I Wanna Thank Damon For Letting Jure Be Sexy, He Doesn't Get That Opportunity Enough

girlies when Jere has his hair slicked back

I have no idea what he's saying but I agree

Ona | Bojan Cvjetićanin

Pairing: Bojan Cvjetićanin x reader

Summary: Bojan wrote this song about you and preformed it at one of the bands concerts for the first time. Through the song he started to spill his feelings for you for the first time after your breakup and you have a few thoughts.

Warning/s: possible grammar and spelling mistakes, mention of mental breakdown, maybe one curse word, bad breakup.

Author's note: Here is one for out golden retriever beautiful boy. I hope that you enjoy this one! Feel free to send in requests if you want me to make something specific with him. Oh and, btw, here is the translation for this amazing song. Your welcome. 😉

It was so bright out there, it started to hurt your eyes a little bit. You were standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd watching the love of your love. The love of your life... that you decided to let go because you felt like you weren't good enough.

You were attending yet another Joker Out's concert, but it felt different this time. Maybe because Bojan and you weren't together anymore.

Joker Out was here, in Croatia's capital city of Zagreb. This was the next stop for their concert. This is where the two of you met. Right here in Zagreb on a hot, sunny day in a crowded city. In your hometown. In the breathing country where you were born and raised in.

So here you were. In your hometown where Joker Out was performing. The first time that you heard that they will be performing in Zagreb, it felt like someone punched you in the stomach. But then you felt something different, you felt the need to see him again. Even if he doesn't take a notice in you as you stood in the middle of the crowd that was dancing and singing along. So you decided to go.

The moment that they stepped onto the stage you felt like you would cry. You missed them all so much. You somehow found the strength deep in your soul to look at Bojan. And so you did. He was just so gorgeous. He looked even better then when he did on the day that you left him (Lana Del Rey anyone? No? Okay...). He still had long hair, he was tall and just oh, so handsome. You noticed one thing however, his playful and mesmerizing, so radiant, smile or his playful smirk wasn't pressed onto his face like it always was. It worried you, truly. You watched as they got in their possession and as Bojan took the microphone.

"So... for the first song I will be singing something that hasn't been released just yet." He spoke in Serbian (it's actually very similar to Croatian, you know?) as he watched the crowd go wild with excitement as they claped and shouted and screamed with pure joy, with pure excitement.

"This song is also very special to me." He said, his voice was deep as he looked down in what seems to be sadness.

"It's about a very special person about who, I hate to admit it, I didn't get over and I don't think that I ever will." He paused for a moment so he could take a deep breath so he could continue to speak. "I met her right here, actually. In the beautiful Zagreb a year ago and I can honestly say that I fell for her harder then I ever did for anyone." The crowd was cheering, screaming, in excitement as Bojan introduced Joker Out's unrelated song.

"This one is for her." He said as the rest of the bend slowly started to play the chords. You felt your last bit of your breath leave your lungs as you felt tears pricking in your eyes, your vision getting blurry. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think.

But once he met your eyes deep in the crowd, where you stood, just as he started to sing, you felt like you were going to collapse.

Hodam opet njenom ulicom

Brutalno se vuče otkad nisam više s njom

Stanem ispod njenog prozora

Jedna njena senka da me spasi očaja

Bojan was walking around the dark cornered alley in the middle of the night. It must have been midnight by now. As he walked, he could see his breath in the cold of the Zagreb's winter, cold night. As he watched his breath become visible in the cold, dark night, he found himself pulling his dark coat closer to himself. It was truly a good attempt to keep himself from freezing.

Before he knew it, he found himself walking along the familiar road. The road that he walked along too many times to count, but right now, he was all alone. He looked up so he could be met face to face with the moon. It was shining so brightly in the middle of the dark night's sky. It was staring right at him, it seemed like it was mocking him. It was mocking his heartbreak and his loneliness. It was mocking him.

Suddenly, as Bojan looked down, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. You were skipping along the frozen road, your steps quickly increasing as you went towards your apartment.

He felt like a staker, even though he wasn't one. He slowely started to go after you, something was pulling him towards you. That invisible pull was there again, just like it first appeared when he saw you for the first time.

After a while, you finally came into your apartment. You leaned against the window with a heavy sigh. Bojan could see you from the street and as he watched you he felt like he was suffocating.

Bojan loved you. You know what? Scratch that. He loves you. He longs for you. He wants you to be safe and as he watched you quitly from down below, he once again exposed his pain for the Croatian girl to the moon. To the moon, to the darkes and the cold winter in the middle of the street.

Nisam ni zaslužio da završimo uživo

Jedna poruka i via more

Snegovi u avgustu sad po meni padaju

Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore

It felt like it was a good day. Truly. Bojan and you went out to get lunch and to explore the city. You were just hanging out together and it felt so good to do it. However, all good things have to come to an end.

Bojan didn't expect it at all. It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Out of nowhere, just when you think the day is going to be beautiful, and it hit hard. Really hard. In fact, it hit so hard it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Bojan. I really don't want to do this, but I think it's for the best if we break up."

That was it. Bojan could still remember those words echoing in his mind even though you never said them out loud. You told him this through text messages and maybe that's why it hurts even more than it would if you told him that to his face.

You loved him so much. You still love him so much that it hurts. Joker Out was starting to be a big band that has so much potential, and with that came so much more fame. You just didn't want to be in the way. You felt like you weren't good enough for him. You felt like he could do, and deserves, so much better than you. You were so happy with him, in fact, you were happier than you have ever been. But you didn't want to be in the way. So you made a hard choice.

Nobody could ever know, nobody could ever describe the pain, suffering and all that misery that you felt that day. That miserable feeling you felt when you pressed that little "send" button on your phone. As you watched the message being sent, you cried so much that it felt like you were going to collapse. After that you cut all of the contacts with him.

It was for his own good, that's what you told yourself. It's what you always told yourself as you broke down in the middle of your bedroom floor.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Bojan felt like a part of his soul was ripped away from his body as he read that message over and over again. He cried so much it started to hurt. He has never felt this way before. He hated to admit it, but he has never loved anyone as much as he loves you. It was intoxicating, but most of all it was painful and infuriating.

It lasted too long. Jan didn't know what to do anymore. Bojan just kept on crying, he was crying for so long, in fact, it was already dark outside. Jan was afraid that something was going to happen to him if he doesn't do something. And quick. It looked like Bojan wasn't breathing anymore. His broken soul didn't allow him to take a break, even just so he could breathe.

So Jan panicked and before he knew it, he was calling you up. He watched Bojan from the other room as the grip on his phone tightened. He found himself silently begging you to pick up your damn phone and answer him.

And so you did. After the millionth ring and after about two hundred messages later. You picked up the phone.

Jan told you everything. You were crying before he called you and it took everything in your power to not break down while being on the phone call with Bojan's band mate and your friend. You were practically kicking yourself for your decision, but there wasn't much that you could do.

From that day on, Jan tried everything in his power to get you two to at least meet. And for the first time, in a very long time, he succeeded. He managed to convince you to come to their concert.

In the city where you met.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Ubija me

As Bojan sang the last few chords of the song, he never broke the eye contact. You felt a few tears betraying you as they ran down your cheeks. Before you knew it, you found yourself whispering the words for which you barely found the strength to say.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene." You said, practically out of breath. It felt like you were kicked in your stomach as he continued to hold your gaze. You felt more tears as you found yourself repeating the words you just said.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene..." You couldn't do this to yourself anymore. You couldn't do this to him anymore. It was too much. The pain and suffering was getting out of hand.

You had to fix this.

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟏𝟎

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Rooster are in uncharted territory. It makes you act out. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5.6k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

When Rooster comes into your bedroom just after sunrise, his lip caught between his teeth and a robe shrugged over his shoulders, he feels guilty. Your room is still dark, hardly touched at all by the yellow light of the sun.

