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chaotic-mystery · 1 year

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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (one shot)

Summary: Joel forgets date night and has guys night instead, which makes you act out. Joel isn’t too happy and has to punish you in the best way he knows how.

Content Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI! Mean!joel, swearing, arguing, brat tamer! If you squint, drinking, teasing Joel, a slight comment about cheating but would never, rough!joel, spanking,choking,spitting, manhandling, sir!kink, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, pet names (little girl, little one, baby doll, Joel calls you a crazy bitch oNCE, etc) power dynamic, big girthy age gap (not specified but enough to where you call him old man) slight bullying of peepaw for forgetting stuff, rough sex. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

Word Count: 3K

This is 1000% based on this gif @worhols sent me 🖤 love u Becca

Even though your Saturday morning was filled with a shift at work, you couldn’t wait to get home to see your man and take all afternoon to get ready for your date at 7. Date night was far and in between now for you two, so some fun outside the house was what you were needing. Your key entered the lock on the front door and turned, pushing the door open to music echoing from the basement.

The kitchen counter was covered in beer boxes and bottles of liquor, chips, and Joel’s case of poker. What the fuck?

“Joel, honey?” You called out and you could hear the thumping on the basement stairs from his boots getting louder as he got closer to the main floor.

“Hey baby doll, what’s up? How was work?” The back of his hand wipes his forehead slowly, gathering all the sweat off of him. The look on your face was so telling that something was bothering you.

“Work was fine, uh I’m wondering why there’s shit all over the counter like you’re going to have guys night in the basement?” You crossed your arms across your chest and met his eyes, his jaw slowing the gum chewing down as he thought carefully of what to say next.

“Beeecause we’re playing poker tonight in the basement…” It came out more as like a question and then it became apparent to you he completely forgot about your date night.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, “Joel…we were supposed to have a date tonight..did you not remember?”

For such a tan man, you didn’t think he could turn so pale with shock. His hands met his hips and he sighed, looking down at his boots.

“Darlin’ listen I- I’m sorry I forgot we had plans. Tommy asked if we could do it here and it slipped my mind about date night tonight.” Those beautiful brown eyes found yours once more and made your body shiver with sadness and anger. “How did you forget when I’ve been reminding you all week? Jesus Christ, you don’t listen to me, old man.” You turned and started to take off your jacket, not wanting to say anymore than what you already have.

“Watch your fuckin’ tone with me little girl. I already told you I was sorry, what more do you want me to do?”

“Nothing, Joel. I don’t want you to do anything except go down there and have a fun time with your friends and play your stupid fucking game. I should ask one of them to take me out because if you can’t remember a simple date, maybe they can show me a better time.” The smartass tone was dripping off your words and it only heated the situation more.

“What the hell did you just say?” His head cocked to the side to make sure he heard you correctly. The smirk on your face only made him more irritated and he was just about to ask you to repeat yourself when he was cut off by the doorbell ringing.

“Saved by the bell, go figure.” You muttered at him and went to open the door leaving Joel standing there in a mix of emotions. You’d never in a million years date his friends but you just wanted to get a rise from him. It was only fair he was in a shitty mood after putting you in one.

You greeted them all with small ‘hellos’ and smiles, Tommy engulfing you in a hug.

“Are you playin’ poker with us tonight sweetheart?” He asks as he releases you from his arms, walking to Joel and hits his arm lightly. Joel is still clearly caught off guard from your snappy digs and doesn’t say anything to anyone.

“Oh, no. No poker for me. Joel forgot to mention it to me, guess that age is starting to catch up to him, huh?” You joke, putting the clean dishes away that were still in the strainer. All the guys laugh and Tommy nudges Joel right in his side with a stupid grin on his face.

“You just gonna take that from her? Man you’re soft now.” He says to Joel and laughs again. Joel looks up at you and burns imaginary holes into your back from staring so hard. “S’alright, she’s jus’ being a brat right now. Why don’t you guys grab the shit from the counter and we’ll start soon?” Joel asks and nods to the countertop in front of you as you stand against the cabinets and squint at him. They grab the stuff and start to head down, a few of them and Tommy hanging back to wait for Joel.

He walks to you and grabs your wrist by your hip and squeezes it, whispering in your ear, “Knock it off. Now.”

You snatch your wrist from him and he places a rough kiss on your cheek, barely pressing his lips to your skin. He was pissed off at you for even entertaining that stupid idea of you and his friends to him.

“Yes, sir.” He clocked your sarcasm instantly and glared at you. Your eyes met his only for a moment as he turned around on his heel and headed to the basement. With a short moment he disappears down the stairs and you’re left sulking in your emotions. This wasn’t the first time he forgot date night, this was actually the fourth. If Joel thought he could start to get comfortable and not put in so much effort for taking you out anymore, boy did he have another thing coming.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” you mumble to yourself and clean up the mess he left of grocery bags and receipts.

After about an hour cleaning up the main floor and having to listen to Joel's laugh carry up the stairs and into your ears, you had enough. If he wanted to play, you could play too.

Going to your shared bedroom, you start going through his closet and grab one of his old white t-shirts he had made up for work years ago. Their logo on the back left more room in the front to see everything under it. Slipping on your shortest pajama shorts and hiking them up just under your ass, you giggled at yourself in the mirror and almost changed your mind when you noticed your dress hanging in your closet that you planned to wear tonight. With the sunset slowly turning blue for the night, that burning fire in you started to reignite.

You make your way slowly down the steps with the laundry basket tucked into your side, clearly your excuse to even go down there. The men were circled around the table, music still blaring and the string lights glittering the ceiling. “No no no, so then I told her to stop usin’ her teeth, it-” You cleared your throat and Tommy shut up quickly, turning around to face you. Joel didn’t even bother to look up until they greeted you, much different than earlier now that you were half dressed. His eyes were zeroed on on your body, his nostrils flared and the cards being held in his hands slowly started to bend.

“Don’t mind me, just here to do some laundry before I go to bed.” That was a bold face lie. Joel knew you weren’t going to sleep. He also knew you weren’t down here to do laundry, you hated doing laundry.

“All good, girl. You’re no bother to us.” James said, the one who had been eyeing you since you tiptoed down here.

You opened the dryer to empty it in the laundry basket, bending over more and more with each scoop inside to get clothes out. Joel coughed loudly when he noticed what you were doing and it made you jump, not expecting him to be so obnoxious with it. “You doin’ alright baby? Need another beer?” You ask a little too sweetly and he doesn’t blink once when you meet his gaze after standing up straight, a stupid smirk forming on your lips.

“Sure, f’you wanna get me one.” He grumbled.

You wandered over to the small fridge in the corner with a piece of clothing tucked under your arm and grabbed a beer, walking over to him and cracking it open for him. He leaned to one side to really look at you, noticing that shitty grin plastered all over your face.

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t do nice things for you, baby?” You rhetorically asked and folded the pair of panties you shoved under your arm just a second ago. Everyone's eyes fell onto what little fabric there was of the bejeweled thong that said ‘Angel’ on the front.

Joel was shooting daggers at you and you knew how much you were getting under his skin at this point. You took a seat on his lap and looked at his cards, not once looking at him. “All in” James says as he pushes his chips to the middle and his eyes wander up your chest. James was older than Joel and not that good looking. It wasn’t surprising he took a liking to you since he’s cheated on his wife three times now. The other guys were out and it was just between Joel and James. Ironic.

“You’re bluffin’ you sorry bastard.” Joel chuckles and lays down his cards, straight flush.

James groaned and tossed his cards in the middle and you looked to see a full house. You jump off Joel's lap and bounce up and down cheering for him, genuinely happy he won. What you forgot about was your boobs were also bouncing up and down. “Alright, that’s it. Guys, I’ll be back in a second. Start over without me and don’t you fuckin’ steal any chips from me.” He states and grabs the laundry basket off the ground, your arm in his other hand and drags you up the stairs. Fuck. Too far.

He marches up all the way to your room and tosses you facedown on the bed, panting from anger. “What the fuck was that, little one? Hm?” You don’t move as he rips off your shorts to expose the white panties covering your ass.

“What? I was just having fun, Joel.” You snap back and brush your hair from your face to look at him. His jaw clenched together as he nodded once, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

“Ya know baby, somethin’ just tells me that isn’t the complete truth.“You wanted male attention so bad you were whorin’ yourself around down there in front of anyone who’d look at you for 5 fuckin’ seconds.” His belt was beginning to come undone and you knew what was going to happen. “Joel..baby, please I’m sorry I-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth. Stay still. Since I’m such an old man and can’t remember jack shit, count for me baby. If you fuck up, I’ll start over.” He straddles the back of your thighs and moves your panties up out of the way, smacking your ass hard.

“O-one.” A grunt leaves his mouth after you start counting. His big hand comes down again, smacking the same spot, already red. You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, whimpering at the pain.

“Two-o.” Your voice shutters.

Joel’s hand collides with your ass cheek once more. “You’ll learn one of these times not to be a smart ass to me, baby doll.”

“Fuck, Joel- three.” You can feel the welt starting to form.

You can hear him laughing behind you as he anchors you to the bed more, the pain making your ears ring. Joel spanks you again, the roughest he’s done it yet.

Your mouth drops in agony and tears start to fall down your face.

“F-fou-r.” The silent sobs slowly start to leave your lips.

His other hand comes by your face and ever so gently wipes the tears spilling from your pretty eyes and down your cheeks.

“Cryin’ won’t get you out of this baby girl. You wanted to act like a badass, take the punishment that follows. Got it?”

You couldn’t muster up anything other than, “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what? Say it.”

You swallowed harshly and took a deep breath before answering.

“Yes, sir.”

The hot sensation on your ass cheek was spreading all over your body, the sting from his hand cracking your flesh again made you wince, begging for him to stop.

“Ahh-five.” You seemed to have been losing your voice, only able to squeak out the number rattling in your brain.

Instead of cracking you again, Joel rubs where he’s been spanking you and groans.

“Have you learned your lesson you fuckin’ brat? Gonna be a good girl for me now?” He leans down and whispers in your ear.

You lay there still and unable to speak, a small nod was the only way you could answer. Joel reaches in front of your face and clears your vision of your hair and kisses your cheek roughly. “I dunno princess, think I might have to punish you some more.” His evil chuckle vibrated against your cheek as he kissed it again.

Without a single word more, Joel laid over the top of you with your arms pinned against your back and you began to wiggle.

“Take this fuckin’ cock baby. You want attention so bad, so stupid for cock, well here it is. Stay still.” He yanks down your panties and spits on his fingers before shoving his hand between your thighs as you squirm, his fingers starting at your soaking wet cunt all the way back to your asshole.

The pre-cum leaking from the slightly swollen red tip was spread around the head before Joel rammed his cock so far inside your aching entrance. You mule out and he covers your mouth roughly, yanking you against his chest.

“Shut the fuck up, they don’t need to know how good I fuck you. Shut that pretty mouth up before I put it to use.” He growls and starts to thrust inside you, ramming into your cervix in no time. The rough hold on your mouth makes your cries and moans so muffled but just audible enough for Joel to hear.

“So damn wet for me princess, knew you like when I spank ya like that. Such a nasty little thing f’me. Think those assholes downstairs could fuck you like I do?” A rough kiss against your neck makes your eyes roll back and whine out, needing him to split you open from the inside. His calloused hand still covers your mouth and you shake your head in disagreement.

“Use your big girl words baby.” Joel grunts and uncovers your mouth, grabbing your waist roughly and thrusts into you harder.

You whimper and bite your lip and tilt your head back, looking deep into his dark brown eyes that were hungry for you. “No, sir. I don’t think they could ever fuck me the way you do. Your big fucking dick ramming into me and making me scream while you try to fit the whole thing inside me.” You could see your words were getting him somewhere, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.

He digs his fingers into the skin on your hip more and pounds into you, his skin smacking against yours. Joel was a grunter and wow did it turn you on. His teeth clenched, he moans your name and cusses at the end of it, tossing his head back to keep himself together.

“I would’ve taken you right on that damn poker table and made you suck my cock in front of them if you woulda kept it up baby. You wanna act like a whore in front of ‘em, I’ll treat you like one. Would you’ve wanted to suck my cock with them watchin’?” He asks, pinching your nipple under his work shirt that was stuck to your body.

“I would’ve done whatever you wanted, sir. I promise, sir I will do anything for you.”

He growls and bites your earlobe teasingly before licking it and the shell of your ear.

“You’re a crazy little bitch for me aren’t ya?”

“I-I’m so close sir, fuck don’t stop.” You whine and he shoves your head down into the bed, groaning loudly.

“No baby, bad girls don’t get to cum. You better not or I’ll spank you harder than before. D’you want me to spank you much harder than the last time, angel?” Your body was aching to cum, the mascara you applied hours ago now smeared and running down your cheeks.

“No, sir.” The tears pricking your eyes as you could feel your orgasm just sitting in your stomach wanting to be released all over Joel’s cock.

He groans louder and pushes your head down to keep still while he drives his cock balls deep in you, slowing up as he’s bracing himself for the end of his fun.

Joel gives your ass a few more good smacks and you have to squeeze your legs shut to keep yourself from cumming. He wasn’t fair for making you hold it, he liked seeing you helpless.

“Gonna fill this little pussy full so you don’t forget who you belong to, you got that?” His hand wraps around your throat as he engulfs you in his arms, fucking you sloppy until he’s panting like a dog in your ear. “Fuck baby doll-fuck- I’m gonna-a cum-ah-fuc-” Joel’s hot stream shoots inside you as he grunts loudly, grabbing a handful of your hair in the midst of fucking his load deep in your hole.

Your pussy squelches and you can feel your clit just screaming to get some attention, some relief. Joel's breaths regulate once more and he lays there behind you kissing your shoulder and back softly. “Maybe next time you won’t be a brat huh?” He chuckles and gets up to go to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth for you. He cleans you up and your eyes get heavy, sleep creeping up on you. Joel kisses your forehead, whispering in your ear, “Get some rest baby. I’ll be back up soon. Maybe I’ll let you cum then.”

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morganski-19 · 2 months

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It’s a month after Starcourt when Steve realizes that Robin isn’t leaving. That she meant what she said about sticking around. That they were trauma bonded in two ways now. One in the average minimum wage worker way. The second in the way no one should ever have to be.

If he had the choice to do it all over again. He’d never ask her to get involved. Would have told Dustin to wait until his shift is over, and then they could go figure it out. It might have taken longer. They might have never figured it out at all. But then another person wouldn’t have been dragged into the bullshit. Robin wouldn’t have nightmares anymore.

She wouldn’t find herself on his doorstep at two in the morning, drenched in sweat from a mix of the heat and the fear. Bike fallen on the ground by her feet. He wouldn’t have to keep lying that she woke him up. Even if they both knew he hadn’t fallen asleep before four a.m. since that day.

He won’t have someone to call when he wakes up screaming. Because he can’t call the kids, it’s not their job to calm him down. That’s his. Their phone calls don’t go both ways. Robin’s do though. She insisted on it.

Worst part of it all is that Steve doesn’t want Robin to leave. But knows she will. This is just until the nightmares stop, then she’ll realize that he’s not worth it anymore. Just like the rest of them. It’s always until the person gets what they need out of Steve, and then they’re gone. No one ever stays because of who he is.

It was clear the day he dropped Tommy and Carol. How they ran away like flies when you took away the food. They were terrible people, but they were his friends. His only friends. Since elementary school. It all seemed so trivial back then, but he appreciated them for what they were.

Regret is a funny thing. He doesn’t regret dropping them. It would have happened eventually. He regrets the hole that it left though. The emptiness that he’s been running from for a while. They filled the house when his parents were away. Which was more frequent now that he was an adult. They didn’t need to look after him that much anymore. It was his job now.

Robin made it her job too. Without him asking. He never would have. But when they were both ready to get back to work, she was right there at his door with a resume in hand. Ready to get them both a job together again. Why would they ever need to work at two separate places? They were a package deal now.

For now. Steve reminded himself. There will come a day that Robin will see that Steve isn’t much different from the kid she hated in high school. He’s still rich, and messy. Still can be really mean when he doesn’t mean to be. He’s sorry for it now. But that doesn’t change the fact that it still happens.

Yet, like clockwork, she keeps coming around. Keeps calling at the same time every night to talk for hours when they should be asleep. Makes him realize how much he’s going to miss this when it inevitably ends.

He’d prefer for it to happen rather than later. So he can be less attached. So it will hurt less.

“How are you still here?” Steve asks one night. When the room is light enough for the nightmares to creep away, but dark enough to still hide the the fear on his face.

“What do you mean?” Robin asks. Like her being here at all isn’t some big miracle.

“You know who I was in high school. You know the things I said. The things I did.”

Robin props herself up on her elbows. “And? You’re not like that anymore.”

Steve shakes his head. She’s not getting it. “Part of me still is. Somewhere. I still snap and insult, and be just mean when I feel like I need to be. Even though I don’t half the time. It’s like a reflex I can’t get rid of. I might act like it, but I’m not much different than I was back then.”

“You are,” she says with absolute certainty.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Robin’s face comes into view. “I might have not known you that well, but I can still see it. In the way you carry yourself, in the way you act around those kids. The person you were back in highschool wouldn’t spare them a second glance. Wouldn’t spare me a second glance. The minute you walked into the ice cream parlor wearing those stupid shorts and dumb hat and saw me behind the counter, it would have been over. I would have been the subject of your torture. But I wasn’t.”

Robin takes Steve’s wrists and pulls him into a sitting position. Looking at him like she means what she says. He believes her.

“Instead, you were nice to me. Considerate. Snappy sure, but in the way that secretly made me laugh. And never mean, not really. Even when I gave you every chance to be. I was waiting for who you were in history class to show up and he never did. Instead I saw the real you for the first time and I liked it. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for.”

“But what I said-.”

“Is in the past. The person who said those things wouldn’t have made fun of my crush on Tammy Tompson as fast as you did. Or accepted the fact that I liked girls at all. Might have done a lot of things I’m not sure of.” She pauses, swallowing. “When I told you, I was so scared. I had no clue how you would react. And you have no idea how relieved I was when it played out the way it did. You’re the first person I’ve told about this. You don’t know what that means for me.”

Steve stares at her. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugs. “Yeah well. Now you do.”

“Why me?”

“Well I sort of had to reject you for one,” she jokes. “But, after I saw the way that you protected Dustin and Erica, me, without even blinking. Something about you just felt safe. I know that’s risky as hell and might have not worked out with most people. I just had a feeling that it would work out with you.”

“I’m glad you told me,” he whispers. “I’m glad that I was able to be that first person. And that you felt that you could tell me at all. After all the shit I said.”

“Again, you’re different now. Intentionally different. I might have just been a bystander in the Steve Harrington experience until recently, but I can see that. I hope you can too.”

#found this in my drafts #so here it is #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #ficlet #i love them your honor

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simplepotatofarmer · 4 months

Note

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream & Technoblade - Desert

mirage

The map was useless; never ending brown stretching out to the edges of the cream paper it was printed on. Dream would have thrown it away but there was some comfort in looking at it, trying to piece together the location he was currently and where he was supposed to be going. A security blanket that probably would've been more helpful if it had been an actual blanket.

He wiped his hand across his brow, careful not to get sweat or the tiny grains of sand that clung to him in his eyes.

"This is so stupid," he said and the desert swallowed his words in silence. For a brief moment, Dream shivered, cold.

Hours ago, he had removed his armor. It was heavy and dark and trapped heat and he would have more of a chance against an opponent without armor than he would against the beating sun. He trudged on.

And he trudged on, only stopping when the sun was high in the sky and there was a small mound of sandstone to press his back against. There was terracotta mixed in and Dream checked the map once more, looking for any landmark that could match up to whatever this had once been. Nothing. He should head back, he knew that, but somewhere out in this desert was an old village and in it was a library and, possibly, a book.

If it's still there, thought Dream, not wanting to speak out loud again.

Using his overshirt as paltry shade, Dream closed his eyes, the cold bones of the sandstone lulling him to sleep.

He woke when a shadow fell over him.

He stared up, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, wondering sluggishly if he had died or gone crazy from the heat. Either was possible and more plausible.

"You alive there, man?" asked Techno.

Blinking, Dream pushed himself upright, hands slipping on the sand covered stone. The tiny granules digging into his palms felt real. He pulled his shirt down and wiped his face with the hem.

"What the fuck?"

Techno crouched down, the brim of his wide, floppy hat almost hitting Dream. He wore no armor, no bright red cloak like usual, but a loose white shirt and baggy tan pants.

