#they are all so MEAN to him I feel SICK like Tommy get behind me right now…

[steelycunt]

halfway through never let me go now and frankly the next person to be rude to tommy i will tear to pieces with my bare hands i mean this so seriously…

[glorious-spoon]

been broken one too many times [9-1-1 | Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

1K words | Teen arguments | angst | feelings realization | minor buck/tommy | pre-relationship buck/eddie | post-ep for 8x05: Masks

been broken one too many times [on Ao3]

"You need to stop picking at those," Eddie says without glancing up from his phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Buck drop his hand. "I wasn't."

"You were."

"Fine," Buck snaps. He shoves his chair back and stands, stiff jerky motions that grate on Eddie's already frayed nerves. "I'll stop picking. You know I'm not a toddler, right? I'm a grown man. I have an EMT certification. You don't have to talk to me like I'm five."

Irritation flares. It's never very far beneath the surface these days. "Okay, fine, pick at your scabs, fuck up your face, see if I care. Since you're a grown man and all."

Buck breathes out hard through his nose. Eddie glances up from the article he hasn't actually been reading this whole time and takes in the look on his face, the very clear fuck you behind his teeth.

Just say it, Eddie thinks, something ugly and eager surging up the back of his throat. Just say it. Pick a fucking fight for once. Maybe that's why he's even here, sitting in Buck's kitchen when he knows damn well he's not good company for anyone right now, including himself. Maybe he's just got to break one last thing, since that's all he seems to do these days.

Buck doesn't say it, of course, because he never gives Eddie the satisfaction of a fight when he really wants one. It makes Eddie want to be mean, makes him think of all the things he could say, all the insecurities he could throw in Buck's face that would make him flinch and recoil and maybe finally think better of letting Eddie hang around. It's not like either of them is exactly having a good time right now.

He doesn't speak. Buck scoffs again, then moves back into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. It was already more than half-full, so Eddie knows he's just doing it so he doesn't say something he'll regret.

"You want more?" he asks, without turning. It's not exactly a peace offering, but it's close.

"No. Thanks."

Buck nods. Eddie watches him pour coffee and switch the pot off. He pulls the fridge open for a container of creamer—it's a different brand than he used to use, and Eddie wonders if that's Tommy's influence. One of many stupid little details that gets under his skin the way that everything seems to get under his skin these days. Eddie watches as he stirs it into his cup and puts it back in the fridge. He braces his palms on the edge of the counter; his shoulders shift as he breathes in, and then slowly out, and then finally turns back around.

"Sorry," he says, disarmingly rueful. "Tommy's been on me about that too. I'm a little sick of hearing it."

Eddie shrugs, strangling down his own anger. It burns beneath his skin, but that's nothing new. He doesn't need to take it out on Buck, especially not over something this stupid. He'll go home after this, and beat the shit out of the heavy bag in his garage until his knuckles hurt and his chest finally has space to breathe. He'll call his son and endure ten minutes of stilted Facetime conversation while Chris plays on his Switch and refuses to look at him. He'll cope, just like he always does. "Like you said. You're a grown man."

"Yeah, and my face itches," Buck groans, and that's a peace offering, Eddie knows, that wry little note of self-deprecation in his voice.

"It's getting better," Eddie says, and it is: after Billy Boils' makeshift funeral Buck finally went and got a prescription for prednisone like he should have in the first place, and the giant painful-looking cysts have shrunk down until they don't look much worse than a bad breakout of acne. Still not pretty, but not nearly as gruesome as they were a week ago.

"Says you. My own boyfriend still won't kiss me."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't kiss you either with those things on your face. No offense."

"Um, offense absolutely taken," Buck says, but he's smiling a little now as he moves back to the table with his coffee cup. "Besides, that doesn't count. You don't want to kiss me the rest of the time anyway."

"That's—" Eddie stops. His fingers twitch around his coffee cup; he thinks with a sudden vague sort of panic that it's a good thing it's resting on the table right now, because if he was holding it, he'd probably drop it. Broken shards of porcelain and coffee spreading out across the tiles and the words that's not true resting as easily on his tongue as if they've always been there.

"Eddie?" Buck asks, and he becomes aware that he's just been staring fixedly at his half-drunk coffee, that his breathing is coming faster than it should. Jello, he thinks. You're jello, you're jello, you didn't say anything, you're fine, just breathe. It doesn't help. He still feels like his heart and his lungs and maybe a few other internal organs are about to crawl up the back of his throat and spew out red and bloody across the floor.

That's not true, he thinks again, with an incredulity that borders on hysterical. He wants to start laughing, suddenly.

He has to get out of here.

"Yeah," he says, and this time he's the one pushing his chair back, standing jerkily. Buck takes a step back, wary.

"You good?" he asks. His face still does look pretty bad—lumpy and swollen, blotchy red in spots. It's not even a simple straightforward attraction, which would be bad enough. Because Eddie was lying just now, wasn't he—he'd still kiss Buck, even looking like this. He'd still want to, because he's always wanted to.

Fuck.

"Yeah," Eddie says. He grabs his phone, shoves it in his pocket. "I just realized, I have to—" he has no plausible excuse on hand. Chris is in Texas. His grocery shopping is done. His house is clean. His empty life is empty of any good reason to get him out of here, but he needs to get out of here, now. "I have to go."

Buck looks like he wants to keep pushing, but Eddie doesn't give him the chance. He scoops up his keys, moves quickly toward the door, pulls it open.

"I'll see you around, Buck," he says, halfway over his shoulder, and pulls it shut behind him before Buck can answer.

He doesn't feel he starts breathing again all the way down the stairs.

[soullumii]

masked up | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: joel fucks you while wearing his gas mask

warnings/tags: 18+ content MDNI, very self indulgent smut (unprotected piv oops, mask kink 🤭, vaginal fingering, riding joel cowgirl because that is for sure his fav position, little bit of a bulge kink, oral [m receiving]) descriptions of blood and violence, established relationship (married!! whoop whoop!!), making joel call you “my wife” because i’m weak for that shit, soft!joel, protective!joel, this got sappy, pet names galore as usual, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i can’t explain how i feel about joel wearing a gas mask. i swear every time he put it on while i was playing tlou pt 1 i moaned /hj. just HEAR ME OUT PLEEK. JUST WATCH THIS (it’s a tiktok edit) OK YOULL UNDERSTAND.

You don’t mean for the mask to become a thing.

But it does. It becomes a Thing™.

It all starts and ends with Joel, like good and bad things usually do. And this thing is no exception.

But it all begins with something bad.

Coming across spores nowadays is few and far between for you. You're not usually on patrol much, your job being to tend to the crops in the greenhouse and feed the livestock. 

Today, though, you’re not so lucky. With Tommy out sick, you’re filling in for him. Thankfully, though, you’re paired with Joel, your very lovely and very experienced in the art of dealing with infected, husband. So you know if you come across spores, your husband will have your back. 

Spores are annoying, but they're manageable with gas masks. When you and Joel enter an abandoned office building on a new patrol route and you catch sight of the little specks floating through the air, you immediately put yours on, Joel doing just the same. 

The floaty fungal fuckers themselves aren't scary, especially not when you have the gas masks to keep you safe. It's just what waits in the shadows that scares you, because where there are spores, there's infected. Lots of them. 

And usually interspersed in that conglomerate of stalkers and clickers are the big, meaty ones. The kind that have been sitting and festering for years. The kind that could literally rip you into pieces, regardless if you have a gas mask on or not. Bloaters, yeah, those big shits. The fucking bane of your existence.

Unfortunately, the one lazing around in this abandoned office building must somehow pick up on your undying hate for them because within minutes of you and Joel looting the place for all it’s worth, it comes clambering out of what used to be a conference room.

It's a big one. Noticeably disgusting, outrageously hideous, growling and slobbering as it slings mycotoxin at you. It's not very fast, and yet it's so fucking terrifying as it lumbers after you, because you know exactly what it’s capable of. 

You're shooting at it with whatever arrows you have left in your backpack (though they’re mostly just bouncing off it’s thick fungal exterior), and Joel's crunching out shot after shot with his shotgun, but neither of you are hardly making a dent.

God, you wish Joel had brought the flamethrower he keeps in his storage room. You’d make a Molotov cocktail, but with the other infected hot on your heels, there's no time. 

A stalker comes crawling out of the shadows behind you, knocking over an office chair in the process, and you whip around to lodge an arrow right between its eyes. Two more come swinging out of nowhere, and you're so focused on trying to get rid of them so that they can't reach you—can't reach Joel—that you don't realize you've left your back unattended until a large, gross excuse for a hand lands hard on your shoulder, lugging you backwards with inhuman strength. 

Joel shouts your name with increased panic, and you hear his gun fire off more rounds into the bloater's back, but it doesn't care, it's hands finding your head and jaw, gripping you so tight you think it might shatter your mandible.

"Joel!" You scream, eyes squeezing shut as the pain in your jaw multiplies.

This motherfucker is about to rip you clean in half—

You think this is it, I'm about to die in front of my husband by being torn from the jaw down, but, thankfully, death never comes. Instead, the bloater releases you with a pained roar as the sound of squelching fills your ears. You manage to back away enough to watch Joel tug the bloater off of you by the handle of his machete, the blade lodged in its chest. 

He pulls the machete out only to swing it down in an arc straight into its head, repeatedly. Blood splatters all over him as he bludgeons the wretched thing. Over his veiny arms, his black mask. It sinks into the fabric of his flannel.

And funnily enough, this is when it becomes a thing.

The bloater crumples to the floor with a gurgling groan as it finally dies, and Joel turns to you, chest heaving and eyes wide and panicked. They soften, relieved when he catches sight of you physically intact, though, mentally a bit checked out.

Whether that’s because you’re in shock or because your brain is rewiring as it files this new image of Joel away, who knows? Maybe it's a little bit of both. 

“Are you okay?" Joel asks, sheathing his machete to look you over. His hands catch your jaw gently, a welcome contrast to the bloater. He turns it this way and that, checking for any damage or possible bites.

A traitorous thrumming starts up between your thighs as he stares you down through the lenses of his mask. 

"I'm fine, Joel," you say, breathlessly. "Thanks."

“Thank god,” he squeezes your arm lovingly, grateful to see you in one piece. “Let’s get outta here.”

- - -

"Do you like the masks?" You ask him eventually, when you're back outside, the setting sun warming you pleasantly as the tall borders of Jackson rise in the distance.

You both took the masks off the minute you escaped the spores, but a part of you secretly hoped Joel would keep his on.

Joel scratches at his graying beard. "They keep us safe. Don't feel much for 'em at all really." He glances sidelong at you, a curious quirk to his lips. "Why?"

You shrug, "No reason."

Just trying to figure out if you'd wear it during sex if I asked you to, that's all.

“Alright, somethin's up," Joel says. "You've got the look.” 

“What look?” 

“The sex look.” 

You halt in your hike, turning to narrow your eyes at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Joel fails to stifle a chuckle. “You’re horny. That’s the face you make when you want to have sex. Like you wanna eat me alive.” 

Shit. He’s found you out.

“How would you know?”

He blinks. “Honey, I’m married to ya. Of course I’m gonna know.”

Valid. Still-

"I’m not horny," you try to defend, though you've never been good at lying, and based on the self satisfied smile Joel wears, you know he sees right through you. "We almost died, Joel. Maybe this is my 'loving every minute of my life' look."

"I know that look. This ain't it."

Jesus Christ.

You sigh heavily. “Okay, yes. Maybe I am a little horny.” 

"Because…what? We almost died? That gets you goin'?" 

"No," you grit. You can’t even look at him when you say it. “It’s the mask.”

His brows knit. “The...gas mask?”

You nod tightly. 

“I don’t think I’m followin’,” Joel says. 

Is he seriously asking you to spell it out for him?

You take a deep, steadying breath. You don’t quite know how to phrase this, so you just go for it. “Watching you save my life in the gas mask just sort of woke something up in me. It was hot.” 

“Oh.”

Yup. He definitely thinks you’re crazy.

“So, what, you want me to fuck you while wearin' the mask or somethin’?”

Heat pools heavy and thick between your thighs at his words, your heart hammering behind your ribs. “Something like that, yeah.” 

Joel straightens. “...Okay. I can do that.” 

Your head whips up. “Wait, seriously?”

“You’re my wife. If you asked me to fuck you with a damn jester’s hat on I’d do it.” 

You laugh. “Okay, let’s not go that far.”

“I’d really do it for you.”

“It sounds like you actually want to wear it.”

He chuckles, and you two resume walking back to Jackson. “Alright, so, gas mask on tonight,” he says. “Any other requests?” 

“Since you’re asking…maybe you could wear a cowboy hat sometime…”

- - -

"Jesus, you're really lovin' this," Joel muses.

You're laid out beneath him in your shared bed, his long calloused fingers deep in your cunt, his thumb circling slowly over your clit, drawing out your pleasure, stretching it like taffy. Your jeans are still on, unbuttoned and unzipped, and your soiled underwear is pulled to the side as Joel’s hands unwind you. 

You're grasping onto his muscled forearm for dear life, moans leaking out of you in a steady stream as he fucks his fingers into you, curling up to stroke that spot that has you clenching down hard on his digits as the burning starts in your toes, climbing up your thighs. 

He looks so fucking good with that mask situated over his handsome face, his peppered hair flipping out over the straps that keep it snug on him. His eyes are dark through the lenses as they watch you unravel before him, almost black from how dilated his pupils are.

His jeans are still on, his erection straining hard against his zipper. The flannel he wore earlier is gone, giving you the perfect view of his toned chest and the dark hair that dusts it. There's still some blood stains on his mask. Every time you catch sight of them, your body ignites with something carnal and hungry.

"’Cause, you look hot," you huff between moans. 

Joel laughs, deep and rumbling, and the mask warbles it a bit, adding a distortion to his voice that for some reason makes everything happening so much hotter. “I still don’t really get it, but if it’s makin’ you this wet, I don’t care.”

You moan particularly loud at the sound of his voice muffled through the mask and cant your hips against his hand, the combination of his thumb circling your clit and his fingers fucking up into you has you dangling dangerously close to the edge.

“I-I’m close, Joel.”

His brows furrow behind his mask, and he quirks his fingers inside you even more, and you jolt against his hand. 

“C’mon then, baby. Come for me. Show me how much this pretty pussy loves this mask.”

Fucking shit. When you first met Joel, he hardly spoke a single word, and even when you got him to open up more, he was thoughtful with what he said, chose his words carefully. Unless he was angry, then he could be a bit of an ass.

In bed though? Shit, if you can get him to shut up it’s a damn miracle.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whine, legs stiffening as your orgasm swells inside you, a match striking, lighting up your viscera as pleasure fast-releases inside your veins. 

“There you go baby, that’s it,” Joel purrs. “So pretty when you come.”

You inhale shakily as the last few shocks fizzle through you, your clit throbbing as you come down from your high.

“Fuck…” you huff, trying to catch your breath.

He strokes your thigh lovingly, and if you could see him behind the mask you’d assume he’s probably wearing that soft smile that he gets sometimes that melts you into a puddle of mushy gushy feelings.

Joel leans back on his knees. “Now it’s time to deliver on that promise,” he says, and your skin tingles at the sound of his zipper. 

“Wait,” you tell him, and he stops, looking at you in concern.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“No I just…I wanna show you how much this means to me.”

“Me wearin’ this mask? It’s not a big deal-“

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, pushing him down until his back hits the mattress, effectively shutting him up.