There you are, alone on your waterbed, tangled in your comforter and breathing steadily into your down pillows. Your limbs are a mess and your pajama pants are crooked on your hips--it makes Rooster smile fondly and shake his head. You sleep hard. And before he met you, he never understood what that meant. But looking at you right now, with only a few hours of sleep in your system, he understands it immediately. How else could anyone describe this scene before him? 

He kneels on the ground beside your bed, careful not to rustle the waterbed. That guilt is sitting like ice water in his throat right now--but he knows he has to wake you up. 

“Cherry,” he whispers quietly, laying his flat palm in the middle of your back. “Babygirl.” 

You’re in a dreamless sleep. It’s what you prefer, honestly. You always feel like you sleep better when your brain isn’t busy flooding the back of your eyelids with false images. 

When you don’t stir, Rooster leans forward and presses a few kisses to your bare forearm, carefully pushing the comforter down so it’s under your shoulder. 

“Baby,” Rooster whispers again. 

Finally, you rouse. 

It’s only a little bit--just your eyes barely cracked open, your breathing harsh and curt before steadying itself. You’re blinking at Rooster rapidly, still not entirely sure where you are, and swallowing hard. 

“There she is,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Morning, sunshine.”

Mumbling incoherently, you rut yourself until you’re closer to Rooster. 

He thinks you’re going to get out of bed for a moment but then you open up the covers and close your eyes again. You’re inviting him into bed with you, knowing full well that Rooster can do little except bend to your will. 

He glances at his wristwatch. It’s already 7:21. You two need to be in the makeup chair by 8:15--and even that’s pushing it. But then he feels the plumes of your body heat, the rose and vetiver still staining your skin from the bath he drew you last night, and he’s slipping off his robe and climbing into bed beside you. 

“You’re a real minx, you know that?” He asks. 

You’re already molding yourself against him, tangling your legs in his, snuggling yourself against his throat, smiling lazily. He’s very warm--warm enough to make you wanna pur. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper. 

He strokes your hair carefully, knowing that you’re well on your way to falling back asleep. But he can’t be mad--how could he? He’s holding you. 

“Dennis rang,” he says quietly. “We’ve got a shoot today.” 

You groan quietly, screwing your eyes closed. 

“Me and you?” 

“And Jake.” 

“Three’s company,” you mutter, worming your fingers in the waistband of Rooster’s shorts and letting his hot, taut skin soothe the pads of your fingers. “No scripts then?” 

Rooster shakes his head, lashes fluttering when your fingers dance along the elastic of his briefs. 

“Improvising today,” he says. “You’ve gotta earn your way into Heaven.” 

Wrinkling your nose, you sigh. 

“That’s sacrilegious,” you whisper. “Didn’t Jesus just rise or something?”  

Rooster kisses the top of your head and lets his lips linger there for a long time. 

“Like we’re going to Heaven anyway,” he teases. 

Grinning tiredly, you yawn and then nuzzle your nose against his warm throat. 

“You are,” you tell him. “St. Rooster.” 

He shakes his head. 

“That’s generous,” he whispers. 

Both of you glance down to his knuckles in tandem. They’re still split, but they’re scabbed over and healing now. They’re still pink from breaking that man’s nose and now when he gets angry, the skin there tingles. 

“You take in orphans, fistfight pervs, make me cum,” you yawn. “That’s, like, a golden ticket through the pearly gates.” 

He sighs. 

“What did I do before you?” He asks. He’s only partly teasing.

“Question your status in the afterlife, I guess,” you answer with a sigh. “But I’ve always known where you’re going, daddy.” 

He shakes his head. 

Laying in bed with you, on this lazy morning that is not supposed to be lazy at all, makes him think about Sunday mornings when his ma was still alive. She would do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, eating peach jam on rye toast, as he snuggled into her side and pretended to read the sports section. He was little then, newly a fatherless child, and tried hard to be around his ma whenever he could. She never said it, but he knew that it helped her. He could smell the tears on her cheeks sometimes when he came in early in the morning, warming up his father’s side of the bed even though the space was far too large for him to fill. His feet never touched the end of the bed; his father’s feet always hung off.  

He doesn’t think about this often--not really. He honestly doesn’t think about either of his parents very often at all, but if he does, it isn’t like this: these sun-drenched memories that fill him to the brim with the sweetest and stickiest kinds of grief.

You feel it when he gets quiet.

“Dream anything fab?” You whisper. 

He doesn’t answer, just pulls you closer. You understand that he doesn’t want to speak for a little while. You’re okay with that. You’ll make yourself okay with that. But you also know that you won’t be able to fall back asleep--Rooster won’t let you, anyway. 

So, you begin to gingerly trace the elastic band of his briefs. His hips stiffen beneath your touch, but he doesn’t move away from you. 

When you press that first chaste kiss to his jaw, he knows he’s done for.

With his eyes screwed shut, with his chest tight and growing tighter with every one of your movements, he relishes in this closeness. You with your open mouth pressed against his throat, your hand wrapped around his hardening cock, his arm securing your body against his. 

“You okay?” You ask quietly, feverishly kissing his cheeks. 

Gripping the sheets, grinding his teeth, he just nods. Your pace is something between languid and merciless--he knows he won’t last long, especially when you move his hand to your underwear and let him feel how thoroughly soaked they are. 

He tries to start moving his fingers against your clit, but you halt him. Instead, you hold onto his wrist, let his hand fall over his own cock, and smear your arousal over his length. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Want me to touch you, babygirl?” 

You shake your head, dizzy with excitement. 

“No,” you whisper. “I’ve got you.” 

When your thumb presses that deliciously sensitive spot on the underside of his cock, the spot that your tongue is well-acquainted with, he instinctively reaches out and grabs onto your hair. He isn’t rough, doesn’t pull; he just anchors the two of you together that way. 

“Cherry,” he whimpers. 

Your chest is hot now. Still, you’re feverishly kissing his flush skin, ignoring the ticking clock and the sunlight that’s beginning to lighten the bedroom. 

Rooster’s suddenly thinking about this being his reality. About waking up with you in the morning, kissing your eyelids, letting you wrap your hand around his cock. He’s thinking about this bed beneath the two of you being your marital bed. He’s thinking about marrying you and moving to wine country and having you all to himself. And fuck, it’s getting him so close, making his throat so tight and warm, tightening that coil in his belly. 

Suddenly, he’s not just thinking about you and him. He’s thinking about the bed having little tiny bodies squished in between the two of you. He’s thinking about their feet never reaching the end of the bed. He’s thinking about little tiny palms pressed to his cheeks, little tiny lips pressed to his knuckles. He’s never thought about this before--with anyone, ever, at all--and it’s pushing him to an edge he’s never stood on before. 

“What, daddy?” 

He groans, a pitiful and loud noise, and holds onto your hair tighter. 

“I wanna cum inside that pretty cunt,” he tells you. “Can you do that for me, babygirl? Can I cum inside you?” 

You comply with vigor. You’re wet enough to ease him into you at once after you’ve pulled your pajamas off. Holding yourself steady with your hands planted on his belly, your hair still messy and sand still peppering the corners of your eyes, you look down at him and he looks up at you.

He pushes his feet into the waterbed, ignoring the sloshing, and thrusts himself into you. You don’t dare tear your gaze from his pretty face, not even for a moment. 

You can tell he’s thinking about something deeply, can tell from the strain of his lips and the furrow of his brows and the heat that’s gathered in his cheeks and over his chest. 

“What?” You ask breathlessly, rolling your hips into his. 

He’s pressing into a gummy part inside of you, one that makes your toes curl. 

He considers saying it. He really, really considers saying it. But then he just does it instead, letting his hand hover in the air for only a moment in hesitation: he presses his palm against your belly and presses down. 

For a moment, you wonder if he’s trying to feel his cock moving inside of you. But then he softly strokes the skin of your belly with his thumb--a fluid and soothing motion--and it dawns on you. 

Oh. 

You clench around him, maybe not even on purpose, and he cums suddenly. It’s all too much for him--you squeezing him, your pretty and tired eyes pouring into his, your partly-naked body doused in sunlight. It’s romantic and beautiful and so fucking hot. 

