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rustedhearts · 3 months ago

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keepsakes (boxer!steve harrington x fem librarian!reader)

summary: the heat goes out during an autumnal cold front in your new hawkins home, so you make the most of a cozy day at home.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ the library ✶ ‘tis autumn

✶ roller girl’s pie stand!

tags: pure marshmallow fluff, allusion to smut at the end. akin to old boxer steve from ‘22

hawkins, indiana. october, 1995.

“They said they can’t get out until Tuesday,” Steve huffs, slamming the phone back into the receiver on the kitchen wall.

You groan into the steam furling from the ceramic pot on the stove. “Ugh, come onnnn.”

Steve shuffles into the room with a sigh, thermal-sleeved arms winding their way around your shoulders. They fold together over your chest, guiding you back against him. You let him tuck his mouth into your neck, lips warm, nose cold. You jolt a little when it brushes your skin, giggling when he huffs a harsh breath.

“Mm, I know, angel. But ‘m here to warm ya up,” he mumbles against your throat.

Each of you had enough layers on to keep decently toasty. What you could rummage out of boxes still taped up now sat in a messy pile on your bed upstairs. You hadn’t expected such a cold autumn and thought you had at least a few weeks before you had to break out the winter gear. But now a long sleeve turtleneck sits under a clove-scented 49ers sweatshirt, big and bulky and soft inside like you liked it. Your sweatpants are matching in black color, and you have your hair tied up just like Steve liked it.

He has a white t-shirt under a navy blue thermal that makes his hair seem more chestnut than usual. His sweatpants are grey, the Jimmy’s Gym logo on the top right thigh cracked and faded from wear. You have a pair of his white socks on, and you think it’s adorable that the pair of you have matching feet right now.

Steve presses a noisy kiss to the column of your throat. His hair tickles your chin and makes you laugh again.

“Whatcha got planned today, hmm?”

You stir the wooden spoon through your soup again. “Guess.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, lifting from your neck to squint at the tile. “Hmm, if I had t’ guess, I’d say…reading in that ‘lil window upstairs, pretending you aren’t freezin’ your ass off.”

You scoff, cheeks warming. “N-no…”

“No?” Steve tips his head and kisses your cheek this time. “Saw the book already out. Waitin’ for you. Can’t you hear it calling, baby? All those words you have to read.”

You giggle, squirming in his arms. “Stop, don’t make fun of me.”

You click the gas off and Steve coos, clutching you a little tighter. His cheek is lukewarm when it presses to your temple.

“Aww, my ‘lil nerd. ‘s okay, angel, you know your librarian glasses are so fuckin’ sexy.”

You clutch the handle of the ceramic pot and veer toward the counter, where two mismatched bowls are waiting. Steve gets the hint, matching your steps until you’re moving together. You tip the pot and pour equal amounts of the chicken soup into each bowl, splattering noodle and broth drippings as you go. The window above the sink beside you is beginning to fog with the warmth of the stove. Beyond it, your neighbor’s tree is a vibrant yellow. Shedding pointed leaves across the yard, stuck in the jagged edges of the wooden fence. They gather on Steve’s BMW window, suctioned to the glass with this morning’s rain. The sky’s still a muddled grey, and you have all the lamps and candles lit in the house.

Steve somehow always gets horny in candlelight.

“My librarian glasses? Grab some spoons, please, baby?”

Steve takes one arm from your chest to lean to the left and open the utensil drawer. He gathers two spoons in his hand and nudges it shut, immediately returning to ensure both arms are back in place.

“Yeah. ‘s a good thing, baby, I promise.”

You take the spoons dangling near your collarbone and plop one into each bowl.

“Stevie, can you take ‘em? They’re hot.”

Steve takes a bowl in each hand around your sides and reluctantly pulls away from you. The pair of you whirl around and head for the dining room, a bowl clunking onto a plaid placemat at each assigned seating. Yet as you pull your chair out and go to sit, a pout appears on Steve’s face. He hasn’t even touched his chair.

“What?” you giggle.

“I just…you’re so far away.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“Too far,” he huffs. He swings around and directs his gaze toward the living room. “Let’s go sit on the floor.”

A soft smile touches your face, that glowing warmth gathering in your cheeks again. Oh, something about the cold made Steve so sweet.

“You wanna have a carpet picnic?” You beam.

Steve tips his head back and rolls his eyes. “You and that damn movie—yes, angel, we can have a carpet picnic.”

“Yay, okay! Take the bowls, please.”

He hides his grin against the back of your head when you flounce your way into the living room, forgetting all about the goosebumps and shivers you endured when you woke up to a frozen house this morning. You peel the throw blankets off the back of the couch and lay them on the carpet, smoothing out any wrinkles you know Steve will replace in just a few moments.

The bowls are placed on the coffee table, a folded napkin under each. Steve waits patiently at the corner of the blanket, knowing you’ll let him know when he can join.

The lamplight above you catches and glows on your left hand. On the diamond glimmering on your second smallest finger, haloed with beams of orange. When you lift your hands and pass the flames of the fireplace, amber rays pierce through the crystalline gem.

Steve watches all the while. Watches you move your hands, knowing soon your diamond will rest above a wedding band. In a mere month, just a few short weeks—you’ll be his wife.

The thought alone has Steve sinking to his knees. You whip around to scold him for interrupting your process, but squeak in surprise when he catches your face and kisses you. He smells like cold air and leaves and vaguely of the Marlboro smoked a few hours ago. He smells like Steve.

When he pulls away, you sit back on the blanket and grin. “What on earth was that for?”

Steve assumes the spot across from you, kicking his legs out beside you. He reaches for the soup bowls and carefully places yours near your tucked-in knees.

“What was what for?”

You scrape your teeth over your bottom lip and laugh. “Never mind.”

You turn your attention to the chicken noodle soup and Steve turns back to you. Watches through his lashes as you lift your hands and wipe away wisps of hair on your forehead. Black sleeves curled over your knuckles to keep warm, your fingers appear beneath them in delicate form. He wishes to do nothing but kiss them and stare more at that ring.

“Is it not good?”

Steve blinks, lifting his spoon. Your lips are shiny with broth and oil, eyes rounded in his direction. They catch the fire like your ring and they make Steve swallow hard.

“N-no, baby, ‘s good.” He quickly shovels a spoonful of the soup in his mouth to prove it.

You do a little squirm and smile that makes Steve chuckle. He hunches over his lap to slurp the broth and you wrinkle up your nose.

“Ew, Steven.”

His spoon clinks against the bowl when he drops it.

“Heyyy,” he warns playfully. “Don’t start. There was no attitude at their carpet picnic.”

You giggle. “No, but there was a blowjob if I remember correctly.”

Steve lowers his bowl completely, eyes suddenly alert. “Well, that’s welcome any time.”

Broth bubbles with laughter in your bowl. Steve watches you take small, quiet spoonfuls. When he decides you were only joking and there won’t be an immediate gratification for his Pretty Woman joke, Steve goes back to his soup, too.

Soon the soup is gone and the bowls sit empty on the table. You stretch onto your stomach and place your head on Steve’s lap, allowing his fingers to work over your hair. He pulls it free from its confines and smooths it down. Massages your scalp until your eyes flutter. The flames of the fire rest in dancing orange shimmers on your face.

The rain begins again. It comes with a great howling wind, rushing through the trees and shaking colors loose. The house darkens to near nighttime degree. A grey darkness that turns all the candle flames and lamplight in the room warm.

“Will you read to me, Stevie?” you inquire softly.

Steve’s fingers lag in your hair. He shifts, resting back on his palm.

“Uh…I mean—you sure? Y’ know ‘m not very good at it.”

You let your eyes close and smile to yourself. “I’m sure. I love the sound of your voice.”

Steve smooths his palm over the crown of your head, cupping it. With your eyes closed, he’s free to grin down at you and know it’s just for him. Do you have any idea what you do to him?

“Gonna let me up then?”

You hum. “In a minute.”

“Okay,” he murmurs in agreement.

He holds you there a moment longer, watching the fire warm your face; your socked feet cricketing together at the edge of the blanket contentedly.

“Okay,” you say, pushing yourself up. “Now you can go.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he stands. “Spoiled. What am I getting?”

“You pick. I’m gonna bake some cookies.”

Steve watches you bounce back toward the kitchen with both soup bowls. “Well Jesus, have a little faith in me. I know my way around your shelves.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, setting the bowls in the sink. “You want chocolate or snickerdoo—“

Your words die on your tongue, slipping between Steve’s lips. He pinches your jaw in one hand and holds you still, mouth forced to pucker for his gift. He hums when he nips at your bottom lip, licking at his own when he releases you.

“Somethin’ t’ think about while ‘m gone,” he says, a heavy hand popping across the fat of your asscheek before he turns around.

Steve heads toward the stairs, ascending them while doing his best to crane over the railing and watch your flushed reaction until he no longer can. He immediately walks to your library–much smaller than the one back in California, but somehow it captured the girl he met in this very town better than anything in the sunshine state ever could—and directs his attention to your stuffed shelves.

He has absolutely no idea what he’s looking for, and stands for a while just staring aimlessly at the spines with his hands on his hips. He hears you clink and clang around in the kitchen. The beep of the oven. The slam of the oven door. It’s much colder in the library, and Steve swears there’s a draft in your window seat.

He turns to inspect it, pressing one hand firmly on the cold, foggy glass. As he leans over the plaid fabric of your window seat, his thigh nudges the corner of a leather-bound journal. He recognizes it immediately as the same journal always kept on the bedside table and in the bottom of your purse. It's always next to you so long as you can help it.

When he spins it with his finger, the Polaroid used to keep your last page inches its way to the edge. Steve slowly and carefully pulls it from the pages.

He sinks into the window seat when he's met with his own face.

Six years old now, the photograph is still as perfectly intact as the day it was taken. The flash collects in a younger Steve's eyes, making them appear darker than they really are. The film softens the emerald and violet bruise kissing his left cheek that Steve vividly remembers taking weeks to disappear completely.

He knows immediately where he's standing, where the photograph was taken by the color of the wall alone. The soft ballerina pink, the edges of rosebuds from now-outdated wallpaper. The arched mirror of your vanity rests just behind his shoulders, stretched and puffed broadly with the flex of his arms. Though the muscles are concealed beneath a heavy black sweatshirt, embroidered with his recent champion title.

And in the glossy white border just below his stomach where the photograph completes, remains your handwriting.

My boyfriend husband ♡

"Steeeve? Did you find one?"

Steve quickly clambers to his feet, shoving the Polaroid back into its place in the journal. He grabs the book you had sitting on your rumpled blanket on the cushion.

"Yeah, coming!"

His footsteps clunk down the stairs, and he's met with the scent of warm cinnamon when he finds you in the kitchen, wiping down the counter.

You spin with the rag in hand and a small grin. “Hey, did you find one?”

Steve sets the book on the counter gently. Your eyes turn to inspect the cover, surprised to see one of your “stuffiest” options waiting. Steve hates Dracula, and he hates attempting to read anything written before 1950.

Before you can question his choice, Steve takes a slow step toward you.

“How long do the cookies have?” he asks.

You glance at the timer. “Um…ten minutes, why?”

His hands smooth over your waist, thumbs pressing into your stomach. He grips you firmly, stepping until he can fit his head in your neck again. His response comes in the form of his mouth on your throat—latching on with his hot, wet suction. You gasp, hands flying to touch him: one gripping the front of his shirt and the other tangling in his hair.

He hums, releasing your skin to kiss it gently. He moves down, dragging his nose over your skin. His suction returns to the junction between your neck and shoulder, where the tendons are soft and waiting to be bitten. You jolt with a quiet squeak, grip tightening on his collar.

“St-Steve—“

“Shhh.” He moves one hand from your waist to your chin and tips it away to make room for his head on the other side of your throat. “‘s nine minutes now, angel. Come lay down f’ me so we can make the most of it.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the living room again, and you follow silently. Nearly hypnotized by his softness, tongue swollen dumbly in your mouth.

He takes both your hands to lower you down to the station of your carpet picnic. You thump to your knees, and he follows suit only to lay you on your back with his hand supporting the back of your head. When you’re flat, you blink up at him with bated breaths.

Steve smiles, fingers curling into the elastic band of your sweatpants. The house seems hotter than ever, a flaming warmth coating your body as his touch drags down your thighs with your clothing.

“Don’t worry. Your husband’s gonna take care o’ you, angel.”

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

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holdmytesseract · 5 months ago

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moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

Wonders [EoH]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader feat. Teddy Dixon

Summary: Sometimes is all you need a wonder in a broken world...

Warnings: usual TWD stuff? lots of fluff, talks of pregnancy, slight angst, dad!Daryl

The Whisperer Era!

Word Count: 2,1k

a/n: I had to write this. 🥹 Hope y'all like this! 🤗

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Ted?" You called out for your son; voice echoing through the little cottage. "Outside, momma!" Your son answered loud enough for you to hear; feet carrying you straight towards him.

The nine-year-old sat on a small log just outside the cottage. He was highly concentrated on making his first own arrow. His tongue poked out of his mouth and touching his upper lip; eyes fixated on the task ahead. Dog laid beside him on the grass. The faithful canine rarely left the boy's side. Not since Daryl told Dog to always protect Teddy. He understood the assignment. Smart animal, without a doubt...

Daryl was not far. Only a few yards away; chopping wood, so that he could always have an eye on his son.

It had gotten noticeably colder. That was the reason why your husband spent more time with hunting and especially chopping wood. Fall was making itself known and preparing you for the winter, which was probably already lurking just around the corner.

"Oh, you almost finished it?" You spoke in a bright voice; crouching down beside your kid to admire his good work. Teddy nodded proudly, "Mhm. Look!" and showed you the arrow. Of course, it was far from perfect and couldn't be used as a weapon. The tip was blunt - on purpose. Daryl didn't want Teddy to hurt himself. After all, Teddy was still young and his skills not entirely developed yet. But for that, the arrow was good. His father taught him well, you thought with a smile, like you did so often.

"Wow, that's amazing, baby. I'm proud of you," you smiled warmly at the boy and ruffled his long chestnut brown locks. Your son smiled up at you as well. "Thanks, momma."

You could feel Daryl's eyes on you; watching the scene in front of his eyes - which reminded you why you actually called your son...

"Teddy, could you go and check on the rabbit traps? I have to talk to daddy." He nodded, "Okay." and hopped from the log, before he carefully placed the arrow on it. "Take Dog with you and be careful, yes?" "Sure, momma. Dog, c'mon." Dog lifted his head and immediately jumped to his feet and fallowed his best friend.

You could still feel your husband's eyes on you, but this time you could tell that he was a bit confused.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened up again and made your way over to Daryl, who continued his work, now that you were on your way to him anyway. It had gotten colder, yes - even for Daryl, who had switched to wearing sweatshirts and long-sleeved shirts instead of t-shirts and shirts turned to tops with the sleeves ripped off. With a small grunt, he lunged out and precisely split the wood in two with his axe. You would've lied, if you said that this wasn't sexy in some kind of way. But now was not the time to ogle your man... You had something important to discuss...

"Daryl? Can we talk?"

Your husband looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion, but nodded. "Sure." He snuffled and placed the axe aside. "Do I have ta be worried?" You swallowed and looked down; fingers fumbling nervously with your shirt-sleeve. "Honestly? I-I don't know." A deep frown formed on the archer's forehead. Now he was really concerned - and you could see it clearly on his face. After over ten years being a couple, you could read this man like a book.

"Ya don know? Sunshine, wha's that s'pposed ta mean?"

Your eyes darted to Teddy for a short moment; watching him in distance check on the rabbit traps together with Dog. He had grown up so fast... Sure, in a world like this he had to, but you'd have loved to give him a better childhood and youth. Not cruel and full of death and blood. Was this truly something you wanted to bestow on another- "Hey, Y/N..."

Daryl's voice ripped you out of your thoughts; his hands on yours caused you to turn your head to face him again. "Wha's wrong? Talk ta me. Please." You swallowed once again; taking a deep breath. "Daryl, I... I missed two cycles. One happened before, but two..." You could see the gears turning in his head. He blinked; his palms twitching around your hands. "Darlin'... Are you... Are you tryin' to tell me wha' I think yer tryin' to tell me?" You nodded. "Uh.Huh..."

Daryl let go of your hands again and started to pace up and down; fingers scratching his goatee covered chin. You watched him for a few moments; giving him some time to process this - until you couldn't take the silence anymore. "D-Daryl? Say somethin', please..."

Your husband stopped dead in his movements for a moment, before he almost hastily started to search his things together. Crossbow, vest, map.

You frowned; now utterly confused. "Daryl?" He strapped on his crossbow, "'M goin' out; find a pharmacy and get a test." and smiled at you. Truly smiled. The first smile in months - hell, even years after Rick's disappearance, which reached his eyes.

You were slightly surprised and taken aback, but you certainly didn't complain. "A-Alright, sure, but now? Sweetie, it's gettin' dark soon..." Daryl was already making his way over to his bike. "Don care. I gotta know, sunshine. Hell, I wanna know." "Uh, okay," you were still rather flabbergasted, as you followed him. "But be careful, yeah? Be safe." The archer leaned slightly to the right, in order to press a quick, but loving kiss against your lips. "'Course, sunshine."

And off he went.

Your eyes fallowed him as long as you could; crossing your arms over your chest as the chilly breeze hit your body.

"Where's daddy goin'?" Teddy appeared beside you; Dog in tow and three rabbits in his hands. You looked down at your little boy; "Just on a small run. He'll be back soon." adjusting the red bandana around his neck. "Let's go inside, huh? It's getting cold."

