#How to Tell the Difference Between Becket and a Bucket

[thatsbelievable]

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 JOE - "highest of highs, lowest of lows" (2/2)

Joe x Reader 6.1k words hurt/comfort A continuation of this post. Being part of Joe's gang has its ups and downs, chaos being the closest thing you have to a stable routine, every single day full of adventures. Your friends pulled you from the rubble and into the light, you've been with them through thick and thin─and yet, as the years pass, it all grows stale. Repetitive, even. Tiring. A new era approaches. You're not strong enough to hold on and withstand the whirlwind of change, and neither is he. Even so, your faith in the dream Joe has given to all of Haight Street never wavers. You'll find a way out, together. But only if he's willing to move on.

ffffffffffffuck ai scrapers fuck that guy we must thrive and keep creating forever!!! joe undivorce is real now!!!! even if i have to lock my posts for registered users, we must thrive!!!!!! and have fun!!!!! forever!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I'd like to thank everyone in the R99 RP server and the academy for being there during the struggle of joe undivorce, this part went thru 5 or 4 different drafts. at some point it was meant to start with joe out in the rain playing i wanna know what love is on a boombox outside your window but i had to cut stuff so this part wouldnt be 10k words for no reason

Finally, Joe undivorce, sleepy time joe part 2....! as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

That fight weeks ago left a massive rift between the two of you, one that he was certain would simply go away with enough time and space, nothing new. 

You'd eventually come crawling back, letting him back into your life with a not-so-playful smack to the head and a smile attempting to break through your angry façade, no one could stay angry forever after all, it's a matter of waiting. And Joe had no problem standing his ground until the end of time, unyielding to change and yet ready to welcome everyone back under his wing. This is the cycle he's used to; this is how he used to argue with his father, his mother and, later on, with Paulina. Whenever he had a tense conversation with Pioneer or Mercuria about the state of their community and the struggle to maintain their promises. Hell, it even happened with Becket and Hollick whenever their playful banter and bickering turned a little too honest, a little too resentful and raw with the stress of routine.

This, Joe reluctantly admits in his mind, is how he deals with everything─when push comes to shove, he burns and burns until the world around him is reduced to ashes, telling himself that he did what he had to for the greater good. There is simply no other way out, and if there were, he would've tried already. This is how things must be, the shitty hand they were all dealt with. And after that? He brushes it off, returning to that dreadful routine of friendly smiles and casual teasing, waiting for the barren land to heal in silence until someone extends an olive branch, a peace offering, a hug or pat on the back to signal the beginning of yet another cycle. He's always been the victor in these one-sided fights one way or another.

But tonight marks the seventh day of Joe's convoluted plan to beg for your forgiveness.

On the first day, he thought he could simply drop by your apartment and sort everything out, face to face, and restore the status quo before dinner─one of your neighbours threw a bucket of cold water at him after he spent an entire hour ringing your doorbell. On the second day, he made sure to call you every fifteen minutes from the restaurant, from the phonebooth across your house, from Hollick's apartment, from any available phone─the only time you picked up is when Joe intercepted the pizza delivery guy on their way to your apartment, only to have you hang up on him the second you heard his voice. The rest of the week continued to spiral, testing his perseverance and creativity for new ways to see you. Every day, the anxiety lodged in his chest would grow bit by bit.

Years of working away at the forge have made his hands as steady as death and yet, at the aftermath of each and every fight when all he can do is accept the silent treatment, Joe realizes that his heart is much too strong to ignore; impulse after impulse, every pump of blood becoming another series of words he will come to regret, every step takein the wrong direction entirely. It's only then that he realizes that he deserves every bitter look, every missed call and every second apart. Only then, when there is no one else to contend with but himself.

He's not so different from the metals under his care─the proud and stubborn iron, all instinct and zero intentions of bending to anyone else's will. And while he himself can keep repeating this cycle over and over, it's easy to forget that not everyone has the time, energy or patience to match his temper. Paulina was either the first one to fully break under the pressure of his presence, or the only one who had the courage to step away from the scorching fire and allow herself room to heal, to grow without him hindering her.

Just how long can keep on pushing until you make the same choice as her?