Every moment of his release is felt in your body--deep inside of you, where the pulsing feels concrete and sacred. 

You stay upright for a moment as he comes down, panting as his bottom lip quivers. And after just a moment, one where he peeks at you through half-shut eyes, he tugs you down and against him. 

He’s too afraid to say anything. He’s worried that he overstepped. He’s never in his entire life felt like that before--hasn’t even wondered about it. He’s just as surprised as you are. 

But you’re not moving away from him. You’re not disgusted. You’re just trying to catch your breath as he softens inside of you. You decide, all at once, that you’re not going to say a word about it unless he does. 

“You alright, kid?” He asks quietly. 

You nod immediately. 

“Super,” you whisper. 

He starts to wriggle his hand between you, starts to press his fingers against your clit, but you just pull yourself tighter against him. 

“You’ll get me later,” you insist. “Just breathe, baby.”

His heart squeezes. He nods, wraps you up in his arms, and kisses your head. 

You liked it. Maybe that’s what is surprising you so much right now. You liked those few moments of make believe where you pretended like you were someone that could get pregnant and he was someone who would get you pregnant. 

He liked it, too. He didn’t think he ever wanted to get married--not to anyone at all, not even Farrah Fawcett. But you change just about everything for him, which is something he’s still growing accustomed to. 

After his parents died, he knew concretely that children were never going to be a part of his future. He didn’t want to be responsible for one--didn’t want to be responsible for breaking their heart if he died prematurely, either. So, he’s always been content just knowing that he will be childless. 

But with you on top of him, your weight heavy and familiar, his fingers are tingling. Something is going to change. Something is already changing. 

“Big plans for tonight?” You whisper, unable to stand another moment of silence. 

He shakes his head. 

“Phoenix is gonna come over for some cocktails. You down?”

You nod at once. 

“I’m down.” 

Neither of you talk about it. 

But you think about it--the way you won’t ever be able to give Rooster what he wants unless you’re playing make-believe. And in big and small ways, that devastates you.

☿

The set is pretty today--prettier than it normally is. There are white curtains, pristine and steamed, covering all the walls of the soundstage. There’s a machine that is emitting a thin layer of sweet-smelling fog, the stuff biting at your knees and permeating the polyester all of you wear. The lights above you are bright and white--the kind that you have to squint against if you tilt your face towards the sky. 

You wish, maybe because the set is prettier than it usually is today, that you were in a less sour mood right now. You’re still partially reeling from your encounter with Rooster this morning, which was so sudden that your neck aches just thinking about it.  

Right now, dressed in this terrible polyester jumpsuit that’s genuinely designed to be ripped apart easily, you wish you were at home with Rooster and Jake. Instead of standing here in these big heels, coming down from that bump you took half an hour ago, watching Dennis direct Rooster to be rougher with you, the boys with their silly little halos on, you wish that you were sprawled out on the sofa. You wish that there was a mirrored tray before you, one that you can snort off of, one that lets you look into your own eyes as you ingest all that shit you’ve been so keen on. 

“I want you to take her real deep. Don’t be a pussy about it, either, alright? Chery’s down, right, babydoll?”

Picking the lint off the glittery, thin fabric covering your thighs, you nod absently. You don’t really care today. You just wanna go home. 

Dennis moved this shoot up an entire month. He watches the market carefully and knows what people want and when they want it. Apparently, just around Easter, there’s a surge in religious stag films. And, for whatever reason, double penetration.

That’s why you’re earning your way into Heaven today--less than a week after Easter. 

Rooster is standing with his arms crossed, his lips a flat line. 

“Shouldn’t we be asking Cherry about this?” He asks. 

Dennis glances at you--you’re unusually still, borderline despondent. You just blink at him, eyes heavy with that gold glitter the makeup department caked you in. 

“She’s good for it--right, babydoll?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he turns back to Rooster grinning. “Cherry’s always down.” 

Jake, who took a short intermission to powder his nose, is noticeably lighter as he bounds back to the soundstage. He throws his arms around your shoulders and presses some lewd kisses to your throat as you lean into him. 

“So, I’ve got the pink, huh?” Jake asks, glancing at you. 

You shrug.

“Looks that way, cowboy.” 

Honestly, you don’t really care either way. It’s unusual for you to feel so apathetic about this, because you really do consider pornography to be your art. Especially in the past few months as everyone flocks to see your films, as men come up to you on the street and ask to motorboat you or kiss you, as the world is starting to learn about the existence of one Miss Cherry Arsan. 

But today, you don’t want to be filmed. You want to have sex--you always want to have sex--but you were hoping for it to be more private. You just wanted to lounge in your panties all day, suck some cock, drink some orange juice, smoke some marijuana, get fucked on the sofa, and maybe swim. 

Instead, you’re here. And you can’t get the feeling of Rooster’s big hand cupping your empty, empty belly.  

“Got a stick up your ass today?” Jake asks, still peppering your face with kisses. 

Sighing, you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” you whisper. 

He barks out a laugh--Rooster glances over at the two of you but doesn’t move from his spot before Dennis. 

“Lemme take you out tonight,” Jake offers. “C’mon, we’ll boogie down.” 

 “You’re supposed to do dinner before fucking,” you sigh, smiling softly despite your sour mood. “Besides, Rooster’s got drink plans with Phoenix tonight. Wants me to be there, I guess.” 

You’re trying to sound casual about it--even though you really, really don’t feel casual about it. You love Rooster and you like Phoenix; but after learning that they tried going steady, that they were in a relationship, you don’t dig the idea of them alone together. 

Fuck, you don’t know who you are anymore to feel this way. You don’t know what Rooster’s doing to you. 

It’s juvenile and it’s silly and it’s the antithesis of everything you believe in to be jealous; but some things just are. And the thought of them alone together, her delicate collarbones begging for his supple lips, makes your knees feel a bit weak. 

Jake watches you carefully--he’s high, but not high enough to disregard your jealousy. And he knows right away that it is jealousy that keeps you where you are right now, in Rooster’s home, away from him.

He wants you to be wrapped up in him for a little while--wants you to bend to his will, to sleep at his house, to fuck him in the mornings. He knows, distantly, that if he just asked that you would say yes. You would do all of that for him. But he doesn’t wanna have to ask you.  

So, he does it. 

First, he shrugs like it’s all casual. Then he stuffs his hands in the pockets of the white robe he’s wearing and watches you watch Rooster. 

“Sure you wanna be there for that?” Jake says. 

He watches your face: your eyebrows knit, your lips purse, your eyes widen. But you’re careful to not snap your head in his direction even though that is what you want to do right now. 

“I’m not picking up whatever you’re trying to lay down.” 

Jake pretends to be all-knowing, making a show of shrugging and yawning before tucking you under his arm again. 

“You don’t know what happens when they’re alone together?” Jake says, sucking on his teeth before shrugging again. “Man, I envy you. They get real nasty together. And, like, not even in a fun way. Like there’s no room for anyone but them. You dig?” 

Something peculiar is happening inside of your body now. It feels like something has dislodged--something big, something heavy. An anchor or a boulder or a fucking ten-ton weight that’s been sitting pretty in your gut is suddenly free-floating through your body. You’re steaming and shivering at the same time, skin goosing, jaw clenching. 

But you don’t so much as let your brows twitch. 

“Is that the skinny?” You ask without breaking your gaze from Rooster. 

Jake nods, swallowing hard. 

It suddenly sets your body on fire--thinking about the two of their bodies connected, washed in the glow of a sunset, their skin smooth and crinkled from bending or pinching. When you think about his flat palm on her belly, when you think about him cumming inside of her, a bitter taste floods your tongue. 

“You’re better off coming with me,” Jake says. “I’ll take you back to the pad once they’re finished.” 

Once they’re finished.

Jake doesn’t know why he’s saying this to you. Rooster and Phoenix hardly, if ever, fuck off-screen. Really, when she comes to the house tonight, they’re probably going to talk about art and film and politics. Jake just finds it all so boring--who wants to talk about Mary Tyler Moore and Sweeney Todd and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty when you can go to the disco instead? Jake knows--or at least thinks he knows--that you would much prefer to go dancing anyway. He just has to get you there. 

