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buckyalpine · 2 days

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Actor Bucky x civilian reader

I’m feeling angsty. Fluffy. Just a thought. But like a long thought.

You should have known this would happen eventually.

You knew you should have put your phone down and gone to sleep hours ago. Scrolling through social media did nothing to ease you mind as you stared at the 100′s of posts that showed Bucky whispering in her ear with a boyish smile. A sickly feeling spread from your chest, up your neck and to your cheeks, the type of heat that made your throat constrict and your eyes burn. The lump in your throat was painful to swallow, blinking back tears when you clicked on a video that had been shot by the paparazzi and leaked to the press, all the news outlets having a field day with brand new pics of a budding Hollywood romance.

“Well, there you have it folks! Looks like Winter is warming up over here, stay tuned for more updates”

“Single no more? Things steam up on the set of The Winter Soldier”

“Swipe to get a sneak peak on the hottest new romance everyone’s excited about”

You wanted to throw your phone across the room, instead keeping your eyes locked on the way your boyfriend was cozied up with his co-star, the two of them seemingly giggling over an inside joke while taking a break between shoots. Her face was practically tucked into his neck while he laughed, both of them apparently blissfully unaware someone was watching.

The image turned blurry from unshed tears, squeezing your eyes shut, turning your phone off all together. Your deepest insecurities reared their ugly head, thinking about Bucky’s effortlessly gorgeous co-star with her tall and slim build with curves in the right places. They looked like a dream couple; both attractive with obvious chemistry on screen and based on the “leaked photos”, in real life as well. Every single fear you had over the last few weeks were proved to be true with a few viral pictures.

Bucky groaned, silencing his phone after getting yet another unknown caller asking him if he’d care to comment on the latest headline about him and the lead actress in his upcoming movie. He ran his hand over his face seeing the way social media blown up overnight after someone had taken pictures taken out of context making it look like he was smitten and in love. His PR team insisted that a few candid shots would be good for promoting the movie and great for his image; when he agreed to having hired paparazzi's take a few “spontaneous” pictures, he thought it would be pictures with the whole cast; not just suggestive close up shots with his co-star that appeared intimate.

Great.

He’d tried to call you repeatedly, every single one going straight to voicemail and all his texts unanswered. It had been a days since the new broke out and nothing had died down. Bucky hated that he was miles away from you, unable to even send anyone to check on you after you both agreed to keep the relationship a secret. The only person in his life who knew was his best friend, Steve, who was also on set. You’d been so understanding of his career, you hadn’t told a soul to make sure nothing ever leaked. Bucky knew you were used to a few rumors popping up every now and then about him and a potential new girlfriend but this was the first time there was photo evidence.

New stories popped up like weeds.

The last straw for him was when he spotted a magazine cover talking about his upcoming wedding and speculation over if there was a secret child on the way.

He couldn’t care less about PR or the movie anymore. A text to the director later, he was in his car driving off straight to you, carefully weaving through traffic while making a pitstop with his best disguise of a hat and sunglasses before speeding off once more.

You sighed at the new stories that were still being posted on your social media feed, locking your phone once more to go back to the book you were reading. You’d ignored all of Bucky's attempts to reach out, choosing to spend less time on your phone, already drowning in insecurities and doubt. You took out a bunch of books from the library and spent more time the kitchen hoping anything would help take your mind off of the love of your life having an affair with another woman.

The sound of the doorbell pulled you away from your book; you weren’t expecting anyone and it wasn’t usual for any of your friends to stop by in the middle of the afternoon. You were going to ignore it, thinking it was probably someone attempting to sell you something but-

“Y/n, doll I know you’re home, it’s me baby”

Oh.

Your felt your stomach drop. Heart beating so fast, you could feel your veins tremble in your finger tips. He rang the bell again in hopes that you’d even hit him, smack him, happy to take it, anything to at least see you again. Your emotions swarmed all over the place, anxiety, anger, love, all of it fighting for dominance while you stayed glued to your spot on the couch.

Asshole.

But that was your Jamie.

Dick.

But you loved him with your whole heart.

“Babygirl” Bucky pleaded outside of your door, realizing the giant teddy that was 4 times his size and flower bouquet of 100 red roses did nothing to keep him discreet. “Sweetheart, please let me explain”

You reluctantly opened the door, more worried that if someone saw Bucky at your door, a crowd of fans would end up swarming the area. If not for all the other emotions you were feeling, you almost giggled at the sight of a very wide, puppy eyed Bucky holding a stuffy that was larger than him and a bouquet of flowers that nearly covered his face. You wordlessly stepped out of the way while he dragged the comically large bear into the living room, placing the roses in its caramel fuzzy paws before turning to you.

You.

His pretty doll.

He could see your eyes were still puffy from nights of crying. Your lips were glossy from the balm you used when they were chapped after you’d nervously chew on them. Your poor little nose he loved to boop and kiss so much looked dry from how much you sniffled. Those gorgeous eyes he loved to stare into refused to even look at him, looking at your fluffy sock clad feet instead. You were still wearing a large hoodie of his but you probably hadn’t noticed when you slipped it on.

Bucky hated it.

His poor precious doll was so hurt all because of a stupid PR stunt.

“Baby” You stood rigid as Bucky stepped towards you, his hand coming to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin, “Those pictures, they were taken out of context darling, they weren’t meant to come out like that-

“Then how were they meant to come out” You frowned, moving away till Bucky’s hand dropped, a sad sigh leaving his lips.

“The team-they thought a few random, candid pictures would garner some publicity to get people talking. I thought they’d post pictures of everyone together, not just me and her”

“That doesn’t explain why you were so close to her” You fidgeted with the long sleeve of the hoodie, this time letting Bucky reach out to hold your hands though you left them limp while he gently squeezed them. “So that was all you then? That’s even worse Bucky”

“No baby, no” Bucky frantically shook his head, pulling you closer with his hands now on your waist, “I pushed her away the second she got too close but apparently finding your co-star insufferable isn’t good PR. I looked irritated in all the other pictured so they didn’t use them. I promise baby, I’d never do anything to hurt you. I know I did and I’m so sorry, doll”

While a part of you believed him, the other part of you couldn’t digest the fact that the rest of the world still thought they were a dream couple. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. You didn’t even want to begin to imagine the headlines that would pop up if the public saw you with Bucky. You couldn’t scrub the image away of how perfect they looked together, feeling frumpy and awkward in comparison.

“I can’t be like her Bucky” You struggled to keep your voice steady, not willing to cry in front of someone who clearly could do better even if he looked like he was ready to fall on his knees for you.

And then he did.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to be her. Or anyone else, I want you” Bucky looked at you with pleading eyes, taking your hands in his and kneeling, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

“But no one else thinks I deserve you. I thought I’d be okay with you maintaining a single image, I know it’s important for your career but I-I can’t watch interviews with people talking about how perfect you look with someone else, how you both look so in love-

“I’m done”

“What?” Your heart stopped, your hands shaking wondering if done meant he was done dealing with your worries, your insecurities, done with you-

“You’re the one I want. Not anyone else. I couldn’t care less about what others think baby, not when it’s hurting you so much. I want people to know who I’m in love with”

“But-

“If you’re not comfortable with it, I understand. But I don’t want to hide you anymore angel. Never again”

Movie Premier

You swallowed thickly, your heart beating out of your chest, fidgeting with the gown you had been dressed in, nervously twirling the ring on your finger. The limo came to a halt, the driver opening the door to a sea of screaming and cheers, a plush red carpet ready for you to step onto.

“Ready, princess?” Bucky grinned, stepping out of the limo and reaching his hand out for you to take, helping you step out of the car. You gasped at the flashes of cameras and shrieks of fans coming from all sides, everyone trying to get Bucky’s and your attention.

“James! Over here! Who is your date for the night?”

“Miss! Miss!”

“Over there, darling”, Bucky whispered in your ear while you smiled at a different set of photographers, each of them clambering over another to get the best picture of you both.

“Could you step over here please, great, now one with the young lady, beautiful, James, one more!”

Bucky simply smiled and nodded, keeping his hand around your waist, guiding you down the red carpet and stopping for more pictures along the way. He skillfully avoided the reporters who called for him, keeping a protective grip around you as you both entered the hall to get seated. Hardly moments later, headlines had already started spreading everywhere, your phone blowing up with messages from friends and family wondering if they were seeing the news articles correctly:

James Barnes steps out with Mystery woman

Secret lover? James Barnes shocks fans with his premier date

10 things we know about James’s girlfriend

You giggled at the numerous posts that started to pop up on social media, your heart fluttering at the beautiful pictures of Bucky looking at you with heart eyes in every single one. There wasn’t one where he was looking anywhere else, focused on you the entire time and clearly people had noticed. You couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy at the comments people left, silencing all the doubts you had in your mind.

Get you a man that looks at you the way he looks at her

No wonder he was hiding her, shes gorgeous

I love him but like can someone tell me who SHE is?!

Look at him, he looks like an absolute puppy around her

She’s perfect for him, they’re babies are gonna be BEAUTIFUL

There goes my chance. I can’t even be mad cause he looks so happy and they look so cute

“What you reading there, baby” Bucky kissed your shoulder, peering over to see what you were looking at on your phone before slipping it away into your clutch. He smirked, sneakily nipping your ear lobe making you gasp before continuing to whisper in your ear. “They’re right you know. You look so beautiful baby, gonna rip this dress off as soon as we get to the hotel room”

“You can’t rip it Bucky, I have to give it back-” You hissed but he wasn’t having any of it, his hand moving to squeeze your thing, grazing your skin from the slit on the dress.

“I’ll pay for it. But you’re right, I won’t rip it. We’re keeping it, I wanna fuck you all type of ways in that-

“Oh my god” You hushed him with a peck to his devilish lips, your face hot while he gave you a smug smile. He couldn’t wait for the news that would go wild in the next few months.

James Barnes proposes to long time girlfriend, y/n y/l/n

Ready to tie the knot? James and fiancée spotted at wedding venue

Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Barnes!

James and y/n fly to the Amalfi coast for Honeymoon

Happy Anniversary to Hollywood's favorite couple

Baby bump or food baby? Y/n Barnes steps out in oversized hoodie for a late night food run

Baby Barnes on the way?

Double trouble? James reveal’s he and his wife are expecting twins

y/n Barnes posts first pictures of babies and they couldn’t be cuter

Bucky couldn’t wait.

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shellshocklove · 3 days

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does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal

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yandere-writer-momo · 1 day

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Prequel Part I

Yandere Short Story Series:

Too Late For Remorse

Yandere Cheater Duke x Countess Reader x Duke

TW: murder, yandere themes, cheating (mentioned), delusional behavior, yandere is the villain, etc.

“So you’re breaking off the engagement between my son and your daughter?” Duke Blackburn sat in the chair across from Count (last name). The older Duke delicately held the tea cup in his hand.

“I apologize for breaking the agreement, but my daughter cannot be without a man who associates with the Serpico family.” Duke Blackburn nodded his head in agreement.

“I understand, I’m also not a big fan of infidelity.” It was quite well known in the noble faction that Duke Blackburn’s wife had messed around with many knights during their short marriage. Which worked in Count (Last name)’s favor since Duke Blackburn despised the unfaithful.

Duke Blackburn continued the conversation, “You know your daughter was promised to marry a Blackburn. It’d be a shame to not have such a beautiful woman in our family. I have another son who’s a few years younger than her.”

“Eh, I don’t know if Broderick be a good match since he’s not quite mature yet…” Count (Last name) sighed. “I wouldn’t mind my daughter marrying you if I’m honest-“

Duke Blackburn’s cheeks flushed in shock, the Duke nearly dropped his tea cup from the Count’s words. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“My daughter would be in good hands if she was with you. You’re mature and you’ve been single for over a decade.” Count (last name) gestured to the portrait of his daughter behind him. “You said it yourself that my daughter was beautiful.”

“That does not mean I want to marry a woman half my age-“

“Duke Lucius Blackburn and Duchess (your

name), I can picture it.” Count (last name) howled with laughter when the Duke hid his scarred face in his gloved hands. The older Duke felt embarrassed by the Count’s teasing.

Lucius and (your name)? It is a normal occurrence of marrying a younger woman in this day and age, but she was his own son’s ex-fiancée! Then again, it would be a similar situation if she became engaged to Broderick…

“Alright. I will marry your daughter-“ Duke Blackburn put his hand on Count (last name)’s shoulder before the smaller man could cheer. “But consult with her first. I’m an old man and I’m still the commander of the Royal’ Family’s army. I’d hardly have time for her.”

“Of course I will. I’m sure she will be delighted!”

Duke Blackburn and Count (last name) continued to have small talk but Lucius couldn’t help the feeling of nervousness that crept up his veins. Would she really be alright with a man like him?

“So Duke Blackburn said he’d marry you if you’d like to be with him.” (Your name) quirked a brow at her father. The young woman slowly sipped the tea her father had prepared for this meeting. She was a bit surprised her father wanted to find her a partner this quickly, but she was also in her prime. If (your name) didn’t marry soon, she never would.

“But I just ended my engagement to him-“

“Wrong Blackburn, my dear. I’m talking about Lucius Blackburn-“ (your name) spat out the tea and choked a bit. Lucius?! As in Trishan’s father?! “Are you alright?”

“Father, you can’t possibly- why?” (Your name) struggled to formulate words as a million questions ran through her brain. Engagement to Trishan’s father?! His father?!

“Well, he’s a much better man than his spawn. Don’t you think, my dear?” Count (last name) puffed his chest out in pride. “Plus he’s still quite fit despite his age-“

“Father!” (Your name) stood up, her being frazzled with bewilderment. “It hasn’t even been a week since my engagement was annulled and… that man is old enough to be my father!”

“But he would treat you well!”

(Your name) shook her head and was about to excuse herself from the table. How was she supposed to get her revenge if she now had to marry Trishan’s father?

(Your name) held her head while the gears began to turn in her head. Wait. This could work… she could use Lucius to her advantage.

“You’re right, father. How could I not see that before?” (Your name) bent down and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

The count was in shock before his whole face lit up. He was so happy to bring his daughter joy! She deserved to be happy!

Trishan threw a chair across his room in anger. His engagement had been annulled and his beloved was to marry his father?! No… this wasn’t how his second chance was supposed to work out! They were supposed to be happy together!

“Trishan?” Trishan’s blood went cold when he heard a familiar, feminine voice from outside his door. What was that snake doing here? “You haven’t replied to any of my letters and I’m really worried about you…”

Lies. That woman only wanted to become a Duchess and she had murdered (your name) in the past… was this her fault?

Trishan felt murderous intent drip throughout his veins as he stood up. Yes… this was Gia’s fault. If she didn’t exist… then (your name) would come back to him.

Trishan’s lips curved up in a demented smile. If he got rid of Gia then everything would fall back into place. Just like it was meant to.

“Wait for me darling… I’ll make everything right this time.”

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jasntodds · 2 days

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Scars [J.T.]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jason lets you trace over his y scar

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, scars, mentions of death, bruises, cuts, general minor injuries, hurt/comfort

Words: 1,765

A/n: I just wanted something a little soft for once. If you wanna be tagged in my fics, you can click the link below, send me an ask/comment, or follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

masterlist | request info | tag list

Jason carries the weight of every horrible, traumatic, and agonizing event that’s ever happened to him across his body, etched in pale and raised lines across him like a used roadmap. He wears them as cruel reminders that this life is unfair and unjust, even when he tries his hardest to make it so. There are some he pays no mind to, and doesn’t even really notice most days because they are there. That’s that. But, there are others…there are others he looks at as a punishment for everything he’s ever done and everything he never was and could never be. They’re reminders, laughing back at him every day, a sinister echo of his mistakes.

Most days, he tries to pay them no mind, either.

You’re sitting on your knees right beside Jason, his side pressed against the bare skin of your calf. Your eyes are trained on his exposed abdomen, showcasing the scars and cuts and bruises he’s collected over the last few years.

It wasn’t that seeing his body covered in new and old injuries was jarring. That was mostly fine. After the first few weeks of being friends, it stopped being jarring because that's just how it is with Jason. He gets hurt sometimes. It comes with the job and you accept that part of him. The bruises and cuts were very rarely ever jarring. The other scars were never really jarring because of course he has them. That always made sense to you. It's the autopsy scar that is jarring.

With the others, he'd told you it comes with the job and then he'd watch your face contort into a scrunch of worry and paranoia over his well-being, something he doesn't think he deserves most days. When the comment didn't ease your worry, he'd kiss you and give his signature cocky grin, a silent promise that he's fine and the conversation would end. The autopsy scar conversation is never so simple.

You knew he died because he told you not long before you made things official. You knew the story about the Joker and his mom. He told you of the horrid night and bits of pieces of the after. But this is your first time seeing the physical damage of the night that still wakes him up in the middle of the night. Your chest aches for him and it's jarring because he did die and he has to carry that kind of weight forever, something you'll swear until the day you die he doesn't deserve.

With delicate fingers, you trace over the long line of the autopsy scar, Jason’s eyes glancing from your hand to your face. His stomach tenses with the movement and you can’t tell if it’s because your hands are cold, it tickles, or he’s uncomfortable. If you know Jason, you’re kind of figuring it’s the third option. So, you glance back to him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“This okay?” You ask softly.

“It’s fine.” Jason answers, his thumb lightly brushing over your thigh furthest away from him. “Bother you?”

Jason has been cautious not to show you because he knows how he feels about it. He knows that you worry. Seeing some sort of proof of death seems like it might send you spiraling into some sort of tornado of worry until you spin too far away from him. He's been cautious because he adores you and he doesn't want to lose you and he doesn't want it scare you.

You look back to the scar, tracing over it again. “No.” You answer quietly. It hurts your chest because it happened to him. It happened to him and nothing in this world could ever justify the torture and pain he's been through. It doesn't bother you because it is a part of him and you adore him with every beat your heart drums. “Bothers you though.”

Jason’s brows pull together. “How’d you figure?” There’s the slightest bit of a bite in his words like a scared puppy, a default reaction to being seen.

“Why wouldn’t it?” The question leaves your lips freely with unfiltered candor.

Seeing it for the first time, yeah it bothered him. It bothered him because what was the point? It wasn’t some mystery how he died. Maybe it was just legal reasons bullshit that Jason doesn’t care about. Though, he does fully understand that maybe if he hadn’t come back, he wouldn’t care. Or if it had healed, he wouldn’t care. So, that’s something he can’t really blame Bruce for. Instead, it’s that it’s there. Looking back at him in the mirror. Staring up at him when he looks down. It’s always there. It’s as if he was cut open and the weight of death and punishment and regret scattered over his organs and bones, making sure he understands the weight of his own consequences. He just can’t quite shake it and the scar is the reminder.

