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livingemkayde · 8 months

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in plain sight

joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 2.8k

↳ warnings: lets see what were cooking with today team, this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, joel is kinda creepy (!) but in a fun way!? public / visible undressing, idk if this counts as it but like voyeurism?? or exhibitionism? idk im not too versed with my -isms. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: heres a little short (ish) one shot because i have COVID and i am SAD!!! joel is literally peeping tom 😭. idk where this came from, and i will not be giving an explanation at this time! thanks for reading and supporting, as always, inbox is sooo open and i love you all.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble. “You should close your blinds.” “You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest. “You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?” His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further. “Hm?” he slots your body between his legs. You shake your head.

He can see you—through the window.

You weren’t sure at first. He’s new in town, took the place next to yours. But it was a peering, sneaking feeling following you around your room. Especially in that limbo between dinner and midnight. When you get especially restless and the yellow light emanating from your room is highlighted against the blueish black sky.

You knew it was something, an unvoiced feeling that made you keep your mouth shut. But it didn’t will you to shut your blinds. It wasn’t creepy—it excited you. Maybe some sick part of you changes in front of the window just for him.

So when you had caught him—two nights ago. It only spurred you on further.

You got caught in the rain, sprinting upstairs and stripping down to your underwear. You didn’t even think he was home. Maybe that’s why you didn’t close your blinds before shedding your clothes—or maybe it was something else entirely.

The soaked cotton of your t-shirt plopped down onto the hardwood. You stepped out of your jeans, turning your back to the window subconsciously. And when you reached around your own back to unclasp your bra, you felt it—that peering gaze.

Delicate fingers undid the clasp and as you pulled the straps off your body, you looked over your shoulder, hitching your chin to the side.

And you saw him, standing at his window. He had a cup of something in his hand, a tight fist wrapped around it. The soft rays of sunlight pushed a heavy glare over his body but you could see his face—a deer in headlights. A thief, caught red handed. In a blazing offense.

And you, equally shocked—that it really was him looking all this time—that he spent his afternoon hours peering over into your room instead of living his life in his. That the stoic, grumpy, brooding — Joel Miller — stood studying you undressing like a showgirl.

You had gasped a little, a quick thing, and he shut his blinds just as quickly and turned away—his shadow faded into the dim light of his bedroom window.

Truthfully, you look for him everywhere you go. At the market. In the mess hall. At the stables when you’re rounding up hay. You don't see much of him, but you look for him. Take a quick inconspicuous peak over your shoulder. A watchful eye on the entrance to the bar. A peering gaze through windows, just like he does to you.

You look for him behind your eyelids, in those late hours of the night, when his window goes dark some time after yours floods black.

It almost seems like you’re always looking for him.

But you never truly see him. Not really. It almost seems like he’s avoiding you.

But it’s somewhat of a celebratory night—Tommy’s birthday. So you get all too particularly dressed up for the Tispy Bison and rush over, the feeling of Joel’s gaze two nights ago still stuck sweetly to the skin of your back.

A set of peering brown eyes meet yours when you walk in but they look away quickly. They always look away quickly. And maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or the younger Miller brother waving you over, but you want to change that. If it’s your life’s mission, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you smile at Tommy, he pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing tightly against the breast of his jacket. All you can feel are eyes on you—the curve of your neck, your hand resting gently on Tommy’s waist.

“C’mon,” Tommy shakes you slightly, “not that old.”

Then he looks back at Joel in a quiet, joking kind of way.

“Hey,” you breathe, nodding towards Joel. He clears his throat, straightens his back, wets the skin of his lips and gives you a sharp nod in return. He drops your eyes for his fingers resting on the bartop.

“Aren’t y’all neighbors?” Tommy questions, almost confused why the air seems so — awkward.

Joel’s eyes flick under the gaze of his question, the muscle in his jaw tightens. He shoots a quick glance at you and then back to his brother. Your palm starts to sweat where it rests on the bar.

Neighbors.

You stay silent to let Joel answer his brother, but he fails, landing a defeated fist gently on the table, and turning away from the two of you, towards the bartender. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow.

“Yeah,” you jump in, nod, smile, deflect, “We are.”

