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#maybe it’s just the bad writing because he was really good in the fades
familyvideostevie · 1 month
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this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!
getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts
joel miller x reader
summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k
a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.
___
7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 
The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 
You’ve only been open for two hours. 
Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.
Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 
You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.
The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 
Your coffee shop. 
It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.
The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 
You even love it, some days.
And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 
You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.
“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 
Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 
You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.
“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”
You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.
The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 
He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.
The guy looks tired. 
Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 
“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 
“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”
“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.
DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 
“Three options.”
Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.
“Can I get you one of those three options?”
You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.
“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”
“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”
He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.
“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.
You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 
“You have no idea.”
He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.
You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.
Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __
You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 
Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.
Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 
“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 
“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.
“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.
“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”
She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.
“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 
You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 
“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”
“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”
He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.
“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.
“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 
The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.
“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”
If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 
“What the hell was what?”
She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.
“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”
You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.
You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.
“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”
“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”
“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”
“Milk.”
Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 
Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.
And if you have a crush on him? 
No harm done. He’s nice to look at.
And he tips well.
__
Joel stops by again. 
And again. 
And again.
He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 
All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 
Maybe he’s just being polite.
Also, he keeps overpaying. 
One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.
The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.
“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 
“I’m honored,” he says. 
You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 
“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”
He snorts and hands you his cash. 
“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”
He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.
“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 
He smirks. “Miss me?” 
You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 
“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”
Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 
“Reckon that’s the tip.”
“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”
Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 
“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”
“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”
There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.
You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 
“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 
Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 
“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”
“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.
Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 
“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 
“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 
Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 
“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”
Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.
She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.
You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.
“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”
Joel talks over her.
“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”
Ellie huffs.
“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”
“Good.”
You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 
“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 
Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.
“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”
“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 
She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”
“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”
Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”
He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.
“I bet they’re real good.”
Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”
You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 
“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.
Joel winces. Ellie gags. 
“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”
“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”
“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”
“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”
They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.
It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 
It makes you want to know more.
You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.
“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”
She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.
“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”
She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.
“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”
Joel clears his throat.
“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.
You suppose it is.
“You’re welcome, as always.” 
Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 
They both wave at you as they drive away. 
__
Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.
You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.
You want him.
Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.
It’s you who is distracted. 
One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.
Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 
You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.
He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.
“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.
“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.
“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”
Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 
“I think so, just hold on a sec.”
“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 
You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.
“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”
“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.
He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.
“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”
You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.
“How can I help you?”
A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.
“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”
You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”
“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”
You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”
“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”
“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”
He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”
You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”
“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”
“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”
Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 
“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”
It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 
But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.
“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.
“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 
“He might be here for something else, too -”
“Go refill the ice.”
He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”
__
7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 
The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 
Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.
You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.
A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 
And you still barely know him. But you want to. 
Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.
You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 
It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 
Sweetheart.
Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.
The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.
Joel, it seems, is one.
You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.
“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 
You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.
“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”
“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”
“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.
And wait.
And wait.
The rain stops.
You’re still waiting, phone silent.
Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.
“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 
You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.
You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.
A door slams but you don’t turn around.
“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”
“Shame,” he says. 
You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.
“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”
He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”
You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.
“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.
He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.
Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.
“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 
The words don’t totally register. “What?”
He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.
“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.
“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 
He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”
“Right.” 
You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.
But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.
Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.
You turn around.
“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?
He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –
“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”
Oh.
He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.
“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.
“Well, you gonna ask again?”
You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.
“Are you going to say yes?”
“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”
“So you could read the cup?”
Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 
“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”
“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”
Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.
“I do,” he says. 
It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.
His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.
You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 
“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”
You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”
“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 
“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”
Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.
“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”
“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.
“Thanks,” you breathe. 
He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 
Joel Miller likes you.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.
His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.
“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”
Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”
“You’re very lucky,” you say.
“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.
His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 
Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.
“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”
thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!
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lovebugism · 3 months
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congrats on one year of your blog!!
for your one year celebration, could you write something with the prompt
“you showed up at my door of all place?”
“trust me it wasn’t my first choice either.”
with steve perhaps? maybe he’s injured (because when isn’t he) and has no one else to turn to but the reader??
tysm lovie! hope you like it :D — steve seeks comfort in you, his rival since high school, a week after fighting vecna (enemies in love, hurt/comfort, post st4, 1.7k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
Steve’s stitches start weeping a week after the brawl with Vecna — the ones you’d sewn along his ribcage when a gang of demobats made a feast of him. 
He’s gotten so numb to the pain (the constant, never-ending, three years of nonstop pain) that he doesn’t realize his wound has torn open again. Not until his shirt starts sticking abnormally wet to his skin. He looks down, notices the dark red patch blooming on the gray fabric, and then feels the distant stinging of the week-old bite.
Most of them have healed or are starting to. They’ve turned pink and marred over, unlikely to fade. But there’s one gash that refuses to mend, and he’s starting to think it might be some kind of bad omen. Like the constantly knicked sutures are some kind of prophetic telling of an undone fight and not just a consequence of his restlessness.
He thinks of you first, anyhow. Before a solution or a way to dull the pain. He thinks of you and your gentle hands and how you were the only person he’d let touch him after coming back from the Upside Down. 
Steve drives to Forest Hills and ascends the rickety porch of your trailer even though he knows it’s 2 a.m. He knocks at the paint-chipped entrance even though he knows Eddie only lives four doors down. Max lives across the way from Eddie, and he knows that, too. He could go just about anywhere, he figures, but he’s here — on the steps of the girl who couldn’t stand him in high school.
You answer the door much quicker than he anticipated. Ten seconds after he knocks, you stand before him with wet hair and no pants. The damp strands drip onto the oversized shirt you wear. The sleeves of the old thing hang low off your arms, the hem of it falling just above your knees.
You don’t look sleepy despite the early hours of the morning. Tired, maybe, but not sleepy. “Steve?” you say, so suddenly alert at the sight of him. Your eyes, lined with a sleep you haven’t gotten in days, go wide with distant horror. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone die?”
You ask him all this before he’s said a single word. Good questions when you live in a town like this one, when you’ve seen the things you’ve seen.
“Nothing. Everyone’s fine,” Steve answers in a monotone, still gripping his side with his opposite hand. “My stitches just ripped.”
You blink rapidly at him, trying to clear the daze of exhaustion and the subtle shock of seeing him. “Stitches— What?”
He pulls back his hand, the palm of it now blotched pink. There’s one large circle of deep brown blood staining his shirt and two more tiny patches just below it. “I’m bleeding,” he tells you, as if it isn’t obvious now. “My stitches pulled.”
Your gaping gaze flits from his freshly opened wound to the annoyed look on his chiseled face. His pale features glow amber beneath the buzzing porch light. “And you showed up to my door, of all places?”
“Trust me. It wasn’t my first choice either.” He clutches his side again and slides past you in the doorway, walking into your trailer, mostly uninvited. 
He knows your parents aren’t around. It’s the only thing you’ve ever been able to bond over. You grew up mostly alone and learned to raise yourselves accordingly. So it’s not totally surprising to find your trailer dripping with girlhood — tiny trinkets, movie posters, half-alive plants, and vibrant colors. More of a home than his empty mansion ever was.
“Why don’t you just go to the E.R.?” you ask and shut the door behind you. You have to lean your body weight against it and press really hard — or else it won’t close fully, and the wind kicks it open while you’re sleeping, and you wake up to a family of raccoons ravaging the candy bowl on your coffee table.
Steve huffs and sits on your grass-green couch, face scrunching at the distant stinging along his ribcage. “Because I don’t know how to tell people that potentially rabid demobats took a pound of flesh outta me,” he sasses.
You shake your head. “If you get blood on my sofa, Harrington, I swear to god…” you mumble and sit down beside him. 
You lift the hem of his shirt to assess the damage, knuckles skimming warm along his golden side.
Most of the bites scattered along his ribs are healing now. They’re small and shallow and turning slowly pink instead of scarlet red. But there’s one still pulsing crimson, the only one deep enough to need stitches. The only one refusing to heal. 
The sight of the raw, throbbing wound makes your stomach writhe. You remember pulling the stubborn demobat off of him by its tail. You feel the sting of his pain even now, like it’s your own.
Steve watches your face the whole time. He decides to base his pain on how you look at him, whether you shrug it off or grimace in disgust. You do neither. Your eyes dart over his skin, glimmering with concentration, as your fingers brush his aching side with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible.
His brows pinch at your lack of response. He tilts his chin to his chest and ducks his gaze to look at you, honey eyes eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Is it bad?”
“Well… It’s not good,” you conclude after a few moments.
“That’s such a non-answer,” he scoffs, dropping his head to the back of the couch to watch you walk into the kitchen. 
You disappear behind a wall for a few moments. The distant clattering of something, muffled as you dig inside cabinets, fills the empty trailer. 
You’re back in thirty seconds, tops, with the first aid kit you’ve been a stickler about keeping restocked. ‘Cause Steve isn’t your first patient since coming back home. He’s not your second, either. 
It was Eddie first, for his own demobat bites, and then Lucas when the cut along his swollen cheek split open again.
You’re not cut out for any of it. Not professionally, anyway. You only know how to do sutures because of Mr. Mundy’s ninth-grade health class.
You return to Steve’s side and begin to clean up the bite, lest an infection spread and Vecna take him out from beyond the grave. 
The burn of the alcohol makes him wince. “Ow,” Steve whispers under his breath, a subtle pout scrunching his features.
“Don’t be such a baby,” you laugh.
“I’m injured— You’re supposed to be nice to me.”
“You’ve been through three separate concussions and a thousand demobat bites. I think you can handle a little sting, Harrington.”
Steve tilts his cheek to his shoulder, squinting his twinkling eyes and flashing you a lopsided smile. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing your bedside manner is— ow!”
You start stitching him up without warning. You make it look easy despite having no real idea what you’re doing. Steve figures it’s because you’re a natural at taking care of people. Sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason all of you managed to make it out of the Upside Down in the first place.
“All done,” you murmur after you’ve knotted the last stitch.
“Thanks…” He tries to sit up again. The sting hasn’t yet left him. It’s less of a pain now, and more of a  warning — the thin sutures screaming as they threaten to snap.
“If you don’t move around so much, they won’t pull. Again.”
“Is that the rule?” he teases.
“Yeah. That’s the rule— the don’t be stupid rule.”
Steve takes a sharp breath in and rises. He’s prepared for the ache, so it burns less this time. He sees you reach for him in the corner of his eye, hands darting out to help him and then shooting down again when you decide against it. 
He wouldn’t have minded if you had. He would’ve made fun of you for it, obviously, but he wouldn’t have minded.
He’s been missing the warmth of your touch more and more since the Upside Down — back when he laid mostly limp on the arid ground of a desolate land, when you cradled his body to shield him from the bats flying overhead. 
He stopped feeling scared when you held him. He thought it was because he was dying, but now he knows it was because of you. The healing in your touch. It’s like the amber glow of streetlamps in the dead of night, or sunsets that paint the whole world pink. Being touched by you is like dancing in summer rain and running through a field of wildflowers.
“Sorry, for uh— for keeping you up,” Steve apologizes and inches towards the door.
You follow close behind him, with an urgency that borders between letting him out and keeping him in. “It’s— It’s fine,” you stammer, then laugh at yourself. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”
“Really?” Steve asks, an inquisitive swirl to his scruffy features.
He turns around to face you more, his sneakers melting into the plush of your rug. Your hand gets clammy and tightens around the rusted doorknob when he looks down at you — with his eyes made of velvet and his mouth made of flower petals. His face is so hardened, but he looks at you so softly anyway.
“No,” you confess with a soft shrug. “I mean— after everything, I don’t know how anyone is. I was with Eddie earlier, and the fucker was passed out before ten.”
Steve breathes a sharp laugh through his nose. His plush lips curl into a crooked smile. “He deserves the sleep, though.”
“Yeah,” you sigh.
“And so do you.”
“I know,” you grin, equal parts bitter and genuine. “But I’m not getting any.”
“Me neither,” Steve confesses, exhaling so deep it makes his chest deflate.
The two of you linger in place for a long, long time. Both of your mouths curl to say the same things — let’s grieve together, let’s wait for the sun to rise so the nightmares will pass — but neither of you is brave enough to say them out loud.
“I’ll see you around,” Steve nods, finally.
You wrench open the door for him, pulling extra hard when it jams. “The next time you pull your stitches?” you joke, smiling like you’re not grieved to watch him walk into the empty night alone.
Steve grins like he’s not mourning, too. “Probably,” he scoffs.
Maybe before that, he hopes, healed again as he walks to his car. Maybe I’ll be brave enough soon.
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rxdidz · 7 months
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Okay so! If you're writing for roronoa zoro and reader could I have one when hes unconscious after fighting mihawk and shes devastated bcs she loves him and confesses?? Maybe falls asleep holding his hand and everyones like "aww so cute"?? But then he wakes up and asks abt Nami so she thinks he likes her instead so is really sad until someone knocks it into his stupid attractive head that they're in love with each other and how sad she was when he got hurt??? Happy ending pleasee!
✩₊˚.⋆ wake up.
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word count : 793
‘she’ is used once but pretty gender neutral :p
a/n : i kinda changed the end, like while unconscious he hears her confession (don’t ask how.) i tried to do this justice because it was so cute but ahsksjsjak idk i tried!!!!
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you sat beside usopp, just staring at the food sanji had cooked for you. you couldn’t eat right now. their conversation was quiet in the back of your mind because all you were focused on was zoro.
he was your main thought all the time and you hated it. he was so stupid. he was stubborn. he made you feel so many feelings and you didn’t know what to do with them. you just wanted him to wake up.
“you know luffy, he got badly hurt. there’s a chance he might not wake up.” usopp said. that definitely got your attention.
you whipped your head towards him, “don’t say that.” you wouldn’t know what to do if you lost him. “im just saying—”
“just don’t say anything!” you said, in a frustrated tone. everyone was silent and staring at you. your face flushed as you got out of your chair and stormed out.
you felt bad. you lashed out because of how upset you were. but that wasn’t an excuse you cursed to yourself. your mind was overfilling with thoughts. you turned the corner and peeked in the room, you saw him. quietly, you walked to the side of his bed and sat in the chair.
you tilted your head as you admired him. his lips, his green hair that you were obsessed with, the way his chest was moving up and down, those bandages. “zoro…” you whispered.
he wasn’t awake.