"Hullo to you, too, Dream."

"What-- What are you doing here?" His brain felt like it was slowly beginning to move but in the wrong direction, the question not the one he really wanted an answer to.

"I can't make sure a friend doesn't die of heatstroke?"

Techno shifted where he was crouching, hooves leaving marks in the sand. He glanced out across the desert, away from the rocky mound. Dream frowned. Confusion and relief and a little bit of fear all swirled around in his chest.

"What- Wait. How did-- How did you find me?" he asked, closer to the question he really wanted to ask but not quite. Maybe he was afraid of that question and the answer.

"Ah." Techno sat next to Dream, his back also against the sandstone. "I have my ways, I have my ways... Also it wasn't that hard when Tommy wouldn't shut up about seeing you head out this way."

"Heh."

It made sense. It was even funny and Dream grinned. Next to him, Techno was watching him with concern but chuckled when Dream let out his quiet huff of laughter.

"Yeah, he thinks you're up to something but apparently the only thing you're up to is gettin' lost and dyin' of dehydration," Techno said.

"I'm not dying," said Dream and rolled his eyes, ignoring how dry they felt.

"Oh, sure, sure. You just normally look like a corpse."

Dream tilted his head.

"Well, to be fair, after the prison..."

The laugh Techno gave was choking, surprised, and he shook his head. Strands of pink hair stuck out from his braid and he flicked one of his ears.

"Alright, you got me there, man."

"Yeah."

Dream leaned his head against the rock. The sun was lower in the sky now, waves of heat visible off the sand. There was silence but it didn't feel as ominous now.

"D'you find what you were lookin' for?"

With a sigh, Dream brushed some sand off his pants.

"No. You- You could help me."

"I dunno." Techno frowned, looking over at Dream. "I only brought enough water to get across this stretch of desert then back. Speakin' of, you look like you could use a drink."

"Right," said Dream, as he pulled out his canteen and took a sip, the first one he had had in hours. It made sense; from Techno's perspective this was a rescue mission and nothing more. Or it was Dream's subconscious telling him what he already knew. Both scenarios led to the same conclusion. He took a deep breath. "Are... Are you real?"

"Heh? I'm real." Techno held out his arm in front of Dream. "You wanna pinch me and make sure?"

"No." Once more there were two answers that led to the same outcome and either Dream could make the trek back alone or with company, real or imagined. "Alright. Let's go."

@sixteenth-day-event

#technoblade #dreamwastaken #dream smp #dsmp fanfic #sixteenthdayevent #rivals duo #rivalsblr #dreblr #do you know how many times i googled that word to make sure i had the right one?#absolutely terrified of my dyslexic ass mixing up desert and dessert

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steddieasitgoes · 9 months

Text

Friday Night Lights

written partly for the STWG discord prompt: "Starry Night" and partly to celebrate the wonderful @thefreakandthehair birthday. I tried to bring some sports into for you Lex! wc: 1312 | rated: T Read on ao3

Eddie’s been standing outside the locker room for forty-five minutes when he starts to get worried. He’s no stranger to waiting, knows Steve likes to take his time after a big game showering, celebrating, and decompressing. It’s why he sent Robin and Chrissy on ahead of them. But Tommy left fifteen minutes ago, Coach a few minutes after and there’s still no sign of his boyfriend in all his winning glory.

Stubbing out his cigarette under the toe of his boot, he pushes off from the cement wall and begins his search. The locker room doors are already locked. He saw Coach Hopper lock them himself so there’s no point in looking there. Instead, he follows the pathway Steve’s been taking for four years nearly every Friday night, chasing the bright lights until he turns onto Hawkins High’s Football Field.

The scoreboard has been turned off, but the bright lights are still on illuminating the field. There in the middle, on the fifty-yard line is Steve. He’s still in his pads and jersey, knees drawn up to his chest as he clings to the helmet in his hands. His trademark Harrington Hair is flat, sticking to his forehead with a mix of sweat and the Gatorade the team spilled over him when he threw the final pass winning them the championship.

Eddie doesn’t have to get closer to know Steve’s deep in thought. Knows his brows are knitted together, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth as he irritates that one piece of skin he never lets heal.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispers, slowly lowering himself down onto the field beside Steve. “Been waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, slowly turning to face Eddie. He gives him a soft, shy smile before tipping his head back as his gaze locks on the bright lights above.

“S’okay. Everything okay?”

“We just won the championship, of course, everything is okay,” Steve mumbles.

Eddie doesn’t press. He’s been with Steve long enough to know that he’ll tell him what’s really bothering him when he’s ready. So he sits in silence instead. Lets the bright lights coat him in warmth, digs his hands into the torn-up grass of the field and rips a few pieces free. He’s seconds away from reaching into his pocket to light his second smoke of the night when Steve sighs beside him.

“It feels weird, knowing this is it, I mean. I just played my last game ever on this field, under these lights and…”

Eddie scoots closer and slowly gets his arm around Steve��s middle before tugging him closer. It’s not as smooth as he’d like, especially not with all the padding Steve’s still wearing, but he still gets the job done. He feels the deep sigh Steve exhales before his head comes to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“There’s just something magical about being here every Friday. Looking up and being blinded by the lights that are only on to help you play a game. They always kept me focused. Remind me that I’m not alone in the world,” Steve pauses before shaking his head. “It sounds stupid, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Eddie says, voice firm so Steve knows he’s not just saying that. Sure, Eddie might not get the whole sports thing, but he gets that feeling. The adrenaline rush of being in the spotlight, all eyes and attention on you. It’s why he loves theater so much. “I get it.”

“I guess I just wanted to soak it up one last time.”

Eddie hums, titling his own head so his cheek grazes the still-damp hair on Steve’s head. “The lights were always going to go out on this field. I mean, you can’t stay in high school forever, and who the hell wants that anyway.” Steve laughs and Eddie feels his entire body turn molten at the sound. “But, the good news is, I know a place that can give you that same feeling. Somewhere that no one will ever be able to take from you.”

“If you say your bedroom or some shit like that I’m never blowing you again.”

“You can't deny the magic that happens in that room” Eddie laughs, earning a harsh shove from Steve in return. “But no, I’m being serious this time. Why don’t you go change and meet me by the car?”

Steve nods and gets to his feet effortlessly despite playing one of the most grueling football games of his life. He waits to help Eddie up to his feet before he’s hustling off toward the locker room.

As they reunite at the van ten minutes later, the field lights flick off sending them into darkness. Eddie can feel Steve’s mood deflate, making out the way his shoulders sag in the pitch black as the light he’s come to expect goes out for the final time.

“Come on,” Eddie says, nudging him with his hip. “You’re going to love this place. I promise.”

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 🏈 ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ten minutes later, Eddie steers the van off the road and into the forest surrounding Hawkins. The engine rattles and the tires rumble as they drive over the rough terrain of the ground but it’s all worth it when they reach the clearing half a mile in. Eddie cuts off the engine and hops out and Steve follows without being told.

Wasting no time, Eddie hops on the hood of the van and knocks his head against it urging Steve to follow. When they’re both situated, he folds his hands behind his head and leans back, letting his eyes gaze up at the starry night sky as he instructs Steve to follow his lead.

“Don’t forget to look up,” he reminds him after the sound of his ruffling to get comfortable stops.

Eddie doesn’t have to turn his head to know when Steve does. The soft gasp that passes his lips is all the proof he needs.

“I know the stars aren’t the same thing as the bright lights of the field and the roaring cheers of the crowd, but they’re also not that different. I used to drive out here after closing nights of shows. Clear my head, let the adrenaline burn off a bit before heading to the diner with the cast and crew.

“It’s quieter out here, but I got the same chills I did when I stepped on stage in that stupid lion costume, the first time I looked up and saw the stars shining like that. It was like a weird reminder that I wasn’t alone. That someone or something, I guess, was still looking out for me.”

There’s a beat of silence that follows, but Eddie doesn’t let it rile him up like the silence between them used to. He knows now that Steve’s not going anywhere. Especially not when he’s just bared a part of his soul in a way that he never has before.

Sure enough, the moment passes as Steve hums. “It’s like a whole crowd up there, shining over us.”

“Yeah!” Eddie says, quiet but still enthusiastic that Steve gets it. Carefully, he rolls onto his side and props his head up with one hand as he gazes at Steve. “Exactly.”

“Thank you for bringing me out here,” Steve says, rolling over to mirror Eddie again. He doesn’t stop when he’s on his side though and keeps scooting across the hood until he’s centimeters from Eddie.

The kiss is soft and delicate. Almost as if Steve is too shy to kiss him under the stars, but Eddie doesn’t mind. He’ll take whatever kiss Steve has to offer anytime, anywhere.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, leaning in to give Steve a chaste kiss of his own. “Now come on, you have a championship to celebrate and if you don’t show up at Hagan’s soon, Robbie is definitely going to be filing a missing persons report.”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson ficlet #steve fic #eddie fic #STWG #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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lebenspurpur · 2 years

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what do they smell like

AN: I know I did this before, but I need to correct myself. Plus, it was like 2 years ago, so..

ℝℤ 𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕖𝕝 𝕄𝕪𝕖𝕣𝕤

Most of the time, he smells like sweat and that sweet coppery odor of blood.

That changes whenever he actually decides to take a shower and change his clothes.

Suddenly he smells like nothing. And I mean nothing.

If you inhale deeply enough, you might get a faint whiff of sanitizer, like the kind they use in hospitals, but that's it.

You can decide for yourself if that's a blessing or a curse.

𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

Paraffin wax.

So he smells like plastic and, like, the worst kind.

Maybe you need to convince him to use some bee wax candles for a change. Or some wax that smells like something nice, at least.

Which makes me think of another headcannon: Vincent hates the smell of cheap scented candles. He can not stand them. You'd think his nose might be desensitized to bad smells by now, but no.

The only scented candles he allows in his basement are the expensive ones, with real dried flowers or some good essential oils.

Other than paraffin wax, he smells like his body wash, which is the same as Bo's.

(You can not convince me they do not share one. Maybe buy him some nice shampoo while we're at it.)

The smell of the wax easily overpowers anything else, though.

𝔹𝕠 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

Bo prides himself on owning some really nice cologne.

So, if he applies that, he actually smells really nice.

Other than that: cigarettes.

I feel like he actually has a nice smell, though. He smells like someone who'd call you sugar, if that makes sense.

𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

I know, we have the ongoing joke of Lester smelling bad, but I've changed my mind.

Of course, after working, he smells very bad. Like a dead animal that has been cooking in the sun for way too long.

But he's a clean boy! After he takes a shower, he smells like a mix of leather and something flowery, airy. Kind of like a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. Don't ask me where that comes from.

When he's been crafting something, he also smells like hot glue and wood, but it's not powerful enough to be unpleasant.

𝔹𝕣𝕒𝕙𝕞𝕤 ℍ𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕖

Dust.

Like, you know when something smells old because it's been standing somewhere without being touched for too long?

That's what he smells like.

He doesn't need to, though. He probably has an arsenal of really expensive perfumes and colognes standing somewhere in that mansion.

After he meets you, there's a slight chance that he'll take more care of himself. And in that case, he will finally use those fragrances.

As soon as he does that, he smells like that mansion looks. Rich, educated, charming, handsome even.

𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕤 ℍ𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕥

Hay, dry earth, Tommy smells like a hot day on a field.

When he spent some more time in the basement, the smell becomes even earthier and damp. Like a crypt.

Though, most days the 'warm' smell is stronger and it's really wholesome. When you hug him, it feels like you're hugging a cat who's been lounging in the sun for a while and got all heated up. (I just want to hug him, man.)

𝕆𝕥𝕚𝕤 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕

Now, that man smells bad.

Rotting corpses, vomit kind of bad. It's not good.

When he does his makeup and actually showers, it's not that bad anymore. Then, he just smells like the makeup he applies (you know, the stuff they paint children's faces with?) and (probably Baby's) body wash.

𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪

Baby loves sweet perfumes, especially when they have a fruity note (pun intended).

She has a few fragrances she always uses, and they make her smell really nice, and really sweet, kind of like candy.

If she doesn't apply those, she smells like lotion and body oil.

Pretty, that's what she smells like.

ℝ𝕁 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪

Motor oil, leather and rain.

Motor oil from working on the trucks all day long, leather from his jackets. Where does the smell of rain come from? Don't ask me.

He smells really masculine in that sense, like a ride on a motorcycle.

𝕁𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕍𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤

Do corpses emit smell if they're still alive?

Well, Jason does.

He smells like wet earth, rain, and the forest. A really grounding smell overall.

Hugging him feels like laying on the forest ground after it has been raining for a while. In a nice way, though.

It's really refreshing, and really pleasant.

𝔸𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘

Amanda uses really nice body wash. Something that smells like pine needles.

Other than that, she smells like old metal and disinfectant.

Old metal, because she spends half of her days designing traps and disinfectant because of John.

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rise-my-angel · 2 years

Text

Distracted Mistakes

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Length: 10.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, graphic descriptions of violence, implied threat of assault, restraints, smut, p in v, orgasm denial

Notes: Kinda dark in tone but has a happy ending, can be seen as a sequel to Confused Warmth but also can be read as a standalone. Follow up Past Retribution

Growing up, you knew you didn’t experience things the same way you thought you should have. You knew what was normal, but you didn’t have the chance to naturally grow out of childhood into an adult. No, you were a kid one day, and the next, most adults around you demanded you behave just like they did. Sure, you sort of knew why at the time, you were ripped away from your home and into a world where you didn’t know who to be more scared of, the infected or other people.

One thing that you were taught was that you had to be good at the same kinds of things adults were. Few people who travelled with were willing to give you the time to learn, most told you to just do it and shut up about it. It didn’t matter if you were bad at it, or hated it, you were a kid and you needed to just do what you were told. Unfortunately for you, that was a habit you never lost as you became independent. Years of surviving alone, and you still refused to speak up about things you hated. All you learned to do was to be quiet and stew in your frustrations alone.

Months into your stay in Jackuson, Wyoming had helped to unwind some of the more demanding parts a nomadic habitation had forced you to endure, but if you still struggled with anything, it was speaking up truthfully about negative emotions. Still remembering the gruelling years of teenagehood, and the lessons you were taught. How irritated or angry you are doesn't matter, just shut up, do your job, or face the consequences like an adult.

Unfortunately for you, that irritation grew strong that afternoon, sun beating down on your head, pack strapped to your person making you sweat underneath, and the unbearably uncomfortable straining in your lower half all added up. The steady trollop of hooves and the presence of the men you normally treasured spending time with, did very little to make you feel better.

You put a lot of work into pretending as if it didn’t bother you, but the mix of a particularly hot day, and spending hours in the sun's direct path did little to quell the fact that you absolutely hated riding a horse.

You and Joel had spent increasing amounts of time scouting outside of Jackson, but this was by far the furthest away from town you had been since arriving. Tommy suggested the three of you go together to this area he and Joel had been looking at, and bringing the horses made the most sense.

Part of you wanted to feel guilty for being so grouchy, Joel did outright ask you before you left, “You know how to ride, right? Cus we’re gonna be out there a while just getting there.”

If by knowing how to ride, he meant your one time learning how to ride a horse during a short stay at a horse ranch many years ago in which you spent 3 hours total on one? Then sure you technically knew how to ride, but Joel already had one all set up for you when you got there and saying no wasn’t really an option. If you said you weren’t comfortable on one by yourself, you figured Joel would just tell you to stay behind, so you just said yes.

Two hours later, you were ready to jump off this damn thing and never look at it again. Coming to a stop near a set of buildings, Joel’s voice brought you out of your head, calling you name. “You with me?”

Nodding without much thought you moved to get down, face wincing as you haul your leg over to join the other on one side. Before you could step down, large hands grasp at your sides, picking you up and gently placing you on the ground. “I got it, I got it”

“Sure you did.” Joel didn’t even acknowledge your narrowed eyes towards him, one hand keeping you steady as it holds your hip firmly, the other reaching for your reins. “What’d we just say, then?”

You move to grab them from him, but Joel’s arm just raises out of your grasp. With a sigh, one palm finds a home on your hip, “We go through the strip right there, quick clear before grabbing essentials only and moving to scout the two story at the end. I heard you loud and clear, Joel.”

Joel’s face doesn’t change much, eyebrows furrowing downward. “Clearly not, since Tommy said all that not me.” His arm stretched back to wordlessly let Tommy take the reins of your own horse and secure it with the others. “Look if you’re not up for this-”

“Well I’m already here.” Moving the strap holding your firearm laying across your back up and off to hang over your arm, you hold back the attitude you know isn’t really warranted. “I’m fine, Joel. I’m just..”

He takes a small step into your personal space, head leaning slightly down closer to yours, but you keep talking before he can interject. “You and Tommy should start with the larger building. It’ll take longer anyways, and I can quickly make my way through these two small ones and meet up with you two before you even get to the second floor.”

A warm hand raises to the bottom of your chin, lifting up to meet his eye. “Hey, if you’re not okay just tell me.” His deep brown eyes, usually a degree of harshness within them, soften as he takes in your clear agitation.

Your own hand comes up and gently grasps his wrist, twisting his hold on you open, as you bring his hand to your lips with a gentle kiss. “It’s fine, I'll rummage through those two quickly and meet up with you two. You two are faster than me anyways.” Letting his hand fall, you step back to turn to Tommy, leaning against a post watching with a questioning gaze. “That okay with you?”

The two brothers share an unspoken conversation, as Tommy nods. “Works for me. Just keep your eyes peeled.” Joel moves to start off in the other direction as you make your way to the first, and smallest building. You don’t look back to see Joel’s watchful eye follow you with concern.

You’re not normally in such a bad mood, but the relentless heat pouring on top of you for two hours, straddling such a large horse for only the second time allowing pain and soreness to creep up the length of your legs and into your lower back left you uncomfortable to the point of vast frustration. Hearing Joel almost tell you that you should have stayed behind just poking at your already sore spots.

This was still new. You still weren’t used to having a person know you the way Joel does, having a person always watching your wellbeing with such care. You still feared Joel seeing you as incapable. If he didn’t think much of your skills out here, then what did he really think of you back home? Years travelling alone, surviving solely on your own skills, couldn’t match the experience over two decades Joel held over you. He was an adult when this started, you weren’t. And maybe you still worried he saw your inferiority as childish rather than just less experienced.

How long could he care about you in this way if he sees you as childish, afterall.

You made a slow progression through the first building. Too distracted, that’s what you were. You were focused on what was on the shelves, not your surroundings. You grabbed a few things as you moved out of the first room, too busy making your way to the much more full shelves in the back you missed the movement hiding in the shadows. Slipping your bag off of your back, you knelt onto the ground and started sorting through what to take or not.

If you had been thinking clearly, you could have cleared the building first, wouldn’t keep your back to the majority of the room. Realistically, the best decision would have been to stick to the original plan and scout the room as a group. You aren’t sure if you could have avoided what was about to happen even if you paid attention on your own.

Creaking wood had barely even grazed your eardrums, giving you enough time to lift your head up, before an arm came into your eyeline. All you could do was watch as the hand came into view and slammed itself down onto your mouth, while the other arm wrapped around your stomach and yanked you back into the body of its owner with an unpleasant lurch. Your own hands flew up to pry your mouth free with a muffled grunt, but whomever had you in their hold turned their body towards where you could see a second figure standing before throwing you onto the ground in front of them.

Your head slammed into the ground, a sharp sting flowing through your entire head, and the crushing pressure of a heavy weight kneeling down onto your back. Someone pressing your wrists together followed by a painfully tight restraint wrapping around them, another set of hands coming over your head, forcing a fabric around your mouth with such force it knocks your head back with it.

Suddenly your vision seemed to spin, as you found yourself being picked up and thrown face first into a wall, before the perpetrators spun you around to finally face them. Two tall men stood before you, covered in dirt, soot, and what you feared may be dried blood. They seemed gangly for the strength they used on you, but two on one wasn’t a good way for you to gain the upperhand.

“Search her.” One of the men spat out, pulling out a hunting knife as he crowds your face with the blade. “You gonna let the man do what he’s gotta do or you about to get a whole lot uglier.” His breath felt putrid alone, like it threatened to burn your skin off as the blade poked into your cheek.

The other wasn’t any better, his grungy hands roamed your pockets and feeling far too slowly around certain body parts, before checking around your clothes, pulling anything he found as he tossed it onto a small dirty table beside him. Your eyes closed shut, unwilling to watch his touch, when you realised just how badly you had screwed up.

