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fairysluna · 4 months

Text

the wolf's cage.

After being captured by the Northerns, you found yourself with the Lord of Winterfell whose strange politeness makes you doubt his true intentions.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader.

TAGS — smut (p in v, m!oral, spanking, use of the word whore, face fucking, hate sex(?, dirty talk, degrading/praise, belly bulge), cursing, mentions of war, blood and bruises, kind of enemies to lovers, dilf!cregan, and idk if this counts as dark!cregan but I'll add it just in case. If something is missing let me know!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — it's the first time that i write smut after a very long time, and i wrote this in a rush, so it's not perfect but i loved it anyway bc i fell in love with this trope. Reader is loosely based on Osha from GoT. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k. (oh damn)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

“We found her close to the Godswood,” one of the men said. “She was hiding and preparing herself to kill, my lord.”

Cregan walked slightly closer to you, his curiosity peaking when he noticed how small you looked curled up in a corner of your cell, covered by thick pieces of fur. Your face was stained with dirt and dried blood. His men had told him you were a menace, but after looking at you, he didn't believe it.

“She seems harmless,” he pointed out, kneeling beside you.

“She is not, my lord. She's responsible for the death of three of our men,” the same man explained. They were all in combat position; holding the hilt of their swords just in case you would dare to attack their leader. Cregan, however, seemed to be unafraid, getting closer to you and trying to see more of you. He was certainly intrigued.

How was a young girl like you able to kill a group of ruthless men?

He raised his hand and gently pulled a strand of your hair out of your face; he saw a scar on your cheek and a cut on your lip. Then, you met his eyes with yours. Your cold and mercenary haze did little to intimidate him. You were finally in the presence of the man you hated the most; the man who had killed your people in cold blood. He could see your wrath burning through your haze, and he understood it.

With his thumb, he removed the drop of blood that was dripping from your lip — a soft touch that felt so foreign to your skin. He attempted to do it again, but you moved your face away and he knew it was enough. With a sigh, he stood up casting a large shadow over your smaller frame; you looked down at the floor, ignoring his penetrating stare on you before he turned around and walked out of the cell.

“Tell a maid to give her a bath, then bring her to the dining room,” he ordered.

“My lord, I don't think-”

“Tell the cooks to make a meal for two, and tell a maid to keep Rickon out of my room tonight,” he abruptly interrupted him, the guard was left in surprise.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not think it’s a good idea at all,” The maester advised him, talking in whispers so you would not hear a word. “I believe that being in a room alone with that savage would put your life at risk. We cannot afford that, not when we're in the middle of an imminent war.”

Cregan turned to give one more look at you before one of the guards locked your cell again. You looked so fragile, and you were probably starving after spending days in the merciless Winter cold. He knew you would not be such a threat in such a condition, so he did not follow his loyal Maester’s advice.

“The decision has been made,” he spoke as he started to walk away from the dungeons. The old man quickly followed his pace.

“I would advise you to make some double thinking about your decision-”

“Are you questioning my methods?” His voice came out low and slow, but it carried a bit of an intimidating undertone that was easy to catch. The Maester took a step back when his superior turned around; his Lordship was an imposing man, tall and with wide shoulders and some grey eyes that would pierce through your soul. Lord Stark was a kindhearted man, but whenever he was angry he was unrecognisable.

And the Maester trembled when he saw a small glimpse of his anger.

“Of course not, but it is my duty as your advisor to give you the best options… risking your life it's certainly not.”

“That girl is craving for a meal, I will not let her starve,” he grunted. “Besides, I might steal some valuable information from her. She's just a girl, and she's unarmed. She will do no harm.”

The old man simply nodded, knowing that it was a lost battle and not having the guts to continue to defy his lord. Cregan cleared his throat, repeated the instructions and then turned around to leave his men behind. They shared confused looks, doubting his plan and how unusual it was for him to have mercy with the people of your kind. This new and sudden sympathy towards you raised suspicion among the northern guards, but they were all too afraid to speak up.

They just obeyed the orders of their Lord.

Cregan was tapping his fingertips against the table, patiently waiting for your arrival as he was blankly staring at his half-empty cup of wine. The only sound that was heard was coming from the fireplace, and the rest of the room was deadly silent. He was wondering how much time would it take for you to arrive when two guards opened the door, and two others were carrying you inside. They were grabbing your arms, tight enough to leave a bruise behind. Cregan stood up the instant you showed up, and, with a slight nod from him, you were freed from their grip.

Lord Stark took the time to look at you, shamelessly glancing at every inch of your body. He noticed how your skin was glowing now, freed of any stain or impureness on your face, except for that scar on your cheekbone that seemed to be quite recent. Regardless of that, you were such a sight for his eyes, so pretty and young and fierce all the same. The glow in your eyes was still yelling your hate for him and, somehow, that would make you even more appealing to him. He followed the trail down your neck and found your bossom being squeezed by the dress which looked a bit too small for you, but that fit your body like a glove; shaping your curves and enhancing them, he had to take a deep breath after seeing you.

All the beauty that was previously hidden under thick layers of clothes and dirty hair and face was now starting to show.

“You can leave now,” he indicated to the guards. They nodded and followed his orders immediately.

Once they were alone, Cregan pointed at the chair on the other side of the table, inviting you to take a seat. You were reluctant, staring at the large amount of food with distrust; you thought this was a trap, no one ever invites their foes to supper. You did not obey him at first, standing still in your place, using a pair of borrowed shoes that were almost crushing your feet and making you feel like walking on burning coal.

You knew one thing for sure; you needed to get out of there as soon as you could. Or, better yet, you had to kill that man.

“Please, be seated,” he spoke so softly and politely that you could not believe it. It was so blatantly obvious. “The pork it's better when it's warm.”

A glance at the table and you saw your plate already served; this did nothing but increase your mistrust. However, you walked towards the spot, slowly and with your guard up. The sound of your shoes clacking on the wooden floor as you made your way to your seat until you finally sat.

Then, a silence fell over the room. Cregan's eyes seemed to never look away from you as he raised his cup and brought it to his lips. You nervously played with your cup, already filled with wine.

“I gave myself the liberty to fill your cup,” he said.

Besides that, your plate was full of beans, pork, carrots and mashed potatoes. Everything was already cut into tiny pieces, and only then did you realize you only had a spoon; no knife, and no fork.

“Is wine not of your taste?” Cregan asked after your long silence. “Would you rather have some ale? or juice?”

Nothing came out of your mouth. Cregan was losing his little patience, but he knew better and he stayed calm. Upsetting you would only make things worse.

“You might be wondering why I spared your life today,” he started, attempting a two-sided conversation. “If you were any other, your head would be in a spike by now… but you might be useful for us.” He made a pause, sipping his wine so delicately and manly. Then he added, “For me.”

Again, no answer.

“I believe you have valuable information that would help us to understand your people better,” he explained, trying to sound likeable and friendly, even giving you a warm smile. “Maybe that way we'll understand your reasons.”

“Why would I give information to the one who's murdering my people?” You finally spoke.

Cregan heard your thick northern accent and a smile was drawn on his face. He hid the gesture by grabbing his fork and knife and cutting a piece of meat before putting it inside his mouth. You realized that contrary to you, he had a knife; you wondered how you could reach it without him noticing.

“Ah, so you can speak,” he claimed, cheerfully. “For a moment I thought you were mute.”

“I am not,” you grunted.

“You could stop an imminent war, you know?” He continued the previous conversation. “Save the lives of your people, avoid a bloodbath.”

“You are the only one causing those things, my lord,” the mocking tone in your voice when you uttered the last two words was obvious. “This war carries your name.”

“You are the ones taking over our lands,” he debated.

“We're escaping,” you snapped. “You have no idea what's beyond that wall. You and your men would do the same in our position.”

“And what is it that's up there with all of you?”

“You wouldn't believe my words. You'll have to see it.”

He hummed, not convinced at all. He leaned back on his chair.

“How did you get that scar on your face? It looks quite recent,” he slightly narrowed his eyes.

“An accident while climbing the wall,” you simply explained, not wanting to give out too many details.

“When did you cross it?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“And what have you been doing all this time?”

“I already told you… trying to survive.”

Cregan clicked his tongue, sipping his wine once more and letting the topic go. “You haven't touched your food,” he pointed out. “Nor your wine. The cooks work hard on this food.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“It's not poisoned,” he let you know as if you would believe his mere words. “If I ever kill you it wouldn't be with a drop of venom, that it's not an honourable way to murder your opponent.”

“Honour,” you repeated with a mocking tone.

“Does that word sound funny to you?”

“It does when it's you saying it,” you muttered, clenching your jaw. “You have the blood of innocents in your hands, you have no honour.”

The tense environment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Soon, a small child entered the room and ran towards Cregan; it was his son, his spitting image standing right next to him. His weakness. You looked closely, and you noticed how Lord Stark's demeanour was briefly replaced by a softer one when he held his child in his arms, only to get angry again when one of the maids walked in rushing behind the boy. You were observant, and then quickly an idea of escape lighted up your mind.

“I apologize, Lord Stark,” the maid murmured, shaking and breathing unevenly. “Little Rickon wanted to say goodnight and he ran away from his chambers-”

“Don't let it happen again,” he stopped her before she could go on with her explanations that were of little interest to his Lordship. “Just take him to bed, and don't let this happen again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He kissed the child's forehead and hugged him one last time before the maid pulled his arm and took him away. The boy was looking back at his sire with saddened eyes as he walked, and once he was out of sight, Cregan was back to his tough facade. However, you knew new information, and now you knew exactly how to manage to escape.

“Was that your child?”

“Indeed,” he nodded.

“Beyond the wall, children are taught to fight and hunt from a very young age,” you randomly told him. “Does he know how to do that?”

“He's still learning.”

“How old is he?”

“We are not here to talk about my child,” he snapped, growing impatient with each passing second.

You stopped, only for a brief second to let it rest and prepare yourself for the next thing. The suddenness of your next question left him speechless.

“Where's his mother?” You noticed how he tensed, clenching his jaw and forming a fist with his hand. There it is. “Is she around?”

His silence gave you the answer you were expecting, you had to hold back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you murmured, “Childbirth?”

His fist smacked against the table and you noticed how all the plates jumped due to the impact. He stood up, fuming, all the kindness and politeness vanishing from his body as he lost his patience with you. Yet, you did not seem fazed by his roughness, you barely flinched. You stood up too and slowly started to walk around the table, to get closer to him.

“I bet your nights might be lonely now that you've lost your wife,” A false tone of empathy was heard in your voice as you kept taking step after step. “Does your bed feel empty at night?”

“That's enough,” he growled.

“You dressed me, bathed me and fed me… perhaps you're trying to convince me to stay by your side,” you deduced, using your seduction skills to distract him from the fact that you were getting closer to the knife on the table. “Is this your intention? To make me yours? To turn me into your whore?” Your voice lowered itself a few tones, getting raspier and more seductive.

You reached his side, his eyes were stuck on your face as his breathing was starting to get faster with each second. You saw his jaw, sharp as the knife you were trying to grab, and tensed as he tried to hide his growing arousal. Of course, he has noticed your attributes before, and of course, he had secretly —and shamelessly— fantasized about ripping your dress to see what was underneath, but now your words would only make his struggle grow.

Perhaps the Maester was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

“Have you heard what they say about the women from the Free Folk?” You were teasing him, boldly raising your hands until they went to his thick coat and untied it; it fell around his leather shoes, and only a thin shirt was beneath it. Your eyes glanced at him, noticing the chest hair on his skin as your hands felt the hardness of his abdomen; years of training with the sword had certainly made its effect. “People say we're difficult to handle, but that we fuck like goddesses. Wouldn't you want to try it out?”

One of your hands travelled lower and lower until it was able to feel the shape of his growing cock in your palm and through his pants. A winning smile appeared on your lips. His growing lust did not allow him to see the moment when your hand took the knife. Luckily for him, his reflexes were quite fast, and he was able to stop your hand right before you almost stabbed his neck. Your eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist and turned your body around, slamming you against the table. He pressed himself against you, your dress now ruined with the food beneath your frame.

Cregan's hand grabbed a big portion of your hair and pulled it back, roughly, forcing you to arch your back. You could not help but whimper due to the pain in your skull. His breathing soon reached your neck and caused shivers down your spine; it smelled like wine.

“You little whore,” he mocked you, “you thought you could've killed me?”

His voice was completely different to the one you have heard before; it was almost like a growl, so deep, slow and hoarse. You would be lying if you said you did not find it amusing. His touch was rough and lacking the gentleness and delicacy that it had hours ago when he wiped the blood off of your lip.

“It was worth the try,” you breathed out, laughing at him when you felt his arousal pressing against your arse.

“What's so funny, huh?” he grunted, pulling you harder and making you hum. “I could kill you right here, right now,” he threatened.

“But you won't,” you murmured.

“That's right,” he mumbled, breathing in your scent. Even after taking a bath you still smelled of pine tree, it was an intoxicating smell. “I will prove your word first. Let's see if the wildlings whores fuck like goddesses, mhm?”

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand freeing your hair and going towards the skirts of your borrowed dress. He lifted them, holding them in place on your waist behind your back. He saw how your pussy was already starting to glisten with your arousal, even when he had barely touched you beforehand. His cock twitched inside his pants when he noticed that all of this was because of his rough touch.

You filthy slut, he thought.

You heard a soft stump on the floor as his pants fell down his thick legs. It did not take too much time for you to feel his leaking tip brushing against your folds, spreading them open and smearing your slick all over it. You had to bite your lip, holding back a gasp as he teasingly rubbed against your clit; this was certainly not what you were expecting, but it felt good enough to make you want more.

