wasn’t the ending. He would try again until you were smiling again.

But you wished having your friends and saving the spider-verse didn’t depend on Miguel being the leader of the spider society. Because you didn’t want to see him again. Like…never.

How does the song goes?…. I love you, Ain’t that worst thing you’ve ever heard?

__________________

Comment if you want to be tagged in part two :)

[sixhours]

who knows where the time goes

It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut. Words: 11k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), fluff for once, canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, smut right off the bat, don't say I didn't warn you, gay sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, gay!Ezra, homophobia and use of homophobic slurs, romance, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Notes: Look Ma, no angst! The boys are back and they're stupid in love and their kids are growing up even if that's hard to accept.

You can also read who knows where the time goes on AO3

Joel is beginning to wonder why the hell he agreed to this.

Ezra came what could have been minutes or hours or days ago. He’s in no rush to finish the job they’d started in the shower, and now Joel is hard as a rock and trussed up with a belt securing his wrists to the headboard, and his partner seems intent on edging him to the point of delirium.

Ezra releases his cock from between kiss-swollen lips and Joel looks down, gritting his teeth in frustration. This is the third time he’s come so close to release he could almost taste it, and now Ezra is smirking that coy little smirk and crawling up the bed in the wrong fuckin’ direction. He kisses his way back up Joel’s body, lingering on his stomach, nipping at the softness there, dipping his tongue into Joel’s navel, then coming up to tease a nipple with the flat of his tongue until he arches.

“Hello, songbird,” he whispers, nuzzling at Joel’s lips with the tip of his prominent nose.

“I hate you,” Joel growls, an errant tear of frustration drawing a wet trail down to his temple.

“You don’t mean that, cher ,” he says, eyes flashing. “You know the safeword. Use it at your leisure, mon coeur , unless…you think you can take a little more…”

Joel groans as Ezra purposefully lays his weight along him, thigh pressed firmly along his leaking cock, offering barely enough friction to satisfy. He wriggles against him anyway, seeking any kind of release at this point, reduced to humping his goddamned leg like a dog.

Oh, the things he’s going to do to that man when he gets his hands free.

Ezra seems preoccupied with his neck, the line of his jaw, stubble scraping against stubble that he wishes was scraping somewhere else. Like between his thighs. There’s the brush of his lips at the hollow of Joel’s throat, the bite of teeth testing the tender flesh. Then he’s being kissed soundly, hungrily, lower lip sucked greedily into Ezra’s hot mouth, tongues slipping over one another in a lush dance that does little to cool the roaring fire in his lower belly or soothe the heaviness between his legs.

And then he’s left gasping, no more friction, no more warmth or weight, and he growls a protest and tugs at the restraint. His eyes roll in his head at Ezra’s gentle huff of laughter, and he’s halfway to slipping his hands out of the belt loops–they’re not that tight–when Ezra’s mouth finds his cock again.

“Ohhh oh oh fuck,” he manages, a strangled cry of surrender.

His breath comes in hot, frantic pants as Ezra’s tongue swirls a brand just inside the tip of his foreskin, and an errant flick against the slit elicits an involuntary whimper from Joel’s lips. Then he’s wrapped in the hot wet silk of Ezra’s mouth, his tongue sliding and slicking every inch, grunting when his cheeks hollow and he sucks, a rough tug upward that sends sparks of molten ecstasy up Joel’s spine. He’s so worked up at this point, it takes almost nothing to bring him to the edge, hips bucking and straining to follow the source of his pleasure.

“Baby…oh, god, Ez, please…I’m gonna…gonna come,” he grits out.

Ezra chooses that moment to pull away, deep brown eyes wide and feigning innocence.

“I do believe that’s the point of this little exercise, mon cœur .”

“Fuck!” Joel roars as his orgasm slips quietly out of reach. Again.

“Mmmhmm,” Ezra coos, drawing it out in a self-satisfied hum as he plants a kiss on Joel’s hip, rubs his scruff against the tender skin of his inner thigh, levers his legs apart with broad shoulders and draws lazy circles along his sac with his tongue. “Yes, that is the idea here.”

“Is it?” Joel pants, bucking his hips in a vain effort to get Ezra’s attention back where it needs to be. “Because that’s not…not what…oh, fuck, Ez, don’t stop…ah, fuck.”

He loses his train of thought as Ezra adeptly sucks one of his balls into his mouth, holds it, runs the soft wet muscle of his tongue around it.

“I think you like it,” Ezra murmurs, muffled by the vee of his legs as his tongue dips and licks and sucks lower, tasting his own sticky release between Joel’s legs. Then one thick finger slides in easily, followed by another.

Joel squirms as he begins petting that spot inside with the tips of his fingers, stoking the throbbing heat in his gut. He’s leaking precum in a steady stream, cock twitching whenever Ezra pushes in and hooks his fingers at just the right angle. Rubbing and rubbing and stroking until Joel fairly keens.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Oh, fuck, please Ez, please I need…I need–”

“What do you need, cher ?”

“You,” Joel growls, the word rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, reduced to the throbbing between his legs, the heat boiling at the base of his spine, the persistent aching want of it.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Ezra murmurs.

Ezra lifts his head, securing his fingers and taking Joel’s cock so deep his nose brushes the soft thatch of hair at the root. He can’t look away when Ezra’s eyes meet his own, anchoring him, even as his body arcs and twitches like a live wire, heels digging into the mattress when his sensitive head hits the back of his throat. And when he finally begins to move with purpose, when it’s clear he has no intention of slowing or stopping or delaying the inevitable, Joel thinks he might black out from the intensity, head slamming back to the pillow with a cry that is as much relief as pleasure.

please, please, baby, please, ezra, love, please

He’s not even sure if he’s saying the words aloud. His mouth is moving, sounds of pleasure bubbling forth as Ezra devours him with firm strokes of his mouth, over and over and over, fingers tapping a heartbeat rhythm inside him. He’s nothing but heat and throb and pulse and so full and wet and–

oh oh oh yes there right there right oh god ezra yes please

Joel finally comes, and comes, and comes, orgasm drawn out for what feels like eternity. Arms aching and taut, shoulders on fire, body jerking and arching until he’s drained and limp with it. And Ezra doesn’t stop, just continues his ministrations, softer swipes of his tongue, gentle suckles, licking him and lapping at him like a fucking ice cream cone until even the slightest movement sends his body into a fit of overstimulated shivers and the safeword is dancing on the tip of Joel’s tongue.

When he’s completely soft, Ezra finally releases him, carefully straddling his hips. Joel doesn’t have a single muscle left at his command. He tries to move and his body just…doesn’t.

And Ezra, the smug bastard, seems really fucking pleased with himself.

“Did so good for me, love,” he murmurs, tugging at the strap securing Joel’s wrists to free him from the headboard, guiding his arms down to rest against his chest. He’s far too adept given his lack of a second hand, and if Joel weren’t so fucked out, he might think to question Ezra’s skill with restraints.

Ezra takes one of Joel’s wrists in hand, examining it with soft eyes. He kisses the pink stripe of skin where the belt etched a mark, soothes it with his tongue, then kisses the tip of each knuckle before gently lowering the arm, repeating the ritual with his other wrist. Joel winces; his shoulders are gonna feel it tomorrow. Hell, his whole body is going to feel it tomorrow.