You didn’t notice the strap of your gun sliding off your shoulder, it wasn’t on you thats for sure. Were you so distracted that they had slipped it off you before grabbing you? You opened your eyes to the one with the knife, and there it was. Hanging off of his shoulder, sitting too high on his torso for it to be his own. It was sized for your own height, not someone as tall as this, but you suspected it didn’t matter now.

The other straightened up as you were ripped of your possessions, “Not much good. Couple knives, some first aid shit.” The touchy one looking down at you, “Lady like you out here alone with fuck all on you? You believe that?” His attention turned towards his companion, both looking as sceptical as the other.

The one with the knife moved it up and off your skin entirely but continued to point too close to your body. “If shes all by herself out here with just this,” shifting the weapon on his shoulder, “then shes the dumbest broad I ever seen.”

Touchy man kneeled down to your height as you lean back as far away as you can, hoping the wall would swallow you up. “There’s one of you, and three horses outside. You ain’t alone, right honey?”

All you could do was glare. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of trying to yell, let alone give them even a lie. The one kneeling just smiled, a dark and greasy smile to match the suffocating stench that came from it. “We got ways of making you talk, but they ain’t nice so you best bet start talking. For your own sake.”

With a jerk of his head, he seemed to give the other man instructions as the knife holder stepped up and tucked just the sharp tip of the knife under the fabric around your mouth. “You scream when I take this off or do anything that ain’t just talking, I’m sticking this thing right into your face.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t try and speak. So the knife cut the fabric off of you, falling to the ground as you steadied your breathing. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m alone.”

Touchy man leaned into you more, your head turning to the side to avoid it. “What you just love horses so much you got three of ‘em?”

There wasn’t a chance you’d tell the truth. You didn’t know how many men were here, or what they had planned. You didn’t even know exactly how far away Joel and Tommy had gotten, but you sure as hell weren’t about to put them up on the chopping block. “Those aren’t mine. Not much of a horseback rider.”

The men shared a look, before the touchy one stood up to full height once more. Seeming to speak to the other silently, the one with the knife waved it around as he spoke. “Look, we ain’t that stupid. There’s at least someone else ‘round here, two probably. Either you tell us where they are and what they got, or I go lookin’.”

Touchy knelt down to your height once more, this time his dirty finger just grazing your skin as it moved down your cheek. “And honey, it ain’t just gonna be bad for your pals out there, cus if they got nothing good then you’s all we got, and you can trust I’ll find a real good use for you.”

If anyone came close to your chest, they’d be able to hear the pounding fear of your heart racing, your eyes trying to glare as blatantly as possible, hoping it masked the chill of fear swimming through your body. Behind your back, your hands twitched desperately, scraping against what felt like a zip tie, searching for a way to loosen it even slightly. If you could pull against the plastic just enough, you could force your way out of its hold. You wanted to yell, just enough to maybe get Joel’s attention, but you were stuck. You were stuck and it was all due to your own stupidity. So you just twisted against the ties. You just hoped you could do it before they went beyond what you could come back from.

Joel had barely made it to the second floor before he felt that passing itch of paranoia. It was a sensation he had become accustomed to, but it never failed to hitch up his senses. Neither he or Tommy had found anything particularly suspicious so far, a decent haul of supplies sure, but nothing to send him on edge. Throwing glances over to Tommy, Joel made his way over to a window.

There was no sign of you making your way over at this point, he couldn’t even really see much in the way of movement in the next building. That itch flares up again, this time rising up from a tickle, finding a home in his shoulders. Time and time again, Joel has told himself he needs to let himself breathe. Not to always trust that his instincts are a verified threat, but there was something about you that threw that off.

It had been a long time since he held these kind of feelings in his heart. There had been people before, but it was never anything resembling a relationship. Not for quite a long time. You were different though, but honestly it was too soon for Joel to quite understand why.

You wormed your way under his armour and found the path to his heart. If he were more like his brother, maybe he’d be a little better about handling a relationship. Something had been bothering you, you’d been pretty quiet on the trip out here, and insisting you do some of the searching alone told him you needed a breather. So he let you go alone, he knew you were used to it.

Now though? As Joel stands at the window, waiting to see any sign of you coming his way, he starts to realise that letting you scour a building alone when you seemed to be distracted, might be a mistake. You could handle yourself, you had done so for years, but a wave of protectiveness splashes Joel anytime he was out here with you. No amount of skill you had would keep Joel’s desire to keep you safe from consuming him.

“Nice to see you’re still just as good with women now as you were back in the day.” Tommy teased. You were in a mood, and it seemed Joel hadn’t really picked up on its extent until you had already walked away.

Joel took in a deep breath, tearing his watchful gaze away from the view below long enough to send his brother a noticeably unimpressed look. “Yeah, and I’m sure if I ask Maria you’re always on top of things.”

Tommy’s chuckle followed his approaching steps. “Hey, my relationships have always lasted longer than yours.” Finding a place beside him, he looked down below at the stillness below.

“That’s just because you’re good at tricking them into staying with you.” Both men laughed before letting Joel’s unease fill the air. “It’s too quiet out there.” Tommy looked between the view and his brother. Waiting for him to continue. “She should’ve started making her way over here by now.”

Tommy nodded, he could feel something in his gut growing, similar to what Joel was letting take over. You should have been here by now, you didn’t linger like this, but he had to stand calm, keep that impulsive aggression in his brother from dominating his decisions. “What are you thinking?”

Joel’s hands flexed over the weapon in his hands, “I should go check on her. It’s taken too long, something’s wrong.”

“Want me to finish up in here, or you want backup?” Before Tommy could even get an answer, a door down below opened. From the back of the first building, the vague shape of a man made its way onto the gravel below, before facing the still open door, and making some kind of gesture to another person inside.

Joel and Tommy moved to the side, masking their presence at the window while they watched. It wasn’t the knife at their side that put them on alert, but the man inspecting the strap of the gun in his hand before tearing them off to hold it more comfortably. Weapons may not vary in appearance much, but Joel sure as hell knows exactly what you were carrying and that did not belong to this man.

Tommy leaned in to watch closer, “Vultures. Just a lowlife looking to take whatever they find off whoever they cross paths with. Probably no more than two or three of them.”

Joel watched the man skulk around the back of the alley, peeking into the window of the second building. Antsy, and almost looking a tad eager, and he understands, he’s looking for them. “They know she’s not alone.” His eyes track his every movement, seeing his head looking inside windows, then peeking at the horses as if to catch someone in the act. “They’re looking for who she’s here with. She doesn’t have enough on her alone, they want what we got.”

At the same time, both brothers head towards the stairs. Tommy knows exactly what Joel is afraid of, if they’re too late. “She’s probably being held by one of them until she gives us up or they find what they’re looking for.”

Reaching the door, Joel rests against the wall next to the door, “She won’t. Even if she wanted to talk, girl’s way too stubborn for her own good.”

Tommy makes a slow move to open the door, his voice lowering as the faint sounds of footsteps grow ever closer on the man's hunt for them. “You go out front, I’ll sneak in through the back and cover you.”

Joel nods, pressing his body up against the nearest wall and letting Tommy slowly headed to the side of the building in a more obvious view. The greasy man hadn’t even turned the corner before getting ambushed, seeing Tommy and raising his gun matching the one pointed at him.

Joel throws himself towards him, gripping the hand at the trigger, yanking it down to the ground as before wrapping his arms around his neck in an aggressive chokehold, giving Tommy the chance to get the weapon out of his hands.

It didn’t take much effort until he passed out in Joel’s hold, before being dropped onto the ground. Snatching the other weapons off of him, passing a few off to Tommy. The two brothers share a nod at the other before moving in their respective directions. Tommy headed back, quiet and steady, knowing he can sneak in unnoticed.

Joel making his way to the front, having no interest in keeping up any more level of stealth. These were immoral degenerates only interested in what they can gain from others. They’ll keep you alive for as long as they can get something from you, and Joel wasn’t going to let them take the only other thing they can from a woman they’ve already robbed.

These men were stupid, you realized. There were only two of them and one had walked out the back door to hunt double him. You just wish it was the touchy one who left. Being held at knifepoint would be easier to get around then one watching your every move, let alone raking his dark, sunken eyes over your form.

You could feel the skin on your hands ripping, the heat building up as blood begins to fall from the tears. Your eyes staying on his with a plotting anger, contrasting against his disgusting gaze. You just needed enough room to pry a single hand free of the restraints and you could go.

Realistically you were a bit out of touch with this kind of confrontation. You’re trip to Wyoming was a relatively silent one, and the months you’ve spent in Jackson have been nothing but entirely safe. It had been a while since you’ve been cornered like this, and even longer since you’ve found yourself in a vulnerable position due to your own sheer stupidity.

Maybe that helped fuel this deep anger, this frantic explosion of rage trapped within your chest just waiting to burst. Sure, these men clearly had been hiding out here and would have been found regardless, but at least you would have had 2 much larger and more intimidating companions as back up.

But no, you were uncomfortable, in pain, hot, and cranky and you wanted a moment alone. Hearing Joel almost suggest you should have stayed home just made that worse, like you had to prove you can still do things on your own.

So now you’re stuck leaning up against a wall, with your hands zip tied behind you as you pushed and pulled your way out. If you had any charm or charisma at all, maybe you would take advantage of the pervert’s wandering eyes, lure him over with soft sweet whispers and surprise him with a close attack. You’d seen happenings like it before, travelling with groups and watching the far prettier and leaner women with doe eyes manipulate those around them.

You didn’t have any of that. You simply had an angry drive to get out of something your own choices had gotten yourself into. With that drive, came a searing pull against your skin and the sudden snap of plastic.

Shifting your entire body as if to stand up straighter, the scuffle of your feet and creak of the boards below you hopefully masking the snap that felt so loud in your own ears. He still had all of your possessions, tossed aside too far out of reach. You could make a dash for it, but not only was he closer, but unlike his own partner, he had yet to show off what weapons he already had.

As if following your train of thought, he made a step towards your own stuff. A finger poking and tossing things aside before looking your way, “Your pals must not like you very much. Leaving you with a buncha junk and one gun.” Huffing to himself in a sort of condescending laugh he continues, “Maybe we’ll be doing you a favour, keeping you for ourselves.”

Don’t think about that, don’t even let what that may mean sink into your head. You had to focus, keeping him distracted was the only way to find an opportunity. “Doesn’t seem like you two have much worth while yourselves, why assume me or anyone else has something good to take?”

“Yeah, them horses look like they belong to a couple of barely scraping by folk.” His scoff was irritating, grating your eardrums. But it wasn’t the only sound you heard. A shuffling of something coming this way. It wasn’t his companion, the loud and uncaring stomp of his walk as he took off in hunt had no sense of awareness.

It wasn’t a long moment of suspense, front door wide open, no sound had yet alerted the man to someone walking in. You weren’t sure what Joel thought had happened, if he even knew of the other man looking for him, but there was a darkness in his eyes. A deep black that poured from his gaze into his entire being as he took in the sight.

Your belongings tossed aside, being fiddled with by a grimy tall figure, your body against a wall, hands behind your back, and if you guessed correctly, you assumed the stings and liquid on your face were likely bloody cuts from being thrown face first into an uneven dirty floor.

Part of you wished he wouldn’t, that he’d force you to get out of this yourself, prove that you could handle it alone, but Joel was protective, and nothing could simmer that. Gun raised in aim, his deep voice filled the air. “Pretty cowardly, tying a woman up after you’ve already taken her gun.”

The man almost slipped along the floor as he spun in place, finding a gun aimed in his direction from a man much stronger than him. “Women are wiley things, never can trust ‘em after they’ve been spooked.”

Not much of a well crafted self preservation instinct in this guy, considering he just keeps talking. “Side’s a like a bit of fight in ‘em, and she’s been looking at me like she eager to start one. You get what I’m saying buddy, big guy like you? Probably not keeping her for her face, but I’ll bet she gives you a good fight, right?”

Jesus, what kind of men are these guys used to meeting? He is either that confident that the man in front of him will agree, or he’s so incredibly stupid that reading the room isn’t a skill he has. Either way Joel takes more than a few steps forward, crowding into the already small space, an unmoving gaze trapped on the man. “Give me one goddamn reason I shouldn’t just kill you right now.”

Turns out, the man had a pretty simple answer. From the hand that had sat close to his belt line, a swift move turned a pistol in your direction. At least you had been right not to jump him the second you slipped from the restraint, silver lining. Not that Joel was seeing it that way. His voice growling out, “You know, your partner is still out there. We left him alive.”

Another figure came into view, this one much slower and quieter than his brothers, crept into the faintest part of your vision. With a noticeable raise of Tommy’s own gun, the sound was loud enough to let you know of his presence.

The gangly creep seemed to sound offended and he looked back to Joel, “So what, you want a trade? I look like a fucking barter to you?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed in an almost terrifying malice, “An offer actually. You let her go, and maybe I won't kill you, but the second that gun goes off, I’m dragging your partner in here, and make you watch as I take my time tearing him apart in front of you, before dragging his own knife deep into your goddamn throat.”

An eyebrow raised up in challenge. His attention found a focus, no doubt used to threats being the kind of lowlife he was, but he said he liked a little fight in them. Clearly that didn’t just apply to women they tie up. “You really gonna stand there and tell me some bitch’s worth all that work?”

Whatever deeply aggressive and growling response Joel gave him was lost on you as you looked over to Tommy, watching carefully, an eye on the two men but also you. As your eyes meet, you cast your gaze downwards towards your hands furthest the view of the stand off. Lifting up just enough to show the zip ties, and then furthermore to show the clear snap holding them together. Stretching your fingers out slightly, mimicking a small grasping motion, before casting your gaze at the one holding you hostage.

You could hear Joel speaking, but not really knowing what was being said. You could only pay attention to the slight shifting of Tommys position, just enough to come within a close reach of you. Your captor standing closer than that, he stood just out of view, lifting a knife off of his person, a small one at that.

Your jerked your head in the slightest of movements you could afford without drawing attention. You needed Tommy within view, there was no way he could hand you anything or even pull you to him without being noticed. As he flipped the knife, slowly reaching it towards you from the blade’s edge, Tommy looked up behind you.

He and Joel were a similar kind of expressive, their eyes held a bountiful language of their own, one seemingly only the other brother could speak fluently. Watching him look behind you, you knew he was communicating something to Joel, something unknown, before turning back to you.

Your hands moved to the side together, reaching out to meet the handle, Tommy’s body crouching to keep as low of a viewpoint as possible, but it was fruitless. You wanted it to be. You needed to let your captor get you close enough. Wood met your fingers and you jerked it in your hand to keep the edge pointed down behind you, in the same instance your whole body was pulled into another.

Holding you against his side with a grip so tight, your skin already crying out in protest no doubt leaving a mark in its agony. The pistol once held mere feet from you, now rested against your skin, pushing slightly in on the cheek he held it to. “Fuckin’, she ain’t going nowhere, pal. You two gonna learn how to fucking negotiate.” Waves of nauseating rot hitting your senses, and overwhelming your eyes to fog up as if his smell could melt them. But the fog wasn’t enough to hide Joel from you.

You tried to look impassive, you really did. If you were a better person, maybe you could have maintained a calm and determined look at the man before you. But really, you felt guilt, suffocating guilt that overtook you as Joel looked at you. There was anger in him yes, but the guilt only swallowed you up more as you saw behind it. There was a desperation there, a real, tangible, terrified panic as he watched you unable to just take you in his arms and leave. And it was your fault. Your own immaturity led to this, and Joel deserved better.

You had once told Joel you could take care of yourself, that you had for a while, but now you felt small and stupid. What Joel was seeing wasn’t you taking care of yourself, it was a pathetic girl needing to be saved, someone who he couldn’t rely on. Maybe his panic could turn to relief, but the guilt was filling the air in your throat and constricting your lungs. The panic could also turn into shame, humiliation, a different kind of anger that you were not the capable brave women you tried to be.

Brown eyes met yours, a deep penetrating gaze that knocked you back in time. Early evenings, and quiet laughs with those same brown eyes looking at you in a way you didn’t understand. Speaking the language you couldn’t and filling you with a warmth that had never been there before. Now though, the gaze didn’t feel warm. You didn’t know what it felt other than the pounding of your heart echoing through your head. “I’d let you shoot me before I just watch you walk out with her.”

What you felt didn’t matter. Joel had enough damage on his heart, he had enough loss that threatened to tear him apart for too long. You needed to end this yourself, and you needed it to end now.

So your grip tightened on the blade, eyes casting upwards to the man no doubt looking to flaunt the upper hand he thinks he held. Just as his mouth opened, he was proven terribly wrong.

His reflexes weren’t quite as sharp as he boasted, no doubt assuming any attack would come from a gun, but your sudden movement had simply startled him instead. Your hand reaching around from behind, and finding the blade a new home in the soot covered throat of your putrid captor.

A forceful grunt from you faded into his own cry of agony. Only you pushed it further, muscles burning from strain you had long forgotten was necessary. Knife sliding deeper into his neck as the edge of it was pushed across the skin to carve a wider slice.

Blood blocked your vision. Your face, your arm, torso, all freshly splashed with a disgusting red, as the sounds in your ear turned garbled and inhuman. Feral like a screeching animal, only to stop just as quick as it started.

Letting go of your attack, you felt yourself falling backwards, only for your back to be met with a softer surface than the wall or floor, and you felt consumed by the force pulling you away from the violence. You could only watch as the man fell to the floor with an aggressive thump, only to be approached by another and have the fallen pistol kicked away from its once owner.

It took you a moment to come back, to realise Tommy had pulled you away and into his hold for safety, as Joel kicked the gun away and seemed to be making sure he was dead. Tommy’s grip on you loosened, but his hands remained, one on a bicep keeping more of a steadying hold, the other found itself on your shoulder. A comforting gesture in a small sensation as Joel finally disarmed himself and turned to you.

Teeth and jaw matched both tense and gritting, as the pantings breaths of adrenaline lowered in his chest. This was it. Joel looking at you in a language you never spoke, and the anxiety but expected anticipation of never having a chance to learn it again, threatening to overpower you. You made a mistake, and it almost cost you your life and however little Joel wanted to do with you now was entirely yours to blame.

Taking mere steps towards you, Joel seemed to encompass your whole vision. Expecting him to stop and yell at you, only to find your body being torn from the comforting arms of a friend into the desperate needing arms of the other.

Tommy had taken a respectful step back and given his brother the space he deserved. Joel wasted no time on that chance, and flew into you. Large, rough hands finding both sides of your face and pulling you up and into a dominating kiss. Part of you didn’t understand, but most of you didn’t care. Your hands reaching up to grasp his neck, holding on like a cliff’s edge, one of his own trailing down the path of your hand and grasping one of yours and holding it tight.

Before the force of his lips could take away what little breath you had let, he parts from you to tilt his forehead down onto your own. The hand still on the side of your face readjusts, holding tighter yet not meaner. Holding onto your face as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss as your hands on his neck was for you.

Barely a whisper, more of a small muttered prayer, “I’ve got you. I got you.” Joel’s eyes opened just enough to watch you try to say sorry, wide eyes panicked with shame, but he refused it. Once again using both hands to tilt your head down slightly, letting his soft lips kiss your forehead, attempting to soothe whatever was inside before making you look up at him, at his shining wide brown eyes filled without any of the resentment you feared. Just softness to match this voice. “I’m proud of you, baby. You did so good.”

Were you both panting from the exhaustion of terror, or from the fast and rough kiss his gifted to you? You weren’t sure, but all you could do was drift your hands down his collar onto his chest. Shaking your head just slightly, “You shouldn’t be. This was all my fault.”

Shaking his head, Joel tried to speak but you didn’t let him. “It was. I was distracted and stupid. If I just paid attention, or just stuck to the original plan I wouldn’t have been caught off guard. I fucked up. You shouldn’t be proud of me, you should be pissed.”

The hesitation in his face only made this sickness in you feel worse, even more so as he firmly says your name, "What you did was defend yourself, why the fuck should I be mad at you for that?"

Your hands slowly shifted upwards, grasping Joel’s own and pulling them down from your person to his sides before letting go of him entirely. “All I did was fix the mistake I made that put all of us in danger. Don’t coddle me for that.”

This life you’ve grown into has never once granted you reprieve from any mistake you’ve made before. The world always found a way to punish you, give you your comeuppance for the times you’ve screwed everything up. Easy forgiveness, just being able to push what you did behind you wasn’t normal for you, it was simply how you grew up.