Slowly, he started to make his way inside you, grabbing your arsecheeck with his free hand and spreading it only to see your needy cunt taking him. Cregan gasped, your soft walls were wrapping around him perfectly, squeezing him just right and creaming all over him. He hummed in delight as he felt your legs already starting to shake. Gods, he was big, stretching you out as of you were a fucking maiden, providing you with that sweet pain that made your eyes close.

When he was halfway in, he pushed himself all in with a single thrust. His head touched that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck!” you cried out, involuntarily spreading your legs further, at the same time your hands pushed all the plates and cups away from your side. It all ended up spilt on the floor.

He remained there for a few seconds, still inside of you and not moving an inch. Cregan's hand reached for your hair once again, pulling it back until your back was pressed against his chest and his lips were brushing against your ear. His breathing was ragged and unsteady; his tongue licked his lips as they started to get dry. You were able to feel him, his veins pulsing inside of you as he would twitch each time you clenched around him. Cregan hummed against your ear.

Without warning, his hips started to move and your legs suddenly felt as weak and giggly as jelly. Your hands gripped the border of the table as his movements started to increase his pace. He was filling you up so good, so deep. You found yourself murmuring senseless words as you slowly started to lose your mind, which was a weird thing for you; you would usually be the one in charge.

Though you did not mind submitting to him for a while. All your morality was soon gone, and all thanks to the man whose cock was good enough to make you forget about how much you hated him.

His hips started to meet yours with more force, thrusting hard but slow. It was just the beginning, and he wanted to make sure you would feel every inch of him, to feel every vein. All while he was also losing his mind over how good your pussy was taking him; your tight grip around him was sending him to the heavens, his eyes never looking away from the place where both of your bodies would join. Your walls contracted around him whenever he was pulling out, almost as if they were reluctant to let him go. Cregan loved that a bit too much, he might have become addicted to it.

Then, he sped it up. His grunts and moans were falling from his lips in cascades that reached your ears. A vocal man he was, expressing his lust with the most arousing sounds you have ever heard. It brought a sense of pride to your chest, having such an imposing man as him reduced to a moaning mess. But the truth was, you were not doing any better; his animalistic movements were now sending you over the edge quicker than you thought. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and the feeling of your arousal falling down your thighs was enough to pull you into a cloud of raw lasciviousness. Your mind felt dizzy.

Suddenly, Cregan grabbed the knife you were trying to reach and threw it right next to your hand. You saw it through your heavy eyelids as you panted and gasped. You felt his lips pressing against your ear once again, but this time he spoke,

“Try to kill me now,” he hoarsely said. “Go on. Where's the girl who tried to kill me? Not so brave now with my cock ripping you apart, huh?”

“Fuck off…” you managed to say in a murmur. Cregan mockingly laughed, and his hand fell against the soft skin of your rear, leaving a pinching pain behind. Gods, you hated the fact that you loved it so much.

“So fiery, and yet you're a mess…” he chuckled, his heavy breathing against your nape making you tremble under his touch. “I wish you could see how your little cunny is taking my cock… you're fucking soaking for me.”

You moaned, louder than you should have.

“Want to take a look?” he teased you, pushing deeper inside of you. You tried to mumble an answer, but nothing came out of your mouth. His hand met your arse again, this time slightly harder. “Answer me,” he demanded, using his lower tone which made your knees go weak.

You had no choice, “Y-yes…” you whimpered as tears of pleasure were gathering in the corner of your eyes.

He pulled out of you and you immediately whined, complaining about his absence. His hands went to the ties on the back of your dress, starting to pull them out to get them loose enough to remove that piece of fabric that was just bothering him. When he finally did, he pulled it down in a single movement, and just like that you were completely exposed to him.

He took a quick look at your body once you turned around, glancing at your breasts and your perky nipples, and then looking at the glistening mess between your thighs. His hand wrapped around your jaw, and he leaned forward; his leaking cock rubbing against your belly as his nose touched your cheek. Suddenly, his lips trapped yours in a heated kiss that lacked any delicacy; he was claiming your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and devouring you. You heard how he pushed the rest of the dishes, plates and cups on the ground, then he lifted your body forcing you to spread your legs. Only then he pulled away.

He looked down, watching your pussy drenched with your arousal and chuckling at the sight. “Didn't know wildlings women were such whores… getting this wet when I fuck you rough,” he mocked you, tightening the grip around your jaw and forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

Cregan guided his cock towards your slit, repeating the same teasing game as before, rubbing his tip against your now throbbing clit soaking it with the mixture of your juices and his. He gave a few taps afterwards, making you whine and your legs shake. You never, in a million years, thought you would be thinking of begging a Lord like him, yet there you were, about to plead to have him inside of you once again because the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable.

As if he had read your thoughts, he soon pressed his cockhead against your entrance, pushing just the tip. You sighed, biting your lip as you looked down at it. You could have come right there as you saw how he slowly filled you up and stretched your walls once more. The way your labia would spread to take him in; such an obscene sight it was, yet you couldn't bring yourself to take your eyes off of it.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you managed to perceive a small bulge forming in your lower belly which would appear each time he would bury himself deep inside of you. He did not take too much time to be rough this time, starting to snap his hips against yours and making you moan and drool until your mind was fully gone once again. His big hands were grabbing your hips, his nails digging into your flesh and making it slightly painful for you; yet, you didn't want it to stop. The sound of him entering your wetness was enough to make you mumble nonsense, and it wasn't long before you managed to see a ring of your juices around the bottom of his shaft. Your eyes rolled back.

His animalistic movements were sending you over the edge, and it was humiliating how loud your cries of pleasure were; you were certain that they could be heard in the hallway, but neither you nor Cregan cared enough to stop. Both of you were consumed by each other's touch, it was rough and passionate, you could feel the heat running through your veins as he possessed every inch of your insides until you were nothing but a moaning mess. Your skin was glowing with a layer of sweat, and Cregan leaned forward to lick on your collarbone, his tongue creating a path to your breasts; his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and nibbling. You grew desperate for release.

“Fuck- I need to… I'm so close,” you whimpered, your eyes locking with his.

“Come on,” he hoarsely murmured. “Show me how good of a whore you are, and make a mess on my cock.”

His words blurred your mind, sending a stimulus right into your core. You felt that sweet sensation of culmination when he touched your most sensitive point inside of you over and over again until you were sobbing with the tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as you felt your release exploding and washing over you until your legs felt sore. You felt weak, trembling and overwhelmed. Your hair was sticking at your forehead due to your sweat and you were far gone into the pleasure he had just provided you. Yet, he seemed to not have enough.

Lord Stark pulled out of you. His length had a layer of your release coating it, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. It was unusual for you to feel this shy in this situation, but this whole thing was something rather unusual and rare. Sleeping with the biggest foe, you were a traitor now.

But Gods, it felt so damn good.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. His hand wrapped around his leaking cock stroking himself, legs slightly parted as he looked at you with darkened eyes filled with lust. He was achingly hard, you could tell; his stones seemed heavy with his seed, which you would rather feel inside of you.

Yet, you obeyed, kneeling and looking up at him through your lashes. He cursed with a sigh, twitching with the lustful sight of you ready to take him once again.

“Open wide,” he instructed, brushing his cockhead against your swollen lips. You did what you were told. “Wider,” he demanded, and you obeyed again. “That's a good little whore…” he hummed, content.

You stuck your tongue out and felt his salty taste as he tapped his cock against it. You moaned, and he grabbed the sides of your face to keep you still as he started to move in and out of your mouth. He groaned, looking up and then back at you; such a skilful little minx you were, taking him so well.

Soon, your gags were echoing in the room along with your gulps and his moans. You were drooling; your saliva running down the corners of your lips as he fucked them as fast and hard as he pleased.

“There you go, take it all just like that,” he praised you, and you felt the warmth of the tears falling down your cheeks. “Mhm, fuck. I might start to believe what they say now. You're sucking my cock like a fucking goddess…”

You felt the back of your head pressing against the border of the table as he sped up. You were choking around him, and the sounds that came out of it were obscene and filthy, and Cregan loved it.

Before you could tell, he spilt himself inside of your mouth, forcing you to swallow every drop that left him. And you did.

Once he freed you from his grip, you pulled away. A string of saliva was still hanging from your lips as you desperately gasped for air, and only then Cregan noticed the big mess you had become. Hot and soaked cheeks, eyes tearing up, your lips swollen and covered with his thick and pearly seed. You were such an unholy sight.

His thumb reached for your lip, wiping your drool out of it. Such a gesture brought you back to that very same evening when he wiped the blood out of the cut in your lip. It did not feel foreign anymore. You were breathless, trying to regain composure as Cregan looked down at you with a satisfied glance.

“Seems like the rumours are not false,” he muttered, starting to pull his pants up again. “I might keep you so that I can feel those pretty lips around my cock again.”

“Keep- keep me?” you asked, confused and overwhelmed.

Cregan arched an eyebrow, “You think because I fucked you I will let you go?” he chuckled. You felt his hand wrapped around your jaw once again, forcing you to stand up. You trembled a little, feeling your legs shaky and weak. “So naive of you… to think that I would have a taste of you and then let you go.”

You felt your heart sink inside your chest as you heard him.

“Since you offered so nicely before, I will accept,” he sighed, picking up the dress you were wearing and throwing it up to you. “I’ll make you my personal whore, how about that?” You went silent. “Oh, come on, don't pretend this was not your idea… I was going to let you go with a warning but you came out with a better proposal. How could I say no?”

“I don't- I-” you shook your head.

“You belong to me now,” he chuckled. “A wildling made just for me to fuck as I please… Sounds perfect, does it not?”

You look into his grey eyes, perceiving and reading the mischievousness in them. You tried to escape and return to your freedom. Instead, everything went wrong and now you were trapped in the wolf's cage once again.

You were not sure how to feel about that.

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#cregan stark #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon #house stark #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd fanfic

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tojisun · 4 months

Note

i just know and i feel it in my little heart. bimbo reader collects sonny angels. maybe she’s even made them little outfits and says one is simon and one is her. i feel like she’s the type to sew a little pocket on his tactical clothes so a little part of her is always with him 😭

HONEY OH MY GOD HONEY THIS IS ADORABLE?? THANK U FOR THE VISION BECAUSE SHE ABSOLUTELY DOES!! got a full collection and a mounted shelf for the lil cherubs n all thattt 🥹🫶🏼 god what a cutie

just imagine how excited you were when you first started collecting them and simon’s a little confused but he gives you his card anyway when you tell him you want to order more.

“they all have the same face, sweets,” he says, bending over to get a clearer view of your display case to see the little things. some have full outfits, while some are almost bare except for their hats, but even then – even with their different skin tones and eye colours and costumes – simon can’t shake off the oddity of seeing a singular expression from an intensive collection. “i don’t get it.”

then, his eyes catch onto a unique set. these two don’t have a plastic-style outfits and are, instead, decked out in little sewn clothes. one’s a wearing a pink dress, sparkly and made of laces, while the other one’s in a basic tactical gear – dark jumper, dark pants, a grey vest that’s fashioned to look like a bulletproof vest – and… a balaclava?

huh. that almost looks like-

“it’s us!” you chirp and simon, well, his heart quivers.

“yeah?” he asks, unable to look away at the little things, feeling so choked up at the affection and love that’s slamming against his ribs.

you hum in reply before your hand, slim and bejewelled, juts out to pluck the two of the dolls from the stand. simon straightens up and turns to face you at your beckoning.

“made ‘em ‘cause i missed you,” you mutter, batting your lashes up at him in a shy manner. you snagged your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling in anxiousness, and simon simply melts.

“oh, lovie,” he croons as he cups your jaw with his palm, his lungs constricting when you instantly nuzzle into his hold. “they’re perfect. y’r perfect.”

he murmurs his thanks when you give him the doll that’s fashioned to look like you, gentle in his touch and reverent as he slides it into the chest pocket of his jacket.

“there she is,” simon murmurs, unaware of how his actions are making you tremble with love. “safe and sound by my heart.”

he chokes in surprise when you throw yourself at him, climbing him with experienced grappling, before cupping his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.

well. simon’s not complaining, that’s for sure.

you bring simon-sonny around when you go out with your friends, plopping it beside your cocktail drink or beside your lil cup of ice cream, before asking your friend to snag a picture of you and the cherub to send to simon (who’s currently deployed).

to: simmy <3

us!!!! 💖🩷 <

and simon responds with a picture from his end, just a little selfie, almost blurry, the angle just enough to show simon looking up at the camera and the little sonny that’s perched inside his chest pocket – the one you diy-ed yourself.

from: simmy <3

> us :)

CRYING THIS IS TOO CUTE!!! RAHHHHH nonbc im so sorry i rambled again 😭 i just. i have sm lil figurines (not specifically sonny) and i just love thinking about a s/o who cares sm they indulge u :’>

#suns.hc #honey <3 #bimbo!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ask #suns #I LOVE THESE TWO DORKS SM WHYRE THEY HEALING MY RELATIONSHIP ISSUES

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anundyingfidelity · 6 months

Text

FOR ALL TIME, ALWAYS – Loki x female reader

Summary: Loki escapes the TVA for a moment. Desperate and brokenhearted, he looks for you, his wife, in the Sacred Timeline. Even if you saw him die ten years ago.

Word count: 3.9k.

Warnings: LOTS of angst, some fluff, spoilers of Loki series in general. Language. Maybe I'm not getting how the branches work oops. This is right after the end of 2x02 and before 2x03. My English is also a warning, just in case.

Notes: while looking on the tags I checked a post of someone asking for a TVA Loki fic where he finds the reader but her Loki died in IW (not canon in my head btw). So I wrote it because is such a great idea, but I can't find the original post... ;-; anyway hope you like this!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

It's harder to stay...

Wasn't this situation hard enough? Sylvie was right. She had a point. But Loki wanted to do the right thing. Maybe he would find a chance... Again, right? Probably he would make the proper decisions this time.

