#hope it came across as an artistic choice

[allysketches]

in his primadonna girl* era 😌✨

(*playing the damsel in distress and getting locked in a tower in the middle of the french revolution so his boyfriend can rescue him from being beheaded 😏)

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens fanart #my art #neil gaiman #what is this... me?? posting on a regular time and not in the dead of night???? no way #anyway he is the best #in his sassiest era #also can you tell I can't draw the complex ruffle design or whatever it's called to save my life?? lol #hope it came across as an artistic choice #not incompetence (which it is)

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l next chapter

summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in and adjusting in the community, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the very first time and strange new feelings instantly take root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. AGE GAP (no specific age is mentioned, but reader’s in her late 20s/early 30s and Joel is 56). reader is basically an OFC but story is written in reader format and her physical descriptions are kept as vague as possible. i have my own face claim for her, but i will only ever share it under cuts and with disclaimers. reader is married, Ellie plays a very important role in the series, hints at her strained relationship with Joel but this will indeed be a fix it fic because he deserves it, okay?

word count: 8.1k

Jackson, Wyoming | June, 2024

Joel’s deep, dark brown eyes linger on you from across the town mess hall with sheer, almost unabashed curiosity. Then again, he doesn’t even realize that he’s staring.

It’s about half past twelve, the designated lunch break hour in Jackson, and the larger scale eatery, which for the last couple of years has been run by an older man named Seth and his two surviving adult sons, is alive and well, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter.

The hall is almost over maximum capacity, packed to the brim with several members of the steadily growing community who had stopped in for a quick bite to eat before having to resume their daily work duties around the settlement. Or at least, a majority of them had, anyway. Others shamelessly try to milk their lunch hour for all that it’s worth and more, dragging it out and extending their allotted free time for as long as they possibly can before having to return to their scheduled tasks around the commune. They float about the place, socializing as if the mess hall had suddenly turned into The Tipsy Bison, the bar right across the road that’s also owned by Seth.

Somehow, by a stroke of sheer good luck, you’d managed to find yourself a smaller, unoccupied table nestled against the wall, away from all the hustle and bustle. It’s tucked away over in the furthest corner of Jackson’s busy and bustling makeshift canteen, near where the aluminum double doors that lead back to the kitchens are propped wide open for the mess hall staff who were coming in and out to replenish the dishes at the buffet. 

You’re sitting at the table alone, your plastic lunch tray surrounded by an absurd amount of open books that Joel had very little choice but to assume came from the town’s modest, but decent sized library that he’d seen nestled between the schoolhouse and the old church, right behind Main Street. In between delicate bites of oven baked chicken and roasted vegetables harvested fresh from the gardens, you reach up and take the blunt, worn yellow pencil that’s tucked in the space behind your ear, using it to scribble on the notepad in your lap before putting the pencil back in its designated place. Although you’re clearly working through your lunch break today, that doesn’t stop you from being interrupted on several different occasions by numerous individuals—friends and familiar faces all approach you with hopeful expressions, eager to join you and keep you company. 

Sure, the hall is full, but there’s still a number of available seats still left at other partially occupied tables nearby, bigger tables that aren’t crowded with books like yours, tables whose occupants aren’t busy working, studying—doing whatever it is that you’re doing. It becomes apparent to Joel that you’re something of a hot commodity around here. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s just something about you that reminds him of the sweet and popular small town girl his favorite country artists would sing about back in the day. The kind of girl with a magnetic presence and irresistible charm—the kind of girl that anyone can fall head over heels in love with in one way or another. 

There’s something almost too endearing about the gracious way you offer up just the most saccharine smile and apologetic doe eyes as you point to your books, politely declining every offer for companionship that comes your way, saying something he can imagine to be along the lines of, not today or maybe another time. Eventually, after a while, you’re finally left alone to bury yourself back into whatever it is that’s keeping you occupied that you can’t even have your midday meal in peace—you’re so engrossed in the task that you don’t even notice the older, salt and pepper haired newcomer who’s been blatantly staring at you from his table over on the opposite of the hall for the last several minutes. 

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around.

He still vividly remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago during the winter season. 

It had been the morning after his fight with Ellie, after she’d confronted him and he had been forced to fess up about his plans to hand her off to his younger brother, Tommy—he’d asked him, pleaded with him, to get her to the Fireflies in Colorado. Joel’s mind had been in an all out raging war, his heart torn between doing what he’d felt was best for Ellie and what he truly wanted, which was to remain by her side and get her to where she needed to be himself. But how the fuck could he do that when all he’d managed to do in the few months prior to their arrival in Wyoming was fail to protect her over and over again? Sure, Ellie was a teenager, now closer to being an adult than anything else, but she was still a child, one who needed to be protected, kept safe. She needed somebody who could get to where she needed to be in one piece, and Joel had come to the conclusion that, as much as he wanted to be that person, he simply wasn’t capable. Slower, older, his hearing getting worse and worse as the days go by, he feared he’d only end up getting her killed if she continued on with him, a scenario he fucking refused to let happen at all costs. He wouldn’t hold another child’s dead body in his arms, not again.

Following a very long and sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel had pulled himself out of bed just after sunrise that morning. After getting dressed, he’d quietly slipped out of the house and made his way down to the horse stables, hoping he could leave the commune as soon as possible and without notice from Tommy—and especially without notice from Ellie. It’s not that he had wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel knew he wouldn’t have it in him to follow through with the decision he’d made about parting ways with her if he saw her face again, not a fucking chance. And so there he’d been, in one of the stalls at the stables, saddling up the horse he planned to steal and take off on when you’d walked by, flashing him a warm and friendly smile, probably assuming he was just another patrolman getting ready to head out for the morning shift. 

Joel had just stared at you, lips pressed together into a tight, thin line with an emotionless expression on his hard, stony face.

Of course, you were nothing more than a complete stranger who didn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going through his mind. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what was happening to the tortured older man you’d just encountered, the way his inner turmoil was a single thought away from tearing him apart from the inside out. You’d probably just thought he was rude for not smiling back, or at the very least, offering you a courteous good morning.

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

It’d been rather difficult for him to forget all about the prettiest goddamn fucking face he’d ever seen since the world ended two decades ago—not even after all of the events that followed that fateful morning.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Wyoming. He and Ellie had made a trip down to the produce market on Main Street to pick up some vegetables and jarred preserves to stock up the kitchen pantry of their new, forever home. He’d caught sight of you as you made your way down one of the aisles towards the sweet potato bins with a brown, woven basket hanging from one arm and a reusable shopping bag draped over the other. Before Joel even realized that he’d been staring, your kind gaze met his own from across the market and you smiled at him again.

Still just as warm, still just as friendly. And you were still just as fucking beautiful as he remembered.

Much like that winter morning in the horse stables, Joel didn’t smile back at you. 

Two for fucking two—surely you must have thought he was a mannerless asshole at this point. He honestly wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’d think the same. 

Tommy, who had made it back from leading his morning patrol group just in time to join him for lunch, waves a hand in front of Joel’s face, looking thoroughly amused. “Maybe we should find you a goddamn camera,” he teases, letting out a small chuckle once he’d finally managed to break the older Miller’s trance, garnering his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last a hell of a lot longer.”

Joel scowls at his brother, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught openly gawking. 

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots, heat flooding his face. The way Tommy’s looking at him, with that mischievous glimmer in his eyes, it reminds Joel of their younger years, when Tommy would make it his mission in life to do anything that would cause him discomfort just for his own kicks. 

“Hey, I don’t really blame you, y’know.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of sweet iced tea and picks it up, taking a long and refreshing sip. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs his shoulders, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch it. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing ’bout another woman who ain’t her,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. His brother hadn’t always been the most faithful of partners in his first life, but Tommy truly seemed to be head over heels in love with his wife. Hearing him talk about another woman makes Joel wonder if perhaps remnants of his playboy ways still lingered behind even after twenty years. With Maria having just found out she was expecting his child, Joel certainly hopes that isn’t the case. “Eyes to yourself, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no real harm in just takin’ a quick peek every once in a while,” he muses, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. Setting his glass of iced tea back down onto the table in front of him, he leans back into his chair and glances over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man around here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s a real fuckin’ beauty, she is. But I should probably go ahead and warn you now that it’s best you don’t go gettin’ any ideas when it comes to that one.”

Before Joel can even stop himself, he finds himself asking, “Why’s that?

“Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your fuckin’ age, you old fucker.”

Joel flips him off.

“Besides that, she’s already spoken for.” 

“She’s got a boyfriend.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“She’s got a husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s a married woman, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to Jackson’s only doctor.”

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes. “A real doctor? Or just some fuckin’ clueless prick who claims to be a doctor?” he questions, shoving another forkful of his carrots into his mouth.

The younger man laughs at the bitter skepticism, knowing that it’d come from a place of envy more than anything. “Real, Joel. The guy’s around my age, give or take a couple years. He was finishin’ up his medical school residency when the outbreak first happened, at least that’s what Maria says,” he explains. He notices the confusion flash across Joel’s face and continues to elaborate. “Two of them go way back, went to the same college before she transferred out to another school for her law degree. Maria came across him and his group one day while out lookin’ for supplies. She said he still knew his stuff after all these years and decided to bring him in as the community’s physician. He looks after everyone around here. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a stupid ridin’ accident last summer and he set the bone right back into place, had me good as new within a few weeks. S’a miracle we’ve got someone like him around here.”

Joel glances down at his plate, twiddling his fork between his thumb and his index finger. He would have been a goddamn dirty liar if he’d said that finding out you were a married woman didn’t bother him. 

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

That only makes it sting a little harder.

Tommy immediately picks up on his brother’s disappointment in hearing the news about you being taken and softly kicks his shin with the toe of his boot underneath the table. “Y’know Joel, there’s plenty of other single women around here. Pretty ones, and real nice, too,” he informs him with a small smile. He pauses and then offers, “If you’re interested, I could introduce you around. Maria has this friend, her name is Esther and she’s a real cute blonde—”

“That’s the last thing on my fuckin’ mind,” Joel grumbles out in reply. He tightly shakes his head. “I just fuckin’ got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to take care of. We’re both tryin’ to get used to this place after bein’ out there on the road for so long. We’re still in the middle of gettin’ ourselves settled. The kid’s my priority right now—my only fuckin’ priority. Not meetin’ someone.”

Not wanting to push him too far, Tommy goes along with the subject change. “Speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? Haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back.”

Joel hesitates, momentarily unable to meet Tommy’s eyes.

It’d been a couple of weeks now since the events that took place back in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Joel had certainly thought once or twice about confiding in Tommy about what he had done. How he had ruthlessly and without a single ounce of mercy killed all of those people in the hospital, how he had shot Marlene dead at point blank range—how he had violently and single handedly stopped what had most likely been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure for the cordyceps infection by preventing the Fireflies from operating on Ellie and performing a brain surgery that would have killed her. 

Joel doesn’t regret it, nor does he regret the choice he’d made on Ellie’s behalf.

He would do it all over again in a fucking heartbeat if it came down to it.

He doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, but he does carry the guilt of having lied to her about it after it was all said and done. He felt awful for looking her in the eye and swearing to her that everything he’d said about the Fireflies was true when it wasn’t. Ellie claimed to believe him, but he knew better than that. She was smart, too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew for certain that Joel wasn’t being entirely forthright about what had gone down in Salt Lake City while she’d been unconscious.

From that moment on the mountain, things had been quite tense between them. That conversation instantly caused a rift in their relationship, but Joel could tell she was doing her very best to force herself to fully believe that he was still a person she could trust, a person she could put her faith in. He took an odd sense of comfort in knowing that her forced efforts to keep believing in him had to have meant something good. 

She didn’t want to give up on him or on their relationship.

Joel exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried ‘bout her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single goddamn friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, barely even talks to Maria.” He sighs again, tiredly rubbing the side of his face with his free hand. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than other people. She can’t live the rest of her life like that. I try to tell her she needs to put in more effort on her part, but she won’t fuckin’ listen to me.”

“Just give her some more time, Joel. After everythin’ that poor kid’s been through in her life, it ain’t a big surprise that she’s strugglin’ a bit to fit in around here, y’know?” Tommy notices the way his older brother’s jaw clenches and he offers him a look of sympathy. “Look, I know Ellie means a whole lot to you and if I were you, I would be real worried ’bout her too. But just give her a little more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she fuckin’ will. She’s a real strong kid, big brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” Joel murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be just fine,” Tommy reassures him. “She’ll find her place here, Joel. Just wait. You’ll see.”

“I sure as hell fuckin’ hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight hitting your face.

Summer’s just beginning in Wyoming, and after a particularly long, cold and cruel winter that swept the western state this last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see that warmer weather is well on its way.

At least, for now you’re thrilled.

Winters in Jackson were god awful, but summers could be just as brutal, if not worse.

Clutching the strap of your old, but sturdy brown leather satchel bag securely over your shoulder, you hurriedly make your way across the settlement from the mess hall and back towards the horse stables, the place you commonly referred to as your second home—it wasn’t all that much of a joke, seeing as you often spent more time there than you didn’t. It’s now after lunch hour, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around, most of it which would undoubtedly trickle into the next day.

Being the only veterinarian in the community, there was always more than plenty of work to be done every day. Too much work to be done by one single person alone. Often, you find yourself feeling quite overwhelmed by it all. You feel like you’re completely in over your head, and it leaves you wondering if you’d made the right decision by taking such an enormous responsibility into your hands.

Then again, it’s not like you’d been given much of a choice. In a way, it had been expected of you.

Prior to passing away from illness two summers ago, your father had been the veterinarian who looked after the animals. Even though you hadn’t been trained professionally like he had, your father decided to spend the final years of his life teaching you to the best of his ability and with what little resources he had available. After all, Jackson was going to need someone to step up and take care of the animals when he was gone—particularly the hoses. Even as his physical health worsened, he used every last ounce of strength he had left in him to prepare you to take over for him when he died. Thanks to him and all he’d done for you, you certainly knew a thing or two, but the job was still daunting, even after all this time of being in practice on your own without him there to guide you like before.

Keeping the horses healthy to begin with made your job a hell of a lot easier, but when a horse became sick or injured, that was when your knowledge and your skills were truly put to the test. Horses were how everyone traveled when in search of needed supplies, how patrolmen and women moved around while they were out and about on watch keeping the community safe against the infected and against raiders. Horses were one of the most important, most precious resources the commune possessed. They kept everything going, everyone moving, and you’d be fucking lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them didn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

Sensing your doubt, Maria Miller often assured you that you were the best person for the role—the only person for the role. “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she had complimented you over coffee at her place the morning after you had successfully removed a bullet lodged into the shoulder of one of the horses that had been injured while Tommy and his group were out on overnight patrol. They’d stumbled across violent and armed raiders, and luckily everyone had made it out unscathed with the exception of Tommy’s beloved black horse, Ranger. You recalled being pulled out of your bed in the middle of the night to tend to him, the first serious case you had to take care of without your father’s guidance. Thankfully, the stallion’s injury hadn’t been life threatening, and you were able to patch him up within the hour. After just a few weeks of working with Ranger and putting him through physical therapy, the horse made a full recovery and both Maria and Tommy couldn’t have been more thrilled with your work.

Still, you still continued questioning your own abilities, but it didn’t really matter in the end. Both Maria and Tommy decided to assign you as Jackson’s equine veterinarian, pulling you from your previous job, which had been helping Seth make sandwiches at The Tipsy Bison.

You rush into the stables, making a mental list with the names of all the horses that you still need to check over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol. You make your way down to the very last stall which is serving as home to a stunning, chestnut-brown pregnant mare.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, beaming at the beauty. “Hi, my gorgeous girl. How are you doing today, sweetie pie?”

“I would be doing a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you slightly.

Peering around Stella’s body, you catch sight of Ellie laying down on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall. She’d made something of a pillow out of her backpack, kicking back as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for what had to be the hundredth time. She offers you a silly, lopsided grin the minute she takes a glimpse at the baffled look on your face. “Howdy.”

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly. “What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Living my best life,” she deadpans. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

You try but mostly fail, in hiding your laughter at her quick witted sense of humor. “Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your heavy satchel bag onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those apples you always carried around with you.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a small joking smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair, which she always keeps tied back in a messy ponytail.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids?”

She rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in the Boston QZ. FEDRA’s finest, dude.”

You don’t know all that much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happened to be Tommy Miller’s older brother and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, but Maria had told you that he had no familial relation to the girl, a fact that took you by complete surprise.

Their arrival in Jackson back during the winter season had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring just a couple of weeks ago. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had gone or why they had left the safety of the commune’s walls in the first place. Not even Maria, who had failed in getting her husband to talk. She swore up and down Tommy knew something she didn’t, but he refused to spill his brother’s secrets, even to his own wife.

Like everyone else in the tight knit community, you were curious about Ellie, and you were especially curious about Joel. You’d seen him around a couple of times before, but hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet. Still, even without having spoken a single word to him, you already knew he wasn’t anything like Tommy, or anyone else you’ve ever encountered, really. A man of very few words, he kept to himself, just like Ellie did. Still, Joel knew he needed to find his place and pull his weight in Jackson just like everyone else, and once he began working patrol alongside Tommy, he finally began engaging with other members of the town. 

Reluctantly so, but at the very least, he was trying.

Ellie, on the other hand, avoided everybody at all costs. Everybody, that is, except for you.

Since their arrival, Ellie chose to spend her days in the stables. She’d hang out with the horses while reading her comic books or listening to tapes on some old Walkman she had permanently borrowed from Tommy. Despite a hectic schedule that kept you busy, you eventually started taking the time out of your day to talk to her. It had started off with light chatter about the most trivial of things—how the day was going, whether or not the weather was nice outside, what had been served for lunch in the mess hall that afternoon. Ellie seemed almost annoyed with you at first, but after a couple of days, she’d quickly started warming up to you and by the end of the first week, she had started following you around the stables, joining you wherever you needed to be. The girl had taken a liking to you, but she was still quite guarded and careful, as if she were still testing the waters, figuring out whether or not you could be trusted.

You don’t mind that, though.

Little by little, simply by being kind to her and making the genuine effort to get to know her, you’re slowly beginning to chip away at her layers. There was still quite a long way to go if you ever wanted the teenager to completely open up to you, but you didn’t mind that either.

You’d be as patient with her as you needed to be.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends, you know.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

Even as you rephrase yourself, you can’t help but smile. “Friends your own age,” you remark, tucking the loose lock of your hair that had fallen loose from your dutch braid behind your ear. “You know, my husband, he has a niece named Dina. She’s about your age. I could introduce you to each other if you'd like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everyone around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I’d have an easier time fitting in around here if I was a fucking clicker.”

Chuckling, you gently shake your head at her.

By now, you’d pretty much gotten used to her rich and colorful vocabulary.

You crouch down in front of her. “Look Ellie, I know how hard it is not to fit in with others.”

“You?” Ellie blows a loud raspberry in complete disbelief. “No fucking way. I don’t believe that for one fucking second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, in case you didn’t know this, I haven’t always been this age,” you remind her, lightly swatting at the side of her knee with your hand. “I was fifteen once too.”

“Yeah, and you were probably little miss fucking perfect, just like you are now.” She rolls her brown eyes at you in a teasing manner. “I bet everyone just loved you.”

You swat at her knee again. “Oh, stop that. That couldn’t be any further from the truth,” you reply, wondering where this child had come up with the idea that you are, or had ever been perfect. “I was still living in one of the quarantine zones with my family when I was your age, Ellie. We were living in the Alburquerque QZ for quite a while before it got overrun by the infected. They had schools and everything, just like in Boston. My mother was a nurse, so she had the privilege of enrolling me in one of their better schools, a preparatory school—she had the hope that I’d become an officer so I could have a chance at a decent life.” You pause, noticing a strange glimmer flash in the girl’s eyes, but when she says nothing, you continue on, “So I got the absolute pleasure of going to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and important higher ups in the zone. And let me tell you something, the world may have gone to complete shit, but teenagers can still be fucking assholes.”

Ellie throws her head back and laughs loudly. “Whoa! I never thought I’d hear you curse. I thought you were too fucking prim and proper for that.”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, grinning at the way she continues to cackle. “Besides, spending all this time with you might just have me cursing like a fucking sailor by the end of the week.”

“Fuck yeah it will,” she agrees with a nod. 

You grin again, but when your eyes meet Ellie’s, it falters slightly.