Your son nodded and followed you inside the cottage.

It had gotten late. By now it was pitch black outside - and raining. Daryl wasn't back yet and so slowly started your worries to creep in. Therefore, you occupied yourself. Made sure everything was walker safe, took care of the rabbits, fed Dog, had dinner and spent some time with Teddy, before you wanted to send him off to bed. But, of course, like always, the nine-year-old refused to sleep. Not until his father was back. You had no other choice but to let him.

Another hour later, you finally heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle. A relieved sigh left your lips, while your son was already storming out of his tiny room and straight towards the door. He had heard it, too.

A few moments later, Daryl stepped inside; bringing a good portion rain, leaves and wind with him. He quickly shut the door, put down his crossbow and shed himself of his wet poncho.

"Daddy!" Teddy sprinted straight into his dad's arms, who lifted him up and hugged him tight. "Hey, bud. Yer not asleep yet?" Daryl looked at you and you silently told him why; Teddy still clinging to him. Daryl understood, of course and walked with his son without further ado to the boy's room, which was right behind your bedroom. For safety reasons, of course. "Good night, baby." Teddy turned to smile tiredly at you; hand tucked neatly into Daryl's. "Nighty night, momma."

While your husband tucked Teddy in, you hung up the wet poncho to dry. Now that Daryl was back from his little run and the worries about his well-being ceased, there was space again for the previous thoughts and fears to come back again. The missed cycles and the possibility of being pregnant. It wasn't like you didn't want to be, no. Actually, it would be a wonderful surprise, but... So much had changed around you since Teddy. The world had changed around you. Being pregnant wasn't that 'easy' anymore...

You didn't even notice that you were totally lost in thoughts, but when a strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, you snapped out of the bubble.

"Teddy asleep?" Daryl nodded. "Mhm." You felt the urge to be close to your husband; hoping that this would take your doubts and fears away. So, you leaned into his half embrace and slung your arms around his torso. Daryl immediately got the hint and wrapped you up in a big, protective bear hug.

"You okay?" You heard him ask then; concern swinging within his voice. "Yeah, 's just... You know..." You felt the archer nod against your head. "Let's find out?" "Let's find out."

Daryl handed you three different brands of pregnancy tests with a shrug. "Didn't know which one's good. Ain't ma specialty. Jus' thought 'm bringing them all." You took them. "It's okay, sweetie. Just gonna take all of 'em to be sure."

Said and done. With shaky hands you did what you had to do, before you returned to your husband, who was pacing again up and down the room like a wounded animal.

You placed all three tests upside-down on the little, wooden dining table; taking a deep breath. "How long do we have ta wait?" "Normally 'bout a few minutes," you answered and turned to face him. He nodded. Once more you stepped up close to your man; needing to ask the question which was occupying you since the first thought of pregnancy crossed your mind - even though he already gave you a nonverbal and kinda verbal answer. "Daryl..." You whispered his name; laying your palms on his chest. "Would you... Would you want this? A-Another baby? Would you be... happy 'bout it?"

You felt how one of his arms encircling your waist; the other hand cupping your cheek. "Darlin', I'd be the happiest man on earth. After all the things which happened..." He paused for a moment; swallowing hard - and you knew exactly what he meant. "Yeah. I'd be happy." You smiled softly; rubbing his pecks gently. "Truly?" Daryl nodded, but could definitely see in your eyes how troubled you were. "Yes. 'M not gonna... do the things I did ten years back. I promise." You shook your head. "'S not what I'm worried about, Daryl... I... The world has changed around us. Being pregnant is not that 'easy' anymore..."

The archer chew on his bottom lip; listening to your every word, before he nodded again. "I know whatcha mean, sunshine. 'S nothing easy in this world anymore, but we got each other. We'll make this work, 'cause we both want tis, right?"

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you smiled. "Yes."

Your husband reciprocated your smile and hugged you tightly; reassuring.

"Let's take a look, eh?" He whispered then; slowly letting go of you. You nodded, "Let's take a look." and took Daryl's hand in yours; gently pulling him over to the small dining table. You stared at the three plastic sticks; nervosity still coursing through your veins. "D-Daryl, can you...?" He squeezed your hand and stepped closer to the table. His eyes met yours as he nodded.

You swallowed hard and took a step back; watching how his calloused fingers danced over the tests. Daryl lifted all of them up and slowly turned them in his hands; eyes focused. "A-And?" He didn't answer you; just kept on staring. "Daryl!"

At the call of his name, he finally looked up; one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen him smile stretched over his whole face. "Well... Looks like we're gonna have 'nother baby, sunshine."

You blinked; needing a moment to process his words. "They... They're positive?" Your husband nodded; still smiling broadly. "All three of 'em?" Another nod. "Yeah," Daryl stated and turned them for you to see. And indeed... They were clearly positive.

"Oh my gosh..." You clapped your hand over your mouth; tears immediately blurring your vision. Yet you saw Daryl placing the tests aside again and stepping up to you; his hands finding their way around your waist. He pressed his forehead against yours. "'M happy about this, sunshine. I truly am. This is wonderful," he said in a low voice; holding on to you. "We got this, yeah?" You nodded; happy tears rolling down your cheeks as your hands clasped gently onto the lapels of Daryl's vest. "Yeah."

Both, you and Daryl enjoyed this little moment you had together; relishing in the joy of the news.

You started to giggle; taking Daryl a bit by surprise. "Teddy's gonna be over the moon 'bout this." Your husband agreed. "Hell yeah. He 'n Dog are gonna be the best big brothers." You giggled once again; the cutest scenarios already forming in your mind. "Oh, I'm convinced by that."

Tags: @celtic-crossbow @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @wolfsmom1

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fan fiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon smut #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fic

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mrs-stans · 2 months ago

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Sebastian Stan Appreciates Taking Things 'A Little Less Seriously'

The actor caught up with L'OFFICIEL at the CFDA Fashion Awards to discuss wearing Thom Browne and his transformative roles in A Different Man and The Apprentice.

by Carrie Wittmer

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

Photography: Ryan Lowry Stylist: Michael Fisher Grooming: Amy Komorowski

On camera and off, Sebastian Stan is always aware of what he is wearing, whether he's suited up as the Winter Soldier in Captain America or sporting jeans and a T-shirt on a day off. The actor— who stars in and is winning over buzz for his transformative performances in A Different Man and The Apprentice—represented Thom Browne at the 2024 CFDA Fashion Awards on October 28 in New York City at the American Museum of Natural History. For the event, Stan wore a full Thom Browne look: a classic ticket pocket tuxedo with self-tipping in black, 3-ply mohair; a knit vest in black cashmere; a classic button-up shirt in white oxford; a necktie in black silk faille; and penny loafers in black patent leather.

In A Different Man, Stan plays an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis who has facial reconstructive surgery that dramatically alters his appearance. In The Apprentice, Stan plays former President Donald Trump in a film that follows his rise to power, focusing on his mentor-mentee relationship with lawyer Roy Cohn, portrayed by Jeremy Strong from Succession. Stan received critical acclaim for his performances in both films, and is now a likely contender for the upcoming awards season.

At the CFDAs, Stan told L’OFFICIEL about his look for the night, his connection to Thom Browne, and how clothing and costumes impact his performances. Read on for the interview.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

L’O: Tell me about your look for the CFDA awards.

Sebastian Stan: Thom Browne’s take on black tie-not traditional, polished in a new way and comfortable while being structured. I appreciate taking things a little less seriously, especially during awards season. I love my straight tie and knit vest—less serious, but certainly not less appropriate.

L'O: How would you describe your off-duty style? What do you wear on a day off?

SS: Jeans and a tee shirt.

L’O: What character that you’ve played is most likely to wear Thom Browne?

SS: Carter Baizen would wear the hell out of a Thom Browne suit.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

L’O: Your roles in A Different Man and The Apprentice are very physical performances... and so is Bucky Barnes. How do you approach creating a character’s physicality?

SS: It all actually starts from the inside out. Muscles have memory. We wear our pains, our pride, our truth: the ones we project and the ones we keep hidden from the world. It all depends on what’s driving somebody…The need for love, the need to be heard, the need to prove, the need to hide, etc. Everything influences how you move and you walk. Obviously when you’re playing real people the clues are already there to study. Like an instrument. With something like A Different Man, there’s a backstory and the prosthetics influenced everything. Similar with Bucky Barnes. His past is always in his body.

L’O: How do clothes and costumes enhance your performance?

SS: I love costumes because they speak for themselves. When you walk in a room immediately people look at you and what you’re wearing tells a story. The choices one makes in terms of portraying themselves to the world are very revealing. So costumes are a big piece of the character before any words are even said. They also influence the way you walk. I’m particular about shoes. What kind of shoes a character wears. Sneakers make you walk a certain way boots a totally different way. Maybe you stand up taller as a result and so on. Same with clothes. A suit affects everything. So does a pair of jeans you’ve lived in for a decade.

Sebastian Stan in Thom Browne for the CFDA Awards 2024

#Sebastian Stan #L’officiel #L'OFFICIEL #L'OFFICIEL Magazine #Photoshoot #CFDA Awards #CFDA #Awards #mrs-stans

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fallinallincurls · 11 months ago

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in picture frames, in all my dreams, you’re the one i want

this is my entry for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24!! i wrote this fic for the lovely @laurenairay and i hope you love it so much! i had the best time writing this one (which means there will probably be more brock fics in the future). and shoutout to @tonyspep for bouncing ideas around with me as always!

i also made a playlist for this fic as well if you'd like to check it out!