It makes him anxious just to think about the possibility of making the same mistakes, of letting you go so easily because of his own pride. He's ran out of options, and so he stands perfectly still in front of your door, arms crossed as he fights the urge to pace across the claustrophobic hallway. Have you even been eating well? It's one thing to avoid him, but to avoid the outside world altogether is too extreme, too upsetting. A small plastic bag hangs from his forearm, holding the leftovers from today's shift at Tang's; the tupperware inside is still warm with your favorite food.

Fuck it, he start pacing around. Heavy footsteps mix with the sound of crinkling plastic, the shuffle of the leather jacket hanging awkwardly off his shoulders, the cracking of the joints in his knuckles as Joe attempts to release some of the tension in his body. The muffled roar of engines outside and people passing by, and now, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder, accompanied by a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

It's something that is difficult enough to describe to other arcanists, let alone any humans─a judgemental voice that blankets over his brain like a dense fog, a feeling across his body that he can never quite pinpoint. The arcanum he's inherited from his father, which allows him to understand the voices, desires and, to an extent, thoughts of various raw materials and metals. It's an essential ability in his line of work, and yet ...

Give it up, Romeo. Today's not your lucky night.

Your fucking doorknob has the balls to give him sass everytime he comes by.

Joe pays it no mind; it has to be an alloy of sorts, perhaps zinc. Out of all metals, they're the only chatty ones with a penchant for gossip, to criticize everything around them with a condescending clink. The steel grating of the fence outside offers no comment, seeing him time and time again standing under the rain for the chance to catch a glimpse of you through the window. The rusty copper of the stairs is always polite, even when he stumbles and falls day after day climbing to your floor in a frenzy. But this damned thing loved to look down on him, the guardian to your current sanctuary. Its message reaches him loud and clear, so easy to decypher.

Are you going to apologize to them?

Joe hesitates, "I want to."

But there is a key difference between wanting and doing. 

He wants to do whatever it takes to make everything go back to normal, to wake up knowing he'll see you joking around with Sputnik at Tang's, that you'll let him drive you around town when none of you have anything better to do than to waste your days away, together. He wants to say sorry, he wants to save the restaurant, he wants his friends to have honest jobs, he wants to stop fighting for scraps. All these things in so little time. But right now, he can't even get that damned door open to see you. He doesn't even know if you're home─much like a misbehaving dog, all Joe seeks is that familiar face to give him permission to come back home.

I want to see you. I want to see you so bad. I want to see you tonight even if it's the last thing I do. 

Perhaps this arcane communication is a two-way street, or maybe he's allowed some of his feelings to slip through and show on his face, because the condescending ringing subsides and silence settles once more. Your doorknob shows some mercy and whispers in his mind.

They're here.

There it is. His lifeline.

Joe calls out your name, banging his fists on the door. He's done this before, not in this exact building nor hallway, but with the exact same desperation in his gestures. The thought crosses his mind for a split second as he rattles the doorknob as if he could open it through will alone.

"Listen! It's been a month already, I get that you're mad at me but, shit, can we talk? You can be as angry as you want, you can scream at me and push me around, dump all the extra work and shifts on me, call me an idiot and a meathead─whatever you wanna do to get it out of your system, I'll take it. Just open the door!" When no reply comes, Joe presses his face to the cold surface of the door, trying to hear for any movement within your apartment. Nothing. "Look, I won't judge if you've been survivin' on coffee and instant ramen, but I got some real food here to fill your stomach. You don't even have to let me inside, I just, ugh, me and the guys haven't heard a peep from ya'! C'mon, they're─I'm worried sick, I gotta know you're doin' alright! I took you for granted, alright? I know that now."

The words pour out of his mouth effortlessly after keeping them down for so long, and soon Joe finds himself shaking. Not out of sadness, but a unique type of excitement─or madness─that comes with admiting defeat; to no one's surprise, this is a brand new feeling for him, never allowing any sort of vulnerability to slip to the surface. The bag slips out of his grip and falls to the floor unceremoniously as he drags both hands across his face, feeling the uncomfortable warm, rugged leather on his skin as a way to ground himself. Once he's done, Joe reels backwards a few steps, trying to control his erratic breathing. One step back, then another, and another.

Until he feels a hand resting on the small of his back, gently keeping him at bay.

