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violetflowerswrites · 7 months

Text

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Three Here - “I’ll Be Here”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

freakin

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

#swat #swat cbs #cbs swat #jim street #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street smut #jim street x reader #street x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat smut

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dancingtotuyo · 4 months

Text

drabble. love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: some days, the fear still lingers.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, hurt & comfort

Notes: yeah I saw that picture too and it sparked a bunch of inspiration.

Words: 787

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Peace is hard to come by in this world. Even within the protected walls of Jackson, it alludes you with ease, but you manage to find small pockets of it. As your life has changed, as you’ve grown these past couple of years, it’s easier to come by. Joel’s hand in yours on your evening walks. Mornings spent in his arms. Pancake breakfasts with your kids. Ellie’s continued fascination with everything new. The rise and fall of Carter’s chest as he sleeps, limbs spread like a starfish. Willa’s head on your chest. Joel’s soft snores. It’s so easy now, lulling you into a false sense of security.

It hits you without warning from time to time, the fear of losing everything again. You can be standing in the kitchen laughing at a joke and that little voice echoes that it’s only a matter of time before the hundredth shoe of your life drops. Sometimes you can push it away, diving back into the moment, but not always.

Joel seems to sense it if he’s around, the tense of your shoulders, the glaze of your eyes, and the way you still. That’s what happens tonight with Carter chatting on at the kitchen table as he colors and Willa cooing contently as she plays with her newly discovered hands in a laundry basket as you chop vegetables.

Joel’s hand covers yours, guiding you to safely set the knife down. His callused finger traces your hairline from forehead to your ear. “What do you need, Sweetheart?”

You feel his warmth so close, yet giving you the space you need. Your mouth’s gone dry. You repeat the words in your head. You need to get outside. You need to move. You need to be alone. “Walk,” is all you manage to get out.

“Alone?”

“Yeah…”

“Go. I’ve got things covered here.”

You nod, moving instantly toward the front door. You hear Carter ask where you’re going but you feel far removed from it all.

Only once you’re at the farthest point from the houses, at the edge of the cattle fields do you slump to the ground, surrendering to the panic in your body. Tears race down your cheeks, chest tightening with each breath as you ride it out.

The sun is set when you enter your home. Carter is practicing his reading on the couch. He offers you a smile and a hug when you come in. Your body is exhausted, but it helps soothe you.

“Daddy took Willa upstairs.”

You smile, running your hand over his head and kissing his cheek. “Thank you, buddy.”

He beams at you before returning to his spot on the couch. You’re halfway up the stairs when Joel’s singing greets you, pulling you in like the ocean tide. The room is dim, the only light coming from the open door.

Joel sits in the rocking chair, his head tipped back against the headrest and eyes close. Willa sleeps soundly against his shoulder as he continues to sing a slowed, softer version of Fleetwood Mac’s Monday Morning. You lean against the door frame, watching them in this quiet moment. You’re not sure when he decided that would be the best lullaby for your infant, but oddly enough, it works.

You’ve never been able to track down a copy of the band’s self-titled album, and it tugs at your heart to hear it after two decades. Then, Joel makes it to those last few lines of the chorus.

I don’t mind. I’ll be there if you want me to. No one else that could ever do.

His voice is so soft, a deep baritone that coats you in warmth everytime you hear it. Accompanied by the slow creaks of the rocker, it tugs you further into the room, closer to him.

Got to get some peace on my mind.

You rest your palm on his shoulder. Joel’s eyes flutter open slowly as if he was singing himself to sleep. He offers you an easy smile, free hand wrapping around you, settling against the side of your lower hip. He shifts Willa up on his shoulder more, making room as you slide into his lap, nuzzling into his opposite shoulder. Your legs rest over the arm of the rocker. You are positive you’re cutting off circulation in Joel’s legs, but he never complains.

You lay a hand over Willa’s back. Joel kisses your forehead as he starts to rock again. The slow creak of the floorboards start again as he sings the chorus over, but this time it feels like he’s singing to you.

I’ll be there if you want me to.

No one else that could ever do.

Got to get some peace on my mind.

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#woman (joel miller)#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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kinglazrus · 1 year

Text

The Moment it Breaks

AO3 | FFN

Summary: He knew his identity couldn't stay a secret forever. Eventually, someone would find out. But he always thought it would be on his terms. Instead, that chance is ripped away from him in the middle of a ghost fight, and now all of Amity Park knows the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

After a harrowing fight with Phantom that they both limped away from, Tucker needs his friends more than ever. If only Danny would answer the phone.

AU where Vlad sought out Tucker as his teenage ghost hunter instead of Valerie.

Word count: 4340

—

Phantom lunged with teeth bared and claws outstretched—and was met with a cannon to his chest. Lost in his mindless pursuit, he did not react or even attempt to push the cannon away. The barrel dug into his gut as his body curved over it, the light within smothered against his jumpsuit.

The cannon fired.

The street exploded into light as Phantom took the blast at point-blank range. It tossed his body across the street, slamming him into a parked truck, where the door crumpled and held him like a jagged maw biting down on its prey. A moment passed before he phased through the twisted metal and collapsed onto the street. Ectoplasm dripped from his ears, nose, and stomach, hissing against the pavement.

There was more green than black on his suit.

Across the street, the Tech Hunter stood with his arm raised, his left gauntlet unfurled into a cannon. His arm flagged under the weight but did not drop. Violet light still glowed within the barrel, gathering for another shot.

Although he was too far away to hear, the dancing line on his mouthpiece showed he was speaking.

It was impossible to tell if Phantom could hear Tech. The ghost's eyes were bright but unfocused. One arm pressed against his side while the other struggled to hold him up.

Everyone knows that ghosts don't breathe, but it looks like he had been gasping, his mouth gaping as he struggled to catch a breath he could never take.

Tech limped forward. Light rippled across his suit, or seemed to, as he stepped under a streetlamp. The nanobots surging over his body drilled into the pavement as he braced his cannon arm with his other hand, readying for the next shot.

Phantom jerked his head up, eyes completely white.

Tech fired. In that instant, Phantom unleashed twin beams of ectoplasm from his eyes. The beams tore through the street as Phantom raised his eyes to Tech, and the attacks met.

Night turned into day as ectoplasm swept across the street. A horrible screech sounded from within the blaze as it flung the two silhouettes aside like limp dolls.

The light was gone as quickly as it came, letting the night sweep back in just as Tech hit the pavement, the visor on his mask shattering as his head bounced off the curb.

No one moved. Phantom lay in a puddle of ectoplasm, and Tech sprawled in the middle of the street.

The seconds ticked by.

Tech stirred first, lifting his head as he struggled to rise. The crack in his visor exposed the face of Tucker Foley.

“It’s not too late,” Tucker's dad says.

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and even longer for Tucker to drag himself back to the present. He pauses the video he had been watching on his phone, freezing it on a close-up of his battered face. Although the footage is somewhat out of focus, his teal eyes are unmistakable. If Tucker's timeline is correct, the video had only been up for ten minutes before someone mentioned his name. By morning, everyone had known the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

He closes the video—there's no point watching the rest when he already lived it—and looks at his dad in the driver's seat.

“You can wait in the truck while I talk to Mr. Lancer, and then we can go home,” Maurice suggests. “Maybe stop at the Nasty Burger on the way. No harm in missing a Monday.”

Tucker gasps. “But then I’d miss out on the love of my adoring fans!” His voice softens as he continues. “Besides, I already told Sam I’d be there.”

“And Danny?” Maurice glances away from the road long enough to catch his eye.

Tucker’s gaze drops back to his phone. Notifications had been pouring in all weekend, setting his phone off so often that he had to turn off his alerts to get a few seconds of peace. But things have settled down, and only one message waits for him now. Sent from Sam at the start of second period that morning, her first class with Danny.

AWOL again. Have you heard from him yet?

“No,” Tucker says, texting Sam the same thing before putting his phone in his pocket. No texts. No calls. Tucker’s whole world turned on its head, and everyone has had something to say about it. Everyone except his best friend.

He feels his dad’s stare but refuses to meet it, glaring at the parking lot as they pull in. He doesn’t want to see the expression on his dad’s face, whether it’s pity or worry. After a year of dealing with this new Danny, Tucker has grown used to the silent treatment. But he had hoped something this big would make things different. Apparently not.

Tucker opens the passenger door and stands up slowly. Although his concussion is minor, his head spins when he moves too quickly. He braces himself against the truck while lowering to sit on the door frame before sliding to the ground, mindful of his injured ankle.

Gravel crunches under the boot he has to wear for the next three weeks.

“Crutches,” his dad reminds him, not that Tucker would have forgotten. He grabs them from the back seat and fixes them under his arms.

He makes his way to the front doors slowly. Since he has never sprained an ankle before, he’s unsteady on the crutches. The doctor said he would get used to the crutches and that he should keep off his right ankle as much as possible.

The temptation to sprint the rest of the way to the door is still there. Has the sidewalk from the parking lot to the front door always been this long? Ironically, the reason Tucker wants to make a mad dash for the entrance is the same thing keeping him from trying it—rows of classroom windows looking out over the front lawn.

The lunch bell won’t have rung quite yet, which means plenty of antsy students looking outside as they stave off the last boring minutes of class before they can finally eat. Tucker makes the mistake of glancing up once and making eye contact with a girl on the second floor. She stares at him, her mouth falling open.

Tucker tosses her a brilliant smile before hobbling faster, catching up to his dad just as he opens the door.

The secretary is on the phone when they enter the main office, but Lancer intercepts them before Tucker and his father can sit down to wait.