“Sore?” Ezra murmurs as if reading his mind.

Joel doesn’t have the energy to do much more than blink in response. He’s coated in a fine sheet of sweat, the sheets beneath them soaked. His heart throbs in his throat.

When he finally finds his voice, all he can utter is, “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

Ezra grins then, the boyish, cocky smile that made Joel fall in love with him. He slides down until he’s resting against Joel’s side, lets their lips meet and parts them easily with the deft swipe of his tongue. He tastes himself, lets Ezra lick into his mouth with a shuddering whimper. Even now, overstimulated as he is, he lets Ezra take what he needs, take and take and take, deepening the kiss until his head swims, until they’re both breathless from sharing each others’ air. Ezra is somehow more needy after sex, nuzzling and nipping like he can’t get close enough, only satisfied when Joel finds the strength to roll to his side and wrap an arm and a leg around him, caging him with his body and pressing him firmly into the mattress.

“Let me take my reprieve for a moment, then I’ll draw us a bath,” Ezra rumbles against Joel’s throat.

“Ain’t movin’,” Joel says.

“You are,” Ezra says easily, kissing his nose. “I cannot abide the night in this sweaty, soiled bedding.”

“Shower, then,” he mutters. “You put me in the bath and I’m stayin’ there ‘til next week.”

“Fair enough.”

And they do eventually work up the energy to shower, a perfunctory wash that has Joel leaning against the wall with exhaustion and Ezra doing most of the work to clean them both. He leaves to let Joel finish up, and by the time he’s dried off and pulled on his boxers, Ezra has already changed the sheets and is sitting up in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he frowns at some psychology text, damp hair curling around his ears.

The sight of him like this, so domestic, still flushed from sex and the shower, stirs a primal feeling in Joel’s gut, something new and unexplored. It’s the same feeling that led him to stash a small blue box in the back of his nightstand drawer, a box he hasn’t worked up the courage to think about since he put it there a few months ago.

But he’s too damn tired to ponder that right now.

He slides between clean sheets and pulls the quilt up to his chin and plants a kiss on the side of Ezra’s thigh because it’s the only part of him within reach. He’s already half asleep when Ezra pauses his reading to curl over him, whispering a soft goodnight into his ear.

~*~

Joel wakes with a groan several hours later. He’d barely moved in the night, hadn’t even turned over once, and now he’s paying for it, every muscle stiff with the pleasant ache of overuse.

“Songbird,” Ezra rumbles in his ear.

A slow kiss good morning turns into something more, something unhurried and deep and languid with no ulterior aim. Just the thought of trying to get it up again makes Joel’s groin ache, anyway.

“Mmm, mornin’,” he murmurs into Ezra’s mouth, not quite breaking the kiss, not quite ready to leave their warm cocoon. His lips wander, nipping at Ezra’s chin, his neck, suckling at the freckle just behind his left ear, that hidden spot that makes him shudder.

Downstairs, the door slams.

“Joel?”

Ellie’s voice echoes up the stairs. She moved into the garage over the summer, after she turned seventeen, right about the time Ezra started sleeping over on a more permanent basis. The extra space seems to have done their relationship some good and given them all some necessary privacy, but usually she’s the one joining them for breakfast and not the other way around.

“Jesus, what time is it?” Joel mutters.

Ezra rolls over and squints at the clock. “Eight-thirty.”

“Joel? Ezra?”

“We’re comin’,” Joel calls, stealing one more kiss before he slips reluctantly out of bed. “Hold your damn horses.”

By the time he makes it downstairs, a pot of coffee is bubbling on the stove and Ellie is frying eggs in the large cast iron skillet.

“Wild night?” she asks, not looking up from the pan. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

Joel snorts, headed straight for the coffee, dropping a kiss on the back of her head.

“This the good stuff?” he asks, peering over her shoulder.

“Mmhm. Leftover from Christmas,” Ellie says, flipping an egg, yolk breaking all over the pan. “Damnit.”

He groans in wordless appreciation and pours himself a cup. The first sip is almost as orgasmic as…well. He sighs a deep, rumbling sigh and carries his mug to the table, holding it in both hands with reverence.

“Should I leave you two alone?” she snarks, just as Ezra joins them.

“Morning, gem,” Ezra says, eyes brightening. “Ooh, is that real coffee I smell?”

“The finest shitwater this side of the Mississippi,” Ellie drawls. “100% pure, uncut shit.”

This does nothing to dissuade Ezra from pouring himself a cup and indulging with the same reverence as his partner. Ellie pours herself some apple juice and slides the eggs onto three plates, carrying all of it to the kitchen table.

“Are you two going to the bonfire tonight?” she asks, sitting down and forking half an egg into her mouth in one swift motion.

“Wouldn’t miss it, gem,” Ezra says, just as Joel mutters, “Don’t think so.”

Ellie smirks as they exchange a look.

“S’the same thing as last year,” Joel grumbles. “New year, new flag, someone gets drunk and tries to set themselves on fire by fallin’ into the pit. Not a whole helluva lot to miss.”

“Come, songbird, you can’t tell us there isn’t a certain hopeful, buoyant energy about the time. Is there nothing more sacred than the ritual of a community overcoming all odds, welcoming the year with fresh spirits?”

“At least it’s not a stupid dance,” Ellie supplies. “And there’ll be marshmallows. Talia made loads.”

“See? Marshmallows!” Ezra nudges Joel, who grumbles a non-answer and returns his attention to his coffee.

“And I heard Marnie Jacobs designed the flag this year,” Ellie continues. “So you know it’ll be weird.”

The town flag has become a Jackson New Year’s tradition. Instead of a ball drop, the final ten seconds of the year are celebrated by raising a new flag in the town square. The design is kept secret by the council and its creator until its reveal, and at this time of year, speculation runs rampant. Joel figures this is what passes for entertainment in a world without reality TV.

“Ellie,” he scolds mildly.

“What? It’s true, Marnie’s a fuckin’ weirdo. Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Anyway, I’m going to be with Cat and Dina and Jesse so feel free to pretend you don’t know me.”

“Won’t Cee be joining you?” Ezra asks.

“No, she’s going with Luke.”

There’s a heavy pause as Ezra narrows his eyes. “I see.”

“You don’t like him very much, do you?” Ellie says nonchalantly, taking a sip of her juice. Joel gives her a light kick under the table and shoots her a look.

Ezra scowls, grabbing his plate and taking it to the sink. “I have no reason to dislike the boy.”

He spits out the word boy with clear disdain. Cee and Luke have been an ongoing topic of contention since they started dating last summer. Ezra seems to have abandoned his usual easy-going attitude with regards to this particular part of Cee’s life in favor of watching the two like a hawk and griping about how close they’ve become, both literally and figuratively. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the relationship that Joel can see–just that Cee is one of the two people involved.

“However–” Ezra begins, clearly about to hold forth. Again.

“Annnnd that’s my cue,” Ellie says, hopping up from the table with a mouthful of food, gulping down the rest of her juice, and tossing her plate in the sink.

“Deserter,” Joel hisses under his breath as his kid abandons him to Ezra’s monologue, practically frolicking out the door. 

