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raspberrybesitos · 1 year ago

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soft side | joel miller x f!reader

Main masterlist | Palestine

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Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: You and Joel enjoy a quiet Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, pwp, established relationship, fluff, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, cum eating, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, praise kink, pet names (baby, darlin’, good girl), after care, reader has no description, no mention of hair type/body type/skin color, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: i haven’t written Joel in ages, so i’m a little nervous i can’t lie. i do have a dbf fic in the works for him, but he’s very intimidating since he’s so well-loved. i hope i did him justice 😭 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! thank you for reading! as always, not beta’d - all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

His truck is parked in the driveway. He’s home before you, something out of the ordinary with work being so busy all the time. You park your sedan beside his pickup and gather your belongings before heading to the front door. It’s oddly quiet as you shuck off your boots and toss your keys on its respective hook, save for the record player going in the living room.

Warmth glows throughout the house, painting the walls in a sepia hue.

Sauntering into the dining room, you spot a vase of tulips sitting atop the dining table. A card sits beside it, his chicken scratch scribbled inside.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Thank you for loving me and the girls the way you do. Don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you.

-Love, J”

Your heart flutters at Joel’s sweet message, knowing he isn’t typically one for declarations. Rustling comes from the garage door, Joel trudging in with a bottle of that sweet wine you like.

“Hey, cowboy,” you mutter, grinning ear-to-ear. His head snaps up, a goofy grin crinkling his features.

“Hey, baby. Didn’t even hear ya come in. How long you been home?”

“Just got in.”

You waltz towards him as he sets the wine down on the table. His arms wrapping around you.

It’s instinctual.

Slotting your arms around his neck, you meet him halfway into a soft kiss. Melting into him, mindlessly carding your fingers through his hair as you kiss him sweetly, slowly – something you haven’t had a chance to do very often lately. Savoring every bit of him he has to offer.

“Hmm. It’s quiet. What’d you do to our girls, Miller?” You ask against his lips, Joel chuckling into you.

“At the movies with Tommy. Slipped him somethin’ so we could have the house to ourselves tonight. Should be back ‘round 9. ‘S a school night, but just wanted some time with my valentine,” Joel mumbles, his chocolate irises meeting your gaze.

Smirking, you hum in approval.

“Smart man,” you murmur before crashing your lips against his.

“Mhmm,” Joel agrees as he grins into the kiss. Both of you chuckling at his conniving plan.

“Missed you, cowboy. I feel like we haven’t had a moment alone in a while,” you utter as he places tender kisses on the column of your throat.

“Mmm. Missed you too, baby. Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages,” he says into your skin, the two of you mindlessly swaying to the record playing in the living room. Unable to contain your laughter, Joel snaps his head up - his signature scowl returning.

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” He asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Nothing. You’re just… you're so… I like when you’re soft,” you timidly murmur in between giggles. His brows scrunch further, smirk pulled into a thin line.

“Soft? The hell you talkin’ about, darlin’?” Joel asks in genuine confusion.

“It’s not a bad thing, Joel. You’re just… real soft when it comes to me and the girls. It’s sweet,” you explain. He grunts.

Typical Joel.

“Well you three are the only people I care about,” he mumbles, his kisses resuming, nibbling on your neck. He draws out a breathy chuckle from you as your resolve slowly starts to crumble.

“Come on, Joel. I gotta make dinner,” you whisper, no conviction in your voice.

“Mmmm. ‘S alright. Already ordered us somethin’. ‘Sides - rather have dessert right now,” he rasps against your lips before smashing them together again. The kiss grows sloppy, heady, full of tongue and teeth. You moan into his mouth, feeling drunk just off his touch. He cups the back of your head while squeezing your waist with his other hand, leading you out of the kitchen.

“Lemme have my dessert first, baby,” he mutters before dragging you up the stairs. Drunk giggles bubble from your lips as he leads you to your shared room. Flinging the door open, Joel tosses you on the bed, diving into your neck as he litters kisses along your throat.

He nips at the spot beneath your ear, earning him a breathy moan. Soothing his bite marks with his tongue, he fumbles with the hem of your blouse. He tosses it over your head as you fiddle with the buttons on his flannel.