“Ah, Mr. Foley! Thank you for coming in. Tucker, I hope you’re feeling well,” Lancer says.

Tucker gives Lancer an incredulous look. What a dumb question. He knows Lancer saw the video, along with everyone else in Amity. He saw the fight. Can see the crutches and the bruises. He already knows the answer.

Tucker humours him with a shrug but offers nothing further.

“You wanted to talk about Tucker’s grades?” Maurice asks.

Lancer's stare lingers on Tucker a second longer before switching to Maurice. “Almost right. After the, um, revelation, I went through our records. Tucker’s grades started dropping when he began ghost hunting, and I doubt that's a coincidence.”

“I don’t choose when ghosts attack,” Tucker says.

“Of course that's not your fault; you were doing this city a great service. But school is still important, and I'd like to help Tucker keep up. We have a student advisor program that could be useful.”

“What does it entail?” Maurice asks.

A tugging draws Tucker's attention away from the conversation, and he tunes out his dad and Lancer's voices. The feeling comes from behind him.

The visitor chairs calling my name, Tucker jokes. Despite his doctor's warnings, he may have put some weight on his ankle in his rush to get inside, and now it throbs through the boot. Plus, leaning on the crutches has started hurting his arms.

He turns away from the desk and looks at the three chairs against the wall.

The furthest is occupied. Tucker hadn't even noticed when they came in, but the office door hadn't opened again since they arrived, so the kid must have been there the whole time. They look more like a lump than a person, swathed in a hoodie three times their size, clutching a backpack that has seen better days.

Tucker recognizes that backpack, which would look more at home in a trash can. That orange and green logo stamped on the hoodie sleeve. That unruly fringe of hair splaying out from the hood.

“Danny?”

Tucker’s best friend flinches.

That tug again, harder this time, pulling Tucker forward half a step.

Danny's arms, lost in the sleeves of his father's old hoodie, curl tighter around his stomach as Tucker moves. No wonder Tucker had not recognized him at first glance. Jack's sweater smothers Danny, and the way he curls around himself with his head ducked… It's no surprise that Tucker called out first. That's how it always is, now.

He pushes down the flutter of anxiety and drops into the chair closest to the door, leaning his crutches against the wall. The space between them feels like a canyon. For months, Tucker has stood on one side, shouting across the chasm, while Danny watches from the other. How many bridges has he built trying to cross that gap? How many times has he reached out to nothing but open air?

How many times has Danny bothered to answer him?

As if sensing Tucker's thoughts, Danny lifts his head, exposing pale cheeks and sleep-starved eyes.

Tucker looks again at Danny’s arms around his stomach and asks, “Sick?” Danny's go-to excuse, although it appears true this time.

Danny doesn’t answer right away. His eyes lock on the golden band around Tucker’s throat. Tucker barely notices the choker these days, or the longer chain accompanying it, but it's hard to ignore when Danny stares. He becomes aware of how the choker shifts—so unlike the solid metal band the nanobots parade as—when he swallows.

The matching bracelets on his wrists and ankles constrict as the nanobots spread, reacting to his quickening pulse. He knows better than to try and will them down. Sometimes, he thinks his suit has a mind of its own and trying to fight it only makes his heart beat faster, makes the suit more reactive.

“Something like that,” Danny says.

“And without a note,” the secretary adds.

Danny sinks in his chair, eyes lowered.

Lancer stops talking mid-sentence. He turns, surprise lighting his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed Danny before.

Tucker realizes that he hadn't. Like him, Lancer had not clocked the quiet observer in the corner.

“Again? You don't have a note excusing your absence this morning?” Lancer asks.

Danny shakes his head.

“Can you contact your parents for us and have them give a verbal notice?”

“I’ve been trying,” the secretary cuts in. She sets the phone down on the receiver. “Four times, no answer. I can’t leave a message, either, since their voicemail is still full.”

Tucker is willing to bet his PDA that all the messages taking up the Fentons’ voicemail are from the school. Anyone who knows them knows calling the house is a useless endeavour. Danny could offer up his parents' cell phone numbers, but his lips stay sealed.

Tucker could give Lancer their numbers. Or Maurice could. Tucker has reasons for not offering the phone numbers up—frustration being the biggest among them—but his dad…

Maurice watches in contemplative silence.

Lancer sighs. “Daniel, you know what we talked about.”

“I wasn’t skipping!” Danny makes a move forward but abandons it with a sharp hiss. “I didn’t feel good, so I overslept on accident, honest.”

“I want to believe you, but you don’t have a note, and we can’t reach your parents. We can’t ignore this problem.”

“Please, I’ve been trying.”

“You’ve been late nearly every day this month, gone missing from class three times last week, and have sixteen absent days without explanation from the beginning of the year. Not to mention your streak of late or incomplete assignments and failing grades.” Lancer recites each offence as if reading off a grocery list. He could have said “bag of flour” instead of “failing grades,” and it wouldn’t have sounded out of place.

Danny's face crumples as Lancer speaks, and his eyes water. Although, judging by how he grips his side, Lancer's words may not be the only thing causing him pain.

Tucker wonders if he should speak up. A good friend would, and Tucker is a good friend, but something holds him back. Part of him wishes Lancer had taken Danny into his office to have the conversation in private, so that he didn't have to watch this. He may be annoyed with Danny, but he doesn't enjoy hearing Lancer scold his best friend.

But another part of him, much smaller yet big enough to keep him quiet, thrums with satisfaction because someone is finally calling Danny out.

“Please.” Danny's voice cracks. “I swear it's not on purpose.”

Then stop doing it, a voice hisses in Tucker's mind.

“Now, hold on.” As Maurice steps between Lancer and Danny, the growing sneer vanishes from Tucker's face. “Can we talk about this? I might not be Danny’s parent, but I am one of his emergency contacts.”

“Only a guardian can provide an absence note,” Lancer says.

“I know, but this conversation is for an adult, not a fourteen-year-old. What kind of punishment are we looking at?”

“In-school suspension at the least, but we need to consider Danny’s record. Property damage—”

“I stopped dropping beakers,” Danny mumbles.

Lancer glares at Danny for the interruption. “Property damage, and bringing questionable substances to school. Two months ago, we had to confiscate a lip… balm?”

“Lipstick.”

“Thank you, Daniel. We confiscated a lipstick blaster. He fired it at a student as revenge for a prank.”

“Ghost weapons don’t hurt regular people. Much,” Danny says.

“And we were lenient enough not to suspend you then since Mr. Baxter wasn’t injured, but it’s concerning behaviour. Taking that into consideration, we’re now looking at a three-day suspension.”

“I don’t see how taking a student out of school will help when they’re struggling to stay in,” Maurice says. “I’ve known Danny his whole life. He's a good kid, and someone should speak up for him. Can we at least talk about this?”

Lancer purses his lips. “Daniel, are you comfortable with me talking to Mr. Foley about this?”

That’s funny, since Lancer already recited Danny’s record from memory without care.

Danny stays silent, stare fixed on the carpet, hands trembling in his lap. The bell for lunch goes off, ringing right outside the door, but he doesn't move.

“Dude.” Tucker nudges Danny's foot with his own.

Danny's leg jerks, pulling out of reach, and he finally looks up. “Um. Sure. Yeah.”

Lancer nods. “Ms. Nichols, could you go to the guidance counsellor and get a packet on the student advisor program? I’d like Tucker to read it over. Mr. Foley, if you’d come with me.”

Tucker’s dad casts Danny a worried glance before disappearing into Lancer’s adjoining office. The secretary steps out a moment later, leaving Tucker and Danny alone. By that time, Danny is back to staring at the carpet. His trembling worsens, and he lowers his head to his knees.

“Hey, man. It'll be okay. A few days isn’t so bad.” Tucker pats Danny's shoulder, but he flinches again. Tucker's hand hovers in the air before pulling back. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in days, and this is how Danny acts. No, “I’m glad you’re not dead” or, “Hey, how’s your leg?” If Tucker hadn’t noticed Danny, would he have said anything?

No. Tucker knows he wouldn't have.

Anger sparks in his chest. He tries to swallow it, but it leaks into his voice. “I'm surprised you care this much. It's a free pass to skip more school.”

“I can't afford to miss any more school.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

Danny glares at Tucker. “What does that mean?”

In the back of his mind, Tucker knows he should stop talking. A few words in, and the conversation is turning sour already. There’s a bitterness growing between them that wasn’t there before. It shadows Danny's gaze and turns the spark in Tucker’s chest to a blaze.

He doesn’t think before he says, “I know your grades are bad, but I didn't realize you were actually stupid.”

Danny reels back. Tucker is nowhere near him, but his words are enough of a slap in the face. Tucker regrets them the second they leave his mouth. It's too far. Too close to Danny's greatest insecurity. He knows it was an asshole thing to say, but he keeps talking.

“It's hard to believe you care when you're never here.”

“You don't understand.”

“It doesn't sound that complicated. Stop skipping class, and Lancer won't suspend you. Simple.?

“I have—there are things I have to do, okay? You don't—” Danny bites down on his words. His gaze drops to Tucker's choker. “You should get it.”

Tucker puts a hand on his throat. The collar responds to his touch, rippling beneath his fingers. The chain resting against his chest grows warm. “Are you serious? I don't know where the hell you've been the last few days, but I'm a ghost hunter. What I'm doing matters. What's your excuse?”