“Cee is too young to be tying herself down, she’s barely old enough to know what she wants, what’s good for her–”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says, sipping his coffee, knowing it’s better to let Ezra wear himself out than try to interject. But he’s still going when the dishes are done and they’re walking to their respective assignments; Ezra to his office, still at his old house, and Joel to a remodeling project on the north end of town.

“I know you see her as a kid, but she’s twenty years old, Ez,” Joel tries, when it’s clear his partner is not going to be subdued.

“He’s older,” Ezra counters.

“By six months,” Joel says, quirking his lips.

“Still, I am loath to see birdie’s impressionable young mind corrupted by–”

“She’s a smart kid. She ain’t gettin’ corrupted.”

“They’re always together, always on top of each other–”

“Most I’ve ever seen ‘em do is hold hands.”

“The autumn dance?” he says insistently. “Remember? One couldn’t have pried the two apart with a crowbar.”

“He was nothin’ but respectful, hands never went south of her waist. I know, because you made us watch ‘em all damn night,” he grumbles. “Luke’s a good patroller, hard worker, got a good head on his shoulders. He’s polite, does his job. Mom’s on the council–”

“None of which means he isn’t harboring sinister motives, songbird.”

“They seem happy enough. They’re young, sure, but…Cee could do a lot worse.”

“Well, I don’t trust him. You and I are far too familiar with the habits of young men of a certain age.”

Joel snorts. “You’re preachin’ to the choir. But the clinic’s got birth control.”

“She’s on it, I made sure of that,” he says, frowning. “But there are worse things than pregnancy. She has that whole house to herself, and I can’t help but think they have a bit too much freedom, too much space in which to make trouble.”

“Don’t think ‘trouble’ is the word you’re lookin’ for,” he smirks, eliciting a scowl from Ezra. “You could sleep at your place more often.”

He hates the idea as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Don't doubt I have considered it. I recognize the need for some independence on her part. I just…I can’t help but feel incredibly protective of her.”

“Congratulations, dad ,” he says wryly. “Welcome to the club.”

“I know where we come from, songbird,” he says, shoulders sagging a little. “I know what she…what we…went through. I fear she doesn't have a solid grounding in intimate relationships and therefore lacks the experience and…and foresight to fully grasp the consequences.”

“You fared alright,” Joel counters softly.

“Yes, well, I’ve had years to draw my own conclusions. She’s–she’s…”

For once, Ezra seems to find himself at a loss for words.

“She’s gonna figure it out the way the rest of us did,” Joel finishes for him. “Trial an’ error, an’ a little bit of heartbreak.”

They’ve reached his office. They linger outside while Ezra frowns, thoughtful.

“Would you be so cavalier if it were our…your young prodigy?”

Joel can’t help but notice the our , but he bites his lip on that.

“Y’know…I think I would,” Joel says. “‘Sides, Ellie’s not into that stuff yet. She’s got her friends…her patrols. Doesn’t seem all that taken by anyone.”

Thank fuck , he doesn’t say. He tries to imagine Ellie in a romantic relationship but can’t quite manage it. That Jesse kid seems to have taken a liking to her, but then he’s always hanging around with the girls…to the point where Joel wonders if he’s a little more like Ezra than Joel.

“Well, when she is, perhaps you’ll see it from my point of view,” Ezra sighs.

“Maybe so,” Joel says agreeably, placing his hands on Ezra’s shoulders until they’re standing face to face. “What was it you said? ‘Hopeful, buoyant energy?’ New year, new start? It’ll work out.”

He brightens. “Does that mean I’ll see you at the bonfire tonight?”

Joel huffs a breath into the cold. “Yeah…fine. I’ll be there.”

“Perhaps we’ll share a New Year’s kiss?” Ezra grins, moving closer. “We could practice…”

Joel lets himself be pulled into a one-armed embrace, lets Ezra’s mouth slant over his in a kiss reminiscent of their morning explorations, something on the edge of indecent for standing in the middle of the street.

“Yeah, yeah, go on,” Joel mutters when he finally pulls away, a blush creeping from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. But he walks the rest of the way to work with a lightness in his step, thinking of the small blue box in his nightstand drawer.

~*~

The evening of the bonfire settles over Jackson crisp and clear. Joel goes home after work to wash up, finding a note on the table from Ezra–he got roped into helping set up in town. Ellie is nowhere to be found, probably finishing up with her work shift or off somewhere with her friends, so he eats a supper of leftover chicken and potatoes standing at the counter, alone. There was a time in his life here when this was the norm, and he doesn’t miss it.

He heads to the party around nine, drawn to the north field by plumes of fragrant woodsmoke and the sound of live music. They’re far away enough from town not to cause concern but still in sight of the square, and close to the creek so they have ready access to water, but there’s no wind tonight and no reason to think there will be trouble. There’s already a crowd around the roaring fire. Cold as it is, the intense warmth radiating from the central pyre is welcome.

Joel helps himself to a bottle of hard cider–it’s the closest thing they have to champagne–and finds Ezra at the edge of the crowd, chatting animatedly with Marnie. She’s eccentric, he’ll give Ellie that–bushy red hair, Coke-bottle glasses, neon pink ski jacket decorated with patches and buttons, but she’s friendly and talented with a sewing machine. She’s made clothes for half the town, and Joel is pretty sure the flannel he’s wearing under his jacket is one of hers.

He lingers in the background, content to watch his people enjoying the celebration. He glimpses Ellie and her friends off to one side, huddled together in that secretive way of teenagers, wanting to be in the middle of the action while still appearing aloof. Tommy is wrangling Isabel, the toddler doing her best to keep her father on his toes, drawn like a moth to a literal flame; Joel can’t help but think of Sarah at that age, the constant need for distraction and redirection. Maria is chatting with one of their neighbors, looking more relaxed than he’s seen her in a while. Izzy must finally be sleeping through the night.

Then he catches sight of Cee sitting on a log on the other side of the fire with Luke. They’re close, heads bowed together as they strain to hear one another over the crackling, popping fire and the crowd, lost in their own little world. Ezra sidles up to Joel with a frown.

“Perhaps I should check in, ensure our little birdie is–”

“Leave it,” Joel says, threading their fingers together. “And hello, by the way.”

“I just–”

“Ez, c’mon,” he murmurs, tugging him back, wrapping an arm around his waist. He’s not usually so affectionate in public but Ezra is pliant enough. He settles against his side, still eyeing the oblivious young couple with suspicion, and Joel not so subtly turns them and marches them in a different direction.

“C’mon, let ‘em enjoy the party without us old guys hangin’ around.”

“Their ‘enjoyment’ is exactly what I’m afraid of,” he grumbles, glancing over his shoulder as Joel practically drags Ezra to the cider table and forces a bottle into his hands.

“Never developed a taste for this stuff,” Ezra says, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, develop one,” Joel says drily. “You need to relax.”

“I am perfectly relaxed,” he mutters sourly, but he takes a large swig from the bottle.

At some point Ellie flits by, licking her fingers clean of what is probably her fifth toasted marshmallow, if Joel had to guess. She’s talking excitedly with Cat through a mouthful of white fluff when she notices them, waving with a grin and wandering their way. Cat is the most reserved of Ellie’s friends. Like Dina, she lives with her older sister, but Joel gets the sense she’s not looked after closely.