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 3.8k+

~~~~~

This was not supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a plane back to Minnesota right now so you would be home in time for Christmas. But when you arrived at the airport earlier, the board of departures were full of canceled flights including yours. And when you brought your dilemma to the customer service desk, they informed you that all flights out of Vancouver were either booked or canceled through the 26th. The day after Christmas.

That’s how you ended up where you are now. Frantically knocking on your best friend’s front door and trying to hold back the overwhelming urge to cry.

“Come on, come on, come on.” You mutter to yourself, knocking one more time in hopes that the one person you want to see right now will answer.

At that very moment, the door swings open to reveal a cozy but sleepy looking Brock. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats with an old Canucks t-shirt. His blonde hair is tousled but still somehow looks perfect and his blue eyes light up at the sight of you. You love seeing him like this, so soft and relaxed. The Brock that the media and fans don’t know, but you do.

“Uh, hi. Again.” You say quietly while offering a watery smile.

“Y/N?” Brock asks, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You don’t blame him, it is only six in the morning. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you going home today?”

“Well yeah, but the insane snow storm had other plans. My flight was canceled and I can’t get anything until after Christmas. So I’m kind of stuck here.”

“A week of me wasn’t enough for you?” He teases, that familiar smile brightening up his face. You just shrug in response, your lips just barely tipping up at his playfulness.

Without saying another word, Brock pulls you into his arms for the tightest hug. It takes everything in you not to sob against his sturdy chest as the warmth and comfort he always carries surrounds you.

“I’m going to miss Christmas.” The terrifying admission tumbles from your lips as tears start falling. You’ve never missed a Christmas at home with your family and you can’t imagine spending the magical day stranded halfway across the continent.

“No, you’re not.” Brock murmurs, smoothing your hair down as he holds you. The small gesture immediately makes you feel more at ease. It’s something only he knows that will help calm you down when you’re upset. Before you protest, Brock makes a split second decision. “You’re going to spend Christmas here, with me. We’re going to celebrate Christmas together. And you can stay here since all the hotels are probably booked or mad expensive, it’s just easier.”

It takes a moment for Brock’s words to register in your mind, but when they do, your heart swells. Of course he would welcome you in for a holiday that you weren’t supposed to spend with him. He would do anything for you and he’s been that way since you were kids. But right now, you’re more grateful than ever for his kindness.

“Are you sure? I was only supposed to visit you for a week.” You ask faintly, voicing the only worry that surfaced at his suggestion.

When the University of Minnesota, the school that you’re currently a professor at, announced the dates of winter break, you immediately booked a flight out to Vancouver to spend some much needed time with your best friend. It’s tough to see Brock during the season because classes are also in session and schedules almost never line up. But you weren’t letting this opportunity pass by. The past week has been spent catching up and doing everything that was physically possible together. You couldn’t have been happier you made the trip until the debacle this morning put a damper on the unbelievable happiness you’ve been feeling since you arrived in Vancouver.

“And the weather said a week wasn’t long enough.” Brock says, his tone of voice telling you there was no room for arguments. “I won’t let you spend Christmas alone so we’re doing this, okay? Plus, I don’t think Coolie and Milo will mind having you around for a few more days. You know how much they love you.”

“The dogs aren’t the only ones who love me.” Brock smiles at your playful comment and can’t help but chuckle at the truth of the oblivious statement. The full extent of his feelings for you that he’s been hiding for years is unknown to everyone but himself. And maybe Quinn and Petey. But he won’t admit how he feels about you until he knows the moment’s right, until maybe there’s a chance you feel the same way.

So he shrugs nonchalantly and lets a laugh slip past his lips while ignoring the way his heart races just from looking at you. Before he can say anything in response, you’re surging forward to hug him again.

“Thank you so much, really. It means the world to me. You have no idea.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.” Brock admits, honesty seeping through each word. “Besides, spending Christmas with you just made my holiday a lot more exciting.”

“Please,” You roll your eyes in response, but the softest smile blossoms across your lips and the insane amount of anxiety that was consuming you a few minutes ago has already started to dissipate.

“C’mon,” Brock starts, pulling you through the door and over the threshold of his apartment. “You’re probably exhausted so let’s get you a nap and we’ll go from there.”

There’s no resistance as he leads you to his bedroom, hands you one of his t-shirts and tells you it’ll all be okay. Before you know it, you’re under the blankets, wrapped up in the warmth and coziness of Brock’s bed, drifting off to a much needed sleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, well rested and feeling much better, you find yourself squished between two large dogs. A giggle slips past your lips at the sight.

“Hey guys!” You exclaim, not wasting a second to give both Coolie and Milo some pets. “Lucky you, I’ll be here for a couple more days which means you’ll get plenty of extra snacks.”

“No, they won’t!” Brock calls from somewhere in the apartment, making a laugh bubble up in your throat. Even if your Christmas isn’t going to go as you had planned, you’re glad that you’ll be spending it with your favorite person in the world.

The dogs race ahead of you to find Brock as you start making your way down the hallway. Although you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Brock’s apartment over your weeklong visit, you take a few extra seconds to look over the collection of pictures he has hanging on the wall throughout the hallway. Photos of him with his family, smiling with teammates, namely Petey and Quinn who you know have become his best friends, views from his many trips to different places around the world and of course, snapshots of you and him together.

A smile blossoms on your face as you look over the memories frozen in time in each photo, laughing to yourself at the ridiculous ones Brock has hanging up that feature his teammates and you. But just before you’re about to head down the stairs to find him, one picture catches your eye. You don’t know how you missed it over the last week, but you must have.

Because staring back at you are little versions of you and Brock, flashing big, beaming grins at the camera in front of the sign to the summer camp you both attended for years. That’s how the two of you met and you remember looking forward to the summer just because it meant seeing and spending time with Brock. Even though you both lived in Minnesota, it wasn’t until you were older that you were able to communicate outside penpal letters sent in the mail and the ninety days you spent together on the campground where you both formed memories that will last a lifetime.

You couldn’t have been more than seven in the photo and it’s clear that both of you are happier than ever. That feeling is still present today whenever you’re with Brock, it’s nestled deep within your heart like it belongs there forever and you’ve carried it around for most of your life. It only took you years after he already had moved to Vancouver to realize that happiness can often be mistaken for love.

Shoving those thoughts away, you bound down the stairs to meet your best friend again. There’s a new pep in your step as you’re determined to make the most of every second this Christmas even if it’s not what you expected. You’re here with Brock which is all you could ask for.

A gentle smile is already on your lips when you get to the bottom floor, but you halt almost immediately when you see the scene in front of you. Coolie and Milo are wearing the cutest doggie holiday sweaters and Brock is softly grinning while leaning against the kitchen counter which is full of a wide variety of baking ingredients. And when your eyes look over the living room, you notice a box labeled “ornaments” sitting atop the coffee table, undoubtedly full of all of the beautiful ornaments that were carefully hanging from the branches of Brock’s Christmas tree just hours ago.

“What is-”

“I told you we were celebrating Christmas and we’re going to do it the right way.” Brock simply explains, blue eyes twinkling with joy and you see a flicker of nervousness there too. Like he isn’t sure if you like the gesture.

“Brock,” You breathe out, his name just above a whisper.

“I know you love decorating the tree on Christmas Eve so I just took down the ornaments so we can do it together. And your family always bakes cookies the night before Christmas too and I surprisingly already had most of what we needed for the recipes.”

There aren’t enough words to properly show the gratitude, the love, that’s swelling in your chest so you just cross the room and wrap your arms around him in the tightest embrace. Brock immediately responds, pulling you even closer to him, and for a moment everything feels right.

“Thank you,” The words are quiet, but Brock hears them and presses a delicate kiss to the top of your head. You pray he doesn’t feel the way your heart skips a beat at the sweet action and he must not because he pulls away with a big smile and a hint of mischief mixed with something else you can’t quite place evident in his eyes.

“Of course, you deserve nothing less. What do you want to do first?” He asks, ready to jump into either activity. But it’s right then that everything clicks.

“Wait, you went out in the snow to get the rest of the ingredients we needed?”

“Well, yeah, it’s not too bad. Compared to the snow we used to get at home, this is like nothing.”

“But it’s cold! And how did you get the recipes for my favorite Christmas cookies without-” You trail off, the realization setting in at the same moment Brock speaks up to confirm your suspicions.

“I called your mom. She was more than happy to share the recipes with me when I explained what I was up to. That was the easiest part actually!”

If you weren’t already head over heels in love with him already, this moment would’ve sealed the deal. You can’t believe he went through all this trouble just to make the holiday special when you weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place. Nothing but adoration rushes through your veins and you can feel the blush creeping into your cheeks. Without hesitating, you lean up to kiss his cheek as yet another silent thank you and his skin almost immediately turns pink.

“Alright, let’s do this, yeah?” He asks, distracting you from his reaction to the little gesture the two of you have been doing since you were younger and pulling you into the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for Christmas music to be turned on, filling the air with even more of a festive feeling. Brock makes sure your apron is tied on, just like you do for his, and then you’re off baking. You teach Brock all the techniques you’ve learned over the years from making these recipes and you get the pleasure of seeing him so free and happy.

You want to see him like this for the rest of your life. A big smile on his face, eyes crinkled in happiness and no sign of any stress hanging over him.

“What are we going to do with all these cookies?” The question falls off your lips after Brock slides the last batch into the oven.

“Easy. You’ll take some back home with you so your mom can see how much of an awesome job I did and the rest I’ll give to the team. A lot of them won’t say no to homemade cookies even if it’s the middle of the season.”

“If you say so,” You giggle, not being able to picture his teammates willingly accepting Christmas cookies when they’re in the middle of the best season the team has had in a long time. But you don’t argue, just set aside the best looking cookies that you and Brock decorated for Quinn and Petey, and sneak one to Coolie and Milo too, before getting the kitchen back in order.

After everything is cleaned up so the kitchen doesn’t look like a total disaster anymore and you both enjoy the takeout that Brock ordered for dinner, no time is wasted in moving to the living room to decorate the Christmas tree.

“Okay, where do we start?” You contemplate, gently placing your full mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table while surveying the tree glittering in the corner of the room.

“I forgot how seriously you take decorating for the holidays.” Brock chuckles, opening the box that he put all the ornaments back in earlier. He didn’t really forget, in fact, he missed it more than anything. That’s more than half the reason he spent so much time taking every single bauble off the tree. Yes, he wanted to make sure Christmas was as magical for you as it would’ve been back home, but he also selfishly wanted to share this moment with you too.

And he’d be lying if he said his heart isn’t full to brim right now with what he knows is love. Not that you can tell or would ever know that.

“The tree is serious business!” You exclaim with a chuckle, watching as Brock carefully starts removing ornaments from the box one at a time. He hands you a simple, but gorgeous blue ball to hang up first.

Slowly, but surely, the two of you decorate the tree with the wide variety of ornaments Brock has. He tells you the stories behind the ones his teammates have gifted him, shares the laughter with you when he stumbles across one that has a picture of him as a toddler in the picture frame and recounts the memories of family or solo vacations whenever he hands you one that was clearly bought at a tourist shop. There’s a soft smile on Brock’s face that never disappears and you swear he keeps sneaking glances at you.

The tree becomes more festive as each decoration once again finds a home on its branches and not for the first time today, you forget that this isn’t where you were meant to be for the holiday. But you’re kind of grateful for the snowstorm now. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten to do any of this with the man who you’ve wanted for years.

“It’s done!” You cheer with excitement when you place the last ornament on the tree. “We did a pretty good job. Don’t you think?” Stepping back to admire the beautiful work you both did, your shoulder bumps Brock’s and that familiar shock of warmth floods through your veins at the brief contact.

“It’s the best Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.” Brock responds playfully, but there's a faint tone of seriousness evident in his voice. His eyes are glistening in the glow of the lights and you can’t deny how perfect he looks so cozy and joyful like this.

A few seconds later, without you realizing, Brock slips away to put the box away until it was time to take all the holiday decorations down in a few weeks. But to his surprise, there is one last ornament sitting in the box that was somehow forgotten.

“Y/N,” Brock laughs, picking up the decoration. “We forgot one.”

“No way! What is it?” Nothing but curiosity and excitement is evident in your voice. You cross the room to Brock and lean into his side to see what the mystery ornament is.

And when you get a glimpse, your breath is stolen away. Because in Brock’s hand is a small photo of a grinning little boy and girl sitting together at a picnic table inside a picture frame made of colored popsicle sticks. The two words “best friends” are written in black marker across the bottom of the frame in a neat, but childish looking style of handwriting.

Recognition washes over you instantly.

“I made that,” You start, almost stunned as you look between the homemade ornament and Brock’s face.

“You did. Like decades ago.” Brock chuckles, the sound fills the room with happiness and light. He still remembers the day you gave him this little gift. It was the last day of summer camp and before you both said goodbye with a promise to see each other soon, you gave him the gift. For only being nine years old at the time, Brock thought it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. Plus, that way he had a little piece of you back home too.

Since then, he’s cherished this adorable, homemade ornament like nothing else. It always seemed a little silly to him, to hold onto a childhood craft, but seeing your reaction right now tells him it means just as much to you as it does to him.

“And you still have it. You kept it all this time?”

“Of course I did.”

“Why?” The question is gentle, but full of genuine interest. There’s a beat of comfortable silence as Brock battles with his thoughts for a moment. He knows this is it. This is the moment he finally tells you how he feels. All of the nerves and worries he had about confessing how his heart beats just for you falls away in mere seconds.

Your brows furrow at the strange look on his face. His blue eyes are full of an emotion you can’t place and the softest smile graces his lips. But more than anything, there’s a trace of clarity on display across his features. His gaze flicks down to your lips a few times before he speaks.

“Because you’re my best friend.” Brock whispers, each word carrying more weight than ever before. “But I don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.” He admits, a weight lifting off his shoulders as the words hang in the air for a moment.

He doesn’t have to say anything else because you know what it is right then. He is in love. With you.

“And you’re my best friend, but I want us to be more too.” Brock’s face practically lights up at your response, knowing that you feel the same way he does. It almost feels like a dream that after years, he doesn’t have to wonder anymore if you have fallen for him too.

“Can I kiss you?” Brock asks with a gentle voice as one hand settles on your hip before pulling you in closer. “We did somehow end up under the mistletoe.” He points up to where the collection of leaves are hanging in the entryway you’re both standing under. You can’t help but laugh at the sight and nothing but pure elation fills your heart.

“Yes, please.”

He cradles your cheek with one hand while the other stays on your hip, keeping you pressed against his body. You can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face before his lips catch yours in the softest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced. The rough feel of his scruff against your smooth skin makes you giggle a little bit, which Brock responds to by deepening the kiss even more.

It’s absolutely perfect. You’ve dreamt of this exact moment more times than you’d like to admit, but it’s everything and more. And by the way Brock is holding you, it’s obvious he’s been waiting for this too.

When he reluctantly pulls away a few seconds later, there’s a new glimmer that you’ve never seen before in his bright blue eyes. He looks like the human form of sunshine right now and you can’t take it. You reach up to brush a lock of blonde hair back off of Brock’s forehead. He gives your hip a reassuring squeeze, a reminder that this is in fact real.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Brock murmurs, his smile just mere centimeters away from yours.

“I think I do.”

And without hesitation, you lean in to kiss him again. Once because it’s been a long night, twice because it’ll be alright, three times because you waited your whole life.

Before any fears or worries can creep in and ruin the moment, Brock wraps you up in a tight hug. Your head rests against his chest where you can hear his steady heartbeat.

“We’ll figure everything out. I promise.” He says calmly, somehow knowing what your next thought is going to be. “But it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t want to do anything else but enjoy being here with you.”

“I’ve never been so grateful for a snowstorm in my life.” You laugh, pure bliss humming through your body.

“Me either. Who would’ve thought that’s all it would’ve taken for this to finally happen?”

Later that night, when you’re snuggled up with Brock on the couch watching Home Alone while Coolie and Milo sleep nearby, you realize that you did in fact get to spend Christmas at home even though you didn’t make it back to Minnesota. Because Brock is home. Just being in his arms brings you the same kind of comfort and love you cherish so deeply.

Almost as if he can sense that you’re getting lost in your thoughts, Brock raises a brow in silent question when you look up at him. You just smile in response before leaning up to kiss his cheek which earns you a sweet grin.

“Merry Christmas, Brock.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Brock murmurs softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “So happy my Christmas wish came true this year.”

#brock boeser #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #brock boeser fic #brock boeser fics #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser blurb #brock boeser blurbs #brock boeser imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #vancouver canucks #brock boeser fluff #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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punkshort · 1 year ago

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Chapter warnings: language, sexual situations, smut, blood and violence, angst, panic attacks

Chapter Nineteen

December 2004

The frigid winter snow whirled around you as you walked down the street, biting at your cheeks and nose as you made your way from Tommy's home to the greenhouse to start your shift. You shoved your gloved hands further into your coat pockets and tucked your chin into your chest, trying to prevent the icy snow from hitting your face. You knew the walk to the greenhouse like the back of your hand by now, relying on visual cues from the ground to keep you on track.

You were distracted with thoughts from earlier that morning, before Joel went off to work on construction of the wall around the new neighborhood. He started a few hours earlier than you, so he always tried his best to be as quiet as possible while he got ready, but you hadn't slept well last night, and you woke when you heard the shower turn off in the bathroom.

He had walked back into your room with only his jeans pulled on, unbuttoned and unzipped, with his hair slicked back. You could smell the soap on him from your spot on the bed as he rifled blindly through the closet to pick out a shirt. He twisted around when you reached up to flick the light on next to you.

"Shit, sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he said softly, turning back to the closet and giving you a view of his back muscles twitching under his beautiful, bronzed skin.

"Mmm, I'm not," you said as you leaned up in bed, your voice sultry and filled with sleep. He chuckled as he tugged a grey long sleeve thermal over his head. You swung your legs over the side of the mattress and padded over to him, wearing only an oversized t-shirt, your legs and feet bare. You wrapped your arms around his stomach from behind as he pulled a flannel from a hanger.

"Aren't you cold?" he murmured, trying to stay focused.

