#Austin is too hot for this world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

studioghibelli · 5 months

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bewitched, bothered, bewildered.

a joel miller x reader

summary: after your parents leave on a cruise for winter break, your best friend sarah invites you over to her house for the holidays. she failed to mention her father is the hottest man in the world.

warnings: best friends dad!joel, slight canon divergence as in Sarah is college aged come 2023, a big phat girthed up age gap, alcohol consumption, reader has just gotten out of a relationship, various media references, smut (fingering, female masturbation, f receiving oral, dirty talk, pet names, tiniest sir kink.) mdni!

note: this could be a series. i’m not too sure right now. let me know if you’d be interested in this as multiple parts!

You had never been to Texas before.

Tales of obnoxiously large barbecues, ten gallon hats, and vast, desert plains where rattlesnakes roamed freely filled your mind. Sticky sweet iced tea, kind old women who called everyone “honey”, and dry, arid heat were also things you associated with Texas.

And, sure, Texas was hot and humid as hell.

But it was beautiful.

While the plane made its final descent down to the Austin airport, your eyes took in the most beautiful sunset you had ever gazed upon, never before seeing oranges and reds quite as beautiful. By the time you deplaned, the deep navy of the night sky showcased millions of glimmering stars. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw so many stars. It must have been ages, but nonetheless they had ignited you with a sense of wonder.

“It’s about an hour, to my place.” Sarah warned, standing by your side as you both waited to catch sight of your luggage.

You nodded a bit, patiently looking to see your dark teal suitcase pass through the conveyor belt.

“Hey,” she nudged you in the side, causing you to glance her way. “Are you still thinking about your ex? Not good for you, so you better stop.”

“What if we were soulmates?” You grumbled, knowing how stupid you sounded. Your shoulders slumped forward. You didn’t actually think that idiot was the person you would spend the rest of your life with, but it was nice to have someone. To have… your person.

“If you two were soulmates, you wouldn’t have been broken up with. Now would you?” Sarah smiled sadly, gently patting your head. “Winter break is a month long. Who knows? Someone here might catch your eye!”

You rolled said eyes at her wiggling brows, grumbling beneath your breath. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe.”

“My dad has loads of hot guys working for him. They stop by the house sometimes, maybe you could…. I don’t know- waltz downstairs wearing a tight shirt and stick your ass out.” She wiggled her butt against you with a faux-seductive dance move.

“Sarah!” You laughed, gently pushing her shoulder.

“Dad says he should be here in about 5 minutes. Oh! There’s our bags.”

You grabbed your luggage in unison, lugging them off the machine before rolling through the crowds of people, no doubt travelling to and fro for the holidays.

“Look for a black Chevy!” She warned as you walked outside.

“I don’t know what that looks like!” You shouted earnestly, over the hustle and bustle of the pick up area.

Sarah looked at you, before rolling her eyes with a laugh. “There he is!” She waved both her hands towards a truck in the distance. You watched as it pulled to the curb, windows tinted black. When the driver door opened you heard Hank Williams crooning from the stereo, still unable to see the figure that was Sarah’s dad.

The shadow on the sidewalk was broad as it made its way towards the two of you, and when you finally dragged your eyes up, you saw Joel Miller in all his glory.

Tall, rugged, a little rough around the edges- but undeniably handsome. He wore a regular tan crew neck underneath a brown flannel, jeans spread out tight against his thick thighs, with the pointed toes of two leather boots sticking out. His dark hair, littered with strands of drool worthy gray, was slicked back from a fresh shower, one stray curl managing to sneak its way out.

And when he stepped closer, you smelled him. God, you smelled him. He wore just the right amount of cologne, and it made your knees weak. Joel smelled like woody vanilla, swirling with cracks of cardamom and whiffs of lavender tinted flowers of iris. You almost moaned. He smelled delicious.

Joel greeted Sarah, but quite honestly you were too overwhelmed to hear anything they were saying. And then he turned to you.

You.

“Hello.” He smiled a bit, eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite pin point. “I’m Joel. It’s real nice to have you stayin’ with us.”

You smiled. A real smile. He was kind, too? What a fucking dream. “Thank you.” After telling him your name you went to pick up your luggage, before a hand grabbed your arm gently.

His hand. Well worked, rough, calloused- an honest pair of hands that were scarred by a lifetime of hard work. Honorable hands. Sexy hands.

“There ain’t no way I’m lettin’ a pretty thing like you lift that suitcase all by herself. You’re in Texas now, honey. Don’t you know we practically invented gentlemen down here?” He joked, grabbing your bag and tenderly sitting it down in the bed of his Chevy.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I guess I’ll just let you do everything for me, since you’re a gentleman and such.” You teased. You watched the hint of a smile ghost across his lips.

“Well, you might just have to, darlin’.” With a wink that made your belly tighten, he opened the door for you, and you joined Sarah in the backseat.

“Dad, what the hell are you listening to?”

“Hank Williams.” You both said in unison. He put his eyes on you from the mirror, winking at you.

“Bring this one around more, Sarah. I like her.”

Sarah smiled, looking at you with love sparkling in her eyes. The kind of love that only existed between two bonded women, the kind of love that only two girls in a deep, genuine friendship could share. You smiled, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Dad, you know she just got dumped.”

“Sarah!” You guffawed. And that special moment was over. Tenderness now replaced with annoyance.

“Who got broken up with?”

Sarah nudged her head towards you.

“Her?!” He spoke incredulously. As if Joel could not wrap his head around the idea of someone ever leaving you.

You buried your hot face in your hands, mumbling a bit. “Was a fucking jerk.” You grumbled after a long moment of silence, pulling away from your palms to look out the window, watching the city pass by.

“Must have been, breakin’ your heart.”

“Dad, you have no clue. So it all started-” As Sarah started explaining your past relationship and breakup, you watched the backdrop of Austin rush past your window.

Beautiful buildings shimmering in the night, the distant noise of the city clamoring, vibrant grass and trees scattered about. It was stunning, alive, noisy. It was nothing like what people had described Texas as. And the only person who had called you ‘honey’ so far, was your best friend’s hot dad.

You pulled away from where you looked, coming back in to reality. Sarah was still going on and on with her drama spilling. Joel was still listening, or at least looked like he was listening. His plush lips were cemented into a tight line, eyes dark and focused on the highway ahead. He met your gaze in his rearview mirror once again, and the tightness of his furrowed brow softened momentarily. You offered him a hint of a smile, and he gladly took it.

“So, what’re you majoring in?” He asks you. You didn’t quite catch his question. You were examining how his hands looked around the steering wheel as he turned it, the way the pad of his thumb caressed the leather, the way his thighs looked spread out against the brown of the sleek seat. God. Was it normal to wish you were a fucking steering wheel?

You clenched your thighs together. You wondered if he noticed. He seemed rather perceptive.

“I’m sorry sir, what did you ask, Mr. Miller?”

Joel swallowed thickly, sucking in a sharp breath. “Joel, please. Call me Joel. I asked what you’re studyin’, back at school.”

Sarah laughed a bit, not looking up from her phone. “What isn’t she studying?”

You grinned a toothy grin at the comment. “It’s true. I’ve changed my major loads of times. I started with French, then anthropology. Now I’m stuck between film and history. There are a lot of things I love learning about. I just…. want to see the world, experience it all.” You explained softly, looking out the window as you thought. “It’s kind of hard to focus on one thing when your heart is all over the place. Y’know?”

Joel nodded a bit, clearing his throat. “You sound way smarter than me. Been contractin’ my whole life. Nothin’ special like French or history.” You giggled to yourself at the way he pronounced ‘French’, his Texan accent thick on the syllables.

“Contracting is honest work. Takes a big, strong man, you know? It can’t be easy. I admire that.” You hummed. Your eyes met once again. Joel’s tongue flicked across his lower lip, nostrils slightly flared.

Sarah was none the wiser, scrolling through her phone. You hummed a bit, settling in to your seat. By the time you looked at Sarah, she was passed out, fast asleep.

“So,” Joel began, turning on to a dirt road. You saw a few cows in the pasture fast asleep, the moon hanging above them. It looked like something from a storybook. “You heartbroken’ over this break up?”

You thought for a moment. “I don’t…. really know. It’s just weird…. it’s- it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Like, yeah, I was cheated on, then dumped. But we did everything together. Went out, grabbed dinner, saw movies. I just don’t know what to fill that up with. I do all those things with Sarah, obviously, but it’ll still be weird. I don’t know. I’m rambling.” You huffed out a breath of air you had been holding, shrugging a bit. “Probably sounds stupid.”

“It ain’t stupid.” Joel reassured softly, his deep voice rumbled like a song through your ears, filling your mind with symphonies and day dreams. Day dreams of feeling his mouth on your own, hearing that voice from behind your back while he took you- wait, what? No! He was Sarah’s dad! You shook the thoughts away. “Don’t uh….” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t feel bad for feelin’ any sort of way. Alright?”

As he pulled into the driveway of his home, you nodded slowly. “I’ll try not to.”

“Do or do not, there is no try.”

You laughed. “Star Wars! I love Star Wars.” You cooed, rubbing a hand down your cheek in an attempt to stifle your giggles.

“Sarah would never watch it with me. Been beggin’ her for years.” Joel admitted through a cracked grin.

“Well, I’ll watch it with you.”

Joel shot you that glance once more. “I’d like that.”

Was it a date? No. Surely not? Stop getting ahead of yourself! You took in a deep, shaky breath, gulping down a thick lump that had been forming. No. Calm down. There was no way.

Sarah woke up with a yawn, smiling when she realized the truck had finally pulled in to the driveway.

Joel helped you all unload your things, showing you to the guest room. “Feel free to help yourself to anything. Fridge, drinks. In the garage we got beers and some of them fruity mixers that Sarah likes. Our home is your home.” He explained, extending that Southern hospitality that you had heard so much about.

You felt your body warming up. “Thank you.”

“And, uh….” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost nervously. “I’ll be downstairs in the livin’ room watchin’ some movies, if you want to join me.”

WHAT?!

“Okay. Sure. I’d like that.” You said calmly, stiffly, and definitely not using a oh-my-god-did-he-really-say-that tone of voice. Nope. Not you. Not at all.

“Don’t feel pressured or nothin’. Just a thought.”

Before you could respond, Joel had walked through the hall and down the stairs. You threw on your pajamas, a simple pair of fleece bottoms and a tank top, rolling the thought over in your head. It would be nice, to sit next to him, hear his laugh, cast glances at his side profile. But you weren’t too sure if you could be trusted. Just out of a relationship, full of emotion, irrevocably attracted to this man….. No. No. It wasn’t a good idea. What if you did something you regretted?

So you climbed in to bed, shutting your eyes tight.

And then thirty minutes passed, and your eyes were wide open.

And then an hour passed, and your eyes were still wide opened.

What-fucking-ever.

You threw the covers off with a huff and walked out of your room, quiet as not to wake Sarah. She had had a rough finals week, and you knew she needed a good night’s rest. You on the other hand? Your body was aflame, every nerve lit up like a Christmas tree by Joel’s charming laugh, perfect hands, stern face. God. Why was he so attractive? So alluring? You buried your face in your hands as you shuffled down the hallway.

You were really doing this.

You reached the couch, and saw Joel watching the television, strong arm thrown across the back of it.

“Uhm, Mr- Uh, Joel?”

He turned to look at you, and you noticed a smirk tease the corner of his lips. “Well, hello darlin’. Started to think you weren’t goin’ to take me up on my offer.” Joel patted the empty space beside him. The couch was small, meant for two people.

You weren’t complaining.

“Yeah, well.” You let out a nervous giggle, sitting down beside him. “Couldn’t sleep, so.”

“Oh. So you’re tellin’ me I’m your rebound?” He joked.

“Yeah. Sorry… I’m real desperate these days.” You teased back, holding an embroidered pillow to your chest.

Joel chuckled a deep, beautiful, throaty chuckle, his arm not moving from the back of the couch, brushing every so often against your shoulder blades. “Do you want a drink?” He asked, turning to look at you.

“Sure.” You smiled softly at him, eyes lingering for a few beats to long. He shook his head a bit, as though he were thinking something he really shouldn’t be thinking, before looking away. A moment of awkward silence fell between you two.

Without missing a beat, he slapped his hands on his knees through a deep sigh, getting up and walking to the garage. When he came back, he had a six pack of beer in one hand, and a box of pre-mixed Strawberry Daiquiris in the other.

“Didn’t know which one to grab for you. A bit of everythin’, I suppose.” He sat the cartons in front of you, and you opted for the Daiquiri.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels. “Anythin’ sound good?”

You hummed out in thought, eyeing all the movies. “Oh! Stepbrothers! That’s a good one.”

He looked at you. “Really?” He teased dryly.

“Sarah and I quote it all the time.”

Joel nodded for a moment, before turning to you, a serious look on his face. “Did you… touch my drum set?”

A long bout of silence passed, before you took in a deep breath and looked up at him. “No.”

He furrowed his eyebrows together, clicking his tongue. “It’s just weird, cause it seems like someone definitely touched my drum set.”

“Yeah, that is weird, cause I didn’t touch them.”

You stared at each other intensely, both feigning fake anger, before you broke out into giggles. He shook his head with a chuckle.

“So, Stepbrothers then-”

“Oh!” You cut him off excitedly. “Look! The Empire Strikes Back!”

He hummed in agreement, clicking it on. You both got settled in, your shoulder touching his side, his arm thrown behind your back again. Comfortable silence blanketed the room, and you took in the scene around you.

A small living room, a flat screen propped on a wooden console that looked handmade, a nice rug spread out over the hardwood floors. There were some car magazines on the table, a pair of work boots sitting in the corner. It smelled like him, and his electrifying cologne. It felt like him, too. Masculine, woody, comfortable. It was incredible.

You had finished the box of drinks before the end of the movie, and by the time Han Solo was frozen solid in his fancy little fridge, you were crying your eyes out.

Not because of the movie.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Joel’s eyes slightly widened as he turned to you. “Hey, honey, what’s the matter?”

You sniffled, face planting in to his chest. You were tipsy, the newest recipient of a so called broken heart, and he was warm. So, so warm. Without missing a beat, Joel’s arms wrapped around you, his grip tight and secure. You had never felt more protected, more wanted, more cared for.

“Shh, it’s okay.” His long fingers ran through your hair, gentle and soothing. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m such an idiot.” You grumbled into his husky chest, no doubt leaving a stain of tears. “I should have seen it coming. Everyone warned me about… about… even Sarah knew. But I didn’t listen. And now I’m here, crying to my best friend’s dad who is way too hot for his own good, full of all these feelings, and-and-….. oh, fuck.” You realized what had spilled from your mouth, pulling away sheepishly and stuffing the pillow in your face.

Joel sat for a moment, wordlessly, slowly looking at you. He gently pushed the pillow away before his index and thumb grabbed your chin, demanding and gentle, tilting your gaze to meet his own. “Too hot for my own good, huh?”

Your face heated up with embarrassment. You wanted to recoil away, maybe throw up a little. You wanted to climb beneath the couch and die there. Anything but own up to your words.

“It’s okay. Think you’re the first of Sarah’s friends to get a little crush on me?” He joked softly, gently rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

A pinch of jealousy surged through you. It wasn’t making you feel any better. You sniffled loudly, your eyelashes fluttering.

“I will say, you are the first of Sarah’s friends I’ve…. well, you’re beautiful. And smart. And, you know.” Joel paused, clearing his mind. He was usually much better with his words. “Look, darlin’. I like you, a lot. And I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anythin’, but I can help with that broken heart of yours.”

A gulp of air caught in your chest. With shaking hands, you gently grabbed his own, pulling him closer to you. A deep breath, and then: “Please. Help me forget.”

Joel chuckled, his palm dragging down the side of your body. “I can do that.”

His lips met yours. Hungry, passionate, deep. Joel kissed you like he’d never kiss again, and you happily let him, lips parting, heart mending. He pushed you down onto the soft couch with his weight hovering above your own, fingers tangling into your hair. He wanted you. All of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked softly, hand moving down to your pajama pants.

“Please.” It came out choked, a plea, a prayer.

He pushed your pants down, allowing you to kick them off, before his palm found your core. Hot, soaked, weeping for him. He groaned, gently rubbing your swollen clit from behind the material of your underwear.

“God damn, girl.” He smirked, eyes darkening. “This all for me?”

You nodded meekly, the inside of your cheek caught between your molars. “Touch me.” You begged.

“Here?” He whispered, his thumb dragging across your soaked slit, over the cotton material.

“Anywhere. Just, please- make me cum.”

“Oh, I’ll make you cum alright, girl. But you’re going to have to stay quiet for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pushed your legs back, slipping between them as he lowered himself, now face to face with your pussy. Joel slipped your underwear to the side, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, before leaning forward and taking your clit in his mouth. You shuddered at the contact, groaning softly.

“I think,” he whispered quietly, your ears straining to hear him, “I want you to rub this pretty clit while I finger fuck your pussy.”

You groaned softly, eyes blown wide and dark, as you slowly sat yourself up on your elbows. “Ye-yes sir.” It just slipped out. You were too horny to care.

A guttural hiss seeped through his teeth. “I like that.” He warned deeply. “Go on, rub it for me.”

You lowered your shaking hand, the tip of your index slowly tracing up the length of your clit. It was screaming, begging, throbbing for any semblance of pleasure.

Joel’s eyes were on you.

He was inspecting your every movement like a panther stalking its prey, eyes full of lust, tongue dripping with desire.

You took in a sharp breath before rubbing your bud between your index and middle finger, a soft breath leaving you.

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praised, middle finger sinking in to your tight cunt. Joel sighed out a string of curses. “You’re fuckin’ tight, baby. That little pussy is drippin’ for me.”

“For you.” You whispered.

He looked up at you as he kissed your thigh, biting down on the soft, supple flesh. “You’re fuckin’ delicious.”

You threw your head back at his words, hips bucking. You felt your orgasm growing nearer, stomach tensing. Joel pushed your hand away, and you jerked your head to look at him, so quick it almost gave you whiplash.

“Sorry, I just can’t help myself.” He leaned forward, sucking at your clit again, his tongue swirling and flattening against it. Joel knew what he was doing.

As his finger still hit inside of you, you brought your hands down to his hair, tugging at his curls, the once slicked style now rampant and messy. You tried to stop yourself from moaning too loud, fearful of waking Sarah, but how could you not?

Joel fucking Miller, the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on, was worshipping your pussy. You shivered, thighs clenching.

He was worshipping your pussy.

His hot tongue felt like Heaven against you, and Joel was eating you like a starved man, like your cunt was the nectar of the gods. He did what your ex had never done before- he made you feel wanted, made you feel desired.

Joel moaned into your pink flesh, sucking and licking, nibbling and swirling, until your stomach grew tight with a looming climax.

God, he was good at this.

“Gonna cum. G-gonna cum, Jo- oh, oh. Oh.” You hummed out in relief as your orgasm washed over you, eyes widening as he continued licking, sucking, finger fucking- he didn’t care that you were getting sensitive. All he cared about was you. Your sweet pussy, delicious cum, soft folds- he wanted all of it.

“Fuck, you taste good.” He whispered, bringing himself away from your core. “Sweet little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your cheeks heated, and you slowly sat up, legs still shaking. “Jesus Christ.”

Joel chuckled, reaching towards you as he fixed a few strands of messy hair. “Yeah, Jesus Christ.”

You stared at one another for a moment before he tackled you with a deep kiss, hungry and crazed. You wasted no time kissing back, feeling the outline of his cock on your bare thigh. You gasped for air at the touch, already knowing he was big, thick, perfect.

Your hand was moving towards his shirt before the hallway light switched on.

“Fuck. Here.” He tossed you your pants and you quickly slipped them on, resuming your positions on the couch as normally as possible.

As Sarah walked down the stairs, your chest tightened with a sudden realization.

This was going to be a great winter break… if you made it out in one piece, that is.

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itsvelyria · 5 months

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"little things they do for their s/o"

Charles Leclerc

he was raised a gentleman, taught to treat ladies with the utmost care and respect. but as much as it was part of his nature, he liked opening doors for you. perhaps it was the tiny smile that you would give him as you passed or simply because it gave him joy to have helped you in some way. whether it was cars, restaurants or hotels, he always made sure to take that two quick steps to the door, pulling the handle and turning to you with that cheeky grin and wink. the flush that dusted your cheeks with their matching giggle always making his day.

Carlos Sainz

he didn't think too much of it, taking your purchases from you when you two were out shopping one day. it had felt so natural, one of your hands laced with him while the other carried your stuff. then it was a november night when you were stumbling back home after a late night when you had taken off your shoes, whining about blisters. he had leaned down, long fingers reaching for the heels while the others came to circle your waist, stabilising you. you had shot him a grateful smile and he replied with one of his.

Danny Ricciardo

whether he was on a plane, or in a garage somewhere on the other side of the world, your boyfriend always *always* sent you a reminder to drink water. it was sweet, the way your phone would light up at random times of the day with a message from your lover telling you to hydrate. and it was never pushy, the way it felt when your mother did, though that could just be because of the person. even during calls at 2am because he had just gotten out of his debrief session, the man never failed to show concern for your health.

George Russell

in his defence, you were always cold and always sneezing in his car. when he'd picked you up for your first date, you had been shivering by the time you two had gotten to the restaurant. picking up the car from the valet after, he'd turned up the heat, noticing how your shoulders had loosened. ever since then, he had started paying slightly more attention to the weather and adjusting the temperature in the car accordingly. it was a little thing, but it made him smile whenever you would slide into the passenger seat and feel that much more comfortable.

Lando Norris

you had just chalked it up to the way of life, hair ties were meant to go missing. until one day. when you were watching a video of your boyfriend and noticed a familiar blue elastic around his wrist. still, you had assumed it was another of his bracelets. then came a particularly hot day in Austin, you were lying on his makeshift bed, wondering if this was how hell felt like. your boyfriend had walked in, taken one glance at you and offered you a hair tie. the brown band staring you in the face had a little smiley face charm and something clicked in your head. now, you had your very own hair tie dispenser in the form of a very thoughtful man.

Lewis Hamilton

the man knew he was doing it. you were considerably shorter than he was and he respected that you had a smaller gait than him. but this also meant that in order to be able to hold your hand, he had to slow down and match your pace, which wasn't such a bad trade-off. in fact he quite enjoyed it, even if it was through the sea of cameras pointed right at him and fans waiting for him to sign merchandise in the paddocks. it was poetic in a sense he supposed, the way you made life seem to slow down so that he could truly take the time to appreciate it.

Max Verstappen

your boyfriend had a miracle brain, something that should be studied by scientists and academics worldwide. how else could one explain how he manages to know where every single one of your possessions were at all times? what you didn't see, was that he spends a lot of time watching you. his eyes couldn't drag themselves away from you the second you entered a room, tossing your AirPods or keys on the bookshelf or nightstand. quietly, he'll note the location, loving it when you would shout across the house asking where your phone was and he'll be able to tell you it was in the bathroom. the reward of your lips on his cheek wasn't bad either.

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bebebelll · 8 months

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does anyone know her dad? daniel ricciardo smau (part 2)

pairing: daniel ricciardo x toto's secret daugther!reader / daniel ricciardo x schumacher & wolff!reader warning: mention of slutshaming note: part one here, part three here, part four here

ynquads never drinking or letting 20+ men into my 2-bedroom place ever again. also yes danny slept on the floor but brought great wine.

liked by susie_wolff, danielricciardo, mercedesamgf1 and 1 834 273 others

maxverstappen1 who threw up in the hallway? because someone threw up on seven pairs of shoes

alex_albon lando. i saw him drunk dancing out there too landonorris OKAY

username ARE YOU NOT EVEN GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE TOTO WOLFF THING

username they are absolutely fucking username the fuck are your sources bro?

georgerussell63 i would like to apologize for the vase that i broke

logansargeant i will add the sorry for chipping the countertop lewishamilton i took the dog toys for roscoe and i'm not sorry fernandoalo_official i didnt do anything but i would like the recipe for the soup

danielricciardo why would you post just that pic?? i found you sleeping on the kitchen floor in the morning you were not doing any better

ynquads lando stole the sofa, alex slept in the armchair, charles and max were passed out in the tub AND pierre, carlos and yuki were in the bed. i did not have other options at 5 am danielricciardo you shouldve come next to me. we could have cuddled ynquads baby i am literally in your arms right now danielricciardo and i want you with me all the time

username if austin has the whole grid + like four of the old guys get passed out drunk in one small apartment, i cannot wait to see what las vegas does to these men

danielricciardo love you and also am so scared of your dad. we won't need his permission to marry someday right?

tagged: ynquads

liked by ynquads, maxverstappen1 and 593 837 others

username i love the dichotomy of the pajama pics and the hot evening wear

ynquads get you a man who can do both

landonorris like how you're both ignoring sky news and twitter burning down with the rumours

ynquads so...you know how the world of motorsports is super small? you grow up with half the formula 1 grid and idolise the other half. sometimes you grow up being mortal enemies and you both get into f1. sometimes you win the title because your teammate dies. sometimes a 27-years-old toto wolff hooks up with michael schumacher's sister katarina. anyway! Lass uns diese Woche zum Essen gehen, Papa! Viel Glück für Onkel Lewis und George! (let's go out to dinner this week, dad! best of luck to uncle lewis and george!)

liked by danielricciardo, mercedesamgf1 and 1 837 364 others

susie_wolff your dad appreciates the first photo a lot! he didn't love the third though

mercedesamgf1 we'll always have a spot and cup of coffee just for you! no need to go to red bull, come home to us ❤️💪(also admin has known this since 2017 and could barely keep their mouth shut so thank you now i can comment)

ynquads mercedes admin really is gods strongest soldier danielricciardo please dont let mercedes just steal you. i need my good luck love charm and kisses ynquads dont worry dan we can romeo & juliet the shit out the red bull v mercedes feud susie_wolff your dad says NO and also do you want to eat salmon on tuesday?

username I FUCKING KNEW IT I CALLED IT I AM THE CONSPIRARY THEORY MASTER I AM GOD

redbullracing sweetheart you don't need to agree to anything. we have red bulls and cake in the hospitality 😅 please stay with us

ynquads what kind of daughter do you think i am? redbullracing we have daniel ynquads you know max and daniel have always been my favourites i could never leave red bull

username yn is 50% schumacher + 50% wolff and daniel 8 wins. imagine the kids they'll get

maxverstappen1 the kid's godfather is also going to have 3 championships danielricciardo 👍

@eternalharry

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #toto wolff #daniel ricciardo insta au #f1 social media au

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sunnitheapollokid · 2 months

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💌┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。MY BOYFRIEND IS MY WALLET

leo valdez x fem!reader, mortal au. <3 + leo obsessing over lego sets blurb.

📬 sunni’s notes : on babies, when i started writing this austin started playing WHY IS THAT SO FUNNY LMFAAAOOO did ur boots stop working!! did ur truck break down 😖 anyways,, LEO WOULD SPOIL THEIR PARTNER!! THERE! I SAID IT!! i have way too many drafts rn. it’s actually really bad. besides that, have fun with this!! because every girl deserves to have a bf / gf who pays for everything like the princess they are. guys send me req’s im actually bored out of my mind </3 i’m in the makings of a percy fic too! but anyways, sunkisses!! mwuah!

sitting in her boyfriend’s car’s passanger seat, she hummed peacefully to the music played on the aux. leo had his hand on her thigh while he drove, “babe.” he patted her lightly, turning to the corner.

“yeah?” she coo’d. “we’re here.” she gasped, the flea market looking like absolute treasure to her as her [eye color] eyes lit up. leo snickered at the girl’s demeanor before parking at an open spot. about to get out, leo slammed her back in her seat, getting out, he jumped over his car’s hood and opened the door for (name) with no sweat.

(name) cackled at his dramatic antics, taking his hand as she stepped out. both of their outfits meshed so well together, (name) was all giddy. especially leo. “the sun’s so pretty!!” you coo’d. “you’re prettier.” he winked, grabbing his cap from the seat and placing it on his curly-head.

“yuck.” she replied, he cackled. “hey!! you’re suppose to compliment me back ‘oh leo, my sweet angel of a boyfriend, you are so much prettier.’” he mocked her as she interwined their hands. rolling her eyes affectionately, (name) gave him a kiss on the cheek, “maybe i’ll have to sweet talk you into buying me stuff.”

leo raised his brows, “baby, you just need to show up look pretty and bring your bright personality and i’ll buy the whole goddamn world for you.”

she pinched his cheeks, “whatever hot stuff.”

the flea market was so open, and the weather was a good breezy-kind. it was also not too crowded, so it was easy to walk through.

leo had this habit of keeping his hands in his girlfriend’s, feeling like she’ll slip away if he didn’t hold her hand.

but, upon roaming the flea market, (name) had seperated from leo, after he himself got distracted by the re-sold lego sets. she was keeping herself busy with the jewelry since she knew he’d realize he’d lost her hand and go look for her. from beaded bracelets and gold rings, god, she was entranced.

she had her share of buying jewelry, but since leo was good with metals, he usually made her rings. “those rings are beautiful dear.” the lady from the other side of the stall complimented with a beaming smile. shyly tucking her hair away, “thank you!! my boyfriend made them.” the lady coo’d, taking her hand to inspect the four rings on her right hand.