“Dude! You actually came,” Ellie says, punching Joel on the arm in greeting.

“Seems that way,” he agrees mildly, keeping what he hopes is a not-embarrassing distance. It takes all his self-restraint not to pull her into a hug and give her a noogie.

“What a pleasant surprise, you’ve decided to acknowledge our presence,” Ezra quips.

“Don’t worry, it’s temporary,” she smiles, eyes shining. “We heard Marcello found a bunch of those sparkler things on a scavenging run. We’re gonna go see if twenty-year-old fireworks still light.”

“What could go wrong?” Ezra says at the same time Joel opens his mouth to protest. But someone taps him on the back–Tommy with Isabel in tow–and Ellie and Cat and their plans are lost to the crowd. He sends up a silent wish for his kid to survive the night with all her fingers and toes intact before accepting his niece, bundled up against the cold in her winter snow suit.

“Someone wanted to see her uncles,” Tommy says, looking a bit rough around the edges.

“Unca Jojo! Unca Ra!”

“Sure she did,” he smirks. “More like daddy just needed a break from chasin’ her around all night, huh bug?”

“Biiiiiig fow,” she agrees. “Big fow owie.”

“You bet, kid. What’re you doin’ up this late, anyway?” he asks, and she launches into an explanation in toddlerspeak that Joel just barely understands.

“Mama n’ Dada bing Izzy wiff. Big fow! No ni-ni.”

“Everyone an’ their great aunt is here tonight,” Tommy shrugs. “Couldn’t find a sitter so bedtime is canceled. Don’t think we’re gonna make it to midnight, though.”

“Didn’t ask me,” Joel says. “Would’ve loved to have an excuse to get outta this.”

“I beg your pardon,” Ezra says, feigning offense, sticking out his tongue at Izzy, who giggles shyly. Babies aren’t Ezra’s thing, but he and Izzy have developed a tentative friendship based on a regular exchange of funny faces.

Conversation turns to the usual subjects; the weather, the never-ending list of community construction projects, council business, Izzy’s sleep habits, Ellie’s misadventures. At some point, Ezra quietly excuses himself and Joel loses track of him, focused instead on talking to Tommy and keeping Izzy from wiggling her way out of his arms.

When Joel thinks to look for him, searching the crowd of familiar faces, he finds his partner hovering over Cee and Luke. The kids look less than pleased. Joel is debating whether to intervene when Cee stands and leaves in a huff, and Ezra takes her place on the log next to a very uncomfortable looking Luke.

“Shiiiii–shoot,” he mutters, interrupting his brother and handing the baby back. “I gotta go.”

Tommy arches a brow. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Dunno yet,” he mutters before striding over to the other side of the bonfire.

“‘Scuse us,” he says to Luke, pulling Ezra up by the hand before he can protest and steering them away from the poor kid. Joel remembers when Sarah was little, how he and Tommy would joke about sitting on the porch, cleaning their guns if she brought a boy home. He’s pretty sure he just saw Ezra’s version of that in action.

“The hell did you say to them?” he growls when they’re away from the crowd.

“ Moi ? Nothing untoward. I simply asked after Luke’s intentions toward our…my…toward Cee.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says, unconvinced.

“And then I had a…chat…with this Luke boy.”

“Worse than the damn toddler,” Joel grumbles. “Gotta follow you everywhere just to keep you from gettin’ in trouble.”

Ezra sulks, but he promises to leave the kids alone for the rest of the evening—an easy promise to make now that Cee appears to have abandoned the party.

The last of New Year’s Eve passes with conversation and music and the heat of the fire on their faces. Joel nurses his bottle of cider and keeps to the edges while Ezra wanders and returns to his side every so often. At some point, glittering trails of light appear in the distance, writing nonsense patterns against the dark. Apparently, twenty-year-old sparklers do still light.

Eventually, Ezra returns and tucks into Joel’s side for warmth, wrinkling his nose as someone on the music crew strums an off-key rendition of Prince’s 1999 .

“You should be up there,” Ezra nudges him, nodding toward the makeshift band.

“Hell’s gotta freeze over first,” Joel says.

“If hell were going to freeze over, Jackson would be the place to do it,” Ezra mutters, shivering a little despite the heat of the fire. 

“S’nice, though,” Joel murmurs, low enough for only Ezra to hear. “Glad you talked me into it.”

The countdown begins at ten seconds to midnight. The crowd watches as the new flag ascends to its place in the square and the design is pretty tame for Marnie’s work. The silhouette of a bison stitched onto a canvas backdrop, quilted from dozens of scraps of fabric representing the town’s diverse citizenry. Tomorrow they’ll examine it up close and see remnants from blankets, shirts, and even a scrap from last year’s flag—pieces of cloth that have likely touched every single resident at one point or another. It reaches the top of the pole just as they welcome in the new year with raucous cheers and the ringing of bells and a chorus of Auld Lang Syne .

But Joel has stopped watching the flag ceremony, unmoved by the din, head turned instead to watch his partner in the firelight. And when the final cheer rises up, he’s waiting and ready to take his kiss. More chaste than their exchange this morning, but still a balm to Joel’s heart.

“Happy New Year, songbird,” Ezra murmurs when they pull apart, and Joel thinks there might be something to his words of hope earlier, because his eyes are the slightest bit wet. He’ll blame the smoke from the fire and the single cider he finished an hour ago.

Then Ellie’s voice rises above the din, the shrill, angry note turning Joel’s stomach and tightening his jaw before he can spot her.

“Say it again, motherfucker!”

She’s squared off with someone on the other side of the fire, blurred by the heat haze. Joel is moving toward them without thought, following the sound of Seth McLeland and his big drunk mouth. Ellie is still tiny for her age, barely coming up to Seth’s shoulder, but she’s solid on her feet and her opponent sways like a tree in the wind.

“I said,” Seth spits, slurring his words, “m’surrounded by a buncha fuckin’ faggots.”

“Ellie, c’mon–” Dina is coming over, but Joel gets there first.

“You piece of sh–”

“C’mon, kid, he ain’t worth it,” Joel grits out, grabbing Ellie by the arm just as she’s winding up to take a swing.

“Joel,” she hisses, turning on him. “He said–”

“I heard what he said, but he’s drunk as a fuckin’ skunk and he’ll get what’s comin’ to him. Ain’t worth your time or mine.”

Seth snarls. “Used to be this was a decent town. Can’t go ten feet without seein’ this…this rainbow gay shit all over the fuckin’ place.”

“Perhaps I can help mediate?” Ezra pipes up, and Joel glares at him, still hoping to stave off a Miller family brawl with the town’s notoriously homophobic jackass. Ignoring Joel’s silent plea, Ezra steps up to Seth with a smile that’s more predatory than friendly, leans in, and whispers something into the other man’s ear. Joel waits, still holding Ellie by the arm, watching closely. Seth’s face twists in a sneer, then he ducks his head with the air of someone shamed.

“What do you say, my good man?” Ezra says, still smiling his shark-tooth smile, clapping Seth roughly on the shoulder. “Let’s say you call it a night and we all forget this ever happened, hmm?”

And whatever he said, it looks like that might have done the trick. Seth grunts a wordless response, and Ezra turns away.