Ellie hadn’t told you much of anything about her past, but one thing was for certain—the young girl had been through hell and back. You could see it written all over her face, even when she smiled and even when she laughed. The traces of terror, pain, and trauma were quite subtle, but they were very much present and in recent nights, you’d find yourself lying in bed, wide awake and wondering what all this poor child had gone through in her life. Thoughts about what Ellie had seen, what and who she had lost in this world haunted you.

She’s different. 

What she’d been through made her different.

It set her apart from the other children, especially those who don’t know what it’s like to live a life outside these four walls.

It pained you to know that she felt ostracized when you were willing to bet your life that whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been her fault.

Ellie Williams wasn’t your responsibility—you hardly know her. But you already care about her. An inexplicable soft spot for her had found its way into your heart from your very first interaction with her. If there’s anything you can do to help her ease into this new way of life, you’ll gladly do so without hesitation.  

“So then,” Ellie finally says after a minute, looking up at you. “Is it, uh, is it alright if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course.” You rise to your feet and glance at Stella. “But only on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short handed lately and could use the extra help. Deal?”

She jumps up to her feet, eagerly nodding her head. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving his way through the doors of the mess hall. The air outside is still relatively cool, it’s crisp and fresh—but the temperatures are sure to get a hell of a lot warmer now that summer has officially arrived. Not that he minded.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, doing his best to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction.

People seem to be getting to him, but oftentimes, he still feels like a pariah. It’s almost like he’s some fucking feral stray cat that Jackson had adopted and taken into it’s home, willing to tame him, but still afraid that he could start tearing shit up at any given moment if they didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. He could handle that, though. It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between the survivor’s guilt she’d been dealing with on a daily basis and the way she was looked at in the community by everyone, Joel feared for her well being. He could only hope that Tommy was right about her just needing time and that eventually, she’ll find her place and he’ll have the chance to give her the most normal life possible under the circumstances. 

It’s the very least Joel could do for her after all she’d been through in the last year—after what he’d done, how he had lied straight to her face. He fucking owed her that much.

Ellie deserved happiness, and he would do just about anything in his power to give it to her.

Joel arrives at the horse stables and makes his way inside. “Ellie?” He calls out her name. “Ellie? You in here?”

That’s when he hears her voice. 

“Wait, what? Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel sees Ellie standing there, her tiny little hand on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she’s holding a mane brush. She isn’t alone.

He’s surprised to see you standing there beside her, your hands planted on your hips. You’re wearing a pair of well worn light wash blue jeans, the legs tucked into a pair of weathered black riding boots whose soles are completely caked with muck. Joel remembers you wearing an oversized, long sleeved red flannel shirt back in the mess hall, but it’s now off and tied around your waist, leaving you in a thin, cotton white tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and Joel tries his hardest not to stare at the patch of bare skin that peeks between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans.

Christ.

You’re even more beautiful up close.

Fuckin’ get a grip, Miller, he thinks silently to himself.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

“What? No fucking way!” Ellie exclaims, looking thoroughly excited, but bewildered by the fact. “Horses are pregnant for a whole year? Holy shit man, that’s fucking nuts!”

“Well, for eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat on her muscular neck. “This is Stella’s first one. We’re hoping for a smooth pregnancy that reaches full term, but sometimes babies decide to come a bit sooner than expected.”

Curiously, Joel’s lips part and his eyes widen slightly.

He can’t fucking believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone in two weeks and yet here she is, engaging with you so easily and so effortlessly, cracking the first genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed that giraffe back in Salt Lake City. More than that, Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws would drop in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

You and Ellie both turn around, glancing in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” she asks, her smile fading slightly.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to go eat somethin’ kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her red and tan backpack from the ground, she hands you the mane brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Joel glances at you, a sudden wave of awkwardness washing over him. Just as he’s about to politely excuse himself and leave, you speak.

“You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake.

Your name is as beautiful as you are and it sounds heavenly when he repeats it, rolling smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own and the contrast between the two is stark. Your hand is soft against his rough, small compared to his large, but somehow still an all too perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades now stir itself awake—it’s a feeling that’s too foreign for him to pinpoint. 

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes a step back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m real sorry ‘bout Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I’ll have a talk with her.”

“No, no. Of course not. She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you quickly assure him without missing a beat. “I’m usually in here alone, so it’s actually been really nice having her around. I enjoy her company a lot.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Is that so strange?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to life here and meetin’ people. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His eyebrows raise to his hairline—exactly how well had you and Ellie gotten to know each other already? What all had she told you? What did you know about her?

What did you know about him?

Joel tries to mask the concern on his face.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head, the ridiculousness of what you’d just said sounding sillier out loud than it had in your mind. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You detect the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly tell you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about his kid. Ellie being different is something that he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. It puts him right into protective mode and you don’t blame him, not in the slightest. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize at all, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts relaxing. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen. All it’s taking is being in your presence and talking to you. Joel suddenly understands why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re unlike anyone that either of them had ever met before. You’re bright and you bring about this warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hadn’t felt in so fucking long. It feels like seeing the sun for the very first time after spending years and years trapped in a cold, cold darkness.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. We lived in New Mexico on a horse ranch when I was growing up—he started off as a stable hand and then he went back to school to become an equine veterinarian. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’ but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He gave me a ton of books that I could read and study from, but most of it was hands-on training. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. Sorry to hear ‘bout your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, wondering what had happened to him. 

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “Cancer, we think it was, but we obviously can’t know for sure without proper testing. And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life, especially when you lived under FEDRA control for so long,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white cottage right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults.

If you didn’t stop smiling at him like that, there was going to be a problem.

“It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it would be best for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how fucking easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together tomorrow night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder. Through the small round window in the stall, he can see the very barn you’re talking about. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. We do it for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big barbecue, drinks, and even dancing. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“Hey, the world might have ended, but people still know how to get down and party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you.

Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you? A complete fucking stranger?

He thinks about it. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of his patrol duties, but if going to the damn thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you tomorrow night. 

Shit.

Yeah, he’s in fucking trouble. 

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller hbo #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash

[lovecoree]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐊𝐓𝐇

pairing: painter!tae x black fem!reader

synopsis 🎱: taehyung doesn’t tolerate your attitude, especially when he’s not in his right mind for his next painting. punishing you is the only way for you to know he’s serious about that.

warning: SMUT ! mdni , oral ( m receiving ) , filming ( with consent ofc ) , huge d!ck tae ( yes this is a warning ) , reader is black coded , dom!tae , brat!reader , brat taming , let me know if there’s more !

a/n: this was an anonymous request, also my first time writing smut so it’s probably trash, but hope you enjoy

Taehyung was an amazing artist, the art ideas he had in mind came easily to him, wrist moving swiftly as he painted on a blank canvas, but today was a bad day for Taehyung. He couldn’t seem to stay focus nor come up with ideas that seemed new and interesting. Everything looked the same leaving him more angry and destroying countless of canvases— left ripped or thrown all across the room.

Taehyung was busy mixing up paints in a container with aggression, grey sleeves pushed up and veins protruding on his hands and arms, and glasses on the tip of his nose. He was pouring his anger out on mixing that he didn’t hear your footsteps nearing the door, not until your voice stopped all his movements.

“You’re still going at it” Your voice came out in a sarcastic tone as you took in the sight of the messy room and your boyfriend standing in the middle. Your voice got stuck in your throat when taehyung only turned his head and not his full body, eyes boring into yours as his expression was blank. “What do you want.” His cold tone was nothing new to you, you knew Taehyung can be cold towards you— or anyone when he’s angry about his work not coming out the way he wants it to be, but that doesn’t stop you from letting your true sarcastic comments slip out from time to time.

Your feet thud against the marble floor on purpose as you moved closer towards Taehyung, slightly kicking the half used canvases out of your way. Taehyung hated when you thud your feet, always telling you to pick your feet up when walking. He eyed your movements before slowly looking up at you with an intense look— a warning look that you did not take seriously. First mistake.

Folding your arms over your chest, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s grey shirt that’s oversized on you. “You’ve been in here for five hours, you promised me you’ll only be in here for two hours tae.” Which he did promise, the sincere promise he made right after giving you a kiss. Taehyung sighed as he fully turned his body around to face you. Small container and paint brush still in his hand tightly.

“Y/N sometimes promises are meant to be broken, you’ll be fine. I’m busy.” His blunt comment made you mad as you rolled your eyes. He didn’t tend to be harsh with his choice of words, but the lack of creativity and your sarcastic tone was making him annoyed. “Then why the fuck did you make the promise in the first place tae?” Taehyung jaw clenched as he looked at you with a hard glare. The bratty behavior and talk back is something Taehyung never liked, especially when you cuss. “What I say about cussing?” Taehyung stepped closer to you, towering over your body, but you wouldn’t waver. Second mistake.

“Boy I don’t care what you said, it’s my mouth. Now like I said fuck you make—” The gasp you let out as Taehyung finally broke his calmness, throwing the container of paint and paint brush on the floor— thank god it was washable paint. He gripped your neck pulling your body closer to his as you looked up at him. “Baby I told you I don’t tolerate disrespect or you cussing me out, apologize and I’ll let it slide.” Taehyung’s tone was deep, deep to the point you felt your panties start to dampen.

The look he gave you was telling you to utter something slick again, so what you do? Utter something slick again. “I’m not apologizing for shit.” Third mistake.

“That’s it take it all.” Taehyung groaned deeply glancing down at you as he gripped the back of your neck holding you still as he fucked your mouth. Loud gaging noises was music to his ears. “You look so pretty with my cock down your throat.” He smirked loving the sight of your tears pooling down to your puffy cheeks, spit and precum glistening on your chin and down on the floor, balls slapping on your chin repeatedly from Taehyung’s hard thrust.

“can’t bitch now, can you?” Tilting his head back, gripping the wooden table from behind him tightly as he bucked his hips. You looked up at him as you tried your best to breath out your nose, griping his thick thighs to slow his movements. “Nah, be the brat you wanted to be and take it.”

Taehyung’s girth had your mouth stretching painfully, but you enjoyed it. His tip hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you moaned around his length sending vibrations to taehyung’s cock causing him to moan. “Fuck baby, just like that.” He loved seeing your eyes filled with tears, made him weak in the knees. “S-Shit baby let me record you being good for me, hmm?” You nod your head yes as Taehyung stopped his thrust.

You could finally catch your breath as Taehyung slipped out your sore mouth. Cock drooping low from being to heavy to stand on its own. You hear him unlock his phone and pressing the record button. Gripping the base of his cock you stick out your tongue to let him slap his fat red tip on it. Pretty wet eyelashes blinking up at him as he slide back in, going back to his brutal thrusting.

Taehyung gripped the phone tight as he looked at the camera catching the pornographic scene. Biting his lip trying hard to suppress the smirk seeing you gag around him as he held you in place, nose hitting his freshly shaved pubic bone as he stuffed his cock down your throat. What felt like minutes he finally let go of your head causing you to pull back completely. Taking a huge gasp of air as spit connected from his swollen tip to your now puffy lips.

“You look a mess pretty.” You whimpered looking up at him breathing hard. He wanted to ruin you completely as punishment. Normally he would edge you on, but since you ran your mouth so much he decided to put it to good use. “Cock drunk already?” He slightly tapped your face with his free hand before gripping your jaw to look up at the camera.

“Apologies for being a brat baby and maybe I’ll go gentle.” Your hands rubbed up on his thighs as you looked up at him so pretty. “I-Im sorry for being a brat, it won’t happen a-again tae.” Voice practically raspy from the stretch, Taehyung smiled. “Good girl, finish me off.” He moved his hand from your jaw, allowing you to finally take control. His cock felt heavy in your hands as you jerked him off placing him back in your mouth, bobbing your head back and forth.

“Oh my— fuck you’re amazing.” To be honest this is exactly what Taehyung needed, from all the pent up stress he had today, fucking your throat was the only option in his mind to release it. “Fuck baby I’m close.” Taehyung’s moans turns into whimpers as you pulled away to jerk him off faster sticking out your tongue.

“shitshitshitshit.” Taehyung’s jaw dropped as his eyes rolled back, stomach caving in as thick ropes of his cum splattered all on your tongue, lips and cheeks. You looked pretty to him.

Taehyung turned the recording off, placing his phone on the table behind him. He watched as you scooped the remaining cum off your cheeks and lick your fingers clean.

“You are truly amazing baby.” Helping you up off the floor Taehyung kissed you passionately, tasting his own bittersweet cum. The kiss was sloppy yet loving. “No more distractions, ok?” Placing a harsh slap on your ass you smiled. “Ok.” You giggled as he picked you up bridal style carrying you to y’all shared bedroom.

#taehyung x black reader #black fem reader #bts x black girl #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung smut #smut #black reader smut #bts x black reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #taehyung #bts thv #kpop smut #bts smut #taehyung x y/n

[tainted-liquor]

✮ 4th Baby Mama‧₊˚ ⋅ 「15.10.23」 ft. Earth42 Miles G. Morales

ingredients; Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of smiles!

Listen, ik you said make it just one, but a part 2 is going to be made lol

It was a warm day out in Brooklyn, New York. The air gently caressed and kissed your skin, leaving your blue plaid skirt flowing as you trekked through the messy streets of Brooklyn. You paid no attention to the gunshots, explosions, or any of the...cherry-wine tinted 'spills' coming from a random trash bag in the alley. You mumbled along to the music you had blasting through your blue metallic beats, putting a slight pep in your step as Summer Walker spoke to your soul.

"I wanna start wit' yo mama, she shoulda whooped yo ass..." you grunted, giggling to yourself before swinging open the massive oak doors to Brooklyn Visions Academy. You felt rather giddy about the day ahead, knowing that you would be getting robotic babies as part of your home economics class. The problem was that you didn't know who you would be partnered with. It was all shits and giggles, and you were pretty sure the task would be as easy as ever. No matter who you were partnered with! Right?

No.

You made your way to the locker, checking your lashes and light makeup in the small mirror you had placed in the top right corner before placing all your unnecessary materials inside the navy blue metal. You did a quick fluff of your slick low bun and threw on your clear-framed glasses. You opened up your spearmint mentos gum, popping two small pieces in your mouth before closing your locker and proceeding through the bustling halls to find your friends. You lowered your headphones down to your neck, pausing the music and locating your girls all crowded together in what sounded like frantic whispers and sharp giggles. Catching up to the rest of the group, you merged into their tight circle to see what was going on as they all looked down at each other's phones.

"Yooo, what's happening? What y'all lookin' at?" You inquired whilst pulling out your phone and opening your school email. You turned your head to face your friend, Tierra, watching as the cyber-blue hue illuminated her facial features as she stared down at her screen with a hand over her mouth. Layla spoke up, nudging you gently so you could see what she was talking about, "They picked the partners for the...the fuckin' baby project at random!" She giggled, tears pricking her waterline as she flipped her screen to show you what was on her phone. You scanned through the list, eyes widening when you came across your name right next to Miles'.

"WHAT!" You shouted, breaking out into laughter with the rest of the group. "They paired me with my fuckin' ex, at least you got that quiet kid!" Tierra grunted, whacking you on the shoulder with a rolled-up homework assignment. You nearly fell on the floor, gripping Katie's shoulder while she held up upright. The idea of raising a baby, real or not, with a stranger sounded hilarious. You weren't mad, but he wasn't exactly the partner you wanted. You originally hoped for one of your girlfriends, or maybe even a cute guy from the basketball team that you could yap about later. But alas, the forms were out and the choices were final, so there was nothing more that you could do.

You were familiar with Miles; saying hi to him now and again in the hallways and always getting the same upward nod in the process. He was known to be an adept artist who wasn't big on having a large circle of friends, but that didn't mean he was weird. You held your stomach as you wiped your tears, easing into the steady flow of conversation your friends began to hold before it was time for you to head to your advisory. You waved bye to your friends before heading to Mrs. Thomas’ classroom for said advisory, where she covered the school's upcoming events and big tests we needed to be ready for. You fiddled and played with a loose curl in your bun, pulling it down and watching as it sprang back up at an instantaneous rate. 

The room was dull and filled with nothing but sleep until the bell rang, signaling for everyone to file out to their next class. You hastily grabbed your things, panicking slightly at the fact that in the next 30 minutes, you would be classified as a ‘mother’. The classroom was warm and comfortable, allowing your nerves to relax slightly as you sat in your usual seat. It didn’t take long for more voices to pour in, loud gossip and strained laughter filling the room as everyone took their respective seats. ”Girl this class finna be the death of me…how we havin’ kids at 8:35 in the morning!” Your friend Jayda mumbled, finally sitting down next to you as your teacher prepared to start today’s lesson.

“Nah that’s what I’m saying…Like, tell me how I got-” you began, cutting yourself off as soon as Ms. Kaylee cleared her throat and stood up from her desk with a warm smile. She spoke, her voice cutting clearly through the silence that hung over the room like a mistletoe over a pair with chemistry as thick as butter, “Alright, everyone! I’m sure you saw the email about your partners for your week-long project, but in case you didn’t have time or missed a couple of lessons I’ll go over everything for a couple minutes before we get started with our gender reveal!” You tensed in your seat, looking over at Jayda with wide eyes and an upside-down smile. The classroom door came swinging open, revealing a Miles who had a tiny matte-black bandage right next to his lip. His uniform jacket was missing, his tie askew, and his sleeves were rolled up to his upper bicep, displaying a ton of tiny scratches and a small bruise above the curve of his elbow. 

The teacher glared at him for what felt like a minute, calmly pulling him to the side to discuss his entrance while you glared at him, too. But you weren’t staring because he was a disruption to the classroom. He looked delicious like this…when he was finally out of his usual blue school hoodie and grey slacks. You watched as he nodded at the teacher, towering over her 5’4 stature before you felt a light tap on your arm. 

“Ayo, stop drooling girl we see you” Jayda laughed, giving her a firm eye-roll as you watched Miles stroll back to his desk and sit down. Ms. Kaylee let go of a deep sigh, shaking her head before continuing with her speech. She gave a brief explanation of what it was that we’d be doing, what the final goal was, and how we would be graded on our project. She clapped her hands together, setting out a bunch of baby holders and car seats before rolling out a massive case labeled ‘RealCare’. “Alright! When I call you and your partner's name, please come up and grab one bath bomb and a pail of water”

The people around you made quick work of finding their partners and grabbing the necessary supplies between chortles and hushed conversation. Your chest felt heavy as you talked Jayda’s ear off, nearing the order of people that you last saw on the Google form she had emailed you earlier. You perked up as soon as you heard your name, turning around to see Ms. Kaylee check off two spaces on her clipboard before beckoning the both of you to come up and grab your things. You sighed, getting up from your desk and grabbing a plain white bath bomb and a small beach pale filled with lukewarm water while Miles grunted and grabbed a car seat, muscles tensing and flexing under the weight of the surprisingly heavy chunk of plastic. He turned over to look at you, nodding his head back to his desk as a signal for you to follow him while you waited for the teacher to finish reading out the pairs. 

“Wassup, Miles” you beamed, pulling up a chair in front of his desk so you could sit face-to-face with him while you placed the sunny yellow pale on the desk, holding the bath bomb as delicately as possible in your cupped hands. He nodded upward, setting the car seat on the floor next to him and cracking his knuckles. His skin was perfectly smooth, his braids laid neatly at the tip of his collarbones and he had a skinny but lean build on him. It wasn’t long after you took note of him avoiding your gaze that the teacher spoke up, instructing you to all drop your bath bombs in the pail of water and then rinse your hands at the sink. You squealed in anticipation, making sure that Miles was watching as you dropped the chalky white bath bomb into the sparkling clear water.

The bucket exploded with color, white foam suddenly turning into shades of bright pink and pastel fuchsia. You beamed from ear to ear, pure joy and excitement illuminating your face as you joined the rest of the class in their shouts of joy, exclaiming their ‘babies’ gender at the top of their lungs. Miles smiled slightly, nodding with a content expression before he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Shortly after everyone's joyful exclamation, the teacher wasted no time in collecting everyone's attention and going over the plan for the next week. “You will need to devise a custody plan with your partner, so this means exchange numbers or whatever you need to do now. You may now all come up and select your baby” Ms. Kaylee explained and gestured to the now-open box.

You went up with Miles, quickly scooping up a pretty baby doll with deep brown skin and curly brown hair. You analyzed her little face, taking in her deep black eyes and light pink headband that came with her matching pink onesie while Miles got your baby bag full of supplies and wristbands. Miles cleared his throat, holding up his phone before mumbling “Just send me what days you want me to get her and I’ll make it work.”