“so well made. i can feel the love through these.” she caressed the [silver/gold] rings. “oh yeah, lots of love.” leo stood beside her, sending her a small wink. surprised that he had found her that quickly, she sent him a surprised smile.

the lady lifted her gaze and smiled at the two. “what an adorable couple!!” she glistened. (name) could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and ears.

“thank you so much.” leo beamed, placing his warm hand on her back, the other hand holding a plastic bag of another addition to his lego obsession.

he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “did you want something mami?” she glanced back at the stall’s selection, finally finding a sun ring, perfectly fitting your pinky. she raised the ring to look at it under the sunlight, and it shimmered like glitter.

his expressions softened, a soft laugh escaping his lips, “we’ll get that.” he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “wh—what no!! leo, i’ll pay.” she took her own wallet out of her sling bag. “whAT. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.” leo, trying to give his card to the lady, who found the whole situation amusing, got knocked off by his girlfriend by the hip.

about to hand her card, leo was swift enough to knock her just the same and attempted to pay for it again. “leo!” she shoved him away with her hand on his face and reached for the lady’s open hands. leo shoved her again by the waist, the bag in his hands crinkling, “cariño— i— got— it!” struggling with her grip on leo, he finally managed to pay for it with a ding!

she sighed, leo taking her hand and slipping the ring in. “look! it fits so well.” he kissed the side of her eyes. “you’re so annoying.” she kid, “ah, i truly try my love.” he replied, cocky. “you didn’t have to do that, i could’ve paid.” (name) spoke softly, admiring the ring on her finger. “come on. i told you i’d buy you the whole world if i could.”

she giggled softly, “what’d you get this time?” she glanced at the bag in his hand. leo’s mouth agape open, pulling the dragon lego set out of the bag. “IT’S A DRAGON!!” he exclaimed excitedly, you cackled at how cute he was about this whole lego set obsession.

“maybe i’ll name him festus.” she kissed his cheek, “i think you should too.” his eyes lit up, “oh and these too!” he took out the daffodil lego set, “i thought you’d might like them.”

she smiled at the flower lego set he had handed her, “aw, leo. thank you handsome.”

—

“i think it goes in there honey.”

“that’s what she said.” she slapped his arm at the sex joke, a cackle escaping his lips while she attempted to hold in her giggles. “just put it in leo— AND DON’T YOU DARE MAKE A COMMENT ON THAT!” leo cackled again, throwing his head back.

he carefully placed the lego piece on top of the other. they we’re halfway done with the set, half of the dragon’s body already finished. leo had his curls hanged over his head, his tongue sticking out when he’s concentrated— a habit that made (name)’s heart patter.

“i’m never finishing this.” he leaned back to the couch, sighing out of frustration. “oh c’mon leo! you gotta finish it! you’re the mechanic, short-attention, and oh so cute.” you complimented to get his adrenaline back up, “yup. finishing it. whatever you say mami.”

she laughed as he sat back up and got back to work. “that’s my boy.”

#— sunni adores leo (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡#leo valdez x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez #pjo #all the ladies luv leo

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sempersirens · 11 months

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a bird in your teeth, I

masterlist

summary: since moving into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, you've become close with the miller family. as a young woman living alone joel is protective of you, and he intends to show you how much so

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. no smut (yet)

word count: ~1k

"Okay, missy. Bedtime!" Slapping your knees, you rise from your armchair to eject the copy of Notting Hill from the Millers' VCR.

You check your watch and curse softly under your breath. 10:06 pm. Joel should be pulling into the driveway any minute.

"Are there really guys like Hugh Grant back in England?" Sarah asks, tossing her quilt over her shoulder and bundling the pillows under her arm.

"If there are, I could never find them."

"That why you moved all the way across the ocean?"

You turned to Sarah, clutching your chest in mock outrage.

"Maybe. I liked the idea of finding a cowboy. Like Clint Eastwood!" You giggled and clapped your hands together. "Anyway, get upstairs before your old man gets home and initiates a Mexican standoff because I let you stay up past nine on a school night."

Smoothing down Sarah's hair, you place a quick kiss on the top of her head before scurrying her up the stairs.

"Goodnight!" She shouted over her shoulder before her bedroom door closed behind her.

Sarah was definitely old enough to look after herself on evenings like these, but since you moved into the neighborhood a few years ago it became routine to watch the teenager whenever her dad was going to be home late. Neither of you minded, you had bonded like sisters over your time spent together, despite your ten year age gap. You got the impression that Joel liked knowing you were both under one roof while he was away.

Ain't no need f'a young woman to be alone too long he would say, always eliciting an eye roll from both you and Sarah.

Living alone wasn't something that bored or intimidated you. On the contrary; independence excited you. The thrill hadn't subsided in the slightest. Texas had been more than welcoming to you since you decided to leave North London for a new life. As soon as you received the scholarship letter to undertake a Ph.D. at UT Austin, your bags were packed and you hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.

You had, however, been immediately put at ease when you pulled up to your new home and caught a glimpse of Joel and Sarah walking to the truck in their driveway, lost in conversation, wide-eyed and giddy on an inside joke. You watched over time as the two spent their days in a blissful world of their own making, soaking up each other's company as naturally as the sun burns into the tops of your shoulders on a hot afternoon.

It had been an exceptionally warm Friday evening when Joel first knocked on your front door.

"Evening, ma'am." He had spoken, tipping his head slightly with his hands tucked loosely in his jeans pockets. Your palms had instantly turned clammy, internally praying that he didn't reach a hand forward to introduce himself.

"Hey. What can I do for you?" You had just about managed a reply between mediating your quickened breathing and trying to actually speak words rather than babble.

The rest of the encounter felt like it had flown by. Joel had invited you to a barbecue, too many burgers for jus' two people, he had reasoned. No such thing, you'd replied. Like you had needed any incentive to accept his invitation. You spent the evening with your ankles dipped in their paddling pool, belly laughing and wiping ketchup from the corners of your mouth. You'd be lying if you said your stomach didn't flutter every time Joel directed a question or comment solely toward you, or that your breath didn't hitch when you accidentally brushed fingers passing him the bottle opener. But that had been then, and you promised yourself you wouldn't get so Pride and Prejudice about a man you had just met. A single father, no less. As time passed, you spent most weekends together along with Joel's brother Tommy. Barbecues, family get-togethers, birthday parties; you were invited to them all. Weekends bled into weeknights, and you became an extension of their little family, let into their secret language of exchanged glances and inside jokes.

Lines were never crossed between you and Joel, but that knot in your stomach never seemed to fade either. You knew it was just an unreciprocated crush; misplaced gratitude for all the kindness he had shown you. Southern hospitality and charm had that effect.

Pulling you from your thoughts, Joel's truck headlights illuminated the living room. You quickly cleared the bowls of popcorn and bags of M&Ms from the coffee table before heading into the kitchen to refill your glass of water.

Joel's keys turned in the door and you heard his shoes wiping on the doormat. He called your name softly.

"In here." You responded in just above a whisper.

He walked in wearing a smart button-up, the top two undone, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

"Pint?"

"If you'd be so kind, darlin'." Joel sighed, pulling out a stool before tapping the one next to him for you to perch on.

"Date not go so well?"

"Do they ever?" He laughed as you handed him a cold bottle of beer. "Not having one f'yourself?"

"They won't if you keep expecting them to be a disaster. None for me, I need to head out soon. Meeting some friends for a few at a bar in the city."

"They're all fine women. Just got nothin' in common. S'probably me."

It made you feel dirty when Joel came back tipsy. With his guard down and inhibitions numbed, he was so open. It felt like you were taking advantage of him. You had to fight everything inside of you to argue with his self-deprecation. Of course it wasn't him. He was the perfect man. You tried to not show too much pleasure at his string of failed first dates.

"Should've told me y'had plans, sugar. I would've come back earlier so you could get goin'."

You waved his statement away. "It's no problem, the less time I'm there the better. I should probably head off, though." Before you could move to grab your keys, Joel's hand hovered over yours resting on the table.

"Thank you, by the way. I doubt I say it enough." Eye contact with Joel always stirred something inside of you. Those damn brown eyes. You smiled at him, softly.

"You don't need to thank me, Joel. I like spending time with Sarah. You know that."

He shook his head slightly. "S'not just that. I mean for everythin'. If you ever need me, you call. You know that, right? Hate thinkin' 'bout you in that house all alone."

It's not the first time he had said something of the sort. You always assumed it was the over-protective father inside of him, bursting out at the seams. Or maybe his Southern chivalry finding its feet after a couple of beers.

"Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it." You turned your hand in his and squeezed once before making your way to the door. You felt his eyes on you as you walked. You always felt his eyes on you. Sometimes you would be changing in front of your window and be sure you could feel Joel's gaze from across the street burning into you. But whenever you turned around, he was never there.

"I'm sorry your date didn't go well." You said, lingering in the doorway.

Joel scrunched his nose slightly and shook his head.

"I'm not."

a/n: hi guys! this is my first fic uploaded to tumblr lol kind of nervy but hope you guys enjoy. i plan on writing a couple more parts to this! message me for taglist for part two!

dee x

#joel miller x reader #tlou hbo #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #my fic #fanfiction #neighbour!joel #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories #pedro pascal #breakfastatjoels #a bird in your teeth fic #a bird in your teeth

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

before - part one

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

it’s summer in austin, and you and joel meet for the first time.

a/n: the joel miller brain rot is real and your advocate is here to help! masterlist will be up shortly, special thank yous and shout outs to @psychedelic-ink @allfoolsinluv and @gnollengrom for letting me scream about this fic in your dms 🤍 I have thought of little else for the last 48 hours

word count: 3.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI - this part is not explicit but other parts will be, masterlist has further warnings, but no real warnings for this part except a lot of fluff?? and banter?? and I’m obsessed kthanksbyeeeee

✨I no longer have a taglist - if you’d like to be notified of new works/chapters, follow @friskito-library and turn notifications on!✨

You meet Joel Miller long before the world implodes.

It’s 2001, you’re fresh out of college, relocated to Austin, Texas where your parents have taken over an old hardware store that once belonged to your grandfather. Nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the time being, you spend most of your time in the store, stocking shelves and chatting with customers, learning the different things the store keeps on hand, what has to be shipped in special order. It’s not much, but it’s something to do; you’re just happy to be back with your family after four long years at college. Sure, you came home for holidays when you could, but it wasn’t the same.

It still isn’t the same, not really.

The house you live in is foreign to you, not the same roof you grew up under. The people are the same, your parents clearly happy to have you back, your little sister overjoyed to have someone in her corner again. Austin is nice, the weather warmer than you’re used to after four years in Michigan, but it’s a welcome change. Summer seems to go on forever, and your weekends are spent basking in the sun, finding new places to explore, wandering the shops that neighbour the hardware store and beyond.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re stood at the end of one of the aisles, fixing a stubborn display of plaster tubs that won’t stay upright, when you hear the bells over the door chime, announcing the arrival of a customer. You don’t stray far from the display, calling out a good morning! and returning to your work. Your sister is perched behind the register, flipping through an old magazine, and you hear the tell-tale squeak of work boots on the linoleum, the sound now all too familiar to your ears.

The boots move in your direction, but you pay the sound little mind until it grows closer. Most people who come into the store know what they’re looking for, and your parents had been careful to keep everything in the same aisles and shelves they’d been on for the past decade, so as to not disrupt the regular customers. From the corner of your eye, scuffed, dark boots step a little closer, and your eyes drag over from the display, taking in the man before you.

You try really hard not to let your eyes linger everywhere, but it’s hard. He’s…well, he’s hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, patchy facial hair that really shouldn’t work as well as it does. Long legs covered in dark jeans, a t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days and is straining against his broad shoulders and thick arms. It’s a classic look you’ve come to associate with every guy who works construction in Austin, but right off the bat, you know there’s something different about this one.

“Hi there,” he says, his southern drawl not as intense as some other folks you’ve talked to, but still there, coupled with a little quirk to his lips, an almost-smile that makes you instantly desperate to see the full thing.

“Hi,” you breathe out, curling your fingers around the metal shelving in front of you, abandoning the plaster display.

“I’m lookin’ for a quarter-inch drill bit,” he spits, nearly stuttering the request out. You’re stuck still for a moment, absolutely enamoured by the man before you. And it makes your own lips twitch, the way his cheeks flare red and he drops his gaze after a moment, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m also assuming you work here but I now realize you don’t have a name tag or anything so I’ll just—”

You clap a hand over your chest dramatically. “Shoot. Must have left the stupid thing in the back.” He lifts his head, eyes going wide, the almost-smile returning. “Follow me.”

He follows you like a little lost puppy a few aisles down from where you were standing. He’s taller than you, by nearly a head, those broad shoulders almost blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. You may or may not let your hips swing a little harder as you walk.

“Any specific brand you’re looking for?” you ask over your shoulder, coming to a stop in front of the pegboard that holds bits of all sorts of sizes. “Or just a quarter-inch?”

“As long as it fits in my drill,” he answers, and you turn to the board, scanning for the right size. You can feel his eyes lingering on you, and you’re basking in it. When you find the right one, you pluck it off the hook and hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your jeans after he takes it from you. “If it doesn’t fit, just bring it back and I’ll make sure you get the right one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he looks between you and the little package a few times, tapping it against the flat of his palm. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then your sister calls your name and your head snaps up.

“Come on up to the front when you’re ready,” you say, feeling a little bold and touching his arm as you step past him, “and I’ll cash you out.”

He watches you walk away, too.

“I need coffee,” your sister declares as soon as you’re within view of the front counter. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, stepping behind the register, righting a cup of pens that’s fallen over. She slips down from the stool, flipping her magazine shut, and brushes past you, just as a now familiar deep voice reaches your ears.

“Thanks again,” tall, dark, and handsome says, approaching the counter with the drill bit and a tub of plaster from the display you’d been fixing in his hands. Your sister steps around him as he walks up, and turns to look at you over his shoulder, her jaw dropped, giving you two thumbs up. Your cheeks flare with heat, but you ignore it, taking the bit and the plaster when he sees them on the counter. “Are you new here?” he asks, and then rubs his hand up the back of his head, turning sheepish again. “Here being Austin, I mean. Haven’t seen you around before.”

You can’t help but grin back at him. “New-ish. Moved back at the beginning of the summer after I finished college. My parents took over this place after my grandfather died, and I can’t afford rent in the city, so here I am.” You ring up his purchase, tell him his total, and he fishes for his wallet, digging in the front pocket of his jeans. “For now, anyway.”

He presses his lips together as he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to you. “Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”

You punch in the right amount, letting the register drawer hit your hip as it shoots open. “Maybe you will.” You hand him his change, and as you press the bills and coins into his waiting hand, you offer your name with it.

“Joel,” he says by way of answer, and your chest puffs a little with the knowledge. “Miller. Joel Miller.”

Your grin widens. “Well, you have yourself a good day, Joel Miller. Hope I see you soon.”

He takes the bit and the plaster and takes a step backwards, walking directly into a display stand holding rolls of bright green and blue painters tape, sending it toppling to the floor. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, and you step around the counter, dropping to your knees, catching the tape as it rolls in a million different directions.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him earnestly, righting the stand and getting back to your feet. “Now I have something to do.”

“You sure?” he asks, straightening, his cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t worry about it, again,” you laugh, gesturing towards the front door. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

“See you,” he replies, tacking your name onto the end, and you have to ignore the way the sound of your name on his lips sends a prickle up the back of your neck.

You watch as he walks out the door, the bell ringing again as he departs, getting into a pick-up truck that has definitely seen better days parked at the curb. He scrubs a hand over his face as he starts the engine, and then turns and looks at you through the glass, lifting a hand in a wave before he pulls away from the store. You lift your hand to return the farewell, and your sister walks through the door a moment later, two coffees in her hands, pushing one into your grip even though you said you didn’t want one. You sip it anyway.

“Who was that?” she asks, bumping her hip into yours.

“Joel Miller.”

He comes into the store nearly every day for a week. Always looking for something new, another drill bit or packages of nails and screws, a hammer, rolls of tape. He’s a carpenter, you learn, and goes bright red when you hint that must mean he’s good with his hands.

Your conversations are always brief, but sweet. He asks what you went to school for, admits he never got past a high school education, laughs when you tell him he seems to be doing pretty well for himself despite that. He shows up one morning with coffees for both you and your sister, and a box of doughnuts, earning a squeal from your sister and a bright thanks Joel from yourself. One afternoon, he’s in a hurry, having run out of drywall screws, cursing that he left his wallet at the job site, and you wave him off, all but pushing him out the door with a new box.

Then Monday rolls around, and you find yourself watching the door, waiting for the bell to signal his arrival. Every time the bell does ring, you jump, stepping out of whatever aisle you’re in, checking to see who’s walked inside.

“I’m sure he’ll come by tomorrow,” your sister says when the clock hits two and there’s still no sign of him. “He’s probably just busy.”

“I know,” you say, brushing it off best you can.

The rest of the day passes like molasses, the minutes ticking by so slow you’re half sure the clock on the wall is broken. You even go so far as to check the batteries, earning a laugh from your sister. You curse yourself for flinching every time the door opens, doubly so when your father arrives to take over for the evening and you jump so hard you drop the stack of sandpaper boxes in your hands. “Sorry, honey,” he laughs, helping you pick up the boxes. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” you reply, putting the sandpaper on the right shelf before heading for the counter to grab your bag. “See you at home!”

Your father waves without looking, but calls your name before you can walk out the door. “Someone’s at the house, just so you know. Your mother’s home, of course, but I hired a guy to look at the back porch, asked him to fix the light in the hallway too.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to fix that yourself,” you joke with a smile, “since you own a hardware store and all?”

He just waves you off. “Get outta here.”

You laugh, pushing the door open, the bells jingling above your head as you step through. It’s just before dinner time, the sun starting to hang a little lower in the sky. The inside of your car feels like a sauna when you slide into the driver’s seat, and you blast the air conditioning, turning up the radio loud enough you can hear it over the noise. It’s a quick drive from the store to your house, and you’re too distracted by the song that’s playing on the radio to notice the rusty pick-up parked at the curb.

If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.

Your mother is sitting in the kitchen when you walk through the door, calling her hellos, and you dump your keys and bag before bee-lining for the bathroom. The house is all one level, one bathroom shared between the four of you, and you flick on the light, turn on the shower, strip down quickly. The warm water is a balm for the long day, the tension that had been sitting between your shoulders melting away beneath the spray.

You wrap yourself in a towel afterward, collecting your clothes from the floor before flicking the light off again. You’re still humming the song from the radio as you open the door, wiping a drop of water from your cheek and—

“Joel?”

“Shit!” he mumbles, dropping the screwdriver in his hand. He’s standing right outside the bathroom, balanced on a step-stool. Fixing the light; you remember what your father had said. You’re instantly flushed, starkly aware of the fact that you’re basically naked except for a towel, dripping water and your underwear is basically dangling from your hand. “I’m sor—fuck!” The stool wobbles and out of instinct, you grab for him, planting your hand on his stomach. He’s reaching over his head still, and the bottom of your hand meets bare skin, his t-shirt riding up slightly.

“You good?” you ask, pressing your lips together as he balances himself. You move your hand, carefully bending your knees and picking up the screwdriver from where it landed on the floor. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking it from you, jaw working as he chews the inside of his lip. His cheeks are as red as your whole body feels. “Sorry, I’m—”

“I should go!” you say quickly, and side-step him, bolting out of the bathroom doorway and straight into your bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Your clothes tumble to the ground as soon as you’re inside, clapping a hand over your mouth as the towel nearly slips off of you. “Oh my god.”

You open the store by yourself the next day, your sister claiming she has the flu, your father with a golf game he can’t miss, and your mother with ‘far too many things to do around the house’. You don’t mind it; it’s usually quiet in the mornings, with the exception of the week of Joel, where he’d shown up at nine o’clock nearly on the dot each day.

Once your father got home last night, you’d all but interrogated him. Turns out, Joel had stopped by the store late the night before, walking in just before closing, and he and your dad got to talking. When the subject of the creaky back porch and the broken hallway light came up, Joel had offered his services, and your father had accepted.

A minute after you’ve flipped the sign from closed to open and unlocked the door, a now-familiar pick-up truck pulls up to the parking spot outside the curb. You inhale sharply, nerves and embarrassment in your gut, and you turn away from the door, heading towards the counter, you back to the door as it jingles open.

Joel Miller calls your name. You nearly freeze, but continue your steps until you’re safely behind the counter. You hear his boots squeak on the floor as he approaches, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head until he’s standing right in front of you, saying your name again.

“Morning, Joel.”

“About yesterday,” he says instantly, a hand reached into the space between you, landing in a loose fist on the countertop. “I had no idea that you were—that it would—” He blows out a breath, ducking his head before meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Y’know, I usually make a man buy me dinner before he sees me half-naked,” you say, the line rolling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. Joel balks, and you clap a hand over your mouth, nervous giggles pouring out of you. “Oh my god, that was cheesy, I’m sorry. And it’s okay, for the record. I should have checked the hallway before I walked out.”

He laughs, you laugh, and the idea sparks in your mind. Your hands move of their own accord, reaching for a pen and a scrap of receipt paper. You scribble out your phone number, accompanied by a little smiley face after the last digit.

“Here,” you say, pushing the paper across the counter, nudging his hand with your own. “Why don’t you take this, and maybe we can see each other someplace besides the paint aisle or outside my bathroom.” When he doesn’t answer right away, that sick feeling of rejection crawls up your throat, and you nearly snatch the paper back. “Or we could just pretend it never happened.”

“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, and his voice is so low and inviting you can’t help but lean across the counter slightly. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall and he curses under his breath. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He grabs the paper, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket on his t-shirt. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, nodding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he touches his hand to yours, fingers glancing over your wrist before he pulls away. He steps backward again, eyes not leaving yours. Thankfully there’s no display in his path for him to topple over, but he only looks away when he reaches the door, that almost-smile you’ve been chasing since the first day you met spreading into a full-blown grin that sends butterflies shooting through your stomach. “Bye, Joel.”

“Bye,” he replies, your name a near-whisper afterward.

As soon as the door shuts, the tinkle of bells echoing, you slump across the counter with a squeal. The bells ding again a second later, and you shoot upright, schooling your face into a normal-looking smile and greeting the customer that’s just walked through the door.

It’s nearly ten o’clock that night, when your phone rings.

You’re lounging in bed, a book propped against your knees, Sheryl Crowe crooning out of your stereo. The robotic ring makes you jump, and you hit the answer button quickly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Joel says, and you smile, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Had a long day, and I almost didn’t call, but I really wanted to.”

“I’m glad you did,” you reply, letting the book fall shut on your lap. “What made your day so long?”

It’s easy conversation, the two of you chatting for a good hour. He talks about the job site he’s been working at, his brother that works with him, how his truck nearly broke down when he went to leave, making him late to get home. The call only comes to an end when you’re both making each other yawn, mumbling apologies every time.

“I should let you get some sleep,” Joel nearly whispers, his voice so soft through the phone you barely hear it. “Didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” you quip, rolling onto your side, keeping the phone pressed to your ear. “But I like talking to you, just for the record.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Just for the record.”

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask, faking shock. He laughs.

“Nah, I just like the way you talk, darlin’,” he says, and the pet name makes you shiver. “I’ll let you go.”

“You didn’t ask,” you say quickly, and he pauses, dead air on the line for a moment.

“What?”

“I said you could make it up to me,” you tell him, rolling onto your back, glancing out the window at the moon, big and white in the dark sky. “That was your opening to ask me out.”

Another pause, and you’re holding your breath, chewing your lip.

“Have dinner with me on Friday?”

You hum, beaming into the phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Joel barks a laugh, the biggest one you’ve gotten out of him yet, and you smile harder. “You’re trouble.”

“You’re the one having dinner with me,” you shoot back, and he laughs again, softer this time. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You can tell he’s still smiling. “Goodnight.”

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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chiriwritesstuff · 5 months

Text

'Love, Joel'- a 'The Girl in IT' Companion Piece - Pt. 1 - 'The Tornado Watch'

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

Chapter Rating: T

Chapter Preview: "Joel?" your voice calls out, followed by a knock on his window. "What the hell are you doing here? The news issued a tornado watch. You shouldn't be here," you say, frowning. Despite your concern, Joel can't help but smile at the sight of you. Your hair is tied into a messy bun on the top of your head, and your oversized sleep shirt falls off one shoulder. If you weren't frowning at him, he swears the mere sight of you would knock him off his feet. His hands itch to reach out to you, pulling you into his truck so he can kiss that frown off of your face, wishing you a good morning. He imagines his fingertips grazing the skin of your bared shoulder, pressing a kiss on your skin as your head tilts in pleasure-

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Strong language, Joel is an idiot who disregards weather warnings, please be smart and shelter if caught in a tornado warning!, no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 2K

A/N: ... and here it is! Part 1 of my 500 Follower Celebration, 'Love, Joel'- a look behind the 10 years of Joel's pining for our favorite girl in IT, Sugar. I thought it would be really fun to see what happened in the span of those 10 years, where Joel worked his ass off trying to feel worthy of our girl! Thank you so much for all of the love and support you all have given me and this little fic of mine, words can't describe just how much it all means to me!

Remember when Sugar asked Joel about the moment he realized he was in love with her and he mentioned something about a Tornado Watch? This is that story.

The National Weather Service in Austin/San Antonio has issued a Tornado Watch for Travis County until 5pm... please do not attempt to leave and find shelter-

"Dad, are you serious?" Sarah's voice echoes through the phone in disbelief. "The entire campus is on lockdown, and I'm stuck in a basement with 50 other panicked girls. Why in the world are you heading to work?"

"The weather lady mentioned it's just a tornado watch, not a warning," Joel defends.

Sarah sighs on the other end of the line. "I really think you should turn around and head back home, you know, like a rational human being."

"Can't do that. The project is already behind, and I can't afford for it to fall even further behind. Plus, I owe Tommy money for all the overtime he's been putting in," Joel explains, a touch of frustration evident in his voice. "I'm already in hot water with the client as it is. You know how it is, baby girl."

"I'm pretty sure this client of yours is sitting comfortably in their own shelter in that big house of theirs. The actual nerve—"

"Sarah, I get it, okay? The moment it escalates to a warning, I'll come down from the roof and join them in that cushy shelter, okay?" Joel reassures, attempting to ease Sarah's concerns.

"Promise?" she asks softly, and Joel envisions the hint of a frown in her voice. "Or else I won't come home over the weekend."

"You're going to come back home this weekend?" Joel's spirits lift, a grin playing on his face as he heads towards the job site.

"Promise me, Dad!"

"Cross my heart," he assures, turning into the driveway. "Need a ride, or you're good to make it back yourself?"

"I think I can handle an hour drive." She replies with a small chuckle. "I don't have a good feeling about this, but be safe, okay? I love you."

"Love you too, baby girl. Go shelter with the other girls now, ok?"

"Ok dad, bye."

"Bye," he says absentmindedly, the phone already disconnected after Sarah hangs up.

Joel turns off the ignition, a deep sigh escaping from his chest. He gazes into the distance, the burden of the tornado watch weighing heavily on him. He should be at home right now, preparing by filling water bottles, checking for enough batteries for lanterns and flashlights, tuning into the television for weather updates, and patiently waiting out the storm.

Instead, echoes of his client's disappointed voice from yesterday's confrontation linger in Joel's mind, questioning why a 'simple roof repair' is stretching beyond the agreed-upon month.

"I paid you good money and took a chance on you, and you can't even deliver..."

What haunts him more is the image of you in the background, concern etched across your face.

"Dad, you can't blame him for the crappy weather we've been having! Of course, the project would be delayed," you try to reason, awkwardly placing a hand on your father's shoulder in an attempt to soothe his frustration.

"Is it your money that's paying for your mistake?" your father snaps back, shrugging off your hand. "Or do we need to revisit why you thought mounting an antenna on the roof was a brilliant idea? Who do you think you are, concerning yourself in an adult conversation?" he chides, crossing his arms. "Go back inside and help your mother with breakfast!"

Offering Joel a weak smile, you nod, turning back towards the house. Joel smiles back, the sight of your concerned face pulling at his heartstrings. His hands itch to push the errant stray hair away from your face, his hands grazing the softness of your skin spanning across your face-

"Well? What are you doing just standing there?" your father snaps. "Don't you have a roof to fix?"

Just a few more days, Joel. You can do this, he reassures himself. He idles in the car for a bit, observing the darkening grey sky. At least Sugar should be home, maybe she'll keep me company...