But suddenly, there’s guilt pooling at the pit of his belly. Shit. He knows you’re upset when you hardly react. If you didn’t care at all, the way you’re pretending not to, then you would tell him so. You’d guffaw and wrinkle your nose, pretending to be grossed out. 

You’re just silent and still now, watching Rooster. 

Jake almost starts to say that he’s fucking with you--almost even gets himself to abandon the disco and come to Rooster’s pad tonight for cocktails and stimulating conversation--but instead, he says, “You good?” 

You just nod, pretending like your heart isn’t tight now.

“What’s the hold up?” You call to Dennis and Rooster, crossing your arms over your chest. “Deeper and harder. Got it. It isn’t rocket science, you know.”

Rooster’s spine prickles at your words. He knows you’re high--or at least, you were high twenty minutes ago when he pulled Dennis aside to talk about this scene. You bring the ax down when you’re high--and sometimes you bring it down again when your high is fading. He can’t tell which is which right now. 

“She gets it,” Dennis says, already stuffing a cigar between his lips and patting Rooster on the back. “Just fuck her, okay? It’s real tight back there--you’ll have a good time. Heard it’s out of this world!” 

Rooster swallows all the saliva that’s pooled under his tongue and resists the tingling in his still-split knuckles. 

“Cherry,” Rooster says. “C’mere for a minute.” 

You comply, arms crossed, and stand just a few feet before him. 

“What’s up?” He asks, voice hushed. There’s crewmembers hustling and bustling around you and he doesn’t want them privy to this conversation. “What’s the ‘tude for?” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shrug. 

“I’m fantastic,” you tell him. “I just wanna film, alright?” 

“What’s the rush?” He follows. 

The two of you stare at each other for a long, long moment. He knows something is wrong--you’re being frigid right now. Maybe by other people’s standards--to the untrained eye--they wouldn’t understand that this version of you is cold. But Rooster’s had the softest, warmest parts of you. And right now, with your spine straight and your eyes dark, he knows that version of you isn’t here now. 

“You know,” you start softly, throat burning at the very thought of Rooster’s lips wrapped around Phoenix’s pert nipples, “I think you’re the only dog in the world that questions where the bone came from instead of just eating it.”

“Ouch,” Rooster says flatly, frowning at you. “Don’t be cruel.”

You don’t miss a beat. 

“You think that’s cruel?” You ask. 

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

You’re waiting for him to give it up.  

“What’s up?” He tries again, a bit desperate now.

He shuffles a bit closer to you, inhales that expensive perfume on your pulse points, tries not to get lost in the storm in your eyes. Everything around him dissolves as he stares at you, hands on his hips, trying to have a serious conversation while he has a fucking white robe on and nothing else. 

“You tell me,” you say. “Look, I’m trying to get out of here at a decent time so I can hit the town later. I know you and Phoenix are gonna have all the time in the world at the house, but the clubs close eventually. So, fuck me. And then we can both leave.” 

His brows knit. 

Without really meaning to, he scoffs. 

“What?” He asks, incredulous. “Cherry, I thought you were gonna stay in with us. I bought a new record.” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. 

“Don’t wanna interrupt,” you say tersely. “I’m going out.” 

He shakes his head. 

“What changed?” 

Everything. Nothing. 

He’s terrified that you’re going to bring up this morning--he tries not to let his face show that. 

“It’s the weekend,” you say. “Why would I wanna stay in?” 

“It’s Monday,” Rooster says, eyes narrowed. 

You shrug. 

“It’s all the same to me,” you say flatly.

Rooster sighs, shaking his head. He’s never seen your mood shift so suddenly. 

He decides, right then and there, that you’re coming down. That’s all this is. You’re coming down, you didn’t want to come into work today, and you’re taking it out on him. You’re taking it out on him because he takes good care of you. 

He loves you. You love him. That’s all this is.

He’s good at talking himself down. He pretends like this is the truth--it’s totally fathomable, anyway. 

“Fine,” Rooster says, voice softer now. “You’re more than welcome to hit the town, babygirl.” 

You blink at him. You weren’t asking for permission.

A part of you, a tiny little piece, was hoping that he would abandon all plans with Phoenix and come with you and Jake. But maybe this proves exactly what Jake told you--there isn’t room for anyone else when Phoenix and Rooster get together. They’re probably relieved that they’re gonna have the house to themselves. 

“I know,” you say. “C’mon.” 

He doesn’t wanna do it like this--doesn’t wanna fuck you while you’re in a bad mood, when you don’t wanna fuck him. But you’re not giving him an option, really.

You wish you were doing this anywhere but here. You wish that you could be somewhere more private, so you could be more vulnerable. You wish that you could relax into this, but you can’t. 

Rooster is lying on his back, stupid robe discarded, and you’re laying on top of him. Jake is between your legs, lips attached to your throat as he buries himself inside of you. It feels good as he does it, pulling out of you then pushing himself back inside. Rooster’s holding your body steady with his hands firmly holding the curve of your waist, his breaths coming out in short pants by your ear. 

“Now, Rooster,” Dennis directs from beside the camera. 

Rooster, with a lump in his throat, lets a hand slide behind your body. You’re taking deep, deep breaths, trying to get yourself ready for this. It isn’t exactly fear or anxiety or worry that’s making you ache--it’s still that sick jealousy. It’s because of the thought of Rooster’s hand on your belly again. 

“We’ll go nice and slow,” Rooster whispers against your ear, kissing the lobe there. “Just breathe, baby.” 

Without another word, he lets two fingers fall between your cheeks. Your skin is hot, damp from your arousal dripping, and he carefully lathers it. He awaits your reaction, kissing your throat when you moan very softly. 

“That okay?” He whispers to you. 

You just nod fervently, trying to focus on the feeling of being full. 

So he gently presses the tip of his index finger in, digging his other fingers into the skin of your belly. 

It doesn’t necessarily hurt--but you have the distinct feeling that if anything changes, if anything moves, it will. So, you’re trying to keep yourself occupied by kissing Jake, who’s pounding himself into you with his eyes screwed shut tight. 

“Get on with it,” Dennis says. Rooster knows he’s talking about him. “None of that pussy finger shit. Use your cock, Rooster.”

You don’t know very much about anal, but Rooster does. He knows that it doesn’t go like this. Usually, it’s something you work up to. But neither you or Rooster or Jake knew double penetration was happening until you got to set this morning. If Rooster had known, he would’ve been working with you at home. Coaxing you into it, showing you how good it can feel. It’s not meant to be something that’s done so randomly, especially not with his entire cock inside you at once. 

Dennis is pushing you because you’re young, hot, and bring in the fucking cash.  

Rooster begins to pull away--but you pull him back to you. You’re afraid that he’s going to ruin the shot. So, you lean back against him and let your mouth fall by his ear. 

“C’mon,” you encourage. “S’alright. I can take it. Fill me up.” 

It’s like you’ve uttered some magic words. He’s been hard, but now he’s aching for you. He’s so hard that it’s making his entire body hot, flushed with arousal. 

“No,” he manages to stutter out, shaking his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.” 

You’re thinking about Rooster and Phoenix again. Jesus, it’s making your belly turn. 

“Just fucking do it,” you hiss. 

“Stop makin’ her beg,” Jake hisses, honing in on the conversation suddenly. “Do it, man.” 

☿

“No prep?” Phoenix asks, nauseous at the thought. “Fucking Christ.”

Rooster nods, stroking his mustache absently as he gazes down at the spread of cured meats and cheeses he set out on the coffee table. 

“Dennis pushes,” he says. 

Phoenix nods. 

“And Cherry doesn’t push back.” 

Rooster nods now, sighing. 

Phoenix has been here for a few hours now. They’ve finished a bottle and a half of merlot, which they sipped on between bites of fig and brie. She’s only in a sundress, her bare legs tucked beneath her body, as she sits on the couch across from Rooster. 