Joel took in your unease, eyes looking towards the outdoors, with a view of Tommy busy hiking things up onto one of the horses before turning back to you. “Listen,” his hands finding a resting home on his hips, features on his face twisting to resemble much more of the frustrated glare you had once been so used to. “You didn’t waltz in here, throw your gun on the ground and purposely ignore everything around you. You’re not some dipshit who doesn’t know any better. So I’m not going to stand here and yell at you like you’re one.”

Taking a deep breath, one hand runs down the length of his face as he turns away from you. Only a few paces made before he pivots to look back at you, gesturing towards you. “Do you know how fucking terrifed I was when he had a gun pointing at you? How fucking angry I was having to stand there, watching those grimey hands pull you into him pointing that thing right at your head? Listening to him run his mouth about all the vile shit he very clearly had planned for you.”

Were you able to hear it, the aggressive pounding in Joel’s heart matched your own. “All of that was because of me. I don’t want you to just let me off the hook just because of,” Pausing, not knowing how to put it, or really how to say it diplomatically or even accurately. “Just because of this… between us.” Finger vaguely gesturing the empty air from you to him, shoulders sitting locked and tense.

Anger had thinned out to a quiet uncertainty. Whatever adrenaline coursing through your veins had dissipated completely, leaving only the intimidating anxiety you had felt before. Footsteps echoed loudly in your ears as Joel approached you, as if they were screaming with each step.

Part of Joel had concern written on him, as he looked into you for something specific to search for, until it began to wash away. Flushed out and leaving a far darker and glint in his eyes. There was intent there, and something..well something that you still were getting used to being directed your way.

It was as if something in his head clicked. Like Joel somehow switched gears, and he realized that his intent towards calming you down needed a different approach. And he found one.

“Oh I’m not letting you off the hook.” As his broad figure invaded most of your space, you had to turn your neck up to meet his eyes, and the darker unknown flashing in them was much clearer now. “You don’t get to scare me like that and get off scot free.”

There it was. Your lips parting as it all clicks together, the same sensation finding its way from the realisation in your brain, swimming down to find a place alighting your nerves. Your hands, your senses, and finally sparking a steadily increasing heat between your legs. That unknown in Joel’s eyes was desire, and by the upturned corners of his mouth, you were sure he found the same in yourself. Joel was simply better at recognizing it in you, then you were in him.

You looked over to the open entrance, only having a view long enough to see the tail end of Tommy’s horse being led away. In a less clouded and muddy brain, you would have simply recognized that he was moving it closer to make packing supplies easier on his own. You later would find a deep embarrassment that he had very purposely walked away from the building on his own. But your attention was short lived, being brought back to Joel’s with a hand grasping your chin and tugging it to meet your eyes with his.

“You don’t want me to coddle you? Fine.” His fingers pulling you right up into his own personal space, close enough to feel the air on your skin as he spoke, deep and quiet. “How about I show you just how livid I am that you put yourself in a positon where that perverted fuck was ready to put his hands all over you.”

Another hand of his tightly grasped at your hip suddenly, pushing you backwards towards the wall behind you. Your eyes cast briefly to watch as the view of the open door closed off as you were backed into an alcove. Shoved finally against the wall with a force strong enough to jolt your body, Joel’s grip on your chin tightened once more as he pulled your lips just before meeting his own.

“Is it punishment you want, sweet girl?” His lips grazed yours with each word, causing the heat between your legs to feel unbearable.

This..was new. You should be angry, upset, traumatized, and Joel shouldn't be looking at you the way he does, alone together when the sun goes down. Somehow, your brain was confusing this panic and adrenaline with arousal, but it also seemed to consume whatever Joel felt as well.

So you nodded, barely whispering a please before Joel kisses you. His body crowding you against the wall with no space to move, the hand on your chin moving down to find a firm hold of your throat. Not tight, not hurting, just enough to tell you that he was in charge.

You don’t think you will ever get used to how utterly soft Joel’s lips are. His stark and harsh sitting features don’t give any hint to the gentle plush softness hiding in plain sight. A plump pouty mouth moving against yours, so demanding and dominating you have no choice but to simply follow along.

Raising your hands up, hoping to find a home around his neck, needing to scratch the itch of tangling your fingers in the soft curls of his hair. Joel doesn’t give you a chance though, the second your hands touch his neck, both of his shoot out and snatch your wrists. Holding them in the air between the two of you, Joel keeps his lips brushed against yours.

“Now, isn’t this a punishment sweetheart?” Eyes shut, you couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. His smile he holds against you, borderlines on a smirk when you try to reach his lips once more for a proper kiss again. “If you want to be taught a lesson for what you did, then you don’t get to just touch me the way you want.”

Moving a step back, giving you space, Joel lets your hands down gently, only letting you go right as your arms are back down the entire way. “Turn around for me, okay?”

Joel’s hands find a soft, barely there touch against your hips helping coax you around into the wall. Once you’re facing the wall, Joel’s hands find yours once again, gently bringing them up to sit flat against the wall. “Keep these right here.”

You give him a nod before shutting your eyes, letting your mind focus solely on his touch. The hot air of his breath hitting your neck before tracing down to your collar with his lips. Feather-like presses of Joel’s lips felt like a hit of electricity, and each zap pulling a gasp closer and closer to leaving you.

You mindlessly cast your eyes to the side, only to be met with a wooden blocked view. You don’t know how visible Joel is from the outdoors, but your head is filled with a lightness anyways. A rush flowing through you, a thrill of being found, of being caught. This was also new, this arousal of being just barely hidden from view. A lot of things were new for you since Joel, some of which are new between both of you, most of which are new for you.

It seemed ironic, minutes ago you had shoved a knife into a man's throat, and yet it’s being pressed up against a wall, Joel’s hands flowing up and down your body, lips marking up and down your neck, the threat of his brother walking in at any moment that gets your blood racing.

The gruff husk of his voice purrs in your ears, “I’m not going to tie you up, baby. But if you move them down, or try to touch me or your own body,” One hand hovers above you only to come down and smack your ass. “Then I punish you more. Okay?”

When you don't immediately respond, his head turns slightly into the groove of your neck, his nose nudging into the softness from your cheek. “Sweetheart-”

Your body moving back, desperate to fit your back up against Joel��s chest. Leaning your head back into his own shoulder blade, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. Straining yourself just enough to peek at his own gaze. “Okay. I understand.”

Confirmation was all he needed. You knew all Joel needed to hear was you being okay with this, as the abrupt shift in behaviour happens so fast it leaves you dizzy. The soft scrape of facial hair, the gentle push of his nose, and sweet lulling whispers leave you entirely, replaced by rough handling.

Joel’s body pressed tightly against your back, and his hands jerking in front of you to undo your pants with no gentle working up. His presence looms over you as he loosens you up just enough to find home for his hands to slide within. One sliding the fabric down just enough to grip the seam of underwear, tugging at it upwards just enough to hold it in his grip while his fingers dig into the meat of your hip, nails pressing in sharper and sharper with each passing second.

The other is ruthless. Joel slinks his fingers down right to your clit, pressing down on the bundle of nerves with the pads of two fingers before grasping it in a hold. Finally the air in your throat flies out, high and wanting and far too loud.

The transgression is given no reprieve, as Joel’s hand releases your clit onto to use what small tight space he has, to slap it. The resounding slap of skin muffled by fabric and layers, but to your own ears, echoes throughout. Another smack to your clit as your body tense up, winding your insides like a stringed instrument about to peak too far.

“First rule about survival, is how to,” a smack, “stay” another smack, “quiet.” The final smack follows a soothing rub of his fingers against your clit almost to soothe it. The dry rubbing from just his fingers, almost stings in a foreign kind of way. The wetness soaking you just below his reach feeling so needy at the raw burn, but also leaving you wanting more of the pain.

As if the mixture of pleasure and a sting of pain was what you needed. You didn’t know what you needed, your entire view on your own physical desires left entirely in Joel’s control. Your teeth came down to bite against your tongue, keeping yourself silent.

Joel’s fingers rub against you, each pass winding that string tighter and tighter as your fingers curl into fists. The cutting of his fingers in your hip slide up, pressing and grasping each patch of skin he passes, a desperate needing hold distracts him for a moment as his hand passes up your tits.

Finally he reunites his grasp on your neck, Joel’s lips only making a short caress over the skin before his teeth bite down. The scruff on his jaw and moustache burn against you as his teeth mark your neck up and down. His mouth almost moving in tandem to his holding on your clit.

It builds and builds, the white hot core making its way to the surface. The whine and need slipping through your purposeful silence. “You close, sweetheart?” Your head nods, biting down harder to keep your silence, “Yeah? Are you gonna cum for me?”

Your lean back, and Joel presses into you in return. He feels it, Joel knows you, knows what you need, but he does it anyways. Pulls his hand from you entirely only to slap his hand over his mouth covering the cries he knows you were about to let out.

“See if you just behaved, I would have let you cum. I’d sink my fingers into your tight little cunt, and let you cum as many times as you wanted.” The hands on your mouth and neck, respectively, join as they yank down your pants only just far enough to give him access to your ass.

Hands grasping and pulling your cheeks, unable to control himself and slapping more than enough that you know you'll be red with the large imprint of his hands, each slap harder than the last. “But you didn't, did you? And now?” A tsk leaves him, “You’re just going to have to wait, sweet girl.”

As his hands leave you, he doesn't abandon you as his mouth leans in. Starting by soothing the red bites he left in his wake, and a kiss finding its way onto your cheek. All you can hear is the clinking of Joel’s belt being open. You feel the edges of the leather as it opens up, loosening, his hands pulling himself out just enough that you don’t even get the reprieve of his bare skin on yours.

Part of you knows you’re ready, your own underwear soaking through enough that if you’re left on your own much longer, it’ll drive you crazy. There’s some part of you that has your nerves set alight. Anytime you have sex with Joel part of you always feels a sense of anxiousness, he’s so much more. He’s broad, and large and the months you’ve been together is hardly enough time compared to the decades of experience he has over you, it keeps you on edge a bit.

“Come here, sweet girl.” Joel’s hands bend you just slightly, arm around your waist pulling your ass to his own hips, and you feel the drag of his cock against your cheeks. You push back against him, pushing a groan from Joel has his cock now rub against you deliciously.

All you can do is plead, “please," his cock slips between your legs, his own hand guiding his cock to rub against you, prodding just inside before sliding back and forth.

You utter his name, it’s all you can get out. Joel slips inside you, just enough to let a moan creep out before thrusting himself to fill your cunt completely. The arm wrapped around your torso pulls you into him, as if the closer your own body the deeper he can push inside you, a groan growls behind you “That’s my good girl, let me fill you up.”

You were right. Part of you would never quite get used to Joel’s intensity and size, he begins pushing his cock in and out of you. Shallow thrusts deep inside you, but quick and pounding. The sight of your ass jiggling against the force of his hips drives him crazy.

Joel moves a hand to grip against your hip and pull you back onto him, each drag of his cock hitting the sweet spot only he has ever known. A pounding with little mercy and the groans singing in your ears harmonising with the hardley held back moans he pulls from you.

The arm wrapped around you shifts back down and rubs urgent circles into your clit once more. It’s obscene, the way Joel teases his fingers past you just long enough to feel his cock, soaked and sliding harshly in and out of your own warm cunt. Only your squirm of desperation pulls him back to stroke your clit in tandem with each push of his cock inside you, now with your own wetness to push you over the edge.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Joel slows his thrusts, but pushes into you so much harder. The quick smack making way to loud slaps that sound so loud it almost completely overtakes the moans you are crying. You nod, your head leaning back into his shoulder blade. “How close are you, sweet girl? Almost there? Going to soak my cock like a good girl?”

He watches you stretch your fingers against the wall, arms trembling trying to struggle not to reach back and touch his neck, feel his dark curls beneath your fingers. The whine slipping from your mouth brings a smirk onto Joel’s face.

Joel’s cock slides in your cunt fast, faster than before, rushing you towards your end as his deep voice keeps talking. “I’ll fill you up, sweet girl. Fill this hot little cunt full of my cum, okay? Then I’ll give you what you want.”

“Anything, anything you want, Joel please.” You feel Joel’s entire body lean into yours. Head tucked right into yours, chest and hips pressed tightly into your back.

It rose and rose, your orgasm ripping at the seams demanding to be released, until it was at your door. Joel’s cock loses all rhythm, his own groans turning into a higher pitched moaning and just as you start to clench around him he moves his hand.

Abandons your clit and uses the free hand to bring your neck to his mouth to bite down and hide the undeniable moans as he finally cums. You feel him spill inside you, his warm cum being kept inside you as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper again until he has nothing left to give.

Then it all stops. He cock slows as his deep breaths pant into your neck, his hands finally soothing over top of any skin he can touch as he brings himself down. You are stuck in place, your orgasm crawling away from you, leaving you feel an ache between your legs and the stinging pleasure on your clit fade.

“I- Joel…you,” What do you say, you feel so utterly lost. “You said..” Joel’s pants increase, only you realise it’s not really that, it’s laughter. Turning his face into your neck enough to give a kiss.

Moving to remove his cock from your heat, you almost cry at how empty it leaves you. Joel only gave you a teasing reminder of his words. “I said I’d let you cum, not when, sweetheart.” Pulling your own pants back up, he taps at your hips and finally backs off of you to fix himself back up.

Spinning to lean up against the wall facing him finally, the man has the audacity to smirk. Walking towards him, shaking your head almost laughing at the condescending smile he has towards ripping your own release from you.

He meets you halfway, holding you by your shoulders leaning into your face with a small voice, “You be a good girl on the way back home, and I’ll make you cum so many times you’ll be begging me to stop.” His hand nudges at your chin, bringing you in for a soft peck.

You hold his waist still right when he shifts to walk away, “Joel, wait…before we.. about what happened-”

Joel’s hand stays on your chin, while his other encompasses the side of your face. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Next time, just talk to me, okay?”

Foreheads touch as you lean into his, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just wanted a minute to myself but..I just fucked up. I fucked up and it was so fucking stupid of me.”

Joel nods against your forehead. Part of him should be mad, but the other part of him has softened. Getting mad at you for something you’re beating yourself up over won’t help. Or maybe he’s just soft for you in particular leaving him unable to summon the ability to feel anything but relief, either way he pulls you into a hug just the same.

“Next time, you’re staying with me, got it?” You nod against his chest and that’s enough. “Let’s go, we take any longer and Tommy’s gonna storm in asking if we got lost.”

Sun shining bright outside, you rejoin Tommy standing casually by the horses arms crossed. Joel’s hand on your lower back, pushes you forward as Tommy comes to put a comforting hand on your cheek muttering your name, “You okay?”

Nodding but giving him a smile, Tommy seems to understand what Joel also thinks. You'll beat yourself up about this enough, neither of them lecturing you like you didn't know any better won't change what happened.

You step away from both, recognizing the look on his face as soon as both brothers turn their attention to the other. Tommy’s face twisting around, eyebrows raising high with a mocking tone to match, “That was quick, stamina not quite what it used to be, old timer?”

You don’t see it, but you can absolutely imagine the flat but irritated glare likely plastered all over Joel's face, probably pointing at him with a childish threat of hitting his brother. “Yeah yeah, and Maria has nothing but good things to say about yours, right?”

The three of you pack up the horses to go, the sun beating down on you as it begins to move across the sky into late afternoon. Before you have a chance to climb back up on the very thing that set off your entire mistaken chain of events, a pair of arms grabs you and pulls you up to a horse definitely not yours.

Joel chuckles as he brings you up onto his own horse, pointing at you to stay before he moves to lure your horse into walking alongside his own's gait. “You’re staying with me, sweetheart. I told you.” A small smile on his face as yours almost laughs.

Tommy hops onto his as Joel climbs up behind you, grabbing the reins from in front of you and leaning into your body once more, only this time, you feel a warm comfort from his body instead of an anxious arousal. The pair of you turning to rest your heads against each other for one peaceful moment.

“I’ll head up front, make sure the path is clear. Don’t fall behind, grandpa.” You don’t see Joel’s response but you assume it’s just as mature as their earlier interactions as you hear Tommys laugh out loud permeating the air then fading into the distance along with horse trotting.

Joel’s own deep tone brings you back calling your name, “You ready to go home?”

All you can do is nod at first. "Listen, what I was even upset about before, it was stupid. This was all just because I was being stupid. You deserve better than that." Joel shook his head, before simply leaning down to catch your gaze just enough to meet his soft lips in one last kiss. That's all you either of you need for now.

Breaking the seal of his lips on yours, Joel stays right against you brushing against them. “Don’t worry, There’s still plenty of punishment once I get you into bed tonight. This isn’t over yet.”

Joel kisses you one last time, smiling at the obvious flustered look you give, before he finally starts following Tommy on the journey home. You and Joel were a complicated pair, things between you don’t always make sense and you’re not quite on the same level yet as much as normal partners should be.

But you and Joel weren't normal, and neither was the world around you. So for right now, you both still were figuring out how to match the other the way you both knew could. That would take you a little time, but you and Joel had all the time in the world to find that harmony.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joell miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader

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hornyhornyhimbos · 1 year

Note

save a horse ride a cowboy was amazing oh my god i've reread it like 3 times the smut was perfection 😫 please tell me that the reader stayed with cowboy!steve they're so cute together

hehehe i gotchu girly

"A Lucky Shot" ~ S. Harrington

gif not mine

Summary: The aftermath of falling in love with a certain bull rider in a certain bar in a certain city in Indiana.

Pairing: Bull Rider!Steve Harrington x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3,990

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) protected piv sex, cowgirl activities, oral m!receiving, boot humping 🤭 oral f!receiving for like a split second, tiny mentions of food and alcohol, nicknames (sweetheart, princess, cowgirl; cowboy, daddy if you squint), blasphemy if you squint, explicit language, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: the Eddie, Tommy, and Byers' cameos have me crying 😭🤚🏻

Based On: the first part of this, which you can find here!

Originally Written: 03/16/2023 through 03/18/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (thank u for putting up with me LMFAO)

stranger things masterlist can be found here!

hornyhornyhimbos ask box can be found here!

Your legs carried you as fast as they could to the locker room. A mix of adrenaline and sweat was pumping through your veins. You didn't know much about bull riding, but you did know that a 90 was good. Really good.

The locker room was surprisingly empty when you ducked in. You figured the room would be filled with big, sweaty bull riders, but instead, you only found one—Steve. Just to make sure there was no one else around, you let your eyes dart through the room before sprinting toward him and jumping up into his broad arms.

"Jeez!" he shouted, though his hands were quick to meet your butt. Your lips met his, showering him with a thousand loving kisses.

"Mmm," he chuckled into your lips. He pulled away and met your pride-filled eyes. "What are you doing?"

Your lips traveled down to his neck, suckling on the spot you knew was most sensitive. "I'm initiating celebratory sex," you said straightforwardly.

His chest rumbled out a low laugh as he helped you back onto the floor. "Not in here, you're not."

"But-"

"No buts," he argued, his palms settling on your hips. "This is a public locker room."

"Exactly! Which means it's open to the public. I am a part of the public. Therefore, I can do whatever I want in here."

He shook his head in disbelief before leaving a kiss on your hair. "It also means it's open to other people of the public. Anyone could walk in at any time. I want my eyes and my eyes only to see what you have to offer."

You pouted, and he kissed it away just like he always did. One of his hands traveled up your hip, toward your ass, slipping inside your back pocket. "Plus, some of the other riders will probably be done with interviews soon. Not to mention, I need a shower real bad."

A cheeky gleam appeared in your eye. "Can I at least help you with that part?"

A light huff escaped his nose. "Go," he insisted, giving your butt a light tap. "I need you be there if they call my number while I'm gone. Go wait for me in the stadium."

You gave him a scowl, but pulled away toward the door. "You're cruel, Steve Harrington. Just cruel."

"Love you too."

You rolled your eyes before heading back in for a tight hug. "You did really good today. I want you to know I'm proud of you."

His hands rested on your face as he pulled you in for a soft kiss. "Thank you, sweetheart. I love you."

You pulled the cowboy hat off his head, setting it on your own. "Love you too, cowboy."

You sprinted toward the door as he hollered after you, "Hey, you better take care of my hat!"

The next forty-five minutes were absolute torture. Sure, you had Steve at your side after the first twenty, but it was killing you that the judges hadn't announced the winners yet. Steve urged you not to fret, telling you that whatever happens will happen, but you couldn't stop wondering if Steve had won first place.

Steve's hand rested on the small of your back, his lips pressed against the top of your head. "It's OK, really," he urged.

"It is not!" you argued, your leg bouncing nervously against the concrete floor. "What if you didn't score high enough?"

