#doctorliamsr

[thelightsandtheroses]

Thank you so much for your amazing comment, Lia. It really made me smile!

For You, I Would Ruin Myself | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!Reader Rating: 18+, MDNI as usual. Summary:  Your career probably just ended last night. Stuck in a long standing but now loveless relationship, your priority was your Hollywood comeback and finally getting the recognition you worked so hard for.  Falling for your controversial co-star, Dieter Bravo, and the resulting scandal was not something you ever saw coming. Word Count – 10k Warnings: infidelity, language, a very light sprinkling of smut, drug mentions, alcohol mentions, references and discussions around eating issues and previous eating disorders, jealousy and resentment, mentions of exercise,  one passing reference to previous suicidal thoughts (no detail), un beta’d, age not specified but potential implied age gap if you squint. Look, I don’t know what happened here, something just took me over this weekend and then I had ten thousand words before I knew it. Banners & dividers are not made by me and are from the talented @/saradika

“You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love The slowest way is never loving them enough Do you really want to know where I was April 29th? Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?” High Infidelity - Taylor Swift

Today

Your phone is in genuine danger of overheating. Notification after notification, missed call after missed call roll in. You can’t face it.

You turn over on the sofa you collapsed into last night, bury your face in cushions and half-heartedly scream.

No one can hear you, but somehow it helps.

Your career might be over.

Everything in you says you need to be on this; you need to respond; you need to have your lawyers and your agent and a goddamn crisis consultant probably. Your reputation, your future, it's all at stake right now.

Hollywood won't be kind to you for a public scandal like this, not when you cheat on someone like Alex, not when it's with Dieter Bravo.

You don’t want any of it.

The doorbell rings. Once.

Twice.

Incessantly. There’s only one person who would do that, who would ring the bell in quite that rhythm.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. He’s not going to go away.

You groggily make your way to the door, only half aware you’re still in last night’s clothes, still probably have last night’s makeup on your face which you’ve now smeared even more.

You want to say he’s seen you in worse shape, but you know he hasn’t. You know you’ve never let him see him like this.

Dieter Bravo is standing on your porch with what can only be described as a sheepish expression. He’s in an infuriatingly comfy looking t-shirt you want to bury yourself in and looks like he’s not long crawled out of bed himself. His hair is wild and unruly, how you like it. It makes you think of how he looks up at you sometimes, eyes wild and a salacious grin on his face, all too proud of the way he’s artfully taken you apart with his fingers, his mouth, him.

“So, you’ve seen it then?”

“Baby, I -”

“Hey, congrats,” you say flatly, “I think you’re probably trending on Twitter now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says without preamble, “I didn’t think this would – how are there even photos?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“They’re being -”

“Dieter, it was always going to be different for you. Different rules, right? You can afford to screw up, hell they expect it. I- I had other expectations put on me. I’ve uh, clearly failed to meet them and I’m going to have live with that.”

Dieter touches your arm gently, grazes his thumb up and down your forearm and stares right into your eyes.

“If you ask me to, I’ll deny it,” he says seriously.

“Hard to deny photos, babe.”

“Photoshop, deep fakes, rehearsing a scene. If you need the out, I’ll do it.” And he will, even if it shatters him in the process. And you’re sure it would, because if you could just deny it, it would damn well break you.

“It’s too late for that.”

“I didn’t want this for you, for us,” he says. “Not like this.”

“Makes two of us.” You take a deep breath. “Do you want to come in then?”

What does that song you used to love say: it was only a kiss, how did it end up like this?

It doesn’t start with a kiss, of course. It starts with distrust, with indifference and frustration.

This was your big opportunity, the role you’ve waited for and it happens to be filming in a beautiful location. You’d begged your agent to find you something new, something mature and intelligent and more than the secondary roles you’d played since your unexpected hiatus all thoseyears ago. You needed more than the pigeonhole Hollywood wanted to push a former child star into. You are tired of being seen that way, feel too old for it frankly, you needed to do something new.

Dieter Bravo needed a redemption arc; after Cliff Beasts 6, after his drug habit became public, after his breakup with Annika who seemed a more public stabilising force. You knew his insurance alone for this film had no doubt taken far more of the budget than it should have. You knew he was trouble. You just didn’t care enough to pay attention to that.

You should have known it would end in disaster.

Before - Day 1 of Filming

Alex is calling his manager again, for another audition, another tour, anything to be out there more. You heard him talking to his manager last week, heard the disappointment that both the album sales are drying up and that movie studios aren’t interested right now either. He has a premiere in a few weeks, they’re hoping that will reignite interest because otherwise it’s not looking good.

He’s a better musician than actor if you’re honest.

You’ve known Alex for the entirety of both of your careers. You were both pushed, or pushed yourselves, into the vicious celebrity beast when you were only children. Alex still has that All-American charm, that safety in his eyes you relied on when you were younger. You’ve been together for more than ten years.

 Everyone loves your relationship.

Except maybe both of you right now don’t love it so much anymore. In the past seven months something has changed; a bitterness has crept in, taken root around Alex.

It’s not that he’s a bad person.

You just don’t think he loves you anymore and it’s killing you. The absence of love is a vine, choking your neck and constricting with every breath.

Every compliment feels bitter; like you’ve deliberately chosen to get some lucky breaks and take his opportunities from underneath him. The work you’ve put in, the sacrifices and accomplishments you’ve made are ignored and turned to mere luck.

It doesn’t matter that the positions were once reversed. You had four-year hiatus from Hollywood that he didn’t - his star rose and yours fell. During those years, people forgot your own accomplishments as you became just Alex Wood’s girlfriend. You’ve been playing catchup with your peers in the years since you started working again and now you’re finally getting somewhere. It’s just that you think Alex has a problem with that.

If you’re honest, Alex Wood very clearly does not want to be known as your boyfriend first, and a celebrity second.

Right now, you’re waiting in your trailer, running lines for your first actual filming scenes with Dieter Bravo for this film that means so much to you.

You’ve heard of Dieter for years but never crossed paths before.  You’ve read about him; the good, the bad, the downright ugly.

This film is a big studio drama, a high budget picture; one that your agent thinks will catapult you to award nominations and you understand Dieter’s agent believes will help undo some of the damage of Cliff Beasts and the subsequent period.

You’re worried about this. Too worried.

Dieter seems like a liability. In your chemistry read, he was almost aloof until the cameras started. He seemed utterly uninterested in even really speaking to you, and you were dubious of him. You’re not sure how someone can seem so lazy, so unbothered about everything and then turn out such heartfelt performances. Okay, he hadn’t had as many of those roles recently, but you know they are in his repertoire.

You need this role, you love the script. It means something to you - your character took root in your heart, you want to represent them well. You’re not sure Dieter is in this for the same reasons.

He hasn’t done anything to indicate that. He’s been pleasant, quiet but professional. It’s only day 1 of filming though.

Alex is only here for the rest of the day - he flies home tomorrow morning. He promise he would help you with this scene, but now he’s busy on the phone and shows no sign of wanting to end the call. They’re talking about cross fit now for some reason, so you stand up and decide to see if maybe Dieter wants to run through the lines, or anybody really if he says no. There’s only a short time before you need to go film this after all.

You wave at Alex to say you’re leaving. You want him to stop, want him to care you’re leaving but he just nods.

Before - Day 2 of Filming:

Dieter Bravo is nothing like you expected. You’re sitting in his trailer, running through an updated script for the day’s scene. To your surprise he’s been alarmingly respectful so far. You’d heard that in Cliff Beasts 6 he propositioned pretty much everyone.

“I think for this line,” he says slowly, “we should be facing each other. I know the script says you’re facing away, but it would feel more natural, don’t you think?” You’re amazed he even has suggestions; you’d expected very little interaction with him off camera.

“Are you really going to wear sunglasses inside?” you ask incredulously. Is he hungover, or strung out again, or is he just that pretentious?

“Yes,” he says, “Did you hear what I said?”

You run through the lines, rolling your eyes at Dieter’s answer. “Take them off, Dieter, they’re not in the script and if you want to face me I’ll need to see your eyes.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Just did.”

“Ergh. Look, why did you sign on for Cliff Beasts?”

“Do you know how few films were being made during Covid? I needed to work, needed to do something, get out of my house and a big franchise like that? The money was good., They courted me, they wanted me. I mean, I knew the script was – I knew what the script was. I didn’t think it would all end quite like it did.”

“I bet.”

“So, you saw the documentary then?”

“I might have scrolled past it on Netflix once or twice, might have accidentally played it for a few minutes.”

“None of it worked out in the end. Annika, any of it. You -” He shakes his head.

“I know.” You’ve seen the press, seen the news reports and blogs and just why Dieter needs the comeback himself. Why perhaps the version you’re seeing is not the same man in Cliff Beasts 6, or the man from Hunger Strike. Maybe this Dieter Bravo is an entirely different man.

“So, what did you do for all those years anyway?” he asks suddenly, snapping to attention and focusing right back on you.

“Huh? Lockdown? Well, I-“

“No. You quit the industry right, for years? Well you came back but …” he trails off.

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t consciously quit, but it was the right move for me at the time.”

“Drugs?” he asks without judgement. You can’t blame him for that assumption. You’ve been amazed others haven’t come to the same conclusion.

“No, I dealt with some other forms of self-destruction though.” You’d be dead if you hadn’t walked away then, that’s the truth.

You were young and burnt out and anxious. You thought it was normal to count every calorie, to exercise until your head hurt too much to continue. You thought it was normal to throw up with nerves all the time, to be physically ill due to exhaustion, to criticise every part of your body and let others do it too, to hate your voice, hate your mind. Hollywood could be an insidious bedfellow and you’d let it set root in all your insecurities. You almost died for it.

The only way to survive was to walk away, find a way through to recovery. You’d even gone to college, studied an entire degree in another country and enjoyed the relative anonymity of your life there.

You’d truly missed acting though; missed how it made you feel. You’d been your family breadwinner from an early age and so it hadn’t ever felt like a choice you had ever made for yourself.

After several years away from acting, a lot of therapy and after suitable encouragement from loved ones, you chose to re-enter Hollywood, but on your terms. You made a choice when you never had thought it was even a choice before.

Since returning, you’d been involved several indie films, you even returned to your TV roots for a recurring role as your first break back. You worked your way back into Hollywood’s good graces with small roles, hard work and undeterred focus, and this - this was the result.

“And now?” Dieter asks carefully.

“I’m good, I think.”

“Well, dating that all American boy, you’ve got how many Instagram followers? You must be pleased, your comeback’s working.”

“It’s not like that. I like acting,” you say emphatically, “I like getting to wear another character for a bit, tell their story, y’know? And screw social media!”

“I get that. You’re uh - not what I expected.”

“Same.”

“Hmm, yeah?” He places to an arm on the sofa, his hand so close it’s almost touching your collarbone. He’s wearing rings and some sort of beaded bracelet, loosely tied around his wrist.

“So, um, let’s try it your way,” you say, taking a deep breath. The trailer feels hotter somehow.

When he scoots closer to you on the sofa in his trailer, his thighs lightly touching yours and looks in your eyes, you can kind of see it.

His eyes are crazy beautiful.

You can feel heat swimming at the bottom of your stomach. You notice how his eyes darken, how he licks his lips for just a second.

Fuck, he’s a good actor.

Before - Week 2 of Filming

Alex hasn’t called you in three nights. He said he needed to prepare to write his new album and so he’s been on a trip with his band to Nashville for the past week.

The night before he left, he told you that he was concerned you were trying too hard with this new role, that you needed to be less - less you because everyone would think you reeked of desperation. He told you to relax and smile more.

His words have haunted you ever since.

Maybe you’re not ready for this, you think, maybe you are trying too hard.

You can’t talk to Alex though because he’s too busy with his band to text you back either, it seems. He has enough time to update Instagram though.

You’re not sure if you miss him or not.

“If you weren’t here, what would you be doing?” you ask Dieter as you sit in your trailer, in full costume running through yet another last-minute rewrite. The director was taken by a particular view at sunset and demanded the scene was rewritten to incorporate this completely.

“I’d have another gig,” he replies confidently, “I don’t think I like being out of work too long these days.” You think back to what he said just a fortnight ago about why he took Cliff Beasts 6.

“I meant if you weren’t acting,” you clarify.

“Oh, painting,” he replies without hesitation.

You stare at him with surprise. You hadn’t expected him to answer properly at all; you’d asked Alex the same question once and he’d said he’d always be this way, always have these jobs, just how Dieter had started out his answer.

Dieter had taken your flippant question seriously though and with confidence. Painting? You haven’t thought about that before, hadn’t thought of Dieter doing that before. You can’t help looking at his sizeable hands for a second, wondering what he would like painting.

“You paint?”

“Yes. It’s - it’s all art, all of this. I guess that’s who I am.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, just think about his words.

“What about you? What did you do in your temporary retirement?”

“I wrote a little. I think if I didn’t do this then I’d want to write.” You pause, before adding, “Am I- am I trying too much?” You need to know, and you trust that Dieter will tell you the truth.

“In this role? No. Why?” Dieter looks at you with vague distraction, as though you’ve completely pulled him out of character, away from wherever he was for the moment.

“No reason.”

“Why?” he repeats, pouting at you. Is that - is he flashing the puppy eyes too?

You roll your eyes. “Alex just said something.”

“Oh,” he replies knowingly, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why not?”

“He strikes me as the type.”

“The type to do what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Dieter just shakes his head. “C’mon, then. Show me what you were thinking we should do with this scene.”

Before – Week 3 of Filming:

You’ve learnt a lot about Dieter in two weeks. He favours comfort over style off set; loves a robe and you’ve never seen him wear denim or hard pants outside of when the role requires it. Which as he is playing a former biker gang member is most of the time he’s on camera. It honestly should not be legal for him to look as hot as he does in this role.

He’s surprisingly warm, not as stand-offish as you heard. At least not with you.