“Tommy!” A rowdy group of men pull Tommy backwards into the forming circle. Happy Birthdays are exchanged following many claps on the back. They stagger away into the background noise.

Only Joel and you are left.

You wave down the bartender.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you say, nodding towards Joel at your side.

A sweaty man emerges from the dancefloor to order a drink at your side. He smiles at you. You ignore him.

“You like whiskey?” Joel mumbles from your other side, bringing the glass to his lips, staring directly ahead. You study the curve of his nose.

“Sometimes,” you slide closer across the bar towards him, away from the other guy.

Joel’s fingers tap on the wood. Your foot hits your own bar chair to the beat of the song. Your heart beats a little faster when he sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s almost like he’s waiting with bated breath — anticipating you to confront him about the events of two nights ago.

You don’t, though. Not yet, at least.

“Y’all close?” he says, nodding back towards Tommy.

You nurse your drink at your lips.

“Patrol,” the whiskey burns as it goes down, “you gonna get out there soon?”

“Old man like me?”

“Not that old,” you bite the rim of the glass, “Could probably use you out there.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, swinging the glass in his hand, “Probably.”

“You should come check it out,” you look at him through your lashes, “I need a new partner.”

Joel huffs a breath, almost downing the rest of his drink. You sneak out of your chair and move closer.

Tommy’s group breaks into laughter from beside you. A man bumps into your back and your drink spills to the floor, sloshing around in the clear glass while you stumble a little.

Joel’s hand reaches out to grab your hip. The warm callousness of his thumb notches against that soft skin of your side, uncovered by fabric. He grips you, his thumb, featherweight, pushing against bone, sending a heat between your legs.

Your hand lands on his bicep.

“Sorry,” you mumble, he doesn’t take his hand away, not until you straighten your shirt and turn your body back to the bar. He grumbles a quiet apology to follow yours.

“Can I get another, please?” you ask the bartender, your cheeks heat. Your whole body does.

The bartender places a whiskey in front of you and you grab it promptly, swinging your body towards Joel, raising your glass to him. He looks at you silently, then down to your outstretched drink in hand.

A quiet contemplation.

“What for?” He asks.

Your palms start to sweat and you’re worried it might fog up the new glass. The yellow lights of the bar turn his skin golden. He’s wearing that green flannel you saw him in at the window, the sleeves of it pushed over his elbows. The wired muscle of his forearms flick under the tense air.

You’re nervous he might take this the wrong way. But like you thought earlier, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away.

So you smirk at him, choose your words carefully—and decide to bite.

“New neighbors.”

His gaze flicks to yours. His lips part, then close again, maybe shocked, maybe something else. Then he lets out something strangled, air between teeth and tongue and he huffs like he can't help it. Like he doesn’t know what to do with what you’ve given him—with what you’ve baited him with.

New neighbors.

His glass doesn’t meet yours, so you clink them together for him, sipping on the dark liquor with a small smile behind the rim. He clears his throat, and gatherers a staggered breath while downing the rest of his drink.

“You like your new place, right?” you ask.

Joel stares at you, almost scared, questioning.

“‘S fine,” he finally says.

“Just fine?”

“‘S nice.”

“I think so too,” you get closer to him and when he doesn’t back away, “big bedrooms.”

You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“Yup,” he whispers. When you get closer, he slips a hand into your jacket, palming at your waist, spreading the broadness of his hand across your ribs. You try not to gasp. He holds you there, almost a warning. A cautionary message. A blaring stop sign.

But you were never much for listening, anyways.

“Nice view?” you mumble, staring at his lips.

You can feel his breath punching against your face, the hand on your ribs slides higher.

You tilt your head, a question — in more ways than one.

He doesn’t respond, the muscle in his jaw flicks the longer you stand there studying his face. His eyes keep flicking down to your lips—you’re worried he can feel your heartbeat when he inches closer. Some country slow song comes on, maybe the lights dim, or maybe his stare darkens — turns devilish — and it makes it seem like it does.

“What are you doin’?” he whispers.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like—” he huffs a breath and looks down to your lips, “—nothin’.”

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble.

“You should close your blinds.”

“You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest.

“You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?”

His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further.

“Hm?” he slots your body between his legs.

You shake your head.

“Yeah,” he whispers in your ear, already pushing you towards the entrance of the bar, “Yeah, ’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

“Fuck—Joel.”