You swing your leg over him, situating yourself right on his lap and peel off your tank, delighting in the way his eyes widen and his hands come down to settle warmly on your thighs. 

The muscles in his arms shift as he squeezes your flesh. The drag of the crotch of his jeans against yours has you biting your lip, a zing of pleasure shooting through you.

Joel’s eyes have darkened behind his mask, his pupils swallowing his irises whole besides the thin circle of hazel remaining at the edges as he watches you.

“I’ve never hated jeans more than I do right now,” he says lowly, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

His strong hands slide up from your thighs to your hips to your waist, his dry, calloused skin causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. Finally, his palms cup your breasts, unrestrained by a bra because they’re too hard to come by in this day and age. 

He squeezes gently, and your nipples tighten beneath his palms. And then he rolls one between his thumb and forefinger, and your back arches, pressing you further into him. Your hips grind down automatically, and Joel releases a hazy moan. 

“Maybe,” you gasp when you roll your hips again, reveling in the delicious friction against your clit. “You should take them off.”

“Yours first.”

You don’t press him on it. You want your jeans off. So you lift yourself off of him and the bed to tug at your zipper, and Joel watches raptly as you pull your skinny jeans down your thighs, kicking them off your ankles.

And then you’re only in your underwear, and you throw your legs astride him again, the cloth of your underwear catching deliciously on the tent in his jeans. Joel’s hands find your body immediately, like a sweet tooth to a chocolate bar. His fingers dig into your flesh, and he grips your thighs, pulling them apart to set you on him fully. A shudder wracks your spine at the feeling of him pressed against your throbbing core.

“Goddamn,” he growls, eyes roving over you hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You grind down on the hard outline of his cock, and Joel can’t help his reflexive thrust into you, and you sigh. 

“I need you in me, Joel,” you whisper, leaning forward to plant your hands on his broad chest, your fingers messing with the hair dusting his sternum. “Need your cock filling me up.”

“Christ,” he swears, eyes falling shut as he bucks again. “Need’a be in you, sweetheart.”

His hands find your hips and then your ass, squeezing the muscle cultivated there from twenty years of surviving in an apocalyptic world. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, warm and confident. He lightly rakes his fingernails over your skin, running his calloused fingertips reverently over the stretch marks on your hips. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers through the mask. “Wish I could kiss you.” 

You shiver and your arms loop around his neck. His back is scarred beneath your hands, and you rub gently into the muscle of his traps, causing Joel to release a groan. 

His hand gravitates from your hips to the apex of your thighs, and your breath catches in your throat at the warmth radiating from his fingers when he positions them just below where you want him most.

He circles your clit again, smooth pleasure seeping through your nerve endings and your head falls back in a relaxed moan. You grind against the hard outline of his cock and the pads of his fingers against your clit, each slow drag of your hips causing pleasure to fizzle through you, like a flavored tab in a glass of water.

Your hands travel down his chest and stomach, outlining the thick, jagged scar there. Over his dark happy trail that starts just above his belly button and leads down to what your body is desperately craving. A little treasure map. 

You deftly undo the button and zipper and Joel makes a wrecked noise in the back of his throat when your hand brushes the hard outline of him through his briefs. 

“Wanna show you how much I like you in the mask,” you purr as you palm him. “How hot it gets me.” 

“Fuck,” his head falls back when you tug him out of his briefs, stroking his thick length to full mast. “Please, baby.”

You inch yourself down his legs so that you’re face to face with his weeping cock. Joel’s eyes widen and his hand comes up to gently stroke your hair appreciatively, tucking a lock of it behind your ear. He looks at you with adoration, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you, y’know that?” He says, softly. 

You can’t help but get a bit misty-eyed, always a fan of Joel when he gets soft like this. “I love you, too.” 

He smiles, and glances down at his dick, maneuvering it so that the head skates across your lips, leaving a trail of precum. His heated eyes find yours again. “Go on and show me then.”

“Yes sir.”

You keep eye contact as you lean forward to give his cock little kitten licks, and his head drops against the pillow with a groan, eyes lidded. “Shit, you can’t be lookin’ at me like that.”

You just smirk, and lick a long stripe up a prominent vein and kiss the tip of his cock sweetly before slowly taking him into your mouth. You take in as much as you can (which isn’t much, he’s pretty fucking big), and your hands find whatever you can’t fit.

You start sucking him in earnest, pressing the flat of your tongue against the ridge of his cock, delighting in the way the hand that had softly petted your hair before is now gripping it tight when you tongue that sensitive spot that always gets him reeling.

“That’s it, honey,” he groans, his hips twitching with tiny little thrusts as he tries to hold himself back. “Just like that.”

You moan against his cock, which has him bucking up reflexively, shoving his dick further into your warm mouth. Your throat spasms around the head of his cock when it hits the back of it, gagging lightly and tears forming at the edges of your eyes.

“Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he says, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumb.

You shake your head slightly in reassurance, moaning around his cock again, and he releases a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut once more as you continue to suck and bob and lick, effectively ruining him.

“Okay, okay, baby,” he says after a little while, lightly tugging on your hair to try and get you to stop. “I’m gonna come if you keep doin’ that.” 

You release his cock with an audible pop and send him a pout, “But that’s the whole point.” 

He chuckles a bit, sliding the mask off for a second so he can pull you up to kiss you softly, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You moan gratefully into his mouth when he tilts his head to deepen it, opening up greedily. As attractive as you find the mask, you certainly do miss being able to kiss him. You sigh happily when he pulls back to mouth at your jaw and throat, sucking and nipping his way down. 

“I wanna be in you when I come,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough and gruff and you don’t think you’ll ever tire of it. “How’s that sound?”

You moan softly when he bites down on your throat, his beard and mustache tickling your skin. “Sounds…sounds good.”

He gives you another kiss before tugging his mask back down over his head, and your skin ignites, pussy fluttering.

Joel laughs. “I can literally see the cogs in your brain turnin’ when I put this on. You really do like it, huh?”

You shrug with a guilty smile. “The heart wants what it wants.”

And what it wants is him. Real bad.

So you drift a hand down to pull your panties to the side and shift your hips to position yourself over him, the head of his cock catching on your entrance. You sink slowly down, his length filling you.

The two of you moan in tandem.

“There we go,” he sighs.

“Mm, so big, Joel…” you whimper, and his dick jumps inside you.

You both just hang there for a moment, suspended in time as you get used to the feeling of each other. You’ve done this so many times, know each others bodies inside and out, yet it’s still a brand new experience every time.

You always have to adjust to his thickness. 

You break the spell with an experimental roll of your hips, and Joel’s hands clamp down on your hips with a vice grip.

“Christ—“ he swears. “You’re so good, so good for me.”

He’s filling you so fully, so deeply right now, you’re practically speared on him, and each roll of your hips has your clit brushing against his pelvic bone, amplifying that white hot pressure building inside you. 

When you and Joel first started getting intimate together, he was quiet in the bedroom. Probably a bit nervous around you—he was the one that fell first, after all.

But now after years together, he lets it all out.

Grunts and moans leak out of his gritted teeth as you fuck yourself on top of him. He’s dousing you in praises, telling you what a good girl you are. How perfect you are. How lucky he is to call you his wife. 

It’s all so very adorable and very sexy and you just love him so fucking much. 

Joel plants his feet down behind you, just to get some leverage so he can thrust his hips up into you at a steady pace. Your hands find purchase on his chest, keeping you upright while he fucks you.

His large palm slides around the front of your stomach, pressing down, and you can feel the way his cock moves inside you as he does it.

“You see that, baby?” 

You haven’t really looked down, so focused on the way he looks in the mask, how his breaths are coming out heavier and rougher through it. The way he sounds wrecked. But now that he’s asking, you do. 

You look down, only to see a slight bulge in your stomach with each thrust of his hips. 

A pleasant shudder runs through you. “Oh fuck.”

“Love seein’ the way I fuck you,” he rasps.

You watch his cock disappear and reappear with a slack jaw, eyes glazed as his hands stray to your thighs, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

You’re losing strength in your arms, your nails scraping through his chest hair as you try and remain upright, but the effort of matching his thrusts with your own along with the steady ecstasy filling your marrow is enough to have you collapsing against his chest, boneless.

And now Joel can really take the reins. His big hands grip your ass, holding you still as he pounds into you, your cheek smushing against his pecs with each heavy thrust, your clit rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin.

“F-fuck, Joel. Oh my god—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts. “Atta girl.” 

Within moments you’re already there, eyes squeezing shut, brows pulled together in ecstasy as your climax crashes over you in rolling waves. It ebbs and flows within you as you listen to the heated pants modulating through Joel’s mask, watching his eyes gloss over as he chases his own release. 

It’s so fucking good. So right. Your husband never fails to give you exactly what you want.

His thrusts grow sloppier as he follows soon behind you, the fluttering walls of your cunt pulling him over faster.

“I’m comin’,” he grits. And then he’s grinding his cock into your pussy, holding you still against him as he paints your insides with thick ropes of cum, releasing a long, drawn out, wrecked moan of your name.

You lay pliant on his chest, practically drooling on him as you both come down and his cock softens inside you, slick and cum running down the inside of your thighs. His heart pounds under your ear, a steady reminder that he’s alive and here and that you, thank fuck, didn’t die earlier today.

“Thanks,” you mumble against his perspirant skin.

He tugs the mask off, his hair sticking to his sweaty temple. “‘Course, darlin’. Though as hot as that was, I dunno about having sex wearin’ that again. I think I was startin’ to get light headed from the lack of air.”

You giggle, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I liked it. But now anytime we have to wear them again I’m just gonna be thinkin’ about this. Gonna get a damn hard-on when I’m on patrol.”

You smirk, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He opens up beneath you immediately, moaning softly into your mouth. 

“Maybe that was my goal all along,” you mumble, smiling into the kiss.

He pulls back with a quirked brow and crooked grin. “You are into some sick kinds of torture.”

“I mean, if it gets you coming home to me quicker…”

“Oh I’ll be comin’, alright.”

Your face scrunches. “God, you’re sick. Why did I even marry you?”

His eyes melt, one hand squeezing your ass cheek, the other stroking your jaw. “Because you love me.”

That causes tears to well in your eyes again, because despite everything, despite all the fucked up things about this world, you do love him. You’re capable of loving him. And you’re grateful that, even with the terrible way life has treated him, he’s capable of loving you too.

“Yeah, I do,” you say.

He kisses you again, sweet and passionate and filled with all the things he never knows how to say. “I love you, too.”

[captain-mj]

The Journal

I don't know. Cw: Ghost's backstory

Soap found the unassuming book on his desk. The edges of the paper had turned slightly yellow and they were clearly flipped through quite often. He frowned at it, wondering who went into his room and set this there. It felt... almost threatening.

Soap gently opened the book to look at the first page.

I'm writing this journal as a "therapy" exercise. Frankly I think it's fucking bollocks. I'm fine. I dream about nothing.

Well. That wasn't very helpful. The handwriting was odd. Almost scrawling, like the person who was writing had shaky hands but also couldn't be bothered to hold the pen properly.

Soap frowned. This seemed a rather personal thing to give to a person. But it was in his room.

Just one more page.

Apparently I'm supposed to introduce myself. Fine. My name is Simon Riley. I belong to the SAS. I was a POW for a couple of months. I keep hearing numbers but none of them feel right. I think parts of me are still down there.

I hurt. Everywhere. Especially when people touch me. I can't sleep. Can barely eat. My mum is worried. So does Tommy. I want to tell them to fuck off. I have. But they keep worrying. I wonder if this is how Beth felt.

On the page was a polaroid. A baby faced Simon with nasty scars on his face, still fresh and angry. He looked half dead. Dark circles under his eyes and an expression nothing like his usual. Someone had their hand on his shoulder, but he could only see their arm.

Soap sucked in a breath. There was no way Ghost gave this to him. No fucking way.

He got up and grabbed the book, going straight for Ghost's quarters, planning on returning it immediately and pretending he had found it and couldn't find Price to turn it in.

Ghost's quarters were empty. His knives were missing, but his clothes were still there, meaning he was on a mission.

Fuck.

Soap paused and tapped his foot. He wasn't sure if Price was around. How did someone get this? If he left it in his room, he was worried someone would find it. He'd have to keep it. Just to be sure.

Soap set it back on his desk. When he saw Price, he'd talk to him.

After a minute of staring at it, Soap shoved the book into a drawer and closed it tight. He left to talk to Gaz to distract himself for a few hours.

Gaz was nice enough to tell him that Ghost and Price were on a mission together and that they wouldn't be back for a few days.

No big deal.

A few days with a book that potentially had a lot of answers to some questions he had about Ghost.

Soap didn't make it the night before he was reading more pages. He never claimed to have great self control.

Good morning. I feel like a teen, writing in a diary. I've been put on new medication today. Supposed to help. It makes me dizzy for some reason.

My mum keeps making me tea. She wants to make sure I'm real. I see her hands hovering around me. If I wasn't such a shit son, I'd tell her she can hug me. The thought makes my skin crawl. I see her dead body in my dreams. I see the skull they said was hers. I want to tell her I'm okay, but I don't want to lie.

Soap felt sick. There was a drawing. It was crude, clearly done out of boredom and with no real care behind it. Soap was pretty sure it was a skull that was dripping something. Maybe blood. The ink was all black so there was no way to tell. "Mum" was written several times around it.

I dreamed about her again.

That caught Soap's attention. Her? Was Ghost into women? That seemed unlikely.

She used to speak so soothingly in spanish to me. I wonder if she was like me. Did Roba rape her too?

Soap shut the book and shoved it under his pillow. Enough of that. Nope. He didn't want to think of those words and what they meant.

Fucking too.

No.

No...

No!

The idea of something like that happening to his Lieutenant was... It just... didn't happen.

Soap pulled the book out and kept reading. Just... to prove it wasn't real.

I don't know. It's not a nice thought. Maybe I want someone else to hurt too. I tried to jack off the other day and ended up scrubbing myself raw afterward from how it made me feel. How pathetic right?

Not sure what this is doing. What benefit this has. I'm writing my thoughts. Trying to feel better. Tommy joked about me buying a hooker. I had a panic attack. it was like i was back in high school again. fucking baby.

There was a picture of someone, presumably Tommy, and Simon hanging out. They were both smoking and Tommy was making a sign with his hands. He had a giant grin on his face. Simon had a carved out Glasgow smile that looked like it hurt. Raw. it looked to be after the earlier polaroid. The dark circles hadn't gotten better, but there was more color and flesh in his face.

My mum wants me to talk to my dad. I don't know why. I don't know want to see him. Can't let him see me right now. Maybe when I'm recovered. Last time I saw him, I beat his ass. Doubt he's going to forgive me.

Bastard is pure evil. He gets off on hurting people. Got off on hurting me. I think he's trying to use the cancer as an excuse to get close to my mum again. I'll beat his ass again. I'm putting on more weight. I'll fucking do it.

There was a little stick man drawing labeled 'Simon' and 'Bitch' with Simon beating him to death. Soap thought the blood was rather well drawn, even if the stick figures wasn't.

As the week went on, he kept reading a few pages at a time. He learned... things.

Ghost liked Vanilla tea.

Ghost had been assaulted by more than one person.

Ghost's father had beaten him. A lot.

Ghost was scared of snakes.

Ghost loved his Mum.

Ghost hated most mystery movies.

Tommy was Ghost's brother and was the second most important in his life.

And that they were all dead. All of them.

He wrote an explanation of everything there. In a clinical, harsh detail.