Most days you run lines together or drink coffee together in your trailers.

Dieter’s mostly sober now, or at least sober from drugs he tells people. He smokes a lot and you’ve seen him in the hotel bar several times in the evening but he seems in control.

There are no rumours though, no issues. The man is a consummate professional. Not what you expected after Cliff Beasts 6.

You feel like you’ve known him forever.

He might even be your friend. He can only be your friend.

You try and swallow down the way he makes you feel both in and out of character, the way when his hands brush against you at the crafty table it makes your whole body shiver and you’re sure you’re blushing.

You can’t let this go anywhere.

You cannot be that woman.

You try and avoid him for the rest of the day. Run lines with a different cast member, refuse to get a snack for the rest of the day.

Fate has other ideas though when the two of you end up in the same elevator at the hotel. You know you both are on the same floor and that’s at the top floor of this frankly enormous hotel.

“You avoiding me?” he asks casually, standing close to you. The whole elevator is empty but he’s taking advantage of the opportunity to still be as close as possible.

It’s like he knows.

“Dieter, I - we -” You can’t find the words, you don’t know how to say this. What if it’s all in your head and this tension isn’t there? What if it’s just being lonely and pathetic?

“I heard something about you, from Jake the other day,” you say, caught in a wave of bravery. Jake is another of your co-stars, a veteran Broadway actor turned screen actor. He’s playing your brother in the film and the two of you get on particularly well.

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s worked with you before.”

Dieter nods.

“He says that you never run lines or scenes with people. He asked how I got you to agree? He couldn’t believe it when I said I’d just asked and you said yes. So, why did you say yes?”

“Honestly? I wanted to have sex with you - still do.” His bluntness surprises you, but really it shouldn’t. This, right here is Dieter Bravo.

“I’m with someone,” you reply weakly.

“You’re not happy though, are you? I think you want me too. I think you know it.”

How are you only on floor seven? How are there still so many floors to go? Then you’ll be on the same floor and what do you do? Watch him go left and you go right and never talk about it ever again?

“It’s nothing to do with you,” you say as primly as you can. “And we’re very happy.”

“Oh, you look it.”

He is so close to you and you can’t help leaning against him, feeling that solid weight behind you.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to be selfish,” he says in a low voice. “Take it from me.”

“Expert in that, are you?”

”Well, a lot of people would say that I’ve devoted most of my life to some form of hedonism.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“They were some pretty strong drugs, pretty girl.”

“Dieter-”

“Uh-huh, sweetheart?”

“We can’t,” you say. You have Alex, it’s not fair, it’s not right.

“What do you want? Do you want me too?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“When was the last time you were selfish, huh? Did something just for you?” His voice is smooth, low, irresistible. “Why don’t you let me help you? Trust me, I’m very good at this.”

You open your mouth and shut it, unable to argue. You do want him, you know you do. The elevator sounds and the door opens, bringing you out of the moment.

You immediately step out into the hallway and then you freeze.

  You want to say something, but you don’t have a script for this. This is one of those moments; you’re at a bifurcation. Go right and never know what could be, but know it’s the expected pathway. Or follow him, choose something else. Be selfish.  

   You turn and face him, look at his darkened eyes, at the way they’re almost imploring you.

You move just fractionally closer, position your face closer to his. Just a little more and you’ll be kissing. 

He meets your lips first, takes away that first move you’re too hesitant to commit to. He breaks the boundary for you.

He closes his eyes after a second, deepens the kiss.

 This was inevitable.  You think you knew this was going to happen the moment you looked into his eyes on day two.

You follow him to his room.

Before - Week 4 of Filming:

“Shit, ouch,” you say as your hip is pushed into the door handle of your trailer.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, dragging you with him and back to your sofa.

His hands are on your hips, pulling you onto his lap as he runs his fingers over the hem of your top, traces underneath the fabric to the edge of your bra. Thank God you chose to wear your good bra today.

You can feel him, feel the hardness against his trousers. It makes the heat between your legs even worse.

He smirks when you shudder as he moves his hand down your torso, down to the edge of your skirt and you’ve never been more grateful you decided against jeans when you hurriedly got dressed this morning.

It’s not even six am, you’re due to get into costumes soon - too soon.

Time doesn’t feel like it’s real right now. All that matters, all that counts is the feeling of Dieter’s lips on yours, on his fingers slowly working their way down your underwear, circling that bud of nerves and finding just that exact spot, exact motion that makes you gasp.

“That all for me, darlin’?” he asks, smirking salaciously.

Screw going to the costume department. All that really matters is how he brings you to the edge, brings you past the point of no return, knows all of the ways to make you gasp and see white, see stars.  You think he likes watching you like this - observing when the tension in your body releases and you collapse boneless into his arms.

Does Dieter do this on every set? Is this real, you want to ask, or is this just the film, just the characters taking over you both? Where do Dieter and you begin and your characters end?

It feels real to you, it feels so fucking real.

Before - 6 weeks into filming

Alex has a premiere in LA so you fly out to go with him. It’s for a movie he was in last year. He played the brother of the main character in a cult action franchise. It was the last job he seemed to enjoy and the last big offer he had.

You want to stay where you are, want to carry on filming, stay with Dieter, but you don’t. The guilt has been following you around for weeks because every day you’re more and more sure that this is not a fling.

You know Dieter Bravo more than you think you’ve ever known anyone else. It’s not just the sex, it’s not the way you both desperately crave crawling into each other’s skin, desire and need everything about each other. Yes, there’s a physicality to it, but there’s more too. At least for you. You’re afraid to ask him if it’s the same.

You talk though. Not small topics, but real and honest conversations. You talk in your trailers with sex drunk eyes, you talk in your hotel rooms in sweaty messes.

 You feel like you know him, the real him. The Dieter who likes to paint and yes, is a bit of disaster but he feels like he’s yours. He fits your broken edges and you fit against his.

You don’t want to lose him when this movie is over.  You don’t want him to become an acquaintance you just wave to at premieres and make polite small talk with.

You’re terrified it’s different for him though; you know his reputation, the way he’s floated through life without commitments. Annika was his longest public relationship and he’s admitted to you it was his longest relationship overall too. It didn’t seem to end well. What if he doesn’t anything more now?

Dieter isn’t yours to keep, even if you want to.

So you leave Dieter for Alex’s premiere and go and play the dutiful girlfriend.

For all your concerns that Alex resents you now, that the distance between the two of you is insurmountable because your relationship only works when your light is duller than his, he has been in your life for such a long time. He’s interwoven into almost all your highs and lows. Extricating yourself from that is harder than it sounds.

Alex was there when you were ill; when you almost died and needed to leave the public eye. He was there through the unglamorous side of your life; through you crying over a bagel, through hours and hours of therapy. Your recovery had required so much attention and he had never complained, he was always there. He loved you. You were good together. He’s been your only serious love your whole life.

Is the past enough to carry on now though?

You’re not sure if he loves you, you’re not sure if the two of you will survive the year.  Even without Dieter, you don’t think it would be likely.

Alex doesn’t seem happy to see you when you arrive in LA, even though he wanted you with him at the premiere.

 He scowls when the photographers ask for a shot of you, ask about your film, tightens his grip around your waist.

You stop answering questions they ask you, direct them back to Alex with your widest smile.

You try and look at him with adoration, devotion, to make him the star tonight.  You try and ignore how foreign his hands feel on your waist, try and stop comparing them to Dieter’s.

“I love you so much, baby,” he says as you walk into the cinema after the cameras are gone.

You smile a little wider, look at Alex with what’s meant to be devotion. You practice your role.

You’re thinking about Dieter the whole time.

You have missed your home. The small but eclectic bungalow in LA that’s all yours – a renovation project over the years. You’ve missed your bed, missed your shower, missed hearing the same old birds in the morning.

You’ve really missed your coffee machine the most.

Alex hands you a steaming mug of coffee just how you like it when you walk into the kitchen. He’s scrolling through his tablet as you sit at the counter.

“The reviews are good,” he says, beaming as he finally looks at you.

“Yeah? Of course they are.”                                                                  

“This reviewer said my scenes were a standout.” He points at the article on his tablet proudly.

“Alex, that’s great.”

Alex nods and then flicks to another window. “There’s some good photos of us too,” he says, leaning over so you can see his screen.

He clicks onto the next article and his expression changes. It’s about you. The article frames Alex as your long-term boyfriend and how great it was you flew over with your busy schedule to join him. You think that Ollie, your publicist, will be pleased with the press to be honest, will be happy that the article says the movie you’re shooting now is already tipped to be an award winner when it releases. You immediately you clam up at the thought you’ve taken away from Alex’s night, from him. You didn’t want to do that.

His frown has grown the more he reads the article.

“Huh,” he says, ”you look a little different in this one.”

“Different?” you ask in surprise because it looks the same as the photos in the previous article.

“‘S not a bad thing really, baby.”

“What do you mean?”

You look at the photo more closely.

Oh.

 It’s a bad angle, that’s all it is, right? Maybe you should have skipped lunch yesterday, you’re just a little bloated and the dress was tight anyway and - you can’t look at it a moment longer.

“Oh,” you say, “I mean- the dress was -“

“Exactly, don’t worry about it.” Alex kisses you on the cheek and returns to his scrolling.

Before - Week 7 of Filming:

You turn up the speed on the treadmill in the hotel gym. You hate this. You hate this. Since Alex’s premiere, you haven’t missed a day at the gym.

Dieter walks in. He looks infuriatingly casual in his wildly patterned, comfortable trousers and grey t-shirt. Is he wearing Crocs?

If you wore an outfit like that, the paparazzi would have a field day.

“You haven’t come to see me since you got back.” He sounds miserable, like a grumpy toddler.

It’s true, you haven’t. You can’t blame him for those photos, you can’t blame what’s happening between the two of you, but you’ve clearly lost focus. For Alex to say what he did, you know it was really bad.

It’s not just that though - things have clearly got bad again and if that’s the case you don’t want Dieter to see you, not until you’ve sorted things out, not until you’re ready.

You jump onto the edge of the treadmill, one foot straddling each edge of the machine as you press the stop button.

You’re out of breath as you look at him.

“I just needed to get some training in,” you say.

“There’s other types of training,” he replies, a salacious smirk on his face. And that’s clearly the problem, you’ve spent too much time with him and haven’t left yourself enough energy to train and keep yourself in the right shape. This film matters to you, this all matters so much to you.

“Hey,” he says sharply before softly adding, “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“I - I -” You sigh and step off the treadmill. “I just need to take better care of myself.”

“Care of yourself? What do you mean? Why don’t you let me take care of you, huh? You know I can,” he says with a crooked grin.

“Don’t, please.  Look I know this is just a set-hook up for you, okay?” You whisper, looking around the empty gym, “But this all matters to me. This role, this everything. I’m screwing up, I’m not prioritising correctly. I - I can’t make it any worse.”

“So this is just a hook up?”

“It’s not?” You look at him seriously then.

“I mean, yeah, it uh - it’s nothing, casual - yeah.”

“I thought you wanted it that way.”

“When did I say that I wanted that?” Dieter demands.

“I thought it - I didn’t know it was real for you too.”

You started this conversation with the intention of breaking up with him and now it’s turned into the two of you trying to define your relationship? You step off the treadmill, pinch your forehead. This is too much.

 This conversation has derailed, become messy. You thought Dieter wanted to keep things casual, you thought that met his expectations but looking at him now you’re not so sure.

You can’t do this. This relationship, whatever it is, has distracted you, has removed focus.

Your head throbs and you grip the edge of the machine, look down at the floor.

“Hey, forget us for a second. Just tell me what’s really happening with you,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t look at him. “It’s stupid.”

“I had to read the whole script for Cliff Beasts 6 and I still took the part. In my defence, I need the money and the plot made more sense when I was on coke.”

“I just didn’t look right in the photos of Alex’s premiere, I’m probably one pound from the costume department putting a photo of me on a target board because they’ll have to alter everything.”

”Stop right there. You’re fucking hot, okay? And what are you talking about with the costume department?”

“Dieter, while people might be fine with you walking around Crocs, they expect me -”

“Fuck that.”

“Even Alex said -”

“Wait, this is what this is about? Fuck him. Actually, don’t.”

“Dee, this is serious.”

Dieter looks at you carefully. “Oh, this is what you meant, isn’t it? The other methods of self-destruction, you - ”

“Don’t.”

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. Please?”

You take the hand he offers.

Before - Final Day of Filming:

“I can’t believe it’s the last day,” you say as you lie back against the pillows, still gasping. You turn to face Dieter on the other side of the bed, pleased to note his body gleams with sweat like you’re sure your own does.

You don’t want this to end.

You want to see his home in Sherman Oaks, you want lazy mornings and coffee with him. You want to be able to kiss him outside and not care.

Since you came back from Alex’s premiere, since your confrontation at the gym, you’ve finally understood that this isn’t just the movie for him. That it’s real for you both.

It’s real. It’s something.

You trace the lines of the triangle tattoo on his arm, run your fingers down to his wrist, interlace your fingers with his for a second, lean in to kiss him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

He looks at you; his eyes dark and heavy, his hair mussed and unruly. There’s a vulnerability in his expression. You had always expected Dieter Bravo to be someone who knew what he wanted, who would be assertive, confident and maybe even selfish. He can be those things certainly, but his puppy dog expression is a little too well practiced. He is insecure and needy too, has more layers and vulnerabilities than he ever conveys to the public.

“Who says you’ll lose me?”

“When this is over… when we go back home. I don’t, I don’t know how we do this. If you even want to.”

He props himself up on an elbow, turns himself so he’s facing you too. “If I want to?”

“We’ve never defined this, never said if it’s more than a fling while we’re shooting.”

“Oh, you have a lot of flings on set then?”

“No,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat. “Do you?”

“What are you asking me this?” he replies, a little defensively if you’re honest. Of course he’s had flings on set before, you know he has,

Is this real? That’s the only question you need an answer to, that’s what you really mean.