You press the palms of your hands to glass, your own breath fogging up the pane in front of you. The skin of your cheek bites against the coldness of it, you can barely make out Joel’s reflection from behind you.

“You like this?” he shoves your pants past your hips, “like me watchin’ ya?”

And yes, you’re kind of surprised at how much you do. You like this. You like him watching you in those late hours of the night. Before you would retreat behind the safety of your covers and make yourself come to the thought of Joel Miller.

He slaps your ass, and kneads it where he leaves raised red marks behind in his wake. Your tits push against the window, pebbling your nipples. It almost hurts when they’re pressed up against the glass like that.

“Joel,” you moan, ignoring his question.

“Put on a show f’me,” he runs his fingers through your wetness, teasing your aching clit, “every day. Fuckin’ tease.”

Your open mouth kisses the window, breathing heavy fog onto it. You push back against him but he keeps you pressed against the window with a strong hand on your back.

You don’t know how you found yourself in Joel Miller’s bedroom, let alone his house. Somehow between now and the bar, rough words, and teasing touches managed to get you slotted between him and his bedroom window. Forced to look out towards your room—where you baited him for weeks.

“Christ,” he mumbles, feeling your wetness, collecting it and letting his fingers disappear between your legs. Yours grasp at nothing, squeaking against the pane there, looking for something, anything to grab onto. He’s got you up against the window like a painting on a canvas, the sill framing your bodies for everyone to see.

But he doesn’t care—that anyone could see—and that excites you more.

You look back at him, he’s got a pained look on his face, staring down at your body bent for him. You bite your lip and hide your face between hair and glass when you hear the clink of his belt.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling himself out, groaning at the sensation, spreading you all over himself. You wait with bated breath.

A big and rough hand hangs on the back of your neck. You can feel him notch himself against your entrance. You move your hips back to meet him, but he stops you. You’re frozen under his touch, a model, waiting to be molded however he desires.

“You like this, angel?” he whispers.

This—being pushed against the window, where anyone can see, like how he saw you, all those nights, all those times before.

Yes, hell yes, you do.

“Yeah,” you whimper, he presses your head into the window further, you squirm in anticipation. His rough hand tangles between hair. The tip of his cock almost pushes into your cunt.

“You do it for me?”

It—undressing in front of the window, pacing around in your underwear, framed by the golden light escaping from the glass, never shutting your blinds, just for him.

You’d be kidding yourself if you said no.

“Yes,” you whisper in a hoarse voice—then suddenly, his fingers drop from your head.

Joel slides in, slowly. Pushing past your tightening walls, your hand pounds a heavy fist into the windowpane and the glass shakes under the pressure. When his hips are flush with yours, he waits.

“Pretty,” he mumbles into your hair and you freeze.

You don’t say anything, still panting against the window, “Always—” he pulls out, and thrusts back in, setting an agonizingly slow pace, “—pretty.”

You tense around him, whimpering. Your forehead ducks down and lands against the glass with a thud.

“Wanted you to—ngh—” you moan. His hand braces against the window and you hold on to it, grabbing at it aimlessly. He slides his fingers between yours. “—wanted you to see me,” you admit.

“I know,” he drawls, “I know, baby.”

His pace is slow at first, gentle. But it speeds up into something deafening. Your body pushes up against the glass with each thrust of his hips. He grabs at your hair, holds your hand, and kisses your neck through it all.

Joel wraps his arms around your waist when he feels you going numb.

“C’mon,” he whispers, “doin’ good. So—fuck—so good.”

The angle is deeper, sharper—he’s bigger than what you’re used to. You bite your lip in favor of screaming.

He hits something inside you and his breath snags somewhere deep in his throat, pushing grunts out into the crown of your hair.

It’s obscene. The gesture. All of it. The throb between your legs comes to a splitting pitch, your breath sharp and cutting just like his. Your head spins, panting through fuzzy vision. His words go straight to your core. The thought that if someone were to walk by and happen to look up, they’d see you—how he’s got you pressed up against glass like an exhibit.

“Joel—” you yelp, he cuts you off, playing with your clit, pushing you over that thin edge. Your muscles choke his cock, turning to putty in his hands as you whine his name, crying out so the glass echoes it back to you.

