#but this shit is too close for fucking comfort
Note
pls pls pls can we get some overstimulating toji, Hes whimpering so much, maybe tie his hands up 👀🙏 love u twin
❤︎ ໋𓈒 toji letting you "top" him
warnings. fem! reader, overstim, whiney toji, riding him after he cūms, dirty talk, mdni.
“hmph. you’re gettin’ too fuckin’ cocky,” toji gruffs lowly, leaning back against the padded comforter. dark eyes stare right back into you as you straddle his lap. he’s buried into you, and he was just about to finish. his breaths were quick paced, huffing and puffing. white clouds of air escape his lips as he keeps dark irises on each of your fidgety movements. “wipe that smile of y’er face. don’t like when ya give me that look.”
you hum, leaning in to toss your arms over his wide shoulders. whilst he’s stretching your gummy walls out to the very fullest— you lean in to plant a kiss near the right side of his lip, soft contact right against his infamous slanted scar. a soft moan always withdraws from his lips whenever you did that. the toughness that scraps against your mouth as you plant your lips down on that specific spot. “or …what?” you tease, grinding your hips just a bit more brisker at a fleeting tempo. “aw, someone’s getting close?”
“fuuuck,” he growls out, pearly white canines sticking out near the very corners of his mouth. toji’s head throws back in rapture and he feels your hand glide down the middle part of his chest. his shaggy, unkempt bare chest—all types of scars from his work that you love to feel all over. he’s about to pump you full, the blissful agitation that pokes against his nerves makes him feral. “sensitive still,” and with a low exhale, he glares at your stretching sly smile. “don’t give me that look. don’t …. even—f-fuck..”
and at that exact moment, toji fushiguro whined.
you grow quiet. he grows so quiet, it’s so silent that you could hear a pen drop.
toji swallows, even a simple action as that was just so loud. he groans, leaning back against the fat silk pillows before he stares at you with low hooded eyes.
“s-shit,” and his voice continues to grow more . . . shaky.
it’s so unlike him, the way his words quaver from each word was so cute to hear. you even had his hands tied up, pinned amongst the edges of the bed. he was sprawled all out for you while you were grinding against his lap.
“i spoil you too much, f-fuckin’ little girl,” and he’s clearly trying to keep up his rough facade— but alas, it’s really no use.
“you’re cute when you whine, baby,” you smooch against the scar near the right side of his lip.
his mouth twitches in vexation and you watch as his eyes roll further back.
his abdomen— oh, it burns into a mild volume of arousal, he’s profusely sweating before he feels himself about to break. each time you sneak a kiss against his scar, he groans. “mwah,” you tease, treating the lower part of his face with such delicacy. toji was shooting you a look of grimace. briefly—he tried to keep up his stubborn antics, but his glare only turned into lewd eye rolls from how good you clamp against his cock. it’s so good, the saturation of your sopping wet pussy squeezing down on him tight, he’s going dumb by the minute. “it’s okay, toji. you can cum.”
“don’t tell me what to d—” and he gets cut off before he quite literally does cum, it’s abrupt. toji’s quavering underneath you as he dumps a thickset load of seed into you. “shit, fuckin’ damn,” he heaves. his breath was heavy as he’s leaning all the way back now. with a hand still gripped onto your left hip, he sinks into the weightlessness nirvana that awaited him. “fuuck,” he pants, a rough hand grasping your ass— for a solid moment, toji grows quiet and the only sounds that’s could have been made were the sloshes of your cunt accepting his seed. somehow he managed to rip off the restraints on his wrists—wasting no time to finally touch you. in the midst of still rocking your hips in a circular rotation again toji—it consists of such satiny ropes, you’ve never felt more stuffed. “ugh, fuckin’ slut. got me moanin’ for you like this-”
you giggle, gifting him with a chaste kiss. “i’m not done, baby. keep up with me, okay?”
toji’s caught by surprise once you start to move your hips again, accelerating them against him and he whines. “f-fuck, the fuck? girl, ‘jus fuckin’ came . . sensitive, goddamnnn.”
it was cute, the way his low raspy voice pitches up an octave— he’s whimpering, the rapid movements of your pussy having him practically speechless. with his twitching dick now flaccid, he’s still got a firm grip on your waist. a raw groan only then wrenches from the back of his throat.
“can’t cum anymore, f-fuck, ‘m still sensitive,” he babbles, softly pulling you by the neck to give him a kiss.
and by kiss, it was more sloppy than anything. with wet tongues moving against each other in tavern, he feels you grinding again and again.
toji’s so warm. he can feel his heartbeat coercively pulsating through his ears. your tender touch against him had him so needy. even while having him like this— he was still attractive, yet that’s when you grab his wrists, making him pin them back again. “fuck are ya d-doing.”
“no touching me, baby,” you hum, and his glare returns. with pinkish crimson lips squeezing into a scowl, his darkened eyebrows curl into a furrow. “touch me after you give me another one, yeah?”
he swallows, toji couldn’t believe how dominant you were being. it was rare to get him like this, even rare to be on top of him.
“fuckin’ brat,” he grouses, his muscles near his forearms tensing. your cunt’s involuntarily constricting around his massive length. your walls hug him tightly before he starts to pant more and more. “fine. f-fine, just kiss me again…… please.”
you lean in, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders before pulling him into a deep kiss.
he’s so sensitive—heavy, hot huffs of breaths gnashing together, he whines again in your mouth. toji shivers, feeling the print of your thumb brush down against his undercut. he groans, feeling your hips start to pick up pace again and he pulls away to breathe. “phew,” he puffs out, seeing nothing but pure stars. you rode him so good that he didn’t even have a witty comeback.
toji’s entire face was all flustered, he glowers once he sees your smug grin tug against your lips. “what.”
“you should whine more,” you pause your hips, leaning in to pepper a few kisses against his cheek. he’s so fluttered—still heaving through his full lungs, eyelids halfway open as a big arm wraps around your waist. toji pulls you close, despite how embarrassed he was—he took it as a opportunity to pull you closer towards him. “you sound so cute when you’re whiney.”
“shut up,” he pouts, avoiding eye contact. toji’s still stuffed inside of you before he grunts once he feels you starting to move then stop. “m-mhm. don’t stop though. keep going.”
you giggle, bringing a single finger to stroke his cheek. “say please, toji.”
“fuckin—” he starts, sending you straight daggers. he’d argue further but he was still deeply buried into you. just a quick move with your hips and he’d start whining again from the euphoric friction. “fine. fine, just finish fucking me, please.”
“good boy,” you kiss the top of his head, starting up your hips again and he brings you into his chest, wrapping his beefy arms around you before whimpering into your neck.
he swallows, seeping his teeth into the crevice of your neck. “shut u-mhm,” and he slumps back with a pussydrunk smile on his face. “actually….praise me more. call me that again, ‘n look at me when you do.”
“good boy, toji,” you repeat in a sweet voice, picking up his head to make him stare into your eyes—he’s still panting before he leans back, groaning, shuddering from your touch. “such a good boy.”
#★vegasbaby.#toji smut#toji x reader#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#fushiguro toji x reader#toji x reader smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#anime smut#female reader#cw sex mention
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SHOCK FACTOR★彡(2/?)
Previously.
Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader
Warnings: swearing, tension ;)
Summary: you’re hungover and need a break from the media attention, but it’s hard to get breaks with Paige Bueckers, who seems to be wherever you are and makes a point to make sure you feel her presence.
A/n: thanku to the anon who gave me sum inspo for this chap. Keep the ideas rollin! Also I loveee this pic of Paige
___________________________________________________________
“MY HEAD hurts so fucking bad.” You whine, leaning your head back against the headrest of Elaine’s car. Your night at the bar had been a little too exciting, and the evening of hundreds of comments and questions concerning you and a certain blonde point guard did not help.
“Have you checked your inbox?” She says, glancing at you as she drives through the city.
“Fuck no.” You grumble out. “Everyone is trying to be all up in my business cus of Paige.”
“That’s how it is for her, like, all the time.” Elaine sighs. “It’s actually sad to think about how careful she has to be.”
You shake your head. “Everyone has to be careful, that’s how it is when you’re an athlete. It’s not just her.”
“But it’s especially her.” She insists. “Girl I love you, but you’re like just getting popular. Paige? People have been up her ass since she was freshman.”
“Big Paige fan are we?” You quip, giving your friend a playfully annoyed glare. “Do me a favour and don’t talk for a bit.”
She laughs, and it’s comfortable silence until the car pulls into the parking lot of a local coffee shop. It’s pretty busy with students either working, with friends or sitting around and studying. The air feels refreshing against your skin, and the shop is undeniably cute. Somehow you still feel uneasy as you walk in.
You and Elaine stand in line, scoping out the menu. She’s telling you about the best mushroom melt sandwich she’s ever had when you hear the someone clear their throat behind you.
“Long time no see.”
Paige’s presence is overwhelming, her hair Dutch braided close to her head, making it easier for you to be mutilated by her aggressive staring. You were so tired it didn’t even occur to you that you shouldn’t check her out, noting her black ripped jeans that hugged her like a second skin and her pink Overtime hoodie.
“Could’ve been longer.” You eventually mutter, tearing your eyes from her body and meeting her face, which is bearing a slightly bashful, slightly proud look.
“Obviously not, since you seem to have good tabs on me.” Paige smiles. “You look a little different the morning after. What’d you say yesterday? Not tryna get white-girl wasted?” She scoffs. She didn’t have to check you out like you did, she’d been looking at you since you walked in the coffee shop. She’d noticed your slightly messed up hair and lazy outfit. Somehow it didn’t seem to deter her from licking her lips between her words, as if her thoughts were less than coffee-shop-friendly.
You rub your face in hopes of erasing anymore distracting thoughts of her. “I didn’t get white girl wasted.” Is the best comeback you come up with.
“You look white-girl wasted.” Paige smirks.
“Aren’t you just a boss at making conversation.” You roll your eyes. “Ditch the skinny jeans then come back to me.”
“Um, (Name)? Do you want me to order for you?” Elaine sheepishly interrupts, eyes darting between you and Paige. “I can get you the sandwich I told you about.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You say, not really paying attention. Paige however is, because her eyes shift to Elaine. “The mushroom sandwich?”
“That’s the one.” She nods.
Paige’s eyes meet yours again. “Don’t get that one. It’s actual shit. This place isn’t good for food, just get a coffee.”
Elaine scoffs at this, and Paige shoots her a look. “So,” Elaine says, putting a hand on your shoulder while staring pointedly at Paige. “What’ll it be?”
You honestly can’t understand why everyone is complicating shit for you. “I dunno. Get the sandwich. I can have a coffee too.”
“Caramel Macchiato. Get that.” Paige smiles. Elaine’s expression gets more and more annoyed by the second, but she orders the sandwich and coffee before dragging you off to sit.
-
“She’s such a dick.” Elaine huffs, her back to Paige and her friends.
You’re watching her as discreetly as possible. Paige, KK and Ice were all on live. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you could tell they seemed to be having fun, and also making a big ruckus.
“What’s with the focus on Paige today, Elaine?” You ask, forcing yourself to take a bite of the sandwich she ordered you. “I thought you didn’t pay much attention to all them.”
“It’s nothing, seriously.” She shuts you down with no hesitation. “I mean, everyone knows of Paige. She’s just…”
“She’s just…?” You raise your eyebrow.
“I mean you get it! She’s full of herself.” Your friend rolls her eyes.
“Right.” You simply say. Elaine was acting odd, but you don’t think much further of it. “I’m gonna get a napkin.”
You didn’t really need a napkin, but the table that had them was just close enough to Paige that you could hear what was going on without being too in shot. You just had to be calm and position yourself a certain way. It wasn’t much issue, you stalled by the table while drinking in the conversation.
“If Paige was a fruit she’d be likeee a banana.”
“Why, cus I’m blonde?” The girl responds incredulously.
“Now why are we comparing Paige to fruits…” Ice mutters to KK, prompting the two to burst out into hearty laughter while Paige shakes her head and walks away.
Before you know it, there’s someone beside you grabbing a napkin. You mentally curse yourself for feeling slightly delighted to see the tall blonde staring back at you with a slight smile.