Neither of them are very tipsy, but they’re loose enough to talk about what happened today. He told Phoenix everything--even about early this morning when he held onto your belly and came inside of you. She is the only person in the world he would tell all this to--because besides you, she knows him the best. 

“I tried to--!” 

Phoenix cuts Rooster off by pressing a manicured hand to his knee. 

“You’re not always gonna be there when she films, baby,” Phoenix says. “And then what? She’s gotta learn to say no.” 

Rooster knows this. Really, he does. But the thought of not being there when Dennis is really pressing something makes him want to throw up. 

“Sure,” Rooster nods. “Fuck.” 

He groans, leaning back so his head is hanging off the couch. He blinks up at the ceiling, the entire room drenched in warm orange light, and wishes that you would just fucking come home. 

“Oh, baby,” Phoenix coos, squeezing Rooster’s knee. She hasn’t seen him so distraught about anything--anyone--ever before. “She’ll learn. She’s a youngblood.” 

He shakes his head. 

“Yeah. I know. I just want her to fucking come home.” 

Phoenix glances at the clock--it’s almost one in the morning now. 

“She will,” she says, trying her damndest to be comforting. “I’ll wait with you.” 

Rooster pats her hand a few times and shakes his head. 

“No, no,” he insists. “You don’t have to.” 

As if to prove her point, Phoenix pulls a throw blanket over her body and cozies up into the sofa, not hearing another word about it. 

“Flip the record,” she insists, nodding towards the record table. “C’mon.” 

Hours pass and you’re still not home. 

Phoenix finally left just after three, apologizing and pressing kisses to Rooster’s cheeks. And Rooster’s been sitting on the couch ever since, waiting to hear Jake’s car rumble up the drive, waiting to hear your obnoxious banter. 

It’s four in the morning when Rooster decides that you’re spending the night at Jake’s. 

He’s in his own bed, arms crossed over his chest, by 4:15. He isn’t tired--knows that he won’t sleep a wink--but decides that it is much less pathetic to sleep here than on the sofa like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. 

Jake pulls into the driveway just after Rooster’s shut his eyes. His car, his precious car, screeches to a halt just before his bumper collides with Rooster’s mailbox. He knows for certain that there are skid marks on the driveway now, knows for certain that he’s probably woken everyone up in this hoity-toity neighborhood. 

But it doesn’t matter right now--not when you’re in and out of consciousness, head lulling from side to side, a steady stream of vomit dribbling out of your mouth and onto the front of your dress. You’ve gotten worse since the two of you left the club half an hour ago--you won’t respond to him. 

“C’mere,” he says, panicked and not attempting to hide it, “I’ve gotcha, Cherry-berry.” 

And then he’s picking you up, holding your head against his shoulder and scrambling to the front door without turning his car off. His heart is racing, his temples are pulsing, his stomach is turning. 

Something’s wrong with you. He doesn't know what, he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know where it happened, he doesn’t know when it happened. But something’s gone wrong.  

You’re not here. You’re somewhere else, somewhere between Nebraska and California, drifting weightless across a plane of black poppies. You don’t know what’s happening to you--only that you’re sorry you had that last drink. 

“Rooster!” Jake screams. And it really is just that--a scream. “Fuck. Rooster!” 

You vomit suddenly all down Jake’s back as he hurries into the foyer, shaking his head wildly, stumbling around in the dark. 

 Rooster feels every hair on his body stand at attention as he sprints down the hall, his heart racing, his mouth dry. And then he sees Jake standing right there in foyer, holding your crumpled form, panicked tears streaming down his red face as he stumbles towards Rooster. 

“She’s in a bad way, man,” Jake sobs out, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know what fuckin’ happened!” 

Rooster is wide awake as he pulls your body off Jake’s and onto his. With the movement that jostles your body, it restarts the heaving again. You’re vomiting all over the tile, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your shoulders instinctively coming together as your fingers go limp. 

“The fuck you mean you don’t know what happened?” Rooster asks. “What the fuck happened to her, man?” 

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: GASPS

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

I don't need any analysis of these photos.

The conclusion is Jure is hot as fuck and gets all the bitches and I want him in ways I cannot begin to describe.

Jure the perfect slut i love him. No wonder they saved him till last

Kind of a big ask…but I am a sucker for 5+1 fics. Are you able to write something from Joel’s perspective about the five times he almost kisses reader and the time he finally does?

AN | I’ve never done one of these before and I hope it’s okay! It was so fun to write! 🥰 

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The First Time

The first time Joel almost kissed you happened to be the same night he finally met you. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly anything you had bargained for. 

You’d been drinking for a little while with your girlfriends and he’d walked into the bar and a few beers with his brother Tommy. He was new to Jackson, you knew that much, but also devilish and ridiculously handsome. 

But it definitely wasn’t love at first sight…the complete opposite honestly. He’d caught your eye right away as you had his. You’d met him and seen him in passing but - unfortunately - it hac never been more than that. 

“Hey,” it was liquid courage talking…it had to be. Normally you wouldn’t be so bold and brash. In your previous life you wouldn't have dreamed of doing this.

Joel looked at you and raised an eyebrow, making a small sound of acknowledgment before turning back to Tommy. The younger Miller, meanwhile, gave you a sweet smile and greeting. He was always kind….unlike his brother apparently. 

But in your wine-tipsy state you weren't talking no for an answer, "I said hello, Joel Miller. You're not going to say anything?"

"Hello," his lips pulled into a line as he looked you over. You couldn't tell if he hated you or wanted to devour you, "is there anything else I can do for you?"

And oh. There was just a hint of a southern drawl behind his words and you decided that you very much liked him. But that was probably just the alcohol talking. Right? Right.

"Oh, there's a few things I can think of," you said softly as you attempted to wink at him, "being less of a dick would be a start."

Tommy snorted in amusement as Joel glowered at him.

"Alright," Joel shook his head before sighing heavily. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist before gently pulling away from the table, "I think it's time for you to get home. You've had enough to drink."

“I’ve barely had anything,” you beamed at him, cheeks warm and eyes wistful, “I can handle another drink! Oh wait - dance with me!”

“I am not letting you have another drink or dancing,” he hated to admit that you were adorable even when you were tipsy, “you’re going home.”

“Only if you come with me,” you were definitely going to hate yourself in the morning when this all came back to you. 

“I am taking you home,” he agreed, looking towards your friends and gesturing that he was taking you out of the bar. They seemed to understand what was going on, wicked little smiles on their faces, “but I am not staying.”

“You’re so boring,” and yet you were following his lead, at his side like a puppy.

“And you’re not sober,” he reminded you, following your instructions to get back to your place. You fell into silence, studying each bit of him, wanting to get to know him as best as possible. You were home much more quickly than you would have liked. He turned to you and appraised you for a moment, “are you okay to get inside?”

“Yes,” your answer came out as a whisper as you looked at him with wide, soft eyes. You noticed the way his breath hitched in his throat and his hand twitched at his side. What was invisible to you was the inner turmoil that had surfaced within him as you looked at him, “Joel?”

He remained silent for a moment before bringing his hand to your face and brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You gasped lightly in surprise at the tender gesture but remained silent otherwise. It took everything within yourself not to lean into his touch. Your entire body was calling out for his touch and there was nothing you desired more than to kiss him. 

And if you weren’t mistaken, you were sure that he wanted to kiss you as well. He leaned in ever so slightly and you prepared yourself for it but then - he pulled back. 

“I can’t,” you weren’t sure if he wasn’t talking to himself or to you. You already missed the warm touch of his hand, “you’re not sober. And I’m not…I can’t.”

You swallowed thickly but nodded nonetheless taking a step closer to your front door. You offered a weak little smile in return and before disappearing inside. You watched him through the peephole; it was a while before he left.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Second Time

The second time Joel Miller kissed you was after you were injured on patrol. 

It was a few months after he’d moved to Jackson and established a life for himself and Ellie. And ended up in a close knit friendship with you; not that you were complaining. You were just as drawn to him as he was you. 

