#let’s just be welcoming why is this so hard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-leclerc · 2 days

Text

star-crossed ☆ mv1

genre: angst, fluff, humor, lots of back and forth, smut

word count: 9.1k

Fixated, you and Max struggle to stay away from one another. All the while, everyone tries to convince you that it won't ever work out.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, fingering

inspired by this !

cherry here!...as a wise person once told me: footnotes = crumbs. hope that helps!! enjoy :)

The table was long, practically going for miles, but not really—it was just your closest friends. They all converse with one another, talking about the upcoming season, the upcoming season, and oh, what’s that? The upcoming season. And you’ve had enough of it, he can tell, so he gently rubs his thumb over your hand, easing your nervous tick.

White florals lay neatly on the wooden top, fairy lights hang up above your heads, and Frank Sinatra plays from your fiancé’s phone, connected to the Bluetooth.

Pierre stands up firmly, clinking his glass with a spoon. When it doesn’t seem to get anyones attention, Alex lets out a loud whistle. Everyone’s heads turn. “Merde—finally. Well, first of all, welcome on behalf of the groom's best man!” Crickets. His smile drops. “I-Its me. I’m the best man.”

“More like Best Party Killer. Sit down,” Daniel yells, aiming a peony at his friend's head.

The Frenchman swats it away, to which Kika glares as it hits her. He nervously chuckles, pecking her cheek, swiftly. “Comme je le disais…we’re here to celebrate two very important people. Can ya take a guess?”

“Why did you choose Pierre as your best man again?” you whisper to the twenty-six year old. He shrugs, hushing you once before his watercolor eyes flicker back to his friend.

“Any more guesses?”

“Okay, thank you!” you yelp, standing up and motioning him down. “Thank you, Pierre, for saying a whole lot of nothing, really.”

The blue eyed boy silently pleads, hands pressed together in prayer. “Oui, oui, I’m done, I’m done.” A warm hand snakes to wrap around your wrist and you sigh, sitting back down onto his lap. He clears his throat. “I thought we could go around and…share some stories about the soon-to-be husband and wife. I’ll start.”

“Great,” Kika groans, massaging her temples.

“September 4, 2022.”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“You said it would be warm!”

Lissie squeals when you reach out to pinch her forearm. “I said slightly warm. More so cool.” A harsh glare. She winces. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Despite the evident goosebumps, you march your way over to the pen, awaiting your first interview. Lissie stands besides you, raising two thumbs up and a toothy grin. You got this! Your stomach churns as you fix your set up. She’s right, you’ve worked for this moment, day and night. You weren't going to mess up for any reas—

“Should I just come back later or…”

Blinking, your heart stops beating as your mouth runs completely dry. He looks around for his publicist who just sighs and starts tugging him away.

And we’re here with Max Verstappen, Lissie hisses—assisists. Coughing loudly, you bring up the microphone to your lips. “Max Verstappen!” The RedBull driver turns back to face you, clearly puzzled. You cringe at your sudden outburst, but continue. “So nice to see you. Saw you had a magnificent drive.”

Blue eyes pierce basically through your soul. He smiles, shoulders relaxing, hands leaning against the barrier. “Yeah. We did have a lot of luck on our side today. Plenty.”

It wasn’t that hard to pick up from there, question after question being basically given to you, to which he answers with professional ease. His dimples even pop out with every punctuation, it makes your chest swell. You clear your throat, eyes flickering to your list that now narrows down to one last inquiry.

“Everyone nowadays fears you, it seems like.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “But I do have one question—how does it feel to be the villain in all of Formula One?”

His smile slips away. “Sorry?”

“Uh-oh,” Lissie mutters.

But you don’t catch onto it, his sudden defensive tone, his dark glare. Beaming like the sun on the earth, you nod. “Well you aren’t the most liked, per se. Often hated by others. Do you think your dominance has affected your relationship with the drivers on the grid?”

When you finally look up, you clearly notice his change in demeanor, and that makes you flinch. We should get going, his publicist squeaks, already pushing him away. Let’s not air that last question, thank you.

Fiercely, you turn to face your friend. “I still had a minute left!”

“Why would you say that?” she screeches. “Why, why, why?”

You blink. “I’m lost. What did I do wrong?”

The brunette sighs, brown orbs analyzing the short clip. “You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what.”

“Their relationship had started rather…rocky,” Pierre announces, swaying his hands back and forth for emphasis. “But don’t you worry! I. Fixed. Everything.”

“She really said that?”

Max whips his head to Checo, then to Yuki, then to Pierre. Each wears a loopy smile. He scowls. “She’s new here, she must be—I’ve never seen her before. Who does she think she is?”

“A legend, that’s who,” the Frenchman retorts, almost high and mighty.

Max takes a long sip of his energy drink before scoffing. “I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

A few hours have now rolled by and you’ve finally realized—you messed up. Here you go, basically painting him out to be the bad guy, when really, he’s just a strong driver. No one thinks he’s a villain, you think he’s a villain.

“You think he’s going to protest against me? Get me fired? Boycott? Hates me?”

Lissie giggles, tidying up the equipment from the last round. “No. No. No. Maybe?”

Groaning, you hit your forehead over and over again with your clipboard before a sharp accent makes you stop. “Hello.”

“Oh! Hi!”

His lips stretch, then steps closer to you. “I’m Pierre—”

“I know who you are,” you cut him off. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m—”

“New?”

Your cheeks burn up at his accuracy. “Yes?”

“I thought so,” he pronounced with a goofy grin. Annoyance builds up inside of you but hold back and bite your tongue. The Frenchman fixes his sunglasses that lay on the bridge of his nose. “So…I’m going to take the chance and say that what you asked wasn’t meant to hurt his feelings?”

You soften up quickly. “I hurt his feelings?”

A nose scrunch. “Let me backtrack; Max doesn’t have feelings, therefore there’s nothing to hurt, but he does hold killer grudges, so yeah.” He lifts the frames. “He doesn’t like you.”

“Lovely,” Lissie mumbles from her spot besides you. “Is there a way…we…can fix all this misunderstanding? Because that’s what this is! A misunderstanding!”

The Alpha Tauri driver clicks his tongue in deep thought. “There’s not much to do other than apologize. Explain yourselves, maybe? He’s very Old-Fashioned.”

“Okay, yes.” You scurry down the paddock. “I could do that! I could so do that.”

“Other way!” he yells. Turning around, you see him pointing you down to the right. You giggle, nervously, and continue your sprint.

You catch him quite fast; his tall stature and blond hair are pretty easy to spot. “Hey—hi!” Gasping for air, you clutch onto your side. “H-hello. Again.”

His jaw ticks once, and in an eerie motion, a warm smile forms. You shudder. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize about before. That was not the right thing to say, I am so sorry…please don’t demand for my release.”

A dark brow quirks up, looks around, then back down to you. “I’m not here to ruin your life, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

You sigh in relief. “God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Crouching down to you, he tilts his head to the side with a sly grin. “You’re very welcome, but that doesn’t mean I like you.��

Your breath hitches, shivers spreading like a wildfire. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” He steps away. “You already said that.”

“He was a bit guarded. Definitely guarded.”

“Isn’t this supposed to make me look good?” your fiancé grunts, dark eyes narrowing down on the Frenchman. “You know what? Just sit down.”

Pierre smirks. “See? Guarded.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“I’m not a quitter.”

“There we go!”

“But he makes me want to quit.” “Oh, well now we’re back to square one,” Pierre groans. “He’s being hard headed, that’s all. I’ll talk to him again, don’t worry.”

And he does.

It happens during one of the worst moments in your life; you weren’t wearing makeup.

“You look—”

“Hideous?” You blush. “Yeah, don’t even mention it.”

He swallows, digging his hands deep into his pockets. “I wanted to apologize… for the way I reacted. It was immature.”

“N-no, you had every right to be upset. I crossed the line and I’m sorry.”

Max nods, Adam’s Apple dancing up, then down. “Truce?”

Staring down at his large hand, you smile and slip yours past it. “Truce.”

And as a rare occasion, his smile meets his eyes, crinkles and all. The RedBull driver disconnects first, then rubs his jaw once before signaling down to your wet hair. “Pool day, I see? Enjoying the benefits?”

With a cheesy look, you shrug. “It’s one way to relieve stress.”

“Yeah—and what’s another?”

His tone is sultry and irresistible, you can’t help but rip your gaze away. “Anything that brings thrill, I suppose.” A tick. “Whatever that may be.”

“And what if it’s something bad? Does that still count?”

You laugh, throwing your head back. The Dutchman’s lips wobble as a weak attempt to not smile. “You’re not a bad person, so yes.”

His tongue clicks. “Uh, I don't know. As I recall, you called me a villain?”

Groaning, you gently smack his chest. “Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

Just as you’re about to respond, your phone rings and you smile. “L-Lissie.”

The blue eyed boy nods. “Are you going to be interviewing me from now on?”

“Ah—is my ban lifted?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes. “Then yes.” Strolling past him, you wave. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

“Where are you even going with any of this?” Lewis hollers from the end of the table, taking a sip of wine. “You’ve just been talking about yourself, not them.”

Pierre scowls. “I’m getting there!” He returns his attention to the couple, gleaming. “So, as you can imagine, once I weaseled my way in and fixed their problems—your welcome, by the way—a certain spark came through. It was clearly evident.”

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“Nepo-Baby?”

You hum. “They all are.”

Lissie groans. “So how will I know which one?”

“Oh, you’ll know.” Squinting accusingly, the British girl sticks her tongue out before standing up, hands on her hips. She yawns. “I have to go find Will. Something about—whatever, you probably don’t even care.”

You giggle. “Nope. Have fun.”

Silence engulfs you as you close your eyes momentarily, pulling your coat over your chest.

“Don’t you have to watch the race in order to report back on it? Ask questions?”

“Dude, I was just falling asleep…” You peek an eye open. “And yes. But it hasn’t started, so I'm clear.”

Max whistles, unimpressed. Falling down next to you on the fluffy couch, he places his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes, too. You try not to laugh and instead do the same.

“Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Been hiding from you.”

“Seems like. Don’t do that.”

“Fine.” You grin, sitting up straight. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Probably.”

You snicker, pink tongue poking from in between your teeth. The cold air makes you snuggle deeper into your wannabe-blanket and he can’t help but take occasional glances. Teeth chatter. “C’mon. I’ll walk you.”

“...and I turned and said, isn’t that Celine Dion?” Lissie waves her hands back and forth, swaying like a Fly Guy. She pouts, stopping her movements. “Turns out I was just really freaking high.” Will laughs, jotting down God knows what onto a piece of paper as she continues cluttering herself with an obnoxious amount of wires. The British girl huffs. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if it was—” A sharp gasp. “Him? Oh my—it’s him!”

“Don’t you mean her?” Will hums from his spot, still not looking up.

But wide-eyed Lissie stares with her jaw on the floor as you and Max cross by, laughing and pushing each other as you make your way down the paddock. As soon as you blush when he winks, it becomes all the more real. The young reporter nods, curled hair bobbing up and down.

“R-right—her.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“Is he cute? Yeah, maybe.” A finger pinches her top lip before releasing. “In a weird way.”

“Hey,” you warn.

“Is he your type? Don’t know why, but yes. I could see why you’re into him.”

“Great…”

“But is he the right choice? No. Not at all.”

“...and fantastic.” Flopping down onto your towel, you groan. Suddenly the blazing sun wasn’t the worst feeling because Lissie was right. It’s unbearable, almost. You prop up, facing her with a scrunched nose and squinted eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh?”

“Oh no.” A sip of coconut water. She purses her lips. “God no.” You sigh, slowly, then sprawl back down with a sour snarl. You can hear her debate; muttering, mumbling. Still, that doesn’t get rid of your bad mood. The brunette pokes your thigh gently, nibbling her bottom lip. “He’s just so—and you’re just so—” A beat. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah.” Waves crash harder. Sun beams brighter. You open up the bottle of sunscreen, spurting some onto your burnt legs. You rub briskly; up, down. She flinches. “Yeah, I know.”

“And for a while, that was that,” Pierre announces, feigning indifference. “No more love birds.”

“Oh,” George blurts. Dark brows pinch up, teasing smile playing out. “Then why are we here?”

“Oh God,” you groan, digging your face into the nape of the twenty-six year old. You can faintly sniff out his musk scent, clean and so him. It makes you smile like a teen. “What if we just elope?”

He chuckles, vibrating and sending you on your own personal rollercoaster. “We always can. Is that what you want?” And he asks because he knows—no. That’s not what you want. Separating yourself to peck his cheek, you shake your head with a playful pout. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Good.” Watercolor eyes flicker to where Pierre finally gets yanked down and Lissie takes over with a proud smile. “Because I think this is actually going somewhere.”

Bahrain International Circuit—-March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

So you kept your distance, and oddly enough, he did too. For plenty of reasons. And it wasn’t even that hard, really. He spent his summer break traveling and you spent yours as a homebody. No texts, no calls, no nothing.

“Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

A sly grin. The silver coins flips a couple rounds before jumping up and down, clapping. “Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

“You’re going to get a sugar high and not be able to sleep later.”

“Until I can feel my teeth rot,” you retort, slipping your tongue over your pearly whites.

Answering a few emails, you perch onto a chair. It’s too stiff, so you twist and turn until you ultimately decide to just stand. A gust of wind salutes you as your orbs flicker up to the sudden shadow. A breath catches.

Max tilts his head in greeting. “Working hard already?” Your lips part. “The season’s barely begun.”

And just like that, your world tilts on its axis, but this time with more to lose.

“As your best friend—” Lissie points clumsily at Carmen who giggles while the British girl furrows her thick brows. She glances around before spotting you dying with laughter on your fiancé’s lap. She claps. “I knew straight away—he was the one for you.”

Miami International Autodrome—-May 7, 2023 (Miami Grand Prix)

“How long has this been going on for?” she hisses, disappointed eyes challenging both you and Max. She gags at the hickeys on your neck and his tousled hair.

With wobbly legs, you take her hands into yours. “A week—”

“No.”

“Well, two—”

Green paints her face. “No.”

“One month,” he murmurs from his corner in the elevator. Watercolor eyes flicker up, loopy. “It’s been a month. Ever since—”

“Azerbaijan.” Shamefully, you look down at your shoes and nearly scream bloody murder when you spot your thong just a few steps behind her. “Ew, gross,” Lissie gasps, shutting her eyes in despair. Taking in the opportunity, you scatter down and retrieve the thin fabric. The Dutchman releases a laugh, but bites down when the British girl glares hard. She curls a brow at your breathless state. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Giggling nervously from your place on the floor, you keep your hands behind your back; out of sight, out of mind. “Begging for forgiveness?”