“How bad is the sandwich?”
“So fuckin’ bad.” You shake your head, hating how good it felt to see a proud look spread across Paige’s face.
“And the coffee?” She asks, leaning against the table, her head slightly tilted.
“S’ alright.” You tut, noting her furrowed eyebrows at your response.
“Alright? You’re trippin. I put you on the best coffee in Storrs right here.”
“I’ve had better.” You shrug. “I can tell you guys are only here cus they don’t kick you out while you’re on live.”
Paige’s eyes widen as if you’ve just personally threatened her and her choice of coffee. With eyes that blue it almost blows you away how electrical her gaze can be. With every new expression you unlock it’s another zap to your brain.
“And why exactly are you here?” She licks her lips. “One hell of a coincidence, huh.”
“Don’t get too excited.” You smile and gesture to Elaine, who’s watching the exchange with an interested look. “All thanks to my lovely friend over there, she always seems to know just where you are.”
At this Paige scoffs, and it comes off a little differently then her previous tone. “You got that right.”
Before you can register her comment, her friends gesture to her that they’re leaving. Paige looks at you for a moment before you say “Go on, Bueckers. Mama’s calling.”
“Something like that.” She smirks, pulling out a pen from her pocket and scribbling something onto one of your napkins. “I’ll be expecting another call tonight.”
Paige leaves in a hurry, tossing her hair from her shoulder and leaving you in a slight daze. The napkin has her number on it.
#fanfiction#fanfic#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#rpf#paige bueckers x reader#paige x reader#x reader#usc wbb
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for a request: american motogp rider or bullrider!reader whos from the south x logan sargeant. i’m picturing a male reader but it can be fem 🫶
I've chosen Bullrider! Reader but I don't know jack shit about it lmao 😭
Southern hospitality ୨୧ Logan Sargeant x Male!Reader
Miami GP was good luck for Logan. It was almost like the car and track knew it was his home, he felt faster, stronger, and better on that track but it might also have been the looming threat of losing his job. The constant questioning of his talent and hard work.
He was also totally ignoring the mess that was his personal life, not that he had much outside of F1.
"Knock Knock," Someone tapped his head and declared with a smile in his voice.
"Wh- Alex?" He looked up at his teammate who sheepishly but not apologetically smiled back, skin pink from the sun.
"What were you thinking about?" He asked stealing Logan's 'panic spot' behind the motor home where he was leaning on some old tyres, though any spot could be a panic spot if Logan walked in.
This time he was nudged out of his head, "You're doing it again," he stated, a soft look too close to pity for comfort in his eyes.
"Nah man nothing much, home race and all you know?" He lied and Alex looked least convinced but they were both interrupted by the door opening.
"Hey guys, we've got some PR stuff to do," someone from the team announced. Of course, he was definitely gonna have to skip lunch today as well.
He kept replying to Alex's chatting, still convinced the older man suspected he was lying. He was okay, why wouldn't he be?
"O-oh my god," Alex interrupted himself and pushed an arm in front of Logan, making the blonde boy stop in his tracks confused. "Is that a real-life cowboy?" He all but screamed making Logan look around till he spotted a tanned man with y/h/c hair wearing a leather cowboy hat.
As they reached closer they could hear the thick southern accent the man had, around him were a few of the mechanics, some taking photos and others staring intently at his face or rather his chiselled chest that could be seen through the half-open white shirt the man wore.
"What the fuck?" For the first time in a long time, Logan's mind was clear.
"Logan, stop drooling, I get it but we're in public," Alex chastised, laughing while he pushed the both of them ahead.
Now Logan prided himself on being a mature guy, even as a kid everyone told him so, so why was he pulling and jumping over Alex like a teenage boy trying to show off in front of this really really attractive stranger?
The stopped just as they reached you, Alex's Pr manager was standing there already, looking annoyed at the two for being late.
"Y/n," He called the man who excused himself and walked over to where they were standing, "Logan, Alex, this is Y/n L/n our celebrity guest for Miami,"
The man in front of him laughed, his y/e/c eyes crinkling as he did.
“Now I wouldn’t say celebrity, but thank you sir,” he commented and the older man nodded, a stricter nod was given to Logan and Alex but both chose to ignore that.
They walked towards a shaded area, Y/n leading them, “Now I would say y’all are the real celebrities, drivin’ those cars at a million miles,” his voice (the accent) raised the hair at the back of Logan’s neck.
“Hahaha, thank you so much, so what do you do?” Alex asked, which made Logan glare at man, that was such a rude question! He could be a nepo-baby, it’s America Alex!
“Oh, I’m a bull rider,” he answered and suddenly Logan was chocking on air, it’s not his fault his brain was disgusting! “You okay, Sargeant,” the man, the literal bull rider had placed a hand on his shoulder and was asking him- wait what the fuck? Logan was a grown man, why is he acting like a teenage girl with a crush?
He straightened up, trying to clear his throat, “bull rider, huh,” he pointed to the hat, making the man smile, a slight blush spreading across his features.
“All a part of the brand, stole it from a teammate and it stuck,” he made a pained expression, half joking.
“Do you know J.B. Mauney?” Alex asked, reminding Logan that he was still there.
"Oh Lord," Y/n laughed, "He's my teammate," now it was Alex's turn to swoon.
"Really? Oh my God, he's so cool! My for you page is filled with his edits!" Alex told the man in front of him and the second-hand embarrassment Logan felt could have killed him only Alex didn't seem embarrassed at all, in fact, he was doubling down on the simp parade.
"Between you an' I, I had a pretty darn big crush on that man too," he confessed, winking at Logan. "I think you boys need to get goin' now but how bout we catch lunch? I heard they don't feed you good round here," Logan turned around and saw someone call for them and missed the way Alex looked between the two men standing significantly closer together than needed.
"Unfortunately, I've got a little lunch date with Lily," Alex feigned sadness but smiled wide.
Y/n turned to the blonde, raising a brow to which Logan couldn't help but nod yes.
As they walked away, Logan still reeling from the butterflies he got in his stomach every time the other man spoke, Alex bumped into him, giggling, "You are so welcome, mate," he laughed and walked into the building.
y/n/l/nofficial
y/n/l/nofficial told him not to eat the wasabi 🤷♂️
username Is this a soft launch?
username Oh?
username IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MEEEEE
username Istg I've seen that blonde before
username ong that hoodie too
You knew you had forgotten to tag Logan but you never expected people to expect he was your boyfriend! That post wasn't even that suggestive, was it? Oh god, it was going to be so embarrassing!
"Hey, Y/n you good?" Your teammate asked you causing you to throw your phone at the man, who laughed at the comments.
"This is why we keep PR managers, cowboy," he threw it back to you, "Hey at least you got another bull outta it-" he teased making you throw your pillow at him which he laughed at rushing out the room.
Your hand trembled over Logan's chat. Should you invite him out again? The lunch invitation already had you sweating under your collar like a thief in church. Why was talking to that Floridian getting you so nervous? You balanced on live bulls for a damn living!
Okay, oh god why wasn't he responding. You really fucked this up, next time you went out you were going to let that bull throw you nine ways to Sunday and then some more.
Could you blame this on autocorrect? Yeah, of course, everyone knew what a nuisance that damn thing was.
In the middle of your spiral, you got a few notifications, hoping it was Logan you quickly checked your phone, almost dropping it in the process.
logansargeant
logansargeant Southern Hospitality 🫡
username sir? Bro? Pookie bear? Come back home the kids miss you 😭
username Forgive me I wasn't aware of your game
username Guys can't they just be friends???
alexalbon You're welcome 🥰
username GIRL- WHAT DO YOU KNOW????
username IS THAT @/y/n/l/noffical
username I'D KNOW THAT DAMN SMILE ANYWHERE Stgsiagdfki
Request 1/5- DONE!! Updates will be weekly as I wanna make sure I get the best quality of each fic but TRUST your ask will be answered cause most are abt Logan and we stan that American boy in this damn blog here 😤
As always pls do let me know how y'all like the fic!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
#f1#formula 1#logan sargeant#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x male reader#alex albon#f1 social media au#f1 smau#anon request#thank u anon#anon ask
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Tears Fixed
a/n: part 2 of a mission gone wrong
grey november au
warnings: nightmares, injuries, smut, petnames (r receiving), reader has a uterus, hurt/comfort, crying, nat squeezes r's arm too tight, oral (r receiving), tickling.
Soft snores escape her mouth. You glance over to find her passed out. You smile and takes her laptop off her stomach, turning off the movie the two of you were watching. Natasha must have been tired, you know her last mission took a lot out of her.
--
"NO! YOU FUCKING-" you woke up to Natasha thrashing around in the bed. Scared, you try to shake her awake. You've never seen her like this before. "Natty, wake up. It's not real. Come back to me." You mumbled, gently shaking the older woman.
Her eyes fluttered open with a gasp. "Shh t's okay" you hold her close. "You're safe Natty" you mumbled, stroking her cheek. She gripped onto your arm tightly, it kind of hurt but you dismissed it as it brought the older woman comfort.
Your arm began to turn red and you exhaled in pain. "Shit, I'm so sorry baby love." She whispered. "What happened Natty?" You look at her teary-eyes.
"I dreamt I was back there.." She trailed off. You took the hint that she wasn't ready to talk more about it, based off her silence and hesitance.
Your arm rubbed her shoulder gently, "you don't have to tell me if your not ready" you whispered, your head traveling to the crook of her neck. You lay against her comfortably. You sigh in contempt and she continues to hold you close to her.
----
"Can you braid my hair." You mumbled against her skin. Her braiding your hair brought the both of you comfort and you knew it was just what you guys needed.
She began to pull you away from her neck. You whine softly. She smiles at you, shushing you. Her hands smoothen your hair, she parted your hair and began to braid.
Her green eyes look at you admiring the braid. "I look like you" you smiled. She began to attack you with kisses, her fingers found it's way to stomach and began to tickle you. "Careful little one, I'm still older than you and stronger.
"You giggled and squirmed beneath her. "Natty, can't breath" her kisses turned into something more than innocent teasing.
Her lips attached to your abdomen. You moaned softly as one of her hands found it's place on your stomach and the other trailed down to rest dangerously high on your thigh. You could feel your underwear dampen. You were soaked.
You close your eyes and sigh softly, trying to take in all of her touch. She looked up, stopping her actions for a moment. "You okay detka? Want me to stop?" She paused, waiting for permission to continue.
"D-don't stop." You say shakily. She smiled, getting the hint that you were more on the silent side during sex, not that she minded of course. She loved any reaction she could get out of you. She was not definitely not greedy.
The older woman trailed her kisses down to your heat. She looked back up at you to make sure you hadn't changed your mind. You nodded, giving her permission to continue. She slid your underwear off and one her hands found yours.
Fingers interlaced, you hold onto her. Her tongue finds it's way to your clit and she starts to suck on it. You gasp softly, your legs attempt to close, she smiles and holds it open with her other hand.
Her hand begins to trace lazy circles on your thigh and she started to speed up her actions. Your legs begin to shake and she smiles. Seeing how close you are. What effect she has on you. Fuck, you're so wet and taste so damn good. She thinks to herself.
She wonders why she hadn't done this sooner, made you hers sooner. You continue to sqirum and that begins her back to reality. "You close, lovie?" She mumbles against you.
All you can do is nod, gripped the sheets with your free hand and squeezing the interlaced hand. She takes this as a sign to push you over the edge.
Your high approaches with small little gasps. She cleans you up with her tongue and goes back you to meet you. She looks at your glossy eyes, all fucked out.
"How was that, bunny?" She whispered softly against you. "So fucking good" you mumbled in return, breathlessly.
part 1
taglist: @ssa-shaylam @madamevirgo @radcherryblossompainter @midastouch013 @dumbasslesbi @krystallevine @ellieromanov @fxckmiup @viosblog112
#my writing#my fic#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov#natasha romanov x reader#natasha x you#natasha romanoff angst#grey november au#nat au#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x you#black widow#natasha romanov x y/n#black widow x you#black widow x reader#black widow fic#the black widow#black widow x y/n#black widow x female reader#black widow movie
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Written for a @astrangersummer.