“i need.. i need you to know something. and i couldn’t tell you this to your face, because i don’t know what i would do if you didn’t feel the same.” you fidgeted with your hands as you watched him.
“im in love with you.” you blurted out. “i have been, for a long time but i don’t know what’s gonna happen to you and i can’t lose you as a friend.” you felt your voice break. trying to stop yourself from tearing up, you grabbed his hand gently before relaxing. being so stressed about everything, you dozed off.
——
“she’s holding his hand!” you heard a faint whisper from the doorway. your eyes fluttered open to the sight of usopp leaning on the door frame and luffy sitting on the bed.
“good morning sleepyhead.” luffy joked
“morning.” you said sleepily, looking down to your hand, still holding zoros. you pull away, “is he.. still the same?” you asked. he nods, “yeah. i tried talking to him but—”
“you guys gonna keep talking or let me get some sleep..” you heard a mumble and you both whipped your heads towards the voice “zoro??” you both ask with excitement as luffy shakes him. you began to smile, happy he didn’t—
“i had the strangest dream.. that nami left.” he muttered, rubbing his head.
your smile had faded, you felt bad because nami had left and that’s who he was worried about. nami. then you felt bad for even thinking about that. you and luffy shared a glance before you hesitatly stood up.
“she did.” luffy said, zoro opened his eyes and you were already out of the room.
“what about y/n?”
im so stupid. you thought to yourself. you sat on top of the deck, watching the ocean. you felt guilt and betrayal. because on one hand, you were upset about something so little and on another, YOU had been there for zoro when he was hurt and unconscious. you were devestaved thinking that this was the last moments you had together.
your thoughts were interrupted as zoro leaned beside you. startled, you jumped. he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.
“are.. are you okay?” you asked, trying your hardest to not look you had just been crying.
“are you?” he asked, he looked concerned, his arms were crossed and he kept looking at every feature in your face.
“why wouldn’t i be? you’ve been—”
“i heard you.” he blurted out. you stared at him, confused. he pursed his lips, “while i was unconscious, i heard some of what you said to me. you grabbed my hand?”
“oh.”
you felt your face get hot, did he hear all of it?
“and they kept telling me how sad you were over it..” he glanced at you, “i didn’t know you cared that much.”
oh.
you blinked at him, it was silent, all you both heard was the ocean waves and the others talking. you had the same worried expression on your face.
he noticed and sighed, facing you, “y/n.”
“.. yeah?”
“im in love with you too.”
you felt a stupid grin spread onto your face, all your bad thoughts being washed away as you threw yourself into his arms.
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Text
he doesn’t disappoint
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Wrote this fic as I was inspired by the challenge from @sky-is-the-limit that asked for Price getting fed up with hearing his hot neighbor have really terrible sex.
“I came to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”
MDNI/18+
AO3 Version here
Four long stories above the people and the pigeons, she sat, legs on the railing of her amazingly small balcony, reading and writing. Always dressed in that huge jumper with the fraying collar, it swallowed her, covering her little spandex shorts that barely managed to keep her thick arse from slipping out of them, and she had her hair in the braid again. It was his favorite. He liked the ponytails, too, but the braid did something to him. When she plaited her hair and let that heavy rope hang limply over her shoulder, she became Repunzel, and he was Gallahad - or whatever muppet was meant to be at the bottom of her tower.
Captain Price knew that, the moment his fingers flipped the lock on his window, he’d disturb her peace. She’d startle, like a doe, and turn to smile at him. He lived for that turn. Every few nights, he’d catch her out here again, and he could make her turn to him. Make her smile at him. Make her laugh and talk with him, until she went to bed. But, that was the problem. Lately, her bed was filled with the one thing that made Price’s body fill with frustrated rage: The Boyfriend.
The Boyfriend was such a typical Yank, it made Price’s eyes roll back in his head. From the boat shoes to the bad fade haircut, the lad looked like an Abercrombie advert had escaped from one of those oversized shopping bags and landed in her apartment. He was small, first of all, despite the gym-made muscles. And he was as smooth as an otter, fully hairless. Price shuddered back to the memory of watching him try to put up the fire escape ladder shirtless, struggling to lift it with those tiny hands of his, making a disgusted face at the dirt on his palms afterward, wiping it on her blanket without her seeing him. Disgusting little gremlin.
She kept giving this wanker chance after chance to figure it out in the bedroom, and Price had heard just about enough of it, and his gut twisted in his belly knowing he’d have to hear it again tonight. He knew The Boyfriend was here because she was doing her work outside. The Boyfriend insisted on playing his Battle Zone videogames on full volume, bothering her, and complaining like a child if she asked him to put on his headphones. Price enjoyed imagining how quickly he’d expire on a real battlefield. That little prick could scream all the obscenities he wanted but he’d be dead in milliseconds against a man like Price.
His darling didn’t know about that, though. She knew he was in the military, but she didn’t know that he was the leader of the deadliest special forces team in the world. He imagined explaining it to her, pictured the fear flooding her face, confusion and shock hanging out of her open mouth. No. He couldn’t tell her about himself. Usually, when they talked together on the balcony, he would smoke long, densely-packed cigars and sip his whisky while she confessed the sins of her day to him. She told him about grad school, about her poetry, maybe showing him a sample or two. It was beautiful. When she was upset, she’d even tap on his window to see if he was home, sometimes tearful, asking for advice on how to handle something The Boyfriend had done. On really bad nights, she’d lean in and hug him, crying on his enormous shoulder, telling him what a good friend he was for listening to her. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, and her warmth made his cock swell with furious need.
As the night dragged on, The Boyfriend would eventually remember her and call her inside. He’d croon all sorts of things to her. His little whining “come on, baby” and pathetic “I just really need you to” quips were the opening lines to the worst song on Earth. He’d then spend the next five to ten minutes whimpering away on top of her, the headboard slamming into Price’s wall without rhythm. If the gorgeous woman suffering beneath him ever had the audacity to actually be enjoying his attempt, he’d shush her, shaming her for making noises, telling her “the neighbors don’t need to hear that shit.” Meanwhile, The Neighbor would be plotting his slow, painful death.
The banging started, and Price wanted to burst through the wall and stop this trainwreck from happening to her again. Eventually, a short time after it had begun, the banging stopped. Then, an even shorter time after that, the jingle of keys and the “I have an early day tomorrow” and “I have to go” were the outro to The Boyfriend’s opus.
Enough was enough. Before he even knew what he was doing, Price had his hand, raised in a fist, knocking on her apartment door. 23B. Shadow in the peephole. The click and clatter of a lock chain.
“Oh! John, it’s you. Is everything okay?” Her voice was low and smooth. Her cheeks were flushed. She was standing in her doorway, wearing those shorts, that jumper, still full of her need.
“No,” was all he could manage as he looked at her, his blue eyes blown, mad with desire.
“Oh, okay. Come in, I’ll make us some of that delicious tea you bought me. What are you doing here?”
Price followed her inside, silently relocking the portal, stalking her into the tiny kitchen, a mirror to his own. He came up behind her as she was looking in her cupboard for their mugs. When he put his hands on her hips, she froze, startled, eyeing him over her shoulder. His voice was just above a whisper, gravelly and accented, and he said,
“I came to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”
She was on her tiptoes, reaching for the cups, but as she registered what he said, she slowly lowered herself back down to the tile of her floor, turning to face her neighbor with a look of shock on her face.
“What?”
Price played with the end of her braid, turning the end of it over in his hand, wrapping it up along his knuckles like a rope. He snaked the other hand up underneath her sweatshirt, fingers lingering on her warm belly, searching for the smooth swell of her breast. He told her, snarling,
“If I have to hear him continue to use you like a warm fucking towel, leaving you wanting, I will lose my bloody mind. Call him. Tell him he’s done.”
“You could hear us?” She flushed quickly at that, recalling all of the times she’d been punished for her noises.
“And I always hear you afterwards, after he leaves, making up for his…shortcomings. Bit sad, innit? Needing to take care of yourself when he should be the one looking after you. Time for someone new. Get your phone, love.”
It took her a moment to register what he was suggesting, but she was fed up, too. She smiled at his comment, and she reached for her phone on the countertop.
“Put it on speaker, sweetheart,” he commanded her. She obeyed.
One ring.
Two rings.
“Uh, what do you want?” The Boyfriend answered.
“Hey, Dick,” Price snarled, “We got some bad news, lad.”
“I’m breaking up with you, Richard,” she spoke into the phone very clearly, wrapping her free hand around Price’s huge bicep, not able to cover even half of its circumference, exploring him as he fondled her, one fist still holding her plait cruelly.
“What? Why? Who is that?”
“Why?” She scoffed, “Because every time I’ve come, for as long as we’ve been together, has been when you’re not here.”
“Are you serious? Fuck you, bitch. You’re just a -”
“Tha’s enough, Dick,” Price barked into the phone, “Look, no worries, mate. I’ll take it from here.”
Click. Price hung up her phone and turned it off, tossing it back across the counter. It made a loud, plasticky bang as it fell. He pressed his heavy erection against her body, crushing her hips with his, and moved his hand back under her jumper, plucking at her nipple like a soft petal, pinching it to make it stand at attention, watching her watch him.
“John, you… you never said anything,” she looked up into his eyes, begging him to tell her the truth he’d kept locked away for months.
“This isn’t even the half of it, girl,” he started to kiss her neck, sucking at her skin, his body writhing on top of hers, mimicking actions it would soon employ once he could get her out of her clothes, “I’ve wanted you for so. Fucking. Long.”
She moaned at the way he was kissing her throat with his bearded mouth, licking her with his long tongue. She cradled his furry cheek in her hand, enjoying the feel of its coarse hairs, whispering to him,
“When he leaves, you’re the one I picture. In my head.”
She might as well have lit a bomb. That was all he needed to hear.
He was strong enough to hoist her up onto the counter with one of his arms, wrapping it around her waist and setting her on the edge, her thighs spread wide to accommodate his huge body in between them. He tugged on her braid, using it to expose her smooth throat. She gasped, reaching out to steady herself.
The captain stood over her, looming like a dark beast, warning her in his quiet, steady voice,
“If I ever, and I mean ever, hear that little prick banging your headboard on my wall again, it’ll be his last day above ground. Am I crystal clear, love?”
“Yes,” she whispered back, a little uncertain how serious he was.
“Good girl.”
Price let go of her hair and scooped her off of the counter, carrying her with her legs locked behind him, through the small flat, and crashed to the bed where she’d just been disappointed. He vowed to her, silently, that he would do anything but disappoint.
Clothes started coming off in peeled layers; shirts, bras, pants, underwear - everything was shucked away like the rind of a melon, leaving only the soft, sticky inside, ripe and ready to be devoured. Price made his way down her body, biting and sucking whenever he wanted to do so, leaving a trail of teeth marks behind. Eventually, he could feel the heat of her pussy against his cheek, and it made him shudder.
He had pulled her phone into his pocket, and now he wanted to twist the knife. He called The Boyfriend and sent his own number straight to voicemail, preparing to leave a delicious message.
As he began to eat her juices, sucking them off her folds like the drippings from a popsicle, he started to hear little mewlings, soft and sweet, but very reserved. He glanced up at the rest of his meal, wondering why she was holding back. Then, he remembered The Boyfriend’s number one rule.
“Look at me,” Price ordered from beneath her thighs.
She hesitated, trying to hide her shame, putting her face in her hands, breathing heavy and ragged.
He reached both hands up to grab her ribs, coming up and out from his position to let her get a better look at him.
“Look at me, love.” It was a softer, lower tone, and she came out of hiding to obey him. He continued to command her, gently, “I want to hear your pleasure, sweetness. The louder you get, the harder I get. I hope the whole bloody city hears you tonight.”
“Are you sure? You like it?” Fuck if he wasn’t about to hunt that man down and execute him, authority or not.
“God, yes, love. Let me make you scream.”
This voicemail was going to be incredible.
He returned to his duty post between her legs, excited to start his work anew. This time, as his tongue worked her open, fucking liquidly in and out of her pink hole, swirling up around her clit, and exploring every hidden gem between them, he listened to her keening. It was soft at first, but then, when he began to stretch her, pushing down with his two, rough fingers, thrusting them slowly in and out, she started to come. Her cries were incredible. She was screaming for him to fuck her, to take her, to do anything to her, and he loved it.
Crawling back over her, Price used his heavy cockhead to paint drooling precome all over her slick slit, soaking himself so he could more easily fit himself into her core. He didn’t want to hurt her, and other lovers had trained him to know that his was big enough to be a weapon.
“That’s my good girl. Do you feel good, you sweet little thing? You’re a fucking dream. Tell me that you’re ready for this cock in you. I wanna hear you say it. Tell me, love.”
She was shaking from her orgasm, looking at him, bewildered, and she rushed the words out of her mouth like fire,
“I need it, please. John, I need you to fuck me. Fuck me, please, John. Put your cock in me,” and, like magic, Price obliged. Just as good at taking orders as he was at giving them.
Feeding his length inside of her wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that she was coming while he tried to do it. Price had a hand steadily working her clit, wetly pressing it where she needed it, and she was clenching against him so tightly, like a wet, molten fist, that it nearly pushed him out of her. He grabbed her body, looping his enormous arm behind her back, and shoved her down, locking her against his hips, deliciously impaled.
Her face was twisted into the most beautiful kind of agony, and as she came down from her high, he began to move in her. After she bloomed around his cock, opening like a flower, he was able to fuck into her even deeper, groaning with each of his thrusts. She gasped,
“Oh, God. John, you’re so good. You’re not done yet?”
He laughed, out loud and brazenly, holding her tighter,
“Oh, lovely girl, no. No,” he smiled down at his pretty little neighbor, “Those days are gone. I’m going to be inside of you all fucking night.”