“Oh stop it, a piece of land is what I need in order to forgive you for being dumb as shit.”

You frown, but quickly stand up when she exits the elevator. You can hear him follow with a bored expression. “Lissie, wait!”

Like a spinning top, she turns back, long layers slapping her pink face. “You two know this isn’t a good idea, right?”

“Yes—”

“For a million different reasons—”

“I-I’m aware,” you stutter.

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers.

And the truth is, you don’t know. All you know is that nothing else matters when you're with him. It’s sickening how blindsighted you get. Anxious eyes twirl over to the blue eyed boy who shared the same expression despite being unbothered a few seconds ago.

Licking your lips, you play with the fabric. “That’s it. We’re done.” You turn to the RedBull driver. “Tell her.”

“Done.”

For a moment, you almost let yourself flinch from how fast and easy he’s able to say that one word. Lissie’s judgmental eyes look at you, then him, then sighs, reluctantly nodding. An awkward moment ticks by and then she’s focused, appalled.

“Are those your panties?”

“You were like a dog who couldn’t bear the idea of leaving its bone.” Everyone snickers while you throw the same peony Daniel had aimed at Pierre to shut him up. She laughs, raising her arms up in defense. “And I know—I know—I came in like a monster, warning you off of all the drivers because like it or not, they’re scumbags—”

“Ey. Watch it,” Carlos deadpans from the corner, brown eyes playfully glaring.

She shrugs. “But I no longer liked playing the role of an evil step-sister so…” Tears brim and you choke on a wet sob. “I’m just so happy that you’re happy.” A pause. “That you're both happy.”

Leaping off his thick lap, you rush over, embracing her. She laughs, returning the gesture. “I love you,” you start. I know. “And I’m so happy that you never—”

A knowing smile. “I’d do anything for you.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

Sneaking into his motorhome, you moan as soon as he gets his hands on your; sliding up and down your body with urgency. Heat radiates off of him and onto you. All of this— the cramped room, his lips attacking your neck—makes you dizzy. Clutching onto his sweaty hair, you arch, completely to him and for him.

“We s-shouldn’t.” You gasp. Long fingers tease your aching pussy as you whine. He instantly slaps a large hand over your mouth as he continues his movements. The stretch burns, but it's fairly familiar that you don’t even cry out, just stare back with knitted brows and an open mouth that he can’t see, but can feel expand beneath his palm.

“You’re probably right.” A steady stroke. “You should be out there.” His knuckles curl as he reaches your g-spot. “Preparing those foolish questions.” A muffled moan. “But you’re here, because you know that this excites you as much as it does me.”

Calloused pads push down before drawing figure eights deep inside. “You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t even try and blame it on—”

“Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

Feeling your orgasm rolling in is one thing, but your snarkiness is another. Gritting your teeth, you force him down to kiss you, teeth and all, and then rip away with a sultry smile. “Maybe, but who cares?”

You’re not completely off. At that moment in time, neither of you cared about the consequences. It’s just that as soon as a room of watchful eyes flicker to you two, you swallow a low wince.

Grabbing your microphone, you fix your disheveled hair. Lissie’s eyes flicker between you and him, slow and scary. Like she’s reading right through you and your lies.

Beaming at the awaiting grid, you raise your chin up. “Who’s ready?”

“Finally,” Daniel yells, rolling his cuffed sleeves. “Someone with an actual story to tell.” A wide smile has never made you more nervous than at this very instant, so reasonably so, you swallow the entire glass of—

“Vodka, baby! That was my vodka—your champagne is right there.”

Blinking, you giggle, wiping your plump lips with the back of your hand. “What yours is mine, no? Isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

He chuckles. Lean arms wrap around your waist like a harness. “Keep this up and you’re not going to be able to sleep later.”

“The opposite, actually,” you state as a matter-of-fact. “Just need to get blackout drunk.”

He cocks his head to the side. “That’s not like you.” “...should have seen her! She was wasted as shit!” the Australian yelps, buzzing with excitement. You nip at the air all while he raises his voice an additional octave. “I found her there, at the bar, close to getting alcohol poisoning, but you know what they say—only drunks and children tell the truth.”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Oui, the beer! Fucking amazing,” Pierre declares with a mouthful.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” someone screeches, and is quickly identified to be Alex when he wipes his shimmery forehead. You laugh, taking baby sips from your drink. Shirley Temple, because contrary to belief, you weren’t a nasty drunk.

The Frenchman pouts, tapping his fingers against the brown glass. He turns to you with a sheepish grin. “I read your article.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Have to admit, it's kind of boring. It’s not your fault though. Max Verstappen's domination has made the sport sort of…” He pretends to wilt, to which you toss your head back with laughter.

“Your time will come, Pierre, your time will come.”

“Shit, shit, shit! Bathroom!” Lissie’s long legs wobble like a plate of jello as you hurry over to catch her.

“Crap—you smell like shit.”

The British girl squeals, yanking her hair, dancing from side to side. “I smoked a fat blunt, but never mind that, if I don’t find a loo in approximately five seconds, then I will smell like actual shit.”

A nose scrunch. “That’s not very lady-like.” She paces some more. “Let’s go.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the crowded room, Max watches as the two journalists slip away. He keeps a close eye for a while until a certain brunette swoops in right next to him with a loopy grin and crinkly eyes.

“You should talk to her. Seems like you really like her.”

“What? What makes you say that? What makes you think that?”

Daniel shrugs, rotating his blunt back into his mouth. “Dilation.”

The Dutchman gags. “What…like when a woman gives birth?”

A sore laugh. “As in your eyes.” Another hit. “Y’know…they just look—different. When you look at her, I mean.”

And he hopes it is not apparent that these words make him swallow. For the past year, he’s tried his best to hide his feelings for the sake of not making a fool out of himself, and later for a whole other, but…

He licks his sudden dry lips. “Hm. Doesn’t matter if my eyes fucking shine or not, she’s not my type.”

The Australian frowns. “Sucks. Lissie’s really cool.” His eyes flicker over to the RedBull driver in a nonchalant manner, but when he blinks back with rose tinted cheeks, despite not having a sip of alcohol, he chokes on his puff. “Oh shit, no…”

In a flash, Max yanks the blunt away, dipping it into an anonymous drink. “You’re right, she is so cool—”

Brown eyes narrow down in accusation, brows knitted sharply. “Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie…” A wince. “Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.”

And just like that, Daniel notices the blown out pupils revert back to its original shape. Small and empty. “Yeah. Of course.” He plops back down onto his stiff seat, rubs his eyes, then smiles. “I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.”

“He—” Daniel points over to the broad twenty-six year old who sits with a timid smile. “...didn't have a single sip of beer that night because he was too focused looking after her.” A whistle. “And if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

“Wow, congrats,” George says to your fiancé. “For not being an alcoholic, really, that's impressive.” You can hear the humor that coats his voice and you can’t help but giggle. Calloused fingers slip up to pinch your thigh as you laugh harder.

“That’s why I drank twice as much that day,” Pierre announces with a firm voice. “Because he was missing out on some fantastic beer.”

“Drunkard,” Alex whispers to Lily who stifles a snicker.

The tall Australian clicks his tongue. “So who was the wasted one who confessed their little white lies?”

Everyone’s eyes turn to face you as you burn up with mortification.

“What the fuck, I barely even drink!”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“You.”

“Me?”

You snarl, stomping over. “She's a lightweight, dumbass. Why would you get her high? Jesus, we have a flight in eight hours.”

Daniel cackles, clapping as if delighted at the fact. “She kept insisting! I felt bad.”

An eye roll. “Douche.”

He tries to make it up to you with a drink. “Pierre says they’re good.” You eye the bottle hesitantly. He sighs. “Come on, trust me.” He eventually sneaks off for a minute, but returns with a new blunt.

“Did you pull another one out of your ass or where did you get that from?”

“Oh no. How many did you drink?”

Squinting, you motion him to take a seat. He does, but he can’t even smoke in peace now that you sway from side to side, despite being seated. “I don’t know. Too many.” He groans, large hands tugging his hair. You take a long sip, then raise your glass like some wannabe. “He told me he loves me. Tonight. Right when you left. And you know what I told him?” Another sip. “I told him I love him too.”

The Australian chuckles. “I didn’t expect you to fall for someone like him.”

“Me either. But I fell—tumbled.” You frown. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to feel, y’know?”

His orbs flicker to the twenty-six year old who huddles with a bunch of the other drivers. He smiles, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Because everytime I look at him, I fear the way my heart beats. He laughs, I laugh, and it feels wrong. He smiles, I smile, and it feels wrong. He makes one of our inside jokes, I understand, and it feels wrong.” A shaky laugh. “And something that should feel fucking right, doesn’t.” Glossy eyes switch over to him. “Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“Great,” you let out, wiping your tears away. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Daniel smiles, fondly, like an older brother. “It doesn’t, and you want to know why?”

“Why?”

A second passes by before he leans back against his chair. “Because it looks like you really—really—like him, so why should any of that matter? Just let yourself be happy, fuck everything else.”

You scoff, furrowing your brows. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” Almost robotically, he drops his blunt into your beer bottle. “You can’t…”

“Yeah. I know.” A pause. “Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Daniel taps his fingers against his chin, comedically. His orbs flicker between you two who stare up at him in deep focus, awaiting for his next words. He grins. “You two, it works. It always has.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, thrusting into you harder as you cling onto his arm, eyes screwed shut. “H-holy fucking—hell.”

You moan, mouth hung wide open. “Feel so good, Maxie, so, so good.”

Blue eyes admire the way you arch towards him like some sort of warm invitation. The way your legs lazily drape over his sweaty waist, how your scent hugs him like no one else. It’s all so familiar, and nice, and right. Your soft palm grazing his jaw makes him alert in an instant, desperate to not miss a single thing that lives inside this moment.

He furrows his dark brows. “We-We’re not made for one another.”

“I know.” He grunts, animalistically. “They warned me about you.”

“They told me to stay away from you.” His tip brushes against your g-spot and your head lolls back, a loud sound. “But God, it’s been impossible.”

“Max, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m close.”

He grins, rubs your clit, and whimpers when he feels you reach your orgasm. You shudder when he follows soon after, face digging into the nape of your neck. Your heart pounds like a ticking time bomb, but still, you run your fingers through his dirty blond waves.

“Lissie…Daniel…they’re—”

“Right?” You choke up. “Yeah, you don’t know how much I hate that they are.”

He pulls away, and somehow, his watercolor eyes appear more blue than ever before. Black, almost—nearly. And you’re sure yours do too.

Max plays with your hair, tracing it like a map. He gulps. “So do I.” A tug. “I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

A wet laugh. “I love you, too.” Wobbly smile. “And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

He hums. “What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

“I know many of you guys are wondering why I’m best man—”

“Not wondering, more like questioning,” Carlos quips with a sly smirk.

Pierre flips him off and you laugh at the immature interaction between the drivers. “Because it really could have easily been anyone else. Ha! Even you Carlos.” The Spaniard mocks him with a shady, playful, look.

“Then again, who would have thrown a better rehearsal dinner for Charles and his bride-to-be?”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

"You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what."

“It’s probably nothing or he’s just a sensitive little pussy,” you shoot back defensively.

Lissie snickers, hushing you, orbs scanning the pen. “You can’t say shit like that! Any of it, actually,” she adds. “Just…think before saying anything.”

You huff, arms crossed, stubbornly. “Fine.”

As the open area starts filling up more and more, by some miracle, your nerves start dying down.

Or so you thought.

“Before I let you go, I do have one more question.” Charles smiles down at you, shy dimples poking through. You return the gesture. “Would you consider yourself Ferrari’s savior or their scapegoat?”

“Jesus,” the British girl groans, covering her eyes with second-hand embarrassment.

The Monegasque lets out a nervous laugh, turning to face his publicist who simply tippy toes and whispers something into his ear. He nods. “I-I-I actually have another interview set up, but thank you for your…questions.” Pink tints his ears as he looks at you one more time before strolling away.

“Alrighty then,” Lissie hollers. She sneaks the microphone away. “Jitters, totally normal, but yeah, you’re done for today.”

“I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

“Would you look at that?” Pierre gloats with a wicked grin. “Max Verstappen got butthurt.”

The Dutchman scoffs. “No, I did not. I just don’t like stupid questions, and she made one.”

Yuki snickers at his wary response. Pierre rolls his eyes. “I could talk to her, if you want me to. I love shit like this.”

“I don’t.”

“Well too bad, I’m going to.”

“Yeah. You already said that.”

Dumbfounded, you blink as he walks away, wet towel draped over his head. If you had known he was this much of a shithead, then you wouldn’t have bothered to try and apologize. Clicking your tongue, you burn with fury as you glare, but as soon as the Ferrari driver brushes past you, you fall back from your trance.

“Hey!”

He turns, green eyes furrowed with confusion. “Hey.”

A wince. “I’m sorry about my ignorant question from earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles blushes. “Am I that easy to read?”

“No, but Pierre let me know.” You awkwardly kick your shoe against the pavement and his eyes follow. You stop. “I sort of pissed off two of the most important drivers on the grid today. You, uh, just happen to be one of them.”

He softens like ice cream on a hot summer day. “I’m not pissed.” You almost let out a giggle from how foreign his accent makes the curse sound. He stammers. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. Plus, I can’t answer questions like those. It would make all of us look bad.”

“Oh. Duh. Of course.” Now you burn up. “I should have known. And it’s no excuse, but I’m new and I’m just…figuring it out.”

His eyes crinkle as he nods. “Who was the other driver?”

You groan. “Max.”

He winces, shaking his hands, theatrically. “Yikes. Yeah, now he’s probably pissed.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

As soon as your phone dings, vibrating against your palm, he curls a brow. “L-Lissie,” you fill in with a subtle smile. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

Rushing back to the pool with a new bottle of SPF, you grin as he aims a deadpan expression. “A little Vitamin D is always necessary.”

“Don’t care, I don’t want to look like a peanut in two years.” You plop some onto his hand as he childishly swipes it over his face. You squirm with the way droplets slither down his toned chest.

Charles extends his hands. “Can I have some more?”

You laugh, wet hair tossing back like a curtain. “Hypocrite.”

Green eyes glare down, playfully.

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“I can’t believe someone’s rocking your boat,” Lissie yelps, clutching onto your hand desperately. “This is monumental.” A teasing giggle. “We should definitely document this.”

As soon as she pulls out her phone, you flip her off. “And this, my dear, dear friend, is why I’ve been keeping this a secret.” She zooms in as you laugh, brushing her away. “Quit!”