"Joel?" your voice calls out, followed by a knock on his window. "What the hell are you doing here? The news issued a tornado watch. You shouldn't be here," you say, frowning.

Despite your concern, Joel can't help but smile at the sight of you. Your hair is tied into a messy bun on the top of your head, and your oversized sleep shirt falls off one shoulder. If you weren't frowning at him, he swears the mere sight of you would knock him off his feet. His hands itch to reach out to you, pulling you into his truck so he can kiss that frown off of your face, wishing you a good morning. He imagines his fingertips grazing the skin of your bared shoulder, pressing a kiss on your skin as your head tilts in pleasure-

"Hello? Are you even listening to me?" your concerned voice cuts through his reverie, snapping him back to the present. "Go home, Joel. I'm sure Sarah is worried sick-" you bite your lower lip, your lips wobbling a tiny fraction. "-and I don't want you stuck here if things take a turn for the worse," you insist, a hint of worry in your eyes.

Joel opens his truck door, shaking his head. "No can do, Sugar. You heard your dad yesterday; I need to finish this job and get out of y'all's hair. I've already overstayed my welcome."

"I don't give a fuck what my father says, he's just being difficult as fucking usual. He's already up in arms fussing around about the watch, i'm pretty sure he's not concerned whether or not you'll show up or not," you say defiantly, frustration flushing your face. "I swear, if you don't go home, I'll force you to shelter with me!"

Well, Joel muses, the corner of his mouth rising in a smirk. Now that's an idea I wouldn't be opposed to-

"I'm a big boy, Sugar. It's just a tornado watch, no need to worry about little ol me, okay?" he smiles, cupping your cheek. Fuck, her skin is soft-

you lean into his touch, your eyes closing in resignation.

"Okay Joel," you whisper, your hand meeting his. "The moment Nancy over at KXAN mutters anything about a tornado warning, I'm climbing up that fucking ladder myself and dragging your ass to shelter, okay?"

Joel gives your face a small squeeze. "Deal."

A few hours later, as Joel continues on working on the roof over your bedroom, you stick your head out of your window, calling out to him. "Joel? The news said that a lightning storm is going to be rolling in soon. I think it's time you should head out-"

Joel stops hammering a shingle, steadying himself as he peers at you from the roof. "I just have a few more shingles to go-"

Your eyes narrow in irritation. "Joel, no. Get your ass off of the roof this instant!"

"Baby-" he breathes, kicking himself for letting the endearment he calls you in his dreams from leaving his lips. "I can't afford to lose this job, your dad is already pissed as it is-"

Your face contorts into something resembling sadness, and if he focuses on your face hard enough, he swears he sees the tears forming on the corner of your eyes. If it were a different time, in a different place, where Sarah's mother's body replaced yours, he would imagine he wouldn't even be having this conversation, having been forced to brave worse conditions before.

"How am I going to expect to survive if you don't go into work?" she would spit, shaking her head and glaring at him as Sarah wails in her booster seat at the table in the background. "It's bad enough that you basically trapped me, do you need to be here to make sure I stay? What's a little lighting storm gonna do to you, huh Joel? We need to eat!"

"Trapped you?!" he replies angrily, his hands clenching, knuckles white. "I didn't force you to stay, it's not like you're happy to be here!" He motions over to Sarah, his eyes narrowing. "Our daughter is crying out for you and you can't even be assed to comfort her!"

"I don't want to do this right now, just go Joel. You think about your attitude while you work in the storm!" she shouts, harshly grabbing Sarah from her seat and slamming their bedroom door.

It was her cruelty and selfishness that turned Joel off from dating and finding someone else, the weight of her absence proving to be a heavy burden on him as a single father once their divorce was finalized. Sure, there were women, attractions, and occasional one-night stands, but nothing more than that. Joel could count on one hand just how many women, in the last twenty years, had stayed the night, and to be completely honest with himself, it didn't bother him in the least. He had Sarah to raise and raise right, a wayward, careless brother he had to bail out of jail when he drank just a little too much, and a business to run. He didn't have time for casual, and he didn't have the desire for anything long term. Things were going great, even if his business was barely off of the ground and he was starting to slowly swim into the depths of debt. He didn't need to add anyone else into the equation.

And then you came along.

... with your fucking smile and your bright eyes and the way that you laugh - with your entire body - as he cracks a dad joke so bad he could feel Sarah cringing all the way from her college dorm room. How instead of living your life and being a twenty-something doing something fun with friends, you would rather spend your time with him, sitting on the edge of your windowsil asking him about anything and everything, genuninely interested in what he had to say. How you would bravely climb up his ladder even if you shared that you're afraid of heights to pass him a water bottle, concerned about potential heat stroke. He wasn't used to anyone besides Sarah or Tommy fretting over him, he wasn't prepared to be completely overwhelmed by your sudden presence in his life. He wasn't looking for anyone, and yet-

You took his breath away like a hurricane, and he finds himself ready to be swept away by you and you alone.

"Joel!" you shout suddenly from below him, your foot already on his ladder as you brace yourself, the tears flowing freely down the slopes of your cheeks. "Please, Joel, just come down! It isn't funny anymore!"

"Sugar! just stay down there, let me just finish, it'll only be five more-"

"NO!" you scream, the sight of your tears making him halt in place. "Stop FUCKING AROUND, JOEL!" you cry, shaking your head in defiance.

Joel drops his hammer and quickly jumps on the ladder, skipping a rung as he hurriedly makes his way to you. "I'm coming baby, just hold on!" he yells as he descends, the need of your body in his arms too strong to deny.

"You fucking idiot!" you shout, practically barreling into him as his feet touch the ground. His arms instinctively wrap around your shaking form, your small fists beating on his chest as you sob into it, your tears soaking flannel. "What were you thinking, risking your life like that? No one is worth you risking your life for some fucking roof!"

Joel cradles your head as he places a soft kiss on your hair, his hand rubbing your back as he tries to settle you.

"You're wrong, you know" he whispers, his eyes closing as he tightens his hold on you harder. "There is someone risking my life for," he breathes, his mind coming into a realization.

I fucking love you, Sugar, he thinks, biting his tongue from saying it out loud as he loses himself in your embrace, wishing that the moment would never end. I can die right here and die a happy man, he muses. Just as long as I get to hold you like this.

One day, he thinks. One day I'll be able to tell you this out loud.

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writingshushf1 · 1 year

Note

Ideas for mick smut: jealous trope (never gets old), he wins a race, cowboy!mick (my beloved), there's too many ideas haha 😅

S&M

Summary: 'cause I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it...

Rating: +18

Warnings: jealousy, bond*ge, smutty smut w/ kinks: restraining, spanking, choking, org*sm denial, wrap it before you tap it !

Word count: 1.1k

Note: honestly- only writing horny and slutty stuff lately

masterlist

Mick Schumacher was jealous and it was clear that he could not hide it.

Austin. It was his first year back in Formula One and he was doing very well, but so far he had not won a single victory. That weekend was crucial, a good track, an up-to-date car, and the will to win.

It was his first weekend in the paddock, an introduction to his world. To preserve his privacy, you didn't enter through the same gate, he went through the main gate while you went through another entrance. You were not yet public and neither of you wanted to receive the harassment that usually happens when a driver takes on a new relationship. As soon as you were near his pit, the blond left you a kiss on the cheek and went to his engineers, while you were free to talk to acquaintances - and be flirted with by half the people passing by in the vip space. Including Pierre Gasly, who had no idea that you were Mick's girlfriend.

Only this caught the blond's attention, making him boil with rage. Not that he was someone who was completely possessive and not in the least bit healthy, but he was jealous and always liked to make it clear that you were dating among his acquaintances. The German didn't say that he saw this interaction between the two of you - which in his view was nothing more than innocent conversation, but he knew the Frenchman and knew that he wasted no time in going after a pretty girl like you.

The day ended with a victory for Schumacher. His first victory inside Formula One. You heard his cries of happiness over the radio, hugged the engineers, all impressed with his performance that Sunday.

Since you were in Texas, of course the drivers wanted to celebrate in a country nightclub, so cliché. Obviously, since Mick would not miss the opportunity to be cheesy, I mean really hot, he abused the country look, including a white shirt with the first buttons undone, boots and a brown leather hat.

You preferred to keep it simple, a red dress, low heels, and a jeans jacket.

During the evening, he wasn't exactly as communicative as he always was, which made you wonder if something was different, besides him winning, of course.

You touched his shoulder gently, seeing that he was chatting with Ocon and other drivers - including Gasly. He turned and gave you a smile - one you knew very well what it was, he was playing with you, so you would play along too.

"When am I going to congratulate you on your victory?" You whined loud enough for the others to hear.

"Later, baby." He understood that you were getting into the idea and not being the least bit secretive about it.

"Go on, Mick!" Russell exclaimed, giggling.

"... Are you guys together?" Pierre's eyes widened, but he didn't understand the move.

"A little while now, though we're not so much in the public eye." The blonde commented, biting his lower lip.

……………………………………………

Later, when you two got back to your hotel room, he locked the door and pinned you against it, holding your neck.

“Lovely girl, loves to play games with me, but still gave Pierre attention early today.” He growled, getting closer.

“Oh. Someone’s jealous.” You commented, smiling - you weren’t worried anymore, seeing him all worked up like that.

“I do the talking.” He pressed your neck, restricting your air flow for a few seconds, making you whimper. “You only answer what and when I ask, okay?” His face was so close to yours, you could smell his beer smelling breath.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He smiled, passing his hands on your ass, grabbing harshly and slapping both of them.

He took you to bed, taking his belt off and tying your hands up together, also getting rope from his suitcase and making a frog tie shibari on your legs and a diamond chest harness. Mick took a few seconds to watch your naked body all tied up, proud of his art.

Slowly, the German started to undress too, however he saw you watching his every movement, biting your lips so hard they could bleed at any moment.

“Speak up, baby. I know you want to say something.”

“... The hat. Keep the hat, please.”

“Oh… Someone actually likes cowboys? But you know how they say…” He took off his hat, putting on you. “Save the horse, ride a cowboy.”

His wicked grin made you shiver in anticipation. Schumacher aligned his body between your legs, letting his fingers explore your core for a few - you were already dripping wet, having him in control always made you so horny.

When you started chanting his name, getting closer to your climax, his fingers stopped pumping inside of you and his thumb wasn’t in your clit anymore, resulting in a frustrated whimper. The blond chuckled, kissing your lips hungrily, letting his tongue move against yours, while his hands were now on your breasts, playing with your hard nipples.

“You get to cum when I want to.” He whispered, pinching one of your nipples harshly.

Without waiting, Mick slowly pushed himself inside of you, groaning with the thigh sensation you gave to him. You closed your eyes, having him filling your body like that was so pleasurable, like it was meant to be.

He thrusted inside of you quickly, not caring that the bed made a somewhat loud noise, the German was more focused on listening to your moans mixing with his.

You let a whimper escape your lips when you felt his fingers explore your clit again, thinking that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself, you needed to release and he knew that. So Schumacher stopped pushing into you, changing your position - ass up, face on the mattress.

Then, a vibrating sound got into your ears following a gasp, he was pressing a vibrator up against your core, while he started to thrust into you again, faster and harder than before.

“Do you want to cum?”

You moaned in response, however, he didn’t like it, so a slap against your ass came as a payback.

“I said, do you want to cum? Beg for it.”

“Please, sir… I want to cum on your dick. Please! I need to.”

“Good girl.”

He increased the speed of the vibrator as his thrusts were messier and you came on him, making your walls clench and he came inside of you as well.

After watching the cum drip on your legs, he laid you down, slowly untying the harness that he made on you.

“I need to make you jealous again.” You whispered, letting a chuckle escape.

“Never again, please.” He laughed as well. “Even though I liked to see you begging, it unlocked new feelings for me.”

“Oh, so I’ll beg for it more often.” With your free hands, they roamed through his chest.

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male-body-swap-lover · 8 months

Text

Becoming the Old Man Next Door

Carter Austin was annoyed that he had to be home for his parents 30th wedding anniversary. The model was only in town for one night, and even that was too much. He hated Fairview and missed the fast life of New York. The 28-year-old was one of the hottest models on the scene and couldn’t believe he was wasting his weekend in his childhood bedroom.

Hon, we are so excited that you are home. We’ve missed you.

You know how busy I’ve been mom. I’m one of the hottest models. I’m constantly booked.

I know. We told Mr. Jarvis that you were coming home and he was so excited to see you.

Mom, I’m 28. I don’t want to go see our old neighbor.

Oh, just do it Carter. It’ll make him happy. He’s lonely. His wife has been dead for 20 years and he has no children. Just do it.

Fine.

I went next door and rang the doorbell. Mr. Jarvis answered the door. I forgot how fat he was.

Austin my boy. So good to see you. Come in come in. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.

As I sat in his living room, I looked around at his depressing life. The room seemed straight out of the 1970’s, and it reeked of tobacco. 15 minutes. That’s all I need.

Here’s a coke. So, tell me about New York.

It’s fun. I travel the world. I’m one of the top models out there.

I know. I’ve followed you. You are quite the good-looking young men. I bet ladies throw themselves at you.

I get my fair number of women. And men. I don’t discriminate.

I wish I had your life. My life was always boring. And it’s been worse ever since Marian died. I live a lonely life.

Well not everyone can have my life. This coke tastes weird.

That’s because it’s not coke at all. It’s a special potion. You see Carter, I’m tired of being an old man who never did anything with his life. I want a life in the fast lane. So, I am going to steal yours.

What. That’s not possible

I stand up and try to move, but I can’t. It’s like I am frozen in place.

Carter, look in the mirror. Can’t you see the changes have already begun.

As I stared into the mirror, I could see the wrinkles start appearing on my face. Suddenly I started breathing heavier as I felt myself get older. I ran my hands through my hair and it came out in chunks in my hand. I tried to run, to get out, but couldn’t move. My skin was aging. I could feel my youth leaving my body. Passing 30. All of my hair fell out. Passing 40. Stubble appeared on my face. Then it stopped. I looked in the mirror. Damn. I’m fucking old, but I’m fucking hot.

Haha old man. I’m still fucking hot. Look at me. Your plan failed.

You aren’t very smart are ya Carter. That was just step one.

Step one! I turned to him and saw that somehow his hair had grown back in and he looked middle aged. It’s like my hair and age went to him!

Yes, there are three steps. Let’s start step number two.

With that he clapped his hands and suddenly I felt bloated. My stomach was starting to rumble. I looked in the mirror and my face was bubbling. Suddenly it felt like I was blowing up like a balloon. 10, 20, 50, 100, 150, 200 pounds of fat just suddenly appeared on my body. For some reason as I grew, my clothes grew with me.

I was a whale. No one would ever recognize me. It was absolutely disgusting. I used to make fun of people who looked like this. Now I was one of them. I turned and looked at my captor. He looked good. He was so skinny. It’s like all of his weight transferred to my body! He was hot! I was so jealous. Wait he said this was step two, what was step three going to be?!

Damn, I never even looked this good when I used to be in my 40’s. This is amazing. I bet you are wondering about step three. Well, I suppose it’s time to start the final step. Get ready to say goodbye to any remaining part of your old life.

A wave suddenly washed over me. I could feel the life force draining from my body. My facial hair was turning white. My back pain was killing me. I could feel pain everywhere in my body. Arthritis. But I’m only 28. What is happening. I didn’t even think this was possible.

I’m Marvin Jarvis. Wait what! No I’m not Marvin… I’m um….i’m um. What is going on. It’s like I am losing my memories.

What are you doing to me. Why can’t I remember my name. Why do I think I’m you.

Because, Marvin, that’s part of step three. I become you and you become me. We might not look exactly the same, but the world will change to suit us. Why don’t you look at your license.

I could barely reach my wallet. I pulled out my driver’s license. It still said Carter Austin, and then it changed. Marvin Jarvis. 81 years old. 375 pounds. I looked at the photo and then at my reflection in the mirror. There was the same old man. Me!

You’ll never get away with this.

I already have. Your old memories will continue to slip away until you become Marvin Jarvis. Meanwhile, I’ll get your memories and live out my life again. A world-famous model. Carter Austin. My life is set.

Suddenly my mom entered the house.

Hello Marvin. I just came to get Carter. Dinner is ready.

I wanted to scream out. To tell my mom what happened. All that came out was “Of course Karen. It was lovely seeing Carter again. What a fine man he has become.”

Mom, I am just going to hug Mr. Jarvis goodbye and then I’ll be home.

Okay. See you soon honey. Goodbye Marvin.

The new Carter came and hugged me. Good luck Mr. Jarvis. You’ll need it. Don’t forget to take your heart pills, and back pills, and all the other pills. Don’t drive at night. Also, your social security check barely covers basic living expenses. Haha. Better get one last look at me. This is the last time you’ll see me. I’m never coming back to this hodunk town.

I started crying as the new Carter Austin left. He may not have looked exactly like me, but what does it matter. The world believes he is Carter and I am Marvin.

I sat down because my knees were giving out. I tried to remember everything about my old life, but I could feel it slipping away. I’m trapped. There is nothing I can do. You know what sounds good right now. A good pipe. I wonder if NCIS is on. 6:30pm. Almost time for bed. Well, maybe being an old man isn’t going to be so bad after all.

#male body swap #age regression #age progression #old to young #male body theft #identity theft #young to old #weight gain #body switch

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

Text

Burnin’ a Hole Where I Lay (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader) (Omegaverse)

Gif by @troubleinapinksuit

Summary: In which you long ago decided that the standard Alpha and Omega Relationship wasn’t for you, but your best friend Elvis had other plans.

A/N: This is a backup post I made because I absolutely refuse to let this be a case of this one not ending up in the tags again. Based on this request. Semi-Relevant, as i’ve been writing, in my head I’ve been ranking each reader as to how likely they are to bite, and undoubtedly this is my most feral creation, too bad she exists in a world where it may as well be a whole ass love language. So as a quick note as to the dynamics of this Omegaverse, relationshipss are primarily judged on their ability to Breed so A/O are the preferred/seen as the standard, wtih B/O and B/B being seen as acceptable, as a result an A/B relationship is seen as unacceptable. Also Alpha Presentation is marked when they gain their unusually elongated canines, and later go into a rut, Omegas go into their first heat, and Betas essentially present by not presenting whatsoever. Knotting is a bit of a secret in this world, as it only occurs under pretty rare circumstances. Probably some other rules I’m spacing on right now, so feel free to ask if any questions arise. Also I fully acknowledge that there is no way they would be watching The Twilight Zone, but for the purposes of this story let’s pretend.

Warnings: First and foremost this is a Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of delusional and manipulative behavior. VERY dubious consent, (in which reader is a slave to their own desires of consciously not wanting, but their body uncosciously does want it). Set in an Omegaverse so expect the usual. Implied birth control tampering. Bit of a breeding kink implied. Sexual harassment masked as being especially touchy. Smut depicted, that includes penetrative sex (m/f), knotting, cockwarming, cumplay, marking, and a bit of blood play. Also depictions of Parental abandonment and neglect towards reader. Reader is not in a good place y’all and as a result has humor as an unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-depreciative attitude. Instances of reader being yelled at both by Elvis and another character. Best friends to lovers (albeit reluctantly) Please do not interact if you are under 18 years old.

Word Count: 21k (I need to be stopped)

My Masterlist

Denim jeans were a mistake, you think to yourself trying your best not to fan yourself in a very indecent place as you and your group walked back to the rest of the motorcade sitting idle on some backwoods route somewhere in the Florida panhandle. It was a nice cool 102 degrees this morning when the lot of you had taken off so by noon it was hotter than hades, which had been the perfect time for Hank Snow’s car to all but combust, forcing the entire convoy to a screeching halt. The Louisiana Hayride apparently operated the same as the Military: No man left behind.

You and your naturally-run-hot-thighs were having a wonderful time, walking down this stretch of road, along with the other non-talent people who were roped into making a snack and refreshments run at the nearest service station about a half-mile back. You dab yourself, praying you haven’t sweat the last of your face off, as that is the last thing you need right now. The last leg of the hayride tour was proving to be the most arduous as now home felt so close yet still so far off. And this hiccup further proved your theory that hell is to be found on tour.

Though upon seeing them not too far away from you now, your group does admittedly make this far more bearable. You’re not about to let them know that though. So before your thoughts get too chummy about them you set the brown bag from the service station down onto the grass and grab a hold of one of the bottles before you silently stalk forward. Some of them see you and are all too willing to comply when you hold a finger up to your lips in order to better sneak up on your mark. Your prey none the wiser to your dastardly scheme, gleefully tells the tale of seeing Big Boy Crudup as a boy, before it’s interrupted by a yelp and then a subsequent long string of curses as he’s taken by surprise by the cool kiss of the bottle to the back of his neck.

He whips around ready to unleash his fury on the poor soul who dared interrupt him, until you watch in real time as the fire in his eyes dissipate and turn softer upon seeing you giggling up a storm. “Goddamn Y/N, what was that for?” Elvis says exasperated, but doing a piss poor job of hiding his amusement as he wipes the now cool sweat off the back of his neck.

“Felt like it,” you shrug, handing him the bottle before you turn around to retrieve your bag where you had left it, and return bearing gifts.

“Say lil’ lady, you got anythin’ in that bag for some talented musicians?” Scotty asks.

Quick as a whip, you reply, “Sure do. Ya know any?” as you set the bag down on the hood of the car.

Elvis gives a full belly laugh at you, and a beat later, do the others follow suit.

“Did they only have orange soda?” Red remarks as he’s digging through the brown bag.

“No, but one of you mooks, and you know who you are,” you say, pointing to the lot of them. “Have not eaten a single goddamn fruit or vegetable since Texas, and this was the only way I figured I could get y’all to not die from scurvy.”

“Don’t be stupid Y/N,” Billy asserted, nervously trying to hide that he was the one you were talking about. “You only get that when you're out on the sea.”

“I thought you get it when you eat too much salt,” Scotty questions, unsure as to your words.

“No you get it from bad fish,” Red asserts, all the confidence of a man who has never been out to sea.

“You’re all wrong,” you say as you look through your bag trying to find a bottle opener. “You get it when you don’t listen to the Pharmacist’s daughter and eat a goddamn orange every once in a while. Now drink.”

You can see it clear as day as, simultaneously, all of their hackles raise at the thought of being ordered around by a Beta, so they do what they usually do when you do this: they look to Elvis.

Elvis, who has been able to open his own drink with his keys, stops drinking for a moment only to state, “You heard her.” And without a second thought they all sigh in defeat as they each grab a bottle for themselves.

“That’s what I thought,” you state, triumphantly, as you fail to locate anything close to a bottle opener. “You mind,” you say to Elvis, holding your bottle up to him. He gives a little smirk as he brings the still capped bottle up to his mouth.

As he uses his teeth as a makeshift bottle opener, you catch a glimpse at his pronounced canines, and you can’t help but absentmindedly swipe your tongue on that errant tooth in your own mouth. The one that tricked you into believing that you would present as an Alpha only to disappoint nearly everyone in your life.

You’d like to believe you’re past your admittedly childish envy of his status as an Alpha, still that does little to quell that funny feeling you get in the pit of your belly when you see him pop the cap off the bottle with ease.

“I meant use the keys dummy,” you say exasperatedly, swiping the orange drink out of his grasp. “You’re gonna crack a tooth like that one a these days.”

“Aww you do care,” he half-sings to you, and you can only roll your eyes and tell him to shush. He nonetheless listens and uses the keys for his second bottle.

While you languidly sip on the orange drink, that word circles your brain for a bit. Caring is not something you’re exactly used to being called. Years ago you were called protective or watchful, when the entire world was sure as to how you would present. Nowadays in spite of the fact that you doubt you’ve changed too much over the years, you’re called nurturing or motherly.

It’s actually part of the reason you even went on tour with them. You had initially refused Elvis’ invitation to join him on tour, figuring that now was as good as any to move out of the Lauderdale courts. He begged you to go with him and be his makeup assistant on tour as you had been for every show he’d performed up until then. You were reluctant to go due to not wanting to leave the good thing you had going with your job at the Cathouse salon but then Gladys had convinced you to go in order to prevent the boys from getting too buckwild on the road. After all her years of hospitality and refusing your rent payment, you figured this was the least you could do to compensate for your extended stay in her home.

The irony of which was not lost on you as there were many nights after the two of you had your nightly phone calls with her where you would have to kick Elvis out of your motel room to go “talk” to some little chicky that would be skulking around his room (More like you slapped him on the ass and told him ‘go get em tiger’... because you absolutely did do that a few times). You did this mostly to get him out of your hair for the night, but also because in those days you had no idea how long any of this would last and you wanted him to make the most of it. You knew better than most that all things are temporary, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride.

Your musings are interrupted by The Colonel’s speaker car announcing the issue had been fixed and everybody better be ready to leave in less than a minute because “Time is money.” Your group quickly packs up, making a beeline back into your respective vehicles.

You quickly check your makeup in the mirror (wouldn’t do for THE Elvis Presley’s makeup girl to look anything less than immaculate, even in this abominable heat, though he’s not exactly a THE yet) as Elvis gets behind the wheel making sure Scotty and Billy got into their car, while Red scurries into the backseat (he lost all privileges to shotgun after a legendary loss to you at a bowling alley back in Baton Rouge). And just like that you’re off to hightail it to the next venue, though not before you catch a particularly nasty side-eye from Hank as he passes your car. With all his huffing and puffing every time Elvis performed, you figured it would only be inevitable the Alpha would eventually burst and blow the lot of you all the way back to Memphis. Especially as his Beta boy kept glancing your way.

So imagine your surprise when by the end of the night Hank ended up leaving and Elvis had news that that Colonel fellow wanted to go into a partnership with him. You’re gone for all of five minutes to get funnel cake and suddenly Elvis is officially on the up and up, with a new manager and everything.

Elvis trusted everybody and you trusted nobody: it made you two the perfect team. It was your natural suspicion of others that had you look over The Colonel’s initial contract and when some of the wording wasn’t sitting right with you, you called in a favor with your former boss, Kitty, who was in turn owed a favor by a Lawyer friend of hers. Even with the favor in place, he ended up taking a good chunk of your savings, which in your book was fine, as it was mostly made up of the rent that the Presley’s refused to accept from you for the past few years. Your intervention would actually prevent Elvis from going 50/50 with The Colonel, and unknowingly save him from so many headaches later down the line.

The Beta Man didn’t quite make your skin crawl, but just about, and he made it no secret how little he cared for you or how much Elvis valued your opinion. Were it not for Elvis’ insistence that you’re the only make-up artist in the world that could achieve the right look for him, you think The Colonel would have elbowed you out early into his career.

And much to his chagrin you go everywhere with him; shows, movie sets, tv appearances, you name it. Those weeks when you had back to back shows with him and just as many public appearances to keep the momentum of his career going, those were the days where you found yourself longing for the far simpler days.

You honest to god miss 8th grade year. When the world made about as much sense as it could to a twelve year old. The days when you were called the Boldest Little Girl this side of Memphis you were called after you brazenly told your music teacher to shut up when she told the stuttering new kid that he had no future in music in front of the entire class.

After a long lecture on respect and Mrs. Whatsherface made sure your knuckles had a meeting with her ruler, you left her classroom only to be met with that same kid you defended turned around and talking to himself in an empty hallway. He still somehow managed to stutter even when no one was there.

"Th-th-thank y-you," he would say before taking a long steadying breath, before squaring his narrow shoulders and looking as though he were preparing for war.

"Who ya talkin' to?" you would say over his shoulder, and instead of words he would let out a very undignified shriek. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Y/N."

"El-Elvis," he would say, looking down at his shoes. He’s all sandy hair and knobby knees, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a boy with such long eyelashes before. He was just a bit shorter than you, and with the growth spurt you had recently your mama was hopeful that you would present soon.

"So Elvis… you new to Memphis?" you would say, after a painfully long pause, waiting for him to say something else.

"Ye-ye-yes," he said, still trying to find the secrets to the universe in his shoes. You can’t exactly pinpoint why but in that moment, he reminded you of a wet puppy. One that's just pathetic enough that you want to pick it up and take it home to dry it off and give it a snack.

So that's exactly what you do and you throw an arm around his shoulder, “C’mon, Elvis,” you say as the sandy-haired boy blushes up a storm. “I’m gonna show you around these parts.”

You end up taking him to some of your favorite places around your neck of the woods, and finish this little impromptu trip with a stop off at the neighborhood drugstore, where you ask him what his favorite soda is, and he nearly has a heart attack when you grab one from the cooler and walk out without even attempting to pay for it. Annoyed but willing to humor the boy, you walk up to the counter and tell your daddy you were taking them for you and your friend. You could see the bit of pride in his eyes as you took rather than asking for what you wanted. Elvis meanwhile seemed to be in awe of you. Though he quickly goes beet red when you show him how to open a bottle with your teeth and hand it to him.