But then Seth sneers under his breath, the slur unmistakeable. “Turn tail and run, fag.”

The crunch of the man’s nose breaking under Joel’s fist is the most satisfying thing he’s felt all damn day.

~*~

“My hero,” Ezra says drily, when they’re back at home and he's tending to Joel’s bruised knuckles at the kitchen table. He definitely aggravated the old hairline fracture; his hand is going to ache for weeks. Thankfully Maria and two others intervened before Seth could throw a punch, so that’s the worst of the damage.

Worth it , Joel thinks.

“Wish you’d let me hit him first,” Ellie sulks from her perch on the counter.

“Better me than you if someone’s gonna get in trouble for fightin’,” Joel says. “‘Sides, I’m stronger. He ain’t gonna be able to breathe out his nose for a month.”

“Rude,” Ellie says, but a smirk pulls at the corner of her lips.

“I had hoped we might extract ourselves without it coming to fisticuffs,” Ezra says pointedly. “But your Joel here couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.”

“He’s only mine when he’s behaving,” Ellie supplies, hopping off the counter with a yawn. “He’s all yours tonight, Ez.”

Joel gives her a look, but she just pats him on the shoulder on her way out the door. “Great start to the year, dudes.”

“Fucker was overdue,” Joel grumbles when she’s gone, then remembers Ezra’s failed intervention. “The hell’d you say to him, anyway?”

“Oh, I know all sorts of dirty little secrets about the people in this town, songbird,” he says, eyes glittering. “Just went through my mental rolodex of contenders with regards to our dear friend Seth and found the sweet spot. The one thing that might ruin him should it get out.”

“And what might that be?”

“It’d be unethical to share, I’m afraid,” Ezra says, feigning a pout.

“And blackmail ain’t?”

“Mmm, I am not aware of any such laws on the books regarding blackmail. And in the case of blatant hate speech at a family function? I don’t think the fine members of the Jackson council will revoke my license in this particular situation.”

“You don’t have a license,” Joel grumbles.

“My point exactly,” he grins, finishing the wrap on Joel’s hand. “There, that should hold. The next time you feel the need to defend my honor, try to use the un broken fist. I can give you some tips on throwing a punch with your left. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Wasn’t just about you,” Joel says, flexing his busted hand with a grimace. “We’re not the only ones. Kids shouldn’t have to hear that shit.”

“Yes,” Ezra sighs, rubbing the back of Joel’s hand with his thumb. “I can’t argue with your logic or your sense of common decency, cher , it’s perfectly sound. I just wish you didn’t need to come to physical harm in the process.”

“I can take it,” he says, standing and stretching, heading for the stairs. “Did you find out what happened with Cee?”

“I…no. What with all the evening’s drama, I didn’t catch up with her. I suspect she went home.”

“Hmm.”

They leave it at that while they get ready for bed, the kind of mundane routines that still surprise Joel despite having lived together for most of the year. Two toothbrushes by the sink, two razors, and the mouthwash Ezra likes. A stack of books on each nightstand, half a closetful of clothes, and a slew of record albums on the dresser. Joel isn’t sure when he started thinking of it as their home, not his home, but it probably has something to do with the little box in his nightstand drawer.

“Do you think I’ve been too harsh with her, songbird?” Ezra asks as they’re getting into bed. For all his earlier bravado and posturing, he seems deflated now.

“No,” Joel sighs. “Think you’re tryin’ your best, same as the rest of us. Prob’ly been a bit hard on that Luke kid, though.”

“I admit, I’m…I’m probably not at my most objective when it comes to Cee,” he frowns.

“She’s on the patrol roster,” he says, flicking off the lamp. “Maybe I can pair up with her next time we’re on the same shift, see if we can talk it out.”

“You would do that?” Ezra brightens. “Perhaps she’d listen to you. Or…talk to you, at least. I’m not always her first choice.”

“Chasin’ her off tonight prob’ly didn’t do you any favors,” he sighs. “But yeah…I can try.”

“Thank you,” Ezra murmurs, slipping his arm around Joel’s waist.

“‘Course,” he says. They stay like that for a while, Ezra’s head on Joel’s shoulder, fingers tracing the scars that litter his chest and stomach.

“You know,” Ezra murmurs into Joel’s ear. “I hesitate to say anything in the interests of preventing future encounters, songbird, but…there is a certain… je ne sais quoi to watching the man you love brutalize a raging homophobe.”

“Yeah?” Joel snorts. “That do it for ya?”

“Mmm.”

And Joel can feel exactly what it does for him, a certain familiar insistence at his hip. He turns over, met with those dark brown eyes, remembers them lit by firelight, and presses his lips to Ezra’s. Soon they’re panting, Ezra breaking the kiss to huff the words into Joel’s mouth between kisses.

“I…presume you’re still a bit…sore…after yesterday’s…endeavors…”

“I think we can figure somethin’ out.”

And they do.

~*~

A few days later, Joel goes to the stables early to check the patrol schedule. Cee did her training over the spring and summer so she was still considered a junior patroller, but winter patrols were perfect for that. The cold and snow made it difficult for humans and infected alike, making for shorter, less eventful runs and good practice for those with less experience. Joel re-jigs the schedule to put himself with Cee that morning, figuring a few hours on horseback might give them a chance to talk.

If Ellie arrived in Jackson like a feral cat ready to scratch and bite, Cee was more the type to hide in the back of a closet. She was skittish and less inclined to socialize, not unlike Joel himself. They both liked their space, but that meant he and Cee didn’t have Ezra and Ellie’s easy friendship. They’d shared a few conversations here and there, usually over family meals, but little else.

The weather is clear, and the ride to the north ridge passes in comfortable quiet. Joel doesn’t broach the subject until they’re close to returning to Jackson. At least if it goes bad, they’ll only have to suffer for a few miles.

“Hey, so, uh…how’re things goin’ with that guy you’re seein’? Luke, right?”

Cee glares at him. “Did Ezra put you up to this?”

“He didn’t, I swear,” Joel says. “This…this was my idea. I think he’s bein’ a little overprotective, myself.”

“A little?” she huffs.

Joel bites his lip on a smile. “Alright…maybe more than a little.”

“To answer your question, things are fine with Luke,” she says tersely. “They would be better if Ezra wasn’t intent on making a complete ass of himself every time he sees us together. But I can’t seem to get that through his thick skull.”

“Yeah, I…I noticed.”

“I don’t get why he’s being such a dick about it,” she says after they’ve ridden a little further. “I’m almost twenty-one. It’s like…it’s like he still sees me as this little kid.”

Joel clucks his tongue. “You spend long enough protectin’ someone…that’s a hard habit to break. He’s lookin’ out for you the best way he knows how.”

“I don’t need looking after, though.”

“I know. An’ I think he does, too, even if he won’t admit it,” he says. “It’s more about him than you, kiddo. He…he worries he’s not doin’ right by you. Worries he’s not…enough.”

“He’d be doing better if he’d just back off a little,” she scoffs.

“Yeah, I reckon he would,” he agrees. “Ezra’s stubborn, but…he’ll get there. Just has to do things on his own time.”

Cee frowns as they ride on, loping across the frigid landscape.