“What happens next?” Close enough.

“Well,” Dieter says, leaning over to kiss your shoulder, pepper kisses up to your jaw, “that’s up to you.”

“Me?”

“I can’t put this - this burden on you. If what we’re doing right now was exposed, I’d ride it out no problem. But you - sweetheart, they’ll ruin you. I don’t want you to - I don’t want to destroy your life by being me. And I will.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you say bravely, “maybe I’d let you. Maybe I want you to.”

There’s an underlying safety in your responses, in Dieter’s words. You have a feeling if you tell Dieter right now that after this shoot ends, you never want to be with him again, he’ll accept it. He might not like it, you hope he wouldn’t like it, but you know he’d accept it.

That’s why you’ll continue this, you know that.

You think of the way he was with you was after realising why you were in the gym following Alex’s comments and that disastrous premiere. He hadn’t judged you, hadn’t tried to tell you that everything in your head was wrong, argued that you looked a certain way. He knew what battles with internal demons were like, so he knew how to support you.

He never actively draws your attention to his efforts to ensure you eat each day, that you don’t overexercise, but you know what he has been doing. Plus, he made his own point about his feelings on the situation in his own very Dieter Bravo way. With his mouth, with his hands, with him.

You know this situation should feel dangerous and wrong, but it’s the safest you’ve ever felt, the most real you’ve ever been.

“I don’t want this to end,” you say after a moment. “But I don’t want to ruin my life, ruin my career either.”

“So we won’t. Won’t end it, won’t ruin you.”

“‘S not that simple.”

“It can be. We can make it that simple,” he says, moving so that he’s over you, so that he can trace kisses back down to your throat, down to your breasts.

“I need to talk to him when I get back, need to end things, do this right.” Or more right at least, you know what you’ve been doing hasn’t exactly been kind. It doesn’t matter if you’re not in love with Alex anymore, it doesn’t matter if the barriers between you are insurmountable, he deserves an explanation.

“Really?” he asks, an apprehensive expression on his face.

“Can you give me some time to do that?” you ask. “Then - then we can do this without the guilt, right? Without wrecking any of our lives? Just give me a little time?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I can do that.”

He meets your lips again, kisses you hard and says everything neither of you can say with his actions instead.

Before - 1 Week After Filming:

It’s like Alex knows what’s coming. Ever since you came home from the shoot, he’s wanted to make things right.

“I was an asshole to you after my premiere,” he says to you when he picks you up from the airport, “I’m sorry. Really sorry”

You want to say more, you want to say his words were dangerous and did he want you to relapse, was that his secret unspoken intention? You want to tell him that his jealousy has broken the love between you both beyond repair. You want to scream and ask whether he realises that he’s only happy when he’s more successful than you? You want to analyse and pinpoint when the two of became so separate; mark it on a calendar, file it as evidence.

Things improve though. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because neither of you have booked any jobs right now, both of you are in that quiet period between auditions and confirming your next roles where every day is a temporary vacation. They’ve always been some of your favourite times with Alex before. When things are good with you both, they’re good.

It can’t last.

Dieter Bravo is the leading man in your mind all the time. You email him, text him, call him, sneak over to Sherman Oaks when you can. You even add him to your google alerts, you don’t want to lose sight of him.

You haven’t seen him since shooting wrapped and you feel unmoored. If you thought that the absence and ending the film would dull your desire for him, make you rethink matters then you were wrong.

You need to find a way to end things with Alex, to move forward. You want to move on.

It’s your birthday and despite your desire for a quieter celebration, somehow your team have organised an overly lavish event.

It’s good to see old friends from your hometown though, old co-stars you haven’t caught up with for a while.

It’s just it’s midnight and your feet hurt, and you’re exhausted and tired and really you want to go home.

You want to sneak over to Sherman Oaks and spend the night with Dieter.  You’d like to have him standing next to you right now, have his hands on your waist. That’s your birthday wish.

Instead, it’s Alex with his arms around you and then he’s speaking and you’re only half-listening, only half-there because you can see Dieter in the corner of your vision.  He’s standing with Jake and he’s here, he’s here and you want to go over to him, but you can’t.

You’re not paying attention, don’t realise the room is so quiet until you notice Alex is on his knee and no - no.

Dieter looks away from you.

It’s the worst place, it’s the worst time. It’s the wrong guy.

There are too many people. They’re staring expectantly and this is your nightmare. If Alex knew you, he’d know that. He’s smiling up at you almost triumphantly though.

Why, you wonder, why now?

Whatever happens, whatever you do next is probably going to be one of the worst things you’ll ever do to one of them.

You giggle nervously, eyes darting around such a crowded room who are all cheering you on.

“Baby?” Alex asks, a sudden look of panic on his face.

He looks younger for a moment. You’re instantly taken back to when things were different. When Alex fought for you, supported you, when he held you hand when you cried after therapy appointments. It was a time you’re sure anyone else would have left you in, but he loved you and looked at you with love. You remember how secure he made you feel, how safe when the world was terrifying and all you wanted was to hide away.

Because you’re a coward, because you’re guilty, because you’re scared you say yes when you should say no. The word constricts around your throat immediately, you can taste bile in your mouth.

Alex kisses you as you see Dieter walk away.

“Please, please talk to me,” you plead, standing in Dieter’s porch.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say, is there?” He looks terrible; he’s wearing a shabby robe over what look pyjamas, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other leaning against the doorframe.

“I panicked. There was a crowd.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything,” he exclaims bitterly, shaking his head.

“I told you what I want, I asked you to give me time.”

“Time to break up with him, princess, not fucking marry him!”

“I am not marrying him.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

You wipe furious tears away and shake your head. “I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. ”

“Are you gonna string me along forever? I mean, dammit!  Are you still fucking him ? Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me which of the two of us is the one who can make you cum the best, huh?” He throws his glass tumbler in his hallway. “It’s like Annika, you, you’re both the same. I was fine before, I was fine before she got me into my feelings and you - you! You know you’re not that special. I could - I could go out and I could find someone else. Someone who will break up with their boyfriend, better yet someone who doesn’t have one!”

“Dee, I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m just your idiot, aren’t I?” he asks helplessly, “It really fucking sucks being on the other side of this you know. Karma is a bitch.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll make it right.”

“Yeah? Do me a favour, don’t call me before you do.”

”Okay,“ you say in defeat. That’s fair, you can’t do this to him. You can’t do this to yourself either.

As you turn away to leave, he grabs your arm, pulls you back.

“Hey, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he says gently, softly saying your name to sooth you. “Don’t go, don’t leave like this. I’m an asshole, you knew that already though. I’m just - that killed me last night. Don’t go. Please.”

So you don’t.

Before - Last Night:

Alex is staring at you like you’re a stranger. Every version of you he held in his mind has just died behind his eyes.

It doesn’t matter for a second, it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t love you, that your relationship is dead already because you’ve hurt him, humiliated him. You never wanted to hurt him like this.

This is a nightmare. You swallow nervously and pinch your leg, remind yourself you’re still here, you’re still breathing.

“Well,” he says to you with a cruel smile, “you really wanted to lose the America’s sweetheart label, huh?”

“Don’t,” you say carefully, clutching your bag tighter to your stomach like somehow the flimsy thing will shield his words.

How has this happened? How has this got out so quickly? You had a plan.

Five minutes ago, everything was fine, everything was normal. You were at the premiere of the movie you’d had a secondary role in before your movie with Dieter. It felt like such a long time ago since you had been on that set, but it was great to be back with the cast and crew again.

This was always going to be your last public event with Alex. You’d told him you needed to have a serious talk this weekend. You’d even messaged Ollie, your publicist, and told him to prepare for the communications, the statement about what would be your amicable break up.

 It wasn’t supposed to go like this though.

The article, though that might be a generous term for it, wasn’t live while you were walking on the red carpet but by the time you entered the movie theatre, it felt like everyone had seen it.

Your phone has been ringing incessantly and everyone is still staring at their phones, then you and then back to their phones.

You want the ground to swallow up.

You’re just grateful you’re in the lobby, away from prying paparazzi and cameras.

It’s posted on a Alex fan blog - one who wasn’t an official journalist, who wouldn’t have contacted your publicist for a comment and therefore didn’t give an opportunity to your teams to squash the story, Their only focus, only priority was Alex. Now you’re their biggest enemy, so now they’ve exposed you.

It’s more than just a veiled rumour, an allegation, there are photos. Grainy screenshots of what looks like CCTV footage of you and Dieter at the hotel on location, you’re kissing in the hallway - how could you have been so careless, who would have given these to the blogger? There’s a photo of you walking down Dieter’s street that day after your birthday party too, a photo of you hours later with mussed hair and a slight mark on your neck and - you can’t look at any more of them. This has been weeks in the making.

“How could you do this?” Alex asks, a furious and heart-breaking mix of anger of hurt on his face, in his voice.

“Alex, this isn’t the place,” you reply quietly.

“No, it is the place. You fucked Dieter Bravo? How long? How long it’s been going on? It looks, it looks like -”

“Can we please go talk somewhere else. I want to talk to you, I want to-”

“Fuck that. Fuck what you want. Clearly you’re getting enough of that.”

“Alex, please!”

“I don’t know you anymore. Who are you? We used to make fun of guys like him.”

“He’s - don’t. He’s not what you think, he’s  - please, don’t say that. You don’t know him.”

“Well you clearly do, huh? You know, you always want to come across like such a nice girl, but it’s fake, right? You’ll do anything for that Oscar, to get famous! You’re a good pair, the drugged-up sell-out and the ambitious slut!”

“Alex, stop! Please, just stop.”

“Hurts, right? Being exposed like this in front of everyone. Why? Why would you do this to us?”

“It wasn’t mean to happen, but you and I know we’ve been broken for a long time and I just -” You tail off, not sure where to go from there.

“You said yes. When I proposed you said yes.”

“It was in front of everyone, what other option did you give me?”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it. I stuck by you when you were had nobody, were nobody. I was there with you when you were a suicidal anorexic wreck. I supported, thick and thin, baby. I would have married you. But, hey, I’m not Dieter Bravo so I guess that’s not enough.”

It would have hurt less if he had hit you. How could he bring that up, hurt you that way? Mention the parts of your past that he knows your team have kept out of the public for years. For a second you think see regret on his face before it hardens to something you don’t recognise.

”Nah, I’m done. Doll, you really are the fucking worst,” he says.

“You know what, baby, so are you,” you reply, acid on your tongue and a shrug in your shoulders.

You need to get out of here right now. You can’t hold it together one minute more.

You turn around and push your way through the shocked crowd.

You think you might have just left your career in the lobby with Alex.

Today:

You can’t have this conversation in yesterday’s clothes. You leave Dieter in your living room while you go and change, wash your face, try to do something with your hair.

It’s a marginal improvement.

When you emerge, Dieter is still there. Part of you thought he might have left already. He walks from your kitchen back to your living room with a steaming cup of coffee and a granola bar.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” he asks, handing you the mug and the bar. You don’t want to eat, can barely bring yourself to even think about drinking but Dieter’s face says he won’t let it go until you at least try.

You take a sip, grimace, put the cup down and take a bite of the granola bar. You are surprisingly hungry, despite the sick feeling in your stomach. When even was the last time you ate?

“What do you know?” you ask after a moment. “Did you see - how did they even get pictures? How are there even pictures?”

“I‘ve seen the article. I uh, I saw the video from last night too. Alex was - he definitely got some attention.” An unpleasant expression crosses Dieter’s face.

“Oh.” You didn’t know that had been filmed, no doubt someone had uploaded phone camera footage, or live streamed it, and it had gone viral by now. It makes sense.

You think of Alex’s angry outburst and scowl. You haven’t even told Dieter everything about that yet, your team had kept all of that out of the public domain for years.

“Fuck him for doing that in front of everyone.” His eyes are angry, scanning you over like Alex’s words could have left a physical mark.

“I humiliated him, Dieter. We humiliated him.”

“Do you regret this - regret me?” he asks, looking away from and running a hand through his hair.

“No.” You don’t. You can’t regret him. He’s changed your life, opened you up to something you never knew you needed, never realise you didn’t have.

“Our agents, publicists, all of them are talking. I think maybe the lawyers too because of the photos,” he says after a moment, “I guess they’ll come up with a plan, let us know what’s next, how we manage this. I find it’s best to leave them to that, we can - we can just be here.“

“Right.” You’d almost forgotten you were a commodity, not your own person in Hollywood.

“Hey, we’re not ending this, okay? Right? Unless -”

“No, no,” you say, panic rising because you can’t go through this and lose him too. You just can’t.

You pull him closer to you, let him wrap your arms around you, slip your hands under his t-shirt, up his back. There’s something comforting in his warm skin, in the way you can fit together.

You kiss him, gently at first. He meets your kiss fiercely, saying everything neither of you can with his lips, with his tongue instead. You can almost taste the fear and desire and apologies between the two of you. There’s something else though too.

He pulls away first, takes your hands in his. “Alright then. Forget everyone else, we’re doing this.”

You meet his lips again, pull him closer to you. Your world has just flipped upside down but he’s here and he still wants you and oh, how you want him too.

You need him.

Just as you start to guide him to the sofa, to find the safest, most basic language between the two of you, you hear a slam behind you.

You spin around in horror, only to find Becca standing there, a tray of coffees in one hand and an unamused expression on her face.

“Well, you two have absolutely ruined my week, haven’t you? Do you know how many calls from Ollie I’ve had since last night?  I have never heard a man simultaneously sound so angry and so upset before and I actually watched Hunger Strike, Dieter. ”

If your relationship with Dieter had ever sounded romantic to you , all ideas of that quickly fade once it’s reduced to arguments and fierce debate between two teams.

Neither side can agree on a statement, if there should be a statement, on how to present the two of you, or not.