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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 2 months
Note
Maybe something angsty with an insecure fem!reader who gets jealous over girls flirting with ethan— or it could be the other way around with a jealous Ethan. Whichever you prefer! The angst then leads to smut, maybe somewhat possessive sex with some dirty talk? Thank you!
I hope you like it! :)
Bite Me - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader
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Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader
This contains SMUT - Minors DNI
Summary: A girl flirting with Ethan leads to an explosive interaction, but he's going to show you why you're the only one he wants.
A/N: This was so much fun to write. I love a good angsty moment. Maybe because I, myself am angsty as fuck.
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You were out on a date with Ethan at your favorite restaurant. You’re celebrating your 1 year anniversary, and it’s been the best year. You’ve experienced so much with him and can’t wait to see where it goes.
As you sat at the table, deep in conversation about one of your classes, a girl walked up to your table.
“Hey, Ethan!” she slurred, you noticed that she’s obviously been drinking.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, as she leaned her elbows on the table.
“I heard you’re the best for tutoring, so I was hoping we could have some private sessions,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Uh, if you want me to tutor you, we could meet in the library,” he suggested, as you felt anger build up inside you.
“That’s perfect, I’ll message you on Instagram to see when works for you,” she said, as she looked over her shoulder at you.
“Oh, are you his girlfriend?” she asked, her breath smelling heavily of vodka.
“Yep, sure am,” you said through gritted teeth.
“That’s too bad,” she said, before directing her attention to your boyfriend. “Bye Ethan.”
When she walked away, his smile faded when he saw the look on your face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused.
“What’s wrong? You just said you were going to tutor some girl that obviously wants to fuck you,” you said. At this point, you were seething. “I think I’m ready to go.”
You stood up from the table and walked out before Ethan was able to say anything. You were able to cool down for a minute as you waited for him to pay. When he walked out, he had a napkin in his hand.
“What’s that?” you asked curiously.
“Oh, the girl that wants me to tutor her gave me her number,” he said, as you both got in the car.
“Why the fuck didn’t you throw it away?” you asked, the anger building back up.
“I will, I wasn’t trying to be rude,” he said, as he focused on driving.
“You weren’t trying to be rude to her after she was disrespectful to our relationship. Nice,” you snapped.
“I tutor several people, babe, you know that. And she was drunk, she probably wasn’t trying to come off like that,” he said, and this is the one time that his innocence was really pissing you off.
“You are so oblivious. Do the other girls that you tutor act like that?” you asked, ready to get out of the car.
“No, babe, I don’t…wait, what are you saying? You think I’m cheating on you or something?” he asked, and you started to tear up.
“I’m not saying that. I just think it’s fucked up that you want to spend alone time with anyone that acts like that,” you said, a tear slipping down your cheek.
“The library isn’t a place to be alone. What about that don’t you understand?” he asked, anger evident in his voice.
“What you need to understand is that when we get back to your apartment, I’m getting in my car and going home. Fuck this whole anniversary thing,” you said lowly.
The rest of the ride back to Ethan’s was silent, no music, no talking, nothing. Once he pulled into the parking spot, you got out of the car and walked over to yours.
“Fuck, I need my phone charger that’s here. Mines broken,” you said, speaking for the first time in twenty minutes.
“Okay,” was all he could say as you followed him inside.
Once he unlocked the door, you saw rose petals all over the floor. Your heart started to melt a little.
“Ethan, did you do this for me?” you asked, looking around at the candles.
“Yeah, Chad came over and lit the candles when I told him we were leaving the restaurant. Kinda dumb now, huh?” he asked, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter.
“Why is it dumb?” you asked, looking over his stone-cold expression.
“Were you in the same car as me? Do you remember saying ‘Fuck this anniversary’?” he snapped.
“Ethan, do you not understand why I was hurt at that restaurant?” you asked, a crack in your voice as you tried to hold back your tears.
“Yeah, you have issues with another girl talking to me,” he said.
“I was upset that you didn’t tell her no when she had other intentions. I’m upset that any girl thinks she’s going to fuck you aside from me,” you said, as he walked towards you.
He didn’t say anything as he grabbed your hand and took you to his room. The room was dimly lit with candles on the floor. It made you so sad that the night was ruined, because this was the most romantic and sweet thing anyone had ever done for you.
As he stood in front of you, you saw a little anger in his dark eyes, but you also saw a lot of love.
“Do you think I’d want to be with anyone that isn’t you?” he asked, the tension still thick in the air.
“No,” you whispered.
He stepped forward, holding your face in his hands as he kissed you, hard. He reached around and grabbed your ass, making you moan into the kiss.
“I’m going to show you why you have nothing to worry about,” he said, pushing you onto his bed.
He hovered over you, kissing you with the same intensity as before. His hand squeezed your hip as he started to kiss down your neck. You felt his teeth graze your skin, whimpers slipping past your lips. He pulled away from you long enough to slip your shirt over your head. He noticed that you had his favorite bra on, and smirked to himself as he kissed a line down the center of your chest and stomach. He slid your leggings off, noticing that the panties you were wearing matched the bra. He almost didn’t want to take them off you.
“You were looking forward to me fucking you tonight, huh?” he asked, massaging the flesh of your thighs. You moaned in response, the feeling of his hands on you making your core throb.
“I asked you a question, baby,” he said, his eyes boring into your needy ones.
“Yes,” you said, as he slid your panties down your legs.
He ran his fingers over the newly exposed area, alternating between rubbing your clit and dipping a finger inside of you.
“You think I’d really want to fuck someone else when you have a pussy this perfect?” he asked, his words making you whine.
He continued to tease you, watching your face with a smirk.
“Please baby, I need you,” you said.
“You want me to eat your pussy, baby?” he asked, and you nodded.
He leaned forward, lapping at your dripping core. You moaned out as your legs spread further apart, him kneading your flesh while his eyes connected with yours.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he said as he pulled away to take a breath.
He wrapped his mouth around your clit, gently sucking on the bundle of nerves.
“Oh my god,” you cried out, his tongue rolling against you as he sucked.
He slipped two fingers inside of you, moving them against that special spot inside of you at a fast pace.
“Fuck, your gonna make me cum, baby.” He watched your face as you started to hit your peak, only breaking the eye contact when your body started to jolt. He kept up his pace, before slowing down once your walls stopped fluttering around his fingers.
Once you came down from your high, you slid off the bed, crouching on your knees in front of him. You unbuttoned his pants and slid down the zipper, your eyes never leaving his.
“I’m going to show you exactly why you shouldn’t be studying with girls like the one from tonight,” you said, mocking his comment from earlier.
You pulled his hard cock out of his boxers, placing gentle licks to his tip. You licked a stripe underneath his erection, from base to tip, before sucking him in your mouth. He gasped as he reached his hand down, tangling it in your hair. He started to thrust his hips forward a little, making you gag around him. He kept going, until he was as far in your mouth as you could take him. He looked down at you to see the tears streaming down your face.
“You’re doing such a good job, baby,” he said, the grip on your hair getting tighter. “Your mouth is amazing.”
It didn’t take long before the combination of the both of your actions had him approaching his orgasm.
“Fuck, I’m going to cum. Where do you want it?” he asked, but you just kept sucking.  He released in your mouth as you swallowed. “God, you’re perfect.”
“You got another one for me, baby?” you asked, standing up and placing kisses along his neck. You reached down to stroke his sensitive cock that was already starting to get hard again.
“You keep talking like that, you’ll struggle to walk when I’m done with you,” he said lowly.
“You promise?”
He pushed you back on the bed for the second time of the night, grabbing your hips and pulling you to the edge. He placed your legs on his shoulders as he gently pushed into you.
“Oh fuck,” you moaned out at the feeling of him stretching you out.
He started to move his hips, like he was trying to release a little bit of the frustration from your conversation earlier in the night. He pounded into you, staring down to watch his cock go in and out of your pussy.
“I’m yours, baby. Always yours,” he said, circling his fingers against your clit.
He leaned forward with your legs still on his shoulders, making it easy for him to hit that special spot inside of you with every thrust. Your legs started to shake and your vision went blurry as you orgasm quickly crept up.
“You gonna cum, baby?” he asked rubbing your clit faster.
You couldn’t form words as you babbled, completely cock-drunk.
When you tightened around him, he whimpered.
He pulled out and released his cum, shooting it on your thighs and your stomach.
“Fuck, that was a close one,” he joked, almost not pulling out in time. You waited for him to catch his breath, before he grabbed a towel to wipe his cum off you.
You tried to stand up to grab your panties, but your legs started to wobble, feeling like Jell-O. You fell back on the bed, as he laughed a little.
“I told you that you wouldn’t be able to walk,” he said, tossing your panties at you.
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endlessthxxghts · 6 months
Text
You Better Jump... (1 of 2)
neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k
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Summary: You wake up after a drunk night out to the lock on your door broken. The neighbor who lives in the same apartment complex as you offers to fix it for you.
Warnings: canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). allusions to further sexual activity between reader and Joel, mainly fluff and flirting and embarrassing interactions that'll give you butterflies, an unhinged best friend (vulgar dialogue from said best friend), cellphone audio connecting elsewhere where other people can hear..., 18+ MDNI. F masturbation in a bathtub, Joel having incredible self control until he doesn't, making out... (I think that's it! As always, let me know if there's anything I missed that should be in here!)
Author's note: I intended for this to be a one shot, but I just know the next part will be pretty long. I still need to write up a few more details for part 2, but it will be posted VERY SOON! For now, please enjoy this. :)
PART 2 HERE (VERY NSFW, 18+ MDNI)!! || MASTERLIST
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“Shit, I don’t even know which lock to get,” you mutter to yourself as you stand helplessly in the middle of the aisle. 
You went to the bar last night, got a little too drunk for your own good, and when you woke up in the morning, your front door’s lock was broken. You genuinely don’t know how that happened, but you do know that you need to fix it as soon as possible, especially with the fact that you just moved in not too long ago and you live alone. 
“Hey there,” a rough Texan drawl says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up to see a tall, broad man. Soft, brown eyes, a mustache and some scruff along his jawline. He’s clad in a dark blue t-shirt and some jeans. He’s handsome, and oh god, you’ve been completely gawking at him instead of responding. You finally meet his stare, and his eyes twinkle in delight, like he’s enjoying the attention you’re giving him. “Oh, hi, uh- I’m sorry, just kinda zoned out there for a sec,” you ramble on, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment. 
“Oh,” he chuckles, “don’t worry about that.” He smiles, and you’ve never experienced anything more beautiful. “I, uh, couldn’t help but recognize ya, and overhear ya about the locks?” You give a confused look, and he continues, “I think we live in the same apartment complex. You just moved in a few weeks ago, right? I’m Joel.” 
You are seriously so confused right now because you are so sure you would never forget if you had a neighbor that looks this handsome. And apparently all your defenses are down right now because you just fucking said that out loud. 
You can see Joel’s cheeks and neck flush into a bright red, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck and the blush in your face follows. “Holy shit, I did not just fucking say that out loud,” you groan as you bury your hands into your face. You realize you still haven’t introduced your name, so you quickly squeak it out. He tells you it’s nice to meet you followed by your name, and he rambles on, “And I, uh, I’m flattered...you’re, uh, not too bad yourself.” Your head shoots up, and you swear your face cannot get even redder, but somehow it does. 
He senses that you can’t handle anymore of this god awful attempt at flirting, so he saves you by continuing his original thought. “Well, what I was tryna say was- I overheard you sayin’ ya didn’t know which lock to choose? I’m pretty handy in the maintenance department, and I’ve helped a few neighbors in our complex with much more complicated than door locks. Maybe I can help ya?” You feel all the stress from your body completely fade away, and you absolutely take advantage of this beautiful man offering to help with your locks. 
“Oh my god, really? I owe you one, thank you so so much,” you tell him. He smiles. “It’s no trouble at all, darlin,’” he says as he grabs the correct lock for the apartment complex, “this is the one we’d need.” 
All you came here for was for the lock, but you ended up staying with him and having conversation throughout his entire Home Depot run. Turns out he’s a contractor, used to live in a home but since his daughter moved out he doesn’t find the necessity of having a big home for himself. He didn’t sell it though, he let his brother and his wife take it over. Very minimalist kind of guy. 
You forget you two didn’t drive to the store together, so you’re almost kind of bummed at the fact that you have to separate from him. He bids you goodbye and says he has to run a few more errands. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Is it okay if I swing by your place then?” 
You’ve been so entranced by his presence and your guys’ conversation that you forgot the entire reasoning behind why you began talking in the first place, and it’s heavily evident in your confused look. His lip quirks up again, “…to fix your door lock,” he adds, amused. 
You mentally slap your forehead. Fucking get it together, you think to yourself. “Yes,” you immediately blabber out as soon as you realize you’ve gone quiet again. “Yes, that’s perfect.” 
“Alright, darlin’, I’ll see you in a few,” he says as he shoots you a wink and begins walking in the direction of his truck, and there goes that nickname again. 
Oh, you are absolutely fucked.
✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧
It’s a ten minute drive back home, and as soon as you get back in the car, you call your best friend and tell her what an absolute fool you made out of yourself. 
“BITCH,” she screams, gasping for air at how hard she’s laughing, “I can’t fucking stand you, oh my god, I’m crying.” 
“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her, while tears are also streaming down your face, attempting to catch your breath. “Dude, I swear, once you get a good look at him, you’ll see what the fuck I’m talking about, and you’ll see my reaction was VALID to such a beautiful looking man.” 
She stays on the phone with you for the rest of your little drive, and ends your guys’ conversation with, “In all seriousness, though, you better jump on that di-”
You gasp out and yell her name, “OH MY GOD, you’re done. Goodbye.” 
She cackles, “Update me later, babe. I love you.” 
“I love you more, you fuckin’ menace,” you say as you park. 
✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Your next few hours are filled with you absolutely stressing. You know Joel is just coming to fix the door, but you can’t shake away the nerves. So you spend the first hour absolutely deep cleaning your apartment. 