“I had a thought,” Joel continues. “Might not be the most comfortable way of doin’ things, but…what if we invited you and Luke to supper? Maybe give y’all a chance to, uh, talk. When Ellie an’ I were new here and things were…rocky…with Maria, Tommy had us over every week. Was pretty awkward at first, but then we kinda fell into a routine with it.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That sounds painful.”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, it don’t sound like a good time to me, either. But it shows Ezra you’re willin’ to meet him halfway. And he’ll probably come around if he can see how much Luke cares about you.”

She doesn’t answer for a while and that suits Joel fine. He relaxes his attention a fraction and enjoys the ride, the crunch of snow under the horse’s hooves, the biting January air. They’re almost home, well within the safest part of Jackson’s territory.

“Okay,” she sighs finally. “We can try the dinner thing…I guess.”

“Yeah? Alright then. It’s a deal,” he says. “An’ it prob’ly goes without sayin’, but…if that kid ever lays a hand on you in the wrong way, it won’t just be Ezra he has to answer to. Understood?”

She smiles her shy, subdued smile. “I know. Thanks.”

“I mean that. You’re family. If anything happens–“

“I get it, I do, but he’s…he’s sweet,” she blushes, looking down at her hands on the reins. “He’s…careful. And kind. He writes. And we like the same books and music and…I dunno. I guess I just feel this…connection with him that I haven’t felt before. I never had the chance. Feels like I’m making up for lost time when I’m with him…y’know?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, thinking of Ezra. “Yeah, I do.”

“I wish Ez would just relax about it,” she sighs. “Like with you and Ellie.”

Joel blinks in surprise, thinking “relaxed” is not exactly how he’d describe his relationship with Ellie. But he doesn’t have a chance to question it before she continues.

“I mean, you’re not all on her case about…oh.”

She trails off with a faint squeak, going stiff in the saddle and jerking the reins. The horse rears and hesitates, sensing her rider’s distress, and Cee has to soothe and shush the animal to get her back on track.

“On her case about what?” Joel asks once the horse has settled.

Cee’s words come out in a rush. “Nothing. It’s nothing, I–I mean…nothing.”

“Wait, Cee…is Ellie…is Ellie seein’ someone?”

“No! No. She’s…she’s not…I didn’t say that,” she sputters, cheeks flushed.

“But you said–”

The gates are in sight and she’s brought the horse to a trot, pulling ahead of him. “Race you back!”

“Hey, hold up!”

But she’s already closing the gap between him and Jackson, waving the red flag to signal their reentry as she leaves Joel in her dust. By the time he rides through the gates, she’s abandoned her horse to the care of one of the stablehands and disappeared. It had gone so well, too; Cee said more words in the last half hour than she’d probably said to him in the last two years.

Goddamned skittish cat , Joel thinks miserably.

He’s still processing their conversation as he walks back from the stables. His chest goes tight as he considers the implications, remembering his seventeen-year-old self, carefree and reckless to a fault. He thinks of the steady rotation of condoms in his wallet and two lines on a pregnancy test. Fuck, they’ve never even talked about this and god knows what bullshit they taught in FEDRA school.

He’s been Ellie’s guardian for three years and he doesn’t even know if she’s on birth control.

This swirling mass of emotions is not assuaged as he approaches the house. Ellie’s garage apartment is unusually dark for this time of day. She’s probably just out with her friends , he tells himself, but the uncertainty churning in his gut leads him to knock on her door.

No response.

He’s raising his hand to knock again when he hears a noise. It’s faint, but not faint enough to escape his poor hearing.

“Ellie?”

Muffled sounds from within, but no response. The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

“Ellie, I’m comin’ in–”

“NO! Don’t!”

His hand snaps back from the doorknob at the sound of her voice, relieved to know she’s safe inside…and yet, not. “You alright, kid?”

“I’m…fine! It’s fine!”

“You don’t sound fine.”

More muffled sounds, a thud, then scraping and shuffling. And…giggling?

“I’m comin’ in,” he growls, but the doorknob turns under his hand and Ellie appears, face emerging from the darkened slit of her barely opened door.

“Don’t,” she pants. “I’m…I’m fine. There’s…I’m just…I was tired and needed to…rest before dinner.”

“You’re not gettin’ sick, are you?”

Another noise. Definitely a giggle. Not from Ellie.

Her ponytail is down, hair curling in wild wisps around her flushed face.

Her shirt is inside out.

She shoots a frantic look over her shoulder at the source of the giggles and offers Joel a weak smile. He puts two and two together just as Cat appears at the door clad in nothing but jeans and a sports bra, equally flushed and tousled.

Joel turns on his heel because he sure as hell doesn’t need to see more.

“I’m…you’re…I’m gonna…go,” he chokes out.

Ezra is sitting on the couch with his book when Joel stumbles in on wooden legs, looking up in alarm at Joel’s shell-shocked expression.

“What happened?”

“Ellie’s…uh…Ellie’s with a girl. With Cat.”

Ezra’s brow furrows. “And…?”

“I, uh…I almost…walked in on ‘em,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Together. Christ.”

“Oh–OH,” Ezra says, eyes widening in understanding. “You mean with -with?”

“With-with,” Joel echoes dully.

His partner slowly closes the book and sets it on the coffee table. “Well that’s…an interesting development.”

Joel trudges over, not bothering to take off his jacket or boots, and sits heavily on the other side. “You didn’t know about this?”

“On my honor, songbird, I hadn’t the faintest inkling of a romantic entanglement on the part of our young prodigy. Are you…certain?”

Joel fixes him with a wordless stare.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Joel groans and sinks further into the couch, rubbing at his face with both hands. “Go ahead an’ get it over with, then.”

“I don’t follow.”

Another wordless stare.

Ezra tsks and smirks at his lap. “Come now, cher , I’d like to think I’m a bigger man than that. And ‘I told you so’ is such an unattractive turn of phrase.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel grunts. “So Ellie, uh…she likes…girls?”

Ezra’s face takes on a pinched expression that Joel has become all too familiar with in their time together. 

“But you knew that already,” he sighs. “Christ, do I even wanna know how long?” 

“She…may have sensed a kindred spirit in me early on.”

“How early are we talkin’?”

“I believe it was our sixth appointment or thereabouts,” Ezra has the decency to wince.

Joel balks. “You’ve…you’ve known for two fuckin’ years ?”

Ezra gives an apologetic shrug.

“How the hell’d I miss it?” he murmurs.

“I wouldn’t take it to heart, cher ,” Ezra says, reaching over to rub a soothing hand up and down Joel’s arm. “I suspect it’s only recently become something important to the development of her identity. Her first foray into a romantic endeavor, so to speak. It’s natural she’d want to keep it…close for a while. You might recall you were hesitant at first.”

“Yeah…yeah, I s’pose. Jesus. Even Cee knew,” he mutters.

“You spoke with Cee?”

“Yeah,” Joel sighs. “Switched patrol partners for the day so we could talk. Rode up to the ridge and back.”

“Any…insights you might be willing to share?” he asks hopefully.

“We’re gonna invite Cee and Luke over for supper.” 

Ezra blinks. “That’s…not exactly what I had in mind when you suggested a conversation.”