He bites down onto the bare skin where your neck meets your shoulder. Leaving behind marks that you’ll see for days to come. Not that you mind. You reach back, crumple up cotton into your fists and feel his wired muscles flex under your palm.

“Fuck, angel,” he groans, you spin around to kiss him, and swallow his moans with your own. Teeth and tongue and whimpers to go with the rest of them.

His hips stutter into yours, you push against him, bordering on the edge of too much but when his breath stalls from above you and his hand holding yours goes tight, you finally relax. He spills into you, you feel his cock pulse from somewhere deep inside you.

His head rests against the back of your neck for what seems like forever, you can feel his hot mouth trail kisses down your back until you both laugh and he finally slips out of you and lets you turn around.

He kisses you. Really kisses you. And when he pulls back, he sighs. Pushing out air between his parted lips, like he doesn’t really know what to do now. But he looks at you. And keeps looking at you, even when you think he might break your gaze.

Looking at you, and never, ever, looking away.

658 notes · View notes

t-z-gow · 1 year

Note

First off, THANK YOU for writing for Brok. Sometimes I feel like the only one who likes him lmao. Also this got long whoops

I think he shows love with his smithing. He knows damn well he’s good with a hammer and uses his skills to improve the possessions of the loved ones around him. But I feel like he’d really go all out for someone he has romantic interest in.

So imagine this. You’re bringing him a weapon of yours, asking for a simple fix. He brings it back fixed, sharpened, chock full of enchantments and decorated to the nines. You question him about it, and he just gives you a Brok-ism and waves you off. Meanwhile, Sindri is just laughing in the background, having just watched his no-nonsense brother burn the midnight oil over a weapon with a a 5-minute fix, just because it’s your weapon.

You're welcome! To be honest I think most people don't write for him because the way he speaks is so hard to nail down. At least that's what I struggled with ^-^;

Anyway, enjoy!

Brok x Reader ~ Your Company

You hated this weather. This Gods awful, frigid, skin-freezing weather. Your feet tracked through the snow, your coat tightly wrapped around your frame. It almost reminded you of when you were a kid wrapped up in your blankets hiding from non-existent monsters. The thought gained a small smirk from you, though the bitter cold quickly wiped it away.

You should have been home right about now, warming by the fire, enjoying the hot meal of your recent hunt. That, however, wasn't meant to be.

Your bow had broken. Not the string, but the wood. Snapped right in half when a draugr sent you down a hill. You still managed your kill with the knife you had left, but if you planned on surviving this never-ending winter then you couldn't afford to have a broken weapon. So, in spite of your loathing for the weather, you sought out the only two you knew that could craft you a new one. The fabled Huldra brothers.

Finding them wasn't always easy. Sometimes they showed up the moment you needed them, other times it took a bit of wandering around their makeshift workshops a while. They couldn't be everywhere at once, you knew that. You just hoped one of them would show up soon-

"What's gone and got you all the way up here?" a familiar voice rang. You swiftly turned in their direction, relieved to have found who you had been looking for, Brok.

"I was looking for you" you replied. Your answer seemed to startle him slightly, his eyes flashing to you with a wide smile to match before quickly turning away again.

"And what's would be the reason?" He asked, his question similar to the first as he went back to collecting whatever he came here for. You took the broken pieces of your bow, laying them on the table in front of you.

"I broke my bow" you answered, causing him to pause and, had you believed there to be a reason, you would have said he looked almost disappointed. You quickly brushed it off though, suspecting you might have caught him at a busy moment. However you couldn't leave without the bow fixed, not in this place. So, despite believing you might be annoying him, you didn't take your leave.

He quickly stopped what he was doing, walking over to the broken pieces placed before him, his eyes focused on the items.

"S'ain't worth much now. I'll have ta make ya a new one" he proclaimed as he inspected the broken item. You nodded, reaching into your bag for your coin.

"And how much will that cost me?" You asked as you dug around. He turned his back to you, your broken bow in hand, seemingly returning to his rummaging.

"Won't cost ya nothin'!" He answered, your head shooting up once he spoke it, bewilderment covering your face.