The British girl groans, slipping it into her back pocket, then wiggles her thick brows. “Can I guess who it is?”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun!”

You spin around. “No, Lissie—no.”

“Nepo-Baby?”

Flustered, you twirl your necklace and hum. “They all are.”

“Fucking hell. So how will I know which one?”

A mocking laugh. “Oh, you’ll know.”

The brunette stays wondering despite being in the middle of telling her story from last week at the pub. She traces back to every possible driver, but they’re all natural flirts, so fuck that, how would she ever even be able to guess that—

“Oh my—it’s him!” She gasps with hawk eyes as she watches you two keep a careful distance from one another, as if temptation burns within the gap. Lissie lets out a delirious laugh as she turns to Will, who is still rather focused on his task. “I, um, will be right back!”

Wearing a goofy smile, you make your way back to the pen, but squeal when a firm grip wraps around your waist, tugging you into a cramped bathroom. You cringe at the suffocated smell. On the other hand, Lissie jumps from corner to corner. “How did I not notice? I mean, shit, you’re eyes—they’re huge!”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

With a toothy grin, she pokes your ribs. “It means I know who it is.”

Your heart stops, then bite the inside of your cheek, feigning indifference. “We’re just getting to know each other, but he’s really kind, and I…I really like him.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” she whispers in a seductive manner, jeweled hands slapping your ass. You chuckle, opening the door, and turning back. “You get lost in his eyes, don’t you? Heard that could happen.” A swoon. “So what? Are they like the ocean? Like a blueberry Laffy Taffy?”

“Hm. No. More like green apple.”

She halts, mid-shimmy. “What do you mean green? His eyes are blue. And I would know—they scare me half of the time.”

“What are you talking about? Charles’ eyes are green.” The brunette gapes, mouth hung wide open as she pushes herself to speak, but can’t find the strength. You knit your brows, neat and high. “I told you not to scroll through your phone at three a.m. anymore. See? Jet lag is catching up to you.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tired eyes squint over at the blue waves, then at the kids who build sandcastles.

She sighs, propping herself to face you with a sorrowful smile. “It’s okay to be confused about your feelings.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it, I know its as bad as it sounds.” You raise your straw onto your plump lips, sucking. “But they’re just so different from one another. I mean, Charles makes me feel giddy. Like really giddy. It’s nauseating. He’s sweet, and caring, and he's snappy but it’s endearing.” A soft smile and dreamy eyes. “He even helps with my notes.”

“But Max…he’s hot tempered. It drives me nuts. He never asks for help and always hides behind some brick wall. It isn’t like him to show me that he’s interested in getting to know me, but…” Cries ring through the hot air as a wave washes the sandcastle. “I want to get to know him. The real him.”

Lissie’s lips turn downwards at your broken tone. You act uninterested, but she knows it just for show, and that might be the worst torture of all.

She bumps your head with her shoulder, softly, and you instantly pout. “You’ll know what to do, babe. But if we’re being realistic here, Charles won’t wait forever.” Pause. “And Max isn’t the kind to grovel for anything other than podiums.”

Bahrain International Circuit—March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

“Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

Charles lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping as he strolls away. You pick and choose emails to respond to before leaning against one leg, typing away fiercely. You even have time to get back to your sister who begs for a souvenir. Any, she adds with a thousand smiley faces.

“Working hard already? The season’s barely begun.” Your breath catches so sharply that it hurts your throat for a second. His voice is somehow deeper, but it could be because you haven’t seen or heard from him in about forever. Max steps closer. “H-how was your summer break?”

Your berry lips open, then close, then repeat. It’s embarrassing. “Never bad to get ahead, and I—had a good one. Much needed.” He nods attentively. “You look—” You stop before admitting. “Healthy. You look really healthy”

A booming chuckle. “Thanks. You look really healthy, too.”

Blue eyes linger for a second too long and that fills you up with unwanted adrenaline. “Why are you here?” Pink expands through your cheekbones as you grimace. “I mean—here.” You point at the tiny tent as if it weren’t obvious what you were referring to. “Here, here.”

The Dutchman’s lips dance, fondly. “Well I was walking by, saw you, and wanted to say hi.” He looks around with a subtle frown. “Is now a bad time?”

“Well—”

“Mate,” a sweet accent rings through the air as you screw your eyes shut. Max turns to face Charles with a slow grin. The Monegasque tilts his head in greeting, hands occupied with your beverage and his. “How have you been?”

“So, so. Yourself?”

“Good. Refreshed.”

“For me?” he jokes. The brunette chuckles, raising the coffee cups with bright orbs. “Lazy Carlos, always sending you, right?”

The Ferrari driver shakes his head, curls following, then hands it to you. You hesitantly take it from him as you avoid eye contact. “Thank you, Charles.”

His smile widens, pecking your lips. “Still don’t think you should drink it on a daily basis, but hey, you’re welcome.”

Max blinks. “W-when did this happen?”

The green eyed boy hums, lips twisting against his straw. “Over break.”

“Oh.” Gaze slips over to where you bite your cheek. “You spent it in Monaco?”

A harsh tick. “Yes.” With an open mouth, he nods, like a muppet. You purse your lips, facing your boyfriend with pleading eyes. “Do you want to start making your way over? I don’t want Carlos to say anything about being late. You know how he is.”

Charles snickers, then intertwines his fingers through yours. “See you on track?”

The RedBull driver released a low breath, cracking a smile that looked more like a snarl. And while Charles doesn’t notice it, you do. Of course you do.

“See you on track.”

Miami International Autodrome—May 7, 2023

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers. The judgment and confusion that radiates off of Lissie is enough for you to grow gray. She rolls her tongue. “You can’t be doing stuff like this anymore, you have a boyfriend.” Her eyes screw shut, then snap open. “He adores the ground you walk on, are you insane?”

Tears well up at her truthful words. They sting all at once, and you carelessly crumble as your numb lips start to wobble. “Lissie—”

“No. Just—stop. Stop talking.” Max raises his eyebrows at the journalist and her sternness, but feels bad as you inch back, heels clicking. She huffs, pacing the hall. When she comes to a stop, she glares at the Dutchman. “How could you do this, too?”

“I never meant any harm—”

“Bullshit! Both of you are so stupid, it’s worrisome.” Shame fills your veins as you look down, pinching your undergarment as some coping mechanism. The British girl sighs. “You have to tell him.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He deserves to know.”

Decreasing the gap between you two, you sniffle, shaky hands clutching harder. “It’s going to kill him, Lissie. I can’t do that.”

And you can tell she’s running through her options because she’s your best friend. And above all, you were hers. With hesitance, she nods. “This has to end.”

You nod, desperately. “That’s it. We’re done.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

“You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be Charles that’s making you feel that way?”

“No. Don’t even try and blame it on him.”

He pinches your nipple, then licks your humid skin. You whine at the sensation. “You’re not getting anything in return for lying. It’s pathetic.”

You hiss when your climax tempts to fall. “What's the lie?”

“That you love him.”

“I do love him—”

He groans into your neck. “You sound so pretty.” A sloppy thrust. “When you choke around my cock, my spit, my cum.” Your eyes roll back when he pushes against your g-spot at a different angle. “Admit it, you’ve always enjoyed it.”

“You’re sick."

“Maybe, but you’re well worth it.”

You clench around his length and he hisses like a snake. In pain. In lust. Doesn’t matter. “You’re a shitty friend—”

Jaw clenches. “You’re a shitty girlfriend.” When you cry out in pleasure, he smirks. “Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

“Maybe, but who cares?”

And there's nothing left for him to do, simply smiling down at you like the Cheshire Cat, somehow scarier than The Joker. If not more.

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie. Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.” Daniel grimaces. “She’s taken.”

“I know,” Max stutters. “Who do you take me for?”

The Australian is easy to tell when he laughs genuinely, but even the RedBull driver can spot the difference to the one exiting his mouth right now. “You think she’s pretty—that’s all.”

“That’s all,” he confirms.

“And that’s not a weird thing to admit because she is a pretty girl,” the brunette tries to help as Max nods happily.

“Exactly.” A pause. “You get it.”

Daniel brings the blunt up to his mouth, taking a hit, then blows out. “Y-yeah…because it’d be bad if you liked her, liked her.”

“I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.” His heart pounds fast against his ribs when you giggle, pecking Charles’s neck, all while conversing with Lissie, Kika, and Pierre. He directs his attention back to the Australian and lets out a raw laugh.

“I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” In an instant, his brown eyes follow yours, and it makes his heart drop. Because it’s not Charles that you’ve suddenly realized that you love, but Max. “You can’t…” Somewhere close by, Pierre yells, cheering with a group of older ladies as Kika glares, shaking her head. He inches closer. “You can’t do that to Charles. He loves you.”

“And I love him,” you announce, brushing your hair back. Timidly, you peek over at him. “I’m not a saint, I know that, but I would appreciate it if we kept this between us.” A sore chuckle. “W-what matters is that I choose Charles. He’s the love of my life.”

And Daniel knows he probably shouldn’t agree to any of this, and yet, he finds himself nodding, curls bouncing. “Just between us.”

You smile gently, going in for another sip before laughing at the blunt that sticks inside.

“Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

“I love you, too. And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

“What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

He flinches. “I-it doesn’t have to be that way. You could lea—”

You sigh, pulling your dress up as he zip his race suit. “I can’t leave him, Max. It’s not that easy.”

He pants, blue eyes tracing your face anxiously. “A-and why not? Why can’t it be that easy?”

A cruel laugh wiggles up your throat as you dig your nails into your palm. “Because I’m engaged!”

He ricochets with a scoff. “Oh, what? Now you suddenly care about not being called a cheater?” You look away and he chuckles. “Because that’s what you are—a fucking cheater.”

Your face patches into a shade of pink as you breathe heavily, refusing to let the tears fall. “And what does that make you?”

“I am not a cheater.”

You snarl. “No, but you’re a God awful friend.”

He steps back, large hand running against his lips, drying them out, getting rid of your saliva. “You’re just—you know what? Fuck you.”

You gasp. “No. Fuck you.”

Max rolls his blue eyes, finally reaching his breaking point as he pushes you against the wall to his motorhome. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Of realizing what we actually are.”

Heavy pants. Orbs flicker down to his rosy lips. He almost smiles. “What are we? A cheater and a bad friend?”

“No. A villain and their accomplice.” That seems to do it. A strong tide takes over as you sob against his grip. And it doesn’t hurt, it’s not tight. It’s only secure. He continues with a dark look swirling his orbs. “You know, you were always the first one to point out someone as a bad person, when in reality, it's you.”

“Okay, stop—”

“And I’m not innocent either—I’m well aware—but I’m not the one with a ring around their finger.”

“Stop!” you yell, pushing him away harshly. It should feel foreign, the fury and the shame, but that’s all you seem to know these days. Or ever since you met him. “You’re right. We’re two rotten apples, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but can you blame me? You’re fucking with my head, Max!”

He softens, and for a moment, its pure silence, other than your tiny cries. Licking his lips, he pats his thigh. “You already know I’m wrongfully in love with you. I just actually thought I stood a chance. That it would be me.”

“Max…”

He winces in pain with how sweet your voice sounds pronouncing his name. It’s always been that way. When you first interviewed him a year ago, to when you first kissed him back and gasped his name. But it only got dirtier and dirtier throughout the course of time.

“Be honest with me, please.” Bloodshot eyes look up at him. “Is he your safest option? Is that what this is?”

And with one final, tormented look, you open your lips to breathe out.

“He’s someone I could envision a future with, Max.” A beat. “And you’re just a footnote.”

“Voilá!” Charles cheers as he claps loudly against your ear. You yelp at the sudden sound all while trying to reach for his hands to stop his movements. He grins, deep dimples imprinting like feet on sand. “That was beautiful, really, it really was.”

Rubbing your ass against his bulge is the only way you think you can get him to shut up, and he does, immediately letting out a strained chuckle. Smiling sweetly at your friends, you shrug. “I had my doubts, Pierre, but this was pretty cute. Thank you.”

The Frenchman gloats, clicking his fingers. I told you, I told you they’d like it! Your fiancé kisses your cheek. “That’s why I chose him.” A playful frown. “You see, mon amour? You never hold any faith in my decisions.”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your pink tongue out at him. “I still think you should have chosen one of your brothers.” A stern look. “Like Lorenzo—wasn’t he the one that helped you buy the ring?”

“Yes, but that would have been unfair to Arthur. He would’ve felt left out.”

“Arthur’s too distracted trying to figure out the difference between left and right!” The Monegasque tosses his head back and you admire with a soft glow. “I lo—”

“Wait,” Carlos hollers, deep accent ringing. You and Charles turn, bubble bursting. “We all went around sharing but Max.”

“Yeah,” Lily ponders, fingers tracing her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pierre hums. “Mate?”

Max blinks, shaking his head. “Ah, it’s alright. We’ve heard enough, don’t you think?” His joke is meant to be easy going, but it comes out dry, and even to this day, you can notice it. Licking your already glossed lips, you flip your gaze to Lissie and Daniel who share the same worried expression.

Because Lissie was your best friend. She would carry your secret to the grave.

Because Daniel was Max’s best friend. He would carry his secret to the grave.

But the Dutchman himself didn't care. He honestly felt like he had nothing else to lose.

“Okay then,” he whispers, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. He slightly tilts his head to the open sky, as if wondering when it would swallow him whole. He was secretly hoping it would. Beady, excited, and petrified eyes stare back at him as he smiles awkwardly. “I…”

“He doesn’t want to,” you declare, twisting to signal the Frenchman. “If he doesn’t want to, then he doesn’t have to say anything, it’s fine.”

“No.” Blue eyes darken as he places his drink down onto the wooden table. “I want y—” He bites his tongue, immediately tasting metallic. “I want to.”

“Let him,” Charles says, chuckling softly. “Don’t kill his stride.”

So, with neat brown drawn together, clammy fingers playing with your silver band, you sit back down. Like a force of nature, the Monegasque hugs you from behind. You gulp, leaning the back of your head against his shoulder.

“I think it’s crazy how one minor decision can change absolutely fucking everything.”

“Oh shit,” Lissie and Daniel mutter next to each other, exchanging the blunt back and forth.

Your face twists up like a wrinkled shirt. “If you’re not going to say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” he instantly shoots back, but feverishly deflates when Charles furrows his dark brows like some Doberman. Astonished at his cold tone, you blink, lashes fluttering like a notebook. He almost swoons at the sight, but amazingly holds back.

