#they only cared that it was Tommy and he was bleeding

[adaedellta]

Crying over this rn

Au where SBI are heroes and Tommy becomes a villain to spend time with them

Explanation:

Basically Phil, Wilbur, and Techno are all superheroes, the best ones in the city, but because they're so busy saving lives all the time they accidentally start to neglect their youngest, Tommy. So Tommy realizes that the only way to see his family is when they're at work.

The problem is that Phil, Techno, and Wilbur don't want to let tommy become a hero since they don't want him to get hurt

So Tommy becomes a villain instead

Turns out he's a bit too good at being a villain, because his family can never catch him.

Cue his family neglecting Tommy more, but spending more time trying to catch this new villain who just seems to know exactly how to outsmart them.

Tommy realizes that he can be himself around his family when he's the villain, loud laugh, funny jokes that annoy them.. all without the tension and guilt that all of them seem to have around him. So Tommy stops bothering to try and spend time with his family as a civilian, after all, all he needs to do is blow up an entire building and his family will come.

[justagalwhowrites]

Curse and Comfort - A Jackson!Joel Miller One Shot

You get your period when spending the night in Joel Miller's bed. He takes care of you through it. AKA I wanted a comfort fic for that time of the month so I wrote one. Now you can have it, too.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Reader gets her period so there's talk of blood and period stuff, brief mention of past sex but this isn't smutty (sorry), fluff fluff fluff all the fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of an age gap (reader is in her mid to late 40s, Joel is newly in Jackson so 56-57), talk of pregnancy being possible in the future toward the end, Joel is just the best man because I'm convinced he would be, Joel settled in Jackson is the softest of Joels I will die on this hill, reader can borrow Joel's boxers and has hair of no specified length and can have a period but no description otherwise. Whole blog is hella smutty so Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 3.4k

A03 | Masterlist

The cramps and a sticky wetness between your legs woke you up. 

You were naked. You usually were when you shared a bed with Joel, the only exception when you went out on patrol together and might need to move quickly but couldn’t resist sleeping near each other, anyway. When you were home, safe and warm and comfortable in his bed or yours, clothes were far from your mind. 

That was usually a good thing. It meant you could feel the heat of his leg between yours when you hitched your knee over his thigh in your sleep. It meant you woke up with his skin everywhere around you. It meant that, sometimes, when you were both half asleep, you found him slipping inside of you with an unconscious, needy groan, his hips rocking into you just two or three times before stilling, like he couldn’t be close enough to you, even when he wasn’t awake. 

But as you woke up with the foreign yet strangely familiar feeling between your thighs and in your stomach, you realized that there was a downside to sleeping naked. 

You carefully, hesitantly, reached down to your slit and cautiously tucked two fingers inside yourself and confirmed what you already knew: it wasn’t come leaking out of you. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, looking behind you to find Joel nestled against your back, his sleepy breaths hot on your neck, one of his thick, heavy arms draped around your waist. 

You carefully disentangled yourself him and tiptoed to the bathroom with your thighs held as tightly together as you could manage. 

The light felt blinding when you turned it on and it took your eyes a moment to adjust enough that you could see the smears of red over your legs. 

“Shit,” you groaned quietly, sitting on the toilet, trying to figure out what to do, your cheeks getting hot as you realized that you’d probably bled all over the man who’d let you in his bed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” 

If this had been 25 years ago when you were a college student and the world was still what it had once been, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. You’d have tampons near by and plenty of clean clothes and sheets so if something got wrecked, throwing it away was hardly a tragedy. Hell, you’d even have a Snickers bar to help make you feel better about the whole bleeding on someone thing. 

But that was 25 years ago and this was now, more than two decades into the apocalypse. It had been years since you’d last had a period and, since you were well into your 40s, you’d assumed it was menopause. It hadn’t occurred to you that it might have been just another way your body tried to help you survive as the people you’d been with struggled to find food and were eventually nearly wiped out by raiders. That was how you’d come to be in Jackson to begin with. Joel’s brother, Tommy, found you a few miles away while on patrol as the threat of infected grew worse and you were alone. He convinced you to come back with him and you’d just stayed. 

You’d only been in Jackson about eight months, which both seemed like so much time and none at all. It was hard to remember what life had been like before this, it was hard to believe you’d been here any time at all. You and Joel and his would-be daughter, Ellie, had arrived just a few weeks apart. You’d wound up spending time with him out of convenience more than anything else. Everyone else in town already knew each other, you and Joel had naturally drifted together. It didn’t take long before you were fucking. 

You still weren’t entirely sure how it started or why it had kept going or how Joel actually felt about you beyond friendship. He wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He kept his hands to himself when others were around, he seemed to less seek you out more than just run into you as the cadence of your lives brought you together. It was like he just chose to move alongside you for a while before going his own way. When you were alone, it was different. The way he touched you, explored your body, moaned in your ear made you feel like it meant something. You hoped it meant something. You’d grown attached to him, more than you really wanted to admit to anyone, including yourself. Because what good was there in loving someone who didn’t love you back? It was the end of the world, you’d take whatever small pieces of kindness and pleasure and care you could get, you weren’t about to be greedy and ask for more. 

So you had Joel in his stoic, strong way of being, and you treasured that. But you weren’t together, not really. He didn’t have any reason to tolerate something like you fucking bleeding all over his bed with no warning. And the last time like this had happened, you’d been in your 20s and that guy had practically bitten your head off, pissed at you for not knowing you were about to start your period and wrecking his sheets. Why would you expect Joel to be any different? 

What were you supposed to do? It was the middle of the night, did you wake him up to check the sheets? Did you see if there was scrap cloth to put in your panties to soak up the blood? Did you use his shower and hope that you could get cleaned up without staining something else he owned? 

You weren’t sure when you’d last felt this mortified, tears stinging at your eyes. Why couldn’t this have happened when you were alone? Or at least in your own damn bed instead of his? 

You heard the creak of the floorboard only a second before the gentle knock at the door made you wince. 

“Baby?” Joel said, his voice thick with sleep. “Everythin’ alright?” 

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone from sounding wet. It was easier said than done. 

“Don’t sound fine,” he said. “Can I come in?” 

“Um…” 

“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said gently. “C’mon, baby. Lemme in.” 

You sighed and stretched to unlock the door before staring determinedly at your clasped hands as you sat, dripping blood into his toilet while it was still smeared and drying over your thighs. 

Joel had pulled on his flannel pajama pants before seeking you out and he leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest as you felt his eyes on you. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

“Fine,” you sniffed, trying to get your shit together. You were a middle-aged woman, for fuck’s sake, you had no business crying over a goddamn period. You sat back and really looked at him for the first time since he’d come into the bathroom and watched as his face shifted when he saw your legs, blinking in shock for a moment. 

“Oh,” he said. “I thought you just weren’t feelin’ well…” 

“I’m really sorry,” you cut him off, your chest getting tight. “I can clean it up, I…” 

“S’OK,” he said quickly. “Just… uh… get yourself cleaned up.” 

He left before you had a chance to respond, closing the door behind him and you just sighed, leaning on your knees again, trying not to cry. 

***

Joel tried to not be too loud knocking on his brother’s door. He knew the baby would be asleep, the last thing he wanted to do was send the whole house into a tizzy. He wasn’t trying to be a problem, but it’s not like he had anywhere else to go. 

He knocked, hoping it was loud enough to rouse Tommy or Maria but let their child sleep. 

Just as he was going to knock again, the porch light flipped on and Tommy opened the door, squinting against the brightness of it as he glared at Joel. 

“It’s 3 a.m., Joel,” he said, his voice groggy. “You know what 3 a.m. means, right? It means people are fuckin’ sleeping…” 

“It’s an emergency,” Joel said. Tommy stood up straighter then, reaching behind him to grab his jacket but Joel shook his head. “Not that kind but… is Maria awake?” 

“She is now,” he muttered and then sighed. “Come in, I’ll get her. She’ll really love you after this…” 

Joel hovered in their living room, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets, thumbs drumming against his hips as his brother went to get his wife. 

It had been years since he’d had to worry about anything like this with a lover. Ellie, of course, had needed to keep up with a supply of tampons and they worked their way across the country and he’d gotten accustomed to looking for them any time they stopped somewhere to scavenge supplies but, since they’d come to Jackson and she’d been supplied with… some other solution Joel didn’t ask for details about, it had been far from his mind. 

As far as he knew, you didn’t have periods anymore. You hadn’t said as much but there were clues. You sure as hell weren’t worried about pregnancy. You’d told him as much after the third time the two of you had slept together and he lost control, not pulling out like he knew he should have, apologizing to you over and over as he cleaned you up. 

“It’s fine,” you’d laughed. “That’s not something I need to worry about.” 

He didn’t ask for details. He just relished the freedom and intense pleasure that came with coming in you all the goddamn time. He tried to remember, over the last six months, if there was a time where the two of you had gone more than just three days without sleeping together that he just hadn’t noticed but he couldn’t place one. 

“This had better be good,” Maria grumbled, shuffling into the room, her hair in a bonnet and her arms crossed over her robe. “Lucky you didn’t wake up my kid…” 

“Believe me, ain’t tryin’ to cause trouble,” Joel said. “And this is… it’s kinda awkward but… well… I… I got a… uh… lady friend…” 

“Jesus, everyone knows who you’re fucking, Joel,” she rolled her eyes.

He just blinked at her for a moment. 

“They… they do?” 

“It’s not like you spend time with anyone but her, Tommy and Ellie,” she said. “It’s obvious. Just get on with it so I can go back to bed.” 

“Right,” he said. “Well, she’s over and… uh… she started bleedin’…” 

“OK,” she looked at him incredulous and he just raised his eyebrows at her. It clicked into place then. “Oh! Oh. OK, and I take it she needs… supplies?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t know where else to go.” 

“No, you did the right thing,” she said. “Just… two minutes.” 

She left him standing there again, not gone long before she returned with a brown paper bag and a hot water bottle. 

“Give her this,” she said, handing him the bag. “It has what she’ll need, plus instructions. This,” she passed him the bottle, “you fill with hot water, it’ll help with the cramps.” 

Joel nodded, an odd sense of almost peace coming over him as he did. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Appreciate it. Sorry for waking you up…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled a little, reaching out and giving his bicep a small squeeze. “Go take care of your girl.” 

Joel smiled a little back. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He went back across the street, looking up to the sea of stars for a moment as he did. 

In so many ways, Joel was still adjusting to life in Jackson. He’d been here the better part of a year now but it was so different than the lives he’d led over the last two decades it was still a strange reality for him. No more scrounging to survive, no more constant threat of death and misery, no more constant feeling hopelessness and dread. Life was different here. It made him want something different. 

It made him want you. 

He knew it was hard for you, too. You were new to this life, too, more used to the harsh and cruel realities of the world. Falling into you had been like gravity, a force beyond what he could really control pulling him in. He wanted connection here, he wanted understanding and there you were, so like him in so many ways. 

But it wasn’t just that. It was your beauty, your kindness, your passion that drew him in. He’d resisted at first, the lingering fear of what caring for someone would mean heavy inside him, but the safety of Jackson made it safe to care about you, too. Soon, he just did everything he could to be around you, seeking you out at every opportunity, finding a sense of security and contentment unlike anything he’d really known since the world ended every time he fell asleep with you in his arms. 

He just wasn’t sure how to say that or how you felt. He didn’t want to pressure you, he sure as hell didn’t want to scare you off, so he just kept the warm feeling you gave him in his chest where it belonged. You let him be close to you, he wasn’t about to ask for more, especially when he didn’t deserve it. 

This, though, was something different. It was oddly comforting, having a way to take care of you. He understood himself best, it seemed, when he was caring for someone. If he could protect them, provide for them, hold them when they needed it, he was doing his job. He’d just never had a way to do that for you. While it had been a long time since he’d had to worry about a period in this way, this was familiar territory. He loved you, it felt good to have the chance to look after you. 

The shower was running when he got home and he quickly filled the kettle and put it on the stove before heading to his room. He turned the lights on and pulled back the sheets, finding a bloodstain on the side of the bed that had become yours in the months you’d been together. He quickly stripped the bed - balling up the sheets and tucking them out of sight to wash once you weren’t in the shower - and put fresh bedding on before throwing a clean pair of his boxers over his shoulder and going back downstairs to fill the hot water bottle and make a cup of tea for you just as he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. 

Joel took everything - the paper bag, the boxers, the hot water bottle, the tea - and knocked softly on the bathroom door. 

“Sorry,” you called to him. It still sounded like you’d been crying. He frowned at that. “I’ll be out of your way in just a minute, I…” 

“Not worried about that,” he said, frown deepening. “It OK if I come in?” 

You sighed. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

You had a towel over your front when he came in and your eyes were red but you were, at least, not actively crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I haven’t… I had no idea that was going to happen, I’ll clean up whatever mess there is and…” 

“Why do you keep apologizin’?” He asked, setting the brown paper bag and the boxers on the edge of the sink, near the toilet. “You don’t have a damn thing to be sorry about, baby. Shit happens. I just want to make sure you got what you need and that you’re feeling alright.” 

You just looked at him for a moment, blinking in shock. 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. 

“Course,” he said, nodding to the bag. “Ran out and grabbed… whatever that is. I’ll be honest, I ain’t sure, I didn’t look. But I got something to help with the cramps, made tea… just take care of what you need to in here and come back to bed, OK baby?”

You just nodded and he turned to go before thinking better of it. Instead, he leaned over and kissed your cheek, breathing in the smell of his soap on your skin before heading back to bed. 

It didn’t take you long before you came in, closing the door quietly behind you, wearing his boxers, your hair still wet. You seemed surprised when you saw that he was sitting up in bed, the lamp on his side of it on as he flipped idly through the book about space he was trying to work his way through so he could talk about it with Ellie. 

“You doing OK?” He asked, marking his place and setting the book aside. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. Your eyes weren’t red now but your arms were crossed over your chest protectively as you came over to the bed. He pulled the covers back and you froze for a moment. “You needed to change the sheets?” 

He shrugged but you didn’t climb in beside him. 

“I really am sorry,” you said, your hand on the bed. “If I knew that…” 

“Baby, I really need you to stop acting like you did somethin’ wrong here,” he said. “You think this is the first time I cleaned up some sheets or ran out and got tampons or whatever was in that bag in the middle of the night? I’ve loved women before, this ain’t new. Besides, you’re the one who has to deal with all the pain and shit. Think I can handle cleaning up some sheets now and then.” 

Your eyes met his then, an odd, almost misty expression on your face. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You love me?” You asked quietly. 

It was his turn to freeze then. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure how you felt, he didn’t want to pressure you or freak you out but… the way you were looking at him made it seem like that may not be a bad thing. 

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “I do. Is… Is that OK?” 

“Yeah,” you laughed, smiling for the first time since this whole thing had started. “Yeah, it is because I love you, too.” 

He smiled, too, something warm and comforting starting in chest and spreading over his whole self when you said it. You loved him, too. 

“Well, should get in bed with me then, woman,” he said and you laughed before climbing in. 

You snuggled against his side before putting the hot water bottle over your lower stomach and drinking your tea, Joel’s arm around your shoulders, fingers trailing over your bared skin. When you were done, he turned out the light and the two of you settled in, you on your back, Joel on his side, one arm below you, his other hand resting on the hot water bottle, holding it in place over your skin. 

“I haven’t had a period in forever,” you said quietly. “I thought all that was done for me.” 

“Place like Jackson can change a lot,” he said. “Having enough to eat makes a hell of a difference.” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Should probably… probably start being more careful now that… well, you know.” 

Joel was going to agree but something stopped him. 

He’d meant it when he’d said that a place like Jackson can change a lot. Before be came here, before Ellie, before you, he’d have agreed. He wouldn’t want to bring a child into this world, wouldn’t want to know what he could lose if he did. 

Now, things were different. There was still the twinge of fear at the thought of having a child, the same one he’d have if the world had never ended, especially given his age, but it wasn’t the same terror there would have been even just a year ago. 

“If that’s what you want,” he said instead. “But… I wouldn’t be against the other option.” 

“Really?” You said, turning your head to look at him in the dark. “You… you would want that?” 

“With you?” He smiled softly. “Yeah. I… I think I would.” 

You snuggled closer and he pressed his lips to your temple, his hand still holding the hot water bottle in place. 

Maybe your period wasn’t a bad thing after all. 

[kiss-theggoat]

Gonna need a part two where the slashers realize their s/o is alive >:’(

Slashers Fix You Up

Slashers Included: Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Asa Emory, Michael Meyers, The Sinclair Brothers

TW: Violence and Gore

Thomas Hewitt:

The wound to your stomach was deep. It tore through deep tissue and muscle, but lucky for you, Thomas knew exactly what to do.

Not only had he been stabbed like that, but he’d become really good at sewing and stitching up human skin.

You woke up, feeling groggy, but immediately recognized the basement you were in. You laid on Tommy’s workbench, shirt off and torso numb.

When you looked down you saw Thomas hunched over you, huge hands trying hard to delicately sew you up, fingers covered in your blood.