One Nap at a Time
Week #2 Prompt: Afternoon Naps | Word Count: 1992 | Rating: T | POV: Gareth | Pairings: Gareth & Eddie, Gareth & Steve, Steddie | Characters: Gareth, Steve, Eddie | CW: Language | Tags: Gareth & Eddie are BFFs, Road Manager Steve, Corroded Coffin on the Road, It's Exhausting, So. Naps. Lots of Naps
Eddie's already sprawled out on the couch in their venue dressing room, when Gareth flops down next to him, bumping his fist against Eddie's knee.
"Steve's been screaming that it's four hours until soundcheck," Gareth says, leaning his head back against the cushions. They're a little lumpy, but he's so fucking tired, it doesn't matter.
This tour has been a goddamn bear, and they aren't even halfway through it.
They're never gonna make it. Not at this rate. They're gonna implode, one by one, and he thinks he might go first.
"I heard him," Eddie says, leaning back next to Gareth, "believe it or not, his voice carries."
It's snarky, but there's no heat there, just endless affection. It's gross, and Gareth swears he will never, ever act this way when he has a girlfriend. He'll make damn sure of it.
"Anyway. This is your four-hour warning," Gareth says, closing his eyes. Maybe he can catch a short nap. Twenty minutes would make a world of fucking difference, he's pretty damn sure. Then laughs, "You're the one that hired him to yell at us."
"Mistakes were made," Eddie says.
"No they weren't," Gareth answers, closing his eyes.
"No, they weren't," Eddie confirms, and even with his eyes closed, Gareth can hear the smile on Eddie's face, as his eyes feel heavier and heavier.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"
Gareth hears Steve's voice, and jerks awake. Sitting bolt upright, disoriented.
Steve's standing at the edge of the couch, hands on his hips.
"What?" Gareth asks, still foggy, "Huh?"
And Steve laughs, pointing, and only then does Gareth realize that Eddie's still asleep on the couch and that he must have been laying against him, or on top of him, one or the other.
And Gareth smirks.
"Jealous?" Gareth asks.
Steve rolls his eyes, saying dryly, "Yes. Terribly."
"In that case then," Gareth laughs, and lays back down, squeezing between Eddie and the back of the couch. Eddie must feel the movement, because Eddie slings his arm over Gareth's side, pulling him closer.
"Soooo comfy," Gareth hisses, taunting Steve, but not wanting to wake Eddie up if he can help it.
"Yeah, yeah," Steve says, "this is your hour warning. Got it?"
Gareth whines, but Steve taps him on the toe of his shoe.
"An hour? Seriously? You sure?" Gareth asks, because that can't be right.
Steve sighs, exasperated, "You don't think I can tell time now? Yes. Seriously. An hour."
They've been asleep for three fucking hours? Holy shit. He couldn't even begin to guess the last time he's gotten three hours of sleep straight. Weeks, for sure. Maybe longer.
Steve's still busy working himself into a lather, "Gareth, if I have to come back, so help me-"
"I got it," Gareth interrupts.
"Good."
An hour isn't nearly enough time. Not at all. But it's better than nothing, Gareth supposes. So, he sets the alarm on Eddie's watch, Eddie sleeping through the whole process, just to make sure they don't oversleep and piss off Steve.
And an hour later, Eddie's slept through his wrist beeping, but Gareth hasn't, so he shakes Eddie awake, "Steve's beckoned us."
Eddie stretches, sitting up on the ugly couch that's more comfortable than it looks, rolling his shoulders. Eddie yawns, and that's about right. Nap or not, they've been spread too thin.
Then, Eddie says, "Damn. That was the best nap I've had in a while. I might actually be half-rested before a show. What are the fucking odds of that?"
And Gareth laughs, because he agrees, wholeheartedly.
The tour continues, and so do the naps. In green rooms, dressing rooms, hotel rooms. On the bus. Wherever they are, Gareth will find Eddie and squeeze in with him, and go to sleep. Or Eddie'll find him. It's almost like their early days on the road, when they had to share a motel bed. It's comfortable, and normal, being this close, so much so, that it's put them both right to sleep when they've needed it most.
And Gareth thinks nothing of it. Steve comes to get them, or Goodie, or Jeff, and when it's time to roll, they'll get moving.
One more show scratched off the schedule, one more nap taken somewhere along the never ending road.
And then the tour ends. Months on the road over, as they chipped away at the schedule, one show at a time. Now, headed home in time for Christmas.
Gareth isn't sure what the fuck he'll do with himself. It's been a long fucking time since his time has been all his own. Is he just supposed to go home to his mom, and do what? Nothing? Maybe he can just crash with Eddie and Steve?
Though, he's sure they're ready for some fucking privacy for a change.
Maybe Goodie and Jeff will entertain him. Let him into their secret best friend circle, for once.
He doesn't know, but he'll have time to figure it out. Right now, they're tidying the bus up as they head home, trying to get it ready to send it back to the company they leased it from, when Steve turns up. Book in his hands. It's not his tour bible, though, and the schedule is over anyway. No need to keep meticulous notes anymore, so Gareth's a little confused.
"What's up?" he asks, stuffing clothes into duffels and suitcases. His shit grew over the months, accumulating over time, and now he doesn't have room to pack it all up again. He'll have to resort to a trash bag he's pretty damn sure.
"Got something for you. For you and Eddie," Steve says, and Gareth knows he's up to no good. Steve's face is schooled neutral, but he can read him like a goddamn book after all this time in each other's back pockets. And he's up to something. For sure.
"Oh, yeah? What's that?"
Steve hands over the book, and Gareth flips it open.
And he laughs, yelling, "Eddie!"
Eddie pops through the curtain, "What's up?"
And Gareth shows him, and relishes the sound of Eddie cackling, head tossed back, fucking amused. Charmed. In love with Steve, and everything he does. Including this.
A book of Polaroids. Dozens. Maybe, hundreds.
Every single one a picture of Gareth and Eddie asleep together, in various positions, on various couches, all across the country. Sometimes one of the other guys is posing in front of them, making faces, but mostly, it's just them.
The story of this tour, one nap at a time.
Gareth shoves the book into Eddie's hands, and catches Steve by the neck, squeezing him tight.
And Steve laughs, hugging back.
"Thanks, Steve. That's a fun souvenir from this hellacious tour."
Steve just shrugs, "I didn't realize how many we'd get when we started this little project."
And Gareth hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder, looking down as Eddie keeps flipping through the pages. Gareth was here first, he has best friend privileges, and first dibs, but he knows Steve loaned Eddie back to him these past few months. There's no question about that. One nap at a time, giving them time together, even if it was just to sleep in what appears to be uncomfortable positions, one random couch at a time.
"Maybe someday they'll be worth money. Some good blackmail," Steve says.
"No way, we're proud of these," Eddie says, "it proves we can sleep anywhere."
And it kind of does. It also probably proves they're immune to head lice. Some of those couches were pretty gross, looking back at the photographic evidence.
Eddie points at one where Gareth's feet are in his face, "Look? I didn't die from the smell alone."
Gareth bites his shoulder, and Eddie laughs even harder.
There are no secrets between them, no privacy. He's taken showers with Eddie, shared beds and bathrooms. Underwear and toothbrushes. Looked at, and has shown, all manner of questionable bumps and rashes. Held hair and hands, cleaned up puke, and one time they never, ever speak of - actual shit.
A few naps are nothing on the friendship intimacy scale.
Eddie looks at the bunk, the one that Gareth's sort of cleaned out, and asks, "One more for the road?"
Gareth laughs, but agrees, crawling into the cramped space, nearly on top of Eddie.
"It was a good tour, kid," Eddie says, hand splayed against Gareth's back, keeping him from falling out of the bunk and onto the floor of the bus.
"Yeah," Gareth agrees, "and the next one will be even better."
At home, back in Hawkins, Gareth wanders around. A little lost. He's tired, but wired, all at the same time. It's weird to go, go, go and then just stop. Cold turkey. That's never worked for him for anything else, so he's not sure why it would work for stopping touring, either.
They should have tapered down, weaned themselves off.
He rides his old bike, because his El Camino battery is deader than shit, after sitting so long. He hopes Goodie and Jeff will come over later and give him a jump, to get it up and running. If not, Steve will.
He doesn't realize where he's headed, until he's already there. Harrington House. He drops his bike in the yard like he's a kid again, and heads for the front door. Letting himself in. Steve is at the bar, doing paperwork.
Always doing paperwork.
"Hey," Steve says, looking at him for a moment, and then back down at the papers spread out beneath him.
"Isn't the tour over, what work do you have left now? You're supposed to be on vacation, relaxing in your new digs," Gareth says, leaning against the counter.
"Just, running the final numbers."
"We end up in the black?" Gareth asks, leaning over to look. But he doesn't understand Steve's chicken-scratch shorthand, and gives up.
"Looks like it," Steve says, and Gareth grins. They got to play music, night after night, week after week, month after month, and even made some money doing it. Hot damn.
"Where's Eddie at, anyway?" Gareth asks.
"Trying to take a nap," Eddie mutters from the couch in the living room. Gareth hadn't even realized he was there.
"Sorry," Gareth calls back, he can take a hint and go. He squeezes Steve on the shoulder, getting ready to leave, when Eddie speaks again.
"Don't be sorry, kid," Eddie says, then asks, "you in?"
Hell yes, he's in.
"Steve, get the camera, I'm goin' in," Gareth says.
"I'll get right on that," Steve says dryly, but Gareth can see that he's smiling.
Gareth toes off his shoes by the door, and then hurries into the living room, following Eddie's voice, telling him to hurry the fuck up.
When he gets there, Eddie makes room, scooting over so Gareth can settle in alongside him. And Gareth stretches out, resting his arm over Eddie's waist.
This couch is much more comfortable than any of the others have been. Steve has good taste, expensive taste, and picked something damn comfortable for a nice, long nap.
"Steve's couch is nice," Gareth says, face muffled in Eddie's shoulder.
"Everything about Steve is nice, haven't you learned that by now, kid?" Eddie mumbles, and Gareth smiles. He might have taken a while to warm up to Steve Harrington, but now, even Gareth has to admit that he's perfect for Eddie. He makes Eddie happy, and that's all Gareth could ask for, honestly. That Eddie's happy. And loved.
It doesn't hurt that Steve's shaped up their tour schedule, either. It was long, and exhausting, but they made it through. Left to their own devices, he's not sure that would have been true.
"What'd you do today?" Eddie asks, stifling a yawn.
And Gareth closes his eyes, telling Eddie about his day, until he feels when Eddie goes slack beside him, back to sleep again. Gareth trails off, stops talking, and lets himself fall asleep, too.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun! 🌞
#a stranger summer#week two#prompt: afternoon naps#stranger things#gareth stranger things#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#thisapplepielife: short fic#thisapplepielife: a stranger summer#corroded coffin fic#gareth and eddie are bffs
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TAN BODY WORSHIP SMUT!!! Pretty pretty pleeeease 😭❤️❤️❤️ like maybe she’s bloated or something?? And thus kinda self conscious?? And Tan notices and WE KNOW HE DOES NOT LIKE THAT and you tell me what happens next, I’m stoked
this is hot shit! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌
every time I post something, it disappears!?? and im gonna lose my marbles
ANOTHER ACHE.
tangerine x fem!reader — smut
word count. 855
warnings. 18+ only. what the ask entails, bit of titty and kitty stuff. minors dni
Laying in bed, you were nursing a slight tummy ache, the bloating in your stomach from something you ate earlier making you feel uncomfortable. The waistband of your pyjama bottoms began to dig in, so you pulled yourself out of bed to put your robe on instead.
And as if he was on cue, Tangerine appears in the doorway of your shared room to check on you.
"Turn around," you quickly blurt, bringing the thin fabric of the robe to cover your bare front. "Close your eyes."
"Huh?" he questions, features pulled together in confusion. "Turn around?" he repeats, making sure he heard you correctly.
"Just," you shush him, wavering your hand. "Just do it."