“If you hadn’t taken Pierre’s advice and apologized to Charles, then we wouldn't be here. If you hadn’t spent summer break with him, then we wouldn’t be here. If you hadn't fallen in love, then we wouldn’t be here.” He swallows. “It’s the little things.”

“And, um...what makes a relationship work out is the commitment. If one person commits and the other doesn’t then it won’t ever work out, but you two…” You nibble on your bottom lip harshly, holding your breath as he looks into your bright eyes. He releases a forced chuckle, as if it would help get rid of his splintered heart. “You two chose each other, so…cheers to that.”

“Wow,” Charles hums, blankly. “That was surprisingly heartfelt…” A sheepish grin. “Thank you, mate.”

It’s as if he’s suddenly admitting defeat to someone who didn’t know they had him as an opponent to begin with; the way he throws the peony at the Monegasque, who catches it with ease. “Don’t mention it.”

So, as Max sits alone, with no date, he begins to wonder that maybe—just maybe—you were right all along.

He gave his speech last.

He was the footnote.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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sometimesliterate · 3 days

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found family | astral express

self indulgent found family astral express story literally no plot its just them all being silly as they welcome you, the newcomer, onto the astral express and you realize that maybe they're more like a family than you expected originally

the astral express was a family. this was something that you weren't expecting when you joined them. they each have their own agendas, their own lives, why would they worry about each other ? they just traveled with each other, which didn't constitute a family in your eyes.

you were scared when you first came to the astral express, and you needed a place to stay. " just until you could get back on your feet " you told gray haired woman in front of you, although your voice had been shaky because you were crying so much. she didn't say much, just told you that she would talk to the others on the express, and that they would talk about it.

a few hours later, you're boarding the astral express, with many unfamiliar faces staring back at you. as they introduce themselves to you, you try to remember everyone there, but there's so many names and so much information about each of them, you honestly have a hard time remembering the details.

there's the two older members on the express, himeko and welt yang. himeko has a calm but commanding voice, much like a fierce protective mother would have, and you can't help but feel calm in her presence. welt yang is softer around his edges, with a gentler tone of voice, but everyone on the express clearly respects him and his opinions, like his words held weight to him.

the other four were younger than welt and himeko and had been trailblazing for a shorter amount of time. there was march 7th, a chatty but easily irritated girl with plenty of opinions that she wasn't afraid to say, something you deeply admired from her. dan heng, who's silence was born not out of contempt or dislike, but because of what he has witnessed in the world. you understood him maybe a little better than you wanted to let on.

then there was the siblings, stelle and caelus, though they seemed perfectly content just to be called anything else, too. they both seemed perfectly fine with the nickname ' intergalactic baseballer ' which earned a little chuckle from you. they were both quiet, with stelle giving off a more cool and deadpan personality to caelus' naturally silly one, although they were both incredibly funny. they'd been travelling with the express for a lot less than everyone else, meaning they were the last two trailblazers that had been picked up from the express before you.

and now, there was you. no matter what your story was, they let you on the express so willingly, bringing you into their arms like you had always been there. it unnerved you.

" make yourself comfortable, please, " himeko's voice tore through your thoughts, and you realized you'd just been standing there at the entrance staring at everyone trying to decipher what they wanted from you.

" oh, uh, yeah, " you stuttered out finally, moving in between dan heng and march 7th to sit down on the parlor chairs, folding your legs underneath you to sit crisscrossed. almost immediately as your butt hit the plushness, did march 7th bound up to you, sitting right next to you.

" we're gonna be warp jumping to another world soon ! it's a little hard to get a hang of it at first, so make sure to brace yourself whenever the conductor gives you the warning ! " she explained, her cheerfulness breaching through your defenses, especially when she tacked on afterwards, " i'm going to see if i can stand up during the jump ! you know, balance ! "

" march, have you considered that your unwanted advances towards friendship may just be that ? unwanted ? " dan heng criticized, but you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a little giggle, covering your face with your hands at the two of them.

" she gottem, " caelus pointed out, earning a brief little nod from stelle.

" gotta try harder at being friendless than that, " stelle agreed in a dry voice despite her silly words, and you really noticed how the twins bounced off each other, like they were one full person together and only half when they were apart.

mr. yang's voice was gentle as he spoke to the five of you, warm and gentle as he regarded you. " i have a feeling that you're going to enjoy the astral express. "

" have you seen the express so full ? " himeko asked, as if she were finally taking in that there were a crew of nameless now, and not just a bunch of ragtag adventurers that had made their home the express together.

" oh, do you wanna hear stories about the astral express crew ? you know, to get an idea of what we're like ? " march asked, her intense gaze boring into yours, as if willing you to just nod a little bit so she could show off her pictures and tell you stories from each one.

" sure, " you agreed, finding yourself almost excited to learn more than just the basics from each of these people. march jumped up immediately, running towards her room and grabbing stacks of photos before plopping down right next to you again. by the time she came back, dan heng had taken a seat on your other side, albeit a bit farther away.

caelus and stelle were still standing side by side, while mr. yang and himeko decided to sit in front of you all on the other side of the parlor, likely giving you space but ready to chime in when it came to their own stories.

march sat a picture on your lap of a man with blue dragon horns and glowing eyes, separating the waters of a world that you didn't recognize. " march, " dan heng's voice sounded like he was ready to complain. " why is this the first one that you showed ? "

" because it was the first in the stack ! i don't know what to tell you, dan heng ! " march shrugged animatedly, before turning back to the picture on your lap, " that's dan heng ! apparently he's the descendant of a dragon race of the xianzhou luofu, or something like that ! "

" oh.. wow ! " you exclaimed, doing a double take at dan heng now versus what he looked like in the picture. longer hair, different clothing, but still the same piercing gaze that he had now, determination etched onto his features like it was a part of him.

" it's a little more complicated than that, " dan heng shook his head, reaching over and taking the picture from your lap. " and now, this picture is mine. "

" what ?! that's not fair at all, dan heng ! "

" he just wants to admire himself, " caelus quipped, chuckling to himself. stelle's face broke into a small smile, but she didn't say anything back.

" fine, you can keep it, dan heng, " march sighed in resignation, " besides, these are just copies. all of my photos are still stored on my actual camera. " she shuffled through the pictures one by one, absentmindedly telling you about them as she sat them on your lap, but she was clearly looking for something.

" this is the big boss we fought in the xianzhou luofu, this is a picture of the general, this is a teacher that stelle met in her journey, this is a bunch of herta's puppets from the space station in the same area and it looked really freaky so i just had to take a picture ! here's a picture of mr. yang subduing the stellaron inside of caelus' body, and i remember being very confused because once caelus was knocked out, stelle passed out at the same time, too. weird. oh ! there's a bunch of pictures of how the dreamscape looked in penacony. oh, here ! "

with a little over twenty pictures already sat in your lap as she shuffled through the stack she had, you were finally given one picture of the four trailblazers, excluding welt and himeko. " we need to have one with mr. yang and himeko, but this is the four of us when we went on our first trailblazing expedition with stelle and caelus to jarilo-xi ! " she explained.

" why don't we take a picture of all of us now ? " himeko suggested on the other side of the parlor.

" i believe we can have pompom take the picture for us, if the conductor is willing, " welt looked over to the conductor. no one had told you yet what the conductor actually was, but you had a feeling that you shouldn't really ask such a question out loud, so you left your curiosity for another day.

" what ?! pompom has to take the picture ? fine, but pompom wants a picture with everyone, too ! " they grabbed the camera that march was extending out to them, and backed up towards the end of the parlor car. " everyone, get together now ! "

you stood up, practically ushered by march as you found yourself in the middle of the picture, squished in between caelus and stelle on your right, with stelle being a little forward so there was enough room, and dan heng on your left. march stood sort of in between you and dan heng but just in front of you, since she was shorter than dan heng, and welt and himeko stood behind the five of you. you felt a hand gently resting on your shoulder, and you looked up behind you to see welt giving you a small smile.

" you're doing great, " he praised softly, under his breath so only you could hear. " welcome to the astral express. "

as the picture was snapped, you couldn't help but think that you really would enjoy this time with your new family. it was an odd experience, sure, but not one unwelcome. the astral express really was like a family, and they were embracing you with open arms.

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ankiebitez · 1 day

Note

Mpreg with kings? I think mammon can lactate with those big milkers

Whb kings pregnant

gn mc, no warnings really except mentions of pregnancy and slight mentions of nsfw

note: not gonna lie i dont know much about mpreg so this is really short and mostly just thoughts on how i think the kings would act while pregnant lmao, i tried though but i really have like no idea how to write mpreg 😭

more under the cut

Satan

definitely wants kids, ghenna has the most romantic demons so its no surprise that he wants to start a family with you

he would be the best dad when they're born, but while he's pregnant he is probably the second to worst

mood swings, constantly. he's constantly pissed off and very protective of you even though he's the one who's pregnant. think about how animal moms get territorial when they have babies and that is 100% him

i feel like his depression would also get a bit worse bc pregnancy hormones are hell

he's so happy to be having your kid though

Mammon

handling it really well honestly. he's very gentle and cautious for you and the baby now, he doesn't want to hurt either of you and will protect you by any means

his greed has gotten a bit more powerful too because now he has both of his greatest treasures

buying the best of the best stuff for the baby, clothes, a crib, toys, etc. that baby is going to be spoiled when they're born.

you try to say that a baby probably cant use solid gold toys but he just said that since the baby is half demon and part of him they'll naturally be strong enough

honestly he might be right because when the baby starts "kicking" in his belly you swear it looked like a imprint of a version of his gold fists

now you understand why its the demons that get pregnant instead of the human.

his titties somehow get bigger while he's pregnant too

Beelzebub

pregnancy cravings. he will crave the weirdest shit you've ever heard of. and in the biggest portions you could imagine. you'd think he was eating for 300 instead of 2

he actually doesn't wander as much while pregnant since he wants to protect you and the baby, though he does still dissappear out of nowhere sometimes much to baels dismay

he gets sick and nauseous pretty often though in the later months. you know the phrase butterflies in your stomach? well he just gets flies in his stomach since the baby is too young to control that power yet. kind of horrifying tbh but he's handling it okay

right after the baby is born bael locks down the entire palace until you get beelzebub pregnant again. his argument is that its the only way to keep beel in avisos

Leviathan

he is the actual worst. he doesn't just get mood swings he is constantly pissed off while pregnant. would probably also be the type to cry while pissed off for no reason while in private.

hangs anyone in hades for the smallest things. shoes untied? hang. came to talk to him while he's in a bad mood? hang. breathed too hard? hang.

very very protective of you and the baby. no ones allowed to even look at you or his baby bump at this point. even when the babborn no one is allowed to hold them besides you two. they're not even allowed within 6 feet

he gets the baby the most beautiful stuff for their nursery though.

he also feels very prideful while pregnant, knowing that many of the other kings and demons are jealous that he's the one having your child. he's feeding off their envy

Lucifer

he is handling it the best out of everyone. you wouldn't even be able to tell he's pregnant if it weren't for the baby bump.

he was very skeptical about having a child though especially during this war. much less with the descendant of solomon. nonetheless, he is happy to be having a child.

stays in paradise lost the whole time unless absolutely necessary. he will not let anyone harm you or his child

still doesn't talk much, and stays in his garden most of the time to relax. you are welcome to come and sit with him though as long as you're quiet. he does get a bit more agitated by a lot of noise

the seraphim are seething and will definitely try to attack you more often though. they see you as evil incarnate for not only making lucifer sin but also getting him pregnant. lucifer wont have any of that

#what in hell is bad #whb #what in “hell” is bad?#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb bael #whb mammon #whb beelzebub #whb leviathan #whb lucifer #whb seraphim #ankiebitez works #ankiebitez requests

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villainofmyownstory · 2 days

Text

Light years

masterlist

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x android/hologram!Reader

summary: Many decades of longing. A lot of years of waiting. Hundreds of light years away from an Earth that no longer seemed like a memory, but a fictional story. A fairy tale written by poets. Earth no longer existed, and life on Zeus 2 went on as if the years of intergalactic war had never happened. As if the destruction of most of humanity had never taken place. There were still a few people on the new planet who remembered their lives on Earth. A past that was a memory stinging under the ribs. A small personal utopia for the last living people. Paradise lost.

tags: sci-fi!au, android, angst, ambiguous/open ending

1.4k words

author's note: Unfortunately, most of the 5th chapter of Day Zero, I don't know why, but it disappeared from my files, probably my mistake that I wrote it on my phone…. and I don't know when I will finish the 5th chapter. So I decided to write something else. I have never read sci-fi books, I have only watched a few movies of this genre in my life. Everything I've written here are my own thoughts about this alternate universe I've invented. Let me know what you think.

This story I wrote for @glitterypirateduck #GhostChallenge. I used prompt #’s 9 and 17. Challenge Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Wet streets and neon lights are two certainties of any Saturday evening. The man started his motorcycle from the parking lot with a squeal of tires. The vehicle flashed through the streets of the crowded city at high speed despite the heavy rain. Passing through one intersection after another, the man paid no attention to his surroundings. He had one goal in mind. Like every second Saturday of the month. One damn hour. Just one. Sixty minutes.

He cursed Captain Price in his mind, even though he knew the man had a visit this Saturday, sending him and Gaz to a neighboring planet to see if the unrest caused by the robot revolt has been adequately handled by the new authorities. Although they had their cybernetic teammates on the new planet, the captain trusted his human soldiers the most. Only Price and his three subordinates remembered well their service in the former Task Force 141 many decades ago on Earth. Sometimes, on their free evenings, they reminisced about their past lives, like a long-read book or a movie they watched. Memories that seemed so distant. It was hard to tell that they were their own. And yet they were. Earth had once existed. Their lives were different. A better place.

As the man approached his destination, he wondered if the next visit would look the same. Every month he deluded himself that this time it would not be like the previous one. That the clinic's staff would inform him of progress. About a breakthrough.

So much time. It had been so many, many years since they had lived on Earth. So many decades of longing and hope.

White, smooth walls. The floor lined with rectangular snow-white tiles. 134 pieces to be exact. Electronics and many screens on one of the walls. A comfortable chair and an empty space on the other side. He has long known every nook and cranny of these two rooms. The one where he stays during every visit and this small room, behind bulletproof plastic glass.

As on every single Saturday evenly at 7 pm he was greeted by the same artificial, synthetic voice.

"Welcome, you are a visiting guest at medical facility number 3 and your appointment is about to begin. Sit comfortably and enjoy the company of your still living loved ones.Thank you for using our services. To change your monthly subscription package, please head to room 221 on the 2nd floor. Memories from Earth eternally alive. Light years are no longer an obstacle. With us, everything continues uninterrupted. MedZeus 3 at your service. Light years don't matter. Earthly memories at your fingertips."