He chuckled, pulling you in close. "Since when did you care so much about bull riding?"

"Since I met you," you rebutted. "And since the grand prize is $25,000. Think about what you could do with-"

Feedback sounded over the stadium's loudspeaker, breaking you from your previous conversation. Your eyes went wide with wonder as a man's voice broke through the feedback.

"In third place, with 89.75, we have Eddie 'The Freak' Munson riding Radagast," he announced. The stadium was overcome with thousands of screaming fans, and your heart vibrated in your body from the noise. Eddie Munson was a crowd favorite for many reasons. He was never too busy to talk to his fans, he was probably the nicest rider aside from Steve, and his whole image was dedicated to being yourself. From the bright yellow Stetson he wore, to the flame red cowboy boots on his feet, even his costume was about being different.

Your hands flew to your mouth in surprise. "Babe, you beat Munson!" you exclaimed. Your feet kicked and bounced like a teenage girl who'd just been asked to prom. "That's huge!"

He let out an amused huff, kissing your head. "We don't know that. They suspected I would get a 90. Hasn't been confirmed yet."

You shrugged before turning your attention back to the announcer. "Don't ruin my hopes and dreams. You've still got a shot at winning this thing."

"In second place, with 91.5, we've got Tumbling Tommy Hagan riding Monster," he said, and once again, the arena rattled with screams. Hagan had a lot of fans too, but nowhere near as many as Munson. If there was one thing to know about Hagan in the arena, it was that he was the most competitive rider in the league by far, and his fans were nearly as competitive as he was.

Your heart thrummed inside you and your ears rang like they never had before. He just has to win. He's gotta.

The presenter's voice filled the speakers one last time, and you felt your fingertips go numb as you waited to hear the winner. "And, at an even 92, with the highest score we've seen all season, for a grand prize of $25,000 and a draft into the PBR if he accepts…" his voice drifted in suspense.

"Oh, fuck this guy!" you shouted in frustration.

"Baby," Steve whispered into your ear, leaving a loving kiss there. "It's OK." However, you knew by the way his eyes were darting around that he was just as nervous as you were. He never would've admitted it though.

You swore you heard the fans screaming before the man ever announced the winner. It felt a bit like slow motion as you jumped up from your chair and screamed along with them. The announcer's voice echoed, "Riding Sundae, Steve 'The Hawk' Harrington!"

Your lips met Steve's for a long, passionate kiss. He smelled like fresh linen and men's deodorant, tasted like the lemonade he'd been sipping on, and still felt just like the Steve you'd fallen in love with the year prior. His preparation for this tournament had been hard, but it was that moment when you'd realized it had all paid off.

The afternoon was filled with interview after interview, question after question, but you didn't care. Your cowboy was beaming, and your heart was full. His hands had stayed protectively on your waist, like he was afraid the interviewers would snatch him up and take him away from you. You just smiled, knowing it was his way of saying, "You'll always have me, no matter what league I'm in."

He all but floated to the car and the wide smile didn't even think about leaving his face. He'd leaned you against the car, peppering your face in excited kisses, and all you could do was smile. His nerves had washed away, and he knew it would be just you and him until the last ride. And unsurprisingly, that was all he needed.

Steve's hand stayed in yours the entire ride home, and you couldn't help but be reminded of the year prior. That first night, his hand stayed attached to your skin, like he was afraid if he let go, you'd disappear. And even now, after the honeymoon phase had passed, even after petty arguments about toothpaste brands and television shows, even a year later, he still couldn't keep his hands off you.

The air was filled with excitement, the windows cracked and blowing wind through your hair, only aiding your senses. Steve blared his playlist of post-competition songs, screaming along to every word. You couldn't help but sing with him, feeling a pleasant sensation in your belly every time he'd sneak a glance at you. With the windows rolled down, you could smell the freshly mown grass as you drove past the Byers' house, some family friends of Steve's, and wondered if they'd been at the tournament to see him win.

You made your way into the house, and an exhausted Steve plopped onto the couch to pull off his boots. You kneeled in front of him to help him out of his shoe, but both of you knew exactly what you were doing.

He ran a tired hand through your hair, giving you a sideways smile. "Whatcha doin' down there, sweetheart?" he asked, even though he didn't need an explanation.

"I was hoping," you said, running a hand along his denim-clad thigh, "I could help you celebrate?" You smirked as you watched him squirming to readjust his hardening cock.

His hands met the button of his jeans, undoing the fastening for you. "You don't even have to ask."

You pulled him out of his boxers, and your mouth drooled at the thought of tasting him. It wasn't like you'd never tasted him before, but with the big championship, he'd been hyper focused on his diet, so you knew he was going to taste good.

You placed his head on your tongue, licking small circles around it and already he was a mess. Like putty in your hands.

You licked a long stripe up his length, and his dick became even harder. "Oh, princess," he sighed, nearly squirming when your mouth moved down to his balls, sucking them slightly.

You left a trail of kitten licks from his balls back up to his tip, finally taking him into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed around him, and he let out a soft groan. "Needed this," he sighed, slotting his hands into your hair.

You whined around him, your way of letting him know you needed it just as much. His head fell back as you inched closer to the hilt.

"God, you're so good at this," he grunted. He tugged at your hair, longing for you to take all of him.

You released for a moment, long enough to say, "Yeah? Am I your god tonight?" You took his cock back in your mouth, one of your hands moving to his balls.

Steve moaned as he nodded. "Always. You will always rule me."

Your hips rutted against the boot he hadn't taken off, searching for any friction you could find. You gagged around him as you finally took the entirety of his dick, your nose resting softly in the thatch of hair under his belly. His heavy balls hit your chin, and you moaned around him at the feeling.

"Fuck, I'm close," he grunted. He gripped your face, pulling you up and down his length. You whimpered as drool oozed down your cheeks, your hands moving to wipe it away. Your hand purposely slid from your chin to his balls, twisting them in your palm.

His cock jerked inside your mouth, his saccharine seed spilling down your throat. Your eyes watered as he rode out his high, fucking in and out of you. "Shitshitshit," he muttered, his grip tight around your hair. Your hips chased friction on his boot, winding against the leather.

Despite desperately needing to finish, even after you considered getting yourself off right there on his boot, you forced yourself to release his cock. You slowly pulled off of him, licking your lips where his cum had dripped out. He bent forward for a kiss, moaning at the taste. His tongue slipped into your mouth, running along your teeth and savoring the taste of what only you could do to him. You rocked against his boot, eliciting a chuckle from Steve that rumbled from his mouth into yours.

You forced yourself to move away first. You stood, practically throwing yourself into his lap. He leaned back on the couch, your legs on either side of his waist and your arms around his shoulders. "Congratulations," you giggled, still giddy from the high you'd provided him with.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he sighed. He pulled you back in for another kiss and trailed his hands down your body. Once they'd reached your waist, he pulled you up, lifting both of you from the couch. He managed to kick his boot off the rest of the way before walking out of the living room.

"Hey!" you pouted, but tightened your legs around his waist.

"Cowboy hat rule," he simply said as he carried you through the house.

You rolled your eyes, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. "What if I said, 'Fuck your cowboy hat rule.' What then?"

He shook his head and pulled you in for a desperate kiss. "I don't make the rules, sweetheart. I just follow 'em."

Steve swiftly carried you into the bedroom, laying you down on the mattress with ease. His lips met yours for a dominating kiss as he reached toward the bedside table, presumably pulling out lube or a condom. His other hand worked at the fastening of your pants.

You keened at every swift motion of his limbs, your body arching as his mouth dragged down the front of your neck. His lips ended at your collarbone as he stopped to suck a spot he knew you loved.

After a moment, both his palms were on you, his fingers making quick work of your jeans. He pushed them down your legs to reveal you'd nearly soaked through your panties.

"Might not need that lube after all, huh?" he teased, his hand cupping your clothed core. Steve’s digits pressed your clit through the wet fabric, eliciting a low mewl from you as you opened your legs further for him. You wanted to give him complete access, let him have free reign of your entire body. He chuckled as his fingers played with you through the cotton. "So wet already, filthy girl."

You keened at his touch, your hands palming at his hair. "Please," you begged. "Need you, Steve."

"I suppose you do deserve a reward after being so good to me, yeah? So sweet of you to put me first." he teased, slipping a finger underneath the soaked material. Your eyes fell shut in pleasure, letting out a whimper as the digit teased your entrance. "Well then, your wish is my command, princess."

He pulled your jeans off your ankles, tossing them toward the general direction of the hamper. He then tugged his own jeans and his boxers off, his dick springing up as he tossed the clothing in the same place. Finally, after much too long, he slid your panties down your legs, and his mouth met your cunt for a split second, just long enough to lick up a stripe of your wetness, his tongue lingering on your clit. You moaned, hips bucking toward his face. "Uh-uh," he tutted. "As good as you taste, I think I need to be in you first."

You could never say no to that. You threw your shirt off as he reached for the condom he'd pulled out, making quick work of the foil before rolling it on. Your heart pumped fast with every passing moment, pure excitement running through your veins.

He removed his own shirt too and hurled it toward the slowly growing pile, while you reached for the lube. You squeezed some into your hand before pressing it to Steve’s cock, spreading the lube down his length.

He grunted and hung his head as your palm worked up and down his cock. Your hands never ceased to amaze him. He was the clay, and your hands were nothing short of a potter's, the way you had him.

Your digits met your cunt, mixing what was left of the lube with your slick. Steve moaned at the sight, wishing he'd taken you up on that offer of letting him go down on you.

Steve slowly pushed inside you and you went glassy-eyed at the feeling. You couldn't count how many times you and Steve had had sex in the past year, but no matter how many times it was, his size never ceased to amaze you. He slowly inched inside you, uncontrollable gasps and moans tumbling off your lips. You were sure all of your senses had gone awry in that moment, positive that you couldn't speak, couldn't think a single coherent thought.

He hovered over you, every inch of his abs marked with sweat. His lips met yours for a heated kiss, your mouths molding into one. His hands traveled down to your hips and gripped them tightly. He counted down a quiet, "One, two, three," before flipping the two of you over, giving you a moment to settle. A cheeky grin appeared on his lips as his eyes met yours, and you found yourself getting lost in his fanned-out lashes. He pushed a hair behind your ear, smirking, "Well, giddy up then."

No matter how many times he made that joke, your stomach still did flips every time. It truly amazed you how someone so dorky, so sweet, could manage to be the sexiest man you'd ever known.

You slowly started to rock against him, letting out a quiet whimper as you were still adjusting to his size. Steve could stretch you and fill you like no one else ever could, and it was pure heaven every time.

He chuckled and planted his giant palms on your love handles. "Damn. And they say I look good riding things."

Your hips rutted against him and the friction was absolute bliss. "Hey, that reminds me," you sighed, eliciting a chuckle from Steve.

"If I had to pick a favorite thing about you," he said, "it's that you're a talker during sex." His words were filled with sarcasm, but you still managed to take it as a compliment. You kept grinding your hips into him slowly, pulling noise after noise out of Steve, his head hanging low.

"Thank you," you replied in a whine. "Anyway, I was- fuck- I was wondering what you wanted to do with the money."

Steve sighed a soft, "Shit," as your hips bucked at his, hands tight on your waist. "Two things."

"Yeah?" you said, rocking against him, your fingers running soft circles along his happy trail. "That's not a lot of things considering you just won twenty-five grand."

"Well," he started, bouncing his legs and shoving himself further inside you, "first thing I want to do is buy this cute, little- fuck- local business. You might've heard of it. It's called The Lucky Shot."

You stopped mid-roll. Your eyes widened as your face filled with shock. "Full stop, are you serious?"

"Don't tease me like that." He all but whimpered, fucking up into you harshly.

Your hips rocked along with his, like two metronomes ticking in time with each other. The past year had been like that. The two of you were puzzle pieces, made to be slotted together. "Seriously though, are you really buying The Lucky Shot?"

"Owner's an older man who had a heart attack earlier in the year. He's having trouble- shit- keeping the place up and running. Figured I'd- oh- take it off his hands. Told him I knew a young couple who'd love to take over for him."

Your lips found his for a long, loving kiss. He bounced you on his cock, and you moaned into the kiss, but somehow the noise just made it even more sickeningly romantic. "I love you, Steve Harrington."

"I didn't doubt it for a second, Y/N Y/L/N," he mumbled against your mouth, inhaling and taking you all in. "Hey, you're wearing that perfume I got you."

"Mhm," you smiled against his lips. "Thought it might- oh, god- bring you some good l-luck today." You leaned back up, your hips rutting with extra force as you chased down your high. You let out a low mewl. "What's the second thing?"

"That-" his voice hitched as he led you along his cock, "depends."

"On what?"

"I need your- ah- permission first."

The rolls of your hips slowed and your eyebrows furrowed in some mixture of pleasure and confusion. "OK, shoot."

His hands stilled your waist, his eyes soft as he looked up at you. "Marry me."

You knew it wasn't humanly possible, but you were fairly positive your heart flew out of your chest as you processed his words. "What?"

He tipped his chin toward the nightstand. "Look in the drawer."

Your eyebrows creased even harder. You were just still, somehow managing to completely ignore the current task at hand.

He let out a light huff, running his hand up to the small of your back. "Just trust me, princess."

You pulled at the handle of the drawer, looking around for anything that could be a clue as to what he was talking about. Your vision began to blur with happy tears, though you still weren't sure what you were searching for.

He watched as your concentration face became apparent, a chuckle tumbling off his lips. "Trojan box."

Your hand flew to the little black box, lifting the top. With a flick of your finger, you flipped open the box, inspecting the ring that was hidden inside. Tears started to slide down your cheeks as you registered what was happening.

Steve stole the box from your hand, holding it as though he was proposing normally, as though he wasn't balls deep inside you. "Will you, Y/N Y/L/N, marry me?"

"You hid my engagement ring in a condom box?" you asked, still flabbergasted.

"Well, I figured what better way to propose to you than by doing something that reminds you of the first time we met?"

You placed your hands on his cheeks, tugging his face toward yours and meeting him for a kiss. He tasted like your slick and his sweat, and somehow, it was the most amazing aroma you'd ever experienced. You took all of him in, letting him fill your senses like a breath of fresh air. His chest heaved underneath you, and his lips moved in sync with yours like he couldn't get enough.

You parted from him, lying down his chest and raising your hand. He chuckled at your speechless form as slipped the ring onto your finger. The band fit perfectly, just like he knew it would. Puzzle pieces.

"It's so pretty," you smiled. By the tone in your voice, Steve was convinced you were either cock-drunk or delirious. Probably both.

"Anything's pretty when you're the one wearin' it," he said, kissing the shell of your ear.

"Awww," you beamed, your hand combing through his deep brown hair. "Hey, you do realize that one day, when our kids ask, 'Mommy, how did Daddy propose?' we're gonna have to explain that your dick was inside me and you hid my engagement ring in a Trojan box?"

"Let's not get the cart ahead of the horse now," he chuckled. "You're the only one I want callin' me Daddy for a while."

You giggled, meeting his lips for a blissed-out peck. "Just think. You and me, together forever. Just like this for a lifetime."

"Just like this?" he teased, earning him an eye roll.

You pushed yourself up, your hands on either side of his head as you hovered above him. Your lips connected to his like magnets, this time for a steamy kiss, one filled with pure want. "Hey, you wanna know something, cowboy?"

"What's that?" he huffed in amusement, his thumbs caressing small circles on the fat of your hips.

"I say yes. To a lifetime of your love, your kisses, your stupid cowboy hat rule, all of it. I say yes a thousand times over."

"Can't argue with that, cowgirl."

A FORMAL APOLOGY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO POST 😭🤚🏻

I wish I had a good reason. I think I really just kept putting it off and didn't wanna read through it because I was overwhelmed (not with the fic, just with life) but I forced myself through it and I'm so happy with how it turned out!

Special thanks to @dungeons-are-too-cold for staying up with me until 5 am again to make sure this fic was at its best! Love you forever!!

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe

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dev1lm4n · 1 year

Text

do you believe in fate?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: birth and death. meetings and goodbyes. everyone and everything is connected by a single red thread. you’ve gone through plenty of lifetimes. though one thing stays the same, joel miller is always right there by your side

word count: 3.2k

warnings: past lives, nonsexual nudity if you squint, outbreak and no outbreak, death, reader's shorter than joel

notes: i swear this gets sweet towards the end! do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it :3

“Joel, do you believe in fate?”

January 26th was a beautiful day.

Both of Joel’s arms encircled your midriff; a motion to further reinforce his encouragements of staying indoors and giving Tommy a big, childish middle-finger for proceeding patrols when the freezing wind outside flogged anyone that dared cross by.

He muttered a few syllables, vulnerable and warm, hot breath against the back of your neck. His nose nuzzled into the small patch of skin your shirt failed to cover. Inhaling you, the salty scent of sweat and crushed up lavenders you’re always doused with. You couldn’t quite catch what it’s all about, although you wished you did, but he went on to worship the rest of you before the first ring of the morning bell.

Everything was so beautiful under a high frost. Every glass blade enhanced and silvered into individual beauty. Even the dull tarmac of the roads, worn down by time and twisted vines of Cordyceps, glossed in a combination of white.

Ellie mentioned a winter dance is going to occur over the weekends with the toothiest smile. I’m gonna feel like I finally belong, that’s how she coerced you. You thought of trading your spare pair of jeans for a pretty dress. One with ruffles, a sweetheart neckline, and puffy sleeves; displayed bravely on the front of the boutique. It’s a little tacky, sure, but it’s from the old world.

The world you knew. The world you missed.

“Quit talkin’”

“My mother.. she used to say everything is fated.”

“Shut up, you’re- Fuck, you’re making it worse.”

“What have I done to have you here?”

Joel finally looked at you. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he met your eyes with his own. Pools of browns bored into yours, speckles of hazel greeted you with a twisted sense of familiarity.

He looked frantic.

Afraid.

For the first time in the entire expanse of your journey together, he visibly looked afraid. As if he was a small boy, left on the edge of the world, curled up into a small shell, stranded with no light at the end of the tunnel. Joel’s chest heaved, up and down, every lift held intent, oxygen infiltrated his veins. He didn’t want to surrender. To admit his loss, his mind wouldn’t let him do that just yet.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

“I must’ve been one of those heroes. Alexander.. Alexander the Great?”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna die, sweetheart.”

Your lips thinned. The muscles on your jaw twitched, terribly inclined to quip back at him at how ironic the situation presented was. You were dying. Slowly, but surely. Worse, on a patch of dried hay, deep within the pungent barn, void of any farm animals.

You didn’t feel the pain. Or impact. Instead it was more like a massive heat, unbearable at first but then it turned into a sort of throbbing tingling numbness. blooming similar to the shape of hydrangeas across your chest. The colors were bright, mixing in with your blue shirt into a collaborative purple, did you suit purple? What a silly thought. Love does things to people and you’d rather have him picture your death as something pretty and poetic, instead of a tragedy.

“Take Ellie to the winter dance.”

He avoided your gaze once more.

You knew Joel knew how futile his actions were. How the tattered cloth he’s pressing up over your bare chest couldn’t possibly reseal the gaping hole. How even if he tried to stitch you up with some leftover fishing thread, you wouldn’t be able to withstand the shock. How the nearest medical tent is a whole day away and with the freezing weather, he’d be carrying your limp body the time he arrived.

The both of you knew.

Death was inevitable, but he’d just wish it was kinder after what it had taken from him.

“No excuses I’m telling you.”

“You’ll take her with me.”

“Joel, promise me.”

Joel was a bastard. A massive one at that, but he’s not a liar. You needed him to promise you.

“Will you please wear the waistcoat?”

Ah yes, the waistcoat. The one you got him on your anniversary. You had to trade one of your most-used winter coat in exchange for the impractical piece of clothing, which he ended up scolding you for.

What can you say? It’s charming. Tailored to perfection, with only a few threads sticking out the stitches from time, five buttons down the middle and a lapel to match. Joel never spent any of his credits for himself, only for you and Ellie’s entertainment, and it truly itches you that he’s not taking himself into account. You knew it’d fit like a sleeve. Charcoal waistcoat over a dapper button-up, you wished you could witness it yourself.

“I’ll do anything for you, my love. Just.. just please. Please, God, I need you here. I..”

Joel looked wobbly with globs of tears in your eyes.

You’re running out of time.

“I need you to be here with me.”

“To be here when I turn in my bed. To be here when Ellie has her first date.. oh, please I can’t do this without you.”