He reluctantly turns away, muttering things to himself until you give him the clear.
"Okay, done," you say, tying the bow on your robe.
"What was that about?" he asks, brows furrowed.
"I was getting changed," you shrug, acting casual about the ordeal.
"Right?" he replies.
You hesitate. "I was naked."
He steps into the room, walking to stand in front of you - leaving a comfortable amount of space. "Yeah, exactly."
"It's cold."
"No, it's not."
"It is," you lie.
"I'll put the heating on, then," he playfully retaliates, eyes narrowing on you.
"I'm on my period."
"No, you're not," he shakes his head. "That was last week."
"I dry shaved, and now I got razor burns all down my front."
"Fuck off," he chuckles.
"I spilt tea all down me— burnt like crazy." Another fib.
"That right?"
"No, that was a lie... I walked into the kitchen island and bruised my stomach."
"Aw, you poor thing," he steps forward, closing the gap - a soft, entertained smile twitching along his lips. "Did it hurt?"
You nod, returning a faint, playful grin. "A little."
His eyes narrow in once again, his hands instinctively reaching for the tie on your dressing gown. But you still his movements, the expression on your face suddenly changing - your hands over his, stopping him.
His head cocks to the side, features mirroring yours - his eyes silently questioning.
"Bloated and don't feel so hot," you reply, giving a casual shrug, trying to act nonchalant.
Once he knows it's nothing too serious, he leans in, pressing a kiss onto your lips. "Sorry," he mutters into your mouth, sealing another kiss of where he just spoke.
"It's fine," you whisper between the close distance, reaching your hand into his hair - smoothing over a stray curl. "Just feel yucky."
"Want me to help?" he quietly asks, eyes half-lidded as he focuses on you.
"I don't know if you can," you laugh softly, appreciating his offer.
He nods, silently dismissing you. His hands lower to the placement before, his fingers slinking into the bow of your robe. He pauses, eyes flicking back up to you, waiting for you to agree. And when you finally do, he's carefully untying it, letting the fabric expose your midriff for him to see - pussy and tits covered by the thin material of your underwear.
"I don't see the problem," he says casually, palms skimming across your tummy to rest on your hips - fingers grazing along your skin.
He watches the reaction on your face to anticipate his next move, and when he sees you crack a forgiving smile, he leans back in, pressing kisses into the corner of your lips - trailing them down to run along your jaw.
He slips his hand into yours and leads you towards the bed, sitting first —at the edge— he pulls you over, guiding you to straddle him. You do as silently asked, propped on your knees either side of his thighs, the semi in his trousers bumping up against your cunt.
You drape your arms loosely over his shoulders, keeping yourself balanced, and as if he sensed it, he wraps one of his around the middle of your back - holding you still. With his other, he reaches to cup under your tit, his fingers snaking into the top of your lounge bra. He tugs it down, revealing the whole of your breast.
"Still not feeling better," you tease, dragging your fingers atop his curls.
He carries the weight of one of your tits, adjusting his hold as he leans forward to pepper it in kisses, the edge of his stache tickling at your nipple. "No?" he whispers, peering up to look at you.
You shake your head and close your eyes, pushing your chest outwards and into his face. "I feel worse."
With the hand he had on your mid back, he skims it across - moving to place it on your upper thigh. "Worse?" he playfully repeats. "That's not good," he tsks, thumb reaching up to your clothed-cunt - the pad circling over your clit.
You wrap your hand around his wrist, fingers merely reaching around the meat of it - holding him to where you wanted him.
"And this helps with the aches, hm?" he whispers, voice hoarse and cocky. His hand resuming its placement, thumb continuing the slow, winding circles.
Well, an ache, not the ache.
also btw @everythingisspokenfortbh my lovely, it’s not likely that I’ll be able to get through all the asks you sent, love love them all!! but keep them saved for next time. people will be sick of me😭😭 xx
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Really contemplating the possibilities of yandere Vox but you meet him as his employee
--"this could've been an email" but it's your yandere boss constantly forcing you into unnecessary company Zoom calls which may not be occasionally just the two of you and he may or may not try and make himself look more cool/handsome with some sort of dumb filter or trick of his (and also your coworkers can kinda lowkey tell why they're suddenly getting pulled into calls where your boss is making them cringe trying to make your oblivious ass laugh or something and they all kinda hate you for making their jobs more annoying actually 😅 so then you have Vox potentially being a shoulder to cry on if people are being mean to you--)
Actually, about that office bullying.... something like... you overhear your coworkers in another room or around a corner or something talking shit and making fun of you to the point you start to cry and you turn around and Vox is there watching you totally about to boo hoo baby sob and you like, have to borderline run away from him because you're crying and you're hurting and just want to get away from everyone, but you also don't want to embarrass yourself and make some sort of scene where they'll mock you even more, so you're just, excusing yourself in tears, not even talking to Vox, not even confronting the others.
Here's Vox, just ever so casually popping his head into the room where your coworkers are still mocking you, "hey you guys? :) you're fired! :D and also? Since I own your souls, how about you do as I say aaaaaand go tell Valentino he's allowed to shoot you?" and Vox then goes to comfort you and says the gunshots are "like, a trespasser or something, it's so weird, so, um, anyways, I was thinking maybe you and I could--"
--VoxTek already having or suddenly installing crazy biometric surveillance state level equipment all over their portion of the tower, which includes a security camera in every office/workspace (which of course means there's ESPECIALLY one in yours). This man would be all but drooling over your retina scans, talking about how gorgeous your eyes are, all counting every pore or hair or scale you have on your face in extreme up close detail
--One on one training where if you mention even the slightest interest in something, he's completely indulging you or at least hearing you out. You wanna learn something coding-related? You wanna learn about music production? Oh, you say you have a product idea? And an idea for a commercial for it too? And if you're actually GOOD? If you, at the very least, give him solid ideas to build off of? Now you're getting an even bigger promotion to, say, his executive creator director or something! Maybe he'll invent some new position just for you and absolutely no one in the company will tell you about it because they're threatened with something much much worse than termination if they do
He does want his boo to feel important and special 🥺❤️ like he's a grown man from the 50s, he's older than you no matter what, but especially he's kinda coddling you a little if you're in your 20s or especially young like 18, he's got major cute aggression for you
--You're just in the company break room trying to enjoy your lunch and.... why is the head of the company in here with the normies? Oh, of course it's to sit with you. I can't help but think he probably eats a really shitty, processed, kinda typical modern gamer diet despite having the money to indulge himself, probably does on occasion, but, I can really see him appreciating a home cooked meal and ESPECIALLY if it's by you.
D'ya.... d'ya think he'd just... stick his fork in your lunch... and you wouldn't feel like you could say anything because He's A Fucking Overlord
--Imagine you've been employed like MONTHS before he becomes aware of your presence as an employee and, you started as a barely paid intern or, something real low level, SO low level that, Vox doesn't actually own your soul. So. After several MORE months of buttering you up, really giving you some good raises, some absolutely AMAZING fun times, he's dropping the bomb on you: everyone else at the company has their soul signed over, and you're the only one, and, honey, it's kind of company policy, so--
When I say I would love the idea of Employee Reader just IMMEDIATELY "w wait you wanna... What the fuck do you mean you wanna 'own my soul', why, why the fuck would you-- you know what, nah, I'm, I quit? I quit." And you're literally fleeing the fucking room, potentially having to jump out a window in case Vox has some sort of, lockdown defense mechanism, maybe one to keep angels out, but, you escape, and next thing Vox hears?
"Wait, what do you fucking MEAN 'THEY'RE A SOUND MIXER FOR THE RADIO DEMON NOW'--"
#alastor can mix on my sound til i *static noise sound effect*#yandere x reader#vox x reader#yandere hazbin hotel#hh#sinprompts
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the one with the letter - jj maybank × ex!fem!reader
summary: you have to figure out if your love for JJ is stronger than what the world throws at you
warnings: Luke..., hurt/comfort, angsty, happy ending
word count: 2k
author's note: part 3 bc I had to. it didn't feel right to let you guys hanging. and no matter how much I try to write a JJ fic that doesn't have a happy ending, it just doesn't work. he always finds a way. he's one persistent bbg.
part 1 | part 2
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The two days that you are supposed to stay in bed and focus on getting better feel like a month to you.
Going back to school feels even worse. Everyone seems to have their eyes pinned on you, to the point where you find yourself hiding in the photo lab to avoid everyone and everything for just the half hour that is your lunchtime.
But yet again you aren't granted the simplicity of loneliness when you need it most.
“Jesus, y/n!” Pope jumps and nearly drops his camera in the process. “What are you doing here?”
“Hiding,” you reply, looking up at him and his sad smile.
“Why?”
“Because everyone hates me. I get it. I'd hate myself too,” you whisper, and he crouches down by your side.
“I don't hate you,” he shakes his head, and you close your eyes to focus. He should hate you. You keep on hurting his best friend. He should definitely hate you.
He places the camera on the floor next to him before sighing. “Love's messy.”
“No, that's just me,” you say, picking at your nails. “I'm the problem.”
“You're allowed to feel sad or hurt or anything,” he whispers and takes your hand in his. “I'm glad you're better. JJ was losing his mind when your mom kicked him out. And he's not much better now either. Refused to come to school because you didn't reply to his letter.”
Your head perks up, and you furrow your brows, blinking a few times. “Letter?”
“Yeah, the letter he left you at the hospital,” Pope explains, but your confused expression lets it dawn on him that you had never known about a letter.
“There's no letter. I don't have a letter,” you insist, and he runs his hand over his face.
“Shit,” he hisses silently, and you stand up, heart pounding when you reach for your bag and pull it over your shoulder.
“I have to go,” you mumble, and even though he tries to stop you, you won't let him.
You curse your mom on the whole way down to the Cut, and it's a long way, but you don't stop. You can't.
When you arrive at the Shack, you can hear them screaming, it's not unlike what you had witnessed before. But this time you don't stop and wait for it to die down a little before walking in.
“You're an ungrateful bastard!” Luke yells, but as soon as he sees you, he stops and a mean smile plays on his face. “Haven't seen that one in a while. Why are you here? He knock you up?” Luke taunts and you swallow hard.
“Don't talk about her like that,” JJ snaps at him, taking a step closer to his dad. His fists are balled and the knuckles bruised.
“She's a bitch just like her mama,” Luke spits and JJ lunges forward, but he's pushed back instantly. You try to focus on your breathing to not lose yourself in the pain that is flooding your body as you watch him get hurt.
“Let go!” you scream from the top of your lungs, and for some reason they stop to look at you. One step forward as you glare at Luke, and he drops JJ to the floor, a shallow thump tells you that his head hit the wood not so softly. But you can't drag your eyes off Luke, if you do, he wins.
“You don't get to tell me what to do in my own house, Missy,” he glares, but you take another step closer, your eye twitching.
“I'm not afraid of you,” you hiss, and he scoffs, but you don't give him enough time to come up with a comment. “You're nothing but a drunk, child beating asshole. You don't deserve him. And it's baffling to me how someone like you was capable of fucking up so massively, but he still turned out better than anyone I've ever met. And I know I don't deserve him either, but at least I don't make him feel like shit just for being born.”
Luke swallows, looking down at JJ. “If she's not gone by the time I get back, you can look for a new home, boy.”
It feels like a million tons are lifted off your chest when you hear the screen door hit against the wood and the engine of his truck start and drive off.
“You shouldn't have done that,” JJ shakes his head as you turn to him. He has a cut on his lip and his right eye is starting to slowly swell up.
“You're hurt,” you whisper and reach up to touch his cheek, but he turns away.
“Why are you here? Wanna rip my heart out a third time?” There's resentment in his voice, but you get stuck on his counting. What was the second time?
“I came to ask something. Something important,” you whisper, but it has escaped your mind. The condition he is in feels worse to you than before. It's like a repetitive gut punch paired with slaps to your face, but your pain wasn't physical, it was all in your head.
“Can I please take care of you?” you beg, and he swallows but nods.