You still have about maybe an hour left, so you decide to try and calm your nerves some more with a quick bath. You quickly undress and give yourself a quick wash in the shower to wash all of today’s dirt before you set up your bath. 
Filling up the tub, you throw in some lavender scented bubbles and light your favorite cashmere vanilla candle, the combination of the scents immediately relaxing you. Maybe a little too relaxed, though, because as you sink deeper into the tub, your body can’t help but continue to rise in heat at the thought of Joel. Without thinking, your eyes slowly close and your hand drifts closer to where you’re aching the most. 
You start by drawing soft circles on your clit, pulling soft little mewls from your throat. The thought of those big rough hands pushes you to move a little faster, and the thought of that scruff rubbing against your inner thigh pushes you to dip your middle and ring finger into your entrance, pumping in and out with such a need you haven’t experienced in a while. The sounds coming out of you now are high pitched and whiny, and you can’t help the way your body writhes against the bathtub, sloshing water out the sides. 
Your hips are grinding up against your palm, stimulating your clit while your fingers hit that velvety spot that drives you absolutely mad. You bring your other hand up to your mouth as a reflex to silence your sounds, but an image flashes in your mind that it was Joel’s hand over your mouth instead, and that’s what ends you. 
Your eyes clamp shut, head thrown back, spine completely arched, and all you can see are little white fireworks behind your eyelids as your orgasm breaks you, the lukewarm water feeling hotter than when you first drew the bath. 
You sit there for a moment to catch your breath, willing your body to work since the man you just touched yourself to should be here in any minute. 
You dry yourself off, putting your hair up in a towel and dressing in some gray sweat-shorts and a tank top, not caring to completely doll your figure since he’s in your home after all. Right as you finish up your skincare, you hear a knock at your door. You take one more look at yourself, and you’re still absolutely flushed with a hint of that orgasmic glow, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he can make you cum like that with just the thought of him, you’re absolutely gonna take your best friend’s advice from earlier. 
✧*:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You open the door for him and immediately the heat you tried to save yourself from is back, tenfold. “Hey, darlin’,” he says with a smile. The nickname makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter harder than before. You give a sweet smile back. It’s his turn to melt, but you don’t clock it as easily as he can with you. 
He steps inside, a little closer to you, and immediately he falls to his knees. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a few little tools from his back pocket, and suddenly you realize you were holding your breath. Here he is, wasting no time getting started on fixing your door for you while you stare at him like he’s giving you a strip tease, all because he got down on his knees. 
You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure, and you offer, “C-can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?” 
He looks up at you, and he cannot get enough. Your flushed cheeks, the way your body language shows your excitement and nerves all in one, your towel lopsided on your head. So goddamn beautiful, he thinks to himself. Again, it’s his turn as he zones out in his thoughts, but this time, you do notice, and you can’t help but feel a sense of confidence shoot down your spine at the fact that you’re affecting him just as much as he affects you. 
Your smirk grows the longer he stares, and finally he realizes what’s happening, and his face goes tomato red. He’s pretty sure no one has ever seen him blush this much since he was a teenager. “Some water would be wonderful, sweetheart, thank you,” he says, thanking whatever God in existence that his words were coherent and not a blubbering mess like his brain. 
“Coming right up,” you say, and make your way into your kitchen, thankful for the little private moment to yourself. As you grab Joel a cup and fill it with ice and water, you feel your phone ring in your pocket. It’s your best friend. You bring your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button on the way up. 
“Hello?” you repeat several times before you hear your best friend, but not through your phone. Forgetting the water for a minute, you scramble to the living room, where Joel is right next to, to hear your best friend coming from your living room speaker: Hello? Can you hear me?? I said did you jump on sexy neighbor’s dick ye-
You hurriedly end the call and throw your phone across the room. Your heart starts to pound even harder when you see Joel in your peripheral view, still working hard on the lock, but he is definitely in the proximity to have seen and heard everything. You quickly turn back to the kitchen to grab the glass, purposely avoiding Joel’s eye.
Quickly you grab the glass and place it on the little table near the front door. Joel sits back on his haunches for a moment and takes a long gulp of the ice cold water. Too amused at the display that happened moments ago, he can’t help himself when he says, “So… sounds like ya got your hands full with that friend of yours, hm?” He looks up at you with mischief in his eye. 
And just like that, any sense of confidence you had at having the upper hand over this Texan man went down the drain. You completely fumble. “Oh- I- yeah, my best friend… Did you hear- Fuck, no, of course you heard, I-” 
Joel pulls himself up to stand at full height, now towering over you. He brings his pointer finger and thumb to your chin, pulling you to meet his eyes while also pulling you from the hole you keep digging deeper. You immediately shut up. He has a crooked grin plastered on his face when he says, “I didn’t hear a thing,” followed by a wink. You can feel your knees wanting to buckle. You breathily squeak out an okay and he assures you with another okay in response. You two stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Joel, without thinking, says, “Let me take ya out to dinner.” 
You slowly pull away from his grasp, afraid you’re invading his space even though he just asked you out on a date. He takes it as a sign of discomfort and immediately creates an arm’s length of space between you. “I-I’m sorry if I overstepped or made you uncomfor-” 
“No, Joel, hey,” you cut him off quickly, stepping slightly closer. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’d love to go to dinner with you,” you beam up at him, your bottom lip wedged in your mouth to ease your nervousness. “I just pulled away because I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything,” you quickly add. 
“That’ll never happen,” he softly says. He steps closer again. “I’m sorry, but I- Shit, okay, I’m a gentleman through and through, but I-” he pauses for a moment, “I just- I really need to kiss you-” 
You don’t let him finish his thought as you grab onto his arms and pull him into you, guiding both his arms around your lower back and guiding your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue, and the way your noses bump each other ever so often is enough for you to completely buckle. His hold on you is tight enough to keep you standing, but you truly don’t know how much more of this you can take with a certain bulge pushing into your lower belly. His one hand falls lower and testing the waters, he lightly grasps onto your asscheek. You moan into his mouth at that, and he takes that as your signal for him to fully grab you, hiking you up onto your tippy toes in an attempt to consume more of you. He breaks the kiss a little to give you some airflow back, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his kisses to the side of your mouth, to your cheek, gliding down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping anywhere you give him access to. 
You were right. It’s not quite exactly your thighs like you were imagining earlier, but the way his plump lips, mustache, and scruff feel along your neck is absolutely sinful and addicting, and…
Oh, you are absolutely fucked. 
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Author's note - extended: I hope you guys enjoyed this enough to tune in to part 2! The 2nd part will be very SMUTTY, so... ;)
EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!
508 notes · View notes
ill-consequences · 21 days
Text
Bill Kaulitz X F! Reader smut
Making out session while high with (not high) Bill.
I'M BACK GIRLIES!! Sorry I haven't posted in a while, been feeling pretty depressed lately.
I really hope y'all are okay tho!
(Omg guys it's the day after I posted this and there were so many errors I'm so sorry I was high while writing the end lol.)
Enjoy!
Also requests are open! Feel free to ask/request anything!
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Omg he's just so cute 😭
"whatcha looking at?" I chuckle all up in Bill's face, while trying hard to keep my eyes on his and not his lips.
"nothing... God you're so high..." He chuckles back, with a more relaxed tone than mine.
We are in our shared hotel room, well actually it's his and Tom's, but Tom passed out in Georg and Gustav's room so I'm staying here with Bill for the night, which would've had me nervous normally, but now that I'm high as fuck it just has me hungry for him.
I managed to do all the things I'm meant to do before settling into bed, brush my teeth, take off my makeup and so on... Obviously Bill helped me with what he could and then he also did those same things himself.
He just got out the bathroom and sat next to me when we exchanged those two words.
"do you need anything? Water, food, anything?" He asks me, I just find his concern so hot.
"nah I'm good." I chuckle again, looking down at his lips and then at my lap, trying to play it cool, knowing damn well he noticed that.
I just can't help myself, I like him, I'm attracted to him, I've always been, and sometimes when I'm high I just relax and wanna be passionate with someone, that someone being Bill.
Me and him are sitting in the same bed, I dunno why, since there's two, but I don't really care and scoot over and sit next to him, hugging his arm and looking at the hotel's TV, that had been on this whole time.
I really got a problem with keeping my feelings to myself when faded, once I got so high that two of my friends and my crush had to walk me home, I clinged onto his arm that entire walk and when we got outside my house I hugged him while saying goodbye and blurted out: 'man I love hugging ya, you're so soft, I also like ya...".
(a.n. this actually happened to me, I thought it was funny and wanted to add it in here lol)
Hopefully if something like this happens, Bill will be cool about it.
"God you're so touchy" he sighs, but doesn't seem annoyed, and makes himself more comfortable.
"well, in my defence, I always am!" I say looking up at him.
"you're literally not-"
"Okey! I would be touchier if you'd be cool with it!"
"I am cool with it" he smiles warmly.
"Okey then, I'll be touchier from now on, you can't be mad about it!" I flop my head back on the pillow.
Bill just nods and giggles at me, and redirects his attention to the programme playing on TV.
After a while we finally decide to turn the TV off, to try and get some sleep.
Bill's the one to stand up and turn it off, he also turns off all the lights, except for one, that's dim enough to fall asleep with on.
He makes his way back in the bed and gets under the blanket next to me.
"how're you feeling? Everything alright?" He asks again.
"yes don't worry, I already told you: if I feel sick I'm going to tell you!" I say looking up at him, since I'm laying down and he's sat up on my left.
"I know, just making sure..." He says softly looking down at me while smiling.
I smile back at him, but that warm feeling quickly died.
My smile slowly faded, a natural ending. So did his.
But it isn't a bad thing, he didn't lay down, he stayed still, towering over me, looking down at me.
The room's quiet, I can barely see Bill's face because all the lights are off except the dim one, but I know he's staring down at me with eyes that communicate more than any words he could possibly say now, his eyes are hungry, his eyes are telling me he wants me.
You know what maybe that's actually the weed talking and he doesn't actually- never mind he's leaning in.
I see him leaning closer to me, to my face, to my lips.
I lowkey panic, but this is exactly what I want. I want him.
He stops just an inch away from me.
"what's wrong?" I ask, letting out an eager sigh.
He looks doubtful before saying:
"it's that... You're high, I can't do this..."
"yeah I'm high, but trust me, I want this"
"you can't consent-"
"please" I say looking up at him, I know my eyes show just how much I want him, I want him kissing me- kissing every inch of my body.
He sighs, looking conflicted.
"I can't- (y/n) this isn't happening-"
Awh fuck no.
"what if we just keep it to kissing... Making out..?"
I'm desperate to feeling him close.
"(y/n)-"
"I promise you this is what I want, I've wanted it for so long... Fuck Bill, please... If it's that you don't feel the same then it's fine-"
"I think I want it more than you do"
Those words slip out his mouth, shocking me... Well actually turning me on even more.
"let's just stick to kissing? Please I want it... I promise to tell you I consented to it tomorrow, once I can think straight, because I actually do want to."
He thinks for a moment, but I keep on yapping, begging.
"please Bill fuck, don't make me beg for it-"
But my whines are interrupted by his lips on mine.
He starts off soft, but eventually the gentle kiss becomes a sloppy, slow and sensual make out session.
He shifts around to get more comfortable and then speaks during the kiss.
"fuck- tomorrow morning-- if you want-- I can fuck you mindless"
Pt. 2
164 notes · View notes
ell-alexanderarnold · 13 days
Text
Intertwined, sewn together
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Summary: Trent thinks Y/n’s unlocked a dimension of love in him that he never knew existed, whilst Y/n is fighting her feelings, unsure what’s right in their relationship. The only thing that she’s sure of is her love for Trent…
Angst & Fluff
Warnings: Sad, Reader has commitment issues
Note: So the results from this poll was a one shot! I really enjoyed writing this, feels like I’ve not written angst for a while so this was so much fun.💌 Please let me know your thoughts ♡
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
1st of September
You had yet another dream about him. Why can’t you move on? When will this end? He held you in a way that no one’s ever had.
It comes in waves, you miss him a little less at times and then you miss him a little more. Although you swore that he’ll never hear from you again, you debate every time after a dream to make that call. Then you wish you’d stayed, you wish a lot of things but this, this is on a whole different scale. The scale of you missing Trent, could not be measured.
The moment you met each other, you both knew right away that you were perfect for one another. Time passed and it got more difficult, nothing happened in the way you wanted.
You spent your last summer with him, knowing it would probably be the last. You both knew.
28th of July
You lied awake, exhausted from the day. He was asleep, breathing slowly. The moonlight shined on his face so beautifully. Something inside you told you to leave but you thought, how can you begin again? How can you try to love someone new, who isn’t Trent?
As tears streamed down your face you kissed his forehead lightly so he wouldn’t wake up and left.
He’s going to wake up, without you. He will wonder where you are and he’ll think that this is where the story ends he just has to accept it and move on.
The memories, the good days, the bad days, they’ll be with you two always.
7th of September
Trent was spending some time at his mum’s house, filled with love from his family but the entire time he wished for Y/n to be with him. He don’t know how many times he’d thought in everyday, everything that ‘Y/n should be here’ or ‘Y/n would’ve laughed at that’,‘ Y/n would know what do to’.
He sat in the living room with his mother, watching some football to distract him from his thoughts.
“Oh Trent! Your birthday’s in one month!” Dianne exclaimed and Trent looked at his phone checking the date.
“Yeah.” He simply responded, completely emotionless.
“You should invite some friends over, maybe that girl that was here this summer. What’s her name again?” She asked and Trent got reminded of Y/n once again. He knew his mother adored her and Y/n loved being around Dianne as well, she was like her second mother. Trent knew that at some point this was going to happen.
“Y/n Y/l/n” He answered and watched his mother’s face lit up.
“Oh lovely Y/n Y/l/n, I miss her! What are she doing these days?” Dianne asked Trent and he started to get more upset thinking of her, his mother doesn’t know she’s not in his life anymore.
“I don’t know mum, we don’t see each anymore.” Trent revealed and the smile on Dianne’s face faded away.
“I’m sorry sweetie.” She said and comforted him as he couldn’t hold it in anymore, crying in his mother’s arms like he was a little boy.