Joel’s lashes fluttered away the soft snow dusted from the open window. It’s cold, awfully so, but all you could feel was his warmth. The apparent need in his tone, it sounded like he’d sacrifice anything in order to trade places with you. To be the one under death’s mercy, because God knew he didn’t have it in him to pull through another loss. He’d lose himself.

“Promise me.”

“Please, no, please, I can’t-”

“Promise me, Joel.”

A momentary pause occurred. His fingers reached out to feel you. Anywhere he could touch; the angles of your jaw, the softness of your cheeks, the rhythm your chest heaved at every struggling breath you took. You’re alive. You’re alive and he’s eager to savor more of that.

“Promise you’d let me love you the same in the next lifetime.”

Joel was not much for beliefs, but you’re a divinity. He’d believe in everything your sweet lips utter like an innocent lamb. He’d march to the sound of your flute. He’d commit unspeakable things for you. You’re his lord and savior.

“I promise.”

Orange gold stretched far and wide, the color of fire hearths and tangerines. The freshly harvested apples you held above your palms looked like an heirloom of some sort.

Their skins were a work of art, perfect blends of rosy red, speckles of green and yellow in patterns your hand could never paint. Their sizes were as uneven as beach pebbles, though the bounty felt very dear to you. It was a party of imperfection, of unorderly and chaos, of a beauty persisting in the midst of severed heads and deformed corpses. You smiled, a true one that reached your eyes, as you continued to examine your basket of apples.

As a reward for good behavior, the commune would gift workers a couple produce from the total bounty. You’re always one step ahead when it comes to free items, so here you were selecting which one would taste the plumpest, which would squirt in your mouth upon a single bite.

Apples were your favorite. Has always been your go-to when compared to frilly carrot tops, hilled potatoes, bright lettuce greens, or tall corn stalks. Apples somehow felt.. nostalgic to you. The plain nature of it always managed to entertain you. Plus, Joel loved your homemade apple pie!

The thought of him grinning, ear-to-ear, at the ding of your antique oven was a mirage. A push to keep on living in times where you’re so plagued by memories of the past. When days felt bleak and painful.

“Hey, baby, you okay?”

“Mm?”

Joel’s soft curls of grayish brown sprung from your left, which quickly elicited quite the reaction from you. Your cheeks plumped up with interest. A glint of light reflected from your irises as you took all of him. All his wrinkles was finally free of persistent dirt and grime, the lightened bags beneath his eyes, his smaller upper lips and his thicker bottom ones. The trauma he’s suffered from, he’s a ruined vase, but somehow Jackson was able to glue all the pieces back into something distinguishable. The city and you made him a person, the city and him made you a person.

“Sorry, my love. I’m just picking out the best harvest to take home.”

“You gonna make me my favorite pie?”

“Mhm. Anything for my dear husband.”

“Oh shut up, you’re gonna make me blush like a lil’ girl.”

Joel’s softened a little more ever since you sealed the deal with him. Ever since he slipped a silver ring around your ring finger and kissed you in front of an entire crowd on an eventful Sunday. He’s managed to get all shy now, hands behind his neck in an awfully Western manner, as he simmered over the new name. Pink on the face.

Husband. He’s a husband now. A husband in a time of flesh-eating monstrosities.

“Can you get those apples up top, love?”

Joel looked up to meet the branches you’re gazing up upon. A particularly tall curving branch with delicate green leaves cascading down it, a couple held gaping holes from caterpillars having their best meals.

You watched in full concentration as he reached upwards. Callused fingers met the matt exterior of the exact apple you’re referring to. The way Joel was leaning forward, strong arms extended beyond the top of your head, meant that he was within an alarming distance from you. He’s close. So close, you could see the way his Adam’s apples bob nervously, or the single sweat dribbling down his temples from July’s damp air.

“Joel, do you believe in fate?”

He held you beneath his gaze. One look into your left eyes, before he moved onto your right to make sure if he’s hearing you correctly.

“Fate?”

“Fate.”

“No. Not really.”

His musky leather-like scent slowly dissipated into thin air as he took a step back. Apple in hand, before he dropped it into your weaved basket.

“Why not?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“If I did, that’d just mean I wouldn’t be able to prevent the worst things from happening. I’d just be.. helpless I suppose.”

You looked at his suddenly sunken expression with great attention. And then, your heart reacted. Not a thump you’d usually feel at his loving embrace. Not even a leap. But a kind of swish, like a frog kicking off from a muddy back. Your heart pondered the moment between two elements: one, guilt; the other, compassion. You tried to hold up your end of things, but he was way ahead of you. Always one step ahead of your silly little head.

“If I believed in fate, then I’d have to accept that when they took.. Sarah away from me, that it was fated and I don’t.. I don’t think I can do that.”

“So you’d rather blame yourself?”

He didn’t say a word, but you knew what he’d say deep within your beating heart. Joel took the apple you asked him to pick from your basket and held it up to his lips. He raised his eyes to level it with yours before he took a bite, a big one that made a crunchy noise resounded when his teeth clashed with the flesh.

Conversations as intimate as these were meant for the early mornings when the two of you are still tangled in your shared blanket, but instead, you’re having this silent quarrel in one out of many rows of lined up apple trees. It’s a constant fight when it comes to assuring him of his worth. You raised your eyebrows at him, daring him to say something even more self-deprecating.

“My mother used to say that people are fated.”

You started off. The vulnerability made you cringe, but you pushed through.

“Meetings and partings. Birth and death. Love.”

You’re afraid he’d take you as a joke. He never did, but it’s a constant looming fear. Though his gentle stare calmed your nerves just a little.

“In another life we might’ve met. You might’ve seen me on the street. Our clothes might’ve brushed. I might’ve..”

“I might’ve loved you the same.”

Joel’s stoic expression slowly melted at the edges, slowly crumbling at the sight of your hopeful take on the concept. Before you could withdraw your mind from its far places, his arms were around you, as sure and hard as the love he held for you. You felt against the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left your lips. His instintent mouth parted your shaking lips, sending wild tremors along your nerves, with a swift gradation of intensity that made your knees buckle.

“I don’t care about my past lives or my future ones,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re here now and I’ll love you for as long as this lifetime lets me.”

“When’s Sarah coming back from school again?”

“Four, my love. It’s barely past ten right now.”

In your quaint little bathroom, adorned with shades of pastel pink and fragrant candles, you stood beside a gleaming white porcelain basin that’s filled to the top with warm water. The soft glow of early mornings streamed in through the frosted window, casting a gentle ambiance on the scene. You had your hair tied loosely in a towel. A concentrated look itched itself onto your knitted brows as you delicately poured a small amount of liquid shampoo into your palms.

Just last Sunday, over a hearty homemade dinner, Joel informed you that he’d be picking up a lot more projects in order to churn a good amount of money into Sarah’s college funds. He’s become a silhouette of a husband instead of the real deal ever since then. Barely showing up over the weekends; the only evidence he left of his existence was the light scent of musk and sandalwood on the pillow beside you, the unruly blankets thrown haphazardly to the side, and his mud-covered jeans in the hampers.

In no way were you.. upset at him, he’s just fulfilling his duties, you’re just a little lonesome. And being lonely does things to a person.

You spread the thick dollop between your palms, creating a lather that released a delicate scent of fresh apples. You’ve always been fond of apples, every bit of its crunchy flesh and slightly sweet taste, so you thought perhaps the new addition would remind him more of you. Perhaps in quiet afternoons, when he’s watching people rearrange tiles in the proper manner, would he catch a whiff of your subtle apple scent. Perhaps in those moments he would think of you, of the things he’d done with you and the things he’d like to do with you, and then he’d never think of straying.

Not that you have any particular suspicions.

“I missed this. Miss you too god damn bad,” he rasped out and your heart leapt like a schoolgirl.

“You do? Could barely tell when we barely met one another this week.”

You’re sulking, he noticed.

“Is my darling upset?” he cooed.

Joel made an attempt to turn his head in order to see you better, to console you the best he could, but you halted his movement by intertwining your fingers in his soft curls of brown. He chuckled softly at your persistence, surrendering to your little rules.

You’d be giving him more of an attitude if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked rather hilarious with his butt perched on the edge of the small wooden stool. It was meant to be for Sarah. A much younger Sarah who enjoyed bubbly bath times with you, but now with his burly figure, the wooden stool looked miniscule. Like a replica from an American Girl doll playset.

“Nope.”

You popped your P’s. An instant give away for lies.

“Found someone else to entertain myself with.”

Your sing-song tone was playful. Joel scrunched up like a dry sponge even when you couldn’t see him properly from the back, though he proceeded to tilt his head back to allow you better access. Your fingers, now softened by the warm water, glided through the silky strands, separating them with a sense of utmost tenderness.

“And who is that someone?”

“I’m not tellin’”

“Hey, that’s mean.”

This time Joel rebelled against your hold on him. The frothy tips of your fingers were still buried inside the hive of brown curls when he turned. His eyes were so different in moments like these, more soft than you knew eyes could be. Pleading, begging for you to relieve him of throbbing curiosity. He reminded you of a puppy. A labrador that’s far too big as a lapdog but still insists on it.

“It’s the postman, is it? Oh, or is it some.. obnoxiously rich guy holding parties every night?”

“I’m not Daisy and he’s not Gatsby, Joel.”

You cocked your eyebrows, before finally relenting to the small giggles that’s been building up in the back of your throat.

“It’s Gordon Ramsay on the TV.”

“Oh, is it?”

Joel reached forward to tickle your clothed sides. You laughed, obnoxiously at that, with a few snorts every now and then. In an attempt to free yourself from the never ending torture, you wriggled yourself away and flicked some of the soapy water onto his chest.

Your eyes betrayed you, because instead of overseeing the playful quarrel you’re engaging in, you couldn’t possibly stop yourself from staring at his bare torso. Curls of dark hair sprouted from where his navel starts, trailing all the way down where his minimally groomed manhood sits. A small pudge on his stomach which contrasts with the thick muscles of his back, and the broadness. God, the broadness of his chest made your toes curl.

Engaged and practically drooling from the sight, you grew limp from his teasing. Joel cocked his head to the side at the sudden change in behavior.. only to notice what caused it.

“You’re ogling at me! What a pervert!”

“I’m not!” you fought back.

“Am I still as smokin’ hot as you found me years ago?” he gave you that shit-eating grin you hate so much.

“I ain’t washin’ your hair if you keep this up.”

Your threat seemed to work wonders as he’s instantly pulling back to the position you’ve assigned him to. You sighed, a teasing one, before you poured water from a small cup over his head, washing away the frothy shampoo. The water danced over his scalp, playfully trickling down his face and shoulders, evoking a groan of irritation from him. It didn’t phase you one bit. Your gentle strokes proceeded like a soothing melody as you massaged the shampoo into a gentle foam.

“Do you believe in fate, my love?”

Joel let out a small hum.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” you queried.

“It’d be too much of a coincidence to meet you in that one dive bar Tommy coerced me into. To then meet you again at the diner on Sarah’s birthday. To..” he stalled. “To have you here with me.”

When it’s just you and Joel, it’s rare to have a moment of proper silence. One of you will just chatter away like the world will end if you don’t, but there was a five minute pause at the end of his words. The chirping of birds sounded extremely loud against your eardrums, as well as the running water by your side.

“Well, do you believe in fate, sweetheart?”

“Perhaps,” you whispered. “I’ve always had a feeling that I’ve known you for ages.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou #the last of us fic #tlou x reader

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 8 months

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You're killin' me!

Quick summary: Phantom and Maverick have had their fair share of head-butting – competition, ego and feelings don't mix well, apparently. Finally, however, they seem to reach a peace after a day on the beach.

Word count: 3K (getting into writing these shorter fits woo!)

Warnings: Kind of angsty but also you make out so like is it really that bad; allusions to smut; lots of swear words; yeah, not much for this, it's pretty PG.

A/N: YAYYY, I'm back, sort of but also not really but also ENJOY THIS FIC. Yes, technically it is an extract from an unfinished chapter of the mav x reader Wattpad story I'm halfway through writing (yes, I have a wattpad, it's called nonoitsnina), and maybe (BIIIIG emphasis on MAYBE) I will do a second part where y'all actually fuck and stuff but for now just take this. If anyone's still slinking around the Top Gun stuff, that is. Also, Bee is your RIO here. Just to preface. And Phantom (YOUR CALL-SIGN) shortens to Tommy or Tom from time to time but like if you read the Wattpad book (YES I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A SCARY 14 YEAR OLD) it makes more sense. OKAY ENJOY COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED HAVE A LOVELY JUBBLY DAY

***

Stupid smiles plastered bright across their faces, Bee and Goose are already dashing down the road, speed-walking like a couple of suburban mothers, one swathed in a beach towel and picnic blanket, the other lopsided with a half-empty cooler grasped in one hand.

I watch them go, brow furrowed, over my shoulder, slightly disconcerted.

“I guess they—” Mav pauses, then huffs, equally as confused, “—really wanted those ice-creams.”

Sure. That’s why they keep glancing back at us and giggling like idiots: ice-creams.

Maverick and I are strolling along the boardwalk back home – despite washing my feet at the tap, there’s still sand between my toes that tickles my skin with every step, but I could care less. He’d asked if I wanted us to take the bus—but I’d said no. Call me a loon (Bee certainly would), but, even after a full day of work—or play—nothing beats sitting outside in the quiet. Except sleep, I guess. But, when I can keep my eyes open, looking out a good view—and, boy, is this watercolour sunset some view—is perfect. After growing up in a city full of dust and cracks, I’ve embraced it: I’m gonna be one of those old ladies in a rocking chair on her porch, day and night, night and day.

Having just finished my own crêpe, I eat Maverick’s. When I ask him if he’s bothered by it, he tells me he’d bought them both for me in the first place.

Sweet. Y’know, I really thought I was a good judge of character. I had to be, to be fair, growing up, pursuing this career – you must always assume the worst until proven otherwise. That’s the safe way, and it’s served me well. Until it had me screaming and yelling at everyone. That’s not—right. It makes me absolutely nauseous.

So, all of these estimated traits, good and bad, have either been tossed or been filtered out.

It boils down to Maverick and his easy grin. He walks along the edge of the sidewalk, just looking at me with that goddamn easy grin. I’ve half a mind to slap him, just to give me a break from his attention. It makes me horribly self-conscious, forces a little thrill on me, like when you’re at the apex of a rollercoaster, just about to tip over. It feels like that, but it also feels like light streaming through a half-blinded window, so the warmth just collects there on the sill so that, when you touch it, you wish you could roll under it like a blanket. Of course, that warmth accumulates. I’m sweating. Like—a—pig.

Jesus, I want to scream into my hands with how good he looks. His dark hair is still slightly damp with seawater, stiff in some places and criminally soft in others. Every now and then, he’ll pull at the white button-up that sticks just a little to his chest, to the contours of his stomach, and fan the skin there. Jesus Christ. My hands are basically twitching to touch him there, to feel the heat of him beneath my palm, solid and beating gently with his heartbeat. I clasp my fingers very tightly around my fork, my crêpe slip, concentrating it all into one point.

I can’t tell if feeling like this is the best or the worst. Jesus, imagine if the other guys knew. They’d never shut up about it. Christ, they’d never take me seriously again. I don’t want to be the “girlfriend” – I want to be a formidable pilot. So many people just don’t think those two things can ever coexist.

Not that I want to be a girlfriend. I couldn’t say that word out loud without feeling wrong. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t know if I could be that.

A bike passes with an urgent ring of its bell, and Maverick twists his body in towards mine, hand hovering over my back, to push me out of the way from it.

I go blank, scrambling to remember where we were in the conversation, mouth dry.

“So, you’re telling me,” I begin, grinning, “going into Return of the Jedi, you hoped that Luke and Leia would end up together?”

Mav sighs and rolls his eyes, tearing off a little of what remains of the crêpe. ‘Well, at the time, I didn’t know they we’re fuckin’ siblings—”

“Maverick, that is incest.”

“Come on!” he laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. “Goose thought so, too! Luke’s the main guy, so, like, it’s not not logical to think he’d get the main girl, right—?”

“But it’s Han Solo!” I exclaim, throwing my head back with a snort. He smiles down at me, eyes warm, in a way that I’m probably misinterpreting and will replay over and over in my head when I’m trying to sleep in bed tonight. “I thought you’d be a Han Solo kind of guy.”

“What, I remind you of him?” He tosses his head back and smoulders. I fake a gag.

“Well, he’s just—he’s just—” I trail off into laughter. “He’s really—I can’t explain it! If you ask any girl, she’ll know what I mean. Han Solo is so—” I giggle again, remembering how stunned and attracted to him I was when I first watched A New Hope in the theatre. “He’s just a lot of things.”

“Oh, yeah?—like what?”

Gosh, I can feel myself burning up – does he have to lower his voice like that? Does he have to try and catch my eye? God, it’s almost easier to hate him, to be honest – at least then I wouldn’t be acting like such a puddle.

“Like, charming and daring and, um—and clever, and—I don’t know. It’s just the way he speaks or something.”

He hums, hands in his pockets, his dad’s jacket draped over his forearm – I don’t think I’ve seen him go anywhere without that leather jacket. “And you like those things?” he pushes.

I bark out a laugh. “C’mon, Maverick, everyone like those things.” True enough – I could be blind and still fall in love with Han Solo and his smooth-talking. “And why Luke? Even if they weren’t siblings, why him? He had zero chemistry with—”

“Because he’s the chosen one!”

“—yeah, well, he—”

“He’s cool! Luke is objectively cool. He’s a pilot, he’s a Jedi, he’s a leader, he’s—”

“What-ever!” I exclaim, scrunching up my nose at him, and we giggle into quiet. “I’m not saying I didn’t like him as a character – I think he’s an amazing character. I just wouldn’t fuck ‘im.” I cackle at the absurdity of it all.

We continue walking.

Maybe all of this will fade in a couple hours. Maybe it’s the magic of Top Gun, this beach, this dusk that settles in fast around us, the lights that illuminate the darkening boardwalk. It’ll all be over in a couple more weeks, anyway. Bee ‘n’ I’ll go back to the carrier and be on with things, and Maverick will do whatever it is that he does. I know Goose says we should make plans to meet after school’s out, but who really has the time to spare? So, thank God Mav didn’t ride in on his motorcycle, ‘cause, if he’d insisted I hop on and wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder and la-la-la, I’d be in great danger of sleeping with him.

“D’you wanna head straight back?”

I look up at him. “Hmm?”

Jesus, he needs to tone down his looks or something – it’s disarming, a hazard, really. Those green eyes are givin’ me some mean butterflies, alright. Nowadays, I’ll see him fresh out of the sky, hair spiky and dishevelled with sweat – he doesn’t wear helmet hair as well as others, that’s for certain – and I’ll have to bury my face in my locker. I’ll see him absentmindedly chewing on his dog-tags, and it’ll have me air-headed for the rest of a lecture. I can’t classify it as a distraction, but it’s—certainly not intended. My head isn’t screwed on so tight, and I can’t keep tipping up in the cockpit – I know my ambition to win and these thoughts about Maverick have no correlation, but, good God, maybe if I could just focus more in classes—

“There’s—” he starts, then swallows. “We could go to the pier. Not really a view anymore, but we could see some lights. Boats, maybe.”

“Yeah,” I reply, excitement jolting through my body.

“Yeah?” I nod. He smiles. “Okay.”

When he asks me if I’m cold, he readjusts his jacket on his arm, like he’s already made his mind up to lend it to me. Of course, I shake my head – I’d probably end up stinking up the damn thing with how much I seem to be sweatin’.

We take our time to the end of the pier. When we reach the railing, we step up onto the bar and lean out to look down at the softly lapping water.

“You—erm—”

I turn to look at him, and the stutter of his words stops abruptly, his eyes wide. He looks at me dumbly, like I’m one of the seven fuckin’ wonders. Now, I’ve seen Maverick drunk, stupid, and downright embarrassing himself—just think of the time she lost that fuckin’ lovin’ feeling—but, even when he doesn’t know something, he always keeps face. He always has something to say. Now?—now, here, he looks hopeless.

“You—”

“I what, Mitchell?” I grin, shoving my hair behind my ear in light of the strong breeze that suddenly billows in from across the sea. “Watching the ships, right?” There they are: little dots on the horizon.

He flushes, snapping his attention away. “Right.”

I know what’s coming – I pick up on all of it: the fidgeting of his hands, the downcast dart of his eyes, the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Though it kinda perks me up to begin with, I just end up wilting again at the reminder of a certain instructor who I am evidently not.