"Are you...are you sure? I have plenty-"

"Course I'm sure! Right positive!" He spoke enthusiastically, though that did little to calm your confusion on the strange answer. You weren't going to argue your way out of a free new bow though, so you held the word 'why?' on your tongue, not letting it escape your lips as it had many times before when seeing the blue-skinned man.

"Alright..." You removed your hand from your bag, instead returning to hugging the warmth of your jacket closer, trying to avoid the nipping cold once more.

"How long should it take?" you asked with understandable concern. Earning his attention once more, his eyes fell over his shoulder and onto you, then turned to search for the sun in the sky before he found his answer.

"Not before s'dark if that's what you's askin'" a strange tone was held in his voice as he stopped his searching, instead quickly moving to put some things in a bag before fully turning back to you.

"Ain't safe goin' round in this shit hole without a weapon. You's best stay with me for the night" he stated flatly before beginning to walk off.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence when you met with Brok. He did often take much longer to finish his work than Sindri, always saying it was about quality or something to that effect. Either way, it had led to you staying at the dwarves' home more than a couple of times. So you didn't put up a fuss as you followed, knowing it was simply a waste of time to argue with the stubborn man.

You both entered through a portal, finding yourselves in a place familiar to you, yet different than the last time you had seen it. They seemed to have built out even further. You admired the home for a moment as it was certainly a lot more aesthetically pleasing than your temporary homes found in the sides of mountains. You only lingered a moment before following Brok forward and into the house, as beautiful on the inside as it had been on the outside, likely Sindris doing.

"We got company!" Brok suddenly yelled, his voice echoing as he did before he immediately turned to his workshop, busying himself with your bow and likely other weapons. It was then that your eyes fell onto unrecognized faces that sat in the odd corners of the building. They turned to you upon Broks yelling, giving you the same looks of caution that you did to them. A moment of silence occurred before another voice cut through.

"Y/n! I wasn't expecting your company" The man coated in gold armor yelled from atop the stairs in a tone of joy with a hint of tension, likely from failing to inform him of your company ahead of time. He quickly made his way down the stairs as you took off your shoes, stepping further into the building. A smile of recognition falling upon your face as you did.

"Sindri! It's been a long while, hasn't it?" You spoke as you met him at the bottom of the stairs, his own smile now forming.

"And what brings you to our neck of the Yggdrasil?" He questioned, his body leaning away ever so slightly, though that was to be expected.

"My bow broke" you answered for the second time this evening, earning a knowing nod from him.

"I didn't know you had other company" you spoke as your eyes turned to the tall man who stood above a cauldron of food along with a young boy sat talking to a...head?

You brushed off the weird scene, comforting yourself with the thought that you've seen stranger.

"Yeah well it was originally just the boy and his father but uh...others followed" his voice held noticable annoyance for a moment though you didn't take offense to it. You knew how stressed Sindri became with company, having overheard him and Brok arguing the first time the blue dwarf ever brought you here unannounced. The thought made you smile a moment, though you had most certainly not been smiling then.

Quickly knocking yourself out of the memory you turned back to Sindri, only to see a thoughtful look on his face as he stared, focused on something in the distance. You were about to turn to see what caught his attention but was stopped when he spoke again.

"Anyway! I have...work I have to do. So feel free to make yourself comfortable! Though not too comfortable. Oh and uh, you should speak with Brok. He enjoys your company" his words were slightly scattered as he spoke, quickly walking off. Before you could question him any further he disappeared, leaving you with only his words as a guide. Quickly deciding you'd rather do that than introduce yourself to new people, you walked over to where you had seen Brok leave to earlier: his workstation. As you walked you let the words Sindri spoke rest in your head, a certain sentence sticking in your mind.

'He enjoys your company'

You wondered what Sindri had meant by the comment, if anything at all. The man had seemed in a hurry to leave your presence so it was likely just strange wording. Still, you couldn't find yourself parting with the sentence, inscribing more meaning to it than Sindri had likely meant by the comment.

Approaching the workstation you let a smile fall on your lips, seeing just who you thought you would.

"So I heard you enjoy my company?" You spoke, causing the man hard at work to jump slightly, turning over his shoulder. Upon recognizing it was you he gave a short nod before turning back around. It took a moment for him to process what you spoke before waving his hand at the words, knowing exactly where they had come from.