You whispered to him, and you could’ve sworn you saw his heart skipped a beat. He jumped up, immediately grabbing the side of your face with relief written all over his face, eyes wide and breath heavy. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost you.

Billy Loomis:

Nothing when like it was supposed to that night. Sydney got away, Stu stabbed him too hard, and the worst of all…he stood above you, watching your blood pool on the hardwood of Stu’s living room.

He bent down, putting pressure on your wound while looking around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to think rationally…he needed to get you out of here. He quickly lifted you, trying to ignore your pained groans. He hated seeing you like this.

The moment he got your arm around his shoulders and your feet on the ground, he heard them…sirens. He was conflicted. Relief washed over him. He knew you’d be getting help soon but…if he didn’t run…Syd would tell them everything. He’d go to jail, be found guilty for murder.

In that moment, he didn’t care. He helped you limp towards the front door, pushing it open. You’d lost too much blood…you didn’t even realize that Billy was sacrificing himself to save your life.

Stu Macher:

Stu watched his entire world fall apart when Billy stabbed you. He watched you fall, holding your gushing stomach, blood seeping from between your fingers.

He rushed to your side, hands covering your wound as he laid you back onto the ground.

“Just look at me. Don’t worry, keep looking at me.” He refused to let you look at your wound. He didn’t want you to be scared about how hurt you were. He lifted your hands to inspect your wound…he sighed in relief.

“It’s okay baby…the bleeding is slowing down…you’re gonna be okay…”

Asa Emory:

Asa never expected you to fall into one of his traps. He was beating himself up about it, but there was no time. He lifted you onto his operating table, covering your entire body with gauze.

He started slow, sutures and thread in his precise hands. You were covered in deep wounds, caused by rusty nails…he whispered his apologies, holding one hand as he poured antiseptic over you. It burned, it was unbearable…but you trusted him.

He carefully sewed each wound with a single suture, making sure to reassure you and stop the bleeding whenever it happened. It took him hours, but nothing would stop him from fixing you. Fixing your skin, fixing his love.

Michael Meyers:

For the first time in his entire life, he felt guilt. He felt a storm of emotions, but as he stared at your knife wound- the one his dumbass caused…- he knew it wouldn’t kill you. He’d never felt so terrible and so relieved in his life.

He quickly scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom with shaking fingers. His hands had never shaken before…

He slammed open your medicine cabinet, hard enough to crack the glass, and popped open the first aid kit, sending gauze and band-aids onto the bathroom floor. You’d patched him up plenty of times so it should be easy…right?

Six butterfly bandages, four bandaids, and two complete rolls of gauze later, you felt like you might be suffocated by the first-aid supplies but…he’d tried his best. And, you weren’t bleeding anymore.

Sinclair Brothers:

The blow to the face had broken your eyebrow and sliced your skin, and the fall to the floor left you with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Vincent carried you downstairs gently, knowing he had the supplies to fix you up in his workshop.

All three brothers stayed by your side, and you were never alone over the course of the next week, especially while you were sleeping, until your concussion headache finally went away.

Your face was bruised and swollen and it hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, especially the cut on your eyebrow.

But, every morning when you walked downstairs, you received a kiss on the eyebrow from each Sinclair brother, and they all treated you like you were made of porcelain, even Bo.

[nomsfaultau]

Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

[swanimagines]

Hey! Could you write headcanons for Being the Peaky Blinders’ nurse? Thanks so much!

When you first got one of the Shelby’s to your little clinic, you were surprised instead of being afraid. 

The Shelbys weren’t exactly good people, but they were kind to those who lived in the area, helping them in exchange for not snitching on them.

So you didn’t think twice when you ushered them to lay the man on your table and started examining him.

It was John - bruises covering his body, him groaning in pain as you twisted and pressed around him to find any broken bones.

He had a nasty gash on his side and bruises, but nothing more serious.

So you disinfected his gash and wrapped it up, before you called out to his brothers to come and pick him up.

“A week of rest and lots of water helps a lot,” you instructed them. “But if he gets a fever, bring him back immediately.”

And that was that, they thanked you and left.

You thought it was the last time you’d see them, at least for a while – but then they kept coming back.

You didn’t really understand why, your little clinic at the corner of two backstreets, on the verge of bankruptcy, when they could afford going to one of the fancier places near where the injury happened.

Not that you complained of course, they paid you handsomely.

But to your surprise, those payments weren’t enough as a large company bought the building complex where you had your clinic, and you were forced to close it.

You wandered around Birmingham for a week or two, trying to make up a way to feed yourself and pay the rent for your flat.

And then…

Tommy Shelby himself appeared at your door.

“I have a proposition,” he started, handing you an envelope. “We have a free room at the Garrison, you could practice your clinic there. In exchange, you would take care of our gang.”

You eyed him for a moment before you peeked into the envelope. Hundreds of pounds laid there, enough to pay off months of rent in advance. You frowned.

“Why me?”

He was quiet for a moment. “You help without questions, are good at what you do and are currently struggling.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, fiddling with the envelope, before you nodded. “Let me get my suitcase.”

The room at the Garrison was bigger than you expected—not as big as at your clinic, but plenty of room to do whatever you needed. And you remembered occasionally thinking that you could get by with a smaller room.

So, you began your work.

The gang was your priority, but you were allowed to take other customers for extra coin.

Not that there were many, but you were content treating the gang only too - they paid you well, you had money to live comfortably.

Sometimes, they invited you to have a drink or two with them.

In case you fell sick, Polly and Ada took care of you.

Hot tea, warm blankets, soup.

They fell like they were your mother and sister those times, by how caring they were.

Eventually, you moved to live closer to Garrison, Tommy pitching in to help you with costlier rent.

Finn growing up meant he spent time at your clinic a lot. He got into trouble almost daily and came back with bruised or bleeding knees, and you were constantly patching him up.

And Arthur needed your help after he returned from fighting rings, or when he had wandered around and got into trouble while drunk.

You grew to be an important part of the gang, something you didn’t expect.

And they, in turn, grew to be important to you too.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S)

[ohraicodoll]

DESPERATELY NEED FERAL READER WITH EP 8 WITH AN INJURED JOEL AND KIDNAPPED ELLIE…….. I KNOW OUR CRAZY QUEEN WOULD KILL EVERYONE ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Yall asked for it lol

Violent Delights Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 6.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They took her kid and she was getting her back. Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and torture

She woke up with a start, having drifted off unknowingly after trying to keep watch, a sense of disorientation as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening. The basement. They were still in the basement, the cold leeching any warmth from the walls and floors, the haggard breathing of her companion her only company. It’d been over 48 hours since she last slept, since Joel was hurt and they’d had to drag him into the house and patch him up. He wasn’t in good shape. Joel was so close to death’s door, it terrified her. They were so close to losing him and she had never felt more helpless.

She could still hear his pained groans, the glazed and blank look in his eyes, as she put pressure on the bleeding hole in his stomach just a couple days before. “Don’t you dare die, Joel. You still have to make shit up to me and you can’t do that dead. You can’t leave us again.” He’d tried to tell them to leave him. To go back to Tommy’s and leave him behind, the stubborn asshole. But Ellie managed to find the first aid kit and they’d sewn up the hole, wrapping it best they could with the little supplies they had. She knew it wasn’t enough. There could be shards left from the baseball bat, they weren’t the cleanest, nothing was sterile. She didn’t even know if something internal had been damaged. But it was all they could do. They’d been so focused on getting to Colorado they’d been using their food storage rather than hunting over the past week. Now it was biting them in the ass, their supplies dwindled. She’d managed to briefly go out and hunt down a rabbit, but game seemed scarce and leaving meant leaving Ellie and Joel alone. Without Joel, it was hard to sleep, look after Ellie, look after him and keep him stable, look after the fucking horses, and hunt. She was overwhelmed. So sleep went out the window. She took watch when Ellie was asleep, went and tried to hunt and scavenge the nearby houses when she was awake, and kept an eye on Joel in between taking care of the two horses in the garage. But at some point she’d fallen asleep finally, fallen deep and hard enough that she hadn’t noticed Ellie slipping the rifle from her hands and leaving the two adults alone.�� A small scribbled note was placed on her lap on a piece of what looked like newspaper, “Be back soon -E.” She scrambled to her feet, looking around and cursed herself. Joel was still breathing steadily but his brow was covered with sweat from the infection he was staving off. Both their packs were against the wall but Ellie’s was gone and the panic that took hold was like a lightning bolt. It stole the breath from her lungs. Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone- it was a racing thought that circulated over and over again. Her main purpose, main job, and she’d fucking fallen asleep.

Her heart jumped further at hearing footsteps above her head, the slight creak and shift in the old wood, a door slamming…then it all came out in deep relief as she recognized the light shuffling.

Ellie raced down the steps, cheeks pink from cold and wind, and breath huffing out in a rush as she entered the basement.

She grabbed the girl immediately, shaking her by the shoulders with the vestiges of panic still in her blood, “Where did you go, Ellie? You weren’t supposed to leave!”

The teenager paused, eyes frantic and a little wild, but a tough set to her lips as she shook her head, “I went hunting and you needed sleep! I had to, but look! I got Joel medicine!” Ellie took the bottles out of their wrap, quickly moving away from her and kneeling down to Joel, beginning to lift up his shirt before she could even get a good look at what she had. The wound was ugly and discolored and she could hear him groan at the small touches. Her mind was still caught up in the panic of discovering the girl was gone and she quickly snatched the bottles away before the syringe was inserted. “Where did you get this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands. Penicillin. Two whole bottles of penicillin, practically liquid gold in their world, and Ellie had managed to get it while she slept. The teen looked nervous and tried to snatch it back, but she was quick even if she was exhausted and pulled her hand away, “Please, can we give it to him first and then I’ll explain?” Her eyes were so big for her face, cheeks pink. Her desperation to help Joel was evident. Ellie knew how bad he was doing and believed she held the cure to it all in her hands. She could only sigh and hand it back over, instructing her to give just a fourth of the bottle and to tap the syringe. Joel would probably have a heart attack if he knew she was letting the kid give it to him, but she knew Ellie had to do this herself. It was her win and she had to feel like she was the one saving him so she let her. But then they both stared, her knowledge only getting them that far. “Where the fuck am I suppose to put this?” Ellie cursed, looking at the wound and Joel’s arm, eyes switching between hers and his closed ones, “Fuck, how are we supposed to do this?” She cursed herself. Her medical knowledge was mediocre. Stitching, cleaning wounds, pulling out bullets, the basics they needed. Infections and medicine she had no clue about, “Just give it to him in his stomach. As long as it enters his blood stream, it should be fine.” At least, that’s what she thought. Ellie winced and inserted the needle, Joel giving out pained groans as it sunk into the sensitive area. They both watched the plunger empty the contents and then she pulled it out, trying to clean the needle the best she could. They only had one syringe and would have to reuse it. “And now we wait,” the teen commented and looked at his face as if at any second he would be magically better. He would wake up and smile and tell her good job. But he didn’t, staying silent on the small makeshift bed. “No, now you tell me where you went and how you got that,” she bit out, sitting on the other side of Joel to face her. Ellie winced and looked down at the small glass bottles in her hand, “You needed to sleep and we needed food. I know you think you can take care of all of us, but you can’t and I wanted to help by trying to hunt.” “That’s not your responsibility-” “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to help,” Ellie cut her off but then sighed, “And I did manage to actually get a deer…but I ran into these guys...” Instantly, she was on high alert, eyes searching everything that was visible and checking her for any wounds, “You ran into people and you’re barely telling me!” “I know!” the young girl argued back, hand resting on top of Joel’s, “They found my deer before me and said they were from a group with starving women and children. They offered to trade for half the deer and said they had medicine. I did everything I was supposed to! Got them to drop their guns, unloaded their rifles, and had them back away. One went to get the medicine and I kept the gun on the other.”

“So you gave them half the deer and they gave you the medicine then just let you go?” she asked and clenched and unclenched her fists. Ellie wouldn’t look so nervous if  that was the whole story and she wasn’t nearly tired enough to have been dragging half a deer carcass back. Shrugging, Ellie grimaced and refused to meet her eyes, “That was the deal…but they knew who we were. The people that attacked us at the university belonged to their group and this guy started talking about how one of theirs had been killed by a crazy man with two girls. He knows that was Joel. I don’t know why he let me go, but I think they’re looking for us.” With a curse, she quickly stood, hands on her hips and pacing in a tight circle, “Fuck. Fuck. And they didn’t come after you?”

“No, I think they let me go because I was a kid.” She doubted that. People rarely were that charitable, even to children in this world. Especially a child with a gun and an attitude like Ellie’s. The unspoken words were there though. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for her and Joel though. Ellie may be deemed innocent but the two of them were problems and only one of them was in commission currently. But what could they do? They couldn’t move Joel in his state. They couldn’t leave him behind either. They were stuck. “Okay. Maybe if they let you go they don’t plan on coming. Maybe they think both of us are injured if you were out on your own and won’t come,” she lied comfortingly and tried to speak the words into existence, knowing the kid was probably feeling guilty and needed some hope. They needed rest, needed to breathe for a second, and panicking now wouldn’t help.  It took a while to relax enough to let the adrenaline fade away.

Ellie laid down, exhausted, tucking into Joel’s side as she had the past couple nights and resting her head on his shoulder. He subconsciously leaned into her, still alive for now. Her heart ached at the sight, the way they held each other in their own ways. She didn’t have the strength to get after the girl more or uproot them out of precaution. They were all exhausted and Ellie had somehow managed to bring hope even if there was a cost.

She sat down by the stairs, flipped her knife between her fingers to keep her awake and focused, and watched the two sleep with her heart in her throat.

The men would come. Now that they knew they were in the area, they would come and they were stuck in this spot until Joel was better. There was no way they could get him on a horse and move him now without undoing all the healing he’d done. A thousand scenarios went through her head, sleep now a distant memory in the face of the panic and anxiety plaguing her. How was she supposed to fight off a group and keep them both safe?

She couldn’t. That was the reality of the situation.

The thought hit her over and over again like a blow to the chest, the knife turning between her fingers. _________________________________________ Morning came and she could see Ellie’s disappointment that the medicine hadn’t instantly woken Joel up and made him all better. To ease her mind, they gave him another dose, trying to make the bottles last before shoving the remainder in their bags. They were out of food, the rabbit she had caught two days ago long gone without a way to store it. Joel still wasn’t eating or drinking and she worried that even if they got the infection under control, his body wouldn’t be strong enough to get better. Things were bad. The possibility of Joel dying was a constant chime in her head. It felt like a mockery that he had left and came back only to be almost taken from them permanently. She was angry. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that took the hit. It had been meant for her but he’d pushed her out the way as the bat swung, breaking on the tree, and then tackled the guy. If it had been her, Joel would know what to do. He could take care of them both or at least would have the strength to leave her behind if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could. She was failing him. Failing them both. The basement was suffocating, pressing in on her, and she took the opportunity to go tend to the horses, leaving the girl and her unconscious companion to the pressing weight of disappointment. Her body was beginning to ache from the lack of sleep and food, joints protesting her movement, but she reached down and scooped snow into the small metal bucket for them to get some water. Soon the horses would starve too or be too weak to carry them. Death was creeping up on them. Looking over the neighborhood they were held up in, she sighed at the obvious foot steps leading up through the streets before beginning to methodically cover what she could. Ellie knew better than to leave a trail but she guessed in her hurry to get the medicine back to Joel and get away from the men she had forgotten. And as birds took off in a rush further down the road towards the wooded outskirts, she froze and her heart thundered in her ears. 

She felt fear run through her as her thoughts from the night resurfaced and became reality, a living nightmare. They were coming. They had waited for daylight to search them out and were coming now. She knew it, could feel it, and they were out of time. Quickly covering what she could and making false tracks from the other houses, she ran back inside and flew down the stairs to the basement taking two at a time. No time, there was no time.  Ellie startled at her rushed appearance and the way she flew across the room to the rifle and her own pack, “What’s happening?”

“Those men you saw are coming,” she huffed out, grabbing the rifle and checking it was loaded before looking around the room as if she could find the answer there.

Turning to Joel, Ellie began to shake his shoulders as if he were merely sleeping and not borderline in a coma, “Fuck. Joel! You have to wake up, Joel. Joel, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Joel!” But he only gasped, pained whimpers leaving his lips, eyelids fluttering.

She bent down and grabbed Ellie by the shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes, “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take the horse and run.”

“What? No, what about-”

“You run and I’ll follow behind and try to pick them off,” she interrupted, voice adamant, “They’re going to search every house and they will find us eventually. I can’t hold them off like this. I need to know you’re good first and if we’re away from here then it will take the focus off Joel.”

“You want me to go without you?” Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear and her heart ached at the sight, but there was no time.

“I’ll find you,” she promised and dug her fingers tightly into her shoulders as if she could sink the words into her skin, “I will. But you have to go now. We’ll block the entrance to down here, give Joel some time.”

Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded, running to grab her backpack and last minute grabbed one of the larger knives they had. Running back over to Joel, the teen knelt down and placed it on his chest, forcing his hand to grab it. She let her while grabbing the rest of her stuff and placed Joel’s pack into a small cubby under the steps to make it less noticeable.