The TVA was already fucked up, and with it, the thousands of timelines and lives in danger within them. Sometimes, it looked like it didn't matter. In the end, they were trying to fix something that was already broken.

Loki let out a deep breath he didn't realise was holding and walked to talk directly to his partner, Mobius.

"I need a favor," Loki mumbled, so the grey-haired man would be the only person to hear his voice.

Mobius met his eyes. He knew that gaze, it meant he was up to something. "What kind of favor?"

The god motioned Mobius to step away from the newly acknowledged variants and far away from what B-15 was witnessing. The branches were pruned from the whole existence; thousands and millions of lifes lost to the void in just the blink of an eye. Loki knew he had to do something before it got worst. Something for himself.

"I need to go the Sacred Timeline," Loki announced.

"Are you nuts?" Mobius scolded, in the same low voice tone Loki had used.

"Is just- listen, it's something I have to do. I really need to go back there. Need to see someone, make sure everything is okay," Loki insisted.

During all the times Loki showed he was desperate, Mobius was sure this was the peak of all of them. He wasn't explaning more than necessary, he looked serious, and his voice was crisp. Loki knew what he wanted at that moment. Mobius sighed, his hands finding the pockets of his pants, unsure of Loki's request.

"So it's personal..."

"A little, yeah," Loki nodded.

"Promise it'll be quick," Mobius said, taking off the TemPad from his pocket and his hand stopped in the air before the object could lay in the god's grip. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't."

2029, Sacred Timeline

When Loki arrived to his destination, the nerves got the best from him. New York looked no different from the last time he was there. Shifting his usual clothes he wore at the TVA, he chose a plain suit to go undercover, or at least decided he would try to, considering he was a criminal once in Midgard.

But as he walked through the halls of the familiar building he met decades ago, he didn't really care. He longed for something else. Better say, someone. And it was you.

You, who met him in the past right after Thor's banishment, and even helped him to find the Teseract, only to give up to SHIELD and those idiots that people called 'The Avengers'. Of course his heart hurted for a long time, but Loki tried to deny the feelings blooming inside and instead, he just decided to walk away from you, even if that meant hurting you. It was the best.

At least that was what he believed until he checked further his file; the file that Mobius had prepared for him. His life. Even after what he did to your people and planet, you still held no grudges. And Thor was good enough to seek for yours and the sorcerer's, Stephen Strange, help once Hela appeared in their lives.

Loki would never forget the loving look in your beautiful eyes when you saw him again, after years of parting ways. He really paid attention to you while watching his file, and he found there was only love, protection, and care in you. All for him. Someone who didn't deserve it, he thought.

He felt grateful at least he had the pleasure to enjoy happiness for a moment. Even if that meant Asgard was destroyed. Loki already lost his mother, his father, and he almost lost his brother. He couldn't stand losing you either. The simple idea of living without you - even if he didn't know you further than your Loki did - was unbearable pain.

So while in the ship on the way to Midgard with the asgardians and survivors of the Ragnarok, you held a cozy, small wedding when he asked you to marry him. This was one of the parts Loki would replay again and again from his file, with disbelief that he was actually happy and joyful, enjoying a good time with you, his brother, and all the asgardians who survived. Loki felt full of hope after your wedding, thinking fate had better things to come with you as an oficial part of his life.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long, thanks to the Mad Titan. As his steps got near your door, the memory of his brother and your figure mourning on his lifeless body appeared on his mind. It was an image he couldn't erase that easily. Probably, he would never forget that was his original destiny all the way. That was meant to be. And for now, he could not change it.

Loki stopped outside your apartment. He took a deep breath and raised his shaking hand to reach the doorbell. He waited for a moment, not knowing if seconds or minutes went by, it felt eternal. Until the door opened and he saw you.

The bright smile you had on your lips faded away. Your eyes flooded with tears, your forehead was furrowed, and still, Loki thought you were the most beautiful creature in all the Nine Realms.

"Hi..." Loki barely whispered, his eyes were glossy and a single tear also ran down his pale cheek.

You were clearly in shock. You wanted to get closer and finally touch him, to feel him physically. But even if you wanted to move to take his hand to confirm it wasn't a trick of your ruined mind, your body was stiff and your feet were glued to the ground.

"Is this an illusion?" you trembled.

All Loki could do was shaking his head, before muttering. "No..."

"Loki, I saw you die..."

Tears ran down your face, denying to yourself that this was real. That this was really happening to you. And your mind started to wonder all the possible scenarios and reasons on why him, the god of mischief, the only person you loved dearly with all your mind, body and soul, was standing right in front of your door even if he was gone for you... Long gone now. And that couldn't be undone.

"I know you did, my love."

You tried to smile, even a little bit, as he pronounced those words so dearly. Loki came closer to your figure, carefully placing a trembling hand on your cheek, feeling the tears flowing on your skin. You leaned into his touch, with a simpering smile. Such was the effect you had on him, that a silly smile he also had on his lips.

And you realized Loki was so real... His touch, his heat, his smile, his scent, the way he would hold you... Everything about him was exactly as you remembered. You felt his lips brushing softly against yours, gentle and hesitant, and instantly, you melted into a slow kiss, sure knowing that Loki would taste the salt of your tears running down your face. Leaning in closer as the space between would allow you, you savoured each second your breaths allowed, longing to remain right there for eternity. For all time. Always.

"But now I am here... and I can explain," he whispered once you separated your lips from his in the sweetest way.

You let out a soft chuckle. "Mind to enlighten me, oh, god of mischief?"

Finally you guided him inside your apartment. That old apartment Loki saw his other self visiting a couple of times before you were something. It still had your vibe around it and he loved it. He felt like he was at home after a very long time. Once you closed the door, his arms wrapped around your figure, and you let yourself cry, pressing against his chest and with a tight grip of your hands on his coat.

"You don't have any idea of how much I have missed you all these years," you sobbed and his heart shrank on his chest. "I kept wishing every night and every day to be me instead of you."

"My love," he said softly, separating a little and cupping your cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes were red now because of the tears he was holding back again. "Don't say that... It was supposed to happen."

"What?" you mumbled.

Your hands found his wrists and you pulled his palms away from your cheeks. However you kept the contact with him, you just needed to touch him, to feel he was in the flesh. He was alive right now, wasn't he?

"Look, I am not your Loki. I know what you did, what the Avengers did after Thanos-" his voice broke just a bit but he continued. "I know everything. I just couldn't resist knowing there was someone for me, out there in the Nine Realms, capable to love me for who I am," Loki explained as he watched your face. Was it disappointment? Confusion? He didn't know, but he had to tell you the truth.

Your voice came out as a barely audible whisper. "So... you are saying... you're another Loki? Another him?"

He nodded softly. "I am." Loki thought for a moment on how to explain everything, but he just went for what his heart felt it was right. "It's a little complicated. I did something that wasn't supposed to be, and perhaps will sound like I'm insane, but thanks to that I am kind of trapped in time. With an organization that is not what everyone thought it was, hence a multiverse was created. Sponsored by another me, by the way. You are in what is called the Sacred Timeline, where things flow as how they were supposed to since forever. And I just needed to see you after I found out you were the love of my life."

You took a moment to understand everything he said, wishing that his fate would have been different from what originally happened. Loki gave his best, even in the last worst moments, he was changing for good. For you. For Thor... It wasn't fair.

"Your death was supposed to be then?"

"Yes, it was."

"Oh, Loki," you cried. "You know what, I don't care what's happened. I'm just- I feel happy seeing you here... Please tell me everything you've been through. I want to hear your voice again, to know you're with me right now, to feel you near... I'm not crazy, am I?" you chuckled between tears and Loki curved his lips in a smile, wiping your tears from your face with his thumbs.

Loki granted your wish and explained everything, answering every question you had about the lies of the TVA; the files he found out were his whole life; about Sylvie, Mobius and his variants. He spilled all you wanted to hear, asking like a child, until you understood what was happening. You noticed he truly had changed, just like your Loki did when he reunited with Thor before the Ragnarok took over Asgard. It was a bittersweet feeling however, thinking how much they they seemed to each other. They were the same person after all, but this Loki didn't had the chance to continue his path as it was supposed to.

Taking his hand into yours, you leaned towards him and laid down your head on his shoulder while you both sat comfortable in the couch, just enjoying each others company. Your eyes were dry at this point after crying for what it felt were hours, but his voice helped to soothe you enough.

"I'm glad knowing you have someone like Mobius by your side," you said after a quiet moment. "He sounds like a very good friend," you looked at him, waiting for an answer. "Because that's what he is to you, right?"

"He is a great friend, I'm not alone if that is what is troubling you," Loki affirmed.

You let out a sigh. "That is totally a relief to me."

Loki chuckled softly, leaning to leave a kiss on your hair. "Now you've heard everything about me, would I hear something from you?"

"I'm just a mortal, Loki," you smiled. "Doing the normal shit, not the superhero stuff anymore. I am hating my pretty much normal office job every day; I feed the birds when I go outside at the park, also thinking about adopting a cat or a dog... Maybe a dog."

"Or you could do both."

"Yeah, I might. But my place isn't that big for pets. Sometimes I feel like I'm too alone, very much alone... I would love to have a big farm, or a cabin in the mountains with lots of plants, pets and animals to take care of." The idea did sound good for Loki. Hopefuly you could find peace that way. "Do you remember Pepper?" you said, straighting up on the couch to look at him. He nodded. "Well, after Tony died I still visit her and their daughter, Morgan. She is ten years old, could you believe it?" Loki noticed the sorrow and pain you still carried after all those years of losing your friends, your people... "And I've been missing you and mourning you for ten years as well."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, Loki."

"Do whatever is the best for you, my dear... I would have loved to be here with you now, as the Loki from the Sacred Timeline."

You smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Well, either way, you're here now. It's all that matters to me."

Once again, you shared a loving kiss and took his hand to walk to the kitchen, asking him to take a seat in your breakfast bar, glad he decided to search for you in one of your free days. Otherwise, you would have surely missed his visit. But he was looking for you. Probably Loki would have found you anywhere at this point.

You talked some more while you had some tea and ate some cookies that you saved for special days on the shelfs. The afternoon was pleasant, and this was your turn to speak. Loki, coat long gone, was catching up with you and he asked every single thing about your life now. He smiled more than ever, laughed more than you have ever seen, and it was certainly something you could get used to from now on. Knowing you never continued your life with another person made his heart ache though. However, Loki was no one to blame. He would have done the same thing. No other was like you, no one would have replaced you.

"It's my decision," you finally said, reading his face like an open book. "I have loved you, I love you now and I will love you forever."

He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his. "I know..."

"The day we married you gave me a ring. I always have it with me, today I'm not working, but I use this necklace with your ring," you searched for the necklace hiding inside your shirt and taking it off, you showed him the precious jewel hanging on a fine golden chain. The ring he recognized once was from his mother. "I want you to have it."

"No,I can't-"

"But this is what I want. I know I would have to forget, because you will make me forget about this. About you, coming here, risking everything just to see me. So please, take it."

Loki knew you had made a decision, but then if he left, taking your memories away about this day, what was left for you? He had nothing, and it was okay. He would still know he came to the Sacred Timeline; that he kissed you, that you shared a moment together, that you still loved him. But you will have none of that. And you, as human as you were, would die without the memories and without the ring. You would have nothing and he was sure couldn't bear it.

"Perhaps I can have something else to remember you, I want you to keep this ring as a promise," he closed your hand around the necklace. "My promise that I still love you and I will do it. Forever."

And you sighed, taking the necklace back with a smile. Always so stubborn. "Give me a moment."

Loki saw you leave the kitchen for some minutes. While he was alone, he noticed the sunset through the windows, as it was almost ending to welcome the dark sky around the city. He knew he had to go soon. As much as he didn't want to and the simple thought of runing away was starting to hurt him deep inside.

When you arrived, you stood by his seat on the breakfast bar, putting a small photograph, perfect for a passport, on the surface. It was all in black and white, and you looked what you thought it was nice. Loki took it between his hands, lovingly and with a proud smile on his face.

"I used that when I was taking my Master's degree. Looks pretty decent," you joked.

Loki laughed, tears right at the corner of his eyes. "It's more than that. It's perfect."

His smile faded, knowing this meant he had to leave you again. Loki wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, was he? How he wished to stay there by your side.

You kissed his cheek as a sort of goodbye and comfort at the same time, noticing the sudden change on his face and whispered softly. "So you don't search for me on those files."

"Thank you, love."

Loki got on his feet to put his coat on, like some sort of mental preparation before leaving your apartment and the Sacred Timeline. He saved your photograph on his pocket securely along with Mobius' TemPad, pretending to be strong and swallowing all the pain he was feeling right at that moment. You took his hand, lacing your fingers together one last time and walked until you stood there, in the middle of your living room. He looked at you with loving eyes, trying to save your face and your figure before returning to where he was supposed to be now. And it seemed like time had stopped, as everything Loki could see and feel was you and only you.

"I guess is time now," you began, interrupting his mind.

"I guess it is," Loki nodded, expecting an answer from you. Anything. But it never came. You were also trying to save the moment as much as you could.

So he cupped your cheeks, feeling for the last time your warm, soft skin against his palms. He didn't want to talk, because if he would have said something, it meant you were really saying goodbye forever. What Loki didn't know is that you felt the same thing.

Was there something good to say to your lover, whose destiny was just to bring the best from other people with his cruelty and chaos? To the man who had learn to make things better and, in the end, died trying to protect his people and his wife? Was there anything out there that would bring the god of mischief the happiness and love you always knew he deserved? With these branches and multiverse thing, you hoped deep in your heart there was a universe where he found what he longed for so long. This was just one of many of them. Probably he was happy and living in peace in some others.

"I love you, Loki," you mumbled. He caressed your skin with his thumbs and wiped the small tears that were running on your cheeks.

"I love you too."