You’d been out on patrol with Matthew when it happened. It wasn’t even anything horrible and the way you’d gotten injured was…self-inflicted. Basically you’d rolled and twisted your ankle and scraped up your knee as you tried to follow a bunny you’d seen. Yeah, alright, even saying it out loud like that made it sound terrible.

You’d seen the cute bunny and couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like there was anything else happening and Matthew was boring company - when he wasn’t trying to get in your pants - so you took the opportunity to see the bunny. But you’d slipped and list your footing and took a tumble you hadn’t quite expected. 

The look on Joel’s face when you had returned seemed like he was ready to commit murder to anyone who had done this to you. Oh, he was gonna love hearing that it was your fault.

“What happened?” he sounded so upset that it almost made your heart ache. He stopped in front of you, hands finding your face as he looked you over, “you’re bleeding. You’re hurt.”

“I-I didn’t,” you found it hard to focus on anything as you looked into those big brown eyes of his, “nothing happened…”

His gaze shifted to your swollen ankle and bloody knee.

“Okay nothing that anyone else did to me happened,” you laughed nervously, hoping to alleviate his worry, “I, ugh, itrippedandfell.”

“Pardon?”

“Joel, fuck,” you groaned lightly, “I saw a bunny and got off my horse and tripped and fell.”

And…now he was laughing. You pouted at him and that caused him to try and hold down his giggles. But at the same time…it felt good to see him relax and not lose his mind over you. 

“You are…” he trailed off as he tenderly wiped some dirt off your face. But when he was done he didn’t move his hand away. Instead he leaned in closely and you were positive that this was the time he was going to kiss. The tension had been building up for some time now and you kept wondering when it was going to break, “something else.”

“So are you,” you didn’t back away but the megawatt smile on his face was worth it. And if you leaned in even the slightest bit more, you could have kissed him. Your lips would have brushed up against his, “Joel Miller.”

And you wanted to kiss him and you wanted him to kiss you. To want to kiss you. Every fiber of your being was humming with energy. And just when you thought he was about to do it, slowly crouched down to look at your leg. 

“We need to get this cleaned up,” his voice sounded thick as you almost sighed in exasperation, “and get your ankle elevated and iced.”

“Yeah,” were you bad at reading the signs or was he just avoiding it all together, “good idea.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Third Time

The third time that Joel Miller almost kissed you was when you were in his house, helping him take of a very sick Ellie. You loved the kid as much as you had fallen for the man himself, and you would have done anything for either of them. 

You were in the kitchen, throwing together some soup and singing along to the record you had playing. It was simple moments like this that made life feel so utterly normal and wonderful; moments that made life worth fighting for. 

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he tried not to startle you. As soon as you heard him you turned around and gave him that smile that had started to make him turn into jelly.

“Hey,” you tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, “how’s Ellie Bean doing?”

“Feeling a little better,” he said and you related slightly, “she’s still a little warm but she’s sleeping now.”

“Good,” you continued chopping some vegetables for the soup you were putting together, “hopefully she’ll have an appetite when she wakes up. I’m making soup…obviously.”

“It smells delicious,” he admitted as he looked over your shoulder and into the pot. You stilled momentarily as you felt him behind you, his warmth and delicious smell overwhelming your senses.

"Family recipe," you tried to keep calm, "my grandma used to make it whenever anyone got sick. She always claimed it cured you right away."

"Did it?" There was a bemused little smile on his face as he leaned against the counter. He stole a piece of carrot and popped it into his mouth to which you playfully huffed.

"No," you grinned, "but no one ever told her that. And it's still delicious. Wanna help me make some bread?"

"Whatever you want, I am at your disposal," he winked and you wanted to perish a little bit, "just have to say the word."

It turned out that Joel wasn't too bad of a helper at all. He listened to your instructions with rapt attention and then delivered on making delicious bread. It was so easy and fun with him that it had your heart yearning for this bit of domesticity all the time.

"I have something to ask you," Joel took the bread out of the oven and set it down to cool. Your heart skipped a few beats before you nodded at him to go on. First he walked over to the record player and switched it to a different record, "dance with me?"

Well. Joel Miller asking you to dance definitely wasn't on your bingo card. But you weren't about to turn him down either.

"Yes," you whispered as he came back over to you, holding out his hand. You offered him yours in return and he wasted no time in taking it and pulling you into his arms. 

You almost instantly decided that his arms might have been your favorite place in the world. His touch was gentle as the two of you stayed to the music and you laid your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself to be lulled by the steady beating of his heart.

"Joel?" After a while you whispered his name and he pulled back, watching you with curious eyes. You swallowed the lump in your throat, all words suddenly lost.

Joel seemed to know what you were saying and leaned in closely, so close to kissing you once again. You were ready to jump for joy because surely this was the time he actually did it. 

You closed your eyes and waited and just when you thought he was about to do it, "hey! Whatever you're making smells delicious."

Both of you groaned slightly when you looked over and saw a very tired but happy looking Ellie in the doorway, bundled in a large blanket. 

"Hey Ellie Bean," you tried to make the disappointment in your voice at yet again not getting by him, "its good to see you up. We made some soup and bread. Hope you're hungry!"

"Starving," she grinned; unfortunately Joel felt the same way. As did you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Fourth Time

The fourth time Joel Miller almost kissed you was the same night he became your savior. 

You'd gone out with your girlfriends and had some drinks. You weren't drunk, that was never your style, but it was evident that you'd had a few drinks. But you were with your friends and dancing and having a good time.

You felt safe and everything seemed fine. Joel was even in another part of the bar, out with a few with a few of the guys, unbeknownst to you. 

It wasn't that he was keeping an eye on you but…for his own sanity he was keeping a bit of an eye on you. He just wanted to know you were safe, especially when your guard might have been a little lower than normal.

And he was glad that he had. Because as he watched you dance with your friends he saw the man walk over to you. Joel stayed back for a moment to see if maybe you knew him or something. But when he leaned in and you almost instantly recoiled, a frown on your features, he knew something was wrong.

Joel wasn't about to let that happen. He was on his feet and storming over almost immediately and was grabbing the man's collar to pull him away. Anyone could have sensed what was going on. The relief on your face was palpable as you looked back at Joel. He gave you a nod before dragging the man outside. 

"What the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" His voice was low and dangerous as the man shook with nerves. He knew exactly who Joel was, "answer me!"

"N-nothing-"

"I don't believe you," Joel whispered, "and I don't think you do either. Don't ever do that again. And don't ever let me see you again."

"Sorry! I didn't know she was your girl-"

"It doesn't matter if she is or isn't," oh yeah, he was angry now, "don't ever do that to any woman - anyone - ever again."

"I said I was sorry-" and the next thing you heard was the sound of a loud cracking sound followed by some pathetic whimpering.

"Sorry isn't good enough," Joel pushed the man away and he stumbled backwards, clutching at his face, "don't let me see you again."

He ran away without another word, leaving you staring wordlessly at Joel. You couldn't deny that while your heart was racing with anxious nerves, you were feeling a type of way at how protective he was.

"You shouldn't be out here," he slowly turned around, a worried expression on his face. You could see that his hand seemed to be bothering him, "did he do anything?"

"He didn't get a chance to," you whispered as you stepped closer to him, the tension thick but the anticipation so delicious, "thank you."

"You weren't supposed to see that either," he kept his eyes on yours as if he expected you to say something yes. To yell at him or…anything, "I probably shouldn't have done that."

"You did that for me," it wasn't a question, a simple statement instead. He swallowed thickly before nodding. You were in front of him now and reached for his hand, gingerly examining the bruising that was blossoming across his knuckles, "oh. You're hurt."

"It's nothing-"

"It's not nothing," you brushed your thumb across the back of his hand as you looked at him with soft eyes. You were going to be the death of him, he was sure of it, "let me take care of you. Please?"

His breath hitched and he looked at you in wonder. How did he get so lucky as to win your affections? Something so good and pure shouldn't have to deal with something so broken. But he wasn't broken. Not to you.