"I guess." Jason lets out this shaky breath as his stomach tenses below your fingertips.

"It's okay if it bothers you, Jay." You assure him. "I'd bother me if I were you but..." You pause for just a second, pressing an open palm over some of the raised edges of the scar as your eyes are locked on his. "I hope it doesn't bother you too much because you got to live and I don't care what the other bats thought about it at first because I'm glad you got to come back. And you deserve to let the weight off your shoulders for once." Your eyes go back to the scar and trace up the line from the center of his stomach up to the right side of his chest.

Jason's thumb is rubbing lightly against your skin and he wonders why you make it seem so simple. No part of him thinks you believe it's simple but there's something in the way that you say it that almost gives Jason some sort of faith in the idea of it. That maybe there is a day where it won't feel like he's carrying the weight of the world. Maybe there is a day someday where he won't feel the aching and longing of his bones. You offer him tenderness and kindness when the majority of his life has been nothing but skinned knees and broken hearts.

That feels terrifying, too but...maybe he's tired of running away from things because they're good for him. And good to him.

Seeing the autopsy scar for the first time bothered him. Seeing it yesterday bothered him. But, at this exact point in time with your fingers running along the tattered edges, it doesn’t bother him so much.

“Thank you.” Jason holds his words steady with a sort of caution at the edges. "It's not bothering me now." His voice is quiet as his eyes glance to you and then back to your fingers on his skin.

He is entirely exposed to you now. There’s no going back even if that is absolutely terrifying. Jason keeps himself guarded to protect himself and protect everyone else around him. But, you make letting the guard down a little bit easier. You’re tender and delicate with him, two things no one ever is. At no point have you ever thought less of him for the things he’s done and things he’s seen, or the things that rip his body to shreds. You take him as he is and offer him understanding and kindness, two things Jason has been desperate to get from anyone. And he is so thankful for you.

“Good.” Your voice is quiet before your stare goes back to the scar. “I hope it never bothers you again.”

Jason sits up, closing some of the distance between you while you rest your hands in your lap. His eyes run over your face slowly while the corner of his mouth is pinched barely upwards. He looks content. He looks comfortable. His heart is beating a mile a minute as it’s about to run through his ribs. There’s something fluttering against it, something that feels warm and welcoming in the beating of his heart. There’s something that makes his breathing unsteady without ever sucking the air from his lungs. There is something that feels comfortable and like a home he didn’t think he’d ever find.

Jason leans forward, resting his forehead against yours and your entire body relaxes in that instant. He pulls away, pressing a kiss to your nose and then to your cheek before he rests his head in the crook of your neck. You turn your head and press a kiss to his temple before your hands come to his cheeks to pick his head up.

His eyes lock on your eyes and you adore him. You adore him for all that he is today. The scars never really bothered you because they hold him together. All of them have a story that has led Jason Todd to who he is today. They are proof that he is alive. They are proof that even when he was hurt, even when he was murdered, he is alive. The air can be pulled into his lungs and oxygen will circulate through his cells again. He is alive. The autopsy scar is just further proof to you because he shouldn’t have been brought back but he was. And that was for a reason. That scar is just another piece of proof he is meant to be here. It is another mark of how he got here today and you, for one, are eternally thankful that he is here today.

Your thumbs are running over his cheeks and Jason swears he has never felt so wanted by anyone. And he doesn’t feel so damn alone in the world anymore. He feels important and he only hopes he makes you feel the same way. He can only hope you understand how much you mean to him and that he is just as important to you.

Your lips come to his and he melts into your touch as he kisses you back. His hand comes up to the back of your head to pull you in closer. And he thinks he might do everything in his power to have more moments like these with you. You can trace his scars and he can tell you about them and you can exist in the bubble where it is only the two of you. You can trace his scars and he can run his fingers along your thigh and you both can feel wanted and important. And loved.

Tag List: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman // @killxz // @achromaticerebus // @lovefks // @kolpvii

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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roosterforme · 1 day

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It has been too long since you heard from Bradley. Perhaps something went wrong. Or maybe he was avoiding you. Just when you start trying to accept that the last few months were too good to be true, things start to turn around again.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being sweet

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Days went by. With only two weeks left of Bradley's deployment, you weren't really expecting to receive air mail at school with your name on it, but you certainly did miss it anyway. Your students asked about him every morning, wondering if he'd sent a new email, hoping for another video with Marty. But you got nothing in either of your email inboxes.

He was on your mind almost constantly. What happened on his mission? Did the Navy decide it was okay to cut off communication right when you were completely attached to hearing from him? Did this really mean you had to wait until the aircraft carrier arrived back in San Diego?

It was right before your students were due to arrive in your classroom that you had perhaps the most distressing thoughts of all. What if something went terribly wrong and he didn't survive? Or what if this was simply his way of ghosting you before he had to see you in person?

Jayden raced in ahead of the rest of your class, calling your name along the way. "Did Lieutenant Bradshaw write back yet?"

You pointed him toward his desk as you shook your head. "I already explained that he may not have time to respond before his deployment ends."

Jayden just bounced in place in front of you. "Then that means he can visit us when he gets back!"

Now a small group of your kids surrounded you, and you wished more than anything that you could tell them that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, their beloved pen pal, would definitely be visiting your classroom in a few short days. Instead you told them, "Please, take your seats so we can start our Natural History lesson."

This turned out to be your new normal. Every time you got an email notification, you jumped to unlock your phone, but it was never a message from Bradley. When you saw a box tucked in your mail cubby in the school office, you ran for it, only to find the science supplies you ordered weeks ago had arrived. You even forced yourself to go back and read some of the old emails from him, just to make sure it all really happened, but his words left you aching for more.

...I like giving Gorgeous teachers butterflies...

...You'd look adorable snuggled up in your bed. But then again, when aren't you completely Gorgeous?...

...Gorgeous girl, you're messing with my head...

...And it's not a matter of if I touch you, it's a matter of when...

After nearly two weeks had gone by, you tried to figure out if the USS Theodore Roosevelt was back in port, but short of driving to North Island to see for yourself, you couldn't seem to find a solid answer online. And if you did drive there and found it at the dock, what were you supposed to do? Contact the US Navy? If they told you that nothing happened to Lieutenant Bradshaw and that he was perfectly fine, you'd be mortified. If they told you something in fact did happen to him in the last two weeks, you'd be devastated. That's assuming you could even get them to give you any information at all which was doubtful.

On Friday, you were on the verge of tears as you got ready for work. "You're being ridiculous," you whispered, and that fact made you want to cry even more. You tried to take the time to make yourself look presentable, thinking that may be the key to having a good day. Your outfit was cute. Your makeup looked nice. But you weren't smiling, and you didn't feel like doing so at all.

You grabbed your bag, hoping the short ride with your favorite playlist would be enough to get your spirits up, but all you could think about was how you probably weren't cut out for life with a guy in the military anyway. Waiting around like this to see what was going on was making your stomach upset, and you weren't getting enough sleep. When you closed your eyes, you just pictured a very kissable face with a scarred cheek and big brown eyes.

"You need to focus," you scolded as you parked your car and headed into the school with your ID badge. You had eighteen kids who required your attention, and you'd once again give it to them, because you were fantastic at your job.

This morning, Violet was the first one to mention Bradley in passing, and you had to shake your head. "Please find your seats. If I hear from Lieutenant Bradshaw, I promise I will let you know. I'm not hiding any letters or emails from you all, okay?" You tried to smile as you said, "I'd like to hear from him every bit as badly as you would. I can guarantee that."

You struggled through your morning lessons, often reminding yourself that you needed to focus on your students. Then you sat quietly at your desk with the classroom lights off during lunch, scrolling back through the dozens of emails you'd exchanged with Bradley on your phone. You pulled up the picture of the sun setting behind him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and even though you tried, you couldn't find anything other than the most sincere expression on his handsome face.

Maybe he would text you this weekend, letting you know he was back and your date was on. You had to believe he would still contact you. When the bell rang, you counted to ten, and then your students came flooding back through your classroom door. They wanted to tell you all about how Jasper from Mrs. Wynn's class got in trouble during lunch, and you humored them before saying, "I'm sure none of you would misbehave like that in the cafeteria."

"No way!" Henry promised.

"That's what I like to hear," you told him with a forced smile. "Once you're all in your seats, we'll start our math lesson. Maybe I'll put a few aviation problems on the board at the end if you show me how well you can focus for the next twenty minutes."

You had just started copying the first fraction that you wanted to discuss from your notebook onto the board when there was a sharp knock on your classroom door. You sighed and let your forehead rest briefly on the white board, knowing that another disruption would completely derail your kids after all the lunchtime nonsense. When you turned to face the door, they were already starting to chatter with each other.

"Come in!" you called out, and every head in your room whipped around to see who was there and what they wanted.

When the door swung open, the room went silent. The first thing you thought about was how peculiar it was to see someone in a khaki military uniform standing there. Then your eyes slid up that tall, muscular frame as your lips parted in surprise. As soon as you met his gaze, he smiled and said, "Hey, Gorgeous."

You couldn't speak. As he took a full step into your classroom and pulled the door closed, you finally noticed he was holding some pretty flowers. Then he was heading your way, his combat boots squeaking ever so slightly against the tile floor with each long stride. Bradley Bradshaw wasn't hesitating at all as he made his way directly to you while your students started talking again.

"It's Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

"I knew he'd come visit us ever since I asked him to!"

"Does this mean his deployment is over?"

"Why does he have flowers?"

He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of you, and the butterflies in your belly were fluttering so much, you were convinced you could float off of the floor. You weren't sure what else to say, so you simply whispered, "Bradley."

His smile grew as he said, "I love the way that sounds when you say it." You could only squeak in response, and his warm gaze flicked from your eyes down to your lips. At this rate you'd be a puddle at his feet in the next ten seconds. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as he leaned in closer, taking another small step forward until his boot gently bumped your shoe. His voice took on a raspier edge as said, "You told me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

He didn't stop slowly closing the distance, and when you reached out and let your fingers tangle with his, you whispered, "Please." Then you closed your eyes as his lips brushed feather light against yours. You gasped. He was here. Nothing had ever felt as good as this in your life. You opened your eyes to find him grinning right in front of you, and you chased him for another one of his dreamy kisses.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw kissed her!"

"I think they're in love!"

"They are definitely going to be girlfriend and boyfriend!"

Bradley wrapped his fingers around yours a little tighter as you and he laughed, and he ducked his head before looking up at your class. His cheeks were the most alluring shade of pink as he told them, "Hey, I hope you don't mind that I decided to surprise you and your teacher."

"We don't mind!" shouter Oliver as he was practically sitting on his desk now in excitement. All of the kids were bouncing with anticipation, and you couldn't stop smiling as Violet clapped her hands together.

"Great, because I brought my responses to your last batch of letters, too. I can't thank you enough for being my pen pals for the last few months. You made my time away from home a lot more fun." He turned to look at you before softly adding, "And you made coming back home feel really good."

You wanted to kiss him again. You wanted to run your fingers along his scars and press your lips to his skin in their wake. You wanted to bury your nose against his neck and inhale the smell of his skin and his uniform collar. You wanted to feel his mustache on your lips. Instead, because every eye in the room was on the two of you, you told him, "I'm really happy you're here." You tugged on his hand so he was standing front and center, and you turned to your kids and asked, "What do we say when we have a special guest visit us?"

"Thank you!" they all shouted in unison.

"That's right," you told them. Then you looked up at Bradley, and he handed you the flowers with a crooked little grin, and that's when you noticed he had a small notebook in his hand as well.

"Can I call each kid up to get their letter?" he asked, as if you would deny him anything at the moment. "Then I can put faces to all of the names."

You were still definitely at risk of melting. "You wrote each of them a personal letter again?" you asked him, holding your flowers to your chest and trying not to swoon.

"Yeah," he replied, opening his notebook to show you. He stood there, looking devastatingly sexy, tearing out a page for every kid. He called each of them up and talked to them for a minute. He remembered the name of Jayden's dog. He remembered that Violet loved neon-colored everything. He remembered that Henry said his grandfather was in the Navy. He remembered so much, and he was so willing to indulge all of their questions.

You just stood there with your flowers and watched this endearing man captivate all nineteen of you with his words. He let Oliver try on one of his insignia pins. He drew a diagram of an aircraft carrier on your white board. He met your gaze more often than not. He smiled at you every time he did. He told your students that the reason they were so smart was because you were such a good teacher. The butterflies were here to stay now.

When you looked around, you noticed that your kids were cherishing their personal notes just like you were your flowers. You didn't want this afternoon to end, and yet, as soon as the first bell rang at three o'clock, you jumped to attention. The sooner your students cleared out of the room for the weekend, the sooner you could hopefully have a few minutes alone with Bradley before he wanted to go home and rest.

"We need to pack up," you announced, finally setting the bouquet down on your desk while Bradly affixed his pin back on his uniform shirt.

"Do we have to?" whined Jayden. "Lieutenant Bradshaw like just got here!"

He had in fact been in your classroom for over two hours, but you couldn't blame them for wanting more. Bradley cleared his throat and looked at you as he said, "I could come back again?" with that sincere gaze you were already weak for. "Spend a few more hours answering questions? Maybe bring some engine parts with me?"

You bit your lip before you could whimper out loud, and he started to head in your direction. "We would love that," you told him.

"Yeah?" he asked you as your kids erupted into a rowdy mob, grabbing all of their belongings as the final bell rang.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, waving lazily to your students as they shouted their goodbyes to both you and Bradley. His steps had him reaching you right as the last few kids left your room, and you whispered, "You'll come back?"

He reached for your hand as he said, "I'll do anything you want, Gorgeous." He must have been able to read the needy look on your face, because when you tugged on his hand, he came all the way to you. His other hand ended up at your waist as his lips found yours, and this time, the feather light kisses deepened as you parted your lips. Bradley groaned softly, kissing you just right, and then he whispered, "I've been dying for this."

Your arms went around his neck, kissing him a little frantically, melting at his touch and the feel of his soft, wavy hair between your fingers. "Me too," you told him before pulling his bottom lip gently between yours. He backed you up until you bumped into your desk, and all you could think about was how good his weight would feel on top of you.

Your skin felt too hot when he finally broke the kiss, panting softly as you ran your thumb along his scars. "I didn't like not hearing from you the past two weeks," you told him, and his brown eyes softened even as his hold on you tightened a little bit. "It was... kind of scary."

"I didn't like it either," he told you. "And I was going to text you immediately when we docked this morning, but then I decided to just come here instead." He grinned as your fingers crept back up into his hair. "If they didn't let me sign in with my military ID in the front office, I don't know what I would have done. I just wanted to see you."

You kissed his chin and said, "Usually I hate surprises. But this one was perfect."

"Okay, see, that's good information to know," he rasped. "I only got a ride home long enough to throw my duffle in the front door and hop in my Bronco. I stopped for the flowers, and then I just wanted to get here with my notebook."

You tipped your head back and whispered, "How am I supposed to deal with how sweet you are?"

"Oh! That reminds me," he muttered, rubbing his hand along your back before releasing you and strolling over to where he left his notebook on Oliver's desk. The way your body wanted you to follow him was surprising, but it gave you a chance to look at him again from head to toe as you stood next to your desk. There was nothing out of place on this man, and you pressed your lips together as his bicep flexed against his shirt sleeve. He tore another sheet of paper from his notebook and said, "I have one more note to deliver."

He walked back over to you, and when he held it up with a hopeful look, you took it from him and read.

Hey, Gorgeous. I couldn't wait one more minute to see you. And now that I'm here, I don't want today to end. Is there any way I can convince you to let me take you out for our first official date tonight instead of tomorrow? Bradley

When you looked up from the page, his eyebrows were raised, and that crooked little grin was hovering close to the surface. "I know I said to plan for tomorrow, but I can't fucking wait that long."

You bit down on your lip, shocked by how much better today turned out to be than you could have ever imagined earlier this morning. "Yeah. You've convinced me, Bradley. Tonight sounds perfect."

With that, you were treated to a little smirk beneath his mustache. He carefully took the sheet of notebook paper from your hands, set it down next to the flowers on your desk and proceeded to kiss you senseless.

----------------------------

He's going to make me hyperventilate. Those kids were SO excited to have him in their classroom, but they were nowhere near as excited as Gorgeous! He's home! And he wants to have his beach picnic and takeout and makeout sesh immediately. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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samkerrworshipper · 2 days

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how did it end? | arsenal x reader

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm, alcohol abuse, depression

um yeah lol feel grateful for this because i’m going to go ghost mode for the rest of the week! to the anons who have a problem with my writing, don’t fucking read this if it’s such a problem, in fact don’t read any of my stuff at all, my page is a better place without you.

Everything about the day had felt wrong.

Everything about your last month had felt wrong, really the whole year if you thought about it.

It had all started after a blindside move from your home club. Leaving Rsenal had been the worst thing that had ever happened, but you’d known it was coming after they’d signed Russo. There was only so much room for strikers on the team, and your contract happened to be out as the summer started, leaving you as a free agent.

Somehow, you’d ended up at PSG, which you still didn’t understand. There had been offers everwhere, Lyon, Real Madrid, Man City, Chelsea, Bayern, Wolfsburg, yet your manager had fucked you and gone for PSG.

It had been a clusterfuck from the day you’d arrived, the language barrier, your horrible mental state, the different playing structure, the weather, your lonely apartment, the lack of friendships, the lack of support.

It had taken a month before you’d crashed and burned, withdrawing yourself from both club and national team. You’d been lower then low, sadder then sad, completely withdrawn from your own life. You wish you’d stayed, you wish that none of it had of happened, because maybe life wouldn’t have turned out the way it had, maybe you’d be happier.

Your Arsenal teammates had visited as often as the schedule permitted, helped you move your whole life from one country to the other, but at the end of the day you were still hundreds of miles away from them.

You’d stopped answering their calls after a few weeks, too consumed with the completely inebriating struggle that you were going through in Paris, trying to stay true to yourself whilst being so far in the deep end of the pool that you were struggling to keep your head above the water.

After the call to Sarina and the call to your manager it had made more sense for you to return to London, even if it had pained you to do so.

Not a month after you’d packed your whole life away against your will, you were packing it all back up.

You didn’t like what happened in Paris, you weren’t proud of it, all you wanted was to get back to your house in St. Albans, but you were also terrified of what your ‘home’ looked like now. It wasn’t the same place it had been for the last 8 years, you didn’t have your bestfriends as teammates more, you didn’t have any teammates, you were unofficially, self-decidedly, retired. Sarina had begged for you to return, tried to reckon with you, but you were done, your love for the game had died in Paris and you had no desire to re-open the wounds that had been torn into your skin in France.