"A little," you admitted, running your hands lightly over his soft stomach, your fingers occasionally lifting the bottom of his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought one large hand up to cover both of yours.

"Maybe you should go back to bed. Warm up. You got a few hours before work," he said, cursing himself for his morality.

"Maybe you should join me," you suggested timidly, and his breath caught in his throat. The past few weeks he had noticed you were becoming flirtier and more suggestive, but neither of you had yet to physically take things further. Almost every night he would wrap you in his arms, your tongues probing desperately in each other's mouths, but that was all. In a moment of weakness once or twice he had skirted his hand underneath your shirt to graze your nipple, but the sounds you made and the way you arched up into his palm made him pull back, knowing he wouldn't be able to control himself if he continued.

“Sweetheart, I gotta get to work,” he told you gently, pulling your hands away from his stomach, but you let them fall to his hips instead, resting your head against his back. You could feel the vibrations of his voice against your cheek as he spoke. “It’d look bad for the boss to be late.”

You hummed as your hand shyly traveled down his hip to nudge at the hardness growing in his jeans. You could feel his body tense, waiting for your hand to shoot back to your side, but instead your fingers inched forward, tracing the outline of his cock through the denim. He let out a shaky breath when your hand fully covered his clothed length, his fist gripping the flannel still dangling at his side.

“Shit,” he whispered, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as your hand slowly ran up and down, lingering at the opening of his jeans. He could feel your hot breath through his shirt on his back, panting slightly in anticipation as you quickened the pace.

“Do you like that?” you whispered back, desperate to hear him. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes,” he muttered, taking his free hand from his side to brace against the wall. You smiled into his shirt, squeezing your thighs together, trying to find some friction for the ache that was building between your legs as your fingers reached the opening of his jeans and began to find their way to the flap of his boxers, but the hand holding his flannel jumped up to cover yours before you could find his skin.

“I-I don’t,” he stammered as he desperately tried to keep a clear head. “I mean, are you… fuck. You don’t have to –“

“Shh,” you said, and he sighed. “I want to. Please let me, Joel.” He thought about it for a minute before releasing your hand and letting his head fall forward to watch as your fingers reached through his boxers to pull out his cock, already leaking with precum. You wrapped your hand gently around him and slid your fist up, running your thumb over his slit to gather the wetness there and brought it back down. He dropped his flannel on the floor and braced both of his arms against the wall as he watched, slack jawed, while you pumped him up and down. You used slow, languid movements at first, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin in your palm, but you could tell from how tense his muscles were that he was desperate for release after so many months without your touch.

So, you flicked your wrist faster, deciding today was not the day to tease him. A groan bubbled up from his throat, his eyes glued to your hand as he began gasping for air.

“Shit, sweetheart, I ain’t gonna last long,” he croaked out, and you could already feel his stomach muscles tense against your arm. His hips thrusted weakly into your hand before an arm dropped and his hand gently grasped your wrist, guiding you up and down faster, showing you exactly what he liked, what he needed. He screwed his eyes shut as he felt his chest and neck grow flush.

"You gonna let go for me, baby?" you asked, mouth pressed against his back. He growled when he heard the term of endearment you reserved exclusively for moments like this.

"Yeah," he panted, "fuck, that feels so good."

It only took a few more strokes before he gasped, clenching his fist against the wall as he let out a strangled groan that vaguely resembled your name. You couldn't see, but you felt his hot spend painting your fist and dripping down your hand.

He stumbled forward, resting his forehead against the wall while you pulled your hand back and looked around, finding a washcloth Joel must have discarded when he entered the room. You offered it to him when you were done, and he weakly plucked it from your hand, turning around so his back was now leaning against the wall. He cleaned himself up and tossed it back on the pile of laundry, tucking his cock back into his jeans as he continued to catch his breath. He ran his fingers through his drying curls and looked you up and down, reaching out a hand for you to take before he pulled you against his heaving chest. You nuzzled into him before leaning back, intending to press a quick kiss against his lips, but instead his hands gripped the sides of your face, his heated gaze searching your eyes for something. You looked up at him longingly, then clutched his shirt in your hand and gave the material a tug, pulling him down to connect with his lips.

He began to walk you backwards towards the bed, your heart hammering in your chest as his tongue licked against your lips. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress and he gave you a gentle shove. You flopped backwards on top of the cool sheets, then he hooked his hands under your knees. You gasped as he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. He bent down, about to fall to his knees before you when there was a soft knock on the door. You both froze, staring at one another until you heard a second knock. You could see the pain on his face when he realized it was Tommy, probably wondering why he was late, and trying not to wake you up.

"Go," you whispered, and he shook his head angrily. You gave him a stern look and lifted a foot from the ground to press into his chest and push him backwards. He fell back on his heels but then stood up quickly, bringing his mouth to hover over yours.

"Later," he promised, his eyes raking over your body once more before whipping around to snatch his flannel from the floor. You tucked yourself back into bed before the door quickly opened and shut behind him, leaving you all alone until later.

It was no wonder you weren't paying attention when you walked straight into someone on your way to work. You stumbled backwards in shock when a pair of strong arms reached out to steady you. You flinched at the contact, still not fully comfortable with it, but it was something you were actively working on overcoming, so you refrained from wriggling out of his grasp. You looked up to find a man you had never seen in Jackson before. It wasn't uncommon with the way the town was growing lately. He had dark brown wavy hair, with some stubble covering his chiseled jaw and full lips. Your eyes finally came up to meet his, a piercing blue.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you told him, and this time you did pull away, taking a few steps back to introduce yourself.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jake," he said, shaking your hand.

"Sorry, I don't remember meeting you before, are you new?" you asked sheepishly.

"Yes, actually, Maria and Tommy just brought me in today. Tommy found me out there in the cold, offered me a place to stay. I was supposed to find him after I grabbed something to eat, but to be perfectly honest, I'm a little lost. Can you point me in the direction of the stables?"

"Of course, follow me," you said, turning away from the greenhouse to lead him in Tommy's direction. "This snow's coming down so fast it's hard to see your own hand in front of your face."

Jake chuckled and shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.

"Tell me about it. Couldn't believe my eyes when he rode up and found me out in the woods in this, like my own personal savior," he joked, falling in step next to you.

"Yeah, most of us feel like that about this place," you pointed when you saw the barn come into view through the snow. "Stables are right there." Jake turned to you and gave you a wide smile.

"Thank you so much for the help. I'll see you around," he said, giving you a friendly wave as he stomped through the snow towards the barn.

You turned to backtrack towards the greenhouse, your eyes naturally gravitating towards the end of the street where the new houses stood, all empty until construction on the wall was finished. You squinted to try to catch a glimpse of Joel, but the snow was so thick, you couldn't see a thing.

You swung the door to the greenhouse open and you were instantly hit with a familiar humid heat. You stripped off your outerwear and hung everything up on a hook by the door, glancing around at the rows and rows of plants in various stages of growth.

"Carrie?" you called out to your coworker, "I'm here, sorry I'm late!"

A young girl roughly the same age as you popped her head out from the office with a smile. She tossed her long, straight blonde hair over her shoulder as she rolled her desk chair out of the room to see you.

"No worries, that snow is really coming down out there," she said as you walked towards her down an aisle of medicinal herbs.

"It wasn't even the snow's fault. I ran into a new guy who was lost, I told him I would show him to the stables."

"Which new guy? Carl?" she asked, and you shook your head.

"No, a guy I haven't seen around before. Jake? Tommy found him in the woods this morning, apparently," you shrugged as you picked up a pair of gardening gloves and slid them on.

"Is he cute?" Carrie asked you excitedly, and you rolled your eyes. Carrie was sweet and fun, and she never seemed to let anything bring her down. It was refreshing, although at times you wondered how someone could be so upbeat living in this world.

"Actually... yes, he kind of is," and she squealed. You pointed your finger at her and gave her your most serious face. "Do NOT tell Joel I said that," you warned. She giggled and nodded, begging you for more details. You went about your daily routine of pruning and deadheading the plants while you described what he looked like as she hung on your every word.

"Maybe I'll see him tonight at dinner and I can introduce myself," she replied, unraveling a hose to water some vegetables.

"Mmm, good idea. I'm sure Maria will walk him around to meet everyone after we eat," you said, wiping at the beads of sweat forming at your brow.

"Oh, before I forget. Do you mind working solo tomorrow? Doc asked me to stop by in the morning to observe a prenatal exam on Kate." Carrie was in training to become a nurse. It was probably considered one of the most important jobs in Jackson. Maria was always concerned about there being enough medical staff in town, and Carrie was a quick learner.

"Of course, not a problem," you told her. "How far along is Kate now?"

Carrie went on to tell you all about everything about Kate and what she learned so far from Bill, the town's doctor. You guiltily tuned her out halfway through her ramblings about cervical dilation and let your thoughts wander back to Joel.

The two of you have been dancing around the elephant in the room for the past two months. At first, you were grateful he didn't want to take things further, content with being close to him and enjoying how intimate it felt to just kiss, with no expectation to have sex. Then, one night he got carried away and his rough fingers found their way up your sleep shirt, palming your breast with his big hand. You thought you would reject his touch, but to your surprise it never came. Something clicked in your brain that night that made you think you were finally ready. Maria told you once to listen to your body, and you did. You arched off the bed to chase his touch, moaning into his mouth. He quickly realized what he did and pulled his hand back, leaving you wanting more. It only happened a couple more times after that, and each time it had you craving his touch with a burning need.

Joel seemed content to just keep things the way they were, always worrying about pressuring you. You had been laying it on thick for the past couple weeks, trying to show him you were ready, that you wanted more, but he kept turning you down. Until this morning.

"Yoohoo, are you listening to me?" Carrie asked, waving her hand in front of your face. You blinked at her, trying to downplay the flush on your cheeks.

"Sorry, what did you say?" you said, genuinely apologetic.

"I said, did you notice Tommy and Maria were sitting together alone after dinner the other day having drinks? I think he finally got up the courage to ask her on a date."

You and Carrie giggled about Jackson's worst kept secret. The whole town could see how Tommy had puppy dog eyes for Maria. You had confronted her last week about the lack of progress in her love life, pointing out that as promised, Joel and Tommy taken some of the work off her plate, giving her more time for a personal life. After a few shots at the bar, she finally agreed that she would take Tommy up on his offer for a date.

The two of you spent the rest of the day gossiping and preparing for the next harvest until 5 o'clock finally rolled around and you eagerly stepped back out into the blustery cold, giving Carrie a quick wave goodbye. The snow had died down, but the wind was whipping up fallen snow from the ground, making visibility difficult as you walked back to Tommy's house. The anticipation of later had been eating at you all day, counting down the seconds until you finished work and could pick up where you left off this morning. Your pulse thudded in your throat when you saw fresh boot prints leading up to the front door. You hoped Joel called it quits early due to the bad weather.

You stomped the loose snow from your boots outside as you pushed the door open, quickly shutting it tight behind you. The warmth from the fireplace already melted the snow from your face as you shed your coat, hat, gloves and scarf. You wiped the wetness from your cheeks with the back of your hand. You were sliding your boots off when you heard men laughing from the direction of the kitchen table. Frowning, you poked your head around the corner. Tommy was the first to notice you, calling out your name and waving you over. Joel was sitting next to him, and a third man was sitting with his back to you.

Your eyes immediately met Joel's as you walked over to the table, taking in his heated stare the moment he realized you were home, but Tommy didn't pick up on the tension. Instead, he extended an arm out to the visitor and introduced you to him. The man turned around in his seat to greet you and you finally tore your eyes away from Joel.

"Jake?" you said, surprised. He broke out into a wide grin and gave you a friendly wave.

"Nice to see you again," he said warmly. Joel's jaw ticked to the side, on edge about the familiarity.

"You two already met?" Tommy asked, and you nodded, ignoring Joel's stare.

"Yeah, we ran into each other this morning," you said, and Jake laughed heartily at your words. You frowned, wondering what was so funny, until he explained.

"Literally, ran into each other," Jake explained, and you realized you had unintentionally made a joke and gave a polite chuckle. "I was lost trying to find the stables, she was kind enough to show me the way."

Joel visibly stiffened next to Jake now, and you suddenly wanted this interaction to end as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, the snow was bad this morning, could hardly see a thing," you said, daring a glance in Joel's direction now. You could swear his nostrils were flaring. You couldn't tell if it was the fire or his intense glare that was making you sweat.

"Well then, this makes things easier," Tommy said, leaning forward on the table. "Jake's gonna be staying in the spare room upstairs, across from you and Joel. 'Til we get the new neighborhood up and runnin'."

You thought you saw a flicker of something on Jake's face when Tommy mentioned you and Joel sharing a room, but he hid it well. Instead, he smiled at you both.

"I'm a neat roommate, I swear. You won't hear a peep out of me," he said, holding his hands in the air.

You mumbled something about welcoming him to the house and excused yourself to head upstairs, your head spinning. You weren't sure why you never thought about Tommy needing to lend his spare bedroom, but it made sense at the rate the town was growing. Of course the houses were maxed out.

Based on Joel's body language during the whole conversation, you weren't surprised in the least when he swung the bedroom door open less than ten minutes after you left, making sure to shut it firmly behind him. All day long you had been waiting to be alone with him, but the look in his eye right now made you believe the evening wasn't going in the direction you hoped.

"Hey there, 'pretty girl'," he said, but there was no affection in his tone. In fact, it almost sounded bitter to your ears. Your eyes darted around, confused.

"Hey?" you replied, unsure of where he was going with this.

"'Pretty girl'," he repeated, taking a step closer. "He said he ran into a 'pretty girl' this mornin'. Guess now I know who." You could see his neck was red and he was clenching his jaw. Every part of you wanted to start a fight with him. You clearly did nothing wrong and you didn't deserve his attitude, but you had been aching for him all day and you didn't want to waste another second alone with him.

"Oh," you said quietly, your expression soft as you took a step towards him, holding his gaze. "You don't think I'm pretty?" you asked innocently, batting your eyelashes at him. His eyes shifted around the room, not expecting your reaction.

"'Course I do, that's not what I said," he told you, straightening up and steeling his gaze.

"No, what you said was you 'didn't know who the pretty girl was he ran into this morning'. Who else did you think he ran into, then?" You took another step, now invading his personal space, and lifted your hands to rest on his chest.

"Maria?" you teased, pressing a kiss along his jaw. You felt a muscle jump there but otherwise he remained unaffected.

"Carrie?" you suggested again, turning your head to place another kiss on the other side of his jaw, and this time you saw him gulp.

"Maybe Pam, from the kitchen?" You dipped your head to suck on the side of his neck, but you barely made contact before he was lifting you up and tossing you on the bed, quickly crawling on top of you and covering your mouth with his, immediately flicking his tongue against your lips to delve deeper.

You moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you could, running your tongue alongside his as you explored his mouth, which tasted faintly like mint.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scraping your nails against his scalp in the way he liked that made him groan. His hand reached down to grab your ass, making you squeal into his mouth. You had to break away to catch your breath, but he kept going, making a trail of kisses along your jaw, sucking harder than usual when he got to your neck, making you cry out softly a few times until he soothingly licked the spots he marked.

"Joel," you whined, lifting your hips up to meet his.

"Hmm?" he said, nibbling at your collarbone.

"It's later," you reminded him, and you felt his body tense. He lifted himself off you and used his forearms to support himself on either side of your head as he gazed into your eyes.

"I need you to tell me exactly what you want, do you understand?" You nodded vigorously. "You need to be honest with me. Tell me what you're ready for, and what you ain't ready for, alright?" And again, you nodded, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," he whispered against your neck, and you felt like your heart was beating out of your chest.

"Your mouth," you murmured, and he smirked at the blush that spread across your cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, the words stoking a fire within you. He made his way slowly down your body: nipping at your breasts through your shirt, running his nose down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans and biting gently at the skin he revealed as he tugged them down until he pulled them from your ankles and tossed them on the floor. He hovered his mouth over your clothed cunt, his hot breath invading the thin fabric, making you writhe in anticipation.

He hooked his thumbs around the sides of your panties and barely gave them one small tug when, for the second time that day, Tommy interrupted you.

"Hey, Joel! Let's get a move on, dinner's served soon. Gotta bring Jake to meet everyone!" he yelled from downstairs. You groaned and threw an arm across your eyes, cursing Tommy over and over.

"What the fuck," you muttered, frustrated. Joel sighed.

"Comin'!" He shouted back, and you groaned.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make it up to you," he kissed the inside of your thigh and you whimpered, not sure how it would be possible to make it through another couple hours without his mouth on you.

The four of you and Maria sat around a table in the dining room listening to Jake tell the story of his experience during the outbreak. You thought you heard him mention he was from Seattle, but that was all you were able to absorb, your mind decidedly elsewhere.

You shifted in your chair, trying to distract yourself by glancing around the room. There were closer to 90 people who lived in Jackson now, and the dining hall was filled with their laughing and smiling faces. Carrie caught your eye from across the room. She pointed subtly towards Jake and mouthed the word 'hot', fanning herself while you stifled a giggle.

You felt Joel's thumb begin to rub a small circle on your back, his arm resting on the back of your chair. You had to keep yourself from leaning into him and burying your face in his neck, trying desperately to keep it together for just a little longer. As if he could sense your discomfort, he caught your eye when no one was paying attention and slowly ran his gaze up and down your body, making you shiver. He smirked, then casually lifted his glass to his lips, pretending to listen to Tommy while taking a slow sip. You watched his throat bob up and down and then he licked his lips, wiping away any remaining whiskey with his tongue.

Joel noticed your thighs squeezed together under the table as you tried to focus your attention back on the group, hoping the night would come to an early end. Maria was giggling at something Tommy said that you only half heard. Joel's effect on you had you feeling like you were drunk, but you hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all evening. Your gaze drifted around the table to find Jake looking at you, or more specifically, your neck. When he realized you caught him staring, he gave you a quick smile and turned his attention back on Maria. You subtly rubbed your neck, wondering what caught his attention when it hit you. Embarrassed, you pulled your hair over your shoulders to conceal the marks Joel left, but just as quickly as you did, Joel's fingers reached forward and flicked your hair back, exposing your neck again.

You turned to frown at him, but he was staring straight ahead, seemingly deeply engrossed with whatever Maria was saying until his eyes flicked to you and gave you a quick but firm shake of his head. He wanted everyone to see.

You couldn't take it anymore. You gave an exaggerated yawn before standing up from the table, drawing the attention of the group.