What both sides can agree on though is that you both royally screwed up by not telling anyone in your respective teams that this was happening. They also agree that the publicity for you is a lot worse. For Dieter, it seems to have weirdly improved his publicity with some journalists instead, except with Alex fans. They are not fans of Dieter right now, but they probably hate you more.

There are a few articles though, Dieter’s publicist says, that are asking if this is a relapse, if Dieter is back on his vices of sex and hard drugs, if perhaps a rehab stay is needed. It all supports his rock n’ roll image though, the longstanding bad boy actor.

“I’m way too sober for this conversation, it’d honestly be better if I was still coked out,” Dieter says by way of justification, “And if you can’t tell, I don’t need rehab because I’m sober, okay?” He looks for a second like maybe he regrets this and then his eyes meet yours and he settles.

His publicist seems to consider that Dieter’s actions while sober are only marginally better than if he’d relapse. Perhaps that’s what they expect of him. The thought chills your bones because this is his team. Surely they have to believe in him.

“Your co-star, Jake, has reached out, said he’s willing to support you both if the two of you want it, and only if the two of you do. He’ll need to know our angle of course first to decided what, and if, he’ll say anything. It’s good to know there could be support. I think his team are pretty pissed,” Dieter’s publicist says from the computer screen. All you can think is that  Jake is an angel.

You never thought you’d face a scandal like this.

“I don’t know if that will help, but it’s good to know. Look, this will pass, all of this” Ollie says to you kindly, precariously balanced on an ottoman in your living room that was only ever intended as decorative. “Tomorrow, next week, there’ll be another break up or inappropriate social media post, or something and they’ll move on. The important thing is to limit damage right now until then. If you had told me this was happening, we could have prepared, could have had plans in place. ”

“I did tell you I was breaking up with Alex this weekend.”

“You missed out that it was because you were hooking up with your co-star.”

“I may have omitted some minor details.”

Dieter coughs at that, meeting Ollie’s resulting scowl shamelessly.

“Oh, yeah?” Ollie says, looking back at you and shaking his head.

Dieter has an arm snaked around your side, but you notice his other hand is twitching, tapping the edge of your sofa impatiently. He needs to smoke, needs a moment away from this.

“Look, let’s take five, come back and decide the plan and just ride this out, right?” you say, looking at Dieter with what you hope is a meaningful expression.

Ollie nods stiffly, disconnects the video call and walks into another room. Usually that’s your study or sometimes yoga room, but today it’s Ollie’s crisis room. You half expect to see old conference phones, flip-boards and sharpies if you walk in there.

You point towards your garden with Dieter, making the universal symbol for cigarette.

Once you’re both in your garden and alone, you exhale. Dieter immediately lights a cigarette, inspects it carefully.

“I fucking wish i had something stronger,” he mumbles.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “No one has asked you if you’re okay. They’ve asked me, you’ve asked me, but no one asked you.”

“This is - not an issue for me. I’m pissed off that they’re - the shit they’re saying about you. Look I’ve had all the bad publicity, this is nothing to me. I mean it’s a little ironic that certain people jump to conclusions I’ve relapsed, the one time I haven’t. Thing is, it all goes with my public image now, right?”

“But if it’s not true -”

“You know it, I know it, the people who matter know it.” He takes a drag of his cigarette. “I didn’t want the story out like this though. Ollie says you’re already losing jobs, losing sponsorships,” Dieter says sadly.

“He also said it won’t last, remember?.”

You reach out to take a drag of his cigarette and lean against him for a moment.

You stare out at the lush, all too manicured lawn ahead of you. You know what the days and weeks ahead look like; the crisis management, the careful words and avoided cameras.

Weeks ago, Dieter had told you that this would ruin your life if it came out the wrong way, that he would ruin your life, and you said it sounded like a challenge. Even so you knew it was bravado, that was why you’d both agreed not to expose yourselves like this. This is a nightmare scenario; you feel a mix of humiliated and angry and hurt right now.

You don’t regret him though, you can’t. And even if you have ruined everything, ruined your career and all that hard work, for him? Maybe that’s okay, maybe that’s not so bad a price.

For a moment you wonder what today would be like if you hadn’t taken that role, if you and Dieter had never met. Would Alex have proposed? Would you still be feeling like your loveless relationship was slowly destroying you, like you would never be good enough? Would you have even realised how numb and sad and alone you were, how much you minimised yourself for others?

If Dieter’s here though, maybe it will all be worth it.

He wraps an arm around your waist.

“I’m not worth this,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder.

“You are.”

He is.

[heartpascal]

lock it when you leave

▹ — joel miller x platonic!f!reader + tommy miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: part three of if the door wasn’t shut — tensions rise in jackson, leaving you scrambling to find your place.

▹ — a/n: guys i’m not all that happy with this part!!! it feels kinda … filler-y. but we are getting somewhere!!! i have ideas for part 4 :’) let me know what you guys think!! (if you guys wanna be tagged in future parts let me know)

▹ — warnings: angst, guns, fire, murder, there’s a baby in this one, blood, arguments, infected + raiders, father figure miller bros

▹ — tags: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @pedropascalsrealgf @faceache111 @livvy256 @dizzyforyou @hiphopdancer101universe @aphrcdites @axionn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @coolchick333 @hufflepuffriver @kobenio @dorothleah @moonygremlin @tomorrowseverything @martinsmomo @teenagetragediesforeveryone @dksjskx @inkiqayo @fariylixie0915 @jbcalway @ipadkidsworld @coldwcter @rhyanna6012 @gimalo135 @kimpineeeeeeee @jerseygirllll @dreamerglassesgirl @g0bble @firsttimewriter92 @coldheartedmar @cheneyq @dilfsaremyfavourite @sakurarukas @brilliantopposite187 @ilovemydinoboi @chiogarza @lockleywife @famoussuitcasepiebagel-blog @doctorliamsr @dustyroper28 @daffodil0darling @marchstrilogy @cappucinolia @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr @slut4timotheechalamet

masterlist | PART ONE | PART TWO

howl’s song association!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Four months ago, when the wound was still fresh, you never would’ve thought that you’d be here. Stood comfortably in the Miller’s home, stirring food over the stove as Tommy and Maria fussed over the newborn of the household in their living room.

In fact, you would’ve bet against this exact scenario, certain that you’d never let yourself get close to another Miller ever again. It was the only logical thing for you to do — after all, that wound had been angry and sore, the blood still wet.

You wouldn’t say it had healed, not even close, really. It still throbbed, white hot to the touch, especially when you thought of Joel and Ellie, but you were managing. Coping. It helped, having Tommy and Maria around, far more than you had ever expected. They were kind, softened from years of sanctuary, and you hated to admit it, but you cared about them.

The feeling had snuck up on you, which was ridiculous, considering that was exactly how it had happened before. Though, perhaps you had been less apprehensive the first time around, considering the way you flinched away from their care in the beginning. You should’ve expected it, should’ve fought against it with everything in you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

This was the reminder of just how human you were. Despite all the pain, the suffering and anger and scars against your skin, you craved connection. You wanted people to care about you, wanted your life to have meaning, even though it seemed to only end in your own heartbreak.

You just hoped this would be different.

A childish thing, to hope, in a world like this one, but that’s what you were, right? You were allowed to be childish, to let that hope build back up until it was inevitably knocked down, reduced to rubble. People seemed to appear from the strangest of places, coming to help you scavenge through the debris for something to rebuild the foundations with.

That’s what Tommy and Maria had been to you — fitting, really, considering what Tommy had done in the time before cordyceps. They had spent time with you, helping you build up that hope for something better, something kinder.

You hated to do it, hated to lean back into relationships, but you trusted the two of them more than you were willing to admit to anyone — even to yourself. With their own child now in the world, you just hoped that you wouldn’t get in the way.

Maria’s drawn out sigh shook you from such thoughts, and you raised an eyebrow at her where she stood beside you, her back resting against the kitchen counter. “What’s up with you?” You ask her, turning your gaze from her slight smirk back to the food, where you started to fish on to plates. It was a good job she’d caught your attention — much longer and the three of you would’ve been eating charred scraps.

“Oh, nothing.” She responded, and looked sharply to you when you scoffed a slight laugh. “What?” She asked, grinning.

“That was the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard, and I’ve known Joel for about as long as I can remember.” You told her, almost absentmindedly, not thinking too much on the joking comment until after you’d already spoken it.

Maria’s smile got small, and she took over the garnishing part of dishing out dinner, the part that you still didn’t understand. Why put it on there if it didn’t need to be? And when Tommy was definitely going to pick it off?

“Don’t judge me,” Maria told you, saying your name in what was almost a scolding voice, “Tommy’s just putting the baby to bed, he’ll be in in one sec.” She said, after you had moved to pick up his plate, too. You raised a hand, grabbing her plate and leaving her to bring the cutlery, rolling your eyes when she scolded you.

“Calm down, Maria, it’s only been a week. Let me help.” You said to her, when she continued to lecture you on just how capable she was, despite the way she held onto the walls and doorframes with one hand as she walked, the other holding onto her now slightly flatter stomach.

“She giving you a tough time?” Tommy asked, having settled the baby, and hearing Maria’s rants.

“Isn’t she always?” The two of you shared an amused look when Maria immediately jumped on the defence, only relenting with a roll of her eyes when Tommy leant down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey, don’t forget who just got you all your new clay, kid!” Maria told you, as Tommy left to grab his own plate from the kitchen, and grinned when your shoulders sagged in defeat. “How’re the mugs coming?”

You shrugged idly, scraping food onto your fork.

“You talked my ear off about those damn mugs, and now you’re quiet?” Tommy questioned as he dropped down with a huff on the couch, stretching back slightly.

“That was just to annoy you.” You told him, fighting a grin when he sat up with something close to an incredulous expression on his face. You wouldn’t lie, though, it warmed your chest slightly that Maria was asking about such things when you knew how exhausted she was. Painfully, you realised that she reminded you more and more of Tess. “They’re… good. Kinda. Improving.” You said to Maria after a brief pause, before shoving your food into your mouth.

“Well, we could do with some more. Only got the two, and you’ll need one. Plus some for guests.” Maria said between bites of food, ignoring the look Tommy shot at her for the guests comment. You weren’t stupid — you knew that she was talking about Joel and Ellie. They didn’t really have other guests, after all. Any other socialising was done in town, even town-related meetings, usually going down early in the morning in the hall.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You responded, feeling something shiver down your spine bitterly as you thought of Joel and Ellie coming here.

Usually, you pretended they didn’t. You liked to think that Tommy and Maria’s house was untouchable, impervious to anyone who wasn’t you, them, or their new baby. You saw the remnants of their other guests, of course, like when you’d come in the morning, and there would be four plates in the sink. Or when Ellie’s coat still rested on the coat hooks. But the couple’s presence felt comforting, and you weren’t willing to give it up. Not right now, at least.

You refused to let Joel take anything else away from you. He didn’t have the right — he never did. It wasn’t like he was your father! Joel had made that much clear from the start, back when it had just been you, him and Tess.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“She doesn’t have anyone, Joel, what else was I meant to do?” Tess asked, her words biting as she yelled them toward her partner.

“The last thing we need is a kid to take care of. Send her to FEDRA.” Joel responded, his voice loud, but not quite a shout. He was trying to be the voice of reason here, not the asshole. Looking after some child they didn’t ask for, it could only end badly.

What if somebody came looking for you? Somebody with a vengeance? What if you turned out to be some asshole kid who killed them both? What if they couldn’t get the rations to feed you? What if—

“What? So she can get shot in the street in a few years? Joel, she should get a choice.” Tess bargained, unsure herself as to why she felt the need to defend you so much.

She knew Joel was right — knew that it wasn’t practical or realistic to keep you in their shitty apartment, but some part of her just knew. You needed the two of them, and in the middle of the apocalypse, was it really too difficult to do one good thing? Tess wasn’t saying it to be a hero — but god knows that too many kids had died already. She wasn’t trying to give Joel somebody else to look after, she was just trying to help.

Tess wanted to be able to look you in the face, and tell you that this was your chance. They didn’t turn up often in the apocalypse, and she wanted to urge you to take it. Was that too much to offer? Just an opportunity to live a bit longer, to survive in a world that strived for your death?

“Tess…” Joel sighed heavily, turning his head to look where you were sat back against their couch cushions, knees drawn to your chest as you ducked your head, clearly pretending that you hadn’t been listening the whole time. “Okay, fine. Let the kid stay.”

Tess nodded at him, the two of them moving apart as she headed towards where you were sat, something heavy and daunting resting on her shoulders as she looked at you, foolishly hoping she wouldn’t live to regret this.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Things were getting tense in Jackson.

You knew that things had been growing restless for a while, but it had gotten worse, somehow beginning to feel tangible in the very air you breathed.

Two separate raiding attacks had come in the past three weeks, which was definitely cause for concern. The first hadn’t gotten far enough to reach you where you had slept in your shop, and it was only the morning after as the dead were buried that you found out it happened.

The second was not so easy — waking you up in the middle of the night, which was an easy task, considering how light your sleep had become at the reminder that the walls around Jackson weren’t impenetrable. You woke up to the sounds of yelling, the roaring of flames, which sounded far too close to comfort. It was only when you rushed outside of your shop, clay carving tool clutched in your hand, that you knew for certain it was raiders.

They’d gotten deep into the town, which was a shock to the system, making it feel like cold water was running down your back. People were running on the street, gunfire sounding from further out, by the wall. The raiders seemed to be multiplying, but you knew they couldn’t be more than a party of twenty. No way would any of the guards miss a group bigger than that, right?

“Get back inside!” One of them yelled towards you, a rifle sitting stiffly in his hand, and a helmet resting on his head. He didn’t have a very commanding voice. You stayed where you were, frozen.