You nodded, putting your number in his contacts and vice versa. “Actually,” he stated, gently taking the baby from your arms and hoisting up the bright pink baby bag. “I got her until lunch today. I’ll come find you and we’ll work sum’ out,” he shrugged as you handed him back his phone.

“Oh aight, bet. What we naming her?” You asked, attempting to reach for the car seat, but being instantly denied by Miles. “Uhh…” he mumbled, visibly blanking at the idea of having to name his baby. “Uhh…Anylah?” He smirked, attempting to cover up the fact he just thought of a name on the spot. You looked him up and down, playing over how the name sounded in your mind before nodding slowly. Miles let go of a deep breath, posture relaxing only a fraction before he reached into the bag to put on both of your orange wristbands.

“Aight, I’ll catch you at lunch,” Miles stated, making his way out of the classroom with a heavy load of baby items and a fake baby. You made your way to your remaining 4 classes, internally groaning at how fast the time was passing by.

“She ain’t even tell us these fuckin babies cry…I didn’t know that shit made noise! It started going off in the library!” Your friend Jayda moaned, attempting to shush her fussy baby she named Mariah. “The fuck you mean you didn’t know they cried…it was literally in the paper she gave us about the babies?” You asked, looking at her like she had a second head. She shrugged, eyeing you with slightly widened eyes and a smirk to silently convey that she didn’t read the forms. “JAYDA!” You giggled, half-shoving her as you opened up the doors to the cafeteria. The line was nothing short of demonic, so you decided to hop a couple of places forward with your friends who had already made it to the cafeteria.

The food was mediocre, but at least it was edible. You sat with your girls for a good 5 minutes, enjoying your food and conversing with each other before you spotted Miles making his way over. He held the baby like a football, making space for himself at your table with a low “excuse me” in between you and Tierra. “Aight so my schedule is weird cuz I have work some days, but I’ll make it work what days should I get this thing?” He asked, his voice low and stoic as he began typing away in the notes app on his phone. You gave him a playful glare, attempting to push down the smirk that was forming on your face. “Don’t call her a thing, this is your daughter,” you joked with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “But you can take…Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday!” You exclaimed, taking the baby from Miles and checking your calendar. Great, Wednesday!

“My daughter huh? Aight, I gotchu,” he sniggered before tucking his phone in his back pocket. He tapped on the table, shooting you a wink you swear you hallucinated before retreating to his group of homies without another word. Your head dropped down to your fake baby, fighting back a smirk as you submerged yourself back in your conversation.

Whatever you thought this project was going to be, you certainly didn’t anticipate anything from the road ahead.

It was 1 AM, and your arms felt sore from the constant rocking of this baby that weighed nothing less than 7 pounds. You changed what felt like 4 diapers, fed her for almost 20 minutes, and spent your night pacing through your kitchen to calm her down. You whined along with the baby, praying to whoever was listening that she’d be finished soon. You grabbed your phone from your shorts pocket, quickly dialing up Miles as a last attempt. You felt like you were intruding on his private life, but something in this goddamn world has to give.

The phone rang twice, sighing to yourself when you heard the familiar ringtone come to an abrupt stop. There was rustling, what sounded like a low breathy grunt, before Miles picked up the phone. “Yo…what’s good, whatchu need?” he mumbled, his voice sounding sickeningly velvety as he attempted to shake the sleep from his vocal cords. “Uh, hey. Anylah won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do…Can you come help, please?” You winced, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. He made a low noise that sounded like a cross of a low hum of approval, and a groan of missed sleep before he got up, stretched, threw on a quick hoodie, and knotted his sweats. “I’ll be over in like…a couple minutes” he grumbled, hanging up almost as soon as you could say “thanks.”

He knocked at your front door not even five minutes later, leaving you to drown in his shadow as he stood over you with a tired, blank, and semi-serious expression. The frosty air from the outdoors nipped at any inch of skin it could find purchase, leaving you to beckon him inside the door as quickly as possible. You handed him the crying infant, watching as his eyes widened by a fraction before returning to their initial low post. “Damn, not even a hello?” He chuckled as he took a wailing Anylah in his arms, rocking the baby at an oddly specific angle. “I know you didn’t just pull up to my crib talkin’ like someone's absent baby father…” you joked, rolling your eyes and taking your respective place back on the couch. 

“Hello, Morales.” You commented, leaning your head on his shoulder sleepily as he sat next to you on the couch. He nodded, somehow managing to hush the baby within the first 45 seconds of holding her. You huffed, feeling slightly irritated at how he managed to finish what you were attempting to do for over an hour in only a minute. “You were rocking her…too fast,” he slurred, clearly tired as he attempted to hold his eyes open. You didn’t even realize that you had fallen asleep, attempting to reach for the baby before ultimately clocking out for the night.

You woke up feeling groggy, sluggish, and plagued by a small migraine. Both Anylah and Miles were nowhere to be found, feeling around for your phone only to grab a purple sticky note stuck to the back of your phone case.

‘Went back home.’

You sighed, shooting Miles a text immediately that let him know to not disappear like that with the doll. You got ready for school, taking a scalding hot shower and repeating your daily routine of thoroughly scrubbing and exfoliating your face. You threw on your uniform, prioritizing the aesthetic of your uniform as you tugged on some rather cutesy slouch socks. You skipped breakfast at home, opting to grab something from the cafeteria before slipping out the front door and facing the cold air once again. Damn, this day was bound to be long as hell.

You reached school, giggling at your phone down the street as you ‘bickered’ back and forth with Miles.

‘alr alr mb. I didnt think it thru.’

‘Fym you didn’t think it through? I thought I was finna fail’

‘u actin like sb baby mama rn.’

‘Ntm now’

‘my fault’

You powered off your phone, jamming the smooth plastic case into the deep pockets of your black shorts under your school skirt. Today you had a class on burping babies and how to properly dress them for the winter, eagerly anticipating the cute little coats they’d provide for your shared babydoll. You took your seat, silently doodling in your notebook until you heard the familiar cold tone fade into the classroom. “Qué quieres decir? Esta mi mamá del bebé es ahí mismo,” he chuckled, carrying both the baby bag in one hand and Anylah in the other. “Baby mama is craaazy…” the boy he was talking to muttered, looking utterly tired and vaguely annoyed.

He took his seat next to you, giving you an upward nod as he cradled Anylah in one arm while he mindlessly scrolled through his phone with the other. 

“Not you calling me your baby mother…”

"It's funny"

Tags ♡

@ashsostrangee @chessboxx @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles x black!reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[dreamingonclds]

Everything Happens For A Reason | LN4

Summary: Sometimes the people that love us hurt us the most but, you can't seem to stay away. After an immense break up, you've become the most passionate in your career. Going from casting to casting, concert to concert, audition to audition, you become one of the most famous artists of your generation. You were done picking up the broken pieces of your heart when somebody comes into your life and you place your heart in someone else's hands again.

Word Count: 945

Pairing: Lando Norris x female! reader ft. Carlos Sainz

Warnings: none

Chapter 1

Note: This is my first official fic, I hope all goes well! This isn't fully edited but, I just wanted to put it out there. I hope you enjoy and thanks!!!

Chapter 1

“Hey, hey!”, says your manager strutting into the hotel room you were getting ready in.

“Good morning!”, you say chirpily as you turn to look at the door she came through

Your eyes follow her as she comes to sit on the lounge chair across from the studio chair you're sitting on.

You're currently getting your makeup done as today will be a full day of press for a new Netflix show you just wrapped on. Considering you started acting at 18 and you're currently 23, it’s easy to say you’ve been pretty successful. Many say you’re the best actress of your generation, you got nominated for an Emmy after your first acting job and you're getting job offers left and right. But, you’ve always felt like it wasn’t hard work that got you where you are today; you’ve always believed it was just luck. You never even considered acting in the first place, it just kind of happened. 

You had always lived a normal life, you were born and raised in California to a middle class hard working Mexican family. Up until high school you were just living life as normally as possible. During middle school you developed a love for music which led you to try and pursue it once you started high school. 

You didn’t have to try very hard for people to notice you, you were just that good. But, that didn’t mean you didn’t work hard, after you got your record deal at 17 you tried your best to make hit after hit. You were always afraid the success wouldn't last very long. But after countless number 1s, sold out shows, and very passionate fans; you were sure you made the right choice. 

Soon after graduating highschool you were put into a meeting with your team, they just wanted to know if you wanted to solely focus on music or explore other art forms. You only had eyes for music but they saw your potential and pushed you to try. It wouldn’t hurt to try right, so you gave it your best shot. If you thought you were successful back then you were in for a surprise. Your popularity skyrocketed and multiplied by millions it seemed. You were quickly considered one of the most famous and influential young artists of the generation.

…

“So, I have gone through and confirmed the schedule for these upcoming weeks. But, there is one last thing that just came up. I wanted to go over it with you before I set everything up” she says as she opens and begins typing on her laptop.

Jen, your manager has been with you since high school and has climbed every step of the journey with you. Although she works for you, she is more like an older sister you never had, that and the fact that she’s only eight years older than you.

“Mhm” you nod at Jen as to not disturb your makeup artist who is putting your lipstick on.

“It’s this car racing thingy, something about giving you a tour and meeting each team. I think it’s called Formula something. Anyways, I’m about to send the email back saying no, it doesn’t look like it’s worth our time.” She says nonchalantly

You sit there eyes wide, “Jen are you kidding me, never say no to Formula One!” you semi yell

“I looked into it, it just looked like funny cars going in circles for what seems like forever. But no worries, I’ll just change that no to a yes.”

“I didn’t even know you were into racing, when did you get into this anyway?” she says typing while looking at you waiting for an answer

“Umm, I don’t really remember the exact year but, I think in elementary school. My dad always woke up at 6:00 am to watch the races each weekend”, you say as the makeup artist fixes your eyebrows one last time

“Wow, you’re more into it than I thought. Why have you never mentioned it before?!”

“I mean I haven’t really been caught up with it at all, you know after everything took off I didn’t have time for it”

“Oh that reminds me, the race is in Monaco in exactly two weeks. So, it’ll be the last thing you’ll have to do right before your break” she says matter of factly

“Yes, I can’t wait for it!” you groan in delight leaning back in your chair as your glam team is packing up to leave.

“Yeah, I think I judged it too early, this seems more like a vacation than anything. And these racers, why didn’t you tell me they were this attractive” she says raising her eyebrows at you

You laugh and sit up, “I mean that isn’t what it’s all about but yeah, they’re easy on the eyes for sure. I had the biggest crush on Lando Norris like a year back.” 

You feel your cheeks and ears heat up as you remember your crush, you’d never supported Mclaren until him. You’d always been a Ferrari fan, a die hard Tifosi. Your dad would kill you if he found out your heart was half orange.

Jen waves her hands in front of you, “Earth to Y/N”

“Umm it doesn’t really seem like this crush has passed. Now I know why you want to go so bad!” she teases and giggles at you

You cover your face and blush even harder

You get up and walk towards the closet, “Just help me get dressed Jen, please” you giggle and plead at her hoping she’ll forget about it

She gets up and follows you, “Whatever you say girlfriend” she laughs

#scenarios #fan fiction #fanfic #Lando Norris #lando norris #Carlos Sainz #carlos sainz #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc

[cinewhore]

The Duchess of London

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, sexual assault (not detailed), fighting, guns, smut (penetration, creampie, wrap it up lads!), fluff. 

A/N: The PB bug bit me and it bit me hard! Had to get this out. Takes place in season 2. Reminder that this is a bit dark given the contents of the show so if something rubs you the wrong way, don’t read it! You also don’t need to provide an explanation as to why you won’t read it, just keep scrolling. No beta cause I said so. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist. 

Birmingham smelled like shit.

London smelled worse.

You thank your bodyguard as he helps you out of the car, careful not to drag your dress along the mud, it was brand new and you didn’t have the best relationship with the new seamstress that replaced your old one.

It was a strange thing, being back home. Your old stomping grounds. You remember the days fondly, racing up and down the roads, dashing through the traffic of folks who populated the area. You always found yourself somewhere you shouldn’t be, getting scolded by your aunt when you arrived home well past dark. There’s a slight twinge in your chest as you reminisce, desperately wishing you could go back.

Luckily, your old house wasn’t far from your lodgings, Rich spooked by the rumors of how lawless this part of town was. You couldn’t blame him, Birmingham had long been abandoned by any sense of law and order. The police only came when it benefited them, so the local organized crime had taken over.

“Rich, I’ll only be a few minutes. Keep the car running.” you instruct. The burly man nods in respect.

“Yes ma’am.” He tips his hat at you, heading back to the car.

It was a choice, coming back here. There were nothing but terrible memories you worked too hard to forget but you felt like you owed it to yourself and your aunt to come back. The house was exactly how you remembered it, sparse furnishings but warm with spirit.

Now it was half empty and lonely.

You were fast in your approach to gather anything you deemed important, the house was likely going to be cleaned and left up for rent. Photographs, scraps of clothing, broken china were all stuffed into a bag you brought with you. These were the broken fragments of your old life you weren’t ready to part ways with just yet.

After muttering a quick prayer for your aunt and hoping that the devil caught your uncle, you say goodbye to the Brimingham girl you used to be.

You needed a fucking drink.

You swagger into the Garrison, amused at the drunken men shouting across each other. You’re well aware of the stares you were receiving, knowing that a woman of your stature and style could only mean two things: you were a well off prostitute or the lavish wife of a man no one wanted to fuck with.

You took pride in being neither.

A man with a kind face smiles at you from behind the bar, throwing a white towel across his shoulder.

“What can I get you, love?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“What kind?”

You pretend to think about it. “Surprise me.”

The kind man chuckles to himself before hustling to get your drink. You dig around in your purse, pulling out a few bills that were much more than your drink likely cost. A hand covers your own as you slide the bills across the bar and you gaze up into a familiar face.

“I heard whispers about a very rich looking person coming into town, you wouldn’t have happened to see anything, have you?”

You couldn’t forget those piercing blue eyes even if you tried.

Suppressing a smile, you take the glass set in front of you and drain it quickly before gesturing for a refill. Tommy waves his hand at the barkeep.

“Get a bottle and bring it in the room.” he instructs, ushering you into the private area where he conducts business.

You follow behind him, silently thanking him as he pulls out a seat for you.

The two of you don’t say a word as he pours you another drink, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Thomas fucking Shelby.” you finally murmur, overcome with nostalgia. “How long has it been?”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “More than ten years, I’d say.”

“This yours?” you finally take a second to gaze about, impressed with the architecture. It felt like too beautiful of a place to be in Birmingham.

“More or less. It was a gift to Arthur.”

You grin. “A gift you didn’t buy.”

“A gift, nonetheless.” he takes a long drag of the cigarette, cautious as he blows the smoke out of his nose and in a direction that wasn’t facing you. “Heard about your uncle.”

You nod, posture stiffening. “May his soul rot.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows and his glass, downing his drink. “Cheers.”

“So,” you lean back in your seat. “What has Thomas Shelby been up to all these years?”

Tommy mimics your actions, scratching at his face. “Making business happen. Staying out of trouble.”

“You’re trying to be legal?” your curiosity piqued.

“Something like that.” He holds his arms out wide. “We’re expanding.”

“Into London. Fucking with the status quo there, I heard.”

Something in Tommy’s face hardens and he regards you with contempt. “Is that so?”

“It’s kind of my business to know. You are stepping into my turf. I don’t give a shit either way, this feud you have with the Italians is kind of good for business.”

“How?”

You take out a cigarette of your own, a long black cigarette holder accompanying it. Thomas doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he strikes a match, watching your mouth closely as you take a few drags. “People are far too concerned if there’s war coming to worry about women and their petty activities. Makes it easier to get into their pockets.”

“Did someone send you here?” He asks slowly, a tiny gun appearing on the table.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No. As I have mentioned, I’m not interested in whatever dick measuring contest you have going on with Sabini. I’m just a girl who came to dance on her dead uncle’s grave.”

Tommy can tell that you’re being honest. It was refreshing but strange, he wasn’t one to openly trust people. You were the one person who didn’t care about what he was doing in a sea of people who questioned his every move.

“Dick measuring contest, eh?”

You had been fucked well before, sometimes from other women but nothing compared to how well Thomas Shelby was fucking you now.

His home was modest, clean cut and devoid of character. You were currently bent over on his bed being hastily taken from behind. It was as if he had just returned home from the war, eager and hungry for a woman’s touch. He couldn’t get enough.

Tommy staggers backwards, tapping your ass to get your attention.

“Fucking come here.” he rasps out and you giggle as he moves papers off a desk in the corner, hauling you on top of it. You spread your legs so he could slot himself in between them, entering you again with no hesitation.

“Don’t step on my dress.” you moan out, crossing your legs along his back.

“That, shit, all you care about now?” Tommy hisses, placing a hand on your hip to keep you still.

You nod furiously, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You had already come undone twice and felt the third emerging soon.

“Fuck,” Tommy pants, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You loved the feeling of being choked and worked hard to memorize the touch of his fingers squeezing your skin. “I’ll buy you another dress. I’ll buy the fucking dress factory. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Tommy.” You tighten around his cock as you come again, causing him to groan and weaken his stamina. “I want you to give me everything I ask for.”

“What do you want, hm?” He questions, making sure to maintain eye contact with you. It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

“I want your cum, all of it. I want you to empty your balls,” you reach a hand down for added effect. “Into my cunt.”

And just like that, Tommy thrusts into you forcefully twice more before coming to completion. You both groan at the sensation, the trickling of his seed oozing out of you and down your thigh. He rests his head against your shoulder, breathing heavily. You allow your legs to go slack, wincing at how stiff they had gotten.

After a moment of rest, Tommy helps you into bed where the two of you take the time to decompress.

“You’re marked.” Thomas comments, trailing a finger down the scar on the back of your left shoulder. It was in the shape of the number four, a reminder of what - who - you belonged to.

Joining the Forty Elephants was an honest mistake. When you arrived and couldn’t secure a place on your own, you resorted to petty theft just like any other low class person in your position. It had been the wrong place at the wrong time. You slipped inside of a clothing store, hoping to pick up a few nice shirts so you could find a steady job that wasn’t walking the streets at night. Turns out the Forty Elephants were at the height of a heist and you barged right into the middle of it.

You were caught and arrested with three other women. You begged and pleaded with the police, urging them to believe you when you said you were acting out on your own. You were all jailed together and you spent the night getting the living daylights kicked out of you. The next morning, the four of you were released and you were handed off to the leader of the up and coming gang.

“Some fucking runt you are.” She spat, sizing you up. You were interrogated relentlessly, the boss lady, Mary, assuming you were sent in by a rival gang to screw them up on purpose. When you justified your case, she nodded. You were brought in, taken care of and most importantly, you were protected.

You made nice with the other girls and became a skilled pickpocket, lock picker and seductress. The nickname “duchess” came after you managed to lift a hefty sum, including a car, from a duke. It was then you elevated your style and sense of purpose. You began to educate yourself, investing in legal companies and stockpiling your wealth for a rainy day.

You knew that life with the Elephants wouldn’t last forever and you needed a way out when the time came.

“It was my initiation.” You tell Tommy, breath catching slightly as his touch made you shiver.

He hums, pressing a small kiss to it. “I saw you that night.”

You frown, flipping over on your side to face him. He invites you to lay closer and you gingerly accept his invitation, perching yourself on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Tommy takes another puff from his cigarette before answering. “When you left Birmingham. It was at night. I was taking a walk with my brothers, and saw you scrambling to get out of the house. You ran like a bat out of hell. Never looked back once.”

“Oh.” You look down at your fingers, absentmindedly stroking the tattoo on his chest. You take a second to formulate a response, unsure of how to answer after years of not speaking about it. Tommy doesn’t push, waiting patiently for an answer that may never come.

After a moment of silence, you give him one. “He said I reminded him of her. Before she died, he was cold and distant. Afterwards, it was as if I had taken her place. It wasn’t the first time it happened. I remember crying a lot after. But that night, for whatever reason, I was determined to make it the last.”

You swallow thickly, brows furrowed as you replay the scene in your head. “I waited on him. Nearly fell asleep but like clockwork, he came creeping in the wee hours of the morning. I managed to stab him five times before I got away.”

Maneuvering yourself out of Tommy’s arms, you straddle him instead, pinpointing all the places you cut your uncle.

“Twice here.” You tap at his right peck with your finger. “Once in the stomach, once in the arm and once on his shoulder. He was a big guy and it was as if it didn’t faze him. Killing him didn’t matter at that point, I just wanted to be gone. So, I ran. Everyday for years, I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that he was going to show up and try to take me home. I hated myself. He got to live out his life and I suffered because of him.”