“Y’know you don’t stutter when you sing,” you say as the two of you were making your way to his place in the lauderdale courts. “Why’s that?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he said solemnly, sipping on the Pepsi you gave him. “I gu-guess, it’s cuz I-I-I’m good at it… or I th-thought I wa-was.” he says sadly.

“You do sound good,” you say matter-of-factly, and it makes you feel warm as he lights up at the compliment. “Not everyone’s gonna think so, but you do.”

“But some of ‘em are gonna hate it?” he blanches at the thought.

“Yeah, but that’s just the way a things ain’t it?”

“I-I guess…��

“Elvis trust me on this,” you state, more sure of yourself than any twelve year old has a right to be. “If people don’t like how you sound, it’s on them to not listen, because there are plenty more people who will love it.” Simple piece of advice really, and not applicable to all situations you recognize now, but with the way you watched him hunching in on himself to look smaller only for him to walk straighter into his home, it looked like it’s what he needed to hear.

Elvis would return to music class the next day with his own guitar in hand and sing his little heart out in front of the entire class. Mrs. Whatsherface still didn’t approve, stating how she “didn’t like how he sounded.” But he in turn looked her right in the eye and told her what you had told him, and you had never been more proud of another person in your entire life.

“Well Mrs. Wilson, you don’t gotta listen.” he asserts, more confidence in him than you’ve seen in all the time you’ve known him.

Your friendship however was really solidified after that jerk that sat behind you in class, Leon, cut Elvis guitar strings as a “joke” he claimed. Seeing Elvis' heartbroken expression and knowing his family’s financial status, awoke some latent protective streak within you that had you dip into your meager savings for a record player to buy two things that night: guitar strings and gum.

The next day you would give Elvis the replacement strings before school would start as well as an ominous suggestion to watch you during study hall. And he would watch as you proceeded to stick a wad of gum in your own hair and proceed to flip over the table behind you and try to knock Leon’s lights out. Nobody ever really made that connection that it had anything to do with what he did to Elvis’ guitar. No, all anybody ever knew was just that Leon sat behind you and someone had put gum in your hair, and you swung first and asked questions later.

Elvis would watch in utter awe of you as the teacher escorted you and Leon out of the class by your ears, and you would wink at him as you passed by, but you think the sentiment of it was lost considering the eye you used was the one already swelling shut. Unbeknownst to you at the time, Elvis would return home that night and let his Mama know he found the girl he was gonna marry.

You saved Elvis the embarrassment of having to be defended by a girl, and the focus was solely on how Leon had gotten beaten up by one. You would even cleverly and cruelly dub him “The Cowardly Leon,” for the rest of the year, and only let it die out after you needed to start flying under the radar once you had presented.

You cared a lot about justice back then because that’s what your father instilled in you. In fact the first thing he said to you when he came to pick you up, was asking whether or not you won. God he was so proud of you for standing up for yourself, and he ended up taking you out for ice cream. In retrospect not the best thing to teach a kid, to handle conflict with physical violence. Back then it was seen as blooming Alpha behavior of play-acting at being territorial and rough-housing. But once you presented as a “Beta” that same behavior that was seen as charming, became deviant or atypical of how a proper beta should act.

That year was the last one of simplicity you would ever experience, as you were comfortable in what your future would look like. Your daddy's side of the family came from a long, unbroken line of Alphas, both male and female. And it only felt inevitable that you would present as one, and one day you would inherit your family drug store, you would settle down with a nice omega partner, have a couple kids, who would also be Alphas, pass it on to them, so on and so forth. With his ever present, yet endearing stutter and his unabashed love for his mama, you had thought Elvis would be such a partner. And the way you sometimes caught him looking at you at times, you didn't think he would be entirely opposed to it either.

You were an only child and your daddy did his best to teach you long before you were even close to presenting how an Alpha acts. Lessons to always be bold and aggressive. To take what you want and how to fight for what is yours. The benefits of remaining stoic, and relying only on yourself. How to essentially be the perfect Alpha.

Lessons that would ultimately be wasted on you, you would learn that summer after 8th grade. It was just supposed to be a nice ordinary trip to visit Nana up in Nashville. First day, you would be slightly uncomfortable and very tired, nothing cool refreshments and a nap couldn’t help. Day two you felt a lot warmer that wasn’t the least bit helped by Nana’s brand new Air Conditioner. Day three you would spend covering the windows with blankets in order to better curl up into a corner on your bed with pieces of clothing you had taken from your parents. Day four there was no more denying what was happening as you cried into mama’s lap, feeling oddly betrayed by your own body as you waited for all of it to pass.

Your daddy put you on suppressants the second you were all finished and were back in Memphis. He was the only one whose disappointment in your presentation matched your own. Mama tried her best to convince you it wasn’t so bad to be an Omega, but the words feel hollow as you overhear her insistence to daddy that she wasn’t too old to try and get it “right” this time with another baby.

Nothing felt real those summer days, and by the time newly presented Alpha, Elvis Presley, strolled into the store, you officially accepted that you were in some sort of upside down world. You didn’t even really see him at first, you were so used to seeing him at less than eye-level to you, that it didn’t register to you to look up, and find the previously waifish Elvis Presely having been replaced by a taller, broader -and dare you say it, handsome- young man before you.

Of all the people you knew, you thought Elvis would be the one that you would be able to tell, but as the light softly glints off his newly descended canines you knew that could never be.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him. To admit to someone, who will undoubtedly accept you as you are, but you catch sight of your parents staying on opposite sides of the store. A painful reminder that nothing is ever a sure thing.

“My what big teeth you have,” you instead remark as you lean against the counter.

“Heya sweetheart,” he says, propping an elbow on to the counter, though not without some awkwardness as he catches your magazine and slides forward a little before catching himself.

“Sweetheart? What is that about?” You ask, acting dumb and hoping you’re wrong.

He grins even wider at that

“Oh yeah,” you say, trying to be as non-chalant as you possibly could be. You hook your pinky into the corner of your mouth to show him the normal canine you have. He perks up ever so slightly as he sees it, only to deflate once he hears your muffled “Beta.”

“O-oh… oh, ummm…” he stutters, unsure of what to say to you.

“Disappointed? So’s my daddy,” you say flippantly.

“N-no it ain’t that,” he stutters. “It’s just I-I… well I…”

“Was expecting something else?” you finish for him. “You and me both buddy,”

“...Y-yeah umm….” he says glancing down between you and the floor as though waiting for the sike.

“C’mon, don’t be upset for my sake, you’re an Alpha now, cream of the crop and all that,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too jealous. You hand him a Pepsi on the house and call for the next customer knowing you’re gonna have to be on inventory later so you’re daddy won’t notice it missing.

In short order by the start of your freshman year you would learn three awful things. First, that while the state of Tennessee’s single bond and marriage laws were still in place, they do make an exception for Alpha business owners who wish to pass down their legacy to an Alpha Child. Secondly, that your daddy was aware of this exception because he had done it once before, as you and your mama were his second attempt at an alpha child, after his first born son presented as an omega. Third, the reason you had a babysitter until you were fourteen, was because your daddy apparently needed a backup for his backup.

That is how you found yourself moving all of your belongings into the Lauderdale Courts, where you would find a familiar face. He was surprised to see you there, especially with the load of boxes behind you, but he wasn’t about to let your surly demeanor get in the way of him rolling out the welcome wagon for you and your Mama.

Elvis is not one to be ignored, and you find it amusing that he was now the one that more or less bullied you into doing things. And as loath as you are to admit it he more or less did become somewhat of a protector to you when Leon tried to get his licks back. It is a strange reversal, but not a wholly unwelcome one. You do at least try to find the comedy that is the tragedy of your life now.

Your mama was with you, but you could hardly say she was present anymore. The days she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor, were the days she was cursing your father’s name and long-winded rants about how he stole the best years of her life. For all the passion and fury in her words, they were hollow, as instead of getting on suppressants to combat her heats, she instead went back to him every single time to take care of her. There would be times you would come home from school only to find your place empty, cash in an envelope on the table, nary a note in sight, and you would spend the week with a neighbor.

You try to justify it in your head with the fact that Mated Omegas could die if they go into heat without their Alpha, but that was exactly what suppressants were made for. They weren’t true mates so there should be no problem for her alone to break the bond, and yet like clockwork every three months she would be gone for the entire week, and wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes for about the next two weeks following that.

You hated those days when you would come back to the apartment only to find her missing, that ominous pink dot on the calendar, and some money left in an envelope for you to take care of yourself for the week. Gladys Presley didn’t even hesitate in offering you a place to stay so you wouldn’t be alone, but as welcoming and kind as the Presley’s were to you during those weeks you felt humiliated not only for having to rely on their hospitality, but also the reason why.

You knew where exactly she went. Everyone in the Lauderdale Courts- hell, everyone in Memphis- knew where she went, as those were the same weeks that your father and his new wife would disappear off the face of the Earth. All those pitiful looks and derisive snorts when you walked by felt the same, they said “oh look, there’s the little unwanted girl.” Your mother went from wife to glorified mistress in a matter of months, and people shaped their own opinions on you solely around that.

You got by though, especially after you were able to get a part time job in Sophmore year. Kitty LeBlanc is perhaps the most feared Alphas this side of Memphis. She and her wife, Jeanie, have been running the Cathouse Beauty Salon, for the last twenty or so years, the place to go when you’re looking to get done up for a date night or a divorce. It’s well known in these parts that any Omegas having trouble with their Alphas need only come to Kitty to get them to start doing right by them. So suffice to say, she was furious at what your daddy did to you, and the only thing stopping her from launching a full scale whisper campaign against your daddy’s store, is that you and your mama were still financially dependent on him and so didn’t want to leave him completely destitute.

But you also had the underlying reason that you needed him to stay open so you could still get the suppressants you needed. They were created way back when during war times, to prevent mated omegas from dying due to their Alphas being gone so long, and nowadays they are only prescribed to mated Omegas under the most extreme of circumstances. Legally you’re not supposed to be on them whatsoever, but while normally your father being a pharmacist had few perks, this was absolutely one of them.

It’s bad enough he’s known for having more or less abandoned an Omega Partner, but it would have absolutely devastated him, socially and legally, if it had gotten out that he had abandoned not one but two Omega children of his. So rather than having that be his reputation he made everyone believe that you in fact were a Beta. And you’re fine with this, because you already push it by acting like an Alpha when you’re known as a Beta, you doubt you’ll be tolerated anymore if it comes out that you’re an Omega.

Kitty would respect your choice and instead offered you a job, mostly sweeping the floors and taking out the trash after school, for a little extra cash on the side. That’s where your interest in makeup first began, seeing how someone could be having the worst day of their lives, but their appearance exhibiting none of that.

“Think of it like a mask,” Kitty would explain to you as you attempted eyeliner for the first time. “You’re only showing the world what you want them to see.”

High school was a bit of a blur, and before you know it you’re in your Senior year. Prom was something you had been looking forward to. You had saved up all your money from the Cathouse to buy a beautiful red dress, had been asked out by a nice Beta boy from your art class, and Kitty promised you the full salon treatment for such a special occasion. Really everything was looking up with the only hitch being how weird Elvis had gotten when you told him about your plans for the evening.

After the talent show (where you almost resorted to pushing him onto the stage), Elvis certainly wasn’t without options, but he still insisted on going Stag with you and the rest of your friends for Prom. Those plans didn’t change with your news but he clearly seemed to have become grumpier as of late.

But you didn’t pay it any mind, as afterall the shit you’d been through up until that point, was one night really too much to ask for. Evidently it was, because as you were getting into David’s car, you realized you had forgotten the evening gloves your mama was letting you borrow, and you ran back into the building only to be met with your mother with a suitcase in hand as she set down an envelope on the small dining table.

You vividly remember how she would look up at you with only the slightest hint of guilt in her eyes, before her expression steels itself with a calm demeanor, as she gives you a cool smile, places the envelope in your hand with a friendly pat, and then she walked out the door without even a glance back.

You would never see her again.

To My Darling Daughter,

I’m sorry for what I have to do, but you must understand that while this is a choice, it’s not an easy one.

If you can take comfort in anything, know that it is your strength and resiliency and seeing you as bold as you are for what you are has inspired me to take control of my own life. I’ve met a Beta man who has promised me a better life away from this place. My only regret is that I can’t bring you with me.

But I know for a fact that you, unlike me, can and will survive on your own.

I Love You So Much,

Mama

You had to read her letter several times, not fully believing the words before you. You recognize that there was a part of you that had wanted this for years. For her to run far and fast from your father, but you had just always assumed she would’ve taken you as well.

You hardly have time to process that as you hear David’s horn honking out at the front. No, instead of sitting with your feelings about the matter, you fix your makeup, grab the gloves, and walk out to the powder blue chevy. After David offers whatever was in the flask he swiped from his daddy, the entire dance turns into a haze, with the only evidence that you were even there being the commemorative photo and the blisters you feel forming on your feet.

“Say Y/N, my folks are outta town this weekend.” David says idly as you’re walking out of the school gymnasium.

“That’s nice,” you slur, not really having heard a word he said, trying hard not to fall on your face as you stumble in your kitten heels.

“So why don’t we head back to my place?” He asks practically buzzing with anticipation.

“Sure fine,” you sigh apathetically, understanding what he’s implying, and going mostly because the prospect of going back to an empty apartment is far more terrifying to you.

You can see the excitement on the Beta boy's face grow until he looks past you and you watch as the blood-drains from his face. “There you are Y/N,” you hear from a strained yet distinct voice behind you. You turn around only to see Elvis’ icy blue eyes somehow burning holes into your date, as he says through gritted teeth. “Your mama made me promise to get you home early.”

You can hardly be faulted for your almost knee-jerk reaction at Elvis’ blatant- well to you-lie: you burst into a near hysterical fit of laughter, to the point tears are streaming down your face. You laugh a little too hard and a little too long at a joke neither boy seems to understand, that David, by the time you’re mostly done, is long gone. It doesn’t matter though, because in your drunken state your thoughts turn to how embarrassed Elvis is going to be when he takes you home and realizes he got caught in a lie, because you don’t have a Mama anymore.

As you’re stumbling to Elvis’ car, he stops you in your tracks, “Y/N, you alright there?” he breathes and you see his nose flares for a moment, no doubt smelling whatever the hell was in that flask. “What did he do?” He hisses, with murder in his eyes.

“Oh dontcha worry about ole’ Davey over there,” you dismiss, as you grip onto one of his forearms to keep yourself standing (when did they get so big?). “How ‘boutchu take me back home because… I. Gotta. Surprise. For. You.” You say, punctuating your last few words, tapping his nose each time. You can see his eyes widen and his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows nervously, before he quietly agrees.

He gets you back into his daddy’s car seemingly content to have gotten you away from your date, until you’re on the road, and in a fit of… grief… madness… something, you open the window and let one of the evening gloves your mother had let you borrow fly out into the night.

“Ain’t those your mama’s?” He asks, slightly perturbed at your seeming indifference, when you’re usually so careful with your clothes.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum as you let its twin also fly out. The rest of the ride back to the Lauderdale Courts was filled with a thick silence, as you were upset, and Elvis could tell you were upset, yet neither one of you knew how to address it, so you both remained quiet.

Elvis gets you into the building and in repayment for his act of chivalry, you didn’t vomit all over his rented suit. No, instead you bolt into your apartment, that you had left unlocked for your mama without another word. After brushing the taste of bile and fruit punch out of your mouth, you would find him sitting on your couch with that damn letter in his hands.

It is at that moment where you enter and you see the heartbreak and pity in his eyes for you, did you finally recognize that this wasn’t as funny as you thought it would be. No, in fact it leaves you with a hollow feeling inside of you, seeing him that way, but instead of dealing with that you choose to laugh at the situation.

You laugh because otherwise you’ll cry.

“Tell me Presley,” you joke with him. “You make it a habit of reading through other people’s mail?”

“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he would say, tears welling in his eyes for you.

“Well we got that in common,” you say, wishing to be numb to the whole world by this point.

“I-I just don’t understand wh-why she would do somethin’ like this,” he states, genuinely unbelieving that a mother could do something like this. You’re confused for a different reason, as you can’t quite find the logic in leaving you behind when she was so close to being able to do so legally after you had graduated.

Guess she just wanted out that bad.

“Oh I know why,” you stated as you threw off your shoes and tossed your legs over his lap. “I’m unlovable,” you say flippantly, while shrugging your shoulders. You weren’t seeking his pity nor his comfort. In your mind you were simply stating a fact. The same way you would state that the sky is blue or that water is wet, Y/N is unlovable. How could you not be, as both people that were all but hard-wired to do so, want nothing to do with you?

You see so many emotions pass through his face at your statement. Until he throws his arms around you and brings you as close as possible to him. “You’re not unlovable,” he declares.

“No I am,” you say, resolved to your fate. “I just need to accept that.”

“You’re not unlovable, Y/N,” he blubbers a bit, tears in his eyes, holding your face in his hands. “Because I lo-”

You quickly slap your hand over his mouth, shushing him, truly not wanting to hear the next words to come out. You’re not an idiot, you remember the way he would look at you before either of you presented, it’s the same way he looks at you now, when he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you know, as did he you suspect, that if either one of you were to ever verbally acknowledge it, everything would be ruined.

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. Nothing would be wrong considering you are actually an Omega, and anybody would tell you being close friends with an Alpha would eventually lead to this. But one thing throws a wrench into this idea: the fact that the thought of being bonded to an Alpha, even Elvis, terrifies you to your core.

You’ve seen how wrong those relationships could go, what happens to the omega and how the Alpha could get out scott free. You know yourself well enough to recognize that you are far too willful and bold to make for a good wife for an Alpha when most would prefer a more demure, submissive mate. Add in how apparently easy you are to leave behind, you doubt your odds of having the ideal life for an Omega look too good.

In your quieter moments you would wonder who you were supposed to be. If you hadn’t been raised with the expectation that you were going to be an Alpha would you have actually exhibited the traits that go with being an Omega. Or would you have still ended up the same way? Neither scenario fills you with comfort.

You try not to dwell on these thoughts too long, as afterall, as far as Elvis knows, being with you like that is impossible. Besides you and Elvis have a good thing going on right now and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

You’ll later blame the alcohol for what had happened next, as you sat next to him, doing your best to stop crying, in spite of your feelings of being unwanted and unloved. But you’re somewhat comforted by Elvis being so close to you, and you liken your next actions as some latent part of your omega brain trying to compensate for your crippling loneliness that night by trying to start something with the nearest Alpha, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Your face buried in his neck, you could feel yourself steady the longer you breathed in his heady scent of leather and rose water, disparate yet no less intoxicating, all tied to something uniquely him. Something you had never really noticed before, given that the suppressants did a good job of dampening your smell capabilities, but being so close to him now, you begin to understand why the other omegas would get giddy moments before he walked into a room.

You remember just every breath filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth, and simply wanting to be as close to its source as possible. His scent reminded you of burrowing yourself in warm blankets on a cold morning or taking the first sip of hot cocoa on a frigid night, that feeling of being so comfortable in your discomfort that you don’t even recognize what it was until you felt the slightest bit of relief from it.

Wanting to further immerse yourself in that scent, you find yourself quickly going from leaning on him, to full-on straddling him, all so that you could better nuzzle your face into his neck. Though from the rumbling in his chest he didn’t seem to mind your invasion of his space too much. In fact he had followed suit by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose into your neck.

Though his discontented snarls tell you he’s apparently having a hard time. As a “Beta” you hardly even register as an option for him, the suppressants apparently making your scent so subtle, you’re about as appealing as a houseplant to him. You on the other hand were practically getting drunk on what little scent was making its way through to you.

So drunk were you in fact that you didn’t realize what you were doing with your hips until he let out a strained groan that reverberated back onto your neck. You don’t exactly know where your head was at, you just remember that he smelled so good and felt even better against your burning core, which is why you felt little shame as you continued to grind into him, the salacious act being hidden from your view by your skirt.

Your eyes meet his and you’re not exactly sure who leans in first, just that somebody did. But almost like magic, that tentative and nervous brushing of your lips against his, broke you from your spell, and made you realize what exactly you were doing.

You tear yourself away from him, nearly cracking your head on the low table as you land on your rear in front of the couch. Horrifyingly you’re now put at eye-level with his legs where you see something tenting the front of his pants. You take advantage of his utterly bell-rung state as you would pathetically crawl away from him and into your own tiny bedroom, to get away from this confusing and frankly terrifying situation.

There’s no lock to speak of so you block the door with your own body, crying into your hands, praying that he sees himself out, though like usual your wishes go unheard.

“Y/N?” You hear from the last person you want to deal with, knock at your door. His voice quivering as though he’s close to tears.

You sob harder.

“Y/N, I’m beggin’ ya here. Please talk to me,” he says, sounding genuinely distraught.

“Go away, Elvis!” You beg through your blubbering. This back and forth continues for a while until your stubborn nature prevails, and you’re left alone.

And all is right in the world.

You would wake up with a god-awful crick in your neck, and feeling unpleasantly feverish beyond belief. You quickly take your suppressants as you have done religiously since you had started on them, and you would spend the day barricaded in your room waiting for your fever to cool down.

Come Monday, Elvis wouldn’t be in school, and in spite of the fact he was the last person you wanted to see, you were given the task of passing along his school work to him. You were no stranger within the Presley household, oftentimes spending the weeks your mother was in heat with them, as Gladys couldn’t stand the thought of you all alone in that apartment. So it was surprising to say the least when she was the one to bar you from entering the door.

“Sweetheart,” she sighs, looking tiredly between you and the apartment behind her. “Elvis is umm… a bit… sick, and he won’t be fit for seein’ for… a few more days.” The blush on her face and the embarrassment in her voice tell you exactly what exactly is happening to him. You quickly dismiss yourself back to your empty apartment.

Well that at least explained why he let you do… that. He was a young Alpha going into his first Rut, he probably would have done the same with a box of cracker jacks if it promised him a good time. It meant nothing, so you were going to treat it like that.

It made more sense than the alternative of your “mini-heat” sending him into a rut. Afterall everybody knows that only true mates are capable of doing that. Most mated couples take a few cycles in order to sync up properly, while in contrast true mates can almost immediately trigger the other's time just by being in the same vicinity while going through theirs. You’ve also heard rumors of something else happening with those couples, but you’ve never bothered to dive too deep into that, and all you know is that it had something to do with how they almost always get pregnant during their first cycle.

True Mates are just rare enough to be special, but happen frequently enough that everybody at least knows one pair. It felt like every single Omega you met dreamed of finding their true mate regardless of how unlikely it is to happen. It also had all the hallmarks of being devastatingly romantic, with the idea that these are the only bonds that are truly unbreakable and that both parties could potentially die without the other, rather than just the Omega.

In theory it should sate your worries about being left by an Alpha, but it does little to help, as the idea scares the shit out of you. The idea that regardless of your own wishes to never be mated to an alpha, some force has apparently fated you to be with someone. Add to the fact that they have yet to make suppressants sufficiently strong enough to quell an omega with a true mate because apparently the bond is that strong, and all you see is a disaster waiting to happen.

You spend the next week trying to figure out the logistics of living on your own. You know Graduation is roughly a month away and without your mother to renew the lease or your father not willing to pay past his legal obligation, you’re going to be homeless. You can chance it with the foster system you suppose if you declare yourself an unaccompanied Omega, but more than likely they’ll send you back with your father, and he’ll more than likely hock you off to the first Alpha that gives you a second glance.

By the end of the week you’ve accepted that your best option for the time being is hoping that Kitty is kind enough to allow you to stay in the storage closet while you get your full salon training. If you sell everything in the apartment and by the time you're making full salary you may just be able to afford a room in a girl’s boarding house. That is until Gladys Presley, after three days of you dancing around the question of “Where’s your Mama, sweetheart?” finally sat you down and refused to hear any more excuses, and you had to quietly admit how you didn’t know.

Gladys is surely a force to be reckoned with as within an hour of your solemn confession she has you at her table with a warm meal, her couch already set up, and the landlord agreeing to forward you the last two months of payment your father is supposed to pay for rent. But what she can’t fix is the fact that you are suspiciously not making eye contact with Elvis.

You had insisted on making yourself useful and helped Gladys clean up afterwards, but once she and Vernon called it a night, you knew there was no getting around it anymore. At around midnight do you hear Elvis shuffle into the living room, clearly hesitant to have this conversation as well.

“You up?”

“No.”

That gets a short huff out of him before he plants himself on the opposite side of the couch as you, essentially sitting on your feet. The room is too dark to really see him, but the slight shaking in his leg and constant shifting tell you he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Elvis about Prom ni-”

“Are you really a Beta?” he cuts you off.

In spite of the darkness within the room, you still try to school your expression to one of confusion rather than shock. “What kind of question is that?” you say, managing to sound tiredly exasperated with him, while your heart is going a mile a minute. “Of course I’m a Beta, why’d ya think I wasn’t?”

“It’s just…” he pauses. “That night-”

“The night nothing happened.”

“Y/N,” he says severely, a tone he has never in his life used with you. “I need an honest answer here.”

You think about your next words carefully. As far as you know Alpha’s can’t literally sniff out lies, nor do you have any reason to believe he can hear some sort of minute difference between a lie and a truth.

For a brief moment you contemplate being totally honest with him, but you quickly dismiss that notion when you shift slightly and feel the hard edge of the couch armrest. Your situation is far too precarious to risk it on a gamble that he may want you, when if anything this past month has proven how unwanted you are.

“Elvis… you’re my best friend,” you state, as this much is true. “Do you really think I would lie to you about something like this?” you say, too cowardly to lie through your teeth and say no, instead you put it on him as to whether he believes you would do such a thing to your best friend.

He sighs in defeat, believing you wouldn’t invoke your relationship on a lie this big. “No… No, you’re right,” though you can hear the slightest quiver in his voice. “It-it’s just bad luck, that all that happened in the same night.”

“Exactly,” you say relieved that he came to the same conclusion that you did about that night. “E, I-I didn’t get a chance to say this yet but… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking me in,” you sigh, not a fan of the coy act.

“It was nothin’ Darlin’,” he says though you can hear him relax a bit at that. “Mama wasn’t ‘bouta let that stand.”

“Well then thanks for nothing Presley,” you say with a grin.

He laughs at that, and says “C’mere you,” as he brings you in close for a hug. You do notice as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and pointedly takes an extra long whiff of your neck. He’s undoubtedly trying one last ditch effort to prove his theory right only to find nothing.

“But I hope you can accept that I’m your mama’s favorite now,” you say as seriously as you could to break the tension, in an effort to ignore what he just did.

He pauses at that before pushing your face back into the pillow and saying around a smile, “alright, go back to sleep, you.”

Those months following your graduation, there was something so simple about those days, almost idyllic, in an odd way. You would be the first up in the household, so it was on you to push Elvis out of bed, take care of breakfast and lunch for the both of you. He would drive you to work in his company truck listening to the early morning radio and you would muse that it would only be a matter of time before the two of you would be hearing him. He would always get red in the ears at that and drop you off at the salon. He would occasionally drop in for lunch and afterwards the two of you would hit up Beale street for a while before heading home. Have dinner with his folks, go to bed, repeat all of that the next day.

You would often practice your makeup skills on him when Gladys was unavailable, giving you a better understanding as to how to not only put makeup on someone else, but how to also highlight a person’s best features. And working so close on him, did you realize that Elvis had many. In return for your “experimentation,” you would go to every single performance of his as support which evolved into doing makeup for him. Oftentimes you’re the last person he talks to before he gets on stage, as you would often help him clean himself up when he got too in his head about the whole thing, but also the first one to greet him once he got off the stage.

Though as the years went on and performing became more routine, and you find yourself in the midst of show business alongside him. Traveling the country and working on movie sets are never things you ever expected to happen, even in the days when you had your life set out before you.

Those days seem so far away now, as though they were a dream of a different life. But now you were in a new era, the “New Elvis” era, which would be one of the worst you ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It was like watching a Peacock be plucked and be told to still be just as eye-catching, and you let the Colonel know as much. You thought it was bad enough having to see him dressed in tails, but you knew the disaster that was headed your way the moment you saw that damn dog being rolled on stage with him.

When they moved into Graceland, the Presley’s took you along with them, and even tried to offer you a room on the top floor, the one specifically designated for family. It was one of the few times you and the Colonel were on the same page about… anything really, as you were vehemently against the initial room he offered you and instead took a moderately sized room on the first floor. You did this as you know that keeping some distance between you and them will make it hurt a lot less when they inevitably drop you.

Elvis Presley being in your bed is not an unusual experience, something you had gotten used to way back when your bed was the Presley’s couch, and he made it a habit of letting himself in as he pleased in your room at Graceland. So you hardly blink when you wake up to him laying next to you in the middle of the night. Or rather you do several times in order to get all the sleep out of your eyes and try to get a grip of your bearings as you suddenly awaken to a bed full of rockstar.

You had watched him storm out earlier, all passion and fury at the world that wants different and contradictory things from him all at once. Now all that fire has seemingly been extinguished as he lies next to you hands on his stomach, voice quiet and unsure of himself as he asks “You awake Y/N?” imperceptible through the non-existent lighting in the room.