When silence falls, he counts every breath. Exactly 17, when a light comes on in the room behind the glass. The figure flickers and after a moment is visible in all her divine beauty.

You are as he remembers you. You are the same as you were taken out of his mind. A memory.

"Hi Simon!" The man clenches his tightened fists. Your voice is always the same. Bright, melodious. Joyful. Like every month you stand in the same place. In that fucking white void. So close and so far away. He dreams every day to be able to touch you again. To feel your soft and smooth skin under the pads of his scarred, rough hands. To touch your wavy hair at least once more and smell the fruity sour fragrance of your favourite perfume. He would like to see your rosy cheeks one more time. At least one damn tear in your eyes. Some human emotion.

"How was your service? You look tired. I hope the mission was successful." The same sentences spoken for months. He so longed to hear something different. Sorrow. Longing. Joy. Anger. Anything, some human feeling.

Meanwhile, everything is just as the signed script predicted. The programmed hologram of your character stands dressed in a plain black t-shirt with your favorite band and plain straight jeans. Hair tied in a loose ponytail. Just as he remembered you. Just as he saw you on the last day of his life. Yours.

If you hadn't been so stubborn, if you hadn't said those words. Maybe you would be together now. Light years from Earth. Light years from that life together.

The man slowly gets up from his chair and walks over to the glass. He removes the glove from his hand and stares at the bare palm to the cold transparent wall separating you.

“I miss you.” He finally says while swallowing that damnable, choking tightness in his throat. That bitterness that appears every time he looks at the product of his memories. You're seemingly here. You're so close. But he knows it's not you. You were now the product of his selfish desire. When he was awakened from centuries of hibernation many years ago the first thing he bought in his new reality. In his new life. You.

He damn well regretted that decision. He should have buried you long ago, erased your memories as other living people have done. Forget you and live on Zeus 2 like the others. He could eventually start a family, or adopt a small humanoid robot-child. He could even buy himself an android wife. After all, he was an intergalactic soldier. An Earth hero. One of the last humans from Earth. A myth.

That's probably why he couldn't let you go. You were something that kept him alive. Were you? No. For him all the time - you are. He didn't want to be like the others, he didn't allow his DNA to be changed. Even Captain Price was no longer fully human. He was afraid that with making him half human and half robot he would destroy the last part of you that had been in him all along.

Long minutes of silence after saying that three words. I miss you. They caused the figure behind the glass as if trying to process and quickly in gigabytes of stored data to find the answer to his words.

He smiled gently. But maybe the staff of the facility has managed to improve something, maybe there has been some kind of revolution and you will finally be more human. His again.

The hologram twitched slightly, as if it was about to disappear. The man glanced anxiously at his watch, it had been only 17 minutes since the start of the meeting.

“Simon”

Your voice is like behind a fog. His name whispered with the same tenderness when you first confessed your feelings for each other. That rainy November evening when he held you for the first time in his bare arms. When he gave you his heart. When he first said that he…

The man shakes his head. He didn't give them back those intimate memories. No. That's what he didn't transfer to the data cloud. So how is it possible…

“Don't let go, Simon. Never.” Your lips don't move. Your figure again slightly disappears for a fraction of a second. No it can't be true. Maybe this some bug in the system. A badly written code. Maybe a virus crept in, or a hacking attack. He had heard at the base, about recent cyber attacks on medical facilities. Maybe the attacks have reached his planet as well.

The image of your hologram is back to normal. As you do every month, you tilt your head slightly to the side and extend your hand. The man freezes, holding his breath. You always make this gesture at the end of your meetings.

You put up your thumb, index finger and pinkie finger, while keeping your ring finger and your middle finger down.

“I Love You” in Sign Language.

After a moment of hesitation, he extends his hand and his palm shows the same gesture. He rests his forehead on the cold glass closing his eyes.

You are about to disappear. Again you will remain just a part of a recollection. Data stored on the server.

When the man opens his eyes again he continues to see your figure. In white. A braid of tiny white gypsophila and purple eustoma flowers adorns your head. Your hair is loosely undone. Slightly curly hair reaches below your shoulders. A simple white dress covers your body from neck to ankles. Lace sleeves adorn your arms.

Time seems to have stopped. Again. As if there were no light years from earthly life. Like that tomorrow has simply arrived. Your image presented to him.

It wasn't his memory. He had no right to see you in your wedding dress. He did not have time. Tomorrow never came for the both of you.

This is your memory.

#GhostChallenge #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod #ghost simon riley #ghost x female reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley

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writerseclipse1 · 3 days

Text

rewarded [joel m.]

inspo: somewhere only we know (keane)

summary: does death look you in the eye before you die? or does life flash your memories in your mind? aka: joel's on death's doorstep; he reminisces your time together

warnings: angst (flashback fluff), canon-typical violence, blood and gore, dialogue follows joel's death scene, vivid descriptions of joel's death, major character death, flashbacks, abby (if u hate her ig), guns, knives, and a golf club as a weapon, crying ellie, cursing, no use of y/n. pls tell me if i missed anything!

word count: 2.7k

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: am so excited to be back into writing! ik i promised a 505-inspired fic w joel but i couldn't help it!

++++++

“Joel Miller.” The sadistic sneer in her voice is what causes him to look up at her, groaning in pain as his leg throbs. He can feel the bullet she lodged into his skin.

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you’ve got rehearsed and get this over with.” He said, annoyance evident in his tone, anger flooded his veins as he stared at her with a look that made it clear he was in no mood to mess around. Neither was Abby and she made that clear, especially when she barked out orders to tourniquet Joel’s leg.

He groaned, eyes shutting tight and tilting his head back. He cursed under his breath, leg pulsing and hurting like a bitch. “God damn it!” He started seeing spots of black in his vision, the figures in the room turning into dull, blurry colors.

His chest heaved, trying to regain control of his breathing and his entire being, seeing Abby flip the handle of her weapon in her hands, his blood ran cold, colder than the metal of the golf club she raised in the air.

Her chuckle was a deep rumble in her chest, the corner of her lip twitching upwards as she murmured. “You don’t get to rush this old man.”

Whack.

“Hey!” The plastic material of the frisbee dug into his palms slightly as he caught it. Jackie, one of the bigger kids in town, inched carefully to Joel and he handed the disc back, but not without a pointed look. “Watch where you’re throwin’ next time.” She uttered out a meek apology, all but running back toward her friends and almost instantly resumed their game.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, his feets leaving tracks in the snow. The sound of children laughing and birds chirping filled his ears, a beautiful memory he had come to love. The wind whipped at his face as the chilly air bit his skin but he paid it no mind. Not when she was right there, full of warmth even in just the palm of her hand.

His hand reached out to grasp hers once more as they continued walking, his grip a slight squeeze but if she noticed anything, she said nothing. His eyes were restless, occasionally sneaking a glance to get a glimpse of her, in all her glory. The way her eyes rivaled the stars in the clear night sky, the way she graced passersby with her smile, the way her presence warmed up his heart, the heart he once thought was trapped under all these layers of ice, only to be melted by an unexpected yet welcome gift.

His train of thought derailed once he was pulled back, almost colliding with a child who looked no older than seven. After muttering out an apology and a small ‘I told them to watch it”, his eyes rolled and glared at her playfully when he heard her get engulfed in a fit of giggles that she tried hard to control.

“Think that’s funny, do ya?” He pretended to be offended, turning around to poke her in the ribs and smirking as she let out a squeal.

“Joel!” He laughed as she tried to chase him down the street, his longer legs taking him further and her voice getting distant. It wasn’t until his legs slowed down to a step that she caught up, wrapping an arm around his waist as she saw his somber expression. Following his gaze, you saw Ellie on Dina’s front porch, the two focused on each other. Ellie had her arms wrapped around Dina, her head atop the girl while Dina’s nose brushed the skin of Ellie’s neck, her sniffles being muffled by the material of Ellie’s sweater.

From the corner of his eye, he could see your lips spread out into a grin, closing his eyes with a sigh when he felt your lips brush his cheek, muttering a small “Thank you.”

“For what? You got nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’.” Eyes now on the woman beside him, he noticed your focus stray from the two girls back to him, your walking only slowing down but not stopping.

“For being a lover,” you whispered back, pulling back to look up at him. “Maybe your fighter days are over.”

He shook his head as they passed Ellie and Dina yet his eyes never left her once. “I ain’t stoppin’ my fightin’ days, baby. ‘Cause I fight for you everyday.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled when he heard you laugh, not noticing that the attention of the two girls moved to you and him, watching as you walked further away.

Good thing Dina buried her head in Ellie’s shoulder just in time for you to look back and send Ellie a wink, a soft pink hue spreading on her cheeks as yours and Joel’s footfalls started to fade.

Thud, thud, thud.

It was all that echoed in his ears as his heart pounded in his chest, his ribs taking the damage Abby’s boot was inflicting on his body, all while he lay helplessly on the floor. He felt bile crawl up his throat and out his mouth when the girl kicked his stomach. His eyes widened slightly when he realized that it wasn’t bile, but blood.

Abby let out a huff, pacing in front of his body and if Joel could let out a sigh of relief, he would, but it hurt to even breathe. He choked on his own blood, his head lolling to the side as he spat out blood, the red liquid coating his lips and dripping to the floor. She looked at him with a mixture of anger and disgust, the former more evident as she readied her weapon again.

Yet her intentions were the farthest thing from his thoughts, feeling a familiar warmth spread across his body as his mind brought him back to a time of safety, of care, of arms wrapped around him and lips pressed to his skin.

Before he could feel the shattering impact of the metal club, he closed his eyes and thought—

“This is stupid,” he muttered and you only shook your head. The two stood on the front porch, in front of the wooden column on the right. Digging your hand into your pocket, you flipped open your pocket knife and he watched you flip it in your hands. He still remembers the time you first held it in your palm.

There was nothing to your relationship at first, with the exemption of watching each other’s backs during patrols outside the walls. He took the reins during missions and when he first saw it, untouched and sitting pretty in a gardener’s shed they passed by, his first thought was to give it to you to make sure you had a weapon that “didn’t let you shoot your goddamn ass off.”

Never would he expect that the same sharp blade that has sliced a man’s throat and lodged itself in an infected’s chest would be the same blade that would carve your initials on his front porch.

“Come on, Joel, stop being such an old grump,” you pouted, taking his hand and wrapping it around the hilt before your own came up to rest on his. He let out a chuckle when you guided his hand, from the curve of the J to the lines of your own initial. Both of you stepped back slightly to admire your work but he tilted his head at you when he heard you hum.

“Something’s missing,” you murmured, eyes casting downward as you thought. He always admired you when you were deep in the recesses of your mind, how your eyebrows pinched together and how your lips pursed. He fought the urge to kiss your lips until you were giggling against his. “Aha!”

He watched you move forward, your body covering most of the carving as you added a detail. When you stepped back, he couldn’t contain his chuckle. You had added two hearts that sat beside each other, one bigger than the other. Your eyebrows furrowed again, this time not in thought but in mock indignation. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothin’ honey, it’s cute!” He reasoned but you only huffed, facing the opposite way. He let out an audible scoff but he licked his lips, a mischievous smile taking over his expression. Wrapping his arms around you, he carried you into the house, ignoring your protests and your wriggling motions as he laid you down on the couch, kissing you deeply.

It shut you up for the rest of the afternoon.

“What? Cat got your tongue now?” Abby scoffed, hitting him again and again without abandon. Joel didn’t speak, every inch of his face covered in blood. He felt like he was drowning, swimming in a pool of his own blood with each drop of the weapon.

BANG!

At first he thought it was the club, striking his head hard that his skull cracked open but when he opened his eyes, he saw Ellie, a hand wrapped around her gun tightly as she tried to shoot but to no avail. Pinned down, the girl could only watch as Joel struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

A man who was certainly younger than him started talking, barking out orders to people in the room but Joel couldn’t hear a single thing with the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. But he could guess what it was when Abby snarled down at him, her hands wrapping tightly around the club as she raised it. And just as quickly as it rose, it fell.

“JOEL!

“Joel!” He turned his head, closing his eyes as he tried to gain his composure, breathing in like how he was taught by his momma when he got mad. Slowly in, slowly out. In through the nose, out through the—

“Joel Miller! Don’t you dare walk away from this conversation!” So much for composure.

“And what? Huh? I’ll let you go out there on a stupid horse with a stupid partner Tommy paired you up with and then what? What if you get hurt, what then? What’ll I do? Beat ‘ em up for not keepin’ an eye on you? It wouldn’t be his fault, wouldn’t it? No it wouldn’t, because you,” he pressed his finger against your chest, “Didn’t listen to me!”

“Why are you already assuming I’ll get hurt? Do you think I’m that helpless?” Your jaw ticked and from the corner of his eye, your hand twitched and balled itself into a fist. Everything was going so well for him but he had to hit a bump in the road somewhere. “I asked you a question.” His thoughts were out of order but Joel was a patient man to the right people, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“No! No I don’t but—”

“Then why are you so—”

“Because if something happened to you, I dunno what I’d do with myself!” He yelled and his heart froze when you stepped back, surely taken aback from what he did. He didn’t mean to do that, he didn’t mean to yell.

“I know.” His eyes locked with yours, scanning your expression. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Seeing the guilt in your unshed tears he sighed, shaking his head. His fists unclenched and he stretched his fingers as he took in a breath, closing his eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the—

Arms snaked around him, like vines creeping around an abandoned brick house that has definitely seen better days, fingers interlocking behind him so that he couldn’t escape. Like I want to leave in the first place, he thought as he felt your cheek fall against his chest and your ear press against his heart.

When Joel would encounter danger and violence, his heart wouldn’t beat like a sinner’s caught in church, fast and swift, no. His heart followed a rhythm. Du dum, du dum, du dum, always steady and strong. It reflects how he is, always biding his time, saving his energy until he’s ready to strike.

He could practically feel your shoulders slump as you heard his heart beating, steady and strong. Du dum, du dum, du dum.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and he only realized the tears that dripped like water from a broken faucet; dripping one-by-one yet loud and clear. His body moved on autopilot, arms wrapping around you before he could even clear his head and rubbing his hand up and down your back, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“I know.” He smothered kisses into your hair and he felt your shoulders lighten and your chest rumble with a sniffle before a chuckle. He could feel your pout through the thin material of his button-up, putting a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up, staring into your soul like it was a window without blinds. “I only want you to be safe. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning, why I sit on the porch and wave to people I barely give a damn about, why I water the flowers outside our house because you love it when the house looks so lively even from the outside. You’re the reason why I care about the little things. I don’t want you, my reason to come back home, not come back home.”