"Sindri told you that, didn't he? The little bastard's terrible at keepin' his mouth shut" he answered, earning your intrigue quickly.

"Is it true?" You asked. He still had yet to turn to you, even as his body tensed at the questioning.

"S'pose so" he hesitated when the words left as he quickly busied his hands. You gave a hum of contentment at his admitting to it.

"Not so bad yourself" you replied, moving further into his forge, soon finding a place to sit and watch. There were a few moments of silence between the two of you, a silence that felt a little strange yet not uncomfortable. Still, you decided to break it.

"Got any new stories I should know of?" You asked, earning a chuckle from him. You couldn't help but smile at the sound, it always felt so nice hearing him laugh.

"Well I do. They ain't no happy stories though" his eyes focused on his work, even as spoke with you. You let out a short laugh at his words, causing his eyes to flick towards you in slight confusion, especially upon seeing the joy that wrote itself on your face.

"Oh please. You could make death seem like a daisy field" you snickered as you spoke. His confusion melted into a soft smile at the compliment, feeling his chest burn at even your smile.

"Really? That weren't nothin' I've heard! Usually s'the opposite!" His voice rose slightly before he joined in laughter with you.

Both of you were fully unaware of the listening ears nearby.

"Mimir," the boy whispered

"Aye, I see it too lad" the head responded, his words more exasperated than intrigued.

"Why's he acting so weird?" Atreus asked, eyeing the strange situation. Mimir chuckled at the boy, knowing full well what was going on. Atreus turned to him about to ask why he was laughing when another voice suddenly rang.

"Sad isn't it?" The boy jumped, quickly turning and, to his relief, seeing Sindri. He settled back into his seat before moving his questioning stare to the dwarf instead.

"What?" Atreus asked, though was seemingly ignored when Mimir spoke up again.

"For such a brash man he really doesn't know what he's doin'" Mimir replied, Atreus only further bewildered by the strange conversation.

"I've tried to help him, you know? But there's only so much I can do. He doesn't make it easy" Sindri continued and was, at this point, outright ignoring the wide eyes and furrowed brows of the young boy.

"Aye, I wouldn't expect him to-"

"What are you guys talking about!" Atreus, utterly confused and at this point frustrated, cut through the two's conversation with desperation at his unsatiated curiosity. The two looked at him for a moment before Mimir held back a laugh and finally, with great amusement, answered the boy.

"Broks boot-over-head for that stranger over there" Mimir explained, a chuckle in his voice.

"Oh," the boy quickly spoke, still not fully understanding what he meant. That was until a few seconds later when it really hit him.

"OH!" He exclaimed, earning a hefty round of laughs from both Sindri and Mimir, leaving the boy more than a little embarrassed. He tried to get the two to shut up, but when their laughs only grew louder he felt himself too red-faced to stay there anymore.

"Screw you guys! I'm going to bed" Atreus yelled, quickly leaving the scene to save what little bit of his pride he had left. The boy was right to leave though, as tiredness began to grip at most of everyone nearby.

This included you; your eyes drooping and exhaustion building. With a few more words exchanged you spoke your goodnights, even if the moon never met this place, before leaving for bed.

You arose from your sleep in the makeshift bed you had made yourself, with the help of Sindri. You would have asked Brok to help, but he was already doing a great favor for you, so you didn't want to bother him any more than you had.

Not that it matters now, your eyes blinking back into the waking world, a yawn escaping your lips as you sat up. You stretched before standing and, hoping to be out of the way as quickly as possible, you grabbed all you had come here with, preparing to take your weapon and leave.

Upon leaving your room you found that the place was rather quiet, at least quieter than the night before. It didn't unsettle you as you had been some of their only company before, but it did allow you to immediately notice the sounds coming from the workshop. You rose a brow towards the sound, taking a few careful steps forward, letting the forge come into view, only to see Brok, still hard at work.

"Brok?" You questioned, the man not so much startled this time as he was surprised. He turned to you, his eyes a little bloodshot and with dark circles beneath them. You gave him a concerned stare, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Mornin'" was all he spoke, moving to complete whatever he was working on. You continued to stare, a little worried that he'd been up all night. He was a grown man though, so you weren't about to dig into his business.