Still, it’s nice to hear him say: “It’s just—” I tilt my head towards him, “—I think you’ve got great eyes. Great everything really. I dunno. I think—you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

I snort. “That 4% really got to you, hey, Mav?”

He doesn’t laugh, just pauses, takes a second to think about what he’s going to say. “I—don’t know—how to say it.”

My heart drops—in the bad way. “What?"

“That I think about you—a lot.”

Oh, Christ. I let out a deep sigh, and, immediately, his face drops like a stone. “Oh, don’t do that, Maverick.”

“Do what?” he protests through a weak smile.

I recoil just a little bit: he’s a flirt, yes, but I didn’t take him for a dirtbag. “Do what?” my ass. He knows what. Blonde-hair-and-bright-eyes, who’s what. Think of how smart she is, how accomplished she is, how beautiful she is, how level and respected she is – all of these things and a man can still write Charlie of as not that big a deal? That’s fuckin’ low.

“You’re being mean,” I tell him firmly, trying to force down the disgust that pushes under my tongue and the embarrassment that burns over my cheeks.

Maybe Carole and Goose really weren’t exaggerating. Maybe he has got eight women all lined up for him, just waiting for him to call.

His hand makes to touch my shoulder but doesn’t end up making contact – it just hovers, unsure. Either way, I wasn’t going to let it happen. Either way, I find myself scurrying back, away.

Mav has the audacity to look confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

“So, what?” I snap, hopping down from the railing and scowling unabashedly at him once more. “I’m one of those girls you string along?”

He laughs – only, it’s not cute anymore; it’s fucking annoying. “No—!”

The wind blows strongly, warm, still, but with the promise of a storm. I have to raise my voice in order to get myself across, I tell myself: “What?—you wanna challenge yourself, or something? Me and Charlie—?”

This?—this seems to piss him off. Mav’s expression crumples into indigence as he protests strongly again, “No—!"

“But—”

“Phantom,” he presses desperately, eyes pleading for me to listen – I’ve seen that expression on him before; every time I’ve ignored it, I’ve ended up regretting it, yelling myself silly over a misunderstanding. So, I pause. I listen. The urgent haze fades away within the span of three deep breaths.

“I wanted Charlie’s advice on how to speak to you. I was nervous—am nervous—and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s very—to-the-point. And Goose and Bee fluff like their lives depend on it.”

Nice one. Nice going, Tommy: do what you do best and throw a fuckin’ rage, why don’t you?

“I thought you didn’t like me—” I say to him dumbly, “—after what I said to you.”

We don’t talk about that argument in the locker rom. We don’t talk about the one after volleyball either, or the one in the air. It’s no excuse – that Viper is breathing down my neck, that I know Skipper expects highly of me – to act like a dick to all the competitors that block my way to that damn trophy. I need to climb this hill.

And here Maverick is, thinking about me—a lot.

“Your opinion matters to me more than you’d think,” he admits with a snarky, little snort. “You’re—” he trails off; the gale dies down. “You’re just—I don’t know how to put it. I’m—not great at the serious-talking stuff.”

“Embarrassed?” I tease. God, I know I am.

He grins. “A little bit.”

We make our way back to the dorms, talking. He tells me he’s liked me ever since this one lecture at the beginning of Top Gun—after the induction, after the bar, after the first exercise—when he’d said something dumb in response to Charlie’s criticism. According to him: “You turned back and looked at me and—and you just smiled. God, I dunno – I just couldn’t look away from you. Even—even after you, y’know, y’turned back around, I—I was just staring at the back of your head, hoping you’d do it again. That you’d look at me again, smile at me again.”

I don’t even remember that day.

He walks me to the door of my dorm, where the windows are all dark and the blinds all flat shut.

No way to make it up to him. No time, either. Should’ve kissed him right then and there at the bar that first night when he came over to the jukebox. Bee saw it in my face – I know that now. I should’ve let him win that bet with himself.

I might be about to do him that favour now, I guess. All flushed, all pretty, all nervous—he gets nervous?—Maverick is so close to me that the heat of his body radiates onto mine, far too dangerous for my liking. This is not what I intended. This is so far off my plan of how this program was gonna go.

But his nose is brushing mine, and his hands are so warm and gentle as they press over my arms.

“Can—?”

I nod softly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

The kiss, when it comes, is this soft, tentative sink into a brittle release. The gentle press of his nose into my warm cheek elicits a quiet sigh from the both of us – the break from silence must render me into this here embarrassing mess, melting like the ice-cream we shared earlier in the hot sun, because Mav gets that shit-eating grin on his face like he’s watching me lose to him at volleyball all over again. Whatever – he’s the one that probably had to take a cold shower over how I looked.

I cup my hand over the back of his neck, drawing him closer still to me.

Maverick kisses like he’s paying attention to every single detail of it – his eyes are slanted just slightly open, watching my face, and one of his hands rests kindly over my neck, his fingers pressing just a little into the pulse point which I’m sure is racing like a damn horse by now.

Of course, he’s beautiful at this. Just my fuckin’ luck. Technically, yes, it is prohibited to have sexual relations on work premises. Even a man and a woman behind a locked door is assumed to be inappropriate – I’ve heard that one too many a time by the air boss back on the carrier. I’m far from a goody-two-shoes, but rules are rules for a reason. So, of course, it’s just my luck that I meet an unfairly handsome pilot with pretty eyes and entirely too destabilising a kiss. He trails his nose down along my jaw before burying it there in my neck; I hold him tight to me, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his shoulders.

When we kiss again, it’s different: searing, crushing, slow, breathless. The chorus of crickets and cicadas and other night-things is drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears and the soft noise that slips past Mav’s lips as he pauses for breath, to pant hotly over my cheek.

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, stud,” I mumble helplessly against him, to which he nods fiercely, reaching out blind for the door-knob and guiding me stumbling into my room.

Bee isn’t here – upon the side table, there’s a little, folded note that reads in chicken-scratch handwriting: Staying with Goose for the night. Have fun!

#pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell #top gun #top gun maverick #goose bradshaw #tom cruise x reader #im back on my bullshit #i feel the need for speed #i need him in me

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tommys-cant-swim · 9 months

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So, you want to get a tommy

Great! Tommys are wonderful creatures and full of personality. But there are things you should consider before getting them:

Tommys have a very long lifespan compared to dogs or cats- 35-40 years to be exact. A tommy is a big commitment and if you're on the older side you might even need to pass yours on to another family member.

Tommys are extremely energetic, overwhelmingly so. By the time I finish tiring out my tommys, I'm usually sweating and exhausted (love them though)

The most popular breed of tommy (dsmp or canon depending on who you ask) are significantly more prone to anxiety than other breeds. Please do not get one just because you've seen them online

Tommys have diets that may be upsetting to some people- they eat bugs and shellfish (and fruit), if you're upset by either, don't get one, please.

All that being said, here's a quick and dirty guide to getting your first tommy!

Choosing a tommy

There are lots of ways to choose a tommy, there's plenty of shelters to choose from and most house every kind of tommy. I recommend going in person and picking whichever you feel the closest to- but picking a specific breed is fine too! I'll leave a guide to the two breeds I know best (feel free to add info about other breeds)

DSMP/Canon - As previously stated, a very popular breed of tommy. They form strong bonds with owners and other pets and generally mix well with other popular mcyts such as tubbos and wilburs. However, they are easily startled and can be very messy due to being burrowers. They're also known to experience strong 'play aggression' and can accidentally injure others if they get too riled up.

Origin(s) - I know much less about this breed, but I still feel confident speaking on them as I have fostered origins tommys in the past. Origins tommys are much more mentally sound than dsmp breeds and do not have the major caveat of having to eat bugs as they are completely vegetarian! However, they do have minor flight abilities, which may be a turn-off for some owners.

Setting up your home for your tommy

Tommys need an outdoor area of at least 25 sq ft for digging and general enrichment. Tommys who are let outside unsupervised should be belled to prevent damage to the local ecosystem and the tommy themselves, as they have a bad habit of eating birds and squirrels, fur and bones, which they cannot digest.

All tommys need a small, private space to hide and rest in. A cardboard box will do just fine under most circumstances as long as it is large enough for your tommy to stretch out in to prevent claustrophobic anxiety (which dsmp tommys are especially prone to).

Lastly, tommys need chew toys. Chewing is their main way of relieving stress and expressing joy and not having a consistent outlet for it is extremely upsetting for them.

Additional advice

Tommys cannot swim and should not be let near bodies of water deeper than knee-height.

Dsmp tommys are terrified of heights and should not be placed on counters or tables.

Tommy's Can be picked up by the scruff

My other guides:

Caring for tommys with anxiety Tommy mouthingIntroducing two tommys (this can really be applied to introducing a tommy to any pet)

#mcyt as pets #tommyinnit #tommy dsmp #ctommy #dsmp tommy

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birboon · 1 year

Text

Conceived in the Eye of a Secret

title from Ozzy Osbourne's "Mr Crowley"

A Steddie AU fic - Detective! Steve Harrington [oneshot, potentially multi-chapter) — 6k words

Steve Harrington was seventeen when he saw his first dead body. He wasn’t even out of high school – not even a senior – when he stumbled across Barbara Holland floating face down in his pool. He’d just gone outside for a piss, not wanting to wake his then-girlfriend, brain still fuzzy and whirling from the warm beers Tommy H had stolen from his dad the night before, and there she was; skin tight around her bloated form. Steve had taken one look at her short hair and the leaves knotted there, matted with blood and chunks of soft grey tissue that he’d prayed, God, please wasn’t part of her fucking brain, and vomited. The smell, more than anything, was what sent him over the edge: Rank and pungent, an edge of sickening sweetness. He’d been able to smell her cheap perfume, too.

She’d been dumped there during the night. Steve thought she’d gone home - she was supposed to have gone home, but there police found her car still parked down the street, untouched. ‘A crime of passion’, they’d called it, and even now – almost twenty years later – Steve didn’t understand why. Barbara Holland’s face had been beaten to an unrecognizable, pulpy mess of flesh and blood. Shards of her skull had ruptured through her skin, her left eye had been burst from the blunt force that the sick fuck had hit her with; it had dribbled like veiny egg-yolk into Steve’s pool, mixing with the water like oil.

Steve liked to think himself a passionate guy. But he didn’t go around murdering people.

Instead, he caught the murderers – preferably before they’d had the chance to do the murdering but like everything in life, it was easier said than done. Hell, he could count on two hands the number of cases that had passed through the rigorous filtering of Hawkins PD before landing at his desk in the tiny, cramped office that the Homicide Department called home. The Homicide Department being him, sole and singular, bent over anaemic manila folders with little more to information than a polaroid snapshot and the name of the deceased.

So, yeah. Steve was seventeen when he saw his first dead body, and for some reason he’d made it his life’s goal to see as many as possible. If only to prevent them from becoming cold cases, forgotten and locked away in some filing cabinet to gather dust – to prevent them from becoming like Barb. Since the Holland case, there hadn’t been another unsolved murder in Hawkins. A fresh-faced, fresh-out-of-college Steve Harrington had made sure of that. And for thirteen years, Detective Harrington had kept it that way.

Still, he never quite got used to seeing a corpse – the smell never did become easier to handle. With the more violent deaths, and Steve grimaced as he stared towards the twisted, strewn remains of the human before him, it became especially hard to bear. Hopper had taught him to chew gum to settle his stomach at particularly bad scenes, and Joyce – ever the astute pathologist – had given him a small jar of Vick’s VapoRub the second time he’d ever come down into the morgue (he’d had to excuse himself halfway through the autopsy the first time, and she’d smiled understandably as he trembled his way to the bathroom, legs shaking and face pallid). But even a hefty smudge of the strong-smelling ointment wasn’t enough to cover the stench of a rotting carcass entirely, and Steve’s stomach turned as decay permeated the room.

It was October, but it was hot, which only served to make matters worse because the heat only exacerbated the whole ordeal. And whilst the rest of Hawkins, and Indiana in general, Steve supposed, were out enjoying the autumn sunshine, he was stuck in a sweat-box apartment with three other men and a day-old cadaver. The room was stagnant, ripe with death.

“What a shit day to die,” he muttered, and though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud his words got a murmur of agreement from the others. It was a Monday.

The woman – Steve glanced down at the clipboard in his hands – Maureen Gildman had been brutally slain. She lay in a pool of her own viscous blood, face carved-up hideously like the jack-o-lanterns that were beginning to emerge in the windows of his neighbours, and the young detective made a mental note to take Dustin to the pumpkin patch before the Holiday was over. Halloween was the kid’s favourite time of year. Unfortunately, it seemed to be a favourite of all the psychos too. Steve checked his watch.

Four Fifty-Seven PM. A Monday.

A simple glance around the room showed varying picture frames lovingly arranged on the walls and sat on bookshelves stocked with cheesy romcoms, void of any actual books. Most were in good condition, if a bit dusty, but Steve wasn’t about to lecture a dead woman on cleanliness. Not when a picture of her young daughter stared over at him, flecked with tiny beads of maroon, thick and congealed atop the pink dress she’d worn to the last middle school dance. Dt. Harrington hoped the girl wasn’t still waiting to be picked up at the school gates, considering the last class would have let out almost three hours ago. Steve checked his clipboard again. Divorced, he thought solemnly, and for a moment let himself empathise with the dead.

He'd seen forensics scrape the burnt remains of brownies into sterile baggies as he’d arrived on the scene, and it said more than he’d wished to know. The girl had been with her father over the weekend, and it was him who had dropped her off that morning. No doubt Maureen had been busily preparing to have her child back with her, cooking up something sweet and special as a prize for surviving another Monday.

“You got a preference?” The words cut through Steve’s thoughts as he turned to the photographer in question. Johnathon gave him a grim, lazy smile, his lips pressed tightly together. “Y’know, for a day to die?”

A layer of dust was collected on the camera in his hands. Particles bounced around in the sunlight pouring through the shuttered blinds. There was something sour in the man’s gaze as he watched Steve, but he didn’t think that the contempt was aimed towards himself – at life, maybe. Johnathon was probably reflecting on the choices he’d made during his career that had led him to that moment.

Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, fiddling with the strings of the lining. “A Thursday might be nice, maybe.”

Johanthon watched him through dark eyes. He lifted the camera to his face, squinting as he levelled it towards the detective’s shoes, and Steve stepped out of the frame as the shutter clicked and the flash illuminated the puddle of crusted fluids that were soaked into the shaggy carpet. A yellow tent marked with a bold, black 12 was posted beside it.

“Maybe,” the other man agreed. The camera dropped back down to his chest, and he shrugged. Steve chewed at his tongue, looking away as Johnathon dropped into a crouch, lens angled towards the body. Maureen looked grossly ethereal in the white light; the flayed skin on her naked chest was red, glowing.

Steve looked down again. Ms. Gildman was the third in a recent string of murders that the Hawkins P.D wanted to clump together beneath the moniker of a serial killer. Ever since the term had been coined by the FBI in the seventies, it seemed every small town was desperate to have one to their name. Obviously, Steve didn’t quite agree. There were casual differences in the demeanour and traits of the killings that had him pegs them ostentiously as all separate, sad crimes. Crimes of passion, he thought grimly. Right. Passion.

Maureen was missing both breasts. They’d been sawn off with a serrated object, upon quick examination – Steve’s money was on a bread knife, stolen from her own kitchen, but the murder weapon wouldn’t be identified properly until Joyce got the chance to take a closer look. The… breasts were found hidden within a tall, exotic-looking potted plant. An empty box of matches had been found there, too, opened and spilt onto the blood-stained carpet. Steve imagined that whoever had murdered the woman got cold feet, meaning to burn the balls of flesh but abandoning the plight at the last moment. Or maybe they had refused to light, and after four frazzled, burned-out attempts they had been forced to leave before the police arrived on scene.

Either way, Steve found nothing passionate about it. Disgusting, maybe. Driven by desire? Absolutely. But there was no passion, just the empty and unfeeling actions of a disturbed individual.

He stepped away, ducking back beneath the police tape. He’d seen enough.

Nodding to the paramedics waiting patiently in the hallway, equipped with a stretcher and a body bag, Steve crept away. Several neighbours had been escorted from the building in hysterics – in particular, the old woman who had found the woman after smelling the burning confectionary that had been baking as she’d died – but those that hadn’t were standing in their doorways, arms crossed, faces framed with dismay. Steve couldn’t quite figure out if they really were upset, or just desperate to know what was happening.

Chief Hopper appraised him with dark, judging eyes as he approached the stairwell, holding out an arm to stop Steve’s descent into fresh air. A burned-out cigarette hung limply from the older man’s lips, smoke drifting from the glowing embers fleetingly. Steve inhaled sharply, desperate to purge his nostrils. He wiped his nose.

“Careful when you go down there, kid,” Hopper grumbled. Steve raised an eyebrow. “I got two words for ya: Press and chaos.”

“That’s actually three words, chief, but who’s counting?” Jim barked out a rough laugh, and the young detective continued: “Not you, evidently.”

“Don’t push your luck, Harrington,” the older man snapped, but he was smiling and, well, Steve was just glad someone still had that ability, no matter how joyless and thin it was. The chief clapped him on the back as he pressed forward, calling after him. “And don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

Hopper was right, of course; it was chaos. Always was, but Steve supposed that his wishing for a moment of peace was just that: Wishful. A duo of officers were posted at the main entrance to the building, chatting lightly with each other. Through the screen doors Steve caught a glimpse at the gathered crowd of reporters – a heaving, squirming mess of free-for-all filled with flashing cameras and eager journalists, all desperate to catch a glimpse of the deceased or ambush someone who had.

Upon spotting them, the sea surged, and Steve was half-worried that they’d bring down the doors, but the men in charge of crowd control didn’t seem at all bothered. They shot him a lame look of distaste – one that said ‘oh look, there’s the great detective’ and Steve grimaced.

“Detective Harrington! Detective, could you give us a – “

“Harrington! What did the deceased look like?”

“Detective is this a serial killer?”

Detective! Detective! Detective!

He ducked behind a supportive dry-wall in the centre of the apartment building’s ‘reception’ area, eyeing the stapled pamphlets and posters hanging there miserably. Only one caught his eye – it stood out from the rest simply because it had tried: Nestled atop the dull pastels and black print was a seemingly hand-made poster advertising a band, all dark reds and metal greys, collaged with newspaper cut-outs. Corroded Coffin (what happened to naming bands nice things, like The Doors or Wham! ?), were playing at a club Steve hadn’t visited in years, The Upsidedown . He hadn’t been there since Dustin had been unceremoniously dropped into his lap, not since he’d made Senior detective, what, six years ago?

Dt. Harrington mused, almost-sadly, that he hadn’t even been out for drinks in at least three months – and that was only because he’d been dragged by Robin on one of the Forensic-team outings. He’d gotten shit-faced off of cheap cocktail pitchers and shots of rose tequila, and had to explain to his son why he was going to have to get the bus to school the next morning because ‘daddy’s sick, buddy. Real sick’.

Without thinking, the detective snatched the sheet of paper from the wall, leaving a strip of paper behind, still tacked to the wall, and folded it carelessly into his pocket. And then Steve finally made the point of searching for a fire exit.

It wasn’t hard – cheaply printed white sheets of A4 with a bold red arrow and text reading ‘IN CASE OF FIRE’ were hung carelessly close to the ceiling, one pointing to the next in the most boring treasure hunt ever created. Honestly, though, Steve did think there would be treasure once he found the big X (or, in his case, the back exit to the building). It would come in the form of peace and quiet, and no out-of-context quote headlining the papers, and he was anxious to uncover it.

But when he made it to the outside world, swinging on the fire-retardant handle, Steve was met not only with a crisp October breeze and brilliant sunshine, but with a cheap tape recorder being shoved under his nose. He recognized the neat script inked onto the label that was stretched over the plastic and frowned, pushing it gently away.

“I told you, you can’t just turn up at these things,” he said, herding her backwards as he stepped out into the light. His tone was cold enough for the woman in question to drop the arm holding the device out towards him. She cocked her head, reeling after him like an annoying blowfly on a body. “And before you ask, Nancy, my answer is no comment.”

“You’re not looking so hot right now, Steve,” she said softly. Steve scoffed.

“You know exactly what a man wants to hear, don’t you?”

“Are you okay?” Nancy probed gently, and finally caught up with the man, she settled into stride beside him. He looked down at her and her frilly shirt and smiled gingerly.

“I’m doing just fine, Wheeler.”