"Watch it, J. You're gonna end up squishing me if─" Your voice echoes in the hallway and Joe turns as fast as his body allows it, unsure if this tired and slightly irritated voice scolding him is just a product of his imagination. But it isn't, he sees you right there, so close to him. And in the blink of an eye, you find yourself enveloped by Joe, his arms secured around your shoulders as he leans more and more of his weight over your frame as if trying to squeeze the life out of you. "Woah! Hey, hey! Joe─fuck, J, stop! I'm gonna fall over!"

The Sun could crash into the Earth and Joe would still continue to hold you. Burying his nose in your hair, you feel that tense line of his mouth finally curve into a smile─the first one since your fight─and the vibration in his throat as he laughs, amused by the way you struggle helplessly in his grip. How could he not laugh when you're patting his shoulders, pinching his back and poking at his rubs to push him away? 

"Okay, okay! I get it, whatever!" Your panic is endearing as he hoist you up effortlessly, so that your feet hover a little above the ground and you have no option but to hold on to him. "Put me down, I'm not going anywhere!"

"How do I know you're not gonna just lock me outta your apartment the second I drop you?" The tone is playful, but the question is genuine. That mocking snort of yours reminds Joe that even though he's finally caught you, there's still a long way before he can make up for that fight. And so, he curls into you once more, this time hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't wanna risk it."

"Fine, do whatever you want. Like always."

For a split second, he frowns and the most immediate thought in his brain is to reply with the same amount of contempt─Fine! Maybe he will! Maybe he should just drag you over to Tang's and sit you down at the office until both of you get so tired of arguing that there'll be no other option but to forgive each other─but he doesn't. Joe catches himself. It takes a moment to swallow his pride, but his grip on you weakens and soon enough, you're back on your feet.

Unbeknownst to Joe, a shiver runs through you, instantly missing his warmth; you curse his stupid arcane skill, his stupid furnace of a body and his stupid sad eyes, tugging at your heartstrings. The cold is not the only thing creeping around─an awkward atmosphere settles as all action comes to a halt. When faced with the real deal, neither of you know what to do, nor how to begin. As a man of simplicity, Joe prepares to apologize as soon as possible, until he notices the brown paper bags settled at your feet.

You follow his line of sight and add, "I went grocery shopping. The uh," there is a small pause as you find the proper words. It's not like you owe him anything, let alone the truth. "I ran out of food. So I went and got some."

He tries to peek inside the bag, and you move the bag away with a gentle sweep of your leg, but it's too late. You know he's seen it, judging by the way Joe crosses his arms with a smug attitude that he simply cannot repress. "Instant ramen."

"Instant ramen." You repeat, internally boiling at the fact that he could read you so well despite this month of silence. It's not weird at all, considering the years you two have spent together, but it still hurts your own pride, if only a little. "What about it?"

It's almost too easy to fall back into the usual banter and the flow of conversation as if nothing happened, but Joe taps at his chin as he looks away. He was never any good at acting. "Nothin'! Nothing wrong with that, just wonderin' how you haven't gotten tired of it yet."

"You're not here to give me cooking tips, Joe." There's a defiant tone in your voice that keeps getting to him. Have you always had this effect on him? 

"... What if I am? Is that enough to let me into your apartment and make sure we're cool?" The pause between his words and your reply extends to a worrying degree, Joe feels dizzy waiting for the worst to happen. 

Instead, you offer your own olive branch.

"It's late. So you can sleep over, if you want."

You make a bee-line for the kitchen to put your groceries away, leaving him without a single word. The second he realizes he’s standing in your apartment, Joe can’t help but feel out of place; he’s been here plenty of times, he’s crashed on your sofa as many times as he’s crashed his bike, but this is the one and only time he’s felt unwelcomed. No, that isn’t right─this is the first time he’s felt … 

Like he doesn’t have the right to intrude in your life.

If he looks closely, he can spot the off-colored patch on the wall from the time Hollick punched a hole through during one of the many movie marathons you hosted, back when Paulina and Tang were still around, and everyone else had more time to waste during those lazy afternoons. A horror movie whose title he can't recall, but the memory of everyone's loud screams during a particularly scary scene plays in his head vividly. There's innocuous and superficial scratches in various places, which he recognizes as Becket's habit of fidgeting around with that butterfly knife he earned during a fight in the ring. He does this often everywhere he goes; if one were to look around the restaurant, they'd immediately find out about Becket's favorite spots just by finding these marks. There's also a few gifts from Mercuria, plants, herbs and incense to remedy whatever ails you. Joe can never remember the purpose of each and every bundle, let alone understand the intricacies of meditation and purification, yet he trusts Mercuria to look out for everyone else's health.