I wish I had died down there in Mexico. I wish I had laid down in that grave and died. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

It kept repeating and then he had just started over and wrote over the first layer.

Soap was crying. He couldn't help it. Tommy was so... young. Not to mention the descriptions Ghost gave of his family in general. The pages after that were mostly drawings or scribbles, all made with heavy hands.

Simon knocked. He could tell by the sound he made when he knocked. "Johnny?"

"When did you get back?"

"...Just now. Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Soap wiped his face so he'd look... normal. "Yeah come in."

Ghost stepped inside and saw the book. "Enjoy it?"

"What?"

"I left it for you."

"Why?"

Ghost hummed. "Thought it would be the easiest way to let you in."

Soap swallowed. "You don't do anything half assed do you?"

Ghost's eyes stared at him. Answer enough right there.

[userautumn]

You are always 100% right and valid btw. Because like buck and Tommy are broken up, but you also have several interviews released today where Ryan calls Buck and Eddie “brothers” and where Oliver explicitly says Eddie is straight so they will most likely continue to be just friends. So if it wasn’t for Buddie, what was the point in throwing away a relationship the audience was actually behind??

Yeah, this has always been my problem with the idea of Buck and Tommy breaking up and, now that it's happened, I can finally unload all my thoughts.

Listen, my Buddie mutuals are very assured that Buck and Eddie will get together and have this lush and beautiful arc where they settle into a relationship and feel out the kinks in their dynamic and really blend together, and I respect that. I would love to see that happen. But I don't have that same confidence. Don't get me wrong, I DO think Buck and Eddie will probably get together, I just don't think it's going to happen until the last episode of the last season in a way that's more reminiscent of Johnlock "canon" (for those who did not watch BBC Sherlock: John and Sherlock continued to live together and raise John's daughter, but this was revealed in a montage without ever actually seeing them get together, or confirm that they were in a romantic relationship) than anything.

Why? Well, because it's easier to tease your audience than it is to follow through.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think Tim is teasing the fandom in a malicious way, and—if nothing else—I know he is very aware of what these boys and the implication of their relationship means to people. 9-1-1 has always handled their relationship with a particular gravitas, and I don't see that changing now. But Tim has been writing Buck and Eddie for years. He knows what gets people going, he knows what this fandom likes to see, and what they'll read into. So why would he rush into making them "endgame," especially if he knows he already wants to take them in that direction? He has no incentive to make it happen Right Now because everyone will lap up what he puts out anyway.

And I get it, because I do love Buck and Eddie's relationship. I love the way they interact with each other and, yes, I will lap up any scene between them. But that's the part I find so draining too. I'm going to be honest, I've never liked a "will-they-won't-they" couple. As a personal preference, I've always liked to have a clear vision of a story's trajectory when I go into it. That's how I write, and that's what I gravitate toward in fiction. So the idea of going through any number of love interests until Buck and Eddie are "ready for each other" (so sick of that phrase. sob.) is literally... exhausting to me, and not in a fun way. Because this is a loop that could theoretically continue on, and on, and on, until whenever the powers that be decide enough is enough.

Sure, Eddie is happy and free now. Great. But he still doesn't know he's Queer. What happens when he does realize that? Does he need to date a guy first in order to be "ready" for Buck? Similarly (because their romantic arcs always run parallel to each other), when Buck fucks and sucks his way through Los Angeles, does he stumble upon a hot girl/guy and date her/him until Eddie's "ready" for him? How many times, exactly, am I going to sit through another love interest until they're on the same page after, by my count, three false starts? You know?

I'm obviously along for the ride. Always have been, always will be, and I fought too hard over the summer to maintain my love for these boys and their relationship to let it waste away now. But I desperately, desperately need Tim to give me something substantial that CLEARLY, and EXPLICITLY indicates IMMEDIATE strides toward ROMANTIC Buddie Canon. And I mean crystal clear. Not "building a thousand words of meta off a single line/moment" clear. Not "this look probably definitely means Eddie was thinking about ripping Buck's clothes off" clear. I mean, I want it so damn clear, a sixty-five year old grandpa with cataracts can see it.

Otherwise I'm just going to get really annoyed.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

for a writing prompt,….Buck and Tommy get caught in the firetruck ( buck 1.0 style).

We love a bit of Buck 1.0. Enjoy! 🩶

*****

RATED: E

It was almost 3am. Bucks shift had finished 45 minutes ago and he was more than excited to be going home. Home meaning Tommy’s place. He was always excited to be seeing Tommy after shift but he was particularly on edge to see him tonight.

Literally.

All day Tommy had been teasing him with filthy messages telling him what he was to do with Buck after shift. Buck had spent the majority of the day riled up with half a hard on. One accidental brush to his dick from anyone or any thing and he would have exploded like an illegal firework.

But, because shit always happens when it’s the least convenient, his jeep wouldn’t start. Aside from Chimey who was working a double to cover sickness from a member of the B shift, everybody had already left so nobody could take him home. And being a Saturday night, it would be a wait for an uber.

Instead, he reluctantly called Tommy who, of course, immediately jumped into his car to come pick Buck up.

He walked into the station and Buck damn near came in his pants like a teenager at the sight. He was wearing the exact same outfit he’d worn on their first date—top 3 buttons undone on his shirt too— that he knew drove Buck wild.

“Hey.” His voice practically sang in the low gorgeous tone.

“God you’re so fucking hot.” Buck told him, trying desperately not to jump him in the middle of the station.

Tommy laughed. “I thought you’d like the outfit” he smirked.

“Understatement of the millennium.” Buck told him.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah I-“ An idea crossed Bucks mind. It was probably stupid, definitely reckless but so absolutely fucking hot. “Uh, did I ever tell you about how I got fired when I was a probie?”

“Yeah, you stole an engine to have sex.” He answered correctly. Buck raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s your poi- Evan. We are not stealing a fire truck to have sex.”

“Oh of course not.” He said stepping close to Tommy. “I just think it’s highly convenient there’s an empty engine in front of us and-“ he looked around the semi darkened station “-B shift are all catching up on sleep..” he reached up and opened the door. “And someone told me today that they were going to suck my dick so hard I’d see stars..”

“Evan, we can’t..”

“Well, I’m going to to get in the engine and take off my pants. What you do is up to you.” He stepped up into the truck and closed the door behind him.

Tommy stood for a second contemplating Evan’s suggestion. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t turn him on—he was flushed and half hard already. He looked around to make sure nobody was around and reached up to open the door. As he stepped up and saw inside his throat immediately went dry and his mouth filled with saliva simultaneously.

Evan was sat in the center of the back seat, naked from the waist down, legs wide apart, slowly stroking himself.

This kid was gonna kill him. Or get them both fired.

He shut the door behind him and shot forward grabbing Evan by the throat and crashing his lips into his. Buck whined at the feel of Tommys lips on his, and then at Tommys tongue taking over his mouth. His hand grabbed Evan’s cock and he continued at the rhythm Evan was going at.

“Fuck that’s.. ah.. good..”

Tommy moved his lips along Evan’s jaw, under his ear and down his throat. Nipping and licking as he travelled.

He hated to admit it but the thought of them getting caught was making his own cock swell uncomfortably in his own pants. Slowly his mouth travelled down Evan’s torso and groin. He licked the crease in the inside of Evan’s leg; his cheek lightly grazing Evan’s cock, who groaned at the touch.

“Please.. Tommy.. “ Tommy looked up, making eye contact with Evan as his tongue slid agonisingly slowly across to the base. Keeping eye contact his licked slowly up the underside of Evan’s cock, sucking in the head as he got to the top.

“Fuck!” Evan breathed out. Tommy still had plans for when they got home, so he wasn’t going to draw this moment out too long.

Without warning he took Evan whole in one go.

“Jesusfuckingchrist!” Evan called out, not being able to enunciate his words. “Holy.. ah!”

Tommy moved quickly; lips and mouth sliding up and down along the velvety skin. Evan’s cock was jabbing the back of Tommys throat and his hands grabbed Tommys hair, holding on for leverage as his hips bucked in rhythm, fucking Tommys mouth.

He was so fucking close to exploding down Tommys throat. He loved it when Tommy took his time teasing and playing and edging him into a bumbling mess. But something Tommy surprised him with an instant 0-60mph experience that drove him wild.

“God.. ah.. I’m so fuck.. fucking.. cl..close.. ah!”

He was right there . Right on the cliff edge, about to cascade over into a pool of absolute fucking heaven when the engine door suddenly opened.

“AAAHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Chimneys voice cried out. Buck and Tommy immediately separated; Buck clamouring to put his pants back on. He jumped out of the engine, not even bothering to put his shoes back on.

“Chim I’m so so-“

“No no no no!” He called back holding his arms up. “Don’t want to hear anything from you. Why? Buck. Why?! We have to work in that truck?! How many times have you done that?! Do you clean it afterwards?! Actually I don’t want to know!” He turned to walk away.

“Wait wait wait!” Buck shouted, running ahead and standing in front of him.

“It was the first time, I swear. And I-I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to, it-it just happened and-“

“You know how lucky you are that it was me that caught you and not cap? Or any of the B shift?” Chimney asked him. Buck couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m going to let this one go and pretend it didn’t happen—mostly for the sake of the nightmares I’m inevitably going to have now, and the fact that your sister would be mad at me if I let you lose your job. So-“

“I swear it won’t hap-“

“Stop talking. So.. I’m going to walk away and the two of you are going to go home. But if it happens again I’m definitely going to report it to Cap. Understood?”

“Yes.” Buck replied immediately before Chim walked away. Just as he got most of the way up the stairs he turned back towards Buck and Tommy. “Oh and Buck! You better clean in there be for you leave. Maybe use bleach.” He shivvered.

“I think that just put a dampener on our evening.” Tommy said.

“You wash your mouth out Thomas Kinard! You are going to take me home, and we’re going to finish what we started.” He walked quickly out of the station towards Tommys car.

“Yes, Sir.” Tommy replied to himself before following.

[dykelips]

steddie — friends with benefits to lovers drabble

“friends don't do what we do.”

rating — teen & up. | tags — fwb to lovers, roommates au, everybody lives/nobody dies, gay steve, gay eddie, mutual pining, friends to lovers, love confessions, angst and hurt/comfort, friends with benefits.

steve's never really had self control. he's never had any when it came to several instances—calling jonathan byers a queer, kissing tommy on a drunken night when he was 15, going straight into an alternate dimension, facing billy hargrove and getting his ass beat, or even telling robin he has feelings for her, soon to find out she's a lesbian, and that he himself is a gay man.

steve's self control surely didn't exist the day steve proposed an... idea to eddie—a no attachment, friends with benefits who bang and get it out of their system type of deal. they're already best friends, deeply bonded from the whole vecna ordeal, so what harm could this do to them?

and now that steve thinks about it, it didn't do a small amount of harm, it practically ruined steve. he fell for eddie, and he's not sure eddie feels the same way.

steve broke his own rule. he found himself attached to eddie, thinking about eddie, talking only about eddie, being in love with eddie.

after steve comes home to their apartment and sees eddie making out with someone on their couch, he starts an argument. he doesn't own eddie, they aren't dating, and eddie's a grown man who can do whatever he wants, but seeing someone else other than himself lay their lips onto eddie's and kiss him, that really starts something inside of steve.

he can practically feel all of the months worth of collected feelings and thoughts bubbling up inside of him and almost spilling out over the sides the second eddie says what he says.

"we're just friends. we're friends, steve. you're you, and i'm me, and that's it," eddie says, arms crossed over his chest, hiding himself away and trying to tuck himself together.

"friends!? fucking—fucking friends, eddie? that's what we are? friends don't do the things we do."

steve scoffs and looks directly at eddie, face going red with anger and a mix of pain inside of him.

eddie looks down, lips pulled into a thin line, eyes downturned and hair hanging down around him, shielding him like a cave hidden behind a waterfall.

"yes, harrington. friends," eddie breathes out, head snapping up. "you act like you want me to say that we're more than that, but you're not into me. you just want to fuck me and act like nothing happened. i can't deal with that. i need someone who loves me, who tells me they need me and will take care of me and isn't disgusted or annoyed by me. that's what i need, not a fuck-buddy."

steve sputters and reaches his hands out, mentally saying fuck it and telling eddie how he really feels.

"eddie, jesus christ! i'm in love with you! i've been in love with you since you woke up from that goddamn coma last year."

eddie's eyes go wide, comically large and round, looking like bambi. he really fucking loves him.

"stop messing around, man."

steve shakes his head, not letting eddie dismiss him and believe it's just some sick joke that he's playing on him.

"why would i lie about loving you, eddie? everything i've done, it's all because of you. do you really think i would tell you this and compromise our friendship if i didn't feel just like i'm telling you now?"

eddie's mouth opens and closes like a dead fish, and he finally shuts it fully. "i, i don't—"

"if you don't love me back, that's okay. i just had to tell you, eds. you don't understand how much you mean to me," steve confesses, lips pulled into an apologetic smile. he goes and turns to walk out the door of their apartment,

eddie shoots out his arm, hand grabbing onto steve's forearm, squeezing, trying to stop him from leaving. "steve! fuck, i love you, too! i do, i really, really do. and, look, i didn't know how to tell you, because you're always being so frustratingly you, clearly not understanding all the hints i've dropped, trying to signal that i've been in love with you for months, too."

eddie licks his lips and his eyes seem to plead.

"really?" steve asks, hope bubbling up inside of him.

he nods, hair shaking around. "yeah, stevie. cross my heart and hope to die. i mean it. swear on it, even."

steve smiles at that.

"swear on what, exactly?" he knows the line he's crossing, and if eddie says what steve thinks he'll say, then steve knows it's true.

"on my guitar. my sweetheart. you know the one. i swear on her," eddie tells him, eyes flipping down to steve's lips and back up to meet his eyes.

"that's a big swear, munson. might need you to kiss me to prove it," steve teases, stepping in closer to eddie's bubble, noses almost touching.

eddie grins, wider that steve has seen for as long as he can remember. "i can do that."

he certainly swears on his guitar if the kiss that they shared proves anything.

whoops i suck at endings and writing in general, but this has been stuck in my head and i felt like trying to write. here it is. love you xx

[ghouldtime]

Hiii it's me again lol

Okayokay, so I just finished reading your rant on the COD fandom's unique choice of pet names, and I'm gonna be straight up and say I'm going completely off topic and INSTEAD veer off to a side thing you pointed out to give my own opinion! This is a kinda hot take so I'm just screaming into the void hoping someone shares my thoughts 🖤

Sooo we all know the Ghost comics released alongside the OG MW2. I personally haven't read it due to the TWs but I've seen enough screenshots and summaries to get the gist of what happens. HOWEVER I believe those comics are only canon to 09 Ghost and doesn't apply to reboot Ghost, and this is what I meant about it being a hot take cuz almost everyone in the fandom agrees the comics happens for both. And I can definitely see why! I mean, we didn't exactly get any concrete backstory regarding reboot Ghost, so anything goes.

Where I stand on the line, I'm a firm believer of reboot Ghost being Just A Guy™️like he had a (relatively) chill childhood but there are some things that stay the same with the comics. Like Tommy scaring him with the skeleton mask when they were children, and Simon enlisting after the 9/11 attack (not sure if those are canon, it's just what I've heard so please correct me if I'm wrong). No abusive father, no Roba, no Christmas trauma. Sure it makes him less interesting but I find it pretty amusing how the person wearing a skull print balaclava has no real reason behind wearing it other than it looking cool lmao

Anyway, yap fest over! Hope you have a wonderful day/night and remember to hydrate! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

SALUTATIONS it's good to see you again, I hope you're doing swell as well :D 💚💚💚

Technically, what you're saying is true!