His rough hands undo the clasp of your bra, a moan breaching his chest as your breasts spill out of the cups. You slide off his flannel, revealing his taut chest and soft tummy, your mouth waters at the sight of him. Rugged and soft around the edges, you frantically undo his belt. A smug laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Eager now, ain’t ya, baby?” He teases, shucking off his jeans. He visibly twitches in his boxers, a damp spot of precum already leaking through. You palm him through the fabric, Joel groaning at your warm touch. Sitting up on your knees, you snake your hands up his torso and wrap them around his neck, slamming your lips together in another heated kiss.

“Want you in my mouth,” you rasp hungrily.

“Later, baby. Need to be inside you. Gotta get you ready for me first,” he grunts as he throws you back on the bed. In one swift move, he slides your trousers down your legs and discards them on the floor. He groans at the sight beholding him. Your lacey pink thong with a visible wet patch on them. He wildly yanks it off, nearly ripping the lace.

His lips ghost over your bare sex as he settles in between your legs. He peppers kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching against your skin.

“Joel,” you pant, plead. Your desire grows with every kiss to your thighs. He hums, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal to stick to your panties. His callused hands rest atop your tummy, settling your squirming.

“Joel, please,” your voice barely above a whisper. He laces his fingers with yours before diving in. Drowning in you, he moans at the taste of you. Savoring your tang on his tongue as he licks languid stripes up your glistening folds. Your wanton moans making his cock twitch, boxers growing messier with precum.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’. So fuckin’ sweet,” he rasps before suckling your clit between his lips. You keen above him, arching your back into the mattress as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“So fucking good, Joel. Feels so fucking good, oh my god.”

Mouth still wrapped around your precious pearl, he prods a thick finger at your entrance. Your eyes fly open, gasping at the intrusion. His thick, long fingers hardened by a long day at work always hit that spot in a way you never could. He groans as he watches you suck him in, gliding in with ease.

“Joel, oh fuck, Joel. More, please,” you beg, breathless as he brings you closer to your release. He slides in another finger, moaning into you as he watches them glisten every time he pulls them out, squelching around him with every pump. Crooking his fingers deeper, your moans grow pitchier with every stroke as he brushes your g-spot.

He releases your clit from his lips, licking hurried stripes through your folds, slurping up the juices that have pooled at his wrist.

“C'mon, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fuckin’ fingers. Fuck, can fuckin’ hear ya. Let go for me, darlin’. Come on my fingers, baby, let me have it,” he growls before flicking at your clit relentlessly. Your tummy clenches tightly, pressure bubbling over as you gush all over Joel’s mouth and fingers.

He groans as he skyrockets you into orbit. Floating around the sun, your vision burns hot and bright, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Joel hungrily, wildly drinks every drop before licking back up to your clit.

A puddle of your release gathers beneath you, it coats Joel’s wrist as it sticks to your thighs. Whimpering as you return to Joel, he releases your clit from his mouth and greedily licks up your slick from your thighs. Roaming up your body to meet your gaze, he brings two of his fingers to your mouth.

“Open for me, baby,” he snarls. You mindlessly obey, sucking in his slick-soaked fingers with heavy eyes. Moaning around him, savoring the taste of yourself.

Joel lets out a wrecked moan, his mouth gaping as you suck his fingers clean. Hastily removing them from your mouth, he hurriedly slips out of his boxers and kicks them off to the side. You catch glimpse of him through heavy lids, whining as he pumps himself, precum smeared along his throbbing length through gritted teeth.

You flinch when he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, clit throbbing as your breathing becomes even more ragged. Whimpers and moans reverberate off the walls as he slides home. Fluttering around him as he splits you open, tears prick your eyes. The sting heightens your pleasure. His cock kissing your cervix as you adjust to the size of him.

“Fuck, baby. Always so fuckin’ tight,” he grits, holding his orgasm at bay.

“Y-you’re so fucking big, Joel, holy shit,” you whine, gasping with every word.

His size is something you’ll never get used to.

He sloppily slots his lips against yours, the taste of you melding into the kiss. Threading your fingers through his salt and pepper curls, he groans into your mouth as you tug on them. His weight making the pressure in your tummy rise.

“Joel,” you whisper against his lips. He hums, capturing them in his again before you can speak. He smirks as you let out a hmph.

“Move. Please.”

Joel hisses as he slides out of you almost completely, before ramming back into you. Your back arches into his chest, his rough, large hands slitehering to cup the sides of your waist. Pinning you beneath him as he snaps his hips into yours. Nudging at that spongy spot with every thrust.