He felt you sniffle into his chest, nodding as you pulled slightly back. “I get it. I just…”

“Hey, let’s talk about it in the morning, yeah? We got plenty’a time,” he whispered, brushing back a strand of hair wet from your tears, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “We got plenty’a time.”

For the first time in Joel’s life, he lied to you that night. He just didn’t know it yet.

He was sorry.

He’ll always be sorry.

Even after his dying breath, he knew that sorry can’t reverse his mistakes. That was like trying to put a bandaid on a porcelain plate. He was an idiot.

A Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.

He thought it was safe.

It was winter, it shouldn’t’ve even been there. It should have been freezing in one of the fucking rivers or something.

It was his fault.

All of it.

“Baby?” His breath caught in his throat as he watched your body, his figure as unmoving as you were. He inched closer, crouching down to you, looking away from the infected he killed with its mouth open and brains splattered everywhere. He saw red, maybe it was the blood on his shirt. Whose was it? He didn’t want to know.

“Baby?” His voice echoed, asking again and foolishly enough, he expected an answer. He only saw your eyes staring back at him, distant, unwavering, unmoving.

Gone.

He shook his head and shut his eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to believe. “Baby? You–you gotta wake up for me, honey. No, no, you can’t—” He choked, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as his eyes filled with tears. Tears you’ll never get to wipe with the pad of your thumb. He cradled your face gently, like you were still sleeping but with your eyes open, like you didn’t see the infected coming at you and he didn’t see it too, like you were lying in a pool of your own blood, like he was the cause of it.

Like he didn’t know what he was going to do.

His chest was engulfed in wracking sobs, sobs that would make the merciless merciful, sobs that would make the follower the leader, sobs that would make the dead live.

He prayed that was the case. It wasn’t.

And it never will be.

Not even when Ellie cried at his chest, her eyes screwed tight and muttering apologies, recounting old memories, anything to get Joel back, yet even the man knew he himself was already gone. Ellie was wrapped up in her anguish and her pain to notice the distant but hopeful look in Joel’s eyes, shaking his body like it would shock him back to life. But life rewarded the patient, not the vengeful.

Joel had been a patient man all his life and he knew it.

And when he saw you, surrounded by a circle of light and an arm outstretched, he knew he had been rewarded.

++++++

#tlou #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #tlou part 2 #joel tlou #the tipsy bison #tlou hbo #tlou joel #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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quin-ns · 22 hours

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The blue V (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

JJ was trying to grapple with the fact that you kissing him somehow resulted in an awful night. It should’ve been a dream come true, but then you took it back in an instant.

He made himself at home on Pope’s couch for the next few days following the movie night, not knowing how to face you.

He thought he’d ruined everything when he kissed you that night in your room, but then in the morning, you’d given him some sense of relief. You didn’t hate him, and you were willing to forget about it. It wasn’t exactly what JJ wanted and sure it hurt like hell to agree, but at least he hadn’t lost you entirely.

But then it seemed as if you changed your mind almost immediately, evident by you going out of your way to ignore him at the movie. JJ couldn’t blame you for that, he had a feeling you were only trying to spare his feelings that morning. You were so loving like that, but he should’ve known that you always saw him like a brother—then he wrecked that, like he did with most good things.

JJ resolved to hide out until the movie was over in an attempt to accept his fate, but then you came along… and you kissed him. He was so happy to be wrong, but then you decided you’d made a mistake and decided it couldn’t happen again.

Everything had become such a mess. JJ wished he could blame you, or John B, or someone that wasn’t himself.

JJ wondered where he’d be right now if he hadn’t kissed you that first time, if he hadn’t crossed that line that there was no turning back from.

He couldn’t come up with an exact answer, but he guessed it wouldn’t be on Pope’s couch, pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to get up just yet. He liked to think he’d be with you.

“I know your awake,” his friend said, calling his bluff. JJ reluctantly opened his eyes to find Pope standing over him, looking down with a brow raised. “Maybe I’d be more sympathetic if you told me why you were sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” JJ argued. “I just know you’re gonna make me work.”

Maybe it was a believable enough lie, because Pope snorted.

When things got bad, JJ would usually stay at the Chateau. No adults around to worry about, and John B had the extra space for him—and you, on most occasions. It wasn’t like they weren’t on speaking terms, but JJ knew he overreacted and didn’t feel like apologizing quite yet. Plus, from what Pope mentioned, the other boy was busy anyway.

Or maybe it was just an excuse, he couldn’t know for certain.

He appreciated Pope for letting him stay, even if he’d begun to wear out his welcome. JJ could handle Heyward’s back handed comments, he’d dealt with worse. It was better than being at home, especially without you.

That was another thing he learned from Pope, that you were basically living at Kiara’s. He’d crack a joke about great minds thinking alike if you were around. But you weren’t, and he still blamed himself.

JJ wondered if Pope got the information from you or Kie, but he didn’t let himself ask. It didn’t really matter in the end as long as you were okay, even if you weren’t talking to him.

After he stormed off from the concession building, leaving you behind, he convinced Pope to pack up and head out early, leaving you and Kiara to finish the movie without them.

The entire drive back to Pope’s house, he dodged his friends' questions, and suppressed the urge to run back to you.

He wasn’t used to fighting with you, or even being mad at you, and he hated it. But he held onto that anger, because he knew if he saw you and you asked for forgiveness, he’d break. JJ clung to the stubbornness because it was easier. Even if you weren’t trying to hurt him, you had. It was bad enough feeling like he fucked everything up, but you giving him a taste of reciprocation only to regret it sent his mind in a spiral.

You told him that you couldn’t. Not that you didn’t want to. He reminded himself of that.

So if you did want to, what was so wrong about it? Really? He loved you, and you at least imagined a world where it was possible you could love him back the same way—enough to kiss him, at least. Maybe it only seemed wrong because of the way you two were acting.

You’d never been good at dealing with your feelings. That was something JJ learned the two of you shared.

JJ wondered what you were thinking right now. If it wasn’t for Pope practically dragging him off the couch to get ready for a day of grocery deliveries, JJ could’ve spent the entire day trying to guess what was going on in your head.

JJ wasn’t exactly thrilled that Pope drove them to the Chateau after all the deliveries were taken care of, but he didn’t protest, either.

Truthfully, he did miss hanging out with John B. The two of them had been best friends for what seemed like forever. Even he knew that the building resentment towards his friend didn’t feel right.

When JJ thought about it, like really thought about it, he bet that if he genuinely told John B to forget his feelings for you, his friend would try. He was a good guy like that.

JJ’s only problem was explaining himself, and that’s what kept his mouth shut about the entire thing.

John B didn’t mention it either, just greeted him and suggested the three of them go out on the boat to fish in the marsh.

There was a strange sense of relief JJ felt when John B didn’t apologize, because he wasn’t ready to either. The silent acceptance of one another’s presence was enough for them to get on with things.

It was late afternoon, so they’d be able to fish for a little while. They each had lines cast, sitting scattered along the boat. JJ happened to be on the front of the boat, while John B was on the right and Pope was on the left. They had to keep it balanced enough that it wouldn’t tip.

“He’s not so bad,” John B explained as JJ tuned back in. “He’s just really into his boat.”

Right, John B was talking about work.

“He’s paying you enough, right?” JJ piped up, looking away from his line to his friend. “To have you on call like this?”

“Not exactly ‘on call’, but yeah. Ward’s being fair,” John B explained with a shrug.

JJ smirked to himself as he looked forward. “I still think Ward wouldn’t notice if we borrowed his boat for the night.”

John B scoffed out a laugh.

“He definitely would, JJ, it’s not happening.”

“I’m not spending my summer in jail,” Pope joined in.

John B and JJ exchanged a smile over their shoulders, and everything seemed back to normal.

“We should’ve invited the girls,” Pope said randomly. “Kie would’ve made sandwiches and Y/N always brings her speaker.”

“Kie won’t let us keep anything we catch and Y/N gets bored if we’re stopped too long,” John B countered. He smiled to himself. “If Y/N were here, she’d already be jumping behind the wheel and driving way too fast.”

JJ found himself chuckling, because it was true.

“When she drives it’s like she’s trying to throw us all off,” JJ added fondly. “But we let her anyway.”

“It’s not like you can argue with her,” John B continued. JJ shared a smile with John B at the thought. “She always wins.”

“It’s ’cause you guys let her,” Pope joined in, causing both JJ and John B to turn and look at him. Pope shifted to face them. “What? It’s true. Especially JJ.”

JJ couldn’t argue because it was true, like Pope said.

A curious look appeared on John B’s face.

“You think the girls talk about us when we’re not around?”

The three of them shared a look at John B’s question.

“Probably not,” Pope finally said, turning back to his line. He sounded almost disappointed.

If Pope liked you too JJ might have to jump into the ocean.

John B exchanged a look with JJ before asking, “You good, man?”

JJ swore he noticed the same selfish worry on John B’s face, and it reminded him John B was supposed to be an obstacle.

“You think Kie even notices me?” Pope asked.

JJ felt a weight off his chest. Somehow he’d forgotten about his own suspicions about that. He’d been so caught up in his own self destruction, it was hard to keep track of everyone else.

“We’re all friends, man, of course she does,” John B supplied, but he knew that’s not how Pope meant it.

“Right,” Pope said. He got to his feet, evidently done with trying to catch anything. None of them had been successful yet. “Just forget it,” he decided, reeling in his line. “We have rules for a reason.”

No Pogue on Pogue macking. It was supposed to maintain all of their friendships with one another without anything getting complicated or anyone getting hurt. The more JJ thought about it the lamer it sounded. It was pretty useless now.

No one knew quite how to respond to that, because if John B and JJ told him to ignore the rule, things could get weird. If they told him to follow it, they’d be hypocrites.

As John B got up to go to the wheel after reeling in his line, JJ watched him. He wondered what John B would have to say about it when it came to you.

You were someone worth breaking rules for, JJ knew that all too well.

He tried to smother the sudden wave of jealousy that threatened to overtake him. Him and John B were cool now and he didn’t even have to address the argument. That should’ve been a win in JJ’s book, but he couldn’t help but think about what would happen the next time you all hung out.

It made his stomach turn to think he might have to wait a while for that. He hadn’t seen your face in person in days, hadn’t heard your voice in just as long, and he was going through withdrawals. Photos in his phone of the two of you together only made his heart ache when he looked at them before sleeping. JJ tried to dream of you, but when he woke up he could never remember the details. There was only a familiar pang in his chest that he took to mean he had.

Every time he zoned out, he remembered the kiss. Mostly the second one, where you had kissed him. Where you’d held him and he’d pressed his body to yours.

JJ cleared his throat, face growing flushed at the memory. If you hadn't rejected him, JJ wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to stop at just kissing you that night.

He looked out in the murky water, getting only ripples of his reflection. It looked wrong without you at his side.

Back at the Chateau, they lounged on the porch, now avoiding the topic of you and Kiara. They all did it in a not-so-subtle manner, but no one commented on it either.

JJ was relieved, because the longer he thought about you, the more he started to internally spiral. It didn’t help that John B was right there, sitting on the couch that fueled the fire not too long ago.

He wasn’t even sure you liked John B like that, but JJ still held enough overall doubt to keep him on his toes. He didn’t think you would kiss him either, or that you’d reject him right after. He was finding it harder to read you these days and it got to him.

“There’s gonna be a party on the beach tonight,” John B mentioned once steady conversation began to dry up. “Apparently everyone is going.”

Everyone. That could mean you.

For as far as he’d gone out of his way to avoid you to spare himself, JJ missed you. He wanted to see you. JJ couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone this long without seeing you and it was becoming unbearable. Another part of him wanted to go to get an answer. If he could just talk to you, maybe he could get you to see his side of things. If he couldn’t… JJ didn’t want to think about it at the moment.

“I’m down,” JJ replied, already getting lost in his own mind, trying to formulate what to say to you. It excited him in a strange way as all the outcomes he wanted overtook his brain. He zeroed in on the positives, the ones where he got exactly what he wanted—to be happy with you. “How ‘bout you, Pope?”

“Yeah, sure,” Pope agreed with a nod. “I just gotta stop by my house first.”

Having dinner with Pope’s family was nice, but JJ was itching to get out of his seat the entire time. He should’ve stuck with John B so he could be at the beach party by now, but he couldn’t say no to Pope, and Pope couldn’t say no to his mother.

It was way past sunset when they finally got to the Boneyard, and the party was in full swing. People cluttered the shore, music blasted from a speaker somewhere, kegs were placed about, filling the red solo cups that nearly everyone carried in their hands, and a decently sized bonfire was lighting the entire scene.

The entire car ride, JJ had been preparing himself. He decided he was going to tell you everything. Maybe you had some idea (well obviously, he didn’t kiss you for no reason), but he was going to lay all his cards on the table.

Stupid things had good outcomes all the time, right?

They hadn't so far but he had a lingering bit of hope as he reminded himself you’d kissed him too. You wouldn’t do that for no reason, he was sure of it.

JJ actually felt pretty good when he crossed into the sand.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Pope announced, to which JJ just nodded.

He began to look around, knowing you were here. He had Pope text Kie to make sure. In hindsight it was a little intensive to Pope, but JJ could make it up to him later.

When he found you, you were sitting on a fallen tree trunk that had sunken into the sand since the last big hurricane knocked it down.

Just seeing you took his breath away, you always did. You didn’t seem real to him, he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you in his life but he would be forever grateful.

And then, from a distance, he heard you laugh. He should’ve had the forethought to look who you were talking to, but JJ had been so distracted by the sight of you after many days without.

One flick of his eyes to the left and he sucked the air back into his lungs.

Right next to you was John B, sitting too close for JJ’s comfort. The two of you were talking and flirting, probably. JJ had eyes, he could see the way his friend was looking at you.

He swallowed, forcing himself to look away.

He didn’t see the point in watching any longer, a sour feeling was already building in his gut. Then, shocking even himself, JJ did something he had a hard time doing all his life.

He walked away.

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just an ask or reply to lmk 🫶

The blue taglist: @empath-bunny @juniebugg @lashay28 @redhead1180 @mariaeirhnh @wearemadeofstardust0 @obxwatcherficreader @echobx @rafeinterlude @rubixgsworld @niyahnotnia

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x you #step brother!jj maybank #step brother!!jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #stepbrother!jj maybank #step bro!jj maybank #outer banks #obx #the blue #quin-ns writing

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cinnamongorll · 1 day

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a fragile line - chapter 33

read on ao3! (153k words) | previous chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: animal death. threats of cannibalism. gore.