Soon, those bright blue eyes are drawn to a curious sight. There is a wall in your apartment full of photos, polaroids of all shapes and sizes, decorated in a myriad of ways to showcase all your adventures in Haight Street with all of the friends you've made. It's easy for him to recognize each and every face given his own connections with the community, but someone is missing. He is missing from the wall, there is an obvious empty spot where his picture with you should be. His heart sinks a little at this.

Before Joe realizes, he's already calling out your name once again. "Hey, what happened to our picture? The one that was just the two of us." 

Peeking his head through the door, he looks for you in that poor excuse of a kitchen, one he can barely fit in without knocking something over. You're holding two mugs in your hands; on the right, he sees your favorite, the one with that pattern he finds horrendous, and on the left, you're holding his favorite mug with the logo that you hate. You usher him out into the living room, silently gesturing for him to stop trying to help carry the warm drinks. 

"I took it off the wall." Joe grimaces, and you roll your eyes as you sit on the sofa, scooting over to the side to make space for him. "I didn't rip it apart or draw over your face, if that's what you're worried about." 

Oh, thank God.

"It's the only good picture we got, you gotta treasure it." The reply he receives is a noncommital hum, and he knows better than to push it.

The plush cushions cave under his weight as he sits down, making you bounce a little on your own side of the couch, shifting you a little closer to him so that your knee touches his. And while you refuse to meet his eyes, you still allow this moment of closeness. If you lose focus, if you get a little too comfortable in his presence, you know that your body will end up tangled up with his in a mess of limbs as if nothing happened, too used to the casual physical touch Joe shares with those close to him. All the hugs, all the manhandling, all the hair ruffling and playful headlocks. You bite your lip, saddened by the bittersweet tint coating all of these memories. What to say now? How to bring up the elephant in the room?

"Eugh," Joe suddenly blows a raspberry, tongue sticking out in mild disgust. He sets down the cup on the table. "Too sweet for me."

"Oh. Wait, that's mine. Sorry, must've─" You reach out to switch the drinks, but he slides it to the side just out of your reach. A shit-eating grin is plastered all over his face, a knowing grin that twists your insides into a knot. "Huh?" 

This faux pas of yours proves to be the perfect opening for his usual antics. Joe leans closer to you, tilting his head towards the mug in your hands; it's your favorite color, with a simple drawing of your favorite animal scattered about. He always loves to poke fun at you for it, calling you childish and immature to see that angry pout in your face. "That one's mine, then?" You nod and he chuckles.

"Dude, what is it?"

"It's not like you to overlook small details, y'know? Got the keenest eye in all of Haight Street. Hell, you can spot a liar from a mile away." One of his fingers traces the rim of the mug in front of him, that sweet drink made just to your liking, feeling every little chip and crevice, a well-loved mug meant for him. It's colored in bright orange with a big, bold font reading 'Too Hot for You' and a small drawing of a steaming cup of coffee. You hate this mug with a passion, and yet you've always taken care of it for him. "Guess you missed me as much as I missed you."

He should've noticed before; you had been using his mug in his absence, you covered his face in every single picture in your house, you were wearing one of his old shirts that he forgot at your place and never bothered asking for again, the faint music coming from the radio in your kitchen is playing one of his favorite stations... It puts Joe's heart at ease to know that he's been on your mind as much as you've been on his these past few weeks. You weren't packing your bags to leave everything behind, you missed him out of all people. He's always been dense, but now that he's taking his time paying attention to you and all the color you add to his life, he finds it difficult to stop himself from smiling. 

"Now, aren't you getting ahead of yourself? I wasn't the one who showed up at three in the morning half-drunk, holding up a boombox to play love songs until the neighbours called the cops, was I?"

"Those are some big words for someone who hid around the market stalls, thinking I wouldn't see their little face peek out from the apples and oranges."

"They were bananas." You correct him. "But what about you today, huh? Did you know I was here or were you just hoping that I was just to listen to that little speech?"

"If I tell you, it'll take away all the mystery."

"Joe."