"I'm gonna head back, I didn't sleep well last night, and I'm wiped," you announced. Jake quickly stood up, pushing his chair back.

"I can walk you back, I've had quite the day myself," he said with a bright smile, but then just as quickly, Joel stood up, placing his hand on your lower back, and Jake's smile faltered.

"I got it. You should stay, mingle with some of the folks 'round here. They can give you the lay of the land." Joel said, unable to keep the frown from his face.

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, addressing you and only you. You nodded, not interested in whatever pissing match was developing between the two men.

"She's sure," Joel said lowly, almost like a growl, and you rolled your eyes at Maria, who muttered an "oh, brother," under her breath.

"Come on," you muttered, yanking Joel's arm away from the table and towards the door, leaving Jake to awkwardly sit back down, his eyes trailing after the two of you.

The cold night air took your breath away as you left the warmth of the Tipsy Bison, Joel's broad form following closely behind you.

"That was awkward," you murmured, burying your face in your scarf as you hurried down the street, eager to be alone with Joel and in the warmth of your bed.

"He's got a crush on you," he stated matter-of-factly, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Are you jealous?" you asked incredulously, and he scoffed. "Is that why you left these marks on my neck?"

He stopped in his tracks suddenly, and you nearly slid on some ice trying to come to a quick stop, turning to face him. The glow of the string lights hanging over the street illuminated his face, which you realized for the first time looked distressed and frustrated.

"Are you ok?" you asked him, your brows scrunching up in concern. He took a couple steps forward to close the gap between you and reached out a hand to pull your chin up to him, pressing his lips firmly against yours before pulling back, still holding your chin in his fingers.

"I'm fine. Just don't like anyone touchin' what's mine, is all," he said simply, dropping your chin from his grasp and continued to march down the street towards Tommy's house, leaving you breathless and hurrying to catch up. Part of you wanted to chastise him for claiming ownership over you, but you knew he didn't mean it in a bad way. Besides, you did the same thing to him in front of Amy, blatantly marking your territory by hanging all over him.

You caught up with him and looped your arm through his, pulling yourself closer as you walked.

"I'm not really tired, you know," you said, looking up at him. He tried to hide the smile that threatened to spill across his face.

"Yeah, I know," he smirked, and you felt your stomach flip.

You stumbled into your bedroom, Joel's arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his mouth finding a permeant home on your neck and shoulder. You twisted around as he kicked the door shut behind you, pulling him up by the collar, your mouths colliding messily. You whimpered at the heat behind his touch and kiss, which only served to spur him on. You fumbled with the button and zipper of your jeans, your hands not cooperating, shaking from anticipation. He swatted your hands away before breaking the kiss and sliding down to his knees before you. He peered up at you through his eyelashes, his gaze heated, and his pupils blown wide with need. His lips were parted and already swollen, and you imagined yours probably looked the same. His hands rested on the waistband of your jeans, and you wondered what was taking him so long until you realized he was looking to you for permission. Even in his wrecked state, he still had the presence of mind to check with you, which made you want him even more. You nodded, your eyelids heavy. You swallowed nervously as you watched him undo your jeans and slowly pull them down your legs, his eyes never leaving your clothed heat, which just so happened to be at perfect eye level.

He pulled both legs of your pants off and tossed them into a corner of the room once again, this time determined to not have any disruptions. Still on his knees, he ran his hands slowly and deliberately up the backs of your calves to your knees, and then finally resting on the backs of your thighs, right below your ass. You squirmed, one of your hands resting on his shoulder and the other finding a familiar grasp in his hair. He squeezed the backs of your thighs gently, bringing you forward ever so slightly so he could run his nose up and down the front of your underwear, drawing a low moan from your throat.

"Joel," you whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut, desperate to feel him on you.

"Hmm?" he said, burying his nose against you and inhaling deeply, making you blush when you felt your wetness soaking through the fabric, no doubt making contact with his skin.

"Please," you whispered, and he instantly scooped you up, pinning you to his chest by your legs, making you gasp and scramble to steady yourself, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He took a few steps and deposited you unceremoniously onto the bed, your hair spread out around you like a halo. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing your stomach, and your legs were spread wide before him. His breath hitched in his throat when he saw the dark spot of arousal leaking through the fabric, his cock twitching in his jeans.

"Tell me," he reminded you, his voice strained.

"Your mouth, Joel," you rasped, not caring how pathetic you sounded this time.

He cursed and his fingers hooked the sides of your panties, tugging them off quickly and pressing his palms against the inside of your thighs to rest them flat against the bed, exposing every inch of yourself to him. You gulped, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. You wiggled a little under his hold, your fingers finding clumps of the bedsheets to grip at your sides when you felt his hot exhale fan over cunt.

"Remember, you need to talk to me, alright?" he murmured, nipping gently at your inner thigh. "You gotta tell me what you want, or if you're uncomfortable."

You nodded and sighed, lifting your hips off the mattress greedily.

"I will, I promise," you whispered, then gasped when his mouth finally made contact. His beard was prickly against your skin as his tongue scooped inside you to collect the wetness waiting for him.

You arched your back off the mattress, your head thrown back in a silent scream. He hummed against you, pressing his lips flush against your folds and swirling his tongue into your opening, drawing out a satisfied moan from your throat.

He continued to lick and swirl his tongue into you lazily, like he had all the time in the world. The scratchy facial hair above his lip kept grazing against your clit as his tongue continued to probe into you, making your walls clench over and over. Your whole body felt hot as you struggled to catch your breath, your heart slamming against your rib cage.

His hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs and curled around so his palms could hold you open and still.

"Talk to me," he said, his voice muffled, his mouth was still pressed against your cunt.

"Good," you managed to choke out before taking a deeper breath, trying to clear your head so you could give him what he asked. "Really fucking good, Joel, fuck!" You gasped the last curse as his mouth finally traveled up to your swollen clit, flicking it with his tongue a few times before he sucked it into his mouth. Your vision was getting blurry, the sensation so intense it was causing tears to well up in your eyes. You blinked them away furiously so you could focus on Joel, wanting to commit the image of his head buried between your legs to memory, but one tear managed to escape down your cheek.

His gaze traveled up to your face at the exact moment you shed a tear, and he pulled back from you immediately. You let out a frustrated sob, your fingers gripping the sheets so hard you wondered if your nails would tear them. He brought himself up to hover over you on the bed, searching your eyes in a panic, but all you could focus on was his glistening mouth and the throbbing ache between your legs.

"What’d I do?" he asked, eyes widened in fear. You must have looked confused because he raised a hand to wipe away the tear from your cheek.

"Happy," you gasped out, "not sad, happy." And when he hesitated, you begged, "Please. I promise. You feel so good, please don't stop."

He seemed to believe you because he gave you a filthy smirk before finally descending back on your clit, picking up the same pace where he left off. You moaned softly as your hand drifted to the top of his head, tangling in his curls and bucking your hips up into his mouth. He groaned against you, the vibrations causing you to clench again around nothing. You could feel the pressure growing in your lower abdomen, but you were missing that full feeling inside that you needed to get you over the edge.

"Fingers," you managed to croak out, your head turned to the side, buried in the comforter. Joel slowed down upon hearing your request, feeling unsure. For the second time, he pulled back, eliciting a groan from you now.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently. He didn't want to throw cold water on the moment, but he was worried you weren't thinking it through. You turned your head and saw the concern behind his eyes, knowing full well he was thinking about what you went through the last time someone put their fingers inside you.

"Yes," you told him firmly. "I'm ready. I've given this a lot of thought, I swear."

He hesitated, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he brought his hand around to gently cup your inner thigh, stroking up and down your leg until you got used to his touch before he let his thumb swipe up through your folds, keeping his eyes glued to your face, making sure you didn't wince or shirk away before venturing further.

He placed his middle finger at your entrance and felt your walls clenching, trying to pull him in.

"Still ok?" he asked you with bated breath, and you nodded, spreading your legs further as he pushed his finger inside. He watched your back arch off the bed, your hands fisting the sheets next to you as you let out a whimper. He gave you a moment to adjust before slipping another finger inside and began to pump them in and out slowly, watching your reaction, his lips parted and his eyes blazing.

He could see the sheen of sweat covering your face in the moonlight, your eyes screwed shut as you parted your swollen lips, gasping with pleasure as the tension built back up inside you. He was so taken with watching you that you had to remind him again what you wanted.

"Joel," you whispered, "your mouth, please, I need - oh!" Your head tipped backwards again when his mouth enveloped your clit, alternating between sucking and swirling his tongue until he heard your breath stutter and felt your walls clench, warning him you were close. He flattened his tongue against your clit and rubbed it from side to side while he curled his fingers inside you to reach your sweet spot.

"Joel!" You cried out, not caring how loud you were or if anyone was home. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna... Don't stop, don't stop, don't -"

You broke your chant with a gasp when the wave of your orgasm washed over you, your thighs clenching around his head. He kept licking gently at your clit and slowed his thrusts as he felt you come down from your high, trying to prolong it as long as possible.

When he felt your body collapse under him, weak and satiated, he finally removed his fingers, giving your thighs small kisses that he trailed over your hips and up to your ribs, taking special care to kiss the pink scars there before he settled onto the bed beside you, listening to you catch your breath.

A few minutes later you heard the water turn on in the bathroom in the hall.

"Shit," you murmured sleepily, rolling onto your side so you could wrap your leg and arm around him. "They're home."

"Good," he smirked, and you looked up at him in the dark curiously, his eyes closed. "I want that punk to hear whose name you're screamin'."

You leaned up on your elbow to look down at him.

"So you did make those marks on purpose," you said, and he shrugged.

"Told you. Don't like anyone touchin' what's mine." He opened his eyes and looked at you, his gaze dark and burning.

"Where's this coming from?" you asked softly, your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. He shrugged and stretched his arm out to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you back down to lay on his chest.

"Don't know. Somethin' about the way he looks at you just... bothers me, I guess."

"I think he's just being friendly," you told him, and he scoffed. "He knows we share a room. I think he can connect the dots."

"Well, if he didn't before, he sure will now," he chuckled, and you swatted at his shoulder.

"You're filthy," you teased him as you stretched your neck up to bite at his jaw, and he grinned. You ran your hand over his chest and tucked it underneath the collar of his shirt, your palm seeking out the warm skin on his shoulder, and you sighed.

"I missed you," you whispered. He understood what you meant. You missed this. This part of your relationship, the physical part that has been absent for so long.

"Me, too," he murmured, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your arm.

"I gotta go wash up, alright?" he said, and you nodded, rolling off him with a yawn and yanking the sheets over your half naked body.

He closed the bedroom door quietly behind him. The light in the hallway was still on overhead as he made his way to the bathroom. Jake swung the door open and turned off the light, looking up in surprise when he noticed Joel. He gave him a tight smile, extending his arm towards the bathroom.

"All yours," he said, moving to the side as Joel reached a hand into the bathroom to flick the light on. He grunted and made to close the door when Jake spoke again.

"Wish she could've stayed a little longer, we all had a good time," he said, motioning towards the closed bedroom door. Joel stiffened, picking up how he specifically wished you had stayed.

"I made sure she had a real good time here." Joel fixed him with a stern gaze and spread his arms across the door frame of the bathroom.

Jake stared back, his jaw twitching ever so slightly before he forced a smile across his face and gave Joel a nod, then turned to head back to his bedroom. Joel's eyes followed him until his door closed, then turned back into the bathroom to wash up.

"What are you smiling about?" Carrie asked you, nudging you with her hip as she passed by you with a flat of herbs. You flushed, unaware you had been smiling when you were zoning out watering the plants, thinking about the night before. More specifically, Joel's face buried between your legs. You could still feel the slight burn his beard left on your inner thighs, noticing earlier that morning they were slightly pink.

"Nothing!" you said hurriedly, but Carrie caught on when she noticed your blush, giving you a knowing look.

"Suuuure," she said, playfully rolling her eyes. "Can you forget about Joel for two seconds? I need your help." You laughed, but you could feel your blush deepen.

"What do you need help with?" you asked, brushing your hands against your pants.

"I need you to put in a good word for me with your cute roommate," she said, batting her eyes at you. "We talked for a few minutes last night, I think we got along pretty well. Can you find out if he likes me?"

"'Likes' you?" you giggled. "How old are we?" Carrie laughed and swatted at your shoulder.

"Hey, we aren't all as lucky as you," she wiggled her eyebrows at you as she continued. "Most people struggle to find love in the apocalypse."

"Yeah, sure, I'll talk to him next time I see him," you agreed. She thanked you, and then you felt a rush of cold air enter the room, warning you someone entered the greenhouse. Her eyes flicked over your shoulder and grinned.

"Speak of the devil. Hi, Joel!" she said, and you whipped around as he walked up the aisle of plants, waving to Carrie and giving you a warm smile.

"You ladies talkin' about me?" he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. He smelled like pine trees and fresh fallen snow.

"You're cold," you said after you felt his lips press against your forehead.

"You wanna warm me up, sweetheart?" he mumbled, and Carrie waved you both away.

"The both of you, leave, before you make me sick," she said, but she was grinning when you turned your attention back to her.

"I was gonna take her to lunch, that alright?" Joel asked, and Carrie nodded.

"Yes, go enjoy yourselves. I'll just be here when you get back, all alone," she said dramatically.

"I'll bring you something!" you yelled over your shoulder, but Joel had already wrapped you in your coat and pushed you out the door.

"This winter's been bad. We're way behind schedule on the wall around those houses. Thought we'd be almost done by now," Joel lamented as he finished up his lunch. You smiled at Seth when he dropped off the wrapped sandwich you had requested for Carrie and picked up your empty plate.

"It's ok," you assured him, rubbing his arm from across the table. "So we all have to bunk together for a little while longer. We'll make it work."

"I was just hopin' to get you a home by now, like I promised," he said, leaning back in his chair but kept his arm outstretched, enjoying the contact.

"It's just a few extra months, I'll be patient," you said, giving him a wink. He grinned, then leaned forward to say something that would make you blush when his eyes landed on Jake entering the dining hall behind you. You watched Joel visibly stiffen and the smile drain from his face. Frowning, you looked behind you, spotting the source of his mood shift pick a seat up against the bar, and you turned back to Joel.

"You're still jealous?" you teased, but this time he didn't smile.

"Not jealous," he shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Jake and back onto you. "Just protectin' what's -"

"-mine. Yeah, I remember," you finished for him, rolling your eyes. "You know, I am capable of protecting myself, too."

Joel shifted in his seat and drew his hand back from yours to pull at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt, trying to block out the memory of the last man you protected yourself against.

"Yeah, I know. Just shouldn't have to," he mumbled. You could see Joel's mood was getting worse, then a thought occurred to you that might cheer him up.

"Well, I don't think you need to worry about Jake, do you know why?" you pushed, and he gave you a barely perceptible shrug.

"Carrie's got a big ol’ crush on him, she wants me to try to play matchmaker or something." He just continued to stare at you, not sure why you were telling him this.

"She's pretty. I'm sure he would be into her, too. If he really does have a thing for me, it will be a thing of the past very soon," you explained, then reached your hand across the table to him. "You don't have to worry, you know that, right?"

"All I do is worry," he said, shaking his head and weakly meeting your hand with his.

"I'm not gonna cheat on you, Joel," you said quietly, and his eyes shot up from the table.

"I know that sweetheart, it's not that. I'm sorry. I'm just... too much in my head or somethin'. I'll drop it." He rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand and gave you a small smile. You could tell he was being sincere, although you still couldn't figure out what was bothering him so much about Jake.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Jake turn around on his stool to look around the room, and an idea popped in your head. Before you could stop yourself, you stood up from your chair, Joel giving you a confused look as you rounded the table. He leaned back in his seat as you approached, looking up at you when you stopped in front of him. You sat down sideways in his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, crashing your mouth over his hungrily, your tongue flicking against his teeth. He opened his mouth so his tongue could slide against yours, and just as quickly as it happened, you pulled back, leaving him chasing your mouth for more.

"What was that for?" he asked you, his brown eyes a shade darker and a smirk twitching at his lips. You rolled your eyes in the direction of Jake without turning your head, pretending to fix his collar. Joel's gaze slid across the bar to find Jake had, in fact, seen your little show.

"C'mon, walk me back to work," you said, standing up to put on your jacket.

"Gimme a minute," said Joel, shifting in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose.

A couple days later, the snow had finally stopped falling. Joel warned you that morning he was going to work as late as he could to make up some of the time lost on the project due to the weather, so you made plans with Maria to have dinner together. You were dying for an update on her relationship with Tommy, so the timing was perfect.

You stomped the snow off your boots on Tommy's front porch before pushing the door open, the warmth of the fireplace instantly heating your chilled face.

"Tommy?" You called out as you shed your outerwear.

"Just me!" Jake called back from the kitchen, and you cringed. You knew Joel wouldn't like the idea of the two of you being alone, even though he told you he was going to let it go, you still didn't want to give him a reason to worry. You glanced at the clock. You were meeting Maria in 20 minutes, at least you had an excuse to leave.

"Hey," you said, poking your head into the kitchen. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans and a thermal forest green shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He brushed the hair out of his eyes when he looked up from the stove to smile at you.

"Hey, I'm making pasta, want any?" he asked, turning back to the stove.

"No thanks, I'm meeting Maria soon. But actually, do you have a minute? I've been meaning to ask you something." You forgot about your promise to Carrie, and now seemed perfect since you had some time to kill.

"Sure," he said, tossing a towel over his shoulder and leaning back, his palms gripping the edge of the counter behind him. "Just Maria? No Joel?"

"Girl’s night," you told him, pulling a stool up to the counter across from him. "This might sound super high school, but do you like anyone around town?" you asked, wincing at how dumb it sounded. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he cleared his throat, turning the burner off on the stove so he could give you his full attention.

"You don't have to answer that, it's just-"

"No," he said, leaning forward on the counter, his blue eyes drilling into yours. "It's fine. Yes, maybe I do like somebody. Why?"

"Well, someone I know has a crush on you, and she wanted me to feel you out, I guess? See if you'd be interested," you chuckled and you could feel your cheeks heating up. "This is so awkward, I'm sorry, I should've just told her to come talk to you herself."

Jake gave you a polite laugh, noticing your blush.

"It doesn't have to be awkward," he said with a grin, his hand inching towards you on the counter. "I didn't think she would be interested in me, I thought she was seeing someone," he said, regarding you carefully.

"Nope, she's single. So, you are interested?" you said excitedly. He nodded, his gaze dropping down to your mouth quickly before looking back up.

"Very," he murmured, and you clapped your hands together.

"That's great!" You glanced at the clock, realizing Maria would be there any minute. "Alright, well, I'll tell her at dinner-"