“Okay, look at me,” Ellie whispered to him while he only groaned in reply, “There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, Red is going to help get rid of them. But if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?”

“Ellie, hurry,” she bit out, peeking out the small window along the top of the wall. “Joel, do not fall asleep,” the teenager pleaded desperately, squeezing his hand around the knife. She could see his eyes partially open, see his lips trying to move and his fingers twitching trying to grasp the knife. But Ellie finally got up quickly and rushed up the stairs. She went to follow after her and paused, staring back at the unconscious man on the floor. A part of her whispered that this could be the last time she saw him alive. One or both of them could be dead if this didn’t go right. Heart in her throat, she ran back to him and kneeled, kissing his forehead and grasping his hand. “Stay alive for us, please, Joel,” she whispered, squeezing the hand around the knife, but getting back up and running up the stairs. She tried not to look back. Both of them moved the tall kitchen cabinet over the door entryway to the basement, trying to shuffle things around to not make the spot obvious before heading to the garage. They got both horses out, grabbing what she needed from hers and sending silent apologies to Tommy before forcing it to gallop away in the opposite direction with a sharp smack. The other she saved for Ellie to ride, closing the garage door behind them. They’d figure out transportation later when they were out of this mess, but they needed the guys off their trail and two different horse tracks would help. With quick hands, she helped Ellie climb up onto its back. 

Shakily, she bit out, “You ride hard and fast and loud. They’re going to come after you but if you go fast they won’t catch you and I’ll hit them from behind. They only know for sure about you right now. Do not look back, Ellie. I’ll find you once it’s safe, I promise.” Ellie was shaking but tried to put on a brave face, nodding and holding onto the reins. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her it was going to be okay, but she wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. The men were close, she knew that. She patted the rear of the horse and nodded a final goodbye, beckoning her to go forward. Her heart screamed to not let her go, that it was safer with her than alone, but they were backed into a corner and she had no choice. They wouldn’t win in a shootout and losing meant Ellie would die. So she watched as the girl rode away down the street away from her, turning until she was completely out of sight, and tried not to flinch at the gunshots that came soon after and the yells of men. She tried to shut off the part of her that wanted to panic, to react and worry. That wasn’t the part she needed to listen to at the moment. Running as far as she could, crossing over fences and staying against the walls of the house, she followed the sound of loud hoof beats and chased after them as they chased after Ellie. Her ears caught on one of them screaming that she was to be left alive, but that didn’t ease the worry in her. Being captured alive wasn’t always a good thing. One of the slower men chasing Ellie fell the furthest behind, wheezing in the cold and trying to clamber in the dense snow. Her own knife in hand, she ran and jumped onto his back, using both their weight to send them forward onto his front behind the cover of some of the shrubs. 

He hadn’t been expecting to be attacked from behind and it took him a moment to try and struggle, to lift his face out of the snow to breathe, and she took advantage of that by stabbing deep into the back of his neck. He groaned, the sound muffled, and she pulled the blade out and sunk it in again and again with a growl. The snow was staining red around them. He stopped moving. One down. She stood and took off, the cold biting into her lungs and stealing her breath. The terrain was hard and the one kill had put her farther behind the group, forcing her to cut across more backyards to catch up, but she could only hope Ellie had done what she asked and was out of range. She could catch the rest of them once they scattered. But then a gunshot rang out close by. The sound of a horse’s cry ripped through her, tore her soul to shreds, and she knew if she lived beyond the day she would hear that sound forever in her nightmares.

She ran. She left all care of stealth behind and ran fast and hard, dodging trees and fallen branches and then ran faster when another gun shot rang out. The chest felt like it was being cleaved open by the panic, fear gripping her tightly. They wouldn’t have shot her. They wouldn’t have killed her. She was a kid, they wouldn’t-

And then she watched from the trees as the group surrounded Ellie who was on the ground, her horse unmoving not far away, and a tall skinny man picked her up and began to walk away with her. She raised the rifle, looking down the scope, and cursed as the men separated and began to head back into the neighborhood. No doubt to continue their search for Joel and her.

She could see Ellie’s face through the scope, the loll of her head, but she was gripped too closely to the man’s body. He was walking further and further away. Two sides of her screamed. Leaving to go after them meant abandoning Joel, but staying behind meant leaving Ellie. She wanted to press the trigger, shoot, but knew it was too risky with Ellie in the man’s arms. She could so easily accidentally kill the girl if she was one inch off and her hands were too shaky from exhaustion to be precise. Only some of the group was going back, the others looking like they were continuing to scout the area.

She knew what she had to do, what Joel would tell her to do, but the reality of it felt impossible. If they found Joel, he’d die for sure. But she wasn’t sure she could live with leaving Ellie.

The men with the girl were getting farther away and a choice had to be made.

So she swallowed the sob in her throat and let the rage she felt consume her completely, push her forward, and followed behind the group to where they would take her kid.  __________________________ It was getting harder and harder to follow along as the wind began to kick up a notch. She needed to see where they were taking Ellie, but she was tired and the cold was sinking in, her body struggling to keep going. And as they entered the town, it was getting difficult to avoid being seen. Too many buildings, too many open areas, and she didn’t know who could be watching. She knew they had entered one of the nearby buildings, but wasn’t sure which. The clock was ticking in her mind, Ellie’s life on one hand and Joel’s on the other. What good was she if she couldn’t save her people? Blood crusted on her fingers as she entered the first of the buildings quietly, finding a back entrance. It was dark but she could hear voices nearby as she found herself in some kind of storage room, the cold still reaching her through the walls. She wasn’t used to carrying the rifle. It had always been Joel’s weapon thanks to its weight, her preferring knives or a small pistol or even a bow when she could find one. So when she crouched down to ease her way over to the swinging door leading further inside, she winced when it thudded and scraped against the floor, the sound so loud in her ears. The voices paused and she froze, eyes wide and watching the door. There was shuffling and she quickly backed away into a darkened corner, pulling her knife out. Steps came closer and she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The door swung open and she could see a man enter, beard a little rough and looking a little ragged, cheeks red from the cold. He frowned, looking around, gaze shifting over what he could. He turned to look at the back door, back facing her, and only then did she realize she had tracked snow inside and it hadn’t quite melted. Lunging, she stuck the blade deep into his lower back with all her might and threw her arm around his neck, choking him hard. A cry of pain tried to leave his lips, breath cut off, and he struggled wildly. She twisted the knife, feeling blood coat her hand. “Where is the girl?” she hissed, jerking the blade deeper. He sobbed and made pathetic mewling sounds of pain, voice wispy from lack of air, “Please, I don’t know-” She twisted, hearing the squelch of flesh tearing, “The teenage girl your buddy grabbed, where is she?” The distinct smell of piss lingered in the air and he sobbed out, “I don’t know! Oh god.” Steps were coming close again and she growled, keeping her grip on the knife buried in his body and shifting her arm away from his neck to hold the back of his collar. He wheezed in air, blood starting to bubble from his lips. The door burst open and the distinct sound of a gun rising echoed in the tiny room, only to pause as she held the man in front of her like a shield, mostly hidden by his body. “Howard-” A woman’s voice. All the people who had attacked them had been men. 

She wouldn’t have the information she needed. With a growl of frustration, she shoved the body at her, letting his dead weight hit her and trap the woman against the wall. She let out a startled cry and the delay gave her just enough time to unholster her pistol and shoot her in the head. The numbness that was a twin to her rage had sunk into her skin, blanketing her all over. She’d search the buildings, one by one, and kill whoever she had to to find her kid. She didn’t care. Stepping over the bodies, she moved into the area they had been in before she drew their attention and paused, icy horror filling her. A leg was in the process of being cut apart, small chunks set aside and being wrapped up as if to store for later. It was a kitchen, most likely used to prepare food for stage, large makeshift smokers and pits along the back unused. The ticking clock in her mind sped up as the reality of what she’d uncovered hit her. Cannibals. These people that had taken Ellie were cannibals. A strong hit to her back sent her stumbling forward and clattering to her knees. She grunted and scrambled forward as a stomp missed her, hitting the ground instead. There’d been someone still in the room and she’d been too distracted to notice. 

Rolling onto her back, gun still in her hand, she aimed and managed to shoot the knee out of her assailant as he raised a butcher knife. He crumpled to the ground with a cry and she got to her feet slowly, gun raised and trained on him. 

The guy was younger, but thin and haggard looking. His bravado hadn’t fully left him though as he stared her down, anger in his eyes, “You fucking bitch. You blew out my fucking knee.” He tried to get up but she aimed at his head, making him freeze. “I’ll shoot the other one too if you don’t shut up and tell me where the girl you kidnapped is,” she snarled, adrenaline helping to keep the firearm steady on him. His nose wrinkled and he spit at her, brow furrowed.

Stubborn. Younger guys were so stubborn.

She pulled the trigger and watched his other knee explode as the bullet met his target. The man screamed and she quickly knelt down, shoving her hand over his mouth and placing the still warm barrel against his forehead. Tears leaked out his eyes, making little dirt tracks through the grime on his skin.

“Where the fuck is she?” she screamed into his face and the sound was almost inhuman, gravel and fury warping it almost into a howl.

But he only shook his head, eyes defiant. Frustrated, she stood, looking at the meat cleaver in his hand and the human leg on the table. She didn’t have time for this. Ellie was out there and the situation was worse than she thought. Not even meeting his eyes, she raised the gun and shot him in the head. He wasn’t going to give her any information.

She raced back outside through the back door she had entered, heart in her throat and a panicked scream wanting to leave her lips.

The storm was picking up as an idea hit her. If she searched each building, there was no guarantee she’d find someone with information in time. She had to draw their attention. Maybe lure them out. They had wanted Ellie alive for the moment. If she could distract them, it may buy her time.

Chewing her lip, she kneeled behind the building and swung her pack around to dig through it. Her hand wrapped around a small glass bottle that had been carefully secured in the middle of her clothes and yanked it out along with one of her old shirts. They’d been saving it for emergencies, using it to sterilize what they could, but she needed it for something else now. Her face stung from the cold wind and her hands shook, but she managed to tear cloth and shove it into the liquor bottle, saturating the fabric, before she put her pack back on and stood.

Time to make a big fucking distraction.

Blocking the wind with her hands, she lit a match and watched as the tip of the cloth burned bright with flames.

With a snarl, she tossed the molotov through the window of the next building, ducking down and watching as the flames exploded inside. Screams and shouts followed, telling her there had been people inside, and she waited for more voices to join them. Someone would investigate or come outside.

Like clockwork, a man rushed out into the cold and she gripped her bloody knife at the familiar face. One of the men that had come back with Ellie. He cursed and ran through the snow, yelling that he was going to grab the fire extinguisher next door while the others scrambled to put the flames out. She followed, quiet, lava flowing through her and teeth bared. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. 

The wind blocked any sound she made as she rushed after him into the alley and lunged, shoving him into the cold brick wall with a loud crack. She growled and grabbed his hair, gripping it tightly and smashing it into the bricks once then twice. He tried to push away and turn, but she kneed him hard in the spine, driving him to his knees. “Where is the girl?” she snarled into his ear, knife to his throat. Blood poured down an open wound on his forehead, one eye blinded by red, as he finally took in who had grabbed him, “fuck you,” “Wrong answer,” she yanked his hair and slammed it into the wall again. When he went to raise his hand to fight her, she stabbed the blade through his hand and into the ground. His screams were carried away by the wind and snow, the shouts of his group telling her they were still distracted by the fire. “The girl your group grabbed,” the words were all razors and broken glass, almost the sound of an animal snarl, “Where did you take her?” He sneered at her, trying to put on a strong front through the pain, “That bitch is probably soup by now.” She stepped on the knife, the blade so far in his hand the hilt was pressing against the back, “I can make this last a fucking lifetime. Your choice. Where-” “Please, don’t-” Frustrated, she ripped the knife out and placed the tip just inside his mouth, “Last chance. Where is she?” The tip clinked against his teeth and he hung his mouth open to avoid being cut, his beard a mess of blood and spit and green eyes wide with fear finally. She tried not to feel satisfaction as seeing that, understanding setting in for him. He lifted his bloody hand and tried to point across the street, stuttering out, “Steakhouse. The fucking steakhouse. David has her in there.” She looked at him, eye swollen, and blood coating the front of his face, clearly terrified.

Slowly, she took the blade away, watching his lips wobble with sobs and slight relief. Then she slit his throat, continuing to move behind the buildings even as his blood sprayed out and soaked her clothes and his pleas gurgled and quieted.

The steakhouse was a few more buildings down across the street, “Todd’s Steakhouse” still written on the sign out front. The storm was a blizzard now, sharp stinging snow hitting her skin and turning the blood on her into patches of ice. There were yells, panicked screams, and she wondered if they had found the bodies. If they had found the blood and chaos she had left in her wake.

But with a destination in sight, she had let her guard down and she cursed herself later on for it. Arms wrapped around her torso, crushing the rifle into her back, and she kicked at the air as she was dragged back against a brick wall.

“You fucking bitch!” Screamed into her ear and she was tossed to the ground, teeth clattering from the impact.

A kick landed in her stomach and she grunted, the air leaving her lungs, but she had enough sense to grab onto the leg and cling to it. The move caught the man off balance and he tripped, falling to the ground next to her. Her blade was somewhere in the snow and she struggled to dig around for it, sharp steel nicking her fingers as she found it only to be thrown onto her back.

The man climbed on top of her, straddling her waist, his weight so heavy and her pack on her back making the move crushing. She grit her teeth and bucked, thrashing to try and get him off of her. But he only grinned, pulling back and decking her in the face. Stars lit up behind her eyes, a high pitch ringing all she could hear as pain exploded through her head.

He pulled back to punch again and her fingers found the cold metal in the snow. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the sharp steel cut into her palm as she grabbed it by the blade instead of the hilt, and stabbed it into his lower throat. She didn’t stop, only switching to pull it out by its handle this time, and stabbed again and again, blood reigning down onto her.

With a howl, she shoved him off of her and sent a final stab into his face, snow soaking into her and pain a radiating heat. Everything hurt and it was an effort to get up and roll onto her side, staring at the decimated body next to her. 

She spit blood on him and stood. There was smoke coming from all around her, the fire having caught from the molotov and moving on building to building. Across the way, smoke could be seen from the steakhouse and she swallowed her pain, letting adrenaline carry her to the front doors. Her hands shook as she tried the handles, pulling again and again but they stayed locked and shut. Growling, she threw her shoulder into it. She was so close. She had found the place and was so close and a locked fucking door was all that was keeping her away. Her breathing was quick and frantic as she looked over the front and tried to reason that there had to be a back door or an employee entrance. Her hands skimmed the wall to try and keep upright, knowing soon the exhaustion and pain would take over, but she tried to push it back. Ellie had to be close. She needed to keep going a little bit further and then she’d get her kid and they’d go get Joel. 

Her steps stumbled and she pushed off the wall, screaming at herself to stay steady. There, she could see the back door. Plain and wooden, easy enough to shoot the lock off and get inside. With shaky fingers, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder, the weight of it almost unbearable, and took two shots to get the lock blown off. Her legs were shaky as she climbed the few steps and opened the door, smoke pouring out. She coughed and tried to wave it away, stepping inside and feeling the heat. She had taken only a few steps into the building and stopped, hearing a familiar voice. “Red?” Relief flooded her, eyes instantly filling with tears, as Ellie emerged from the smoke not too far in front of her. Ellie was there, hair a mess and half tumbling out of her ponytail, blood splattered and smeared all over her face and clothes. It took her a while to realize she was standing there, actually standing there, watching as the girl stumbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. 

Smoke and fire was all around them, but she couldn’t care because she had Ellie and they were both alive and safe now. With shaky hands, she managed to direct them back out of the building and into the cold, fresh air. Her promise rang in her ears and she whispered them out loud as she clung to the girl, “I found you. I found you. I’ll always find you.” And she had, but not quick enough. She knew that something awful had happened, that Ellie was now one step closer to being what her and Joel were. The tough exterior had crumbled away and all that was left was a shocked girl who’d had a piece of her soul cleaved away. Her nose was busted and she knew that look in her eyes, the horror and pain at doing something ugly but necessary. Ellie’s lips were shaking as she looked her over and she was so focused on the girl she almost didn’t see Joel coming around the corner. Joel, standing and whole and alive, coming towards them like Ellie was a gravity well pulling both of them towards her. His eyes met hers and the relief was bright, even if she was dripping in blood. But Ellie hadn’t noticed the shift in attention, hadn’t heard his steps, and when he went to grab her she bucked and thrashed in his arms in sheer desperation. So much like her, a wild animal fighting not to be caged. Her heart tore apart, shredded to pieces, at the painful screams then broken sobs as she realized who was holding on to her. 

Joel only kept whispering, “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.” “He- I-” she stuttered, eyes glazed and searching both of theirs. Joel held on with all his might, trying to ease her, gentle words soothing. And the girl crumbled, falling into his arms and clinging to him tightly as much as he was clinging to her. His eyes met hers and she let the exhaustion hit her and carry her towards them, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around them both. All three of them, blood soaked, finally home with each other.