“I guess you really loved her Trent.” She said after a while of rubbing his back.
“Yes, more than anything.” He sniffled and looked at his consoling mother.
“How do you know sweetheart?” Dianne implored and took ahold of his hand.
“Because nothing makes sense without her. Like everything was just at ease with her, and I know sometimes it wasn’t perfect and I said some wrong things, but that didn’t change our love, Mum.” He explained and she listened to every word.
“What you and Y/n had seemed special Trent and I’m sure she thinks that as well. Maybe you should try again?” His mother suggested as Trent looked up at her, giving it a thought.
“I don’t know.” Trent said and rubbed his eyes, ”I think I’m going to bed.” He added and Dianne gave him a quick peck on his cheek before he went up to his room.
8th of September
Trent woke up, tears forming in his eyes immediately as he opened them. The dream, was it real? Did the love of his life enter his life again and everything was how it once was? Anyways, it just a dream.
But he couldn’t let it go, he couldn’t go back to sleep. Y/n was all he thought about and at this point he couldn’t take it anymore.
He reached for his phone, the clock said 3am. She’s probably asleep he thought, or in somebody else’s bed. He could only pray for Y/n to pick up.
The signals kept going, until it reached voicemail. “Hey, it’s Y/n leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
Just hearing your voice made his heart beat faster.
“Y/n, it’s T. Erm well there’s no easy way of saying this.” Trent started as his voice was shaking and he took deep breaths to not start crying. “I miss you, really bad and uh,” He then went silent, wondering why he’s even doing this. “It’s been very hard without you, my mum asked about you earlier, she misses you too. I’m sorry for calling this late but I hope you’re doing well,” He paused. “without me, bye.” He sniffled then broke down sobbing. His heart was psychically hurting and all he wanted was to be with you, curled up in your arms..
10th of September
You were almost done with your work and took your last sip of your tea. You were going to meet up with your friend after work but one thing changed so drastically. When you were about to call her you noticed a missed call from two days ago. Just by the look of last numbers, you knew.
As you walked home from work you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The voicemail. You didn’t want to listen too it, maybe it was just a drunk call or just some gibberish. But your heart knew, he would never do that. He wasn’t the type of guy to drunk call you so this must be something important.
You wish you didn’t care so much. You must admit that you wish you hated him. No, no you couldn’t. No matter how much you wanted to or how easy things could be if you’d actually hated him, you could never.
When you got home, you crashed down on your bed. You were dreading it, you tried to move on and not care about it, but it was impossible.
You pressed ‘call voicemail’ and then, you heard Trent’s voice.
“Y/n, it’s T. Erm well there’s no easy way of saying this. I miss you, really bad and uh, It’s been very hard without you, my mum asked about you earlier, she misses you too. I’m sorry for calling this late but I hope you’re doing well,”
“without me, bye.”
Oh. You didn’t expect that.
You sat completely still against your headboard as tears streamed down your face. He misses you. He misses you!
So what do you do now? You could just move on with your life and act like everything’s fine without Trent. Or, you could send him a message but that will ruin the fact that you promised yourself he’ll never hear from you again.
Here you go..
You: hey Trent, i just heard your voicemail. i’m sorry. don’t know what you’re doing in the next few days but maybe we can talk someday, in person?
You buried your head into your pillow and felt your phone buzz, only seconds after sending the message.
Trent: yeah i’m free, is Tuesday good for you?
You: yes that’ll work !
Trent: so maybe we can meet up in the cafe you liked near your place?
Oh gosh, he remembered.
You: sure
Trent: alright, see you there then
26th of July
One more sleepless night. He brought it up again. You fell asleep crying and Trent didn’t want to hear you cry, turning up the tv to escape the guilt he felt. It breaks your heart when you want to be with him so bad, but you’re afraid of your feelings.
“I’m sorry for pushing you away Trent.” You said after minutes of silence.
“It’s fine.” He answered, turning of the tv.
“But it’s not.” You noted.
“Just leave it Y/n, goodnight.” Trent mumbled and turned away from facing you.
12th of September
You checked your outfit and makeup for the hundredth time before you went out the door. You were a little bit late but not too late.
It was just a short walk to the cafe from where you lived. You didn’t want to go really but you forced yourself out of bed to make it. Ever since you received Trent’s voicemail, it’s been replaying in your head. Every single word. Will everything he says today also replay in your head forever?
When you walked in you noticed that he was already there, sitting at one table. You were glad this wasn’t a popular place, so that you two could get some privacy without people reporting they’ve seen you two together.
You took a deep breath before walking towards him and as you walked, he stood up. To hug you.
You could feel your cheeks burn, it felt like you were finally home again.
“Good to see you, Y/n.” Trent greeted as you sat down, still unable to relax when you were in his presence.
“Yeah, you too.” You smiled and took your coat off, you were becoming too warm.
“I ordered a hot chocolate for you, is that fine?” Trent said and you nodded back in response. Why is he acting like everything’s normal?
You got your hot chocolate from the barista who’s familiar with you and Trent.
“Lovely to see you two again!” She beamed and you and Trent looked at each other, smiling but deep inside you both knew that it’s not how it used to be.
“So Trent,” You started, taking a sip of your hot chocolate, that was indeed very hot. “How have you’ve been?” You continued.
“Well, better than July.” He joked and laughed it off but you knew he was lying.
“You?” Trent asked.
“I’m erm, I’m alright.” You paused. “I think.”
You wanted to get straight to the point, because there was so many things to talk about. Trent wanted to solve things and you too. So it was just up to one of you to break the ice.
“Can I just be honest with you?” You stated and he looked you in the eyes.
“Of course.”
“Okay I’m just gonna say it. I’ve missed you.” You revealed as you watched his eyes lit up a little.
“I’ve missed you too.” He expressed.
“No but, I’ve missed you like.. so so much, Trent.” You spoke and your voice was shaking.
“There been so many times where I wanted to call you. There’s things I’ve wanted to talk to you about but you weren’t there.” You went on and you noticed that his eyes were glossy.
“Y/n, even if you called after a year at 3am I’d still answer you know.” Trent confessed as you stopped a tear escaping from the corner of your eye.
“But I will never forget that night.” He noted, you forced yourself to think back at nights where you two argued or made love but there’s only one you’ve tried to forget.
“What night, Trent?” You implored.
“The night my heart dropped because I realised you were gone. I woke up and you were gone.”Trent shared as the tears streamed down his face.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how you felt, baby.”
Now you were both crying. You know you cannot pretend that you don’t love him. There is no escape.
“Why did you have to leave, Y/n? I don’t understand, I just wished you’d stayed.” He whispered as you both dried your tears.
“I was scared Trent. I’ve never felt that kind of love you gave me before. I didn’t know what to do with myself and my feelings.” You explained and the tears streamed down your face again.
“I know you only tried to help me but you hurt me with those words you said you know?” You observed and remembered those nights where he doubted you, why you were scared to love him.
”I’m sorry Y/n.” He apologised and took your hand in his.
“You know I love you, and that’s never going to change, never.” Trent cried and you kissed his hand you were holding.
“I know.” You whispered, almost inaudibly.
”I love you too and I’m so sorry for leaving you like that, forgive me please?” You sniffled and he gave you a small smirk.
“I forgive you, my love.” He professed and smiled.
The lady who worked at the cafe started to walk towards your table and you looked around to see that there was only you and Trent left in the cafe, it was dark outside as well.
“Sorry to bother you two but we’re closing soon!” She happily informed you and Trent.
“Oh sorry, we should get going then.” Trent answered and you started to put your coat back on again.
You both left the cafe with puffy eyes but light hearted. Trent offered to walk with you to your place which you couldn’t deny after this afternoon. Hands intertwined as you both walked the short distance to your place. You and Trent walked in silence and just took in each other’s presence after such a long time apart, well two months but for you two it felt like forever.
You now stood outside your apartment, wondering what to do now.
“Alright, so what do we do now?” You spoke up, unsure what the future holds for you and him.
“I miss you, you miss me too. So why can’t we make it work?” Trent challenged and you sighed, “Because..”
“Because? There really is no reason, Y/n.” He asserted and you both chucked.
“You’re right.” You agreed and put your hands in your pockets as the cold autumn breeze came.
“I’ll see you around then.” Trent remarked and you nodded.
As you turned your back on him I didn’t feel right, something was missing. Trent.
You turned around and called his name, little did you know he already had turned around to you too.
Your lips met, his arms were wrapped around your waist and you didn’t care about your surroundings. 
How do you even let go of a person who feels like home?
“I can’t leave you now Y/n.” He laughed and you kissed his heart shaped lips once again.
“Can’t leave you either.” You blushed.
You took his hand and went inside your apartment, he couldn’t contain himself from leaving kisses all over you neck and your face.
You were no longer scared of your feelings because you knew that no matter how hard you tried to deny them, they were always there. Your love for Trent won against every fear you had.
You two were living in parallels the entire time you were apart. You both dreamed about each other, wanted to call one another but didn’t, until Trent got the courage to do it. Because he couldn’t stand another day without you.
The story you both thought died was never over.
Your love for each other was never over.
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
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itsss4t4n · 3 months
Note
Hello can I please request a Leo Valdez x reader where maybe they’re having to go up against a monster together and Leo or reader gets hurt and then there’s a really cute confession
I really like you - Leo Valdez x Child of Apollo
Warnings: mention of injury, slight angst, confession/ happy ending, , not set in a specific time, bad spanish (curses), this was my first time writing a fight scene so i apologize, probably butchered what ambrosia can do for plot purposes, No use of y/n, kith, characters are 16+
a/n: i made the reader a child of apollo bc it made for a cute taking care of the injury moment, all of the spanish is from google and english is not my first language, THIS BECAME WAY LONGGEER THAN PLANNED, this was a challenge to write but i also had a lot of fun
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Going on a quest with Leo Valdez sounded pretty easy at first. He can literally make fire and is able to pull pretty much anything out of his magic toolbelt.
What you had not considered however, was how much that guy could talk. Not just talk, he flirtet. like his life depended on it. Constantly.
 Since you met him he took every oppertunity for it. Will had tried to tell you that Leo liked you multiple times but you were sure the flirting was just part of his personality.
Its not like it bothered you. It was flattering. But sometimes it hurt, just a little, to know that you were nothing special to him. Just another friend to flirt with. 
And now, in the middle of fighting against a Gryphon, it was more distracting to you than anything. 
You had walked next to each other through a forest, talking when, just as you reached a clearing,  the almost scrawny looking creature appeared. 
Its hind legs those of a lion, but with dark, almost black fur, while the front part of its body was that of an eagle, again almost black, with big wings on its back. Despite being half lion it looked closer to a hyena. The Gryphons Talons and beak glinting dangerously in the fading sunlight, as its red gleaming eyes were trained onto your bodys. 
For a few seconds it simply stood infront of them. Not attacking. You and Leo mirrored its stillness. Hoping against all odds that it would just leave. 
But of course its never that easy.
Within a split second it had launched into the air, just to swoop down towards you, talons streched out infront of its body. You quickly shoved Leo aside, both of you tumpling to the ground as the gryphons talons plunged into the earth where you had been seconds before.
As you scrambled to your feet, the gryphon flew upwards in preperation to dive down again. Within seconds you had pulled your bow of your shoulder and an arrow trained on the flying monster. 
Next to you Leo had pulled a sword out of its sheath on his belt. He had rebelled against it, saying he was gonna be fine with his 3 pound club hammer and fire, but you had forced the sword on him incase of emergency and he was pretty glad for that now.
You started firing arrows at the creature, the first few not hitting anything as the gryphon was really quick and managed to dodge them easily. The fourth one hit its hind leg but the gryphon showed almost no reaction to it. Another arrow hit the gryphons left wing making it tumble towards earth slightly. It was still in the air but was clearly struggling to do so. 
At this point the winged monster was close enough to the ground for leo to lunge at it with his sword, ducking under a talon before dragging his sword along the chest and belly of the creature, making it turn to dust.
"Well, that was easy, dont you thing princesa?", Leo turned to you with a grin, his swordarm losely hanging at his side. 
"Yea, it was." You looked away from him, because gods did he look good like that. "Too easy", you started looking around, "Usually Gryphons are in bigger groups." 
As you slowly turned towards leo again you quickly pulled up your bow, and shot the gryphon tht was about to attack leo, luckily hitting its heart dead center, making it fall to dust.
Leo had flinched slightly as you shot, but whipped around just barely catching the eyes of the monster before they disapeared.
"La Concha de tu Madre", he quietly cursed. You didnt speak a lot of spanish but this one was pretty easy to interpret as 'motherfucker'.
He slowly walked back towards you, while looking around in search for more monsters. "Okay you're right there are definetely more."
"Okay I'll try to take out as many as i can from the sky, you need to handle any that come to close." You instructed as you spotted one Gryphon above you, shooting it.
"Aye Aye." Leo lifted his sword. "I'll protect you dont worry, Hermosa." 
Again, you didnt know what exactly he just called you but considering it was Leo and his tone of voice was very obviously flirty, you assumed it was some sort of petname.
Hearing his voice as he said it made you distracted for just a split second. But that was enough for the arrow you were shooting to jerk slightly to the left, missing the Gryphon.
"Fuck", you cursed under you breath as you pull out the next arrow and aiming it at the gryphon that had almost reached you now, but Leo had already jumped in attacking it. After a few seconds he had killed it.
This went well for a minute or so, but when you had almost all of them killed , the last four attacked all at ones. Why they mostly attacked solo before you coudnt say.
You managed to shoot one, but Leo had to fend of three of them at once. You aimed at them but couldnt shoot without risking to hit leo. Leo managed to kill one but was immedeately hit with the talons of another against his side. 
He let out a sound similar to that of a wounded dog, before swinging around too face the gryphon and cutting of its head as you finally had a clean shot of the last winged beast.
They turned to dust at the same time. 
You and Leo stood in complete silence for a few seconds catching your breaths. But then Leo let out a little whimper, dropping his sword and bringing his hand up to hold is side.
"LEO!"