He approached, fingers tightening on his gun, and you could’ve sworn that your heart was beating so fast in might explode. The blood was rushing in your ears, and you felt sick for a moment, before the cold wash of reality came over you, in the form of the raider yelling so harshly in your face that you could smell his breath.

You blinked harshly at him, and swallowed down the bile in your throat as he moved to raise his gun toward your head. It felt like something had snapped in you, and you were launching yourself at him in less than a second, reminiscent of a barely-there memory back before Ellie was around.

Your clay tool hadn’t been very sharp, so it had taken force to push it into his neck when he fell down under your sudden weight. You tried not to think about the pressure you’d forced on it as you shoved his head down into the pavement when he tried to lift it in some form of defence, likely trying to smack his helmet into your face. His hands reached up, pushing you away with a burst of strength — what you hoped was the final burst of adrenaline.

Loose stones on the ground scraped up against your arm, drawing the tiniest bits of blood as you skidded across the floor where he had shoved you. When he turned his gaze to you, you bared your teeth, snatching his gun and holding it firmly away from you when he reached for it, pulling the trigger.

Glass shattered behind you, and you tugged the gun until it came away from his grasp, and he reached up, pulling the tool from where it stuck out of his neck.

The gun was firmly in your hands, aimed at him, before he could even raise the tool towards you, the sudden rush of blood from his body only rendering him weaker.

Your name had been called a second later, and you scrambled away from the raider as gunshots slowly faded out, leaving behind scared shouts and the blaze of the still-burning fire. You looked up to see Tommy, rushing towards you and tugging you up from the ground the moment he reached you.

“Shit,” He muttered, holding your arms tightly as he let his gun hang limply at his side. “Are you okay? You hurt?”

You shook your head, still grasping onto the stolen gun, and watched him sigh in something close to relief, before he turned his gaze to the shattered front of your shop.

“Come on.” Tommy urged then, nodding his head and only releasing you when you made to follow him, and he grasped onto his own gun as you began the trek to his and Maria’s home.

When you got there, Tommy shoved you inside and quickly shut the door behind him, taking the gun from your hands and resting it against the wall by the coatrack. He did the same with his own gun, a moment later.

“Maria!” You called, your voice scratchy as it left your throat. The baby was crying, you could hear it the moment you stepped inside, and you moved straight into the kitchen, finding Maria stood there, holding onto the baby and shushing, as she paced back and forth.

“Oh, thank god, you’re both okay.” She sighed out, approaching her husband and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. The worry lines on her forehead were visible, showing how stressed and anxious she truly was. “You hurt?” She asked the two of you, raising her voice to be heard over the crying baby she rocked in her arms.

“No, we’re alright.” Tommy answered, his words sounding close to relief despite the way his muscles remained tight, tense.

“Shit, Tommy,” Maria swore, looking at a gash that was trickling blood down his arm. “We gotta get you patched up. Would you mind?” She directed the last question to you, lifting her arms slightly to show off the crying baby held in them.

“Uh— sure.” You agreed, anxiously, because despite the fact it had been a few weeks since the baby was born, you had continued to keep your distance. You followed Maria into the living room, where she sat you down on the couch and placed him in your arms, as you tried to mirror the shape of her own.

He was loud, and heavier than you had expected, but you let him rest heavily in your left arm, with your right just resting gently against his side, finger running over the pyjamas he was dressed in.

“You two gonna be alright?” Tommy asked, nodding when you did, and following Maria to the upstairs bathroom, where their personal first aid kit was kept.

You rocked your arms the slightest bit, trying not to release the sigh of relief when the baby finally began to settle down, the loud sounds fading and leaving behind a tense silence over Jackson. When all the loud noises faded, you were left with a slight ring to your ears, likely from where that raider had fired his gun right beside them, aimed at your shop.

You couldn’t imagine how Maria had felt — she was a protector, and it must’ve killed her to stay behind with the baby whilst her husband left to help out the town. She was still recovering from giving birth, the event taking its toll, especially in the apocalypse, where the painkillers she’d had during her first birth weren’t available. Medical professionals were hard to come by, with only two residing in Jackson, neither specialising in things such as pregnancy or labour.

Luckily, they knew more than enough about it to give Maria the best chance at survival she could get. You don’t know how Tommy might’ve reacted if she hadn’t gotten through the birth. You didn’t want to think about it.

“Tommy? Maria?” A voice yelled, the front door banging open and causing the baby to begin his wailing once again. “Shit, sorry—” Ellie cut herself off as she entered the room, shock evident on her face when she saw you sat in there.

“They’re upstairs.” You answered stiffly, referring to her earlier yells, and you began rocking the baby boy once again, trying to settle his cries. You ran a gentle finger down his forehead, to the tip of his nose, shooting Ellie a nasty look when she just continued to stare at you.

“Joel went to find you.” She said, after a few moments, lowering her voice as you finally got the baby to begin settling, your arms tense as you tried to keep him as still as possible. You looked up at that, eyebrows creasing as you regarded her, saw the way her fingers fiddled together, pulling at the zip of her jacket.

“Why?” You questioned, confused for a moment. After all, Joel hadn’t cared much about leaving you behind when the two do them left Jackson, so why would he care about your whereabouts while you were here? “I can take care of myself.” You said, when she didn’t respond to your question, and you felt your jaw tighten when Ellie just rolled her eyes.

“Joel did what he did to take care of you. Why can’t you see that?” Ellie asked, voice hardening as she looked at you, lounged against the couch, holding Joel’s nephew in your arms, whilst he was on there searching for you.

You sat up slightly, a deep crease forming between your brows at the fire in Ellie’s words. It made somerhing uncomfortable stir in your chest, tightening and getting hotter as you looked at her expression.

“I didn’t ask him to do that. I wanted to come with you both. He took that from me, Ellie, he left me behind.” You said, feeling like you were turning in circles, beginning to feel dizzy and not getting anywhere. You strained to keep your arms somewhat relaxed, to keep your hands still where they wanted to clench into fists.

Her next words were quieter, and you struggled to hear them over the ringing still in your ears, drowning out the blazing world around you. She spoke again, her eyebrows furrowing to match your own, “You’re being unfair, you said you didn’t want to carry on!”

“I said I wanted to go home!” You said, voice raising for a moment, before you quietened your tone, only for the sake of the baby you held, who had already been disturbed enough tonight. “And in case you didn’t notice, Ellie, that was impossible. I lost everyone, don’t you get that?”

She shook her head, her cheeks going red as she grit her teeth, “Of course I fucking get that! You’re not the only one who lost people.”

“That’s not what I said!” You responded, feeling increasingly heated the longer the conversation went on, “But that trip cost me everything. So yeah, maybe I didn’t want to carry on. But I would’ve. I would’ve followed you two anywhere.”

“You got to stay here, in this actual fucking town, with actual fucking people and food and— and water!”

“People who are strangers! I was stuck here, in a town with things I don’t understand, people I don’t recognise, and the only ones I trusted left me here.” You spat back at her, wishing she could just understand what it had been like — didn’t she know how it felt to have your choice taken away from you? Why should they get to decide things for you? What happened to that control that Joel and Tess knew you valued so much?

Ellie opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and you swallowed down the anger that felt lodged in your throat, focusing on the baby who was fussing in your arms, saving his hands in the air until he caught onto one of your fingers, and held it tightly.

“Sh— There you are.” Joel’s voice came from the doorway, a heavy sigh forcing itself from his chest, and he entered the living room, his face crumpled in something like fear and relief. He opened and closed his mouth more than once, like he wanted to say something, before he finally settled on, “Tommy okay?”

“Maria’s patching him up.” You said flatly, turning your head away from where he stood beside Ellie, and keeping your gaze on the baby and where he was slowly beginning to dig his blunt nails into the skin of your finger.

Joel stared at you, his chest feeling close to hollow, and he could just remember the fear that had swallowed him whole when he saw the raider lay dead outside of the shop, the shop windows shattered against the ground. He had shoved the door open faster than he could think, his boots crunching against shattered glass loudly as he rushed to the door in the back, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might have a heart attack as his eyes scanned the ground.

When he had finally gotten the door open, a breath had left him as he realised you weren’t here, and he felt the pressure that had been pushing against his spine loosen the slightest bit, and he hurried to make his way back to Rancher Street, hoping with everything he had that you were at Tommy’s.

And now, here you were, as safe as you could possibly be, but Joel still didn’t feel relieved.

He felt dread, all consuming, and it reminded him painfully of that time, all those many months ago. Had it been a year?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel’s hand had been frozen, finger hovering over the trigger of his pistol, and he felt the air in his lungs struggling to get out. It was suffocating, making his body ache as he stared at you, where you held your breath, pressed as tightly to the wall as you could get.

Your eyes had closed, and he could see the muscles in your face twitch as you tried not to flinch away. One wrong move, wrong breath, wrong sound, and you’d be dead in a second — or worse, and Joel didn’t want to think about worse.

Tess was on the floor below, the three of you slowly making your way up, clearing the building as you went, aiming to get to the fifth floor, where the supplies were meant to be. Joel knew she wouldn’t be coming up any time soon, with the way the clicking echoed all throughout the room, likely travelling down the staircase.

It was right by your face — you could feel the breath against your cheek as it gargled and clicked, looking for you, getting so close that the shards of fungus that cracked its skull into pieces were almost brushing against your hair.

He didn’t know what to do — if he aimed wrong, he could hit you, or miss entirely, and just alert it to both yours and his own presence. He could try to kill it with the axe that rested against the nearby cabinet, one that he recognised from glass boxes labelled in case of fire, in the time before.

There was a glass bottle beside his foot, and with the slowest movements he could muster, Joel crouched low to the floor, gripping it in tense fingers, and threw it as far away from you as he could get it. He held his breath as it shattered, and the clicker let out a screech in your face, whirling away just as you had to exhale the breath you’d been holding. It hobbled away, unsteady on its feet, and you picked up the axe as you moved away from the wall.

Joel ushered you out of the room, back into the stairway, and grit his teeth as the clicker turned back at the sound of your hurried footsteps. He just about had time to slam the metal door shut, putting the deadbolt at the top back up into the concrete ceiling.

You breathed a sigh of relief, cradling your shaking hand to your chest, while the other gripped onto the axe tightly, ready to swing at a moments notice.

“Skip that floor?” You asked him, in a slightly joking way, and he nodded, face set in a dangerous expression as he glared at the door that shook slightly with the Infected clawing at it from the other side. With shaky legs, you climbed up to the next floor, waiting by the door as Tess poked her head up, hurrying up the steps to the floor you had just been on.

“Everything okay?” She asked, hands out towards Joel as if he was a feral animal, and he hadn’t quite realised just how thunderous his expression had become.

He nodded to the door, hearing the muffled bangs and scraped coming from the other side, the screech of fungal outrage. Tess placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding understandingly at him.

As they ascended the stairs to meet you where you waited for them, Joel could only grit his teeth as dread built tightly into his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart as he looked at your trembling fingers. You were fine, he knew, that Infected hadn’t even managed to touch you, but Joel couldn’t help the way that dread and fear began piling upon him, weighing his chest down so much that it became hard to inhale another breath.

You held the axe up, the thing slightly too heavy for you to carry it comfortably, but you managed, gripping tightly as you waited for Tess to open the door.

Joel exhaled through his nose, swallowing down the heavy feeling that was trying to crawl up his throat, and he swore you wouldn’t get that close to danger again. He didn’t want to lose you.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The council meeting hadn’t gone well — you could see it on Maria’s face, the moment she stepped through the door to your shop. The tense air in Jackson had only gotten worse, feeling thicker every time you walked past the old jewellery shop down the street, now reduced to charred remains.

“What happened?” You asked, slightly reluctantly. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation. Part of you was worried about what she was going to answer with, too. Could they disband the town?

“Well, nobody’s got answers for how twenty-four guys got past our lookouts. And conveniently, whoever was on lookout when they got past, seems to have been rubbed off of the rota.” Maria grumbled, looking just as miserable as she felt. You felt bad for her — she should’ve been at home, feeling happy about the new member of her family, not having to deal with a town crisis.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, letting Maria press her hands against the wooden table in your shop, and watching as she leant her chin against her chest, a deep sigh leaving her.

“They agreed on fixing up the wall yet?” You asked, feeling bad about doing so when Maria’s shoulders immediately dropped some more.

“No,” She muttered, frustration inking at the corners of her words, “Said somethin’ about conserving resources.”

“But… Jackson’s exposed with that massive hole in the wall.” You replied, eyebrows furrowed in your confusion.

“I know,” Maria replied, your name falling from her lips in a slightly disheartened tone. “That’s the trouble with politics. People lose their common sense. We got another meeting tomorrow, I’m gonna convince them, don’t worry. Got a patrol in two hours, though. You alright with Tommy cooking?”

You nodded at her, frowning when she sighed again, exhausted down to her very bones. With slight hesitation, you followed along behind her as she made her way back to her house to see her son and husband before patrol.

When you arrived, Tommy was holding the baby to his chest, shaking his head as he spoke to the kid in a baby voice. You suppressed a snicker.

Maria cooed, reaching out for the baby, and grinning tiredly when he was finally placed in her arms. With a sympathetic expression, Tommy pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before you caught his eye, nodding your head toward the kitchen.

“Everythin’ alright, kiddo?” Tommy questioned, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you paced the length of his kitchen, before stopping and turning to him, looking nervous.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” You started, your expression just about stopping Tommy from making a stupid joke, “I wanna start going on patrols.”

He stopped suddenly, his whole body going still, and you looked at him with nervous eyes. It wasn’t that you were nervous about going — though you were, a little bit — it was that you were nervous he would say no.

Despite everything that had happened with Joel and Ellie, the slight meltdown back at that cabin before Jackson, it wasn’t about being out there. It wasn’t the Infected that lingered behind corners that scared you, and it wasn’t raiders that made fear settle in your bones, it was Joel and Ellie.