The tears surprised you as they dripped down your cheeks, hot and constant. Tommy is bemused as he wipes them away, his face never changing. You always pondered on who Tommy really was and what went on underneath the mask he was wearing. Then again, perhaps there was no mask to begin with.

“It’s stupid, I know.” you continue, hurriedly swiping at your eyes.

“It’s not. You did what you needed to do, what you thought was right. No one can ever blame you for that.”

“Funny, coming from a Peaky Blinder.” you chide with a small grin.

“Even funnier, coming from an Elephant.” he retorts without wasting a breath.

You sigh, placing your hands against his broad chest. “Cut from the same cloth, are we?”

Tommy nods, setting the now stub of a cigarette out in the ashtray placed on the nightstand. He turns his attention back to you, mind racing as he studies your features. How he let you slip away, how he went years without seeking you out plagued him from time to time. You were elusive, a mirage of a seemingly perfect woman he shouldn't taint with his touch. You’ve grown into your features, personality blossoming. You weren’t subservient like many of the other women he had encountered, all who would bat their eyelashes at him in hopes that they would get picked to be with a real gangster.

“Stay. I have an opening in my office, we could use the help. You’d straighten out Arthur, no doubt.”

You scoff, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to be a guard dog or a bloody receptionist, Tommy. Besides, I’m expected back in London tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Family business.”

Tommy lights another cigarette at that.

“You could come with me. I wouldn’t force you to stay but maybe just to take your mind off of things?”

“Can’t. Family business.”

You laugh quietly, shrugging your shoulders. “What we wouldn’t do for those we love.”

The walk home from Tommy’s is uneventful, both basking in each other’s silence. It was comfortable and intimate, the only thing interrupting it was the sound of children out playing far too late and drunken men hurling commentary out at anyone that walked by them.

The folks of Brimingham were familiar with the Shelby’s but they aren't familiar with you which is how you became a prime target for unwanted advances. The man had to have been well beyond plastered, for any woman seen with Tommy was assumed to be his.

You couldn’t even understand half of what the agitated bloke was saying, just that he was making weird gestures with hands, pretending to jerk himself off. Others had attempted to warn him and even Tommy moved in for the kill but you stopped him.

“No, no. I want to hear what this lad has to say. What’s this then? You wanna have a go with me? Is this how you approach all the women you like?”

You feign boredom, sticking both hands in the pockets of your coat. You rummage around in your right pocket, discreetly slipping your fingers into the holes of a brass knuckle.

“Yeah, it is. Now, when you’re done with this half starved looking bastard, how about you come home with a real man who can fuck you until-”

Your movements were swift and graceful, as if you had done this a hundred times before. The knuckles smash into the poor man’s face, instantly cracking and breaking his nose. Tumbling onto the ground, you crouch over the drunkard and wail on him until splatters of blood dot your face like a painting.

Tommy watches as you all but kill this man with your bare hands and does absolutely nothing. His overwhelming glare warned the others to back off while you continued, the bystanders knowing what their fate could look like should they interfere.

Panting, you back off the guy, using your free hand to wipe at your face. You spit, step across the moaning body and proceed towards your lodgings as if nothing occurred. Tommy falls in step with you, offering a handkerchief which you accept. While the Forty Elephants appeared to be harmless with crimes of shoplifting and bribery, you had a more rampageous approach to it all. The streets of London had toughened you, like it or not.

At the end of the day, you needed to make sure that you could take care of yourself and if it meant taking another person’s life, so be it.

Tommy had never wanted you more. But nothing good could come out of the two of you being together, you both knew that. It would be similar to chaining two wild dogs together and expecting them not to bite each other's necks off when there’s only enough food for one.

You had the Elephants and London. He had Brimingham and the Blinders. Somewhere, you would meet in the middle but there wasn’t room for overlap. Tommy was sure that being wed to an Elephant meant more turf and control but he wouldn’t dare do that to you. He couldn’t do it to himself. He would come to you whenever he wanted and you’d do the same to him.

Rich straightens up upon seeing your silhouette, clasping his hands together in front of him obediently. He takes one look at your face and reaches inside his coat to grab his gun when you raise a hand out.

“S’alright. Just had a little accident. You know Tommy.”

Rich gives Tommy a once over before relaxing.

“Shall I see you inside, then?”

You gesture at Rich to go on ahead of you, planting yourself firmly in front of Thomas. “No, I think it’s better if we say our goodbyes out here.”

Tommy smiles briefly, lighting yet another cigarette. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust that I’ll make it back to London tomorrow if you do come up.”

He takes a small step towards you, jawline rigid as he exhales through his nose. “I could leave early, before you wake up.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to.” Plucking the flaming stick out his mouth, you press a wistful kiss to his lips, melting into his embrace as he deepens it.

Hesitant to pull away, you ease back reluctantly. Your hands smooth his across his coat, reaching upwards to tug at his beloved hat.

“When you’re in London, I expect a call.”

Thomas rests his forehead against yours, licking at his dried lips. “I’ll always make sure to pay the Duchess a visit.”

You peck his lips one last time before returning the cigarette. Tommy watches as you disappear inside the hotel, satisfied knowing that you were safe and back in your room. Doubling back to the Garrison, now in full swing for the night, he gets welcomed with a drink from John and a pat on the back from Arthur.

“Tell me brother, what’s it like to be with royalty, eh? Is her pussy made out of gold?” Arthur cracks himself up, thoroughly entertained by his own quip.

“Fuck off, Arthur.” Tommy says dryly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Did you tell her?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at John. “Tell her what?”

“About her fuckin’ uncle?”

Tommy doesn’t answer and the two brothers give each other a glance.

“Bloody hell, Tommy-” Arthur starts. Tommy raises a hand and waves him off.

“Of course I didn’t fucking tell her. All that matters is that he’s in the ground, eh? Now get me another bottle and stop whining in my fucking ear.”

Arthur is slow as he departs from his sibling, a lopsided smirk plaguing his face.

Tommy thinks to himself that maybe he should’ve mentioned how your uncle actually died. You were told that he had a nasty fall after a night out of heavy drinking. In reality, it was the Peaky Blinders doing. Not only was your uncle a piece of shit, he also had a gambling problem. He got mixed in with the wrong folks and unknowingly stole money from the Blinders to help pay off a gambling debt. He was sloppy in execution which caught the attention of Tommy.

Upon finding out who actually took his money, Tommy made it a personal mission to seek him out. The man, Ronald, folded like a chair when Tommy and the boys appeared on his doorstep. He cried and begged for mercy, which they showed him none. Especially not after he confessed what he had done to you.

Ronald knew you made it to London and had fallen into some money, so whenever he got into debt he just told people that you were wealthy and would deliver money for his payments. Even after you cut ties with him and tried to kill him, he proceeded to use you.

Tommy wouldn’t have it.

“Oi! Tommy!” Arthur returns with the bottle in hand. “You got any spare cash on ya? I wanna set up a quick date with Beatrice.”

Tommy looks at his brother with slight disdain and rolls his eyes. “I’m not your accountant.”

“Yeah, yeah. I left my wad back at the office. Just cough it up, would ya?”

“If it means I won’t have to look at your face anymore, fine.”

Tommy reaches inside his pants pocket where he normally keeps an emergency stack and finds it empty. Scowling, Tommy pats himself down extensively before the light bulb goes off.

He laughs.

Not a cheeky snicker or a lame jest. Thomas Shelby actually laughs.

Confused but willing to follow his brother anywhere, Arthur begins to laugh as well until they’re both hanging onto each other, gasping for air.

At the hotel, you answer the door to your room, thanking the bellboy for bringing up your dinner. Tucking a hand in your bra, a wad of cash spills out. You grab a handful of it and place it into the hand of the blushing young man. He stammers out a thank you, hightailing it back to the lobby.

You get comfortable in bed, eager to dive into the captivating spread laid out in front of you. Closing your eyes, you fold your hands in front of you in mock prayer.

“Thank you dear lord for this appetizing food and for the Peaky fucking Blinders. Amen.”

#Thomas Shelby x female reader #Thomas Shelby x fem!reader #Tommy Shelby x fem reader #Tommy Shelby x fem!reader #fic: the Duchess of London #Tommy shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x reader

[yourlocalstranger123]

Possessive reader x Albedo/Aether

Part 1

Note: I apologize in advance because 1, I definitely didn't proof read this, 2. I might accidentally forget to put in credits for the art and I already deleted it in the gallery so-

Important notice for the artwork!: Please read from left to right to know which art belongs to the artist. Also, some of the pictures has the same artist so I will number them and organize it. Tysm for reading. Hope you enjoy!

Characters!: albedo + Rubedo / Aether

Information of color: Albedo and Aether is orange/yellow and Rubedo is red. Tysm

2nd Information: You are a scientist or an Alchemist in Albedo/Rubedo. And for Aether, you're basically a rich person. [Which I want one in my life bc I'm broke-]

3rd information about my knowledge: I actually don't know about fake Albedo and when I came across a comic of him and Albedo and searched him up in Google, he was called rubedo. I don't think it's a Canon name and just a fan-canon name but I'll be using the name Rubedo

No pronouns are used, it's GN reader. No specific gender so it could be read as any gender. [I apologize that I also put tags of f reader and m reader with gn reader and not just gn reader]

Warning: The writing is very lengthy. Yandere Albedo/Rubedo?

@sc1ssor3

—`~☆~`—_.◇._—`~☆~`—_.◇._—`~☆~`—_.◇._—

Albedo + Rubedo

[1.] Artist: Poi_poifu app: Twitter

[2.] Artist: 0jae app: Danbooru

All 3 photos/Artist: @Kagura8999 app: Twitter

You were organizing your lab when suddenly there was a knock on the door. You quickly fixed your hair and coat, "Come in!" You awnsered. A blonde man comes in, smiling and slightly waving at your presence. "Oh, Albedo! Is there anything you need?"

'Albedo' paused. But then tilting his head and smiling. Although strange, you didn't mind. You flinched when a cold hand held yours and then something....soft was nuzzling it? You turned around and looked down to your hand, seeing 'Albedo' with his strange behavior, nuzzling his cheek on to your hand.

Your face quickly flushed with red, chuckling. You patted his head as he also nuzzled it. You tried to retract your hand, but his grip tightened as he stared at you. You became nervous and concerned but laughed it off. "Albedo? Did you take something strange again?" He looks down, seemingly ignoring your question. You sighed, sitting down as 'Albedo' comes joining you.

He leaned onto your shoulder, still holding your hand with his own. He trapped your hand with both of his hands and looked up to you.

"Do you like me now......Master..?" He said while kissing your palm. You froze, wait....is he calling you...MASTER?!

Your thoughts were interrupted with a door creaking. You looked at the door, seeing....Albedo?? Wait, why is there 2 Albedo's?!

"[Name]?! Why is he sitting with you...!"

You were cunfused, still wondering which was the true Albedo until you looked at their necks. Albedo has a star.....this one doesn't. Then who's the one clinging onto your arm?!

After things got settled, you found out that he was Rubedo. Rubedo was now sitting on your lap in your arms. You didn't really have a choice whether you let him or not. But unknownly to you, he was smirking at Albedo. Mocking him as his mouth word out,

'I got to be in their arms,' Rubedo said as Albedo grumbled. Feeling an unknown feeling bubbling inside him, jealously

Suddenly, Albedo grabbed your hand and shoved Rubedo off your lap. "[Name], let's take a walk around mondstadt"

You nervously agreed, not knowing what to do. It's even worse when you guys walk in Mondstadt town. Everyone was looking at you and whispering things about Rubedo and Albedo clinging onto both of your arms as they glared at each other. You were stiff, not knowing what to do.

You all three stopped when a drunk man began to stumble along the way to you. He began flirting with Albedo and Rubedo, saying that they should get to know each other. Your patience and anger were about to snap as you can see Rubedo and Albedo was clearly uncomfortable. Both were about to summon their sword until,

"Go fuck off for archon's sake! Who in their right mind would even think of giving you a chance to even "GeT tO kNoW eAcH oThEr?" So go away and leave us alone." You said. Mocking his words. Then you grabbed his shoulder, "And they're taken by me, so they are mine. Back off. " The drunk man angrily went away as everyone looked at the usual stress but calm [name] screamed in anger. And even curse?

Both Rubedo face and Albedo face went red. Like literally, red as a tomato! Even steam was coming out of their heads!! They definitely heard what you whispered to the guy. And when you wrapped your arms around both of their waist, making them come closer to you. (They shivered, from excitement and delight when they found your new side of you)

They both felt....warm (especially down there—)

You check on both of them, panicking as their face was still flushed red. It became worse when you put your hands on both of their foreheads to check if they had a fever. (If they can even catch one)

Then, when you guys went back to Albedo's lab instead of yours because Albedo offered to let you experiment with him and....Rubedo.

If only you knew, they made a contract to share you behind your back. At least they will be mostly at peace with each other. [Beside the people who made you uncomfortable or cause a threat of their love to you. At least their in the basement.....bleeding out]

Aether

[1.] Artist: Usaryun app: Twitter

[2.] Artist: Shoraln app: danbooru

Location: Liyue

It was a normal day as Aether finished the commissions, bounty, and requests from the people. He's been saving up mora to go to fontaine. He was extremely tired and even worser, Paimon passed out to the heat of the sun and thank archons that he had enough mora to rent out a room for Paimon to sleep in.

He went out and sat on a bench. As if he didn't feel or cared about the heat of the sun, he was sweating. Not even bothering to get some cold water or ice to help him. Later, a figure approached him, and he looked over as the figure was familiar to him. It was you! Oh, how he was overjoyed!

You guys met in Sumeru when him got stuck in some vines while you were traveling. Although you had a good laugh before you could get him out as he pouted. You gave him mora for laughing as an apology. You let him stay at your house and gave them food to eat as Paimon stuffed her face with it.

You decided to travel with him as he was planning to go back to Liyue as you paid all the expenses even though he offered to pay instead. You guys had to separate though for a few weeks because of your business, but now you're back.

You gave him a glass of water with ice as he gulped it down. He thanked you for your kindness as he leaned on your shoulder. He actually caught feelings for you after a few months. You always do commissions for him when he feels tired or injured. You declined small requests from people since some people won't do it themselves.

His heart almost jumped out when you held his hand. He was about to say something until a lady showed up. She kept asking Aether to help her in her house because she needed some cleaning. She still won't budge even when you told her that Aether wasn't available at the moment. Aether was tired, and he was about to apologize and decline, but you snapped.

"Lady, it's literally just some cleaning. Your house is probably not even that big. Stop being so lousy and do it yourself. Or go hire some maid and not a person who's way out of your league."

His heart fluttered when you said that. He slightly grinned. He was startled when you stood up, walking up to the lady.

"And also, don't you try to even take him away from me. He. Belongs. To. Me."

His face was dusted in red blush. He was yours...? He didn't mind though. He was happy. Perhaps you would come with him to find his sister. He thought,

"Ah, Aether. Is the hot weather getting to you? You're face is red"

"N- no! I mean- yes!"

He stuttered as he got flustered. You chuckled and turned around to buy maybe some cold juice for Aether. He looked over to the woman, smirking at the woman. Crossing his arms as he mouthed out,

'He's mine'

The woman stormed off, as Aether smiled at you when he saw you coming towards him. He wrapped his arm with yours and headed to Wangshu Inn where Paimon is probably looking for him.

#slight yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x f!reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x male!reader #genshin x male reader #genshin aether #genshin impact aether #aether x reader #aether #genshin aether x reader #aether x you #aether x male reader #aether x female reader #aether x gn reader #aether x gender neutral reader #genshin albedo #genshin albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #albedo x male reader #albedo x gender neutral reader #albedo x fem!reader

[amourdivine]

𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃.

Hello, my loves. I hope you're all doing wonderfully well. Although this pick a card was not the #1 winner in my most recent poll, I know that many people here are excited to build a family, so I decided to provide something fun for you! I hope you enjoy it & please don’t forget to provide feedback, if you will; If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

how to choose your pile.  take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. which pile sparks a feeling inside you? which pile gives you a strong memory or calls out to you the most? take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

♡ ♡ ♡ personal readings are available. click here to know more!

♡ ♡ ♡     pick a card masterlist & information.

disclaimer. none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise! this is a general reading for entertainment purposes. tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. please remember you are responsible for life and in power of it.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

𝑷𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑵𝑬.

strength | the star | king of wands

Hello, pile one! I’m not sure if it’s just my mind, but I keep seeing a lot of colors for this pile, especially primary colors, so it’s possible that you might have this child with an LGBTQ+ person and/or be LGBTQ+ yourself! I also saw a lot of crayons even before shuffling, so I think your kid will definitely be a very artistic type. A lot of messages came through even before I shuffled, so I think this kid is absolutely ecstatic about being a part of your family as your child.

This child is going to be very, very feisty and funny. They might be a bit of a tomboy or just a bit “rough” around the edges, but they’ll be very protective over you and their family as well. You could be a parent twice or more, so I don’t think this will be your only child, but definitely the eldest. Also, if you decide to have any pets at the time, they’ll probably want to do and know everything. Your future child’s asking you not to get frustrated when they ask you a bunch of questions about the world, pile one. They really wanted to get that across before moving on with the other messages, because they might be the type of super sensitive and feisty kid - very in touch with their emotions and they easily get hurt by words, but they have a very big and forgiving nature. Also, they’re asking you not to be overprotective, since they’re your first child, they want you to give them independence and autonomy slowly. Remember what I said about the pet? Yeah, they want to learn how to do things and they’ll watch you a lot in secret. Perhaps you’ll be up one morning and when you’re about to feed the cat, you’ve noticed that your kid’s already pouring the food onto the cat’s bowl. That’s adorable!

Something here tells me they might have fights and I can see a kid pushing another off the playground, but your kid will not start them per se. They seem very short-tempered and I can almost hear a little voice in my head going “they started it!” because your child might be very protective over others, especially animals. Also, right off the bat, they’re apologizing for coloring the walls with crayons? Not sure if that’ll resonate for all of you, but if it does, please come back to let me know! 

Also, if your child’s a little boy, your second child will be a little girl or vice versa. I can picture a little boy looking after a little girl in these cards, almost like one of them is playing and the other one’s making sure they don’t stray too far. I can’t say much about the other children, but this child will be your first and I doubt it’ll be the only! They’re so giggly, they might love it when you do a funny face or style their hair in a unique way. Also, this kid might be a bit eccentric like the artist they are - they could draw little monsters everywhere and love playing with makeup or looks regardless of their gender. They’ll brighten up your world and love you unconditionally, pile one. By the way, I had a lot of trouble spelling the words and since I’m channeling your future child’s message, I think they’ll ramble a lot and possibly mix up words at first. They’re really asking me to emphasize how loved you’ll be, in a way you have never ever felt before. This child is also urging me to tell you to take care of yourself physically and emotionally, but they also want you to promise that you’ll stay safe for them. They really love you so much, pile one. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

additional messages & signs: 333, pluto, leo and aquarius season, august, collecting beach shells, ginger or light blonde hair, freckles, tooth fairy, book quotes, “you can be a fighter”, “tell me everything”, “who did this to you?”, chocolate chip cookies, rainbows, lgbt parade.

𝑷𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑻𝑾𝑶.

the fool | ace of swords | king of cups

Hello, pile two and welcome to your reading! While shuffling, I saw many cards related to Leo and other fire signs, but mostly Leo. I also heard “single parent,” so it’s possible you may raise this child on your own or become a single parent yourself. I love the freshness and boldness of this child. They may be a bit reckless and, well, foolish, since we have The Fool card here! But on a more in-depth interpretation, they seem unafraid and a bit of an airhead as well. They’re a bit brash and blunt with their words - may occasionally embarrass you in public, but all is done in good faith. They’re extremely pure and good-hearted, so it may surprise you that they’ll never grow out of that typical “naiveté” of a child’s, even well into their adult years.

This child may be born during the months of August or October, given the Leo and Libra signs I’ve gotten here. Although naive, they hold a lot of emotional wisdom and depth to them. They may be overlooked during their childhood years at school, perhaps their more extroverted and youthful nature can get them in trouble and make people underestimate or misunderstand them. However, they’re not a natural troublemaker or mischievous by any means. They’re quite witty and may have a knack for sarcasm or wordplay. Also, this kid looks like they’d be easily lost into books and works of fantasy. They have a wild imagination and it’s something they’re asking you to protect and cherish. This pile reminds me a little of pile number one, but with more maturity to them and emotional depth to them.