“No.”

He huffs at you, and you can almost hear the smile on his lips, before the room turns solemn once more. And you give a big tear-welling yawn, but you’re still willing to help him through his identity crisis.

“Sweetheart, be honest with me,” he says into the inky darkness. “This ‘New Elvis” thing… ya’ think it’s a mistake?”

“Yes” you answer without missing a beat. You were never one to mince words for him and you’re not about to start now. “Now answer me this: is your name Frank?”

“No,” he answers confused.

“Is your name Bill?”

“No.”

“Is your name Buddy?”

“Y/N, what the hell are ya gettin’ at?”

“What I’m getting at is if they wanted a old crooner in a boring suit, they woulda gotten Frank Sinatra. They wanted clean sanitized rock n’ roll, they woulda gotten Bill Haley. If they had wanted someone popular but not so controversial, they woulda gotten Buddy Holly.” You say, impassioned as you are sleepy, hoping you’re making even a lick of sense to him. “They didn’t get any of them. But you know who they asked to be there?”

“Me?”

“Who?”

He chuckles before saying, “Elvis Presley.”

“That’s right,” you say, poking his chest. “They want you E, controversy and all, because you know what, ain’t nobody better at getting asses in seats and panties on the floor.”

“Y/N!” he exclaims, scandalized and, you can just imagine, red in the face.

“It’s true though,” you continue. “Being controversial these days hardly makes a difference anymore.”

“How’d ya figure that?”

“Elvis…” you say solemnly. “To my face people shake their heads and click their tongues as to what my daddy did to me and my mama. That doesn’t stop them from patronizing his store and giving him their money to better support his new family.” You feel him give a comforting rub on your shoulder. “Look what I’m trying to say is that, when what you give is good enough, people will overlook just about everything else. And trust me what you sell… sells.” You pause when you feel something hard beside your feet. “Are you wearing your shoes in my bed?”

“...maybe?”

“Get outta here weirdo,” you huff annoyed at his antics, and use all of your might to push him out.

“Alright, alright,” he says, acquiescing and getting out of your bed. “Guess I’ll head to that diner you love all by myself.” You can almost hear the smirk when his statement gets the pause he was looking for.

“You’re a cruel, cruel man Elvis Presley,” you declare. “Give me 20 minutes.”

The next day at Russwood Park, you’re putting the final touches on him before he gets on stage. You can still see the tiniest bit of conflict still on his face so you tickle his nose with your makeup brush to get his attention. “Remember. They don’t like how it sounds…” you trail off.

“They don’t gotta listen.” he finishes, apparently remembering your bit of 12 year old wisdom. Once he got on stage, he would take your advice, but the next time he would crawl back into your bed would be the night he got his draft notice.

None of you were exactly surprised, as everybody had known to expect it sooner rather than later, especially given that Elvis had slowly and steadily become one of the most controversial singers in the country. However the days immediately following it were some of the bleakest you’ve ever experienced.

With The Colonel’s whole rebranding spiel, and how much trouble he got in after Russwood Park, the fresh start idea isn’t terrible at this point, but you wish you could have gotten out easier. As cold as it sounds to say, you now saw the writing on the wall. You’re fully aware of the fact that, of his crew, his make-up girl is on the lowest of priorities. Regardless of how fond he is of you, he is undoubtedly about to be put under a microscope and whether he realizes it or not, he’s about to embark on a new chapter of his life, a chapter that more than likely doesn’t include you.

You want to do your best to put on a brave face for him, the last thing you want to do is add to his stress. And besides it isn’t like you ever truly believed that this was in any way permanent. As life had taught you that nothing is permanent, so why would living with the Presley’s be any different?

It’s just a hard fact of your life that people inevitably get tired of you, and you get left behind for something better. As fun as it’s been with Elvis and his family, never once did you trick yourself into believing that this is how it would be forever. Maybe in those simpler days of practicing makeup on him in the bathroom and lunches in the bed of his company pick up truck… maybe. But as Elvis’ star burned brighter, you were snapped back to reality at how temporary and tenuous your situation was. The same way Elvis outgrew Lauderdale courts, he would outgrow you.

What would he even need his make-up girl for while he’s deployed? The Colonel made it clear he’s not to perform while he’s enlisted, and you doubt wearing makeup will do him any favors in the barracks. And besides, Omegas are unable to even get a passport in Tennessee without explicit permission from their designated Alpha, who in your case, would still be your father.

The father whom you interact with very little these days, the last time being almost a year ago and that was simply to stock up on a year's worth of suppressants. Your father whose business is not seeing as many customers these days because as far as Kitty knows, you don’t need anything from him any more.

Bright side of this is that at the very least you’re not without options this time around. Kitty had made it loud and clear that you’ll always have a place at the Cathouse, and hell you have enough savings to see you through the next few years in Memphis if you simply wanted to wait out his time in the army. But neither seemed appealing to you, as either way your future would still rely on others' good will.

When Elvis had started making movies, of course he dragged you along for the ride up there. You were still the only one he trusted to do his makeup and as a result the studio ended up giving you a crash course as to how to do movie makeup, which you learned was a completely different beast to stage makeup, as you now had to toe the fine line of subtlety. Regardless of all that you did end up making a pretty important discovery, in regard to potential future prospects for yourself. You learned that in the movie making business, Betas are like gold in Hollywood especially for the more practical and technical parts of movie making. This is all due in part to the fact of their overall lack of appeal to Alpha actors, as well as not being as distracting for Omega ones either, not to mention they are far more reliable as they don’t have to worry about pesky heats or ruts.

You also learned that up in Hollywood, you could get access to suppressants about as easily as you could get your hands on a packet of M&M’s, as unlike in Tennessee you didn’t need to be mated in order to gain access to them. As a result, you discovered there were more than a few behind the scenes hands who were also Omegas that masqueraded as Betas in order to get work on the sets, doing wonders to make you feel less out of place there.

Janet, the head of the make-up department Paramount, was initially reluctant to have you aboard but was nonetheless impressed with your ability to pick up the craft as quickly as you did. You had kept her phone number from way back when and decided that now would be a good time to take her up on that job offer. She was ecstatic to bring you onboard but the hiring process being what it is you still technically need to be recommended by former employers.

“You sure I can’t sway you to come back here,” Kitty says as she’s signing the bottom of the letter. The sentimental part of yourself that you had believed you had smothered long ago is screaming yes in your head, not wanting to leave everything you ever knew in Memphis, but the pragmatic part of you knew that your days here are numbered.

You want to be able to bury yourself in her chest and tell her how she’s been like a parent to you all these years. To thank her for all the years she’s cared for you in whatever way she could, taught you your trade that has proven invaluable, steered you in the right direction. But all of that feels too final for your liking, and instead you remark “Unless you got a rich Beta man in the back, then no dice,” all the while giving a casual shrug.

“Well at least you ain’t followin’ that good for nothin’ boy across the world,” she sighs in relief. Kitty was not a fan of Elvis, she made no secret about it, less so when you turned in your resignation to be his makeup assistant for the Louisiana Hayride. Your best guess as to the animosity is how eerily similar they are when you really pay attention. The same way Kitty could give a single look to any fellow Alpha she had ever met, and make them act right, Elvis could do the same, except make them act however he liked. They’re the type of people that just magnetically attract those around them.

But you also think that it is also on the principle that she dislikes any and all partners her children bring around… Which is ridiculous because everybody knows it’s impossible.

You decide not to waste the trip into town and start heading toward your least favorite place in Memphis. You only make this trip once a year anymore, and you’re hoping to make this as quick and painless as possible. But as the little shop below your old home comes into view, do you recognize what a tall order that is.

“What in the hell is this?” your father seethes as you approach the counter, throwing down a newspaper before you. You see yourself wide-eyed looking into a camera with Elvis leading you by the hand into the car after Russwood Park. The draft notice had left the paper's tongues wagging and apparently of all the photos of him that have been printed, it was just your luck that this one was apparently the one most worthy of being reprinted.

Rather than react with the same guilt or shame that any normal Omega would have when confronted by their father as to why they were seen with perhaps the most controversial Alpha in America, you idly pick up and open a candy bar that was sitting at the front.

“A newspaper,” you say with a mouthful of Baby Ruth. “Can I have what I came here for now?” He throws the pages at you, but if you learned anything from him, it is that flinching earns you nothing but letting the other person know you’re scared of them.

“Don’t be cute with me girl,” he spits that last part as though you were a stranger and not his daughter. “Why the hell do I find out like this you’re living with that boy?”

“You didn’t care a single goddamn bit where I was livin’ before, why’s it matter now?”

“It matters because what you’ve been doin’ makes me look like a bad father lettin’ my own daughter run around with that… that…” he says snapping his fingers, searching for the right word.

“Degenerate?” you finish for him, as it is the most common insult you’ve lobbed Elvis’ way.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he seethes, a rumble emanating from his chest, but after being surrounded by the likes of Elvis and Kitty, this does absolutely nothing for you, and you wonder how anybody has ever been intimidated by this man.

“Well good news, the only reason you look like a bad father, is because you are a bad father,” you tell him with a smile on your face. “No one thinks of you enough to bother telling lies about you.”

“Outta the kindness of my heart, I been footin’ the bill for these,” he holds up the bag for emphasis. “Only to find out you've been holdin’ out on me.”

“Mmm-hmm, of course that’s what this is about,” a smirk on your face, figuring ou what has got him so worked up. “Why you so worried about money? Saving up for your next attempt at an Alpha kid that’s not gonna happen?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about you and that vicious bitch of a woman, you been costin’ me more money than what these pills are worth for years,” he spits.

“Pills you put me on,” you accuse. The argument ceases almost immediately when you hear the tell-tale ring of the bell at the front of the shop.

“You gonna pay me what I’m owed, or no?”

You want to refuse on principle alone, but you’re so close to being free from all of it, so you don't want to risk it so soon. But you know the kind of trouble something like that could dredge up for you specifically. So it’s with a heavy heart that you agree to pay for them once you get paid for the next movie.

But if your father is good at one thing, it’s believing in his own myth of being the big tough, and in charge Alpha. That you as an Omega will have no choice but to obey his will, even as he hands over the very tool that negates his influence over you.

You have no intention of ever paying him a single goddamn cent of any of it. You’re only on them because of him, and if he wants to scream and holler about how you owe him money, but he won’t be able to do a damn thing, lest he out himself as well.

Besides, you'll be long gone by the time he wises up to the fact that you won’t be paying.

Now there’s only one more letter you need, and it’s not as easy as you would have hoped for. After getting your medicine, you take a few days to really pluck up the courage to do so. He’s been a lot testier these last few days, as was to be expected considering the circumstances.

If all goes well you’ll be able to work on this final movie together with him, before you part ways, and leave with the crew back to California. If not… well you’ll probably just start making your trip far earlier than expected.

You find him in the upstairs office, looking through mail, a stony expression on his face, but it lightens considerably when he sees you with the food Gladys has sent you up with. Well, more like you insisted on taking it up as you’ve been hoping to catch him in a good mood, as there are few things on this Earth that put him in a better one than his mama’s cooking.

“Sorry to bother you E,”

“Ain’t no bother,” he insists, moving some papers out of view to make way for the dish. “I’m tryin’ to get a head count for how big a house I need on base in Texas.”

“How many you at now?”

“Including you? 7,” he says casually, taking a bite out of his food.

“Why would you include me?” You say genuinely confused.

He pauses at that, positively shocked by your response, until a grins splits his face and he gives a short huff of a laugh. “You almost had me there, Y/N,” he chuckles at your apparent antics, settling back into his affable disposition.

You swallow nervously at that, “That’s actually kinda what I came to talk to you about. I-I got offered a job from Paramount out west to work for them, but they’re saying I nee-”

“Jokes over,” he declares, his smile dropping a little, bypassing what you were trying to say. “You got me, alright?”

“... Not alright, Elvis,” you state trying to get your point across. “I’m trying to tell you I’m getting another jo-”

“Y/N,” he says, cutting off your plea, the look in his eyes familiar, but you’ve never had the misfortune of it being directed at you. “Quit the jokin’ now,” he says, his tone severe which you do not care for one bit, but you have to tread lightly if you want to get his sign off.

“I’m serious Elvis… this… this probably isn’t the best time,” you sigh, for once in your life trying to be careful with your words. “Th-the studio needs letters from former bosses to know that I can do the job, an-and I was hoping you could write one for me.”

The tension hangs thick between the two of you once you are finally able to make your point. You swallow nervously but you don’t sway and inch as he stands from his desk.

“If this is a ploy to get a raise,” he said coldly. “You win Y/N, I’ll pay ye’ whatcha want?”

“No Elvis…” you sigh, trying to keep a cap on your frustration. “You’re not listening. I’ve got a new job lined up in Hollywood, I just need you to write a letter for them telling you I can..” you trail off seeing the expression of fury in his face.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now Y/N!?!?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not joking right now,” you say bitingly, your hatred of being yelled at overriding all other things.

“So what… you’re gonna leave me high and dry when I need ya’ the most!?” He says, something akin to heartbreak painting his features.

“Why do you gotta say it like that? Like I’m breaking up with you?” you argue, not liking how he’s making this a bigger deal than it is. “It ain’t like you’re gonna need a make-up girl while you’re doing drills.”

“But I’m gonna need you!” He asserts, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Oh don’t be like that,” you tell him, literally shrugging him off. “It’s not like I’m gonna be able to live on base with you.

“Then we don’t gotta live on base.” he waves away, as though it were that simple.

“Elvis… I don’t wanna go with you,” you say simply leaving it at that leaving no room for him to argue the logistics of it. It hurts but you know you gotta get out now while the getting is good, because if you wait any longer, he’ll be the one that leaves first and that will be all the worse. For the first time in your life, you want to be the one that walks away on your own terms. “E, I-I gotta go where the work is,” you try to justify.

“So that’s it ain’t it,” he says, his pursed lips turning into a frown. “this was all just a job to you and you’re leaving cuz there ain’t one no more?” he shakes his head at you, disappointment evident on his face.

That… that cuts deep. That he can reduce not only his role in your life like that without guilt, as though you’ve been playing the longest con in history, when you first decided to defend a scrawny 12 year old from his nay-saying music teacher.

“Yes Elvis, if that’s what you want to hear,” you say without a hint of hesitation, willing your tears not to fall now of all times. “This has all just one big job for me, has been since the very beginning. Now there ain’t no job to have and I gotta fucking move on with my life because I don’t fucking need you anymore!” It doesn’t feel great as it leaves your mouth, and the angry tears streaming down your face prove it.

Nor does it get any better when you watch him stagger a bit at that, as though he had just been shot, even taking a hold of the corner of his desk for full effect. A million emotions pass through his face in seconds until he eventually lands on pure unadulterated fury. “Get out! I don’t wanna fuckin’ look at you right now!” he shouts dismissing you, his hands shaking as though itching to wring your neck.

“You got it Boss,” you say bitingly while giving a sarcastic curtsey, to which you turn around and walk out of the room, paying no mind to the destructive sounds coming from behind you. In spite of the biting cold outside your rage is keeping you warm as you pace back and forth along the back patio, trying to figure out your next move.

You’ve had your fights with Elvis before, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen so upset past the point of not wanting to talk with you. Even the biggest blow out between the two of you was exactly that, when he had walked in on you with that Beta who served cotton candy.

“Well now you know what I’d do for cotton candy,” you tried to joke after they had left, but Elvis proceeded to scream in your face, asking how dare you do something like this to him. You’d seen his territorial side before, as you’re not stupid enough to actually believe there isn’t anything behind all the times he’d casually pick you up and take you away when you happened to be talking to some Beta. But you did not care for being screamed at whatsoever, so you packed your things and proceeded to walk to the nearest bus station. You proved yourself to be far more stubborn than him, as you walked down the road, ignoring his demands that you get into the car as it crawled at a near snail’s pace to keep up with you, and talk you out of going back to Memphis.

As the cars lined up and started honking, you refused him still, even his threats to throw you into the trunk if need be, you didn’t falter. It wouldn’t be any sweat for him to do so, what with that crazy alpha strength of his, but you both knew that would hardly be the end of it if he resorted to that. Finally as the bus terminal got within view did he finally crack and promised to never yell at you like that again.

“You drive me up the goddamn wall, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

“You love it,” you declared, glad to finally be able to rest your feet, having picked the worst shoes to walk in.

“Yeah… I do,” he sighs and looks over at you from the driver's side. There is a bit of an awkward pause as you find your faces much closer than you remembered and he glances down at your lips.

“God, I’m starving. I don’t know about you,” you quickly say, turning your torso fully around to look out your window, trying to break the tension. “But I could go for a bite and I think I saw a diner up ahead.”

You hear him clear his throat, as he hoarsely replies with a simple “Yeah.” By the time the two of you returned to the motel, you’re the best of friends once more, and neither of you ever mentioned that awkward bit again.

You had hoped after all this time he would’ve let go of that weird possessiveness he has over you. With all the girls that he could have, why do you matter to him so much? You know you’re good with makeup, but you know so are many other girls. And he is capable of opening up to them as he does with you if only he ever got his head out of his ass.

Christmas Eve, Gladys spends the day cooking up a storm, roping in you and Dodger, determined to make this the best Christmas yet. Elvis is still not talking to you but you do find him when you’re looking for your purse, and you watch briefly as he stares deeply into the fireplace, something he’s been doing a lot since your fight.

But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks that you have anything to apologize for. You’ll be leaving with or without his permission… which you absolutely do not need either way. And if he chooses to end your friendship like this, then so be it.

Hell if need be you’ll go over his head and ask the Colonel for a letter. You have no doubt that if it means getting you away from Elvis, the Colonel will write nothing short of a glowing review and personally hand deliver it to Paramount.

Christmas day comes and everyone and their mother is over to celebrate. Everybody is living it up and trying their best to not acknowledge the big ole’ elephant in the room. Elvis seemed to be in higher spirits though as he proceeded to act like nothing was amiss, trying to make this a good Christmas for all. It’s almost as though the weather itself knew his plans for a perfect Christmas with the fresh blanket of snow that covered the outside.

Everyone tries to follow suit with keeping up the festive denial, though it doesn’t take long of the both of you obviously avoiding each other for seemingly everyone to notice something is wrong. Some point blank ask what happened between the two of you.

Some of the guys, weirdly enough, ask if you’re feeling sick, which is an odd experience considering that their eyes tend to slide right over you most days. You find yourself compulsively checking yourself in any available surface over and over again, trying to figure out what had them questioning your state. Nothing is out of place, your makeup is flawless and your outfit is perfectly coordinated and festive.

You look beautiful and nothing is wrong. You’re hoping if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe that.

You eventually call it a night after a few hours though not before presents are exchanged and you get the pleasure of seeing Elvis' eyes go a bit glassy once he puts on the new coat you got for him only to find the pockets filled with Gum and Guitar strings, because as upset as you are with him you’re not about to break tradition.

By the time you make it back to your room you all but pass out fully dressed on top of your sheets, and you feel the slightest twinge of guilt when you wake up wrapped in Elvis' old Crown Electric Jacket. You don’t really get a chance to dwell on that too much though as after taking your suppressant, do you notice the noise- or better yet the lack thereof.

Graceland is many things but it is definitely never quiet, you learned that early on into moving in. There was always something happening, someone visiting, and something new to do, with the occasional errant chicken running around the house, so it takes not even an hour that first day for you to notice the silence.

It’s almost like a ghost town on the floor below, with the only soul to be found, being the head of this household idling away at the piano. You’re about to head back to your room, wanting absolutely none of this until you hear a “Y/N?” from the piano room. You silently curse his uncanny knack for sniffing you out when others couldn’t, while simultaneously breathing an internal sigh of relief that he no longer sounds angry at you.

“Yeah it’s me E,” you state as you walk into the room, resolved to whatever fate you had signed yourself up for.

He turns around to see you see his face flushed and his eyes puffy, no doubt he’s been having trouble sleeping again.

“Y/N… we’re close right,” he asks genuinely, and you know that that boss comment hurt him deeply.

“We’ve both seen each other without makeup, absolutely nothing is closer than that.” you answer.

That gets a chuckle out of him at least, and it’s almost a relief to hear it after going without it for so long. “How many years we been knowin’ each other?” he asks solemnly, as you sit next to him on the piano bench.

It’s as you're saying 8 do you actually realize how long it’s been. “Time is one sneaky sonuvabitch,” you say, your eyes still wide at the revelation.

He laughs a bit at your reaction, “It sure is,” he says. The next look you can’t quite read as he says, “That's 8 years of believing in my dream longer than even I did at some points.” His eyes wide and his face soft.

You’re very uncomfortable at the amount of vulnerability being shown right now and you quickly course correct by lightly moving his chin with your fist and saying, “Hey now don't chu go gettin’ soft on me Presley,” you say, laughing to mask your nervousness.

He takes your hand in his as he says “What I’m tryin’ ta say Y/N, is th-that it’s been 8 years of you supportin’ me in whatever way I needed.” He gives a sad smile at this, before he continues, “I figure it’s ‘bout time I pay that back. I’ll write whatcha need darlin’.”

You’re stunned at this, truly having believed you would be the first to crack. But here he is, subverting expectations as usual. You’re not the most physically affectionate person, you’ll admit, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge to hug him. Not the obligatory side hugs you give on occasion, nor the awkwardly stiff stance when someone hugs you. This is a full on arms-behind his neck bury your face in his neck kind of hug, as you squeal you thank yous over and over to him.

You remember yourself, you pull away slightly once you feel his hands on your lower back tenderly holding you to him, and with your hands on his chest you look at him directly in the face. His eyes gazing up at you, a soft smile on his plush lips, his breathing steady and strong, as opposed to yours which hitches in your throat.

You clear your throat, “Say where is everybody?” you ask casually releasing yourself from his grip and turning your attention toward the window, which showcased the freshly fallen untouched snow of December.

He approaches you from behind and idly places a warm hand on your shoulder, before saying“I let everyone know I need some alone time and I didn’t really wanna see anyone, till we hear back ‘bout the deferment.”

“Shit sorry,” you say, quickly trying to get up. “I’lll get outta your hair,” you say, only for his grip on your shoulder to slip down to your waist.

“You’re not just anyone to me Y/N,” he drawls, his face far closer than necessary.

"Okay weirdo," you say, turning away hoping your face isn’t radiating how warm you’re feeling. You focus your attention on the snow covered lawn before you declare, "But if this ends up like the Donner's, I'm eating you first."

That gives him pause and you see as he purses his lips, clearly trying to hide a smile before he leans in real close to your ear. You don’t fully understand why your heart seemingly skips a beat as he says in a husky drawl, "Not if I don't eat you first."

There was the briefest of moments when you feel your face heat up at his tone until you roll your eyes at him and move him and his stupid little lip bite away from you. You turn around and try to leave the room, content that your little orphan angry ass isn’t going to be thrown out into the snow just yet. But before you can do so, you feel him grab a hold of your wrist, “ain’tcha cold like that darlin’?”

You look down only to be reminded that you had not in fact dressed for the weather today and your short-sleeve blouse and light skirt reflect that. Though oddly you don’t feel the least bit cold, and you feel mildly perturbed as to how in fact you are feeling very comfortable like this. Though of course you hide your concern by saying “You forget, I’m cold-blooded Presley.”

“Of course you lil’ lizard you,” he says with a smile on his face, as he’s taking off his own jacket. “But mama would have my hide if she found out I let you walk around like that and get sick,” and he drapes the warm material around your shoulders, and then chucks you under your chin to look at him. In spite of your supposedly “cold-blood” you feel uncharacteristically warm as he looks at you.

You quickly make your way back to your room, to open up that secret compartment of your purse to find your suppressants. You take them religiously and know exactly how many you should have left by this point, and you’re relieved to find the correct amount left. You quickly think back to everything that you’ve eaten in the last few days, and nothing sticks out to you that would have affected them and you don’t drink whatsoever so it couldn’t be any of that.

Finally you’re left with no choice but to chalk it up as nothing but you being paranoid. You decide to read on the couch, and somehow between the warmth of his jacket and the soft notes he’s playing, you find yourself in a hypnotic trance and you give into the heavy feeling of your eyelids.

You’re later startled awake when you feel something hit you squarely in the face, confused until the snow begins to melt on you and you feel the cool burn of the cold water on your chest. Elvis is laughing his ass off seeing you like this and nimbly dodges when you throw one of your house slippers at him.

“There were easier ways of wakin’ me up,” you remark through your exasperation.

“Ain’t one of ‘em as funny though,” he says slyly, and you roll your eyes, but your sigh tells him you can’t help but agree. “‘Sides that Twilight show’s ‘bouta start, and I knew you woulda done worse if I let you miss it.”

You’re surprised at that, and as you look out to the dreary looking sky you see that it has in fact been more than a few hours since you’ve been asleep. But it hardly feels like any time has passed between now and then as you still feel like you could sleep for another few hours or even days. You quickly disregard these thoughts though as he tells you it’s only a matter of time before your favorite shows starts.

You take a seat next to him just in time to catch the beginning of Twilight Zone, placing the popcorn between the two of you. You have always loved scary stories like this, and Elvis loved scaring you when you got too wrapped up in the stories. Low and behold as you’re anxiously waiting for Inger Stevens to come across the hitchhiker once again, you feel his cool hands grasp at your side making you all but jump out of your skin.

“I hate you,” you say mulishly as he continues to laugh. Though he doesn’t remove his arm from around your waist which takes your full focus off of the screen, as you look down at his hand curled around your side. You move slightly away from him only for his grip to tighten and you’re pulled even further into him until you're all but sitting on his lap. You’re viscerally reminded of Prom and wonder briefly if he even remembers that night anymore, or if it’s become lost in the shuffle amongst all of the other girls he’s had over the years, and an ugly feeling of jealousy shoots through you in that moment.

“Oh there’s the popcorn,” you say, as you use your whole body to stand up and get off of his lap. You grab it and rather than get back on the couch, you sit yourself on the floor, clutching the bowl in front of yourself as though it were a shield, as Perry Mason was just about to start. You’re hesitant to look at him right now, until he reaches down and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

“Wait I know how this one ends,” Elvis says, with a cheeky grin. “Perry Mason wins.”

He’s just a naturally touchy person, you justify to yourself, don’t read too much into it. “It’s not about if, it’s how goddamnit,” you assert, with a smile on your face. As the show continues you hardly notice when Elvis makes his way to the floor or when he casually throws an arm around your shoulder, though that’s mostly due to the fact that by the half-way mark of the episode, you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Even finding yourself leaning on him more and more, and if you weren’t so tired you would wonder why, considering that you spent most of the day napping.

No, you just find yourself silently grateful for that crazy Alpha strength of his to carry you to bed, your bed feeling more comfortable than you can ever remember it as you settle in.

Waking up to find Elvis in your bed is not unusual. Waking up to him under the sheets with you holding you around your waist is rare but occasionally does happen. Waking up to find that you’re in his bed as he nuzzles his nose into your neck with a handful of your ass while… something… pokes your belly, absolutely unheard of.

You try to peel his hand off and carefully remove yourself from his grip, only for him to roll over fully on top of you and bury himself between your breasts. You stop breathing entirely for a moment, too worried that any sort of chest-heaving may wake him and make this whole situation all the more uncomfortable. Part of you wishes to go back to sleep and hope that this was simply a bad dream, but as he shifts you feel his thigh place itself firmly by your core, the action so sudden and shocking that you audibly gasp.

You feel him stir at that and your face is burning, embarrassed by this whole ordeal, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get as he plants a sleepy kiss on your neck and removes himself from you. You think you’ve reached new heights of humiliation, until you find him between your thighs and feel one of his hands start to travel up your skirt.

This has got to be a dream, you think.

“Ok, you’ve had your fun,” you say, trying not to make your skittishness so apparent. “You can quit it now,” but then his other hand travels further up and you’re almost too distracted to notice its twin hook on to your panties and begin to drag them down. And before you can make any noise of protest, it turns into a surprised squeak as you feel his hot breath waft over your now naked cunt. You’re frozen in place as to what the hell is going on, both fearful and hopeful as to what he’s about to do next.

Those seconds seem to drag on for hours, there’s nothing stopping you from closing your legs or even covering yourself with your hands, but neither of these occur to you. Instead you lay there paralyzed as he further parts your thighs and using his tongue lightly trace up the seam of your cunt.

That sends you into overdrive and removes any possibility that this is a dream, as he languidly tongues your core. Your hips almost immediately buck up but he keeps you down with a forearm across your lower belly, as he tenderly nurses at your clit.

You grab at his hair but that only seems to further invigorate him, as his groans seem to reverberate off of your walls and he goes from focusing on that bundle of nerves, to delving lower and lower to that seldom explored entrance of your cunt. You restlessly try to push his head away from you, but your thighs apparently have a mind of their own as they box him in when you feel the tip of tongue lightly trace the rim of your fluttering hole.