Joel took his injured hand and lifted it up, putting on your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. Your lips pulled into a small smile as you inched closer, every part of you screaming for him to finally kiss you. 

He leaned in too - he wanted this.

And then you heard the sound of your name being called by your girlfriends as they stumbled out of the bar to make sure you were okay. The two of you pulled apart quickly, looking at each other like children that had been caught being naughty. 

You cleared your throat before pointing over your shoulder, "I, umm…I should go."

"Yes," he agreed softly.

"Put some ice on your hand, okay? I'll come by in the morning to take a look at it."

"You don't have to-"

"It wasn’t a question, Miller," you grinned, "it's a statement. So - see you in the morning."

"See you in the morning, sweetheart."

Once again so close, but so far.

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Fifth Time

The fifth time Joel Miller almost kissed you, he was positive it would happen. The universe could only keep pulling you apart for so long, right? Eventually it would have to give…or so he hoped.

It was your birthday and what better time to have a little kiss, right? The man had it all planned out. Like he was going to kiss you and put his heart out to you. Yes, it was scary and daunting and in some ways he would have rather dealt with clickers but he was going to do it. You were worth the risk.

So he planned this whole party for you; a big bash filled with lots of food, silly party games, and lots of friends. It was the biggest birthday party you'd ever had and it was never something you'd imagined having again.

But Joel wanted to celebrate you and make sure you knew how loved you were. It had been a complete surprise when Ellie had lured you to their home under the guise of needing help with schoolwork. You'd fallen for it easily but the shocked look on your face as you walked through the door had been worth it. Your eyes always seemed to find Joel and it was like there was no one else, only the two of you.

It took a while for the two of you to make your way to each other, but you finally managed to get a moment alone outside.

"Thank you for all of this," you tried to blink back the tears of emotion that had welled up, "this was so sweet of you."

"It was nothing," he tried to play it off as you just smiled at him. You reached up and brushed a few rogue curls off his forehead. The gesture was enough to make him practically vibrate with energy, "happy birthday, sweetheart."

The two of you looked at each other wordlessly, an unspoken understanding flowing between the two of you. This time, everything else be damned, you were going to kiss him. 

Joel gently cradled your face in his hands and leaned in. You could feel his warm breath fanning across your face, his lips almost touching yours-

"Hey!" Joel audibly groaned as Tommy poked his head out of the house, "let's do cake now!"

Joel audibly groaned, cursing under his breath at his younger brother. He pulled back and you looked at him sheepishly before shrugging. You quickly ducked inside before he could say anything else. You really just wanted to kiss him too.

Joel ran a hand over his tired face. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something. But either way - universe be damned. He was going to kiss someday.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And Finally

When Joel Miller finally - finally - kissed you, you'd all but given up on anything happening between the two of you. Part of you, the very disappointed part of you, thought that the universe might just want you to be friends.

But then it happened.

It was at a wedding in the spring. At first you'd thought it was odd when people were still having weddings in this day and age. Then you realized why people did it - it was a sense of normalcy, of life going on, and was still something special.

So there you were, celebrating Anna and Nathan's wedding. And you were having fun, despite what you'd initially thought. You'd gone with Joel and Ellie, and it was definitely not a date…despite how much you wanted it to be.

You were on the dance floor with some of your girlfriends when the beautiful bride decided to toss the bouquet. Antiquated tradition? Yes. Still tons of fun? Also yes.

The only surprising thing was when you caught the pretty flowers, easily and effortlessly. You made a small sound of surprise and when you looked up you immediately caught Joel's eye. Because of course you did. Of course.

Joel's expression turned incredulous as a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. Your face turned so warm that you forced yourself to look away. 

Eventually the excitement died down and you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. It wasn't long before you heard his telltale footsteps making their way over to you. 

You turned around and smiled softly at him. He looked ridiculously handsome and it only served to make your heart ache, but in a happy way, "hi."

"Hi," he smiled back at you. And then it happened - finally! 

He took your face in his large, soft hands and didn't hesitate to kiss you. It took you a moment to catch up with what was happening but when you did, you kissed him right back, settling your hands on his hips.

Kissing Joel Miller felt so natural and easy; like you'd been doing this for years. You hoped you'd be doing it for many years to come.

Joel only pulled away, reluctantly still, when you both needed a moment to breathe. You looked at each for a moment before sharing a soft giggle. 

"Finally," you beamed at him and he practically melted, "had to wait long enough for that."

"I hope it was worth it," he touched your cheek tenderly.

"Absolutely."

"Good," and then he kissed you again, "because I plan on doing that a lot more."

"I hope that means forever," and yeah. You were kinda, sorta, definitely in love with him.

"Forever is perfect."

Blow by Blow | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big.

Warnings: references to domestic violence in this chapter — no graphic scenes, but mention of injury.

…

The sound of the plate hitting the wall behind your head still echoes in your ears. Buying tempered glass plates had sounded like a good idea nine months ago. Under a dollar per plate. A short term solution to furnish your first place. They had worked just fine, nothing special. But, it turns out that tempered glass shatters just like you’d expect it to.

There’s a slight limp to the way you’re walking. You don’t feel the pain, but your body still can’t function at full capacity. You know that can’t be good.

Blood spills out onto your skin as quickly as the warm, summer rain can wash it away. The cuts are small, you won’t need medical attention for them. Except for maybe the one on your foot. Walking barefoot in downtown San Diego can’t be doing you any favours there.

You breathe out, a choked whimper as you step barefoot onto a metal bottle cap. Your foot is sore and bloodied, but most importantly — bare. You hadn’t bothered to grab shoes.

Things with Jett had always been fiery. He was so passionate. You were stupid for thinking that that was a good thing.

“Hey!”

Stumbling back a few steps from the edge of the curb, your eyes go wide as you back away from the approaching car. You glance down quickly at your feet, then back up. There’s probably enough adrenaline in your system for you to start running, you’re just not sure how far.

It’s not his car. The realisation is sudden and uplifting, you stop moving and squint as it pulls up to the curb, blinded by its white headlights. The window rolls down and you’re met by a faintly familiar face.

She has dark hair and she’s frowning at you, clearly concerned. Your mind races, trying to determine if she’s safe or not. Jett will come looking and you can’t risk one of his friends —

You take another step back as you realise where you know her from. Bradshaw’s. She works there. Your mouth goes dry as you ready yourself to run again. She reaches for the radio and turns it all the way down, silencing the upbeat pop rock coming from her stereo. Her face scrunches further.

“Are you okay? — Can I call someone for you?”

Natasha stares ahead of her, her heart sinking. You’re wearing pyjama shorts and a t-shirt, both soaked through, your hair sticking to your skin. There’s an edginess to the way you’re looking at her, you’re flighty — terrified. All explained by the blood on your arms, small scratches and bloodied footprints behind you.

You slowly shake your head. Standing on the edge of a busy road, all that you can hear is your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Jett. She’s going to call Jett.

You take a few steps. Her eyes widen. Downtown isn’t the most walkable — or safe — area, and you’re about to take off.

“Hey, hey — it’s okay. I won’t call anyone. I promise.” She calls out. You see her mouth move, but it’s useless trying to understand what she says. You feel nauseous and tired and wide awake all at the same time. A few more stumbling steps back.

She grabs her door handle and slips out of the car, rounding the hood with her palms open and outstretched in front of her, moving slowly. You’re a deer in headlights, heart racing as she slowly approaches you.

The last thing she wants is to lose you down here. This can be a bad spot at night, especially in your condition.

“You’re drenched,” Natasha says softly, brows knitting together in concern. You blink, staring ahead at her. She offers her hand out slowly towards you. “Why don’t you get in the car, okay? — We can figure this out.”

You jolt the second her fingers graze your skin. She doesn’t pull back, not wanting to spook you. Instead, she brushes her thumb gently across the back of your hand and slides her palm loosely into yours.

“Please?”

Next, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Natasha’s classic mustang, shivering. Out of the cold, it all hits you all at once. The pain in your foot, in your head, in your chest. Natasha exhales softly as you begin to sob. She has a good idea of what must have happened without needing to ask.