Despite looking like an airhead, they may actually be quite observant to the things other people don’t pay attention to. They may forget to do homework or the occasional house chores, but this child will be extremely emotionally sensitive - they may be the first to notice when one of their peers isn’t doing well or may use humor to lift other people’s mood, but this child may struggle with insecurity or confidence, deep down. They may feel they need to overperform in order to be cherished and loved, so they’re asking you to use plenty of words of affirmation to remind them how good they already are.

This child may have a bit of a dramatic flair to them as well, but like I mentioned earlier, it’s all in good nature. Do not joke about their feelings, though! Under this whimsical and dramatic nature, they take emotions very seriously. It’s quite an interesting juxtaposition - hence why I also feel that they may be misunderstood or taken for granted by their peers, at times. They may be neurodivergent and so, it’s important you check in on them. If this child is autistic, for example, allow them to take pride in these traits that make them different and unique. Also, you’ll learn a lot about the world through this child’s eyes. They have a very unique way of perceiving things. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

additional messages & signs: leo or sagittarius, pisces, scorpio, september, october, twitch streamer, video games, “you were born to stand out”, neurodivergent, adhd, autistic, fair, blunt, sensitive, quirky, lego house, marvel movies.

𝑷𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬.

seven of pentacles | knight of swords | eight of pentacles

Hello, pile number three! Welcome to your reading! Honestly, I had a little bit of a tough time shuffling for this pile, just because the messages and the overall feeling of it was so intense. They seem quite introverted and hardworking, like an old soul in a young body. It’s quite different from my previous piles, since this child holds a lot of seriousness and introversion to them, which is not actually a bad thing - they’re devoted to making you a proud parent.

They may tend to take things very seriously and to heart, however. Whatever you say to your child, they’ll take it to heart, so be careful with your words around them - it seems it can go either way. I get a bit of “middle sibling” energy from this, so they may tend to overwork themselves in order to gain people’s approval or excel in their studies to gain a sense of control. It reminds me a bit of Saturn and Capricorn as their overall concepts.

It breaks my heart a little because this child seems quite guarded. They may have a hard time opening up or simply feel that you’re too busy for them. Their main love language seems to be quality time and acts of service, so it’s important you take plenty of interest in their hobbies - no matter how “weird” or “quirky” they may seem to you, this child is very booksmart, even though sometimes they may come off as a “know it all,” they want to become resourceful and helpful, someone that you’re proud of in the long run. Aw, my heart.

Now, they may also be extremely competitive. I think they may partake in several extracurricular activities at school and become some kind of valedictorian during college. They’re reliable, trustworthy and quite solid. Although may be a bit of a wallflower as well, so be mindful when you engage with your kid, since they need their own time and may struggle with placing boundaries. This child is asking you to remind them that you’re the parent - not them, and they don’t need to have it all together. So no matter how many times they struggle with their perfectionism, it’s important you bring them back to their qualities and how worthy they are of everything.

They may also be naturally strict with themselves and have extremely high standards. They may get this from you, as well, if they witness you being harsh on yourself, they may become adept of this behavior since this child idolizes you a lot and may have troubles with their own self-image or self-worth outside of their achievements. Please remind them to have fun, a lot of it! Not everything has to be a task or a side hustle, and this message seems to apply to you as well. They acknowledge you’ve worked hard to build financial stability for them, but remember to bond emotionally with others and not pass these false beliefs onto your loved ones. Honestly, they’re a little bit of a “mini adult”, it reminds me a lot of the child character played by Dakota Fanning in “Uptown Girls,” especially the scenes in which she struggles with vulnerability and receiving affection. This is a very responsible kid, it warms my heart to know how much motivation they’ve got to succeed in life and to make you proud. They adore you so much. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

additional messages & signs: “why don’t you do something for yourself?”, capricorn, virgo, taurus, horseback riding, harvard, straight A’s, INTJ, ISTJ, good enough by lifehouse, “and now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good”, you’re on your own kid by taylor swift, "fear of being average"

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot witch #witchblr #spirituality #divination #astroblr #astro community #astrology #astro notes #tarot reader #free tarot reading #tarot community #*

[an3mos-mp]

Summary: Reader is a tailor and gets a frisky request that Venti models for them.

Starring: Venti, reader

Genre: smut, handjobs, dirty talk, light nipple play

Warnings: Venti and reader are somewhat under the influence of alcohol

Author’s note: This was NOT proofread and it's been sitting in my ‘to edit’ list for long enough so here you go. If you know me, no you don’t. (I’m serious 🧍‍♀️) likes, reblogs, comments and new followers will always be appreciated. This is a side blog so I don't post often here AT ALL.

Word count: 1.4k (even i don’t understand how or why i wrote that many words of smut)

You were a well known tailor in Mondstat and it wasn’t surprising that you got the favour of a well known bard that frequented Diluc’s tavern, Venti.

For years, you and him had been the best of friends and often bonded through him modelling some of your new ideas and designs so you could see if they were as good in person as they were in drawing

He was an excellent model and very professional. On top of that, he had a sense of artistic expression you’d expect from a bard and he was able to execute that skill when it came to commenting on your work and helping you fix design issues.

You often went to the same tavern every time to celebrate successful designs and making customers happy, to Diluc’s dismay, to drink the night away but you did have a single problem… though could you really call it a problem?

Venti got very flirtatious when drunk and it wasn’t with just anyone he came across when drunk, it was only with you.

Odd? Yes. Did you mind? No. Especially after developing a small (not small) crush on him.

It was one of those nights where you’d celebrate a successful design with Venti over bottle upon bottles of dandelion wine and Venti was flirting with you, as usual, but got interrupted when a regular customer spotted you in the bar with an anxious expression before stating they needed a design by the next morning.

You then found yourself with a drunk Venti in your shop, running around to grab materials for the design.

“You didn’t look at the design, did you?” Venti voiced from where he was seated behind you on your desk, legs crossed and design clutched in his nimble fingers. With a silent curse, you rushed to where he sat while nursing an assortment of random materials; you remembered grabbing polyester during your panicked state of searching for materials but that polyester was deemed useless by the design in Venti’s hands.

From over his shoulder, the delicate design of nightwear glared at you with its gorgeous frills and obscene disposure. Oh god, would that be able to cover anything important?

“That’s quite…” You trailed off, blood rushing to the surface of your skin.

“Scandalous?” Venti breathed. Opting to steal a glance at him to see his reaction, you shifted your eyes to his teal ones that were already on you as they glowed under the dim light of your workshop. His attention to you encouraged your heart to beat faster than the design made it beat.

You could only nod and when you turned to him his teal eyes were already focused on you, his cheeks reddened by what you could only hope was the dandelion wine.

“Do you… need a model for this design?” His voice was soft and hesitant like he was afraid they would shatter the tension that was created between you, the same tension that increased in correspondence with the decreasing distance between your lips,

“I do,” your voice was quiet, “I have never made anything like this before so naturally, I need guidance from a model.”

“Then should I… strip?” Venti said, his eyes on your lips and the design now crushed slightly in his tightened hold. Your thoughts descended with any sense of decency you normally managed to maintain around Venti because of his word choice. Why did he use ‘strip’ like he’ll need to be naked for you to make this piece? He had a body suit he would wear whenever he’d model for you and this time didn’t need to be any different. It wasn’t rational to believe otherwise because it was just a poor word choice. That poor word choice, however, had wrapped itself around your mind just like Venti’s legs which were now wrapped around your waist. The design was now discarded on your desk and his hands opted for clutching the material of your shirt.

Your hands were over his in an instant as you attempted to loosen his grip on you. “I think I should reject the design while I still can.” Venti protested by pulling you closer with his legs around your waste, you sighed. The dandelion wine was still in effect.

“Complete the design.” He demanded and despite your previous observation, his speech was clear of any mistakes unlike other nights you’d spend drunk together.

“Let’s go get some rest, we’re drunk.” Your words were breathless and half hearted just like your attempt to step away from Venti. He grabbed a hold of your wrist.

“But I want to model for you.” He stated, the hand around your wrist used your hand as an anchor to bring your bodies together. Your heart fluttered at this.

“Venti you’re wasted,”

His hold on your wrist tightened and your eyes were locked together like magnets. “Please.”

The tips of his fingers traced the skin from the wrist of your hand past your elbow to your exposed shoulder as his lips remained hair’s width away from yours, building your anticipation.

His hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and pulled you toward him before your lips locked together.

His cold fingers latched themselves around your wrist for the second time that night before he guided your hand to the warm skin underneath his shirt; this gave you enough incentive to slowly trail your hand up his abdomen;

“Touch me.” His lips caressed your own with every word before he locked them together, it was inevitable for you were opposing forces bound to comverge. His lips burned against yours with an ardent flame that fed on the desperation you both emitted into the kiss. Venti’s back arched into you when the tips of your fingers skimmed his left nipple with a feather-like touch. He sighed against your lips as you circled his nipple with the aim to engrave the feeling of his skin on your fingers, the pathetic broken words that fell from Venti’s lips, which had now parted from yours, when you tugged on his nipple left you lightheaded and itching for more of his reactions.

After giving half-hearted and rushed attention to his other nipple. Venti protested but he dropped it when your hand descended from his chest down his abdomen to the waistline of his pants.

As you took your time handling buttons of his pants, Venti took your preoccupation as an opportunity to leave open mouthed kisses along the edge of your jawline and down to your neck; His lips were the paintbrush to the canvas of your skin and like a skilled artist he relished the purples and reds scattered on your skin and while they were not in any particular pattern, they conveyed an important message to him and anyone (archon’s forbid) who would dare cast their eyes on you. You were his.

While lost in his mastery of staining the skin of your neck with love bites, Venti snapped his hips into the palm of your hand with a sound of surprise. You had managed to work your hand into his pants, your fingers now wrapped firmly around his dick. Your other hand had its own firm grip on his thigh to discourage Venti from grinding against your hand as he did when he felt your warmth against his erection. “Don’t move.”

Venti chuckled, his head still buried in your neck. “Anyone would move if someone had their hand on their dick.” His words danced between the skin of your neck and soft lips grazed your neck with every syllable; it was enough to make you shiver but you didn’t forget the task at hand.

Soon enough you had Venti muffling his moans in the crook of your neck as you worked your hand on his dick; your wrist ached with how long you had been at it but the rising pitch in Venti’s pleas spurred you on. His fingers were curled into the material of your shirt as if you were his only anchor as he drowned in the vast ocean of pleasure you brought him with just your hand.

“I’m… so close.” He gasped, vision blurred by tears.

You ran your thumb over his tip causing him to whimper pathetically into your neck, his grip on your shirt tightening as your pace increased.

His hips began to move involuntarily despite your grip on his thigh and Venti was in hysterics.

“Please, please, please,” He moaned repeatedly like it was a prayer, like begging for release was the only thing he could remember to do because his orgasm and your hand were the centre of his thoughts and those prayers were answered through a mind numbing orgasm.

It was the first of many that night.

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin impact smut #i’m not okay #venti x reader #genshin impact venti #genshin venti #venti the bard #genshin x reader #genshin smut #venti smut #venti x you #why did i make this

[lilliankoo]

“TITANIC” (II) BROOKLYN BABY ♰ jjk.

series masterlist.

pairing: artist! Jk x rich y/n!

synopsis: the cryptic note left you with so many questions, the man with the paintings in his hands stands at your door- two choices are in front of you, which way you will choose to go? from the unsaid confessions of love and promises to finding the lost bracelet. the titanic is going to test you at every turn- are you sure that you can keep up?

genre: strangers to love, love at first sight, star-crossed lovers, smut.

word count: 3.6k?

warnings: se*ual tension, kisses, n*de paintings descriptions, painting someone nak*d, classism, foul language, controlling mother, talks abt forced marriage, mature content.

author’s note: sorry for delaying the upload, i was busy with some personal stuff. i edited lots of this since my friend told me its missing the plot 🧍🏻‍♀️anyways i also had loads of work to do and couldn’t find the time to post it! i apologize to each and everyone of you i hope u understand <3 this was written very hurriedly, im not a professional writer. yas. just ignore grammar mistakes! slay lets goooo

“How many men do you keep in the nest?” you ask mingyu while sipping on your coffee, it’s been around three hours since you lost your bracelet. After coming across the foreign note you couldn’t really understand what you were supposed to do, your hands shaked and at the moment quickly throwing the note over the railing into the ocean was the best choice and after that hurrying down to your room to think was also the best choice. In your room, you quickly removed your jewelry, dress and changed into a soft pink corseted dress- something simple yet elegant. And now, you sat in front of mingyu on one of the tables in the dining area- having your first meal in the evening. Mingyu hummed after hearing your question and looked at you while wiping his mouth with a tissue. He seemed to think about it for a while- stabbed some brocolis laying on his plate with his fork- you knew he was thinking about something. “Why the sudden interest in the ship?” he asks, still looking at his plate. You lean back on your chair, studying him and the stupid question he just asked. there was unnecessary tension between you and mingyu which you hated. you know he’s salty about the morning event- where you slipped out of their “group tour” without telling anyone well you did inform your mother but she just couldn’t remember where you said you were going, she was too busy listening to dear mr.kim. You sighed and smiled while looking at mingyu. You choose to remain patient as knowing how many men there are at the nest is important- the cryptic note that you came across previously, clearly states “meet me where the nest resides' ' and by your best knowledge the nest is a structure of the upper part of the main mast of the ship that is used as a lookout point. “Well, mingyu I was just trying to make a conversation with something that interests you,” you say while pouting and removing the lipstick stain from your coffee cup. Mingyu sighs while reaching for his glass of wine. He takes a sip while looking at you over his glass. “1 during the day, 2 during the night” mingyu replies nonchalantly. What is his problem- you think to yourself. you mutter a quiet “okay” and continue eating. you and mingyu eat quietly, none of you saying anything besides occasional compliments for the food. you look around the hall and look at everyone. how everyone looks so happy and free. Suddenly something comes into your mind and smiles internally, the next moment, you drop your fork on your plate rather loudly and stare at mingyu. The cling of the metal on the ceramic seemed to echo. Mingyu looks at you questionably. “I need someone to paint me” you tell him while folding your arms over your stomach. Once again, he looks at you confusingly and at your arms, trying to decipher whatever you just said. Quickly his demeanor changes and he turns into a man you are more familiar with, “Well my love, titanic was built keeping luxury in mind, having an artist aboard will just”- before mingyu can finish his sentence you dramatically shake your head and get ready to leave. Mingyu stands up as well and holds both of your arms. “Hey, hey wait, there is no professional artist appointed aboard but i want to let you know that there is nothing that i won’t give you, you go and rest in your room and wait for me” he says while looking at you.

In that moment two things were clear to you- one, he knew about the potential marriage, second, he was whipped. you nod mindlessly and walk briskly to your room. Just as you reach your room, you sit on your bed and think. Think about what you just did and what happened hours ago. This artist thing was something you came up with so that you can keep mingyu busy. keep him busy so that he can forget about the nest thing and spend mindless time arranging an artist for you in the middle of the ocean. you sigh and crane your neck side to side- to relieve some stress and decide. To decide whether you should go meet a stranger in the middle of the night or talk to Mingyu about it and conduct an investigation. Well, while debating over the options and coming to a conclusion, you accidentally fall asleep. It was around some time later in the evening when you heard someone knocking at your door. you whine and try to ignore it by hiding your head under the pillows.The knocking just intensifies and goes on for a few minutes before you sit up and scream into your pillows in frustration. you scream “coming” and look at the clock showing 7pm. It’s been three hours since your meeting with mingyu. you unlock the door and there stands mingyu and a stranger with paintings in his hand.

an hour ago,

Mingyu knew what he was supposed to do right now, more like- who he was supposed to go to right now. He smiles to himself because he knows this will surely make you want to marry him. his feet move on their own and they make their way to the third class area. mingyu also smiles because he does not have to work that hard to find an artist right now since you made him meet one in the morning. the same guy you were worried about- the guy that was being denied entry. what was his name “johnguk” “jeonguk” - mingyu does not even remember but he does remember his room number- 37. he owns the guy a favour. When he was being denied entry in the morning, Mingyu did him a favour- the reason he was being denied entry was he had a ticket that was not under his name, apparently he won the ticket in gambling since he couldn’t afford one. he remembers how the guy had tears in his eyes and kept saying “i need to get on, this is going to turn around my life” “i am an artist i need to be in new york” and so on. Just because of you Mingyu helped him. Mingyu quickly reaches his room and knocks on the door. Just as Mingyu is about to knock once again the door opens and the guy stands in front of him- disheveled hair, paint on his face and white shirt. Pathetic- mingyu thinks to himself.

“Mr. kim! how can i help you” the guy says and mingyu almost praises him for remembering his name. “Ah, i am good J” Mingyu genuinely did not remember his name, he did know his initials was “j” so he just went with that. “My name is Jungkook, I mean you can call me”- jungkook’s words were cut off when mingyu asked him if he could talk to him. Jungkook did feel bad that he did not listen to him but hey he was still happy that “mr.kim” was here for him. Jungkook nods and mingyu quickly tells him about the offer. “I would like to hire you for my fiance,” Mingyu tells him. fiance. Jungkook genuinely could not believe what he was hearing- “hired” meaning he had an actual job. Jungkook quickly agrees since it is a once in a lifetime opportunity- being around rich people and professionally painting- he loves it. Mingyu tells him to grab his stuff and come with him. He brings Jungkook to the first class’ bar and offers him a drink which he denies since “he doesn’t drink”. Mingyu smiles bitterly and looks him up and down while drinking his whiskey. “so, do you have any of your work with you?” mingyu asks jungkook. Jungkook pulls out his sketchbook and hands it to mingyu. He goes through the book and nods. The book was filled with sketches of buildings, random strangers, sunsets and aesthetic views. Mingyu mindlessly surfs through the pages and asks Jungkook how much he charges. “Well, um what exactly am I painting?” Jungkook asks. “My fiance is into art, she wants someone to paint her '' mingyu replies. Jungkook does not miss the way Mingyu almost snarls. ”I will give you $100 for every painting you do for her, just keep her happy, '' Mingyu says mindlessly.

right now,

“Did we wake you up?” Mingyu asks you while smiling. The guy next to him ducks his head in greeting and looks at you in admiration? Confusion?-you really can’t pinpoint. “No, no come on in” you say while mumbling lightly. Mingyu and the man enter your room and you motion both of them to sit on the sofa while you sit on your bed. for a moment, all three of you don’t say anything and just look at each other. the man looks around your room in admiration, mingyu looks at you- more like tries to study you. mingyu clears his throat and looks at the man he brought with him. “y/n, this is jungkook, he is an artist and he is here to paint you” he says while grinning. Oh, he won. The color from your face almost drains but you still smile; the thoughts run in your mind at a rapid pace as to how this fucker found an artist for you this quick. Your plan already failed “oh, wow” is all you say while looking at the artist. The man suddenly stands up and does a deep bow. “nice to meet you, madam, I am jeon jungkook, '' he says and looks at you. See, you don’t really believe in love at first sight nor do you fall for somebody’s looks this fast but the man standing in front of you right now is a piece of art in himself. you study his facial features, his oh so big eyes and nose, his lips, the curve of his jaw and so on. In that moment all you wanted to do was eat him alive- in a sexy way. you almost purr at him but you control yourself. “It’s nice to meet you jungkook, i am y/n, please sit down” you tell him while motioning him to sit back down. He smiles at you and looks at Mingyu as he is asking for his permission. Mingyu expectantly looks back at him and stands up, he walks over to you and drops to his knees in front of you. “y/n, remember how i told you i will get you anything? Here is your artist. Make him paint as much as you want” he says while looking at you. you hum and look at him. Well, Since your childhood you were always told to bend down and bow, now, having a man like mingyu on his knees for you felt weirdly good. you nod and smile at him.