"Okay, okay, fine! Your doorknob ratted ya' out."

“My fucking doorknob ?” He has to stop himself from bursting out laughing at your expression. All he can do is nod as you curse his arcanist heritage; even though it wasn’t as flashy as others’, it still came in handy to hear the voices of metals. “I hate that arcanum of yours─what’s next, my toaster?” 

Joe watches as you sink back into the sofa, groaning into your palms. With the awkward tension from before gone, there’s no need to walk on eggshells anymore; he leans backwards as well, finding a comfortable position to lay on his side. After a minute or so, you’re done with your little temper tantrum and tilt your head to meet his eyes for the first time─he smiles and rests his hand on the empty space between your bodies, atop the plush cushions with his palm open, as if asking you for something. 

"Just so you know, the little guy put up quite the fight. I don't think it likes me."

“Alright, fine. You said you wanted to make sure we’re cool, so out with it then. I’m all ears.” Your tone is not quite as light nor playful as he hoped, but not as severe either. He feels safe enough to laugh it off. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your own hand approaching his, clenched into a fist but still nearby. 

"Where do I even start?" A strained chuckle comes out of him. There is something daunting about meeting your eyes as he delivers yet another speech─hopefully one less rushed and emotional than the one before─and so, Joe opts to look anywhere else; the curve of your lips and your jaw. His gaze moves lower to your neck and collarbone. The way your body folds and squishes as it presses against the couch, as if you were listening to a bedtime story. Your undivided attention, he decides, is daunting. He feels a tug, it's your pointer finger intertwined with his own, encouraging him, and this allows him to continue. "With ... sorry, I guess? I mean, first day I dropped by, I was ready to pick up where we left off and argue a lil' bit more before making up. Doesn't matter now, though. But ... realizing I didn't know how you were holdin' up in here was the worst. I assumed you'd be right there, face smushed against the window, makin' faces at me, cursin' me to hell and back. Maybe even hoping I'd mess up a few orders at Tang's."

Your nimble fingers mess with the cuff of his gloves as you speak, undoing the buttons and sliding the piece of fabric off. Compared to his own skin, yours is so much colder. On instinct, the moment you’re within reach, he takes a hold of your hand, if only to warm you up a little. When you scoot a little closer, his breath is caught up in his throat. "You got one thing right at least; I did cheer when I saw you drop that coffee all over that poor guy. And then ... I got mad, you kept getting all the orders wrong.

“You could’ve just dropped by for your shift.”

“You could’ve just gotten better at waiting tables.”  

“Hey, I did get better! It was a stressful week without you around, alright?” When your grip on him tightens, Joe raises your hand up to his face, if only to nuzzle his cheek alongside your skin. Once, twice. In soothing circles. This time, you’re the one staring in quiet wonder, not daring to make a noise and break the moment. Chapped lips press against your knuckles, one by one, as he holds onto you like his life depends on it.

"Don't even remember when it happened, but I was miserable in bed. Didn't feel like going out, didn't feel like doing anything at all─what's the point if the crew wasn't together? I thought about what you said, the shit I said. We were way over the line, man. That's not how I wanna talk to you guys." 

"That's how you always talked to us, J." A deep cut, you weren't holding back any punches today. "Took you long to realize, but I'm glad you got there in the end."

"Ugh. My mom raised me to be better than that. It's just ... it just comes out, no warning. The second it's out of my hands, it's as if ... Ah, hell." He draws circles on your skin with his thumb, trying to calm himself down. "It's like ... If I don't have a good grasp back at the forge, if my hand slips or trembles, if I lose focus for one second, it's over. Except it's not so bad in the forge, all I get is a little scare or a little burn, but out there? Someone else gets hurt 'cause of me. Someone goes missing c'ause of me. And that scares the crap outta me."

For once, he tilts his head to look at you with a furrowed brow. The unspoken words linger in the air─What if it was you, what if it was Mercuria, or Pioneer. Or Becket and Hollick. Or any of the orphaned kids that depend on him for a single meal a day, or the homeless that so easily get swept under the rug in a system that wants nothing to do with them? The fact that he's still insisting on being the one to carry all of Haight Street on his back is frustrating, but you choose to let him finish. It's rare enough to see Joe admit he's scared of something, even rarer to see him talk at length about what goes on behind that heroic façade.