Danny opens his mouth, but Tucker pushes on. Now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

“Whatever it is, I guess it's more important than your friends. Where have you been, Danny? Because it's not here. First, you miss school, then stop hanging out with us, and then you miss Sam's birthday. We tried to reach out. We asked what was wrong, but you kept shutting us out! You've done some rotten things this year, but we still thought you cared. We still—”

Tucker's voice cracks. Is it cold in here? He feels cold. And wet. Phantom raindrops strike his nose and cheeks, just like that night. The world around him grows fuzzy and distorted, making his head ache. His ankle hurts. His suit is broken. There are no enemies here, but his instincts scream at him to fight.

To attack.

“I needed you! It was the scariest night of my life, and you weren't there. I had to limp home alone because my best friend wouldn't answer his phone. And you kept ignoring me! You didn't come to the hospital. You didn't visit me at home. You didn't answer any of my calls. I need you, Danny, but it's like you're not even here. Where the hell are you?”

Tucker looms over Danny. He doesn't remember standing up, but his shadow falls over Danny's face. Danny isn't here. His eyes are wide and distant, looking through Tucker at something very far away. He curls into himself, his trembles turning to full-body shakes.

“You don’t have anything to say?”

Danny grabs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, the backpack falling from his lap.

“Say something!” Tucker grabs Danny's hoodie and hauls him up. That's when Danny screams. Tucker's first instinct is to shove him back, send him sprawling. Danny hits the floor with another broken cry. The rain vanishes, leaving Tucker with a sheen of sweat as he returns to himself.

“Shit, Danny.” Tucker is drowning in an ocean of anger, but he swims for the glimmer of light above his head, reminding himself with each stroke of his arms where he is, who he's with, that Danny isn't his enemy.

Tucker reaches out to help. No matter how angry he is, Danny is still his friend. Tucker grabs Danny’s arm to hold him steady, wondering what he’s supposed to do now. Should he call the nurse? His dad and Mr. Lancer? Whatever’s wrong with Danny isn’t like a cold or flu.

Unconsciously, his grip on Danny’s arm tightens.

He doesn’t see Danny move. Tucker is standing, and then he’s on the floor, staring up at the ceiling rather than down at Danny's crumpled face.

“Mr. Fenton!”

“Tucker!”

Tucker blinks, trying to process what just happened. Grabbing the nearest chair, he hoists himself up and surveys the scene. Lancer and his dad hover in the doorway, staring at Danny in disbelief. Danny stands in the middle of the room, his fist extended. He’s the one looming now, but somehow he looks small.

Tucker’s chest throbs where Danny had struck him.

“Fighting in school is prohibited. Thanks to Mr. Foley, I was willing to give you another chance, but I’ve just changed my mind.” Lancer goes to a cabinet behind the desk and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pink slip of paper. It only takes him a second to fill it out. “You’re not allowed on school grounds for the rest of the week. This needs to be signed and brought back to me as soon as possible.”

Danny grabs the paper without looking. “How can I bring it back if I’m not allowed?”

“Your parents need to bring it in, so we know they've seen it. You can wait in the hall until we send you home”

Danny’s jaw clenches. For a moment, Tucker thinks he’s going to protest, wants him to protest. Do anything to show that he still cares about any of this. But Danny only lets out a shuddering breath and leaves.

Tucker stares after him until a hand appears at the edge of his vision.

“Tucker, are you okay?” his dad asks.

“Fine. Been hit worse by nastier things.”

“We heard shouting.” His dad helps him up.

“We were just talking, but then…” Tucker doesn't understand how it spiralled so fast. Danny's scream snuffed out the fire in Tucker's chest, but watching him walk away without a word fans the lingering embers. “Be right back.”

He snatches his crutches from the wall and hobbles out of the office as fast as he can. The hallway is empty. Bursting out the front door, Tucker scans the schoolyard. He spots Danny halfway across the grass, heading to the side fence.

“Danny!” Tucker shouts.

If he hears Tucker, he doesn’t show it.

“Hey!” Tucker stumbles down the steps, swearing under his breath. Damn crutches. Damn ankle. Damn stupid best friend and their stupid argument.

They aren’t the only ones outside. It’s lunchtime, and on such a nice day, a handful of students have congregated at the picnic tables and bleachers to enjoy their food in the sun. Tucker feels their stares as he crosses the field but ignores them. All his focus is on Danny, who moves much too quickly for him to catch up.

“Danny Fenton!” Tucker bellows.

Danny falters but doesn’t stop.

“Fuck this.” Tucker throws his crutches aside and activates the boots on his suit. With a burst of lavender rocket fire, he soars across the field, overtaking Danny in seconds. His landing is sloppy, too hard on his injured ankle, but he drops right in front of Danny and grabs his collar.

“What the hell was that?”

“Leave me alone.” The words are harsh, but Danny's voice trembles as he says them.

“Uh, no, because there is something wrong with you. Aren't we friends? Why can't you tell me what's going on?” Tucker searches Danny's face. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he wants to see something.

“Like you told me about the Tech Hunter?”

Tucker can't hide his wince. He thought about it—so many times, he thought about it. Had never cared about his friends knowing his identity, hoped for it even. It would have been so easy to say. Hey, guys. I'm the Tech Hunter. Cool, right?

There had been many moments he could have said it, especially to Sam, but he always wanted both of them to know. On his favourite PDA, he has a note saved, a confession, spilling everything to them. All the fights, all the excuses, his most triumphant moments, and his lowest ones. Every time he opened his mouth, he fought down the urge to confess.

Sam and Danny are his best friends, and they have always deserved to know. But…

“That's different.” Tucker's voice is quiet, but not soft. “Vlad said it would keep you guys safe.”

Something other than grim acceptance finally flashes through Danny's eyes, but it's here and gone so fast that Tucker can't identify it. But he knows he said something wrong. Danny's face falls as soon as the words leave Tucker's lips.

“I don't know what's going on, but this doesn't have to be whatever it is. You're still my best friend.” A lump forms in Tucker's throat. The nanobots respond to his distress, their hum drowning out his haggard breathing. His choker, the chain, and the bracelets grow warm as the suit activates. It doesn't cover him completely, just enough for him to see the gleam of his gauntlets, and feel the weight of his helmet. It calms him down. Makes him feel safe. The Tech Hunter is cool, strong, and brave. Nothing phases him.

Nothing except the terror that fills Danny's eyes as the golden armour appears.

“Stay away from me!” Danny screeches.

A burst of wind pushes Tucker back a step. His grip loosens, and Danny pries his hands off. For a moment, Tucker swears something sharp digs into his wrists. The surrounding yard has fallen silent. He can feel the other students watching them. No one speaks. No one moves.

The inferno roaring in Tucker's chest has finally gone out, snuffed by Danny's howl. It leaves a blackened pit behind. Tucker's arm rises imperceptibly, an unconscious move to reach out one last time.

Danny's gaze leaps to Tucker's hand as he steps back.

Finally, something in Tucker shatters.

“Fine,” he whispers. “I don't care anymore.”

His arm lowers, he turns away, and limps back to the school. Tucker is done offering his hand to someone who won't take it.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #unlucky alis #phicc #tech hunter au #phanfic #no one knows au #posting at 2am isn't really conducive to getting the phic seen #but I was too excited to wait

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dragonnarrative-writes · 6 months

Text

WIP Wednesday!

From Really Good Neighbors Part 2!

CW: Alcohol consumption, cannon-adjacent Gaz/Helicopter interactions

You haven’t had nearly enough wine to blame leaning into Simon’s space just on being tipsy. Once you’ve all finished eating, though, they herd you to the couch and Kyle takes up most of the couch to lay his head on your lap. Simon easily leans you back against his chest, holding up your hand so your wine doesn’t spill. He’s laughing as he tells you about the team’s various mishaps with helicopters.

“Now I weren’t there, mind,” Simon says. “But Gaz, he’s too close to the door, which I know, because he falls out.”

“I didn’t fall out,” Gaz protests. “The helo was hit.”

“Nik didn’t fall out,” Simon points out. “If you wasn’t hanging out the fuckin’ door, you’d have been fine.”

“Wait,” you laugh, smoothing a hand over the top of Kyle’s head to encourage eye contact. “Did you stay on the helicopter or not?”

“Fell out and got tangled in a rope,” Kyle confesses. “Ended up hanging upside-down by my ankle.”

That shocks a laugh out of you. “Bullshit!”

“Captain near shat himself,” Simon confirms. “Still won’t let Gaz anywhere near a helo by himself.”

“It’s my fault Nik doesn’t know how to dodge?”

“I’m tellin’ him you said that,” Simon snickers, taking a swig of his beer.

“Fuck off,” Kyle laughs, turning over so he’s propped himself up on one arm. “What about you? What’s the wild world of corporate office work like?”

You snort and take a sip of your wine. “It’s awful. This week has been one nightmare after another. On Monday, they fired a guy from IT and he added a password to a drive before he left. A whole day of us all twiddling our thumbs, but they wouldn’t let us leave. I think the company lost… I don’t remember the conversion. A quarter billion dollars, something like that.”

Simon makes a low whistle. “One password did all that?”

You give him a dry look over your shoulder, “Don’t try to play coy. You’re some kind of what? Green beret? You know fucking with the right computer can turn the whole world upside down.”

Both of them laugh at that. Simon props his chin on one fist. “How’d they get into the drive?”

“Oh, that was the best part,” you chuckle at the memory and lean back as Simon shifts his weight. “The password was the standard one the department set everything to. His last name, one, two, three, zero. But upper management never reset their own passwords, so they didn’t know. Spent the whole day blowing up his phone, but if they’d asked, I would have told them.”

Kyle perks up. “You would have?”

“After they fired him, I was a third of the IT department,” you confirm. “So my week has been a nightmare of bullshit.”

“Oof,” Kyle winces. “How come I never knew that you work in IT?”

“I try very, very hard not to mention my job to men.”