“We’re gonna invite the kids over, and we’re gonna get to know him, and you’re gonna behave. He ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” he says pointedly. “So if you wanna keep her around, you’re gonna have to figure out how to get along.”

~*~

Ellie storms in the next morning, cheeks flaming, and flops down on the couch without further greeting.

“Let’s get it over with,” she says.

Joel takes a sip of his coffee, thankful it’s still the good stuff because god knows he either needs to be caffeinated or drunk for this conversation, and it’s way too early for a stiff drink. “An’...what are we gettin’ over?”

“Y’know. The usual.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific or let the coffee kick in, kid, ‘cause you’re not makin’ a lick of sense.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “You lay into me, tell me I’m being a fuckin’ idiot or whatever, and then we talk about our stupid feelings and I tell you I have no idea what I’m doing and you make me feel better by reminding me that you’re here for me no matter what and then you ground me for like half of forever or until I’m forty, whichever comes first.”

He bites back a smile. “Seems like you’ve already parented yourself. My work here is done.”

“Ugh, dude, stop putting it off and just tell me how bad it is already.”

He walks over and settles into the chair in the living room with a muffled groan.

“So…how long have you an’ Cat been, uh…datin’?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nobody dates , Joel. It’s not dating, we just…hang out.”

“Alright, so how long have you been ‘hangin’ out?’”

“A few weeks,” she shrugs.

“And you didn’t think you could tell me…why?”

“I didn’t tell you because Ezra’s been really fucking weird about Luke, and I figured you’d be on my ass and be all scary to Cat and I don’t want to…to mess it up.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning forward. “Okay, I get that.”

She narrows her eyes. “So…that’s it? You’re not pissed at me? I’m not, like, grounded until I’m forty?”

“Would it stop you from seein’ Cat?” he asks wryly.

“Probably not.”

“Exactly. No, I’m not pissed at you for, uh…’hangin’ out’ with someone…like that. Just want you to be safe about it, is all.”

“I feel like there’s a big-ass ‘but’ coming up.”

Joel snorts. “Honestly, kid, I dunno what I’m doin’ here. I never…Sarah never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, far as I know. Hell, we had the, uh, talk when she was twelve, an’ that was–”

“Awkward as fuck?” Ellie shudders. “Please don’t. I know how all that stuff works.”

“Good,” he says quickly. “Good. But…there’s more to it than just…the mechanics. There’s, uh, protection, and–”

“Ugh, gross, man,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know about…all of it. And we’re being safe. Promise.”

Joel sighs, biting his lip. “What I’m gettin’ at is…is she good to you?”

“What, does she like, bring me flowers and chocolates and shit?” Ellie says.

“No. I mean, maybe, if that’s what you like. But what I’m tryin’ to say is…in a relationship…like that…you want someone who’ll bring out the best in you. Someone who loves you for you, not what you can do for ‘em, y’know? Someone who…has your back. It ain’t just about the material stuff.”

Ellie arches an eyebrow in a silent what the fuck, dude?

“It’s…it’s a hard time to grow up,” he tries. “It’s always hard growin’ up, I guess, but…it’s especially hard now. You’ve seen things that no kid should have to see, done things no one should have to do. That…scars a person. Makes ‘em see things a certain way. An’ a lot of the people you’ll love are walkin’ around with similar…stuff. Am I makin’ any sense?”

“About as much as you usually do,” she sighs, but she’s smiling in that way that tells him he’s getting through.

“It took me twenty years of fightin’ to get to the point where I could…um. Where I could love someone…like that…again. An’ I want you to know you don’t have to…settle for anything you don’t want. I know you prob’ly haven’t had a lot of…examples…”

Ellie seems to consider this for a minute, looking at her lap as she speaks softly. “Cat’s good. She’s…we’re good. You don’t have to worry.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m always gonna want to protect you. Keep you safe. That don’t just mean infected or raiders or…or bad people. Sometimes it’s about protectin’ your heart, too.”

She wrinkles her nose and fakes a gag, and he can’t resist reaching over to tousle her hair.

“Yeah, alright, enough of the mushy stuff. You’re not in trouble, kid.”

“That’s nice for a change,” she smiles. She’s making to leave when he has another thought.

“Oh, um…I hope you didn’t think I’d be mad it’s…another girl. ‘Cause I’m not. That’s…you’re, uh…you love who you love an’ all that.”

“Why would you be mad?” she asks, brow furrowing, then her eyes widen in understanding. “You didn’t know?”

“Uh…I guess I–are we talkin’ about the same thing?”

“You mean that I’m gay?”

“Yeah, uh…that.”

“Dude, I didn’t tell you because I thought you already knew,” she laughs. “You seriously had no idea?”

“How would I know somethin’ like that?” he grumbles.

She throws up her hands. “I dunno! Gay-dar or whatever!”

“That ain’t a thing.”

“Oh it totally is, and yours is broken ,” she says. “Besides, even if it wasn’t totally fuckin’ obvious–and it is–I figured Ezra would have said something forever ago.”

“We don’t talk about you like that, kiddo. Wouldn’t be right.”

“Wow,” she breathes, then laughs again. “I can’t believe you really didn’t know.”

“You can quit rubbin’ it in any time,” he mutters.

She grins. “What can I say? I’m a chip off the ol’ block, emphasis on the old .”

“Alright, alright,” he says, chuckling. “Ease up, I get it. I’m out of touch.”

“ So out of touch,” she grins, but her words carry an easy affection. “Ancient history. A fucking dinosaur.”

“You love dinosaurs,” he reminds her.

“Yeah…I guess I do.”

“Hey, uh…before you go. We’re havin’ Cee and Luke over for supper next week. Maybe you wanna invite Cat? Make it a family thing?”

“Not a fucking chance, dude,” she says easily, then ducks her head. “We’re not…there yet.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I get it.”

“But I will be there,” she adds, eyes shining. “Wouldn’t miss that shitshow for the world.”

~*~

He decides on pasta because it’s quick and filling and something he can’t easily fuck up. Joel is ready to open one of the jars of summer tomatoes for marinara, but Ezra intervenes, insisting that a cream sauce is faster and less prone to staining.

“Preferably with lots of garlic,” he mutters. “To discourage kissing.”

“They ain’t vampires, Ez,” Joel says, but he lets Ezra take over dinner preparations. He’s the better cook, anyway.

When Cee and Luke show up, shuffling their feet and offering a plate of cookies, Joel has to elbow a tight thank you out of Ezra, and it doesn’t get much better when the food is served.

They crowd five people around a table that’s made for four and Jesus fuck , it’s awkward. Joel wonders if this is how Frank and Tess felt watching him and Bill snarl at each other over wine and roasted rabbit. Unfortunately, this party doesn’t have the benefit of Bill’s curated wine selection or Frank’s natural aptitude for hosting.

Cee stares at her plate and pushes her food around, Luke looks slightly green, Ezra glares and takes tense sips from his beer, and Ellie props her chin on her hands and takes it all in with a smile, occasionally asking pointed questions designed to stir the pot. Joel has to kick her under the table twice.

But somehow, they get on the topic of music. As it turns out, Luke plays guitar and writes songs and poetry. And when they settle in the living room to peruse Ezra’s impressive album collection, Ezra is smiling and chattering enthusiastically about some obscure indie punk band from the 90s, and Luke is looking slightly less inclined to flee.