"It's fine if you guys get angry at me, it's easier to deal with than have any of y'all elbows deep into trouble with the cops or the Chamber of Commerce. 'Cause we're all a family, yeah? Family's argue all the time, doesn't mean they care any less about each other. I mean, you still know I care a lot, right? Even after our fight?"

How can you answer that? How can you find the words to let him know that no, you don't know. You didn't know. That you don't think families should argue like this on the daily, that whatever happened that day was an unfortunate accident of built up, pent up stress, but still something that left you wondering night after night if you would ever feel the same as before, going about your day while knowing how little regard Joe had for you. Right now, you're contending with almost two decades worth of experiences that shaped Joe into the man he is today, all the things he had to learn on his own against your own life lessons and your own experience. Noticing the contrast between the two of you is fun when it's about the little things; you run cold, he runs hot. He prefers salty, you prefer sweet. You're the brains, he's the muscle. But inspecting the fundamental differences this close makes you freeze in place.

Fear seizes your heart─what if this is the reason you two never see eye to eye, what if this is what eventually breaks the bond you share? So incompatible, too alien to understand one another and find common ground.

Joe squeezes your hand. Your palm rests so nicely in his, your fingers resting in the space between his, pressing against pronounced knuckles and veins. The hands that have held you time and time again with no hesitation at all.

"C'mon, don't leave me hanging. Say something, please?" 

You know he's not lying, because you can feel the thin coat of sweat on his skin; Joe's hands get clammy when he gets nervous, but no one notices because he's usually always sweating, either from running errands or being locked in his personal sanctuary, fighting fire and brimstone. You look at him through brand new lenses, as if this were the first time you truly saw him.

"I ..." You swallow the lump formed in your throat. He's been honest, he's here to make amends. It's only fair that you meet him halfway with your own honesty. "You keep saying that you never mean the things you say when we fight, but I do. It was fucked up to bring up Polly─Paulina─but you wouldn't have listened to me if I hadn't! It's─fuck, it's ... You can't say that you care, and then turn around and say all that shit to us─to me─every time thing's go bad. Maybe you can brush it off, but I can't! I don't care if I get angry at some rich suit waltzing into the restaurant, they mean nothing to me. But you?! I don't want to be angry at you all the time. You'd rather hurt us yourself than let something or someone else do that? How is that fair for anyone?!" 

It takes you a moment to realize that you're sitting as upright as your body allows it, driven by the tension in your muscles. Joe has let go of your hand at some point, you don't know when, but now, he reaches towards you once more. It takes you another moment to realize he's gently wiping away the hot, angry tears running down your face. Months of feelings are catching up to you now, and now that you know you're crying, it's hard to stop the broken sobs and the sniffling and the aggressive wiping, a futile attempt at trying to keep your face dry. Joe doesn't wait. He hugs you; one arm craddling your head, gently petting you, while the other supports your waist as you reluctantly find a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry, I'm a big, dumb and dense idiot, huh?" a gravelly voice reaches your ears. The way Joe attempts to stand strong for you, to continue those habits of his even as his voice trembles just as much as yours doesn't go unnoticed. 

"And stubborn," you manage to croak out in-between hiccups.

"A big, dumb, dense and stubborn idiot." He repeats softly.

"Don't you fucking dare patronize me now, J." The threatening tone in your voice is drowned out by your tears and sobs, but it still earns a solemn nod from him. This is new. "I'm serious. You have to take me and everyone else seriously, instead of running off to do it all yourself!"

"R-right. Yeah, okay. I'll─"

Your head shoots up from its hiding place safely tucked under his chin. "Promise me, J. You say you wanna do better, then start with this. The next time you feel the itch to start a fight with us over something stupid, just talk to me─hell, talk to anyone you want. Just don't go do it all on your own. Promise." 

"...One condition; you promise me you'll never run out on me like that ever again. No silent treatment, no avoiding each other for weeks. Tell me to fuck off if you have to, kick me out of the room, but don't cut me out of your life like that without a warning." Joe pauses as he searches for something in your eyes, a hint of helplessness that you've never seen before across his features. "Please."