“We’re men.”

“You ate me out,” the wine makes you point out. “That’s different. … and Simon brought me a burger.”

“Got the short end o’ that one,” Simon says as he finishes his beer. His empty hand finds yours, caresses your fingers.

You consider that for a moment and decide to take the leap. Interlocking your fingers, you say, “Night’s still young.”

He brings your knuckles up to brush his lips over them.

You blush as Kyle hums and nuzzles into your belly with an indulgent hum. “You gonna let us help you forget your awful week?”

#really good neighbors #wip wednesday #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #gaz appreciation nation #manic pixie dream ghost

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 2 months

Text

A federal judge on Monday dismissed the classified documents case against Donald Trump, a shock ruling that clears away one of the major legal challenges facing the former president.

In a 93-page ruling, District Judge Aileen Cannon said the appointment of special counsel Jack Smith violated the Constitution. She did not rule on whether Trump’s alleged mishandling of classified documents was proper or not.

“In the end, it seems the Executive’s growing comfort in appointing ‘regulatory’ special counsels in the more recent era has followed an ad hoc pattern with little judicial scrutiny,” Cannon wrote.

The ruling by Cannon, a judge Trump appointed in 2020, comes on the first day of the Republican National Convention. Even though a trial before the presidential election was considered highly unlikely, many legal experts had viewed the classified documents case as the strongest one of the four cases that were pending against the former president.

The White House referred requests for comment to the Justice Department. Smith’s office has not responded to a call for comment.

Smith had charged Trump last year with taking classified documents from the White House and resisting the government’s attempts to retrieve the materials. He pleaded not guilty.

In a separate criminal case brought by Smith against Trump in Washington, DC, the special counsel was pursuing federal charges stemming from Trump’s attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 election. Trump also faces a state-level election subversion case in Georgia and he was convicted of state crimes in New York earlier this year for his role in a hush money payment scheme before the 2016 election.

Trump’s efforts to dismiss the case under the appointments clause was seen as a long shot, as several special counsels – even during his own presidential administration – were run the same way.

But the fringe argument gained steam when Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas threw his support behind the theory, writing in a footnote in the high court’s presidential immunity decision that there are “serious questions whether the Attorney General has violated that structure by creating an office of the Special Counsel that has not been established by law. Those questions must be answered before this prosecution can proceed.”

Still, Cannon held a hearing on the issue several weeks ago, pushing attorneys to explain exactly how Smith’s investigation into Trump was being funded. The judge’s questions were so pointed that special counsel attorney James Pearce argued that, even if Cannon were to throw out the case due to an appointments clause issue, the Justice Department was “prepared” to fund Smith’s cases through trial if necessary.

Cannon said in her order that the special counsel’s position “effectively usurps” Congress’ “important legislative authority” by giving it to the head of a department – DOJ, in this case – to appoint such an official.

“If the political branches wish to grant the Attorney General power to appoint Special Counsel Smith to investigate and prosecute this action with the full powers of a United States Attorney, there is a valid means by which to do so,” she wrote.

COULD CASE BE REVIVED?

Cannon said in her ruling Monday that the Justice Department “could reallocate funds to finance the continued operation of Special Counsel Smith’s office,” but said it’s not yet clear whether a newly-brought case would pass legal muster.

“For more than 18 months, Special Counsel Smith’s investigation and prosecution has been financed by substantial funds drawn from the Treasury without statutory authorization, and to try to rewrite history at this point seems near impossible,” Cannon wrote. “The Court has difficulty seeing how a remedy short of dismissal would cure this substantial separation-of-powers violation, but the answers are not entirely self-evident, and the caselaw is not well developed.”

She noted in her ruling that Smith’s team “suggested” at a court hearing on the matter that they could restructure the office’s funding to satisfy her concerns.

#us politics #news #republicans #conservatives #donald trump #gop #us supreme court #judge aileen cannon #corruption #2024 #classified documents #treason #rules for thee but not for me #cnn #jack smith #special counsel #department of justice

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winxwannabe · 7 months

Note

I’m frothing at the mouth for as much info from the Winx encyclopedia thing as you’re willing to post thank you for your service

Good news! There are a series of pages regarding the girl’s childhoods that are ripe with✨family dynamics✨ and L O R E. I forgot to take photos of the pages before leaving for a weekend trip, but I can tell you what I’ve learned and post the images on Monday!

Before the good stuff let’s get the boring out of the way: there’s no new info on Bloom’s childhood since it was covered so extensively in Season 1. Expected, but I will tell you my favorite part: Bloom says no matter what Mike and Vanessa are her parents. You love to see it.

Flora has a distant relationship with her dad compared to her mom and Miele. He’s a landscape architect for ‘The Senatorial Chamber of Public Greens,’ and wasn’t around much. She was also one of those kids who could make flower jewelry. So jealous.

Stella was raised mostly by the Solarian royal staff instead of Radius or Luna. Big day for the Radius Haters. She always had a thing for brunette boys and either A) got the magic equivalent of Lasik or B) wears contacts. I’m going with B in my own head cannons.

Layla has childhood trauma from being forced to stay inside. Yay? We knew about that but you know what I found that was new: ANNE LORE! Aisha knows where Anne moved - a planet called Eros. There’s no mention of it anywhere else in Winx, so re-write people can go ape with it. (This is apparently on the wiki now but it’s not mentioned in the series so I never looked whoops)

Musa’s pages are just…a right mess of contradictions. Ho-Boe wanted Musa to become a singer like Matlin was, a TOTAL 180 from the series where he’s worried about Musa following in her mother’s footsteps. He’s worried about her going to Alfea to be a fairy? I don’t know I’m missing a key word in the translation or something, but I will report back!

Also, there’s a footnote about her mom’s hologram being stored in a camellia flower, which is important in Chinese and Japanese culture. Not surprising, but makes the whitewashing Fate did funnier.

And lastly, Tecna heavily implies on Zenith it’s common to have memories stored in virtual reality? A true gold mine of potential story content (especially when you did a season about time travel). They give Tecna anxiety to look though - which to be fair is a mood. But it does mention specifically Tecna’s always been a smart kid, even on Zenith, and that she had friends. I don’t know why that made me happy but it did (probably because ‘nerd’ characters are usually portrayed as outcasts, so I appreciate Tecna not going through that).

#winx club #liz gets questions #Enciclomagia

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slutouttanowhere · 6 months

Text

Daddy’s Home

Paring: Randy Orton x Mavis Pete™️

Warning: Unprotected sex, squirting, oral sex, vulgar language, use of the phrases “Daddy,” and “Cunt.” Hand jobs, and public bus sex. Not edited, just hopped on my laptop and hit go.

a/n: I started this at 12am, there’s a part of this fic that is actually supposed to be cannon for an ongoing story, Million Dollar Baby(snippet). Though I haven’t quite gotten there yet, this scene kept nagging me so here I am being a “Spotlight Junkie.” Then somehow it magically turned into smut, and this is only the second time I wrote smut for this fandom ever. lol I personally don’t see much wrestling smut, so I have zero idea if y’all will care or like that part. Anywho, I hope y’all enjoy, and of course reblog, and follow me. Take a look at my pinned post for more.

Randy had been out of recovery for what felt like forever, I lost count after the second month in; at first we talked over the phone almost everyday while he was home. As time went on, I got more busy with my new story like with Rhea, and that’s what slowed our communication. At a certain point I just got used to not having Randy on the road with us, so when he popped back up during Monday Night Raw I was genuinely flabbergasted.

I was standing in the middle of the ring with Rhea, “you call yourself Thee Hottest WWE superstar walking—

“And is.” I said cutting her off, that got a reaction from the crowd, Rhea grimaced. The grin of my face grew as the crowd began to chant ‘LETS GO HOTTIE,’ Dominick stood by Rhea’s side insuring her that she’s the best.

“Last I recall, every time you and I are in the ring, I eat you up every single time. Just admit it, you can’t handle the heat, Mami.” She parted her lips to speak, but I didn’t give her the chance. I shoved her roughly causing her to stumble, then flexed my arms, and poked her tongue out at her. She stared at me in disbelief, Dom tried to hold her back as she took a step forward.

“Don’t start acting beside yourself now sweetheart, Randy’s not here!” She shouted, her eyelids wide open, and her lips pulled back into a grin, though she looked more like a beast showing me her teeth. Just then a song I didn’t expect to hear for another few months blasted through the arena. ‘I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD, THEY COUNCIL ME THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME.’

There he was, in all his glory, slowly making his way down the ramp. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands shaky, this was the jumpscare of my life, and I’ve had some close calls. Rhea protectively pushed Dom behind her, and I couldn't help but let out a snort. The music stops, and the roar of the fans pour into my ears. Every single person in their arena was on their feet, he climbed between the ropes, and I bit my lip trying to contain myself till he was done with his bit. He climbed to the middle turnbuckle, we all watched in amazement as he raised up, and received the crowd. They went into a frenzy, my ears were ringing, and caused everything to sound high pitched.

When he finally turned to address us, I couldn’t hold myself back, I jumped into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his waist, I know it’s been a while since I held him, but he definitely felt bigger. “Whoa.” I pulled back, a large grin spread across his lips, his eyes already looking down at me. He wrapped an arm around my waist keeping me close, this is really the first time we’ve been seen together on tv in mounts, but he’s never touched me like that. Usually it’s a high-five or a fist bump, maybe a Pat on the head when he’s in a silly mood. There had been a lot of roomers we were together online, but Hunter advised that we reveal it when we felt comfortable. I guess Randy was choosing now.

“I’m sorry what was that you were saying Rhea?” Randy asked, he held his hand up to his ear as if that would help amplify the volume.