You didn’t tell anyone, you just hoped that you’d be able to avoid everyone for as long as possible, that you’d just be able to slowly become nonexistent and become forgotten by everyone from the past 20 years of your life, but you were aware that life didn’t work that way.

You were sick of all the pain you were going through, all the suffering that you were being forced to endure for no good reason. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, you didn’t feel like you had anybody to talk to about it, it was just you nowadays.

That was how you spent most of your nights, alone.

Alone with a bottle of your posion of choice sitting on your bathroom floor.

It was the only thing that made it all better nowadays, the feeling of alcohol slipping down your throat, typically with a razor blade in your other hand.

There was something satisfying about it all, something perfect about being perfectly intoxicated with a sliver of metal between your finger tips.

On this particular day, you knew you’d drunk to much, but it had all been wrong. You’d woken up with a headache, in your shower, the tiles of your floor stained with your own blood. It wasn’t a uncommon place for you to wake up anymore, but everything about it felt wrong. Your head was aching in a way it never had, your whole body was hurting and for some reason it all just felt off.

You went about your normal routine, pushing the temperature of your shower to as hot as it would go, finding peace in the blistering water falling down across your skin. Once your skin was bright red you’d climb out, falling into your bed to help to sleep off the rift that the hangover had left inside of you. Around midday you would climb out of your bed, slipping out from the covers to enjoy your few hours of life that your days now gave you. Sometimes it would be spent in your kitchen, trying your hardest to piece together some kind of sustenance, other days making and eating food was too hard. On this particular day, you forgoed your kitchen, instead opting to walk straight past it and out onto your patio, as per the usual london weather, it was pouring down, but you didn’t mind too much.

The rain was nice, it reminded you that not everything in life was pretty, your life certainly wasn’t pretty anymore. Rain was a reminder that everyday could be turned upside down just based off of something that was completely out of anybodys control.

After deciding it was a bit too wet to enjoy the outdoors you tracked your way back indoors, your bare feet creasing and digging into the hard, cold wood floors of your home. You eyed off your uncomfortable couch, the one that your manager had found on facebook marketplace which was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture you thought could be bought. It kind of felt like a metaphor for you, you’d been bought, and it had been the worst decision PSG had made, and you were destined, just like the couch, to be thrown away without anybody really knowing or caring.

You walked straight past the couch and back to your bed, there wasn’t any living for you to do today, it just felt that way, so you pulled the covers back over your body and enjoyed the moment of peace that your bed gave you.

It didn’t last long, your body relaxing into the mattress for a few seconds before the restlessness took over. It was like that nowadays, your body never able to stop. You figured it was probably a result of your body going from pushing its limits everyday, mentally and physically to you doing absolutely nothing. Previously, when you’d been in a depressive episode you would sleep all day, no matter what had been happening, but not anymore. Now, you had to drink yourself into oblivion before your body would force itself to relax, you could be as exhausted and tired as you wanted but your body just wouldn’t let you sleep.

Your brain convinced you that your mattress was the lumpiest mattress made, when you really knew you’d hand picked it for it’s comfort. You brain tricked you into feeling like all of your curtains were wide open on a summers day when really they were drawn closed. Your mind was playing tricks on you and you didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

That’s how you’d ended up on your bathroom floor so early, the overwhelming need for you to fix the pain becoming too much for you. With a bottle of vodka in one hand and your scared silver blade in the other you finally found yourself at peace.

The stomachache and burn of the vodka going down your throat didn’t truly matter, not when you were staring down at the thin criss cross of lines all over your thighs.

Some were healed, some were thick, some were thin, some were sore. They all told a different story. Thighs were the easiest, less arteries, good to hide, disguisable. They didn’t bleed the same way wrists did, they bled slow and painfully, a couple of lines never hurt you.

With the mix of last nights alcohol though and the new vodka mixed with the sight of blood you found yourself feeling woozy.

You hadn’t always been a cutter, self-harm hadn’t always been your vice. It had always been football. From the minute the ball was at your feet it had been football, and you wouldn’t of had it any other way. It had been your everything, football had been your life and until it had been taken from you, you hadn’t understood the true magnitude of what that meant. Your life had no purpose, no substance, nothing, without your game. Football had been the only thing you were good at, and you were extremely good at it. You’d given up on school in pursuit of your footballing career and it had been worth it, up until now.

Now your life was nothing but a big mess.

You wished it had worked out in Paris, you wished that you’d been able to farewell London and make a new home in France, but it hadn’t meant to be. All of your talent, all of your love, all of your passion, it was all for nothing now. Everything you’d ever done amounted to nothing, you were nothing without a pair of boots on your feet and a football in front of you.

You were never going to be the same again, it was all different now, and you were man enough to admit that you missed what you’d had. There were things that you lost in life, in the heartbreak and the struggles, you just hadn’t expected that you would lose the meaning of your life in the process. You had a hard time understanding why it had to happen to you, why you’d been the unlucky one. You paid your dues, you’d woken up at 5am every single morning to run drills, you’d worked your ass of and yet here you were, drunk on your bathroom floor wishing that you were gone.

Once upon a time you’d believed that a person would do anything for the thing that they loved most in the world, but you didn’t believe ion that anymore, love was supposed to be the most powerful thing on earth, and yet it had failed you.

It was funny because you could drink all of the alcohol you wanted but it never made you forget about what you’d lost. The hundreds of memories of football over the years, Arsenal, it had all been Arsenal. You’d been the kind of player where you’d always been one club, from academy all the way through to the senior team, you bled arsenal. Nobody even asked you what your dream team was, because it had always been Arsenal, you hadn’t had eyes for anywhere else. Yet you’d been thrown away like nothing.

You’d loved playing for Arsenal, when you put your jersey on at the beginning of every game you felt ten times stronger, qall of your bestest friends had been at Arsenal, your bridesmaids, your for life friends, and yet now it all felt like you were drifting away.

For the longest time you’d chosen the good options, the healthy options, what was right.

Now though, you chose destruction.

You sleep when your blackout drunk.

You drink caffeine late at night.

You stay awake until your eyes burn.

You always say yes to whatever vice your brain can think of.

You drink water instead of food and vodka instead of water,

You’re isolated beyond the point of it being okay, nowadays you spend more time with yourself then anybody else.

Maybe it was the vodka that made you feel particularly adventurous, or the scent of your own blood seeping across your skin, but whatever it was it somehow inclined you to reach for your phone which was rested on the tiles besides you.

You’d turned your notifications off long ago, as soon as the trade had come through.

You’d ignored everyone’s messages for the sake of preserving your own mental state, you couldn’t deal with the constant back and forth of trying to keep friendships which felt like had already gone.

You were more intoxicated than normal, or that was how you rationalized your behaviour, because there really wasn’t any other explanation to it, unless all of the emotions from the last few months had suddenly hit you a lot harder then normal.

But you were sick of being alone, you knew that, you’d been alone for far too long.

Maybe the alcohol had pushed that to the forefront to your mind, or you’d just become inherently desperate.

Your phone rang, the sound vibrating against the tile floor of the bathroom, amplifying it to your ears, the noise ringing out in your ear canal.

It didn’t take long for the ringing to cease, the sound of silence absorbing around you.

“y/n? Is that you?”

You blinked a few times, swallowing down the final remnants of your last swig of vodka.

“Hey.”

Your voice was shaky, from the days of not saying any words at all, you didn;t have any reason to speak if you were all by yourself.

“Hi.”

The silence stayed thick, obviously neither of you unsure about what to say.

“Are you okay, no ones heard anything from you in a few weeks.”

You’d vanished, for the good of yourself.

“I wish I’d stayed, le.”

Their was a deep breath exhaled from the other side of the line.

“I wish you’d stayed too, y/n.”

You couldn’t think of a single positive that had come from you leaving, not a single one.

“I wish I’d stayed now, I wish I’d been given the chance.”

You could fele the tears building up in the corners of your eyes.

“Me too, y/n.”

The tears were falling, the water falling from your cheeks falling onto the blood on your legs, the two liquids mixing together, the blood turning into red as they two mixed, blood did run thicker than water.

“I wish i’d stayed le, I wish none of this had happened.”

You didn’t want to know what the blonde on the other side of the phone was thinking about at this moment, you weren;t thinking about her, just yourself.

“Hold in there kid, for me, it’s all going to work itself out.”

There was no working it out, this was the end for you.

“I can’t do it anymore, I can’t pretend that i wish I hadn’t of stayed, that I don’t spend everyday regretting it, I want it all back.”

You pushed the blade down against your skin again.

Drawing the metal against your skin until the blood had begun to pool at the base of the two or three inch line.

“Where are you kid, are you in Paris? Do you need me to send someone to come and check on you? You shouldn’t be drinking like this by yourself, especially not in season.”

There wasn’t a season for you anymore, you were free, you could do whatever you pleased.

“I’m at home, and I’m fine.”

You pulled the blade up, and onto a new patch of skin, it was all littered with past scars, raised white lines.

“You don’t sound fine kid, I have plenty of friends in France, don’t make me get them to come and hunt you down.”

Her voice was an attempt at threatening, but it sounded more worried then anything.

“I’m not in Paris, I left after my contract was annulled.”

Annulled aka we’re letting you go without any pay but you still technically belong to us until the length of your contract is up.

“Annulled?”

You would have thought Sarina would have told the team, but apparently not.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m retired.”

Retired was not a word that you thought should fall from a twenty four year olds mouth, but here you were.

“Retired? Where are you, y/n?”

You supposed the alcohol might have been making your tongue a little bit looser.

“In my house, in my bathroom.”

Another deep exhale, you could just picture the woman pinching the bridge of her nose, maybe even frowning.

“Your house, where?”

You picked up the bottle of alcohol, taking a break from the razor blade to allow the vodka to ease back down your oesophagus.

“St Albans.”

The line went silent for a few seconds.

“You’re back home, since when?”

Another sip of your vodka.

“Couple of weeks, France wasn’t for me.”

France was the end of you.

“How much have you been drinking? You sound awful.”

You didn’t think you sounded that bad, but you also supposed a sober person would have a different perspective.

“Vodka, feels good le.”

Another deep exhale.

“I’m going to come over.”

Rustling on the other side of the phone.

“I’m fine, I’m good, you don’t need to come over.”

You were lying to both yourself and Leah.

“You aren’t fine, you aren’t good, and even if you want to tell yourself you are, I need to see you in real life because for the last months I’ve thought you were as good as dead. Are you safe, y/n?”

You didn’t know how to answer that question, you hadn’t felt safe with yourself in what felt like forever.

“I’m not unsafe.”

More rustling on the other side of the line.

“Do I need to bring somebody with me? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

You thought about it for a few seconds.

“I’m okay Le.”

The alcohol made you feel more okay then you had been, so you supposed it wasn;t fully a lie.

“You’re drunk at 6pm, I don’t think you are fine. I’m going to go get Viv, she knows how to deal with you when you’re spiralling, I’m going to stay on the phone with you and ask you some questions, okay, I’m walking out to my car now.”

You nodded your head, the realized that Leah wasn’t in front of you.

“Answer me honestly, are you safe right now, do you feel safe?”

You didn’t feel unsafe, you kewn by the looks of things, you were in a unsafe position. Alcohol and self harm wasn’t exactly the safest thing, but you felt at peace, and you knew that you weren’t causing any serious bodily harm to yourself.

“Depends on your perspective.”

You heard the sound of car doors.

“Okay, I’ll break it down, hmm? Are you within arms reach of something that could cause harm to you or others?”

Fuck.

“Yes.”

The sound of the phone connecting to bluetooth and keys in a ignition.

“What?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Bottle of vodka and a blade.”

It wasn’t hard for you to admit, not when this had been how you’d spent all of your nights the last while.

“What kind of blade?”

You wished you’d stayed, you wished you weren’t in this position.

“Razor.”

You could feel the bile rising in your throat, whether it was alcohol related or from the cosntant questions.

“Alright, I want you to push them both as far away from you as possible, don’t look at them, don’t think about them, think about me. Now, have you caused yourself any harm?”

God, if you’d been able to stay none of this would be happening, none of it.

“Some cuts, le I think I’m going to be sick.”

The tears were full throttle, the sound of somebody’s voice that you’d missed so much in your ears and the vomit bottling itself up in your throat.

“Go to the toilet bowl, let it out.”

The taste of bile in your throat was never going to be something you enjoyed, the feeling of the new cuts along your thighs creasing as you crouched over the bowl stinging in a way that reawakened you.

The vomiting didn’t really stop, the continuous gagging being the only sound in your bathroom, beside the sound of Leah’s car.

Eventually, you finished, all of the clearish liquid mixed with your stomach acid sitting at the bottom of the bowl like a disgusting soup.

You laid down against your tiles, enjoying the cold that covered your skin.

Viv must have been picked up, because you could hear her and Beth talking in the background, beth, happy beth, beth who had once been your bestest friend.

“Bubba, you still with us, we’re just around the corner.”

You let out a groan in aggreance.

They continued to talk to you, allowing you to reply with different huffs and noises as they neared closer and closer to your home.

You ignored the hit of endorphins that you felt melt across you at the sound of your front door unlocking, Leah had kept your key, clearly.

It was a few seconds before your bathroom was crowded by the presence of your past teammates, the three sets of eyes all falling on you.

“Beth, go get a wet handwasher, Leah go get her some water.”

Viv’s voice was soft, but commanding, her body immediately gravitating to your own.

She crouched down beside you, grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you upwards, bringing you eye to eye with her.

“It’s good to have you back.”

You burst into tears, you’d hated being in St Albans out of fear that you’d be rejected, that you’d be told to go back to France, and yet here you were being welcomed back with open arms.

“I wish I’d stayed vivi, I wish I’d stayed, I wish none of this had happened, I want it all back, I want my life back. I can’t do this life anymore.”

Viv brought you into her arms.

“I know liefje, I know, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to figure it out, but we need to get you safe first, and this isn’t it. You need to be in a better place.”

If Viv had a problem with the way thart you clinged to her clothes, literally holding on for dear life, then she didn’t brign it up.

“You could have called one of us earlier you know, when you were struggling in France. You could have called me, you know I’ve been where you are, I’ve moved and hated every single part of it, we could have helped you before it had gotten this bad.”

You shook your head.

“Nobody could have helped me vivi, nothing could have helped me, I was done, I’m done.”

Viv nodded into you.

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up, and then you’ll go back to Leah’s house, and then we’ll work on fixing this, okay, Kyra’s going to be so happy to know you’re back, she’s missed you, the bloody kid hasn’t shut up about you and she only knew you for a week. Kim’s been contacting everybody, trying to figure out where you were, her little protege, she’s been hardly functioning, we all have been, you can’t just disappear on us like that, you had us all worried sick.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Really?”

Viv let go of you a bit, to get a proper look at you.

“Just because you’re forced to leave doesn’t make you any less Arsenal. You can take the girl out of arsenal but not arsenal out of the girl. No matter where you go, or what you do, you’re always going to be one of us.”

You could feel more tears beginning to form.

“I don’t know how it could have ended how it did vivi.”

You felt the Dutch take a deep breath.

“I don’t know either, but we’ve got you alright, we’ve got you now, we won’t let you leave, your staying with us forever, you took a year off of my life for everyday that you ghosted us.”

You looked down and around you, at the mostly empty vodka bottle, the blood, the scars, it all, and you didn’t know how it had all ended up like this.

“How did it all end vivi?”

Viv looked at you, just as lost as you felt.

“We’re going to figure it out.”

——————————————————————

just thought i’d end this with a little etiquette lesson for any anons xo

if you feel like dropping hate over this in my inbox… don’t.

if you feel like having a go at me for this fic… don’t.

if you feel like making personally rude arguments about me… don’t.

if you feel like having a go at for me for expressing my struggles with writing and sometimes making mistakes… don’t.

just don’t. go touch some grass, go for a run, buy a new fucking vibrator. i can guarantee you will get more pleasure from a good orgasm then dropping aimless hate in my inbox.

419 notes · View notes

nouearth · 3 days

Text

— “The Boy Next Door.”

pairing. alan ritchson x male reader headcanon.

summary. with his profile brewing in hollywood, projects are consistently lining up for alan, and the last thing he needs is a new roommate getting in the way of his stress. unless, reader finds himself becoming alan's personal stress-ball?

content warning. camboy!au, camboy!reader, top!alan, bottom!reader, food!play (cucumber as dildo), muscle worship, size difference, spitting, oral (r!giving on dildo), dirty talk, verbal, masturbation, alan and reader are roommates.

moving in.

roommate!alan who surprises you with his massive stature when he greets you on move-in day.

it was jaw-dropping. well, almost so. you were luckily aware enough to catch the slack of your jaw from relaxing any further. any second longer, and you would've been hypnotized into submission by the man's brawn physicality; massive chest, bulging arms, and thick fingers—traits you would find yourself drooling about.

"hey, uh... (m/n), right? is that how you say your last name?" "spot on! and... alan. man, your name already sounds like a celebrity, i'm jealous." "haha, hopefully the casting directors feel the same way."

roommate!alan who helps you with your luggages without a single request from your end.

aside from being eye-candy, alan utilized his muscles for the greater good and brought your belongings from the trunk of your car, to the front of your door in a matter of minutes. even when you pleaded him not to, he went on ahead while urging you to take a rest after the long drive across the city.

you complained, though half-heartedly because your ass was sore from driving all day. his massive arms were a distraction as the veins surged through every muscle of fiber like lightning.

"you really didn't need to do all of that—" "hey, you're saving me from shelling out an extra thousand by being my roommate. plus, you seem... normal? that's the least i could do." "normal? pft, i don't know about that. but i will say, your kind gestures have put you on my 'no-kill' list." "let's backpedal a bit. is it too late to kick you out?"

roommate!alan who has already taken a liking towards you in the few hours you two have spent together to unpack.

saying that people 'stared' at alan would be underplaying what they've actually done. it was a daily occurrence to catch people gawking at his stature. whether it was with astonishment, intimidation, lust, or hostility, all eyes were on him, collective eyes and gasps piecing together how a man could look the way he does. some whispered 'steroids', others envied his dedication.

as uncomfortable as it could be at times, he liked the attention knowing he'd be the subject of one's conversation to another friend.

with you, it was no different. he'd caught you several times staring at his arms from across the room. or maybe it was his shoulders? how they perfectly filled his shirt out from seam to seam? either way, you were enchanted, especially when he'd nonchalantly flex his muscles every now and then in hopes he'd catch your eye.

and he could say the same about himself when he'd catch you bent over, ass raised high while you dug inside of your boxes to unpack the remaining decor you had brought with you.

until that moment, he never noticed how much smaller you were compared to his, the top of your head barely meeting his chin if he was to line you up. how much of a desire had awakened to have you in his arms, just to see how you perfectly fit into his body.

getting to know each other.

roommate!alan who has already learned of your habits, likes and dislikes, and hobbies within a few weeks of you moving in.

it was the small stuff that you found yourself gushing over. you two almost always had dinner together on the couch. condiments on the side for you, ketchup over his fries for him.

whether it was homemade or takeout, the best memories being made between the two of you were simply eating in front of the tv and watching alan's roles despite his reluctance.

you would cheer whenever he appeared on the screen, the camera somehow making him seem smaller than he appeared to be in real life. it was impressive, and once again, you found yourself drawn to the sheer size of muscles beside you.

throbbing, even at the simplest touch, as he gave your shoulders squeeze amidst passing by you to collect your plate.