You were cut off when Jake's lips pressed firmly against your mouth, his hand coming up to grasp the back of your neck. You were frozen in shock, your mind scrambling at the unexpected contact, but when you felt his tongue trying to slip past your lips, you pushed backwards, nearly falling off your stool.

"What the fuck?" you yelled, wiping your mouth over the back of your hand. You stood up from the stool and walked backwards towards the front door, scowling at him. He looked genuinely confused, taking a step back to give you even more space.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were talking about yourself," he explained, raising his hands up in front of him.

"No! I was clearly referring to someone I know, why would you think that?"

"I don't know! I thought you were being cute about it, like you couldn't come out and say it was you, but I was obviously wrong, I'm so sorry," he apologized, his eyes pleading. "Maybe I was just hoping it was you," he said a little sadly, and you felt your shoulders droop.

"My friend, Carrie," you said weakly. "I work with her at the greenhouse. She met you the other night, long blonde hair." If it wasn't awkward before, it sure was now. He nodded.

"Yeah, I think I remember her," he said quietly, then looked down at the floor, embarrassed. You shifted your weight, desperately wanting this conversation to end.

"I'm supposed to meet Maria," you said, reaching for your coat. "I'll just... I'll tell Carrie to find you, or something," you mumbled, tugging on your gloves and heading out the door, figuring you would find Maria on the way.

"Joel's going to be so pissed," Maria said, her eyes wide. "You can't tell him."

"I have to!" you groaned and took another sip from your glass, the alcohol burning your throat. "If it was the other way around, I would want to know." You buried your face in your hands, your anxiety through the roof.

Maria sat back in her chair, sighing. She knew you were right.

"There's no good way to go about telling him,” she said, and you groaned again. "Just maybe make sure Jake is far away from you when you do."

The doors of the Tipsy Bison swung open, and you could hear Tommy and Joel's voices heading in your direction. You squeezed your eyes shut and downed the rest of your drink.

Joel snaked his arm around your waist, standing behind your stool at the bar, giving your shoulder a kiss.

"Hey," you said, giving him a weak smile. "Did you get a lot done?" He took the stool next to you and ordered a whiskey from Seth. Tommy and Maria were engrossed in a quiet conversation, and you were pretty sure you knew the topic.

"Still a lot to do, but we did as much as we could today. You feelin' alright?" he asked, noticing your demeanor. "You look a little pale."

"Mhmm, I feel fine," you said, avoiding his eyes and choosing to look around the bar instead. It was busy tonight. You could see Carrie with a group of friends across the room. You had no idea what you were going to tell her.

The doors opened again and this time, Jake walked in, his eyes scanning the room until he found you. He took a step forward, then stopped when he saw Joel, who was taking a sip from his glass, oblivious to his presence. Your pulse quickened in panic when you saw the determination in Jake's eyes. He raked his hand through his hair and forced himself to walk in your direction.

"Let's go home," you said hurriedly to Joel, sliding off your stool and tugging his arm. He gave you a surprised look, but slowly stood from his stool to join you.

"Why?" he asked, pulling his coat back on. Maria saw you both get up. You must have given her a look because she turned and saw Jake making his way over, and her eyes widened.

"Uh, you were right. I don't feel good, I want to go home. Let's go," you repeated, grabbing his hand and heading in the opposite direction.

"Well, hold on, lemme say bye to Tommy," he said, turning around, but you grabbed his chin and yanked it back to face you just as Jake had made his way through the crowd. Maria slid off her stool to stop him, distracting him while you made a break for it.

"Take me home, baby," you murmured, and you could see the heat behind his eyes when he heard your nickname for him.

"Yes, ma'am," he said lowly, and you pulled him into the throng of people, quickly making your way to the door.

Joel's hands were on you the minute you opened the door to Tommy's, walking you backwards into the kitchen and pushing you against the wall. His mouth latched onto your neck, and you moaned, tipping your head back, arching away from the wall and further into his body. You raked your hands up and down his back as he lifted you up to wrap your legs around his waist, pinning you between him and the wall when his mouth made its way to the other side of your neck. You gasped when you felt him bite at your collarbone. He pulled back to plant a quick kiss over the bite.

"Sorry," he murmured, squeezing your thighs. "I'm not tryin' to leave marks on purpose this time," he assured you. You froze, guilt washing over you for letting yourself get distracted. He felt your body tense, so he pulled back further to look you in the eye. He must have seen something he didn't like because he frowned and let you slide back down to the floor.

You chewed your lip, trying to think of the best way to tell him. He could see you struggling, and the fear started to bubble in his chest.

"I need to tell you something," you began, "but you need to promise not to freak out." He shook his head and stumbled back to sit on a stool pushed up against the kitchen counter. You could see his chest begin to heave and you stepped forward, placing a hand against his heart.

"Breathe," you whispered, and he slid his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth.

"Just tell me,” he said quietly, his eyes still closed. You could feel his heart fluttering under your fingertips.

"There was a small misunderstanding, but it's all resolved now," you tried again, and Joel nodded, his clenched jaw giving away his feelings.

"Jake kissed me," you said, quickly adding "but it really was a misunderstanding. I was trying to tell him Carrie had a crush on him, and I don't know how, but I guess the way I phrased it made it sound like I was talking about myself. But I handled it."

He hung his head, chin tucked into his chest. His shoulders rose up and down as he took slow, deep breaths, absorbing your words. You slowly dropped your hand from his heart, letting it dangle at your side.

"Say something," you whispered, your heart like a hummingbird in your chest, your ribs the cage.

"I'm gonna kill him," he said darkly. He brought his head back up to look at you now. His jaw was clenched, nose flared, and his eyes burned with rage. The tone in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

"Joel," you warned, "I told you. I took care of it. He apologized, it's not a problem."

His eyes flashed with anger as he stood up, his fists clenched at his sides.

"And I fuckin' told you!" he roared, making you jump back. "He's had his eye on you since he got here! He knows you're mine and he still put his fuckin' hands on you!"

He pushed past you towards the door, shoving his boots back on and grabbing his coat in his fist. He swung the door open and stormed out as you scrambled to put your boots and coat on.

"Joel!" you yelled after him on the street, trying to catch up. He didn't reply, just shoved his arms through his coat and continued heading toward the Tipsy Bison. You jogged, careful not to slip on any ice, and reached him just as he was within view of the bar. You grabbed his arm and dug your heels into the snow. He swiveled around so fast, you almost fell backwards. You swallowed hard when you saw his expression, his anger coming off him in waves.

"Please don't do this," you begged, gripping the sleeve of his coat so hard, your fingertips burned.

"I'm just gonna make sure it really is handled," he said lowly.

"How?" you whispered, unable to keep your voice steady.

"By breakin' his fuckin' jaw," he seethed, and he yanked his arm out of your grasp. He stormed up the steps and swung open the door to the bar, disappearing inside.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," you murmured to yourself, scrambling up the steps to the bar. You swung your head around, trying to find Joel, and then you spotted him. He was pushing his way through the crowd of people standing in groups around the bar, laughing and drinking, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

"Joel, stop!" you yelled, trying to follow him but getting swallowed up by the crowd. You kept shouting for him, but nobody heard you over the sound of the music and people talking.

"Jake!" You and the rest of the bar heard Joel roar, and the whole place fell silent, except for the music still playing. You struggled to push through everyone, now standing still and staring in the direction of Joel's voice.

You couldn't hear Jake's response, but you heard Joel.

"Outside. Now."

You broke through the crowd just in time to watch Joel grab Jake by the collar and drag him towards the front door. You and Maria exchanged panicked looks, then she pulled on Tommy's elbow, the three of you following in Joel's wake.

Outside, Joel had thrown Jake off the top step of the porch, sending him stumbling into the snow, but he managed to keep himself upright, swinging around with a scowl.

"Are you kidding me, man?" Jake said as Joel leisurely walked down the steps towards him. You vaguely realized a small crowd of people had joined you three outside, but you didn't bother to look.

"Joel," you tried again, your voice a little stronger now, but he held up a hand to silence you, eyes still fixed on Jake, stalking him like a predator. Jake looked past Joel's shoulder and met your eye.

"This who you want to be with?" He yelled to you, and your jaw fell open. "Look at him, he's crazy!"

"Don't talk to her," Joel snarled, and Jake let out a short laugh.

"Look, I get it," Jake said, backing up a couple steps. "It was an honest mistake. And I apologized right away."

Joel stopped, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You breathed a sigh of relief when Joel slowly turned his back on Jake and began heading towards you.

"Just thought you were looking for someone that could give you what you really need," Jake said to you.

Joel stopped in his tracks. You could see the switch flip, the same way you saw it in that closet in Kansas City.

"Shit," you whispered.

Joel spun around, punching Jake square in the nose with a distinct crunch. He stumbled back, clutching his nose, which was bleeding from both nostrils. He still managed to swing on Joel, hitting him in the eye. Joel lunged again, but Jake ducked and landed another punch, across the mouth this time, causing blood to drip from Joel's lip.

You covered your mouth with both hands, tears welling up in your eyes as you watched the brawl in horror, helpless to stop it.

Jake dodged another punch from Joel and tackled him around the middle, pinning him to the ground. He was only able to land one more punch before Joel rolled him over, now pinning Jake into the snow. Once Joel had the upper hand, it was over. His fists were merciless as he slammed into Jake's face over and over. It was silent except for Joel's grunts when he made contact, and the wet, mushy thud of his knuckles tearing into Jake's flesh. You realized Jake hadn't lifted an arm to defend himself after about the third punch, but Joel was still going, his eyes wild and uncaring.

"Joel!" You screamed, trying to snap him out of it. He either couldn't hear you, or he ignored you. You turned to the side, to the crowd of people watching the bloody scene before them, dumbstruck.

"Tommy!" You sobbed, his eyes glued to Joel, his jaw slack. Tommy blinked and looked at you, then realized what you were asking and rushed over to pull Joel away.

Maria seemed to snap out of it when she heard you yell, directing two men to help Jake up and take him to the infirmary. Tommy had Joel standing several feet away, his hand firmly on Joel's heaving chest as he quietly tried to talk sense into him. His knuckles were shredded, his eye swollen, already turning black and blue, and his face was splashed with blood. Some his, some Jake's.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, trickling hot paths across your cold skin. Maria pulled you into a hug and you sobbed on her shoulder.

"Why don't I take you home?" she murmured against your hair. You shook your head.

"I can't," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears washing over you. Maria shushed you and waved the crowd away, trying to protect you from prying eyes.

"You can stay with me," she offered. "I have an extra bed, it's small, but it'll do." You sniffled and pulled away, nodding.

"Thank you," you told her. You could already feel your eyes were puffy from crying.

She led you down the steps, past the snow painted in bright red blood. Joel seemed to finally come back down to earth when you passed him. He called out your name, but you ignored him, the same way he ignored you.

You heard Tommy say something to Joel about giving you some time, to go have a drink and get patched up. You could tell Joel was resisting but Tommy must have convinced him because he never followed.

Maria helped you pack some of your clothes while you grabbed anything you might need from the bathroom as quickly as possible. You were walking down the hallway when you heard the door shut and both Tommy and Joel's voices talking softly downstairs. You scurried into the bedroom and shut the door behind you.

"I think I have enough of your clothes, are you all set?" she asked as you shoved your toiletries into your backpack.

"Yeah, it'll be fine, I can come back if I need to," you told her, zipping the bag shut. You heard someone coming up the stairs and your heart began to hammer in your chest.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay and talk this out with him? You're always welcome at my place, don't get me wrong," she said hurriedly before Joel got to the door. You shook your head.

"I can't. Not tonight. I just... can't," you repeated, keeping your head down to hide the tears that were forming. You heard a soft knock on the door and looked up at Maria.

"I'll be downstairs, take your time," she said, and you nodded, your back to the door as you reopened your bag and shuffled some things around to try to look busy. She opened the door, unable to hide her shock from seeing Joel's face up close. She squeezed by him and muttered something about finding Tommy, then you heard the door shut softly.

"Where are you goin'?" Joel asked you, and you swore he sounded nervous. Good.

"Maria's," you said, your voice clipped. You heard him take a step towards you, then stop.

"Please stay," he begged softly, and you damn near gave in. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath, standing up to finally look at him, and you gasped. His eye was a deeper blue color now and more swollen than before. You wondered if he could even see. His face had been cleaned up from the blood, but his lip was still split, as well as a cut on his cheek you didn't notice before.

He visibly winced at your reaction, and again, you had to fight the urge to go to him.

"I don't think so, Joel," you whispered, then cleared your throat, trying to sound stronger. "I need some space."

His face crumpled at your words, and he hung his head in shame.

"I can explain," he said, looking back up to you, but you held your hand up to stop him.

"Do you even realize what you've done?" you asked him, your brows furrowed. "They could throw you out of here. They could throw me out of here."

"That'll never happen," he said firmly, but you shook your head.

"You don't know that, Joel. It's a goddamn vote. If people think we aren't good for this place, we're fucking gone," you snapped. Your anger was bubbling up now.

For the second time, Joel looked nervous. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and shifted his weight.

You sighed and picked up your bag, heading for the door.

"Wait, just... wait a minute, can we talk about this?" he asked, putting a hand on your arm. You looked down at his knuckles, all torn apart and still weeping a small trail of blood.

"I don't have anything more to say," you said. "I just need some time."

Reluctantly, Joel dropped his hand from your arm. You swung the door open, closing it behind you without giving another glance in his direction, and headed downstairs to Maria.

Chapter Twenty

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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towards-toramunda · 1 year ago

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Ashton Greymoore is from Crown Heights and works in a neighborhood deli and he makes the best chopped cheese New York City has ever seen and gets paid $18 an hour so you better fucking tip

Orym is from a small town in northern Vermont that voted 97% Bernie Sanders and he is rarely seen without the green thick flannel that he got from his stepdad before he passed. He helps run a martial training summer camp, but works at a grocery store most of the time.

Laudna is big in the Portland goth scene because she works at a taxidermy shop where people bring her their beloved dearly departed pets and she brings them back to life as statues.

Imogen lives in Tennessee and works at a horse ranch that rents out for kids birthday parties. She has a therapist that she goes to twice a week and she takes at least five different medications for her mental health.

Chetney is from northern Wisconsin where he lives in a cabin by himself and crafts the most gorgeous wooden furniture and statues. He thinks its funny when people complain about deep snow during the winter. He goes ice fishing and wears T-shirts with wolves howling at the moon.

FCG is from Huntsville Alabama where they used to work at the Space and Rocket center, but he recently discovered Christ and he’s really into it. They’ve never touched a bible but really likes the concept of being Christian so he figures its good.

Fearne was born and raised in Los Angeles to a wealthy and famous celebrity couple who left her with their housekeeper most of the time. She likes to garden and has a weird fascination with fire. She’s a nepo baby so shes never worked a day in her life and doesn’t know what “clopening” means.

#bells hells as different US stereotypes bc why not #critical role #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #laudna #imogen temult #chetney pock o'pea #fcg

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spicymambaae · 11 months ago

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Morning Shenanigans

It was a typical Wednesday morning for Aespa. The sun was streaming through the curtains, signaling the start of another busy day.

Winter stared at the clock, tapping her foot impatiently. Their schedule was tight, and Karina was still sound asleep, face planted into the pillow. The alarm clock's annoying beeping had failed to budge her.

"Karina, wake up! We've got that meeting in an hour, remember?" Winter called out, giving Karina a gentle shake. “Come on, the girls are waiting.”

Karina mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

Winter sighed, realizing that gentle shakes weren't going to cut it this time. Determined to get her girlfriend moving, Winter hatched a plan. With a mischievous grin, she carefully climbed onto the bed and, with the grace of a ninja, straddled Karina's back.

Sitting there, Winter began to knead Karina's shoulders. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead! We've got places to be!" cheerfully declared, as she worked her magic on Karina's tense muscles.

But nope, no response from Karina.

“This woman seems to be dead” Winter thought.

That’s when she decided to take a new approach. She bent down and buried her hand in Karina’s hair, giving her a light massage, her perky breasts rubbing on Karina’s back. Her lips inched closer and placed several kisses on her neck, which made Karina stir slightly. Winter then slid her free hand under Karina’s oversized t-shirt, slowly caressing her back.

“Do you feel this?” Winter whispered in Karina’s ear. She knew she was already awake. She could feel Karina's heart racing beneath her touch, but Winter was starting to feel aroused and wanted to have some fun before kicking off their day. “And this? Do you feel this? Winter pulled her hair and Karina moaned softly.

Winter ran her tongue on Karina’s neck and slightly sucked on her skin. “This woman is fucking delicious” she thought. Winter removed her hand from inside her shirt and lowered her body so that her hands can caress Karina’s ass. It was so tight and plump, she couldn’t help but to squeeze it, making Karina let out an almost inaudible moan that made Winter even more aroused.

In a swift move, Winter got off her and put her hands on the elastic of Karina’s shorts, lowering them to her knees, along with her panties. She could swear that Karina cocked her ass to make it easy for her to remove them.

Winter couldn't help but salivate upon Karina's naked ass in all its glory. It was a sight to behold – firm, smooth, and inviting. Unable to resist, Winter leaned forward and gently bit Karina's ass, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh just enough to leave a gentle mark. Karina let out a sharp moan, but remained still.

She cocked her ass even more, presenting herself to Winter with a silent invitation. Winter found herself entranced by the sight of Karina's pussy – wet, swollen and begging for attention.

She slit her finger down the curve of Karina’s ass until reaching her pussy. She put the tip of her finger right at her tight hole, and Karina buried her head on the pillow, her hands clutched the bed sheet tightly. Winter began to rub Karina's pussy up and down, bringing her wetness all over the delicious, swollen lips.

She suddenly cut the contact and removed Karina’s shorts and panties completely, going up her body and kissing her neck.

In a swift movement, Karina turned her body, throwing Winter on the bed, who let out a short squeal in surprise. Karina climbed on top of her, pinning her hands up. She sat on her belly, making her drenched pussy come into contact with Winter’s skin as she was wearing a top. Winter moaned at the touch. She couldn’t see her pussy as the t-shirt was too big, but she could feel her wetness. She could even swear that she could feel her taste.

“I think you’ll have to wake me up like this every day” Karina said with a mischievous face.

„What the…get off me” Winter said with pursed lips. “You were awake the whole time, you bitch.”

(I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself)

“As if you didn’t know you little pervert.” Karina said rolling her eyes and she began distributing kisses on Winter’s neck as she rubbed her pussy on her belly, it slid so easily since she was completely wet.

“Seriously, get off me” Winter laughed. “We have to go, we’re already late!”

Karina arched an eyebrow.

“Are you going to leave me in this state?” Karina lifted her shirt and leaned back, resting her hands on Winter’s thighs and opening her legs wide. Winter’s brain short-circuited and she just couldn’t stop staring at the glistening pussy before her.

“Hmm? Are you?” Karina asked deviously.

Karina then supported herself on one hand and the other she brought to her pussy, opening her slick folds. Winter could see her cum dripping.

“I…Kar…baby…” Winter couldn’t even formulate a coherent sentence.

“Just look, Winter, look what you did to me.” With her index finger Karina gave light taps on the entrance of her pussy, causing the liquid to form a string between her finger and her pussy. She slid her finger up and slowly circled her clit. Winter had no other choice but to watch everything attentively.