They had been all that you had — everybody else had been lost to the world, and you had longed for a time before all that loss, for the home you had with Joel and Tess, where danger lingered, sure, but not in the same way. They could avoid danger back at Boston QZ, could hide out in their apartment and settle with doing shitty FEDRA-issued jobs for a while if things got too hot.

Out in the world, there was no sense of control, no sense of safety, no matter where you went. You didn’t want to watch Joel and Ellie die like you had with Tess. Didn’t want to close your eyes and still see it, see flames climbing up the building that held one of the only people you cared for. You weren’t sure you could’ve handled losing anybody else, but Joel had forced that upon you, in the end.

By removing you from the outside world, placing you behind walls once again, he had just made your very worst fears come true. You had lost them.

So when you asked to go on patrols, you didn’t feel very scared. After all, you knew the world as well as anybody else, maybe even better than some of the people in Jackson. You knew how to shoot, how to stay quiet, how to spot things that often went unnoticed.

Before losing Tess, you had been good. Despite a few slip-ups here and there, you had been allowed on their rare smuggling trips for a reason. You’d known how to shoot a gun before you had known how to read, and it came naturally to you.

“Absolutely not.” Tommy answered, after a moment, his expression hardening and turning to stone, and you frowned at him.

“‘M only asking you because I was hoping to take on some of Maria’s patrols. She’s exhausted, she needs sleep, and she’s got a meeting tomorrow. She doesn’t need to be goin’ on some patrol right now.” You responded, feeling the usual fondness that came with speaking to him fall away, leaving your voice cold, as your expression went flat at his refusal.

He stayed silent for a few moments, gritting his teeth in a way that was far too reminiscent of his older brother, and he sighed. “No, we’ll find somebody else. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m better than half of the guys you usually take out.” You argued, still trying to keep your voice down, to prevent Maria from coming in and halting any conversation on the topic. “I can handle myself, Tommy.”

“Can you?”

“Yes! Who do you think handled that raider?” You countered immediately, feeling the heat of your anger push against your chest.

“That was different.” Tommy tried, holding his hands out toward you, getting increasingly frustrated as you stepped away from him.

“How was it different?” You snapped, “It wasn’t different. Stop trying to protect me, I’m not some dumb kid, Tommy. You are just as bad as Joel.”

Your words struck hard, and Tommy’s face hardened immediately after you spoke, his frustration growing into something closer to anger.

“Why, because I’m trying to keep you safe? Just like Joel did? It’s not a crime to want you to be okay! You gotta stop treatin’ us like we’re doin’ something wrong for protecting you!” Tommy argued back, and your expression fell when he grouped himself in with Joel.

“That— That was different.” You said, repeating his words back to him, and feeling something nervous press against your neck, your hands wringing together as you stood in front of the Miller, who suddenly resembled his older brother too much.

Maria entered the kitchen then, holding the baby tightly to her chest, and frowning as she looked at where you and Tommy stood at opposite sides of the room.

“What’s going on?” She asked, almost hesitantly.

“Nothin’,” Tommy answered, still looking at you with hard eyes, nothing changing on his expression. You grit your teeth together, feeling frustration cling to the back of your throat. “Right?”

You scoffed, and made your way past him, going straight to the front door and pulling it open roughly. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you stepped out, ignoring Tommy calling your name as you slammed the door shut behind you.

When you hurried away, shoes scuffing against the pathways of Jackson, you ignored how you saw Joel sat on his porch, and just hoped he’d mind his own business.

Two hours later, when there was a knock at your shop door, your eyebrows had furrowed immediately.

You weren’t sure who could be visiting you — Maria should’ve been on patrol already, and Tommy should’ve been back at home, looking after his son. You didn’t get any other visitors, at least, ones that were welcome.

When you opened the door, you saw Joel standing there, looking nervous. Your expression immediately flattened, eyebrows creasing further, and he stopped you before you could even open your mouth. “Wait,” Joel almost pleaded, and seemed close to relieved when you grit your teeth, staying quiet. “Maria asked me to bring this over, said somethin’ about Tommy covering a patrol.”

He held out a box, looking far too nervous for such a simple request, though you could understand. With your eyebrows relaxing slightly, you reached forward and plucked the box from his waiting hands, tilting it to the side to look through the transparent sides of the box at its contents.

When you noticed Joel still stood, unmoving, your eyebrows began to crease once again. “Well, thanks for bringing this over.” You said stiffly, hating how part of you wanted to let go of all of your anger, to pretend nothing ever happened, to just hug him.

You reminded yourself that he did this, that you were allowed to be angry. You had every right to be. You were allowed to scream and cry and shout, to hold on to that anger, to that feeling of being left behind.

It felt like a betrayal to yourself, to still want to be around him, and it hurt even more that he still made you feel safe.

“No problem.” He said, hesitantly, like he wanted to say something else, to continue, to broach the subject of the elephant in the room, but he held himself back. You weren’t sure what was worse, what you preferred more. Him acting like a stranger, or him acting too familiar.

You were so conflicted, over everything. You felt fractured into hundreds of tiny pieces, each individually feeling something different, shouting for their own way. Parts of you wanted to cry and let him comfort you, whilst others screamed for you to yell at him some more, for you to beg and plead for him to feel that hollowness that you had felt when he’d left you. Part of you wanted answers, wanted an explanation that would be enough, that would justify it, but you knew Joel didn’t have one.

For him, he knew it had been the right decision. He felt some peace of mind, knowing you would be safe within the walls, at his brother’s side. But it still pained him, the way you had fractured away from him, and he had let you slip through his fingers. It left a kind of emptiness in him, knowing that you believed he had abandoned you. You believed he had failed you. Joel was scared that you might be right.

“Well,” He cleared his throat, shoving his now empty hands deep into his pockets, and he nodded at you, the action paining him. “I’ll, uh, head off, then.”

You nodded, watching him step back and turn to go before you closed the shop door, missing the way he turned back to say something, only to be faced with a closed door. He heard the lock turn.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It had taken three days for Tommy to crack.

He didn’t like the silence between the two of you, it made his neck feel itchy, his heart race uncomfortably. He worried about you, more than he had even realised himself.

So when you looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly, he couldn’t help but relent. You were stubborn, even now, and you really did remind him of Joel with that expression on your face. Tommy wondered if you knew just how many mannerisms you’d picked up from his older brother, but thought better than to mention it.

“Okay, fine.” He gritted, his gaze steely even as he watched your face light up in victory, “But—”

“But?” You echoed, incredulously.

“But you’re only going on a patrol if one of us is on it, too.” Tommy continued, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at your interruption. When he saw your annoyance, he fixed his statement slightly, “At least to start with. We’ll get you some trainin’, on the horses and guns, then we’ll see where we are.”

You smiled, and as much as Tommy hated to let you get your way in this, he was just glad to see you smiling at him again. “Thanks, Tommy.” You said, letting him reach over and pay your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grumbled.

“Hey, I made you something.” You told him suddenly, face seemingly lighting up further as you thought of whatever it was. Tommy raised his eyebrows suspiciously, tapping his fingers against the wooden table in the middle of your shop. “I know how much you loved hearing about them, so.”

You held up a box, filled with five mugs, some slightly misshapen, but holding the vague shape of a regular old mug. The handles were difficult, he recalled you telling him, and he could see it reflected in your work, the handles wonky, or curved into a strange shape. He smiled nonetheless, unable to help the laugh that escaped him.

“Well, I never.” He said, amused, and picked up one of the mugs, with a sloppily painted bear on the front. “You figured out the glaze, then?”

“Kinda. Thought it was gonna be blue.” You replied, pointing at the mug with an orangey brown owl painted on. “But I like it.”

“Me too, kiddo, me too. Say, Maria’s gonna be thrilled.” Tommy grinned, putting the mug he was holding back into the box before taking it off of your hands, rolling his eyes when you cautioned him.

“Well, let me know, yeah?” You asked, despite knowing that she was going to love them no matter what they looked like, simply because you made them. You had noticed that about her. You could probably hand her a chunk of clay, which barely resembled anything other than what it was, and she’d thank you for it.

“I will do. You’re comin’ for dinner later, right?” He questioned, gripping onto the box tighter with one hand, so he could free up his other one to place his hand on the door.

“Think I’ll just eat at the hall, tonight. You guys should come, too. Maria does far too much cooking.” You suggested, shrugging his shoulders when he looked offended, as if he should cook more. “Please, do not even go in the kitchen. The baby’s too young to be subjected to the smell of your cooking.” You joked, laughing when he huffed, exiting the house while yelling about not letting you come around anymore.

You shook your head, grabbing a chunk of clay you had cut off from the slab earlier, and dumping it on the wheel.

These people would be the death of you, you were sure, as your chest warmed from the interaction.

PART FOUR

[psychedelic-ink]

Another month, another fic rec list! Happy spring everybody 💜💜💜

please show your support by commenting and/or reblogging!

categories include: pedro pascal characters (pero tovar, ezra, frankie morales, marcus pike, jack daniels, jack daniels, din djarin, tim rockford, frankie morales, javier p), the last of us (joel miller, tommy miller, tess) misc. (steven grant)

as always don't forget to check the warnings before reading!

click here for last months fic recommendations

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS

untitled by @softlyspector (din djarin)

two truths and a lie by @prolix-yuy (jack daniels, marcus pike)

simulated by @/prolix-yuy (dieter bravo)

At First Sight by @astroboots (frankie morales)

Beer Pong by @/astroboots (frankie morales, hints of santiago garcia)

Personal Belongings by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

morning sunshine by @/astroboots (frankie morales, santiago garcia)

untitled by @toomanystoriessolittletime (marcus pike)

a hard bargain by @/toomanystoriessolittletime (tim rockford)

stay close by @ezrasbirdie (pero tovar | series)

priorities by @wheresarizona (javier p)

needy by @/wheresarizona (javier p)

driven by power by @absurdthirst (din djarin)

all that glitters by @beskarberry (pero tovar)

Solisequious by @/beskarberry (ezra | series)

under his skin by @ozarkthedog (tim rockford)

grays II by @fuckyeahdindjarin (frankie morales)

palomino by @/fuckyeahdindjarin (jack daniels | series)

something more by @jazzelsaur (frankie morales)

between the raindrops by @/jazzelsaur (frankie morales | series)

Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat (dieter bravo | series)

bunny by @/whatsnewalycat (javier p)

kiss here by @frenchiereading (frankie morales)

Freu(Din)an Slip by @saradika (din djarin)

the bite by @doctorliamsr (tim rockford)

Relaxation Techniques by @mandoblowmybackout (marcus pike | series)

untitled by @frannyzooey (frankie morales)

TLOU

folly by @inklore (joel miller)

impetuous by @/inklore (joel miller)

short days, long nights by @frannyzooey (joel miller)

woods by @frannyzooey (joel miller)

crave by @allfoolsinluv (joel miller, tess servopoulos)

new beginnings by @juletheghoul (joel miller)

tease by @/juletheghoul (joel miller)

Journey to Kintsugi by @nexusnyx (joel miller | series)

Me & Mr. Miller by @/nexusnyx (joel miller)

strawberry wine by @pedrito-friskito (joel miller | series)

creature comforts by @galactic-basic (joel miller | series)

more by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (joel miller, tommy miller)

two by @the-scandalorian (joel miller)

untitled by @/the-scandalorian (joel miller)

seams by @/fuckyeahdindjarin (joel miller)

can't help falling in love by @lavendertales (joel miller)

2002 by @wheresarizona (joel miller | series)

cracked vessels by @ezrasbirdie (joel miller, tess servopoulos)

MISC.

untitled by @dameronscopilot (steven grant)

untitled 2 by @dameronscopilot (steven grant)

[jolalibrary]

Space Sisters - My Secret Valentine 2024

We would like to thank every server member who participated in this event! 💌

You can find all the gifts published by the participants under the cut! Make sure to spread the love (wink) and enjoy! 🩷

(about Space Sisters || join us!)

MASTERLIST

* - Mature/Explicit work

VISUAL ART + MISC

(GIFSET) Javi G - from @perotovar to @psychedelic-ink

(FANVIDEO) Jack Daniels - from @survivingandenduring to @epicrainbowsheep

JOEL MILLER

A Flower in February - from @missredherring to @hoeruiner

Something Soft - from @skittlesfics to @beskarandblasters

As Long As I Have You - from @beskarandblasters to @joels-shitty-puns

Are You Mine? - from @eupheme for @sweetercalypso

*Could I Have This Kiss Forever? - from @flightlessangelwings to @eupheme

Sweetheart - from @joels-shitty-puns to @skittlesfics

We Move In Fear, We Move In Desire - from @hoeruiner to @doctorliamsr

*A Happy Man - from @psychedelic-ink to @always-andromeda

FRANKIE MORALES

Fucked Royalty - from @toomanystoriessolittletime to @flightlessangelwings

*Is This A Date? - from @burntheedges to @jennaispunk

Something Right - from @sweetercalypso to @missredherring

I Wonder If You Stopped His World Like You Did Mine - from @chronically-ghosted to @toomanystoriessolittletime

Plus One - from @always-andromeda to @thelightsandtheroses

JAVIER PEÑA

It's A Date - from @pedgito to @pascalispretty

Just Another Saturday Night - from @jennaispunk to @pedgito

*Come Take It Out On Me - from @pascalispretty to @survivingandenduring

MARCUS PIKE

There's Art To Life's Distraction - from @thelightsandtheroses for @burntheedges

Another Day At The Office - from @doctorliamsr to @chronically-ghosted

JACK DANIELS/ AGENT WHISKEY

A Gothic Cowboy - from @epicrainbowsheep to @perotovar

[captain-rickbond]

@doctorliamsr wrote a lovely fic about those two🥹

modern!Robin & Indiana!Ben you can read it here <<

I love it when you guys make my illustrations come to life💜

[pedrorascal]

Space Sisters 2023 Secret Santa – Masterlist

We would like to thank every server member who participated in this event! 🎄

You can find all the gifts published by the participants under the cut!