Word count: 6.4k

Chapter 33

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet hadn’t noticed the men who clung to the side of the building like dark moss. She didn’t see the sight that had made Joel pause. But Juliet saw, with the harshest of clarity, the back end of the shotgun as it assaulted Joel’s temple.

Mouth open in a silent display of horror, Juliet watched as his body crumpled to the ground like paper in a tight fist.

The self preservation that guided her for many years and protected her like a sure compass was nowhere to be found. She didn’t look to her left to find Joel’s attacker. She didn’t even raise her gun, instead, it slipped through her fingers and hit the ground with a sound that never reached her ears.

Juliet didn’t hear herself scream for him but she felt her lips form his name.

Why wasn’t he listening to her? Why wasn’t he moving?

Her skin was numb by the time the first man touched her skin, gripping her wrists and roughly pulling them behind her body before a rope enclosed around them again, again, blocking her blood flow. But Juliet felt nothing. The men around her didn’t exist. They couldn’t exist, because if they did, and that rope around her wrists was real too, then that meant that Joel… that Joel…

No, no no no NO.

“Get up, Joel,” Juliet demanded, her voice hard, mimicking his past commands. “Get up,” she continued when he still didn’t move, louder this time. “Get up. Get up. Get up. GET UP,” Juliet begged.

She tried to drop to her knees, tried to crawl to him. But the men around her had hands under her arms, keeping her upright. Juliet just writhed and bared her teeth, seething like a woman possessed.

Why wouldn’t they let her crawl to him?

Through her burning vision, Juliet watched in cold, biting horror as hands were shoved under Joel’s arms and his motionless body was lifted into the air.

She was screaming again then his feet began to drag against the ground.

Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he -

Juliet couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel anything beyond stunned terror.

Take me with him! She wanted to scream. And maybe she did scream it. Maybe she couldn’t stop screaming.

Sharp heat and a welcome numbness hit her cheek. Too slowly, Juliet’s head tilted towards the hand that slapped her. Her eyes widened when she realised that she knew the man the hands belonged to. Juliet scrambled her confused mind for his name as recognition flared within her. The man had become almost synonymous with her father when she was young; he watched her from corners and lingered in open doorwards as her father hurt her. And he was always first in line when her father opened their game up to other players.

John, Juliet remembered.

“What’re you doing back here, Juliet?” John’s sneering voice asked as the hand that slapped her now gripped her chin, tilting her chin up to meet his face.

Through her hazy mind, she felt his breath coat her cheek and she blinked up at his, too thin, face.

“Don’t care who she is, pick her up and let’s go,” a voice called from behind them.

John’s cracked lips spread into a bloody smile before he pulled her even closer until his lips met her ear.

“You might’ve been something in this town once, sweetheart,” he murmured, causing Juliet's already broken and pounding heart to jump. “Do you know what you are now?” he asked as he pulled back to meet her wide stare.

John’s eyes roamed down her body before he answered.

“Fresh meat.”

……………..

They dragged Juliet through the gate, passing the corpse of the horse that had carried them here.

Its hollowed body told her what fate awaited her.

Her head whipped around. She couldn’t see Joel. Juliet began to scream his name in a guttural cry. She thought that if she yelled enough it might wake her from his nightmare.

God, they must have been watching them since they entered the town.

Joel had questioned Danny for looking over his shoulder but that’s what they should have been doing. Maybe they had grown too comfortable in Jackson, had forgotten the habit all together.

The tall gate that protected the town had been open. Why had it been open? The question had plagued Juliet’s mind as they had searched for Danny.

Only now, as she was dragged through the same streets, did the answer reveal itself like the solution to an old riddle…

What does a starving town, in the midst of winter, with a dead leader, and no contacts or suppliers need most?

Fresh meat.

It was a trap, the open gate had been a snare and they had walked right into it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Juliet just wanted to know if she was destined to her father’s fate, if his blood had truly corrupted her.

Stupid, fucking selfish suicidal mistake.

Joel was right, he was always right, and yet he still came with her…

And now he was … and now he …

“Joel!” The scream erupted from Juliet’s raw throat.

“Shut her up, will you?” One of the men she only vaguely recognised groaned from behind her.

“It’d be my fucking pleasure,” another one said before the back end of a gun sped towards the side of her head.

…………………………….

Her bed was so cold that the feeling bit through her layers of clothing.

Juliet groaned, trying to turn over away from the chill, but her body wouldn’t follow her commands.

Juliet’s eyes flashed open to a ceiling that she didn’t recognise. Her mind was foggy and the world was still blurry as Juliet blinked a few times and tried to raise a hand to rub at her eyes. But she couldn’t move her arm, why couldn’t she move her arm?

Her memories barreled into her like another hit to the temple.

Joel.

Juliet’s pulse began to roar in her ears as she remembered what had happened and she realised where she was.

She couldn’t move her arms or legs, and it wasn’t a bed she was lying on.

Juliet was strapped to a metal table in what looked like Ethan’s father’s old medic office.

The room had always been kept immaculate when Ethan’s father was alive, but now every surface was overflowing with dirty rags, containers and knives which all had a slick red coating to them which made Juliet’s stomach drop.

She remembered their horse.

“Fresh meat,” John had called her.

Juliet swallowed down her nausea as she tilted her head the best she could to see the floor.

It was stained with blood.

This wasn’t an examination table anymore… It was a butcher’s block.

Despite the chill, a sweat broke out across her forehead. She tried to think of a strategy to get out but all she could think about was Joel.

Where was he? How long had she been out for? … Was he alive?

The door opened so suddenly, Juliet didn’t have time to wipe the horrified look from her face.

It was John. He looked the same as he did in the dark memories of her childhood, except he was now a lot thinner, like Danny. Lost leadership and the effects of winter had hit this town hard.

He opened his mouth but Juliet spoke first.

“Where is he?” she demanded in a voice far stronger than she felt.

John shook his head slowly, and walked to pull a chair over to the table she lay on.

“Slow your horses, sweetheart. You’re not the one asking questions here,” he warned as he sat down and rested his hands on his knees.

“Where is he?” Juliet bit out, ignoring him.

John laughed and leaned back in his chair.

“So you’ve come back, and with Elijah’s killer, no less,” he observed with a quizzical look. “I was out on a supply run when your father was murdered. Knew he was looking for you, though. Just didn’t expect you to betray us, Juliet.”

She swallowed down the fear that was crawling up her throat.

“God, what a disappointment you were to him,” John sighed. “Your father gave you everything, he saved you and yet you brought that monster straight to him.”

Juliet’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest it was difficult to hear John’s voice.

“When I came back, they told me that Elijah was murdered by this crazy man and I -” John paused, shook his head and clasped his hands in front of him. “I vowed that I’d get revenge, one way or another but keeping this town alive became more important.” He rubbed a hand over his face and barked out a surprised, almost delighted laugh. “And then you walk right in, like you own this fucking town and with the psychopath himself. It’s just perfect, couldn’t have wrote it better myself.”

Juliet began to shake her head. “We don’t want any trouble,” she promised.

John tilted his face to the side, to match her position on the table, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Oh we’re way past that now, sweetheart,” he said almost softly as his eyes roamed down her restrained body. “All you are is trouble.”

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She couldn’t see a way out of this, she couldn’t even begin to make a plan because her mind was playing a constant loop of Joel’s body crumpling to the ground. Juliet analysed it over and over. Did she see him breathing? Could he have survived this?

“Where is he?” she pleaded.

John stood so suddenly that Juliet flinched. He pushed his chair back with a biting shriek and walked over to the counter.

“He’s no concern of yours now. You brought him right to us, sweetheart,” John replied with his back turned as he fiddled with something on the counter. “You didn’t think we’d want to have a little chat with the man who killed Elijah and left us all to starve?”

Hope slammed into Juliet’s chest, fast and sudden.

“He’s alive?” she choked out. Her eyes began to flood with tears and they leaked onto the cold metal table beneath her.

John turned suddenly, resting his back on the counter, as his lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” He scoffed, then shook his head. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Juliet said nothing, just bit her lip to stop another scream from erupting.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“Why’d you come here, Juliet?” John demanded, turning his head to the side. The action made him look menacing, and Juliet remembered that she should be afraid of him, not just because of what he might do to Joel, but what he might do to her.

“We want nothing from you,” she bit out as she struggled against the restraints. Juliet was growing restless, and her breathing grew laboured as she realised there wasn’t an easy way out of this.

She was entirely at John’s mercy; whatever his revenge may include.

“Just let us go,” Juliet pleaded as the ropes that bound her scratched red welts into her skin.

John’s look stretched several moments as he watched her struggle, then he reached for something behind him that Juliet couldn’t see from the angle she lay at.

“No,” he replied quietly as he began to walk towards her, his footsteps slow and careful as though he were approaching a wild beast. “No, this is just too good. You took everything from us,” John’s voice had grown darker. “Your father was a proud man and he provided for us, kept us from starvation every winter… now you’ll have to fulfil that duty.”

Juliet’s stomach dropped as she noticed what was in his hand. The stark overhead lights reflected off the sharpened edge of the cleaver.

“Wait,” she begged and begged and begged.

Juliet’s eyes widened as John’s steps paused. Her entire body trembled as he raised her knife and its mirrored surface reflected her horror stricken face.

This couldn’t be the end. She couldn’t die here.

Juliet had survived this town, she had survived her father, and now…

“Elijah was against this practice, said it was against the word of God,” John murmured in a voice that sounded underwater to Juliet’s ears.

“Wait!” She pleaded again, her own voice almost unrecognisable in her state of terror.

John ignored her.

“But I think under the current circumstances, he’d understand.”

Juliet writhed against her restraints, pushing further against the metal table, wanting to melt into the surface if only to get away from the cleaver now angled dangerously over her body.

“You don’t have to do this,” she screeched. “We have food in our bags, you can have it, you can have it all.”

John’s eyes hit the ceiling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we got that already.”

The cleaver dropped to her stomach and Juliet’s eyes squeezed shut.

But the blade didn’t pierce her skin. Instead, John used the pointed edge to trace along her jacket, watching as it formed a perfect slash in the fabric.

Nausea washed over her as she pictured what the blade would do to her skin.

“It’s just not enough,” John continued with a click of his tongue.

Her knife was in her boot, if it was even still there. But there was no way for her to get to it. She was entirely defenceless. All the years of fighting and bleeding and learning how to defend herself and, in her final moments, it still wasn’t enough.

Her mind went to Joel. If he was gone already then at least she would join him, wherever they ended up.

In her sweetest fantasies, she’d always imagined they would find a farmhouse, like the one he had described almost a lifetime ago, and live together. They might sit on a porch swing in the evenings and watch as the sun set, then they would walk up the stairs to the bed they shared and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Maybe in another life, she thought.

Juliet’s mind tuned back into reality and John’s voice filtered back through.

Despite the fear and the adrenaline that was pumping through her bloodstream, Juliet frowned as she watched, through tear soaked eyes, as John moved the cleaver away from her chest and, with his other hand, he gripped her wrist.

“We’ll start with something small, see how you manage,” John explained, coldly.

John winced as Juliet’s scream began to fill the room, echoing off every surface. Her throat burned and raged.

He struggled to grip her flailing hand but a quick elbow to her gut paused all her movements.

“This is for Elijah,” John seethed.

Then he brought the cleaver down on her finger, slicing through the bone until it was no longer attached to her body.

Black spots filled her vision immediately and Juliet’s scream vanished at the first flash of pain.

Then there was nothing at all.

……………………………….

“Juliet.”

Her eyes opened, then immediately closed again.

The lights were so bright and something was on fire, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Juliet, please wake up.”

The voice wouldn’t stop harassing her, it was like a hand had reached through her mind and was dragging her subconscious out of the dark waters up to the surface.

Panic hit her with the first gasp of air.

“Joel?”

Her eyes searched frantically through her tears as her head bent in different directions, desperately trying to find who had pulled her back to life.

“No, it’s me. It’s Danny.”

To her left, there he was, crouched against the table, shaking Juliet’s shoulders.

“Danny?” she asked.

“Listen, we don’t have much time,” he cautioned, letting go of her shoulders.

“Where is he? Is he alive? Please,” Juliet’s questions poured from her, the words overlapped and sleep still clung to her slurred speech.

“Don’t move, I need to wrap your finger,” Danny whispered, avoiding her questions.

My finger?

Juliet had discovered the source of the thick, burning pain and she remembered the glint of satisfaction in John’s eyes.

She tried to lift her hand to her face, to see if it was really gone, but she still couldn’t move her arms. The restraints still held her to the table.

“Untie me. I - I can’t move,” Juliet croaked, her throat raw.

Danny just shook his head and lifted her injured hand, still restricted by the binding on her arm.

Juliet watched with her mouth open in a silent scream as he began to wrap a bandage over the stump of what was left of her finger and around the palm of her hand, over and over until he tied it tight.

Her breathing bordered on hyperventilating as she struggled to not pass out again.

When the job was done, Danny lay her hand by her side and took a step backwards, making no move to untie her.

“Please, untie me. I have to get to him,” Juliet almost sobbed, her voice confused and desperate.

Danny shook his head again, quicker this time, as though he was ashamed.

“I can’t. There’s no time,” he replied quietly.

“What do you mean? Where’s John?” Juliet demanded as her eyes flashed to the closed door.

Danny ran a shaking hand, covered in her blood, over the sharp bones of his face. “He’ll be back soon. He went to Joel,” he revealed reluctantly.

Juliet’s chest ached as the restraints bit through her clothing. “Do you know where they’re keeping him?” she begged.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Danny sighed, then nodded to the table she lay on. “That night you were last here, I found you on this table. You were unconscious and Ethan was patching you up while Joel hovered over your body like he’d shoot anyone who came near you,” Danny paused and let out a humourless laugh, “he almost shot me, actually.”

“When he carried you got of here, I thought that, despite everything he’d done, that at least he’d protect you, that maybe you’d have a chance at a life,” Danny said solemnly, staring down at his feet, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Untie me,” Juliet commanded, her voice angry.

Danny stood so still, it was as though he hadn’t heard her at all, then he turned and looked behind him at the door. He was terrified, she realised. Maybe if they hadn't come to the town, it would have been Danny on this table instead of her.

Then he broke the silence, with words sharper and more ruinous than the edge of John’s cleaver:

“Elijah wasn’t lying to you.”

Juliet’s heart stopped.

Danny sat in the empty chair, left behind by John, and dropped his head into his hands. And when his face rose to meet hers, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“You were born not far from here, we all were,” he began. “I was younger than your parents, but I knew them well. I was the son of the town minister and they came to our church, the whole town did, really. I was there at your parents’ wedding and your christening.”