His tongue, you are learning, has talents well beyond singing as you feel that wicked muscle eagerly delve into what little access you have (reluctantly?) granted him. The pleased hums he’s making, demonstrating how much he’s enjoying the act don’t help either.

Eventually you find your hands running through the hair that you, probably more than anyone in the world, are most intimately familiar with, even seeing the hint of his light roots that you’ve neglected to touch up in the last few days. You’re at the very least glad that the two of you are alone in the house, because you doubt you would have been able to muffle the downright filthy sounds coming out of your mouth.

The noises you’re making seem to only spur him further, as his thumb goes from an unhurried pace to a far more goal-oriented motions as his tongue goes rigid and plunges as deep as it could go and then, almost playfully, wiggles within you.

You’re left seeing stars, your pussy clamping down around his tongue, though he removes it almost immediately in order to prolong your euphoria by sucking on that little button of yours.

Even after all of that, you still held out hope that this was some weird sleepwalking episode and somehow feeling another warm body, he was going off of instincts until he removes himself from your pussy, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with his thumb, and looks you right in the eye with a look that tells you he has an appetite that has only been mildly wetted.

“Guess I ate ya’ first darlin’,” he remarks with a very sweet kiss to your lips, as though he didn’t just make you have the best orgasm of your life. God you’re so familiar with these lips, yet it still takes you by surprise as to how soft they feel against your own. You’re only human so lord forgive if you wish to indulge in the fantasy of perhaps every teenage omega in the country. But quickly you gain your bearings, remembering that as far as he’s concerned, you’re a Beta through, and through.

It kills you a little to remove yourself, breathing raggedly as you try to come to grips with what is happening. His eyes are blown out entirely, and he licks his lips as though you’re a meal waiting to be devoured, but even then you instinctively know he’s seeing you as you are.

This trance you’re both in is broken by the shrill ring of the phone from the upstairs office. He gives a soft curse, before he rolls out of bed and casually walks out of the room. You’re left leaning against the pillows. Looking up at the ceiling, utterly shell-shocked, mindlessly fixing your skirt to cover up your bare pussy as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.

But it’s as you’re doing that does an unbearable fire come upon you. A terrible fever emanating from your lower belly overwhelms you and as you helplessly inch out of his bed every instinct within you is screaming how bad of an idea that actually is. Every step away from that bed is agony, as though you’re wading through lava, away from any safe haven you may have found. Even trying to move your panties back into place feels scalding and you’re left with no choice but to remove them completely, leaving you completely accessible. You shiver at the thought, and not from the cold.

Briefly you wonder if maybe Elvis had something to do with this sickness you’re experiencing, but as you feel a throbbing emptiness from deep within you, do you realize that this is in fact a long ignored part of yourself that is simply roaring back to life. You finally recognize what exactly this is and recognize what sort of trouble you’re in.

You skittishly look out the door and, finding the office door closed with his voice behind it, you make a quick beeline to the staircase, and from there dash to your room, where you quickly barricade yourself in with your vanity table. And in the mirror are you forced to face what you are. Your eyes blown out, your clothes wrinkled and disheveled, the makeup you neglected to take off before bed smudged, sweat running from the warmth emanating from within you, and your whole body trembling under the effort to not flip over the table and run directly back to him. Not to mention the slippery feeling of your thighs as your slick runs freely, unhindered by any. You look at the very image of the idyllic debauched Omega and you finally recognize something is very wrong.

You have never in your life neglected to take your suppressant a day in your life, and quickly counting them, you find no extras, so that’s clearly not the case. It is as you are doing a double count do you realize something off about them. Looking directly at your suppressants underneath the light, they looked off. They were a slightly more yellowish white than they usually are and picking one up to inspect it, your nail catches the edge of it and it crumbles a bit. Neither of these things bode well for you. You desperately look for your extra doses of suppressants only to find them missing.

That’s when it goes from less than ideal to utter nightmare territory. You don’t know how nor do you know why, but your suppressants are no longer effective and you may very well be hurdling full force into heat, alone in a home with an unmated, virile Alpha. You immediately get to packing what you can, trying to figure out your best means of escape.

You try to assess your options as to where you can go for the next few days, but with all your options being either Alphas or out of town, you have no choice but to go back to your father. But your most pressing issue as of right now is how you’re going to get out of this room. Your windows are sealed shut, so you’re left with no choice but to venture out back into the house and pray he’s still upstairs.

You’ve done your best to ignore the steady stream of slick that has been running between your thighs, but the idea that he’s out there somewhere, causes a new rush of it to burst out, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose all restraint and give in to what your biology is demanding of you.

You made a beeline for the front door, your mind determined to make it out of Graceland but it was upon actually getting to the front door do you find your hands hesitating for a second. Some latent part of yourself really questions if it would be so bad to be his, questions why you have to fight it when he’s been nothing but good to you.

But it was your moment of hesitation that gave enough time for a familiar ringed hand to slam the door shut on you. “Baby, there you are,” despite the door now shutting out the cold, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Elvis I-I-I,” you swallow, his scent so heady and powerful you can almost taste him on the back of your tongue. “I need to leave.”

“I just got the good news,” he states, completely blowing past what you just said. “They granted me the deferment for the movie.”

“Elvis, I’m begging you,” you plead, as a bruising grip on your wrist forces you to let go of your packed bag. You’ve only ever cried once in your life in front of him, but now the tears flow freely down your face.

“Don'tchu worry your pretty little head ‘bout anythin’ darlin’,” he coos, wiping the tears from your cheek. “You go where I go, ain’t nothin’ gonna change ‘bout that.”

Even after all the time that had passed, you can still vaguely taste yourself on him, not an unpleasant taste, but your thoughts quickly turn to wondering how he would taste, or better yet how the both of you would taste together. The kiss becomes heavier and deeper as you wrap your arms around him and boldly run your tongue over those sharp canines of his, some masochistic part of you demanding to press harder.

Your chest is heaving, needing more oxygen than you personally think is necessary, and yet you find yourself giving pathetic little whimpers as he leaves your lips in favor of marking a trail of kisses down your body.

He kneels down before you, burying his face in the crevice between your thighs, the only barrier between you and him, being the thin material of your skirt. It was only then did you notice the brief relief from the fever you felt, all due to his close proximity. “You smell ripe for the pickin’ sweetheart,” he breathes out in a raspy tone, looking up at you as though he were in prayer, as his hand drags the zipper of your skirt down. It slips down fully with only the slightest of tugs, and your left trembling, bare from the waist down in front of him, as your thighs shift uneasily the slick that’s gathered making it all the easier.

You try not to look down at him, as though that will stop what’s happening right now. His tongue is now collecting every trace of your wetness it could find and just barely missing where you feel you need him most, to which you’re not afraid to voice your disapproval of.

“Don’t mind if I take the first bite,” he whispers, the tip of a canine barely scraping the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s that contact that reminds you what exactly is at stake here. Without warning you do your best to push him to the ground. He’s caught off guard but manages to catch himself before he lands on his ass, but the momentary surprise gives you just enough room to slip out.

You are about to sprint all the way back to your room, hoping to lock yourself in, until you feel an iron-like grip on your ankle. You’re barely able to catch yourself with your hands, but you're quickly dragged backwards. You desperately claw at the carpets, trying to find some kind of purchase only for him to grab a hold of both your wrists in one hand.

And that’s that. You’re thoroughly wrangled, no means of escape and no one coming to save you. You recognize how thoroughly fucked you are (or ar going to be) and that really no point in fighting it anymore, but you can’t even trust yourself enough to say that it wasn’t intentional on some level.

Let it never be said you’re not stubborn until the very end.

“Now I didn’t appreciate that one bit,” he hisses at you, and you hear the tell the shifting of fabric as he moves his pants down his hips, still holding your wrists down.

“Please Elvis,” you say desperately, only managing to wiggle your hips slightly which doesn’t help your case whatsoever. His hand is now splayed along your lower belly, as he lifts your hips into a new position to you, your cheek still stuck to the carpet. “You don’t want to do this,” you sob hoping he’s not too far gone, though with the way he groans at the feeling of your warm ass on the underside of his cock, even you understand there’s nothing that’s going to stop this from happening.

“What I want is ta tan your hide, for denyin’ me this sweet little pussy a yours for all these years,” he growls hungrily next to your ear, and those words shouldn’t have you keening and writhing like you were, but they do and you are. “But we’ll save that when it won’t be so pleasant for you. ‘Sides your cunt is achey enough already, ain’t it?” he purrs, the head of him prodding at your core, barely catching the rim of your entrance.

“Yes, oohh yes Elvis,” you whine, pathetically. “Please-”

You can’t say for certain whether or not you were gonna continue to deny him, all you can say is that all thoughts or hesitations seem to melt away as you feel him push himself in. Your eyes threaten to roll back all the way into your head, it felt so good. You're practically dripping wet at this point, but even still the girth is still something to contend with, as you’ve never had to handle equipment this big before, and at the angle you’re at you can’t quite make-out how much more of this you’ll have to take.

Elvis though is about as patient as he could be under the circumstances. He’s like steel wrapped in velvet, silky yet unyielding, as he sinks into you like hot butter, until finally his hips meet your ass. His heavy member has found a home in your cunt, and with the patience of a goddamn saint, he waits until your moans and groans aren't so ambiguous, and has the sound of a woman enjoying herself.

You’re low groan when he moves out, turns into a high-pitched shriek when he slams back into you. You sympathized with him when the papers started calling him The Pelvis but now being here underneath him , you can’t think period, let alone think of a more fitting nickname considering how well he’s wielding his to go at a harsh yet tender pace behind you.

In his rutting frenzy, he’s seemingly forgotten his hold on your wrists, but you in turn have abandoned your initial fervor to get away from him. You find yourself pushing backwards, desperate to keep him inside as best you can, frantically rubbing tight little circles on your clit with a single-mindedly chasing release, while you push off your other hand and try to meet his thrusts.

But he hasn’t quite gotten over that sadistic streak of his as he stops mid thrust and holds your waist preventing you from moving any further. You want to cry, you were so close, but the part of you that wants to be good and obey him wins out over the willful side of you, and you bury your forehead into the carpet. And as still as you can manage, you wait with bated breath for his next move.

“I tried bein’ nice ‘bout it, let you come to me,” he whispers in your ear as he moves the collar of your shirt out of the way, kissing the newly exposed skin. “But you gotta be so goddamn stubborn ‘bout everything,'' He hisses and you feel his warm breath waft on the back of your neck, and you know what’s coming next. You’ve dreaded this happening for years, but it’s so much worse than you ever could have imagined, because it’s coming from the last person you expected. You feel his lips curl into a small smile against your skin, and you feel the light scrape of one of his canines against your skin. “But I ain’t about ta have you any other way.” And without wasting another moment, he sinks his teeth into your neck marking you as his until the end of your days.

The sheer amount of pleasure and pain surging through your body makes you feel everything and nothing at all. All that registers really is the euphoric feeling as to where the two of you are joined together -at long last- so you didn’t miss a single moment as you feel the base of his cock start to swell. You're so startled that you try to pathetically crawl away only for him to take a hold of your still sore hips and bring you flush against him, as he seemingly grows and grows within you, well past what you ever thought could have fit up there.

You briefly black out for a moment not so much reaching your peak, but being rocketed to heights beyond what you could have ever imagined. Longer and more intense than you’ve ever been able to achieve, with a partner or otherwise, you’re a shivering pile of flesh, no longer tied to another worldly want other than the man behind you.

His moans are pure ecstasy, his hands undoubtedly leaving bruises on your hips, and his member resting heavy inside of you. Even though, on some level, you know it’s a fool's errand, you nonetheless try to separate yourself from him only to be given a painful reminder why this thing was often described as being “locked in.” You could feel yourself already stretched past your limit, refusing to let go of him, and you hear him groan from the new sensation, as tears flow down your cheeks from the pain.

What’s worse is that when you finally give up and snap back into place do you both shudder at the sensation as he reaches some part deep inside of you. You black out for a moment from going from intense pain to immense pleasure almost immediately can do that to you only to now find yourself on your side with Elvis behind lazily rocking his hips into yours as he leaves blistering kisses where he can and scorching trails everywhere else he could reach.

You’re left with no choice but to stay put and try not to enjoy every roll of his hips against yours, though you stubbornly bite your own lip to prevent yourself from making any noises, approving or otherwise. But this plan quickly falls apart as your mulish defiance of him and his wants are nothing compared to the swift slap on your pussy that causes you to bite down hard on your own lip. Your stupid protruding canine gets your lip, and upon your instinctual cry and release of your lip do you begin to taste the coppery flavor of your own blood. You attempt to hide your face only for him to grab a hold of your jaw, only to lick up the small trail of blood to your chin. You’re way past being able to be shocked by him anymore, and simply choose to relish in this sinful act, with a man who has been trying to clean up his image for the past few months.

If you had to guess, you’re like that for roughly an hour, until finally he’s at a size where you're finally able to remove yourself from him without discomfort, other than the veritable flood that comes gushing out of you without his cock to keep all of it in. Towards the end, he had shifted you so that you were back on your knees, your head resting on your forearms, with your ass in the air and you could only watch mesmerized as a small stream of his milky white seed runs down your thigh only to stop where your knee meets the floor where it proceeds to disappear into the ivory carpet beneath you.

You hear him purr behind you, apparently just as captivated by the show your pussy is giving him. In one swift motion you find yourself on your back and as he follows the path his cum had trailed down your leg, back to its source. You gasp as you feel him dip his fingers back into you and he hooks some of the seed out of your cunt only to use your now open mouth to stick them in there.

It’s almost like a switch goes off in your head with that first real taste of him. You no longer try to fight with yourself, not even choosing to give in really, because with the way you're feeling right now it’s not even really a choice anymore.

“Anything that ain’t goin’ into your pretty pussy is goin’ in that smart mouth a yours, you understand lil’ mama?” he purrs, satisfied as your tongue splits his fingers trying to get every single drop of him you could. “We don’t wanna let any of this go to waste now do we?”

“No,” you cry desperately, truly ashamed as to what you’re becoming. But you have no time for those thoughts as he surprises you by returning back down to your pussy.

“Keep your mouth open,” he orders between your thighs, words slightly muffled as they are against your lower lips. You're confused as to what he’s doing until he gives a light press on your lower belly and his cum gushes out of your poor abused hole and into his waiting mouth. He takes what comes out before he crawls back up to you to get a hold of your jaw, a dangerous look set in his eyes.

You dutifully do as he says and open up. Once that hot, heady flavor of your combined fluids hits your tongue you’re gone, without ego and fully submitting yourself not only to him but the primitive Omega brain that wants nothing more than to be his. You even wrap your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, so that the two of you could fully share this obscene cocktail that you both have managed to create.

“Aww baby,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “We wasted so much goddamn time not doin’ this.” In your state of mind you can’t help but agree.

He takes you on just about every available surface of the house, and you truly believe that the only reason he didn’t venture outward was due to how cold it was. If you had the capacity to think beyond seeking your next release you would feel ashamed as to what everybody will undoubtedly smell when they return. But all you could really focus on at any given moment was how good he felt inside you, or tasted on your tongue.

As frantic as he was to keep as much cum inside of you as possible, he also seemed to gain a specific kind of pleasure seeing you drip with his seed and having you swallow it in penance. You can’t get enough of any part of him and he makes good on his promise as to where his cum would go (where it belongs,) and for a solid week you are sustained almost solely on that save for whatever Elvis can scrounge from the kitchen. There’s almost a soft melancholy when you swallow him, as though he’s truly saddened over the lost potential of that particular load, as though he’s not stuffing you full of it seemingly every hour.

But in your haze you were all too happy to take what he could give you, you cunt greedy for all that he can give you.

And it’s underneath him that you learn about Alpha anatomy. Knotting, as you learn it’s officially called, is something Elvis can only do two to three times a day before he has to rest. Doesn’t stop him from trying every single time, nor does it stop him from having you

It becomes easier and easier each time, until you find yourself after each peak desperately grinding on to him, hoping that his knot would make a reappearance and make you feel whole. By the third day you even find yourself falling asleep with it within you, finding the fullness comforting, as though reassuring you that he won’t disappear on you in such a vulnerable state. The few times he’s left the bed you’re left a helpless, writhing mess desperate for him, even when he’s promised you he would be gone only for a few minutes. Part of you thinks he leaves more often than strictly necessary, considering the smug look he gives seeing you so needy for him and practically begging for his cock as you fruitlessly tried to replicate that sense of fullness only he could give.

“Empty,” you mewl, at this point incapable of full sentences.

He’s decided to torture you a bit rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. The hand splayed on your soft stomach prevents you from moving too much, wanting to take his time with you. Your whimpering begging for what you want desperate

“You ain’t ever gonna feel that way again,” he whispers through his kisses along the mark he left. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, ain’t no way you won’t be carryin’ my baby. Ain’t that whatchu want sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you cry desperately, willing to agree to anything, if he would only give you what you wanted, perhaps marking one of the few times he’s won a battle of wills against you.

You’re more animal than woman that week, a slave to her desires, a creature whose sole purpose is to be fucked and have his babies, if Elvis’ whisperings during this time are to be believed. You worry as to whether or not this more primitive side is due to your lack of experience with being in heat or if this is what to expect from every heat going forward. You feel as though someone else has taken the reins to your body and you’re simply meant to enjoy the ride.

Elvis on the other hand stays aware, and he takes care of you throughout it all, making sure you eat enough and drink water, makes sure your lips don’t dry out, licks at your wounds to help speed up the healing process, etc. You’ve never felt so needy, and you’re barely coherent enough to form complete sentences, and so you show your appreciation by being both as vocal and as obedient as possible.

He usually spends recovery periods licking you clean, though not necessarily where you initially thought he would’ve. You can’t help but conclude his love affair with the taste of your blood considering how much time he spends on the small wounds he’s made all over your body. In his initial eagerness to explore your body in those first few hours, he had “accidentally” nicked you every so often, the sole exception being the twin crescent marks you can feel on your neck and on your ass, which was clearly nothing less than intentional. Though your state and his efforts have significantly sped up the healing process, you know by the end of this you will be left with a constellation of scars.

“This one” he said lightly running his fingers along the marred skin of your neck. “That one’s for the world baby,” he coos, as he gives it a light kiss, making the slap that lands perfectly on top of the mark on your bottom, all the more surprising. “That one’s just for me and you. So you best not forget who that belongs to.”

“Never,” you sigh happily.

It’s almost funny when you think about it, how the world demands a clean-cut, sexless teen heart-throb, as though a majority of them aren’t also beholden to this primitive state of theirs. Looking at him now above you, his teeth sharp and bared, his grunts and groans echoing throughout the house, the bruises and scratches you’ve been able to leave on his torso, even the stubble you’ve felt more than you’ve seen, all paint a very primal portrait of him. He’s something wild, untameable even, someone who isn’t afraid to show how he is beholden to his own desires and instincts as the rest of the world hid from them, and tried to act like they don’t exist.

If it weren’t for the knot you would be hard-pressed to find much of a difference between this Elvis and the standard one.

By the end of your heat, you’re thoroughly exhausted, you don’t even have the energy to be mad at him anymore. You’ve just resolved yourself to your fate that will forever be tied to the boy you once thought you knew. You don’t even have the luxury of knowing whether these thoughts are your own, and not some long suppressed Omega part of you that simply wants to enjoy the way his calloused guitar hands gently rub the soft part of your lower belly.

But if this week has been about satisfying long-standing desires you’re not about to hold back on your desire for knowledge. Specifically how he discovered your secret.

“I wasn’t ‘bout a let you go without a fight baby,” he whispers, comfortable in not needing to hide anything from you anymore, as you’re thoroughly ensnared. “I was cookin’ up some not so nice plans to keep you by me no matter what. Only for a goddamn Christmas miracle to drop into my lap.” he says, allowing you to make your own pace at which to ride him.

“Your daddy sent me a bill in the mail, and I think you know what he was charging you for, dontcha?” he purrs, lazily thumbing at your clit and watching as your breasts bounced in rhythm with your frantic bucking.

“Bein’ the good mate I am, I let him know that you weren’t gon’ need any of that shit no more,” he says, giving a firm slap on your ass seemingly just because he felt like it. “And I some interestin’ things about them pills. You know what stops them pills from workin’ right?” he asks, lazily rutting into you.

“What?”

“You add a lil’ heat,” he growls, and suddenly his obsession with the fireplace these last few days makes perfect sense.

He spoke to you of how he’s been dreaming of this for years, and how he’s known that you were it for him, even when he thought nothing physical could happen between the two of you.

But even as he spoke, there was an ever present air of inevitability when he spoke to you as to how he envisioned your future together as though this was always meant to happen. And it was only a matter of you catching up to him. Afterall you were the one who taught him to ignore what he didn’t want to hear. And he didn’t want to hear no from you.

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen @softsatnin @literally-just-elvis-fics

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honeyedmiller · 1 year

Text

Tailgate | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, smut, very little fluff, 8-year age gap. use of y/n (i’m sorry ik lmao). 18+, minors do not interact.

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: your best friend drags you to a tailgate party, and you end up being introduced to one very attractive Miller brother.

"Y/n, come on," Y/b/f/n whined at you, nudging your leg with her knee. You were sprawled across the couch in the living room of your shared apartment, and you groaned in protest.

"Why do I have to go? It's too hot to tailgate." Texas summer heat was no joke. You'd much rather be cooped up in your humble abode with the air conditioning on full blast while you mindlessly flipped through the cable channels.

"Because," She points a bright-red manicured finger at you, "You need to have some fun. Plus, I really want you to meet Tommy." Tommy was y/b/f/n's boyfriend of five months, whom you've yet to meet. Guess this would be a good opportunity to do so.

"Fine." You groan, rolling your eyes. You knew you'd give in eventually, but you needed to add the dramatics just for the hell of it. Y/b/f/n squealed in delight, jumping up a couple of times before reaching her arms out to you to drag you up from your lazed position on the couch.

She ushered you to your room so you could change out of your gym shorts and sports bra. You ended up wearing some distressed daisy dukes with a white tank top that buttoned down in the front, leaving the top two buttons undone. You put on your brown leather belt with a gold buckle, slipped on your cowgirl boots, and lazily put your hair in a low style.

You emerged from your room truthfully ready to get this night over with. You weren't much of a party person— anymore, that is. Those wild child party days ended the day you got your college degree.

"Well damn, hot mama," Y/b/f/n called out to you. You tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn't help but crack a smile. "You're missin' just one thing." She places your cowgirl hat on top of your head, and you immediately felt the most country you've ever been since you moved to Austin.

You headed to the tailgate, sitting passenger in y/b/f/n's truck. Your feet were kicked up and sticking out of the window, summer breeze whipping through the cab of the truck as you drove down a dirt road. The sun was barely setting even though it was nearing 7 p.m., but you let the warm rays soak into your skin regardless.

The summer heat may've been a bitch, but you couldn't help but love the season regardless. You loved the long days and feeling of freedom.

You pulled up to the tailgate not even ten minutes later, setting sight on quite a few people already here. Country music was blasting through a speaker, multiple trucks parked in a big circle with the tailgates of their trucks facing a bonfire pit that was smack in the middle. Lots of ice chests lay on the ground, and many people already had a beer in their hands. Some were singing along to the song, some were dancing, and some were chatting amongst themselves without a care in the world.

The sight before you made you slightly smile. Y/b/f/n backed her truck up to fit into the circle, next to a black four-door truck with its tailgate already open.

You bring your legs back into the truck as y/b/f/n kills the engine, and you hop out. You help y/b/f/n unload the ice chest from the back of her truck onto the ground, only for her to be greeted by someone right after.

"Babe! There you are," A tall man with slicked back black hair approaches y/b/f/n, giving her a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Tommy, this is y/n, my best friend I've been telling you about. Y/n, this is Tommy." Y/b/f/n introduced you both, and you shake each other's hands.

"Nice to finally meet you." You smile up at him, letting go of his firm grip shortly after you greet him.

"Likewise. Y/b/f/n talks about you all the time, so it's nice to finally put a face to the name," Tommy chuckles, then quickly looks up behind the black truck you were standing by. "'Scuse me just a moment." He puts his cowboy hat back on and walks away.

You raise your eyebrow at y/b/f/n. "Wow, you go girl. He's cute." You laugh, and she nudges you.

"I know, right?" You two had a small fit of laughter, but was cut short when Tommy approached you two once more with someone else by his side.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw the man standing before you. He was tall, muscular, and quite literally one of the most handsome men you've ever laid your eyes on. He was wearing a gray shirt with dark blue jeans and black boots. He had a black cowboy hat atop his head, just like Tommy, except dark brown locks were peaking out of the sides instead of black.

His dark brown eyes seemed gentle and kind, but they were scanning your body just as yours were doing to him. He didn't fail to notice the incredibly short shorts you were wearing that made your legs look like they went on for miles, or the way the setting sun made your skin absolutely glow. You quite literally took his breath away with your beauty.

"Y/n, I'd like you to meet my older brother Joel." Tommy smiled, and a blush swept its way across your cheeks.

Why didn't y/b/f/n tell you Tommy had an insanely gorgeous older brother?

"It's nice to meet you, darlin'." Joel tips his hat down to you, and you muster up the best smile you could. You didn't want to seem too smitten by this beautiful man, but god, how could you not?

"You too." You say almost inaudibly. You felt slightly annoyed with yourself, because no man had ever made you shy like this. Why now? You shook the feeling off for now, not wanting it to ruin your mood.

As the night went on, more people showed and the bonfire started up. Soon enough the sky looked nearly pitch black but the air still carried a small, warm breeze. You were babysitting the beer Tommy had opened for you— not that you didn't like it, but you weren't really in the mood to drink.

You took another swig of the half-full bottle anyhow, figuring you'd at least have the means to finish it... slowly. You were perched up on the back of y/b/f/n's open tailgate, legs swinging back and forth over the edge. Your left arm was extended behind you to hold yourself up.

Y/b/f/n was mingling with Tommy and some of his friends in the distance, and the sight made you smile. You loved seeing her happy.

You heard dirt crunching under heavy boots next to you that pulled you from your thoughts, so you shifted your gaze until you met Joel's eyes. He gave you a lipped half-smile, standing next to you. He had a beer in one of his hands as well, but it didn't seem like he was drunk.

"Hey there, darlin'," He leans against y/b/f/n's truck, eyes never leaving yours. "Why're ya all alone?" The glow of the fire brought out the warmth in Joel's skin tone, illuminating half of his features.

You shrug your shoulders. "Just waitin' for someone like you to keep me company." You teased, earning a deep, guttural chuckle from him.

"Oh yeah? Well I hope I'm good company." He sits onto the tailgate next to you, and you offer him a smile.

"So, you and Tommy are brothers? You two seem like total opposites from what I've seen." You sit straight up, moving one of your legs up to your chest as you take another sip of the now semi-warm beer. You grimace at the taste, but swallow it anyway.

Joel chuckles softly, "Yeah, we are. I guess it's the true older brother-younger brother dynamic. He's always been the trouble maker and I'm the one that always saves his ass." Joel rolls his eyes, finding his brother's antics to be preposterous at times.

"What, like he hasn't had to drag you off of a few guys you've gotten into fights with?" You challenge, cocking an eyebrow up as you eye him wearily.

"How did you— who told you that?" He was shocked that you even knew that about him, because he sure as hell didn't go around telling people his business like that.

"Tommy's a little drunk, and apparently gets mouthy when he's on a good one," You laugh, nudging Joel in the shoulder. "Besides, I'm just messin' with you. I think that's kinda hot." The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even comprehend what you were saying, and a look of pure desire flashed across Joel's eyes.

His grip got a smidge tighter around the beer bottle he was holding, but you were too busy having the most naughty thoughts about the man sitting inches from you to notice. You felt your panties dampen at the way he looked at you, and just couldn't help but imagine what you two were capable of if you were left alone with each other.

"Okay then, what about you little miss innocent?" He tilts his head, his eyes giving your body a once-over.

"Who said I was innocent?" Your words suddenly brewed something deep inside you, and Joel's stare on you wasn't helping. It made you want to squirm.

"Are you not?" Joel provoked, moving noticeably closer to you. His left knee was touching your right one now, and the tension grew so thick in the moment that you felt like you could choke any second.

It was so fucking hard to breathe.

"Wouldn't you love to find out." You leaned in to him, your faces dangerously close. A couple inches more and you'd be kissing the man.

"Yeah," Joel was almost breathless, "I would." You looked around after he responded, noticing a house only a couple hundred feet away.

You nodded your head to the nice home, "Who's house?" You looked back at Joel, biting your lip.

If there was one thing about you, is that you loved to prove people wrong. You made damn sure Joel was no longer unbeknownst to that by the end of the night.

"Mine and Tommy's." He answers after a few seconds, and you smile devilishly.

"Perfect. I'd love to see your room, if you'll have me." You peered up at him innocently, trying to play the part of the version of you he had in his head.