Happy Holidays from the admins and mods of the Space Sisters server! 💚

(about Space Sisters || join us!)

MASTERLIST

* - Mature/Explicit work

VISUAL ART & MISC

Gifset (The Last of Us) - from @trashcora to @thetriumphantpanda

Gifset (Marcus Pike) - from @perotovar to @agentmarcuspike

Fanvideo (Din Djarin) - from @survivingandenduring to @trashcora

Graphic & Poem (Ezra, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales) - from @gasolinerainbowpuddles to @doctorliamsr

FANFICTION

Frankie Morales

no need for mistletoe - from @undercoverpena to @nothoughtsjustmeds

Jack Daniels

* Cowboys & Closeups - from @agentjackdaniels to @epicrainbowsheep

Oberyn Martell

* Reaching for the sweetest, sweetest peaches - from @psychedelic-ink to @iamasaddie

Din Djarin

No Words Needed - from @againstacecilia to @sweetercalypso

Dieter Bravo

No Way Out - from @doctorliamsr to @psychedelic-ink

* Red Herring - from @nothoughtsjustmeds to @missredherring

* Best in Show - from @covetyou to @agentjackdaniels

Marcus Pike

* The Longest Night - from @agentmarcuspike to @perotovar

the gift that keeps giving - from @thetriumphantpanda to @undercoverpena

* baby, when the lights go out - from @iamasaddie to @survivingandenduring

Joel Miller

Friendly Conversation - from @doctorliamsr to @psychedelic-ink

* Old Holiday, New Traditions - from @pascalispretty to @bluebeary-jay

the most wonderful time - from @always-andromeda to @janaispunk

Around the Tree - from @sweetercalypso to @againstacecilia

* Darlin’ just you wait till then - from @epicrainbowsheep to @gasolinerainbowpuddles

it’s the season - from @janaispunk to @pascalispretty

Wrong Until You Make It Right - from @missredherring to @covetyou

Hold me close and hold me fast - from @bluebeary-jay to @always-andromeda

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💚

[daijidoodles]

Commissioned piece for @doctorliamsr based on a drawing meme.

Pease don't repost or edit my signature and watermark.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

(っ◔◡◔)っ🚀🎄 ꌗꉣꍏꉓꍟ ꌗꀤꌗ꓄ꍟꋪꌗ ꌗꍟꉓꋪꍟ꓄ ꌗꍏꈤ꓄ꍏ 🎄🚀

For my dearest Space Sisters Secret Santa Exchange Giftee, @doctorliamsr

Please enjoy me trying to squeeze in as many of your prompt requests as I can in the form of a poem and an edit:

What a scoundrel little Ezra is, ready to mollywop any and every snowball fight participant inside the TARDIS. He'll deal with the Doctor's reprimand later and sweet talk his way out of it, that charming little menace! Ever the curious pilot, dear little Frankie is so often mesmerized and intrigued by the workings of the TARDIS. He watches intently every time the Doctor switches a flip, turns a knob, or shouts some nonsense that somehow makes the spacecraft react in some unexpected way. Frankie doesn't have much time left to ponder what exactly set off the TARDIS to create so much snowfall (and so quickly) as Ezra's tightly packed snowball hurdles towards his trusty Standard Heating Oil cap. But why not aim for Joel instead, distracted as he is by the novel tune of "Dick in a Box" from SNL playing from the radio? Ezra hadn't made it this far in life by not choosing his fights wisely. So he leaves Joel to his inner wonderings. When had anyone even turned that on? Who picked this song? Who the hell had even written it? Frankie's surprised yelp will soon get his attention back to the task at hand, and unfortunately for Ezra, Joel embodies the ancient proverb: knuck if ya buck.

Who will win the snowball fight? Well, that's for you to decide. Leave a comment below with who would win the snowball fight. Bonus points for saying how they won it.

Merry Christmas, ♥Puddles♥

[female-fogbank]

I was tagged by @mathgirl24. Thank you for the tag! I usually don't do these but I thought fuck it, I got time, let's do it!

Rules: bold the ones that are true and tag 15 people to do it.

APPEARANCE

blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i typically wear make-up // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how i look // i prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backwards

HOBBIES AND TALENTS

i play a sport // i can play an instrument // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing (I just don't do it very often) // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand

RELATIONSHIP

i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have a long distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

AESTHETICS

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sun rise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colours // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favourite season

MISCELLANEOUS

i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend (sometimes) // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least three dogs

tagging: @doctorliamsr, @salrevientad @sasschronicles, @theadorelocksly, @tinderbox210, @katechaucer, @kateera, @spirkme915, @muchadoaboutstartrek, @romulanslutempire, @flvfrr, @kermitthehag, @jemmalynette, @iron-moon, and anyone else who wants to play the game!

[addictedtostorytelling]

I don't have a question, I just wanted you to know that your blog is my favorite place to be😁 Between the CSI gifs and analysts, and "slight" dislike for the later season, it's always a pleasure to read anything you post❤️

hi, @doctorliamsr!

thank you for your kind words! i'm so glad you enjoy my blog—later seasons salt and all, haha—and have fun hanging out here. your message absolutely makes my day. should you ever have a question or request, don't hesitate to ask, okay? 💖

[extasiswings]

Garcy 16 and 36, please!

16. Prison AU; 36. Text/Letter Fic. 

The absolute first thing that comes to mind is an insert to the end of S1 (since the writers decided to claim there were several months between Flynn’s arrest and the end of the episode…which…still sounds fake and doesn’t work BUT) where Lucy writes to Flynn while he’s in prison and he doesn’t write back until right before she gets kidnapped by Rittenhouse, and that’s how he worked through his feelings of betrayal because she keeps reiterating over and over that she really didn’t know, that this isn’t what she wants for him, that she still wants to help get his family back, etc. 

But, if we were going really AU…something where Lucy stumbles across something to do with Rittenhouse all on her own, but the most recent thing she can find is an article about this random guy (Flynn) making wild claims at his murder trial that he was innocent because it was actually this shadow organization (RH) that killed his family, not him, and she’s curious enough to start writing to him and asking questions…and things go from there. 

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌. 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚

pairing: joel miller x f!reader x ezra (prospect)

genre: smut, filth filth filth, minors dni

word count: 3.9k (this was supposed to be 1k smh)

summary: you, joel and ezra spend the night together in an abandoned cabin during a snowstorm.

warnings: established fwb between reader and joel, dirty talking, voyeurism, male masturbation, undisclosed feelings, underwear being used as a gag, overall just messy smut, piv, rough sex

requested by @doctorliamsr

a/n: this is part of the dark hearted people'verse but it can be read as a standalone. Everything you need to know is in the fic, enjoy 🖤

AO3 | Series Masterlist | Playlist

Ezra smells dust. Nowadays that’s all he can smell. But the deteriorating cabin they had managed to take shelter in certainly wasn’t any help to his poor lungs. He can feel the small specks sticking to the inside of his lungs. He hears you in the kitchen, sounds of plates clicking together, and metal pans scraping as you move them around. Ezra doesn’t concern himself with what you’re doing. At least he tries not to. You’re meant to be nothing more than entertainment, a thing that he would need to turn away from soon enough. 

But being on the road for so long, trying to earn their trust— it’s hard to keep the line between caring for and using for nice and fresh. 

Joel isn’t much of a problem. He’s easier to push away. Ezra has no complaints with how the older man views him as; untrustworthy, dangerous, a person that should be put down before they attacked first. Ezra can see it in Joel’s eyes. The hatred. But he can also see something else, an anger in the other that is worth investigating. It’s the type of anger that Ezra could use for himself; the type of anger that needs a release. Ezra had no arguments about being on the receiving end of said anger. In fact, it looked like it might be fun. 

His fingers skim over the shelves, a thick coat of dust seeping into his fingers. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, the feeling of it makes his teeth grind. 

Lifting his gaze, he skims over the titles. Nothing really that interesting, mostly encyclopedias, some history books…

Ezra’s eyebrows raise when he comes across an old sketchbook. His interest piqued, he picks it up from the shelf. The cover of the book is made of thick, textured leather, worn with age and use. It is a deep, rich brown, almost the color of roasted coffee beans, and is embossed with an intricate design of vines and leaves. The edges of the cover are frayed and soft, as if it has been held and handled many times over the years.

He smooths the pads of his fingers over the surface. He feels every crease, every ripped edge. His pulse quickens, an immediate bond forming between him and this old sketchbook. He doesn’t even know who the owner of it was. With a soft smile, he opens the sketchbook. 

The pages creak and crackle beneath his fingertips, revealing a treasure trove of beautiful artwork. The pages are yellowed with age and dotted with small flecks of ink, evidence of an artist's hand. Each page is filled with drawings and sketches that span the entire spectrum of human emotion, from joy to despair.

The sketches themselves are incredibly detailed and lifelike. There are delicate portraits of people, captured in moments of stillness and contemplation, as well as bold landscapes and cityscapes that capture the beauty and chaos of the world before. Some of the sketches are unfinished, with bold, confident strokes of the pen giving way to lighter, hesitant lines that trail off into nothingness. 

His thumb traces over the lines that disappear, a sense of familiarity warming his chest. Without showing the others, he sneaks the sketchbook into his inner pocket. He might have some use for it later. At the very least he can stare at it when he’s feeling particularly lost. 

The open kitchen area is dominated by a large, rusted stove and a wooden table that has seen better days. Ezra’s eyes move around the wooden exterior, already taking mental notes of what can and can’t be used. The living room is sparsely furnished, with a sagging couch and a few broken chairs placed haphazardly around an unlit fireplace. The atmosphere is heavy with the scent of wood and old smoke. Joel lays on the couch, Ezra can see his boots dangling over the armrest, his body too broad to be contained by such a small and delicate-looking furniture. 

Ezra sees a rusted axe leaning against the wall and a pile of old books and tattered clothes lying in the corner. The boarded-up windows are covered in thick layers of dust, and cobwebs stretch across the corners of the ceiling.

Outside, the snow falls heavily, piling up against the cabin's walls. It seems as though time has forgotten this cabin and the surrounding wilderness has reclaimed it.

“Should I light the stove?” you ask from the kitchen, drawing Ezra’s attention. The question isn’t directed at him, but an answer already lays heavy on his tongue. 

Before he can say anything, however, Joel beats him to it. A rarity. 

“Sure. How else are we suppose’ to eat?” 

“I found some cans,” you offer. “Peach and pineapple. Some tuna as well but I’m not sure if we should risk it.” 

“Let’s just cook the rabbits.” Joel answers, his voice sounding gruff and heavy with sleep. “I shot them for a reason.” 

“We,” Ezra corrects, prompting the twitch of Joel’s left eyebrow. “We shot them for a reason.” 

Ezra can’t help but head towards the couch, he stands above Joel’s head, staring down at the man trying to sleep. He gently nudges the couch with the tip of his boot and Joel begrudgingly opens his eyes, a snarl already forming on his lips. 

“Wouldn’t lighting a fire put us in danger oh macho man?” 

“In this storm, I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try and get us,” he grunts, closing his eyes once more. Ezra can see the crinkles of his eyes, the crease between his thick brows as he forces his eyes to remain shut. 

“Does that mean we can light the fireplace too?” Ezra teases, knowing that Joel probably checked the wood and that it was probably unusable.  

Joel doesn’t answer him, and his eyes remain shut. 

Rolling his eyes, Ezra turns to you. You seemed to be in a world of your own, struggling with the old stove and poking it with a rusty spatula. 

“Need help there little bird?” he coos, his feet bringing him to the kitchen.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you huff, but smile nonetheless. “But yeah. This thing definitely isn’t cooperating.” 

Ezra watches as you make a show of your struggle, as if he doesn’t believe you. Your delicate fingers fumble with the kindling. Something warm and sinister coiling in his stomach, he steps closer. He can almost hear your heartbeat, fluttering like a caged bird. 

"Give’em here," he mutters, his voice low as he reaches for the matches. Ezra allows his fingers to brush against yours. He almost groans at the jolt of electricity he feels, a sharp sensation burning him all the way up to his shoulder. 

With a flick of his wrist, the kindling ignites, and the flames dance to life.

Your eyes go wide, a brilliant orange flickering in your eyes. He can’t help but lean in, take a closer look. He’s sure you can feel his breath across your cheeks, warming you from the inside out. Sucking a breath, you pull back, your gaze falling to the rabbits on the kitchen counter. 

“Thanks.” 

“Always a pleasure to be of your assistance,” he answers, lips curling into a cat-like smile. “You two are helping me find my rather precious supplies after all. The least I can do is help prepare dinner.” 

Your silence speaks words. Ezra follows your lead, preparing the rabbit and emptying a couple of cans of peas to go along with it. It’s not as chaotic as it would normally be when dinner is being prepared. There isn’t much to do so your movements are more languid, a simple dance as you occupy each other’s spaces. He enjoys the dance. He enjoys the way you try to avoid him by not making eye contact, but he’s more observant than you and Joel give him credit for. 

He notices the stolen glances. He notices the way Joel stiffens on the couch, trying to catch on to what was happening, while still keeping his eyes closed. 

But by all means, he’s not innocent. Ezra's gaze lingers on your every move, taking in the curve of your neck, the gentle sway of your hips. He wants to grab you by the nape, push you down and fuck you right then and there. Unlike him and Joel, You have an unbridled need to trust others. He likes that about you. He likes that you listen and believe in what he says, despite what your partner in crime might think. 

Placing the pieces of rabbit into the pot, you turn to grab a spoon. 

Ezra feels it before he sees it— The accidental brush of your ass against his groin, your softness and curves forcing him to hold his breath. A hiss makes its way between clenched teeth. The two of them stay like that, your back to his chest, neither one of you daring to move. Your breathing accelerates slightly, the sound prompting him to further close the distance, his body towering over yours. 