“No one is worried about you Randy, you’re light work for The Judgement Day.” She quipped, the crowd had a mixed reaction of booing and chanting, ‘MAMI,’ but the majority stood behind her.

“Light work? Surly not at two hundred and seventy five pounds.” He teased, some people from the crowd Woolf whistled, and cat called him, then he continued. “Ya know, I’ve been hearing a lot about you, I gotta say I’m not that impressed.” Randy shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, Rhea was fuming at his words, because how dare he insult her. Rhea Ripley, The Eradicator. Mami this, Mami that, well guess what? Daddy's back.” He grinned, his hand squeezed my side, my mind flashing back to a while ago when I let it slip one night that I called him that in my head.

“…You call me what?” He paused his movements, we were cuddled in bed one night, his lips pressing kisses from my cheek down my neck, and his hands squeezing my thighs.

“Don't make me repeat it.” I begged, my face heating up feeling bashful, I didn't think he had heard me, but I should have known better. He flipped us over so that I was underneath him, both my arms above my head, his hand held my wrist together, and my legs spread to make room for him.

“Say it, or I’ll just have to drag it out of you.” He warned, his lips caressing my ear, my breath hitched in my throat. I swallowed, the fluttering in the pit of my stomach, and down between my thighs causing my hips to buck.

“Daddy.” I whispered, in a small way I regretted it because I knew he’d never let it go.

The crowd began to chant, ‘WHOS YOUR DADDY!’ To which Randy thoroughly enjoyed, he peered down at me, but my eyes were on Rhea’s women's championship belt. The hunger I felt to be on top once again was insatiable, I wanted the spotlight, and then some. “Tell your boy Damian, that I’ve got my eyes on him, I think I owe him a few receipts.” Randy took me by the hand, and began to walk us out the ring.

“Look at you, backing out again like you always do when Randy is around.” Rhea teased, that struck a nerve, she knew how much the implications of me using randy as a shield got under my skin. I whipped back around, snatching the mic from his hands, my breathing heavy, and my lips turned downward into a deep frown.

“The one thing you need to be worrying about is from where youre gonna take this RKO. Anytime, anyplace, out of nowhere.” I growled, Rhea pushed Dom aside, he pleaded with her to not get egged into a fight with me right now, but I was hoping she wouldn't listen. She took a few steps forward so I met her half way, we almost met eye to eye, and she was so close our noses touched.

I could see Randy in my peripheral; he gently put an arm on my shoulder. At first I took a step back, but then she kissed at me. “Good girl.” She teased, then I shoved her roughly into the ropes, she bounced off them. I caught her by the head, and drove her head first into the mat. I sat up to see the wide eyed, opened mouth, look of shock on Randy’s face. I couldn't help but giggle, he had been teaching it to me a while ago, before his injury of course, but it wasn't till now that I was able to whip it out. I moved onto a sitting position on my knees, Randy’s hand placed on my head like a pet, the crowd loved it. Dom pulled Rhea out the ring, and as they descended I kissed back at Rhea mocking her. Slowly I rose back up to my feet, a rush of excitement hit me, I jumped up into Randy’s arms, and wrapped my legs around his waist. I kissed him on the cheek, before dropping back down to my feet. When we finally got to the back, we exchanged small talk with a few of the officials, and such. Randy and Hunter got into a bit of a conversation, so I excused myself to go change.

I had no idea where Randy could be, and I didnt wanna spend countless hours looking for me. I pulled my phone out calling him on the phone, as I made my way out the arena, after a few rings, he picked up. “Where are you?” He asked, there were some voices in his background, so maybe he was still in the building.

“Making my way out, I’m thinking about getting dinner.” I threw a smile to a few people that passed me by, I rounded a corner into an empty halfway so I could have some sort of privacy. I sat my bags down for a moment, then leaned my back against the brick wall.

“If you carpooled, we can just go out, I’d actually prefer that.” He chuckled lightly, it sounded as if he had just exited the arena by the way his atmosphere became quieter. My heart fluttered, it’s been a while since it was just me, and him. I was already texting Bianca letting her know that I would be hitching rides with Randy again.

“Of course, I still got the key.” I jiggle the second set of keys to his bus that he gave me when we first started dating. I got a flat tire once when I was on my way to the next town, lucky me it happens late at night, some guy had to help me, and Randy flipped. That was the last time I traveled solo.

“Well I’m already on the bus, so I’ll let you in.” He chuckled, I could hear the smile spreading across his lips, I picked up my bags, and headed towards the back doors. It’s been forever since I last saw him, and all I wanted was to eat, and cuddle afterwards.

“Kay, see ya in a bit.” I said, the smile on my face spreading wider, I hung up the phone, and pushed through the arena doors that lead to the back parking area which was reserved for talent. The sun was beginning to set causing the sky to have a pinkish hue, I rounded the corner to a sectioned off area for the bus’, and there Randy was. He was leaning against the door, his lips grew into a large grin as I came into sight, the sun glasses on his face hid his eyes, but I didn't care. Running up to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and our lips crashed together.

His hands immediately grabbed onto my hips, and pulled me in closer. I didn't hold back the moan that came from me, when we reluctantly separated, I quickly looked around to see if anyone would have caught us. I know everyone knows we’re together but I do try to be a little modest. “No ones been out here for a good while, don't worry, the only person that knows you’re a little slutty is me princess.” Randy joked, I slapped him across the chest, his laughter died down enough for me to speak.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were returning tonight?” I slapped his chest again, but he grabbed me by my wrist, then brought them behind my back.

“And ruin the surprise? No, no.” He whispered, he took his sunglasses off to reveal his icy blue eyes, and for a second a second they softened as he took in my facial features up close. As if he was committing it to memory. He lowered his head to the crook of my neck, inhaled my scent, and placed a kiss there. “You smell good.” He moaned into my skin, he placed more kisses, but the sound of the arena doors opening made me jump. Randy chucked, but reluctantly pried himself off of me.

“Can we just go inside please.” I begged taking a step back before he got any more ideas, he held his hand out, and took my bags. He opened the door for me, letting me first, the following behind. He put my bag away, but wasted no time grabbing me up. His hands trailed down my back to my butt, his large hands gripped me tightly as if I’d get away. While his tongue explored, and caressed the inside of my mouth, I worked on his jeans; our breathing was heavy, we sounded like two starved animals. For a moment he stepped back to pull his shirt off, and though I am used to seeing him shirtless, this new build of his was massive.

He grinned when he caught me gawking, “Bigger in person huh?” I couldn't help but giggle, I rolled my eyes, but pressed my lips to his broad chest. He now stood with only his jeans hanging off his hips, his adonis belt more defined than I remembered. My hands follow behind where my lips were. I just wanted to worship his body like this all the time, he was so gorgeous, he didn't need any help, but the added weight does something to me. The pulsing between my thighs, and the slickness caused me to moan out. “Fuck you’re too fucking much sometimes you know that?” Randy mumbled, he pulled off my white t-shirt over my head, then tossed it.

I kicked my furry slides off, then shimmed out of my leggings, “I missed you.” I whispered in between kisses, I sucked on his lip, then bit it gently. Rand growled in response, his hand smacking my ass roughly.

“Show me, how much did you miss daddy?” He grabbed me by the chin and tiled my head up towards him, he leaned down to give me one last kiss before letting me go. I pushed him back so that he was leaning against the counter, I kneeled down on one knee, then tugged at his jeans pulling them all the way down. He stepped out of them then kicked them to the side, my hand ghost over his already erect penis over his briefs, then I looked up at him. My hand squeezed him firmly, he let out a heavy sigh, my fingers hooked around the hem of his briefs, and slowly pulled them down. I wrapped my hand around his shaft, gripping him firmly, “Spit on it baby.” Randy instructed from above me, his voice already strained despite me barely doing anything to him yet.

I do as told of course, a long drop of spit lands right on his tip, I wrap my lips around him and sucked him off. “Like that?” I moaned out, I could feel my clit throb with need, but I wanted to focus on him first. I knew my orgasm would come easy for me, but Randy took a little bit of work. My other hand cupped his balls in my hand, while the other simultaneously caressed him.

His groan of pleasure morphed into a deep growl, “You fucking know how I like it, just like that baby girl. Ugh, fuck yes. I missed those pretty pouty lips.” I took him in as far, and as deep into my mouth as I could, then pulled back to his tip sucking on it. My tongue swirled around his tip then down his shaft, and back up. He held me by the chin with one hand, and with the other he held onto the back of my head holding me in place.

“Just the tip baby —ah, fuck yes just like that. No hands, just your mouth.” Randy directed me, he adjusted his hips, and carefully thrusted his hips. My eyes stayed on his face, his head fell back, and his mouth opened. Just when I could feel his dick start to twitch a little, he pulled away, and held himself in his own hand. We both took a second to catch our breaths, before he pulled me up to him, and began unhooking my bra, and tossing it to the side. My heart pounded in excitement, his hands came around my waist, now Randy dropped to his knees before.

His mouth latched on to my nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth as if he was trying to taste my soul through my areolas, the intense suction caused a slight sting. “Ow, fuck.” The sensation bottled right to my pussy, causing it to throb once again with desire, I contemplated beating his ass for subjecting me to toys while he was away. As good as it was, nothing beat the real thing. He let my nipple go with a pop, then began working on the other one with the same amount of suckage. His hand slipped into my panties, and slid over my clit, I nearly jumped out of my skin from the sensation. “Oh —ah.” I cried out, my knees trimble causing me to reach out, and hold on to Randy’s large shoulders.