The '09 comics pair with the '09 character and are indeed cannon for only him as far as I'm aware (someone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong). The reboot lacks a true significant backstory. As in, if you search it up, you basically get "he joined the SAS and is super cool and is great at doing cool soldier things and probably can do a sick backflip". What we know about the reboot is basically what we experience in game. And until we get either another game focusing on his earlier life or have confirmed scenes of it, we really don't know.

Personally, how I distinguish "Ghost" as a being is as three versions.

You have '09 Ghost. '09 Ghost is the one we experienced in the OG games and the comics. He's the dead one - and the one with the actual official backstory. Those are both cannon and are tied to him as a character.

You then have Reboot Ghost. Reboot Ghost is, as the name entails, the reboot alone. Basically, what we have of him and know of him is what we experience in game. Technically, we don't know his backstory and the full extent of his life. Is it similar to his '09 counterpart? We don't know. He's kinda the "What you see is what you get". There's some things implied with his dialog but most of his story is up for debate.

And then we have what I'm calling Fandom Ghost who is the most common variant. Fandom Ghost is neither the reboot nor the '09 version - he's a middle ground. He's what everyone is thinking of when you hear 'Ghost'. Usually how I've seen him portrayed is the reboot with the '09 backstory or some semblance of that.

(Side note: I know it's quite typical to specify when you're referring to '09 Ghost specifically because he does, of course, have a very different history and outcome. Not to mention, the dynamics with him and Soap are very different than in the reboot which is another reason why people usually clarify and go "This is who I mean")

I've never actually seen a TRUE reboot Ghost that wasn't fandom based or fanon in writing, now that I think about it. Probably because it's not that easy to write about a character in a limited sense where you don't know much about them and you have to stick to the limited material you're given.

A lot of COD operators lack a significant backstory outside of their military history. That's mainly done because they're videogame characters of a military, shooting focused game and they don't usually have the time to go into depth as to why that character is the way they are. They're primarily soldiers who are saving the world and playing their role. You might see snippets here and there but the focus isn't on their background or the inner workings of their character in a very personal way, aside from what is revealed on missions to add a natural perspective and make them see more human

Because it's not like in the middle of a life or death situation you're going to sit down and explain that you had a dog growing up, you had three sisters, your favorite drink is Baja Blast, and you have a lifelong fear of Burger King.

'09 Ghost, however, we GOT a backstory. We were given something to work with. Clinging to that or melding it with the reboot, who lacks a backstory, is what a lot do because it's trying to make use of the best source material we got until we can maybe get something else too. Personally I was a fan of that backstory because it DID add depth to him, significantly so. I liked it.

Additionally, I think a LOT of people go that route too because it's something that's quite easy to look up so they don't need to make something themselves

(This is an entire theory and me putting on my tinfoil hat: There's a lot of people in the COD fandom who are just here for the big beefy men and don't do their research, haven't played the games - they're just assuming things. And when they see the fandom Ghost, they just assume it's true, and it spreads when they write their own stories. I hope this doesn't read like I'm trying to gatekeep or 'HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW EVERYTHING' or 'you're not a true fan unless-', cause I really really really do not care. Do what makes you happy, but I'm going to avoid reading what I feel mischaracterizes him for sexual purposes alone hardcore)

I also like to imagine that maybe the team doing the reboots has enough common sense too to not entirely scrap such a backstory as hey, it IS interesting, so there's a strong possibility that reboot might share some origins. Kidding, I'm being fully delusional here and know they won't do that and will likely just ruin it and I'm hoping they don't have a chance. I know any new one they come up with -like the writing in the last campaign -would be utter carbonated hot dog water and I do not trust them at alllllll. I'm refusing to accept reboot Soap's death but that's a rant for another time

That being said though, there's technically no correct backstory yet for Reboot! Ghost aside from what we already know. Anything that adds backstory or melds anything else to him is making him fanon/fandom!Ghost (which is by far the most common iteration and the one people default too)

I love when people give him, and other COD characters, happy or somewhat not dramatic backstories. They already have enough going on with the wars they're thrown in, I live for them having a scrap of happiness and normality. I can't blame people for not wanting to write or deal with heavy backstories and it's nice to see variety and is SO super valid.

But at the same time, I also do like his OG backstory, I love seeing when people dig deeper into the gritty stuff too, exploring that side of characters because not everyone has the best life growing up. And joining the military and when they join can be telling too about their home life

Variety is the variety of life and when there's not exactly a cannon, then I love seeing people make their own reasonings and conclusions and write fanfics with their own theories. It's SO fun to explore what other people think and it really results in some of the sweetest fics that dive more into depth than the official writing team ever could hope to

The Ghost that I write are usually AU Ghosts anyhow so it allows me more flexibility in what I write. BUT if I'm writing for Ghost, I do the blend where it has more of the '09's backstory but his reboot vibes. THAT BEING SAID

I love making him just, A Dude©, still despite that. Having a bad past doesn't make him any less of a person - nor does it make him this ultra mega tough dominant edgy sigma bad boy. He's literally just a GUY. Sure, he has extensive SAS experience and training to boot. Sure, he's easily one of their top soldiers. He's a stone cold killer when he's Ghost. He's there to do the job.

But Simon? Simon's just a dude, like everyone else - they all are at the end of the day. Sure, they have their own personal struggles and do have to go through a lot, but they're still people. He goes to the grocery store and is genuinely confused about all the options of milk now (how the hell did they milk HEMP). He still makes his bed and has to fight the fitted sheet to stay on, using his size and strength to force it in place before it can do 'the thing' that all fitted sheets somehow do. He bought a bird feeder so he could watch the wildlife as he drinks his tea for breakfast. Speaking of tea, he has a whole collection! And the good shit, you know he won't settle for any less.

He's just A DUDE© at the end of the day and I love those mundane things because hell, he needs them to still feel human and to be reminded exactly what he's fighting for

I just find it so silly and ridiculous when he's consistently like "I'M Batman: I AM THE NIGHT" sheer dramatic levels of broody in stories or when he's put in as this mega dommy bad boy who is 6'5", growling constantly, and is like the posterchild for a wattpad biketok fanfic.

Lmaooo be for real, he's out here doing arts and crafts to make his masks. He has a whole paint collection and everything. He went into the craft store for paint and came out with two new hobbies and no, I'm not listening to anyone who says otherwise

[jenna-ortega]

there's been a glitch

vertigo act II

pairing - joel miller x female reader word count - 4.6k warnings - infidelity, jealousy, angst, cunnilingus, somnophilia, dub-con(not rlly but you'll see), kissing, joel isn't mean but he's stupid(as most men are) a/n: hello all! hope you're liking this new serious. let me know how you like it, and if you have any ideas for what you want to see next..i may or may not heed that advice ;)

SUMMARY: joel doesn't want to acknowledge what happened. when he does acknowledge it, you don't like his decision. maybe you need to get over this. or maybe you need to show him you're something worth missing.

previous chapter - series masterlist -

series playlist by the wonderful @lovers-liability

The rest of your October was filled with the aching pains of rejections. A feeling between embarrassment and intense longing for something so out of reach, yet you’ve touched it with your fingertips. The buzzing electric of what you wanted to call a feeling deeper than impulsion. You cherish the smell of Joel on your body, clothes, and mind for the lonesome three weeks he’d left you hanging. How could he touch your body the way he did and not think to check in? 

He’s a monster. You start to believe it. Everyone in this town would throw themselves in front of a bullet for the man who makes it his mission to protect everyone in the settlement. Oh, but how could you take a bullet for the man who is seemingly behind the trigger? 

Your body has been stuck to the bed all morning. The same predicament you found yourself in yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before that. You got what you wanted, right? A taste of Joel…so why did you feel so sick about it?

A loud knock followed by the swinging of your door startled you out of bed, grabbing the closest thing,( your bedside lamp) as a weapon for the intruder. 

“Whoever you are, you better get the hell out! I’m armed!” you called down from the bedroom. Your thinly veiled threat held no weight as you heard footsteps creep closer to your door, 

“I’m serious!” you shout. 

“Alright killer, it’s just me.” 

Your shoulders immediately shrug in relief. Tommy.

You walked to your bedroom door, swinging it open and presenting your very threatening weapon,

“Any closer you woulda been picking lamp pierces out of your skin…” you smile sarcastically. 

Tommy breathes out a laugh, slowly inching to you and grabbing the lamp from your hand, placing it on top of the dresser to his right,

“You’re taking it out on the wrong brother, darlin’” his eyebrows cinch together as his gives you a toothy grin, 

“Haha. Very funny.” you cross your arms, “Why are you harassing me at the home, miller.” 

You begin to walk away from Tommy, feeling his presence follow behind closely to your bedside, 

“You love the marathon of halloween movies we play through the month…haven’t seen you at one yet. Got me worried ‘bout you” you sighed and turned to him, biting the inside of your lip, he notices your silence and continues, 

“They’re playing beetlejuice, your favorite…” 

Still nothing.

“Joel asked about you.” 

Your ears perked up and a slight smile spread across your face, blood rushing to your cheeks, “Really?” 

Tommy throws his arms to his side, “Jesus..” he says your name with a hint of disgust,

“I knew it.” he points at you, 

“No!! It’s…it’s not what you think. I don’t even care…” you lie, but you have to know

“...What did he say?” 

“Nothing. I lied.” 

You grabbed a pillow from the top of your bed and threw it at Tommy, “you asshole!” 

“I’ll shut up if you come with me to the movie.” he drives a hard bargin, 

“Fine.” 

—

Walking into the movies after not seeing the general public in broad daylight for weeks felt so odd to your eyes. The low light helps adjust your vision, and search the room for someone you know you should be ignoring. 

Check. You find a 5’2 brunette cursing like a sailor near the drinks. If she’s here he has to be here. Maybe she’s talking to….no. Not him. A slightly taller girl with tan skin and black hair…definitely not him. 

Tommy breaks you out of your trance, hand falling on your back as he pushes you further in the room.

“We’re gonna clear everything out of here and hold the halloween party here next weekend…” he leaves the statement open for you to comment,

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Remember we spoke about the matching costumes?” – 

You couldn't answer him, goosebumps adorning your body as you feel those eyes on you. A visceral reaction only he can pull from him. 

Gotcha. Joel’s eyes burn into the side of your head, scowling as his eyes trail Tommys hand on your back. Blowing out a breath of frustration as he shakes his head, 

He didn’t mean to ignore you. God he’s so stupid. He couldn’t comprehend the feelings you ignorantly ripped from him by only being true to how you felt. He’s never been pursued so unapologetically. Never had a body react like yours had to him. Vanessa was out of convenience. You are out of unadulterated chaos. Chaos he has been welcoming in each and every night with his fist wrapped tightly around himself, thinking of the sweet sounds his body pulled from you. Knowing it was him that could bring you to a blubbering mess has him coming over his knuckles with a groan. He cleared his throat as he was lost in his thoughts, not realizing the moment had come and gone of you noticing his watchful eye. 

His eyes encourage you to act a little more open, a little more…daring with Tommy. Throwing your body on his arm as you laugh, grabbing his bicep as you look up at him, 

“Hey.” Joel squeezes himself between the two of you, nodding at his baby brother and throwing him a glaring look, 

A few minutes go by allowing Joel to make awkward small talk with Tommy, not once inviting you into the conversation. 

You caught him looking at him, and you made a face at him. His lips going tight and his nostrils flaring, you smiled now and walked to where the 5’2 girl was standing just half an hour ago. 

Only one set of footsteps trail behind, 

“Can we talk?” he whispers, but you pretend you can’t hear as you continue to walk, 

“Can’t hear you.” you’re petty. 

“I said–” he grabs the inside of the elbow and pulls you to a stop, “can.we.talk?” he enunciates his words in a low but menacing tone, 

“Haven’t wanted to talk in the past three weeks.” you make sure the coldness in your voice is evident. 

You look up at him through your eyebrows, crossing your arms as you look his face over once again. Even now he’s so handsome. Dark blue t-shirt, and regular jeans on. He could make the simplest outfits into pieces you’d worship. Your eyes trail down from his eyes to his neck. Redness prominent in his skin. You follow a vein with your eyes, getting lost as you land on his  flexing arm, snapping in your face, bringing you back to earth. 

“Are ya even listenin’ to me?” he says, and you stay silent. Letting him continue. 

“I know i’ve been –” you interrupt him, “a dick.” “distant.” he corrects you, huffing at your immature language. 

You have a stare off as the world spins around you both. How could nobody see the way your chest must be protruding from how hard your heart is beating. Your body in flight or fight mode, from something so little yet so big in your mind. He doesn’t deserve this reaction from you. He deserves nothing from you. You knew what happened between the two of you wouldn’t solve anything. But god, you asked him to stay. All he had to do was stay. 

“Maybe we can speak more privately?” he asks, tone lighter as he begins recognizing your signs of overstimulation, 

“Sorry, Tommy is waiting for me.”

“and is Tommy your date?” he states plainly. “Guess he looks enough like me for your taste.” His eyes flicker darker than before, jealousy spilling from his lips.

You slap Joel’s arms.

“Knock it off.” you warn.

“Tomorrow. Noon. Let’s talk. Come to my place.” he states, 

“What? So you can kidnap me and sell my organs on the black market…” you huff, beginning to walk away. “No thank you”,

He once again grabs your arm back, bringing you into the conversation you so desperately want out of. 

“You ain’t a kid, can’t kidnap you.” 

“I am. I am a child of god.” you joke, tilting your head in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not offering. I’m telling. You don’t show up, I come to you.” he steps further in your space, looking down at you, begging you to come back at him. 

You furrow your brows at him, whimpering in defeat, 

“Noon. Tomorrow.” 

—

Your legs go to mush as you walk step by step up to his porch. Not sure if you want to throw up or throw hands. 

Would you forgive him this easily if he asked? But what really was there to forgive…did he wrong you? Are you the one that should be upset? Maybe you’ve been acting erratic about this. Your self observation is cut short by the opening of a door, Joel standing in his doorway with his wide brown eyes, looking you up and down, smirking as you stand in front of him swaying. 

You both don’t greet each other. He gestures for you to come in, a polite smile is how you respond. Walking further into his place until he paces in front of you, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a mug from his cabinets,

You watch him delicately pour a brown substance, eyes squinting just as he looks up at you,

“Poison?” you question.

“Coffee.” he states blankly. 

He finishes his pours, pushing one mug over to you slowly, “milk’s in the fridge if you care for it.” 

A few awkward beats of silence arise between the two of you while you both sip down. The bitter liquid burning your tongue a bit, he catches the wince in your face, “‘s hot.” he warns then, 

You nod at him, putting the heavy cup down and sighing. Joel mimicking your actions, 

“I’m sorry.” 

It’s everything you wanted to hear from him. So why is your stomach sinking at the words?

“For what?” you want to hear more. You want to make him acknowledge his careless actions. 

“For what happened between us–” he blinks downward, inside of his cheek catching on his teeth. He looks distraught, “I wasn’t thinking,” he continues, but you cut him off

“Wasn’t thinking?” you scoff, “wasn’t thinking when you stuck your dick halfway in me?” your stomach burns at the way he listens to your words, anger now apparent in all the small twitches you see adorning his face. 

“Joel…” you whisper, out of ammunition. “Why am I here?” 