Loki leaned to kiss you one last time. You welcomed the kiss with shut eyes, savouring his lips and the taste of your tears, mixing now with his own.

The pain started to bloom; every heartbeat felt like a sledgehammer pounding against his chest. He was not ready to let you go, so this was all he could do. The seidr flowed from his fingers, the green lights covering your body with the help of the spell he casted for you was made to protect you from anything that could get out of hand in the Sacred Timeline, particularly from his own hands, the hands of the TVA, or any other danger that could chase you. Because if something would happen to you due to his stubborn decision, Loki knew he wouldn't forgive himself. What he was sure about though, was that he would still look for you until the end of time.

So when the kiss ended, you fell asleep in seconds. He had to take your sleeping figure with his arms to your bedroom, where he carefully laid you down on the bed. Making sure you were comfortable in your sleep, fixing the pillows and the blankets, Loki remained there, just to take in the serenity emanating from you. It was something you had, the ease and calm your aura projected to everyone in the room. This was the last thing Loki wanted to save from you.

He kissed your forehead and dried the tears on your face before standing up. Once you were to wake up in some hours, you would not be able to know everything was real. Loki made sure you thought it was a dream. So that is what you would have in your head. Something you wished for so long that will only be nothing but thoughts, scenes and emotions that felt absolutely true. As real as life could be.

Loki took the TemPad and opened the timedoor to go back to the TVA, where he knew Mobius would be waiting already since he left for hours. Without looking back to your room, he stepped in and forced to compose himself just in case he would bump into someone else. He sighed, observing through the halls of the headquaters as he made his way back to the room that was assigned to him.

At his door, a worried Mobius was already waiting for him, walking in circles.

"God, Loki I thought you were gone for a second," the analyst breathed out. Loki just handed the TemPad and Mobius took it back. He noticed his weary demeanor and teary eyes. "Thank you. Sorry I doubted you for a second."

"It's fine," Loki shrugged it off, looking for something on his pocket. The photograph slipped from his fingers and fell down to the floor. Mobius was quick enough to pick it up for him, but as he gave it back to his owner he observed it thoroughly.

"So this was the personal thing you did," Mobius said, looking the photograph resting on Loki's hand. He remembered that face from his files.

"Yeah... I guess all set now," Loki sighed.

"Good, I hope you're ready for another trip to the Sacred Timeline." Mobius turned to walk away, deciding it was better to give him some time, but he turned back to Loki before doing so. "And if you're feeling like talking about this any day, only between us, just let me know."

And with that, he walked away. Loki smiled, standing alone outside his door.

You were right. Mobius was a good friend.

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #tva loki x reader #tva loki x female reader #tva!loki x reader #loki imagines #loki angst #loki laufesyon x reader #loki series fanfiction #loki season 2 #mcu loki x reader #mcu loki #loki series

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lipringlrh · 8 months

Text

give you a show | LN4

summary: when your roommates that good looking it's hard not to stare

pairings: roommate!lando norris x fem!reader

an: not posted in a little (sorry) but i actually have a lot in my drafts but i’m grouping them together so i need to finish them all off before i post them :)

word count: 800

warnings: none i don’t think

feedback and reblogs appreciated !!

…

You hadn't been roommates with Lando very long, only a few weeks, and each day you couldn't tell whether you were regretting it or enjoying it more each day. Today included both.

You opened the door to your apartment only an hour later than you left after picking up a few things you needed. You quickly took your shoes off by the door and headed further inside, announcing a quick, "I'm home," as you led your jacket down on the top of a chair, a bad habit both you and Lando formed, but it was just easier.

"Kitchen," a reply came from your left.

You headed towards the kitchen door, briefly pausing as you stepped inside before recomposing yourself and carrying on. You sat on a bar stool seat in the corner of the room, Lando in perfect view, before unconsciously taking your phone out.

You weren't focused on it at all, not when Lando was standing there, looking like that. His body was faced sideways away from you and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions, but he still pulled it off well. Grey sweatpants hung off his hips very lowly and he wasn't wearing a shirt at all. He was either chopping some food or mixing something - you weren't sure, you weren't focused on what he was doing anyway.

A few minutes pass, he's moved around a bit but always returning to the same place no matter what he's doing. You weren't really sure what he was doing but you weren't complaining. The more he seemed to stand there, the more his arms seemed to flex too. You were loving it, completely unaware of how obvious you were, or what you were meant be to doing, you couldn't think straight anyway.

You were too concentrated on him and his arms that you didn't hear him call your name the first time - or the second. It was only the third time he said it that it knocked you out of your daze. Your eyes met his face again, tracing over every detail. Luckily he wasn't looking at you, you thought, he was still focused on whatever he was doing.

"You've been watching that for an awful long time," he spoke, a smirk taking over his features. He was right, you realised. Looking at the phone, you noticed you'd opened tiktok and had just been letting the same video play on loop since you sat down.

You stutter for a moment, thinking of an excuse. "I was reading the comments." You said, lying through your teeth way too obviously.

His smirk never faltered, instead just grew, "took you a while to tell me that. Don't worry, I don't mind when you stare."

You didn't really know how to answer that so you just stayed quiet, your eyes still trained on his face as he turned around and stepped much closer to you.

He was right in front of you now, the only thing separating you was the marble of the kitchen bar worktop.

"What? You think I didn't notice? I cut up way more salad than I'd need in a week, waiting for you to notice." He grinned, putting his arms on the counter and moving his face down to the same height as yours and ever so slightly closer.

"So you were giving me a show?" You reply before you have any time to think about it. You watch as he falters at your response, giving yourself a little ego boost. You cock your head to the side, almost as if you're challenging him for a reply.

He quickly gains his compose back, brushing off the slight embarrassment of you getting him flustered - it isn't the first time but it's the most obvious.

"Well, when there's a pretty girl in front of you, always." He whispers as though it's obvious, in an attempt to again fluster you more than how you flustered him.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You try to hide your grin but fail miserably. Lando also fails to hide his when he sees yours.

"Very much so," he smiles back, moving a hand up to brush some hair off of your face. "Now," he says, slapping his hands down on the counter and flexing slightly, "what kind of roommate would I be if I didn't give you a full show? Anything else you'd like to watch me do?" he says, almost playful, almost serious, liking the idea of being ogled at by you quite nice.

"Well there's a watermelon in the fridge," you tease, tracing your hand down the prominent veins in his arm.

He smirks, watching your hand in motion, "perfect." He doesn't move though, he stays there, absorbed in the way your hand touches his arm.

"Get to it!" you joke, watching as he moves instantly towards the fridge.

In his rush, he doesn't forget to turn back and give you a cheeky wink, followed by a "yes, ma'am."

…

feedback + reblogs appreciated and requests are open :)

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landrywrites · 9 months

Text

ethan landry — touchy

warnings: smut. porn what plot, ( kindve pleasure / service ) dom ethan, but he’s a little mean. thigh riding, petnames, praise, teasing, degradation if you squint. a nice healthy sprinkle of dumbifictation, use of ‘sir’ like once. edging ( ? ), small bit of aftercare.

let me know if i missed anything, it’s a little short if i’m bein honest T_T

extra: no ghostface, a little bit inspired by a tiktok i found. ( @suomae, just my own twist. )

uh reader doesn’t really speak, too dumbed out

summary: 🤭🤭

ethan landry, seemingly an angel, a dork of some sort but behind closed doors.. man was he much different than the nerd boy facade he puts out. he was a hungry man and you were more than willing to give him what he wanted.

you were sitting on ethan’s lap, facing away from him as he did some work on the computer, you were busying yourself on your phone, playing minecraft, you were decorating yours and ethan’s house right now, tongue stuck out in concentration which he found adorable. his head was laying on your shoulder, occasionally kissing the exposed skin.

he was wearing light grey sweats and a black wife beater pleaser and you were wearing a spaghetti strap, and some cotton panties, chad was out on a trip with tara so there was no need to cover up. his hands found purchase on your lower stomach as he watched a video, a video explaining who knows what. your breath hitches and he notices, keeping his warm hands on your stomach, rubbing up and down a bit. you bite your lip to stifle a moan. he smirks at that.

“jesus baby, it’s practically dripping in my lap now.” he noticed the way you bit your lip and the video was long forgotten. you let out a whimper and his hand travels lower, yet not exactly where you need him. “keep making those sounds, pretty girl. love it when you whine f’me.” he gently grabs the phone from you and saves the world, putting it on the table and closing his computer.

he decided physics could wait. his girl was all sensitive and needy, how could he resist such a beautiful girl like you. all he could hear was your whimpers and he loves every second of it. he orders you to stand up and you do, he slowly takes off your utterly soaked panties, shoving them in your mouth to use as a makeshift gag. the action surprises you but you say nothing, not that you could anyways. tasting yourself was always weird but not unwelcomed.

he settles you on his right thigh. “y’know what to do, start movin’. this is the only way you’re getting off tonight. punishment for distracting me from my work.” well, you take what you can get so you don’t complain. you start to move your hips and his hands settle on them, helping you move back and forth. “atta girl, just like that. get off on my thigh.” you whimper and he his hands start moving up, removing your tank top, he grabs your boobs. he kneads them and it only makes you wetter. if that was even possible.

you’ve been at this for who knows how long, because as soon as you start feeling that high his hands stop you from moving but you’re too dumbed out to even speak, only moans and whines left your lips and it was pure heaven for ethan, but quite literal hell to you. he’s raking it all in, eyes not leaving you even once. finally letting you move your hips again. he almost forgets to stop you because you looked so pretty like that, he loves it when you cry and beg.

“please, need you s’bad.” you cry out, well as best as you could with your own panties in your mouth. “what was that baby? ya say something?” all he did was laugh at you, at how absolutely pathetic you looked right now, all fucked out. “barely even touched you, and you’re already begging for more.” he pinches your nipples and you swear you saw god.

he takes the panties out of your mouth, the taste of cotton still on your tongue as a reminder. he puts them in his pocket opposite of the leg you’re fucking yourself on currently. “i- i said please. i need you so bad.” he meanly replies. “i don’t think so baby, i think you can get off like this. can’t you? slut.” his words were absolutely filthy and it only made you move your hips faster. “that’s a good girl. fuck, you look so good like this.” the way his voice was practically vibrating in your ear, the way his hands didn’t stop touching you, his kisses on your shoulders and the way he practically is moving you himself. it was all too much.

“please i wanna cum oh sir please let me cum.” you begged and begged. he groans and he feels his cock strain against his boxers, dick twitching as soon as you called him sir, making him weak. besides who was he to deny you when you were oh so pretty when you begged. “awh look at you asking so nicely, well since you’ve been such a good girl for me, yes you can cum.” so many “thank you’s” fell from your lips it was all becoming blurry, barely even hearing him say yes, chasing your own orgasm. “i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna cum.” you practically yell that out.

“go ahead and cum, pretty girl. make a mess on my thigh.” and you did, and it hit you like a truck. so hard that your vision turns white for a few seconds. you almost fell forward if it weren’t for the hands holding you up, you feel them cup your face but you feel faint, almost like falling asleep. you close your eyes to rest them for a bit.

“baby? come back to me. it’s okay, you’re okay.” he realizes you’re still in the headspace and he picks you up bridal style. he ran a bath, gently placing you in the tub. he doesn’t wash your hair since you’re in and out of consciousness and washing the hair of someone who’s head keeps falling forward isn’t very fun. he smiles to himself, loving the vibe he’s created. he tells you how good you were and all you could do was nod and smile at his words.

after he’s done he picks you up and dries you, carrying you to the bed before placing you down, he puts you in one of his shirts and his boxers since he didn’t want too much pressure on where you’re sensitive ( don’t worry these are new. ) he takes his own shower and dressed himself in new sweats and no shirt, throwing the dirty clothes in the hamper. he took care of himself in the shower. you start to come to as he settles in after turning off the lights. groggily you sit up and rub your eyes which he finds so so cute.

“hey baby, you doin alright?” you nod. “words, pretty girl.” he says. “yeah i’m fine, e. you doin okay?” you suddenly ask, cuddling up to him. “oh my oh so sweet and considerate girl, i am doing fantastic.” he smiles at you, holding you close. you cuddled into him before speaking.

“you need aftercare just as much as i do, e. let me hold you. you’ve done enough for me.” his heart softens at that, you truly did care about him. “fine i’ll listen, i love being babied.” you smile at that before changing positions, his head on your chest as you play with his hair while giving him forehead kisses. with a sigh of content you both drift to sleep.

, posersays : tehee :3 hope u like . uhm third fic and it’s almost pure filth.. i don’t know if i like this one or not tbh..

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pelova4president · 1 month

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Shadows are to protect II

Victoria Pelova x Putellas!Reader

Alessia Russo x Putellas!Reader

Shadows are to protect I, III, IV

summary~ When you finally start to thrive at Arsenal there’s still one person that’s holding you back.

You sat there. In the dark, on your grey couch, the picture of you and Alexia staring at you. The bright light of your screen brightened your face like the Barcelona sun had done a few months ago. You couldn’t run away anymore, you were stuck. No one to talk to and no one to come home to.

Looking down at your screen again you saw the little beads of salty water resting on your screen. And even though you’ve been lonely for far too long you’ve never let the evidence of salty water show it. You never really were a crier, Alexia had always told you to be strong and not to show anyone those emotions, they made you seem weaker than your were.

But when you really needed her she didn’t say a thing about being strong. When you’d go home and cried, you cried in her arms. She held you when you needed to without doubt. She didn’t need you to tell her what was wrong, she just knew that you needed her so she’d be there, always.

‘Ale, i need you’

And that’s how you landed on the first morning flight to Barcelona you could find. The ticket was as pricey as they could get but that didn’t matter, you just needed your sister.

The welcome was warm, like always. It was all too familiar. The airport where you’ve landed and departed from all those Barca years. The sun was at it’s brightest and it almost melted you to the dark tarmac of the airfield. And somehow that thought felt more enjoyable than any thought you had in the past week. Being stuck to Barcelona.