Time seems to stand still in that moment, and he’s content to just stay like that forever. Frozen in time. Just like this cabin buried within the snow. 

The fabric of his shirt and pants are rough against his skin, and the feeling only serving to heighten the arousal coursing through his veins. He aches to fill you up, to feel the warmth of your body around him, to finally fuck you until you go stupid. His cock stiffens under his pants, eager to follow the path of his twisted mind.

He can’t help himself, his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You don’t stop, your movements slow as you allow him to hold you. He can hear the blood rush in his ears, his breath comes in shallow gasps. 

He can feel Joel’s gaze on them both, but Ezra doesn’t stop. 

He’s not a weak man, but he’s not that strong either. That he can fight the temptations

Ezra’s fingers move up your  shirt, gently tracing circles on your skin, his touch light, fleeting like every moment in this world was. He wants more than anything to kiss you, to feel your lips on his, to taste your sweetness. 

But he can’t.

Some part of Ezra wants Joel to get mad, to march over to the kitchen and bend him over. He wants to hear the older man growl into his ear, telling him to behave. Ezra’s heart races at the thought, his mouth filling with saliva not from the scent of rabbit but from the one that seems to despise him. He lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching and burrowing themselves further into your body. 

Finally, you pull away, your movements a beat too fast, and panicked. 

A chill envelopes him without your heat. He ignores the tug at his heart, the ache in his lower stomach. Ezra turns to cook the peas, but in his periphery, he notices Joel still staring at them from the couch. His gaze is blank and unreadable, but there's something about it that makes Ezra's skin crawl. 

He turns away, focusing his attention on the food, but the moment has already been broken.

The flickering flames are nothing but small ambers warming the late hours of the night. The cabin is a spacious one, filled with rooms, but Ezra had decided to spend time by the fire, leafing through the sketchbook he’d found before dinner. It’s a pleasantly look through. Ezra had missed seeing other faces beside his and those who he was with. He’d forgotten how different people can look. 

He only looks up when the small dots of orange of the ambers also fade away. The cold of the night settles in and he decides to head to bed. They would leave in the early hours of the morning so it’s probably best to sleep early rather than later. Ezra winces at the way his muscles ache, the bottoms of his feet burning with the rough drag of his tattered insoles. He can’t wait to be rid of them. 

Walking through the dark hallway, he wonders where you and Joel are asleep at. Ezra, again, had notices that you and Joel are in some kind of situantionship—he suspects there is more to it— but you two never actually slept in the same room together. He presumes it’s part of the deal you two have going on. 

Ezra’s fingers graze against the worn walls, all the room doors seem to be wide open, not a soul inside. How peculiar. His lips part and he rubs his jaw, he’s in dire need of a shave. 

Once more, he checks the rooms. Nope. There wasn’t a single soul inhabiting these rooms. 

His heart races with the sudden thought that you and Joel might’ve ditched him, but then he calms himself. Takes a deep breath. With the snow laying as thickly as it did outside, it would be suicide to leave. 

So where the hell are they? 

He suddenly catches sight of a faint light in the distance. Intrigued, he quickens his pace and turns the corner to find a covered walkway leading to a small shed.

The walkway is made entirely of glass, with moss and ivy creeping up the walls, the panes reflecting the flickering of the moonlight. Ezra's eyes travel upwards, taking in the sight of the roof, which is covered in a thick layer of snow. The shed itself looks ancient, its wooden walls and door rough and worn.

When he reaches the shed door, he hears heavy breathing and soft moans pouring through the crack of the door. His steps slow. He knows what they’re doing. 

He knows that they’re fucking. 

His breath caught in his throat, he nears the door until he can peer inside. There’s a lantern dimly illuminating the room and he can see your bodies clearly from where he stands. You’re bare naked, hands hanging on a wooden beam for dear life with your breasts pressed against it. Joel looms behind you. Fully clothed, except for his cock that Ezra can see the base of every time the older man pulls his hips back. 

Stupidly, Ezra steps a bit too close, the tip of his boot nudging the wooden door ever so slightly. A creak echoes and Ezra stops breathing. Eyes glued to your moving forms, sweat glistening across your skin, he holds his breath and watches, waiting for one of you to hear him. 

Neither you nor Joel notices the uninvited visitor, too lost in the pleasure, in the warmth—in the act of it all. 

His cock twitches eagerly, growing under the confinements of his jeans. Licking his lips, he unbuttons himself and sneaks a hand down his pants, cupping his erection. The cold that littered his skin melts away, leaving burning ash and coal in its wake. A soft groan echoes in the back of his throat. His fingers squeezing the base, and moving up to swipe a palm over his weeping head. 

He hears your moans, Joel’s grunts. He can’t help it. The other man pounds into you with an intensity and desperation Ezra had only seen in animals. He thinks of the moment in the kitchen, what he thought of when you had your ass pressing against his clothed cock—how desperately he wanted the older man to put Ezra in his palace, how he wanted to feel that anger and hatred being let out against his weaker body. 

Heat builds at the end of his spine, he circles his cock with thick fingers, his lips parted as he comes even closer to the door. He can almost smell the sex and sweat clinging to your skin, he wants to get closer, wants to inhale you and burrow you into his lungs. He gives his cock a not-so-gentle tug, hissing as pleasure pricks at his skin. 

His fingers move faster, spreading the drops of precum over his length. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. His balls tight as he watches the two of you. The moans and grunts coming from the two of you become a soft background noise, almost like background music to his own pleasure.

He can hear murmuring but can’t decipher the words. Not that he cares. Ezra’s hips stutter forward, every muscle drawn taut, he slides his hand along his length. Joel grabs at something from the side, underwear—your underwear, to be precise. 

His breathing hitches and his heart stops— he watches as Joel brings the fabric to your lips, your moans and words coming only as muffled noises, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

Ezra's eyes widen, his body shuddering. He can feel it, he's so close, but he can't bring himself to finish, not yet. He pulls his hand away from his now aching cock and takes a step back, away from the door. His erection still throbbing, he wants to—no, he needs to watch. This is a rarity, something he’s only thought about in the late hours of the night. 

He takes a deep breath, his heart still racing and his cock still pulsing. Gathering his thoughts, he takes a step closer to the door, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. He can feel his body heating up, his mouth going dry. Ezra reaches down, feels the weight of his balls, and rolls them over his fingers. He has to bite his bottom lip to not make a noise. His nostrils flare as he breathes heavily, the pleasure burning him from the inside out.  

His other hand reaches for his cock, squeezing the head and giving himself hard, slow, strokes. 

Ezra continues to watch, mesmerized. Joel shows mercy and reaches for your mouth. The fabric is pulled away, revealing swollen lips and wet, skin. Joel thrusts harder, faster. His hips move with a frantic rhythm, his grunts becoming louder and more frequent. 

His chest aches, more precum dripping and making a mess of his pants. He hisses through his teeth. 

Ezra’s not sure how much longer he can hold on. 

“You realize he’s watchin’ us right?” 

He grips your hair and tilts your head back, lips finding a spot over the hallow of your neck. Joel bites into the warm skin, his chest trembling with a growl. Your thighs quiver, your insides desperately clenching around his cock. You do realize but you’re too far gone to care. 

And it doesn’t help that your brain purrs at you, telling you how much you’re enjoying Ezra’s hot, heavy gaze on you. 

“You like that he’s seein’ you like this? All fucked out barely able to speak.” 

“S-Shut up, Joel.” 

“You’re a brat.” he clicks his tongue, sharp and loud in your ear. “Takin’ the praise but not takin’ the punishment. That’s not how the world works, honey.” 

Joel takes you harder now, pushing you up against the beam, your body trembling as he drives himself into you. His grip tightens around your waist as he pumps into you. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin, your body for him to use. You clench around him, your cunt dripping down his length and wetting your thighs. A soft whimper parts your lips, the burn in your loins a stark reminder that you’re going to be feeling this tomorrow. 

“I’m startin’ to think you have a little crush on him, sweetheart. Not sure how I feel ‘bout that.” he grunts. “Or maybe you just wanted to rile me up with that little stunt—grindin’ your ass against him,” Joel presses into you deeper, coaxing a shout trembling in your chest. “You know how I feel about sharin’, especially with someone who’s out to get us.” 

“We’ve been on the road for a month. He’s safe. Stop being so paranoid.” 

He cups the back of your neck, thick fingers reaching both sides, he squeezes and pulls your head back. His lips touch the side of your cheek, movements slowing to a torturous grind. 

“It’s been a month and he’s making us go in circles. How the hell are we supposed to find his equipment after so long? He’s stringing us along for his damn pleasure.” 

A grin curls at the corner of your lips. You’re about to say something really stupid, but you can’t help it, you love getting under his skin, pressing his buttons. 

“You like him.” 

“I don’t.”

Suddenly you feel something dry being shoved between your lips. Your eyes go wide when you realize it’s your underwear, the one Joel had been so eager to rip away from you.  Joel clamps a hand over your mouth, his other hand drops to your waist, and blunt nails bite into your skin. 

“I’m sick of your yappin’,” he grunts, hips picking up the pace. “Just fuckin’ take it, I don’t need your needless observations.” 

You bite into the fabric of your underwear, muffling a moan as Joel drives himself into you. His hips thrust up, pushing him deep inside you, his cock stretching your walls. His grip tightens, drawing a sharp hiss from you. You’re so far gone, barely able to focus on anything besides the pleasure coursing through your veins.

Joel’s breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “He’s probably touchin’ himself. Fuckin’ his fist as he wishes it was your sweet cunt instead.”

Your body quivers, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. The thought of Ezra watching, his eyes hungrily devouring you—another muffled moan seeps into the fabric, spit dripping from the corners of your lips. Joel’s thrusts become more desperate, more primal. His fingers dig into your hips, his grunts turning into a feral snarl as he slams into you.

The pleasure builds, every nerve in your body on fire. Joel’s hand tightens around your throat, his thumb stroking your clit as he continues to drive himself into you. You’re so close, your body trembling. With one final thrust, Joel pushes you over the edge. 

He rips the underwear away from your mouth, dropping it to the floor. 

You scream, your voice echoing in the night air. All you can think of is Ezra; the darkness of his gaze, the poetic lilt to his tongue—the way he’s probably fucking his fist just like Joel said. You clench, gushing around his cock. His fingers continue to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, lighting your fire again and again as his cock strokes your deepest parts.

“That’s it,” he groans, lips pressed against your heat. You tremble at the rasp in his voice. “You like it, don’t you? Being used by one while being forbidden fruit to the other? My insatiable fuckin’ whore.” 

He nuzzles your cheek and it feels like whiplash, but you lean into it, nonetheless. He’s right, you do enjoy it. 

Pulling out, Joel follows shortly after, his body going rigid as he spills himself over the curve of your ass. It’s hot and sears your skin, you wish you could feel that warmth inside, feeling it dripping out of you when he pulls away.  

You collapse against the beam, your body tingling. You’re sweaty and out of breath, but still, your eyes move to the door. You don’t see him, however, you do hear soft footsteps moving further and further away. 

You’re not sure which one of you left the door open, you or Joel. 

[but-is-it-whumpy]

A commission for @doctorliamsr 💖 thank you! He was super fun to draw!

✏️commission information🖍

[theadorelocksly]

The gangs Timeless OCs in order from left to right (hope you ladies like the way I drew them. I have adopted them all🥺)

Millie ( @emmathompsonsmartini )

Keitaro (mine)

Tofu the dog (also mine;)

Ana ( @garciatwolastnamesflynn )

Riley ( @doctorliamsr )

✏️commission info🖍

[docjen]

ER Valentine’s Day Prompt Challenge! @lonelyspectator12 @about-bunnies @mearcatsreturns @somekindofflowergirl @crookedsmileys @attitudeissues @garciatwolastnamesflynn @doctorliamsr @ununpredictableme

[twoshipsnorowboat]

Happy Birthday Daiji!! A Masterpost

Thanks to @ununpredictableme for being such an awesome person and a staple of the garcy fandom!! We love you all and hope it shows in our gifts to you (under the cut):

@magnificentcowboypeanutpaper‘s gift 🎁 (click to open!)

Title: Planning Ahead (G)

Description: After Rittenhouse is defeated the future throws up some unpleasant possibilities.  Like jail time.  Flynn wants to accept what's coming but Lucy had other ideas.  So she finds a couple of interesting people who can help her.A very loose Timeless/Person of Interest cross over for the an amazing person. :)

Note: Happy birthday Daiji!!

@female-fogbank​‘s gift 🎁

Title: Forgotten Valentine (T)

Description: Lucy is bummed when she wakes up alone on Valentine's day but Flynn has a lovely surprise for her in the study.

Note: Happy Birthday Daiji!! Hope you have a great day filled with love, laughter and cake (or dessert of your desire) 🥳🎂🥂

@theadorelocksly​‘s gift 🎁

Work: pre-spicy art of Flynn/Lucy/John

Note: you were the first person to interact with me on tumblr and I can’t thank you enough. To many more crazy years and a happy birthday!

@sallyexactly’s gift 🎁

Title: Fireworks (T)

Description: After the war, the team begins to rebuild their lives. But Lucy is perplexed and frustrated by Flynn's behavior, and on New Year's Eve, she takes matters into her own hands. Inspired by Daiji’s very own Secret Santa artwork!

Note: Happy birthday, Daiji!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

@doctorliamsr’s gift 🎁

Title: Babies And Pretty Dresses (M)

Description: Reese has a very important mission this Valentine's Day. Timeless/POI Crossover.

Note: Happy Birthday Daisy 😁 Love ya to bits

@garciatwolastnamesflynn’s gift 🎁

Title: away from the party (E)

Description: Lucy escapes from a stuffy academic function with her tall, handsome, and, ahem, *attentive* boyfriend.

Note: Happy birthday Daiji!!! Thanks for being a part of the super-welcoming and awesome Garcy fandom :)