The hairs on your body rise as his heavy boots walk to you, standing in front of your body as you turn on the chair, back slightly grazing his table. His eyes get softer as he looks at you, you know whatever he has to say isn’t good. With how hard of a time he’s having doing anything other than look at you as if you are an object he’s scared to break. Not a person he’s destroyed,, rather something he’s destroyed. Does he even see you as human? Why would he play with your emotions like this if he cared about the emotional wellbeing of others? Throughout this whole experience the same sentiment comes up…how is this the same Joel Miller everyone loves? How is this the same Joel Miller that you love, like?

“We…” he begins. “We can’t do whatever–” he points to the both of you, “this is” 

You’re silent. 

“I can’t give you what you want from me right now. I can’t hurt Vanessa, it’s too messy.”  his voice is soft, hands come to find yours. He’s trying, he’s trying so hard to do this right. Do right by you. But you’ll never believe that. You’ll never believe him. 

“I know, you don’t like mess.” your voice breaks as you whisper, looking down at where your hands connect. 

“I want you to get over this. I want to see you happy.” he pleads, 

“I’d be happy with you” a tear slides down your cheek as you tighten your grip on his hands. 

“You can't. We can’t” you notice how pained he looks, eyes red and glassy, 

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” you didn’t imagine you’d be saying this to him today. He apologized, and is doing everything right. Why do you want him to be the bad guy so bad? 

You stand, getting even closer to him as he refuses to budge backwards. 

“What is this–” your hand lands on his heart, “telling you to do?” 

He shakes his head, grabbing your hand off his chest and kissing the palm. Then kissing the back of your hand. Kissing up your arm, and then wraps your arms around his chest, being the first to break the heavy tension in the air by devouring your lips in his. You moan in his mouth, both of you smiling into one another. 

Your hands find the bottom of his plaid shirt, unbuttoning the last button with your mouth attached to him. Your fingers finding his second button, surprised when he stops you and pushing your body away as if you’ve hurt him. 

“We can’t…” he shakes his head as he looks away, “shit…we can’t.” he says your name sternly. 

“Please–” you beg. You begin crying in front of him, not quite sobbing, but tears are expelled from your eyes at an alarming rate. 

“Tell me you care about me. I know you care about me.” you demand, poking at his chest while looking at the tall man who’s looking down at you with his eyebrows furrowed, 

“ ‘course I care ‘bout you, princess.” he reassures you, “You mean something.”

“Then show me how much I mean to you.” you’re beginning to lose all sight of why you came here. Your emotions take over any rational thoughts you would have had in this moment. All your mind cares about is not losing Joel. Never wanting to lose Joel.

You rush him, trying to unbutton the loose shirt again. Throwing yourself at him erratically, 

“Stop.” you don’t stop. Continuing to try and take his shirt off, hands reaching his belt and taking the leather out of its loop, “Please.”

He backs up, trying to deter your behavior. “Hey, hey, we can’t.” he doubles down, not wanting to physically hurt you but feeling as though that would be the only way to get you off of him. 

“I’ll change your mind, please let me change your mind.” you sound unhinged. Your voice shakes as you continue down onto your knees, unbuckling his belt,

You’re ripped up painfully, Joel’s hands squeeze the inside of your arm, “NO.”

He throws you back, readjusting himself in the process. His eyes look sad, watching as you sob to yourself in front of him. Your palms wipe away your incessant tears, looking down at your hand to see mascara marks. 

“I think this talk is over.” His stance on this has you sniffling, looking at him as if he’s your number one enemy now. For just speaking the truth, for trying not to hurt you. 

“Joel, don't do this.” you're almost silent, “I’m sorry.”

As the silence lingers in the room, both of you looking at each other and not knowing where to go…your heads turn to the side hearing the door close shut. It’s her. Vanessa. 

And you can’t do this. You can’t go through this again. You feel trapped, the walls are closing in on you and everyone is laughing at you. This is wrong. This is so wrong. You book it out of there. Leaving the two people alone with themselves. 

You’re halfway home when they have their conversation. 

“What happened?” she asked, 

And he lied, like he’s been doing so many times recently, “Tommy’s been a dick. Tryna help ‘er out with my baby brother.” 

—

Halloween night is a night in Jackson that feels so much like the real world. Costumes, candy, alcohol, boo’s, everything October should be. You needed to keep your mind off of him, that’s how you find yourself bartending with Tommy for Jackson’s halloween bash. 

“Where’s your tail?” you scream over the loud party at Tommy, who’s pouring a drink on the rocks for some sexy bunny at the bar. 

“I’m one’a those dogs without one.” he admits, 

“Tommy…i don’t think that’s a thing.” you laugh at him, “Look..” you shake your tail at him. “We were supposed to have matching tails.” you laugh. 

You both planned on matching costumes, a sexy cat, and….a tailless dog? 

It’s been a week since you’ve seen Joel, and you’re happy. You feel like a fool for throwing yourself at him, and being so shameless. He’s not worth it. He so is. No. He’s not. He is.

“Ya okay?” Tommy sees the inner argument with yourself, dragging a shot your way. “Take it. Make the night more fun.” 

And boy was the night fun, watching all the different costumes in the room. Dancing behind the bar with Tommy, forgetting everything this month has done to you. You needed this, you really did. It’s well within the night and he hasn’t shown up. 

You’re happy he hasn’t. Why does he get to ruin your night with his presence? Fuck him. Your drunk thoughts are heavy tonight, woo’ing at everything and shaking your tail whenever the band plays anything with a bass. 

The bar encourages your shots, you and Tommy feeding each other them throughout the night. And when you both feel just drunk enough to not fear consequences, you hop on top of the bar laying down, pulling up your black shirt to reveal your stomach. Tommy pouring peach flavored run on you, and licking up your stomach to your rib cage to your chest, laughing as he slurps up the rest of the shot. The whole bar is cheering, and your eyes catch his finally. 

Fuck he looks good. He’s in his cowboy hat, and has a rag around his neck. Denim shirt and those fucking boots. He’s everything you remembered him to be, and better. He’s gorgeous. And he’s looking right at you, his eyes burn into your body. He’s upset. 

You turn to face the cheering crowd again smiling, and try to find him in the crowd again, but he’s lost. You don’t think about him for the rest of the night. 

—

It’s just a little past midnight when you’re almost home. Appreciating the makeshift Halloween decorations, you come closer in view to your house. 

Your heart drops as you see a figure near your door, now wishing you took Tommy up on that offer to walk you home. 

You walk closer to your home, trying hard to quietly close in on the figure without him noticing. That is until your porch lights come on, and the figure is revealed. You jump slightly before you realize you’re safe. It’s Joel.  

He turns around sloppily to look at you, scoffing as you come closer to your own property, 

“Well look who finally decided to show up–” he hiccups, “Oh, it’s only 1 am.” he emphasizes.

“That’s when the party ended.” you’re not in the mood. 

“Guess you didn’t want any more bodyshots huh? Had to come home cause–” hiccup, “there was no one else to bat your pretty lil eyes at?” 

Oh he’s drunk. You smile to yourself, feeling almost happy you’ve now gotten to see the always put together man not put together. 

“Come inside,” you walk past him and unlock your door, “You’re trashed.” 

“I’m not trash.” he whispers drunkenly to himself as he walks in behind you, completely mishearing what you said. 

He belches up beer bubbles as he walks further in, he rubs his eyes as he stumbles to your living room couch. Falling to it with a loud “thump” 

You decide this is your time to annoy him. He shows up to your house drunk and unannounced…you figure you’re allowed to berate him. 

“Don’t speak for a week, now this?” you question, plopping down next to him. Crossing your legs into themselves. 

“I ain’t had the best night.” he admits, grunting as lays back. 

“This the part where you want me to ask what happ–” he interrupts you, “Vannesa ain’t want nothing to do with me no more.” 

At this moment, you know you’ve wanted to hear those words for months. You want to smile and laugh and feel great, but watching him like this makes you feel the exact opposite. You feel bad for him. Seeing him in pain like this, you just want to make it better. 

“Why?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he states dryly, 

“But it does,”

“No…the only thing that matters right now–” he slides himself over to you, pushing you down as both his hands catch your wrists, forcing your thighs around his big ribcage, “is you”

You start to laugh, having a giggling fit underneath him. His face scrunches in confusion, mesmerized by your smiles lines, “Why ya laughin, princess?” he asks, and you use all your force to push him off you. Earning a small but stern, “hey,” in defeat from him.

“Go to sleep. You’re drunk and reek of IPA.” you push him down further, pointing at him and mouthing “stay” 

You work on getting his boots off for him, unlacing and unbuckling them, pulling them off and placing them next to him. Your hand traces the rag around his neck, finding the knot in the back, and before you’re able to help, he grabs your wrist, pulling you down closer to him, 

“I don’t want you workin’ at the bar anymore.” his voice is low, but has a tint of malice to it

“Who are you to tell me that?” you answer him defensively, 

“Someone who cares about whether men gauk at you,” he’s upset, 

“You have no right to tell me what to do.” you double down on that, wondering where this has come from all of a sudden. Why does he think he has any say in what you do with your life, when just a week ago he was making sure your lives were never melded again. 

He lets go of your hand and slouches back against the couch, “Fine, maybe I don’t have a right. It still upsets me.” For someone who’s drunk right now, he sure does explain himself far better than when he’s sober.

“Let’s talk in the morning.” you begin helping him take his shirt off, looks like some sort of drink spilled on him. As you get close to him, unbuttoning the denim, feeling odd at how this exact scenario plays entirely different just a week ago, he reaches up and tries to kiss you. You swerve him. “You smell like Jack Daniel’s and Cigars,” you say in disgust, 

“You smell like Vanilla and cotton candy,” he says in a dreamy voice, he catching you off guard as he grabs your hand again and sucks your pointer finger, and you feel the vibration of his groan on you as you pull away hastily, you push him down and once again warn him,

“Stay. Sleep.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You grab him some lukewarm water and whatever pills you’re able to muster up for the hangover you know he’s going to have in the morning. You place down the items next to him, and notice he’s already out cold. 

—

You’re dreaming of him. His hands on your body, tearing you apart. The way his beard would rub against your thighs as you squirm beneath him. God, it feels so good to dream like this. To have a place you both can be so unapologetically together. Your body is heating up, you feel yourself slipping away from the dream world. You don’t want to leave, you feel too good. You wanna stay. You wanna, — oh, 

You jolt up and moan as you feel yourself gushing, the feeling of your hips pushed down to prevent you from squirming are extremely evident and real as you look down and see a messy bead of brown curls between your legs. “Good mornin’,” his southern twang evident in his sultry voice as he continued to lick stripes up your fold, 

“Joel–what, what are you doing?” you question through your breaths, your eyes shut as your body tenses from his lips suctioning onto your clit, he groans and the vibrations send signals to your spine to arch, moaning his name loudly as you do, 

“Thanking you for taking such good care of me last night.” his hot breath against you cunt, 

Your head turns to look outside, still dark. It can’t be past 4am. Your head is forced to look back down as you scream from shock at the loud ‘slap’ you hear as his hand collides forcefully down on your cunt, rubbing and playing with you as you’re dazed out from sleep. 

“Such a good princess for me, always so good for me.” he praises as his lips go back to your core, his strong tongue entering your and pistoling back and forth inside of you. Your hand reaches to grab hold of his curls, his arm, his hand splaying out across your lower stomach to hold you still, he’s all over you, he’s all around you. You never want to be woken up another way. 

“Wanna feel you come on my tongue darlin’, can you do that?” you whimper, your hands holding the pillow next to you in a death grip, your eyes locked onto one another as you shake your head frantically, 

“Words. I need words.” he slaps down on your cunt, offering a sigh of pain from you as you obey his command, “I can do that. I can do it. Please, Joel” 

He says your name sternly, forcing your eyes to yet again stay locked into his brown one. God he’s beautiful, between your thighs and sprawled out on your bed. He couldn’t help himself when he woke up, head banging from the endless amount of liquor he’d ingested. He saw the water, the pills, his boots perfectly placed next to him. Even when he was out of line, you did all this for him. You gave him a safe space, even when he took away all of yours. Walking to come find you, he saw your halloween costume in various places in your room, your body on its back and breathing peacefully. God you’re amazing. He knew that, his eyes trailing down your body, your night down short and silk. Do you always sleep in this? Easy access. He thinks, and his mind can’t stop his body from pulling your sheets down, hands finding your calves and trailing up the sides of your thighs. Finding the one spot he knows is his, he’s going to take it. 

And that’s exactly what he does when he elicits the loudest noises from you when his tongue is inside of you, lapping up your juices as his fingers rub tight circles on your clit. He’s taking, taking, taking, and boy do you have so much to give him. He groans painfully into you as you pull his long locks while you cum on, rubbing your core on his face, feeling his nose on you as he pulls his fingers away. You rub yourself on his face for a little longer, twitching at the aftershocks of what only he knows how to pull from you. Sinking back down into the bed as your heavy breathes even out. Come still dripping from you as he carefully places your nightgown back over yourself, kneeling out from between your legs and crawling next to you in bed. Pulling the covering up onto you and him.

It’s not lost on you how much you know this changes so much for you. And when his large hands pull you into his chest, feeling his warm stomach against your back. You don’t have to ask him to stay, he just does.

[mooshkat]

anyways i refuse to accept that that's the final end of them so. here.

Two hours later, Buck finds himself on Tommy's doorsteps. There's still a pit in the bottom of his stomach, it hasn't left since the words "I guess I did." left Tommy's mouth, but now he's moved on to upset. He's angry and he's not going to let one of the best things that happened to him go without a fight.

He knocks on the door, harsher than he normally would, and doesn't have to wait long before his–before Tommy answers it.

"What–Evan!" Tommy says, startled as Buck pushes past him and barges into his house. Buck glances at him and finds him with puffy, red eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. It makes him just a little bit more hopeful that Tommy isn't as over them as he initially thought.

"I heard what you said and I get you're scared, Tommy, but no. No, you don't get to end things like that. Not after going through the last six months acting like it was meant to mean something because it did. To me."

Buck stands in the middle of the living room, arms crossed tight over his chest. He becomes hyperaware of just how much their lives have intertwined over the last six months; bits of him are scattered all over Tommy's house, in the clothes he's left behind and the pictures pinned to the fridge that holds his keto snacks. The same kind of pieces that Tommy has at his loft as well.

"Okay, so what if you're my first boyfriend? That doesn't make how I feel about you mean any less. I don't–I don't need to go out there and find another guy I like until he's 'the one'. I like you and I don't need to explore my options, or whatever. It kind of makes it feel like you think I'm just experimenting with being bisexual, and that's not what this is. I'm not using you as some exciting new thing."

Tommy sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, his shoulders drooping. "No, Evan, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."

"Good. Good." Buck nods, deflating a little bit. "I'm sorry you've had shitty experiences in the past, Tommy, but I'm not those people. I-I asked you to move in with me tonight because I could see a life with you, Tommy. I want you in my life."

He takes a deep breath, "You talk about being scared of having your heart broken by me? You broke mine tonight. I've been afraid to say it because I always–always–get in too deep faster than my partners, but I...I love you. I love you, Thomas Kinard, and I want a life with you. Please don't let your fear stop you from having that."

Tommy doesn't say anything. He stares at Buck, eyes wide, and doesn't open his mouth.

The pit in his stomach gets worse. The hope he had is fracturing apart and splintering into raw embarrassment instead, and maybe this was a stupid idea, wasn't it? It was a bad idea to refuse Tommy's boundaries and come barging into his home to yell at him.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry, this was stupid." He was stupid thinking someone would actually want to stay for once. "Sorry. Forget I ever came over, and I'll–I'll leave your stuff at Harbor later."