Nancy’s mouth twisted bitterly at the disconnect in his voice and Steve sighed. They’d dated for three years – four, if you counted the sweet high-school romance they’d fooled themselves into believing – before an inevitable, explosive end. Life got in the way, he told himself. Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were as different as two people could be; fire and ice. Steve had hoped he’d be able to thaw the woman, get her to settle down, but she’d wanted different things. He’d wanted a family, and she wanted to soar.

Steve had gotten his family, in the end, in the form of a robust, confused four-year-old. And Nancy, well. She was doing what she’d always dreamed.

The woman rewound her tape, bringing it to her mouth: “See: Detective Harrington at the end of his rope. Is this the first case the prodigy can’t solve?”

Steve rolled his eyes, tucking his chin to his chest as they crossed the parking lot opposite the swarm of spectators round the front of the building. The ranks of journalists had settled their unprofessional nature by pressing their faces and cameras against the misty glass, like toddlers at a zoo trying to see into the lion’s enclosure.

“You’re not going to scare me into talking about my feelings, Nancy,” Steve said, casting a glance towards her. She shrugged, spinning the recorder in her fingers.

“Worth a shot,” came the reply, accompanied by a shrug, and Nancy escorted him back to his car, shrouding him in companionable silence. Her low heels clicked on the gravel, and she spun to him when they reached his BMW. A hand wrapped itself around his wrist, and it was Steve’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You know you can talk to me, right? You were joking, I know, but… Sometimes I worry about you, Steve.”

Dt. Harrington’s smile waned. “I should be the least of your worries,” he shot back. He’d aimed for a light teasing, but the words came out with a heavier weight than he’d expected. Even he reeled back from them, and Nancy squeezed his wrist reassuringly. His pulse raced under her touch. Just friends, he reminded himself (was that all It took? Just a touch from someone that wasn’t his boss or his son? God, he needed to get laid – yet another thing that he hadn’t had the luxury of indulging in lately).

“I care about you. I always worry about the people I care about.”

Steve shook her off gently, opening the driver’s side door: “Be good for Hopper when he finally drags himself out of there, Nance. Tell Mike I say hi.”

He slid behind the wheel before she could reply and unravel the fragile life he’d built for himself.

…

Three hours later, and Steve was drowning in paperwork.

It was cruel, really, how much time he spent in an office that wasn’t even his. Officially, it belonged to the department but most of the time Dt. Harrington saw it as a glorified janitor’s closet. Because whilst it looked good written down on paper, the chipped name plate with Steve’s name on it – one that he was one-hundred-percent sure had been engraved by the resident fear-mongering asshole Officer Hargrove - dared him to question why the opaque glass door didn’t say the same. He’d worked for the Hawkins PD for over a decade: You’d think they would have the audacity and respect to give him a permanent work residence.

But alas, not everyone could be so lucky as the violent crimes unit – especially not homicide. And so Steve settled for less than he deserved and he waited it out patiently, because, in the end, that was how he’d wound up where he was today:

‘Never chase an opportunity,’ his father had told him – and this was when Steve had become co-captain instead of sole captain of the swim team, faced not only with his own disappointment but with his old mans’ too. ‘If you deserve them, they’ll come’.

Steve never had made captain of the swim team outside the constant, companionable badgering of James Rowe, and he’d never outgrown the tiny, un-flourishing seeds of wisdom that Harrington Senior had dredged up during his childhood. Somethings were worth waiting for, he’d deigned. But most of the time they weren’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his forehead with a rough sigh. His shoulders were stiff and sore from being hunched over a desk that took up so much room in the cluttered office that he could hardly breathe, and his wrist ached from underlining and circling the clauses and misspells in Deputy Callahan’s write-up. A myriad of red-penned scribbles tracked over the pages strewn across the table and not for the first time Steve felt like some kind of kindred spirit to the kids Tommy H had made do his homework back in high school. Why even write it in the first place if you knew it was going to be obsolete?

Because they liked to waste his time, that’s why.

God, Steve hated Mondays.

He gathered the loose-leaf documents into a pile, tapping it against the desk to straighten the pages into semi-reasonable conditions, and pushed them to one side. He balanced a heavy-duty hole-punch on top, just in case the weather decided to act it’s month and send a blast of crisp wind through the tiny window held open by the string of the blinds covering it. It had happened once before, years ago, and Steve had spent the rest of his night on overtime just picking up pieces of paper and filing them back to their original places. He didn’t feel like going through that again; his back wasn’t what it used to be, and Steve wasn’t sure his knees would be up to the challenge of crawling along a hard wood floor.

Picking his pen up and dropping it with a quiet clink into the mug resting by his computer, he pushed away from the table, letting the wheels of his chair take him the distance to the door. Steve opened it gingerly, poking his head out and hoping that it wasn’t true that a woman’s work was never done: If Florence made him take another casserole home, he was pretty certain Dustin would begin to refuse meals, and if there was one thing Dt. Harrington didn’t need added to his list of difficulties, it was a fussy ten-year-old.

Thankfully there was no secretary in sight – in fact, it looked like half the police force had abandoned ship. The entire precinct was a waste land. Officer Powell sat in one corner, feet kicked up on his desk, throwing paper balls at a whirring fan, and Maxine Mayfield – a regular to the station, but not for unsavoury reason – watched with an unimpressed gaze as she waited for her brother’s shift to be done. But, really, that was it. That was the grand entertainment that Steve’s nightlife offered.

His keys rattled jovially as he locked up the office, and he ruffled the red-head’s hair in a drive-by mussing on his way to grab his coat from the rack. Robin’s was gone already – no surprise there – so all he really had to worry about as he was leaving was double-checking he had everything, and avoiding the vengeful, fisted hands of Max as she leapt from her chair with furious, delighted eyes:

“Harrington,” she hissed, and Steve smirked at the warmth he detected in her tone. She obviously hadn’t meant for it to leak through, because her eyes widened, and the girl scowled.

“Happy to see me, Max?”

“No!”

“You are,” Dt Harrington teased, and he crouched down in front of her with a stupid grin on his supposedly stupid face. “You so are!”

“Am not!”

Steve waggled a finger in her face, winking to Powell over her shoulder as Max grabbed for it, bringing it to her mouth with the threat of biting it clean off like a carrot stick. “Face it, kid. You love me. You find me funny!”

“You’re stupid,” the ten-year-old snapped back, releasing his hand, and grabbing the lapels of his coat with tiny fists instead. She pulled him forward like she was being the bad cop in a duo of interrogating officers. Steve let himself get tugged along for the ride, grinning.

“Says who?”

“Says Billy,” Steve rolled his eyes, prying her limpet-like fingers from his suit. He straightened up, leaving her adorable, angry face glaring up at him. Her cheeks had gone as red as her hair. There was no heat in her voice though, not really, and she looked away from his soft gaze, blushing. “But I still think you’re cool. He’s stupid too.”

“Yeah, Max. He is,” the man agreed, hands on his hips. “You know who else is stupid? Chief Ho –“

“Harrington!” Steve paled, letting out a nervous bubble of laughter as he turned to the voice. Jim levelled him with a disappointed stare that sent waves of childhood nostalgia through the detective’s gut as the station doors swung shut behind him. He was wrangling a cuffed man by the elbows, tiredness seeping through his eyes, through his voice. “This isn’t a day care. Come and help me.”

Steve furrowed his brows, confused, but approached, nonetheless. He stepped with caution, unsure. “Uh, isn’t exactly my forte, Hop.”

“Cut the crap, detective. You went through basic training just like the rest of us,” the Chief sanctioned, and the lack of patience in his voice caused Steve to walk that little bit faster. At his approach, the guy in custody’s attention rocketed straight towards him.

Now, Steve was never one to judge a book by it’s cover. Really. But with a quick and critical appraisal of the man currently being arrested by his superior, it was kind of hard for Steve to avoid. Because when the man turned, his hair turned with him – all of it – and it flicked over his shoulders, framed by the cheap halogen lighting above, like something out of a Whitesnake music video. Because the tight black jeans, the worn leather jacket, the Savatage t-shirt, the glint of cool silver adorning his knuckles and fingers, did nothing to quell the uncomfortable heat creeping its way up his throat, and Steve cursed himself for never fully getting over his childhood crush on Nikki Sixx.

“Yeah, detective, cut the crap,” parroted the man, and Steve revelled in that voice being aimed towards him. He swallowed, dragging his eyes up from the chains looped around his waist like a belt (and were those handcuffs in place of a buckle? Christ). A smirk was plastered over top of the rocker’s face, his brown eyes fully aware, it seemed, of the thousands of thoughts flooding through Steve’s mind. “Help the old man, why dontcha?”

Hopper gave the guy a rough shove and he stumbled, letting out a breathy laugh, and, stupidly, Steve reached forward to steady him. He regretted it the minute he touched the man because the flutter of eyelashes and sarcastic ‘my hero’ had Dt. Harrington stumbling instead.

“Fingerprint him,” the Chief said gruffly, physically manoeuvring Steve’s hands from the convict’s - remember the type of people who get themselves arrested, Steve – shoulder down to the cuffed hands pinned behind his back. Jim held him there for a moment, giving the other man a knowing look. His grip on Steve’s wrist tightened: “He’s in for drunk and disorderly. You remember how to put that into the system, right?”

“Yeah, but – “

“Don’t get distracted if you ever want to make it home tonight,” Hopper relented, backing away. Steve frowned.

“Where are you going?”

The chief grinned, throwing his hat onto his desk and shrugging on his coat. “Hot date, you know how it is.”

Steve resisted the urge to scoff, clearing his throat instead, and he gently urged the man in his charge forward as he watched, more miserable than ever, as his boss practically skipped from the building.

He pushed the cuffed man into a chair opposite an empty desk and turned the computer on begrudgingly. Chin in hand, he stared towards the blank windows-start-up screen as the PC’s fans whirred angrily into action. Steve felt eyes burning into him, and pushed hair from his forehead as he turned to the unwelcome attention:

“What?” he sighed. He was met with an exaggerated smile.

“Judging by your reaction, I guess you don’t.”

“What?”

“Know how it is,” the man continued, and Steve could feel himself begin to grow impatient, frustrated, annoyed. Spotting his flustered state, the smile on their face crept even further up their cheeks. “Having a hot date?”

He was leaning over the desk now, cheek pressed against a balled fist in some childish mirroring of Steve, and the detective felt the area beneath his eyes grow hot. He blinked, sitting back in his chair: “I know,” he said, aiming to keep his voice steady and calm – professional, because that’s what he was. A professional. Steve hated the way a dark eyebrow cocked at his response. “I know,” he repeated sternly, trying to force some conviction into his words.

“I don’t see a ring.”

Steve frowned, flexing his right hand awkwardly as he turned back to the computer screen, suddenly incredibly aware of it. “I’m not married.”

“Ah.” Steve’s eyes flickered to him, then down to the chipped nail polish on his fingers, and back to the screen. He swallowed, opening a folder to begin the digital booking procedure. He double clicked on a tick-box by accident as the man decided to speak once more: “So, you’re a player, then?”

Steve cursed breathlessly, exiting the file and reopening it. There, a blank slate. Dt. Harrington wished he could do the same thing in real life and restart this whole ordeal – he wouldn’t be letting Hopper sneak off the next time around.

“Name?”

“Eddie – Edward Munson… Is this an eye for an eye situation? Do I get to know just who my charming captor is?”

“It’s not required for me to tell you,” He stated, stealing a glance over towards Munson. The guy was still staring at him, eyes squinting, half-closed, as though Steve was a mystery he was trying to decipher. The click of keys as Steve added the man’s credentials to the document filled the brief silence. “Any middle names?”

“No.” A simple statement. Normal procedure. Then: “So, about your ‘hot dates’, detective… You go on lots?”

Dt. Harrington wanted to slam his head against the keyboard. He inhaled slowly (hold for four, just like Robin had taught him) and let the air out in a whining, exaggerated sigh. Half of him wanted to throttle Munson with the cuffs chained around his wrists, and the other half wanted to entertain him, purely out of personal, incredibly non-professional interest in the other man’s interest.

“Not anymore,” Steve admitted. He clicked into an empty box asking to describe the crime committed: “My colleague said you were being admitted for drunk and disorderly. Is that right?”

Eddie Munson snorted. “Your colleague?”

“Yeah.”

The other man rolled his eyes and began scratching at an ink stain on the wooden desk. “If you mean the big guy, then yeah. I don’t know about any disorder, though. Thought I was just being thrown into the clink with the rest of the bums.”

“You’re homeless, then?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up beneath his shaggy fringe, hiding there, and he had the audacity to look offended as he sank down into his chair. “Fuck no. Why, do I have trash in my hair?” He brought a hand up to thread through his wild locks, snickering at Steve’s unamused face.

“It’s not funny to make fun of the less fortunate, Munson. What’s your address?”

Eddie stiffened. “Uh, okay. Funny thing, actually – “

“You are homeless?” Steve guessed, and he figured he was actually close to the truth by the way the other man’s face seemed to humble and calm down from it’s crazy that he’d had posted there since they’d met.

“No, dude, I live in a van!”

“Like, in an RV?”

“Er,” Eddie hesitated. “Yeah, sure. Like in an RV.”

“What’s the license?”

Eddie answered disdainfully and watched as Steve typed the information into the designated box, frowning, but he made no attempt to interrupt the detective as he continued filling in the rest of the information. Steve treasured the quiet, broken only by the hushed conversation across the room where in Max continued to verbally abuse Powell’s attempts to shoot a crumpled post-it into the waste basket.

Steve turned to Eddie, then, examining him with a crude eye; Munson puffed his chest beneath his gaze like the preening bird of paradise he’d seen on that nature documentary Dustin had forced him to sit through (David Attenborough had lulled him into a false sense of security - those birds were vicious). Dt. Harrington wondered if the man realised he was doing it, but one glance to his smirking face and smudged eye-liner was enough to stop that thought in it’s tracks.

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“Not that I know of,” Eddie replied coolly. He narrowed his eyes as Steve turned to type something into a search engine, leaning forward and craning his neck to try and get a closer look. “What are you doing?”

“Fact-checking,” Steve murmured in reply, and felt his chest deflate, rest easy, when he saw that the man was telling the truth. He was clean as a whistle. Related family members - his father – were a different story all together, and Steve didn’t let himself linger on the crooked, malicious black and white mugshot that leered at him through the screen. Put away for second-degree manslaughter, he thought grimly, and looked back to the Munson sat before him. “It checks out.”

“Well, good,” Eddie said roughly. There was a gravel to his voice that had the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck standing to attention. “I’m a man of many qualities, detective. But I’m not a liar.”

There was an undercurrent of upset, embarrassment, at what Steve had possibly been assuming - or even hinting towards – and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s just- uh, you know. We have to do it for everyone who comes through,” he stammered, and cleared his throat again, avoiding eye contact with the other man. “Don’t think you’re special or anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Munson shot back, and there it was, the classic grin that Steve found somewhat endearing now that he’d seen that face void of it. Eddie sent him a wink, and he supressed the shiver in exchange for a well-timed eyeroll, scrolling up and down the document to check for anything he’d missed. He checked ‘no’ for anything stating that the incarcerated was exhibiting foul or unsavoury behaviour. ‘No’ was also checked for the box that asked whether a superior officer had been overseeing the whole thing, because Steve was so going to throw it back in Hopper’s face if anyone questioned why a Homicide detective was detaining people.

Steve sent the file to the printer in his office. Mainly because he wanted to escape the digging eyes of Eddie Munson, but also because he didn’t know how to use the one set up only a couple feet away. When he pushed himself out from beneath the desk, standing up, Eddie frowned, copying the motion, and Steve shook his head, pushing him back down into the seat:

“Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” If anything, Steve would say that the man sounded concerned. How cute.

“I’ll be back,” he reassured, and Munson’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Okay?” The other man said, like he didn’t know what else to say. Steve sent him a stiff smile before he began that awkward, half-run half-speed walk to his office. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and if he didn't know any better he'd say he could hear the tumbling of blood as it rushed through his veins as Eddie Munson's eyes followed his every move.

What was wrong with him? Just a few hours ago he was investigating the brutal slaughter of a poor woman. Someone's mother, someone's daughter, was dead, and for the first time in years Dt. Harrington was struggling to keep the case at the forefront of his mind. He braced himself against door, closing it softly behind him. He wasn't in high school anymore, Steve had to remind himself. He couldn't just drop it all for the first cute girl he saw.

But and Steve tried to stop the train of thought before it began, failing miserably. But, Edward Munson wasn't a girl. That made it different, surely?

No. It didn't. Steve had been with guys before - he'd learnt more in college than how to assess the arcs of blood splattered against the wall. He was just tired, and lonely, and he'd had a rough day. Steve snatched the papers from the printer harshly, wrinkling them slightly. He just needed to get it out of his system, that's all.

Preferably not with a drunk dude admitted to a police station.

The term 'beggars can't be choosers' breached the sturdy wall he'd suddenly built up in his mind, and Steve banished it instantly. He wasn't a beggar. He was Steve Harrington. King Steve. The best homicide investigator Hawkins had seen in half a century. If anything, everyone else was begging.

When he came back out of his office, his tiny, insecure pep-talk to himself had boosted his spirits some, and he strode jauntily back to the desk with the same cockiness he'd had when he was younger, before his work had both taken over his life and drained him of it at once. He eyed Maxine Mayfield uncertainly where she was perched on the end of an adjoining desk, listening with the same intense, serious look she always kept on her face as the hand-cuffed man talked aimlessly at her about whatever the fuck a guy like him had to talk about. Music, probably.

Steve sent a sharp glance towards Officer Powell, but the man had fallen asleep with his feet kicked up and his neck flopped awkwardly over the back of his chair. He would feel that position when he woke, and Steve felt a little bit gratified. Served him right for leaving a ten-year-old unsupervised with a criminal.

Not that Dt. Harrington really thought that Munson was a bad guy. Usually when drunks got brought into the clink it was because they’d been partying too loud and disturbed a neighbour, and, honestly, Eddie seemed sober. But that was beside the point.

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, watching the two of them, and felt a begrudging smile tilt the corners of his mouth: “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Max cried, kicking out at him with her swinging legs. She missed him by about three feet, but he got the picture quite clearly. Eddie rolled his eyes, shaking his chains at Steve.

“Nothing important, Steve,” the man purred. Steve’s heart hammered in his chest, and he wet his lips, looking away from the eyes plastered onto him. Eddie tracked the move like a predator, and something about the way he gave his full attention to Steve had the detective shuddering beneath his gaze.

“Max, you’re not supposed to speak to strangers.”

“You were talking to him,” the girl said indignantly, and Eddie’s dazzling smile caused Steve to falter in his reply, like the man knew just how to hotwire his brain. He blinked.

“Yeah, well. That’s my job,” he shrugged, pushing past her sit back down. The red-head scowled, kicking out again, and this time her shoes brushed against his slacks. He shoot her a dirty look: “You shouldn’t have told him my name, either. Where’s your brother? Go bother him.”

Max’s brow furrowed and she pulled her legs up, crossing them on top of the desk. Her eyes flickered between the two men, and she pressed her lips together in indecision. “Can I stay if I’m quiet?”

“Sure. But I want silence. Anything more and you’re out. That’s an order,” Steve enforced, lacing his tone with authority. He knew it would work – it always did with kids. Remind them that you’re in control, give them an ounce of duty, and they felt instantly important. Max nodded furiously, making a show of zipping her lips, and Steve threw the document in his hand down onto the desk, turning his attention to Munson.

The man was looking at him – no surprise there, but Steve still felt oddly uncomfortable – with wide, excited eyes, his lips parted slightly. Steve could see the pink of his tongue trapped between his teeth, and cocked his head slightly: “You good, Munson?” He pushed the paper across the desk. “I need you to sign this for me, then we can get to fingerprinting.”

Eddie swallowed and shook his head. “No, uh – yeah I’m good. I’m super good,” he informed. He paused, scrutinizing the detective as he stole a pen right out of Steve’s hands before he had the chance to offer it. He scribbled a rushed, messy signature that slopped over the dotted line that it was aimed for, and stood quickly, slamming his palms flat on the table in a way that generated a thunderous sound. Steve raised a brow as Max jumped, lips twisting in her attempts to maintain her vigil of absolute quiet. Munson levelled him with a… what was in that stare? Steve couldn’t quite make it out, struggling to compartmentalise the muddle of emotions burning there.

“So you’re ready to go, then?” the detective proffered, rising to join the detainee.

“I’m all yours, Stevie.”

“Please, call me detective. It’s protocol.”

“I’m all yours, detective Steve.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. The tangy scent of copper drifted from his tie and he swallowed as he rounded the desk. This was going to be a long night.

He hated Mondays.

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