Mingyu stands up and gives Jungkook the instructions- listen to her, do what she tells you to do, do not touch anything, do not touch her- you physically cringe at his last remark. Mingyu smiles at you one last time before leaving the room. Now, it is only you and Jungkook in your room right now. You are still sitting on your bed while you study him and look at him rather way more affectionately. The thought of your lost bracelet is nowhere in your mind right now. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks at everything but you- he’s shy and you love it. you smile to yourself and walk over to jungkook. You sit next to him and notice the way he tenses his shoulders up and sneaks a glance your way. “Before we start, can I see some of your work? Let me know you, yeah?” you ask him rather lovingly. You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from you but you are having fun. Jungkook quickly nods and hands you both of his sketchbooks. you go through the first one; which mainly consists of scenic views, buildings, strangers and portraits; the works are indeed beautiful and prepossessing. “you are so talented” you say admirably and jungkook smiles while thanking you. Just as you are about to go through the second sketchbook; jungkook holds your wrist and looks at you. you confusingly look back at him. “um, this one is more explicit i me- mean my niche is painting nude” he says while his cheeks and neck flushes in pink. your eyebrows raise on their own as you look at him and his hand holding your wrist. “Let go of my hand” you tell him and he immediately obeys. you open the sketchbook and he was indeed right. It is explicit- every page is a nude painting of women with titles and subtitles describing it. French girls and their red lipsticks, diamond, maybe baby- you laugh at how the titles sound so cheesy. The paintings are incredibly detailed that they almost look real and that the girls from the paintings can step out at any given moment. Jungkook notices the way you are so amazed by his work, the way you stare at every single detail. While you are busy looking at the paintings, he is busy looking at you. jungkook is mind blown by your beauty. He has seen and painted tons of girls but he has never seen someone as beautiful as you. He is perplexed by your beauty.

after some time you finish admiring his work and sigh. “Okay, come on” you say while standing up and Jungkook is confused as to what you are implying. you walk towards your bed and sit down. “Paint me, Jungkook, '' you say while making eye contact with him. Jungkook’s breath hitches when you start unlacing your corset; he gulps and you smile. “Jungkook, go and lock the door” you tell him and just like before he immediately obeys. “Are you comfortable painting me naked?” you ask him while toying with your sleeves. “How old are you?” he asks you while setting up as his canvas- the faster he works, the faster he will be free. “I am 20, jungkook and you?” you ask him while removing your dress. now, you only sat in your chemise. Jungkook looks at you and really looks at you. Now that your fiance is no longer here he sees a new side of you- mischievous? He’s not sure. “I am 24” he replies. Jungkook pulls a chair in front of his canvas and faces you. “Your fiance won’t mind, right?” he asks you. for a moment, you don’t reply and choose to look at him. He’s so handsome and talented. “Why? It’s not like we are going to do something forbidden, besides, he’s not my fiance. I don't know what he told you i-i mean he is the man my mother wants me to marry but it’s not decided yet” you say rather fast and breathlessly. Jungkoo nods. He motions for you to remove your chemise And, in a moment, your chemise hits the floor along with your undergarments and now you lay naked in front of Jungkook on your bed. a complete stranger if you really think about it but you really don’t care anymore.

you notice the way for a moment jungkook just looks at you and your body. I mean he’s an artist, if he’s going to paint you he needs to look at you. Jungkook picks up the charcoal and starts his work. For the next three hours, you and Jungkook talk- you talk while Jungkook occasionally replies. He’s serious about his work- you can tell- by the way, his brows are furrowed in concentration, his tongue plays around his lips- he’s a work of art himself that you want to keep it to yourself, art that you want the world to see but also hide it from them, art that you want to admire for the rest of your life. over the course of your conversation, you got to know alot about jungkook, he’s 24, from france and unemployed, he does minute sketches where he gets paid way too little but in his words “he loves it and it is enough”. he tells you how he is going to start a new life in new york, start painting professionally and seriously, be happy and get married. “Why are you going to New york?” Jungkook asks you while he goes through his bag for a new piece of charcoal. “hmm, well we are going to brooklyn, i am probably going to be forced to marry mingyu, have children and be his housewife” you reply melancholy. Jungkook stops drawing and looks at you. “What’s your dream?” he asks sincerely. You look at him and reply “I want to be free, be free to make my own choices and do whatever I want”. He just soaks in your reply and looks at you. “Whatever is your dream, I pray that it becomes true” he tells you while smiling. you smile back and unexpectedly a tear slips from your left eye. you look at him while more tears cascade your eyes. Jungkook drops his things and hurries toward you. “Hey, is everything”- he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before your lips find his. You prop yourself on your right arm while your left hand holds his nape to deepen the kiss. Jungkook’s hands hold your waist as he, too, deepens the kiss. you both kiss like two lost lovers who finally met each other. your tongues dance around each other, your fingers lace through his hair while his hands caresses your ribcage. After a moment, you both pull apart from the kiss as a string of saliva keeps you both connected. just as you are about to apologize for kissing him so abruptly he engulfs your lips in a kiss one more time. “Don’t say you regret it, don’t say anything that makes it sound like a mistake," he says while looking at you. you lift your hand and hold his cheek; trace his cupid bow and his mole right under his lip. “Be my muse, be my secret, be my dream, be my morning’s first thought, be my night’s last thought” you chant like a prayer while tracing his lips. Jungkook kisses your finger near his lips and nods. Kisses you one, two, three times- “be my muse, be my paradise, be mine in a way that is more precious and holy than an altar” he says breathlessly while kissing your eyes and nose. you laugh and sit up, pick up your dress from the floor- jungkook quickly stands up and helps you wear it. “Is the sketch done?” you ask while lacing your corset. “Yes, but i will show it to you tomorrow, since you weren’t wearing any jewelry, i will sketch my own” he replies while running his hand through your hair. You stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him one more time. Jungkook smiles in the kiss. When you both pull apart, Jungkook looks at you dreamily.

“It’s night” you say while looking out the little window. Jungkook too looks outside and hums. After some time standing in each other's arms you open your mouth and utter what’s been on your mind. “I- there are, i mean, i want to know you more, i mean i enjoy your presence in a way that is unexplainable, you remind me of someone that i have never met before and i-i want to talk to you all night, all day, know you, know the real you and everything” you say while your voice cracks, you don’t know why. Jungkook smiles at you and kisses your forehead. “I am glad we are on the same page, I will do whatever you want me to do” he replies. In that moment, so blinded by the cupid’s arrow, you don’t think clearly- you have to meet J but you also don’t want to be away from jungkook. You want to spend every minute with him as if you don’t have any time to waste. “ i was supposed to be somewhere but i want to be with you all night” you say while looking down at your feet since looking at him right now makes you feel shy- oh how the tables turned. Look at you, sacrificing your treasured bracelet for a man you met a few hours ago. Spending a night with Jungkook means you will not be able to meet the person who left the note for you; you will lose the heart of the ocean bracelet forever. But in that moment all that mattered to you was the man in front of you. J can wait. Jungkook smiles and kisses you. Mumbles a “whatever you want, my love” and kisses you one last time.

look at you, already in love with a man that is going to turn your life around in an unforgiven way, the voyage of titanic is going to test you at every turn- are you sure that you can keep up?

next chapter: like one of your french girls

taglist:: @currently-stanning-bts @justagirlinlovewithsevenboys @namelesskeid @jksbibomp @withluvjm @heartstealer-law @badgyalcedi @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @september-husband @yourbobaeyestell @pointofviewyugyeom @ohcarolinamin @jungkooksmytype @erensfavblackie @kaithezaftig @erensfavblackie @taetaecatboy @4ngelkoo0 @nikitopia @bangtan4everr

wow, so many clues in this chapter, so much foreshadowing 🧍🏻‍♀️ hmmm also + don’t question the y/n’s choices yet she’s just 20 and she is going go learn alot. i am so excited to write the next chapter. lets go.

#jungkook fic #jungkook recs #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungguk #jk fic #bts jk #jungkook imagine #jungkook reader #jungkoook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook titanic #jk titanic #titanic fic

[moodymisty]

hello❤️‍🔥I hope everything is fine with you in life✨Congratulations on the beginning of October🥰 Lion El'Jonson/reader-aristocrat Let everything revolve around the official ceremonial portrait (well, you know those huge full-length paintings when women are sitting on a high-backed chair in a ball gown, and a man is standing a little behind with his hand on his wife's shoulder and they are holding hands) Lion in the days before the Heresy was very skeptical about the idea of making such a portrait, but in the end the reader persuaded him. Cute moment Then skip all the way to Heresy. There is confusion everywhere, war. The reader is either on Caliban or Terra. Lion sent them there, thinking that she would be safe. And so he looks either at the portrait itself or at a small picture and feels anxious and longing for quiet days. And skip up to 41k. Lion woke up after so many years, everything changed around. But he still has this little reproduction and he looks at it when it gets hard. Lion is transported to pleasant memories where everything was fine. He does not know what has become of the reader and the original portrait🥺 Hope for a happy ending or an open dramatic ending - the choice depends entirely on you how to complete it🌹

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey! Sorry this took so long, it took me a hot minute to get it going but once I did I really like how it came out. I hope you enjoy, and it's close enough to what you wanted :3

Summary: Azrael asks a newly awoken Lion about a Chapter relic with a curious history.

Relationships: Lion El'Jonson/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader's fate is vague but given the amount of time passed largely spoken about as if dead, Typical 40kness, Far less fluffy than perhaps you wanted but I got carried away with the angst

Word Count: 1196

"Father,"

Azrael looks towards the man he calls his pater, who only spares him a sparse glance. They stand side by side, and while the Primarch in all of his glory dwarfs the Chapter Master, Azrael still feels more on equal terms that he thought he would- in the presence of their Primarch.

The Lion however still finds himself unfamiliar with the Chapter Master, and it has proven difficult for the two to navigate around each other. It has been many years since The Lion drew breath of his own accord; Much has changed since then. The Dark Angels have grown more suspicious, secretive; The Fallen have grown in number. The Necrons, the Tyranids, his father being nothing more than a rotting corpse splayed across his golden throne in a mimicry of what once was.

He stares at the 'relic'- as Azrael had called it when they'd first approached- ahead of him, and it serves as a beacon to a place he can no longer go.

He knows this isn't the original.

The original was put in a gold frame with a delicate filigree, this one is in one of the distinctive Dark Angel green. To match the surroundings, or perhaps the actual art was removed from it's old frame and into this one. Damage, perhaps. The canvas is torn, yellowed with age and the signature of the artist who'd captured this moment in time is unreadable. He can barely see your face, with how much the paint has fallen away.

He can barely see his own as well. Perhaps it's all for the best.

"Who is she?"

The Chapter Master holds his winged helmet in his hands, a rare moment of him not being fully armored. He glances towards the portrait with a stoic curiosity and continues speaking.

"We, know vaguely of her mention in texts from the Heresy, but nothing else. Not even her name." The Librarium is quiet. Only he, Azrael, and a few others occupy the monumental space. The painting is surrounded by other relics of the chapter; Statues, weaponry from warriors of old, scripts and written texts.

"We've never known. Years of searching lead us nowhere, so we had given up our attempts. It was thought to be knowledge lost to time." He hesitates. "Lost to the Heresy."

The Astartes faces trouble with identifying the expression on his Primarch's face, as they both stand paces away from the tattered relic. When he accepts that it's unreadable, he casts his eyes back towards the old painting.

Azrael can tell from what paint is left on the canvas that you're clearly smiling.

Even thousands of years later the warmth of that smile is still palpable; Multiple Dark Angels have found an odd, abit unfamiliar solace in it. It's not uncommon for the Captains and Commanders of the chapter to ponder it in the rare moments they need a form of clarity. It seems to help, and none of them have ever found why.

The dress you wear in the portrait matches the green they cast their armor in, though the paint has lost it's vibrancy over the years. It still matches The Lion's armor however, as he stands behind you the chair you're seated in. You're on a small platform, to make it easier to fit the Primarch who is massively taller into the same frame. His hand rests firmly on your shoulder, and your much daintier, unarmored hand softly grasps two of his fingers.

It's peaceful. It makes the Chapter Master think as to what life was like before the Heresy took it all away. It makes him wonder how a clearly baseline human could have had such a bond with a god; A Primarch.

Meanwhile, it makes The Lion think back to when it was first being painted- the original one- before he'd lost so many of his brothers.

"Smile for once, Lion."

He doesn't, but he does look down on you with a familiar glare. His face barely changes orientation, but you can still so clearly see his desire to scold you. Tucking a single bit of hair behind your ear, you make sure to keep the same position you'd started in. The artist has already requested once you do so, as to avoid any errors in the painting.

Still as you possibly can be, you try not to hurt your cheeks from holding back a smile.

"Roboute was actually right about you having such a sour moue all the time."

Again, he doesn't say a word. His hand stays heavy on your shoulder however, as he stays remarkably still. He can't feel your gentle grasp through his armor, though he can glance down towards it and his nerves attempt to simulate the feeling; a dull accuracy from the memories of previous times.

He thinks this is all pointless. But it's clearly pleasing you, so for once he'll begrudgingly allow it.

After towing you all the way to Terra, to tear you from everything you knew to surround you with thousands of fresh Astartes all hungry for battle, looking to you for orders you aren't yet trained to give. He supposes he can gift you this rare platitude. Perhaps it will serve as a memory to this time that can be looked back upon in the future. To remember how hard they fought to make the galaxy free of the scourge that fills it.

The painter gestures to his serf to gather another color for him, and the young man quickly scurries off to go retrieve it. Meanwhile the artist continues, working in a fashion far more slowly and inferior to the current technology of the time.

The Lion considers it a waste, though unlike him you come from a planet with an emphasis on the arts; Same as Fulgrim and Roboute. There's something in this you value, and while he doesn't consider himself as soft as some of his brothers, the love he has for you prevents him from squandering your joy.

Sanguinius will surely find this all hilarious.

Azrael glances upward again towards his Primarch. He thinks he hears him mumble something, but The Lion is silent by the time he realizes something might've been said.

The Primarch could taste your name on his lips, but speaking it would only make it worse. He silenced himself before it was spoken aloud for the first time in thousands of years.

He knows that after his 'demise', after he was put in the dreamless sleep deep within The Rock, you briefly issued orders alongside his old council. That's all the Chapter's records have left, after so many centuries.

Not a single one of those texts even mentions your name, let alone your fate. You're a ghost of his own mind. Your memory is but a relic in a Librarium locked away for untold years.

Part of him is glad he acquiesced to your silly, human desire. Another part is hateful, because now he has a memory he can do nothing with but feel the way it aches.

He never answers Azrael. And so the Astartes files the question away in his mind, discontent but accepting to never ask it again.

#Lion El'Jonson x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[iztea]

How to start an art account?

well obviously by posting art but i guess this is not what you wanted to hear so i'll go more in depth

i think the biggest piece of advice i can offer when starting an art account is to not become fixated on numbers or likes and let external validation be your main source of motivation because in the beginning you will simply lack the visibility regardless of the quality of your art so if you start with the mentality of " i want to get big and get tons of likes and be popular" then you'll just give up prematurely as growing an audience takes a lot of time and effort and it's never something stable or consistent (unless you and the content you post are but that's another can of worms) If you want to post on instagram, you can even disable the likes option so that they won't influence you

What i do suggest, however, is to take the first step, which is also the hardest one: post one (1) artwork online. The rest will flow naturally, you don't have to force anything (it took me sooo many months to start posting again on instagram and here on tumblrr; i was always waiting for Something that never came until i finally did it and then it became "routine" fun, even. This is also general life advice from yours truly that I myself don't follow but i digress).

Really now, just post for fun, scream into the abyss, share your art with whomever comes across it. Don't think too much about it and live in the present or in a day-by-day manner. If you start with no expectations, you can't become disappointed, so just don't expect or wish for anything. Don't even think of yourself as an artist or an art account, you're a person who likes to draw and shares said artwork online. That's all there is to it. The rest is not in your control.

From my observations, there are two routes you can take your art account down on:

a) use your account strictly for art== the post-and-dip type, the ~mysterious type that never engages with their "audience"

b) the talkative personality haver art account that besides posting art also shitposts, replies to comments, answers questions etc (like me god i tried to be mysterious but i can never stfu so maybe it was never a choice in the first place sniff sniff) anyways pick your poison! Or try to be both. Or neither. Don't even listen to me that's just what i noticed

Last but not least, be patient. If your art is objectively good skill-wise, it's only visibility that you lack and that will come one way or another. Just focus on improving your skills by drawing what you personally enjoy. it's a win-win situation. And trust me, you can definitely tell when the OP really had fun with an artwork, you can see it in everything so practice that..... having fun and enjoying yourself is crucial that's ur lifeline brotherrrrrrrr As always, there's a mental and concrete side to anything so i guess this was more ~psychological advice, if you want actual tips for posting your art online, i've answered similar CCs before so you can check my courious cat account for that

Hope it helped!

#also this is general advice if u do art as hobby #if you want it in a career way then don't listen to me #sorry it's long i talk a lot #im glad tumblr doesn't have a word limit unlike cc #i had to shorten a lot of words lol #ask iztea

[steddieasitgoes]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) | A Steddie Big Bang Fic | Shipping November 5th

Happy to announce that my @steddiebang fic (affectionally dubbed The Mailman Thing) will begin to be posted on ao3 on November 5th. I guess the post does come on Sunday's after all!

My artists @doomcheese and @strawberrysh0rk and my beta readers @valosomdraws and @ContrivedInk on Discord are all hard at work helping me bring this headache lovely fic to life.

We can't wait to share it with you! Enjoy this little sneak peak as a treat:

Eddie’s waiting for him on the porch when he parks Posty on the curb in front of the dragon mailbox. He’s dressed down again. A pair of sweatpants and a worn band shirt of sorts that the sleeves have been cut off of. His tattoos are on full display, and Steve can’t help but ogle them as he climbs up the steps. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” 

“I work up a big appetite delivering mail.” 

Eddie snorts, ushering Steve inside and towards the kitchen. 

It’s the second time Eddie’s snickered at Steve’s career choices, and he can’t help but bristle at the reaction. He doesn’t think Eddie is a condescending ass like his own father is, but Steve can never be too sure. There’s always at least one person who has a problem with his job, even though it’s an essential career choice. 

“How did you end up working for the post office, anyway?” Eddie asks, turning his back towards Steve as he scoops something into a giant bowl. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It seems like a great job, but you seem too pretty for blue-collar labor.” 

Steve’s the one chuckling this time. Cheeks blushing upon hearing Eddie call him pretty again. That has to be a good sign, right? Maybe the Pride flag is his after all. 

“It started with a paper route, actually. My uh, dad told me to get a job, and the local paper was the only place that would hire me at thirteen. It sucked at first, but I started to love being outdoors and delivering things to people. It’s still one of the best jobs I’ve ever had, and when I moved out here, my best friend told me to apply at the post office,” Steve says, smiling fondly at the memories. “It’s not the same as being a paper boy, but it, uh, scratches that itch.” 

“That’s sweet,” Eddie says, spooning a bite of soup into his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk so fondly about their job before. And I work with artists all day.” 

“So you are an artist!” 

“I mean, I think so, but not everyone agrees.” 

Steve’s brows pinch in confusion. He’s about to ask Eddie to elaborate, but he doesn’t have to. Eddie seems to pick up on the visible confusion on his face. A surprising feat, considering Robin’s the only one who's ever been able to decipher Steve’s facial expressions. 

“M’tattoo artist.” 

“Must be some tattoo artist if you can afford a place like this on your own.”  

Eddie’s cheeks start to turn a familiar rosy color; thankfully, hives don’t follow. Instead, he reaches for a loose tendril of his hair and pulls it across his face. Hiding his blush from Steve’s line of sight. 

“I mean, I’m decent,” Eddie shrugs. “But uh, I also came into some money after a wrongful arrest when I was 18. Thought it was time to use the money for good instead of letting it collect dust under my bed.” 

“Well, you definitely made the right choice.” 

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie big bang #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #mailman steve harrington #tattoo artsit eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #dani writes

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 14

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Being deceived your entire life was not something you were prepared for. Fortunately, once again, Morpheus was there to provide support.

Note: This chapter is quite long. I was considering to split it and just add the second part to the next one, but I didn't want to make it longer than intended. In chapter 16, the Vortex part will officially begin.

Morpheus was ready to go to any lengths for you. The way you never took advantage of his power and treated his gifts with the utmost care was everything he could ever hope for. You were a genuine treasure, illuminating and uplifting the spirits of everyone, including Morpheus himself, without needing any refinement.

The pendant adorning your neck served as a powerful symbol, bestowed upon you to safeguard you from harm and infuse you with a piece of his essence. It was common knowledge that the Endless had the ability to prolong a mortal's life just by being near them, but when it came to you, Morpheus was resolute in ensuring that you wouldn't slip away from his hold sooner than he wished.

However, there was still an important piece of information from your past that remained hidden, a vital detail that Morpheus was forbidden to reveal. Despite being bound by a verbal agreement with Paregoros that prevented him from speaking about it, as the Ruler of the Dreaming, he possessed a talent for uncovering and taking advantage of loopholes to serve his own interests. Leveraging his abilities, he employed his gift of inspiration to ignite the creative brilliance of artists and writers, leaving an enduring imprint on history. Their invaluable contributions continued to be revered and celebrated across generations in textbooks and literary masterpieces. The dreams and nightmares he meticulously crafted had the power to shape the trajectory of mortals, guiding them towards a myriad of choices they would make in the Waking World.