He chuckled deeply, then pressed a kiss between the valley of my breast, “I know sweetheart I know, that cunts have been waiting for me, and now that I’m here you just can't wait can you?” His finger teased me a little more, I would beg him to finish me if I had to, on hands, and knees if I had to. He pulled my painted down similarly to how I did his own underwear, “Oh my fucking goodness, you’re so fucking sexy, come over here. I wanna see that beautiful face when you come in my mouth.” He guided me over to the couch in front of us, I almost forgot he was completely naked in my haze, until he stood over me for a moment. I bit my lip just watching how his dick swings with his movements, it was mouth watering to say the least. He kneeled down on both knees before me, my legs spread wide for him, the of my labia parting could be heard crystal clear between the two of us. Randy looked hypnotized as he stared down at me, I was at a loss for words myself, he looked like he was going to devour me, and there wasn't absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“You like how pretty my pussy is Daddy?” I reached down, and spread myself wider so he could see the deepest part of me. He answered my question non verbally, his lips latched on to me sucking my swollen clit up into his mouth gently. He held onto my thighs with both his hands, his whole face stuffed between my thighs as he lapped up my wetness like a thirsty heathen. Waves of pleasure rippled through me, over, and over till my body decided I couldn't take it anymore. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there, right there, please don't stop.” I begged, my hands held onto the back of his head keeping him in place as he continued to slurp me up. He slid a finger into me, then another, as if the constant clitoral stimulation wasn't enough to nearly kill me. He worked his fingers, in and out of me at a steady rhythm that my body just couldn't keep up with, soon my moans, and shouts over took the wet sloppy noises as I came undone in his hands, and mouth. My body tensed up as my thighs clenched around Randy’s head, but his grip was strong enough to pry them open again.

“I want you on top of me, right now, right fucking now.” He breathed out, he took me by the hips, and slightly readjusted me so that I was leaning on my side. I was in full display for him, spread wide open, with nowhere to hide, for his eyes to feast on as he took me in.

“Daddy please.” I begged, the ache was unbearable at this point, my body twisted, and my hips lifted trying to feel any kind of friction.

“I know baby, I missed being inside that pretty pussy so much. God your so fucking wet, look at how slippery you fucking are.” He slid the tip of himself over my needy cunt, and coated himself with my natural juices. Our moans mixed together, as he pushed into me achingly slowly, my breathing turned into panting.

“Randy —Ah! Oh fuck.” The pain of him stretching me to his size didn’t last long, and quickly turned into a pleasurable sensation.

“Fuck I’m never getting injured again.” He claimed, his strained moans mixed with forced laughter, but it quickly died down when I gripped my muscles around him. I was in no position to move, one leg he had pinned to the couch with his hand gripping my thigh, and the other leg was over his shoulder. It was the only thing between us; even though I’m not petite, Randy’s weight alone is enough to smother me.

His strokes were steady, yet impactful, each thrust brought me closer to the edge. His lips found their way to my ear, gently kissing me, and whispering naughty things to me. “That’s it, take this fucking cock princess, you’re not going anywhere till you come all over me isn’t that right?” He kissed me again then continued, “That tight cunt is all mine, my cute little pussy pocket. Hmm you liked being used by me don’t you?” The torque behind his thrust was unreal, I felt utterly breathless, I grabbed him by the back of his neck, and brought him in closer to me.

“This pussy is all yours, all yours, all yours.” I mumbled pathetically, our eyes locked in each other, but I could only hold my eyelids open for so long. My breath hitched in my throat when I felt his fingers press to my clit.

“That’s it right there, you’re so fucking close. Be a good girl, let it out baby, I wanna fucking hear you.” On his command I let out a cry that might have been heard across the arena if we weren’t parked so far away. My head fell back onto the couch, my eyes screwed shut, and Randy’s lips pressed to my neck. “Goddamn you feel so fucking good, fuck I love when you squeeze me just like that.” He panted, his own thrust becoming a bit sloppy, but the rhythm he used on my little bud didn’t change speed.

Even if I wanted to hold back, I couldn’t, a wave of heat ripped through me. I gripped his arms, my nails dug into his flesh, I wanted to rip something apart. “Oh god, Randy, I’m gonna—

I couldn’t even get the words out, before I knew it, I was squirting all over us, and his couch. “Ahh!” I shouted, he pulled away in enough time to let his own climax out as he hunched over me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me.” Very rarely do I hear him moan, and cry like that. His warm, sticky cum pooled on my stomach, and even as he was emptied there was still little droplets spilling out. He stroked himself for a moment longer trying desperately to catch his breath. I reached over to grab a tissue while his eyes were closed, quickly cleaned up the mess, and got into the floor where he sat on his knees. I replaced his hand with mine, then wrapped my lips around his tip, and proceeded to suck.

“Ugh, fuck, please.” He begged, and moaned softly. Rather it was for me to stop or keep going but I wasn’t sure. He didn’t push me away, so I continued my steady movements. He rested his hands on my head but didn’t guide me in any kind of way.

“I think you’ve got a little more in you, what do you think?” I asked with a lopsided grin, I lowered myself more, then sucked his balls into my mouth. My hand worked him in circular, up, and down motions.

Randy’s head was still back, eyes closed, and mouth hung open. “That feels so fucking good, just like that.” The sounds of slurping, and moaning filled the air. I squeezed him a bit tighter in my hand, his hips now rocking back and forth to match my rhythm. His breathing became heavier as his chest rises and falls, he’s gripping onto my hair which I hated. I regretted not putting my bonnet on beforehand.

I put my mouth over his tip just as he started to spill, I had no problem swallowing him down. “Oh fuck your so fucking good. Ohhhh, fuck!” His voice filled the room, my hands slid from his thighs up to his chest, I let go of his dick with a pop. My arms wrapped around his neck, he met me halfway in a deep slow kiss.

“I’m still hungry, but I don’t feel like going out.” I giggled, Randy stood to his feet, and brought me with him. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead, pulled on his briefs, and made his way over to the fridge.

“Lucky for you then, I’m always prepared.” He grinned, and pulled out two fruit salads and what looked to be meal prepped steak. Before I could dance my way over he stopped me holding out a hand. “Aht, shower first, then dinner.” He spoke sternly, my stomach grumbled, and I wanted to fight him on it. But the last hour flashed by my mind, I just rolled my eyes, “Fine.” Then I turned on my heels heading in the opposite direction.

“That’s a good girl, go on get ready, we’ll get moving in a little bit.” He called after me, I smiled to myself, contently, I was happy my baby was back on the road with me. I couldn’t wait to get back to work next week, but for now I’ll enjoy our alone time. I have a feeling we’re gonna spend the rest of the week wrapped up with each other.

#randy orton smut #randy orton oneshot #black!oc #wwe one shot #Randy Orton #—tokio

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thefallennightmare · 5 months

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Pausing posting headcannons for a few hours to do some shopping! They will resume once I’m home!

#tina talks #head cannon monday

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palmtreesx3 · 1 year

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Prologue

SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved.

Warnings: no warnings...this time. Some non cannon relationships in this AU but cannon themes and Easter eggs a-plenty.

Chicago: Summer of 1993

It's only his 5th trip up and down the steps in the last hour, and Steve has about had it. Being left to haul a car full of Robin's personal belongings and boxes up the three flights of spiraling staircases to their brand new apartment building while she goes off in search of dinner and some help wanted signs seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn't until he opened the hatch and saw how MUCH she actually packed did he immediately regret his choice to stay behind. He stood there regretting his current situation in an unfamiliar, bustling and loud city while sweat beaded on his hairline and flush spread across his cheeks in the humid June air.

Muttering to himself as he passes a redheaded teen girl carrying a skateboard who refuses to get out of his way on the staircase, he finally pushes his way through their doorway and he's thankful to feel the window unit he threw in first thing after they arrived starting to rev up and cool down the space. Steve repositions the particularly heavy box full of Robin's things on his hip while he reaches over for his cup of iced water setting on the counter and pooling condensation. Desperate for the reprieve, Steve gulps down an extra large sip and attempts to swallow but all sense of relief washes away as something slams into his whole left side. The glass he is holding ricochets down to the ground while Robin's box of nostalgic memorabilia topples over and spills out too. Hawkins High all over the floor.

"Jesus Christ, Robbie, what the hell!?"

Bending over to start collecting all of Robin's teenage memories, the last threads holding her down to a town that didn't love her as much as she loved it - Steve doesn't hear anything she says when she first lifts her fists over her head and into the air in celebration - barely registering that she body checked the boy as she threw open the door.

"Rob. Robbie, what the fuck are you saying? You're doing the thing… " he waves his hand in her general direction.

"Oh fuck, sorry." Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath to regroup, realizing now that she came in making a whole lot of noise and saying not a damn thing at all.

She takes a deep breath and with a gleam behind her eye proclaims "I landed us a job, Dingus!" Both fists jolting upwards into the air again, he now sees the job applications crumpled up in her fists and yielded like torches.

"Dude, gimmie that." Steve says. "You're gonna ruin it before I can even fill it out. We can't start a new job being that unprofessional. Christ… . What are we doing anyway? Gotta be better than that restaurant gig we both bombed before we left Indiana."

"Ok so, yeah, yeah this has the potential to be better than that. Definitely better than Family Video. For sure. And there's no stupid costume like Scoops. God. That sucked. We should pretty much know how to do a lot of it already and the manager seems like he's kinda chill. I told him I don't really know much about the ... uh...topic…but uh…that I'm a fast learner and he said we start on Monday and to bring the paperwork with us." She rambles, motioning to the pages Steve now holds in his hand.