"have to head to bed early. got an audition in the morning." "awesome! was this the one you were telling me about earlier?" "yep. i worked with the director once, so fingers crossed?"

roommate!alan who can read your body language early on, and senses that you're hiding something from him.

it was that one question that either turned you into stone, or a babbling buffoon as you would try to avoid the subject.

your occupation.

he didn't know much other than the fact that you worked from home, which was why your bedroom was so intricately set up like a tech start-up.

four different types of cameras, a gaming chair, several monitors for one pc; it was intricate and honestly, alan didn't really understand it.

"so, you don't have to say yes or no, but..." "hm..?" "are you a youtuber? like, one of those tech guys who reviews new phones and stuff?" "something like that, i guess?" "is it mentally draining?" "more so... physically?"

roommate!alan who asks about your day after coming home from a shoot.

you looked exhausted, drained, wrecked—images of you that he never thought would rile him up. yet, as you groggily came out of your room with flushed skin, and a thirst that needed to be quenched, alan was equally parched just watching you recover your breath in between gulps of water.

cluttered state of mind.

roommate!alan who merely offers you a look of annoyance when you greet him after he arrives home.

you've recognized that look by now, and all you could simply provide was his dinner plate, and a sympathetic pat on the back.

"listen, i know a friend and he has a mutual that can help you—" "not in the mood right now, (m/n)." "just trying to help, alan."

roommate!alan who ends the night early, leaving you on the couch with his plate left untouched.

it was awkward, to simply put it. the show you put on happened to be the one he was auditioning for, and then ultimately flunked because he forgot his script. from the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tightening, straining, fork scraping against the ceramic plate as he pushed the fried rice in a corner, and then eastward, because that corner was empty.

though, is it wrong to say that you found it hot? if only there was a less forward and awkward way of saying, 'hey, i'd love to take your mind off of things right now. let me suck you off.'

secret unlocked.

stressed!alan who spends half-an-hour in the shower contemplating whether this career was worth it.

countless of potential roles never making it pass the call-back stage; he was growing exhausted from it. driving from city to city, filling his car with gas that would amount to nothing in the end. he could only stretch his royalties out for so much longer, and—

no, he wasn't a quitter. the last time he felt like this, the next audition was a success. if predictions are right, he'd consider this madness a sign of luck, at least for the meantime.

stressed!alan who needs something to take out his frustration on.

maybe he should head to the gym? no, he already showered. and it was already getting too late for his liking to drive back and forth at this time, even if he wasn't tired.

at the corner of his eye, his laptop glinted with a sparkle.

some good porn would fix him.

stressed!alan who has one hand down his sweats, and the other calmly scrolling through his favorite cam site.

his lips grew chapped, licking them from time to time as he watched the page load without the decency to sugar-coat its offerings. his sight was immediately assaulted with moving thumbnails of women, and men under the spell of their own lust. some squirmed from the uncontrollable feeling of being filled, while others preferred talking to their patrons, touching themselves to the pixelated smut sent through the chat.

stressed!alan who has you on his mind despite the options to choose from, and he squeezes his large balls in his hand.

the cursor maneuvered respectfully around one performer’s breasts and another’s erection in its journey to the filter list. the drop-down menu pulled open and alan checked off the men within his age range.

with a quick load, the website refreshed with a new assortment of performers, and his cock began to sprout at the moving thumbnails. his hand immediately began to feed his growing bulge with gentle squeezes and rubs as he scrolled what seemed to be endless cycle of camboys.

the sudden warmth of his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. alan removed each article within seconds, yet the flush of his skin remained, ached as it yearned for the physical touch of the seductive men beckoning him.

stressed!alan who felt the world had stopped. the heat frozen in his cheeks, his hands equally mirroring as he hovered over a familiar face. strained, orbs dilated and wandering, and holy shit—so fucking inviting.

it was you.

stressed!alan who watches your stream for a few minutes to decipher if it was truly you before shamelessly stroking his cock after he confirms that it was.

sweat dribbled over your neck and body in diverging streams. your legs were raised on their own accord, thick thighs shaking from the muscles working overdrive to keep you still and perfectly centered before your webcam.

stressed!alan who couldn't believe what he was seeing. it all made sense now, why you were so reluctant to tell what you truly did.

you were a fucking whore. a whore for the internet for everyone to goon to, to cum to. he can imagine it now, how much pleasure you'd given these men as he watched you fuck yourself with a cucumber.

and he was one of them. alan's large cock was manhandled by his hand, stroking sloppily with an ample amount of lube squeezed over the flesh of throbbing muscle.

all those memories of you looking so wrecked came fluttering in. you looked wrecked because you were fucking wrecked.

by a fucking cucumber.

and alan has never been so envious of a vegetable despite eating them on a daily.

you were plunging your tight hole with a long cucumber, slickly lubed from the condom over the girth of the green plant. with every push of your wrist, your legs caved into the pressure to set themselves down, but every time the crown of the plant pressed into your prostate, you were reminded of the viewers who had been donating, their pop-up messages urging you to keep them up 'like a good boy.'

stressed!alan who jerks himself off to the rhythm of your wrist.

every time you sank the thick cucumber inside of you, alan paced himself to match your tempo, plunging himself into his closed fist, mimicking your refusing hole by opening his fingers one-by-one, until he had fully breached through.

stressed!alan who mutters to himself, who mutters words that you couldn't hear because you were busy pleasuring yourself for hundreds of men watching you.

"fuck yeah, take that dick..." "too big for you?" "fuck, we'll make it fit."

stressed!alan who imagines himself fucking into you.

he knew his cock was big. he'd been told countless of times, by men and women, and lots of time, they would quit a few minutes in because it was just too much.

but you, he was certain that you were able to take him. because—fuck—alan was bigger than that cucumber you were fucking yourself open with. it needed a glorious amount of lube, like what you had displayed before him, dripping heavily from your abused cavity, but luckily, you had experience in handling big sizes, right?

you'd take him, like the 'good boy' the users were spamming in the chatbox. you'd take him with your eyes forced shut from him stretching you out. from alan's impatience and reluctance to wait for you to adjust to him, because he's fucking furious at you.

why didn't you tell him sooner? why were you hiding this from him? how could you be so selfish and leave him blue-balled whenever you'd come out in those shorts of yours? teasing him with the smallest glimpse of your inner thighs?

if he could ever lay his hands on you, he'd show no mercy. fucking your ass doggy-style till your cheeks clapped. plunging you with his cock as you spread your legs open for him. locking your throat with his arm while he's under you, your back pressed to his chest, rendering you trapped within his embrace. you'd take his cock in every position, in every state, whether you'd like it or not, because you were a good, fucking, boy.

stressed!alan who spits on his cock because you began simultaneously filling your mouth up with a dildo.

spit. god, there was so much spit coming out of your mouth. you loved pushing yourself to the limit, alan could see it. the light leaving your eyes whenever you pushed the dildo a little too far to the back of your throat. that could be his cock, if you let him.

he imagined how warm your mouth would be. how perfectly shaped it's made for his thick, meaty cock. he had the perfect curve to make it a struggle to swallow him down, but like he noticed, you loved a challenge, didn't you?

alan's cock was plump, and beaten red in his hand. noises similar to the sound of you sucking off the dildo were made with his hand, his spit and lube sloshing together in a lewd symphony that could be heard from your room if you'd learn to shut up.

"choke on it, gag on that fucking dick..." "fuck yeah, spit on it." "good fucking boy."

stressed!alan who's nearing his climax from watching you tease the camera with your hole.

you repeated countless of profanities after every plunge of the cucumber flushing deep inside of you. you made sure to buy the girthiest one; they loved seeing your asshole gape at the end of the stream. twisting your wrist, you could feel the subtle ridges of the cucumber, violating your guts with its nature, and it was all-so glorious. the size, the texture, the viewers, the sound of donations coming in, the ‘thank you’ messages after for making them come; you were a true star within this community and it evidently showed when you finally hit your donation goal for the night.

alan fucked his fist, nearly coming to the sight of your gaping hole when you yanked the cucumber out of you like a sword-wielding knight ready to slay a dragon.

it was beautiful, watching you desperately hold onto the physical being of the cucumber, but all there was to it in the end was the memory of its girth. your hole was perfectly molded it, clenching and pursing, blowing fluttering kisses to the camera, to alan.

and if it was up to him, he'd ram his cock into you by now, not letting a second to spare in fucking you until your muscles felt like jelly, because fuck, you were so enticing like this. head lolled back, mouth open with your tongue hanging out as if you had a dripping cock to catch its cum above you.

the sound of donations kept chiming in, and alan knew he wasn't alone in this enchantment.

one more hit to your prostate, and you came undone in seconds. thick spurts of cum shot at your chest from your current position, then at your face when you raised your hips a little higher and pumped your cock with a ravishing fist. the sound of donations rang like a police siren. if you were being profiled for a crime, it was because you couldn’t hold in your cum any longer like one user had begged for you to.

stressed!alan who perfectly aligns his orgasm with yours and blows multiple loads on the screen on his laptop. his moans came out in hushed stutters, countering your choked whimpers that would then break out into begs for cum.

"fuck, fuck, fuck. i need your cum, i need it. give me all of it, fuck. all over my body. in my ass. on my face. i need that load."

his cum came out in thick, pulsating ropes, flying forward to land on the image of you resuming to fuck yourself to your audience's collective orgasm. this time, at a closer view, as you centered the camera to fill the stream with a screenful of ass and a gaping hole. it was your fans' favorite part of the stream, the chat exploding in several fire emojis and astonishment as you showed your pretty insides blooming for thick, endless spunk.

it was hypnotizing, almost as if you were really there before him.

with one hand, alan brought his laptop in between his legs, and smeared his own cum over the blooming resolution of his screen. feigning a breeding, he slides his cock over his cum, over his laptop screen, while you moaned in the background, begging lewdly for cum, to be filled, to be bred, to be dripping, to be fucked, and alan doesn't know what came over him, but another load automatically came out of him like some kind of spell.

"h-holy shit..." "fuck, yeah... give me that load, all your load... are my fans breeding me right now?"

alan painted you until you were practically hidden beneath the layers of his orgasm. translucent white blurred the screen, but he could still make out your silhouette. sitting now, exhausted, wrecked, evidently too tired to be bothered to clean up the mess you made on your body.

and just like that, his head felt lighter. all of his worries had left with every dump of load over your pixelated hole, and yours as well, as you leaned back to catch your breath with your eyes closed. his breathing matched the pace of yours, together, collectively, and all he could do was shortly laugh at the situation before him.

roommate!alan who greets you in the morning with a strange smirk as you made yourself breakfast.

"i can see why your job is physically draining now." "hm?" you yawned. "what are you talking—"

roommate!alan who pulls out a cucumber from the fridge, and cuts it into thin slices for his morning smoothie.

"i-i can explain—" "you can make it up to me tonight."

he popped a slice into his mouth after.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#✰ : nou.fics #alan ritchson x male reader #alan ritchson x reader #alan ritchson x m!reader #alan ritchson x you #alan ritchson x y/n #alan ritchson imagine #x you #x reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #✰ : nou.celebs #✰ : nou.alanritchson

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lilasamaaa · 3 days

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A lapse in judgement | Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Angst (of course), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.

Word count | 3.8K

Warnings | Mention of sexual activities, rejection.

Summary | The long-awaited dinner with your in-laws doesn't go as planned... Will you and your boyfriend manage to change their minds about your relationship?

Author's note | I'm back, bitches! This lovely prompt was requested, thank you for the idea Anon! I hope you all like it, please let me know what you think! ✨ (not proofread lmao)

Being the new girlfriend after the one who got away fucking sucks. Even when your lover was the one to end things. It's quite something to be the girl after the one he was supposed to spend his life with. Get married with. Have kids with. You wouldn't wish anyone to be in your place. Yet, here you are, all because you fell in love with him. Carlos Sainz. Him and his doe eyes. His impeccable hair. His charming smile. Frankly, you didn't stand a chance.

You knew who he was, of course. Formula 1 is among your fondest childhood memories, sitting in front of the TV with your siblings and parents. Each Grand Prix was a household event, and you could never bring yourself to part with the Ferrari-colored jacket you wore every race Sunday. It's been years since you've fit into it, but the memory is too precious. So, yes, you knew who he was. And you recognized him immediately when he walked through the door of your workplace, sunglasses perched on his nose.

You don't follow Formula 1 as closely as before. Just enough to keep up with the news. You don't pretend not to know who he is. What's the point in pretending?

"Back from Monza already?" you ask, wiping your hands on a clean towel.

He smiles. A polite smile, but one that seems to indicate he's not keen on chatting. Or at least, not about that. You ask him what he'd like, and he asks for anything with soy milk in it. He orders two, to go, and you smile again. Okay, you think. Understood. The exchange lasts no more than two minutes, and soon, the driver exits the coffee shop, leaving behind a lingering woody scent.

Weeks pass without crossing paths with him again, and honestly, the encounter has completely slipped your mind. That one early morning, though, you're sitting at one of the café tables, contemplating new drinks, new recipes to implement based on some customer feedback, when the little bell chimes behind you. You definitely need to stop leaving the door open to let the floor dry after your morning cleaning session.

You turn around, ready to inform the friendly customer that the café doesn't open for another twenty minutes, when you catch his gaze.

"I know you're not open yet," he starts, putting both hands in front of him. "I saw the sign. But I really need some coffee, and all the other shops are closed."

"I suppose I can make an exception for such an emergency," you say as you rise from your seat, smiling kindly at him. "What can I get you?"

"I don't remember the name of what you made for me last time, but it was incredible. There was..."

"Soy milk?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on it," you say, turning around. "Two?" you ask, feeling like you already know the answer.

"Yes, please."

You hurry behind the bar, preparing the two coffees, and you place them in front of him a few seconds later. He takes out his phone to pay and places it on the terminal, which emits a soft "beep." Then, he picks up one of the coffees before sliding the second one towards you.

"This one's for you," he says, and you barely manage to hide your surprise.

"Oh," you say. "If I had known, I wouldn't have charged you for the second one."

"But it wouldn't have been the same, then. I wouldn't have offered it to you," the driver says, winking at you before taking a step back. "Thank you so much for the favor. Have a good day!"

With that, he's gone. As you sip your hot coffee slowly, you wonder when you'll see him again next time. But already, your employees arrive and pull you from your thoughts.

"That guy outside kinda looked like Carlos Sainz, no?" Lucia, one of them, asks while tying her apron.

"You've seen him? I thought so, too," you reply with a smile.

The next time you see him is the exact opposite. You've just bid your last employee a good evening, and you're putting the chairs up on the tables in preparation for the morning cleanup. A knock on the storefront makes you look up, and you smile when you see him. You open the door, and he slips inside, slightly damp from the light rain falling outside.

"Have you ever heard of opening hours?" you ask while wiping down the countertop.

"Can't say I have," he replies with a grin, the sight making your stomach flutter.

"I think congratulations are in order," you begin, throwing the towel over your shoulder. "That was a clean win in Singapore."

"Thank you. It might be a bit late for a coffee, but would you like to grab a drink with me?"

The proposition takes you by surprise.

"Like? Right now?"

"Yeah. Right now. I know a place not far from here."

"Aren't you afraid of being seen or something?" you ask, arching a brow.

"Never with beautiful women, no."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. You've been living in Spain for ten years, yet you don't think you'll ever get used to the natural flirty nature of its inhabitants.

"Give me ten minutes to change and close up, and I'll join you," you say, while he nods, sitting on one of the bar stools.

Carlos takes you to a dancing bar, obviously run by friends since he spends five minutes shaking hands and greeting everyone as you enter. He leads you to the back of the bar, to a secluded corner where the music is much quieter, and you can actually have a conversation. You have no idea what to say. Where do you even start with a Formula 1 driver? Someone whose life is so different, so far removed from yours. Sensing your discomfort, Carlos takes the lead, asking you questions about your café, (Did you open it by yourself?) and about your life. (Where are you from? You have an accent).

The evening passes, and the drinks flow until you find yourselves tightly pressed together on the dance floor. You're back against his chest. His hands on your hips. Yours on his neck. Swaying to the rhythm of the music, all senses heightened. His lips don't take long to seek yours, and from the wall of the bar against which he pins you, you transition to his mattress, his warm body pressed against yours.

You don't sleep much that night. You don't know if you'll ever have the chance to see him again. To have him like that again. So, you lavish your lips on his, your body against his. And in the early morning, as you wake up entangled in each other's arms, and you almost expect him to kick you out... He climbs back on top of you instead, pressing warm kisses against your mouth, your collarbones, your navel... You arrive at the café thirty minutes late, with bags under your eyes. It's never happened before, and your employees are so surprised that none of them even think to joke about your poor state.

You don't hear a word from him for the next ten days. Occasionally, you glance at the app you downloaded, which informs you about upcoming races. You know he's in Qatar. You try not to let the little voice in your head win. The one that laughs at you. That tells you that you'll never see him again. He's working, you think. He's busy. Your life goes on, though you can't help but watch for him early in the morning and late at night, your eyes lingering on the storefront.

Then, one day, he comes back. Right in the middle of the shift. Seeing him walk into the café, Lucia lets out a scream and drops the cup she was holding. "Dios mio," she says, clutching her heart. Several seated customers turn around, but nobody seems to pay attention to the tall brunette with caramel eyes whose gaze is fixated on you, from across the counter.

"Soy milk?" you ask, trying to contain your smile.

"Yes, please. Only one."

And then, he starts coming every day. Every day he's not on the other side of the world, that is. By his seventh visit, Lucia can almost serve him his coffee without spilling any, her hands shaking so much.

Outside of the café, the two of you slowly start going to museums. To restaurants. To the cinema. But there's one place you both prefer. His bed. You spend hours there, exploring each other's bodies or talking about everything and nothing. Exchanging thousands of kisses or sharing your worst childhood embarrassments. Moaning against each other or talking about your very first pet. And one evening, as you were recounting how your respective parents had met, he asks you the question.

"Speaking of that, would you like to meet them?"