The bathroom is a mess, just like the whole house, but you don't care, you never did. It makes sense to you. It was one of the reasons why JJ had always felt more at home at your home than his own. It was the reason, why you rather stayed at the Château together than at his or at yours, where you'd always run the risk of your mom kicking him out.
You clean his cuts and softly press the cold, wet washcloth to his eye. Although you haven't patched him up in months, it feels like no time has passed since the last time.
“Thank you,” JJ whispers and takes the washcloth from your hand to hold onto it by himself.
“Why did you say I was going to break your heart a third time?” you ask tentatively, sitting down on the closed toilet opposite of him, while his hand clasps around the edge of the tub he's sitting on.
“I didn't wanna make you feel worse about it. It wasn't my choice to make. And it was too late already, so it didn't matter. But it hurt, it still hurts,” he mumbles without looking at you. “I keep having this nightmare- it's not really a nightmare, I guess. But when I wake up, I feel worse, and I wish the dream was real instead of my actual life.”
“What happens in your dream?” you whisper.
“You never leave me, we- we have the kid, and it's not easy, but it's happy. It feels warm and it doesn't hurt. And then I wake up, and it's just painful. It hurts so much, y/n.”
“I'm sorry,” you apologize, but you know it's not enough. You know it won't undo all the pain you caused him.
“And now you're here to tell me what? That I need to move on? Find someone better?” JJ's eyes find yours, and it feels like getting stabbed while someone keeps twisting the knife.
“Pope said you wrote me a letter,” you start, and he rolls his eyes.
“So you talk to him but not me?”
“JJ, listen to me,” you grab his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look at you. “I never got it. I was alone, and she said she told you to leave, and then you didn't text me. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me after that night, that's why I didn't text you either. But I don't know about any letter. I mean, I didn't even know it existed before Pope found me in the photo lab and told me, and then I ran here immediately. I'm sorry.” You take a deep breath, and he searches your face, and for once you're not even lying to yourself anymore.
“I was scared is all, that's why I wrote it,” he shrugs his shoulders, and you drop your hands down to your thighs.
“What did it say?”
“That I wish I could turn back time and make you feel more loved than I did. That I hate seeing you smile at that jerk. That I- That I don't want to ever lose you again. You scared me so much, and I don't know why you ran after him, and then you fell, and I wasn't fast enough, I couldn't stop your fall. And I felt like I lost you for good, forever, and John B drove like a maniac, and it wasn't fast enough. And then they didn't let me stay with you at first, and I had to sit there while they did all those tests, and they didn't tell me shit. I wanted to stay, wait until you woke up but- Your mom said it was my fault, and I believed her. Because it's always my fault. So I wrote it down, how much I do love you but that it's not gonna work because it can't be, she's right. And I asked her to give it to you. I promised to stay away if she would just give you the letter. Because I couldn't- I thought you were dead, and I was ready to end it too, if it meant I could be with you. I know that's stupid, but that's how I felt. And now you know, and you can leave, because you should leave. I'm not good for you, I never was, and you knew that, that's why you left me,” he finishes his venting, but you have no words left in you. There was nothing you could say that would make it better because words were not enough to encompass how you feel.
You lean forward, brushing the palm of your hand over his cheek before holding onto it and placing a soft kiss on his lips. He tastes like beer and blood, a weird mix, but a familiar one at that.
“What are you doing?” JJ whispers against your lips, but you kiss him again. And he kisses you back, cautiously slow.
“I'm not gonna leave ever again, I promise,” you whisper, and he looks into your eyes, pain and anxiety still prevalent in his own.
“Are you sure?” he asks, brushing through your hair with his free hand.
“Positive. We can get our own place, just you and me. Maybe that'll make it easier,” you smile and he nods. “I'm very sorry for what I did,” you apologize again.
“I made Kie write those notes. She didn't want to. Said you don't deserve it after all,” he mumbles. “They don't know about- You know…”
“I didn't tell anyone either,” you admit and he nods.
“You stood up to my dad,” JJ chuckles. “That was incredibly stupid, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, but he deserves it,” you press your face into his chest. His bed, his arms, all of it makes you feel more alive than anything you had done the past months.
“You really don't think you deserve me? You know I'm nothing but a weed smoking delinquent, right?”
“Who said that?” you pull away to look at him.
“Guess,” he snorts, and you furrow your brows in anger.
“I hate her. That's the only thing he was right about. She is a bitch,” you exhale the anger over your own mother.
“What'ya think happened between them two?” JJ wonders and you sigh.
“My mom being my mom, and Luke being Luke…, I'm guessing nothing pretty.”
“I love you, y/n. And I don't think I'll ever stop, no matter how hard it gets,” JJ whispers and kisses the top of your head.
“It's gonna be pretty hard, knowing you,” you giggle, and he fakes a gasp.
“I see how it is. First, you steal my heart, then my jokes.”
“I learned from the best,” you grin at him and he kisses you. It feels like the very first time. Exciting and with millions of butterflies in your stomach, and at the same time it's a forever kiss. It's a promise that you won't break, because you finally understand that you can't be without him.
“I love you, too, J,” you hush against his lips, and he smiles into another kiss.
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please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho
taglist:@ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart
#jj maybank#obx#my writing#outer banks#jj maybank x reader#obx fanfiction#~fanfiction#jj maybank x you#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank hurt/comfort
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Thank you so much @mostlyheinous for letting me make a little post based off your one Dabi audio. I hope I made you proud. 😭
TW: abusive relationship, degradation, physical abuse, verbal abuse, toxic Dabi.
Dabi is an asshole, you knew that, hell- everyone knew that. He never tried to hide it, never feigned nice, never even tried to give a compliment. He absolutely didn't know shit about privacy and personal space, either that or he just didn't care. You're willing to bet it's the former. So it's no big surprise when Dabi bursts into your room unannounced, with a scowl. He looks severely unhappy, looking you up and down and scoffing.
"What's your problem?" you ask with a sneer, adjusting your dress. He stands quiet for a minute before rolling his eyes and giving your dress a once-over. "You look like a slut," he shrugs, shutting your door and throwing your clothes mindlessly on the floor, and plopping down on your bed- if you can even call it that, putting his nasty, muddy shoes on your comforter.
Whipping around, you throw a tube of lipgloss at him, but unfortunately he catches it, throwing it to the side. "Who the fuck are you talking too? Get the hell out Dabi, go bother someone else." You scowl at him, turning back towards the mirror. He stares at you for a moment, getting up he grabs you by the hair, wrapping it around his fist and yanking you up. There's an immediate struggle on your side, hitting at his hand and pushing his chest.
"Who the fuck am I talking too? I'm talking to you bitch," there's a slap to your face, one of his rings catches your bottom, busting it open. "The fuck are you even wearing, huh? You found a new job at the street corner? How much you make a night sucking cock, hm? You let anyone fuck you, don't you? I fucking knew you felt looser, dirty bitch." There's blood leaking down your chin, getting on your chest and staining your dress. You try to push him away but he just slaps your hands away, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks together.
"Dabi stop!! Let go, you're hurting me," your crying now, mascara leaking down your cheeks. Dabi rubs at your wet eyes, ruining your eyeliner in the process, he snarls at you. "Shut the fuck up, I'm not hurting you, dumb bitch." He spits on his hand, rubbing it all over your face. "There all better, now you look a little less ugly," he grins.
You're sobbing now, repeatedly attempting to push his hand away, slapping at his chest. He ignores your attempt of a broken struggle, pulling you towards the bed and throwing you on it back first. Climbing on top of you, he rips your dress open. "Stop, stop, this was expensive."
He stops at that, looking up at you, he laughs in your face. Singeing the rest of your dress, he leans back with narrowed eyes. "That shit was expensive? That fucking rag costed money? It wasn't even covering shit, you had your fucking tits out and everything- if you can even call these tits," he grabs handfuls of your chest. Pulling at your nipples through your bra and spitting on your chest. "These barely pass for a fucking B cup." His saliva drips down the valley of your breasts, making them sticky.
"Dabi... please stop, please.." your voice comes out in a croak, chest still heaving with sobs. He scoffs at you, climbing off you and running a hand through his hair. It's quiet for a few minutes, cept for your sniffles now and again. "I told you I didn't want you going out, you didn't fucking listen to me. This is all your fault you know... if you're gonna blame someone blame yourself." You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing before you nod at him. He hums at you, "are you gonna listen next time- actually there won't be a next time. You're not allowed to go out anymore if I'm not with you. I don't care if Toga asks, you come to me first." You nod at him, pushing yourself up on your hands, "I'll ask Dabi, I promise."
He nods at you, "good." Throwing a make-up wipe at you, he leaves.
#baby-tini#mostlyheinous#tw: abuse#toxic dabi#dabi x reader#yandere dabi x reader#dabi x female reader#dabi my hero academia#my hero academia dabi#boku no hero academia dabi#dabi todoroki#bnha dabi#yandere dabi#dabi#mha dabi#touya todoroki#todoroki touya#dabi is an asshole
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Overlord Husk's nights gambling tend to run late; it's hard for you to get used to when you first start accompanying him as his lucky charm. You try so hard to stay awake for him, to cheer him on and give him the luck you promised him, but your eyes are starting to drift shut, and you're starting to sway where you stand.
"Give me a second," Husk tells his guests before he turns to you. "You doing all right, doll? Want someone to escort you to the penthouse?"
You shake your head even as you yawn. "I gotta stay with you and help you win..."
"You're not gonna be much help like that. Look at you, you're about to collapse." He pats his thigh. "Come on. Sit with me."
You sit on his lap and snuggle up to him, arms around his large waist and head on his shoulder. "I'll stay awake..." you promise, even as your eyes close. You can't open them again no matter how much you try.
"You're fine," he assures you with a gentle drag of his claws against your scalp. He then returns his attention to the game.
"You like the young ones you get to baby, huh, Husker?" one of his guests says with a laugh. "Not surprised you're into that sort of thing..."
"Shut the fuck up and start a new deal. "
You settle in against his warm body, surrounded with the new sounds that have recently become part of your everyday life. Glasses clink against polished wood, poker chips rattle against each other as they're dropped onto and pushed across the table, cards are shuffled, whoops and swears from your Overlord and his guests echo through the hall.
Even when he's not talking to you, his voice is oh so comforting.
You nuzzle into his neck, breathing in the scent of expensive cologne and tobacco. As Husk continues playing, you feel one arm slowly tightening around your waist whenever it's not needed for the game.
A stranger speaks. "So, daddy. Maybe for this round, winner could have... babysitting privileges?" The rest of the group laughs, but they immediately fall silent as a deep growl rumbles through Husk's entire body.
"They're not part of the pot, and if you even joke about that shit again, my guards will be more than happy to escort you into the alley!"
You don't know how the game ends, but after some time passes, you're vaguely aware of Husk picking you up and carrying you to the elevator.
"Maybe this is too dangerous for you, doll..." he murmurs as he enters the code for his private quarters.
In your mostly asleep state, you don't know what danger you could be in when you have him to protect you...
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Nico comforting one of his girls after a nightmare 🥹
Like they are trying to wake up Lexi, cause everyone knows you run to mom. But she is out cold! Nico wakes up and handles the chasing away of Monsters
Captain Nico Hischier sinks into the couch in the living room with a cold beer can resting on his bottom lip. The well-earned liquid sloshes between his teeth and down his throat in steady, delicious gulps.
It's been another day of successfully keeping his girls alive while solo parenting. His wife and sister are off on their annual girls tip in Napa, tipsy off the tannins and sunshine offered by the coastal state. The only reason Nico knows this is because his wife send a particularly slutty picture of her in the bathroom thirty minutes ago. He is hoping for a follow up FaceTime call later.
He thinks he has earned some sexy time with his wife after his day.
Tonight was bath time. He successfully got all girls cleaned and tucked into bed for their bed time stories within an hour. It has to be record time for him. He rarely drinks when it is just him and the girls, but one 12oz beer will be fine as a celebratory treat.
"MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!"
Nico jolts upright at the scream of terror launching from upstairs, choking on his second sip of beer.
"I'm coming, Mackie!" Nico calls as he hits the bottom of the stairs, his barely started beer forgotten on the coffee table. He takes the stairs two at a time.