 You ran towards him, dropping your bow in favour of helping him towards a fallen tree on the edge of the clearing. 
"Sit and take of your shirt" 
You pulled of your backpack and knelt infront of him, taking out healing supplies as well as a small plastic bag filled ambrosia and a bottle of water.
"Wow, at least let me buy you dinner first, cariño", he flashed you a quick flirty but pained grin as he started to pull of his shirt, grunting in pain in the process.
Deciding to gloss over that comment you wait for him to get off his shirt. 
"I'm really sorry..." 
"For what?" ,He looked at you confused as he laid his shirt on the tree next to him.
You hand him a little square of ambrosia. "I probably could've shot that Gryphon before it attacked you. But I was to scared that I might hit you instead. If I would've just shot, you wouldnt be hurt now." You avoided lookin at his face but could see him eating the piece of ambrosia as you opened the waterbottle, pouring some water on a piece of cloth.
Leo chewed for a few seconds in thougt before swallowing. "That wasnt your fault. Not shooting was the right decision. I'm fine really." He tried to catch your eyes but you purposfully put all your focus on his wound. 
"Your not fine." You mumbled through gritted teeth as you started to clean the wound with the cloth. The Gryphon got him good. Three long gashes starting about an inch to the left of his belly button stretching to the side of his ribs, each almost 6 inches long. Luckily they werent as deep and only flesh wounds, not hitting any organs. 
Leo hissed as you carefully wiped away blood, the ambrosia having stopped the bleeding already. 
The wound now clean, you put the now bloody cloth aside and inspected the gashes further, carefully running your hands over them. You squinted a little as you concentrated.  
You see, your dad bein Apollo made you lucky enough to be blessed with healing powers. Nothing crazy. You definetely wouldnt be able to fully heal this, but it would be much more managable.
Concentrating on letting energy flow through your hands into Leo, you watched the edges of the wounds shrink. The whole thing going down to almost half its orinal size and depth. At this point he wouldnt need stitches.
"Wow, you can fuckin heal?!" You finally look up into Leos eyes, a shocked but excited expression on his face. 
"Yeah.." You say confused. You thought he knew that. Clearly he didnt. But to his credit you didnt do it often, as it was exhausting.
"Thats awesome! It feels all warm and tingly" He grins. His expression reminding you of a child on christmas. It made your insides feel all warm and tingly too.
You quickly looked away, clearing your throat, after realizing that you had just been staring at him for like 30 seconds like a lovesick idiot.
You could feel how his eyes stayed glued to your face as you looked through your stuff for a gauze pad and a roll of bandages.
As you looked up to put on the pad and bandage, you could see his smirk out of the corner of your eyes. He had noticed your staring. You bit the inside of your cheek as you continued to wrap the bandage around his torso. 
The proximity of it made your mouth dry and your stomach turn in nervousness. Your head was racing in thoughts. You had never been this close to him, and him bein shirtless certainly didnt help you either. You were sure your face had one slightly pink, it certainly felt like it.
When you were done you cleared you throat again and began to put away your stuff to avoid looking at him. 
"You should be fine now. Uhm... Might be a little sore but uhm.. yea.." Gods this was embarrassing . Really. 
"Hey Princesa?" He said softly, making you turn towards him with a hum in reply. "Thank you."
A soft smile adorned his face. Not a grin or smirk. The kind were his lips curled up in the corners, lips closed, no teeth showing. The kind that made the skin at the outer corner of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. Eyes that looked so adoring, instead of their usual almost crazy look. It was an expression he didnt show often. 
Your own face softened at his expression, eyebrows rising just the tiniest bit in surprise.
"No problem." A soft smile matching Leos grew on your face. You forced yourself to not look away from him this time. You watched his own gaze observing your face, before moving back to your eyes. He swallowed, his adams apple bopping slighly.
Leo mumbling your name snapped you out of your daze sligthly. Your real name, not some flirty spanish nickname. Just you. 
"I really, really like you." He sounded really nervous. His eyes kept shifting from one of your eyes to the other before looking away for a second and then back to your eyes.
Hearing those worlds made your brain go into overdrive. Did he really just say that? Did you mishear? Is he making fun of you? He must be. But leo wouldnt do that. But there is no way he liked you right? Sure he flirtet with you. a lot. but he did that with everyone right? Why is he looking at you like that? 
You realize you've just been staring at him, not giving him an answer, and hes starting to look anxious at your lack of response.
"Me? You like me?"
"yea..."
"I- ...."
You couldnt think of a proper response. It shouldve just been a simple i like you too. Bu you still hadnt fully comprehendet the situation. 
"You know what... Just forget i said anyhing. I'm sorry I didnt mean to make things awkward or anything-" Leo started to ramble, interpreing your silence as rejection and shifting his eyes to his feet.
"I like you too!" You blurted out in panic, making his eyes snap back up to meet your gaze. "Like a lot. I like your stupid flirting and i hate it when you flirt with other people. I like when you use tha stupidly soft smile that you barely show. I like your dumb jokes even when they're not funny. I like how you always manage to calm me down no matter how scared i am. I like he way your hair falls into your eyes all the time." You look into his eyes, reaching up to grasp his hands in yours, as your expression softens. "I really like you Leo Valdez."
"really?"
"Yes, really" you laugh slighty never breaking eye contact, making Leo grin slightly.
You just look at each other for a few seconds before Leo quietly asks.
"princesa?"You hum in reply. "Can I kiss you?"
"Please."
Thats all it takes for his lips to crash into yours. Its soft, but intense. Your eyes are closed as his lip move against yours. His hands moving to cup your face as yours move around his neck, fingers sinking into his brown curls. 
When he pulls away you keep your eyes closed for a few seconds. Leo rests his forehed against yours, his thumbs lightly stroking your cheeks as both of you catch your breaths. 
You lean back in to kiss him again. A quick, small one this time.
You finally open your eyes to look at him. Both of you have goofy smiles stuck on your faces.
"You dont even know how long ive wanted to do that."
"Hopefully at least as long as i have, mi  sol."
(translations: Princesa: Princess, cariño: Darling, mi sol: my sun )
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ghcstao3 · 2 months
Note
Im currently watching brave and it’s given me brain worms hehe
It’s to do with the will o’ the wisp!
Either soaps been seeing them his whole life guiding him to the task force or after a rough mission, totally lost/injured and with no way to contact anyone they guide his way back to ghost :D
Thanks for everything you write it genuinely makes my day to read all your works!!
ooh i really like this. also- apparently will o' the wisps are actually Not good in folklore so i wrote a little twist to fix that ;)
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Throughout his life, Soap's nan had always liked to tell him stories about the many malevolent creatures he should hope to never have the misfortune of encountering—kelpies, redcaps, sluaghs; just about everything that existed in his homeland's folklore.
A little cruel in retrospect, Soap thinks, but for a while he'd just understood it as his nan's way of ensuring her grandson was to behave. They were myths, old tales and explanations for the unexplainable, and he can appreciate the determination to share tradition.
But now, as Soap is stranded in thick woods after an operation gone awry, blood sticky on his temple and a bullet stuck in his leg, he's not so sure they were just stories. Not as he's currently staring down an unnatural wisp of light in the darkness, hovering just a few feet away from where he'd collapsed against the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree.
Will o' the wisp, his mind supplies. Omens of death, his nan had told him, like many other creatures and spirits. They appear to the weary and lost like himself, flickers of glowing blue light almost hopeful as they guide one along a seemingly nonsensical path—but instead of leading someone to safety, they lure people to their doom.
The wisp just floats, unmoving, as Soap sits frozen. He tries his radio to no avail, and realizes with a great dread that he only has two options: attempt to find his own way back to his team, to anyone, anywhere, with the great risk of only getting more lost—or follow the wisp in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it may actually lead him somewhere useful, no matter how bad the destination. Soap could only hope that doom is something he can fend off with a gun.
His decision is made rather easily because... he supposes it doesn't really make a difference, does it?
So he pushes himself away from the tree and toward the light—it vanishes as soon as he steps toward it, but with another step forward, another wisp appears.
Soap limps along, following the wisps. They weave him through trees and take sharp, sudden turns, disappearing and reappearing endlessly as Soap pursues the trail they leave. His head is on a swivel with every sound that isn't the crunch of branches beneath his own boots, with every flash of movement in his periphery.
He feels like he’d been walking forever by the time the forest has grown less dense and the wisps fade away for good—and that's when Soap sees it.
The large, imposing silhouette. The hulking figure cloaked in black. The glimpse of a skull in the sliver of moonlight that had managed to break through the forest's canopy.
Soap swallows a laugh. The will o' the wisps must have led him to Ghost, not realizing doom would have only been certain for Soap had he been the enemy.
Funny.
Ghost spots him and raises his gun, pauses, then after a moment lowers the barrel.
"Johnny?" Ghost grunts. "Where the fuck've you been?"
Soap shrugs a shoulder, wincing as he steps closer. "Lost my way running from the facility. Comms were dead." He flashes a crooked grin. "Worked out though, aye?"
Ghost snorts. "Aye," he echoes. "C'mon, then. Exfil's waiting. Save your explanations 'til then."
Soap gladly follows, relief nearly exalting.
But as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, Soap can’t help but cast one last glance back at the trees from where he had emerged.
He wonders if the wisps had really made a mistake. He wonders if maybe they hadn't been done leading him, but Ghost had gotten in the way.
Questions he'll likely never find the answers for.
But regardless, now in safe hands—Soap thinks he had better refresh himself on his nan's stories as soon as he gets the chance.
He doesn't know now, whenever they might come in handy.
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salmonskinrolltf · 3 months
Text
The Grind
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Todd really did enjoy working from home. He loved the perks of getting to roll right out of bed when his alarm went off, and he loved not being stuck in traffic every morning and evening on his commute. But recently, he was starting to feel like he couldn't focus. It was important to him to succeed at this job, so he could keep rising in the ranks at his ad agency, but there were too many distractions that weren't allowing him to prove himself: chores to do, food to eat, noise from his neighbors. Dear God, the noise!
The window of his home office opened right out onto the alley behind his apartment. It was summer, so he needed the windows open in order to snag that cross breeze and keep from boiling to death, but the teenage skaters that seemed to swarm the alley during summer break were out and about in full force.
He tapped his chin with his pen, trying to come up with a good word that a cat might use to describe the delicious new treats Todd's client was going to feed him, but he found himself distracted yet again by the noise from the skaters outside. He wondered how they didn't get bored, with their endlessly repetitive roster of lame-ass tricks that all sounded the same.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Whirrrrrrr-thud
That's all Todd heard all day, over and over, with metronomic regularity. If he could harness one-tenth of the passion that these burnouts used when trying to learn ollies or whatever, he would be CEO within the week.
God, if only. He felt like he was working himself to the bone, with no results. A mighty headache was threatening to rear up and throttle his brain, too. He had been chugging Pedialyte, hoping to at least make it to the end of his shift. If he used even one sick day, he worried he'd seem like a slacker who wasn't committed.
OK, staring at his laptop screen wasn't working. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Sometimes physically writing things down helped his creative juices flow. He tapped his pen on his chin with a maniacal rat-a-tat rhythm. It didn’t help. He sighed and hung his head in his hands. He just wanted to rise in the ranks. To get a better life for himself. Why was this so difficult?
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Todd tapped his pen on his chin more slowly. Was it just him, or were the skaters kind of perfectly timing their tricks? It sounded almost like the percussion on one of his favorite classical compositions. He strained to listen.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Yeah, there was definitely a meter to the noises, so precise that his brain felt like it could slot perfectly into them. He realized the predictability of the noise would be beneficial in terms of helping him ignore the skaters and focus back on work. As long as he internalized the rhythm, it would just fade into the background.
He pulled the paper toward him and began tapping with fresh vigor, trying to let the noise sink into the back of his brain.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Whirrrrrrr-thud
The sound was still present, but it was already becoming more like a gentle hum he was only vaguely aware of.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Whirrrrrrr-thud
That’s right. He felt the noise begin to flow through him. It was just like living in an apartment by the freeway, he thought. You can ignore any noise if it becomes familiar enough.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Familiar… Familiar… Family! He scribbled on his notepad. “Your cat is a part of the family…” He sucked on the end of his pen. He couldn’t figure out what to put next, but it was a start. He stared at the paper for what felt like another ten minutes, continuously drawing a blank. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, that headache was building again. He knew he was only feeling bad because of stress, but how was he supposed to de-stress when he had a deadline? He stared at the paper intensely, willing words to appear on it.
Whirrrrrrr-THUD
A particularly loud thud jolted Todd out of his reverie. Fuck, he was getting jumpy. Maybe he should take a ten minute break. As soon as he figured out the end of this tagline. He sucked on the end of his pen once more, but as he did so, something weird happened. There must have been a hole in the clicker of his pen, because he felt it break open, releasing a hot, gaseous substance into his mouth.
He gasped in surprise, accidentally forcing the gas into his lungs, which began to feel like they were burning. He gave a panicky cough and a plume of smoke trailed weakly from his mouth. What the fuck? He closely inspected his pen, but everything looked totally normal. Perhaps the end was a little damp from him sucking on it. But he saw nothing that explained what had just happened to him.
The burning sensation still tickled his lungs, but it was quickly mellowing into something… something quite nice, actually. His toes felt a little tingly, and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt his muscles relax somewhat as he slumped back into his chair. His headache was even receding a bit. If he could get it to go away entirely, maybe he could finally finish…
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Yeah, fuck it. He was gonna try again. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and took another deep breath. Once more, the top of the pen opened up and expelled smoke, which he took into his lungs and held there, enjoying the warming sensation before blowing it out in a tight stream.
That’s the ticket. He felt the headache recede entirely. He finally felt well and truly relaxed. He flipped his hoodie up over his head and drew the drawstrings. Wait, he hadn’t been wearing a hoodie, had he? Fuck it, he didn’t care. He was now warm and cozy, inside and out. He felt better than he had in a long time.