Turning the heat up, she turns her head towards you, her features soft.

“Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

Natasha is one of three girls, and she has been mocked her entire life for being the least caring, the least maternal of all of them. Her sisters already have kids and husbands who they adore taking care of. Natasha’s a semi-pro female boxer — they’ve never understood her.

But, considering that you know none of that, you’re impressed at how she cares for you. A stranger. She barely even knows your name — only from hearing Jett scream it. You don’t know hers until you’re sitting on the floor in her living room as she digs through her first aid kit for you.

You wake up early the next morning, curled up into a throw pillow on her couch, wearing some clothes that she fished out of the very back of her closet. Your clothes should be dry by now after she had washed them last night.

You lie there for a while, facing her television, thinking of what comes next.

This makes you homeless, you suppose. You’re miles away from family, and you know that Jett will be periodically stopping at your friends’ homes looking for you.

Pushing yourself so that you’re sitting, you exhale softly.

Sitting in her room with a stranger on her couch and the overwhelming need to do something, Phoenix has laid awake most of the night thinking of what to do. By morning, she has decided.

“Hey, Rooster — I need a favour.”

You wipe your cheeks quickly, sniffling at the sound of her feet padding along the hallway towards her living room. Her apartment is small, but you really like it. It’s more feminine than you would have expected for her.

A plush white couch, with a red wine stain hidden under a throw pillow. Courtesy of Javy, who you’ll meet soon enough. Pictures of her, and her friends and family all around. A knitted cat plushy on the corner of the couch. A gift from Bob’s mom.

A white and green theme, with splashes of other colour, passes through the apartment. It’s tidy and meticulously organised. She seems to be kind of a perfectionist. She rounds the corner and slows, reminding herself not to spook you, even though she’s excited by her genius idea.

“Morning, how are you feeling?” She asks softly, stopping in the archway. You offer her a sheepish smile and blink hard, trying to make the tears stop.

“Um, embarrassed.” You breathe out, voice still trembling. Normally you aren’t the kind of person who would be out in the street at two in the morning, barefoot and wild.

Every other emotion remains under the surface. Aching, heartbroken, wounded in more ways than one. Embarrassed is all that you say.

Natasha nods understandingly, pushing her fingers through her hair as she moves to sit on the arm of the couch, crossing her legs under her. “I know you don’t, like, really know me — but, um… I’m not going to be able to sleep if I let you go back to Jett’s place.”

Not after seeing what she saw last night.

“So, I, uh… I talked to Rooster, at the gym, and there’s an apartment above it that… you could stay in for a while. If you wanted.”

Still cut and bruised from last night, your body finally hurts. You’re left with the reality of what happened, and the only option in sight is to lean on a stranger. This isn’t how you pictured things.

You raise your eyebrows, “That’s so kind, but… I can’t. If Jett saw me, or-“

“He’s not welcome in that place. The guys all know it. He won’t be able to come within twenty feet of it without someone sending him packing.”

You don’t have many options. Still, this one sounds risky. She watches as your features scrunch up with uncertainty. Natasha smiles softly and rests her hand against your knee.

“How about you come see it with me? — Just take a look.” She suggests. Staring into her warm brown eyes, you already know that this kind of kindness is a debt you can never repay, and that she is a friend you would be lucky to have.

Again, you’re blinking back tears as you slowly nod your head at her. This time, not because of Jett.

Bradley whistles as he strolls through the door to the gym, an hour late for his shift but not hungover this time. Phoenix is sitting on the counter top by the front desk, talking away with Mickey.

“Children.” Bradley greets calmly, swinging his gym bag off of his shoulder and dropping it behind the desk. He leans his forearms on the counter, in no rush to start working.

“D-Bag.” Fanboy greets playfully, making Natasha laugh.

“Your Mommy still not letting you say real swear words yet, Mick?” Rooster teases, raising his eyebrows. Phoenix laughs again. As much as she could train in places with better reputations, she would miss her boys too much if she left this place.

But she’ll never admit that, their egos are big enough already.

Mickey grins, then flips off Rooster. Rooster winks at him, then turns his attention to Natasha.

“And you — what did I tell you about bringing home strays?” He jokes, referring to the damaged girl sitting alone upstairs in a dusty apartment. Phoenix softens immediately and shakes her head.

“Seriously, you should’ve seen her last night…” She says quietly, shaking her head. Rooster’s brows furrow slightly. “I couldn’t leave her.”

Bradley nods his head. “She’s moving in, then?”

“I’m not sure, she—“ Natasha stops speaking as the door behind the desk opens. Her and Mickey turn quickly. Bradley’s already facing you. You’re wearing clothes that might have been Natasha’s ex-boyfriends, cheeks blotchy from crying, legs covered in scrapes and shoes that are a size too big. You swallow softly.

“Hi…” You whisper. Mickey’s the first to offer you a shy smile. The other two nod in acknowledgement. “Um, Nat, I don’t know if—“

“Take it. Please.” Natasha rushes out. She gets really cranky when she can’t sleep, she’s got a fight coming up and she just really can’t take her nerves being shot like this right now.

You look towards Rooster, unsure. He simply shrugs, not really knowing what you’d like him to say. He’s already in trouble for losing Jett as a client, Mav is going to freak out about them banning him permanently.

“I’ll pay rent.” You decide.

Rooster shrugs his broad shoulders again, “Don’t have to — no one’s been up there since the eighties. It’s a dump.” Mickey turns his head and frowns at his boss. Rooster would make an awful realtor.

“No, I-I’ll pay. And I can help out here, I just — I need to thank you for being so kind to me.” You look at Natasha, sincere. It’s almost a sweet moment. Until Bradley laughs. Every head turns to look at him. Phoenix scowls at him disapprovingly.

He pats the counter and shakes his head, still laughing. “Sorry. Just the thought of you tryin’ to train someone. Don’t worry about that, we’ll take care of things down here.” He doesn’t mean to sound like a douchebag, and somehow he still manages. Mickey wants to kick him.

You swallow, embarrassment burning through you as you nod slowly.

“I’ll get you the keys.” Phoenix decides finally, drawing the attention away from how clueless Bradley has become over the past year. “Come on.”

She didn’t give him the full details, so he doesn’t know what you’ve been through. Maybe if he did, he wouldn’t have just laughed in your face and fatally wounded your already crushed confidence. Even then, he might have — Nat isn’t sure.

Rooster hasn’t been in a good place for a while now. For a while, he seemed to be getting better. It fluctuates — this week, he’s an asshole again.

Your new apartment has two entrances. One, the door behind the front desk. This leads you directly into the gym. Your second, is the back door by the kitchen, a set of steel steps that lead down to the back of the building. Behind that is a locked gate that leads out towards the marina. You now have keys for both of those, but not the gym. That seems fair.

It’s mostly exposed brick up there, like the rest of the gym. A few wallpapered walls. Outdated, but you’re not in the space to be picky. Furnished, but also cluttered with the staff’s belongings.

You sit alone on the floor of the place for a while.

The door opens behind you, making you flinch and hurry to your feet. A short, older man with brown hair stands in the doorway with a frown on his face. Maverick. Natasha told you about him.

“Hello.” He says softly, uncertainty in his tone. You echo back a quiet greeting. “You live here now?”

Apparently it’s that simple. You give a small nod.

“Look, you don’t have to pay rent but—“

“I want to.” You interrupt. “Please. I can’t stay here for free.”

Maverick folds his arms over his chest. “Nat said that you’re good with computers.” You squint slightly. You’ve had an office job before, if that means you’re good with computers. Still, you nod.

“Call it a hundred a week if you’ll help me put this place on the line.”

“Online?” You ask gently. Maverick shrugs. It’s all the same to him. Still, four hundred a month — he’s insane. You nod quickly. “Of course. Sure.”

He smiles.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry for busting in, do you mind if I grab my jacket?”

You step quickly out of his way and let him in. So, this is happening.

…

WHAT DO YOU MEAN JAN TOOK MY QUIZ??????