"No! No! I want mama! MAMA!!!!" Mack stars to scream when Nico comes into the room.
"Sweets, baby, she isn't here. I'm here. You're safe."
"No! Only mama knows how to get the shadows away!" Nico blinks, cupping Mack's teary cheeks in his big hands.
"Sweets." Nico tries again in a measured voice. "What shadows?"
"The man in the corner. He tries to eat me!" Nico glances around the room, not seeing anything. A panicked part of his brain thinks, maybe she sees ghosts, which to be honest freaks Nico the fuck out. But, knowing his four year old has an imaginative brain, he figures going down that road so quickly is premature.
"The only people in this room are me and you, baby. You are safe." He reiterates to her, smoothing his thumbs on her wet cheeks. Mack grips his forearms, little fingers tugging at his arm hair as she tries to dig into his skin. She pulls herself into a kneeling position, getting close to his face.
"He is right there." She whispers with wide, terrified eyes. "Don't you see him?"Nico slides his gaze to the right, trying to figure out what she is saying.
Finally, he sees the 'figure' in question. It's a lamp in the corner of her room that has a shadow looking like a hooded figure crawling up her wall in the nightlight glow.
"I don't like it! I don't like it!" She screams in a whisper at him.
It's at this moment, he remembers his wife telling him not to turn the night light on and instead use said lamp for her bedtime lighting. He had remembered the previous nights, but not tonight in the rush of bath time.
Shit.
"How does mommy get rid of it?" Nico pivots, rubbing a hand along her full back to comfort her more.
"She banishes it with light."
"Okay." Nico nods. Simple enough. He hauls Mack up into his arms, protecting her from the 'figure' with his body as he walks across the room to the light switch. Mack squeezes her eyes shut until the flick of the switch sounds through the room. Her body melts into Nico's in relief. "Better?"
"Yeah." Mack sighs. She swallows hard, pulling away to look at her dad's face. "Can I sleep with you?"
"Sure." He knows Lexi will make fun of him for it, but he scared the shit out of her and feels really bad, so he will concede his pillow for tonight. With this decision, it also means Nico won't be finishing that beer downstairs. He makes a mental note to take wake up early to take care of it before the girls are up.
"Daddy?" Nico hears the soft call from Lucie's room as he walks by with Mack.
"Yeah, Lu?"
"Can I sleep with you too?!"
And that's how Nico Hischier ended up with no sleep and four little feet kicking him all. night. long.
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Wish You Were Here | Part 2
The aftermath of the previous evening.
Series masterlist
Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader
Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence
WC for part 2 : 5.9 k
Warnings for part 2 : swearing, implied sexual content
(I had this one already written, currently working on part 3 so it'll take me a bit of time before uploading again)
You’re jolted awake, face contorted in a silent scream, dry tears stinging your cheeks, fists clenching the sheets, heart beating at a wild pace. The last remnants of a nightmare fade away, leaving a shot ringing in your ears, as you try to focus on your surroundings. You’re here, in your bedroom, in your house, in Jackson. You’re safe. You breathe, slowly, in and out. Everything is fine. Everything is-
Images from last night flash before your eyes. Joel, laughing with you. His hands on your waist. His lips on yours. The desire. His rage. And the abandon.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
A wave of shame, along with nausea, hits you like a freight train. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry, an awful taste lingering in it. You gag, leap out of bed and run to the bathroom just in time.
When you’re done, you rinse your mouth and meet your reflection. Bloodshot eyes, heavy bags underneath them, knotted hair sticking out around a sickly pale face. You left the tavern without telling anyone and immediately collapsed into bed. Yesterday’s clothes, that you’re still wearing, smell like booze and sweat and something else too- or rather someone else. You shut your eyes and rub them with closed fists, applying so much pressure it hurts. You want to bash your face in the mirror.
God you’re a wreck.
You decide brushing your teeth and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. Your watch indicates it’s well past noon and there’s no way you can get back to sleep. Not with those thoughts swimming around your head. The scalding water does little to distract you from them. You scrub your skin raw, as if you can wash away Joel’s touch; it doesn’t work. You still feel him against you when you step out of the bathtub. You’re thinking about the kiss as you get dressed, as you run a comb through your wet hair, as you walk down to your kitchen, and as you put on the kettle for tea. Why can’t you stop thinking about it? And why the hell is part of you wishing that it went further? The kettle whistling shakes you out of the spiral. You wish you had a stronger beverage, that and a painkiller, but they’re rare supplies these days. You fill a mug with the tea and try sitting at your small kitchen island, but it quickly becomes claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in on you. So you get up and grab a rainbow wool blanket, knitted by Astrid as a Christmas present, from the couch. Wrapping yourself in it, you go out to your back porch and sprawl on one of the lawn chairs, the bitter January air stinging your lungs, shocking you into alertness. The pain is refreshing.
What a fucking way to start the year.
You look out at the frosted mountains in the distance, peaceful giants protecting the town. They’re strong, grounded, indomitable. You think it’d be nice to float up to the top and lay there above the clouds, where what is happening down below wouldn’t matter at all. You take a sip of tea, which burns your tongue, and you curse under your breath. It brings you right back to reality. On the yard right of yours, the neighbour’s kids are playing in the snow, their high-pitched giggles filling the air. The girl, about seven years old, notices you and stops to call out your name. You give her a small wave back.
“Happy new year!” She yells enthusiastically, flashing the gap of fallen front teeth. Her younger brother imitates her but stumbles on half of the words. Their little faces are flushed, snowsuits soaking wet. You can’t help but find it adorable, even in your condition. It never ceases to impress you how resilient children can be, how they can keep their wonder, their innocence when the world has crumbled around them.
“Happy new year. Don’t get frostbite,” you reply.
“Look at our snowman!” the boy chips in, his lisp evident, pointing at a shapeless mount of snow.
You chuckle. “He’s cool. You should add a carrot.”
The kids beam, and run off inside to act upon your suggestion. And then a snowball flies out of nowhere and hits you on the shoulder, almost causing you to drop your tea. You shriek, jumping to your feet and putting the mug down on the railing as another snowball misses your head by a hair’s breadth. Max’s figure appears from behind a thick pine tree growing right outside your fence.
“HEY! WHAT THE F-” you catch yourself, remembering there are children closeby. Max steps fully into view, guffawing, their bright red beanie clashing with the ginger locks peaking out. They walk to the side and push the fence door open, entering your backyard.
“Moron.” There is no humour in your voice. You brush the snow off your clothes, muttering to yourself. Max walks up the old wooden stairs and joins you on the porch.
“Really? Not even a hi, how are you, happy new year?” They raise a hand to their chest in mock offence.
“You didn’t give me time for that did you? Nearly took my fucking head off.” You cross your arms tightly. You’re really not in the mood for Max’s antics. Not today.
“Jesus, so dramatic,” they sit down on the other lawn chair, while you remain standing. “Woke up on the wrong foot?”
Anger bubbles up inside, as does the urge to punch that smug little grin off Max’s face. “What are you doing here?” You ask, bluntly.
“Hm. Not much. Just, uh, checking in on you,” Max replies, purposefully evasive. The anger rises.
“Why?” You bark, already knowing the answer to that question.
“Well…Just heard you got into, uh, an interesting situation last night.” They look up at you with that smirk again. You glare back, fuming, and grunt in response.
God they can be such a fucking pain in the ass.
“So I’m just wondering what it is exactly that made you think oh, yeah,” they suspend their voice for a few seconds “Joel Miller?” They accentuate his name as if it were an insult, full of implication.
You’re trying to keep calm, but it’s getting very difficult. You choose your words carefully. “I was drunk. We were just talking. And it’s none of your business” Your voice trembles with the emotion.
“Just talking, uh?” Max is clinging on to this stronger than a dying man to his last breath.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing happened,” you lie, through gritted teeth. You’re dangerously close to your tipping point.
“Hm. That’s weird, `cause Astrid told us she saw a lot more than-”
“Can you fucking drop it?” you shout. Max has done it.
They're taken aback by your outburst, pausing for a beat, before their expression hardens. They inhale sharply and speak up again, brows furrowed in frustration.
“You know, I’m getting sick of this closed up bullshit. We’ve been friends for what, 5 years, and you never tell me a single thing about how you’re feeling, or your past, or-“
“We’re not friends,” you interrupt them, harshly.
“Oh, okay, yeah, sure!” Their tone drips with sarcasm. “Then what are we?”
The question makes you hesitate. “I don’t know. Coworkers,” you say, your tone losing conviction.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Max exclaims. “Are you serious? So you’re telling me you- you came to your coworker’s house in the middle of the night after having a breakdown?
Your chest tightens at the memory. It’s a moment of weakness you really hate to be reminded of. “That’s not fair. It was a long time ago,” you grumble, looking down.
“Uh-huh,” Max continues, raising their voice. “You supported your coworker when they came out to you?” They wait, expecting you to interject, but you keep quiet, so they take it up a notch. “You helped your coworker when they were starving, bleeding out, half-frozen to death? That’s what you’re telling me?”
You still don’t respond, but the anger is starting to melt; Max’s words are stabbing at a sensitive spot. You’re brought back in time, to one of your first ever patrols, in the dead of winter, when you were still training. You had gone off the trail because you thought you heard a faint plea for help. That’s when you had found Max, curled up in the hollow of a tree, skeletally thin, shivering, the snow stained red from a fresh wound on their leg. You had brought them back to Jackson, had strongly insisted to Maria that they stay in town, took Max’s defence when other survivors argued they were a lost cause. You’d checked in on them nearly every day, and you were right; Max had made a complete recovery, eventually growing into an active, important member of the community. At the time, you didn’t know why you were doing all of this for a stranger. Maybe you just couldn’t bear losing anyone else, couldn’t take being powerless, unable to save them.
Max lets a few seconds pass by in silence. “Look, all I’m saying is I care about you. And I got worried when you left last night. It wasn’t like you” they explain, softer now, the concern honest. You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at them as the anger vanishes completely. Truth is, you care about them too. A lot. Of course you do. And you’re mainly upset at yourself for acting in such a senseless way last night. But admitting all of that out loud, it’d be too much. Instead, you give Max a meaningful nod, and squeeze their arm.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just- I- I’m hungover.” There’s way more than that, and Max is well aware. But they don’t push further.
“Lightweight,” they tease, lightening the tension. You’re grateful for the change in mood.
“And you’re not? I think you burst the entire town’s eardrums last night,” you respond, relieved to fall back into the usual back-and-forth.
“Uh, I’ll have you know I’m proud of that performance,” they argue.
“I’ll give it to you. Wasn’t your worst,” you reply, feeling a smile pulling at your lips. Max gives you one back.
“Alright, can we go inside now? Fucking freezing” Max asks, rubbing their arms up and down.
“Yeah,” you answer, “want some breakfast?” It’s really the least you could do. Actions are much easier than words to show that you care.
“Would love some lunch.” They correct, as you slide open the glass door and let them pass first, following them in.
“Seriously though, Joel Miller?” they add, peering at you over their shoulder. You push them into the dining room.
“Mention it again and I’m hitting you,” you threaten, half-serious.
“Alright, alright,” Max concedes. “I just didn’t know you were into old men.” They snicker. You keep to your word and kick their ankle.
They squeal out in pain and you strike a second time. “I’m. Not.”
Max sits at the dining room table, massaging their hurt leg, while you scramble some eggs for the both of you. Along with some sourdough from Leanne at the bakery, it makes a decent meal. And, as you eat, you come to a conclusion. That thing with Joel, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can’t mean anything. Because you’re not ready to accept the possibility that there might be something more. Something like feelings that you’d need to process. You’ve taken too long to build a thick, impenetrable shield around your heart. You can’t just drop it so quickly. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgement caused by the alcohol. You’re going to lock it away in a forgotten corner of your mind, like you usually do when emotions are involved. Just pretend it never happened, stay cordial with the man if ever have to interact again. It should be easy enough.
Right?