He’s incredibly deep, fucking an endless stream of whines and moans out of you. Gripping his broad shoulders for purchase, your nails drag down his back. You can feel him twitch inside you, his hips stuttering at the dull sting of your scratches.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had in my life. Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of me, squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You my good girl, baby? Huh?” Joel babbles, drunk off your pussy.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, every thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“Y-yes, Joel. Your good, fuck, your good girl,” you wail.

“‘S right. You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine, baby. So good for me. Wanna feel you soak my cock, baby. Come on my cock, baby. Need to feel you."

With no preamble, he brings his thumb to your clit.

“Joel!”

One stroke to your clit catapults you to your orgasm. Stars bursting behind your eyes, dizzy as he fucks into you harder and harder. You feel his cock twitching as he nears his own release.

“Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna take all my cum like a good girl?”

“Yes, Joel! Fill me up! Please! W-wanna feel you dripping from me, please, Joel!” You scream as you ride out your high, tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck!” Joel barks, hips stuttering as he cums hard. Coating your fluttering walls with his cum, his guttural, drawn-out groan echoing in the room. The two of you ride out your highs together, babbling nothing but Joel Joel Joel as the sheets crinkle in your deathgrip.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pushing you further into the mattress. He can feel his cum seeping out of your throbbing cunt, but he can’t bring himself to pull out.

Not yet.

He catches your lips in a searing kiss, a silent check-in, bringing you back to him as you whine and writhe.

“I got ya, baby. I got ya. So good. Did so good for me,” Joel rasps, voice hoarse and mouth dry.

He slips out of you slowly, reluctantly leaving your warm, wet walls. Your cunt achy and puffy as it gleams in the setting sun that glows through the window. Both of you covered in sweat and sticky with cum.

Laundry definitely needs to get done tonight.

Before he rises from the bed, Joel revels in the sight before him. You swollen, shiny hole weeping with his cum. Diving in, he licks up your folds. A wail bursting deep within your chest as he cleans you up with his skillful tongue.

“J-Joel. Too much, baby. Too much,” you gasp, your clit stinging from the overstimulation. He pulls away, but not before he can stuff two fingers inside your pussy.

“Gotta keep you full of me. Want you to feel me drippin’ outta you tomorrow."

Moaning at the fullness, at his words, you helplessly keen as he shoves his cum back inside you.

“Good girl,” he rasps before slipping his digits out of you, he places a soft lingering kiss to your thigh. Sliding out of bed, he pads into the bathroom. The water runs as you lay sprawled out on the bed, legs like jelly and head spinning.

Returning with a warm washcloth, Joel carefully swipes between your thighs, gently cleaning up the mess you two made. You hum, the warm water soothing your aching legs and cunt.

He tosses the cloth in the laundry basket. Scooping you into his arms, you nuzzle into his chest. Basking in the warmth of his tender embrace. Smiling at the feel of his lips on your head.

“Love you, darlin’.”

Humming against his chest, you bring your eyes to meet his.

“I love you too, Joel. Best Valentine’s Day ever,” you giggle, Joel laughing along with you.

The doorbell rings, Joel sighing at the interruption.

“‘S the delivery guy. Let me go pay him, baby,” he rasps into your hairline, a bratty whine bubbling from your chest.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, I promise,” he says as he slips from your grasp. Playfully smacking your lips, Joel rolls his eyes, smiling at your antics.

While Joel handles the delivery guy, you get up and strip the bed. Tossing the sheets into the laundry basket, you head into the hall to grab a fresh set. Making the bed with the new sheets, you sigh as you plop yourself on the mattress, snuggling under the blankets.

Joel clambers up the stairs and back into the room, pizza box in hand along with two glasses in one hand, the bottle of wine carefully resting atop of the box.

He sets it down on the dresser, pouring you each a healthy glass. He hands you a slice of pizza along with your wine, graciously thanking him with a smile on your face.

The two of you share the pizza on the bed, sidled beside each other as you debrief your days. As Joel goes for another slice, he stops in his tracks.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Huh?” You ask through a mouthful of pizza.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Oh. Well… it was messy. I thought I’d clean up,” you explain through your muffled mouth.

“And who said I was done with ya, darlin’?”

tag list: @nostalxgic @honeyedmiller @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @morallyinept

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #ilovepedro valentine’s day series

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jup1tersparx · 4 months ago

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A dam falls, eve breaks

I smash my old self to bits

And would you drink poison for a body that fits?