Karina then began to rub her swollen clit with two fingers and every time she did it, she moaned in satisfaction, her eyes locked on Winter’s. No longer being able to handle it, Winter held her thighs and with her thumbs touched her soft pussy. In a rough act, Karina removed Winter’s hands from her body.

“Enough!” Karina said getting off Winter. “The girls are waiting, let’s go.” She said leaving with a smirk on her face.

#omg I hate her #aespa #aespa smut #winrina smut #jiminjeong smut #aespa karina smut #aespa winter smut #kim minjeong #yoo jimin #lovey: one shots

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bigdumbbambieyes · 1 year ago

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Winter comes, blowing frigid air through Hawkins, covering the ground with a thick layer of snow and the roads in slick ice.

And the air is so cold it hurts Billy’s face.

He frowns, nearly glowers, at the way his breath and cigarette smoke seem to dance in the air in front of him, visible for a second or two before floating away.

His leather jacket becomes stiff and cold when he stands outside the school this early in the morning, stuffing his glove-less hands into his pockets, feeling the cold scrape of the metal zipper against his nearly frozen skin.

It fucking sucks.

Even the tips of his ears are cold.

He smokes only half of his cig before he tosses it against the brick and rushes back inside, grabbing the cold metal handle of the door and rushing inside, his shoulders all the way up to his ears as he shudders.

There, down the hall at his locker, is Steve. Waiting for him.

“Damn,” the pretty boy grins, “Cold enough for you, Hargrove?”

He glowers at Steve the same way he’d done to the air outside moments ago, shoving the brunet back so he can yank his locker door open and fish around for his notebook and pencil.

He feels warm fingers on the tips of his ears, probably red from how cold they are, and he smacks Steve’s hand away as the pretty boy laughs at his misery.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Steve hums, and Billy ignores him as he looks for the right textbook.

A beat of silence passes before Steve’s grabbing at his leather jacket, still stiff from the cold weather, and says, “You’re wearing the worst thing for cold weather, too.”

Billy flicks his gaze over, narrows his eyes at Steve as he mutters, “It’s the only one I got.” Because he’s never needed anything thicker, anything warmer. The sun was enough for him, back home.

Their eyes meet and Billy feels the sun’s warmth as he looks into those dark eyes, watching Steve shrug off his jacket and hand it to Billy.

He would say Steve ‘offered’ it to him, but that would be wrong. There’s no option here — Steve hands him the jacket and so Billy shrugs off his own and shoves it into his locker to thaw. He pulls on the white and red jacket Steve wore under his parka, the warmth of his body still lingering in it, just like his cologne.

Billy can’t help the small sniffle he makes as his nose nearly drips, also thawing from the cold.

“Better?” Steve asks with a small, knowing smile.

“S’alright,” Billy murmurs with a half shrug, finally pulling out his textbook and notebook and slamming his locker shut.

“Looks good, too,” Steve adds quietly, smiling a little wider, making Billy feel fucking stupid for the way his stomach flips.

He clenches his jaw and eyes Steve, imagining how he must look, standing there in the dumb jacket over his black t-shirt and blue jeans, his ears and nose still pink from the cold.

And his eyes, bright blue, don’t look away from the pretty boy until Steve’s leading the way to class.

❄️

The next morning, Billy opens his locker to find a parka left inside. In the pocket, a note:

Stay warm.

Steve

Billy wears the coat all winter long.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #YES it’s winter #NO there’s no snow on the ground where i live #and it’s frustrating bc we ALWAYS GET SNOW #so here is some winter musings to pass the time until it comes 🤍#bambiwrites

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badnoahmens · 1 year ago

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4am

Noah Sebastian x reader

A/N Do yourself a favour and watch this quick scene from the TV show ‘Dave’, it was the kind of thing I was going for, but just at a different time and place, and just less sad. Thanks!

4:07 am. The dim glow of the alarm clock illuminated the room just enough to make out silhouettes of the furniture. There was the low hum of the wind outside that was the soundtrack for this winter night. There was a chill in the air that made the thought of leaving the comfort of your bed seem almost impossible, but as you rolled to see the vacant spot next to you, you couldn’t help but wonder where Noah was.

Tentatively, you slip one foot, then another, from the cave of warmth you have created, and tip-toe lightly to the door that was slightly ajar. From around the corner you could see light, growing stronger the closer you walked down the hallway. As you turn the corner, you could hear a tune, being played repeatedly, over and over again. It would start, sometimes play for 10 or so seconds, before starting again. Each time it played there were slight changes to the pitch of a note, altered to best suit the melody being played.

A sigh escapes you as you know exactly what has happened. Once again, Noah, your boyfriend of 6 years, has allowed himself to be all-consumed by his music yet again, staying up until ungodly hours trying to perfect his craft. You step around the corner, seeing the profile of Noah, who looked like he was in a trance-state with eyes fixated on the screen, headphones adorned over his beanie with his hair poking out at the bottom. He was still dressed in the same clothes as the day before, a long-sleeve white t-shirt and a pair of black jogger pants, although now it looked like they were wearing him instead. He was slouched over, hands moving ever so slightly with the flick of the mouse or a stroke of the keyboard. Bags hung under his eyes, and his eyelids looked heavy. You could almost see the reflection of the screen and the colourful bars from Logic Pro X in his eyes, like he was hypnotised by it.

His hand raised and adjusted the headphones that were blocking out any sound other than his current project, long fingers grazing some of the buttons on the side and shifting them so they fit more comfortably. Without looking to his side, he reached over towards the door, closer towards you, as he hovered his hand in the air in search of what you assume was his guitar. You could see it, it’s long neck laying against the couch behind him. He still absentmindedly waved his hand trying to locate the guitar, but it also looked like he forgot what he was doing. His arm dropped with a slight thud to land on the desk next to him. When his arm retreated, he hung his head and rested it in one hand, the other slipping off the headphones and then joining to support his hidden face, now behind his palms, with elbows leaning on the desk and nudging the keyboard away from him.

You heard him huff, and decided you needed to step in, otherwise he would keep going until he dropped dead. With a very gentle step forward, you place a hand gently on his shoulder. He tilts his head up and you finally get to see his full face, and it was worse than you had thought. The poor man looked like the lights were out inside, but somehow he was just sleep-walking his way through this editing process. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks, and this album was always on his mind. It made you wonder how it wasn’t making him go crazy, but then again, with what you saw in front of you, maybe he wasn’t far off. When he looked into your eyes he almost looked guilty, like he felt bad for what he was doing. You give him a small smile and walk closer, this time both hands snake their way around his chest as you stand behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder and lean into him, and he does the same back to you. It was so comforting the way that he responded to your touch. Your hands interlocked over his shirt, and one of his hands came up to intertwine with yours. Still no words had been spoken, but you knew that he needed you there for just a moment.

“How is it sounding?” you ask, and he strains his neck to the side to look at you with a puzzled look on his face. You guess he was expecting you to be upset, or even mad at him, but how could you ever.

“Uh, I think this track is nearly done. I switched up some of the melody so now it has a panpipe, and have a listen to this harp track I put in…” his fingers flicked over the mouse again, and the colourful bars zipped past on the screen right back to the start of the song. He tapped the space bar, and leant back in his chair. As the tune began to play, you slipped around and sat atop his lap, swinging legs over the side of his chair and curling up onto his chest.

One of his hands held your back, and the other rested on top of your knees, tapping along with an imaginary click-track that you are sure was playing non-stop in his own mind.

It was a new song, one you hadn’t heard yet. You thought you had heard them all by this point, but this one took you by surprise. It was slower, more drawn out, and it took its time to build up and work through the first verse.

“I haven’t heard this one before” you whisper, as though not to interrupt the song playing.

“I only made it today,” Noah responded, a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry”.

“Did you really just apologise? For doing something you love? And maybe staying up a little late because you want it to be perfect?” you look at him with an eyebrow raised, hands knotted behind his neck.

“I’ve got an idea” he says, reaching over and grasping a second pair of headphones. He delicately places them on your head, tucking your hair back so that the headphones sit snugly. He picks up his own headphones again while skipping back to the beginning of the song. It starts delicately and quietly, and before the melody begins Noah starts speaking into his microphone.

“What if we add a little adlib to the start?” he spoke, and you saw the little bars indicating it was recording on the screen jump up and down.

You lean forward and reply, “what kind of thing are you thinking of?” It was a little startling hearing your own voice reverberated through the microphones, and you could pick up just the most subtle hint of a pitch corrector to make your voice sound more fluid.

“I don’t even know,” he said through a smile. His eyes were drooping, half closed and you could tell he had an idea but his brain wouldn’t let him process it.

“What if we just talk?” you say, starting to speak in a sing-songy voice. Noah starts the song again, and starts a new recording.

“You know that it’s 4am…. and you are here with me…” he spoke, elongating some words to match the tempo of the beat.

“No place I’d raaaath-er be” you sing, “but what is this soooong about?”

“Why don’t you fiiiind out,” Noah sings back. Somehow even in his state, at this hour, and even with just talking, he manages to hit perfect notes.

“Is it a haaaappy one?” you ask, still trying your best to not sound too forced, but when you were comparing yourself to Noah’s vocals, there wasn’t any chance of sounding good.

“It’s aaaabout us” he responded, “so it’s the best- song- I- have- done.” Drawing out the last part of his sentence, timing it perfectly with when the tune began to change.

You lean back into Noah’s chest, the headphones pushed against his chest distorting his shirt just enough so the tattoos on his chest were a little more exposed. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, almost nudging the band of the headphones with his nose.

As the two of you listen to the rest of the song, and you really started listening to the lyrics, you couldn’t help but smile and feel a warmth inside you grow beyond measure. It was a story being told, your story. The one of how you met, how Noah was so nervous to talk to you he actually avoided it. He had told you about this long after you started dating, and how he kicks himself now because of it. The story continues, describing his perspective of when you started spending more time together. He talks about the thoughts in his head, the doubts he believed, thinking he wasn’t good enough for you. There was even mention of the time where he let those thoughts win and you had to convince him otherwise.

It was a raw and rare insight into his mind, and what a beautiful and scary place it must be. Knowing only little of what he had been through before you met, you knew his trauma from his past still haunted him today, and you did everything in your power to try and keep those ghosts away.

You were caught up in your own thoughts while still listening to the song, in a little bit of disbelief at the sudden vulnerability he was willing to share with the world.

“That’s beautiful” you comment, wiping a tear away that you hadn’t realised had formed.

He lets out a half laugh and glances back at the screen, scrolling along through the tracking of the song. “It’s been a lot of work, but it’s getting there. It took me a long time to try and find the right words. Album number 4 has to be my best work yet” he comments. You know more than anyone that he is his own harshest critic, and the pressure he puts on himself is more than anything else you have witnessed.

“Do you think maybe, now with something new added, stepping away from it for a little while will help? Come back to it with a fresh view?” you ask, being very careful to choose which words don't sound demanding.

“Maybe you’re right” he commented, making a few more final clicks to ensure that his project was saved, before switching off the screen. A new and comforting darkness fell in the room, and you slowly stood up from Noah’s lap. He reaches up, and wraps his decorated hands in yours. You tug a little, and he listens, standing up next to you. You start to walk out of the room, and he blindly follows you, feet falling a little clumsily and you think he is starting to fall asleep standing up. You guide him back to the bedroom, pull the covers off and give him a gentle shove. He falls back and chuckles as he does, head hitting the pillow for the first time in a while. It wouldn’t be rare for him to just not come to bed some nights, sleeping on the couch that was in his studio, and sometimes even at the very desk you found him at.

As you walk around to your side of the bed and climb in, you can just make out the outline of his face. Your finger delicately traces the sides of his cheeks, down and across his chin, back up and along the bridge of his nose, and then your fingers intertwine with his hair, smoothing back some of the locks and pushing his beanie off his head. He was humming, enjoying the touch. It didn’t take long at all, less than 30 seconds, and his facial expressions relaxed, mouth hanging slightly ajar, and breathing pattern falling into a steady rhythm.

He fell asleep so quickly it made you think that if you hadn’t gone to him, he would have been there all night, either awake or with his head on the desk. You loved that he loved his work, that he was so passionate about what he did, but it came as a curse too. No one knew how hard he worked, no one knew how much his own judgements ruled his life. So you did everything in your power to help him, be by his side, there when he needed you, even if he didn’t even know it himself.

#bad omens #bad omens band #noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #bad omens fanfiction #fan fiction #noah sebastian fan fiction #fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult #bad omens fan fics

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jellyskink · 22 days ago

Note

It's "bean" a while since we last had coffee

"Alright I'll have your drinks out in a couple of minutes! Please take a seat at one of the tables while we get to making your order."

It was another day of weirdness, annoyances, and surprisingly no work.

The cafe was a small, comfortable size, scented strongly by a different array of coffees, teas, and other desserts it offered.

It was worn down for sure, but I suppose the different houseplants that decorated the place along with the "unique" pieces of art displayed throughout the shop and on the wall definitely gave it a unique charm.

At the very least it was much warmer and comfortable than the freezin' cold outside.

The weather had shifted to autumn again, although based on the bone chilling air it felt like winter could creep up from behind like an adult tooth following the baby one.

"Thank you, please keep the change."

Irene said, handing the barista an additional three dollars ontop of what she had already paid for our drinks.

(I really don't see the point in tipping for a couple of drinks, let alone during a time when it was difficult to have the money to spend on little luxuries like this.)

Still, it was her money, and she was the one covering the bill this time, so who was I to complain?

I was visiting a local coffee shop with my "friend" Irene Oleander. Maybe "acquaintance" would be the better word, but I didn't really have any kind of friends outside of the guys from the bar.

Irene herself wasn't the worst to be around, I'd say she definitely was one of the least annoying people to be around.... usually at least.

Today to my surprise she was wearing a different outfit besides her usual "t shirt and jeans" look when she wasn't off work.

From what I could see, she was wearing some kind of high-low cut orange boho-chic dress with black tights and knee high brown boots. Layered over her upper body was a dorky dark orange oversized sweater. On said sweater there was a picture of a cat wearing a cowboy hat and cartoony mustache with the words "Meowdy Partner" knitted on it. Covering everything was a dark brown overcoat which reached to her mid calf.

To top it all off, she was wearing a black greek fisherman's cap, with a big golden cat shaped pin attached to it.

Besides her usual glasses and earrings I hardly recognized the woman in front of me.

(I'm surprised she looks so... nice today. It's rare to see her look so put together on one of her days off. It almost makes me regret wearin' my t-shirt, jeans, and jacket combo... almost.)

"Alright Yusuf, is there anywhere in particular you'd like to sit?" Irene asked.

"As long as we aren't sittin' anywhere near the door I'm happy wherever."

"Alright then, how about over there near the window?"

Before I had a chance to respond further Irene promptly walked over to a table nearby the counter and plopped herself down.

"Eh why not?" I replied.

With that I followed suit and made myself comfortable as sat down and took off my jacket and gloves.

Irene took off her coat as well, although it did take her a couple of minutes to realize she was still wearing it.

"So... this is new for you. Is there any special reason why?"

"No, I've been wanting to try out different fashion styles lately. I'd have tried this sort of thing out sooner, but you know how work is for me."

(Boy did I ever know that, when she wasn't talking my ear off about how her work-life was, she was either talking about her cat or that weirdo patient of hers, Ford Pines.)

"What do you think about it by the way?"

(Honestly I'm surprised, Irene was really good at dressing professionally, but when it came to anything outside of that she usually struggled a lot to not look like a hot mess most of the time.)

"It's nice, it definitely fits you. Down to the cat stuff that I'm sure you couldn't live without" I teased.

"Well I'm glad my hard work paid off, and for your information the cat accessories was a personal touch of mine as they say. I read in many fashion magazines that doing that personalizes an outfit and makes you enjoy it even more, I'd definitely say there's truth to it!"

(It was really funny to catch her off guard sometimes, I enjoyed doin' it whenever I could.)

"Alright, alright, I get it. Ya look nice okay? I'm sure your "boyfriend" would say the same." I said with a snarky tone in my voice.

It took Irene a couple of seconds to realize who I was referencing. Her cheeks flushed a tomato red as her lips pursed together so tightly her lips almost disappeared.

"Shut it! He's NOT my boyfriend and you know it! I don't like him like that at all!"

(HA! I knew I'd get a reaction out of her with that comment.)

"How would you like it if I said Dr. Pines was YOUR boyfriend? He definitely seems to take a liking to you in a different way than me!"

(Oh she did not just say that. Sure, Ford Pines definitely did look handsome sometimes, and once in a blue moon I thought about him from the corner of my mind like an annoying tune from a commercial, but I did NOT like him like that! I hated his guts, it was just an unfortunate fact that he was the worst but was gifted with good looks and was occasionally, stupidly, charming.)

(I felt my face tingle with heat as I looked away from her. It was something a kid would probably do, but I'd be damned I'd let her see how well she used my own words against me.)

"Well I wouldn't say bein' gifted vermin is anything to be excited about Irene!"

(Wait a damn minute, FUCK we're TALKING WAY TOO LOUD RIGHT NOW.)

(Irene seemed to be on the same wavelength as I was because we both glanced around the room before turning back to facing each other with embarrassment.)

(Geez, we ended up arguin' like schoolgirls. Good one Yusuf... just hope it wasn't as embarrassing as it felt.)

It felt like ages before Irene cut the growing tension in the air.

"Haha, well I guess that was a bit childish of us both..."

(Ugh, there she goes again. She's taking responsibility for something that wasn't her fault.)

"Yeah... anyway I just want to get this outta the way but I'm sorry for teasin' too far."

"No, no. I know you don't mean it. I've just have a lot on my mind regarding that subject..."

Course it was, when it wasn't worrying about her cat lately Irene was working herself to the bone learning about that Stanford Pines.

(I really hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass...)

"What's been buggin' you lately?"

"Well... lately things have been going pretty well with you know who, but that's what's worrying me. During all of our sessions it's always kept a pattern to an extent. Mainly in the pattern of he'd have his ups before some pretty heavy downs. I'm worried about what kind of problems he'll be hit with when those patterns of good times eventually end for him."

(Bleedin' Heart Dr. Oleander is worrying about her patients to a personal level? You're kidding.)

"I think you're just bein' paranoid. Besides, it's been an ease off of both your shoulders and mine, you should really enjoy it while it lasts.

"That's true I suppose. I just really wish I wasn't hitting so many roadblocks when it came to him and just LEARNING about his background to begin with."

"Eh, you've gotten this far yeah? I doubt you'll be stuck forever. You're always persistent when it comes to work."

(It was one of your biggest strengths, and one of the things that was most annoying about you.)

"True..."

Our conversation was soon interrupted by the barista from before.

"Sorry for the wait, I had to fight both the coffee machine AND the espresso machine to get your order done. Literally."

Saying this they held up their arm, showing some burn marks from presumably the machines themselves.

"It's been interesting working with living machines now, but I think it's been an interesting experience! Weirdly enough the drinks have been tasting even better now that the machines are sentient. Anyways, please enjoy!"

With that the barista happily placed down our drinks onto our table, afterwards heading back to the counter. From what I could see they were bandaging up their burn marks while chatting with the next customers in line.