He ducks his head and tries to squeeze past Tommy so he can leave before he gets sick.

A hand wraps around his wrist and stops him. He doesn't want to risk it and see it in Tommy's eyes that they are truly done for, but he stops and glances up at Tommy anyway.

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, and fresh tears pool in his eyes. "I'm sorry I let old habits kick up and let fear run my life. I'm not really the best at talking about things, am I? If–If you'll stay, I want to tell you about it. I shouldn't have left the way I did, but I want you to understand why."

Buck pulls his wrist free from Tommy's grasp and for a split second, he sees the fear and hurt in his eyes, before Buck grabs his hand and squeezes it. "Okay. Let's talk. And...please don't ever call me Buck again."

[purplecoffee13]

Are You Offering?*

Summary: Adalia, Harry’s former best friend and ex-friend-with-benefits gets drunk on a random Thursday night and Harry feels obligated to check on her.

Wc: 4.5k

Tropes: former best friends with loads of sexual tension. Longhair!Harry

Warnings: overstimulation, degradation, praising, edging, possessiveness if you squint real hard

A/N: ITS HARRY’S POV. This is originally something from a story I had written about twenty chapters for, but it didn’t stick. The smut did, though, so have this in the mean time while I try to get out of the biggest writers block of the century :)

Adalia is drunk.

It’s a Thursday night, Adalia is drunk, and who has to check on her? Me.

Okay so technically I don’t have to check on her, so what? It’s still annoying.

Adalia and I had been in the same friend group for a while. We used to be really close. Our mutual best friend Jordan always joked about her and me ending up together, and it made us realize the tension we had. It resulted in a friends-with-benefits relationship, because I wasn’t ready for a real one.

Then suddenly, she started dating this prick called Tommy. He was an insecure little bitch who ordered her around and she just let him. It frustrated the group to no end, so much that one day I found myself fighting him in an alley.

Adalia blamed me, and distanced herself from me ever since. You’d think we’d grown closer again after she found out Tommy cheated on her, but no. She stayed mad at me and I stayed mad at her for being mad at me.

It hasn’t been much later than two weeks when I’m stopping by Jordan’s house. He has been sick for a week and a half and I wanted to check up on him. He’s starting to feel better, he tells me. Then suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by a phone call.

It’s Adalia, asking something about going to the club together because she needs to get laid. Jordan tells her he can’t today, but will take her this Saturday. I hear a faint groan coming from the other line before they say their goodbyes and hang up.

Even though I stay there for another hour, I can’t get Adalia off my mind. I’m was worried about her and I don’t want her doing anything stupid.

As I'm driving down the streets an hour later, I can't help but think of one face. It bothers me, so I turn the volume of my music up, hoping to get my mind off it.

I find myself unconsciously driving to a house, one that is not mine. I step out of the car and walk up the front door, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. It takes a while before the door opens, but when it does, I am met with wide eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

Is the first thing Adalia asks when she sees me. She is wearing a big shirt with shorts that can only be seen when she raises her arms. She quickly hides her body behind the door, realizing what she's wearing when she catches me eyeing her bare legs.

"Jordan said you were drunk." I meet her eyes.

"I was tipsy, and that was like an hour ago." She explains, her tone shows me that she is suspicious of my actions. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be hanging out with your friend?"

I shrug. "He needed his rest, so we cut it short. Anyway, he asked me if I could check up on you, make sure you hadn't ran off to a random club downtown."

"How much of that conversation did you hear?!" She groans, her eyebrows knitting together in anger and a bit of confusion. I give her a smirk, shrugging my shoulders again before stepping inside her apartment.

It's dimly lit, the television is on but the sound has been muted. On her coffee table, there is a lit candle from which I presume the vanilla smell stems that covers the entire apartment. I scan the furniture with my hand behind my back, taking in the different colors that are scattered through the apartment. It is exactly the opposite from my house, and not at all what I'd expected it to look like.

I hear the door close behind me, followed by some wood creaking footsteps. I can feel Adalia's presence behind me, but neither of us move.

"So?"

"So what?" I ask, unsure about her behavior, as it is not something I'm used to when it comes to her.

"What d'you think?" Her voice is so soft that it could nearly be classified as a whisper. I turn around, and am met with her relaxed posture, I even detect a hint of enjoyment in her eyes.

"Y'know, you're usually a bit more agitated when I'm around." I note, and she hums at my comment.

"Blame it on the alcohol."

My lips quirk up into a grin at her casual words, and I turn around to look at the interior of her house again, hands still behind my back. "So, you wanted to fuck some random guy from a club?"

"Or girl, I'm not picky." She swiftly claps back with a response that I did not expect. "Why? Have something better to offer?"

All of the muscles in my body automatically tense at her suggestive words. I have to swallow before I turn my body towards her and speak again.

"D'you want me to?" I slowly ask.

My voice has already grown more hoarse from the pure energy shift between us. The air has gotten thick, way too thick for me to walk out of here unscathed. I can feel my pants growing tighter with each second of our growing tension. I do nothing but watch as Adalia takes a few steps closer until she is right in front of me.

"Are you offering?"

As soon as those words have left her mouth, I hungrily push my lips onto hers, strengthening the intensity of the kiss by grabbing her face with my hand and pulling it closer to mine. We consist of nothing more than lust as we dance our tongues around each other and clutch to any body part we can find. It's unexpected but I felt it from the start, it's passion fueled by frustration, it's pure sex.

I let go of her face and use both of my arms to wrap her legs around me before I make my way to her couch. From the second I sit us down, her hips start rolling in just the right way to cause friction where I want, where I need it most. My hands clamp to her waist as she mercilessly dances against me, and she manages to get a guttural groan all the way from the back of my throat.

"Fuck.." I whisper under my breath.

"D'you like that?" I hear her breathy and seductive voice that somehow still holds a touch of innocence. I nearly cum in my pants at the sound of it.

"H-how could I not, darling?" I try to keep my composure. "Sweet girl, riding me so well."

The smirk with which she responds to the praise is devilish, and within seconds she stops moving above me.

"Take your hands off my waist." Adalia's sudden demand sounds serious, but I detect she has a plan in mind. I do as she says anyway, curious to see where this is going. She leans forward, her hot breath fanning against my ear.

"Tell me Harry," she softly whispers, and I close my eyes and clench my jaw, trying my hardest not to flip us over and fuck her into oblivion until she forgets her own name. "Do you think you could cum from just this?"

As she forms the sentence, she rolls her hips against me, and I moan at the fierce contact. "S-shit... yes, love."

I hear the small sigh from the mention of my nickname for her, and I have to stop my lips from curling upwards. She might think she's in control right now, but this still proves the exact opposite.

Without another word she begins riding me, fully clothed with the friction of the fabric only making it worse. It takes everything in me not to dig my nails into her waist. I groan and curse shamelessly, enjoying this far too much to keep my cool anymore.

Adalia keeps whispering messy, dirty encouraging words into my ear that singlehandedly make me go feral, and it doesn't take a lot of time before I can feel a high getting close.

"Jesus fuck- Adalia, if you keep going like this I'm gonna fucking cum." I warn her, but for her that seems to be a reason to go faster than before. I throw my head back, accepting that she is really about to make me cum in pants. Or so I thought, because she stops very abruptly when I'm about to tip off the edge.

She edged me?

I look at her with a deeply furrowed brow, her face that has nothing but delight written all over it. She gets off my lap and kneels on the ground in front of the couch, between my spread legs. I look at her, leaned back against the couch,  still coming down from the immense pleasure I was experiencing just a few seconds ago.

She starts fiddling with my trousers, and once she's lowered my zipper, I push up my hips so she can take my pants off. My cock springs out of my underpants and falls onto my lower stomach. I have to admit that I take some pride in the fact that Adalia's eyes still grow wide despite having seen my cock a number of times in the past.

She quickly regains her confidence, though, spitting some saliva into her right hand and reaching for my cock. I hiss when she starts stroking me, shifting in my seat a bit.

"How'd you like me sucking your cock, Harry? Is that something you'd enjoy?"

I simply grin at her and her smug attitude, grazing my hand over her hair. "Well, I was offering, wasn't I?"

She smiles back and lowers her mouth onto my cock. With my jaw set, I moan at the sudden boldness with which she takes nearly all of me in her mouth at once before pulling back entirely. She strokes my dick a couple of more times before applying her mouth again, and when she does, she doesn't hold back.

I examine her movements, in total awe of how she manages to satisfy me in just the way I need with her filthy mouth. My eyes avert from her and I look around the apartment and it's cute, cozy decor. The way her day to day personality polarizes her attitude when it comes to sex might be one of the biggest turn ons I have ever experienced.

"Look at you," I automatically start talking, I can't help it with the way she is so desperately sucking my cock. "You're enjoying this even more than me, aren't you?"

Her moan vibrates onto my dick and I tighten my grip on her hair in response. I bite my lip at the delicious sight in front of me, and a part of me wants to let her finish me up, but I do the opposite instead. With a harsh pull, I take her mouth away from my cock. She gasps, her lips are swollen and a tear drop trickles from her right eye.

"You've had your fun love, it's my turn again." I announce to her. "Take your pants off and come sit on my lap again."

She stays silent as she takes off her shorts and her panties before slowly positioning herself on my lap again. With my cock on my lower stomach, I place her just so she sits by the base of my cock, being able to grind over it if I would command her to.

My fingers hover over to her pussy, and she gasps when I finally touch her. She is absolutely drenched, add that up to the list of panties I've already ruined.

"You're soaked, love." I softly tell my observation to her, and she whimpers when my thumb grazes over her clit. "Enjoyed sucking me off so much, did you?"

"Yes.." she answers, her hips moving at my degrading words for her. It still surprises me how she likes to receive the exact same things I usually like to give, at least it makes us a good pair in one field.

"Fucking filthy... Nearly made me cum just now. Did you need that? Did you need to feel control for a little bit?" I softly stroke her folds, and she nods at my questions, confirming my suspicions.

"I just want you to know love." I grab her chin, and turn her head to me, forcing her to look at me. "You were only in control because I allowed you."

Her eyes soften as I shove my fingers inside of her, and a loud moan erupts form her mouth. A string of stumbling curse words leave her mouth as I push my index and middle finger in and out of her, turning her into a weak mess. She attempts to mumble how good I'm making her feel, but the pleasure is taking too much of her energy.

"Take off your shirt." I demand.

"Take off yours."

A smirk falls from my lips at her bold reply, but I accept it, pulling my fingers out of her (which is received with a disappointed whimper) and rapidly taking off my shirt. She watches with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, which is replaced with a wide open mouth when I slide my fingers back inside of her. She takes off her shirt, revealing her gorgeous, full breasts.

I impulsively react by working my fingers faster on her, and she arches her back in pure erotic bliss. My free hand grabs onto one of her tits and starts massaging them and playing with her nipples, knowing it to be a sensitive spot. She cries out my name, not seeming to care if anyone hears.

"How does it feel, love?"

"Keep going! Please- I'm gonna cum." She whines, her hips starting move along to get her closer to her high. To add a little more pace, I start to rub her clit, which seems to intensify her pleasure even more as she starts to actually scream my name.

So, I stop.

Her legs are shaking, so desperate for a release that all of a sudden won't come anymore. She looks at me, anger written all over her face. Before I even get to bark out my next order, she places her hands on her clit and starts rubbing frantically.

My jaw clenches, frustrated that she is being so stubborn, but a second plan hits my mind, so I let her fuck herself with her own fingers.

Her eyebrows curl upwards and her jaw is slack as she comes all over her own fingers, and while she experiences the aftershocks, her cum drips onto my cock. With her eyes still closed, she doesn't see me placing my cock in front of her entrance, but she does feel it when I impale her on my dick.

"Ah! Harry!" She calls out as I pound upwards into her. Her whole body, still weak from her orgasm, bounces at each of my harsh trusts.

"That's what you get for being a fucking impatient whore." I bark at her, watching her crumble under the intensity of my touch.

I lower myself until I'm completely out of her, and throw her next to me on the couch. She falls face first and I quickly get off the couch as she tries to get herself up with her hands. Without so much as a warning, I grab her hips and guide her until she is standing in front of the couch, bent over for me.

I grab a handful of her hair and pull at it when I enter inside of her again. The pathetic whines that leave her throat encourage me to immediately pick up my pace, which she seems to like judging from her vocal response.

"Y'know you wouldn't get this treatment from a stranger you meet in the club." I tell her as I keep my tempo steady. I can feel the sweat dripping from my forehead, and the skin slapping sounds have risen the temperature of the already warm room.

"It was worth a-  ah! It's worth a try." Adalia stammers out, her breath hitching at every thrust.

"Yeah? You don't want to be fucked by me anymore?" I ask her, and when she doesn't answer I give a harsh tug on her hair. "Want me to stop?"

She stays relatively quiet, apart from the messy whimpers coming from her. I roll my eyes and stop moving, keeping my cock inside of her.

"N-no! Don't stop, please don't stop.." She cries. I immediately start moving again, partly because I desperately need too. I watch as she clamps onto the couch cushion until her knuckles turn white, and by the way her walls are clenching around me, I am indirectly told that she isn't going to last long anymore.

"That's what I thought." I taunt her, slapping her ass. She gasps at the sudden sting and I admire the red handprint starting to form on her ass. I pull out of her again, turning her around so she is leant back on the couch and facing me.

"Want to see your face when I make you cum." I say before entering her sweet, soaked pussy again. Her tits bounce at the forceful way that I ram back into her, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. "Are you close, Adalia?"

She bites her bottom lip, nodding fiercely while trying to contain the volume of her endless sobs of pleasure. Her hands reach for my chest and she digs her nails in, just like she did with the couch cushion a few seconds ago. I groan, my orgasm coming faster now that she is touching me too. My left hand travels to her clit and starts rubbing it, wanting her to cum before I do so she can drench my entire cock with the consequences of the effect I have on her.

"Harry I- Fuck!" She screams so loud that I am now completely sure the neighbors have heard us. Her legs tremble as she comes all over me. I watch in awe at the orgasm and the impact it has on her body. I keep thrusting into her, getting dangerously close but wanting to ride her through her orgasm.

After she has calmed a bit, I softly get my dick out of her, starting to stroke it to get to my own high.

"Cum for me Harry, please, I need it." She begs, knowing it will send me over the edge, and it does exactly that. I moan as my orgasm finally reaches my body, and I spurt my cum over her stomach and tits.

We both take a bit of time to come down from everything, staying in the same position and just focusing on regulating our breathing again. I look at her with a smirk on my face, and watch joyfully as she wipes some cum off her tits and puts her finger in her mouth.

I dive my head into her pussy and her back immediately arches when my tongue comes in contact with her clit. I originally intended to just lick her up and kiss her to taste us together, but her immediate whimpers have me changing my plan.

I flick my tongue around her clit and lick her clean, all while she struggles to get out anything that even sounds like a word.

"H-Harry.. I- oh my god, oh.." Adalia grabs my hair, tugging on it in an attempt to calm me down. I know she is extremely sensitive right now, but it'll make her cum more easily. "I don't— I can't.. ah!"

I take my mouth off her for a second, replacing it with my finger. "Yes you can. C'mon, come for me again love."

It's just the name I needed to use before putting my mouth on her again, and within a few seconds, she's cumming all over my face. A string of incoherent words leave her mouth, and her hand that was tightly holding my hair slowly loosens it's grip.