He immediately hopped off the tailgate and held out his hand for you to take, which you graciously did. Once your boots touched the dirt beneath you, Joel was practically dragging you to the house. He'd truly never wanted anyone as bad as you before, and playing it cool clearly wasn't an option in his books.

He wanted to make it known.

As soon as you step inside the house, you sigh in relief as the cool air hits your skin. You look around a bit, liking how the house actually looks lived in. It was cozy, and definitely felt like a home.

"C'mon darlin'," Joel coaxed, jerking his head in the direction of the staircase. "Bedroom's upstairs." He let you lead, and on the way up, you catch a glimpse of a picture with Joel and a young girl in it. He saw you looking, and spoke before you even thought to ask.

"That's my daughter Sarah." He says, and you look back at him. You smile softly, looking back at the picture.

"She's beautiful." You tell him, and he grins before you keep walking up to the top step.

"She's not here right now, is she?" You ask him, causing him to suppress a laugh. You would definitely not want to do what you wanted with this man if his sweet daughter was under the same roof. No freakin' way.

"No, she's at her grandparents. Got the house to our selves all night." He spins you around and takes your cowgirl hat off of your head so he can dip his face down to be level with yours.

"Tell me, darlin', what do you want to do with such allotted time?" He's so close to you that the proximity between his body and yours starts to make you dizzy.

"I have a few things in mind, cowboy." You flick the brim of his hat, and he pulls you in by the waist so your body is flush against his.

"Oh yeah?" His voice is barely above a whisper, "And what's that?"

You couldn't take the tension anymore, so you finally closed the gap between you two and mashed your lips to his. You've never kissed someone with so much hunger and fervor.

His lips were velvety soft, just as you'd imagined. You moan softly into the kiss, and he moves you back so your back is pressed against his bedroom door. He immediately swipes his tongue on your bottom lip, and you instantly open your mouth, teeth clashing and tongue moving swiftly but in sync.

God, this man is a phenomenal kisser.

"I need that tongue somewhere else, cowboy." You brokenly spoke through the hot kiss, causing him to groan. He reached behind you to find the doorknob as the other arm snaked around your back to hold you steady against him.

He opened the door to his bedroom, walking you backwards to the bed in the middle of the room. Once the back of your knees hit the mattress, Joel broke the kiss and laid you down gently. He put your hat on top of his dresser alongside his, making sure to close and lock his bedroom door before returning back to you. He hovered above you, admiring your figure and your pretty face.

"Damn darlin', the hell you doin' to me?" He whispered mainly to himself, but you heard him perfectly clear. You reached up for his shoulders and brought him on top of you, smashing your lips to his once more. Your hands trailed down his abdomen until you reached the bottom.

He separated himself from you to look down at you, giving you a small reassuring smile before you slowly lifted the gray shirt above his head. You tossed it onto the floor somewhere, hands immediately moving to his belt buckle.

He chuckled at your eagerness, "Slow down there, pretty girl. Lift your arms for me." He coos, brown eyes boring into yours. You do as he asks, and he grabs both your wrists together in one hand, holding them above your head. He goes back down to kiss you then swiftly moves to your neck, the stubble on his jaw slightly tickling you.

Once his tongue made contact with the hot skin on your neck, you knew it was a wrap.

God damn soft spots.

You sigh in pleasure, and Joel takes immediate notice to your neediness becoming more prominent. He separates his lips from your neck, trailing them down to the top of your still-covered breasts. He dips his head down where the two buttons were undone, kissing you there once before nibbling on the area just in the slightest.

You let out a soft moan, unaware of your moving hips. They were trying to find something to move against to create friction. You needed something, anything— but Joel wouldn't let you. Not yet.

He kept kissing down your sternum, making sure his tongue consistently made contact with your trembling, hot skin.

"Joel, please," You sound whiny and begging, which you'd normally hate, but you needed this man so badly it nearly hurt. Your core was dripping at this point, but Joel wasn't done with the teasing just yet.

"Patience, darlin'," He tsks, making you instinctively bite your lip in agony.

He slid your tank top up your stomach with his free hand, finding its way to one of your breasts. He started to massage one, moving his lips lower and lower until he reached the top of your daisy dukes.

He moved his hand from your breast to unbutton the button on your shorts, immediately sliding his hand down the front. He almost hisses at the contact of your slickness.

"You're so wet for me already, baby. Fuck." He tries to keep his composure, but the way you were so needy for him in this moment made him want to lose his mind. But, the smidge of patience he had left in him overcame his rational senses, making sure to take his time with you.

He used his middle finger to move up and down your heat, and you started to roll your hips into his touch to cause friction.

"Needy little thing, aren't ya?" He chuckled, moving his finger down so it slowly entered you. You gasped, moaning at the newness of the feeling before he started to move his finger in and out of you, making sure to curl it just the tiniest bit.

Just this action alone had you writhing beneath him uncontrollably.

"Joel, fuck, please," You pleaded, "I need your mouth on me." He looked up at your pretty face, your eyebrows furrowed and eyes clamped shut.

He pulled his finger out of you, slick and warm. "Open your mouth." He says, and you once again do as he asks. How submissive of you.

He puts his finger into your mouth and you immediately suck on his finger, tongue swirling around the whole thing until he pulls it from you. Your hands were still being held above your head, but in all honesty, you enjoyed it. It was hot. He was hot.

Joel pulled your tank top up, just enough to cover your eyes. He let go of your wrists, but you didn't dare to move your hands. He slid your shorts off with ease, along with your hot pink panties. Joel smirked at the color choice.

"Open your legs for me, darlin'." Joel was suave with his words, sounding like butter to your ears. Again, you did as he asked, opening your legs for him. All you could see was the light from his bedside lamp, but other than that, not a damn thing. You had no idea where he was exactly, and the thought made your heart palpitate.

"So fuckin' pretty," He murmurs, moving a knuckle up and down your folds, "All for me."

You groan at his praise, suddenly feeling his lips kiss your inner thighs. The kisses were light and feathery, almost ticklish. He moved one hand up to rest on your lower abdomen, spreading his fingers out so it covered most of the area.

His kisses eventually made their way up to your aching heat, and he kissed you not once, not twice, but three times on your dripping core. His mouth was already slick from you, and fuck you tasted so divine to him.

He finally delved his tongue into your folds, flicking his tongue slowly and teasingly. His tongue lapped away at you, moaning into your core. He'd never tasted something so... so... addicting in his life. He would stay down there forever just to devour you if he could.

"Fuck, Joel, that feels so fucking good." You're panting, mind going blank of all other things besides how good this man is making you feel.

His skilled tongue worshipped you like you were a goddess, and in that moment, you were Aphrodite.

He added a finger back into you, pumping at a steady pace while he continued to lap away at you. The sensation became nearly unbearable, and you knew your undoing was short lived.

"Please, don't stop." You pant, and he moaned against you as if to say "message received."

You felt the hot pleasure burn through your core, and once Joel felt your walls clench around his finger, he lightly pressed down on your abdomen. Your orgasm ripped through you violently, screaming his name. He licked the inside of your thighs slowly as you were trying to come down from your high, your body still quivering.

He moved up from between your thighs, uncovering your eyes and taking your tank top off of you completely. You looked up at him, spent and woozy. His mustache and beard were still glistening from your wetness.

You bit your lip as you reached a hand up to his cheek, and you brought his face down to yours so you could kiss him. The kiss was much gentler this time, but tasting yourself on his lips aroused you once again.

"Take off your pants," You whisper, and he lightly smiles at you before standing up straight and removing his bottoms. "Underwear too." You laugh as he gives you a cheeky grin. He takes off his underwear slowly, letting his erection be known to you and your vision. You took in the sight before you, licking your lips before you got on your knees.

"Lay down," You coax him, and without question, he does. You move your body between his thighs, and you grin up at him innocently. You spit into your hand, moving it to his length and you slowly moved your hand up and down. Your thumb ran over his swollen tip a couple of times, hearing him sharply intake a breath.

You peer up at him through your lashes before lowering your head, and he tries to stifle a moan.

"Sweets, if you keep lookin' at me like that, I'm gonna finish quicker than we'd both like." He admits, and you purse your lips before moving your mouth down to his tip. He grabs a handful of your hair and you fix your position, so your ass is perched up but your mouth is at his length.

You start gently swirling your tongue around the tip, taking your sweet time before leaving a soft kiss before you use your tongue to lick all the way down to the base. You repeat yourself a few times before using your lips to glaze down the side, then back to the top before you took him into your mouth.

Your pace was so tantalizingly slow that he started to buck his hips into your mouth. You removed your mouth from him, looking up at him once more.

"Slow down there, cowboy." You smirked as he realized you were using his own words against him, causing him to groan.

"Fuck, y/n, quit teasin' me baby." His grip on your hair gets tighter, and you immediately move your head down again, no hesitation.

You began to move your head at a steady pace, trying to take as much of him in as possible. It was starting to become a wet mess, but neither of you quite frankly gave a damn.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon. I don't want to yet." He pulls your head up from him, and your eyes snap up to look at him.

"Let me ride you." You state, blinking at him before he lets go of your hair.

"Oh, absolutely darlin'. Please." He moves you up so you're now hovering over his body, skin hot to the touch. His hands slide down to your hips, positioning you above his length.

"Are you—" He pauses, and you nod.

"Yeah. IUD." You say, and he nods before you slowly sink down on his aching length. Both of you let out simultaneous moans, giving yourself a second to adjust to his length.

"Joel," You purr, resting your hands on his strong chest, "You feel so goddamn good." You start to move forward and backward slowly, rocking your hips. The feeling of him made you want to melt.

"So do you." He's breathless at this point, aching for sweet release. His fingers dig into your hips, coaxing them to move a bit faster. Once you found a good rhythm, Joel raised a hand and smacked your ass, hard.

You let out a loud moan, feeling complete bliss and euphoria in this very moment.

"That's it, baby— right there, darlin', please don't stop." Joel's desperation in his voice brought back that quickly brewing desire deep in the pit of your core, and you felt yourself clench.

That sent Joel absolutely insane.

"Fuck! Oh, god," He moans loudly, thrusting his hips up into you at that point. He wanted that damn release, and that's what he was going to get. "I'm gonna c—" Before he could even finish his sentence, he found that sweet goddamn release. His thrusts came to a slow, but he moved his hand down to your clit and started to move his fingers in circles at a fast pace, and in no time, you were relieved of the ache in your core. You lifted yourself off of him, both of your breaths an erratic mess. He pulled you into him as he kissed the top of your head, trying to steady his breathing.

One thing's for sure, though— Joel knew, he definitely knew— you were definitely not little miss innocent, and he was a goddamn naïve cowboy.

#joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #tlou #joel miller smut #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal #the last of us #pedro pascal x female reader #joel miller x female reader

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 1 year

Text

Linger On- Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Summary: 10 years ago Joel Miller broke your heart. You spent the next decade trying to forget him and making a new life for yourself in Chicago. When your father gets sick, you move back to Austin to care for him, husband and son in tow. You find your life once again entangled with Joel's.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: E (nothing explicit happens for a while. Just blanket warning for the whole series.)

Warnings: no warnings for this chapter except a whole lot of angst. Moving forward there will be lots of smut and infidelity. reader is able bodied. can have/has had a child.

Author's Notes: I used to write supernatural fanfiction a decade ago and haven't written anything since. And I only ever shared it with close friends. This is only my second fic since I started writing again and I am very nervous to share it.

This will be a long one so buckle up. We will be alternating between the past and present. We'll eventually discover the reason Joel and Reader split and will expore the intervening years for both while they try to navigate being in each other's orbit again.

All banners and dividers courtesy of @cafekitsune

You haven’t been back to Texas for nearly ten years. Even after all this time the wound still felt raw. The ache in your chest just as fresh as it was the day it was put there. Sometimes, if a memory caught you off guard, your heart would physically hurt. Your chest would tighten and you couldn’t find your breath. You wished you could cleave the offending organ from your body in those moments. Did you know that you could literally die from a broken heart? The stress causes your heart muscles to weaken and it can be fatal.

Your parents always came to Chicago for visits. They remember why you didn’t want to come home in the beginning. They were there for the whole damn thing. Your mom had spent many a night in your bed with you, never ending supply of tissues and ice cream. Your dad wasn’t much for words but he offered his support in other ways. A comforting hand on your shoulder or a kiss on the crown of your head. They also paid all of the expenses to get you moved into your new Chicago apartment two months earlier than you had planned.

After a few years you had to start coming up with new reasons to have the visits in Chicago. Usually you just blamed it on work. You were supposed to have moved on. You had moved on in a sense. The ring on your finger is evidence of that. Steve isn’t a bad man, he just isn’t him. He never would be and that was his fatal flaw. Your marriage’s fatal flaw. You would never truly be able to move on from him.

You spent half a year wallowing in your despair, trudging through the world on autopilot. You only left your apartment for necessities. Content to exist within the darkness and solitude of those four walls. You could hardly bear to even see the sun. It reminded you too much of unbearably hot Texas summer days spent at the lake, cold beer to keep you cool. You welcomed the frigid winter of Illinois. The days short and the cold oppressive. The nights were so cold, when you went out to do your shopping, it numbed your entire body. It was exactly what you needed. Your savings allowed you to exist in that bubble, painting and drinking and screaming, all the way through winter. By the end of March it popped. You emerged, much like the new blossoms of spring, energy renewed. Your resolve had been strengthened by the months of solitude. You had poured every one of your emotions onto canvas.

You knew, after you survived that first winter, that you would live. You didn’t think your life would ever be as vibrant as it was during that Texas summer, and you were right.

Once you emerged from the cocoon of your sorrow you burned every painting you made during that dark winter. You never picked up a paintbrush again.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Steve’s voice interrupts. You look from the rolling hills out of your window to him. His forehead creased in concern. You reach your hand to his and lightly pat it.

“Oh I’m fine. Just tired from the drive.” You assure him. You had never told him about the heartbreak you suffered a year before you met him. All evidence of your previous life had been wiped from your home by the time he earned an invitation. You mourn a little for the girl he would never know. The woman who danced and braided flowers into her hair. The woman who wore paint covered overalls and almost never wore shoes.

The woman he knew was an entirely different person from who she had once been. You couldn’t be that girl again. You couldn’t be the girl he fell in love with for someone else. You would never dance in the flowers with anyone but him.

You aren’t a hollow shell of a person either. You have joy in your life. You look over your shoulder into the backseat. Your son snored softly and was using his stuffed bear as a pillow to soften the door he laid his head on. He is the only thing that has ever filled the hole in your chest. You may not be in love with Steve but you would always be grateful to him for this gift he had given you.

Steve was a wonderful father. He shared every duty of those first sleep deprived months. Never complained about changing a diaper or a middle of the night feeding. He was just as attentive as a husband. He had never missed a birthday or anniversary. Not once in nine years. He still opened car doors for you and pulled your chair out at restaurants. He asked about your day and really listened when you told him.

Every one of these actions that should fill you with love for Steve make you feel guilty. Guilty that you could never return the love that he has given to you. Guilty that you don’t even think he is aware that you don’t. You probably wouldn’t be aware of it either, if not for that summer all those years ago.

If you had never experienced a love that deep, you wouldn’t be able to differentiate love from the comfortable affection you have for your husband. During the early days you had thought that you had the ability to love him. Maybe it was just a slow burn. Surely not everyone had the spark and intensity of a rocket leaving the atmosphere. You spent an entire year waiting for the moment to come. The moment that you realized you couldn’t live without him. The moment that the ache in your chest was replaced by something else. That moment eventually did come, the day you heard your son’s heartbeat for the first time.

Another day that fills you to the brim with guilt. You sat there holding Steve’s warm hand as they slathered your abdomen with freezing goo. Tears in both of your eyes but for different reasons. His tears were born of love for you and your child, pure happiness. Yours were born of heartbreak and regret. Not for your unborn baby but that you were sitting there with Steve. That you weren’t there with someone else.

After you wiped the sticky ultrasound gel from your stomach and redressed you turned to see Steve down on one knee. He had a little black box in his hands. Tears still falling from his eyes, he sniffed softly and opened the box. “Will you marry me? I was going to ask weeks ago but I wanted the moment to be perfect. Feels like there couldn’t be a more perfect time.”

Your mouth fell open in shock and you reached a hand up to cover it. Yours tears fell freely now, you were unable to hold them back. You didn’t trust your voice so you just nodded. He leapt from the floor of the OB’s office and scooped you into a tight hug. “I’m so happy I could scream!” He exclaimed. Your heart broke a little more at his hope for the future. All you could do was wrap your arms around him. You were unable to stop the spiral you were in. How did you go from wanting to break up with Steve to agreeing to marry him?

Two months before that appointment, you woke much earlier than normal. The weight of Steve’s arm draped over your side and his soft breath on your neck. You laid in the darkness unsettled by his presence. You kept waiting to be comforted by the knowledge that he was right beside you, but every time you woke up next to him you felt nothing. His being there didn’t bother you, but it didn’t do anything else for you either. The realization that all you could feel was indifference to his presence in your life hit you like a shot.

You had tried so hard to make this relationship work. You had tried so hard to make it as real for you as you knew it to be for him. You never wanted to make anyone feel the type of heartbreak you had suffered. What was kinder, though? To hold on to him with the hope that you may one day feel something other than indifference? Or to hurt him a little now so that he might find something real with someone else? Was it cruel to allow him to think that you reciprocated the “I love you’s” that he showered on you?

You knew what real love was. You had it once. And you would break your own heart over and over again if it meant you got to have that feeling back, even if it was brief. Steve deserved to have a love like that. He was kind and generous. He was endlessly patient and thoughtful. He deserved to have a love that filled him with the joy you had once known. He deserved to feel like his body was bubbling over with it. He would never get that from you.

You decided then, in the dark with him curled against your back, that you would let him go. Just because you would never have that type of love again didn’t mean you had the right to keep him from it. You felt the anxiety leave your body and for the first time in almost two years you slept peacefully.

The landscape of the Texas Hill Country rolled by you, almost mocking in its serene beauty. You never wanted to lay eyes upon it again. But once again, the universe had different plans for you.

8 years ago an ill timed business trip and what you thought then was food poisoning changed the course of your life. You thought it cruel to break up with Steve over the phone so you resigned yourself to wait until he returned. The day he left you couldn't keep any food down. You chalked it up to nerves but the following three days were much the same. The day before he returned you had an appointment with your doctor. When he returned with the results of your pregnancy test you vomited right on the floor of his office.

You had the exact same feeling a month ago when your mother phoned you to inform you that your father had been admitted to the hospital. He had suffered a stroke. He would live but was now paralyzed on the left side of his body. He would need round the clock care. Your mother’s own health was less than ideal. She would be unable to care for your father the way he needed. Moving back to Texas was Steve’s idea. He could work from anywhere and with his big promotion a few years back coupled with the much lower cost of living in Texas you could afford to take time to care for your parents.

The slowing of the car pulled you from your thoughts. You were turning into your neighborhood. New to you now, but the same one you lived in your entire childhood. “We’re almost there!” Steve exclaimed. “Yay!” You hear from the backseat. You had been so lost in thought you hadn’t even realized that Jamie was awake. He was grinning ear to ear. He had been so excited at the prospect of having a backyard to play in he hadn’t shown any disappointment in moving. He reminded you so much of your younger self. He took after you in ways that surprised you. He had never known those parts of you. He was a carefree child. His lust for life awed you.

The first question he asked when you told him you were moving to be closer to Grandma and Grandpa was about the yard. “Yes my love. The house we found has a really big yard.” You told him. His second question immediately followed.

“Can we get a dog?”

“Oh we’ll have to see about that.” You told him. But you both knew you would give in to almost any request he made. Finally

Finally, after two days driving, the SUV pulls into the driveway of your new home. The sale of your Chicago house made it possible to buy any house in Austin that you desired. But you wanted to be as near to your parents as you could get. You and Steve had managed to find a house one street over. It wasn’t in the best shape but for the location and price you couldn’t pass it up. Jamie would be attending the same school you had walked to every day for 6 years. The walk took you right by your parents house. You would drop him off in the morning and spend your day at their house, attending to whatever they may need. Then you would retrieve Jamie in the afternoon and bring him back to visit with his grandparents.

Your father’s stroke had reminded you that the time you had with them is limited. You wanted to spend as much of as you could in the home you grew up in. You wanted Jamie to feel the love that seeped from every pore of that house. Your home was not an unhappy one but it didn’t burst at the seams with joy like your childhood home did. Your son deserved to feel the warmth that kind of love provided.

You opened the door for Jamie and he hopped out, teddy bear in tow. You grabbed both of your backpacks from the floorboard of the backseat and made your way to the porch. The wood was rotting and the steps were creaky. Steve had assured you that you had plenty left over from the Chicago house to replace it immediately. The move happened so quickly that there wasn’t time to have it done before you moved in. The contractor was coming first thing tomorrow morning. You could put up with a terrible porch for one more night. You called your mom to let her know that you had made it safely and told her you would be by in the morning. Late morning. The drive had exhausted you and you were ready to fall into bed. Thankfully the movers had been there the day before unloading and setting up your furniture. But you had a little boy to feed first.

After pizza had been eaten, a bath taken and little teeth brushed, it was finally bedtime. “Don’t forget my story Mama.” Jamie said. Even though he was as exhausted as you, he still fought sleep. He didn’t want to miss a thing that might happen while he was asleep.

“I would never forget your story, my love.” You assure him. You open the box marked “Jamie-Books.” And grab the one sitting on top. You snuggle up next to him in his bed and open the book.

That’s where Steve found you an hour later as he was readying himself for bed. He smiled down at his little family and pulled the covers up over you both. A kiss on the head for each of you and he went on to the bedroom you shared, humming in contentment.

Voices from downstairs woke you. Jamie was snuggled into your chest, snoring again. With a chuckle you attempt to disentangle his limbs from yours without waking him. He stirred a little and rolled over pulling his teddy tight to his chest. You pad down the stairs and catch Steve walking out the front door with another man. Must be the contractor. You slip back up the stairs to have a shower.

After you shower and dress you make your way back downstairs. The smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen catches your attention. Steve is leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand. The other man is looking over some paperwork spread out on the island, back to you. “Honey! There you are.” Steve said. “This is our contractor. He has some great ideas for the porch.” The man straightens and turns around.

A wave of coldness overtakes your whole body as you meet the brown eyes that you had spent a decade trying to forget. The recognition in his eyes stops your heart. His mouth falls open and his brow furrows. He starts to say something and you decide in an instant how this is going to go. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” You stick your hand out and offer your name. You hope Steve couldn’t see the way you shook your head. He looks confused momentarily but extends his left hand to shake yours. You notice the wedding ring on his finger.

“Hello. Joel Miller. Nice to meet ya darlin’.”

You snatch your hand away at the use of the pet name. The name he had called you so long ago. Steve’s phone rings just then. “I have to take this. Joel, fill my lady in on the details if you don’t mind.” He doesn't wait for a response, just answers the call and runs up the stairs to his office, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask quietly but not trying to hide the venom in your voice.

“My job darlin’.” Joel answers.

“Don’t call me that, Joel.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Please.” You beg. He can see the pain in your eyes and he would do anything, give anything, to take it away. He is well aware that he is the cause of it and that broke his heart. He starts walking towards you with his arm extended. Hand outstretched to comfort you. He stops midway when he sees your body stiffen. He had no right to comfort you anymore. He lost that when he lost you. “I’m gonna tell Steve we need to hire a new contractor.” You tell him. You just had to think of a good enough reason that wouldn’t rouse any suspicion. You could not have Joel in your home.

“You don’t have do that dar-“ he stops himself. “I can send Tommy to do the work if you’d rather.”

“I think that would be best.” You reply. You and Tommy had always been good friends and you felt the loss of him almost as deeply as you did his brother. He had tried to remain friends even after you and Joel had broken up but it was too painful for you. It hurt so much to be on the periphery of Joel’s life but not in it.

The two of you stand there awkwardly for a moment. The tension in the room was palpable. Joel breaks the silence. “You look different. I always thought if I ever saw you again you’d still be barefoot with flowers in your hair.” He smiles at the memory.

“I haven’t been that girl in a long time Joel.” You say sadly. His smile falls and you can see tears rimming his beautiful brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry, for everything.” His shoulders slump and he looks so pitiful you want to reach out and touch him. But you know doing so would break you in a way that could never be mended.

You turn to leave and softly reply “yeah, me too.”

You walk up the stairs as calmly as you can. You open the door to Steve’s office and catch his gaze. “One second.” He says into the phone.

“Hey I have to run to my parents’ house real quick.” You tell him. He just nods and resumes his call. You grab your purse and hurry out the door, not pausing to see if Joel remained. His pickup sat parked on the curb but thankfully he wasn’t in it. You hurry yourself into your car, jam the keys into the ignition and slam the car into reverse.

You just need to get away from that house. A decade’s worth of feelings are threatening to breach the dam you had built for them. And you won’t give Joel Fucking Miller the satisfaction of knowing that he could still get to you. You can’t let Steve know either. You had decided it would be best for him to never know that you knew Joel before your “introduction” in the kitchen.

You make it three blocks before the dam bursts. You pull over as huge heaving sobs wrack your entire body. The pain in your heart is so sharp you grab at your chest. Your breath is ragged and the sounds your cries make frighten you. You haven’t cried like this since that first lonely winter in the apartment you were supposed to have shared with Joel. You aren’t sure how much time has passed when your breathing finally slows and the tears finally stop. Your entire body feels like jelly. Every ounce of energy sapped from you.

You knew there was a chance of running into Joel when you moved back. You hadn’t expected it to be your very first day. And in your own home no less. You make your way to your parents house and all you can think is “what the fuck am I going to do?”

Chapter 2

Big shout out to @cannolighost for giving this a once over for me and giving me the confidence to post it!!!!

#joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou smut #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou #linger on #divider by cafekitsune #banner by cafekitsune

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ranaissingle · 1 year

Text

Take Me Home

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Austin have a lazy day together at home with some smut at the end. A/N: This was actually a request but I accidentally deleted it (my bad). I loved the request so much that I decided to rewrite everything because I love sleepy Austin (and I am painfully single). I'm pretty sure the requester asked for smut but I can't really remember. Also, why tf is his laugh so cute in this gif? That shirt must be considered public indecency or something. Rating: M Pairings: Austin Butler Word Count: 1.5k (don't ask me how) Warnings: fingering, handjob, degradation, p in v sex, cockwarming (because I'm a whore), other sex stuff? IDK

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The soft sheets of the bed and duvet laying over top of you did wonders to quell cold air but the single best heater in the world went by the name of Austin Butler. Said heater was currently tucked into the fold of your neck, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, and his hands under your sweatshirt.

He had gone to sleep shirtless last night despite the freezing temperatures and your warnings. In his sleep, he had slowly crept closer and closer to you until he had practically crawled into your skin; which you had absolutely no qualms with. If the repercussion of him not wearing a shirt to bed was that he was wrapped around you by morning, you wouldn't be the one to correct him on his behavior.

You had been awake for at least the last hour but you were content to lay with Austin in your arms. You raked your hands through his soft locks and your other hand up and down his back in circles. The Sun had started to peak through the curtains and shone beautifully against his naked back and golden hair. He sleepily pushed his head deeper into your chest with his lips against your collarbone and tightened his arms around you. He was starting to wake up.

You could probably fall back asleep if you tried, but you rarely woke up before Austin so you would be damned if you let this chance slip away.

"Mmmm Good morning baby" he said as he kissed your collarbone and chest again. His deep voice rumbled against your chest and neck as he spoke.

"Good morning Austin." He could hear the smile in your voice as you hugged him even tighter. There went any plans of holding him for the rest of the morning. Austin reached behind you to reach for his phone on the nightstand.

"It's only 9 we can sleep a little more, can't we?" Austin was usually a morning person so the fact that he wanted to sleep in was worrisome.

"Are you okay? Are you not feeling well?" You pull his head away from your chest with your hands to get a good look at his face. He looked exhausted.

" Yeah, I just had a lot of press to do yesterday so it drained me a bit." You let him put his head back in your chest.

"I will say that having my head in your boobs makes me feel infinitely better."

The laugh that left your lips was Austins favorite sound. He could feel its vibrations against his cheek and he swore that he had never heard something so beautiful.

"Well, you seem exhausted so I give you permission to use them as pillows if you so choose. I want to sleep some more too."

"Well, your highness if you insist." And both of you drifted into a serene sleep.

You awoke 2 hours later to Austin laying open-mouthed kisses along your clavicle and leaving hickeys in his wake. He lifted his head to look at your face as

"Hey baby, you awake yet?" My God, he thought. You looked breathtaking. The sun was shining into your hair and skin and almost lighting you up from the inside. You were both laying on your sides and Austin pulled you closer to push his knee between your legs.

"Austin w-what are you doing?" You knew exactly what he was planning but hearing the way he spoke to you when he was hot and bothered for you made whatever came next even better.