But it was still too hot under the hood. It felt right to be wearing it, even in summer somehow, but he could feel sweat glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but he still felt himself grow hotter and hotter, yet strangely lazy and unwilling to actually do something about it because he was SO relaxed.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
He began to sweat so much that his perfectly coiffed hair started to wilt, dangling down in front of his eyes. It then just… kept going. It extended down over his face to the point that he thought the sweaty strands might poke him in the eyes. His normal instinct would have been to sweep it back, but in his addled state, he instead gave a practiced flick of the head, gathering the hair at one side. The color began to change from a strawlike dirty blond, to brunette, to dark brown, to a black so concentrated it must have been dyed. But he never dyed his hair, had he? He liked being a natural blonde.
Fuck, it was SO hot. Why had he chosen to wear this hoodie? A memory blossomed of him putting it on that morning. Well, of course he had worn this hoodie. It was his favorite hoodie. He wore it every day, whatever the weather. Sure, he could do to wash it. It stank of sweat and pot smoke, but it was his and he loved it.
He needed to cool down something fierce, though. He made a move to pull the hoodie off from around his head, but his hands unconsciously ignored his intention, opting to flip up the collar of his open button-down instead. As he adjusted the collar to look perfectly mussed and careless, the material of the shirt turned coarse and thick as it became a battered denim jacket.
He was totally unaware that he hadn’t perfectly executed his plan, still feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy from his vape pen. That’s what it was, of course. A vape pen. He wasn’t sure why he'd thought it was an actual pen, like for writing. He chuckled softly. Suddenly, being confused about things felt like it came more naturally to him, somehow. At first, he was confused about that, but then he wasn’t. Being confused isn’t confusing, is it? Is that confusing? Shaking his head and laughing, he took another hit off his vape pen and blew a perfect smoke ring, letting the warm fuzziness flow through him.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
He decided to return to his brainstorming. Although he was hot and not entirely clear-headed, he felt a burst of creative energy all of a sudden. He began to scribble on the notepad, working furiously as sweat began to pool on his forehead once more. He only noticed when it began to trickle down his face, tickling his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the page. He scrubbed his face with his hand, not noticing that, as he did so, the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard were wiped entirely away, vanishing into thin air.
As he continued to scribble, his newly clean-shaven face grew pockmarked and yet more youthful and supple at the same time. His mustache, the only thing unaffected, began to recede into his upper lip, slowly shrinking back until it was just a dotting of stubble that suggested he’d been trying to grow one out but this was as far as he ever got. As if to compensate, his eyebrows thickened, darkening to a deep brown that better matched (but not entirely) his new hair color. He didn’t even notice the dark black strands hanging down over his eyes anymore, or the careful flick of his head that he gave periodically when he needed to concentrate.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
The warmth around his head eventually made him feel sleepy and dull, and he couldn’t stop yawning. So, after a couple more minutes, he sat back and looked at the perfect tagline he’d been working on, only to realize that he’d just been doodling little cartoons all around the edge of the page instead of actually focusing on work.
“Dude, get a grip,” he said out loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Dude? Since when did he say dude?
He decided to take a break, cool down, and grab a Perrier sparkling water. Returning from his fridge with the green bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. His tongue was suddenly awash with the taste of sugary battery acid, and he had to fight not to spit it out. What the…?
He looked down and saw that he had accidentally grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, not Perrier. He didn’t remember buying Mountain Dew, but maybe his nephew had left one behind when he had come to visit last? He thought about going back to the fridge to swap out the drinks, but it suddenly seemed so far away. And now that he knew what flavor to expect, the taste wasn’t all that bad, actually.
He took another swig of the soda, the sugary concoction lighting up his insides.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
His skin began to feel itchy. Was he having an allergic reaction to the soda? He lifted up the hem of his hoodie and scratched at his stomach. As he did so, he felt the light blonde hairs of his treasure trail wriggling back into their follicles, leaving him perfectly smooth. What the fuck?
Finally, the shock of what he had just felt pierced his newfound love for the hoodie and he ripped it off, along with the denim jacket. He rushed into the bathroom, arriving in front of the mirror just in time to see his sparse blonde chest hair receding back into his skin. He ripped off his chinos as well, panicking as he saw the hairs on his legs vanishing into thin air. He did a quick 360 and checked in his underwear, noting that the only hair that remained on his entire body was his pubic hair and armpit hair, both of which seemed thicker than usual and were quickly darkening to a deep brown as though they were in a time-lapse video.
He watched this happen in horror, but even with his hoodie off, his head still felt warm and sleepy. His senses felt dulled, and he struggled to think of what he could possibly do next. He began to breathe faster in his panic, his belly jiggling slightly as he did so. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe… Nothing.
As he watched, his soft tummy had begun to recede as well, revealing cobblestone abs like the tide pulling out over a rock formation. His doughy chest began to firm up as well, shrinking into a pair of lean pecs, his round nipples shrinking and popping out from their perches on the hardened mounds as soon as they were finished forming.
“Holy shit, dude, I’m ripped!” he said, letting the slang tumble breezily out of his mouth without a second thought while he rubbed his abs with both hands. The ridges of his stomach made his fingers tingle and his arms shrank, lean muscles emerging from the surface while his legs followed suit, the thighs shrinking into the perfect fit for skinny jeans - where had that thought come from? - while his calf muscles rippled and stretched, their new bulging shape accentuated by his hairless, pale skin.
Whirrrrrrr-THUD
Todd felt the noise from the alley reverberate around his head. It sounded like someone out there must have fucked up a crooked grind real bad. ‘Gnarly,’ he thought, imagining how much pain they must be in. His mental image grew more and more clear and vivid. Somebody falling onto the asphalt on their elbows.
He felt a slash of pain across his elbows and held them up, seeing red in the mirror before it faded into a pair of scarred, scabbed patches that he felt like had always been there. He returned to his reverie. Somebody skinning their knee after narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. Another slash of pain and the skin on his knee suddenly looked knobbly, like it was still healing.
As potent mental images flitted one by one through his brain, scars and scrapes began to dot his body. Slash, slash. Two more long scars on the left knee. Slash. A long red scrape along his right pec that looked dope as hell. Slam. His palms became pockmarked and gravel-scraped.
Not even noticing the pain anymore as his skin toughened and ever-so-slightly tanned, he stood up straight to his full height, admiring the effect of his newfound musculature. He was too busy trying (and failing) to pop his skinny pecs to notice that his “full height” was a couple inches shorter than it used to be.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
The sound of the skaters outside brought him back to the present. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something, other than checking himself out in the mirror? He got dressed, throwing his hoodie and jacket back on. He could have sworn he’d been wearing a different pair of pants earlier, but all he found crumpled on the bathroom floor was his favorite pair of joggers. Oh well, he threw them on too.
He was halfway out the door when he remembered he was supposed to be doing something at home. Where the hell did he think he was going? He shook his head, trying to remember. He still felt sleepy and slow, his thoughts inching along as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.
He reached into his pocket for his vape pen and realized he’d left it on his desk. His desk! That’s what he was doing! He was still on the clock! He needed to work!
He wandered over to his desk, took a drag from the vape, and stared in consternation at the notepad in front of him.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
He knew he was supposed to care about this dumb shit about cat food or whatever, but he really wasn’t feeling it. Something in the back of his mind told him that he’d get money if he finished it though, so he decided to give it a shot. He sat back in his chair and found himself falling, the chair’s seat vanishing beneath him. Before he hit the ground, however, he was caught with a soft flump in a squishy, slick mound.
He looked down and saw that he was in a beanbag chair. Something was wrong here. He could feel his brain slowly whirring. Was it the chair? No, it’s the one he’d brought from home when he moved in. He saw his initials carved crudely into the fabric on his right side.
What was wrong, then? Was it his desk? No, he didn’t have a desk, did he? He looked up and saw his entertainment unit in front of him, his XBOX still glowing green because he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier. No, all that looked normal.
So what was wrong? Was it the fact that he was worrying about money?
Whirrrrrrr-thud
His parents paid for whatever shit he wanted as long as he kept his community college grades up, so there was no need to worry.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
No need to worry at all, really. About anything. Or think, even. He barely ever went to class. He just wanted to hang with his friends at the skate park. But as long as he flirted with his professors the right way, he passed with flying colors. He was a studied flirt, even if he wasn’t a studied anything else.
Anyway, his parents would let him drop out once he proved he could make money as an X Games champion. He rubbed his dick through his joggers, not noticing as it plumped up a few extra inches while he fantasized about all the tail he’d get once he was a skateboarding champion with endorsement deals and shit.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
No, he had all the money he needed. He just wished he was 21 already, so he could buy weed for himself at the dispensary. Then everything would be perfect. Just two more years, he reminded himself. He could survive on stealing shit from his older brother's stash at home until then.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
Todd leaned back in the beanbag and reveled in that sound. His favorite sound. He loved it so much. He never wanted to stop hearing it. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the rest of the room change around him. The tasteful Pier One art being swapped out for posters of busty babes and retro Tony Hawk video games sloppily scotch taped onto the walls. The cream-colored couch he’d saved up for was now scuffed, stained orange in patches from crushed Cheeto dust, and stank of weed.
The wall that formerly held potted plants was now devoted to a rack of the sickest custom boards anyone had ever seen. Not that he’d made any of them, he didn’t have time for that shit. He just paid other people to bring his dope-ass ideas to life.
Whirrrrrrr-THUD
Todd was rubbing his dick absent-mindedly again and came in his underwear. Fuck. He hadn’t prematurely ejaculated in months, now. As he changed his underwear, leaving the cum-drenched boxers on the floor by the beanbag, he worried about doing that in front of a babe he wanted to score.
He needn’t have worried. Todd didn’t know it, but he would never have worries again. Inside that underwear, which would remain on the floor forgotten for the next two weeks, contained the last vestiges of his previous life, expelled through pure pleasure at the life he got to live now. What he left behind was a person he would never remember and who he would shudder to think had even existed in the first place.
No, he was destined for a dope life. In a clean pair of underwear and his favorite kicks, he wandered his way into the back alley, watching his friends Tate and Landon practicing tricks while offering them tips and taking a hit off his vape. The grind was over for Todd now, though that word already meant something entirely different to him at this point.
Whirrrrrrr-thud
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writingseaslugs · 9 months
Text
Diasomnia: When They're Sick
Ahhhhhh finally! This dorm actually took the longest because I kept getting side tracked with other things. Took me two days to write it. I blame my friend, Em. We had write night and we couldn’t stop talking long enough for me to write these. I got midway through Lilia before giving up.
Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!
Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information
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Diasomnia: When They’re Sick
Fae sickness was something that was vastly different from the kind that humans experience. It’s normally stronger and makes the person infected feel like a zombie. Thankfully the virus doesn’t circulate too often, but when it does it comes through like a hurricane. All it takes is for one person to visit Briar Valley when it’s going around and then come back to the dorm and everyone who can get it is sick. Sadly this happened and to say that everyone was in the dorm was suffering was an understatement. Even the humans were getting sick from flu season…overall not the best time to be visiting Diasomnia.
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Malleus Draconia
Malleus hadn’t been sick in a hot minute…how long we’ll never know. It just never really happened to the Dragon Fae. So when he did come down with a surprise flu that was exclusive to Fae, it caused a bit of an uproar in Diasomnia. Most students were told to keep quiet about the situation, but it didn’t stop rumors from spreading as Malleus began missing some classes. Sebek was tense while going to school and Lilia, for the most part, also wasn’t attending classes so he could care of the prince.
Lilia is the one who actually shows up to your dorm room to inform you about Malleus’s condition. He isn’t very subtle about it either, in fact he was a bit over dramatic as to how bad off Malleus was. Now at this point, the worst of his illness is gone. Lilia wasn’t about to drag you in for that shit show that was the first few days of the fae flu, but he is dragging you in on the last few days in order to help Malleus feel better emotionally. Poor dragon boy has been stuck inside his room not being able to do much, and it caused him to be restless. The moment he sees you appear in his room his entire day has already brightened up.
Malleus has no issues taking medicine, though what he takes is certainly not something you’d be used to. The glowing liquid in the vial looks almost alien as you hand it over to him. There were several lined up, all labeled according to when he had to take them. It was odd seeing him chug the glowing liquid since it was still glowing in his neck as he took it, only to fade out when it got past the neck. Apparently it was special medicine made in Briar Valley that was specially made to help combat the flu.
Please do him a favor and make something for him to eat…please. Lilia has been in charge of bringing him his meals, so some of them have been unique. Granted, Lilia did try following the recipes this time around to make sure Malleus didn’t get worse from his cooking, but they can only help so much. Lilia can’t help but think “Maybe if I add this it’ll help him feel better faster.” which ended up in a vile concoction. So please bring him something good to eat so he can have a palate cleanser. He’ll probably be asking if you can stay until he’s better just so he doesn’t have to eat another of Lilia's specialty meals.
You’re going to be receiving random gifts at your home as soon as he’s better, along with several letters. Chivalry isn’t dead when it comes to the dragon fae, and he’s making it known that he appreciates what you’ve done. You’re never going to find out about the earlier stages of him being sick though, so don’t worry. That’s something that you probably will never see in your lifetime if he has anything to say about it.
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Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia is also someone who doesn’t get sick very often; the last time he did was before Malleus was even born. So to say he was shocked when he began feeling sickly was an understatement. He knew exactly what was going on too, he had the fae flu a few times in the past, and it’s a feeling you never forget. So he’s already getting medicine prepared and telling everyone that he’s going to be taking time away from classes for maybe a week or two.
Lilia originally wasn’t going to be dragging you into this, but when you found out from Malleus that Lilia was acting strange and isolating himself in his room, you were curious. Lilia was in his room, covered in tissues with a red nose and watery eyes, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even notice you had come in, which says something. Of course he’s going to accept help even if it does pain him to let you see him like this, but he isn’t exactly able to do much himself at the moment.
Once he has you taking care of him, he’s going to be so happy and be far more of a big baby than he was earlier. He now has you to give him medicine and attention, and he’s living for it. He’s never actually had anyone taking care of him while he was sick, so this is new and pleasant for him. He’s going to be over the moon but also extra needy as he begs for an extra dose of medicine even though he had some like five minutes ago. You’re going to have to remind him to let it kick in, but he can’t help the whining. It’s so fun watching your facial expressions and despite being sick, he still needs to mess with you somehow.