This time, I solely help her ride out her high. When I come up to see her face, her eyes are closed and she looks extremely weak from the three, or technically two, orgasms I've brought her.

I get up from the couch and walk towards what I assume to be the bathroom, to grab a towel. With one in hand, I hurry back to the couch and clean her up. She is extremely sensitive, flinching every time the towel grazes her skin a little too hard.

After everything has been cleaned up, Adalia lifts herself off the couch to go to the bathroom, her legs shaking with every step she takes. I wait in the living room until she returns.

The toilet flushes and soon enough she is limping out of the bathroom. She has put on a new pair of panties (God knows where she grabbed those), and is walking on a pair of slippers. She seats herself on the edge of the couch and looks at me with a sympathetic smile.

"You don't have to stay."

I stare blankly at her for a few seconds, the words need some time to register in my brain. She is right, I don't have to be here for any longer than needed. I can walk out the door without a worry, I don't have a reason to stay.

I can't believe I don't have a reason to stay anymore.

I swallow, gathering words in my brain but only one comes out. "Right.."

We maintain our eye contact for a couple more seconds before I get up from the couch. I look around the room one last time, unconsciously stalling my leaving, and then start strolling towards the front door.

I turn around, checking if I won't hear any peep from Adalia, but she is just smiling at me. The side of my lips quirk up for a second, casually returning her kind gesture.

"Bye." I hear her sweet voice as I open the door.

"Bye." I manage to say faintly, my voice sounding bored and monotone, when that could not be further from the truth. I walk through the door, letting it shut behind me. I stand still as soon as I hear the click, reaching for my pocket to fetch my car keys.

I feel a pang in my chest when I hear the jingling sound, I didn't leave them inside by accident. My feet feel like cement as I walk towards the elevator, too heavy to carry all the way downstairs. My eyes keep staring into the distance while making my way back to the car. Once inside with the door shut, a groan leaves my mouth.

Frustration runs through my veins. It feels as though this interaction has only enriched the amount of irritation, instead of lowering it.

I didn't have a reason to stay.

The thought keeps haunting my mind, all the way home. Even as I lie in my bed, I stare at the ceiling and it comes back to me. I didn't have that obligation, she didn't expect me to sit there with her. I didn't have a reason because she didn't need me to stay.

So why does a part of me want a reason?

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- Out Of The Blue Pt2

Pt1 Pt3

Weeks pass by and Tommys teasing about YNs fiancé don't let up. In fact the more trips he took to London the more Tommys words stuck in her mind 'he obviously has a whore'. Doubt sets in her mind, was he actually away on business or was he with another woman?

Walking into the betting shop YN puts her bag down and pulls her coat of placing on the chair behind her desk. Tommy immediately walks out of his office

"YN I nee you to go to the garrison. Tell Harry I have a meeting there tonight 6:30"

"I've just walked in" YN groans

"Don't care" Tommy walks back into his office. YN puts her coat back on muttering about how Tommy actually hates her and does all of this on purpose.

When arriving at the garrison she hears a woman asking for her fiancé

"Excuse me but do you know where I might find Mr Alexander?" she asks Harry

"Why are you looking for my fiancé?" YN asks frowning

"Oh hello I'm his wife"

"Wife?!" YN shouts "don't you mean ex wife?"

"No. I'm his wife you must be YN YLN?"

"Yes. How do you know my name?"

"Well you didn't really think my George actually loves you right? Your in with the Shelby's am I not correct?"

"Your just some crazy ex girlfriend or ex wife who is trying to scare me off. Harry Tommy said he has a meeting tonight" YN turns around and leaves the Garrison and begins to make her way back to the betting shop.

That evening YN arrives home. She can hear George's voice, but he's not alone there's someone else here

"You can't just show up here. You could ruin everything!" George shouts. Not taking of her coat, frowning YN gently closes the front door and quietly makes her way to her shared bedroom where the voices are coming from

"You've been at this for over a year now. I thought you would have made your move by now"

"Are you jealous?"

"Of her? No, but do I like the idea of my husband warming another woman's bed even if he is just trying to get to the Shelby's? Yes of course it bothers me" YN feels like she's going to be sick hearing this

"Fine. I'll do it tonight. Tonight is the night I kill Thomas Shelby" a lump forms in YNs throat and her feet are immediately carrying her towards the Shelby's residence.

Knocking on the door Polly answers

"What are you...."

"Where's Tommy?" YN frantically asks

"At the garrison having his meeting"

"Shit"

"What's going on?"

"My fiancé is married and is only using me to kill Tommy and probably all of you"

"Did you know!" Polly shouts

"I wouldn't be stood here panicking if I knew Polly. Look I have to go warn him"

YN has never run so fast in her life. Arriving at the Garrison she doesn't care that Tommy is in the middle of a meeting. She bursts through the door panting

"YN what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry Tommy I didn't know"

"Didn't know what?"

"YN what's wrong?" Johns soothing voice says

"It's George"

"What the fuck has he done?" John shouts anger laced in his voice "has he hurt you?"

"We'll fucking kill 'im" Arthur yells

"YN what is going on?" Tommy asks

"George. He's already married. He's been using me. He's coming to kill you all"

"Why are you only just telling us? Are you involved?" Tommy stands

"What no of course not. I just found out"

"John take YN home, Arthur..."

"No!" YN shouts "I can't go home. That's where they are"

"Fine. Stay here. John let's go"

It's been 30 minutes since the Shelby's left. YN sits at the bar waiting for them to return. Every time she hears the door of the Garrison open she looks hoping that her best friend and his brothers are walking in. But her heart drops every time, so by now she's given up looking at the door and just focus's on her drink in hand. Suddenly she jumps hearing what sounds like a gun shot going off. Looking up she sees him there, George. If he's here then where are the Shelby's?

"Tommy Shelby!" he shouts. So he doesn't know they went after him "where the fuck is he?

George points the gun at me "YN where is he?"

"I... I don't know"

"Fuck. You weren't meant to be here" YN frown getting off her chair

"Why? So you could kill the Shelby's then leave with their money to go back to your wife?"

"How do you..."

"Know? Because I walked into our house and heard everything"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouts "this wasn't supposed to happen like this. This is your fucking fault" that's when YN feels a burning sensation in her abdomen and heard a ringing in her ears.

[madiisixx]

Pregnancy Scare │Nikki Sixx x Reader

♡ After one night during the Girls Girls Girls tour you start to feel uneasy and you have a feeling why, the only problem is will he accept it?

Oh god.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

you thought you'd been taking your birth control while on tour with Nikki and the guys as you decided to come along with them but you must've missed a few days and forgot to take them.

Which now led you to wallow in your own pity because you've been feeling under the weather for the past couple of weeks.

you had some suspicion and so did the guys, Especially Tommy and Mick because you'd been more irritable lately than you usually were. While they didn't think it was pregnancy because you hadn't had any signs, they thought you were on that time of the month.

Sitting down with your head in your hands, you decided to make a phone call to tommy to get what you think would solve the problem because you were afraid to do it yourself.

Picking up the phone you dialed his number, 'Come on pick up pick up!'

After a few rings you heard Tommy pick up the phone, 'Oh hey dude! what's up everything okay? You usually only call one of us when you're like in a bad situation man and that's even rare to call one of the guys from Motley so something must be up'

Rolling your eyes even though he can't see you, 'no tommy I need you to do something for me and I can't have you tell Nikki okay? I don't know how he'll react'

He furrows his brows at your statement and sits up while resting the phone between his ear and shoulder, 'are you okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?'

Now getting irritated at his questioning, you snap.

'No tommy stop questioning me and go get me a damn pregnancy test'

His eyes practically bulge out of his head at your confession and freezes, 'You think you're pregnant? is it Nikki's?'

what a dumb question to ask when you're talking to a potentially pregnant person.

'Of course it's fucking Nikki's tommy! I haven't slept with anyone else, who do you think I am? Just go to the store, get me what I need and bring it to me' and with that you slammed the phone down back onto the receiver.

With your sudden outburst, he slammed the phone down on the receiver and rushed to get dressed and grabbed his keys.

Nikki, who had heard all of the commotion coming from Tommy's room, had come into his room while he was rushing to get out.

'Hey! hey! what's all the rush for? did someone die?'

He freezes when Nikki confronts him and struggles to come up with an excuse that's not what he was actually doing, 'I- uhm, I'm going to go check on uh- my sister yeah- because she just called and said she was sick- so- I'm gonna go see if she's okay'

And rushed out of their as soon as possible and left, slamming the door behind him.

Furrowing his brows, Nikki looks at the door Tommy just left out of and thought the whole entire encounter was weird. But what was it his business? It wasn't so he didn't question further.

**

Sitting there while waiting to see if those two pink lines would appear, made you finally realize how scared you were.

You were still so young to be a mom and Nikki? well he was no where near stable to take care of himself let alone a newborn baby.

Tommy had left, with reluctance, after he had given you the test and you snapped at him to go away.

You didn't mean to be so mean you were just so scared.

Finally having enough courage, you flipped the test over, and there were those two pink lines bold as day staring right back up at you.

'Fuck I'm terrified'

'what if he doesn't want to keep it?'

'I can't take care of a kid on my own'

'what the fuck am I gonna do?'

"FUCK", You screamed and threw the test by the door where it had landed with a thump.

all that you felt in that moment was scared.

'Holy shit I'm gonna be a mo-'

your thought's were interupted by Nikki barging into the room as he had heard the commotion yet again, just like he did with Tommy earlier that day.

With his hands on his hips he huffs, looking around the room, "seriously what is all the yelling? First Tommy and now you?"

You roll your eyes and turn your body away from him, as you were unable to tell him what was actually wrong.

Looking at you for a moment, he sighs at your silence and scans his eyes around the room until his eyes catch on something right by his feet.

He picks it up and stares at it, then back at you, then back at what he's holding again.

"What the fuck is this?"

Biting back tears in your eyes, you swallow your pity and get the courage to look into his eyes and with a voice the loudest you could muster, "I'm pregnant"

He goes silent for a moment and you wonder what is going on in his mind before he blurts out a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head in denial.

"So this is what Tommy was up to earlier. Is it mine?"

Nodding and quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks that were starting to fall at bay.

He nods and stands their in disbelief for a few moments, then without any warning throws the test back down by his feet and looks at you with such malice in his eyes.

"I don't have time for this", and with that he turns around and slams the door shut

leaving you to wallow with your pity alone.

It takes two to bring a child into this world, and your child will only ever know the love of you.

[joelmillersdumbslut]

I took your matches before fire could catch me (part four)

(joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist

summary: After Joel Miller ghosts you for three weeks, you drive to his house to find answers. (no outbreak. no use of y/n)

rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact)

warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is mid 50's), dirty talk, pet names, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, daddy kink, alcohol consumption, so much angst

word count: 3k

a/n: thank you again for all the love on my first series. i'm really nervous with how this chapter turned out, but i hope you still enjoy it ♡

ao3 link

Joel hasn’t answered any of your texts for three weeks.

You sit on the couch in your living room, wearing the last shirt he had given you. Inhaling the faint smell as best as you can. Anything to remember him. You’ve been spending your nights and days staring off into space. Wondering if maybe you were wrong. But, how can your emotions be wrong? How can your feelings be wrong?

Tonight, your eyes wander, finally settling on the bottle of wine he had gifted you. It’s unopened. Gradually collecting dust on the counter. You remember the way he smiled when you removed it from the crumpled paper bag.

Your chest feels heavy.

You grab your keys and head out the door.

—

You park across the street like you always do. You march up the porch steps with purpose, but pause once you raise your hand to knock on the door. You hear voices inside. Your heart sinks immediately. What if he’s moved on without you?

Fuck Joel.

You need answers.

Your fist bangs on the door. You keep whacking the surface with all your might, wondering if your knuckles will soon be pierced with splinters when suddenly the door is whipped open.

He’s standing there with a beer in hand. He seems annoyed at first, but his negative emotions are alleviated once he realizes it’s you.

“Babygirl,” Joel breathes softly, “What are you doin’ here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” you hiss. Crossing your arms and staring him down.

“Look, I can’t talk right now—“

“Joel, I need to talk to you. I have to talk to you. You just can’t leave me like that with no explanation,” your voice becomes shrill with emotion.

He looks exasperated, defeated. A voice emerges from behind him, “Joel, what’s goin’ on?”

A hand clapping on Joel’s back. For the first time since you’ve known him, you see fear in his eyes. Something you didn’t think was possible for Joel to experience. The figure pushes past Joel to acknowledge you.

“Hey the…. What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Tommy’s lip curls into a snarl. His nostrils flare and you swear to God this man is seeing red. You want to rub your eyes, pinch your skin. You need to wake up from this fucking nightmare.

“Joel, is this some kinda sick joke? What’s she doin’ here?”

“What are you doing here?” you counter, your hands ball into fists and begin to shake at your sides.

“This is my fuckin’ brother’s house, I can be here as often as I’d like,” Tommy seethes, “Did you come back to ruin my life again?”

He pauses, turning to look at Joel, finally connecting the puzzle pieces together, “Or did you come here to ruin his?”

Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you glance over at Joel. He’s staring into his beer bottle. You want to shake him, scream in his face. But, you can’t. You’re frozen in place.

“Joel, you gonna take care of this trash or should I?” Tommy growls, his eyes fixated on you.

“If you touch her, I will rip you apart,” Joel doesn’t even look up from his beer bottle, “What y’all did happened long ago. You gotta get over it, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes are bulging out of his head, “You're jokin’, right, Joel? You’re not seriously bangin’ this—”

Joel is now standing in front of you, “You call her any names, I will end you. I mean it, Tommy.”

Joel’s younger brother pushes past you, nearly knocking you off your feet, but Joel is quick to steady you. Tommy silently fumes as he walks off the porch, heading to his vehicle parked in the driveway.

“Fuck you,” Tommy hollers as he opens the truck door, “Fuck both of you.”

Then, he peels out of Joel’s house, speeding down the street.

Joel takes a long sip of his beer. Your feet are glued to the porch. Not sure whether you should go inside or if you should leave. You look at Joel, hoping he can give you an answer.

“You happy now?” Joel huffs.

That certainly wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

You stare at him in disbelief, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Why the fuck would I be happy about this?”

“You seem to like fuckin’ everything up,” he retorts, tossing the bottle onto the porch. It rolls away from his feet. Hitting the steps and cracking into pieces.

“What did I fuck up exactly? Please. Enlighten me,” you can feel rage burning in your chest. Your throat is tight and it’s getting harder to breathe.

“What we had goin’. It was a good deal. Then you went and said what you said,” he waves his hand in the air. Like your confession, your feelings, your vulnerability mean nothing to him. “Then you come over here and piss off my brother. Probably never gonna talk to me again.”

“Then you should’ve never fucked around with me in the first place!” your voice is sharp and resentful. “You knew what you were getting into, Joel, don’t blame this on me. Don’t you dare. These are the consequences of your actions.”

“How is it the consequences of my actions?” he snaps.

“You were the one who was nice to me! You were the one who came running when I needed you, you were my shoulder to cry on. We even shared our lives with each other. You shouldn’t have done any of those things if you didn’t want me to love you,” you choke out the last words, your vision blurry from the tears welling up inside the corners of your eyes.

The two of you glare at each other. You step closer to Joel, feeling the heat radiating off his body. Even though you're so angry at him, you can’t help but stare at his muscles protruding through the fabric of his shirt. You think about the way you want those arms around you, holding you, protecting you. You think about how you want things to go back to the way they were just a few short weeks ago.