He persuaded Richard Madoc to set Calliope free. He convinced Maya Davies to openly address her actions at the office, dealing with the burden of guilt and self-disappointment that would haunt her for an extended period of time.

There was no feat beyond his grasp within his domain. The purpose of the Dreaming itself was to fulfill such a role, granting him the ability to accomplish anything.

And so, he made the decision to inspire yet another human - someone he had never personally met, but who held immense significance and closeness to his beloved.

According to your account, your father was going through an emotional breakdown that tormented him with sleepless nights and anxious days. There wasn't a specific nightmare haunting the man, but his dream record offered Morpheus valuable insights into the root cause of his troubles.

Thus, Morpheus ventured into the vast expanse of dreams within his realm, searching for the particular one he sought. He wandered along an endless path that twisted and turned, encountering a series of ever-shifting scenes that emerged from the mortal realm. Passing through a gate adorned with roses, he effortlessly opened it with a simple wave of his hand. Stepping inside, he walked along a secluded beach, seemingly abandoned except for three figures near the edge of the sea. Among them, only one person was truly asleep, while the other two were mere projections of the human's subconscious mind.

The soothing sound of the waves enveloped the atmosphere, while the sun radiated its warmth from above. Your father, in his younger years, relaxed on a beach towel, a serene smile adorning his lips. He watched with attentiveness as a little girl constructed a sandcastle before him, showering her with praise for her imaginative creation and encouraging her to make it even more magnificent. Beside him, Paregoros rested her head on his shoulder, expressing her love for their daughter and her longing to perpetually preserve that cherished moment of togetherness.

Morpheus stood nearby, observing and hearing everything, yet maintaining a respectful distance. He watched as you lifted your head, your captivating eyes moving from the sandcastle to meet his gaze. A smile formed on your face, acknowledging his presence before redirecting your focus back to the construction in front of you., acknowledging his presence before redirecting your focus back to the construction in front of you.

As a replica of your childhood self, you existed solely within his realm and nowhere else. This version of you was nothing more than an abstract entity recognizing its master, yet even as a dream, you radiated a gentle warmth that had the ability to melt his heart.

He continued to observe the family for a little while longer, sensing a tinge of intrusion into a private moment not intended for his eyes. Morpheus contemplated turning away and departing, but to his astonishment, your father spoke in a way that seemed to be directed at him.

"Isn't it beautiful? This is how I’ve always envisioned things, for all of us.”

Morpheus walked closer, daring to stop just a few inches away.

"But this isn't real, is it? It's merely a construct of my mind. Just a dream.”

Morpheus' attention shifted back and forth, alternating between your father, Paregoros, and the little Y/N.

"Yes, you are sleeping,” the Endless replied, his voice echoing in the salty air. "But that does not diminish the significance of what you are dreaming about.”

The man chuckled softly, bringing his hands together around his knees. “’Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?’”

Morpheus reacted with a pout, furrowing his eyebrows, while the man responded with a wide smile. "It's a quote from Harry Potter. Have you ever read that one?”

“I have not.”

"Please excuse my digression, then.”

Paregoros and Y/N carried on as if nothing was happening. Your father cast a sidelong glance at his partner, his expression growing darker and more solemn.

"This is not my first time here," he realized. "But I must confess, I do not recall ever seeing you. Have we crossed paths before?”

“No.”

“I see. For some reason, you seem familiar to me.”

He pondered over it, attempting to dispel the haze of the dream from his mind. Eventually, he shook his head and snickered to himself again, finding amusement in his own thoughts.

"Ah, never mind," he said dismissively. "I think you remind me of a character from another book, The Sandman. But that's just foolish, isn't it?”

Morpheus remained silent, but this time, a barely concealed grin formed on his lips.

Even in his dreamlike state, the mortal was perceptive enough to notice it. “What?”

"You are quite like her," Morpheus noted.

Your father blinked in confusion. "Her?" he questioned, seeking clarification.

The King of Dreams tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed upon the little girl once more. The man followed his line of sight and, with a quick glimpse at you, he understood. "You know my daughter?”

Morpheus nodded in confirmation.

"But… how...?"

"No matter. The truth that you are keeping from her seems to be tormenting you.”

Upon hearing this, the waves receded partially, and a deafening silence descended, causing your father's shoulders to slump in defeat. “You know that as well?”

"You attempted to shield her from something that was just too much for the both of you. Your love for your daughter is immeasurable, but it is time for you to let go of this burden," Morpheus advised.

"How am I supposed to do that? I’ve been lying about it her entire life.”

"Your daughter is prepared, and she will not hold any resentment against you for it."

As the conversation continued, Paregoros kept her attention on the little girl, who was diligently shoveling and shaping the sand with a perpetual smile on her face.

"I don't want to lose her," he confessed. "She's everything I have.”

"Your fear is a perception, an obstacle that must be overcome.”

"Easy for you to say," the man responded. "She went through hell because of what I did, because of our deception. How could anyone forgive such a thing?”

"Y/N has achieved remarkable accomplishments. She is more than capable of accepting things that surpass mortal understanding.”

"You speak as if you know her better than I do.”

"I do possess precise knowledge of all of you, far better than you have of yourselves,” Morpheus asserted.

Your father raised an eyebrow and asked, "All of us? Who exactly are you?”

“Mortals like you have limited recollection of your dreams while awake.”

"Do you think I will forget you?"

"You may."

"Are you even real?"

"I am."

He narrowed his eyes, cautiously studying the Endless with great scrutiny. "You are him, aren't you? You are the King of Dreams."

“You do not appear surprised.”

He shrugged. "All stories originate from reality.”

Morpheus was convinced that your qualities were a legacy from your mother, with her inherently compassionate and benevolent nature. Yet, as he observed your father now, so composed and open-minded, he concluded that a portion of your value also stemmed from his good heart and understanding.

As Morpheus delved into the mortal's mind, he could see the tremendous effort he had been putting forth for your well-being.

"If you are unwilling to heed my words, at the very least, place your trust in your daughter," he urged.

Your father's eyes cast down, and in a sudden twist, his entire appearance reverted back to his present self. Both Paregoros and Y/N dissolved into grains of sand, scattering away with the wind, their presence fading like a distant song.

"She won't hate me, will she?”

"Hate? Y/N has nothing but love in her heart," Morpheus affirmed.

"While she does indeed hold love, she also carries a lot of pain."

"Your deceit is likely to nourish that pain. For her, and for you," Morpheus cautioned.

The man curled up, wrapping his arms around his legs, fully embracing them. The temperature began to plummet, causing even the skin of his dream to tingle with cold. "I'm terrified, Lord of Dreams.”

"Your fear is lacking significance. The heaviness of your secret is causing you harm, is this truly what you wish?"

Your father shook his head vigorously. "Absolutely not," he declared with conviction. "But I want her to be happy. And I fear that this will shatter her and rob her of that happiness.”

As much as Morpheus desired to offer words of comfort that could refute those concerns, he found himself unable to do so. Still, if there was one thing he was certain of, it was your strength.

"Your fear cannot be compared with the consequences you could face."

The man let out a deep sigh, tracing circles in the sand with his finger. "The human mind is quite a tangled mess, isn't it?" he mused.

"You always create more problems for yourself.”

Your father let out a lighthearted laugh, "That is so true.”

He directed his gaze, settling it on the horizon where the ocean formed a distant blue line, distinctly separating from the sky.

"I will give it some thought," he finally concluded. "Thank you for your guidance, your Majesty.”

Morpheus offered a final nod, maintaining his position as he closely observed the mortal's reactions. Just like you, the man seemed completely aware, effortlessly assimilating into the environment and actively engaging with it. He was also unique, a rare individual that Morpheus seldom came across in his realm, amidst the multitude of people dreaming all at once.

"Fair you well," he said, waving a hand in front of his face. "This dream is over.”

As office activities resumed the following week, it came to your attention that Maya had chosen to resign from her position within the company. In order for Oliver to drop the report, she agreed to make a financial contribution to compensate for the damages she had caused. In a remarkable turn of events, Maya went as far as visiting the office to extend a heartfelt and formal apology to the entire team, including you.

Maya appeared like a mere shadow of her former self, with a noticeable paleness and thinness. The makeup around her eyes was minimal, and her lips lacked any hint of lipstick. Despite her evident exhaustion, there was a newfound sparkle in her eyes that you had never seen before.

The collective shock persisted for days as everyone tirelessly worked to rebuild what had been lost. Gradually, the burnt garments were meticulously remade with precision, and the studio started to regain its pristine condition. The broken computers were replaced, while the damaged ones were repaired and restored to working order. A new electrical panel was installed and fully functional, and the walls were repainted back to their original ivory white color.

As the weeks went by, all of you became increasingly prepared for the upcoming Fashion Show. Everything had returned to normal, and your life was steadily improving, with each day bringing even greater prosperity and abundance.

However, just as you were settling into your routine, the universe decided to throw a new obstacle onto your path.

One day, after avoiding your questions for quite some time, your father finally invited you to visit him and discuss something of extreme importance. He didn't provide any details over the phone, but he promptly reassured you that it had nothing to do with his health.

Although the news brought some relief, it was impossible to ignore the tremor in his voice. Ever since you mentioned your Greek heritage, he had been behaving strangely, indicating that his melancholy had a deeper root than mere nostalgia. Whenever you were with him, he appeared solemn, lost in thought, and emotionally distant.

Morpheus had explicitly stated that his dream record remained relatively undisturbed, without any nightmares that could account for his distress. It was high time for you to uncover the truth, and you were determined not to leave your father's house without a proper explanation.

Undoubtedly, what you were about to uncover surpassed your expectations by a significant margin.

Throughout the entire lunch, the man strived to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. Yet, his strained smile betrayed his attempt to suppress his anxiety. You watched him, giving him the space to talk about his days and the new books he had bought, without putting any pressure on him. 

While you quietly cleaned the dishes, he kept immersing himself in his storytelling, explaining every detail of the books as a diversion for himself, leaving the tea you brewed largely untouched before him. 

Despite the urgency you sensed in his voice when he first called, as the day wore on, he still couldn't muster the courage to voice what was really troubling him. Thus, recognizing his struggle to initiate the intended conversasion, you decided to take the lead and bring up the subject yourself.

"Dad, you know that I enjoy our time together, but I need to ask you right now. What's happening with you?”

The instant you inquired, his feigned smile disappeared from his face. He closed his eyes, pausing to reflect, then released a shaky, prolonged sigh before he left the table and moved to the couch in complete silence.

You followed him, settling beside him and clasping his wrist. "No more lies. I’m here for you.”

His fingers clenched around yours, placing his other hand on top. "I know. You always are," he murmured. "And that's what makes it so difficult.”

“You’re worrying me...”

“Y/N, the truth is, I owe you an apology.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "For what?”

"There's something I've been keeping from you. Something significant.”

Your heart rate increased, "What are you referring to?”

"I.... I'm so sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

Suddenly, he began to weep, releasing all the accumulated stress and regret. His body trembled uncontrollably, his sobs intermittently broken by loud hiccups. He doubled over, fervently caressing your hands in his desperation.

“Dad! What's gotten into you? Please, talk to me.”

He longed to respond, but his voice was drowned in the echoes of his heartfelt cries. All you could do was provide some solace, tenderly stroking his back and laying your cheek against his shoulder.

He took a few shallow breaths, attempting to regain his composure. His hands kept wiping his face, trying to erase the relentless tears.

At last, when he was able to speak again, he let the secret out unrestrained. “She’s alive. She’s always been. It was all a lie.”

If anything, his outburst only served to add to your confusion. “Who’s alive? I don’t understand.”

"I had no choice,” he continued. “She asked me to, for your sake. And I thought it was the right thing to do.”

By that time, your patience was wearing thin. "Dad, you're not making any sense. Who is she?”

His hiccups interrupted him again, causing his voice to shatter as he responded. "Y...o.u...r...... mo....th...er.”

It felt as if you had been doused with a cold shower. "My... mother...? What?”

He nodded frantically. "Y...yes," he trembled. "She's....alive.”

Your heart seemed to stop, only to restart at an even faster pace as you pieced the puzzle together. Since childhood, you were told the heartbreaking story of your mother passing away during your birth. You were robbed of the chance to see her, to hear her voice, or to experience her nurturing love.

A piece of you always felt absent, and there were moments when you wanted nothing more than to have her presence by your side.

She couldn't possibly be alive. No, surely you were misinterpreting his words. 

"Dad, this is absurd.”

"I couldn't, Y/N,” he lamented. “I... we.... it was just too much.”

You ran your fingers along your forehead, struggling to process his declaration. “If what you say is true, then where is she? And why?”

It couldn't possibly be real. Not a single bit.

Or could it…?

"She's not like us, lovey. She is... so much more than you could ever imagine.”

Then, like a bolt of lightning, a thought struck your mind. It was a piece of information you had heard before, which had completely slipped away. Even amidst the enigmatic circumstances, it was something you struggled to fully grasp.

“You don’t even know me. Why do you care so much about my relationship with Dream?”

The Fate in the center parted her lips into a broad smile. “Oh, we do know you, love. For you are the daughter of your mother.”

You felt the blood inside your veins turn icy cold. “My…mother…? What-”

“She does not know yet, sister-self.”

How could you have overlooked it, when what the Fates disclosed to you that day was enough to stir questions within you? You dismissed it as another of their baffling riddles, not considering to delve deeper.

And there was more.

“It would seem that your lineage is directly associated with Paregoros.”

“Excuse my ignorance, but… who would that be?”

“She is the personified spirit of consolation, comfort and soothing words. A companion of Aphrodite, Goddess of love, and Peitho, the Goddess of persuasion.”

“And I am related to her? What does that make me?”

“You are mortal. But you seem to possess certain qualities of her, which perhaps will spare you the cruel fate that is otherwise customary for any human I dare to come close to.”

Your blood surged through your veins as the realization started to sink in, unveiling what might be the most astounding truth you could ever anticipate hearing. You tried to sweep it away, given the high likelihood that you were jumping to erroneous conclusions.

And yet…

" She is... so much more than you could ever imagine.”

When your father noticed your growing panic, his crying escalated. "I never wanted to keep it from you, I swear! I told her it was a bad idea, that you had the right to know who she truly was. But... she couldn't. She... she wasn't allowed to.”

She wasn’t allowed to…

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It was the only way.”

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from his shaking form, rising to your feet and taking a few wobbly steps towards the window. You made an effort to maintain your composure, folding your arms as a ripple of chills shot up your spine, branching out to your arms and the nape of your neck.

"The photo you took with her," you managed to say, pushing down your nervousness. "You said she was reserved and didn't like having her picture taken, but she agreed to give you at least one photograph.”

“Y-yes…”

"And conveniently, her face in the only photo you have is obscured by a lens flare.”

“I know…”

You had always been curious about your mother's appearance, unable to discern her features clearly in the photo due to the overpowering brightness.

"It wasn't an accident, was it?” You concluded.

“I… I don’t know,” he sniffled. “I suppose so.”

"You said she's not like us. Is she even human?”

You had grown up with the conviction that your mother had tragically sacrificed her life to bring you into this world. During your childhood, the guilt, derived from the belief that you were the cause of her untimely death, nearly drove you into the abyss of despair. Schoolmates cruelly taunted and branded you as a bane, someone who should have never been born.

The notion that she was actually still alive, hiding and perpetuating a false narrative without ever reaching out to you, seemed like an unfathomable concept that you found incredibly difficult to accept.

Just as your father seemed to be calming down, another sob overtook him. "No, lovey...”

As the dialogue progressed, the range of possibilities began to constrict.

"I need to know her name,” you asserted. “Her real name.”

Your father sprang up from the couch, swallowing hard and unfastening the collar of his shirt. His voice was rough and weary. “Paregoros,” he conceded. “Her name is Paregoros.”

Paregoros…

Your mother was a Goddess, the spirit of consolation, about whom you had never read in any book or website. She was unknown, invisible, a phantom who left nothing behind except for her own family. You were the daughter of a deity who deemed it acceptable to simply leave you to your fate for being a mere mortal. 

Did Morpheus hold this knowledge when she was brought up in your conversation? Had he uncovered her true identity, only to deliberately keep it hidden from you?

Your father approached your immobile figure, his apologies intensifying as he called out your name.

"Sorry, I need some air," you stated, spinning on your heels and striding past him without so much as glancing at his face.

Your father remained stationary in the center of the living room, tears cascading one after another as you sprinted away. The resounding slam of the door startled him, leaving him with no other option but to resort to prayer. He prayed for your return, and above all, for your forgiveness.

You didn't know how long you walked for, nor did you have any idea of your destination. You advanced like a robot on autopilot, your feet carrying you forward, your gaze distant and unfocused. You crossed numerous streets, turned various corners, and strode past multiple shops, glancing at their display windows without truly seeing what they sold.

Your mind was still grappling with the revelation you had just unearthed, uncertain of how to cope with it all. As you wandered aimlessly through the park, you found yourself pacing back and forth on a secluded, tree-lined path, vigilantly ensuring that nobody else was around. As your anger welled up within your chest, you buried your face in your hands, unleashing a scream so forceful that it nearly stole your breath away.

You were panting, running your fingers through your hair and squeezing your burning eyes shut. There were so many questions, doubts, and bewildering theories swirling in your mind, all of which you couldn't untangle on your own.

For the next hour, you attempted to ease your nerves by sitting on a bench, but unfortunately, it did very little to pacify the inner tempest that raged inside you. You watched as several passersby went about their activities—some jogging, others enjoying a serene walk with their family, their dog, or their romantic partner.

The more you sought an escape, the deeper your mind delved into it.

You waited until the sun began to dip below the horizon and solitude enveloped you completely. Struggling with coherent thought, you rose from your seat, tightly gripping the Moonstone and focusing all your energy on summoning the King of Dreams. "Morpheus," you said with a tone of anger. "Morpheus, can you hear me? I need to speak with you. Right now.”

You tuned into the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds from the trees above. In the stillness, when no other motion was detectable, you felt as though he was beyond your reach, resolving that your only choice was to wait until nightfall. However, there emerged a figure right behind you, whose presence was unmistakably familiar.

"Y/N.”

You gathered yourself, your fists clenched, gradually turning and lifting your gaze to meet his. Morpheus was wearing the usual modern coat he always opted for in the Waking World, and his expression was a mixture of perplexity and concern.

He frowned, noticing the redness around your eyes. "My love, what-”

“Did you know?” You interrupted him, your tone questioning and accusatory.

“Know what?”

Your lips pressed together, holding back the emerging tremble. "I'm not simply associated with Paregoros, am I? I'm her damn daughter. Did you accidentally forget to mention it, or were you genuinely unaware?”

You hoped you were mistaken, that he, in spite of his position and wisdom, was simply oblivious to the true connection you shared with the Goddess in question.

The way his jaw strained and he cast his eyes downwards instantly shattered that hope.

"Why did you lie to me?”

“I did no such thing.”

"Really? Then what exactly did you do?”

Morpheus appeared calm, but you could tell that your sharp tone was getting under his skin. He peered intensely into your eyes, his feelings and intentions apparent as he spoke. "In the beginning, I truly believed she was merely a part of your lineage. It took a thorough inspection from Lucienne to correct our misunderstanding.”

"You still kept it to yourself, though.”

Morpheus wavered, taking a moment before providing a suitable reply. “It was necessary.”

"Did you think I couldn't handle the truth?”

"No. It was your mother who asked me to keep it a secret from you.”

You looked at him in disbelief, your mouth dropping open. "Wait, you spoke to her?”

"She requested a meeting.”

You released a laugh filled with revulsion, raising your gaze to the sky. "So she contacted you. Just like that.”

“Yes.”

Your mother couldn't make an effort to speak to you even once, never trying to approach her own child. And yet, she went out of her way to message the Lord of Dreams, solely to enforce her ban on revealing her identity to you.

Was she observing you covertly, watching your life like a detached spectator munching on popcorn?

"And you accepted her terms?”

“I assured her that you would never learn the truth from me.”

You scoffed. "Whose side are you on, exactly?”

"Y/N, can you not see it?” He inquired, his eyes mellowing.

“What am I supposed to see here?” Your voice escalated further, sounding desperate and reverberating in the space around you.

Morpheus didn't falter, stepping closer and encroaching on your personal space. "I said you would not hear it from me, and yet, you have learnt the truth. From whom?”