______________ Feral Reader Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111

[wildemaven]

look at us | joel miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2748 warnings: 18+ blog; Smut, maybe even smut with no real plot, Nipple play, orgasm through nipple stimulation, praise, multiple orgasms, using arousal as lube, mutual masterbastion (f & m), cum eating/sharing, mirror watching, my horrible attempt at keeping a conversation flowing during sexy time, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself, fluff, established relationship, mentioned that reader is wearing a dress & bra but has zero descriptive features, can be read as no outbreak or prior to outbreak Joel, there’s no Sarah in this universe notes: this is a reimagined version of an older fic i posted and didn’t really like for some reason. Switched the characters and reworked it a bit. Smut is so hard to write for me, I just question the whole thing in its entirety and never want to do it again. But I love this storyline so much more now as Joel that I honestly don’t even care if the smut is wonky— I just want joel now. This writer supports Palestine and does not share or support the views of tlou creator.

It’s a heady sensation.

Visceral. Demanding. Gratifying.

His touch. A grounding force that burns through you, igniting every nerve ending in its wake.

Plaint and warm, your body blooms with a carnal appetency.

He’s emboldened by every sound he plucks from you. The softest whimpers that fall from your lips, kiss every single inch of his dewy skin. He’s forever addicted to your willingness to take what he has to give you— always wanting more.

Generous. Attentive. Steadfast.

Earnestness bleeds into a lustrous selfishness. The anticipation palpable, watching as you come apart in his arms, your pleasure is his forevermore.

It’s intuitive, the way he’s drawn to you. Most mornings, taking advantage of what little time he has with you, before work is pulling you both in different directions. Then you’re reunited for the evening and he’s making up for lost time, devouring and satisfying, well into the next day.

An endless cycle of being connected and reconnecting.

When weekends come around, he’s selfish. Overindulging beyond his means. Knowing he has ample time to relish in the closeness. Met with endless opportunities to have you near in any capacity as the hours of the day tick on, time he doesn’t take for granted.

Today is no different. From the moment the truck backs out of the driveway, beginning the several mile drive across town in the direction of Tommy’s home, he’s reaching for your hand.

Palm to palm, fingers perfectly intertwined as your hands stay connected over the center console of his pickup. The afternoon sun streaming through the window, adding to the already budding warmth that’s building between you. The conversation is light. Joel listening intently as you share details from your week, his thumb working over your knuckles as you move through the highlights of your story.

The remainder of the drive has a comfortable lull as the miles roll by. Music streaming through the cab, the lyrics provoking a wave of affection. Joel’s lips find the top of your hand periodically, his gaze never breaking from the road ahead. Your heart racing instantly at his instinctual gesture.

The gathering of friends— barbecuing, music and laughter, doesn't deter him from keeping you within arms reach.

Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back, fingers lightly dragging back and forth over your tingling spine, as you both exchange hello’s and hugs to the group friends in attendance scattered around the backyard

While Tommy is busy tending to the food on the barbecue, Joel and you are caught up listening to Paul, Tommy’s old army buddy and the newest hire at Joel’s construction company, share stories from his and Tommy’s time together in the military. Both of you enthralled by the recounts of close calls and embarrassing moments for the younger Miller brother, only to be interrupted by a flustered Tommy calling for Paul to grab plates and napkins from inside.

The minute you’re alone his hand is wandering south, grabbing at the meat of your ass and pulling you flush against him. It’s the first moment you’ve been alone since arriving and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to take advantage of it.

You smile into his kiss, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt as he leans in close, his hushed words fanning across your ear.

“You look so damn pretty in that dress. Can’t wait to get my hands on you later.” The husk in his voice nearly makes you melt further into him, not even surprised by the cool dampness coating the silk panties you chose today, just for him.

“Hmmm— your hands haven’t left me since we got here.” You muse.

“I like havin’ you close.”

“You’ve made that quite obvious, Miller.” You joke, before he’s silencing you with another less than chaste kiss.

Dinner is served as the sun begins its descent. The air dropping a few degrees cooler, has goosebumps pricking at your skin. But it’s nothing compared to the shiver Joel is causing you, his hand nestled between your legs under the table.

You find it hard to focus between all the lively conversations being volleyed across the table, dishes being passed around and laughter cutting through friendly onslaughts of fuck you’s.

Joel mindlessly massaging at your thigh as he talks. Filling everyone in on the projects he’s started around the house, while your brain is muddled with thoughts of Joel’s hands and only Joel’s hands.

You can’t be positive it’s a deliberate move— or is it? You’ve been with him long enough to know what a calculated man Joel is.

He leans forward to reach for the ketchup bottle, his other hand shifting further up your thighs, his demeanor is cool and even as his fingers brush over your clothed mound. His fingers slowly gliding over the very drenched fabric. You swallow a thick gasp as your hips cant forward on instinct, chasing his retreating hand, your cunt aching and desperate for more of his teasing.

The wink he shoots you as he settles back in his chair is all the evidence you need to know his plan worked.

“Look like you saw an infected zombie or somethin’. Everything okay, Baby?” You want to kiss the devilish smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Y-yeah.” Horny and desperate for you, but fine.

“Y’sure about that? Those perked nipples of yours are tellin’ a different story, Sweetheart.” He quietly calls you out. You glance down to see the thin fabric of your summer dress and lace bra are no match to conceal the hardened peaks— your body so easily betraying you is nothing new.

“We should head out soon.” You say softly, Joel nods immediately, the silent agreement has you eager for what’s in store when you arrive home.

The ongoing conversation among the others is now muted background noise as you stare into his needy eyes, your hand cupping the side of his face as your thumb traces over his plush lower lip.

“We’re headin’ out. Thanks for havin’ us, Tommy. Hope to see y’all again sometime soon. ‘Night.” Joel rushes through announcing your departure, pulling you from your seat, his body crowding behind you as he ushers you towards his truck.

“You’re not even gonna stay and help clean up?” Tommy pouts from his chair.

“You’re a big boy Tommy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Joel yells over his shoulder with a two finger wave as the gate clicks shut, home and you are the only thing cares about for the remainder of the evening.

“Fuuuuuuuck— Joel!” Your mind slowly seeping into a deep pleasured state.

There’s little recollection of leaving Tommy’s house and the drive home, other than Joel’s unrelenting need to have you close at all times— no complaints from you whatsoever.

Joel’s firm grip on your hand when he all but drags you to the bedroom of your shared home, clothes stripped at the foot of your bed in a hasty fashion.

The accumulation of Joel’s fiery touches throughout the day were merely effortless foreplay, all considered and aiding in his profound efforts that have been unfolding since arriving home.

“You look so fuckin’ good. Look at us, Baby.” The low gravel of his voice is overwhelming, but laced with pure authenticity. You lift your head just enough as your eyes slowly flutter open, trying to catch a glimpse of what he sees in the full length mirror positioned on the wall across from where you both are in bed— a mere coincidence that it was placed in there when you moved in.

“‘M l-looking, J-joel.”

It’s exquisitely striking how your cunt flutters madly against the cool air of the bedroom. The sight alone is better than any pornography you’ve consumed together.

Joel sitting up against the headboard holding your body close to his. Your back firm and tacky against his chest, breathing in rhythmic unity.

His feet hooked around your ankles, keeping your legs spread out as he hones in on the two luring forms glaring back in the mirror, a view that will forever edge out his own fantasies of you.

His large hands hold the weight of your breasts with pleasing dexterity, whispering the most beautiful obscene things into your ear.

I love your body. I love the way you moan. Missed your pussy all day. God, you’re always on my mind. Fuck, you’re makin’ me so hard. Louder. Fuck. Look at me.

Your gaze finally catches Joel’s in the reflection. It’s direct and overwhelming, his warm brown eyes flickering with a bold desire igniting a ripple of goosebumps over your body.

You’re both possessed by the new wave of arousal, glistening in the afternoon light, as it ardently drips from your pussy down to the bed sheets. Desperately craving to be devastated by this handsome man.

Joel’s thumbs swipe over your hard sensitive nipples, pulling a breathy gasp from your lips. Your head falling back into his shoulder as you let the sensation fully consume you.

“You like that don’t you?” You can only manage to hum in response, which encourages him to continue his work over the pebbled skin.

“Y-yes. You know how much I d-do.”

Joel knows this. Well enough too. It’s a normal occurrence that you find yourself in this identic state. Your body buzzing and exhausted, molded against Joel’s. His cock weeping and begging for relief, snuggly nestled between your roaring bodies. His skilled hands reducing you to putty.

Rolling. Pinching. Pulling. Flicking.

Each thorough caress sends an intense and deep feeling of delirium surging through you. Building and building the delicate structure for an elaborate release.

“So perfect all laid out for me. You gonna come for me?. I think you’re almost there, Baby. Just need a little more, huh?”

“Joel— I-I don’t think I can this time. N-need— oh fuck Joel! I need a little m-more.”

You’re cut off when you feel Joel’s fingers faintly slide over your throbbing clit and bypassing it completely. He swipes through your wet folds. You think he might finally give in. Plunge one, maybe two of his thick fingers into your aching heat, caress your velvet walls until you’re coming undone. Your body jolts as he gathers your arousal on his fingers, then abandons the ache and returns to his previous ministrations.

His arousal slick digits glide over each of your perked nipples. The wet eager strokes have your back arching as you moan into the room, your body tense and vibrating.

“Joel— yes! That feels so good! fuckfuckfuck! I— I’m so close Joel! D-don’t stop!” You let out a sharp moan.

“I ain’t stoppin’, Sweetheart. So fuckin’ beautiful. Can’t wait to see you come, Baby— just let go.” His hushed words paired with the way he rolls your stiff nubs between his fingers is just the push you needed, your climax vibrant and beautiful as it erupts, spreading through you faster than you can announce its existence.

Joel watches you fall apart in the mirror. Your breathless state has his hips grinding against your lower back as he continues to clutch your breasts. The glimmering beads of sweat rolling down your throat and chest, joining the layer pooling between your bodies.

It’s the view of your cunt that nearly takes him out, empty and pulsating, he’s never been so proud of a sight. He adds the mental snapshot to his backlog of imagery he’ll store of you until the end of his days.

“God, Joel. That— that was amazing!.” You say, peeling your satiated body from his.

Turning to face him, you sit in the space between where his legs are sprawled open, your hands massaging at his calves. You take in how enticing he looks, laid back on the stack of pillows, a slack grin on his handsome face as he slowly pumps his hardened cock.

You’re completely entranced by the sight, all thick and tempting. Biting at your lip teasingly, a hand all but subtly slips between your legs and your fingers begin delicately tracing circles over your clit.

Husked gasps falling from Joel’s parted lips as he alternates his movements. Long languid strokes over the length of his shaft then pausing briefly, his grip stilled and tight around the base as the reddened tip slowly leaks.

You gasp as the warmth of your sex engulfs your fingers triggering another gush of arousal to trickle down your thighs. Your other hand still connected to Joel’s leg, grounding your floating form to him.

Joel's eyes scan you, absorbing your blissed-out state, his hand matching your own steady movements, rhythmically moving over himself, his breaths now emerging as heavy pants.

Your fingers enthusiastically moving in and out with ease as your hips writhe keenly in search of the perfect position. The remnants of your previous orgasm are still lingering, beautifully aiding in the build up of the next. Your brows pinched in pleasure.

The room is dense with sexual humidity. Doused in a mixture of the ambered vanilla candle you burn frequently and a sweet ambrosial musk.

“Fuck— how’d I get so fuckin’ lucky with a woman like you? fuck!.” His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, neck taut and nose flared as he tries to breathe through how good he’s making himself feel. “Why don’t you— shit —c’mere.”

“Mmm-ah! T-tempting, Baby. ohgod! Think I’ll stay put. I’m actually enjoying the view quite nicely from here. You look so good like this, Joel.” Seeing him accept your praise is a vision you’ll never get tired of, allowing himself to give in and take what he needs.

Your fingers graze over that delicious little spot with success, a cresting wave set in motion, the sensation causing your walls to convulse. A moan escapes your lips, paralleling with Joel’s own sounds. Your head involuntarily tilts back, as you ride out the euphoric moment.

“Shit! Sweetheart, I’m— I’m gonna— Hnng!Fuuuck!”

Joel’s fist erratically pumps over his length, his eyes locked on your naked form, ragged breaths and eager moans. Your eyes struggle to stay focused through the hazy chaos, drawn to his flushed body, paralyzed with an ample dose of desire as he nears his finish.

“Come for me, Joel.” You’ve shifted yourself a little closer to where he’s eagerly working himself over, encouraging him to let go.

He does— white hot ropes of cum paint his stomach, his actions slowing as the last few drops spill over his hand. He breathes out a deep sigh, giving you a lopsided grin as his arms fall to his sides. Eyes heavy with a mixture of lust and love.

“Fuck— now will you c’mere?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth, now hovering over where his now softening dick rests against his stomach. You don’t break eye contact as you lean down and lick at the sticky mess.

“Goddamn— Ah!” Joel hisses, the warmth of your tongue dragging up the length of his cock. Lapping at the dappled layer of silky brininess covering his lower abdomen, purring with satisfaction as you swallow it.

“God.Damn.” You echo his words back to him, your lips move over his— he groans at the taste of himself still on your tongue.

A slow, content smile forms on your face as you tenderly kiss his neck, followed by a series of soft kisses down his chest and stomach.

“Gimme a minute— just need to regroup and then I’ll be ready to go again.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” Joel’s arms wrap a you and you melt into him. “Or I can draw us a hot bath and we can soak until we’re prunes.” A yawn perfectly placed at the end of your suggestion.

“Sounds like a plan. How ‘bout we nap then soak?” You sleepily hum in response.

"Love you, Sweetheart," Joel whispers, before pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Mmm— love you, Joel.”

[romanarose]

Scars

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x pale!fem!reader (see immersivity warnings)

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summary: You and Joel are taking things slow, really slow. You find that he's easy to open up to about your depression, but you find it's hard to tell him the full extent.

Warnings: Talk of depression and self harm, self harm scars, descriptions of said scars (healed, not bleeding or recent) piv sex, oral f!recieving. Comfort sex. first time between couple, not loss of virginity.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, no specified age. This is a fic i started last year when i was doing very, very poorly and relapsing. I wanted to write something for myself. I usually really try to make things as inclusive as I can but the descriptions of scars are detailed and they are detailed to my skin, which is pale. I'm sorry, but I wanted to write this for myself. I support people writing fics specific to themselves, their skin tone, their hair type, their wieght etc, as long as it's labled right. @fandxmslxt69 said i could do it and said if anyone has a problem, come to her <3

***************

"And the scars remind us that the past is real" Scars, Papa Roach

Joel hadn’t minded when you said you wanted to take things slow. He didn’t mind one bit. Being a dad of a preteen , albeit an easy one, didn’t leave him with much opportunity to move fast. He was busy. In fact, he hadn’t really intended to date at all, at least until Sarah was in college if that… but you had sparkled your way into his life accidentally, and he was trying his best to balance it all. You were understanding, patient, you didn't get mad if he had to rearrange plans or cancel because something with Sarah or work came up, and he thought things were going well. You were beautiful, fun, and the few times you’d briefly met Sarah, she seemed to like you. That was a necessity. Joel absolutely refuses to date someone that made Sarah unhappy, but Sarah had made a few references to him and dating before he met you anyway, so she seemed okay with it. It wasn’t like he had a relationship with her mom, as much as Joel had tried to foster something… her mom hadn’t been interested.

Tommy was a lifesaver. When he noticed Joel had been struggling, Tommy sat him down and asked to help him. Tommy asked Joel. 

“You deserve a life.” Tommy had insisted.

“Sarah is my life.”

“Joel, you deserve m-”

“Don’t say I deserve more, Tommy. Sarah is enough. I don’t need more.”

Tommy sighed. “I know, brother, but can I at least help you out a bit? Give you a little free time to see that pretty girl of yours?”

Tommy had only met you once, but he liked you too. Joel acquiesced, letting Tommy take care of taking her to soccer practices (but he would NOT miss a game). This did end up being a big help and Joel had more and more time to see you… and when Tommy took Sarah out for a movie or she had plans with friends, he found more and more time alone in the evening with you.

Joel didn’t want to take his hands off your body the first time you and him made out on his couch, but when his hand went to feel up your breasts, you noticeably tensed. Fearing he overstepped, Joel quickly pulled back and apologized. Both of you nervous messes, it took a moment before you and Joel got full sentences out.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“No no it’s okay!”

“I just thought-”

“And I want too-!”

“No, I didn’t mean for anything tonight-”

“Oh, uh, right-”

“Not that I don’t want to!”

“Me too!”

Eventually, Joel clarified he was just enjoying feeling you, he didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything ‘like that’, and you explained he can touch you like that, you just wanted to wait a little bit… You sat back, nervous, but figured now was as good a time as any. 

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, if we could…” You shuffle on the couch.