(ID under cut)

[ID: Art of Percy Reed from hello from the hallowoods.

On the right is his decaying corpse in a sketchy art style. It is wearing a tattered dress, has black curly hair and is partially transparent. It is coloured in loosely, as if scribbled with colouring pencils. It is loosely suspended in the air by piano wires like a puppet, one arm above it’s head, one pointing to the side and one leg slightly bent, mimicking a dance. It is visibly slumped over. It’s face is indistinct, but has dark circles for what could be eyes and a mouth that has been stitched over. The colours are sepia toned and muted.

On the left is Percy Reed as a ghost, his form roughly carved from what appears to be fire; no lineart only negative space. The fire fills the bottom left third of the image and spills into the center. The style resembles a painting. The colours are extremely blown out, resembling heat map vision. There is an extremely saturated almost-red hot pink for the dark areas and a more muted cyan for light areas, with violet to bridge the gap when needed. You can roughly make out a collared shirt, an oversized jumper, trousers and short curly hair. His face, part of his torso and his hands are the most distinct part of the painting, the edges across the rest of him being more softly blended with the fire behind him. He is partially facing the corpse, but has turned his head to stare directly into the camera. With one hand he grips the wire suspending the corpse’s left arm and with the other he holds a burning hand underneath the arm, with the arm starting to catch fire. His stance is confident.

The background is dark and loosely sketched, resembling charcoal art. It depicts a clearing in a thick pine forest, a gothic style house in the center and a path leading to where the viewer is positioned. a cross is visible at the top of the spire. It is Solomon Reed’s house, as depicted in the episode art for 34, ‘Towers’. the sky is dark cyan and everything in the foreground under the charcoal is a dark ruby red. The colouring is also scribbled, barely lining up with the lineart. The fire percy is carved from covers part of the house, giving the illusion that it is also catching fire. The sky also may be filled with smoke. The image has a grain overlay and is square. The faces of the two percy’s are positioned at the crossover points of a (theoretical) rule of thirds grid. End ID]

#WOULD YOU DRINK POISON FOR A BODY THAT FITS!#percy reed #hello from the hallowoods #hfth #percy reed hfth #song is Post-Op(penheimer) by The Reverant Marigold btw #been working on this on and off for about 2 months 💪💪💪#oli if u see this you talking about percy inspired me to make this 🫶#fingers crossed tumblr doesnt fuck up the quality/colours too much lol #jupiter art #gore tw #body horror

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inkdemonapologist · 1 year ago

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anyway here's the batim dating sim concept that im obviously never going to make but i just think abt sometimes:

sepia sketchy style of art but it's the human characters

you don't play an outside character; you pick a BatIM to play as + time period to play in and that influences your date options so its essentially a shipping simulator.

every time you reach an ending, whether it's good or bad, you get a sort of "game over, try again?" screen which does a sketchy effect of scribbling the previous ending out before starting the next run.

BUT, choices you made AS a character kind of stick when you play a different character. So if you played Sammy and picked all the nicest options, then try again and play as Wally, Sammy would still be making those slightly nicer choices. So as you go, you can actually influence BIGGER things by kind of hopping into each character and steering them in a particular direction

sometimes setting things up so that a character survives or dies or leaves the studio will add or remove them as a date option for other characters -- like, for example, doing multiple runs between Sammy and Susie to make the choices that will save Susie from going into the Ink Machine might make her an actually possible dating option when playing as Allison in a future run -- that sort of thing.

you can't romance Henry as any character in any time period, but little things do seem to affect his dialogue or the things that other characters say about him, and it's highly implied that he's a Secret Unlockable Option if you set everything up JUST SO

..... and if you DO meticulously set everything up perfectly like the game has been hinting, then it is revealed that this whole time you have been Joey Drew, working with the "characters" of your various employees, trying to figure out the perfect scenario that would've saved the studio or kept your employees from leaving or dying or….. made it so that Henry stayed.

#the shipping simulator idea was mine #the concept of choices 'sticking' each run was boo's #and then i got very distracted in the shower one day and the Reveal concept exploded into my brain lmao #batim #bendy and the ink machine

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see-arcane · 5 months ago

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Happy Friday the 13th!

Time for some updates.