Your heart skips a beat. It's been six months since you've been seeing each other. Since you've been exclusive. Since you've been a couple, in reality, even if neither of you has dared to say the word. That one, and the other. The one that starts with an L. Even though you know you do... And you sense he does too.

"I don't know," you say, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Have you talked to your family about us?"

"Of course," Carlos says, pressing a kiss to your head. "They know I've been seing someone. And they know it's serious."

"Do they even want to meet me?"

"They haven't asked, if that's your question," your boyfriend replies. "But they never have, with anyone. They know it's something I like to do at my own pace."

You nod, and a few minutes later, the fateful dinner is set for the following Saturday. Already, the ball of anxiety that has lodged itself in your stomach grows. And soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the door of the imposing Sainz mansion, your throat tight and your hand sweaty in Carlos'.

"Relax," the driver says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before stroking your thumb. "They're not that bad."

Carlos knocks on the door, and a young woman opens it before jumping into your boyfriend's arms. You recognize her instantly from the pictures in Carlos' phone. Blanca. As if pronouncing her name in your head had reminded her of your existence, Blanca turns her head, smiling politely in your direction.

"Nice to meet you," she says rather blankly before gesturing for you two to come inside.

You encounter his other sister, Ana, in the hallway a few seconds later. She isn't much warmer, not even offering a smile and simply saying "Welcome" before rushing to hug her brother. The reception from the two women surprises you a little, and doesn't really help you feel confident about the evening. Carlos doesn't seem phased by the situation, helping you out of your coat before guiding you to the living room where the two young women have already disappeared. You're about to walk through the door when your eyes stop on a series of frames hung across from the front door. Your heart skips a beat. Feeling you come to a halt, Carlos stops as well, following your gaze.

"Fucking hell," your boyfriend says before taking the frame off the wall and placing it upside down on the buffet below. "I'm sorry. This photo has been there for so long that they probably don't even notice it anymore," he adds, his tone apologetic.

You know he's trying to reassure you, but his words have the opposite effect. You've briefly talked about your exes. Well, more about his. Isa. The girl he was with for seven fucking years. The one his parents loved so much. Seeing a photo of them together right before meeting your in-laws is like a knife to the heart. A reminder that you're the new girl. The one replacing her. You muster a smile that you know is fake at Carlos before continuing on your way. As you arrive in the living room, his two parents stand up from the couch, rushing to their son to hug him.

The embraces last a few seconds, until they turn to you. You greet them politely, handing his mother a huge bouquet of flowers and his father a bottle of fine wine, as they thank you with strained smiles.

"I also brought chocolates from my shop for you," you continue, turning to his sisters sitting at the dining table. "They're from a small producer in Andalusia, a real treat..."

"How kind of you," Blanca says dryly.

You miss the glance that Carlos shoots his sister, behind you. A stern look. One that scream "be careful". One Blanca pretends not to see.

"Let's sit down," Carlos' mother announces, gesturing for everyone to take a seat.

Intimidated, you stick close to Carlos, sitting next to him. The table is beautiful, adorned with fine porcelain and various flowers. You smile as you spot silver napkin rings and pick up the one in front of you. Your next breath gets caught in your throat when your eyes land on the letters engraved in the metal. Isabel.

"Ah yes, sorry," Ana begins, following your gaze. "We didn't have time to make a new one. I hope you don't mind."

"It's fine," you say, looking up and smiling at her.

"So, dear, what do you do?" Carlos' father asks. "Carlos told us about a café, but we didn't quite understand."

"I opened my own café a few years ago. We also serve fresh pastries that I bake every morning. It's really taking off; I have several employees now, and I'm planning to open a second one soon..."

"Did you study culinary arts?" her mother asks.

"Uh, no, I don't have any degree," you reply with a nervous laugh. "School just wasn't my thing."

Ana and Blanca exchange a glance, and you lower your head, feeling your cheeks flush. You feel Carlos' hand on your thigh, and you cast him a grateful glance, which he doesn't see, his eyes fixed on his sisters.

"And so, the two of you met at the café, is that right?" his father resumes.

"Yes, that's right," you reply with a smile. "In May, the first time."

"In May?" Ana asks, looking at her brother. "Weren't you still with Isa?"

"Are we gonna mention her all night?" Carlos snaps.

"It's just a question, no need to get upset," Ana replies, rolling her eyes.

"Did you know who he was?" Blanca asks, holding your gaze.

"Uh, yeah, I recognized him. But I served him like any other customer," you recount.

"It must be weird," Ana continues, as your attention turns from her sister to her. "To see a celebrity walk into your little café."

"It's actually not so little," Carlos says. "It's pretty well-known in Madrid. Lots of customers."

"Never been," Blanca says curtly.

Carlos's mother gestures for her daughters to follow her, and the three women disappear in the kitchen before returning a few minutes later with their hands full of various dishes.

"Carlos told us you love to eat," his mother continues, giving you a genuine smile. "It's good that he didn't choose a very slender girl, for once," she adds, as you tilt your head. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

"What are your plans after the café?" Carlos' father asks, chewing on a piece of chicken. "Now that this first project has worked out?"

"I beg your pardon?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"What are you going to do with your life now?" Ana asks.

"Well... I'm going to keep running the café? It's my sanctuary, my biggest project. I'm so proud of it, I'm not going to give it all up now."

"Oh," his father replies, eyeing you. "I'd understood it was temporary. That you were a kind of investor."

"No," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "That's... That's what I do."

The silence falls over the table, punctuated by the clinking of utensils. After a short while, Carlos's mother clears her throat, meeting your gaze.

"Forgive our questions. We're curious to get to know the person Carlos shares his life with. You have to understand, after seven years... You always know what you've lost, but you can never know what you've gained."

"And that was quite a loss," Blanca chimes in, sipping on her wine.

"You can't trust anyone these days. You never know if they love you for you or for your wallet," Ana states, looking at her perfectly manicured nails.

"Or your contact list," Blanca adds, shooting a glance your way.

"Okay," Carlos suddenly says, throwing his napkin on the table before getting up. "That's enough. We're leaving."

"What?" you say, looking up at him.

"They're clearly not ready for this. We'll come back when they finally understand that my ex is just that - my ex. Get your things, love."

You stand up, feeling your legs tremble, as Carlos' hand find the small of your back, pushing you towards the hallway.

"Don't be ridiculous," his mother says, standing up as well. "You can't expect us to forget seven years just like that."

"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to respect my partner. But apparently, that's too difficult."

A few seconds later, Carlos is backing out of his parents' driveway, one arm around your seat, his gaze fixed on the rear window. In the passenger seat, you fidget with your fingers, staring at your hands and biting your lip nervously. His brows are furrowed. Jaw clenched. None of you exchange a word until you hit the main road, headlights from passing cars casting shadows on your faces.

"I'm so sorry," he finally says, stroking your thigh. "If I had known..."

"You couldn't," you reply, placing your hand on his. "I don't blame them. Seven years is no small thing."

Turning his head, his gaze meets yours.

"I won't pretend that those seven years didn't matter to me, that they meant nothing. Even though I don't have any romantic feelings for her anymore, she will always be a part of me in some way," he says, as you feel your heart tighten in your chest. "But she no longer occupies my thoughts. She's no longer imprinted under my eyelids. It's not her fingers that give me chills, her voice that makes my heart race. All day long, I think about you. I talk about you. Even at night, I dream of you. You're right beside me, so close, and yet it's not enough. You still find a way to get closer, to flow through my veins, to infiltrate every breath, every heartbeat."

"Sometimes I wish I could see myself through your eyes. That girl sounds exceptional," you say, laughing as you wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes."

"She's quite something," he replies, eyes on the road. "I can't wait for them to realize."

After the disastrous first encounter with your in-laws, over six months pass before Carlos comes join you on the terrace of your shared hotel room in Jeddah, placing a coffee in front of you. Bending down to sit beside you, the pilot winces, a hand on his stomach.

"Are you okay?" you ask, running your hand through his hair.

"I feel so fucking sick," your boyfriend says, a painful grimace on his face.

"Shouldn't you see a doctor, babe?" you ask, stroking his arm. "You look awfully pale. And you haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"I can't keep anything down," Carlos replies, throwing his head back before closing his eyes.

"Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro," you start, earning a small grin from your boyfriend.

"I just love when you call me that."

"There's no way you're getting in that car tomorrow," you insist.

You didn't think you'd be so right. Well, not to this extent. Hurrying through the corridors of the hospital, two large aluminum trays in each hand, you dodge doctors and nurses along the way, weaving through visitors until you reach the door marked with the number you're looking for. You knock on the door, slipping inside before turning around to close it behind you.

"I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I got both," you begin, still facing the door, handle in hand. "The paella was quite easy to find, but I admit I had to cross the entire city for..." your sentence dies in your throat when, turning around, your eyes meet those of your mother-in-law. Then your father-in-law's. And your two sisters-in-law, crowded in Carlos' small hospital room.

"Oh," you utter, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be there. I'll leave you alone," you start, turning around once again.

"No! Stay," Carlos' mother says, rising to take the trays from you.

"We're really happy to see you again," his father says, rising as well to embrace you. "Carlos was telling us how well you took care of him. Thank you so much for being there."

"That's the least I could do," you reply, feeling intimidated. "He would have done the same for me."

"I may love you, but I'm not sure I would have slept in that armchair. Or changed your blood-soaked bandage," Carlos replies, eyes half-closed, still under the influence of anesthesia.

"You did what?" Blanca asks, turning to look at you, eyes wide.

"Well, his nurse was busy and it started leaking," you shrug.

"You slept here?" his father asks.

"They wouldn't let me at first, but I didn't feel like leaving him alone in a foreign hospital."

"She annoyed the staff so much they just gave up on throwing her out," your boyfriend lets out in a laugh.

"I didn't annoy anybody," you reply quickly, fearing what his family might think.

"You threatened an intern to tie yourself to the chair."

"I didn't do that," you half-laugh, shooting your boyfriend a warning look.

Seated on the side of Carlos' bed, bickering with your boyfriend while running your hand through his hair in a loving gesture, you don't see the glance exchanged between the Sainz family.

"We were thinking about something, before you arrived..." Ana begins, her eyes finding yours. For the first time, you're not met with her harsh, cold gaze, but with gentle eyes. "We have a family house in Mallorca. We thought it would be nice to all go there together, so Carlos can recover in peace. We would be very happy if you joined us."

"It'll be a chance for us to get to know you. And to apologize for our pathetic behavior last time."

"Carlos chose you," his mother starts, smiling warmly at you. "And we all understand why."

You could cry with happiness at the thought of finally being accepted, being welcomed into the family of the person you've shared your life with for almost a year now. At no longer being the new girl. The one after the love of his life.

At the though of maybe, simply being the one.

The real one, this time.

#f1 #f1 2024 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #cs55 x you #cs55 x reader #carlos sainz x female reader #cs55 x female reader #formula1 imagine #formula1 #formula one

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crushmeeren · 2 days

Text

Bakugou/Fem Reader/Kirishima

Werewolf Scenario — MDNI

Warnings; some mild descriptions of fighting/being in pain, brief mentions of blood, cursing, praise/reader is called a good girl, oral sex, mating press

Everyone involved is 18+/aged up — if that bothers you, scroll on or block me.

••••••••

It’s boiling.

Fucking sweltering.

Your eyes snap open, the stifling heat stirring you into a reluctant form of consciousness.

You glance down, only to be met with a face full of damp red hair that could only belong to your boyfriend Eijirou.

Who apparently has taken it upon himself to use your shoulder as a pillow.

The man is a goddamn furnace.

Of course, you’re privy as to why he’s so feverish. It’s the same burning itch that lurks just below the surface of your own skin.

This past week you’ve been counting down the days until the full moon — and there’s only one left.

Plus, it’s only Eijirou’s third time dealing with his shift — so his control over his body is shaky at best.

Katsuki being the pack leader, has much more experience and insight dealing with the shift than you do.

Hence the reason you’ve all made sure he’ll be home tomorrow night to ensure it goes smoothly.

Groaning, you unstick yourself from the entirely too sweaty body clinging to you. Your nose scrunches in discomfort as you unwind the hefty weight of Eijirou’s arm from your waist and untangle your legs.

You shove at Eijirou’s shoulder, mumbling for him to get his heavy ass off.

Said man doesn’t stir, softly sighing and turning over to face the wall.

Limbs sluggish with sleep you push up onto your elbows, then up until you’re sitting on your butt.

You kick off the suffocating covers and lean backwards onto the headboard in hopes for better airflow to cool off.

It would be unbelievably helpful to have Todoroki’s quirk right now.

You decide to study the room to distract yourself, admiring the way the moonlight has bled in. Illuminating certain shapes as you bask in the peaceful stillness of the night.

It’s not as if the darkness hinders you either way. Seeing as your eyesight is just as sharp in the night.

What with your…..condition.

Using the back of your hand to wipe the sweat off of your forehead your thoughts trail to Katsuki. Curious as to how his patrol is fairing.

You lean over and tap the screen of your phone where it rests on your side table.

The light from the screen is on the edge of blinding, making you wince and partially shield your eyes.

Why the fuck do I keep it so bright?

You fumble to put it in dark mode, reading the last vague and aggressive message Katsuki sent.

Katsuki 🧡

“I’d rather chew off my own motherfucking arm than be on patrol with icy hot right now.”

A startled bark of laughter pushes past your lips.

Eijirou shifts restlessly behind you, but you pay him no mind. He tosses and turns frequently in his sleep this close to shifting.

You read over the text again. You know Katsuki doesn’t mean that. He and Todoroki are fairly decent friends these days.

You reply swiftly.

After setting your phone down and scooting underneath the blankets, you promptly flop onto your back in an attempt to get comfortable.

You debate whether or not to cuddle up to Eijirou, but decide against it. Waking up drenched in sweat does not appeal to you.

As you start to drift off, the rhythmic lull of crickets outside your window helps your mind quiet once again. Lids drooping as your breathing begins to even out.

Crack.

You blink a few times in rapid succession, instantly on guard. You cautiously stay still, ears twitching and listening for the familiar sound.

Crack.

A blistering chill rushes through your blood as you recognize the unwanted tell tale sound of bones breaking.

Crack. Snap!

Your pulse jackrabbits so violently your heart may bruise your rib cage.

Please for the love of God don’t let this be what I think it is. The full moon isn’t until tomorrow night!

Eijirou suddenly cries out. A keening, wounded noise that’s wrenched from the pits of his chest.

Before you can register it, you’re sitting up straight. Spine stiffening as you turn and watch Eijirou with mounting horror.

It’s not unlike witnessing twin snakes slithering, shifting urgently as Eijirou’s own spine breaks and rearranges for a body that’s far less human.

“Ei,” you whisper frantically, by his side in an instant. Your chest squeezes, adrenaline forcing the hair on your arms to stand on end. You shake his shoulder roughly, brushing the hair that’s sticking to his forehead away with your free hand. “Eijirou.”

He whines a jumbled version of your name before going stock still. You freeze alongside him, hyper aware of your shuddering exhales.

Dread settles over you, stomach dropping as you listen to Eijirou’s newly forming claws rip and shred the sheet next to him.

A low rumble starts up in his chest, slowly clawing its way up to emanate from his throat.

Your stomach knots up realizing it’s too late for you to help him keep even a sliver of coherence through this.

Your fingers unwillingly twitch where they’re tangled in Eijirou’s hair. His growl intensifies, a stiff warning embedded in it.

Hands shaking, you carefully shift your gaze down to his side profile, catching the untamed fury twisting his features.

It’s abhorrent and unnatural the way it replaces his normal cheerfulness.

The sudden fierce instinctive urge to fight Eijirou knocks around inside your mind so roughly you get lightheaded.

Eijirou’s already side eyeing you menacingly. His iris glows a pale yellow rather than the cherry red it usually is.

There’s a few seconds of silence, tension suffocating as you weigh your only two options.

Fight or flight?

With no hesitation, you lunge towards the side table closest to you. Barely managing to grab your phone as you start launching to your feet to get away.

Eijirou’s claws sink in brutally, taking a decent chunk from your outer thigh as you skirt out of his deadly range.

The explosive searing sensation of your flesh ripping wrenches all the air from your lungs.

Crimson sprays the otherwise pristine sheets as you stagger upright to your feet.

You whip around with a snarl that bounces off your bedroom walls. Anger making your entire body flash white hot.

The instinctual pulse to return the favor and give Eijirou a nasty scar is all consuming and you know your own eyes are flashing yellow.

Eijirou leaps towards you without missing a beat and you all but sprint through the door. Slamming it shut and twisting the lock right as the redhead rams into it.

It locks from the outside for a reason.

You stumble forward, struggling to ignore the borderline unbearable pain lancing through your leg and place a hand on the couch to steady yourself.

Your mind races, warm liquid trailing from your wound down your leg and pooling between your toes. You want to gag.

You can’t fucking think straight.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Taking a singular fortifying breath as you clench your phone in a fist.

The sides start to give and it reminds you not to obliterate the thing, as well as why you snagged it in the first place — to text Katsuki so you have a chance in hell of coming out this night alive.

With trembling hands you text the blonde a short yet urgent message.

Eijirou is shifting. 911. Hurry.

A deafening bang makes you jump a foot into the air, nails automatically sharpening into points.

You chance a peak at the door. Fear prickles at the base of your skull as the behemoth on the other side splinters it down the middle.

You briefly recall when Eijirou turned 21, shifting for the first time.

It was only a mere three months ago. He was the last one out of the three of you to do so, but he wasn’t as violent as he is now.

It was messy and there were a lot of tears, but you’d trade this scenario for that one in a heartbeat.

Shifting is always erratic in the beginning, but you were sure Eijirou would be the more laid back type.

Apparently not.

You shake your head to clear the unhelpful memories when Eijirou’s frustrated howl cuts through them.

You glance at the front door with a scowl. You can’t very well go outside and take a half shifted, out of control werewolf into the neighborhood.

You’re not even wearing any damn pants.

You veto the forest as an option as well. Mainly because Katsuki will inevitably find you and Eijirou torn to pieces before the sun rises.

Steeling your resolve, you submit to the fact that you’ll have to put up as much of a fight against Eijirou as you’re able to until Katsuki saves you.

The deep gashes in your thigh scream in protest when you shuffle behind the coffee table, placing the couch and it between you and the door.

You preemptively mourn the loss of your phone and toss it aside, bracing yourself in a defensive stance.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Any second now.

The door is on its last legs.

One more heave and it splits entirely, debris flying in all directions. Eijirou forces his body through the opening, face distorted, half shifted with claws and fangs to match.

He snarls furiously when his gaze lands on your defensive form. You return the sentiment, making him aware you’re challenging him.