Joel looks nervous, but open. He wants to know you, good and bad, and if something was bothering you, he wanted to know. “Of course, I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath. “Do you know what depression is?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I have an aunt with it but we don’t really talk about it much… Sometimes Sarah’s school sends her home with pamphlets… so I know a little, I guess.” That’s not what he was expecting.

“Well… I have it.”

“Oh.” He says again, dumbly. “I'm sorry. Or… am I not supposed to say that?”

You can’t help laughing a little. He was sweet, and he was trying. “It’s okay, Joel, and thank you. Well, about 6 months ago I started therapy and started taking an antidepressant, and things have been a lot better but… I need you to understand, things can get really dark for me sometimes and… it can be a lot for other people to deal with. I promise, it’s nothing dangerous to others!” You quickly add when you see his confused face. “It’s just, sometimes I’m not myself… and, if that’s not something you can handle, I want you to know that’s okay.”

Joel sat there for a moment, looking at you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what depression was… but in the South, it wasn’t like they talked about that sort of thing much. Still, he liked you… he liked you a lot, actually, and he wanted to be there to support you. He couldn’t just run away from difficult times, not when he had a preteen. It would mean he wasn’t fit to be there for Sarah…

“I wanna be there for you.” Joel assured you, to your growing smile. “I may not know how to, but I wanna try my best.”

You smile more, and scoot up next to him, in turn Joel lays an arm around you. “Thank you, Joel”

Still, you were nervous… because Joel hasn’t seen you without sleeves… nonetheless without clothes. 

*

In the end, it was almost 4 months before you had sex. Physically, you’d taken things slow, but emotionally you hadn’t at all. You were in love, and you’d both told each other as much. Tommy had given Joel shit for committing to a girlfriend without having sex, but Joel had told Tommy he could talk after he got an actual girlfriend, not hookups. Still, Tommy wanted to provide a good opportunity for Joel to fuck you the way Joel would want to. Sappy and romantic. So, when Sarah’s favorite band Halican Drops was coming to Housten, Tommy offered to pay for them to go and for a hotel. 

Joel had tried to protest, saying it was too expensive, saying he wasn’t sure he wanted Sarah that far away, and that he should just come, but Tommy smacked him on the head.

“Dumbass, I’m giving you a night with your girlfriend!”

When Tommy promised not to have a single drop of alcohol, text every hour, not let her stand by any men, call when they leave the venue and get to the hotel ETC, Joel allowed it to happen. Sarah was ECSTATIC, being the first concert she’d ever been to, and although a teeny bopper band wasn’t exactly on Tommy’s dream list, he was excited to be a cool uncle. Also, Joel needed to get laid. He was getting cranky at work.

The night itself was a lot of fun. Joel took you to a nice restaurant, and after you came back to his place and changed into more comfortable clothes, you’d spent the night watching American Idol. Joel was very critical.

As the night progressed, your nerves grew as you knew where the natural progression of the night would take you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fuck Joel; you really, really wanted to. And you weren’t nervous about him. You knew Joel would stop if you said stop. What you were nervous about was your body. Joel looked good, but he had a bit of a stomach himself so you didn’t think he’d be worried about your shape or small imperfections… Joel was a gentle soul, kind, loving. Yeah, that wasn’t the worry. The worry had been on your skin.

In the middle of winter, you’d managed to not show much skin around him, with jackets and long sleeves and pants… but it was inevitable. Joel had been a wonderful support to you these 4 months, holding your hand, listening to you when you cried. Slowly you opened up to him about the circumstances that meant you needed extra help, and he was everything you could ask for. 

But how would he react to this?

Joel had you laid out on the bed, both of you still dressed and his pajama covered pants grinding into your warm cunt. Joel sure liked to take his time. 

“We don’t gotta do noth’n, you know that right?” Joel muttered into your neck, drunk on you but still being respectful like the gentle man he was.

“I know”

He pulled back. “Then why’dya seem so nervous?”

You look up at him, wide eyed and nervous, but you needed this… you needed to tell him the truth. “Joel…”

He got off you, standing up at the edge of the bed. The massive, rock hard erection in his pants couldn’t have been comfortable, but his willingness to stop anyway meant a lot. It was a low bar but it was there.

“We can stop, I’m sorry-”

You sit up on your elbows. “It’s not you, it’s just um… I should tell you something before we start…”

“Okay.” He was few on words, but he looked receptive.

You weren’t sure how to do this, how to open up that conversation… so you decided just to show him. Lights still on, you begin to take off your shirt.

Joel tried to stop you. “Hey, hey, no, let’s talk.”

You smile at him. “We will, Joel, just… let me show you…” After the shirt was off, you slid off your pants and laid on the bed, spread out and close to naked in a bra and underwear.

“Jesus, darl’n…” Joel mumbled, taking in the sight before him. 

Scars littered your body.

It wasn’t a few, it was a lot, and the coverage was significant. Joel’s eyes roamed your body, cock softening quickly despite your near-nakedness and took in the expanse of the scaring. Your thighs were the most noticeable, pink slaves across your skin from the hips to mid-thigh. His hand reached out instinctively, but pulled back. You noticed.

Your voice was soft, reassuring. You knew he was confused and curious. “You can touch me, it’s okay.”

He does. Joel’s fingers a feather light across your skin, feeling the way the scars dipped and raised depending on severity. There there cuts, but also burn mark; small circles from cigarettes twisting up the patterns more. It was all over, reaching back to the curve of your ass. His eyes followed the trail up and the cuts became less in intensity and number, but never stopping over your hip bone and to your stomach. These were lighter; less that split open the skin but the silver lines were still raised over the belly fat as his fingers touched you. Your bra-line showed more burns, and he stopped short of the cloth. 

You take his hands and guide Joel to reach behind you to unclasp the bra, allowing him to pull it up and reveal your breasts. His eyes water as he sees the scars never stopped, marring your breasts, although not nearly the horrific amount on your thighs.

“I don’t understand…” He mumbles, sadness and distress clear in his eyes. “You did this to yourself?” Joel takes your hand in his, examining the scars making a ring around your wrist. He kissed the inside, eyes threatening to pool over.

You nod. “Yeah…”

His voice cracks. “But… why?”

“Sometimes…” You start, overcome with emotions at the clear pain on his face. He loved you so much, the thought of you in this much pain hurt him as well. “It was all I could do to cope.”

He didn’t seem like he understood, but he wasn’t judging you. He didn’t look at you like a freak like so many others did. He just knew he didn’t want you to feel this way again. 

“I havn’t done it in a while.” You give him a smile. “You make things easier. I mean, I’m still… yeah… but you do make things much better.” He did. Having someone who held you, listened to you, helped pick up the pieces… it wasn’t going to cure you, but it was amazing how much support helped with the addition of meds and therapy. 

Joel relaxed at that, a relieved and gentle smile on his face. “I’m glad, darl’n…” He held you hand to his face, chapped lips nuzzling against your damaged skin. “”M here to take care of you now, okay? I wanna help.”

“You do.” You assure him, pulling his face down to you again and taking his mouth in yours. “You mean so much to me Joel, you make me so happy…” His body covers yours once more, his warm encasing you as he protectively holds you.

“You’re safe with me.” Joel mutters against your mouth, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

You pull him closer to you, grinding yourself up against him, enticing him again. “Still want you tonight, please? I can’t wait any longer.” It’s had been a long 4 months and fuck, fuck you wanted him, badly. 

“Always gonna take care of you, princesa.” Joel grinds his jeans-clothed cock against the soft fabric of your underwear, making you shutter. “Gonna take care of my pretty girl, always.”

And god, did he.

Joel’s mouth was sloppy, wet, hot between your legs. His tongue fucked into your hole, prodding you open and his hips bucking against the bed. Insatiable. Arms locked around your legs, his nose nudged against your clit as it seemed he was trying push himself as strongly against your body as he could, to devour you, to bring you and him the most absolute pleasure he could.

You tug at his hair, soft waves in between your fingers as you draw him closer to you. Warmth pooling in your stomach, you felt that pressure grow with every moan, every vibration, every sluuuuuuuuuurp! of your juices, christ he was incredible. You felt elevated, devoted too and adorned in affection the way you had always wanted to be. He was everything in this moment. Joel’s tongue slid up in a swift swipe, mouth and that pouty lower lip latching onto your clit with his fingers pumped into you.

“JOEL! J-ohhhhhh” Your cry for his name melted into moans as you came on his mouth and fingers, crushing his head between thighs as your legs bent. The power of your orgasm caused you to tense and then melt into the bed. You give a low hum as he kisses your inner thighs. As you come to reality again, you register Joel’s sweet kisses all over your legs. He’s kissing the trail of your scars. Joel kisses over the scars on your right thigh and up the crease at your inner hip.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, never for a moment fully let go of his hair.

“Appreciating every inch of you.”

Joel kissed his way up your torso, over the scars under your tits and over the mounds. Latching onto your nipple, he swirled his tongue around the sensitive skin. You can feel him smile against your skin when your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, Joel, your fucking mouth…” You whimper, and when his mouth lets go his hands never do. Softly, he touches you in all the scarred, squishy parts of you you were trained for so long to hate. 

He kissed you tenderly, gentle hands a contrast to his hungry mouth. That tongue, that goddamn tongue…

When he slides in, your eyes can’t help but roll back; your chest rises up against his broad expanse. He filled you so perfectly, fucking deep inside you and filling you up. You never felt so full. Your heart, your life, your stretched out cunt… every part of you was full and euphoric.

“My sweet, perfect girl…” Joel grunts as he pumps into you, hand braced against the headboard and towering over you. You gazed up at him, the yellow lighting of the ceiling fan created a halo around him. Joel looked positively angelic. 

Fitting, as he was your angel.

You were aware how he was perceived in his culésac. Joel was highly respected; kind, hard working if a bit disorganized. A good southern man who raised his brother and daughter well, helped the elderly neighbors, bailed his brother out of pinches and would use his truck to help anyone move. Yeah, people liked Joel. But they wouldn’t call him gentle, like how you feel his hands over your stomach. They wouldn’t call him soft like you felt his stomach against yours. They wouldn’t call him angelic, but that was all you could say as you came on his cock.

They certainly would not call him warm, but that was all you felt as you pulled out and sprayed ropes of cum on your stomach. 

You dozed off to sleep as he spread his cum around your scarred skin.

You vaguely register him cleaning you up, tired and content, and wait for him to join you again. His body felt perfect against your, fitting so well against your body like two puzzle pieces so close together. You had mumbled a request to be dressed, just in case Sarah and Tommy came home early, so you were both cuddled up in sweats under a thick blanket.

Everything with Joel felt safe and warm.

"Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going" -David Rossi, Criminal Minds.

******************

So, there we are. I'm very frustrated by the new bought of scars that are quite noticable that I have to wait to fade again but I refuse to be ashamed the way I used to. My scars are just scars from my trauma and illness. It's a moral failing of the people who have and continue to harm me, not mine.

Thank you all for reading, this was quite a venerable piece for me but I see a light at te end of the tunnel, and things will be getting better, I know it <3

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @yorksgirl

[alchemistc]

Catie's Big Ass bucktommy fic rec (Part One)

So I'm not gonna lie, I have most of these fics priv. bookmarked because I HAVEN'T COMMENTED ON THEM YET AND I FEEL REALLY GUILTY ABOUT THAT. But more than one anon has asked for this and it tickles me pink that y'all like my writing enough to trust in my recs. So. Please, please, be better than I am and make sure to kudos and comment if you enjoy any of these works.

(Guys, there are SO MANY amazing writers in this fandom. So many truly breathtaking fics already. I got two hours into this and realized I was going to need to split this into parts because I have too many things to say about each of these and I want to do them all justice.)

Writers you can trust in:

@rcmclachlan /ao3 : I will sing RC's praises to the moon and back. There is something about the way RC injects humor into the tiniest of lines that makes me want to scream into a pillow until I pass out. You will see more than one of RC's fics in this list.

@kirkaut /ao3: kirkaut is the reason I jumped on this bandwagon. The unhinged spiral into LFJr obsession and the prevalence of well thought out meta and incredibly hot fic drew me in. If you are not following kirkaut, change that now.

@26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat / catfud_ohplease on ao3: Devastating prose. The ability to turn a theme on a dime and STAB YOU IN THE HEART with it. Mac owns my whole soul when it comes to really scratching that itch behind my eyelids for thematic imagery and really creative ideas for fic that aren't just run-of-the-mill smut/angst/fluff.

@devirnis / ao3: Ali only has one bucktommy fic up on ao3 but it is devine and I love it. Ali is also the only writer who has tempted me into reading buddie. This is not an indictment on buddie fandom or buddie fic writers in general, I just tend to be a one ship kinda gal and I don't really dive into fic for a ship I don't vibe with. Ali's writing has made me reconsider this position.

@beefcakekinard / thingbe on ao3: The domesticity. Literally just reread one of Rose's fics this morning and HAD to comment on it again because it made me want to fling myself to Jupiter.

(This is not a comprehensive list, but I just realized how many fics I have already bookmarked for bucktommy and I'm already under a readmore.)

Fics that make my brain go brrrr:

only fools rush in - somnum365 ( @firehose118)

Tommy lets Buck set the pace. Buck is ready for something.

Super hot and all about checking in. I've got a thing for discovering sex with a partner starting out with frottage and this delivers. The characterizations are so great.

Colin Firth Thinks You're Hot - IDontGoHereEither (@herrmannhalsteadproduction)

Buck is late for a special date night with Tommy, but he still stops to help a stranger stuck on the side of the road. Luckily, that stranger is about to help HIM.

Cute as fuck with a super fun guest star. Who doesn't want Mr. Darcy to think your boyfriend is hot?

sad girl poetic thursday night - screamlet

Date night menu: pasta primavera and emotional unpacking.

There's something about the pacing of this that sent me into a tailspin. The stream of consciousness that actually bleeds from the dialogue into the action and vice versa. Hng.

I Was Only Falling In Love - Princessfbi (@princessfbi)

Tommy in crisis mode.

There's a moment in this fic where Eddie has to pull Tommy back from the precipice of something and it lives entirely rent free in my head, forever and ever amen. The firefam taking care of Buck by taking care of Tommy.

let me count the ways - ashesandhalefire

Buck and Tommy in the aftermath of a good evening are chattier than they probably reasonably should be

There is something about this fic that feels like the witching hour is upon you, like you could live in this little pocket world Buck and Tommy have created for themselves forever. The dialogue is fantastic, and the way they communicate with each other is just *chefs kiss*

let's make it cinematic - kirkaut

Tommy helps Buck deal with some of his impotent rage in the face of the Gerrard of it all.

Listen, I do not have a praise kink. This kinda makes me wish I did.

"[...]Everything is.” He circles a finger around in the air. “It’s very spinny.” - this line of dialogue came for my fucking throat.

Sick with it - Mellow_Yellow

what if in an alternate universe babyslut Buck joined the 118 when Tommy was still in his closeted asshole era and they had a torrid affair??

The way this is a little fucked up. The way the characterizations aren't exactly familiar because they haven't aged into what we know them as in current canon. The way you can see in every broken line and every stutter step that Tommy is falling for Evan and has No Fucking Idea what to do with that. Ugh. Best Met Earlier AU I've ever read.

He blinked as Tommy walked by, eyes sliding closed again before he left. He felt a light touch on the top of his head but figured he was imagining it. He couldn’t think of anyone at the 118 who would touch him that carefully. - just absolutely fucking end me they're so good/bad for each other

A Full Body Workout - Persiflager

Tommy and Buck spend a day trying to distract Eddie from the *gestures vaguely* all of it.

The way this is so quiet in the way it shows you how Tommy and Buck care for each other. The way they are down bad but still so hyperaware of the pace they've set, the things they've talked about. The way they take care of their friend here. I'm obsessed with the tone of this one. Also, as a general theme, nothing draws me in more than well thought out dialogue, and this one has some fucking GREAT dialogue.

Your love is better than ice cream - Cecily_v, liminalmemories

An alternative meet-cute, where-in Tommy doesn’t know the 118 and decides Buck is worth it anyway. Buck is confused but figures some things out.

There is so much I love about this AU. How they meet. How their relationship progresses. How it feels glacially slow in comparison to the canon storyline but also how in character they both are. The foundation of their love in this fic is downright eatable.

just couldn't fall til we met - thingbe (@beefcakekinard)

Buck and Tommy spend a quiet morning in together.

This is the one that crossed my dash earlier today and made me eat fucking glass on reread. The closeness. The way they're both so tactile. The blink and you'll miss it hints at a life being built together. Eating this UP every time I read it.

The Premium Twunk Appreciation Society, President: Tommy Kinard - everythingremainsconnected

5 times Tommy almost faints like a Victorian maiden at the sight of Buck’s flesh, and 1 time he can do something about it.

“Hey,” Evan said, shoving Eddie out of the way and filling the screen with his playful glare, “organise bro time on your own time, I’m on the phone with– with Tommy.”

“With who?” Eddie repeated. Tommy didn’t need to see his face to hear the fondness in the mocking. “Who’s on the phone? I didn’t quite catch that.”