"Morning...what are you working on?" You asked, curious as to what took up so much of his time. He didn't say anything for a moment, seeming as if he was doing a few final touches. You were going to ask a different question, assuming he might not have liked the first one, when he turned around.

"Yer bow" he spoke proudly, gently laying the item in front of you. Your eyes widened at the piece, as it was more than you could have ever asked for. Covered in beautiful carvings and runes, laced in gold and silver. You stared at him wide-eyed as if waiting for him to take it away, for him to say it was a joke, for him to make fun of the face you were making. When he didn't, you truly had no clue what to do.

"Brok this is...this is beautiful" you spoke the words, having frankly nothing else you could think to say. His smile grew at your astonishment, seeming pleased with himself. Your hands reached out for it, but retracted a moment later.

"I can't just take this. Surely there's something you want from me-" you tried to reason, confused as to why he would let you even near such a beautiful weapon. He didn't even let you finish your protest before speaking again.

"Ain't a thing" he spoke assuredly. You looked at him with another hesitant stare. Why did he do this then? Why did he make this for no coin? And stay up all night to make it? And make it so perfect?

All of these thoughts wandered through your head as you stared at him, his motives unknown and his smile crumbling your weariness by the second. You finally turned back down, picking up the shining piece of equipment before you. It felt so important in your hold, as if meant to only be held by a god. You moved the item within your hands, observing all of its finer details, along with the weight of it in your grip. After a moment you turned away and pulled the string of the bow back to test its resistance, but was surprised to see it sparkle with a blue magic. You put the bow at rest, turning back to Brok with an amazed look. It was truly the highest quality bow you had ever seen.

"I don't know what to say" you spoke, still blown away by its beauty. His face was lit with glee. He seemed truly proud of himself.

"Weren't nothing. Here. Made ya a couple'a arrows too" he knelt under the table as he spoke before pulling out around fifteen gorgeously shaped arrows, the colors matching your bow.

And it was then that you couldn't hold that word on your tongue. The word you knew only ever got you a blank answer from the man, yet a word you couldn't resist saying anyway.

"Why?" You asked, your gaze turned to look straight at him. His smile fell slightly, his look hard to decipher for a long moment before he turned away again, distracting his hands, his mind.

"Cause I enjoy your company" he answered frankly and you knew you would get no other answer. Truly you were surprised to get even that. Without another word you placed the arrows into your quiver and the bow on your back before beginning to leave. However, where most times you would simply just go, you hesitated. His back was turned to you, yet now you knew that he wouldn't mind you staying.

But you knew you couldn't. You had responsibilities and work to do, as did he. So instead you reached into your bag, pulling out the only valuable thing you could offer in return for his extreme generosity.

The flower of your mountains. Rare and undying. You placed the flower upon the bench your new bow once sat before finally taking your leave.

You hoped you'd find yourself in his company again. Hopefully sometime soon.

Brok stood still as a wall, his calloused, toughened, burned and bruised hands holding the delicate, soft flower in his grip. He didn't know what to think, or if there even was anything to think. He simply held the flower at a loss, your astonished look from earlier repeating in his mind, in his soul.

"Did it go well?" A voice called, startling him for the hundredth time in the past day. A strange occurrence for the man usually so hard to sneak up on.

"Would y'all stop with the sneakin' up on me!" He yelled, yet still held the flower gently. Sindri's eyes turned to it, a smile shining clear on his face.

"Was that from them?" He asked, almost teasingly.

"That ain't none’a your damn business ya rotten nosed snitch!" He yelled once more, hiding the flower from his brother's view, embarrassed that he'd seen him with it. A quiet fell between them for a moment, neither daring to say a word. Eventually Sindri realized that whatever had happened, it hadn't been a confession. So he ended the quiet.

"You know you're going to have to tell them one of these days-"

"I know I know. It just-...it weren't today" Brok turned away, finding something that resembled a vase to place the flower in. He would find it water later. He was currently preoccupied with another task, his feet leading him to a semi-reclined chair

"But for right now, I'm going ta fuckin' bed" he said those final words before practically collapsing into the chair, snoring only moments later.

Sindri slightly shook his head, grabbing a coat from nearby to place on him. He would tell you eventually, Sindri was sure of it ...

He only hoped he didn't wait too long.

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