"How bout' I show you instead of telling?" As he spoke, he moved his hand from around your waist to the waistband of your pants. He inched his hand down further and further into your pants until he parted your lower lips and slowly rubbed circled around your clit.

"aah Aus-Austin, i wan- want", you moved your head up to catch his eyes so you could tell what you wanted but he seemed to already understand. He used his other hand to hold the side of your face and pulled you closer to him and only when you felt like you might burst, did he finally place his lips over yours.

He kissed you so lovingly that it almost made you cry. He pressed his thumb against your clit and when you opened your mouth to call his name, he slipped his tongue inside. Austin was a starved man and he kissed you like he hadn't had the pleasure in years and rubbed circles around your entrance asking for permission.

"Please Austin-"

He didn't wait for you to finish. He inserted his finger knuckle by knuckle to get you acquainted with his thick finger. He used his thumb to keep working your clit and the pleasure only intensified when he eventually found the one spot that made you see stars behind your eyes. You wanted to touch him, you wanted to touch him so badly that your fingers were aching and twitching.

"Austin let me t-touch you hmm? Please I wanna feel you."

His answering groan told you all you needed before you reached forward to pull his pants and underwear down to reveal his aching length. He was practically dripping and he panted as you encircled your palm around him and began to pump.

"That's it baby girl you feel so good ugh, you're doing me so well". A whimper escaped your lips at the obscene words he spoke and as his fingers continued to pump in and out of you.

He was almost out of breath when he said, "Can I put it in baby? I need to feel you around me. I know you'll be so warm and ti-"

"Yes! pleeeeease Austin I ca-can't wait anymore."

The smirk on his face and the look in his eyes was absolutely filthy. He pulled your leg farther into the air to slide into your aching hole. His tip teased your entrance for what felt like forever until all of a sudden he was inside of you.

" Umh baby you squeeze me so well. Your tight little cunt is practically begging for me hmm? I know you love getting fucked like this in the mornings. You're a horny little slut aren't you?"

His sentences came accompanied by a thrust of his length and a kiss on your neck.

"You're so b-big Austin. You always fill me up so well." He thrust harder and deeper into you in response to the praise. he brought his hand down from your face to your clit as a reward.

"Aus-Austin im gonna- im gonna cum soon." The moans and whimpers leaving your lips grew louder and winner as he kissed, licked, thrust, and rubbed you everywhere. You could feel everything everywhere all at once.

"Me too baby, do you want it inside?" Austin was also panting and moaning into your neck as he spoke. He wanted to be inside of you forever. He would never tire of how wet you got for him or the whimpers you let out when he got you close to your end.

Austin kept working your clit and thrusting until he felt you start twitching around him.

"Are you almost there baby, i can feel you twitching around me, your little cunt was made just for me." He thrust deeper and harder as he climax drew near.

" No one will ever fuck you like I can huh? I ruined you for anyone else."

"Austin! uh you feel so good. Finish inside of me Austin, please. Can I, can I cum now?" The pleasure was building up so fast and you were starting to get black spots in your vision.

"Yes baby let me feel it, I wanna feel you all wet just for me." He groaned and thrust deeper into you making the bed frame shake with his force. Your body started shaking and he dropped his head into your neck as his hips stuttered.

Austin's cum glazed the inside of you as both of you came together with moans and groans so loud the neighbors would likely be bothered. Austin collapsed on top of you with his length still shoved impossibly deep into you. He tried to reach for the towel in the drawer of the nightstand but you hugged him closer to you.

" Keep it in, I wanna be able to feel you inside of me while I sleep." Your breathy voice tickled his ears and neck as you spoke.

He groaned and lulled his head into your chest "Jesus fuck baby you're gonna make me hard again." Despite his words, he came up to give you a sensual kiss on the lips and tucked your head into his chest as he reached down to cover the both of you with blankets.

You both fell asleep and didn't wake up until well into the afternoon when the sun was setting and the room had gotten cooler.

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This was my first time writing full-blown smut and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't think I did too well so ill have to practice that lol. I hope you enjoyed it!

#austin butler x reader #austin butler series #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfic #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #austin x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler elvis #austin butler x race neutral reader #austin butler x y/n #Spotify

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formulaforza · 7 months

Text

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—06. Quarter of the Way —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... hiii guys!!! thank you for bearing with me while I sorted all of this out. my life is so crazy busy right now, and I have a weird outlining-rule that really restricted me from getting to bust this chapter out. it's a short one, and a lot of set up for the next chapter which WILL be coming soon.

The heads of the Elliott family tree—Bill, and his brothers Ernie and Dan—will tell you that what the Elliott’s do best is racing. If you ask the necks of the Elliott family tree—the ones who turn the heads; Cindy, Tammy, and Susan—they would argue that there is nothing quite like an Elliott family holiday.

Chris is late, pulls onto the property an hour and a half after the start time posted in the massive family group-chat. She makes her own parking spot, like half of the family, since the driveway is well-filled. If her tally is correct, there are at least thirty people inside her family’s house right now. Or, at least thirty people somewhere on the property.

She hauls her way inside with a hot crock-pot of mashed potatoes, which is the reason she was late in the first place. Her internal clock is so royally screwed up that it’s not even funny. She maneuvers her way through the herds of aunts, uncles, and cousins until she finally makes it into the kitchen.

“Chrissy, you’re late, baby girl,” Cindy greets her daughter with a kiss on her temple, takes the crockpot from her arms and heaves it up onto the countertop.

“I know, I know,” Chris sighs, already starting to take off her coat. November in Georgia is not coat-worthy weather, but Chris is always cold, always. Sixty-five with a breeze does nothing for her.

Hannah appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops a full wine glass into Chris’ hand. “Did you go tanning?” Hannah asks, picking up her best-friend’s arm to examine her skin tone in the light. “You’re glowing.”

Chris shakes her head and takes a big sip of her wine. “No, but, uh,” she chuckles. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Hannah scowls. “Good, bad, or in between?”

Chris smiles, gets that silly little warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. The one she always seems to get when she thinks about him. Oh, when she thinks about him. It’s disgusting. “Good. Really, really good,” she says, takes another sip of wine and leans over to whisper into Hannah’s ear. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Do they work at a tanning salon?”

Chris laughs, whispers a “Shut up,” through gritted teeth.

“Let’s go outside. Debrief on the swings?”

They sneak out the back door without being noticed by Cindy, who would undoubtedly have a long list of dinner-prep tasks for them if they stuck around for a moment longer. Wine glasses in tow, they make the journey across the porch, down the stairs, and to the back trail on the property, Chris greeting each family member as she walks past them. They’re all gathered around in the open yard, some playing cornhole, others positioned around the firepit, beers in hand, football game on the radio. Chase, who is playing catch with Reid and some cousins, warns of other family members out on the trails on the ATVs, tells the girls to be careful.

As soon as they reach the cover of the trees, Chris is telling Hannah everything. Everything. She tells her about Austin, about how she met a guy who was just too charming to not get her number. About every nervous text and hours long FaceTime call and every picture and every conversation. She tells her about how crazy she feels, how insane she felt agreeing to fly across the world— “Wait,” Hannah questions. “You flew across the world?”

“Well, yeah. He’s not from here.”

“Where is he from?” Hannah takes a sip of wine.

“Uhm,” she hesitates because she hasn’t dropped the big-bomb yet. “The south of France.”

“Mmm,” Hannah hums against the lip of her glass. “Tan mystery is solved.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Anyways,”—She tells her about how she met his family, how they were nothing but sweet and inclusive and kind to her, even though she was surprised by half of them and looked like she’d just rolled out of a dumpster. She tells her about how they slept together, a few times, and how he pretended not to have every minute of their time planned.

“So, he was good?” Hannah smiles. Chris blushes into her wine glass, ears hot, cheeks hotter. “Oh,” Hannah laughs. “He was good-good.”

“I hate to give a man the satisfaction, but,” Chris giggles, “but,” she shrugs, doesn’t elaborate more on the topic. Her teenaged giggles and pink cheeks are more than enough for the dots to be connected, she’s sure.

Chris keeps going, telling Hannah about how she’s pretty sure he put off work to spend more time with her, and how she totally cried while they watched a movie and how he was totally freaked out by it, but in a good way? In a he-asked-me-to-be-his-girlfriend way. And then, after all that, Chris asks the burning question: “I know the RSVP date for me to have a plus-one was last month, but… is there any chance I can bring one?”

“For you? There’s room for a plus-million. I’d let you get engaged at my wedding if you wanted to—”

“I would never do that to you,” Chris assures.

Hannah nods. “Honestly, he sounds really sweet, I don’t know why you hid this from me?”

“Because,” and here comes the big one, the answer to the question she’d been dreading, the one thing about Charles she’d been dodging like the plague, “he’s not just a guy I met at COTA.”

Hannah stops dead in her tracks. Chris turns fully to face her best-friend’s apprehensive face. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to—”

“He’s a driver.”

“Chris!” Hannah groans. “Why do you tell me these things? Now I have to choose between protecting you and telling my fiance everything.”

Chris’ stomach drops. The thought of Chase finding out from Hannah, but especially finding out tonight, is the worst-case scenario. She has to plan out how she’s going to do it, to break the news. “You can’t tell Chase.”

Hannah shakes her head, downs what’s left of her wine. “He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“I know, just.” Chris sighs. “Please. Don’t tell him. Let me tell everyone.”

Hannah scowls, gestures dramatically. “You make my life so hard, y’know?”

Chris nods, winces when she asks: “But he can come to the wedding?”

“He can come to the wedding,” Hannah agrees, “as long as you tell Chase about him before his birthday.”

Chase’s birthday is four days from now. Four days. She can handle that, right? Four days is a lifetime, she can totally do that. It’s not like their little rule was ever all that real, anyways. She didn’t grow up under a roof where it was forbidden for her to be with a racing driver. It was always more… Bill knew the type. Bill was the type, and he didn’t want that life for his little girl. And Chase, well. Chase didn’t want his kid sister around any more than she needed to be, and that included her fraternizing with his friends, or worse, with the enemy. She can one-hundred-percent well up the courage to take his grilling.

“Just,” Hannah hesitates. “Are you sure about him?”

“What do you mean?” Chris questions, confused.

“You love hard, is all,” She elaborates. “You put up with a lot of shit, I think. Stuff that you shouldn’t have to because you think you’ve found your soulmate. I just, I want you to be careful that you aren’t blowing your savings flying to Europe all the time for a guy who doesn’t love you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” Chris is quick to quip back.

“Yeah, but you will.”

Chris rolls her eyes. “Also, I didn’t pay for my flights.”

“Oh?” Hannah laughs. “So you’re a sugar baby?”

Chris slaps her shoulder, bursts out laughing. “You know that’s what I thought the entire flight to see him?”

– – –

Bill leads grace around the head table, and the entire meal, Chris is acutely aware of every single family member. Of all their undesirable habits and questionable conversation topics. All of these people are going to be at Chase and Hannah’s wedding, and in a few weeks, Charles is going to be interacting with them all on his own. She’ll be too busy to be a buffer the entire time, and suddenly she feels like she’s throwing him to the sharks.

She’s never seen her family in such an unsavory light, and suddenly there are a million little flaws about everyone. Cindy is a gossip, and Bill’s accent is so thick that sometimes even Chris just smiles and nods. Chandler is half-absent, and when she is present, she’s a skunk with expensive perfume, always acts like she’s better than everyone else, more important. She has a 24/7 stick up her rear, especially if her girlfriend is with her. Chase is oblivious to his surroundings, has the attention span of a third-grader and eats like a wild animal. Reid, he’s a wildcard—just last spring he was sent home from school because he wouldn’t stop biting kids on the playground. He’s sitting at the kids table right now with nothing but rolls and corn and has his sticky little iPad in his lap. He’s feral, practically. Hannah is truly the only normal one in the bunch, but clearly something is wrong with her, too, if she’s deciding to marry into this mess.

After dinner, Hannah, Chris, Chandler, and Cindy are all on clean up duty, and as an act of sick, sick revenge, Hannah spills the beans on Chris’ relationship status. They’re all able to move past it after Cindy has collected herself—she’s very, very upset that Chris didn’t tell anyone she was leaving the country. Very upset. She almost cries over the sink of dirty china.

“You two will get along, Mama,” Chris tries to comfort her mother. “He’s also mad that I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Well,” Cindy starts, shoveling leftover mashed potatoes into takeaway boxes. “At least one of you has some sense. He could have murdered you.”

“He could’ve,” Chris nods. “He didn’t, though.”

“No,” Cindy chuckles to herself. “He just sucked your blood,” she says, taps her finger gently on Chris’ neck, on the caked-on foundation and concealer and color correctors. Chris looks at her with wide eyes. “Your foundation is the wrong shade, hun.”

Hannah and Chandler burst out laughing, but Chris is still shocked. “You knew!?” She squeals.

“I knew you were… having fun with someone—”

“Mom!” Chris blushes with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know he was a…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “racing driver. Or that he lived halfway around the world.”

Chris nods. “It’s more like a quarter, really,” she quips.

“Christyn Claire,” Cindy warns, and Chris instinctively straightens, quickly finds a task to busy herself with.

“Yup.”

After dinner clean-up, the girls finally join the rest of the family outside. It’s a cool night, chilly almost, but the bonfire takes the nip out of the cold. Reid and his cousins are running around the yard like little maniacs playing flashlight tag, filling the background with giggles and hollers and the occasional scream that elicits the attention of all the parents when it’s not followed by belly laughs.

Chase is hunched over the fire, carefully roasting a marshmallow at the request of Hannah, who “could really go for a s’more right now.” For a moment, calmed by the ambiance of the fire and the lull of busy conversations, Chris considers telling him right now, around the extended family where he can’t cause a scene. He’d probably still manage to make one, she thinks, and instead kicks in the back of his knee when he stands up.

“You’re so whipped,” she teases.

Across the fire, Cindy snaps: “Chris, be nice to your brother.”

“Yeah, Chris,” Chase mocks. “Be nice to your brother.”

“Alors qu’est-ce qui se passe avec cette fille, mec” So, what’s up with this girl, Mate? Joris asks, and everyone at the table’s ears perk up.

Charles is having lunch with his friends, the whole group—Joris, Hugo, Thomas, Nico, Ricky, and Guizou. Charles rolls his eyes, glares at Joris from across the table. “C'était censé être privé,” That was meant to be private, he says, but it’s too late.

“Attends, quelle fille?” Wait, what girl? Ricky asks, and Joris giggles like a little girl.

“Ce n’est rien,” It’s nothing, Charles mumbles, takes a drink of his water and tries to glare so hard into the waitress’s head that she magically spawns at the table to take their order, that she shuts his friends up before they get to talking about Chris.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed. God, no. Not even sort of. But, people are always listening, always watching. He knows this, and he knows that when they’re all together like this, he and his friends are anything but quiet and subtle.

“‘Ce n'est rien’, dit-il, puis se promène dans la ville avec sa petite amie,” It's nothing,’ he says, and then walks around town with his girlfriend, Joris says, because the fact that Charles has suddenly gotten shy only eggs him on to keep talking.

“Oh! Oui! Est-ce la fille avec qui je t'ai vu sur Twitter?” Oh! Yes! Is this the girl I saw you with on Twitter? Guizou asks, and Charles nods, scanning the room carefully.

“Mec, tu as une nouvelle petite amie? Depuis quand?” Dude, you have a new girlfriend? Since when? Hugo chimes in, shoves Charles’ shoulder playfully.

“Depuis qu'il la présente à Pascale,” Since he’s introducing her to Pascale, Joris adds. Charles wonders, momentarily, if it’s too late for him to pick a new childhood best friend, to dethrone Joris from this role forever.

“A ta maman ?? Charlie espèce de mec ! Pourquoi n'avons-nous pas entendu parler d'elle?” To your Mom?? Charlie you dawg! Guizou giggles like a child on the playground. Why haven’t we heard about her?

“Je ne veux pas que ce soit un gros problème.” I don’t want it to be a big deal, Charles mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. He looks around the room quick and inconspicuously, eyes scanning for anyone looking, anyone listening. He doesn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. He hates this kind of paranoia.

“Tu n'aurais pas dû l'amener ici, alors. La course était assez risquée.” You shouldn’t have brought her here, then. The race was risky enough, Joris argues.

“Elle n'était pas à la course!” She was NOT at the race! Thomas laughs, hunched over the table so far he almost knocks over his glass of water. Charles thinks his friends are having far too much fun with this new revelation regarding his relationship status.

He nods, though, “Elle était.” She was.

“Est-elle apprécié?” Is she cool? Riccardo asks.

Charles nods and all he can imagine is the horrified look on Chris’ face when he tells her about this the next time they talk. She’s going to freak out, he knows it, and ask him to go over every detail a million and one times. He’ll do it, too, without a complaint. “Elle est très apprécié.” She’s very cool.

“Elle vit en Amérique. Géorgie.” She lives in America. Georgia, Joris adds again, because he really can’t stop himself, no matter how obvious Charles makes it that he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it.

Hugo scowls. “Comment est-ce?” What’s that like?

Charles shrugs. “Je ne sais pas. Je vais au mariage de son frère dans quelques semaines.” I don’t know. I’m going to her brother’s wedding in a couple weeks. He hasn’t really had the time to fully understand the implications of the four thousand, seven hundred miles between him and his girlfriend just yet. It felt too sweet, too pure, too good to be true until she was standing in front of him again, and it’s only been a few days since he kissed her goodbye.

“Oh? Rencontrer la famille?” Oh? Nico questions, sly smile on his face. Meeting the family?

“Elle a rencontré le sien!” She met his! Riccardo chimes.

Nico nods. “Ils vont te détester.” They’re gonna hate you.

“Copain!?” Mate!? Charles exclaims, a laugh forcing its way out of his lips. He knows his friends are just fucking with him, but. Still. Damn, give the guy a break.

“Je veux dire, tu vis de l'autre côté du globe. Les mamans n'aiment pas ça.” I mean, you live on the other side of the globe, Hugo argues, Moms don’t like that.

“C'est plutôt un quart du globe.” It’s more like a quarter of the globe, Charles is quick to correct.

“Est-ce une distinction que vous pensez que ses parents font?” Is that a distinction you think her parents are making? Guizou forces Charles to wonder. He supposes that it doesn’t really matter what distinction her parents are making, it really only matters what she thinks.

“Ne vous mettez pas dans sa tête, les gars. Il ira bien, c'est de Charles dont nous parlons.” Don’t get in his head, guys, Joris says, finally bringing some sense to the conversation. Cleaning up the mess he’d made. He’s gonna be fine, this is Charles we’re talking about.

Four days really flies by when you’re avoiding having a conversation with your older brother. Chase’s birthday dinner has come and nearly gone. Reid is already in bed, and Bill and Cindy have long headed home, so only the trio of terror remains. It is quite literally Chris’ last chance to tell Chase about Charles, and she has to. She can’t chicken out, because she’d already told Charles to buy his plane tickets.

The moment creates itself when Hannah is ushering Reid back to bed for the fourth time in the last hour, because if there is one thing Reid got from his mother, it’s his FOMO. Her departure leaves Chris alone in the kitchen with her brother, who is begrudgingly washing dishes from his own birthday dinner.

Chris hoists herself up onto the counter of the kitchen island, laying down so her back is spread over the cool marble and her eyes are fixed on the crown molding, half-blinded by the pendant lights that hang over the island.

“I have to talk to you,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…” she trails off. It’s her last opportunity to chicken out of telling him, and she knows it. “I’m uh, I’m bringing someone to your wedding. A boy.”

“A boyyyy?” Chase teases, but Chris doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy freaking out.

“A boy.”

“Who is this boy?” He asks. “Do I know him?”

“You might,” Hannah chimes in, rounding the corner from putting Reid in his straight jacket and locking him in the closet, or something not at all similar.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Chris says. “You don’t know him. And uh,” there really isn’t any way to do it but to just rip off the bandaid. “He… drivescarsforaliving.”

“Hmm?” Chase hums.

“Hedrivescarsforaliving,” Chris repeats, somehow quicker this time than the first. Chase turns around from the sink, soaped-up scrub-daddy still in his hand, and scowls before turning to Hannah.

“Do you hear her?” Hannah shrugs. “What the fuck is she saying?”

Chris takes a deep breath and sits up. Chase rolls his eyes like he doesn’t have time for all these dramatics. “He races.”

“Oh. Stock car?” Chris shakes her head. “Indy?”

“Formula One.”

The gears start spinning in her brother’s brain, his eyes darting between Chris and Hannah like he’s waiting for them to say it’s all a big joke, to burst out laughing. Neither of them do. “F1?” He goads. Chris and Hannah both nod. “What the fuck?” he laughs. “Who?”

“Charles Leclerc.”

“You’re shitting me.” She shakes her head again, awkwardly maneuvers to grab her phone from her back pocket and pulls up a picture of her and Charles on the plane back on the way from Abu Dhabi to Monaco. Charles’ second-place trophy is sat on the floor between his legs, and he’s got his arm around her, the biggest, dumbest smiles on both of their faces. You’d think they had known each other forever, how comfortable they look. “This is fucking crazy.”

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

“Why would I give a fuck who you sleep with?” He laughs. “Just let me know if I need to kill him, or something.”

It’s not until he’s well into post-season testing at Maranello, nearly half-way through December that it really sinks in for him just how hard the long-distance thing is going to be. He’s sitting at dinner with Andrea and Joris when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He’s come to memorize the different notifications, and he’s certain this one is a text. He hopes it’s from her.

It’s not. It’s a Whatsapp notification from the PR groupchat Mia and Slyvia have him in. Charles, hai una ragazza? Do you have a girlfriend, it reads. He blinks at the screen a few times like the message might disappear. It’s not the first time he’s gotten it, the ominous relationship from two people who, as much as he respects Mia and Sylvia, don’t need to know every detail of his dating life. Or any detail, really.

He knows she wouldn’t be asking him if people weren’t asking her, though, which means there’s a rumor stirring somewhere.

He opens Twitter first, searches his name and Chris’ name into the search bar. Full names, nicknames, first names only, last names only. Every search comes up with a load of nothing. There’s a sigh of relief, and then he searches just his name, plus girlfriend. Bingo.

The original tweet, a screenshot of a TikTok, a picture of the two of them walking down the street. It knots his stomach, drops it straight to his feet. Suddenly, he’s not at all hungry for the meal in front of him. Instead, he thinks he’s going to have to fight to keep it down.

There are probably two hundred, three hundred tweets about him and his quote–en-quote girlfriend. From trying to figure out who she is by searching through his following on Instagram to arguing about if it’s an invasion of privacy or not, with every comment about his ex-girlfriend’s and comparing them to the back of Chris’ head in the middle. It’s a disaster, he thinks, but at least nobody can come up with a name.

Charles texts Chris before he replies to the team. Don’t freak. There’s a picture of you and I on… everything. No faces. You can call me if you want. And then to Mia and Sylvia, sure do.

Can I call you? Mia replies.

No.

He’s mad. Fuming, almost. At the invasion of privacy, at the fact that he gives so much of his time to strangers, over and over again he maintains the mindset that it costs him nothing to give them some of his time. At the realization that no matter how much he gives them, they will always, always feel entitled to taking what he tries to keep. It will never be enough for them.

He’s mad at himself, too. The how-could-I-let-this-happen kind of mad that feels a lot more like a never-ending pang of guilt in your chest. He didn’t know they were around fans, but didn’t he? He’s always around a fan in Monaco, it seems like, and here he is putting his arm around her while they walk down the street? Sending out the siren for anyone who might want to pry into his private life? It’s a mistake he never should have made. He’s smarter than this.

He fumes silently at the table while everyone around him talks about their meals and the atmosphere and all he can think about, the only track his mind can follow, is what Chris is doing at that very moment.

He knows the time difference like it’s nothing, automatically converts it in his head when he looks at his watch. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon in Georgia, so she's at work. Today is Tuesday, which means special is at… 2? It’s art day, and he knows art is at 2. Or it is Gym today? Gym is at… what time is gym at? He can’t remember.

He’s watching Mia type, stop typing, and start again, his leg bouncing under the table, shaking the booth underneath him. Undoubtedly, she’s typing up some essay for him to read.

Chris calls, and he answers before the first ring can finish vibrating. “Hi,” he says, soft. “Hi,” he repeats, this time harder, calmer. Everything is fine.

Silently, he shoos Joris out of the booth so he can step away.

“Hi,” she says, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like social media isn’t digging through every interaction he’s had for the last month with pitchforks trying to find her.

“Are you okay?” He’s asking before he can even process the emotions—or lack thereof—in her voice. It’s like he’s blind. The type of angry where you’re clouded by it, where all he can think about is her.

He navigates through the restaurant, trying to find a corner of quiet solace. He can’t go outside, there were fans out there when he’d shown up. Maybe the bathroom will be empty, he hopes.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and he lets out a heavy breath, the one he’d been unable to release since he got that first text. He thinks he believes her, that she’s okay, and that he’s freaking out over nothing. “I mean, you said there weren’t any faces, so…”

“I’m sorry that this happened like this,” he offers, ducking his head into the bathroom, peeking under the stalls. He finds one pair of shoes and settles for the hallway outside the bathrooms—there’s more room to pace there, anyways.

“Like what?” She laughs. She fucking laughs, and it stops him dead in his tracks. His head falls back to the sky, a sharp exhale—practically a laugh of his own—leaves his nose. Of course, she’s laughing. “This is exactly how we knew it would happen.”

“It’s my fault, I should have acted different.”

If he closes his eyes, he swears he can see the frown on her face, the familiar little disappointed sigh filling his ear. “Don’t do that,” she says. “You were just being… just existing. You’re allowed to exist. I’m sorry that anyone feels entitled to your existence.”

God, she can be so annoying sometimes; has to go and make all this sense all the time, makes all his nondescript, word-scramble of thought feel simple and linear. She does it so easily, understands him with infuriating ease. Avec toi, je suis moi, he’d say, if he could properly convey it.

He bites the nail on his pointer finger. “Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes, babe,” she laughs again. It feels like she’s always laughing. He could listen to it, to the million variations of her laugh, for a long time. Maybe until he can’t hear anymore. “I’m so okay. The okay-est. Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine, yeah. Just worrying about you.” He’s not okay, but. He signed up for this life, and she didn’t. Charles asked for this, worked hard to have this. Sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be upset when stuff like this happens, all things considered.

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad. Talk to me. I have fifteen minutes until I have to get my kids from art.” Tuesdays mean art class, he was right. He knew.

Charles groans, thinks that this must be how toddlers feel right before they throw a tantrum, when they have all these contradictory thoughts flying around every corner of his brain and he can’t make sense of a single one of them. “I just. God, I just. Fuck, I feel guilty to get upset, you know?”

“I know. You don’t have to feel guilty with me, though.”

“I don’t know, sometimes it is just,” he’s pacing again. He wishes more than anything, more than anything, that she could just be here. That they could be having this conversation on a couch somewhere together. Missing her is hard when things are going good, because all he thinks about is how much better they’d be if she was there. But when things are bad, when he’s about ready to channel his sixteen-year-old self and punch a hole through a wall, he can feel all four thousand and seven hundred miles. “It makes me angry that less and less things are mine. I can not even walk down a street without getting a call from my press officer. I belong to everyone but to me, and I know that I am very lucky to have this life I have, and I love driving more than anything. It just gets bigger and bigger and more out of control. And God. Fuck, I am so mad about this,” he pauses, waits for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just holds the empty space. “I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one. I mean, I know that it’s because it’s not just me, it’s you too. But fuck, I’m pissed off.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. He knows he doesn’t need to.

“I know, but I want to. I want to be able to.”

Without pause, she says: “You could. I mean, I felt safe enough to fly halfway across the world without telling anyone I was leaving, right?” He smiles. God, it really bugged him that she did that. She should have told someone. Anyone. We’re keeping it lowkey, she’s said and he didn’t know what to say. He remembers thinking it’s a trip, not the fucking nuclear codes.

“It’s actually closer to a quarter of the way around the world, you know?” He jokes. It’s such a stupid distinction to make. Half the world, quarter of the world. Who cares, really? It’s all too far. A six hour time difference just feels a little easier than a twelve hour one.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and he’s certain she’s been making the same distinction, reminding herself of the same thing to make it that little bit easier. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

He leans against the wall of the narrow hallway, facing it, resting his forehead against the wallpaper and closing his eyes. He imagines he’s going back to a table with her sitting in the booth, that she’s inside the restaurant waiting for him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he lies. She pauses like she can tell, like she’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to call him on it. He really hopes she doesn’t, isn’t sure how much longer he can try to have a conversation like this with her while standing in the bathroom hallway at a random Italian restaurant.

“Promise it won’t ruin your night?”

He chuckles. “I promise no such thing.”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Two days,” he says, a reminder for him, a reminder for her. Two days until you’re in front of me. Two days and some change, for him—less than that for her. That’s what happens when you’re on different ends of the world, even your days are measured differently sometimes.

“Two days.”

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