But, Joel’s right.

You went and fucked it all up.

Joel leans down and kisses you. Hard. You’re taken aback, but you kiss him back just as hard, your tongue entering his mouth and crashing into his. Joel’s hands are moving up and down your body, his touch is rough and careless. He pulls away from your embrace, taking you by the hand and leading you into the house.

—

“Is Sarah home?” you whisper as Joel’s hand clutches your wrist, guiding you through the dimly lit house.

“Do you ever shut up?” he quips.

Even though you stumble around in the darkness, you still remember how to get to his room. You practically know the layout of the house by heart now with how often you come over. After you stagger into the bedroom, Joel locks the door behind him. He’s gazing at you like a beast freed from its cage.

“Tell me what you want,” his voice is quiet, he closes the distance between the two of you.

“I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “I want you so much.”

He says nothing at first as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts, your hardening nipple rolling between his thumb and index finger. You stifle a moan, unbuttoning your jeans and kicking them off. Joel pushes you onto the bed, towering over you.

“You don’t love me,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck and collarbones. Purple splotches already forming underneath the surface of your skin.

“I do love you,” you whimper beneath him, “I don’t know why you’re too stubborn to see it.”

Joel yanks your underwear to the side, his thumb rubbing your clit in fast circles. But, then he pauses once he notices how wet you are already. His index finger slides up and down your slit, collecting slick on his fingertip before he dives into your entrance.

“What are you interested in an old man for anyway? Should be with a guy your age,” he gruffs, his finger thrusting in and out of you. Your body tenses up at the bliss emanating from your core.

“I don’t wanna be with a guy my age. I told you that on our first date,” your breath hitches, “I’ve always liked older men.”

“Lucky me.”

Joel adds another finger, his digits sinking into you, massaging that sweet spot deep inside your body. His rhythm is unstable and messy, but you can still feel your orgasm bubbling up to the surface. You missed this so much.

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, arching your back as the tension expands even faster throughout your body. You’re so close, your legs begin to shake, your head is dizzy.

“Call me by my name,” Joel growls.

“Fuck you,” you pant, “I’m not calling you that anymore. Not if you don’t even like me.”

His fingers pull out of your pussy, leaving a sticky residue all over his hand. You throb and pulse, aching for more.

“Never said I didn’t like you,” Joel sits up. His expression is indignant as he stares at you.

You feel lightheaded, so many things running through your mind. So many things you want to say.

If you like me, why don’t you say it then?

Why do you act like you care about me one minute, then you act like you couldn’t give a fuck about me the next?

Why do you insist on punishing me?

Instead, the two of you remain silent for a long time. Until he speaks.

“Tell me one thing,” he mutters, “What did you think you were gonna get out of this?”

You sit with your knees pulled up to your chest. Even though it’s been a couple months since you met Joel, you never really put much thought into this. Your original intention of joining Lily was to find someone to start a relationship with. Instead, you have… this. A situationship where you’re all in, but he’s constantly hot and cold, non-committal, and giving off mixed signals.

What did you think you were gonna get out of this?

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I thought we would just keep fucking, doing our thing. But, then you were being nice to me. Like you cared about me. And I thought…”

“You thought what?” he seems… a little calmer now. Like he’s actually considering what you have to say this time.

“I thought I actually had a chance with you,” your bottom lip quivers. You’re on the verge of crying again. You turn away from him, the back of your hand rubbing the corner of your eye.

Joel sighs deeply. “Come here, babygirl,” he holds his arms out for you, “Hate seein’ you like this.”

“You sure didn’t give a fuck about me earlier,” you seethe. You’re not gonna fall for his fake niceties. Not again.

“How do you know?” Joel raises his voice, “Do you know how bad I wanted to punch Tommy for what he said ‘bout you? Because you don’t deserve that. And you sure as hell don’t deserve someone like me.”

You blink.

What does he mean by that?

“I want you, Joel. You’re all I want,” you hiccup, trying to hold in the tears. “I don’t care about what anyone has to say, especially your brother.”

He reaches out, taking your hand. “It’s gettin’ late. Why don’t you stay here?”

You say nothing. You get out of bed, picking up your shirt from the floor and pulling it on over your head. Your eyes are red and puffy. You cross your arms and sniffle, staring down at the floor.

“What are you so afraid of, Joel?”

“We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this,” he growls.

“Why not?” you exclaim.

“I’m afraid it’ll end up like the last time. That you’ll leave me and I’ll be alone. I’m afraid this’ll all be for nothin’. There, you happy?” Joel’s nostrils flare.

You shake your head in confusion, sitting down on the bed next to him. Your hand caresses his cheek, your thumb slowly brushing through his scruff.

“Are you talking about Sarah’s mom?” you whisper.

“You need to go to bed,” Joel huffs, standing up from the bed and gesturing to your side. The side you always sleep on when you stay over. The side with extra pillows because Joel knows you can’t fall asleep unless you have a mountain of them.

He knows so much about you. Sometimes, he even seems to genuinely care about you. But, he’ll never admit it. Especially not to your face. And you’re beginning to realize that.

“I’ll go to bed,” you nod in defeat. You clamber to your spot on the mattress, pulling the covers up over your body.

Joel stands at the foot of the bed, readying to leave you. “Gonna go have another beer,” he murmurs.

But, you have to say something first.

“Wait,” you whimper.

He turns around, those brown eyes piercing your soul. The very same ones you fell in love with through his pictures on the dating app.

“I don’t know what happened. But, I’m not like her. That’s all I wanna say.”

He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor. Then he walks to the bed and sits down next to you.

“I know, babygirl,” he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “That’s why I’m afraid.”

He kisses your forehead, shuts off the light, and heads downstairs.

—

You see yourself standing inside what appears to be a castle. You lift your hand, grazing your fingertips against the jagged limestone wall in front of you. You hear a voice calling your name. You turn to see Joel on the opposite end of the hallway. He’s beckoning you, gesturing for you to follow him. You begin to run, but the floor crumbles underneath you. You fall and fall and fall forever. The last thing you see before you disappear into the darkness is Joel smiling wickedly.

—

You wake up in a cold sweat. The clock on Joel’s bedside table reads 3:47 a.m. He’s sleeping rather soundly next to you, his arm covering your torso.

Your heart is still beating out of your chest, it feels like you’re still falling from the dream world. You stare up at the ceiling. Waiting to fall back asleep. But, you can’t.

The clock now reads 5:05 a.m.

You know one thing that will help you sleep.

You just don’t know if Joel will give it to you.

“Joel,” you whisper, moving so your forehead is touching his. “Joel, are you awake?”

He groans, his eyes not quite open yet, “What’s goin’ on?”

“I had a bad dream. I can’t sleep,” you whine.

“You need daddy’s help, don’t you?” Even with the streetlight shining faintly through the window of the dark bedroom, you swear you can see him grinning.

It’s been three weeks. You’re so hungry for him and he knows it. You decide to shove your dignity aside and give in.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper, already squirming.

So much for trying to prove a point.

“Come here,” he holds out his arms and you inch even closer, accepting his embrace. The two of you lay there for several moments, just holding each other, breathing in sync.

Then Joel kisses your lips, his hand trailing down your body to your underwear. His fingers slip into the fabric, he sleepily fumbles for a moment before finding your clit. You let out a deep breath as he begins to rub your bundle of nerves, already sensitive, already begging for more. His movement is slow and meticulous. Then his hand moves lower, accumulating the arousal gathering between your thighs. Those long, thick fingers enter you, curling up inside you just right. You moan Joel’s name into his neck, holding him close to you.

“Gonna wake up the whole neighborhood,” he teases you in a low voice, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” you hum, your hips grinding down harder on his fingers.

“Never seen you this horny,” he muses, pumping in and out of you faster, “Maybe we should have fights more often.”

You’re about to glare at him when your orgasm is suddenly front and center, pleasure spreading from your belly to your limbs, from your toes to your teeth.

“Joel, I’m gonna–”

“Cum for me, babygirl.”

You pant wildly and Joel continues to fuck you as you cum all over his fingers. You can feel the wetness flowing from your pussy, dripping into his palm. He slows down, planting kisses on your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you need another one,” Joel chuckles, throwing the blankets to the side of the bed. “Come here.”

He rips off his boxers and pulls you on top of him. The head of his cock is already shining, precum leaking out. All because of you.

Joel helps you get situated, his hands on your waist as you slide down his length. You let out a moan once he’s fully seated inside you.

“You missed daddy’s cock, didn’t you?” he groans, his hands drift down to your hips and he begins to rock you gently.

“Three weeks without you is too long,” you agree, obscene noises escaping your lips.

Joel groans, his fingertips digging further into your skin. You begin to tremble once you feel another orgasm building inside you, climbing up from the depths of your core. You close your eyes and Joel rubs your clit with his thumb, riding the high with you before it comes crashing down. Joel pulls out of you, stroking himself quickly as hot, sticky ropes of liquid hit your stomach. Both of you are breathing strenuously, you lean forward to lay on Joel’s chest.

“I do care ‘bout you,” he whispers as you drift off to sleep.

Everything feels right with Joel again.

You never want it to end.

But, it does.

—

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

No Place Feels Like Home

a version of this from whumpee's perspective, with ocs cuz i'm planning on turning this into a series <3

cw age gap, intimate whumper, power dynamic

The freezing air outside was a stark contrast to the inside of the house. The heat of so many bodies pressed together in the basement had left Thomas sweaty and flushed in his wool sweater, but now, standing on the porch, he wished he’d worn more layers. Winters in Jersey were unforgiving. He took another drag from his cigarette in hopes of keeping warm—it didn’t quite do the trick, but the burning in his chest was a distraction, at least. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

Thomas looked up in surprise at the guy walking toward him, leather jacket over a Refused shirt. Dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he was wearing the kind of smirk that Thomas knew would get him into trouble if he wasn’t careful. He'd always been a sucker for bad boys. 

He held the other man’s gaze, raising the cigarette to his lips again. Thomas blew out a cloud of smoke before replying, “What makes you think I have a bedtime?” Surely, he didn’t look that young. 

The guy leaned one shoulder against the wall next to him, leaving just enough distance to be casual. “I don’t mind,” he said, not answering the question. “I mean, we do all ages shows for a reason. I think it’s great for kids to see live music.”

What a jerk—this guy had to be fucking with him. Thomas gave him as scathing a glare as he could manage. “I’m eighteen, actually. But thanks for your concern.” 

“Sorry, you just look young is all.” He was still smiling teasingly. “Didn’t mean to offend you—maybe we could start over? I’m Mateo Ruiz. But everyone calls me Matty.” 

“I know, I came to see your band,” Thomas said, taking another drag on his cigarette. 

He shivered when Mateo looked him up and down. “Yeah? Didn’t realize you were a fan.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Mateo hummed, eyes shining with amusement. “Just don’t look like you’re in the scene. Where’s your sweater from, pretty boy—The Gap?” 

It was, actually, which made Thomas fume even more. “My friend Liz put me onto you guys. She’s really into hardcore stuff, she played me your CD.”

“You’re gonna love it, I promise,” she’d insisted, grinning as they sat cross-legged on her bed. “These guys are gonna be big someday.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That’s what you said about The Unholy Pizza Parlor Apocalypse. And they’ve already broken up.” 

Liz smacked him on the arm. “Okay, but I mean it this time. The melodic hardcore stuff is totally taking off. Aaaaannd the guys are wicked cute.” 

“You’re sick,” Thomas said when she wiggled her eyebrows at him. 

“Oh shit, Liz?” Mateo’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Like, Liz that does the Soundboard zine?” 

Thomas nodded, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall behind him before flicking it over the porch railing. “Yeah, she's here somewhere. Probably chatting up your bandmate—she has a thing for bassists.” 

Mateo nodded, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between them. “And how ‘bout you?” he teased, looking down at Thomas with big, dark eyes he could get lost in. “You look like the type who’d be into singers.” 

“I don’t know...singers are too cocky,” he shot back. “And they’re not as good with their fingers.”

Mateo laughed at that, flashing him a devilish smirk. “You’re funny, kid... Never told me your name, by the way.” 

“Thomas.” The chill that ran down his spine had more to do with the hungry way Mateo was looking at him than the February air. His heart pounded in his ears. 

“Thomas,” Mateo repeated, the name dripping from his tongue like honey. “Suits you.” 

His hands fidgeted with the bottom of his sweater, and he wondered if he should light another cigarette to keep them busy. 

Mateo reached out and brushed Thomas’s hair behind his ear, not paying any mind to the people milling around outside. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, Tommy,” he said, lowering his voice. “I kind of have a thing for preppy boys who shop at The Gap.” 

“It’s just Thomas,” he whispered, throat dry. 

“Listen.” Fingers trailed down his jaw, and then Mateo’s hand was cupping his cheek. “I haven’t seen you at any shows before, but you seem cool. There’s an afterparty at my place if you wanna come.” 

Thomas hesitated. “I don’t know...I have class in the morning.” 

“Your call. But I'd really like it if you were there.” 

Mateo’s eyes drifted down to his lips for a moment, making the unspoken implication in his statement clear. Despite Thomas’s nervousness, he made no move to back away. “Yeah?” he breathed. 

“Yeah—come party with the rockstars.” He leaned in, breath hot against Thomas’s ear when he spoke. “I promise you’ll have a good time, honey.” 

“Okay. I’ll come,” Thomas agreed. He felt a sick thrill run through him as he wondered if Mateo was as passionate in...other ways...as he was when he performed. 

The singer grinned, fingers ghosting down Thomas’s neck. “Awesome. Let me pack up my equipment and then we’ll get going.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump  

[unhonest-iago]

Time-Sick

Inspired by this one scene in Age of Adaline

Gn reader

Imagine Philza discovering during a game of trivia pursuit that y/n is an immortal just like him. At first, he thinks it's just that they're an old soul or that they're a trivia buff. They thought they'd been doing good, keeping everyone off their track despite all their oddities. The alcohol made them feel cozy, that they were with old friends. Wilbur reminded them of a fishing buddy that sold odd trinkets by the shore. Bullshitting tall tales, not that he needed the money. Simply a means to past time. Techno reminded them of a classmate in their college class; the third or fourth degree, y/n couldn't recall the amount of schooling they've done. The classmate would take any chance they get to debate the week's guest lecturer if there were one. And Tommy brought back memories of the neighborhood children playing hopscotch on a sunny day.

No one had noticed their slip up, thinking it was a bit. All except Philza as he knew the signs for when someone was acting centuries younger than they actually were. 'Oh that reminds me of the time when Wylan and me ditched school to see it in theaters.' The film in question being released before their supposed birth year. Wilbur letting out a 'sure grams/gramps’ quip. So, he picked up on it too? Well y/n had said before they were similar in age to Will. Unknowingly instigating, Tommy asked what era they’d want to time travel back to and live in. Y/n can’t help it, stumbling as they tried not to gush about their answer. The restaurants that no longer exist and the indie showings they barely recall.

As the night dwindles, the boys say their goodbyes. Y/n staying behind to help Phil clean up shop. ‘You’re immortal, aren’t you?’ Ripping the band aid off. Sighing, y/n leaned against the counter. ‘Yea.’

‘I won’t tell a soul. From one immortal to the next. Don’t be afraid to call if you’re ever feeling time-sick.’ They later take him up on the offer and Phil tells them stories of his own. Ones that not even Techno has heard. Phil even introduces them to Mumza, ‘so I have another runner on my hands?’ Laughing when y/n looks in shock.