“How does that make any diff-”

Right then and there, it struck you.

Your father had dodged your pressing questions for weeks, never appearing inclined to divulge something that was noticeably gnawing at his soul. Then, unexpectedly, he was prepared to reveal the secret he had guarded for a lifetime? Out of nowhere, first thing in the morning?

The unwavering and confident expression on Morpheus' face, along with the slight smile he offered, provided you with a silent confirmation.

You laughed again, but this time, it was imbued with joy and relief. Because at that juncture, you realized that the King of Dreams had leveraged his sway and might to influence yet another mortal for you.

How could you have doubted him after all the trials you had weathered together?

"That’s cheating. You know that?”

“Perhaps. but in the end, I kept my oath.”

Upon reflection, and as your agitation began to subside, it seemed like the most judicious decision he could have possibly made. After all, he wasn't the one who should have borne the responsibility of disclosing such truth to you.

You smiled, lifting your hands to the sides of his neck and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. "And I even yelled at you. I'm such a fool.”

"My love, you are suffering from a state of emotional distress.”

"It doesn’t matter, it was wrong of me.”

Your fingers slid down to the front of his coat, and you found comfort resting your forehead against his chest.

"I just… I don't understand. Is it so wrong for Gods to fall in love and create a family?”

His hands gently settled around your shoulders. "There are rules that we must obey for the preservation of our domains.”

"You're saying there's a rule that forbids deities from associating with their loved ones?”

"Circumstances alter significantly when humans are involved.”

Even the Endless weren't allowed to partake in romantic relationships with them. You were the exception, allowed to remain by his side without the severest penalty befalling you for violating the universe's laws. Was your kind so trivial, worthless and lacking that it constantly had to be belittled and cast aside?

Not that you found this particularly shocking, but still.

"I don’t see how terrible it would have been for me to know.”

"It is not a suitable reality for a mortal child.”

Would accepting a mother, who was bound by her duties as a Goddess, be more detrimental than you believing she no longer existed?

"I needed her, Morpheus. I needed my mother.”

Once more, you lifted your head, searching for his eyes. "I've uncovered so many amazing things in the recent months that I believed only existed in my dreams. Things I was not supposed to see, nor to experience the way I did.”

A gust of wind swept through his hair as he regarded you with a penetrating look.

"I’m not a child anymore. I had to handle everything on my own for so long, working for my father’s well-being and haunted by the fear of it being useless and insufficient.”

Morpheus listened, barely even blinking.

"I was terrified. And I found myself thinking, so many times, that if my mum was still with me, with us… maybe things might have been different.”

Morpheus slightly opened his mouth, directing a quick glance towards his pocket.

“Is it possible for me to meet her? To talk to her?”

"My love, such matters require the highest level of caution.”

"Do you believe I'm being hasty?”

"Allow a few moments of reflection to absorb the knowledge you have obtained.”

You let out a deep sigh. "You mean coming to terms with the fact that my entire life has been a lie from the day I was born? That might take a while.”

"Your existence carries a greater level of significance, despite your inability to see its importance at this time.”

"How could it hold any significance when I've been pushed to the sidelines?”

He leaned in closer, looking down at you and firming his hold on your upper arms. He was fervent yet composed, quieting all surrounding sounds again so that the only thing you could hear was the soothing timbre of his voice, coupled with his earnest and heartfelt proclamation.

"It is a blessing.”

You let it seep in, permeating your heart and spreading its warmth throughout your body. Almost instinctively, one hand moved to your chest while the other reached for his face, fingertips lightly brushing against his chin, the contour of his jaw, and his cheek.

"You always know just what to say that makes me love you even more.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, only to promptly revert to his solemn demeanor and slide his hand into the right pocket of his coat. As you followed his movements, you saw him retrieve the familiar leather pouch of sand, observing it in quiet contemplation.

"I could show you," he proposed.

“Show me what?”

"My realm might hold the answers you are seeking.”

Grains of sand gently floated in the air, escaping from the pouch and performing a dance above your head. They sparkled, twinkling like miniature stars.

"Now?”

“If that is what you wish.”

Somehow, the little bag in his hand was radiating an unusually powerful attraction, enveloping you in a bubble of tranquility. Your understanding of his realm was still rather limited, and your grasp on your mother's origins was even more sparse. If direct confrontation with her to voice your queries wasn't a possibility, then you were left without a better alternative.

You offered a smile, moving closer to whisper into his ear, “Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.”

Morpheus appeared amused, regardless of whether he was familiar with the song you quoted or not. You created a small gap between you to allow him access to the contents of his pouch, from which he extracted a handful of golden, magical sand.

And thus, he inclined towards you, placing his hand before his lips. As he gently blew into his palm, the sand drifted delicately over your face, causing your eyelids to become instantly heavy. As your eyes closed, you felt progressively lighter, while your surroundings started to morph into an entirely different setting.

It was akin to being transported into another universe, journeying through the cosmos.

Meanwhile, your body was succumbing to numbness in the Waking World, but as he enveloped you in his arms, you didn't come close to falling.

Morpheus would never allow you to fall.

It was unlike anything you had seen during your past transitions to sleep. It felt as though your consciousness was levitating in space, gliding forward as a bewitching galaxy materialized before you. You were navigating an unseen path, walking through vibrant nebulae and stars.

In the distance, two figures materialized, standing face to face as you neared. Echoes of voices reverberated through the cosmic spectacle as everything became increasingly vibrant and clear with each step you took.

Once the scenery settled, you recognized the Greenwich plaza in front of the church, completely deserted except for two individuals standing beneath the main architectural arch. Their faces were difficult to make out, but the male voice was certainly one you had been familiar with since birth. It didn't take much time for you to notice that the man was your father in his younger years, while the identity of the woman standing before him was left to your speculation.

With your heart pounding rapidly, you cautiously edged forward, striving to discern their conversation. The woman appeared to be cradling a sizeable bundle of white cloths, gently swaying it to and fro.

"How can you ask me something like that?" Your father bemoaned. "She's your daughter. You simply can't abandon her with me and go.”

"I'm not forsaking her," the woman declared, her voice resonated like a melody, albeit laden with sorrow and guilt.

Upon reaching the porch, you finally managed to gain a comprehensive view of the enigmatic woman. She resembled the one from your father's photograph, except that her features were now clear and discernible.

She had an uncanny resemblance to how your elder sister would look, if you had one.

“Mum…?”

"No, that's precisely what you're doing," your father persisted. "You visit me after 9 months, a period during which I couldn't even support you through your pregnancy and childbirth, only to tell me that I must care for her as you take leave?”

Your heart plummeted.

"You don't understand," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Then make me understand.”

Paregoros let out a shaky sigh, her eyes fixed on the newborn nestled in her arms. "You know who I am," she whispered. "My journey to the Mortal realm was only meant for duty's call. Our chance meeting, the unexpected love that blossomed, and now, this baby... none of these were in my original script.”

The quietness was shattered by your father's scoff. "Is that all I am to you? Just a character from a story that was originally written with a different ending?”

“Is that all I am to you? A mistake?”

Somehow, that dialogue stirred memories of the time Morpheus had unveiled the truth about Nada, describing his relationship with her as a colossal blunder that defied the established norms.

"Absolutely not. Our relationship, and our daughter, are treasures I wouldn't exchange for anything else in the whole universe.”

He exhaled deeply. "Then, why?”

"Because she can't stay with me. And I... I won’t be able to be at your side.”

Her voice quivered as she tenderly brushed her cheek against the baby's forehead, a gesture so poignant that it made your chest constrict and ache profoundly.

"What is this?" You questioned. "Is this an actual memory?”

"A memory within a dream," Morpheus responded, appearing next to you.

“My father’s?”

“Yes.”

The man tightened his fist against his mouth, holding back a surge of tears.

"What should I even do?" He implored his lover. "How can I manage this alone? She needs her mother too.”

The Goddess sniffled softly. "You will do just fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can. Because I know you.”

Your father stepped closer, casting a glance at the baby who seemed to be peacefully sleeping.

“She looks just like you,” he said, a smile of affection gracing his lips.

"You should hear the volume of her cries. She's as headstrong as you are.”

“Hey!”

Without realizing it, you reached out to clutch Morpheus' sleeve for support, engulfed by a tumultuous wave of sorrow and serenity as you observed your family together.

"One last thing," your mother murmured. "It's crucial that she remains unaware of the truth about me and my origins.”

"What? Are you asking me to lie to her?”

"She needs to lead a fulfilling life, without the constant speculation of whether or when I'll return to see her. I don't want her embarking on a futile quest for me, squandering precious time and energy."

Your father shook his head in disbelief. "What am I supposed to tell her?”

Tears welled up in Paregoros's eyes and swiftly rolled down her cheeks. "She must believe that I won't be coming back. To her... I need to be perceived as dead.”

Your father gasped in shock. "No... that's completely unacceptable.”

“My love, please…”

“I can't possibly tell her that. That's..... no. Just a big fat no.”

"It's not as if I'll never be keeping an eye on her. Or you,” she clarified.

"But she won't ever see you. Neither will I.”

“I know.”

“How is that even fair?”

“It is not.”

“Then don’t let me do this.”

The sight of your father pleading with her to stay, or at the very least, to permit the two of you to see her again, was so heart-wrenching that it brought tears to your own eyes. The mere thought of losing Morpheus was enough to rip you asunder. Seeing how your father had to progress without the love of his life, having no control over the entire ordeal, was so overwhelmingly heartbreaking.

It astounded you how well he managed to hold himself together, all on his own.

"I can't. Please understand... I need to be assured that she will be safe. That she'll find happiness. If I choose to linger, I'll not only be defying the laws of my domain, but I'll be sentencing both of you to a life fraught with endless pain.”

"And do you believe that I won't be in agony either way?”

She exhaled deeply. "I'm giving you the opportunity to move on.”

In that moment, you understood. Paregoros was tethered to an eternal existence, while your father's life was destined to be much shorter, aging with each passing day as she remained unchangingly pristine. She wished to liberate the two of you from that heavy burden, enabling you to live your lives in the human world as fully and joyfully as possible.

In a sense, your situation with Morpheus was not too dissimilar. He had already existed for millions of years, and there was no foreseeable end to his longevity. You, on the other hand, were as mortal as your father, and that only reinforced the stark realization of being merely a transient presence.

Morpheus was observing the dream intently, maintaining silence and allowing you to stay close.

“If you think I'll just forget about you and develop feelings for another, my dear, you are sorely mistaken,” your father retorted.

Paregoros let out a chuckle as she dabbed at her face to clear the tears away. "I knew you'd say something like that.”

You smiled, your watery eyes shifting back and forth between them.

Are you absolutely certain there's no other solution?" He asked. “She has a right to know who her mother truly is.”

"I'm afraid there isn't.”

Slowly, and with an evident reluctance, she handed over the baby to him. He wrapped his arms around the tiny bundle, cradling the child with such delicacy that for a moment you feared he would drop her.

"Does she have a name?"

Paregoros shook her head. "You should have the honor of deciding, considering what I’m forcing you to do.”

Witnessing your parents holding you, so intimately close to each other, was utterly surreal.

"I believe I have the perfect one in mind," he said proudly.

"What do you wish to name her?”

His smile broadened. "Y/N. I'm quite fond of Y/N.”

Y/N...." she echoed, letting the name dance on her tongue. "Yes, it fits her perfectly.”

Paregoros leaned forward to plant a kiss on the baby's cheek, her lips trembling as she struggled to pull herself away.

"May you be the happiest, my cherished Y/N.”

When her eyes locked onto your father’s, you could see the suffering in their exchanged silent stares. They shared a kiss, deeply engrossed in the final moment they could spend with each other. The sound of their hearts fracturing in two was almost audible to your ears.

Suppressing her emotions, Paregoros pulled away once their lips parted, transforming into the most sublime and beautiful Goddess you could ever envision. Her white dress clung to her figure in a way that was absolutely enchanting, the train of the gown trailing on the ground. Her hair, now partially swept up, cascaded down in a stunning flurry of curls, and her wrists were embellished with solid gold bangles and bracelets.

"Fare you well, my treasured love. I trust that you will look after yourself as well.”

"I will at least try," he responded, tears streaming down his face. "For her sake.”

Paregoros nodded, her face showcasing the most melancholic of smiles.

When she pivoted away, your father buried his face into the white fabric swaddling the baby, holding himself back from calling out to the woman again. She halted in her tracks, taking a deep breath as she absorbed the sounds of his sobs, before resuming her slow, graceful stride.

"Wait....don't go," you blurted out, trailing behind her. "Mum!”

"She cannot hear you," Morpheus reminded you gently. "She is a recollection from the past.”

"You claimed there was no nightmare in his dream record," you pointed out. "But then, what is this?”

Morpheus swiveled his head, his focus settling on your father, who was weeping and clutching his child, not having the heart to watch his love disappear.

“Look.”

The expression on the man’s countenance changed dramatically as the baby girl opened her eyes. She silently watched him, studying his unfamiliar face, her mouth moving adorably. Your father greeted her by uttering her name, gently stroking her soft chin with his index finger.

As soon as she flashed a smile, you were all enveloped by a radiant, powerful light. Your father was immediately enchanted by that sweet innocence, developing an intense desire above all else to protect such a delicate, pure being from any harm, regardless of the cost.

"My precious little girl... let's go home. Together.”

As evening drew near, your father was losing hope, convinced that you wouldn't return for the day. He sat at the dining table, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously, the ticking of the clock punctuating the passage of time.

He exhaled a lengthy sigh, rubbing his weary eyes and letting his forehead rest against the table. He questioned his decision, pondering if he was truly meant to heed the advice of his subconscious.

He fished out his phone, tapping aimlessly on the screen, hoping for a call or text message that never came. He opened the messaging app, ready to initiate a conversation with your number, but he ended up erasing everything he attempted to type.

He was tempted to get dressed and head straight to your apartment, hoping to at least find you there. But before he could rise from his seat, he sensed a sudden materialization within the room.

He leapt to his feet and let out a scream as a shadowy figure approached, but his fear quickly turned into confusion when he realized it was none other than the King of Dreams himself, holding you in a bridal carry.

He blinked a few times, giving himself a pinch to confirm he wasn't dreaming.

The entity silently observed him, bringing you to the couch and placing you onto the soft cushions.

"It's you...." your father uttered, scarcely believing the sight before his eyes. "Is she...?”

"Yes, she is in slumber,” the Dream Lord replied.

Your father ventured to take a few steps forward, kneeling on the floor for a closer inspection of you. Your breaths were regular and serene, and he could almost swear there was a hint of a smile spreading on your lips.

“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?”

The King of Dreams didn't respond, but judging by the tender way he was holding you, your father could sense that there was more to the relationship between the two of you.

"You have looked after her well,” he declared.

"She's angered with me, isn't she?”

"No. She is not.”

The Endless stood upright, stepping back to afford the man ample space to sit near you.

Your father gazed at you sweetly for a moment, reflecting on how much you had matured and swelling with pride at your remarkable accomplishments. 

In the end, Paregoros was proven right. Whatever could have become of his life had it not been for her and you, was a prospect he didn't even want to entertain.

And while you were relishing your time in the Dreaming with Morpheus' complete approval, he was about to express his gratitude to Dream for returning you to him.

Unfortunately, before he could even speak, the Endless had already vanished.

Note: I obviously don't own the quote from Harry Potter or the Mr. Sandman song. I just like adding random easter eggs here and there at times.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 15 (coming soon) ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman writing

[runnning-outof-time]

All I Want for Christmas is You | Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - part of my Countdown to Christmas Event

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader (modern)

Summary: In which (Y/N) tells Tommy that she doesn’t need anything materialistic for the holidays this year, and instead she only needs him.

Warnings: mentions of drinking

Word Count: 1091

A/N: this might be my favorite out of all of these stories. I had so much fun writing it. And I realize that it might be a bit niche with the channels I’m talking about, but hopefully I’ve explained it good enough. Only 7 more days!! Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

The fire was lit, sending its crackling sound throughout the home as Tommy and (Y/N) finished their cleaning up after dinner. Once all of the dishes had been put away, (Y/N) grabbed two glasses and moved over to where Tommy had been working on uncorking a fresh bottle of wine. He grinned at her as she set them in front of him, and he poured two, generous amounts before they each grabbed one and made their way into the living room.

"Is it my turn with the remote?" (Y/N) asked as they both fell down onto the sectional.

"I believe so," Tommy responded as he made himself comfortable, resting his glass of wine on his abdomen as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Perfect. I think my show's on tonight," she said with a grin as she sat down next to him, tucking herself into his side as she began clicking through the channels.

"Great," he responded with a tight-lipped smile that made (Y/N) giggle.

He wasn't the biggest fan of the gaudy reality shows that his girlfriend loved to watch. But it was her night to choose, and he knew that he couldn't give much opinion on the matter after making her watch football match after football match just a few days prior to this. In his defense though, the World Cup only came around every four years.

Silence fell between them as (Y/N) flipped through the channel guide, hoping to find something that would catch her eye. A sigh escaped her lips when she reached the channels that nobody really even looks at...you know, the ones that just play music 24/7.

"Nothing?" Tommy questioned upon seeing her default to the nightly news, which he <knew> wasn't a conscious choice of hers.

"Nothing," she affirmed with a frown, resting the remote on the side of the couch as she took a sip from her glass. She then dropped her head onto Tommy's shoulder and closed her eyes, deciding to take in the peaceful sound of the fireplace as it drowned out the voice of the news anchor talking away on the TV. "I've got an idea," she said after a few minutes had passed, sitting back up so that she could grab the remote again.

"What's that?" he questioned, watching her with a look of intrigue spread across his face.

"How about we put one of those music channels on, you know, the one that plays Christmas music, and we dance?" she shared her idea as she quickly flipped through the channel guide again.

"I thought we'd be relaxing," Tommy stated as he looked at the TV. She was approaching the music channels now, telling him that she was serious about this idea.

"Dancing is relaxing," she insisted as she settled on the channel that she wanted. She then put the remote down on the couch's arm and found a spot on the coffee table for her glass. "Come on, Tommy," she coaxed him as she stood up, "I know you love Bublé," she finished her statement with a grin.

"Can't say I've ever listened to 'im," he commented on the artist she mentioned.

"Come on anyway," she persisted, holding out her hand for him to take. Tommy glanced at it before his eyes found her pleading ones once more. "The song's halfway finished," she pointed out, a pout on her face.

He made her hold her expression for a few moments longer before he set his glass on the coffee table and grabbed hold of her waiting hand. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile as he stood and moved with her to the open area of the floor. Michael Bublé's version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas was the song that was playing, and it was perfect to dance to. (Y/N) wasted no time in draping her hands over his shoulders, and he responded by hooking his fingers together against the small of her back. They swayed slowly to the music, enjoying the feeling of being so close to one another.

"This is nice," (Y/N) hummed after they'd been dancing for a few moments.

"It is," Tommy agreed, resting the side of his head against hers. He knew very well that he could be sequestered in his office, working away at figuring out the latest business deals and potential moves that his company could make, but at the moment, this seemed like a better use of his time.

"You know, for Christmas this year, I don't want any expensive gifts...like fancy cars, or clothes, or accessories. All I want for Christmas this year is you, Tommy," she said then, pulling back from him slightly so that she could look at him once she was done speaking.

"Oh yeah?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised slightly as he continued to sway to the music with her.

"Yeah," she nodded, an assured tone laced into her voice, "all of those material things are nice, don't get me wrong on that, but I truly don't need any of those things to be happy this year. All I need is to be with you," she doubled down on her statement.

"No presents to unwrap? No gifts that I have to go out and get?" he asked her some questions, in hopes to gain the clarity that he was pretty sure he already had. He guessed that he was just checking to make sure.

"Nope. None of that," she shook her head.

"You're making it easy on me this year," he remarked with a grin then, his words making (Y/N) laugh.

"It's the least that I can do with all of the things you've got going on at the moment. Don't need me throwing a super long list at you like I'm a kid again."

"You know I'd get you every single thing on that list."

"You would...I have no doubt of that," (Y/N) giggled softly, "so that's why all I want for Christmas is you this year," she ended her statement by repeating her initial phrase.

"I might just be able to make that happen," Tommy told her with a grin as he rested his forehead against hers.

"Perfect," she whispered against his lips before he brought her into a slow kiss.

Tommy hoped that she'd understand if he strayed slightly from her original wish of him not getting her anything...because in eight days, on Christmas Day, he was planning to propose to her.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21

MASTERLIST

Countdown to Christmas MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s countdown to christmas