His words didn’t feel real. Juliet could have sworn she was asleep again, floating in her fantasies.

“You were such a happy toddler, you know, you were always smiling,” Danny smiled too, like the memory was clear in his head, until his face darkened. “Then the end of the world happened,” he said grimly, wringing his hands, “and nothing was ever the same.”

“It was a small town and those of us who weren’t infected, we banded together in the church. There were some supplies there and, for a while, we managed.” His voice was quieter now. “Then, a few weeks in, we heard a knock at the door. We knew by that point that the infected didn’t knock, so we opened the door and,” Danny paused to meet Juliet’s eyes, “Elijah was on the other side, with his daughter.”

Juliet swallowed roughly, and her heart jumped at the mention of his name.

“He’d always lived in town with his wife, and their daughter was about your age. They always kept to themselves, they came to church but never stayed long afterwards,” Danny explained. “It was a surprise to see them, to say the least. Especially because they were covered in blood and his wife was gone.”

A chill settled over Juliet’s body, sinking deep into her bones.

“We checked them for bites and we let them stay and Elijah I guess slowly took up the role as the leader of our group. He was skilled and he knew how to appeal to people,” Danny paused to run a hand through the greasy strands of his thinning, grey speckled hair. “Then… then his daughter was killed.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat.

“It was a freak accident. The church was swarmed and so many survivors were bitten, including his daughter.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he considered his next words. “I watched him kill her. A bullet straight between her eyes. She was only three.”

Tears hit the metal table.

Danny stretched his back and nervously looked around him at the door as though John would walk in at any moment, then he turned back to Juliet. “Things are hazy in my mind after that,” he stated. “We moved out of the church, Elijah had found us an abandoned farm with some good land, and we started hunting for food.”

“Your parents were strong, and brave. They volunteered to hunt and I didn’t notice it at first but Elijah started to spend more and more time with them, and more time with you. It seemed like a man grieving his daughter and no one really paid any mind but, I don’t know, it was almost possessive.”

Danny’s story unravelled like an old ball of tangled string, bringing more troubles with every pull.

“I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t there, but your father went on a supply run… and only Elijah returned.”

Juliet bit her lip hard and a sharp metallic taste entered her mouth. She swallowed it down.

“Your mother was… I’ve never heard anyone scream like that. Elijah said your father had been bit and he had to kill him but,” Danny shrugged. “Your mother died not long after.”

“No,” Juliet whispered, not realising the word had left her mouth. It was too much to take in. Her whole world was unravelling.

“She had taken you down to the river to bathe but hours later, neither of you had returned. Elijah eventually found you, sitting on the riverbank, alone with your mother’s jacket draped over you.”

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain of her severed finger anymore. She was numb with a loss of people she couldn’t remember, but had offered her a love that had been taken from her.

“He said that she drowned herself on purpose,” Danny’s voice cracked. “But your mother would have never left you alone.”

A sob worked its way up Juliet’s throat but she didn’t let it out. Danny wasn’t finished.

“Elijah took you in straight away. You even looked like his daughter,” he winced. “I - no one could even question it. People worshipped him, and if we wanted to live, we had to go along with it.”

Juliet tried to speak but her voice was muted. She coughed out a weak sound and then tried again.

“What were they like, my parents?” she asked quietly.

At her question, Danny’s hollow eyes found some life again.

“They were good people, Juliet,” he tried to smile. “Truly good. They were kind and they loved you so much. They were nothing like him.”

Juliet let out the sob this time, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Why did no one tell me? Why did you all let him hurt me?” she asked like a confused child.

Danny held the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, wincing. “I was a coward. We all were.” He let go of his nose and his eyes locked on the ropes around her body. “I still am.”

“No,” Juliet gasped out as she began to write against her restraints again. “No, you can get me out of here, just hand me a knife. Please.”

Danny shook his head slowly. “He’ll kill me.”

“Elijah’s dead,” Juliet said forcefully, the words still felt unreal to her. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Danny still didn’t look up at her.

“Don’t let someone else dictate your life for another twenty years,” she ground out. “Come on, please.You owe me this,” Juliet seethed.

Danny’s eyes flashed to hers. His mouth opened and for a split second, Juliet saw him make a decision, and watched him begin to speak the words and then -

The door flew open, banging against the wall with a sound that made Danny jump from his chair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John demanded as his hard gaze bounced between Juliet, still bound to the table, and Danny, now standing in front of him.

To his credit, Danny didn’t flinch. “Just came to check on her,” he explained.

“Yeah?” John asked, tilting his head to the side. “And who fucking told you to do that?”

“I’m leaving,” Danny said as he tried to move around John to the door.

“No you’re not,” John protested with a heavy hand on his chest, pushing him towards the table Juliet lay on.

“Do you wanna be the one on the table?” John demanded, then laughed sickly when Danny didn’t answer. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

John’s hand pushed him again, until Danny practically leant against the table.

Juliet stared at Danny’s back, desperately avoiding eye contact with John lest he take another finger as retribution.

Her eyes were focused on Danny’s thin, hunched shoulders until a flare of light caught her eye. She looked down… there was a knife in Danny’s back pocket. Her knife. The blade was open and ready.

He’d brought it for her, despite not having the courage to give it to her himself.

Maybe there was some bravery left in him.

Juliet tuned out John’s anger fueled words as he fired them at Danny and she started to inch her hand towards the knife. The pain from her missing finger was stronger than she’d expected and Juliet had to bite down on her lip again to stop a scream from escaping.

Her remaining fingers inched closer and closer to the knife until finally they enclosed around the blade. Its sharp edge cut into her flesh, forcing Juliet to bite her lip even harder, and every time she thought she gained a grip… it slid from her fingers again.

She was losing time. John was going to kick Danny out any second… or worse. She had to get this knife now.

Ignoring the bite of the blade, Juliet tugged with all the strength she had remaining in her butchered hand and the knife finally slid free. She grasped it carefully, terrified that it would drop onto the metal table.

John continued his power trip, pointing vile accusations Danny’s way. Juliet tuned him out again and focused on turning the blade in her trembling hand until the sharp edge grazed the rope around her wrist.

Sweat began to bead across her forehead despite the temperature in the room as the knife threatened to slip from her hand. Without her index finger, gaining a good grip was impossible but she kept trying until the blade cut through the first fibres of the rope.

John had Danny by the throat now but his body was still covering the movement of her hand as she pushed the knife harder and faster, slicing the rope again and again and again.

Then, as Danny was pushed against the counter, and a gun was pressed to his head, the rope released from her wrist.

Juliet choked out a strangled gasp as she rapidly assessed the situation around her.

Danny was shouting at John, with words that her panicked mind couldn’t comprehend.

John’s back was turned, this was the distraction she needed.

With her hand freed, Juliet pushed down the pain and used the knife to cut through the rope on her other wrist, faster this time with her returned mobility.

John landed a punch on Danny’s face, causing him to sag against the counter.

Juliet’s eyes flashed towards him but she had to keep working. The knife was at the rope around her chest then finally the rope around her legs.

Time slowed to a crawl as she lifted her numb legs and managed to drop onto the floor. She stumbled but caught herself on the metal table with her damaged hand.

She couldn’t help it. Juliet yelled out in pain.

John whirled towards her, gun in hand. Juliet’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened.

“No, you don’t,” he growled and stepped towards her, aiming to grab her by the middle.

But, despite the shock, Juliet was ready. As he reached for her side, Juliet whipped her arm around until her knife lodged in his shoulder then she pulled back, unleashing it with a spray of blood.

“Fuck,” he shouted, stumbling back as his free hand rose to cover the fresh wound.

Juliet eyed the door, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate, searing need to find Joel. But unfortunately John handled a stab wound better than Juliet expected, because within seconds he had his gun pointed at her head.

Despite the adrenaline in her bloodstream, the injury and the lack of food and water had taken its toll. Juliet’s hands rose in the hair as her body began to sway.

“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” John sneered.

In her desperation, Juliet’s eyes flickered to Danny’s, begging him desperately to help her. But Danny had a different idea, quickly he began to mouth a phrase over and over, urging her to understand.

She peered closer, blinking fast as her mind whirled.

Juliet thought he was saying “Elijah’s house.”

She gasped when realisation slapped her across the face. Elijah’s house. That’s where Joel was. He was telling her where Joel was being kept.

“Don’t look at him,” John interrupted fiercely. “He can’t help you.”

The sound of the gunshot was so unexpected that Juliet’s hands flew to her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

She hadn’t even seen him move the gun in his direction. She hadn't even noticed when he decided to change target.

The gunshot rang in her ears, muting the rest of the world.

But Juliet could see clearly and her eyes dropped to Danny’s body, now slumped on the floor against the cabinet with a ring of red surrounding his face.

It took a moment for the moment to catch up with her. Juliet felt two steps behind. How did this happen?

Juliet’s eyes slowly lifted from Danny’s unresponsive body to John’s towering presence, breathing heavy as he watched her reaction.

“What did you do?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What did I do?” he scoffed. “Get back on the table.”

Juliet shook her head like an impudent child.

John rolled his eyes and tucked his gun into his back pocket, then in two strides he was in front of her, gripping her knife from her numb fingers and dropping it on the floor, before he kicked it out the way.

Then his hands were on her shoulders, roughly pushing her towards the table.

Juliet’s thoughts were too slow and her actions too weak, as the events washed over her in disjointed moments. Danny was dead. Her parents were good people. Joel was still out there.

Oh god.

He was still out there. He needed her.

Juliet twisted her body before her mind realised what she was doing and she pushed with all of her strength against John’s unsuspecting body.

He stumbled backwards with a frown, then his eyes grew darker and he reached for her again.

But Juliet was smaller than him, and she knew how to use this to her advantage when men were coming towards her. She ducked immediately, twisting herself under his arm until she stood behind him, breathing heavy, waiting.

She had no plan other than ‘don’t get killed.’

Juliet was moving on pure instinct from all her years surviving. John staggered towards her, a snarl taking over his mouth.

Strangely, he didn’t use his gun on her.

He must prefer his meat fresh, she thought.

An image of herself lying on that table for days on end as body part after body part was hacked off flashed into her mind and Juliet’s body went into overdrive.

She darted to the side, avoiding John’s outstretched hand.

He was strong but she was quick, and finally, she had a plan.

The cat and mouse game continued as Juliet steered John towards the counter closest to Danny’s body.

She was quick but that didn’t matter when she backed herself into a corner. John’s hands found her throat and he squeezed and squeezed as he pushed her into the cabinet behind her.

His eyes were flaring with sick pleasure as Juliet felt her face turn red with dwindling oxygen.

Panic struck her mind but she didn’t let it linger. Her hands flailed out, as though she were gripping for the counter to hold her weakening body up. But she wasn’t.

Juliet was searching, searching for the cleaver.

Black spots appeared in her vision as she finally enclosed her fingers around the wooden handle. Her wrist was still weak from the restraints so she had to tighten her hold before she could swing the makeshift weapon.

Just as it had sliced off her finger in one fell swoop, the cleaver lodged itself in John’s back like his spine didn’t even exist.

Through her hazy oxygen deprived eyes, Juliet watched John’s mouth form a shocked silent expression before his legs crumpled beneath him… just as Joel’s had.

At the reminder, Juliet’s hazy vision turned a dark, dangerous red and she drowned out the sound of his gasping whimpers.

Juliet kept her eyes locked on his and she took her time bending to her knees, until she straddled his writhing body.

The cleaver was high in the air before she had even committed to her act. Then she dropped it down.

The spray of blood splattered against her face like a hot shower after a cold day.

In the back of her mind, Juliet thought of Elijah and the cruelty that was housed within his body. With every slash of the cleaver as she brought it down again and again on John’s already butchered stomach, Juliet wondered if it was already too late for her. If Elijah’s sickness had found its way into her bloodstream despite their lack of relation.

But he had no claim to her, he never had. She wasn’t destined to be locked in that basement, she wasn’t destined to be tortured every day of her childhood, she wasn’t even destined to turn out like him.

Juliet had parents, real parents who loved her. She was supposed to grow up with kind parents and become a kind person, the type of person who forgave and who never lifted a hand against another.

But that didn’t happen.

And in this world, that girl, the girl she was supposed to be, would have been killed a long time ago.

Finally, she was free from the curse of her father’s possession and the sick promise of his heritage. Juliet could be her own person, she wasn’t bound to become one thing or another.

Maybe one day, she might allow herself to be kind and try out a life without bloodshed and violence.

But today wasn’t that day. And, despite everything, Elijah had taught her well.

For a final time, Juliet would heed his lessons of pain and torture, to save Joel.

To save the man she loved.

Juliet’s arm ached viciously but she brought the cleaver down a final time, welcoming the blood that dripped down her face.

As Juliet stood on trembling legs, she stared down at John’s still form and empty chest and realised with a sick satisfaction that he now looked a little like their horse.

She didn’t bother wiping the blood from her face, Juliet just bent down to collect her knife from where it landed on the floor and tuck it firmly in her boot. Then she dug John’s gun from his back pocket and put it in her own.

When she walked around the table towards the back door, Juliet forced herself not to look at Danny. He was the last connection to the parents she never knew she had. And now he, too, was gone.

In the end, he tried not to be a coward, and maybe there was some forgiveness in Juliet afterall.

The backdoor opened easily. John had a lot of trust in the ropes that bound her to the table.

The winter sun was bright in the sky when she opened the door, and Juliet blinked several times as her brain processed the change from the artificial lighting.

She started walking in the direction of the house where almost every scar on her body was formed. Her legs were weak and she kept stumbling but that didn’t stop her.

Joel had to be alive. Juliet couldn’t even consider a possibility where he wasn’t.

She got him into this fucking mess, and she would get him out.

The desperation poured over her and Juliet was choked by it.

She was going too slow, she had to move faster. Juliet had brought Elijah’s murderer back here and the town wanted its revenge.

But she wouldn’t let that happen. This town owed her, for every blind eye when her blood was spilled, for every silent voice when she begged them for help.

This town couldn’t have him.

It had taken her childhood, her innocence, and her faith in humanity.

It wouldn’t take him too.

Juliet started to run, her feet crushing over the frosted grass as she raced across the field. Her loose hair flew around her head, mimicking the thoughts that sped through her mind.

He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone.

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Nearing the last few chapters of this story 😭 I'm going to be so sad when it's done but I'm also just super proud of it. Thanks for reading this far ❤️

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller hbo #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #joel hbo #the last of us hbo #Spotify

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