- They are so stupid about each other in this fic, please read it and watch steam blow out your ears at how sweet and hot and down bad for each other they are.

desire (i want to turn into you) - chthonicheart

The first time Buck’s really able to bury his face between a man’s tits, he nearly cries.

pwp but with a whole heaping of character study. HOT.

rule four (you were only waiting for this moment to arise) - middyblue (daisyblaine) [@middyblue]

Tommy has doubts.

There is a general mood to this piece that feels heavy in a way I can't quite explain. There was a weight on my chest all the way through this in the BEST way possible. The way Tommy navigates his mind and struggles to trust the little slice of peace he and Buck have carved out is just mindbogglingly beautiful.

Come Fly The Friendly Skies - RC_McLachlan (@rcmclachlan)

Buck meets their rescue mission's would-be pilot and is extremely normal about it.

"Throttling is what I'm gonna do to you if you don't shut up and let the nice man steal a helicopter for us,"

WHEN I TELL YOU I AM INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE over how funny and insightful this fic is.

Every characterization is picture perfect.

Maddie gives great hugs, but she's so small; if she had this guy's build and could basically fold Buck into her like an old blanket, they'd have to pry him out of her arms with the jaws of life.

In the back of Buck's mind, in a place he hasn't discovered, he's already picked out a venue and chosen his centerpieces. He's mentally putting together seating arrangements. This line of Buck's thoughts on Tommy Kinard told me so.

Please read this and join me in trying to destroy RC with my mind (lovingly).

little by little - MediaWhore

Buck & Tommy, during and after the wedding.

There is something so soft and gentle about this fic. The way Tommy just gives in to the exhaustion and props himself up against Buck because he knows he'll be able to take the weight (he wants to take the weight and Tommy knows it). The quiet flirting, the way they take care of one another. The jumpscare of Marge and Phil and how this fic is right at the edges of exploring that but Buck has me important priorities.

“It was badly done,” - the way this is so in character for Ma Buckley and the way it made me want to SHAKE HER TIL HER TENDONS SHATTERED AND SHE CRUMBLED LIKE A SATISFYING CASINO IMPLOSION

Soft and heartbreaking and mending all at once.

while you arranged flowers - newtkelly

Buck’s got a wedding date, but as far as today goes, he’s also got a regular one.

The way I want to wrap this Buck up tenderly and hide him from the people in his life who DON'T DESERVE HIS AFFECTION, HIS LOVE, HIS JOY.

The non-urgency of this, the absolute too-much-too-soon he's dealing with in his own mind while he grapples with the reality of seizing a second chance with both hands and getting to explore himself within the confines of a very lovely, very sweet and kind, VERY HOT man he wants to get on his knees for.

Beautiful prose, excellent dialogue, an insightful character study.

[redvelvetcupcakes21]

In a write-y mood...

Buck feels stuck in place while he watches Athena and Bobby reunite. She's banged up and bloody but Bobby's squeezing her hand tightly while emt wheels her to an ambulance.

Buck feels everything all at once. Relief, panic, fear, dread, he feels stuck and heavy. He feels like he wants to scream but he can't because then he would just be-

"Hey."

Buck jumps at the hand on his biceb.

"You okay?"

Buck tries to say something.

Anything but he feels like if he opens his mouth he might vomit.

"Evan? You're scaring me here, are you okay?"

Buck feels jittery and can barely lift his hand, let a lone understand what's being asked if him.

He feels his body being pulled, the weight of someone's hand in his only helps him minutely about where he is and what's going on around him.

He feels something hard press against his back and fingers under his chin and what feels like a hand against his chest.

"Let's breath, okay? Deep breath in and hold for three and out."

It takes a minute for his brain and body to process and follow through with the direction, but once he does he feels the hand on his chest start to slowly rub in circles and he leads his face into the hand that still on his cheek.

"Thanks." He huffs out, still panting a bit as his panic attack subsides and he feels his breathing become even again. There's still a weird tingly feeling down his hands, arms, and legs but he tries to literally shake the weird feeling out of his hands, flexing them just so he can get rid of that feeling.

"You had a panic attack, Evan." Buck sees the fear and concern clear as day in Tommy's eyes and facial expression. A bit of his heart hurts at the idea that he made Tommy worry.

Buck licks his lips, hating how dry his lips feel. He let's himself sag against what he now realizes is a firetruck.

"Yeah. I-I guess I panicked." He swallow uncomfortably, almost waiting for the disgust to show in Tommy's reaction.

Tommy nodded understandably, rubbing his thumb against Buck's cheekbone. "I bet. I almost did too. Who knew I would be co-piloting a plane to land with a cop and 10 yr old kid." He joked, Buck could tell he was watching him intently. "It's okay if you were scared. I was terrified too. Athena and everyone are safe."

Buck nodded, he hated that he could feel the panic creep in again and felt his eyes burn. "That's not exactly why I started to panic. Why I'm panicking now." He admitted, his voice raw and on the verge of tears.

He saw how Tommy's stance and expression changed, Tommy took a step closer and his brows furrowed as he took both hands to cradle Buck's face.

"What happened?"

Buck felt like he was gulping down sand. "I-I might have killed Gerrard." He admitted lowly.

"What?"

"I- not on purpose. I-I don't think? He just kept going and laying it on me and berating me and the others during roll call and I-I saw something fly towards us- him. It was a blade from a blade saw that the work crew was using and it broke and flew into the station so I-I sort of tackled Gerrard to the ground but I didn't think to protect his head or anything so he fell back hard because of me and he started to bleed out and I-I might have killed him and no one cares! I know he was a jerk, but I still might have killed the man and I don't know if I meant to save him or really hurt him or-"

"Evan." Tommy gave him a little worried shake by the shoulders, Buck hadn't noticed Tommy had called his name three times. He moved his hand to Buck's chest again, over his heart. "Breath, okay?" He reminded his boyfriend.

"You didn't kill him. From what you just told me, you saved him. You thought quickly on your feet too and if you were really hoping to hurt or kill him then I don't think you would be beating yourself up like this." Tommy pointed out.

Buck didn't look like he believed him. His entire face was red and he still looked like he would breakdown.

"I-I still might have killed him, Tommy. And no one cared, they all started to dance and I- what if he doesn't make it? I mean the guy was horrible, sure, but he still was a person. I'm sure he has a family who's gonna be -"

"Annoyed that he's hurt but probably relieved that a blade saw didn't go through him." Tommy noted, "We don't know what's going to happen next, he might live because of you."

"I don't know if that's better or worse." Buck admitted. Buck wanted to lay his head agaisnt Tommys shoulder and Tommy just wanted to hug his boyfriend. They were still on the clock and in the field.

"You're coming home with me after our shifts, okay."

"Tommy, you don’t need-"

Tommy waved him off, pointing directly at Buck's face now. "I want to, Evan. Let me take care of you, alright?"

Buck rolled his eyes, "This isn't about me though, I wasn't trying to make it about me!"

Tommy peered around them, making sure they were still out of sight. He pressed Buck back into the truck again. "I'm making it about you because you just went through something scary, Evan. I just watched my boyfriend have a panic attack so yeah, I'm going to make sure this is about you and after our shift, you're coming home with me and we're gonna take a nap and then have a long talk about what you want to next about Gerrard. Okay?"

Buck didn't know what to say.

"Please baby?"

Buck nodded, "Yeah, okay. You'll pick me up from the station?"

Tommy nodded, his smile getting Buck to feel butterflies as always. "I'll drive through downtime traffic twice over for you."

They both snickered at that before leaving to join their respective crew.

On the way back Buck messaged Tommy 'Thank you'.

He felt lighter as he saw Tommy's response '❤'

[aplaceinme]

[Kind of a coda for episode 4, season 8; Tommy's POV. Additional information: Lucy Donato appears; as well as two original characters.] You can also read it on AO3

The popcorn sails through the air and then neatly falls inside Lucy’s mouth. Her eyes dance with mirth as she watches Tommy pace back and forth in the hangar. 

“What’s up with him?” Julia says as she approaches the table where Lucy and Matt are sitting. 

Lucy, who had briefly turned to look at her, goes back to watching Tommy. 

Tommy is still pacing, listening intently to whatever it is that the person on the phone is saying. One side of his hair, the one he keeps messing up every time he passes his fingers through it, is completely dishevelled and the expression on his face is one of worry and frustration. 

“Buckley called him,” Matt replies, stealing some of Lucy’s popcorn. 

Playfully swatting his shoulder with a noise of protest, Lucy then says, “Knowing Buck, I’m gonna guess that he did something impulsive on a call and now it’s telling Tommy all about it in full detail.”

“That explains why he looks as if he is having an aneurysm,” Julia chuckles while grabbing the bowl of popcorn from Lucy’s clutches. 

Matt looks expectantly at Lucy. When nothing happens, he pointedly looks at Julia, the bowl, and then Lucy. 

“She can have them. I like her better.”

“Hey!” Matt yelps. “That’s so rude.” 

While Julia looks at them amused, Lucy shrugs her shoulders pretending to be unmoved but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips gives her away. 

The three of them sit up straighter when they hear footsteps approaching and watch in silence as Tommy sits up in the only chair left, carelessly throwing his phone on the table and sighing in defeat. 

“Everything ok?” Lucy asks him, at the same time that Julia offers him popcorn. 

Grabbing a handful, Tommy tells them with a sarcastic tone, “Oh yes, everything is fine. Just, you know, they had a call of a tiger attacking someone. And there was obviously no time to call animal control, so Evan had to walk into the apartment hoping that a sedative would work.” 

By the time he finished talking, his volume had increased and he had ended up dropping all the popcorn from his hands from all his wild gesturing. 

“Well, did it work?” Matt asks 

“Yes,” Tommy admits. “But that’s not the point!”

“And what is the point?” Julia asks while sharing a look of glee with Lucy. 

“The point is that they are all so reckless,” Tommy thumps his fist onto the table. “I mean, last week he fucking tried to stop traffic on the highway with just some flares, right after stealing a firetruck from a TV show set, by the way!”

Matt is biting his lip so hard that Lucy fears that he will start to bleed soon, while Julia's shoulders shake with her silent laughter. Lucy is not faring any better, her amusement hard to contain. 

Since they know that nothing bad happened, it’s easy to laugh about it. Besides, the irony is just too big for them to not make fun of Tommy.

Crossing her arms on the table, Lucy looks at Tommy and asks him, “Weren’t you the one who stole a helicopter with all of them despite the fire chief's orders?”

“Yeah… I seem to remember that. Didn’t you have to fly over a hurricane?” Matt adds.

“And it was all based on a hunch, right?” Julia continues, snapping her fingers at Tommy. 

“That was different,” Tommy huffs. 

“Because…?” 

All three of them stare expectantly. 

“Because I was there. He could get seriously hurt and I won’t know until he is in the hospital, or worse.”

Lucy exchanges looks with Matt and Julia. Neither of them is dating first responders, so they can’t fully relate to that all-consuming worry of getting a phone call telling you that the person you love had an accident while on duty. But they are first responders themselves, they care about their team and it is always possible that one of them will get hurt. That feeling, they can understand. 

That’s why Julia pokes Tommy’s temple and says, “You are getting grey hairs there, my friend.”

Tommy sighs in annoyance and eats a handful of popcorn. “Isn’t there any cake?” 

Matt laughs but brings him a cupcake that Lucy knows for sure he was saving for himself to eat once their shift ended. 

Lucy gives Matt a thankful smile, making him blush. 

Looking in slight disgust as Tommy devours his fears with the cupcake, Lucy decides to be serious for a minute. 

“Look, Buckley is an incredibly capable firefighter. The entire 118 are, and you saw how they have each other’s back. It’s normal to get worried but he will be fine.” 

Tommy swallows hard and nods. “I know, I know that. But I can’t help but worry about him, even though I know how amazing and wonderful he is.”

“Now, he is getting all sappy. I shouldn’t have given him my last cupcake,” Matt jokes. 

Grabbing some popcorn, Tommy throws it at him, and they all laugh. 

Slowly, Tommy’s shoulders start to loosen up, and he looks more relaxed. 

Lucy smiles, and thinks about how they will probably continue to tease him for the rest of the shift. 

—

“My coworkers say ‘hello’,” Buck hears as soon as he enters Tommy’s place. 

Following the smell of meat cooking and the noise of the sink, Buck goes to the kitchen, where he finds Tommy cooking them dinner. 

“Oh, no! What did they do?” Buck asks. “You only refer to them as coworkers when you’re mad at them.” 

Tommy turns off the burner and approaches him while looking him up and down. 

“They were being annoying,” Tommy says deadpan. “I might hate them.”

“You love them, actually,” Buck says, shaking his head. 

When Tommy is closer enough, Buck leans in to greet him with a kiss but Tommy instead grabs Buck’s arms and keeps looking him up and down. 

“What are you doing?” Buck pouts. 

“Making sure that you don’t have a scratch on you,” Tommy explains while walking in a circle around Buck. 

“Oh my god! I told you I’m fine,” Buck huffs, but he secretly loves it. Having someone be worried about him feels amazing. “And? What’s the verdict then?”

Stopping in front of Buck, one of Tommy’s hands goes up to his face and his pointed finger taps his chin. 

“Hmm… I can’t say for sure. A more thorough inspection is required.” 

Tommy gets closer and takes off Buck’s shirt. 

“Let’s see now,” Tommy says, doing another circle around Buck. “This is not enough. This just won’t do. The inspection is still incomplete.” 

Buck smiles at Tommy’s playful nature, loving that he gets to see this side of him.

Walking closer again, Tommy goes for Buck’s trousers. He takes off the belt and it makes a clunk sound when it hits the floor. 

Without taking their eyes off each other and maintaining eye contact, Tommy pops off the button of Buck’s trousers and slowly moves the zip down. 

Out of his trousers, Tommy does one more circle around Buck. “Everything seems to be alright. No scratches, no bruises.” Tommy says with a smirk. “You’ll be glad to know that you have just passed the inspection.” 

 “That’s good to know, but I think you forgot to check an essential part.” 

 “Oh? Do tell.” Tommy asks, barely able to contain his smile. 

 Instead of answering, Buck takes off his boxers. 

 “You’re right, how could I forget?”

Buck shrugs his shoulders and flexes his arms, enjoying this game. 

“You know? I think that this will require a much closer inspection,” Tommy says hungrily. 

 “Oh, I definitely agree,” Buck growls, and grabs Tommy in a fireman's carry, taking him straight into their bedroom.

Their dinner can wait, they have more important things to do. Their dinner can wait, they have more important things to do. 

[pinguwrites]

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo. 

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering. 

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied. 

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up. 

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it. 

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome. 

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion. 

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love. 

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t. 

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before. 

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream. 

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked. 

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours. 

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?” 

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over. 

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked. 

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.  

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . . 

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you. 

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter. 

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling. 

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help. 

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured. 

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously. 

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.” 

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

 “You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head. 

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society. 

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red. 

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip. 

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that. 

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946. 

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice. 

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating. 

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth. 

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.  

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you. 

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk. 

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips. 

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick. 

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music. 

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered. 

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you. 

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment. 

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say. 

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.” 

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy. 

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . . 

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 1

Eddie doesn’t even know why he’s at this stupid party. It’s full of jocks showboating for their girlfriends, their girlfriends clustering together and giggling like watching Tommy Hagan do a keg stand is somehow dreamy. He’d had an entire beer spilled on his shoes, been heckled out of the kitchen and into the backyard, and left to brood out by Harrington’s ostentatious, heated in-ground pool. And it’s barely been an hour.

Within that hour, he’s made enough money to buy two month’s worth of cigarettes. That’s the rub of it all, isn’t it? Counting his time with packs of cigarettes, and bald tires that need replacing. And stupid things like food for their barren fridge and heat in the trailer once fall fully bleeds into winter. Wayne can only do so much, with rolling blackouts hitting the plant, and rent increasing a little more every year.

So Eddie goes to parties full of people he hates, lunch box secured to his person with the chain at his hip, switchblade stuffed in his back pocket. Just in case.  

This party is only ramping up, people trickling out from the overstuffed house to loiter on the back porch, occasionally stopping by to procure his services. As the first hour dwindles into the second, Eddie’s supply is getting dangerously low. 

He’s just considering leaving when he notices the King himself trailing after two girls he vaguely recognizes as the two that have been haunting the edges of the jock table the past few weeks. 

The brunette is scowling, hand wrapped tightly enough around her redheaded friend’s wrist to make the skin turn unnaturally white as she yanks her along none too gently, her short legs making ferocious strides that have both her captive friend and Harrington stumbling to keep up. 

Harrington’s got his hands up like he’s placating a spooked horse, talking too quietly for Eddie to hear over the pounding beat of the music. The girl isn’t spooked though. Despite being the shortest of the group, she looks like a predator on the hunt, just waiting for a slip up to make her kill. 

Whatever Harrington is saying must not go well. The brunette shoves her friend behind her, stabbing her finger into his chest, voice rising in rage. “–know he meant it, Steve!” she yells, flatting her palm to push him back harshly. She spins on her heel, continuing her trek past Eddie’s spot by the pool and out toward the open gate to the driveway. “As long as he’s here, we’re not going to be!”