(I... eh nevermind. It was easier to just accept that some weird things were going to happen and some people were just weird enough to adjust to it quickly.)

Placed onto our table was a tray carrying two cups. The first was an average cup of coffee, the beverage was poured into a rustic looking coffee cup adorned with a checked pattern.

The second was a much cuter looking cup filled with a pumpkin spice latte, the coffee cup had a thematically fitting pumpkin design to it, with whipped cream on top and a cinnamon stick stuck into it.

I took the pumpkin spice latte while Irene took the normal cup of joe.

Say what you want about me picking a girly drink at a coffee shop, but goddamnit I wasn't going to deny myself a treat when quite literally the end of the world could be tomorrow.

As we enjoyed our drinks, we heard the bell of the front door ring as some guy walked in.

He was a tall, weedy, lookin' fellow who looked like he'd seen more than his fair share of troubles. His clothes looked as old as he did, looking like somethin' you'd find a cowboy from the old west wearing.

I wasn't sure what kind of glasses he was wearing, I think they were called Windsor glasses? I don't know, I've always called em' the old grandma style glasses.

(Was that... A rifle on his back?? Eh... I'm not gonna worry about it. That sounded annoying, not to mention you didn't exactly go around askin' someone if they had a gun.)

As the cowboy ordered something at the counter, I found myself looking torwards Irene with a smile.

"I didn't know pioneer day was so soon." I joked to her.

"Yusuf Ibis you cut that out!" Irene scolded in response, although I could tell by the tone of her voice she was muffling a chuckle.

(It was it's own reward to see Irene struggle to keep her usual professionalism.)

I'm not sure why, but after I pointed out that particular man, Irene couldn't help but look in his direction for a minute.

"What's up Irene? You know the guy or somethin'?"

"No... But I can't help but feel like I've seen him before... No, it's probably nothing."

"Whatever you say."

With that we enjoyed our drinks and sat at the table afterwards. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do after Irene and I's little coffee run.

A phone ringtone consisting of cat meows rang out, Irene immediately reached into her coat pocket to pull out her flipphone. She flipped it open and checked something for a good minute before closing it with a sigh.

"What was that?"

"Just a surge of emails I recently got from a bunch of different people regarding my Cat and Dr.Pines."

"Really? Your cat AND Mr.Pines have gotten people interested in you?"

"Yes, it's strange. I'm getting quite a few requests from one blog in particular about talking with them about my dear little Calamari in particular."

"Are ya gonna respond?"

"I think so, at the very least I'll thoroughly check the emails later. Although I can't shake the feeling that something bad might come from it."

"Heh like what? It's not like you'll be playing a part in starting a war or somethin!"

"I suppose that's true..."

With that, after some awkward chatter Irene and I parted ways. It was nice having some time off from working or talkin' about our certain little patient.

As I began to walk down the sidewalk from the coffee shop, my mind began to wander. Aside from the usual dread of returning to work, figuring out what I was goinf to do when I wasn't AT work, I couldn't help but worry a bit about Irene.

(She was so concerned about that one six fingered weirdo, but I didn't really get why she was aside from her usual bleedin' heart thing. She really needed to take a page from my book and stop involving yourself so personally with your work.

But convincing her of that would be like convincing a certain someone to NOT be obsessed with a certain demonic triangle.)

*Sigh* (I just hope that besides not dragging me down with her she knows when to quit.

Because after all, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.)

(I hope this more fluffy focused fanfic turned out well! I had a lot of fun writing the more angsty Stan one I rushed to write, but I'm just a sucker for hurt/comfort or pure fluff fics personally!

Hopefully the winging I did with Irene and Yusuf was fun as well! I may or may not be having a lot of fun writing blunt opinions of different characters from the viewpoints of our lovely sour apple Dr.Ibis!

(Is he too mean though or not mean enough? I'm worried about him being too "mean girl esque" without the sweet side to balance it out as the Tsundere I'm headcanoning him to be lmaoo.)

I'm seriously excited that another anon was super inspired to write angsty fanfiction as well! That Ford fanfiction they wrote that was like a counterpart to my Stan one was HEARTBREAKING and I knew I had to try and tie it into this silly little fanfiction side-story thing I've been having a ton of fun writing for Jellyskink!

(Girl by the way in case I didn't mention it before I'm totally blown away from the love you had for my stan fanfic, I absolutely laughed my a** off when I saw the silly little doodle you drew for it! Would you be alright it I used it for a profile picture? I'll be sure to credit you if it's okay!)

That fake Internet flamewar you're having with is-it-cute-gf-au-edtion is totally hilarious and I'm definitely keeping a close eye on it while sending in some hopefully fun asks for it. (Personally I'm also a #TeamCalimari person. Sorry #TeamFord, I just think Calimari is my favorite option between the two.)

(Did Fiddleford do the very healthy, very normal thing of stalking and investigating these two doctor's after getting his coffee order? Will Calimari still continue to be an adorable menace to society? (Spoiler alert for that, most definitely.) Will the anons eventually team up to write more random fanfiction for Jellyskink?

Who knows? But tune in next time anyway for whoever's post follows this!

Yusuf is a sour apple Tsundere, for sure!! And of course, feel free to use that Stan pic! :D

I'M A FORD PINES BELIEVER! HE CAN WIN ONE SINGLE PET SHOW! I BELIEVE IN HIM!!!

Thank you so much for writing again!! 💕

#domesticated ford #fan fiction #ask fiction #dr ibis #dr oleander

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eddies-ashtray · 1 year ago

Text

SCARS ♡ Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

gif source

Main Masterlist ♡ Blurb Masterlist

Synopsis: About three months after the demo-bat attack on Eddie, the scars left on his body by the bats remain a source of great insecurity for him. You try to convince him of his beauty in any way you can.

WC: 3.0K

Category: Hurt/comfort & fluff + a dash of smut (18+, MINORS DNI).

Content: Established relationship, mentions and light description of Eddie’s scars, discussion of Eddie being insecure about his scars, reader comforts Eddie, body worship, praise, lots of kisses, teasing.

A/N: This is an AU in which they’ve succeeded in killing Vecna, Eddie still got attacked by the demo-bats, but lived and his trailer is also still intact. Happy reading!

♡*♡*♡

Eddie was like a furnace all year round. In the winter months you’d snuggle up next to him on the couch while you watched movies, often tucking your cold feet underneath his warm thighs, you’d stay tucked under his arm soaking up his warmth as you walked into school together. And when arriving at his trailer and escaping from the chilly December bite, you’d rush straight into his arms, spending a minimum of two minutes making him warm you up.

The point is, the boy ran hot. And while this was an advantage for the both of you when the temperatures dropped (though mostly you–since it gave you an excuse to glom onto him like a koala to a tree), the summer months were hell for him. To compensate, he frequently wore his frizzy hair up and sported short athletic shorts and tank tops, cut off t-shirts, and often no shirt at all if he could help it. Much like his warmth in cooler temperatures, this was also a benefit to you–albeit in a very different way.

Although he took the appropriate measures to ensure that he stayed as cool as possible throughout the summer, this did not spare you of his complaining. He really tried to resist, but when there were 90 degree days you’d spend in your friends backyards or strolling around the zoo or riding bikes to the corner store for slushies, he’d slip into the habit.

But this summer something changed. The complaining suddenly stopped. There was no dramatic sighing or fanning himself with homemade paper fans. No begging to find someplace with air conditioning, or at least a place to sit in the shade. No theatrical comments about how he was about to die any second from dehydration. Nothing.

And while you were glad of the reprieve from his complaining—which, in all honesty, didn’t bother you that much anyway—, you knew something was up. Especially since the absence of his complaints was also accompanied by an abandonment of his usual summer attire.

He traded in tank tops for long-sleeves and those tiny, red athletic shorts (that you thought made his ass look spectacular) for sweatpants or jeans. Like the weather had no effect on him anymore. But you knew it did; you could see how flushed his face would become and the beads of sweat forming on his brow even while seated in front of a fan in his trailer.

You suspected you knew what was going on, but you weren’t sure how to broach the subject.

So near the end of June, 1986 as you and Eddie are spending a lazy afternoon on his porch—Eddie reading a book on the porch couch and you making friendship bracelets at his feet—you ask him:

“Hey, where are those red shorts you have? You know, the ones that when you wear them I always make you walk in front of me.” You waggle your brows at him suggestively.

You’d tipped your head back so it rested on the sofa cushion right next to his left thigh so you could look up at him, and almost absentmindedly, Eddie’s hand had begun to stroke your cheekbone lovingly. But he didn’t catch your eyes, instead his remain glued to the page. He doesn’t react to your borderline salacious comment (just another action that’s out of character for him), but simply turns the page of his book.

“In one of my drawers…Or maybe in the closet, I don’t know,” he responds. He’s wearing a black long sleeve with tour dates on the back and a Dio logo on the front with light-coloured jeans. It was 88 degrees today and humid with absolutely no breeze, the kind of sticky heat that can make you feel like you’re suffocating if you’re outside for too long.

You frown and try again. “What about your cropped shirts? I miss those.” It’s then he stops stroking your cheek.

Eddie huffs, annoyed, and drops his folded paperback into his lap before finally looking at you. “Why are you asking me about my clothes? Worry about your own.”

Eddie rarely gets so defensive or lashes out (which is probably too harsh a phrase for what he’s done just now, but he’s clearly irritated) at you unless there’s something deeper going on. He tries to hide things if he’s ashamed or embarrassed of them, but his feelings end up coming to the surface to manifest in other ways.

A child with pigtails on a faded blue tricycle coasts by then, ringing the silver bell affixed to the handlebars, and a woman (who you presume to be her mother) strolls not more than three paces behind.

It’s then that you stand from the wood floor, abandoning your half-finished bracelet with the loose threads hanging off the end on the couch beside Eddie.

He looks up at you just as you grab his hand, and pull him inside, continuing to pull him along the hall to his bedroom where you get him to sit on the end of his bed.

Eddie has a guilty look on his face, brows knit together and eyes soft. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He drags a hand down his face, now frustrated with himself.

You tilt your head at him then and gently grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He’s warm. His eyes are apologetic and tired as they stare into yours.

“It’s okay. I think I know what’s going on.” You sit down on the bed next to him, holding his slightly sweaty hand in yours. “But I want you to tell me.”

You’re looking at him, but much like earlier he avoids your gaze. He’s focusing on a small dark spot on the carpet, likely from sometime when he’d dropped a cigarette on the floor.

He looks defeated. It makes your chest ache. You squeeze his hand.

“They’re just…they’re everywhere,” He says quietly, shamefully, and he still can’t look at you as he says it. Like it’s a dirty confession. Like you hadn’t known. Like you hadn’t seen them, hadn’t seen how he got them.

The scars, barely three months old, touch everywhere from the sensitive skin of his belly and thighs, to the muscle of his biceps and crawl down his forearm. He’s even got some hiding just beneath his collar, that creep up around his shoulders where they stop before they reach his back.

You’re formulating a response to his statement, but before you can speak, Eddie continues: “I was already so easy to pick apart. Y’know. The hair, the clothes. And I was mostly fine with it. But this-this just gives them another reason to stare, another reason to point and say, ‘hey, there’s the freak.’” He utters the insult with such venom you flinch.

With your free hand, you tenderly guide his face to look up from the carpet and at you, and your hand drops to his knee. You don’t even have to think of what to say.

“You know what I think when I see them?” You ask, and Eddie shakes his head. “I think about the fact that you survived. They’re a reminder that you still have a body that can scar…that you’re alive.”

Eddie scoffs lightly, disbelieving, and looks away again. “You can’t mean that-you-” But you cut him off, forcing him to look at you again. Your other hand moves from his knee, to cover the top of his hand that’s holding your right one.

“I would rather you be covered head to toe in scars than not be here at all,” You tell him fiercely, making sure to hold his gaze as you say it.

Something changes in his eyes then; they go glassy and tender. You’ve begun to break through, if only by a small amount. At least, he believes that you believe what you’ve said, even if he doesn’t believe it himself yet.

Still, he screws his face up slightly at the image, but then lays his head on your shoulder.

He sniffles. “Thank you.”

You wish he could see himself now how you see him, think about himself what you think about him. You try a different route.

“They’re metal,” You say, bringing the hand that was once grasping his, up his back to lightly scratch at his scalp. “Ozzy would be jealous.”

At this, Eddie gives a weak laugh, and you can feel his shoulders shaking with it.

You’re not sure how else you can convince him of his beauty. You’re not sure if that’s possible. Maybe all you can do is show him in your own way, in every way you can, that you love him, scars and all. Maybe then, over time, he’ll come to feel at least neutral about them. To not speak of them with such hatred, to simply be content that they are there and come to peace with the fact that they will never go away.

With that thought, you stand from the bed, and Eddie looks up at you, eyes shining with unshed tears. From there, you reach down and slowly begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, a question. Is this okay?

When he raises his arms, you proceed, and tug his long sleeve over his head, letting it fall to the carpet. This reveals the pale expanse of his chest and stomach, marked by rippled scars pressed into his flesh. They’re more pink than red now since they’ve mostly healed, but they take up as much space as they had the day the demo-bats sunk their teeth into him.

Then, you gently press against his chest until he gets the memo and lays back, legs hanging off the end of the bed with his feet still planted on the floor.

Climbing on top of him to straddle his hips, you lean down, hands pressed lightly against his chest and softly place your first kiss to the small-ish scar (at least in comparison to the others– which can be about the size of large dinner plates) by his collarbone.

“What’re doing?” Eddie asks the ceiling, voice cracking.

Pressing yourself up from his chest so you’re eye-to-eye, you brush his hair behind his ear lovingly and stroke the soft skin of his cheek. His hands find your hips.

“I’m kissing all your beautiful spots,” You inform him simply. Like it was obvious once you laid down the first kiss that the beautiful spots on his body are all the places marked by scars.

For a moment, Eddie’s large eyes–which are so expressive you think you could read his mind sometimes–sparkle with longing and something more sweet. A fondness.

But then, a nearly nonexistent smirk creeps its way onto his face as if he’s just thought of something ridiculous to say.

“How are you going to kiss my personality and my character?” He quips, tone thick with false authenticity.

You laugh with a short breathy sound. If he’s found the will to be his regular, annoying–yet charming–self, his heart must feel a little lighter.

It’s then you kiss him square on the mouth, allowing your tongue to indulge in the taste of his, like cigarettes and watermelon. Taken by surprise, Eddie makes a hmph sound before melting into you, his hands travelling from your hips to your back, pulling you closer.

Though his mouth was most definitely one of his most beautiful spots, you don’t linger–despite the fact that you want to–as this was not your initial intention.

When you pull away Eddie groans unhappily so you award him with one final, quick kiss before sliding down his body again.

With his shirt off and because you’re pressed close to his skin you can smell him so clearly; his lavender-scented body wash, sweat, and vaguely, his cologne. You delight in the closeness, in all it awards you.

It had taken him weeks to get used to you seeing him like this, let alone allowing you to touch him like this. But you think this is more than that as you softly kiss across the scars on his shoulders. No, you think, this is more than touch. This is worship.

Trailing your hands down his torso ever so lightly, Eddie shivers involuntarily at the ticklish, but pleasing sensation. You smile up at him, satisfied with his reaction, then place a gentle kiss on his sternum. He sighs contentedly.

Then, teasingly, you trail your mouth to the right, and up just slightly. You graze his nipple with your teeth and this is precisely when his chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, his breaths coming quicker.

He lets you tenderly kiss the scars on his pecs, allows you to trail kisses down the length of his arm, ending with a sweet kiss at his wrist. He watches with hooded eyes as you do, pupils blown so wide now they nearly swallow up the dark brown of his irises.

Eddie sighs and moans as you kiss down his belly and leave a path of spit.

He helps you wiggle off his jeans. Once they are off, you allow yourself to indulge in a sudden desire to lick a thick stripe from the waistband of his boxers where his happy trail begins, all the way up to his navel. Eddie’s hips twitch and lift off the bed just slightly as he huffs impatiently. He wants this, he wants you to touch him, to kiss him everywhere available.

You must lay down hundreds of kisses. With each one you are saying I love you, you are saying this to him, you are saying this to each and every scar. You are telling him, I love this one and this one and this one and this one. They are all my favourites. They are all your beautiful spots.

You scratch lightly along his waist, just above his waistband, tugging at the elastic where you let your fingers sneak beneath the fabric. But you don’t tug his boxers down just yet. You haven’t even reached his thighs yet. How could you forget his thighs? What a great act of neglect it would be to forget about his thighs.

Slowly, you slide off his body and onto the floor, now kneeling on the carpet between his legs, which he parted for you ever so willingly. He’s pliable, putty in your hands. You could move him wherever and however you wanted and he would let you.

You decide that you enjoy this angle; seeing him laid out, wriggling around restlessly, sighing as you drag your hands up and down his thighs. He must be half-hard in his boxers. But you ignore this for now in favour of paying attention to his gloriously thick thighs.

Pushing the fabric of his boxers up so you can get to the highest place on his legs where the scars reach without taking them off, you place a kiss there, at the very top of his left thigh.

“Sweetheart, please.” He sounds breathy and desperate.

“But I haven’t kissed everywhere yet,” You tease before placing a sweet kiss to the meat of his thigh.

This makes him whine, high and drawn out.

You rarely get him like this. You love him like this.

So you continue kissing his pinkish scarred flesh; the tops of his thighs, around his knees, his calves, then a painstakingly slow trail back up. He’s almost jittery by the time you’ve reached his thighs again. You must kiss every inch of his flesh broken by the scars. Because they’re a part of him and how could you not love every part of him?

Finally, you reach the apex of the inside of his thighs. He’s extra sensitive there. The scars are fewer and further between there. But still, you kiss each one of them, gently, softly, then tease him by licking up the inside of his thigh, feeling the ridges and bumps of the scars on the flat of your tongue. Another kiss.

“God,” Eddie groans. And then he says something else as you continue your ascent, fingers itching to grasp his waistband and pull his boxers down. You aren’t sure what he’s said at first, until he repeats himself. And then he repeats himself again, and again. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Eddie, you’re so pretty,” You whisper into his thigh before pressing another kiss to another scar, one just below his waistband which you’ve only just begun to tug down. He hears your praise, lolls his head to the side to look down at you. His eyes are glassy and pleading, lust-drunk, love-drunk. Then he reaches his hand down, and you reach up to meet him in the middle where he laces your fingers together.

It’s then you place a kiss over his boxers, kissing the very tip of him where his dick curves up towards his right hip, pressed right beneath the elastic waistband. The spot is damp and you can taste the saltiness of him on your tongue already.

You’re glad you were watching him when you did it, because his eyes rolled into the back of his head before they shut and he moaned and his hips twitched again, searching for more, more, more.

When his eyes slowly open again, he catches you watching him. Teasingly tracing your index finger over his skin, brushing over his scars, causing his stomach to tense, so riled up.

“What?” He drawls lazily.

“Feelin’ good?” You ask, though you know the answer.

“Mmh,” Eddie replies affirmatively, hips shifting again. You smile softly.

If you can give him these moments as often as possible, make him feel loved and worshipped, press all your love into him through your lips on his skin, then maybe he will start to feel it for himself. It will sink into his skin, fight its way beneath the scars and into his heart.

So you continue making him feel good. You finally pull down his boxers, allowing him to spring free. His leaking tip reaches his belly button, dark pink, clearly aching. You press your lips to the tip, once again kissing him.

You ease the ache.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it & if you did, please consider reblogging, it really helps!

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