Alexia had told you to be strong and that she’ll visit you soon but you didn’t think that soon would be soon enough.

You got into an severely overpriced taxi at the airport and directed him towards your sisters house. The car was hot and it felt like your skin was melting away. You could see little beads of sweat forming on your driver’s forehead. You didn’t think you could miss a warm sweaty car this much but you had been missing it.

When the vibrating car stopped moving and the motor of the car was cooling down you got out. With both of your feet on the sidewalk of Alexia’s house you were stuck. You traveled all the way to her home to stand still in front of it.

She probably wasn’t even home. The Barca girls had training from 9 to at least 1 if they were lucky. When you finally got the courage to take another step you looked under one of the plants in front of her door. It was dead, you were sure of it but she kept it anyway. Honestly, you didn’t get it. Why do people get plants they know they can’t take care of. It just so sad to see something that was once so green and full of life dry out.

Alexia’s house was cold. Her dog Nala was waiting for her to return but was surprised by the sight of you. You hadn’t seen Nala in a while but you were so sure she would’ve remembered you, she would always remember you, like everyone else right? You loved Nala.

When you scrolled through an ad of a shelter for dogs you saw Nala. You read her description and immediately knew you had to give her a new life. Alexia was in a dark place and so was Nala, they needed eachother. So the next week you picked the princess up and drove to your sisters house to surprise her.

Alexia wasn’t really fond of having a dog in house but that changed so quick. Nala was Alexia’s princess, and yours too.

But Nala didn’t seem to remember anything from that story anymore. She wasn’t jumping on you or letting out some hard barks. The little dog was growling at you. She seemed to forget you, just like whole Barcelona did.

You sat there, on Alexia’s couch. The one that you used to crash on at least once a week. Nala was sat next to you, she was paying no mind to you. Scrolling through your Instagram feed you saw Alessia with Katie and Caitlin. It made you jealous to some extent. She had friends and you, you didn’t, not really. The girls were nice but they weren’t friends. At the moment you didn’t really have friends anywhere.

You heard the noise of keys and Nala’s ears shot right up. Alexia’s home.

You heard her grunt and drop her training bag at the door. Nala’s steps were going towards your sister and so were yours. “Hola, hermana.” you welcomed her. Her eyes shot up to your face and her arms flew open to embrace you.

You almost sprung into her arms. Alexia didn’t say anything, she just held you and you didn’t let go. “you’re gonna be okay.” she whispered and that’s when you lost it. Tears started to stream down your face. Alexia’s grey sweater had taken a darker shade of grey and she could feel the deathly grip you had on her sweater.

“I’m not gonna be okay Ale. I don’t know what i’m doing.” you cried. She didn’t assure you you didn’t, she didn’t tell you that you just needed to get used to England. She just hummed. And it kind of made you love her even more for it. She didn’t offer you some fake sympathy talk, she kept it real.

The both of you didn’t say much more that day. You went to sleep early and Alexia crawled next to you later that night. With her arms around you and a kiss to your forehead she wished you goodnight. It was nights like these that you missed more than anything.

You woke up around 4 am. Nala and Alexia were dead asleep so you picked your phone up from your nightstand. You had gotten one message. ‘Hey, i didn’t see you at practice today, are you okay? If you want to talk to anyone, i’m here’ you read. Victoria Pelova cared about you?

You knew Alessia and Victoria were good friends. And it made sense Alessia probably hadn’t told Victoria about.. you. Just like you still hadn’t told anyone about Alessia.

Alexia grumbled a bit and opened her eyes. “What are you doing hermanita?” she asked you tiredly. “Pelova, you know her. She was wondering where i was today and asked me if i’m okay and if i needed someone to talk to.” you explained. Alexia hummed understandingly. “I think you should talk to her. Maybe you’d get along eh?” she thought aloud.

She was right, you had to give her a chance. She was being nice and it wasn’t like you had any other friends in London. So you texted her back, ‘I’m in Barcelona at the moment, just needed to see some family. Maybe we could talk when i’m back?’.

Alexia didn’t exactly say that she wanted you out of her house after day three but you knew she did. So when she came home after training you took that as your cue to travel back to the still red North London.

You came home around dinner time and didn’t really have anything to eat. ‘Are you back in England yet?’ Victoria had texted. You texted her that you were and if she wanted to come over to order something. And in less than twenty minutes she was knocking on your door.

“I took some Chinese takeout with me on the way, hope you don’t mind?” she smiled. You thanked her with a grin.

Victoria seemed like a very extroverted and outspoken and maybe even a bit annoying type to you at training. But maybe that was just because she was hanging around Katie, Beth and Kyra. But now she seemed a lot calmer, the opposite of annoying really.

Vic didn’t mention your absence which was nice, you didn’t really want to explain all of that to her. You didn’t expect to have a lot in common with the Dutch girl. She had a really warm presence and you loved every bit of it. Maybe all you needed was a friend here.

Victoria was waiting at the entrance of the training centre. “Buen día!” she waved. “I didn’t know you could speak Spanish.” you said. “I can’t but i’ve started my Duolingo streak Spanish since yesterday!” she smiled proudly. She made you so happy, she learned Spanish just for you. You were starting to feel thankful for Alexia’s advice.

“I guess i’ll have to learn Dutch now?” you laughed. She nodded her head and offered to learn you Dutch if you gave her some Spanish lessons. It seemed like a pretty good deal.

You started to spend a lot more time with the brunette. She was good company and you actually started to learn Dutch. You planned a trip to The Netherlands together. She would show you the city and her previous club, Ajax.

Everything was going better. You were in a better mental place and physically you were unstoppable. Jonas started to give you a place in the starting lineup almost every game and even the fans started to love you. You even got your very own chant. You were on top of the League and could not be held back any longer, you were finally thriving in London.

Alessia was the only problem keeping you from being fully happy. Even though you only saw her at practice and games she still was being bitter to you. Whenever you were talking to Victoria she took her away from you with some bad excuse. It was hard for you to feel at home in the changing room without Victoria around.

Naturally fans started to speculate about the two of you. They were saying that you were in a relationship with the midfielder and that you’ve been hiding it for a while now. Victoria was a good friend, your bestfriend but that was it. Nothing more. You hadn’t had those sort of feelings since Alessia and they still hadn’t totally gone away. It was shit to still have those feelings for someone who made it very clear she didn’t reciprocate those feelings. So you opted to ignore those feeling all together.

Victoria came over after practice to bake a pie for your upcoming birthday. She told you that she was an absolute pro in baking apple pie but you knew she was lying. No way that the girl that couldn’t even cook rice without burning it can bake an actual good pie.

And just like you had predicted the pie wasn’t really pie-ing. There was flour and cinnamon all over your kitchen and on both of your clothes. “Sukkel!” you shouted at her when she tipped her glass of water off the counter. But you started laughing when she slipped and fell right to the ground that was still covered in white flour.

“Fuck!” she cursed whilst you were trying to hold yourself up while laughing uncontrollably.

The night went by quickly like it always did with the midfielder.

Victoria has been the little light in your dark thoughts and you were so thankful for her but when you bid her goodnight you didn’t expect her to kiss you. She was stood in front of you, in a black hoodie with white spots on it from your kitchen adventure. Her cheeks were red from all the laughing and drinking. And she was leaning in to kiss you.

You didn’t stop her though. And you definitely didn’t stop her when you saw the door across from yours open. You didn’t stop her when blue eyes focused on the two of you. And you didn’t stop when you heard a door shut.

Victoria waved goodbye and you stood still, staring at the two plants placed on the ground in front of you. The ones you had gifted Alessia. They were dead. You were the only one that kept them alive and now they were dead. You failed them.

#shadows are to protect #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #engwnt #arsenal wfc #alexia putellas x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alexia putellas #espwnt #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #arsenal women #victoria pelova x reader #victoria pelova

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familyvideostevie · 2 months

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it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

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appocalipse · 3 months

Note

Kiss prompt #9 with Eddie? Por favor?

anything for you. ♥

#9: "I think I deserve a kiss."

Eddie is charming your mother. You can tell even from this distance, sitting on the small step in front of your porch while you watch them.

He's been squatting with a some sort of screwdriver near that lawnmower for about 10 minutes, poking it, tightening screws, taking out parts of it you can't even name.

His hands are dirty with what you suppose it's oil, but he doesn't seem to care. He's so focused that he brings the back of his hand to his face and leaves a stain on his cheek without even realizing it.

You smile.

He looks up from time to time, to sneak a glance your way or when your mother talks to him, and then the two of them laugh amicably. After a few more moments, Eddie straightens up the lawnmower and turns it on, demonstrating that, as if by magic, it now works. Your mom thanks Eddie politely, then says something that makes him, you realize, look embarrassed as he stands up, wiping his hands on a grey cloth.

Embarrassed, Eddie? It's an unusual occurrence, to say the least.

It doesn't last long.

She says something else to him, insists. Eddie vehemently denies with small smile. You wonder if she's offering him money.

Eddie, very helpful, turns the mower off and puts it back in the garage.

Your mom touches your shoulder affectionately when she passes you on her way back inside the house, offering a smile that you're not sure you understand. Maybe it's best to not even try to understand.

Eddie comes right behind her, looking very pleased with himself.

The step is too small for two people, but he sits down next to you anyway, his knee lightly bumping yours. "I think I just won your mother over," he announces, and it's probably true; that lawnmower had been abandoned in your garage for the past few months, all but useless. He'll sure be in your mother's good graces for a long time.

"And why would you need to win her over?"

He bumps your shoulder with his. "Oh, you know, for when we decide to get married."

Eddie has no filter. You shouldn't even get flustered by this kind of comment at this point.

You laugh without looking at him, although you sound a little more nervous than you'd like. "So fixing a lawnmower is worth my hand in marriage?" you ask in mock seriousness.

"No, but it's a start. Don't you think I deserve, say…" he puts a strand of hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing your temple. "…a kiss? I think I deserve a kiss. Sounds fair enough, doesn't it?"

Now you have no choice but to look at him. This space really is too small for two people, and the proximity between is slowly melting away what little common sense you have left.

"You can ask her," you chuckle, pointing to the front door despite knowing that, of course, Eddie wasn't talking about your mother, "but I think my dad won't like the idea, you know."

Eddie grins when you look away. He can read you like a book.

"Don't be mean, sweetheart."

"You're the one being mean."

He leans closer, and you can feel his breath on your cheek, the tip of his nose almost touching the side of your face, hoping you turn to look at him too. "Me? I'm just trying to make things clear." He pauses, and you can practically hear him thinking. "Maybe I should try a different approach."

You tilt your head, curious. "Like what?"

"Like..." Eddie hesitates for a moment, gathering his courage, "…you could go out with me."

You blink.

"Don't look so surprised," he says quickly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can do dates. Fancy dinner, movies, the whole shebang. Just give me a chance."

You can't help but laugh, turning your head to look into his eyes. It's true, at first glance, he's not exactly the most romantic person you know, with his tattoos, his love for heavy metal and his old van that always smells like cheap cologne, cigarettes and leather. But none of that matters, because you can't deny that there's something there between the two of you, something that you've been forcing yourself to ignore for far too long.

The oil stain is still right there, on his cheek. Without thinking too much, you reach up and rub it off slowly with the pad of your thumb. "I don't need fancy," you murmur, because it's true. You don't care about the glitz and the glamor, not when it comes to Eddie.

His breath hitches when you touch him, like he's not used to anyone being this gentle with him, like he's forgotten what it feels like.

You can feel the warmth of his skin through your fingers, the rough stubble of his beard prickling your palm. You wonder if he knows how soft you've become around him, how easily you let him affect you.

"Really?" he whispers, eyes wide and unblinking, as if he's afraid he's imagining this.

You nod, still rubbing his cheek even though the stain is already long gone. You can feel him relaxing into the touch, leaning into you just a little more. It's like he's been waiting for this, for someone to finally see past the tough exterior he shows the world and find the tender, vulnerable boy underneath.

Eddie grins, leaning closer, his voice lowering to a husky murmur. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

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fxrmuladaydreams · 4 months

Text

red flags (cs55)

🤍sequel to drunken bets🤍

carlos x mclaren social media!reader

summary: some new information comes to light that taints your perfect relationship

notes: i know i said this was only going to be two parts, but it’s actually going to be three

prev part next part

You wipe the tears from your face as you practically run outside. He calls your name and attempts to run after you, but gets stopped by people who just want a moment with the Singapore Grand Prix winner. You feel like you’re suffocating, surrounded by people, your lungs closing up, until you’ve made it outside. You gasp, and squeeze your eyes shut as a wave of tears spill down your cheeks.

The bottom of your dress is crumpled, most likely from when you were squeezing it in your hands. The dark red fabric makes you feel sick. It’s just another reminder that he played you, and you fell for it.

You scold yourself. You should’ve seen the red flags appearing, but maybe after that week in Spain you had gotten used to looking at him through rose colored glasses.

You were happy to get back to work after your little vacation with Carlos. You felt like you were in a genuinely good place. You had the job of your dreams, and an amazing boyfriend.

Your walks into the paddock with the Spaniard had become routine before your trip, but now he kept your hand intertwined with his, holding you close as you walked through the crowds. He leaves you at the McLaren building with a soft kiss on your cheek, which leaves you giddy for the rest of the day.

He meets you after work so you can both go back to your hotel together, spending your time in one room together rather than separate rooms.

To anyone outside of the paddock it simply looked like your friendship had grown. You had found a confidant to spend your time with. But to those who saw you regularly, they could see there was something more, something you weren’t sharing with the rest of the world yet.

Lando pulled you aside one day after Carlos gives you a soft kiss on the cheek and whispers a sweet goodbye to you then walks off, on his way to his own garage.