“Don’t be like that Nance,” Harrington placates, following in her wake. “Tommy’s just drunk.”

“I don’t care about Tommy!” Nancy snaps. “I care that you’re friends with such a despicable person.”

“Nance–”

“I thought you were better than this, Steve Harrington,” she says. 

Then they’re both through the gate and gone. Harrington doesn’t follow. He stands there, staring where the girls had been, back to Eddie. He’s still as a statue for a long, endless minute before growling, low and angry, pulling his fist back and punching the side of his house. 

The hit makes a meaty squelching sound of breakable skin striking an immovable object and parting under its pressure. It almost echoes through the yard in the silence between songs, the whispering from all the onlookers starting up just before the next top forty song begins blaring.

Harrington spins, glaring out at the clustered people on the porch, hands on his hips, blood dripping down onto the green of his sweater, the light blue of his jeans. It’s a little thrilling to see the King bloody, even at his own hands. Like a true royal, he snaps, “go inside,” voice demanding obedience. And they do obey, scuttling back into the house in small clusters, shutting the sliding glass door behind the last of them.

Harrington sighs, shoulders drooping as he lifts his injured hand up to look down at it. He still hasn’t noticed Eddie in his spot by the pool.

“Trouble in the kingdom, your majesty?” he asks, jumping up from his cross-legged position on the pavement to saunter up to the other boy. He leans into his space, smiling coyly as Harrington leans back like he carries an airborne disease. “Anything this lowly court jester can do to help?”

He looks shocked at Eddie’s presence, like he never even considered that his decree wouldn’t be obediently followed by everyone in his backyard. 

Eddie smirks, fishing in the pocket of his jean vest for his cigarettes. He taps one out, and holds it out–ever the consummate servant–to Harrington, who curls his lips up in disgust and takes a step back away from him. Eddie shrugs, stuffs the pack back into his pocket and fishes his lighter out of his jeans. 

“Munson?” Harrington asks, squinting like he’s never seen Eddie before, despite living in the same janky town, and going to the same schools for the past five years. “Who invited you?”

Eddie takes his time lighting his cigarette and taking a drag, marveling as the little divot between Harrington’s eyebrows grows deeper with every passing second. He holds the smoke in, feeling it settle his nerves as he stares daringly into Harrington’s eyes. He doesn’t look away as he exhales, smoke blowing into Harringotn’s face. He doesn’t cough, just gestures his hand in front of his face impatiently to clear the smoke, looking one more insolent move away from smacking Eddie in the face.

“Someone has to sell party favors to Hawkins’ elite,” Eddie replies, shaking the lunchbox where it’s resting just below his hip. 

Steve scoffs. “Well, the party’s just about over so why don’t you fuck off, man.”

He gestures behind him to the open gate. Eddie takes another drag, ashing his cigarette on the pristine concrete below him. Harrington balls up his fists before immediately releasing the tension with a wince, shaking out his injured hand.

“Looks like it’s in full swing to me.” Eddie gestures to the sliding glass door back into the dining room. The curtains are closed now, but Eddie can see the darkened silhouettes moving to the beat still pumping through the house.

“I’m kicking them out.”

Harrington crosses his arms, seemingly once again forgetting about the bloody state of his hand. He’s almost pouting now. Eddie has the insane urge to boop him on the nose. He takes another drag.

“Upset your little girlfriend wouldn’t put out?” he asks, jutting his bottom lip out, trailing a fake tear down his own cheek with his free hand. “Poor little rich boy.”

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” 

“Me?” Eddie asks, dropping the burning filter of his cigarette to the ground and using the heel of his boot to smear it into the pavement. “I’m dandy. Who wouldn’t want the undivided attention of the King?”

He smiles then, condescending and bright, planting his feet as Harrington’s gaze darkens further.

“I always knew you were a freak,” Harrington snarls, drawing out the F sound like he’d rather use a different word that begins with the letter F.

“And a startling comeback from the King!” Eddie calls, showboating like he’s DMing for Hellfire in the dingy drama room. “How many F words did your Daddy teach you?”

Eddie didn’t realize that Harrington wasn’t angry before until all the light leaves his eyes. They go blank, soulless, like there’s no real person behind them. He uncrosses his arms, fists once again clenched, not even seeming to realize that it further splits his knuckles as he takes a threatening step forward. It’s a little scary, the way one question seems to have flipped him into an entirely different person.

Note to self, do not mention the absentee Father. Eddie takes a step back on reflex as Harrington uses his bloody finger to jab into his chest, hard enough to sting. Eddie looks down as blood smears, idly grateful that he’s wearing black. 

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Harrington spits.

Eddie, having never learned to bite his tongue, opens his mouth to crow about this new F word in Harrington’s repertoire, when he hears a sound behind him. 

It sounds almost like the foxes that sometimes chitter in the woods surrounding the trailer park. But there’s something wrong with it. It’s high pitched and cutting in and out, like a record skipping again and again. It’s staticy, reverberating behind him like the static of the television between channels but worse. A recording of television static sped up too fast and fed through three long distance phone calls. 

Eddie’s hands tremble, something animalistic coursing through him at the sound–fight or flight kicking in with only one option left. In front of him, Harrington’s gone quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as he looks fixedly past Eddie’s left shoulder. 

Then, abruptly, the sound cuts out, replaced with a guttural growling so deep he can feel it pulsing through his muscles, urging him to run. It unsticks his feet, but before he can dart through the open gate, or maybe to the shut sliding glass door to hunker down with the other party-goers, Harrington shoves him backward. Hard.

He loses his feet, loses his breath, until he’s choking on chlorinated water. He comes out of the water spluttering, coughing up water until it burns, his layers of clothing doing their best to drag him down into the bottom of the pool to drown. 

His eyes are closed against their stinging, ears clogged with water where he’s struggling to tread in the deep end of Harrington’s stupid heated pool that the King himself just shoved him in.

It’s a low enough moment that Eddie can feel his mind covering up the impossibilities of the night, paving over the impossibilities to rewrite the story to make sense: King Steve saw him, set up some speakers to spook him, and then shoved him in the pool. Nothing unexpected there.

But then Eddie opens his eyes. 

Harrington’s on the ground. Harrington’s on the ground fighting against the grip around his wrist, pulling him toward the water Eddie’s struggling to stay afloat in. 

It’s not a person dragging him, not a practical joker wearing a suit. It can’t be. The thing is standing upright, sure, but it’s too tall, too thin, too featureless. Its forearms are uncannily long, fingers twisting and look as if they have too many joints facing the wrong directions where they curl around Harrington’s wrist, claws sharp enough to make him bleed. Its ribs are showing. And there’s no face at all, just creased flesh puckered together where a mouth ought to be.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until Harrington struggles harder, fingers of his free hand digging into the crack in the pavement, momentarily stalling their forward momentum. Then, the seams where its head connects open, like a flower toward the sun, if each petal was fleshy and covered in dozens of sharp looking teeth. And it screeches, ear-splitting and horrible, as if reprimanding Harrington for not laying imobile like a good little live meal.

It tosses Harington into the pool. He hits with a splash, immediately flailing out, smacking Eddie on the side of his face. Eddie reaches out on instinct to pull the guy toward him, trying to keep the both of them above the water line while Harrington reorients himself. 

It shouldn’t have taken long. Harrington is the captain of the swim team. He should have been able to kick his feet under him and been off to the other end of the pool within seconds. 

It wasn’t fast enough.

Eddie doesn’t even see it move, it’s so fast. He’s holding onto Harrington, arm slung around the other guy’s waist, clutching tightly at the front of his sweater. Then, Harrington’s being pulled forcefully to the bottom of the pool, Eddie along with him. 

All of his orifices are burning from the chlorine–throat, nose, eyes, ears. He feels blind, deaf, lost, anchorless, except for the feel of Harrington’s skin beneath his hand, so he clutches, hooks his hand through the guy’s belt to keep his hold.

There’s a sensation, like meat parting around him. Then he’s breathing, sucking in oxygen, eyes still closed, head spinning. Harrington’s ribs are rising and falling rapidly. It lasts only a moment, the pair of them breathing and touching and panicking in tandem.

Until there’s that sound. Foxes chittering strangely, but it’s echoing now, weirdly like they’re in a cave forty feet underground. 

Eddie opens his eyes. The sky looks wrong–darker than it should be, and it almost looks like it’s snowing. One of the flakes hits Eddie in the cheek and he rubs at the spot, feeling it flake apart and smear across his face. Not snow. Dust? Ash?

They’re in some sort of pit made of concrete, cracked under the force of the sickly vines crawling across its surface. It’s deep enough that Eddie’s not sure how they’re going to get out. 

It’s not until he sees the ladder at the edge of the hole that he realizes where they are: impossibly, in the bottom of Harrington’s pool, somehow drained of water and decayed and made wrong, in a matter of seconds. 

The chittering turns to a growl. Harrington jumps up. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still tucked into his belt, jerks violently up with him, pinky getting stuck between belt and pants as he hastily tries to extract it. Harrington darts away, and Eddie’s pinky pops. It’s barely audible beyond the growling, but he feels it as a release of pressure and then sharp pain.

Eddie looks down at his now free hand. There’s chaffing on his palms, and his pinky sits at an awkward angle, already swelling around the knuckle where it connects to his hand. 

Nausea rolls through him–shock, maybe–at the sight. More than the pain, it looks like another wrong thing in a long line of wrongness that makes up his night, this time, attached to his own body. He heaves, water spilling out of his mouth, burning with chlorine as Eddie forces his eyes away from his hand.

Harrington’s across the pool, holding some sort of pole with a torn net at one end, thrusting it into the creature’s mouth, farther and farther. But the metal’s warping, almost decaying under the saliva in the thing's face, pole becoming shorter and shorter until It’s almost upon Harrington.

Without thought, Eddie jumps to his feet, stumbling behind the thing and bashing his lunchbox into its head. 

It’s probably the surprise of the hit that makes the thing stumble. Harrington wastes no time, jabbing the rest of his pole, fast and deep into its maw. It wails, the strike fast enough to get through whatever was melting the metal, piercing something deep inside the thing.

Eddie’s not stupid enough to think it’ll stay down. He skirts around the thing, latching onto Harrington’s wrist and pulling him along in his wake. He doesn’t hear the pole clatter to the cement of the bottom of the pool, hoping that means they have a little more time, doesn’t dare turn around to look as Eddie drops Harrington’s wrist to climb, hand over aching hand, up the ladder and out of the pool. 

Nothing looks better once he’s topside. The sky is still wrong, filled with ash and discolored light. There’s vines up here, too. And it’s quiet, so quiet he can hear every sound Harrington makes as he scrambles up the ladder behind him. 

Eddie doesn’t wait for him. He runs, fast as he can to the sliding door to the house, wrenching it open and falling past the curtain into the house. He hopes, hysterically, that no one sees him making such a fool of himself, hopes somewhere deeper that someone does and will put themselves between his fleshy body and whatever comes through the door behind him.

But no one’s there. Harrington’s kitchen is dark, the living room past it dark as well, a disturbing red glowing faintly through closed curtains like he’s landing himself in a scene straight from Evil Dead. There’s no shadows of partygoers moving, no top forty, no drunk teenagers to spill beer on his shoes.

He stands, frozen, something horrific building in his throat, like a scream or a sob as he stares, unmoving, curtains moving against the small of his back until something slams through them, pushing him to the cold linoleum. 

He pictures teeth, swears he hears a growl, but when he twists wildly from his prone position to scoot backwards on his ass, arms preemptively raised, he sees Harrington sliding the door closed and clicking the shitty plastic lock into place. 

It's hilarious, like the thing they’d both seen back there would be stopped by a little piece of plastic, or doors, or the safety of his house. Eddie bites back a laugh that’s fighting its way up his throat like chlorine, burning and not where it’s supposed to be.

Harrington’s back is shaking with the force of his pants as he yanks the curtains closed. He pivots, face devoid of anything as he bends down and yanks Eddie up by his wrist hard enough to sting.

“Harrington, the people–” he starts, but his wrist is yanked harder as he’s led up carpeted stairs and into a bedroom.

Eddie gets only a sense of plaid and emptiness before he’s being shoved into a closet, Harrington stumbling in behind him and closing the doors quietly and squatting down next to where Eddie had fallen. The outside of their thighs are pressed together. Something hysterical bubbles up his throat again at the irony of the moment. He bites his lip against it.

Harrington’s feet are beneath him, ready to jump and fight anything that might follow them up here. Eddie can’t seem to get his ass on the floor, the lethargy of shock making him complacent, the knowledge that he’d never stand a chance if that thing makes it into the house making the effort of vigilance not seem worth it.

Harrington looks fierce, like he really is in a scary movie, an action hero, the final girl, the one who’ll get to the end of the movie by any means necessary. But Eddie can feel his body shaking where their legs are pressed together. Eddie gets the insane urge to hold his hand.

It feels like hours pass like this, Harrington at the ready, Eddie succumbing to his sleepy shock, before Harrington slowly lowers himself to sit on the ground beside Eddie, knee overlapping his as he sits crisscross, still looking at the door.

“Harrington, what–” 

“I don’t know, Munson.” His voice is a sharp whisper, biting in its carelessness. He doesn’t even look away from the closet door.

“Your house is just empty, man.”

That gets him a scoff and a loosening roll of his shoulders as Harrington finally turns his head to the side and meets his eyes. Eddie tries not to notice the way it slides his thigh more firmly atop his own.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Harrington demands, and for a moment, Eddie’s afraid he somehow heard his thoughts, another in a long line of indignities in this new world they’ve found themselves in, but he continues, “–the people? Not the flower monster that tried to eat us, or the red sky, or the shitty vines all over my house?”

“People means help! Who’s going to help us now?” Eddie demands, voice rising higher than it should. He swings his hand wildly, less of a gesture and more of a limb seizing with panic until it hits the closet’s wall with a hollow thwack, sending a bolt of pain from his pinkie finger down his wrist. 

Harrington turns violently, almost climbing in Eddie’s lap in his bid to both cover his mouth and wrench his hand away from the wall and clutch it tightly in the space between their chests. Eddie bites his own lip at the pain of the squeeze. It’s dark, but he can see the way Harrington’s eyes are widened with fear, the whites too visible.

“Shut up,” he hisses, hand squeezing a little tighter around his cheeks. 

They sit in the silence of the moment, staring at each other, ears straining for the sound of anything coming for them.

All is silent. Harrington’s hands ease away and he slowly shuffles out of Eddie’s space. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, almost reflexive. 

Steve doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t turn away either. They’re still both staring at each other. Eddie’s too tense to feel awkward about it.

He sits in the silence. He’s never been good at it—the quiet. It eats at him, picks away at his skin until he’s back in a run-down apartment with a Father in jail and Mom gone from the room even as she rots away on the couch. The silence eats and eats and eats, until he can almost smell the mildew of the always-closed windows, can feel the springs of his old mattress digging uncomfortably into his back.

The springs prod him, and he blinks into the closet, Harrington’s finger jabbing into his side.

“Don’t crack on me now, Munson.” He’s not smiling.

“Aww,” he replies, trying to make his tone its usual cloying flirtation, “didn’t think you cared, your highness.”

He twists his mouth up at the side. It doesn’t quite land on a smirk—he can feel the way it wobbles. If Harrington notices, he doesn’t call him on it.

With a roll of his eyes, Harrington responds, “like you said, no people means no help, means you’re all I’ve got.”

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Eddie mutters, but the house is too quiet and they’re sitting too close together.

Harrington scoffs, but he leans back further, settling fully on his ass for the first time since he’d dragged Eddie into the closet with him, like all he needs to feel at ease is Eddie being a dick to him. He’s not sure whether or not that’s infuriating or charming, but the knot in his throat that feels suspiciously like tears breaks loose when Harrington leans back on the heels of his hands.

There’s something to the ease of Harrington in this moment that makes Eddie wonder if he’s ever actually seen him at ease before. When Eddie had watched him across the lunch room, eyes unwillingly drawn to the jocks table, his shoulders were always relaxed, mouth always turn up at the corners, but there was still something so stiff about him. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen him lean back like this.

It's almost like, without eyes on him—or with only Eddie’s—his body has gone ragamuffin. A marionette with all it’s strings cut. It’s like. Like—

It’s like hiding from a horrific Lovecraftian monster in the alternative dimension version of his own closet with Eddie Fucking Munson is the first time Steve Harrington has felt comfortable in his own skin. Either that, or Eddie’s spiraling.

“Stop staring at me, man,” Harrington says, draping a hand over his eyes to block out the nonexistent light.

It’s only then that Eddie realizes he has been staring. He snaps his gaze to the floor, running his fingers through the soft shag of Harrington’s fancy carpet. It’s things like this that got him marked as queer within weeks of moving here.

“What’re we gonna do, man?” Eddie asks, like a broken record.

Harrington sighs, drooping further into the carpet. “I vote we go to sleep and hope this was all a bad dream.”