"O-oh kay Robin. Details please. You know them in your head but I don't yet. You-you gotta share."

"Ha! Yeah! Sorry about that, I mean…." while she trails off and starts to fidget, Steve immediately knows there's more to the story.

"Robbie. What are you not telling me? "

"It's called The Hideout. It's on Clark St, just a few streets over. 20 minutes walking - tops."

"20 minutes is doable." he says, and then quips back "Man, don't tell me it's a restaurant. I really didn't want to eat shit at that job all over again. I guess I'll take what I can get so we can at least get on our feet… "

" It'snotarestaurantit'sasexshop!" Robin blurts out in one rushed garble of words.

"I'm sorry, WHAT did you say?" Steve stands with his hands on his hips, looking at her incredulously. "Did you say SEX SHOP?"

Steve is freaking out. He's immediately embarrassed for something he hasn't even done yet. He can feel the tips of his ears going hot and shades of red staining his face and neck in splotches. Are those hives? She's giving me hives, he thinks to himself.

"What am I supposed to tell people when they ask what I do?! What are we supposed to tell the kids back home when they start to call non-stop? What am I supposed to say to my DAD, Robin?" He can feel her mere existance giving him heart palpitations while she looks on at him sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders. All he can do is focus on his breathing so he doesn't blow a gasket on his friend.

Among the myriad of other things this move has going for the pair, Robin sees moving to Chicago as her opportunity to live who she is out loud and finally be free of the confines a small town puts on someone who looks a little different, thinks a little different and loves a little different. Steve, just happy for the fresh start and the chance to maybe do things for himself for once, was not really thinking this is how it would all start out, but looking at the excitement on Robin’s face made him soften just a little.

Now pacing back and forth across the entryway to dispel her nervous energy, she looks on at her exasperated friend and he gives her an almost indistinguishable nod of the head in agreement. She smiles softly at him and says, "Anyway, I distinctly remember you once encouraging me to talk about boobies with you, Steve. Lighten up and get ready for tits, dicks…all of it! I'm ready and this city is my sexual awakening!"

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @livsters

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve and robin get a job #steve and robin 4l #robin buckley #robin Buckley x oc #sexshop!robin #sexshop!steve #summer in the city #get off!steve #get off!robin #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin fanfic #steve and robin fanfic #steve Harrington x you

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catch1ngmoths · 8 months

Note

I'm obsessed with the idea of Quackity dating a s/o who develops games 😭 I'm sure he would play them

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Video game lover ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: some head cannons of Alex with a s/o who develops games :3

Note: y'all I'm SO TIRED, I HATE MONDAYS!!!!!

˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩

;༊ DUDE YESSS!!

;༊ He would literally play and love ALL the games you make

;༊ he plays them on stream, saying nothing but nice things about the game

;༊ "guys, this game is so good. Y'all should check it out!!"

;༊ "look at the quality of this game, it's so good what the fuck"

;༊ He'd also say stuff like,

;༊ “guys, my s/o made this game! Isn’t it great!! It’s great guys

;༊ Alex would love if you made a character in your game based on him ᡣ>ᴗ<𐭩.ᐟ

;༊ “GUYS IT’S ME!! IT’S ME!!”

;༊ Would most definitely volunteer to voice act as one of the characters in your game

;༊ he would be so giddy while doing it to

;༊ he doesn’t wanna disappoint you and puts on his best voice!!

;༊ he’d never let you overwork yourself, NEVER!!

;༊ he’d bring you food and water, make you go to bed and hang out with you so you weren’t lonely

;༊ overall, he’d be so supportive of your career, doing everything he can to help

˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩彡˚୨୧⋆🎐‧₊˚✩

#qsmp #quackity #quackity x reader #alex quackity #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackityhq #alex quackity x reader

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archived-diegesis · 4 months

Text

HI !!!!

ari's here !

i'ma do a follower clean up today because i've come to notice i follow people and then not do anything or try and do something an when were both just uh floundering

I Know I'm not everyone's cup of tea and i no wanna force ya'll to stay so give this a little like and or a comment if you wish to remain mutuals.

I'll reblog this until Monday and then do a proper cleaning of drafts and asks, until then I'll focuses on meme's that regard plotting and head cannons and send out asks !

#･｡ * ｡ ☆ * :: (( about ))#･｡ * ｡ ☆ * :: (( ooc. ))#feeling a little....weird about my blog and interactions but i'm okay i swear !

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stardewvalleybut-i-draw · 8 months

Text

I make mini-comics and art of Stardew Valley characters!

(animations and writings too if I'm up to it)

I post art on Monday and Friday and Wednesday is for everything else!

All my art will be tagged with -> #SDVBID art

QNA stuff and Answer archive!

inbox answers are tagged with #ask if you want to look through that!

Templates I use

Below is my Comics, Art, Doodles, and everything else organized and labeled with specific character appearances, enjoy!

Vulnerability- Alex, Me???

A little jealous- Rasmodious, Farmer

Gossip- Caroline, Abigail, Pierre, Rasmodius, Farmer

"Experimental noise" they said.- Sam, Abigail, Sebastian, Farmer, Jodi, Vincent, Leo, Linus

Bots- My chicken

Golden Scythe!- Farmer

Hair cuts!- Marnie, Shane, Emily

You weren't supposed to do that- Elliott

Two types of winter players: Farmers

Double trouble bubble brew!- (part 3) Penny, Alex, Abigail, Farmers, Harvey, Maru, Sam

Trouble continues to brew!- (part 2) Harvey, Maru, Abigail, Alex

Trubble in the Spirits Eve Maze- (part 1) Abigail, Alex

A different point of view- Leah

A head cannon of mine...- Farmer

Stalker vibes- (2 panell) Farmer, Sebastian, Robin

Happy 1-year anniversary/birth to me!🎉

Salad and Steaks- Farmer, Alex

Lewis in gold

Let me in! (animation)- Demetrius, Farmer

Marlon headcanon art

He would NEVER!... or would he?- Mr Qi

Harvey and his planes

Happy Valentine's Day!- Krobus

Not Invited- Pam, Willy, Marnie, Lewis, Robin, Gus

Haley's material girl arc

Here's a chicken animation I made- Chickens :)

High Score- Sam, Sebastian

Feast of the Winter Star- Jas, Farmers, Lewis, Abigail

Emily's old hairstyle

A pirates wife- Birdie

Alex

Say cheese!- Krobus

Scarecrows and Rarecrows- Farmers

Harvey- with bonus one pannel comic- BLOOD

Winter Jas

3rd time's the charm!- Farmers

Favoritism- Farmers

How the Farmers Heal- Harvey- BLOOD/CUTS

Controversial Alex opinions

Emily in a jester outfit!

Favorite and least favorite- Krobus, Bouncer guy

SHADOW WIZARD MONEY GANG- Mr Qi, Rasmodious, Grandpa

Who has the longer hair?- Elliott, Farmer

Sam with check it face meme

Family Dinner night- Sam, Farmer, Vincent, Jodi

Shane's canonical birthday

Sick farmers characterization

He's just standing there...MENACINGLY- Sebastian, Jas

The smallest :)- Harvey

8th anniversary of Stardew- Junimos

Haley x Femm Farmer

Farmer Grandpa phone doodle

Haley holding lesbian flag

Mask Farmer doodles

Abigail bonus doodles

Halloween Ref for comic- Penny, Harvey, Maru, Alex, Abigail, Sam

Mr. Qi ref

Rasmodius ref

Shane ref

Penny and Abigail ref

Maru, Leah, Farmers, Harvey, Elliott, Alex, Sam ref

Old base farmer ref (Fem)

Old base farmer ref (Mask)

#Stuff is organized by newest (top) to oldest (bottom)#SDVBID art #Let me know if changes are needed!#stardew valley #sdv #stardew fanart

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dancingtotuyo · 1 year

Text

2. a clouded mind and a heavy heart

Woman | Joel Miller x Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: No, Joel Miller isn’t stalking you. He just knows what you do every night.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader. Age Gap. TV characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, grief, talking & illusions to death & loss, references to cannon events & violence & other topics.

Words: 2419

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Joel looks out his front window. The sun dips past the mountain tops. You live next door to Tommy and Maria’s place presenting him with the perfect view of your front porch. You walked out 30 minutes ago, breathing in the fresh air, before setting out on a walk.

It’s a warm Monday night. He opens his window to let in the breeze while he waits for you to start your third and final lap. The promise of summer floats into the house.

While he hasn’t talked to you since that day in the clinic, he’s picked up a lot in the week he’s been here. You have a toddler, a boy named Carter. Tommy shared that piece of information. Joel remembers you had a brother named Carter too. Tommy didn’t respond when he asked about the boy’s father. You either feel comfortable enough to leave Carter sleeping in the house or his father is a shut-in, but he also notices the facing windows left open between yours and Tommy’s house. Maybe he’s out on an extended patrol.

Every night since he’s come back, you walk 3 laps. It’s so normal in a life before Cordyceps way, so suburban. He remembers you walking the block with your parents, friends, and sometimes Sarah.

He watches you every night, curiosity piqued. Tonight you step out in a fucking pajama set: a thin green shirt with matching shorts that show off your legs. He ignores the tug of desire, not quite recognizing it at first. He’s grown unfamiliar with it in the last year. There hasn’t been time for silly things like that, or anyone around. Besides, where does someone find a matching pajama set these days?

His feet carry him out to his own porch without thinking. You’re just about to start your final lap when you spot him. You raise your hand in a friendly wave. Again, it takes Joel back to the old way of life: polite waves and nods when you pass people, block parties with people you only talked to twice a year. Joel hated small talk then- still does, but he’d been raised not to be rude.