The icy sensation of fear continues to rush through your limbs, mixing dangerously with a barely suppressed fury that you’re unable to ignore.

You curse any and everything known to mankind and pray you’re able to keep him contained until Katsuki arrives.

Biting the bullet you take a running start towards Eijirou, sidestepping the coffee table. You’re hell bent on getting the first punch in.

His reflexes mirror yours. Using the backrest of the couch to jump and propel himself at you like a shot.

The collision is excruciating. One of your ribs has cracked from the force — you’re sure of it.

Eijirou’s got enough weight on you that the impact sends you both careening backwards, slamming onto the coffee table before rolling off with a thump as you connect with the ground.

Eijirou crushes you when you land and you shove a palm into his cheek and wrench his head to the side.

You desperately sink your teeth into the muscle where Eijirou’s neck meets his shoulder, hoping the pain will allow him to snap out of it.

He wails, the sound distorted from mutating vocal chords. He thrashes in your grip. Tearing away and ripping his flesh in the process.

The metallic scent chokes you. Blood is splattered everywhere, and your brain is starting to get fuzzy a long the edges as you lose yourself to the wolf.

Somehow, you’re able to tuck your feet under Eijirou’s stomach. Pressing into the firm muscle there and sending him flying.

You scramble to your feet, crouching low. Your upper lip raises to bare your teeth, aiming a violent snarl at Eijirou. The red head is on his hands and knees in an instant.

You’re royally pissed — and simultaneously terrified.

You don’t want to endure this atrocious situation any longer than absolutely necessary.

Sucking air back into your lungs your chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut before refocusing on Eijirou with intensity.

Like a mantra, you repeat to yourself just survive until Katsuki is here. Just survive until Katsuki is here.

You and Eijirou once again morph into a mess of blood and punches and viscious bites, hanging onto your consciousness by a thread.

——————————

Your head pounds. Wickedly throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Your brain seems to stick to the insides of your skull.

The wind whistles softly around you, tickling your skin and you realize you’re outside. Naked.

Peeling your eyes open, the cloudless blue sky burns as it peaks through the tree tops. You blink a few times to clear your blurry vision, shifting slightly on your back.

You’re positive you must’ve been run over by a truck. The all over bone deep ache is proof by itself.

Sighing, you concede to the soreness that begs you to keep lounging on the ground. Joints creaking when you bend your elbow, you brush over the close to healed claw marks on your thigh.

The wound smarts, a searing heat flaring down your leg.

Fuck Eijirou, you really did a number on me.

You go limp, melting into the soft grass and damp top layer of soil for a bit longer.

Bits and pieces of your memory spring to the forefront as you contemplate the utter bullshit you had to deal with the night before.

Katsuki appearing like a bat out of hell when he burst through the door and rescued you from certain doom.

Eijirou completing his shift and settling into the form of a beautiful russet colored wolf.

Katsuki’s carmine eyes aglow as he and Eijirou duked it out — until he was able to corral the other down into the basement.

Katsuki had locked the door with finality, and you knew you wouldn’t see either of them for hours.

You remember shivering with rage, bloody and damn near beaten to a pulp. Pulling splinters from way too many sensitive areas.

You had taken off into the woods right after, bearing the excruciating shift and running for miles as the wolf.

Now, here you are.

Naked and internally debating with yourself to get the hell up and make the horrendous trek back to your home.

Honestly, you don’t want to see either of them right now. Eijirou will be distraught with guilt and it’s just —

You’re still irate about the entire ordeal.

You curse aloud, pushing to your feet at a snails pace. Gently stretching and taking note of the new bruises you’re sporting.

There’s a lot of dried blood.

A lot.

————————————

Once you make it back into your living room, you’re not at all shocked to see the mess from the night before had miraculously disappeared.

The pathetic remains of the bedroom door have been taken away. All the blood has been cleaned.

At least your coffee table survived the battle.

You sigh in relief. Thank God for Katsuki, he would never dream of leaving a crime scene behind.

Sniffing the air, the familiar scents of your partners have gone stale. They must not have wanted to linger, opting to give you some space.

You’re grateful. As it allows you time to shower and sleep.

You scrub your skin under the spray of hot water. Collecting your thoughts as you comb the birds nest that has become your hair. Wincing each time you press too hard on a bruise or soap stings your wounds.

Hopefully you’ll be mostly healed by the time you wake up.

A soft warmth blooms in your chest when you reach your bed.

Eijirou has left you one of his T-shirts to wear and Katsuki’s favorite blanket is tangled in with the others.

And one of them had found your missing phone, placing it on the charger and letting it rest on the side table.

You’re a zombie slipping into Eijirou’s too large shirt. The thinning, worn, and soft material brushes your thighs.

When you lay down, you bring the collar of Eijirou’s shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply and letting the scent of fresh rainfall wash over you.

You pull Katsuki’s blanket up over your shoulders. The sweet smell of orange and cinnamon fills your senses, relaxing you entirely.

You’re out like a light before you know it.

————————————

They come home late into the afternoon. Obnoxiously loud and cheerful — at least on Eijirou’s part.

Your stomach clenches as their voices grow closer.

You’ve been resting as much as possible, cuddled up and barely paying attention to the movie flickering across the screen.

You’d taken the past few hours to reflect. As you cooled off you knew it wasn’t really Eijirou’s fault, that he was just as petrified as you had been.

It’s not as if you’d never gone off the deep end in the beginning, and Eijirou was there for you. With no hesitation.

You made up your mind that reconciling with Eijirou was your first priority when they returned.

Eijirou passes through the makeshift curtain door first. His eyes get comically large, footsteps halting when he spots you.

The short silence is unpleasant, and Eijirou shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. Unsure of what he should do next.

You offer him an awkward, tight lipped smile, along with a small wave and his tense composure disintegrates.

Within the second he’s making haste to crawl up on the bed and get to you.

All the built up frustration bubbles to the surface, stinging the backs of your eyes as you fist the blanket.

“Baby,” Eijirou breathes, voice cracking as you sit up and slip your arms around his neck when he reaches you.

He tugs you close, clinging to your waist with one arm and cradling the base of your skull with his free hand to keep you in place.

You swallow a lump, inhaling against the skin of his throat deeply as he manages to make you feel safe and relieved.

“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” he croaks. You’re concerned he may start crying.

You nod jerkily, gripping him tighter. You hate the way his voice shakes as he apologizes.

This wasn’t his fault and you’re determined to make sure he knows that.

“It’s okay Ei. I know baby, I know. This isn’t on you, okay?” You reassure him, voice watery with emotion.

Eijirou chokes out an acknowledgement, sniffling.

Katsuki then takes a seat on the bed behind you, rubbing a warm palm back and forth between your shoulder blades in comfort. He places a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

The three of you sit there and hash out the night before. Spending a good half hour at least, talking through everything. Brainstorming ways to prevent this from occurring again.

The conversation eventually trails off into a comfortable silence before Katsuki opens his mouth.

“You take off into the woods last night?” Katsuki asks somberly.

“Yeah.”

Your response gets muffled by Eijirou’s shirt. Katsuki snorts.

“Well, you sure as hell look like it,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works.

You whip your head around to glare daggers at Katsuki but he’s giving you a teasing smile, nudging you playfully.

You punch his stomach halfheartedly, unable to stop your lips from turning upwards.

“Whatever, dickpunch.”

Eijirou laughs, causing Katsuki to roll his eyes and chuckle at your childish insult.

You study Eijirou rubbing his cheek as you recline into Katsuki’s chest, his soothing warmth seeping through both your shirts.

“So are you really okay?” Eijirou prods, scratching the side of his nose and looking away with a frown.

“I’m fine Ei,” you murmur tenderly. You stretch your leg out, showing him the side of your thigh where the marks have mostly faded. “See? It’s just a scar now, which will go away soon.” You poke his ribs with your toes.

Eijirou’s expression spells relief as he brushes the pads of his fingertips feather light over the raised pinkish skin.

You shiver from the ticklish sensation, a flash of arousal burning your lower belly.

Eijirou’s eyes are warm when they meet yours, lids drooping a bit when he notices your shiver.

The blonde must have picked up on the new charge in the atmosphere, because Katsuki leans in close to whisper something sultry in your ear, making you jolt.

“What do you think baby?” Katsuki hums, securing an arm around your waist. “Eijirou’s been so fucking bad, we should punish him. Don’t you think?” He suggests enticingly, acting as the devil on your shoulder.

You glance back at the redhead, who’s gone slack jawed, cheeks flushing bubblegum pink. Your eyebrow twitches as you pretend to mull it over.

Trailing your eyes up and down Eijirou’s figure lazily, he fidgets in place, fingers curling into the hem of his shorts.

You think it’s the perfect way to get things back to normal.

You tilt your head, making heated eye contact with Katsuki. A coy grin lights up your face.

“What did you have in mind?”

The mischievous glint in Katsuki’s eye is answer enough.

————————————————-

“Fuck! Katsuki, oh god,” you gasp, breath hitching in your throat.

Katsuki’s eagerly pushing his thick cock into your pussy, spitting out a few curses as he does so.

The stretch is delicious, and you squeeze his forearms mercilessly. Nails creating indentations as he teasingly pulls back until just the head remains, rolling his hips and filling you to the brim with one fluid motion.

Your spine arches, skull digging into the mattress below as Katsuki starts thrusting at a leisurely pace, thumb coming up to work slow circles into your clit.

At this angle, you have an upside down view of Eijirou sitting behind you, reclining halfway up against the headboard.

Katsuki took it upon himself to spread you out flat on your back between the redhead’s thighs.

He taunted Eijirou with an arrogant smirk. Meanly instructing him he isn’t allowed to cum until you and Katsuki do.

Katsuki demands Eijirou only touch you if you initiate it first. And you agreed.

So for now, Eijirou’s pouting. Settling on wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, stroking slowly as he leers at the scene in front of him. Trying to avoid splitting his lip with razor sharp teeth.

You’re able to meet his hungry gaze briefly, before fingers are gripping your chin and yanking you from the gorgeous view.

“Don’t fucking look at Ei. He’s in trouble, remember?” Katsuki huffs, a bead of sweat trailing from his temple down to his jaw. “Keep those eyes on me.” Katsuki says firmly, voice raspy and low.

You nod stiffly, whimpering when he releases you and pats your cheek just this side of too rough.

“You follow orders so well, what a good girl,” Katsuki praises, leaning back and sitting on his calves.

His sweet words have your head filled with cotton.

You lick your chapped bottom lip as you’re blessed with the view of Katsuki’s lower stomach flexing and his hips tensing.

The blonde shoots Eijirou a nasty grin, making absolutely sure Eijirou can watch everything.

Like the way the inner lips of your pussy stretch with Katsuki’s cock every time he thrusts backwards.

Or the way you can tell his cock is shiny with your slick each time he pulls out.

Katsuki grips the bottoms of your thighs, effortlessly pushing them towards your chest, bending you in half.

You cry out, eyes going wide when Katsuki suddenly nails your sweet spot. The pleasure blisters through your limbs, goosebumps littering your arms.

Blindly, you reach backwards, searching for Eijirou’s hands.

The redhead lets out a breathy moan, quickly lacing your fingers together and resting your conjoined hands on his thighs.

“You can only fucking touch her hands Ei. Don’t push it.” Katsuki warns with a surprisingly steady, yet strained voice. Considering he’s fucking you like he’s trying to make you scream yourself hoarse.

“Yes Katsuki,” Eijirou replies obediently, throat clicking audibly when he swallows.

Katsuki presses closer, pupils dilated and jaw hanging open as he brings you closer to that addictive high. His eyebrows pinch together as he focuses on you.

Shocks of pleasure race up your spine each time he pushes his cock back inside you, the sound of your skin smacking together burning your ears.

A coil starts to wind up behind your belly button impossibly tight, pussy clenching around him rhythmically.

You hold Eijirou’s hands in a death grip.

“Kat, I — fuck! I’m gonna cum,” you manage to spit out between gritted teeth, back threatening to lift off the mattress.

“Yeah?” Katsuki coos teasingly. “Fucking cum for me then.”

And you do. Muscles going taught, tension snapping as warmth gushes through you, toes curling.

You can’t make out what Eijirou’s mumbling behind you, focused on the way Katsuki’s gasping your name.

The blonde lets out a breathy moan, pulling out and stroking his cock twice before he cums, covering your stomach in sticky white ribbons.

You go lax, unmoving as your legs hit the mattress. Trying desperately to catch your breath as Eijirou let’s go of your hands.

“Fuck, please let me cum Katsuki! This isn’t fair!” Eijirou whines, one of his knees knocking you in the shoulder as he shifts his weight around.

You can’t see him but you know he’s pouting.

“Alright Eijirou, you can cum,” Katsuki says nonchalantly. He sits back on his calves, flushed chest heaving.

You flip over onto your belly just as Eijirou takes a hold of himself. He strokes his cock a few times, squirming with relief and you make the choice to help him out.

Eijirou’s close to peaking when you close the distance between you.

You duck your head, wrapping your lips around one of his balls and suck it softly into your mouth, flicking it with your tongue. You roll the other one between your fingers.

Eijirou yelps, thighs jumping as he cums instantly, making a mess of his stomach as his breath stutters in his chest. He tilts his head back with a high pitched moan.

Katsuki makes an approving sound from somewhere behind you as you keep mouthing at Eijirou, only backing off when the redhead pushes at your forehead when he gets too sensitive.

Eijirou sinks down the headboard, blushing brightly and panting. You pillow your cheek on his thigh, eyes fluttering shut with a sigh.

Eventually, Katsuki kicks both your asses into gear. Getting you off the bed and shuffled into the shower to clean yourselves off.

You change the sheets because they’re fucking gross — as Katsuki puts it.

As you’re getting dressed again, Eijirou comes up behind you. Slipping his arms around your waist in a sweet hug.

“Everything fucking sorted now?” Katsuki asks with a roll of his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his hip on the doorframe. He eyes the embrace you’re locked in and raises an eyebrow.

“Course! Everything’s peachy,” Eijirou replies happily, nuzzling the back of your head as a low rumble starts up in his chest.

You snicker, patting one of the arms holding you.

“Good, because I don’t feel like getting my ass handed to me again,” you say playfully.

Eijirou laughs brightly and Katsuki snorts.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m locking his dumbass in the basement tonight.”

#mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima eijirou x reader #bakugou x reader x kirishima #bakugou x kirishima #bakugou katsuki smut #kirishima eijirou smut #bakugou x you #kirishima x you #mha x reader

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viceversa-666 · 3 days

Text

2nd Chances

Nico and I have been friends since we were kids. We did every single thing together. From coloring in kindergarten to joining the wrestling team in high school, we were ceremonial twins essentially despite are vastly different racial backgrounds. Hell we even came out as Bi to one another at the same time.

We were always on the same page until we got to college. It's so silly in retrospect. I could have never foreseen that we would like the same person and that it would lead to such a big fight that we both stormed off to cool down. He went for a run on campus and I got in my car and sped off, but so did this speeding truck that ran a red light.

I was in the hospital for 3 months and every day Nico would stop by and stay by my side crying, pleading, wishing for me to wake up. But when that 3rd month ended, so did doctor's hope that I would ever wake up.

I remember hearing Nico hysterically crying telling the doctors to fix me. There was no fixing me.

The night before they were set to take me off life support, Nico layed in my hospital bed with me. That's when he made the wish.

"I don't want to lose you Emil but I'm going to live out everything you've wanted to accomplish. I just wish I could do more so you could be the one to live our your dreams."

I woke up the next day and picked up my phone...what? How am I picking up my phone? Wait this isn't my phone? But it unlocked to my face? I fiddled my fingers to open up the selfie camera.

"Nico?" I gasped.

The bed I was in was empty. Someone from the hospital came to break the news to me that "Emil" passed away at night ahead of them disconnecting "him" from life support. They had staff place me in another bed while "his" family mourned.

"If I'm Nico does that mean...no....it can't"

I couldn't believe this he didn't make a wish to die, but then I sensed I wasn't alone. I got up and searched the room. But no one was there. Instead I heard a voice but it was inside my head.

"Hello? What's going on?" the voice said.

I couldn't wrap my head around all of these new developments. I felt like I was about to faint and honestly thought I did. But then the body I'm in braced itself and spoke out loud without me doing it.

"Woah. What just happened? I was like watching myself move but not controlling?" Nico's body said.

That's when it clicked

"Nico is that you in here?" I yelled in an exasperated glee.

Nico and I headed to a cafe where he got a coffee and we spoke in our weird new internalized way. I told him to put his headphones on so no one would think he was crazy.

We never thought a wish would lead to something beyond scientific explanation. It felt like we were always hugging one another, just surrounded by each others platonic love. I was so glad I didn't have to lose him even though it meant I lost my body.

Weeks went by and it was hard for me. Anytime I took control of Nico's body I felt like I was putting a show on pretending. But that's not me. I think the best perk of being in the same body was Nico being present and co-experiencing my emotions.

"You don't have to pretend to be me. We can just make a new 'Nico'. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you're unhappy or trapped Emil." Nico said giving me the closest thing he could to a consoling hug.

Over the next few days we talked about boundaries about our new Nico.

No partners without both agreeing. No major tattoos and piercings without both agreeing. You might be sensing a theme here. The new Nico was a democracy, but at least I didn't have to be hyper masculine like I thought he wanted me to be. If anything my flamboyant nature was something he said he always wanted to channel more but felt too insecure to do.

Becoming one person felt like we were actually 2 halves finally returning together for the greater good.

But at the end of the day, we're still 2 college aged bi dudes. When we went out it was the best of both world times 2. We turned looks that channeled both our vibes but also our drive was insatiable. It may just be one body but partners had to please 2 sex drives.

In the semi-rare occasion we both agreed on one person to go home with, we destroyed them, especially men. Those became our favorite interactions only because it was easier to flip and f*ck.

I'd start leading them on letting them think they'd get to top such a beefy and submissible bottom which was true. Nico's body was not a bottom before I got here but he absolutely should have. His butt was almost asking to be spread and eaten. These thighs from years of wrestling and collegiate sports allowed me to just ride for an hour if I wanted. By the time they were done and we're glistening in sweat and panting, Nico tagged in.

He's the definition of a fuckboy with the way he lays pipe. He knew all the right ways to treat you before impaling you with his sizably thick dick. I'll never forget the face of the first guy we flipped. He was looking at us so surprised with eyes that almost look like he was hungry for us. Back and forth, thrusting until they moan unbelievably loud from the lengthy sessions. I don't know how NIco was cumming before but he's definitely cumming enough for 2 people with the way we climax now.

We're glad to be together now....no more than anything I'm glad to be Nico now, too.