This is a compromise both of you are willing to take. Resting your forehead against his, you close your eyes and take a deep breath to bask in a quiet moment of understanding─this is how it should be, a fight followed by a reconciliation, a catharsis, a proper ending to know take the next step on the same page. For a moment, you feel his stare and a hint of nervousness as Joe treads through unknown waters, but then he closes his eyes as well.

"Deal." You say.

"Good." Slowly, with you still in his arms, Joe leans backwards until he's laying on the lousy, creaking sofa with you secured atop of him.

His leather jacket lays forgotten on the floor, as do the two mugs by the table, cold and stale. Sirens blare outside on the streets, dealing with the aftermath of parties and bar fights, and cars keep going back and forth the road. But neither of you could care less about such details. All you can concentrate now is the pleasing and gentle movement of Joe's chest as it rises and falls with each and every breath, your head resting gently on top, hearing the tempo of his heartbeat slow down little by little. And all Joe can concentrate now is your weight on him, your full presence after weeks of solitude. Your hair tickles him here and there, and your legs move about restlessly, bumping against his own sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose as a warning to stop taking up so much space.

"Did you do anything about the restaurant while I was gone? We still need funds." Your voice suddenly breaks up the silence, and Joe follows with a long groan. Part of you brings it up just to test the waters, to start yet another playful back and forth. It's hardly an appropriate time to ask him of any serious business, after all. You too want to bask in his company. "You didn't, did you?"

"And you say that I'm stubborn?" At this, you pinch his cheeks and pull hard enough to sting, just a little. "I did! I did, ow! Pioneer's got us covered. But if you wanna talk business, you'll have to come to work tomorrow with me, let everyone know we're back together and stronger than ever, yeah? Tonight we chill, we've earned it."

His joy is palpable and a little suffocating as he squeezes you as tightly as he can. You can feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. How can he not want to squish you until you pop? When you least expect it, Joe shifts to his side, trapping you between his frame and the backrest of the sofa. In such a reduced space, you have no option but to wrap your arms around his waist, looking up at him with feigned indignation.

"You know I have a perfectly decent bed, right? We can just sleep there."

"And let you kick me while you sleep?" Joe yawns, exhaustion catching up to him. "Nah, this is much better."

"And If I have to get up to drink or go to the bathroom?"

"Can't hear you. I'm sleepin' now. And you should too." 

You chuckle and move to kiss his chin, then his neck, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mouth turn into a fine line, resisting the urge to indulge you and keep bothering each other until the sun rises, but you're already satisfied. All that's left is closing your eyes and allow his breathing to lull you to sleep.

"Night, pipsqueak."

"Night, dummy."

[laketaj24]

The Dane in Wessex

Authors Note: I am for certain nervous about posting this lol. I hope you enjoy, if you know me on here I can’t just write a one shot, it’s unheard of and not going to happen! The Last Kingdom Taglist is open! If I missed you and you are interested please say so below and I will add you!

Pairings: Reader X Finan

Warnings: none. (I’m slow burning you 😂)

Training Aethelfaed had been one of the greatest successes of your life, not only had it gotten you into the good graces of the King, but it had led to the decent living quarters near the heart of Winchester. It did not appease the Queen and you did your best to remain out of her sight. 

The small cottage wasn’t much but it was home. You’d taken to the likes of it. The western wall held your kitchen, the long wooden table and three stools just in case any of your few friends invited themselves. The hearth of the fireplace warmed your food as well as your home on the cold winter nights and the eastern wall held your bed. You hung a cross, for the good graces of Father Beocca but the Wooden statue of Odin was hidden beneath your bed and the Thor’s hammer was hidden beneath your clothes. Their god just wasn’t for you.

The people of Wessex feared you, your father Bloodaxe had a renowned reputation both among the Saxons and the Danes. It was the only thing that kept the vile mouth Christians from an outright attack on you, even though you were under the King’s protection. But with the withering health of Alfred the Great you were uncertain on how long the peaceful days would last in Wessex.

“Heathen.” He called as you peaked your head out of the door. You grabbed the wooden becket walking towards the gates of Winchester. If Steapa was the guard there, the brutish looking Saxon would halt before he hit the corner, if not he would follow you as he did before all the way to the orchard.

You hop over the puddle to the alehouse. To no surprise Lord Uhtred and his men are there.

“You heard me HEATHEN, leave! There is no place for you here! This city is God’s city! And you are of the devil!” His finger’s dig into your shoulder.