And as if his word had been decreed, Harrington stretches out as much as he can in the confined space, using a pile of dirty clothes as a pillow, and closes his eyes. The side of his leg ended up pressed across the entire side of Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie stares, struck dumb by the audacity of Harrington checking out in a moment like this. When his silence gets no reaction, he slumps down, dragging his cheek into the soft carpet as Harrington slumbers beside him. It feels like hours until he falls asleep.

Part 2

[salty-autistic-writer]

A little headcanon fic. Buck and Tommy talk about scars and Chimney. ~

“And this one?” Buck asks, tracing a long moon-shaped silver scar on Tommy’s arm.

“Cut myself while working on a car,” Tommy says. “It happened before. But never like this. This bitch of a cut didn’t stop bleeding. Sal had to drive me to the hospital where they stitched me up. He was constantly complaining about how I was bleeding all over his car seats even though we wrapped a towel around my arm.”

Buck hums. His eyes wander over Tommy’s stretched-out body. All that exposed skin. So much skin. And a lot of scars. Every single one tells a story. He wants to know them all.

“This one?” He asks, gently touching a circle of raised skin on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Got shot during my time in the military. Didn’t even really notice. I was too focused on flying us out of there. I only noticed when I got dizzy from blood loss and someone from my team took over, landing the chopper. The bullet went right through. Fortunately, it didn’t hit anything important.”

Buck swallows. He stares at the scar. Tommy could have died back then. He almost died a few more times after that, of course. Buck focuses on the shrapnel scars, which always look more like a flower tattoo to him. His throat tightens as he realizes once again, how dangerous their jobs are. Death is a constant shadow lurking in the corner.

“You have to be more careful,” he says pointedly, putting his head on Tommy’s warm chest with a content sigh.

Tommy raises a brow. “Says the guy who stumbles into a life-threatening event twice a year.”

Buck shrugs. “It’s not like I want to. They seem to find me.”

“Maybe it’s just the 118,” Tommy muses. “Maybe it is cursed after all.”

“Now you sound just like Chimney,” Buck chuckles.

Tommy smiles. “That reminds me … I still have to properly thank Howie.”

Buck frowns in confusion. “Why?”

“Well, if he hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t be here now. And if he hadn’t called me for help with saving Bobby and Athena, I wouldn’t have met you,” Tommy says seriously.

Buck freezes. He raises his head from Tommy’s chest, staring at him. “Wait. Chimney saved your life?!”

“Yeah. Back when he joined the 118, he dragged my unconscious ass out of an exploding building even though I was an insufferable idiot who first insulted, then ignored him. They told me about it in the hospital. I felt horrible. Later we talked and hugged. He gave me his number. Told me we could go for a beer after shift sometime. It was the first time after the army that I dared to open up a little more to a colleague. Friend, now. Of course.”

“Wow,” Buck breathes. “I had no idea. He never told me. Guess I have to thank him too.”

Tommy chuckles and brushes his fingers through Buck’s hair. “Yeah. Well, Howie is way too quiet about how awesome he is. Let’s buy him a fruit basket.”

“Or,” Buck says, a grin spreading on his face. “Let’s bake him a heart-shaped cake with “for our favourite matchmaker” on it. He loves those cakes.”

Right?

[daemonmage]

I keep thinking about this AU where Bruce just stays in college and becomes a doctor but still gets dragged into the superhero world.

Ok so Bruce is a doctor and is known for never turning down a patient because he’s still Bruce and he just doesn’t want anyone to die. He still lives in Gotham which is still a horrible place. He still tries to help Gotham by donating and creating his Wayne foundation but it’s hard because the inherent corruption in Gotham hinders anything he does this way.

The mob is still super active in Gotham and a lot of Batman’s rogues still happen because a lot of his rogues just happen with or without Batman. Poison Ivy still becomes an ecoterrorist. Penguin still becomes a powerful mob boss. Mad Hatter is still just the worst. Tommy probably still tries to kill Bruce. Just so many of Gotham’s rogues still exist, except there is no hero to stop them in Gotham. People try, but Gotham is never kind to any hero. Bruce is immensely frustrated by all this but he can’t really do anything. Hell sometimes Lesly’s clinic (cause I feel like he would work there) gets harassed and extorted to help heal mob members and crime wars. He hates this a lot but he’s trapped. He doesn’t have Batman training or gear, the best he can do is help where he can.

However there are still other heroes in this world and Superman is literally just a quick flight away. The JL forms without a Batman and they see Gotham as a powder keg. So they try to help when they can and sometimes they get injured. It comes to a head when a Metropolis (Lex Luthor specifically) and some Gotham rogues team up to get rid of the main hero pain in their necks. Lex creates kryptonite bullets and disperses them to the Gotham rogues to use. Lex sees this as a win because he can get Superman killed without doing much and the Gotham rogues see this as a win cause they have a big weapon against Superman.

So Superman gets shot at with kryptonite bullets. They aren’t the best so they hurt him but only one really makes it through and hits his skin. He has to call in back up and the JL comes to help. I can image Wonder Woman or Flash getting there first. They have no idea what to do because holy shit Superman was shot. That shouldn’t happen! But they’ve heard of this doctor in Gotham that’s supposed to be really good. Maybe Oliver or Dinah suggest Bruce idk. So they take Superman to Dr. Bruce Wayne.

Dr. Bruce Wayne is at his manor with Alfred and a young Dick Grayson (because I firmly believe Bruce would still adopt the kids) and then there is a knock on the door. Alfred goes to answer and in barges the Justice League with a bleeding Superman. Bruce is immediately on his feet barking orders to the JL to get equipment he can use and telling Dick and Alfred to stay back. He doesn’t know what’s going on or how freaking Superman is bleeding out in front of him but he doesn’t care. Bruce realizes quickly that the bullet is cause Clark more pain so it can’t be a leave the bullet in there scenario. He gets the bullet out and asks the JL how to help Clark heal. They say sunlight helps but this is Gotham! It’s polluted and over cast all the time, he won’t be able to get enough sunlight. Bruce remembers a sunlamp they have from a science experiment for Dick. He tells Dick to go get it and they pray that it works. It does by some miracle, though it’s no substitute for actual sunlight.

The League is grateful for Bruce and Clark is also immensely grateful cause holy shit he got shot. The Justice League has to now figure out how these bullets got out in the first place and well Bruce can’t help but be nosy so he mentions that a few of his patients, the mob ones, let it slip that the higher ups got into contact with someone in metropolis and Bruce knows Lex hates Superman. So he helps them out a bit too.

And after that any time they need help with some medical issue they go to super doctor Bruce. He’s also still Bruce and can’t ignore his detective brain so he helps them with mysteries too from time to time. Idk I feel like this still needs more fleshing out but I think it could be funny. Or sad. Or both.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Stay in the Light✨

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a one shot based off the song “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron for a while, and I finally got some inspiration yesterday to write this little piece. Hope you like it 🩵 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for being my beta reader before I decided to release this out to the world 💕

Summary: Joel gets injured after a raider attack, and he’s wishing he could’ve told you all the feelings he held back from you for so long

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: Outbreak! Joel, Jackson! Joel, blood, angst, comfort, feelings, regrets, in both reader and Joel’s POV, no deaths, fluff (I am bad at tags, so let me know if I should add anything)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“When the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet. Oh, take me back to the night we met”

- “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

The ground is cold, wet, unwelcoming with a thick puddle of crimson blood pooling beneath his worn green flannel. Large flecks of powdered snow lace through his grey threaded curls that stick to his sweaty forehead. His vision blurs, going in and out in waves as pain takes hold of his insides. He can hear Tommy screaming in the near distance, his deep voice sounding like it’s washed out beneath a wave of deep water. He can barely register it, barely hear anything, but what he does see is a bright light, an angel in disguise. He sees you.

You. The girl he should’ve been more careful with. Your feelings, your heart, your everything. He was such an asshole ever since the first day you came walking through the front gates of Jackson. He should’ve been nicer, shouldn’t have yelled at you over petty things that were his doing and shouldn’t have thrown insults your way when you were just trying to help on every patrol you were assigned to with him.

Maybe if he would’ve been fucking nicer then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. A clean gunshot to the abdomen, now bleeding out on the thick white snow beneath him. Raiders. He wasn’t being careful, wasn’t paying attention. No, he was fucking fixed on arguing with you. Maybe he deserves it, maybe if he wasn’t such a grouch all the time then maybe none of this would’ve fucking happened. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve you. Warm, bright, gentle, kind. He was none of those things, so why the fuck were you still sitting here with him, keeping him from slipping into the thick fog of darkness?

“Joel! Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Your voice is so adamant, so terrified, so hurt. And it fucking kills him, destroys him. “Tommy! Help him!”

Joel sees the gathering tears that burn through your beautiful eyes, sees the absolute horror that’s coated through your knit together eyebrows, sees the pain of holding it all together just like you always do. Always so brave. His brave girl…. NO. You’re not his to keep, not his to hold, not his to tell everything’s going to be alright. You weren’t his and never would be. Not after the way he’s treated you.

He wishes you were his, but you’re not, and it’s his own damn fault for being so reckless. He should’ve been softer, more kind, like you. He should’ve done so many things, should’ve told you just how he felt. How much he likes you, how much he…

He winces in pain as Tommy presses down on the open wound, barely holding himself together to even keep his eyes open, but he fights. He fights for you. The girl he so desperately fell in love with over the last year, the girl he wished he treated differently. He should’ve fucking told you, but now it’s too late. It’s all too late.

“Hey, hey. Joel, look at me. Look at me!” You grab the sides of his face, sink your delicate fingers into the scruff of his greying beard, and cling to him just enough to where maybe he won’t slip through your fingers. You can’t lose him, you can’t.

“Joel, open your eyes. Please, keep them open for me.” You shake his head lightly, kneel over him and let your hair fall in a heap at your side as you pray for one more day with him. “Joel…”

Your voice is so sad, so desperate as you call out for him. He sees your face blur in his spotty vision, sees the glistening tears start to spill down your face. So he reaches up, musters up enough strength to wipe away the falling tears that stain your beautiful face. He thinks you’re so gorgeous, always has. Ever since you walked into his life, he knew. He knew he’d fall, and that’s why he pushed away so strongly. He didn’t want to lose you, he never wanted to. But now you were the one losing him…

He holds the side of your face for just a few more seconds, just enough to finally know he got you, some part of you, if only for a minute. And that was enough for him. At least he knew what it was like to feel your soft skin slipping under the weight of his calloused fingers. That moment alone was all he wanted.

He starts to close his eyes, starts to fade away into the midst of darkness and silence, but he hears you plead to stay in the light. “Stay in the light, Joel. Stay with me. Stay,” you beg. And he carries those words into the darkness with him. And then there’s nothing but the fading words of a promise he never could keep.

Stay in the light.

He awakes slowly, hearing the buzzing sound of some medical machine he doesn’t know the name of. Slowly but surely his eyes open as the harsh light from the blinding window slips against the warm sheets of the sterile bed. It takes him a second to come to himself, to know he’s not dead.

He looks cautiously down at his exposed torso, finding the tight bandage wrapped around his wound. It’s clean, mended to, but the pain burns through his body. Every breath he breathes feels like fire in his lungs, but at least he knows he’s alive.

He feels warmth sliding through his fingertips, feels comfort bubble over his entirety. He wonders what it is, wonders what thing could ever bring him comfort until he slowly turns his head and sees you sitting there on the edge of the bed, fingers laced through his while your thumb gently glides side to side in slow circles on the back of his rough hand.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows knit together as he stares wondrously at the girl he’s been pining over since the day he locked eyes on you. You look so goddamn beautiful there with your fingers threaded through his. He can feel it deep in his gut, that fluttering feeling he’s always tried so hard to push back down, but this time he can’t. He won’t. He can’t ignore the voices anymore that scream your name every single night he’s in between his sheets, wishing he could just have a chance to hold you, to feel you pressed against his firm chest. And maybe he would. One day. Maybe he still had time to make you his.

You hear a faint rustling sound in the sheets and turn your face slightly to the left, expecting it to only be your vivid imagination. Your jaw drops suddenly and your eyes go wide the moment you see Joel awake, breathing, alive.

“Joel!” You turn frantically and crowd his body, locking your arms tight around the back of his neck as you inhale his deep mahogany and pine cone scent.

“Ouch, take it easy!” Joel pants out as you jump back, realizing you might’ve hurt him with your body weight.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” you ask as you assess his wound, running your fingers lightly over the bandaged area. He winces a little as you smooth out the edges, but he just hums in response.

“I’m fine. Jus’ calm down, will ya?”

You gently smile at him and brace your hands on the fitted sheets, just barely grazing your skin over his warm, sweaty body. Your eyes scan over his bare chest as you take in the coarse hair that covers his broad chest, watching the way the cool sweat glazes over tanned skin. You think he looks so beautiful, even after a gunshot wound. You’ve never seen him bare chested, and it surprises you what it makes you feel inside. Warmth.

“You came back to the light,” you whisper out, grazing your fingertips across the back of his hand as he stares wide-eyed at you, honey eyes so intense that you swear they’re about to split you in half. “I was so scared, Joel. You scared me half to death!”

He just watches you, eyes wading into yours like a violent tidepool about to drag you into the crashing waves, but there’s a fondness to them, a slight gleam in his eyes as he assesses you. Slow, curious, eyes that look like they might shed a tear.

“You… you saved my life today.” His tone is somber, his honey eyes wild as you see tears lick the surface, but he won’t dare shed them. Not in front of you. That’d be too vulnerable.

“Mhm. If Tommy wasn’t there, I don’t know how I would’ve ever gotten you up on that saddle alone. But we did it. We made it in time. I was so scared we were too late. You weren’t… you weren’t really breathing. Even the doctor was worried you wouldn’t make it. You’re a… well, a miracle.”

His face turns pale, lips parted solemnly as he breathes and lets oxygen back into his tired lungs. “Why did you save me?”

His words surprise you as you furrow your eyebrows and shift your weight slightly on the bed so you’re facing him. “What do you mean?” Your words come out shaky, appalled. What did he mean why did you save him?

“Why did you save me?” His honey eyes bore into yours, fingers flexing around the white sheets as he just stares with flared nostrils.

You place a hand gently on top of his warm hand as he tries to pull away, but you don’t let him. “Because I think you’re worth saving.”

His plush lips tremble, his eyes blowing wide as he takes in your quiet words. He looks like he wants to say something, looks like he’s fighting with himself in his mind, but he just stares unblinking, taking in the soft way you look at him.

Finally, he clears his deep voice and rasps out a response. “I’m not worth saving.” His eyes look so sad, defeated, and you wish you could take away all his pain. Physical and emotional, you’d take it all on if it meant he could have one single day where he didn’t wear the weight of the entire world on his tired back.

You lean forward as you hear the creak of the old bed and place your hand gently on his bare chest, feeling the bristles of coarse dark hair running down his tanned skin. “I think you are, Joel.”

He gulps, arms fidgeting beneath you as you see him fight with himself, battling the demons of reaching out or letting you slip through his grasp. He finally finds the courage to slowly, steadily crawl his hand up the side of his chest, then ever so softly places it on top of yours.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk to you the past year. I was a real asshole, and there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. I think about it every single night, think about how I should’ve done better, how I should’ve tried harder because I… I…” Joel winces in pain as he tries to sit up, but you push him back down easily and try to get him to stay still.

“Hey, careful there. It’s okay, Joel. It’s…”

“No, please let me finish.” You nod your head and he continues with a low grunt through gritted teeth. “I should’ve been nicer to you. And I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done, every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I didn’t mean it, not really. I’ve jus’… I’ve been goin’ through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Because I should’ve told you how I felt about you, not pushed you away. You see, the thing is… well, thing is I like you, darlin’. A lot. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and those eyes, that smile. I…”

You cut him off as you lean forward and crash your lips into his, letting his warmth overwhelm you as you slip into him. His tongue tastes like coffee, his skin smells of freshly cut firewood, and he feels so good in the palm of your hand. He surrounds you in something like warmth, ecstasy, something you’ve wanted to feel for so long. He glides his thick fingers through your hair and pulls you closer as he gets lost in you, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell, hear, feel is him. It feels so right, this feels right. You almost forget he’s injured until he grunts and shifts his weight to the right.

You quickly let go of the kiss and lean back, assessing if he’s alright, but he’s smiling. Warm, bright, glowing. You’ve never seen him like this, like he’s the happiest man in the world. It’s that twinkle in his chocolate irises that gets you, and you finally know that this is where you belong. In Jackson, with him.

He guides a strand of hair behind your ear and cups the side of your face as his warm, calloused thumb grazes gently across your cheekbone. “You kept me in the light, sweetheart. You’re exactly what I needed all along, I jus’ wish I didn’t wait so long to find the light.”

You sigh and smile. “It’s okay, Joel. You found it. You found me.”

“You gonna keep the light on for me, sweetheart?”

“Forever, if you want me to.”

He pulls you back in and grazes lightly over your lips as he whispers out, “Forever it is.”

Tagging some friends who might be interested 💛 @sawymredfox @burntheedges @littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @vivian-pascal @rav3n-pascal22 @princesatracionera @bbyanarchist @amyispxnk @pedrostories @syd-djarin @msjarvis @untamedheart81 @survivingandenduring