Plushies

I promise I have not forgotten the little guys-in-potentia. I’ve just been going through many circles of Hell trying to find a decent manufacturer that isn’t operating on some secret ‘Sorry, We Only Work with Brands ™ and Influencers ©, Enjoy Sending Half a Dozen Queries to Our Inbox-Void, You Little Nobody~ <3’ rule. So that was fun. But, finally, I think I’ve found a prospective maker. The issue?

The smallest bulk order is a 50-count. $30 each, roughly. Just for one. 30 x 50 = at least $1,500. If I try to do Mina and Jonathan (DO NOT SEPARATE), that’s 100 plushies. $3,000.

And that’s without dealing with the logistics of storing all the dang things, figuring out shipping costs depending on where I’d be mailing them (not including the packaging), and figuring out how to fairly price them without also gutting everyone’s wallets while we’re all broke.

Fundraising options like Kickstarter, Indiegogo, and Backerkit all look like the only solid way to go here, but they come with their own caveats.

I need some kind of prototype to have on display, not just the concept. The manufacturer I have in mind does provide a physical prototype prior to going to work on bulk orders, but I’d need to talk with them about the what-ifs involved if a fundraiser fails to drop enough cash to afford the full order.

I still need to figure out what a fair funding target would be that would cover cost of manufacturing/shipping/etc and I do not know that magic number.

Tiers? Do I do tiers with this? If so, how do I portion those out dollar-wise? What goodies can I throw in that would sweeten the deal? At the moment all I have is my writing.

Argh.

Really, 4) kind of sums up the whole thing at the moment. I really, really want to make all my assorted little guys come to cuddly life, but the numbers involved are looking more complicated than pi, especially when I—(frankly, all of us)—have Zero Money to gamble away. If I’m off by one (1) digit that means the difference between ‘Yes, I can pay for manufacturing and shipping and et ceteras no problem!’ and ‘WHOOPS SURPRISE YOU’RE PAYING AN EXTRA FEE OUT OF POCKET NOW BECAUSE YOU DID NUMBER WRONG, HA HA.’ Add that to the fact that I really don’t have anything tangible to pin to hypothetical tiers just now?

I’m afraid the plush Harkers (along with Quinn Morse and his new accessory) have to go on a back shelf for the time being.

But, for a more positive note…

October Scares and Scribbles

I plan to have a Substack in place sometime within October. It will include not just Harker’s current helping of chapters, but…

A new Harker teaser

Backups of some older stuff

[REDACTED] as a little Halloween treat

A generally tidier domain to keep my scattered scrawling in order

As it stands, I don’t feel comfortable turning it into a paid subscription Substack. I won’t be doing clockwork updates and what I will have up won’t be worth a routine fee. I’ll likely have a Ko-Fi link up as a sort of tip jar, but that’ll be that.

Speaking of money…

Maybe Making Merch?

Turns out the options for making less complicated bric-a-brac than stuffed animals are…less complicated. Imagine that. I’ve also been poking around looking at possibilities for stationery, bookmarks, cups, assorted bits and bobs. You know the Dracula Cast(ula) was made for journals and coffee mugs. However, I need to know what kind of designs folks would want to see. So:

The prospects here are much less stressful as far as puzzling out details goes, so I feel a little better about chewing on this. Still need to settle on Official Designs, but I’d wave those around for folks to see first.

All that said?

Argh

Because it bears repeating.

You’ll notice I haven’t laid out exact dates or timeframes for any of this stuff. That’s because I’m still neck-deep in the job hunt, along with grappling with the possibility of having to burn more money on new courses to enter a field I hate, but looks to be one of few career paths that will actually pay me more than pocket change. Said positions not even being guaranteed to still be in the same shape once I’m out of class. Same as my last job.

In four months, I’ll have been applying for a solid year. Every day. All to positions that either send copy-paste rejections, ghost outright, turn out to be thin veils for scams, or, most fun prospect, aren’t even real, because companies keep putting up false job openings to look like they’re expanding. My time has alternated between this and writing and trying not to look at my bank account. Between that and anxiety bordering on nausea concerning the upcoming election, my Halloween vibes are pretty bruised too.

It has. Not been the best time.

But the best part of it is still going on. Because that part is you guys. The people who’ve enjoyed my nonsense. The people who’ve actually dropped some bucks my way on Ko-Fi or bought my book! The people who’ve encouraged me for ages and have turned out to be some of the coolest folks a fellow bookworm could hope for. Thank you.

I hope you’ll cross your fingers for me going forward.