You whip around, and the move comes as nature. Your foot swings under his leg, knocking him off balance and he lands in the puddle you’d just avoided making a splash of the mud. “That is where pigs like you belong,” You pause. “On your ass and in the mud.” You spit, and the laughter erupts from the nearby table.

“Little Bloodaxe.” Uhtred smiles.

“Traitor.” You smile in return.

“Little Traitor.” He twiddles the birch bark before placing it back between his teeth.

“Good day Y/N,” Finan’s grin is infectious. He waves at you looking up from his food.

“What are you staring at Irishman?”

“Well, there is nothing fairer than a shieldmaiden knocking someone on their ass.” He claps his hands together standing from the table nudging Osferth and Sihtric as he takes his leave. “Where are you going?”

“I was not aware that I had to report to Finan the Philanderer before leaving the walls of Winchester.” You continue to stroll forward heading down the muddied streets to the stonewall. Steapa was a good guy, even though you’d heard him call you a few names beneath his breath once or twice. “I am to the orchard! And to see the abbess.” You wave, and he shoots you a smile.

“Good day to you, Y/N.”

The doors swing open and you toss the hood over your head and cloak the axes in your bucket. Air smelled differently outside the gates of the city, less of shit and more of home. Your heart ached for Denmark at times, even if there seemed to be nothing left there for you.

You head out into the woods listening to the surroundings, taking everything in around you. The crunch of the foliage beneath your feet and the sway of the branches all calmed the wild call in your soul. “I hear you Freya.” You smile.

“The name is Finan actually.” He says peeping out from behind one of the trees.

You unsheathe your sword and he mirrors your act taking his stance in front of you. “Why are you following me? Tell the Ragnarsson I do not need a tail.”

“I am here because I seen your axes in the bucket.” He shrugged. “Either you were going to steal an entire apple tree or you were lying.” He laughs. “What are you up to, Eriksdottir.”

“What I am up to is none of your concern, Finan.” You tug the two strings untying the green cloak allowing it to fall to ground. Your grandfather, Harald Finehair had taught you many things. One of them was the art of throwing axes. You grab the wooden handle of the axe tossing it in the air for a twirl once and then across the woods into the tree beside Finan. He didn’t move, not even a flinch. He held his poise with wide eyes and a smile. “Why did you follow me?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I find the Dane of Wessex to be mesmerizing?”

“Uhtred has bed many, I am sure if you confess your love and affection to him, he will be open to it. We Danes are an open people.”

“Oh, me god.” He laughs throwing his head back. “He knows I love him, but I wouldn’t fuck him, have you seen the bastard?”

“Then I am uncertain of why you have followed me out here?”

“You are a beauty. It was all I wanted,” he is interrupted by the crack of branches and chatter nearby. “Down.” He whispers.

It was never in your nature to hide, nor was it to take directions. You walk closer to him taking your axes from the wood and his hand is around your wrist as he points to the familiar face from earlier. The Saxon had followed you outside the walls with friends, apparently.

“The fastest way back to Winchester is by creek, but they are for certain to see us. How quick are you, YN?”

“Quicker than you, Irish man.” You shoot a smile, but in your eyes, there is a certain worry. The worry wasn’t that they would catch you, it was that they would catch you and you would kill them so close to the walls of the city and because you are Dane it would end with the axe. You scoop up your bucket and Finan grabs your cloak.

“Don’t look back.” Finan says giving you a small touch on the shoulder.

You two start through the woods hopping over the fallen trees, stumps and barely missing the slight holes. You were not sure why Finan was so loyal to you, but you accepted it willingly.

“Stop helping the heathen, you Irish trash!” he yells through cupped hands gaining a clear advantage as you two make it to the creek.

Finan tosses your bucket over and then allowed you to pass. “Say that to my face, you pig faced arse.”

You tug him over and you both make it across the creek yelling to Steapa to open the gates.

The doors to your home area friendly site to the both of you as you catch your breath. Finan stands turning to Osferth whose waved him over. “I am called my lady.”

Your heart won’t slow but you don’t care really as your lips your crash into his and you are then unable to tell his heartbeat from yours. You pull your lips from his gasping with your hands resting on his chest.  “Are you sure you can’t stay for just one cup of ale?”

“I’ll stay for as many as you pour Y/N.”

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