#male tf #male transformation #male takeover #male body possession

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saintslewis · 1 day

Text

❝ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: a lil workplace visit can’t be that bad, right?

warnings: cussing, links to pinterest. a lil short, sorry!

saint’s team radio 🎀: hiiiii there. thank you for all the love on virgo’s groove, i truly love each and everyone of you! hope you enjoy this, babies!

pls like, comment and reblog!

dividers from @cafekitsune

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

renaissance: the series masterlist 🪩

Lewis had missed his wife, terribly so.

Often being reminded by most, that his companion was not next to him as much as she was the last two weeks. He never tired talking about her in any sense and to anyone who would listen. By now, she would’ve spoken about her students or a joke that her friends used to tell as she attended university many years ago. Possibly a song she was thinking about or a candy she tried from the hotel in Miami.

He had missed the bright smile she often displayed at anyone who was open to receiving it or whenever she spoke of her new friends. Lewis had realised she had quite the loud laugh, contradicting her quiet voice, and how she would laugh at his jokes, a quiet wheeze at first then a boisterous laugh following right after. He had also missed how she would slip into one of her many home languages whenever she spoke and how she would derail the conversation to explain every little thing in that specific language.

Surprisingly so, he liked seeing that she was spending his money, even after trying to convince her that it was totally okay. Lewis also liked how she would send little updates on her day just as he did as well, talking about how she’s constantly stopped in the streets for pictures and how shocked she always was that people recognised her.

He also liked the rambles she had whenever they got the chance to facetime. Making her blush at his words was always a sight to see and how she would try do it back but her giggles held her back.

Lewis missed Nadia. A lot.

Sitting in his hotel room in Barcelona, he stared at the suitcases that were waiting right by the door. He checked his carry on once again to check that the little gifts he got her were okay. The specific hoodie he was wearing still had faint scents of her perfume, making Lewis feel giddy to get home. Months ago, he would’ve always said that the world is his home but ever since he met Nadia, he could feel his smile get larger as his thoughts go on.

Managing to get a podium, just as he promised her, he remembered her excitement and astonishment when he explained how many he actually had. She went on to tell him that she’ll make celebratory baked goods for whenever he gets back. Lewis knew that he was distracted when he attended a dinner with some friends after the race, his phone couldn’t be separated from his hands. All that was on his mind was seeing her.

“I know we initially removed the second question from the assignment but the board brought it forward that it needs to be done.” As soon as Nadia finished her sentence, her year 12 students groaned loudly.

“It didn’t make sense to me either but because you’re my kiddies, I’ll research when I get home and just get a memo so you don’t have to worry. Even if you all write the same thing, it’s okay.” She assured, walking to her desk after handing out the ‘new’ assignment papers.

“Uh, Ms Brown. You said this can be typed out, right?” A hand that was raised asked. Before the teacher could answer, someone interjected.

“It’s Mrs Hamilton, Tash.” That made a few students laugh. Nadia would never get used to hearing herself being referred to that. Every time she even woke up in that house, it was unbelievable.

With a little chuckle, she put her pen down. “Thank you, Kim. But yes, it needs to be typed out and don’t forget to make a cover, everyone.” Picking up her pen once again, Nadia went on to work on the question that troubled the whole class.

Silence fell and all that was heard was faint music coming from some kid’s headphones as they worked on their assignment or their homework, Nadia never had an issue if they needed to complete other tasks from their other classes.

Glancing at the clock on her desk, there were at least two hours of school left but luckily, she only had a few classes that day and was able to go home early. An empty large mansion but it was home. Craving the vanilla macrons she made yesterday, Nadia was more than excited to get home.

It was also the day that she expected her husband back home from Spain. Mondays usually went slower than the usual but she pushed her excitement to the back of her head as she continued to work. There was still some time left with her favourite class so she relaxed in her seat.

Nadia’s phone kept buzzing with text messages as she typed away on her laptop, sending an apologetic look to the students who’s heads whipped at the distracting sounds. Picking it up, all she saw was messages from Maggie, the school office admin, sending through messages that basically implied that she was shaking, she was excited and constantly repeated ‘girllllll’.

The class was now interested in whatever was going on because Nadia’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was nothing she was aware of unless the principal wanted to talk to her about something but that was even more confusing.

A knock echoed through the classroom and she gave the student closest to the door a signal to open it and he froze at the door, seemingly starstruck. All the kids then leaned outside their desks to see and they began screaming in excitement at whoever was at the door. The figure walked in the door and Nadia’s stomach dropped at the sight.

“Oh my days, Lewis Hamilton is in my class!”

After eventually calming down the class who were still shocked and buzzing at the fact that Lewis was there, he offered to take pictures with everyone and even brought them doughnuts that he had left outside the class in hopes to surprise them. He locked eyes with his wife and made his way to her, signalling to the kids that he’d be right back to take pictures.

Nadia threw her arms around his waist as soon as Lewis was close enough, he kissed through her wig then her forehead, completely aware that the kids were watching and recording. “I don’t wanna get fired, Lew.” Nadia spoke, facing away from her students.

“I had a word with the principal, you’re good.” He reassured, patting her back. Winking at her as he went back to the excited kids, she felt the butterflies in her stomach. She also realised how spontaneous he was because he really just showed up to her work like he forgot who he was.

Getting home was a bit of a challenge, the rest of the school caught wind of his appearance and that was a mission in itself. To Nadia’s luck, school was still in session and she could get home early with her husband by her side. The deal was that Lewis would come speak to the kids one day in exchange for his spontaneity.

Climbing out of the Range Rover that she drove herself to school in, Lewis held her hand to the front door where his suitcases were waiting to be let in. It felt all so domestic like they’ve done this a thousand times before, taking off their shoes right by the door and she immediately slipped into her slides. The home smelt like a mixture of her sweet perfume, cookies and the ocean scented incense she bought for the house.

“Welcome home!” Nads turned around after dropping all her things on the kitchen island to throw her arms around his neck for the physical touch they had been waiting for. They melted into the hug, faces digging into each other’s necks, engulfing each other with their warmth. The two stood there for what seemed like an eternity before letting go eventually. “That felt good, wow.” Lewis said, his eyes taking in every part of her face.

He had missed her so much.

“Right? It felt like a month apart. How are you feeling? Spain was something else.” Nadia smiled, still unable to look at him in his eyes. Before he could answer, he knew he couldn’t just outright say anything to her yet. Lewis couldn’t tell her that he’s falling for her so quickly, so much so that he wanted to shout it out to the world. He did that already, the world just doesn’t know that all of this isn’t real.

“I’ve been alright, just wanted to come back home and relax. Getting that podium though,” Lewis breathed out. “Please, you made it look flawless.” Nadia interrupted, with a ‘duh’ expression on her face. He couldn’t help but genuinely smile at that.

She walked further into the kitchen and he followed after her like a puppy, waiting for her to do anything. “I made you vegan vanilla macrons for your podium and my non-vegan ones are in a different lunch box.” Nadia tapped the lunch box labelled ‘vegan’ with her freshly done nails then placed it on the kitchen counter.

“Ohh shit, I forgot I got you something else as well!”

Nadia ran up towards the stairs, spewing out the words as Lewis watched her with a smile on his face, leaning his head on his hand. Deciding to make himself comfortable in the living room, he waited for her.

Quick steps of her sandals echoing throughout the main floor, she came through with a medium sized box in hand, a proud smile on her face as she plopped herself right next to him on the couch. “So. You know how I said that I love sourcing for archives in fashion or the latest pieces that are just tough to find?” Nadia started.

“Yeah…..” Lewis responded with a slight lift of his eyebrow.

“This is a gift I want to give to you since you did so good in Spain but I got it like days before the podium so I had to pray that you did good.” She added, unable to contain her smile as she handed the box to him. Sitting down quite close to each other, she watched as Lewis carefully ripped the gift wrap.

He was smiling before he fully opened his gift. “I can feel you just jumping’ in excitement.” Lewis said, his natural accent and voice coming into light. The same voice he used to when he felt right at home.

Eventually putting all the gift wrap to the side, he faced the box in curiosity, opening it and being prepared to see anything. “You’re joking.” Lewis said in shock, staring at Nadia who’s smile was brighter than the sun itself. “It was tough finding these but I do hope you like them, Lew.” She responded.

“These were made-“ “By Virgil, yep. I knew that you guys had a good friendship so when I came across these, they reminded me of you guys.” She informed and giggled at Lewis constantly looking back and forth at the shoes. The Nike x Louis Vuitton air force one was apart of a collection released in honour of Virgil Abloh, Lewis’ friend and Nadia’s inspiration in the fashion world.

Lewis couldn’t contain himself and stood up abruptly, pulling Nadia with him to wrap his arms around her and give her an even warmer hug. A bit shocked, Nadia quickly recovered and returned the same energy towards him. “Thank you, Nads, truly. Not just for the shoes but just…everything.”

“Anytime, pookie bear.” Nadia moved her head to look directly into his eyes, focusing on every crevice of her face. Looking down at her neck, he caught a glimpse of shining silver jewellery sitting pretty on her neck, only used to seeing gold pieces only.

“Is that 44 on your necklace?” He pointed it out, looking back and forth between her face and her jewellery. “Oh! Yeah, I wanted it to match my ring. The world is getting familiar with this face, might as well add to it.” Nadia said with a smug smile and Lewis had to collect himself but he realised he was right home.

Adding a little chuckle, he lowered his large hands from the middle of her back to her ass then her thighs, getting a yell out of her when she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Wanna get the neighbour familiar with you?” Lewis smirked, licking his lips at the same time.

“Let’s get right to it, Sir.” She responded, giggling as he started rushing to the bedroom, holding onto her tightly as they went up the stairs.

lewishamilton

lewishamilton a week filled with love and joy. canada, here we come ~

tagged: @/nadiahamilton

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nadiahamilton i look too good 🤭

lewishamilton you always do

nadiahamilton omg STAWWP 🥹

user dawg this is so unfair, you don’t get it

fencer my best friends 🥹

liked by lewishamilton

user mother and father

kehlani sleep with one eye open, mister

lewishamilton it’s sir

kehlani i’m still taking your wife, leprechaun 🫵🏽

user seeing you two in Canada!!

user this man is too gone, bridgerton level simp

user well duh, if you were with Nadia, you’d be too

lewishamilton this is true, she hung up the moon and the stars

user OOOOHHHHHH LEWISSSSSS 🙂‍↕️

chunks your home is so beautiful, thanks champ 🫡

user lewis is friends with the beta squad????

user they’re nadia’s friends

louisvuitton hope you loved your gift! 🤍

lewishamilton it was gifted by Nads so it was the best 🫶🏽

user you guys are so cute, it HURTS

canadagrandprix thee it couple

mercedesamgf1 has more stories about Nadia than the Spanish gp, we have to respect it

badgalriri got a problem? 🤨

user they got Riri clocking they asses 😭😭😭

nadiahamilton

nadiahamilton i’m the cooler one

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tyla you’re the coolest of them all 😝

nadiahamilton love you always!!

nellarose_ that french vanilla cake you made? signing you up for masterchef rn!

nadiahamilton girl pls 😭

user you guys remember when the wags called her tinkerbell? she literally is tinkerbell in real life 😭

user and she smells like money and sweet flowers ‼️

nataliatheedon come back to America rn

nadiahamilton canada’s the best i can do 😣

user i feel like a certain canadian rapper is gonna show up lol

user i’m from toronto and there’s a rumour that lewis’ people are blocking off that rapper from getting near nadia because he keeps reposting her pics lollllll

user no ways lewis actually has shooters???

user he’s Lewis, what did you expect? 😭

zendaya mother graced us with her presence once again

nadiahamilton love you Z 😚

louisvuitton 🤍🤍

sza hand in marriage?

lilymhe omg hiii, let’s redo monaco?

lewishamilton hi sweetheart

nadiahamilton hi my love

user PARENTS

saint’s notes 🪩: heyyyy babies! this is one is quite short lol but i hope you enjoyed! love u all 😚 also noticed the colour schemes for their insta posts? 🫡

taglist: @non-stop-imagines @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @thisismeracing @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @cocobutterqwueen @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @littlelizzies-world @httpsserene @apenasumlug4r @youre-sooooo-funny @eddiesbitch83 @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @sunfairyy @vsfavs @louvrepool @mistruscity @tian-monique @hopefulromantic1 @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @nichmeddar @gg-trini @lifeless-firefly @vellicora @takeoffz-tookoff9876 @serpenttines-library @emjayewrites @royallyprincesslilly @lewisroscoelove @purplelewlew @xoscar03 @kidsol-ar @nothaqks @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1

if your account is blank, that mean tumblr can’t find you!

#saint writes #renaissance: the series #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #x black oc #f1 x oc #f1 x black!reader #f1 imagine

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fourmoony · 1 day

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

james potter x f!reader, modern college au, 1.3k

cw: smoking, past rejection, implied self-esteem issues

summary: reader isn't as subtle as she thinks about her crush on jamie

James is propped up against the hood of his car when you pull into the space next to his. He's talking to Sirius and Remus, who stand a few paces in front of James, both smoking a cigarette. Technically, they're not supposed to smoke on campus, but you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to mention that to Sirius Black and his infamously smart-mouthed boyfriend.

James turns his gaze to you as your engine cuts out, keys jangling in your hand and he lifts his hand in a wave. You wave back, half focussed on collecting the multitude of things on your passenger seat and stuffing them into your bag. The carrier bag in your footwell snags your attention, heart stammering a little with the reminder of what lies inside. It's cool. In your opinion, a very cool poster. One you know James has been looking for, for months. His favourite band.

But there's a voice in the back of your head, one born of being fourteen and asking a crush out, only to be told you'd gotten the wrong idea. A voice born of years of being lusted after, but not wanted. It's a voice that tells you James might assume you got this poster because you fancy him and find it weird.

And, sure. You might have went to the lengths of scrolling the internet for hours and paying extra for express shipping because you couldn't wait to see his smile when he unveiled it, to watch his eyes crinkle at the corners with excitement. There's something so overwhelmingly pretty and soft about James Potter. You've been living with that heavy admittance in your chest all semester and next week, your final term of sharing classes with James will end and you want him to remember you. You want to be able to say you tried.

But you don't want him to know all of that.

With a glance, you look back to James. He's waiting patiently for you, still talking to Sirius and Remus. The bag crinkles when you pick it up, the anxiety prickling over your skin like a heat rash. His friends offer you kind smiles when you exit the car, bag slung over your shoulder and the framed poster in hand. "Your engine doesn't sound great, love. You checked your oil recently?" Sirius asks, foregoing a proper greeting.

James laughs at the same time Remus rolls his eyes, akin to a love sick fool even when he's pretending not to be. "Ignore him," Remus drawls, flicking his cigarette to the ground, "He's decided he's going to be a mechanic."

In the year you've known Sirius Black, he's decided he's going to be an artist, then the lead singer of a band, then a lawyer, then a pilot, and now, he's going to be a mechanic. You hope, one day, that one might stick. Though, you've seen how much he loves his motorbike and would put money on the mechanic idea sticking around for a while longer than the time he wanted to buy a zoo.

"Oh, right. You can have a look if you like, but Jamie filled the oil last week." You tell Sirius, who scowls at his best friend.

James smiles kindly when you settle beside him against his car, leaning over to bump your shoulder with his bicep. His height difference is nothing, compared to Remus, but you still have to look up to meet his kind eyes. "Hi." He says.

"Hey."

Sirius scoffs, "Hi."

James pointedly ignores him, "What's in the bag?"

Your eyes nervously flick to Sirius and Remus, the former becoming incredibly interested in what's in the bag as well. Remus must sense your hesitation, because he grabs his boyfriend by the wrist and turns to walk away. "See you later, Prongs. Bye, love."

Sirius can be heard causing a scene even when Remus has dragged him half way across the student parking area. You smile after them fondly.

"You gonna make me guess?" James asks, pushing off of his car to stand and face you.

You have to crane your neck even worse to meet his eyes at this angle, but it's worth it. They're so light in the morning sun they look crystallised. He looks amused, lips twitching as he looks down at you. Heat prickles over your skin as he assesses you. "What's in the bag?"

You hand it to him, wordlessly, and nod for him to look inside. He pulls the frame, turning it until he can see the poster inside. His brows furrow, then lift, his lips parting in surprise. Genuine joy passes through his eyes and you wonder how someone can be so readable, so expressive. His beauty astounds you.

James looks at you, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words.

"It's for you," You offer, rather dumbly, "Obviously."

James laughs a little breathless, the sound sending your heart slamming into your rib cage. "Where on earth?" He asks, bewildered.

"It's a secret. But I know how long you've wanted one, so I had it framed for safe keeping."

"Thank you," James slides the frame back into the bag, sets it to lean against the front of his car. "Seriously, thank you."

You shrug, hoping it's somewhat believable. "No big deal."

James rolls his eyes at your nonchalance. "Can I hug you? Is that too much? I feel like I should hug you."

You laugh, the feeling of anxiety lifting as James reaches forward to wrap his arms around you. He's warm and soft and smells like cologne and freshly washed clothes. His arms squeeze you tight, his nose buried in your hair where he's hunched over.

"Let me take you to dinner or something, as a thank you." James says as he pulls away, unlocking his car to place the frame safely in the passenger footwell.

"Really, James, you don't have to do that. It's just a poster." You wave him off, pushing off of the car and collecting your bag.

James follows as you walk, shoulder to bicep, skin brushing and your heart in your mouth from the contact alone. "I'm taking you to dinner. Not because I have to, but because I want to."

You find yourself fighting a smile, "Well if you want to." Your voice is teasing an it makes James smile.

"I do. It's a date." James tells you, like it's nothing.

You've halted in the doorway he's holding open for you, head tilting to look into his face. To be sure. To make sure he's not kidding, to make sure he doesn't mean a 'friend date'. He smiles, knowingly.

"You're not subtle, you know," He ushers you through the door, eager to make it to your class on time, "That poster is not easy to find, nor is it cheap."

"It's what friends do." You protest, cheeks warm and palms sweaty.

You brace for rejection, for a joke, for the 'I just don't see you that way'. But James rolls his eyes, reaching around you for the door to the classroom, "Friend's don't go on dates."

"We haven't been on a date." You laugh, incredulously, leading James to your usual seats.

It's a nice feeling, a warm feeling, to feel suddenly safe within your conversation. To feel the normal level of comfort you do with James, even when putting yourself out there. James frowns, "We've been on multiple dates. The library, the cafeteria, the coffee shop just off campus. We even went to that Ethics seminar that one time!"

It takes looking at him to realise he's kidding, the corners of his lips twitching up until he can't fight it anymore. It should be unsettling, for him to make a joke of it. But as he sits, his hand brushes over your shoulder, a gentle touch that sets your skin on fire. "I'm kidding, when I take you out for real, there'll be no confusion on whether or not it's a date."