“That was quite affectionate.” He says. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his face. “But then again, Carlos did always have a thing for McLaren employees.” He gestures to himself.

You scoff and nudge him away from you. “It was nothing.” But you can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face.

“What did he say to you? Was it ‘Y/n, I love you so much, let’s run away together!’” He spins and clasps his hands under his chin.

You try to shush him, but you’ve come to learn there’s almost no stopping the dramatics of Lando Norris.

“Oh come on! I’m only joking!” He says in between laughs. “Besides, it’s obvious he’s obsessed with you anyways.”

You shake your head. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for qualifying?”

“Shouldn’t you be editing? Instead I find you out here about to lock lips with the enemy.” He teases as he walks back into the garage.

“Since when is Carlos your enemy?” You call out, following him.

That night you lay with Carlos in your hotel room. You wear one of his t-shirts that falls just past your underwear. He wears a pair of grey sweatpants. You lay with your head resting on his bare chest, your fingers softly tracing delicate patterns over his tanned torso. He has an arm behind his head, and the other over you, lazily running his hand up and down your back.

Lando’s words from earlier echo in your head.

It’s obvious he’s obsessed with you.

“Carlos?” You lift your head resting your chin on his chest to look in his eyes. “Have you ever thought about going public? With our relationship?”

He doesn’t answer at first, sending your heart plummeting into your stomach. He takes a deep breath before taking the hand the rests against his chest in his.

“I have. But I didn’t know if we should. You’re a private person and I want to respect that.” He says, softly squeezing your hand.

Your heart suddenly feels to full, full of love for him. You tilt your head down and place a soft kiss to his chest. “Thank you, really.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes, just admiring one another, then you speak again.

“I want to kiss you in the paddock.” Your voice is soft, your words trailing off at the end. “I want to be able to kiss you in front of other people, maybe then Lando will stop with the teasing.”

“You want to kiss me in front of Lando?” He giggles.

You give him a dramatic exasperated sigh, but laugh as you answer. “No, I just want to be able to kiss you whenever I want to. Whether that be in front of Lando or not.”

“I don’t know mi amor.” He sighs. “I don’t want anyone else to ruin what we have.”

This should have been your first red flag, his wanting to keep your relationship a secret.

“Oh, alright…” You murmur, leaning your head back down to lay against his chest.

You lay in silence for a few moments until Carlos shifts. He kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter against him.

“If you really want to, we can go public.” He says softly.

You look back up at him. “Really? You’re not just saying that because I want to?”

“No, I would love to be able to kiss you in front of Lando too.” He teases you.

You scoff and lightly smack his chest. “I don’t think I want to kiss you anymore, actually.”

When you start to get up Carlos pulls you back down to him, rolling over to keep you under him, locked in his arms. He peppers your face in kisses, leaving no skin free from the touch of his lips.

You squeal when he softly tickles your sides, laughter from both of you filling the room.

Later that night as you get ready to go to bed, Carlos sits on the bed with his phone in his hand and a disgruntled look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, as you climb into bed next to him.

He quickly locks his phone and sets it face down on the bedside table.

“Nothing.” His answer is quick and brief as he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your neck. “Goodnight, mi amor.”

“Goodnight Carlos.”

The next day starts the same as the previous one, you walk hand in hand with Carlos into the paddock as he guides you to the McLaren garage. This time though when you stop in front of the entrance he gives you a questioning glance. He smiles when you nod and tilts his head down to capture your lips with his.

It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Carlos, not by a long shot, but it’s different kissing him somewhere that isn’t in a hotel room or on a secluded faraway vacation. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

You smile into the kiss, pulling away only when you feel his tongue slip into your mouth. You press your hands to his chest and let out a light laugh.

“Slow down there Chili, they don’t need to see everything.” You tell him.

He’s got a faint dusting of pink over his cheeks as he nods. “I’m sorry amor, I just can’t help it when I’m with you.”

You hear a gagging sound behind you, you turn to see none other than Lando Norris, dramatically hunched over the railing on the side of the ramp that leads inside.

“You two are disgusting.” He says, shaking his head.

“Jealous Lando?” Carlos calls back to him.

Lando scoffs. “No! You’re just getting your Ferrari germs all over her, you muppet!”

“And I’ll keep doing it too!” He kisses you again, this time making a show about it as he fully leans into you, sending Lando into a hissy fit.

News travels among the grid quickly. While no photos or recordings of your affections have been spread, though fans are still suspicious, it seems everyone in the paddock is quickly informed about your relationship.

Once fans do start to catch on, it spreads like wildfire. Your relationship with the Ferrari driver becomes the hot topic of conversation all over social media. Tweets, photos, and edits of and about the two of you flood your phone, so much so that you try to ignore it for a while.

You know you’re the one who wanted to go public, but you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. An uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as fans start to refer to you as “the boat girl”. Photos from your Spain trip are now attached to your name. None of them are all too bad, but it does feel like a major invasion of privacy.

It makes you feel vulnerable. These people that know nothing about you have access to these photos of you wearing your swimsuit, cuddled up with your boyfriend while you thought you were alone.

It doesn’t take long for you to start wondering what this means for your future. You’re officially a WAG now, what would happen if you and Carlos were to ever break up? Would you still only be known as “the boat girl”? Would people even remember the work you’ve done at McLaren?

While you want to talk to Carlos about it, you know there’s not much he can do. He’s used to this, he’s been a famous Formula One driver for years now. You try to swallow down your discomfort and just focus on your current relationship and your work.

Since you’ve gone public, Carlos can’t seem to look away from his phone for more than a few minutes. You don’t know what he’s looking at, every time you get near him he’s quick to turn it off and shove it in his pocket, instead wrapping you up in his arms.

When asked about what he was doing he’d simply say “Nothing amor.” Then bury his face in your neck, giving you little kisses.

Clearly he was hiding something, another red flag.

Everything came crashing down at the Singapore grand prix.

With Max having been knocked out of qualifying by a surprised Liam Lawson, it left the rest of qualifying up in the air for everyone. Carlos had managed to pull through, earning himself the P1 starting spot, and through carefully calculated driving was able to keep P1 for himself and give Lando a P2 finish.

The crowd was roaring, this was the first race of the season that wasn’t won by a Red Bull driver, and fans were eating it up.

He jumped out of his car, and tossed his helmet to the side. His hair was wet, slick with sweat yet still effortlessly beautiful. His cheeks were tinted red, and a bright grin was spread across his face.

It was no surprise to anyone, well any of the other drivers, to see him dash over to the McLaren team and sweep a girl wearing papaya into his arms.

His eyes sparkled in the shining lights, you couldn’t help yourself, jumping up into his arms and kissing him.

He spun you around, practically jumping with joy. He was a little disgruntled to have to let you go, but thrilled again when he got to hug Lando. Nothing could bring him down from this high he was experiencing.

He sprays you with champagne from above, laughing as you look up at him with a fake pout on your lips.

You knew that celebrations were in order, not only for your boyfriend but for Lando as well, the two eager to go to a club to celebrate their wins.

You pulled out a dress you had been hoping to wear. It was a dark red color, the fabric soft between your fingers. You had been saving it for a while, hoping to surprise Carlos with it, and what better way than to wear his team’s color after he won?

He was surprised to see you in the new dress, his eyes trailing up and down your body, as if trying to commit you to memory.

“Mi amor… you look beautiful.” He practically groans, pulling you flush against him. “We could just stay here, celebrate on our own? I’d love to see if there’s anything else this beautiful under the dress…” His lips trail over your neck as he lets himself drown in the scent of your perfume.

“C’mon Chili, you’ve got people who want to celebrate you, we can celebrate later.” You wink, lacing your fingers with his as you tug him down the hall.

The club is loud, buzzing with excitement as people cheer when they spot Carlos. He keeps an arm locked around your waist so you don’t stray too far from him and he won’t lose you in the crowd. You were right, everyone wants a piece of your boyfriend tonight. You’re both dragged from person to person, trying to at least feign interest in those who are talking to you.

Carlos slowly sips on one drink throughout the night, allowing you to have a few without worry. You feel a slight buzz by the time you reach a few of the other drivers. Max leans against the wall, seemingly in deep conversation with Charles. Alex and George sit with Lily and Carmen. Oscar and Logan stand with each other chatting and glancing over at the rest of the crowd. Lando hops back and forth between groups, but visibly lights up when he sees the two of you.

“I’ll be right back amor.” Carlos says before kissing your cheek and heading to the bar. You see him start talking with Pierre and Lance, then your attention is pulled away by Lando.

“Already wearing red? My poor heart!” He exclaims, throwing a hand over his forehead.

You laugh. “Just for tonight. Tomorrow it’s back to papaya.”

You hang out with him for a little while longer, then excuse yourself to go back to Carlos.

Once at the bar it’s made pretty clear that Pierre and Lance have both had plenty to drink. They’ll definitely feel the repercussions of it tomorrow morning.

Carlos throws an arm over your shoulder as you nestle into his side.

“They’re so cute.” Lance says, looking over at Pierre.

“Thank you.” You feel your face flush.

“You’ll have a great story for your kids about how you met.” Pierre hiccups, then giggles.

“Yeah, walking into each other multiple times blossomed into a friendship, and now look at us.” You beam up at Carlos, who looks uncomfortable as he nods down at you.

“You walked into her? That was your big move? I need to use that!” Pierre laughs.

“Big move? What do you mean?” You ask Pierre.

“Amor-”

“His big move to get you to go out with him. He did it, and now I’ve lost money to him.” Pierre groans.

You feel a tingling sensation spread over you as you turn to look at Carlos. His arm drops from your shoulders.

“What is he talking about?”

“The bet, obviously.” Lance shrugs, then turns back to the bar.

“It was all a bet?” Your voice is soft, cracking slightly as you let your emotions wash over you.

When you turn back to him with tears in your eyes he can feel his heart break. He reaches for your hand, only for you to pull your back from him, almost flinching away.

“Mi amor-”

“Don’t call me that.” You back away from him.

“Y/n, please, I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you used me? And now you’ve got what you wanted, so you’re ready to toss me aside?”

“No!” He tries to step towards you again.

“It was all just a bet! None of it was real? The trip to Spain? The nights in hotel rooms? You probably hired that photographer yourself, right?”

“I would never! It started as a bet, but I promise you, my feelings are real!”

“How much did you bet them? Huh?” You reach into your bag and grab a wad of cash, shoving it into his chest. “That should cover it, right?” You scoff, and turn from him, towards the exit of the club.

“Y/n, wait!” He tries to call after you.

“It’s okay Carlos. You won your bet. Now you won’t have to see me ever again.” You tell him, rushing for the exit.

You finally let the tears fall once you’re outside, cursing the day you met the Ferrari driver and the day you gave him your heart.

#carlos sainz x reader #cs55 x reader #formula one x reader #carlos sainz

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macfrog · 11 months

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greetings from austin, tx cowboy like me chapter one

alright hwfg. first part of a dbf!joel series i'm gonna be working on. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍 please feel free to send in any requests or ideas, i'm constantly writing this so would love to know your thoughts!!!! love u all thank u sm for being the best

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you return to austin after graduating to find everything as it always was. well, most things...

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), little bit of alcohol consumption, and lotsa flirtin and allusions to...something more

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.” He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think. “Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips. “Wasn’t starin’.” “No?”

Summer. Texan summer. One of the few things drawing you back halfway across the country to your hometown: bright, sunny, so hot the car bonnets burn your fingertips. It had become a running joke between you and your dad: he’d send a picture of Austin’s scorching sunshine, and you’d reply a picture of New York’s grey skies.

You were ready to come back home.

That is, until your flight landed onto saturated wet tarmac, during the rainiest month of the year. It hasn’t let up in the five days since.

You stumble off the bus into a torrential downpour and throw your hood back up, but it’s no use. By the time you arrive at work, your clothes are soaked through, your hair is plastered to your shoulders, and your mood is worse than ever.

Sal hands you a towel from the back when you walk into the office, but not before giving a hearty laugh from his desk.

“You oughta be gettin’ yourself a car, anyway, lady. Now that you’re back home.”

You give him as sincere a smile as your cheeks will allow. He’s your boss, sure, but he’s also a buddy of your dad’s. Gave you a part-time job for some extra cash when you were still at school, and has taken you back on now you’ve graduated. It’s in your best interests to keep him sweet.

The hardware store is the same as it always was. A little dim, a little dusty; same old tools and same old customers, but homely. You get to work unpacking this morning’s delivery, hauling boxes off of the trolley and filling the shelves. The day passes quickly enough, and you’re folding up empty cardboard boxes to waste the last half hour of your shift when a voice hums from behind you.

“Well, hello, darlin’.”

You stand up straight and spin around to find Joel Miller before you, trademark flannel and subtle-but-still-there smile on.

“Hey, stranger,” you reply, smiling back, before he opens his arms and pulls you in for a bear hug.

Joel Miller. Same as always: tall, rugged, handsome, dark hair and beard singed with grey, warm and sweet-smelling, grumbling, mumbling Joel. His chin rests on top of your head for a second before you pull away, and he looks you up and down.

“Been meaning to come over to see you since you got back, your dad said you were pretty busy unpackin’. Thought I’d give you a few days. Everything alright?”

“All good,” you reply with a nod. “I accumulated a lot of crap in New York.”

He smirks, shoulders jerking a little with a laugh. “Didn’t realise you’d gotten your job back in here,” he looks around, “you likin’ it?”

You shrug. “It’s money. And I know how things are run. Sal’s a good guy.”

Joel nods. “When do you get off?”

You glance down at your watch. “Five minutes.”

“You want a ride home?”

You take a deep breath and breathe out a, “Yes, please,” with a sigh. It’s been a long, damp day.

“I’ll just go grab these,” he holds up two boxes of nails, “meet you outside when you’re done, kid.”