Postscript

I’m also working on the rough draft for this thing. Whether I can get it up on the platform I’d like or not, it will see daylight even if I have to drag it outside myself.

Living’s not cheap, but complaining is free. >:}

#enjoy the monologue #my writing #my art

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cephalog0d · 4 months ago

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Thanks for the tag @outtoshatter!

From a nearly finished WIP in which Tim makes very smart and safe life choices, as always.

Tim answered him a little absently, made an excuse about homework, and put his phone aside. Technically he did have his homework out on his desk. He just also had out a map of Gotham and a hastily scribbled partial address he had gotten from Jason’s computer. The history had been wiped, obviously, which Tim had expected, but there had been one thing still on the clipboard that he had been able to retrieve. It was a bit of a long shot. The address wasn’t even a specific location, just a range of numbers and a street name, and it was only the most recent thing Jason had copied. Without a full search history or access to case file information to help guide him Tim had no way of knowing if it was even correct.He just had to work with what he had, and what he had was a rough location, a brief news article about an altercation from the night before, and a time crunch to put it together before nightfall. The only upside was that he didn’t need to actually solve the case. He just needed to find where Jason might be going and then sneak out into the city and try to intercept him. Easy-peasy.

No-pressure tags: @dizaryswrites @bess3714 @roseandgold137 @sepia-stained-sunset @kayrielwrites

#snippet sunday #tim drake #ceph writes things

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theoriginaltrash · 2 days ago

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The Wallet

It’s the third time I’ve scratched out the beginning of this story. I’ve never been good with the start of things. I prefer the meaty middle part, the part where it builds, where it all starts coming together. Suffice it to say, this clumsy subway stranger’s rogue wallet, sitting squarely center on the seat next to me, may have cured my writer’s block. I’ll come back to the opening another time.

This wallet is thick with hundreds and Google is being tight-lipped about the address scribbled on this small scrap inside. The street view map shows an electric blue door with no window and a serious-looking guard who may or may not have had a heavy piece clipped to his side.

I’ve typed all of the ideas I have of what might be inside of that building with the address in the same search bar and there have been no hits. It seems impossible to keep a secret like this in Manhattan and yet the address is a mystery to the world’s largest search engine. It isn’t making sense to me.

I call disconnected phone numbers that could be relevant to the search query and ask nearby businesses about the electric blue door. They either don’t know or have never noticed it before. Typical city behavior. I know the last remaining option is to present my questions to the guard himself, but it all makes me wildly uncomfortable. I smoke a little weed to calm my nerves and head out.

I turn the corner and the door seems to glow. How could anyone ever miss this? When I spot the man from street view, I can barely swallow. My mouth is drier than it’s ever been and, confirmed, that is a very large gun. I should have rehearsed what I was going to say, but I forgot once I got stoned. So I just ask him if I can come in. “Sure,” he says. “Entry is $2,000.”

I have exactly this. This is what the stack of hundreds adds up to in the wallet. I counted them out at least a dozen times to make sure I’d added it up correctly, nothing was stuck together. In both high speed and slow motion, I slide the money out of the wallet while it’s still inside my bag. He collects the money, opens the door, and lets me in.

I walk in and it’s bright, much brighter than you would expect a place without windows to be. Falsely bright. Within steps, I smack into something but can’t quite see what I’ve hit at first. Then I spot it. A smudge from the grease of my skin. It’s glass. And, on the other side, a spotlight singeing my eyes. Below it, a hysterical crowd, rows and rows of them. Laughing and pointing at me, some with skin turning red, as if they’ve laughed themselves out of breath.

I think I can hear them yelling but realize that’s actually me.

A fog surrounds me, I can smell it first. My eyes are closed. I feel tears and snot mixing together at the bottom of my chin. But I grow calmer by the second. The glass pulses softly, a resting heartbeat. I am only afraid of how afraid I am not. Even though I am now staring into pairs of them, I forget the eyes watching me and I only feel the light. Everything swims around me in sepia tones until it all feels the same way dusk looks in the middle of nowhere on a road trip.

I readjust my eyes to the light and I am holding a cigarette between my thumb and forefinger, taking a drag, sitting outside on the single step to a door identical to the electric blue door. The same blue, more weathered than I remember it being, tagged in runny spray paint. The address behind me is the same. The neighboring buildings are the ones I passed on the way. I stub the butt out on the sidewalk and head home two grand lighter.

#short fiction #writing

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