Eventually, Joel excuses himself and tugs at the hood of Ellie’s sweatshirt, nodding toward the kitchen.

“C’mon. Need help with the dishes.”

She rolls her eyes but follows him willingly enough. They stand together at the sink; he washes, she dries. And when the kitchen is clean and it’s clear the other three are still wrapped up in discussion, Joel ushers Ellie quietly outside to let them continue undisturbed. They go to her little garage apartment, and he sits in the chair and she perches, cross-legged, on the bed. They have the kind of conversation they used to before Jackson, when they were on the road and it was just the two of them around a campfire.

She tells him about her art, about Shimmer, about Jesse and Dina’s on-again-off-again relationship. He tells her about the time he and Tommy got caught egging his social studies teacher’s house on Halloween, then immediately regrets it when she asks where she might procure some extra eggs.

And then it’s getting late, and Joel tips his head back and closes his eyes and they drift in a comfortable shared silence. When Ellie speaks again, her tone is soft and thoughtful, almost shy.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Cat and me…I know it’s a different time, and we haven’t had…a lot to look to. But…we have you and Ez.”

“Oh…yeah?” Joel croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Ever since Ellie came into his life, his heart might as well be emblazoned in flashing neon pink on his sleeve.

She smirks, fidgeting with the corner of her comforter, eyes downcast. “Yeah. You two set a pretty high bar.”

Joel looks at her, his girl, their girl, and swallows hard around the lump in his throat. 

“I–oh…”

He’s interrupted by the sight of the front door opening back at the house. They watch through the window like nosy neighbors as Cee and Luke emerge onto the porch with Ezra behind them.

“Well, Luke appears to have all his extremities,” Ellie says as Joel draws up alongside her to get a better view, breath fogging the window pane. “And no one’s yelling. That’s a good sign, right?”

“Sure hope so,” he murmurs.

The three of them talk for a minute, then Ezra pulls Cee into a hug, and the young couple turns to leave. Ezra stands on the porch, watching them go with a wave. Then he turns slightly and cocks his head, squinting until he’s looking directly at Joel and Ellie in the garage window. Even at this distance, Joel can make out his partner’s arched brow before he shakes his head and disappears back into the house.

“Oops,” Ellie giggles. “Caught.”

Joel can’t help but laugh a little himself before they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. He goes to answer and finds Cee on the other side, already pink-cheeked from the cold. Luke hangs back, offers a tentative wave from the end of the driveway.

“Hey,” Joel says. “Everythin’ go alright?”

Cee nods, and before he can speak, she’s leaned in and wrapped him in a hug. “Thanks, Joel.”

“It’s, uh…s’no problem. You’re always welcome, y’know. Both of you,” he adds.

He leans in the doorway and watches them disappear around the end of the cul-de-sac. Ellie joins him, tucking herself under his arm in a rare moment of affection, bumping him with her hip.

“Not bad for an old man who’s shit at talking about feelings,” she says.

“There’s hope for me yet,” he agrees.

He says goodnight and returns to the house. Ezra is sitting at the kitchen table sipping a beer, waiting for him.

“Well, out with it, then,” Ezra says, all feigned annoyance, easing back in his chair.

“With what?”

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, surely you’ve earned your ‘I told you so’.”

“I’d never,” Joel smirks. “S’an ‘ugly turn of phrase.’”

“The mark of a gentleman,” Ezra says, thumbnail scratching absently against the ridge of the bottle. “Though I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude for helping me see the light, songbird. I was too quick to judge and too harsh in my estimations. Luke is…an acceptable mate for our birdie. As long as he continues to treat her well, I don’t foresee us coming to blows.”

“Let’s hope it don't come to matin’ for a few years yet, either,” Joel says.

Ezra snorts and stands. He wanders to the sink to deposit the dregs of his beer, thoughtful, eyes darkening.

“But if he so much as mars a hair on our young gem’s blonde head, songbird, mark my words…there will be no force in heaven or earth that could save him from the pain I will inflict.”

It’s an all too familiar sentiment. Joel sighs and moves to Ezra’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“If that happens,” he breathes, letting his lips graze the shell of Ezra’s ear, “I’ll be there with the shovel.”

~*~

The next day, Joel’s evening patrol duty gets cut short by an incoming blizzard, and he comes home early, stomping the fresh fallen snow off his boots, shaking the stuff out of his hair. They’ll be snowed in tonight, but Joel can think of worse ways to spend an evening.

Music drifts from the record player in the living room, something soft; he places it after only a couple of seconds— Songbird . A fire crackles in the fireplace, emitting a soft light and a steady heat that prickles Joel’s wind-burned cheeks. He finds Ezra sprawled on the couch, fast asleep on his back, head pillowed on his arm. His book lays face down and open on his chest, reading glasses having fallen to the floor. His t-shirt has ridden up to reveal a stripe of warm caramel skin and a trailing vine of dark curls peeks over the waist of his jeans, sending a heat up the back of Joel’s neck that has nothing to do with the fire.

That feeling is back, the usual aching want and the new thing, the softer thing he hasn’t named but can no longer deny. He thinks of Ellie’s words and knows instinctively what comes next. He wants this, he wants them , for as long as he has left.

We have you and Ez. You two set a pretty high bar.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he climbs the stairs and goes to the bedroom, heart a frantic staccato in his ears. The little blue box is still in the back of the nightstand drawer. His hand shakes slightly as he pulls it from its hiding place, fumbling to take off the lid, pouring the contents into his palm. The result of a spare moment of exploration on a scavenging run and a whim born of hope, a pair of dark brown eyes, and a cocky, boyish grin.

He clutches it tightly, pausing only for a second to take a breath, steadying himself before he heads back downstairs.

He kneels beside the couch, picking up the reading glasses, folding them carefully and setting them on the coffee table. With the same care, he reaches out and draws a thumb along the crescent scar on Ezra’s cheek, down the line of his jaw, reveling in the familiar scratch of scruff, running over the hidden dimple of his smile.

Ezra stirs at his touch, blinking slowly awake.

“Songbird,” he whispers, a sleepy smile blossoming on his face. “You’ve returned.”

“Hey,” he rasps, throat tight. In the background, the record plays on, the first strains of I know you by heart fill the room. Joel doesn’t know what to say.

“I—“

Ezra waits, patient as always, blinking up at him with a love that makes it hard for Joel to breathe, let alone speak.

“I thought—I found these…a while ago an’ I—“

He’s holding out the offering in a closed fist but he’s so overcome he can’t bring himself to uncurl his damn fingers.

Then Ezra’s hand covers his, gentle but curious, reminding him to relax his grip. He does, revealing two identical gold bands. Joel can’t pull his eyes away from Ezra’s face, hoping to find the answer in the arc of his smile or the tear at his lash line, terrified he will see neither of those things, or maybe terrified he will.

But Ezra doesn’t even see the rings. One fingertip lightly grazes gold, dips in to touch the center of Joel’s palm. Then he’s surging up, hand cupping the back of Joel’s neck and pulling him close, noses brushing, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

He shudders a single word against Joel’s lips, sealing the vow and their future with a kiss.

“Yes.”