He brushes past your shoulder heavily as he passes, something he always used to do when you were younger. You snort when he mutters, “My bad.”

Joel Miller and your dad have been best buds since, like, the eighties. Your dad has a few years on Joel, but they’re as close as can be. Grew up on the same street, saw each other through girlfriends, marriage, children, divorce. Never one without the other, all that.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah – four years your junior – is a freshman out west, somewhere in California. Another of the reasons you thought it was time to come home: your dad and Joel must feel pretty lonely having both of you gone.

When you’ve grabbed your hoodie and bag and made your way back out front, Joel’s being served by Anna, a girl you went to school with. She stayed here in Austin, has some side hustle selling makeup and perfume. She flutters her eyelashes at Joel as she rings him up. You cringe as you find place at his side.

“Ready?” he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod.

“How’s things, anyways, Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, even as he’s turning to leave.

“Uh, good, thanks. Good luck with the…makeup.” Then he gives a low grunt and makes for the door.

“Not much of a talker,” you mutter to Anna, and flatten your lips against one another in the form of a goodbye.

Joel’s sat out front in his truck, looking down the receipt.

“Girl charged me for three boxes. If she wasn’t talkin’ so damn much about her perfumes…”

You pull your seatbelt over your shoulder. “Why don’t you go back in there and get your money back?”

“What, and subject myself to her battin’ eyelashes again? Almost blew me off my feet.”

Your head falls back against the headrest with laughter. “You know, you were the first thing she asked me about on my first shift back.”

“I bet I was, baby,” he replies, switching the ignition on and reaching an arm behind your seat as he reverses back.

You spend most of the drive home catching up, telling him about New York and listening to what antics he and your dad have gotten up to since your last visit home. It’s easy talking to Joel, easier than with your dad. He hums and grunts, lets you ramble, tells you what he thinks, then the pair of you fall back into comfortable silence until the next conversation sparks. No judgement, no lectures. Just Joel.

When you pull up in your drive, Joel casts you a meaningful look and says, “He’s really missed you, y’know. We both have.”

“You both have?”

“Sure. Gets quiet ‘round here at times. And with Sarah gone…It’ll be real nice to have you back again.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes, Miller.”

“Holdin’ you to it.”

“Joel? Hey, buddy.” Your dad’s voice breaks apart your conversation and you both turn to see him approaching from the garage. “Hi, kiddo.”

“Hey. Joel came in to get some stuff, gave me a ride home.” You hop out of the truck, and Joel wanders round to meet you.

“Well, thanks, man. You say thank you?” he asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joel, muttering a thank you like some little kid. He shakes his head softly in return, giving you a look that your dad misses, but you understand.

“C’mon inside, I was just tidying up. Stayin’ for dinner, Joel? I bet this girl’s been chewing your ear off about NYC…” Your dad’s voice fades away as he wanders back into the garage, and you and Joel begin to follow.

“Ain’t no need to thank me,” he whispers, leaning into your space.

You nod appreciatively. “My presence is thanks enough, I know.”

He nudges you toward the house.

Your dad orders in pizza and you set the table while he and Joel sit to discuss a potential new client. Joel sits at the edge of the table, turned outward to face the sliding doors, elbow hooked over the back of his chair. As you maneuver around them, placing mats down, you can’t help but note how fucking good he looks.

Tousled hair, unshaven beard. A broadness that even his own shirt can barely hold in; from where you’re standing, you can see where his neck meets his toned shoulders, skin tanned from the sun and the tiniest burst of chest hair over his collar…

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.”

He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think.

“Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Wasn’t starin’.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh. You got a stain on your shirt.”

His brows furrow and his head instantly snaps down to his chest. “Where?”

You snort, wandering over to put his plate on the mat. “My bad,” you whisper, leaning over, “must’ve been the light.”

Joel’s breath wavers only for a second, before your dad re-enters the room and he’s forced to compose himself.

“Alright, let’s see…Pepperoni, bleh, keep that one on that side of the table, please, and plain cheese over here.”

“See you haven’t improved Dad’s taste in pizza,” you say to Joel as you pull your chair out beside his and sit down, cross-legged.

“He – he’s immune to change,” he replies, then, only once he’s regained composure, adds, “or improvement of any kind.”

“Hey,” your dad protests, lifting a slice. “Cool it on the insults, here. You’ve been back six days,” he points a greasy finger at you, then steers it in Joel’s direction, “and you’re the one who turned down Lois last month. Talk about improvement, she could turn your life around, son.”

“Who the hell is Lois?” you ask, mouthful of pizza, aiming for chill, but coming across overly interested.

Joel shakes his head, only looking at you briefly from the corners of his eyes. “Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire. And I didn’t turn her down.”

“She asked you out?” Your knee brushes against his waist. He feels it; you know from the way his body tenses.

“She…said she’d like to go for a drink, sometime. I said yeah, maybe…some time.”

“Ouch. Poor Lois.”

He turns to face you now. “Don’t give me the same spiel your dad did, alright? I can decide for myself when I’m ready to be…datin’.”

“Wouldn’t he be nice with a receptionist from a plant hire on his arm?” Your dad fades into the background as you and Joel back-and-forth.

“If you don’t think you turned her down, why say you’re not ready to be dating?”

“Ha! See, my little girl,” Dad waves his slice of pizza around, “she got a degree, Joel. She’s smarter ‘n us. She’s got you on that one.”

“What is your degree in, again? Law?” Joel speaks through his teeth.

You beam back, happy to have riled him. “Film.”

“Film. My mistake. Must’ve felt like I was bein’ interrogated or som’.”

You decide to pull it back then. Enough discussing Joel’s love life – it doesn’t interest you much, not for the right reasons, anyway. The conversation shifts naturally to your degree, your graduation, and the year you spent living in the city afterward.

When most of the pizza is gone, the three of you sit idly chatting; the last Rangers game, the neighborhood barbecue coming up, the weather. Right as your dad voices concern about a job he has next week, his cell starts to ring in the living room.

As hasty and tactless as ever, he jumps up and almost knocks his chair flying. You and Joel laugh quietly as he bounds off in search for his phone.

You turn back to Joel, who’s playing with the label of his beer bottle.

“Hey.” You nudge him with your knee. He grunts in response. “Hey,” you say, clearer, this time pulling your legs up and over onto his lap. “Didn’t mean what I said about that Lois lady. I’m sure you had your reasons, and it’s none of my business. Or my dad’s.”

He stifles a laugh, sucking a breath in until his chest meets his chin. Then he lifts his head to look over to you. “Sorry I snapped. Wasn’t all serious, but I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m mad with you.”

“You can be, if you want.” You lean forward. “Just not for long, okay? It’d be a long summer with just my dad to hang with if Sarah’s gone and you ain’t talking to me.”

This time he laughs. For real. You mirror his swollen cheeks, glad to see you’ve amused him. He puts the bottle on the table and his hands fall to your ankles, where he gently rubs with his thumbs.

“When does she get home?” you ask him.

“Couple weeks. Still got finals and all that to worry about.”

You nod knowingly, muttering, “Rough.”

He gently lifts your legs from his lap and stands, towering over you, your chin inches away from his belt buckle as you look up at him. He doesn’t move, just brings a hand down to cup your jaw and tilt your head back ever so slightly with his thumb under your chin.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. You know Joel can, too. You clench between your legs, an ache forming there, and the only thought behind your eyes is him remedying it.

You bring your hands up to settle behind his thighs, trying desperately to send him a message through your doe eyes. Something in the way the corners of his mouth rise almost imperceptibly tells you he hears you loud and clear.

Your dad bursts back into the room like a bat out of hell, and the two of you spring apart.

“Supplier had some trouble with directions,” he mutters, tossing his cell onto the counter.

Joel grumbles in response, then, like nothing at all out of the ordinary just happened, begins gathering the bottles and gestures to you to grab the pizza boxes. You follow him over to the sink where you set the boxes down and he runs the bottles under the faucet, filling them up and pouring the dregs of beer down the drain.

Your dad’s busy clearing the placemats from the table, babbling to himself about work, when you feel Joel’s shoulder lean into yours.

“Trouble,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows in response.

“You,” he breathes, “are nothin’ but trouble.”

You smile back at him gleefully.

Trouble, indeed.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf! joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #joel tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #cowboy like me

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poeticpascal · 9 months

Text

White Lies (Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: violence, Joel kills 3 dudes (what murdaaah?), descriptions of blood and wounds, stitches, Joel feels guilt and shame but is also very soppy and very in love, fuff and angst all tangled up, descriptions of chronic pain

A/n: I have had a bloody nightmare the last few weeks with suspected endometriosis, which is what inspired me to write this. In my head, reader has endo and the medicine is some sort of contraception or strong painkillers to help her manage it. But it isn't explicitly mentioned so you can imagine whatever you most relate to. Please do let me know what you think, and as always, requests are open!

It’s a harsh winter, even by Boston’s standards.

The QZ is coated in a veil of thick snow, the blizzard that took hold weeks ago now bruising the streets with an icy fist.

Joel pulls his coat tighter around himself, grateful at least for the cover the snowstorm offered, the skies foggy and grey. He can slip through the alleyways much quicker, much quieter beneath the frost. His footsteps are erased almost as soon as he leaves them, and when things get messy, he can soothe his wounds in the freeze.

Which is good, because things get messy a lot.

Not that he’d tell you that. You were too pure, too gentle; not unlike the snow that paints your doorframe now.

No, Joel keeps those things from you. The world has been unkind enough, and if he has one purpose now, it’s to protect that sweetness of yours. To collect it, each golden ray of sunshine that so easily radiates from you, to give it back and let you bask in the warmth of your own soul.

No one deserves it more than you do. Least not him, and yet you’d given him more love, more sweetness, than he could ever dream of.

That’s why he told you he was working a late shift today - sewage, he thinks he said - rather than where he actually is at 3am, catching his death in an old littered alleyway.

He occasionally shifts to avoid the silver moonlight dripping from the gaps in the fire-escape stairs above him. Tonight’s meeting should be a simple one, free from FEDRA’s strict patrols; he’d done this long enough now to know when, and where, was safest for these things.

He stays on high alert, though. Just in case.

Marco’s late. He isn’t known for being the most competent of dealers, but Joel was getting desperate now, and he was the only crook in the QZ who could get what he needed. He was a small man, a bit pathetic looking, really. But he was smart, and he had connections that even Joel couldn’t make for all his smuggling and dealing.

So when Joel’s supplier told him he couldn’t help him anymore, he didn’t have a choice. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

“Miller, there ya’ are.” Joel’s snapped out of his thoughts, his looming regret of this whole situation, as Marco strolls down the alley. He grins, in the same cocky way he always did, the sort of grin a man who couldn’t win a fight but has enough men who could wrapped around his finger, doing the dirty work for him.

Joel insisted he come alone. Not because he couldn’t handle his goons; he knew he could. Maybe. But it would cause a scene, and draw attention, to something he very much wanted to keep under wraps.

He’s semi-surprised to see the two men walking behind Marco. Deep down, he’d had some faith that the dealer would stick to his word.

“Quiet the fuck down,” Joel warns, seething through his teeth as his eyes search the alley behind them, making sure they hadn’t been heard. “Who are your friends?”

Marco follows Joel’s gaze towards his companions. “They’re just here to observe.”

The men are the same height as Joel, maybe a little taller. He recognises both from the sleazy speakeasies that lie beneath the floors of the QZ. Where the bad guys go.

One is bald, with a jagged scar carved across his cheek and over his eye. He’s scowling, unlike Marco and the other man, who looks somewhat softer with thick hair grown to his shoulders and brown eyes that stayed on Joel like bedrock.

“That’s not what we agreed,’ Joel growls.

There’s tension in the air, thick, and they must feel it too because Marco’s henchmen each have a hand hovering near their sides, where silver blades reflect the white of the snow.

“I recall us also agreeing that you’d get your meds in return for the money. But we’re doing things a little differently today.” Joel remains stoic, though his eyes turn dark and angry, the moon’s light no longer illuminating his features. Marco tiptoes slowly towards him, getting so close that Joel can feel his breath and raising a hand to pick a piece of lint from his flannel shirt. “I want my money. But you might have to wait a little longer for your meds.”

Joel reacts then, squaring up to him, stepping forward and clenching his fists. The other men wrap their hands around their blades, anticipating a fight. Marco just laughs.

“‘Scuse me?” Joel asks, though they all know he understood what was going on.

“You’re gonna give me the amount we agreed. And then, you’re gonna speak to one of your guard friends, and cut me a deal. Then you might get your meds.”

Joel’s anger swells inside him like a beast, his previous care to stay hidden long gone as he imagines driving his fist into Marco’s smug, son of a bitch face again and again and again.

He has to think this through, though. He needs those meds. Marco can see the cogs turning. “Just give me the money, Miller. Don’t make this difficult. You can’t take three of us.”

“No?” Joel retorts, already decided in what he’d do next. “I don’t think it’s worth findin’ out. Give me the meds.”

Marco sighs, dropping his head and stepping away from Joel, leaving him to face his men. “Shame, Joel. You really coulda helped us.”

He nods to his men, who immediately draw their blades and attack. The first lands a punch on his face, the weight of it surprising him as he falls back into the railing. Before he can recover, the other has already plunged a blade through his stomach, right below his ribcage. He controls himself, swallows the yell that claws its way up his throat, tries to think. The cold steel of the rail stabs into his back, and when another fist collides with his cheek and sends him to the floor, he uses it to haul himself up and tackle one of the men - the softer one - to the ground with him.

Marco only stands and watches as Joel throws his weight onto the man and smashes his head into the stone floor. The other grabs his shoulder, spinning him round but Joel’s prepared this time and he dodges the swat of his knife. Instead he throws a punch into his stomach, making him double over which gives Joel the opportunity to grab the knife strapped to his calf and drive it through the bald man’s throat. He stumbles, collapsing to the floor with a choked cry, and Joel turns back just in time to see the other man trying to stand, though the injury to his head makes him dizzy. Joel stands first, easily pushing the man to the ground, and stomping on his head with as much force as his steel-toed boots would let him. Both men stay down.