——————————
Joel is cruelly pulled out of sleep by a series of booming knocks. He sits up abruptly, in a panic, instinctively reaching at his side for a weapon but his fingers grasp only the pilled fabric of bed sheets. It takes a moment to situate himself, to remember he is out of danger. Whoever’s behind the noise doesn’t give him reprieve to slow down his pulse, however. Another round of knocks erupts as a muffled, irritated voice travels up to his bedroom.
“JOEL! HELLO? JOEELLLLL! WAKE UP!” It’s unmistakably Ellie.
The kid can be so damn loud for her size. Joel grumbles a string of curses, hurries out of bed and down the stairs despite strained muscles and the beginning of a migraine he’s certain will be terrible. He’s too old for hangovers like this. He jogs through the hallway, gets to the back door and flings it open before Ellie pipes up again. She’s standing on the porch, bundled up in her purple puffer jacket. Her balled fists are suspended in the air, mid-movement.
“WHAT?” He yells, making Ellie flinch. He immediately regrets his tone.
“Shit, no need to be rude,” the girl replies, arms dropping to her sides.
“Sorry, kid. You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”
She gets straight to the point. “My heating’s busted. Can you fix it?”
Joel scoffs. “Good morning, Ellie! Happy new year to you too.”
“Uh, it’s almost 1 PM. And I didn’t think you celebrated,” Ellie answers matter-of-factly.
Little smartass.
Joel makes the motion to close the door in her face, but she’s faster and grabs the outer handle.
“Hey come on! It’s like 2 degrees in there!” She shouts.
Ellie stares up at him, impatient. Joel doesn’t budge. She sighs. “Please,” she mumbles, breaking eye contact.
Joel smirks. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He keeps her hanging for another few seconds before answering : “Okay.”
Ellie rolls her eyes.
“I still got Tommy’s tools. Can you wait 10 minutes?” He’s just giving Ellie a hard time, and she knows it. He’d do anything to help her, no matter what it entailed; he’s done a hell of a lot more than repair a broken heater.
“Yeah, sure, just drill me out of the block of ice,” Ellie says, spinning on her heels and walking off towards the garage that's been converted into her living quarters.
Joel smiles, watching her go. He gets back into the house and does his best to clean up in the bathroom while avoiding looking in the mirror. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck, and sleeping the day off is very inviting, but he can’t just let the girl freeze. And the work will keep him busy, distract him from the pain. He puts on a coat over the clothes that he slept in, the same ones he was wearing at the tavern; he hadn’t bothered changing out of them after coming home. He ties his boots with difficulty and grabs the toolbox from a storage shelf in the utility room. He borrowed it from Tommy a few weeks ago when the upstairs bathroom nearly flooded, and hasn’t returned it yet. He makes a mental note of it. Joel’s house is a fixer upper for sure, but he’s done his best over the last six months, and it’s starting to become less of a temporary shelter and more of a home, something he never would have thought possible. Ellie’s presence at such a short distance definitely plays a role. He’s not hurt by the fact she insisted on having her separate space; he doesn’t think they’d have done well trying to fit into a normal family dynamic. That’s not what they are. And besides, he’s just happy she’s still talking to him, after what happened at the hospital. Joel brushes off the thought as he crosses the back garden, counting the steps it takes to reach the garage. There’s exactly thirteen. As always.
He lets himself in. Ellie’s waiting, laying on the loveseat wrapped in her duvet. She wasn’t lying; it’s glacial inside and Joel can see his breath. Ellie’s lit a fire in the wood stove, resourceful as she is, but it’s not doing much.
“Took you long enough,” she says, barely audible as half her face is covered by the blanket.
“Hey. Drop the attitude.” Joel orders, but a little smile curves up his lips. Ellie returns it. He can’t stay mad at her and she’s proud of it.
Joel looks around the room. Ellie’s bed is unmade, stripped of its cover; clothes are piling on a chair, random objects scattered around her desk, from coloured pencils to a used plate and utensils. Her guitar is held up by a sturdy stand in a corner, pristine; it’s apparent Ellie takes good care of it. And there, on the coffee table, a good amount of crumbs, and four empty bottles of beer. His gaze lingers on them long enough for Ellie to notice.
“Um, Cat came over last night she brought those, her mom was totally okay with it-” Ellie overexplains, the words coming out quickly.
Joel raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anythin’.” He likes that she gets anxious, it shows that she cares about his opinion, and doesn't want him to be disappointed. But how could he be? He’d do much worse than drinking a beer or two if he’d gone through as much as Ellie has at her age. “What’d you guys get up to?” Joel asks as he moves towards the space heater, plugged in a wall outlet not far from the loveseat. Ellie relaxes.
“Uh, we just watched a movie. Back to the Future,” she replies. Joel smiles. He’d found it out on a run and gave it to Ellie as a Christmas present. “Cat had such a crush on Marty. It was pretty funny,” the girl adds.
“And you didn’t?” He teases as he kneels in front of the heater, his back screaming in agony, and sets the toolbox down on the cold cement floor.
“Nah. Not my type.” Ellie shifts in her seat to get a good view of Joel. He starts by trying the power switch, to no avail. “I already did that,” she tells him in a condescending tone.
“Yeah, no shit,” Joel mutters. He takes out a screwdriver and finds the appropriate bit before starting to work on taking the heater apart. He opens up the electrical box and begins testing out the various components, face drawn out in concentration. Ellie observes him quietly for a few minutes, chewing on a nail. Joel’s completely focused on the pieces he’s turning over in his hands.
And then, he hears Ellie’s voice behind him again. “So. You were out pretty late last night,” she points out.
Joel freezes up, caught off guard. The tool he’s holding drops to the ground, clattering.
Last night. Fucking Hell.
Glimpses of the drunken evening assault his brain. Bribes of your conversation, how natural it felt talking to you. The sound of your laughter. How your eyes lit up when you smiled. The blushes you tried to hide. Your hands on his shoulders.
How smooth your lips were.
Wait.
The way the night ended suddenly comes back. A rush of anger, shame, and guilt engulfs him, the same one that pushed him to abandon you about ten hours ago. He has to stop himself from screaming, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Why the fuck did he do that? How could he let you get so close? When did he get so weak as to let his walls down that much the second a pretty woman talks to him? And why did it feel so damn good?
Joel fights to somewhat regain his composure, to act casual as he replies to Ellie. He clears his throat and picks the tool back up. “Uh, yeah. Just out at the tavern with Tommy,” he deflects.
“Hm.” Ellie pauses, letting Joel think she’s off the scent. But then, she questions : “Just Tommy?”
Nervosity is added to the boiling pot of emotions, lighting up the wick of a bomb Joel’s trying his hardest not to let explode.
What does the kid know?
He struggles to recall another memory. Your friend, the tall blonde one who’s another patroller, she saw you too together. Not what happened outside, but enough to raise suspicion, Joel’s ninety-nine percent certain of it.
He breathes slowly before answering. “Yup.” He attempts to be firm, but he can hear the hesitation in his own voice. So he busies himself with the heater again.
“Well,” Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off, not taking any chances.
“Didn’t you have farm duty today?” He changes the subject abruptly, pulling at a wire.
“Uh, yeah, I went already. They let me off early,” Ellie says, “I heard something interesting though.” Joel can practically see the smirk on her face from where he is crouched, but he refuses to look her in the eyes.
Damn it.
He stays silent. Ellie continues. “You were…dancing? With someone?” She adds your name, inquiring.
Joel tightens his grip on the tool handle, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he utters. “We weren’t dancing.” He keeps his gaze stubbornly stuck to the heater.
Ellie holds back a laugh. “But you were with her?” She keeps up the interrogation.
The wick of the bomb burns more. “Just havin’ a conversation. With a coworker. I don’t know who told you that, but it ain’t true,” he replies harshly.
Ellie snorts. “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s-”
“Ellie. Stop.” Joel threatens, finally snapping his head up to glare at the girl. And the expression is enough to make her understand he isn’t joking. She listens to the command and shuts right up, however, she doesn’t lose the mocking grin.
He huffs, returning to the task. He’s mulling over everything in his head, beating himself up to a pulp, when Ellie decides to pick up her guitar. She begins practising Future Days, the song Joel has been teaching her. The notes are unsteady, the rhythm choppy, but the music is like a balm over Joel’s mind, soothing it. It helps him calm down, and soon enough, he finds the source of the heater’s malfunction : the fan is clogged with dust and debris. He dislodges it from the mechanism and cleans it out with a rag, whistling along to Ellie’s playing. He puts the pieces back together and wipes his hands on his jeans, before trying the power switch once more. The heater hums into life.
Ellie breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the guitar. “Oh fuck yeah.”
“Language,” Joel reprimands her. Ellie sticks out her tongue at him. He puts away the tools he’s used and stands up with the toolbox, knees creaking.
“Hey, thanks, Joel,” the girl says timidly, taking off the layers she’d put on, “and, uh, sorry I woke you up.” She’s genuine.
“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” He awkwardly claps his free hand on his thigh, unsure if he should stay longer. He’d like to, but he doesn’t want to impose, or make it weird.
“You should go shower. You look like shit,” Ellie quips. “And we got dinner with Maria and Tommy later,” she adds.
“Hmm. Right,” he groans; he’d completely forgotten. He’s never wanted to do anything less in his life. The day just keeps getting better.
He follows Ellie’s advice once he’s back inside his house. As the hot water runs over his tired skin, he takes time to reflect, and he makes a decision. The encounter with you was simply a product of intoxication. The old, rusted feelings it stirred up within him were, too. It’s just been very long since he’s done anything…intimate. With anyone. That must explain it. He’s got to convince himself of that. Because the other alternative terrifies him, fills him with dread, and he can’t afford that. Not again. Not after Tess. So, he’s going to ignore it, push it away, bury it deep at the back of his mind, enough that it can’t affect him anymore. Just pretend it never happened, go back to the way he treated you before. Cold. Indifferent. He’s done that countless times.
Right.
It should be easy enough.
——————————
It has been two weeks. Two weeks that you’ve succeeded in avoiding Joel at all costs, and the weather has definitely helped. Winter has been ruthless, the temperature dropping below zero most mornings, the snowfall almost incessant, isolating the town. It’s mostly a positive; it prevents infected, or hunters, or worse, from discovering it. Survivors have been staying in as much as possible, going out only when absolutely necessary. You did your part with helping plough the snow on your horse, a dapple grey mare named Willow; Maria had assigned time slots to the capable survivors. Thankfully, you and Joel weren’t scheduled on the same one. You haven’t crossed paths with the man since New Year’s Eve, and you’re perfectly content with that.
Well, that isn’t the full truth. There’s a part of you that incomprehensibly wishes you could see him again. You absolutely despise it, and you’ve made an immense effort to silence those thoughts when they seize you. But they come often. Too often. You’ve thrown yourself into tasks, hobbies, anything to occupy your mind. Needless to say, your house has been extremely tidy lately, you’ve listened through your record collection multiple times, finished the novel you were reading (The Count of Monte Cristo which you had previously barely made a dent it), and started on at least three paintings which you hated and scrapped, and you’re not one to waste supplies. If the thoughts are hard to control during the day, it becomes impossible at night.
You’ve…dreamed about Joel. Doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare say out loud, to anyone, your inner thighs moist upon waking up. You think you might be going completely insane. So, you’re almost excited for your upcoming patrol, and the extended distraction it’ll provide.
It’s the evening of Sunday, January 14th, 2035. The sky is clear for once, the sun has started setting behind the mountains, casting Jackson in frigid twilight. You’re speed walking towards town hall, the icy wind piercing right through your coat, chilling you to the bone. Your scarf is pulled up to your nose, the flaps of your trapper hat down and tied, thick mittens protecting your hands. You reach the building in record time, its short clock tower illuminated. You pull the heavy door and get in, a gust of warmth from the heating blasted at maximum immediately relieving. The room is spacious, cosy, with a stone hearth at the back where a fire is crackling, chairs stacked in a corner, and a long table with a tall thermos of chicory coffee and some cups strewn about. You go up to the large rolling bulletin board standing in the middle of the room, where various organisational documents for the community are pinned. A handful of survivors are already gathered around it. One of them, a teenager with a long black braid, olive skin and sharp features (Tina? Or something similar), is adding a flyer to it, advertising her services to shovel pathways for trade. Brave move. You greet the group and look over to the patroller’s duty roster for the week. You’ve set for Hoback Pass, tomorrow, with Astrid. You spot Joel’s name on the list; he’s with Tommy, as usual, for Teton Village, at the end of the week. No chance of overlap.