The wave isn’t an invitation by any means, but Joel finds himself meeting you in the middle of the road. You haven’t talked since he came into the clinic last week. He wasn’t home when you brought over the device to help his hand.

“Howdy neighbor,” you say.

Joel cocks his head to the side. Another slice of life. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Haven’t used that one in a while.” You mimic his movement. “How’s the hand?”

Joel instinctively rubs his thumb through the palm. “It’s alright.”

“You doing those exercises?”

Joel looks back at his porch, his thumb now moving across his bottom lip. He seems to be contemplating something. He looks almost out of place. You’ve never seen Joel Miller not hold command of the space he occupied.

“So, I’ll take that as a no.”

He bristled. “Say, would you care for some company? On your walk.”

“You stalkin me, Miller?” You cross your arms.

You know your routine is predictable. Most people in Jackson know you walk every night weather permitting, but the idea of getting Joel Miller to admit that he noticed it stirs a sense of pride in you.

Joel contemplates his words carefully. “Saw you walk out earlier. Looked like you might be going for another lap.”

Of course, he won’t admit it. Maybe one day you’ll pull the confession from him. “Wouldn’t mind a little company.” You step into motion and Joel follows.

You walk until the houses end, the cow pasture coming into view. They’re farther out tonight, looking like ants in the distance. Joel is quiet at your side, but the company is nice. You haven’t had company in a long time.

The two of you walk the fence line. You stare out at the pasture, toward the mountains as the breeze dances in your hair. You push it out of your face and in the dying light of day, Joel notices the fading light flicker off the gold on your left hand. He turns his head out toward the field clearing his throat. Shut-in husband it is. “So, how long have you been in Jackson?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. The gold band glares at him in his periphery. He didn’t see it on you at the clinic. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Joel looks surprised. The Jackson settlement hasn’t reached its 9th birthday yet.

“My grandparents had a vacation house a couple miles north of here. I was there with a group of friends when the outbreak hit. Jackson was already pretty quiet. Everyone who was here either panicked and left, or got loaded up by FEDRA.”

“No infected?”

“A few, but we took them out pretty quickly.”

Joel nods. “You avoided the evac crews.”

“We were at the house. It’s far enough out that we weren't in their search perimeter. My friend Kerry went… we told her not to.”

“Do you know if she made it?”

You shake your head. “We told her she couldn’t contact us, or tell anyone we were here.”

“Smart.”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. “How did you get all the way to Boston?”

Joel shrugged. “Just happened.”

“Tommy’s version was much more thrilling than yours.”

“Well, it’s Tommy.” He stops, leaning against the fence. The wind jostles his curls. He reminds you of a farmer looking over his herd.

Your hip rests against the fence post. You take in his profile. He’s still a beautiful man you think and then you toss the thought to the cows wary of the trap set before you.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you say.

“Sounds like you already know.”

You nod. Tommy doesn’t talk about it much, but you’ve pieced things together over time, holding Maria’s hand when she came to you in crisis after Tommy told her.

“It doesn’t bother me, Joel. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It should bother you.” He says. “Should bother me.”

“Survival is a cruel game.”

Joel’s eyes finally land on yours. Something charges in the air. It sends electricity crackling through your bones, igniting something you haven’t felt in a long time. You swear he’s reading your thoughts.

You turn, heartbeat pounding in your ears, and head back on your well-worn route. You don’t know what to do with those feelings. Joel follows.

“You managed out here for 12 years? Alone?”

“After Kerry left, there were four of us: Anne, Denise, and my brother, Carter. We raided the houses around us. We found some stores that were relatively untouched. Everyone else left with the evac crew.”

Joel wracks his brain trying to remember meeting people by those names. You pick up on it. “They’re all gone. Infected or killed by raiders-” it’s been a long time, the death of your friends was hard, but losing your brother was the hardest. You push the memories back.

You can’t finish the sentence, even after all these years. Joel doesn’t ask you to. It’s the ending you’ve both encountered too often in this world- one less seat around the table.

Joel nods. The two of you fall into silence, but you’re okay with it. The quiet is nice. There’s a thrum of liveliness coming from the Tipsy Bison. A group of kids gather to play a game of kick-the-can out by the pasture in the growing dusk.

You catch Joel’s eyes roam around, absorbing it all.

“They even have town dances.”

You can’t quite pin Joel’s reaction. Bewilderment perhaps?

You remember the weirdness of it all. The Jackson group had fun, even before settling within the protective walls. It was an adjustment for you too.

You’d run like a fawn when the group came through. Maria sent a few people after you. Gabe was the one who tackled you in the autumn leaves. You landed a killer kick to his kidney and a fist to his eye before the others caught up.

They’d welcomed you into the group after assuring you were alone and a non-threat. They’d thrown a party after securing the original gated community. You can still see Gabe standing in front of you, hand outstretched smiling ear to ear with his swollen, purple eye. He wore it like a badge of honor. It sends a pang through your chest as your thumb plays with the gold band around your fourth knuckle. You haven’t been to a town dance since his death.

You finish the loop, drawing to a stop between your front doors. Joel turns to face you. Something flickers in his eyes, disappointment maybe. You wonder if he’s as lonely as you are.

His eyes lock with yours and you feel that charge again. The air seems to thicken, and you do the unthinkable. You let the trap snap. Just a small one, one you can control.

“You wanna take another lap? I bet we could fit one more in.”

Joel pauses. He’s never seen you do more than 3 laps. He feels the charge too. He’s playing with fire. The ring on your finger says so.

“Your husband okay with that?”

“If he wasn’t, he shouldn’t have died.”

Your own answer shocks you. It shocks Joel. Then, it creeps up on you, growing slowly- Gabe’s laughter. You know it’s all in your head, but he would have appreciated the humor. It spreads through you until the bubbly laughter escapes your mouth.

Joel tilts his head to the side. He can’t explain the way his chest feels lighter. “I'm glad you find it funny.”

He wonders if you catch the tension easing from his chest and the way his lips til upward. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, but he knows there’s something brewing inside him. Eight months ago, he would’ve run for the hills, and shut down whatever feelings he had, but it’s like opening up the gates for one person cracked it for more, but he’s still cautious. More people to care about is just more to lose. Ellie has him worrying enough as is.

His mind drifts to Tess- how he could never tell her what she wanted to hear. How he could never feel what she felt. Sure, Tess was like family to him; he cared for her in ways that were beyond a friend. Partners seemed to best describe it. He mourned her loss, but he’d shoved any greater feelings away long before that.

“I really don’t.” It spills over again. You cover your mouth. Joel raises an eyebrow. “It’s just that- he would’ve loved that joke”

Joel chuckles. You embrace the laughter, feeling lighter than you have in years. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes, forcing you to wipe them away.

Joel wants nothing more than to keep that smile plastered to your face. He recognizes it. It’s the very one Sarah used to pull from you. He needs it, craves it. Because now that he’s seen it again, he has to make sure it stays.

“Sounds like he had a good sense of humor.”

You manage a nod. “He sure did.”

“And Carter is okay?”

You cross your arms. “So you know I have a kid and his name? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

“Tommy told me.” He kicks at the dirt feeling a little silly. “He didn’t mention your husband.”

You bite your lip. “He and Tommy were close. They patrolled together, drank together, caused trouble together. They were like brothers.”

Joel nods. There’s a little stab in his chest with the reminder of the years he lost with Tommy. He sits with the feeling until it eases. He’s thankful for the family Tommy pulled together here.

You start on the additional lap without warning, but Joel follows. You’re unsure if you should open up. Do you want to open up? Does Joel want to hear it?

“He called me Doleful.”

“Your husband?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Gabe would say- Doleful: the eighth dwarf that never was- that’s you.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow, a deep crease forming between them. “That doesn’t seem very flattering.”

“It wasn’t- but it suited. I didn’t smile hardly ever. Didn’t joke.” You think back to the times before the group settled here, after your brother’s death. You don’t know how you kept on or why. “He made it his mission to made me laugh.”

Joel tried to picture it. You and Sarah were always laughing about something. You took Tommy’s shit and returned it, but he knew how this world changed people. “How long has it been?”

“2 ½ years.” It comes out so quickly. You imagine you could give him the number of days or hours if he asked. “I feel like I’m just now coming out of the fog. If it weren’t for Carter-“ you don’t let yourself finish the sentence, but you know you’d be a mad woman pacing your house like a ghost for the rest of time.

Joel nods. “Took me 20 years to come out of it. That ache never really goes away.”

You meet Joel’s eyes with a nod. “No, I guess I doesn’t.”

Your final lap comes to a close in silence. Lights from front porches illuminate your path home. You find yourself slowing your steps, extending your time together, but it’s not enough. You stop where you met, Joel turning to you.

“Thanks for letting me walk with you. I enjoyed it.”

“Anytime.” You wrap your arms around yourself. The thin pajama set provides little protection now that the sun is gone and the breeze has picked up.

Joel nods. You think you catch his eyes travel over your body. Warmth ignites inside you at the thought.

His voice seems to deepen. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He says, turning back towards his new home.

The nickname is oxygen to a flame creating a raging fire inside you. Chills rush across your skin. He’s called you that before, offhandedly, years ago in another lifetime. It had been completely innocent then: a side effect of living in the south, but you still melted whenever he did. This is different. Whether he intended it to be or not.

He’s already reaching for the door handle when you call out.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Joel looks almost surprised, but manages a nod. “Same time tomorrow.”

You don’t see the trip wire leading to the biggest trap of all.

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #woman #woman (joel miller)#woman (joel’s version)#the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #Joel Miller x babysitter

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