His breath fans over your ear, warm and his voice thick and you think you might pass out, saved only by the entrance of your professor. James settles in, sends you a wink that has you more flustered than it should.

"Noted." You whisper, though you don't imagine James has heard you.

#marauders #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter x f!reader #james potter fluff #james potter angst #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #fourmoony #angst #love #fluff #smut

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erwinsvow · 7 hours

Note

Okay but shy/bunny reader being used to bestfriend!Rafe ditching her because he’s with some girl, she never points it out and somehow she always lets it go because she’s just a babyy and Rafe starts realising that they don’t hang out as much😭💖

it was hard seeing rafe go—always was, and always will be.

you tried to convince yourself you were used to it now, but the familiar ache in your chest when he'd say goodbye to you, topper, and kelce and walk away hand in hand with his flavor of the week was getting worse and worse.

before you'd realized you had feelings for rafe—beyond just the affection you gave to your close friends—you hadn't cared at all. you'd even encouraged it, same way you did with top and kelce, offering advice and recommending which flowers to bring, what places to bring them.

not that rafe ever really needed your help. it seems since the day he'd become your best friend, there was a line of girls hanging behind the two of you, seemingly waiting for their turn. at night, when it felt worse—and somehow it always did feel worse in your bed alone, wondering if rafe's was empty too and knowing that it wasn't—you tried to make yourself feel better.

you're still here, and they're not—that's how you tried. it worked for a little.

the newest girl had been around for a record three weeks, so even your usual bandaid for your shattered heart wasn't helping the wound heal.

so far, he'd skipped two meals, a day at the course, and half of a boat day to spend with her instead of you. you, kelce, and top that is. you'd hoped today was going to be different, walking back to top's jeep after lunch to head to the marina.

"you're not coming?" you call out to rafe, who was walking back in the direction of his own car. kelce and top are too far away to hear—getting into the front already. you were always stuck in the back, and you had never minded when rafe was there to keep you company.

rafe flicks his eyes over you, taking in the new dress you really shouldn't have bought just to see what kind of reaction you could get from him. your bag has your bikini in it and one of his button ups to cover you and he sees it poking out—white seersucker temporarily distracting him.

"rafe?"

"yeah. sorry, no. made plans with-"

"yeah, of course you did." you cut him off, and though even a few weeks ago you couldn't have imagined the vitriol in your voice, it comes out all too easy. "have fun."

you try to walk away but his footsteps follow—and damn his long legs, because he gets infront of you before you can escape.

"what, kid? you mad at me?"

you shouldn't say something. you shouldn't say anything.

"we're going to the boat. you said you were coming. i cut fruit for you."

"i-i'm sorry. top will eat it."

"it's not for him. that's not the point." the words teeter on the edge—wanting so badly to tell him that you miss him. that he never hangs out with you anymore, that he's choosing some girl over you and it stings worse than anything you've felt so far.

you're not sure when it started feeling so different—rafe's always done this. and standing two feet from the jeep, kelce sticking his head out the window to yell at you to get in, you realize you're going to reveal yourself if you don't shut up.

"have fun, rafe. sorry. bye."

you don't give him a chance to respond, but it doesn't take anything else for the gears to click. you're too quiet to ever admit it, too shy to say what you're really thinking, and rafe knows that—he's known it since he met you.

standing there, watching you drive away with kelce and top, he briefly wonders what the last time was he did something just with you. he can't even remember it. it all blurs together—late night runs for ice cream and breakfast while top and kelce were still passed out. the sweet way you smile at him and how your expression changes when he goes to the girl who's waiting for him. he gets in the car and can't decide which direction to turn—towards this girl or towards you.

on the boat, you kick up your feet and open your book, trying to drown out the chatter of kelce and top trying to get out of the marina and focus singularly on the romance in your hands rather than the one in your brain. you drown it out a little too much.

"that the one i got you?" rafe asks from somewhere next to you.

"god-" you exclaim, book slipping from your grip and thudding on the boat. "you scared me." catching your breath, you bend to pick up your book, but rafe beats you to it, picking it up and placing it on your lap.

"sorry."

"what happened to your plans?" rafe shrugs. you wish your heartbeat would slow down. you look down at your lap and rafe looks over you—exposed skin shiny with sunblock, a blue bikini he thinks he's never noticed before, matching nails that suit you.

"already had plans with you, remember?"

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader #AHHH So fun to write this!! blending aus together #<33 hope you like it angel

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mochinomnoms · 1 day

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Scenario: Some small item from the prefect's home world ends up in NRC. For example, my brother found a local brand of soda when he was out of our country for a few years. It made his whole week.

Option 1: Octotrio finds this item and know the significance of it. How do they give it to their dear prefect?

Or if option 2, if you want jealous Octotrio: Another student else gives the item to the prefect, and they are seething over how happy someone else made the prefect.

(sorry this is self-indulgent and I think im funy)

“A bottle of Mexican coke gets launched out of a wormhole and thunks them in the head. What is it? They have no clue, it looks like a soda, but they don't recognize the brand, logo, or anything really. It says Hecho en Mexico” on the side, though...wait! Isn't that a place from your homeworld? You'll love this!

“Ain't that the soda Shrimpy is always raving about?” Floyd was rubbing the side of his head that the glass bottle smacked into. It hurt like hell, and Jade hiding his laughter at his misery.

“Stop laughin', Imma bite you.”

“Fuhu, sorry Floyd.” Jade managed to clear his throat and straighten. “You just collapsed on the ground like a rag doll, it surprised me.”

“Yeah, how about I take that bottle and smack you up the head with it? We can see who looks more like a rag doll then”

“Think you could?

“Know I could.”

“I bet you can't”

“I bet I can, you fuc—”

Azul cleared his throat, drawing both of their attentions as he held the bottle in his hands.

“If you two would like to save the Cain instinct for another day, I do believe that we can garner the Prefect's favor with this.”

Both perked up, sharing a knowing look before smirking.

“Good point,” Jade replied, walking over to Azul to admire the bottle. “They have been shyer since our last outing with them, this would be a good opportunity to—”

“Floyd swiped the bottle from their hands and started a brisk jog as he called out, I got hit with it, so I get to take all the credit and all of my Shrimpy's love!”

“FLOYD!” Both chased after him, a loud, familiar cackle ringing through Main Street and everyone's ears.

You were none the wiser, chilling in your room with peace and quiet for once, as Grim was out with Epel in the Spelldrive Club. You gave it 1 hour before Leona got tired of him and sent him back to you.

Your peace was interrupted upon hearing the banging on your front door. Groaning, you got up and made your way to the entryway.

“I swear to God! Ace! If you're crashing here again, I'm getting you a literal doghouse!” You yelled out, huffing, as you swung the door open and instead found Floyd trying to wrestle a bottle of something from his grasp.

It was quite amusing, as Azul's grip wasn't even budging while Floyd pulled with all his might. Only Jade, who was on Azul's right, noticed you and smiled.

“Hello Prefect, how are you?” Jade nodded his head with a polite smile. “We apologize for the sudden intrusion, but we have something for you—”

“No, I found it! I have something for them!” Floyd whined, keeling over as Azul finally gabbed a harsh elbow into his ribs.

“You got hit in the head, I hardly count that as 'finding' it.” Azul gave you a pleasant smile, though you were wary of what the trio wanted from you to bring you something.

“We, all three of us, have a gift for you. We recognized it as something you've spoken about, and out of the kindness of our hearts, we decided to offer it to you in exchange for your time!”

“You snorted, glancing at the bottle in Azul's hands. Yeah, sure, 'kindness'. What's the point of a gift if—HOLY SHIT, IS THAT MEXICAN COKE?”

Azul stumbled backwards as you reached for the bottle in his hands, excitement gleaming in your eyes as you did.

“WHERE'D YOU GET THIS? ACTUALLY, I DON'T CARE! LET ME HAVE IT!”

Azul let out a yelp as you managed to pull the bottle from his hands, your eyes glittering and smile wide.

“You three don't know how bad I've been craving this since I've been here.” Sighing, you pressed the bottle, nice and cool, to your cheek in bliss.

“I would suck a man's dick for this shit, you don't even know.”

You froze at the choking sound in front of you, and snickering from the left and right. You noticed the light purple blush on Azul's cheeks and the pink ones on the twins. Jade was looking away, covering his mouth, but you could still see his lips quirk up. Floyd's snickering was growing into a full giggle.

“Ahem, I, ah, appreciate your enthusiasm for the gift. I'll keep that…in mind.”

“If he doesn't, we will. Isn't that right, Floyd?” Jade chuckled.

Floyd replied, “Oh for surrrre~ Say, Shrimpy?” Floyd leaned in, smile growing as he purred, “you up for offering that thank you?”

You backed away, face growing hotter as you pursed your lips. The twins laughed at you.

“Stop joking around! It was a joke and you know it!”

You could still hear the giggles from behind the door as you slammed it shut. However, you paused, hearing Azul murmur something to the twins and them quiet down. They sounded a bit disappointed, to be honest.

Sighing, you cracked open the door again, peeking out to the three. Azul was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes?”

“…Thanks. Do you guys wanna, uh, go out again this weekend? You said you wanted my time, in exchange, right?”

Azul visibly perked, giving you a closed eye smile as he nodded.

“Yes! How about we meet at 11am this Saturday at the gates? We can visit the town, you don't get to visit often, correct?”

“Yeah,” You smiled shyly. “Sounds good, I'll see you all then.”

“You pretended to not hear Floyd's whoop!” as you closed the door, chuckling to yourself.

“Weirdos. Cute ones, though.”

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #octotrio #polyoctotrio

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roosterforme · 2 days

Text

I Love Being 'Us' With You (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist.

Warnings: language, angst, pregnancy topics, mention of miscarriage, Carole and Goose coming to the rescue

It had been months since you used birth control. Originally you planned to stop taking the pill when you embarked on your honeymoon, but the two of you agreed to stop filling your prescription before that. For more than a week when you were in Hawaii, you and Bradley had sex at least three times a day. He was like a man on a mission. Well, several missions. He wanted to keep you satisfied, but you could also tell he wanted to get you pregnant sooner rather than later. He wanted to have a kid before he turned forty.

The first time you ever mentioned wanting to have kids, he took you home and kept you in bed for hours. And that was before you and he were actively trying. Since last fall, he had been meticulous. He knew your cycles, and he was seemingly always ready to go when you were ovulating. But it had been months, and while he was outwardly as relaxed as always, you could tell that he was starting to get concerned. You were, too.

At first, it was easy to go with the flow. "It just takes time," Bradley told you, and you agreed. You continued to keep track of your cycle. You tried to be hopeful. You had a partner. You weren't doing this alone.

But you really were.

Because as much as you knew your husband was there for you, it was your body that wasn't working correctly. It was you, not him, who was messing everything up. Every time your period started, you had to cry alone before you could regroup and let him know that another month of trying had ended unsuccessfully. With every negative pregnancy test, you felt a little bit more of your optimism crumble into something much uglier.

You were at the point where you hated your body after so many months, and of course that's when Bradley's parents asked if it was okay to come stay for a long weekend for his birthday. When you got off the call with them, you started crying.

"I don't understand why you're being weird about this," Bradley sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "It's just for three nights. They've stayed with us before. Hell, I don't make a big deal out of it when your parents come out."

You shouldn't have to explain yourself to him. You didn't even know how to anyway. "I'm not being weird! I just don't want to have to talk to them about our plans to have a baby."

"Sweetheart. They don't even know we're trying."

Maybe that was true, but it was the only thing you could think about. So you excused yourself to go cry in bed with the door closed. You could feel the cramps starting. You knew you were just days away from getting your period. You knew the tears weren't going to stop. Another month was down the drain, and you were starting to resent when Bradley would initiate sex. You didn't even want him to look at you. And now when his parents came to stay at the craftsman for his birthday, you would be ovulating once again. It would be another month of disappointment where you felt like you were on display for your in-laws to witness it this time.

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You were distancing yourself from him, and Bradley didn't know what to do. It had gotten so much worse in the last few weeks since his parents asked to come stay for a few days. You stopped driving to work with Bradley. You started working late. You started to schedule sex with him to the point that he was surprised he wasn't receiving calendar invitations. He wanted to have a baby, sure, but he wanted you to be happy above all else. As soon as his parents left to go back to Virginia, you and he really needed to figure this out.

"Are you listening to me?"

Bradley's attention snapped back to his dad who was standing right in front of him, holding a nine iron with an annoyed look on his face. He let his mind wander so far away from the golf course, he didn't even realize it was his turn.

"Sorry," he grunted, digging in his golf bag. "Just got distracted."

"I was telling you that I'm finally taking your mom on a cruise. It leaves the day after her birthday," Goose told him.

"Right," Bradley replied. "Got it. She'll love that."

After Bradley hit his ball a little too aggressively, his dad carefully lowered the club and said, "Now why don't you tell me why you look constipated, and why your wife cried when mom told her that Brenda is going to have another grandson."

Bradley shoved the club back into his bag, and as much as he told himself he didn't want to talk about it, the words just started flowing. "We've been trying to get pregnant since last fall, and it's just a fucking mess now. Sometimes she doesn't want me to touch her. Other times it's like she thinks we need to have sex right then and there. Honestly, I don't know how to fix this, but having a kid isn't worth it if she's not happy with me."

"Have you told her that?"

Bradley stared at his dad, letting the words penetrate his brain. "Well, no."

"Have you put pressure on her?"

Now he felt like the one who was going to burst into tears. Truly, he never meant to, but he probably had. Talking about wanting a kid before he gets too much older. Mentioning how they would have to start saving for money for college. "Shit."

Goose pulled him in for a hug, and he let the soothing feel of his dad's hand on his back calm him down. "Bradley, women are smarter than us. They pick up on everything. If you want to fix it, then you need to be as honest with her as you can be. Because I don't think you want to destroy your marriage like this."

"I sure don't," Bradley said, his voice muffled against his dad's shoulder.

"We've still for fourteen holes and plenty of time. Let's hop in the golf cart, and I'll tell you all about some of the ways I fucked up with your mom and how I managed to fix it afterwards."

Bradley couldn't help but laugh. "At least she keeps you honest."

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You were mortified. Your hormones were a mess as you were almost definitely ovulating. You wanted to have sex with Bradley this morning before he left to play golf, but you didn't even know how to tell him that you just wanted him and not the potential to get pregnant. And now you were out to brunch with his mom as tears filled your eyes, because the couple at the next table over was younger than you and Bradley, and they were taking turns holding the most adorable baby you'd ever seen.

When you tried to excuse yourself from the table, you felt Carole's hand on your wrist. "Sweet Girl," she whispered. "Let's talk about it."

You nodded and slid back into your seat as you choked back the tears. "We're trying to get pregnant, and it's just not happening. Was it that obvious?" you asked, knowing you'd been a mess all weekend.

"Of course not," Carole told you in her calm voice that you loved so much. "I just know this type of situation very well is all."

"You do?" you asked, dabbing at your eyes with your napkin. "But you had Bradley."

"Sure," she told you, still rubbing your wrist with her warm fingers. In a lot of ways, it was always easier to talk to her than your own mom, and you were thankful that you didn't have to act like nothing was bothering you right now. "Sure, I had Bradley, but ol' Goose and I wanted a baseball team worth of kids. A whole boatload of snot nosed little critters running around."

You laughed in spite of yourself. "What happened?"

"Well," Carole said with a smirk, "Bradley wasn't exactly planned, as I'm sure you well know. He was born in June after we got married in November. I wasn't showing yet in the wedding photos, but Goose and I both knew he was there." She smiled softly as she added, "I loved being a mom to him. He was the sweetest baby in the world, and I wanted a bunch more. But you can only handle the devastation of repeated miscarriages for so long before you throw in the towel, because you realize it's not worth your sanity. It's not worth it when you already have so much. Goose and I had some long, hard conversations, but we realized we were both already on the same page."

The tears were back, and this time you could feel them rolling down your cheeks. You hated that she didn't get to have what she wanted, but she was looking at you with kind eyes as you said, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," she said with a soft laugh. "I got to raise Bradley, and then I got to pass him along to you." When you nodded and smiled in spite of yourself, she added, "And I just know that he's more than enough for you, and that you are more than he ever dreamed of. Just promise me you'll have those hard conversations with him. Maybe you'll find that you and Bradley are already in agreement about your future."

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Bradley was thoroughly unamused when his Bronco wouldn't start on his birthday. "I think it's just the timing belt," his father said as they tinkered under the hood after dinner. "Order a new part and see if that does the trick. In the meantime, you'll just have to drive us to the airport in the other car."

"Sure," Bradley replied sarcastically as he grinned at you. "No problem, Dad. We'll just all cram into the red car like a pack of clowns."

"It's not that bad!" you said as he pulled you in for a hug. You already felt better after spending twenty minutes last night promising each other you'd spend even more time talking after you dropped his parents off for their red eye flight back east.

"It's so bad, Baby Girl," your husband whispered into your hair. "I don't know if their suitcase will even fit in the trunk."

"Stop being dramatic, Roo."

Of course the suitcase fit. And all four of you fit, too. You let Bradley drive so he wouldn't complain about the leg room. He parked in the garage at the airport, and you and he walked Carole and Goose inside the departures door, taking turns embracing them before they dropped off their bag and headed through the security gate.

"Listen," Bradley said, reaching for your hand and giving you a kiss. "I know we said we'd talk when we get back home, but I need to apologize to you." His brown eyes were sincere and a little sad as he led you back outside and said, "There's nothing I want more than you and me together. Safe and happy. That's it. If we don't have a kid, it's not the end of the world, and it's certainly not the end of us."

You smiled up at him. "I agree. I don't want to think about it like a chore any longer. If it happens, then that's amazing. If not, well we can always regroup and talk about other ways of becoming parents. Or we can just be us."

"That's music to my fucking ears," he crooned, pulling you in close against his body. "I love being us with you."

Before you could assure him that you felt the same way, his lips were on yours, hard and heavy, taking your breath away. The scrape of his mustache and the way his hand kept sliding lower on your back until he was palmig your butt reminded you how badly you wanted him, just because he was your Bradley. You moaned into his mouth.

When you broke the kiss and looked up at him, a cocky little grin bloomed across his lips. "I have an idea, Sweetheart. Call it an extra birthday gift."

"What is it?" you gasped, already trying to consider how much you and he could get away with in the nearly deserted parking garage. But he was a step ahead of you.

Bradley unlocked your car, handed you the keys, and unbuckled his belt. He eased himself carefully onto the backseat, rubbed his thigh and braced his big foot against the center console. "Come here," he coaxed, and you climbed right in.

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