Good. Great. Wonderful.
You don’t stay around much longer; you need to prepare for the next day’s run. Astrid likes to get an early start, and she’ll want to plan strict routes before leaving. You’ve forgiven her for snitching on what she saw you do at New Year’s Eve; she was drunk too, and she hasn’t mentioned it since. Max must have convinced her she hallucinated it, for your sake. So you go back out into the cold, empty streets, now plunged in darkness.
You met Astrid when she arrived in Jackson around three years ago, along with Fred. The two are like siblings; after the outbreak, they were raised in a small settlement in the Eastern Idaho forest. The group had left camp when resources were becoming scarce, travelling south in hopes of finding a new safe haven. Upon reaching Jackson, the two women were the only ones left alive. You don’t know the exact circumstances in which they lost their loved ones, but the reality is all too familiar to most people in this world. At least these two still have each other. You weren’t so lucky with that. Sometimes, when you look at them, you can’t help but get a glimpse of a future you were cruelly robbed of. In these instances, you’re hit with a burning, gut-wrenching pang of jealousy. You try not to dwell on it; it’s a useless sentiment and it’s impossible to get her back.
You jog up to your house a few minutes later. After a quick dinner, you put together your pack, checking items off a mental list: canteen, munitions, a few rations, first aid kit, flint rod, rope, hand-crank radio… You’re sharpening your knife, sitting at the dining room table, when you’re interrupted by a knock. You cross the hallway, puzzled, and undo the chain to crack open the front door. Tommy’s standing on the other side, bouncing on the spot, rapid breaths coming out in white volutes.
“Uh, hey,” you say, surprised to see him there.
“Hey,” he replies, “sorry to bother you this late.”
“Oh, it’s fine. What’s up?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You’ve known Tommy ever since you first came to Jackson. He’s the patrol chief; the one who teached you at your beginnings on the job. You like him as a leader; he’s fair, direct, dependable, and he’s got a sense of humour. He’s a good balance to Maria, who can be a bit too stern at times.
“Uh, well, it’s about your patrol tomorrow. I know you’re supposed to go with Astrid, but I’m gonna have to send her to train Jesse instead,” he explains, talking fast.
Jesse is the newest recruit. He’s a determined, strong young man who joined in late November, just as he turned eighteen, the required age for patrolling. He’s gone out with Astrid on practice runs a couple times before; she had volunteered to mentor him.
You furrow your brows. “Oh. Alright, sure, that’s okay. Uh, you want me to go by myself?”
“Uh, no” Tommy answers,“too risky with all the snow. I was gonna send Joel. You guys work well together and he knows Hoback.”
Your stomach drops.
Fuck.
Your expression must have changed noticeably, because Tommy tilts his head, perplexed.
“Somethin’ the matter?” He inquires.
You blink a few times, recovering from the blow. “Uh, yeah. I- I mean no. Just-” you search for the right words, “can’t Astrid do it another day?”
“Not really. We need Jesse ready ASAP. Why? Problem with Joel?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice.
You pause, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Ultimately, you decide it would just create a bigger problem. “No, no, nevermind. All good,” you lie, averting Tommy’s eyes.
The man doesn’t seem convinced. “Alright… You know, it’s funny. Joel didn’t seem too happy either when I told ´im.”
So he’s been thinking about you too. He remembers. This makes it so much worse. You give a nervous chuckle in response, and attempt a joke. “Is he ever?”
Tommy snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” He claps his gloved hands together. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for briefing then.”
You give him a nod and he imitates you before walking off. You close the door behind him and rest your forehead against the hard surface, banging it a few times. You yell out in frustration. What did you just get yourself into?
That night, you restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning, your mind racing, agitated, unable to shut itself off. You don’t get any sleep.
Joel doesn’t either.
You’re already exhausted by the time you’re out of the door the next morning, right at sunrise, which just intensifies your terrible mood. You stride down the street towards Jackson’s main gate, in full winter gear, pack hanging off a shoulder. The town is a muted grey, misty; a few snowflakes are slowly falling from heavy clouds. It matches your emotional state. You’re hoping to be the first one at the stables, giving you time to blow off some steam. But, upon arrival, you discover that the object of your torment has had the same idea. Joel’s saddling his horse, Old Beardy, an imposing black-coated male.
The bastard.
You curse him out in your head, your heartbeat quickening as you approach. You walk past him, heading towards Willow’s enclosure. Neither you nor Joel acknowledges the other. Willow neighs softly when she sees you, and you go to pet her on the nose, hyper aware of the man standing about twenty feet away from you. You quietly tend to your horse for a few minutes, every sound coming from Joel irritating you, before you finally dare steal a glance over at him. Right as you do so, he turns his head back quickly, caught in the act.
So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh?
You tie your pack to a hook on Willow’s saddle, your movements sharp, heated. Once you’re done, you take the horse’s reins and guide her out of the stable, passing by Joel once again; his back tenses as you do so, and you hear him sigh loudly. The feeling’s mutual.
You decide to take Willow for a trot around town while you wait for the other patrollers to show up. You don’t think you could stay there with Joel, in thick silence, pointlessly wondering what it is he’s thinking; it would drive you mad. You come back half an hour later, not an ounce more calm, as Tommy is about to start his report. You make sure to stand as far away from Joel as you can while you listen. The words enter one ear and come out the other; you’re too preoccupied with someone else. You’ve heard the speech a hundred times anyway: stay within sight of your partner, follow the routes, mark the logbooks, come back if you run into something you can’t handle. Once Tommy’s done, he gives the signal for the two townsfolk on guard duty to crank open the gate. You stick your right foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up on Willow’s back, positioning yourself on the saddle. You let the other patrol team go first, staying behind, immobile, side by side with Joel. You’re not going to make the first move. And he doesn’t either. So you look over at him, and this time, he holds your gaze, fire ablaze in his deep brown eyes. Glowering. Taunting. Scornful. After thirty seconds, Tommy, posted at the wall, yells out to you.
“Guys! What are you waitin’ for? Get goin’!”
Joel capitulates first. He urges Old Beardy forward, not giving you another sight, as you internally scream in victory. You follow behind.
“Have a good one! Stay safe!” One of the guards says, as you pass the threshold. You have to hold yourself back from replying “We won’t.” Joel and you ride out of Jackson.
This day is about to be really fucking unpleasant.
To read on AO3
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juls's super easy sweet coconut curry for when you're sick
note: this is super easy because i have curry paste and an instapot and a rice cooker. if you don't have these things on hand. well like, you can still make it, but it may not be super easy sick food for you
1lb chicken (approx)
1/3 cup of sugar
1 tbsp red curry paste
2 tbsp fish sauce
1 can coconut cream (trader joe's recommended)
cashews, unsalted
separately, rice
(there's a version of this where you brown the chicken first. the super easy version is not that version.)
okay so get your instapot. you can make this in a big one or a small one. i just started a double batch in my baby instapot.
Put in the can of coconut cream. (Tj's is recommended because it is just coconut and water, no thickeners. if you don't have ibd or some shit and thickeners don't bother you, use whatever.) Note: you can also use coconut milk if you and thicken it with like a teaspoon or two of cornstarch, but due to the nature of pressure cookers you can't add the cornstarch until after you cook, or the instapot won't reach pressure.
Add the sugar. Other people who may have originated this recipe kept dicking with the amount because "oh it's too sweet" they ended up working in eighths of a cup who even has eighths of a cup. Fuck that, I like it sweet, I'm sick, it's comfort food, 1/3 cup measure is easy to find.
Add the red curry paste and fish sauce. Note: the original amounts on this were 2tsp red curry paste and 1.5tbsp fish sauce. This was changed because using a tablespoon measure for both is easier and also stronger flavors are better when you're congested. If you think this might be too spicy for you, go easy on the red curry paste. If for some ungodly reason you are trying to recreate this from scratch, red curry paste contains: red chilis, lemongrass, galangal, garlic, coriander, cumin, shallots, lime zest, and usually shrimp paste but mine's kosher. Fish sauce is a mixture of soy sauce and fish so you can use like a tablespoon of soy if you don't have fish sauce, and maybe like a dash of worcestershire (the closest western equivalent to fish sauce, though it is considerably more gussied up).
Give the mix a good stir. This is not strictly necessary but I'm always paranoid about chunk of curry paste won't separate. I also turn the instapot on saute mode at this point because heat gets things moving.
Cube the chicken and add it to the pot. Or if you bought pre-diced, good on you. I prefer breasts to thighs because I think they're easier to chop up. Also I've discovered that if you're pulling chicken out of the freezer, you do not have to thaw it 100% it is actually easier to cube if it's half-frozen.
Add cashews. I will be honest, I've never measured this. Somewhere between half a cup and a whole cup? You do not want there to be more cashews than chicken but otherwise go wild. If you only have salted cashews, wash them in a strainer first. They will get soft. That's fine, they'll get super soft in the curry. If you wanted a crunch instead, try peanuts, they hold their form better.
Close the instapot and set it to meat/stew.
Make some rice. Maybe like a cup and a half before cooking? Tbh I've never totally figured out how to match the rice to the curry to make them run out at the same time. The curry makes 4-5 servings if that helps.
In like an hour you will have food.
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god this is a scary fucking time to be in france i dont even keep up with the news much but almost everyday i hear of ppl getting detained for no fucking reason people getting beaten half to death by cops i might know someone whose life is on the line rn bc of these bastards protests are getting more and more violent bc the cops know even if they kill someone they wont see a single consequence and bc the population is more pissed at the gov than i've ever seen this is a goddamn terrifying time
#vent#kind of#i'm getting more scared each protest i go to#i dont do any direct action and also i'm a coward i dont have a fight response just a flight one so i'm not at too much risk#but this shit is too close for fucking comfort#and even if im safe i dont want any more of my comrades to spend a day in the police station for using their fucking rights i dont want to#hear about comrades whose ribs or skull got cracked for fighting for the working class i cant fucking go on afraid everyday that a friend#will get killed#i#this is a really stressful time the french government is becoming a police state and everyones getting burnt out from this shit#god#im about to cry in electricity class tf
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grown ass woman and you didn't even know Rhodesia? Please pray some Paradox Interactive games like eu4 or hoi4. look it up. Please this is depressing if even weird smart girls don't know basic history
hey guys. get a load of this fucking moron.
#mad i'm not your red scare coquette who knows about rhodesia huh. your weird smart girl manic pixie dream girl fantasy#i'm a high school dropout from rural fucking new hampshire in the US you useless fucking piece of shit.#like unfortunately you caught me in a worse mood than usual but get so fucking close right now. get so fucking close#girls who look up countries and terms they havent heard of before to understand posts >>>>> girls who know about rhodesia and send this ask#ooooh i wouldn't be this pissed off if you hadn't called me a weird smart girl like you're trying to pretend you respect me but waow#god fucking forbid i admit what i don't know and that i looked stuff up to learn. which i did on purpose.#because plenty of other people don't know stuff and are afraid to admit that they look stuff up to learn.#and i prefer to be someone that others are comfortable around. who makes other people feel more comfortable being imperfect#that's too much for you i guess.#shouldn't even respond to anons like this but i really want to get some strong hatred for you manifesting#everyone who reads this think really hard about anon dying in a fire#or just stepping on a lot of legos if you're a gentler soul#replies
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Why is Steven Universe #3 Lmaaooo
Undertale is ranked at #17 btw.
It's a goddamn trump-Hetalia-Undertale sandwich.
#embarrassed#yes bronies are number 1 you didn't have to ask#does steven universe actually deserve spot 3 bc i doubt it#actually maybe they do bc of that one incident#that's a close one#too close for comfort#hetalia#Ayyyy we're better than the insurrectionists at least#fuck trump#tier list#fandom#dumb shit#uh oh#hmm#ranking#oof#degeneracy
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