Marco has regressed into the darkness of the alley, and he looks somehow smaller than usual. He’s pathetic, and if this was any other job, he’d laugh. But this wasn’t a laughing matter, and there was only one target for him; the medication.

The smaller man reaches into his pocket, searching for his gun, but Joel anticipates the move and has already reached him and thrown him against the wall before he can find it. His movements strain the wound in his abdomen, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it.

Joel’s fist pins Marco to the wall by his throat, making him splutter and flail like a fish out of water.

“Where are the fuckin’ pills, Marco?” He just continues to flail, trying to pull Joel’s hand off of him with both of his own, to no effect. Joel scoffs, throwing him to the floor and dragging his knife out of the now dead henchman’s neck. “If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ve got no use for ya.” He uses his shirt to clean the blade, the flannel already soaked in blood, his own.

“For fuck sake, Marco whines, slightly out of breath. “They’re at my place.”

“There anyone else there?” Joel asks, so nonchalantly that it almost sounds like a passing thought.

“No, no one there. But you’ll need me to get you in.”

Joel looks up again, the now-clean knife held in his fist with a vice-like grip. He stalks towards Marco, ignoring his desperate pleas.

“Shouldn’t be a problem-”

With that, he stabs him in the chest, letting him choke and gasp on the floor and searching his pockets for a key. He finds it, and does a quick, final survey of the alleyway. The once perfectly settled snow is disturbed, kicked up in the fight, and deeply stained with blood.

Joel curses, but leaves, only now noticing the burning pain from his torso. He leans against the wall, now stood out in the street, open; but there are no guards. He doesn’t think he’d care. Instead he grabs a fistful of the snow around his feet, packs it into the wound, hissing at the sharp pain of the ice but quickly feeling relief as it numbs him.

This was going to be a long night.

—------------------

It’s another couple of hours or so before he returns. There were, in fact, people at Marco’s place - but Joel knew that would be the case anyway. They weren’t a problem.

He’d showered in Marco’s flat, after taking out the men hanging out in there. Protecting it, he assumed. And he’d found a med pack that let him stitch up the wound to some degree; it was a hack job, but it should do the trick. He’d had worse.

The most important thing was that he found the meds.

The old door of your place creaks as he steps inside, quickly closing it behind him before the cold could enter. It’s futile, really; the wooden pillars are rotten, decaying so badly that the wind sweeps through the cracks with ease, and he can see dustings of snow on the floor around your windows. But he tries anyway.

“Joel?”

There you are.

It’s scary, honestly, what your voice does to him. Even so quiet, so distant from the bedroom upstairs, it lifts the weight from his shoulders that he thought he’d carry forever.

“I’m here, baby. I’m comin’.” He pulls off his shoes, placing them neatly beside the door just how you like, and heads upstairs. His bloodied shirt is long gone, buried in some forgotten corner of the QZ, where he has a collection of discarded items by now.

You don’t reply, he doesn’t expect you to. He reaches your bedroom, gently opening the door and sighing at the sight of you lying there, curled up between mountains of sheets and pillows.

He’d almost think you look peaceful if he didn’t know how much pain you’re in.

“Oh, honey,” he laments, crossing the distance from the door to you and kneeling down beside your head. You open your eyes, though they’re weighed down by exhaustion, and a small smile creeps onto your lips at the sight of the man before you.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting a gentle hand poke out from the duvet and brush his jaw. He can’t help but grin back at you, the total mess that took place just hours ago wiped from his mind completely, and he leans into your touch.

The both of you just stay like that for a moment, your thumb sweeping across his cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. Then you wince, and no matter how much you try to hide it, he can see the wave of pain inflict your body.

“I’ve got your tablets, sweetheart.” He reaches into his pocket, a desperation to his actions now; he hates seeing you like this. You just nod, pushing a meek but honest “thank you” past your lips, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. His heart swells.

Joel presses out one tablet and hands it to you, then picks up the glass of water that stands on your side table, making a mental note to replace it later. You take the pill, grabbing hold of his hand before he can pull it away, and give it a gentle squeeze. He follows your lead and tips the water to your lips once you’ve placed the tablet on your tongue, gently helping you swallow and squeezing your hand right back.

A look of relief washes over your face, and he finally lets himself relax. He stands, letting go of your hand and leaning over to kiss your forehead, before pulling off the clothes he’d taken from Marco’s wardrobe and climbing in beside you.

He only knew heaven in these moments with you, late at night, when your hands reach for him beneath the sheets and your head nuzzles into his neck. It’s no different tonight; he’s quiet, unsure if you’d fallen asleep in those few seconds, and as much as he wishes you’d rest, he can’t deny the way his lips curl when he feels your gentle touch wrap around him.

“How was today? Doing the sewage?”

Joel swallows. “Yeah, yeah. It was fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart.” His arms envelop you, holding you tight against him, one hand drawing gentle circles on your back. He’s lost in the bliss for a moment, letting it wash over him in waves, when your hand brushes his haphazard and you freeze. So does he.

“Joel,” you say; it’s still a whisper, but not the tired kind you’d given him earlier. It’s like you’re too scared to ask. “What’s that?”

He panics, holding you tighter, trying to think. He can’t believe himself for not remembering to cover it, to make sure you didn’t see.

“There was an accident today. I did some building work before I went to sewage, a pipe fell. Nicked me real bad-” you gasp, forcing yourself to sit up with shaky arms. Joel immediately pulls you back down, his hands grasping your face, staring into your eyes like they held the world inside them. It’s dark, but they glimmer, and he just hopes you can’t see his fear.

“No no. It’s fine, baby. I’m fine. Got seen by the doc, got a couple ‘a stitches. Says i’ll be all good by tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow? Joel that doesn’t sound right-”

He interrupts you. He hates this. “I promise, baby. That’s what she said. I promise.” He wipes a thumb across your cheek, and the way you seem to settle, to believe him, makes him ache. He hates this.

You nuzzle back into his side, placated. You trust him, endlessly, and he hates that he abuses that trust just as much as he needs to protect you. A means to an end, he thinks.

The two of you are silent for a few moments, your hand lay gentle over his wound. Like you’re trying to heal it. He thinks it’s working.

“Thank you for picking up my medicine,” you say.

“It’s okay.” His words are quiet, muffled; he’s got his face buried in your hair now, revelling in your scent, and really, he doesn’t want to talk about this with you. He doesn’t want to lie anymore than he already has.

You’re still oblivious, though. Still sweet.

“I’m so glad you can make my rations cover it. I don’t know what I’d do if they made them more expensive.”

Oh, babygirl, he thinks.

Because your rations don’t cover your medicine. Neither did his. Even combined, they’d hardly cover a drink in the bar these days. He’d seen you work and work and work, in spite of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen and tortured your bones until you could hardly stand up anymore, and he saw the way they laughed in your face and turned you away when you tried to get the help you needed. When you tried to trade your labour for medicine. You were nothing to them.

So he told you he could barter the price down. That it was best if he goes from now on, to make sure you’re not taken advantage of. He takes your rations, stuffs them right back in the savings pot you keep above the shelves in your kitchen, and leaves to make whatever underground deals he needs to in order to get those meds. And you didn’t know a thing.

He must’ve been quiet for a while, because you continue. “And I’m glad you don’t do those scary things anymore.”

That gets his attention. “Scary things?”

“Yeah. Like, the smuggling and stuff.” You take a breath, tighten your arms around his waist. “I mean, I know why you did it. I’m glad you were able to look after yourself.”

Joel curses to himself, unable to wipe the tears that brimmed in his eyes as you spoke, because that would mean letting go of you.

“But I’m also glad you don’t do that anymore. You go out, and you work, even the horrible sewage shifts like tonight.” You giggle, but Joel can’t even force himself to smile. Shame consumes him.

“I’m proud of you, Joel.”

He’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like shit.

If you notice his stillness, you don’t mention it. That alone makes his heart ache; you’d always been so understanding, so careful to make sure he’s okay while knowing exactly how to handle his feelings.

It’s odd, really, how fiercely you protect one another. He doesn’t let the darkness of the world so much as touch you, and you extract the horrors from his veins like a vacuum, making him forget the damage was ever even there.

His eyes flitter down, watching you drift asleep, finally at peace and free from pain. He exhales.

He’d never feel good about lying to you. But some things, he thinks, are worth it.

You are worth it.

And so he brushes away the hair that’s fallen over your eyes, trying to fight the droopiness of his own so he can keep them on you for just a second longer. But sleep overtakes him, and the only reason he lets himself fall into dreamland, is because he knows he’ll find you there, too.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #my writing #poeticbarnes #poeticbarnes writes

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totheblood · 11 months

Text

even more modern!ellie headcanons

a/n: just a little something... again AI AUDIOS AT THE END... replies and reblogs are appreciated

masterlist

ellie is a homebody, and usually will have to be dragged out by you or dina

honestly she’s never ‘dragged’ out by you, she usually likes to tag along if she knows you’re going somewhere where there will be a lot of people

it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, it’s that she doesn’t trust the people around you

you don’t really mind anyway, you like how she loops her finger in the belt of your jeans and pulls you closer to her when she notices someone staring at you

if the person doesn’t stop she’s not above pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear while making direct eye contact with the person

you giggle, throwing your head back slightly and turning to look at her in the dim light, “what’s gotten into you, ellie?”

“that dick keeps looking at you,” another kiss pressed to your jaw, “don’t like it.”

but she’d much rather stay at home with you, both of you tucked under her comforter with the air conditioner turned down to 64° and whatever show you’re watching at the time on the tv

she hates to admit it, but she loves grey’s anatomy (she swore to you she’d never like it with a scoff and “that show is shit, babe. it’s for like, middle-aged moms with no life.”)

but now as you both have your eyes glued to the screen, she can’t help but scoff every time george is on the screen

“what?”

“he’s just such a fucking loser, this guy.”

“he’s not the worst.”

“he’s pretty fucking bad… why would he sleep with meredith and then make it about him when she starts crying! it’s obvious she’s vulnerable… i just don’t like him.”

ellie gets pretty passionate when watching tv. she’s always sharing her opinions with you, looking at you for validation or arguing when you disagree with her

she’ll always add something like: “you’re lucky you’re cute” or “if you weren’t my girlfriend i’d tear your argument apart” and then kiss you on your nose and go back to watching tv

ellie is an awful cook… like so bad

one time she tried to make a recipe for your anniversary, thinking it would be easy but ended up failing miserably

she’s the type to write out the grocery list and cross shit off as she picks things up… even when she doesn’t know what it means

she didn’t know what trader joe’s was, so when she got there she’d be picking shit up and looking at it with a weird look on her face, “mango… joe joe’s? what the fuck is that?” she’d mutter before putting the box back on the shelf

but eventually she’s getting sucked in, picking up a box of mini ice cream cones, cookie butter, and the rest of the groceries needed for the meal she planned on making for you

you come over and the place is a mess, there is flour all over the counter and floors, pots and pans piled up in the stove, and ellie is stood over a bowl, mixing with a giant wooden spoon

“ellie?”

“shit.. fuck,” she curses, jumping a little bit before turning and smiling at you, her eyes looking you up and down, “you fucking scared me. you’re early.”

“no, i’m not.”

ellie’s eyes glance down at her watch, cursing as she bolts towards the stove a “no, no, no,” falling from her lips as she opens and sees the chicken inside burnt to a crisp. she’s throwing on her mitt and pulling the pan out, sighing as she watches all her hard work go to waste.

“you were trying to cook for me?”

ellie forgot you were there for a moment, her jumping a little at the sound of your voice and wiping the sweat from her forehead as she gives you her best smile, even though it’s strained.

“babe, i’m sorry, i- i don’t know where i went wrong,” she sighs, watching as you walk closer to her and put your hands on the counter behind her trapping her in.

“don’t be sorry” you kiss the side of her lips and smile against her skin, tasting her sweat, “it’s sweet… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”

she’s blushing and leaning into you, your warmth providing her some comfort from her previous stress

“you look nice,” she whispers below her breath, but you can still feel the puffs of air coming out of her mouth, “you deserve a good meal.”

“i’m not picky,” you whisper back, giggling as ellie’s heart leaps in her chest. she loves you so much it hurts

her hands rest at your hips when she kisses you gently, saying something about missing you that you miss because of how her lips feel against yours

you order takeout that night and eat it as you help her clean up the mess she made

“have you ever been to trader joe’s? that shit was crazy”

ellie is the type of girlfriend to send you two people from a tv show or an edit and be like “babe, this is so us”

or to think it’s so cute when you have matching icons on instagram, tiktok, or twitter

she just wants to show you off all the time

she draws the line at a joint couple account though

she’s always writing things about you, whether it be in her journal, little poems, or songs about you

she’d post a song she wrote you on tiktok with the caption “wrote this song about my lover” and not expect it to blow up

but then she’s receiving a million comments about how sweet it is and how people wish someone would do something like that for them

she doesn’t like the comment “can your gf fight” so she’s responding to all of them like “no, she can’t, but i can and i will! LEAVE MY GF ALONE!!”

but she’d brag about it to you, shoving her phone in your face and saying “look, your girlfriend is fucking famous.”

when you gasp and grab her face congratulating her in between kisses her face grows red and she’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt

“don’t forget me when you become famous.”

“how could i forget my muse?”

ellie loves listening to music with you and will make you a playlist that she updates with every song she listens to that reminds her of you

she’s incredibly corny in that way

she always wants to listen to the music you suggest to her, wanting to be closer to you in any way she can

even if she doesn’t like it she’s pretending she loves it and playing it constantly, even when you aren’t around

ai audios:

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot #mine

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