This is the only time he might complain; and it’s not even for the reasons you think. He’ll take one bite of your food and comment he can’t taste anything, before asking for you to take him to the kitchen so he can add flavor. Don’t. Let. Him. Absolutely don’t let him even leave the room, he’s contagious and he’s aware, but he also really wants something with a strong taste so it’s a mix of emotions. Just let him know you’ll see what you can do and maybe grab something that’s…different to put into his meal next. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be unique.
Once he’s better he is so hyped to be able to hang out with you again. He’s going to be jumping off the walls and thanking you for being such a good caretaker for the poor, old Bat. Silver, Malleus, and Sebek will also be thankful to you for helping Lilia, since he refused to let any of them see him while he was sick. He apparently didn’t even let Silver into the room, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to catch whatever he had. Lilia didn’t want anyone to see him so weak and frail, but you guess since you came in unannounced he didn’t have much of a choice.
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Silver
Silver clearly can’t get a disease that targets fae, but that doesn't mean he can’t still get a cold. Falling asleep in random places can really ruin someone’s health, and Silver is no exception. He fell asleep outside and it got a bit too late, a little bit too cold. The next thing he knew he had a horrible cold and a raging headache that wouldn’t go away. So he did what was best and went to his room and tried to sleep it off without a second thought.
Silver in the past was always able to get over colds very fast, so Lilia never was too worried when he found out Silver was under the weather. You, on the other hand, were very concerned. If Silver just slept it off, then he might get better, but it was best to treat the cold as best you could. After all, colds could turn to pneumonia in the blink of an eye, and that can literally kill a human. Somehow this passed by Lilia’s knowledge so he never cared too much, but after you express this concern he goes full dad mode. He doesn't know much about treating humans though, so you’re the one leading the way. Thankfully Silver is too out of it to protest.
Silver will take whatever you give him judging by how he’s half asleep when you’re there. Whenever he’s sick he’s extra tired and literally can barely keep himself awake. It’s extremely concerning but Lilia swears it’s how he’s always been. Silver might be able to thank you while he’s half asleep, but that’s about it. Thankfully the taste doesn’t get to him while he’s in this state, so no worries about him spitting out the medicine or fighting due to the flavor.
This is the most challenging part about him being sick. Again…he can barely keep himself conscious. Just getting him to sit upright to have a meal is a struggle. You’re basically spoon feeding him as he begins dozing off every couple of seconds. You need to make sure he doesn’t drown in his soup. At one point, smelling salts actually do sound like a rather good idea to use on him. It’s going to take a solid hour for him to finish whatever meal you bring to him, but at least he’s eaten something. Normally when it’s just Lilia, he won’t eat until he’s all better. Small improvements are still improvements!
Silver hardly remembers being sick, but he does recall glimpses of you between his fever dreams. Once he’s back, he’ll be thanking you and asking if you’d like to go on a walk. It’s just his way of saying thanks. The walk is mainly so all the forest animals will run up and greet you guys, since they were all concerned once Silver was gone. The animals and Silver are very grateful for the efforts you put forward to assisting him in getting better. While he can’t promise he’ll be able to give the same care for you, he can at least say he’ll do his best if you ever fall ill.
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Sebek Zigvolt
Sebek, out of everyone, is the worst when it comes to denying he’s sick. He could literally pass out from exhaustion from his illness, and he’d get back up and apologize for his displays in front of Malleus. Lilia is the one telling Sebek he needs to rest, and the only way Sebek will is if Lilia reminds him that his illness is contagious and could make Malleus ill. So of course this leads Sebek to going to another extreme and barricading himself in his dorm room so that no germs can get out. This makes it hard for anyone but Lilia to get in to check on him.
He refuses to let a human help him; you have no idea what a fae illness is. How could you possibly help? Wait…Malleus personally asked you to come help nurse him back to help since you can’t catch whatever it is he has? Why of course, Lord Malleus is so generous and he needs his guard back as soon as possible, so it makes sense he’d send a servant to help him. Just remind him you aren’t a servant and you’re here because you care for him. He will get flustered but will do his best after he is finally open to you helping him out.
Medicine is something that he’s not super stoked on taking, but if Lilia bought it, then he’ll take it. He will give you the side eye if you stare at him while taking it and ask what’s so interesting about it. When he grimaces it’s a bit funny with how his face scrunches up and he quickly tries to conceal it. You caught it though, it was so obvious that he disliked the taste and it was oh so adorable.
He’s not super picky when it comes to the stuff he eats while sick, as long as Lilia hasn’t touched it. He might even comment that it tastes good for something a human managed to cook up. That’s him secretly saying that it tastes amazing and he loves it, he’s just not going to say all of that out loud. He does prefer it if the meals will help him get better faster though, so keep that in mind. He also wants a lot of protein to be in it so he doesn’t lose bulk, because he might still be trying to work out while sick. Smack him over the head and tell him to take a chill pill and relax. If need be, get Lilia to do it for you. He needs rest and it’s not something he’s good at.
Once he’s better he’ll thank you out of obligation, because Lilia literally won’t let him go without saying it. He might even be blushing but he’s going to have to add something to make it into a subtle insult. “You played a good nurse…well for a human at least.” at least it’s something. Just inform him that it wasn’t for free and the next time you’re sick, he’s the one giving you medicine and home cooked meals. He can’t even say he won’t. He can’t be indebted to a human, after all.
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jennas-stuffs · 8 months
Text
our little secret: mission impossible
TW: unprotected sex, piv, fingering, hickey-making, nipple-sucking, brief head (fem receiving), fluff, fem reader.
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authors note: this is my first time writing smut so i’m definitely open to tips and constructive criticism 😭
i can’t believe i’m saying this but im actually excited about a college class this year. i’ve always loved criminology, i watched basically every tv series there is containing it growing up. so it’s safe to say i didn’t hate the actual subject my last three years, i just hated the professor. ok sure i doze off every now and then but i know my stuff. it’s just that, he doesn’t believe i do. just because he’s some super genius only a year older than me and already teaching people doesn’t mean that he gets to be the only smart one. enough about him because my complaints have finally been heard and the administration finally finally let me switch classes. i can finally be rid of him. i walk into class with my head up high only to find my posture slump down and my smile fade into a frown.
“hello again y/n, you didn’t think you would get rid of me that easily huh?”
what the actual fuck. what the fuck happened.
“i thought i was switching classes.” i say with my jaw shut tight
“i promised the admins that they wouldn’t have to do all that because i would make it work. also it doesn’t look too good for me when one of my students transfers out my class because we were having ‘altercations.’
the sound of every word out of his mouth is almost identical to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. i nod so he can shut up and angrily stomp to a seat. out of spite, i nap my way through his class and to my surprise i wake up to the sound of the bell signaling my next class. i wake up confused, “why didn’t he wake me up? he always does, he loves disturbing my beauty sleep.” i shake it off and pick up the class paperwork i’ll have to make up along with my homework. a week passes by with undisturbed sleep, this is just getting weird. maybe this is what he meant by making it work. if it is, i’ll have to stay i expected more from him. hes so professional and strict, as would anyone expect coming from an ex-fbi agent. i mean this guy literally saw people die in front of him, and didn’t one of the serial killers set him up to be put in jail? what does he think he’s doing letting me sleep in his class? i should confront him. if he wants me in his class, he’s gonna have to earn it. he thought he could have the easy way out with me, oh no no no. i make a plan to set an appointment with him at the end of the day.
his office is neat and organized like i expected. too bad his freakishly tidy desk is gonna get a glimpse of this sleep deprived, angsty, college student.
we sit down and he quickly releases an exhale.
“so i’m assuming this meeting is about our non-existent altercations, because your grades are great, y/n. i haven’t started a feud just yet so what’s going on?”
i stand up rapidly, pushing my seat backwards. i slam my hand on his desk, leaving a mark on his papers, not like i care though.
“good job figuring that one out professor genius. so listen up. if you think just letting me sleep thorough your class is gonna prevent me from complaining to the admins again, think again. you probably think this is the easy way out so you don’t have to actually work it out with me well guess what. that’s extremely unprofessional. and in all honesty i expected more from you. im disappointed, professor reid. i guess your retired days from the fbi really tore you down huh? you don’t have that same spark in you- you”
“i know about your nightmares y/n.”
“what?”
“i’m retired from the fbi, correct. from the behavioral analysis unit. i can still profile people you know. from what i’ve noticed, you barley get any sleep and run on coffee. the work you miss in class you use as an excuse to stay up late at night to procrastinate on the sleep you know will wake you up in cold sweat the next morning. the only good sleep you seem to get, is the one in my class. see, i used to mind the fact that you were just sleeping though my lectures but it’s never interfered with your grade. so, i figured since it’s your last year of college and all i would allow my period to be your nap time.”
i sit down shamefully and shrink in my seat. i’m so embarrassed. he was just trying to help me and i snapped at him. i feel like an idiot.
“im so sorry. and thank you. thank you so much.”
one more word and i’ll burst out crying. i quickly pick up my bag and head for the door. but my wrist is grabbed by a warm hand.
“wait, y/n?”
i turn around to meet his eyes and pray he doesn’t notice the extra liquid in them.
i clear my throat, “yes professor reid?”
my wrist hasn’t been released yet.
“are you getting help for the- you know.”
“um i used to when i was little and it helped and they went away, but it came back.”
“when?”
“since i started college.”
“can you sit back down please, i just want to talk.”
here he is being so helpful and i’ve been hating him this whole time. when he wasn’t worried for my grades, he was worried for my sleep, and when he isn’t worried for my sleep, he’s worried for my mental health. i feel like such a petty bitch.
my wrist is released and we sit down.
we talk for hours and hours and he tells me stories of when he was an agent. i’ve never laughed so much in my life. we trade in our top worst and best moments in our lives when he realizes…
“wait so, sorry, if this is crossing a line and feel free to not answer but you’ve had boyfriends. but you’ve never had sex?”
“yeahh that’s accurate. it’s just everytime i think about someone seeing me naked i just get tense, like, just the thought of it makes me squirm.”
“so you have body image issues?”
“woww way to be slick with that one profiler, but sure, i guess.”
he laughs. and this laugh was different from all the other ones because it was this laugh i realized i don’t hate his voice anymore. it actually sounds, nice.
“so you’re telling me you’ve tried everything, all your therapists have given you medication and nothing really stuck?”
“i’m a lost cause doc.”
“don’t say that.”
“you know you haven’t tried everything.”
“sex makes me barf. no way.”
“hey a pretty girl like you can easily find some college guy to mess around with. don’t be so closed minded y/n.”
“mhm because you’ve had so much experience.”
his face goes pink.
“how did you know?”
“what? no i was kidding. wait. you’ve never had sex either? YOU HYPOCRITE!”
“it’s much easier said than done.”
“hey, a handsome guy like yourself can easily find some girl to mess around with. don’t be so closed minded professor.”
“spencer”
“what?”
“in my office, you can call me spencer”
“okay, spencer, how about we make a deal.”
“what kind of deal?” he says with a raised eyebrow
“the first to have sex is the better person because they are not a hypocrite.”
“that sounds like mission impossible but. ok. fine. deal.”
“REALLY? i was just joking but OKAY DEAL.”
we shake hands and i go back to my dorm and sleep. i slept, better, that night.
we check in with each other everyday to see if the other person won yet.
“has mission impossible been completed professor?”
“nope. what about you y/n?”
“nope.”
that’s not all we did, though. we went out to cafes to talk about life and how us virgins are channeling that sex energy into some other thing. seeing professor reid, i mean spencer, outside of school was weird. all of sudden his eyes were easier to look into. i just couldnt get enough of them. it was like i was drowning in them. don’t get me started on that voice paired with that cute face. i could just snuggle myself up into each word that came out of his mouth. but we had that same check up conversation everyday after class for a whole month until…
“hey y/n?”
“yeah?”
“are you free by the end of the day i wanna talk to you in my office”
“what happened to meeting up at the cafe? wait. did i miss an assignment? i’m so sorry i’ll make it up i swear.”
he smiles and laughs. that beautiful laugh. “no no i just wanna talk in a more private setting. you know how people can eavesdrop in cafes.”
“oh yeah sure i’ll see you then.”
“see you.”
WHY DID I SAY SURE? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME. THAT WHOLE REASON WHY I NEEDED US TO BE IN A CAFE WAS BECAUSE IT WAS PUBLIC. i can’t help myself when i see him. i know it’s wrong because he’s my teacher but he’s just a year older? i’m trying to justify these feelings for him but i can’t. i can’t help it. he’s so nice to me and i don’t deserve it, i just wanna repay him. no,nonononono. i can’t. not in that way. i have a meeting with him and it’s in his office so it’s strictly professional.
“hey y/n”
“hi professor”
he raises an eyebrow.
“hi spencerr, ” i say as i roll my eyes.
“ok good so uh.”
he pulls his chair and adjusts mine so that we’re sitting face to face, with no desk in the middle. god, this is gonna be a long meeting for me.
“i think we’re gonna have to switch your class”
“what?! why! we just started getting along don’t ruin it now!”
truthfully, i wouldn’t mind. all this tension i felt would definitely tone down if i didn’t see him so much. but i wanna see him, i love the butterflies he give me. it’s just so annoying i can’t do anything to ‘relieve’ them.
“well we’re just too friendly now, there’s barley any teacher-student boundaries.”
“are you serious. YOU’RE THAT ONE THAT INSISTS I CALL YOU BY YOUR FIRST NAME.”
he smiles “it’s not only that”
“you’ve chewed up my heart by making me switch classes, so, spit it out.”
“i think i like you.”
my heart feels like it’s gonna pop out of my chest, my pussy throbes and my stomach get butterflies. i get this overwhelming feeling of kissing him. but i can’t. we can’t. we shouldn’t. i look to the door and i look back at him. i stand up and walk up to the door, and lock it. i close the blinds and look at him.
“i like you too spencer.”
he grabs me by the waist and pins me to the door. we’re half a centimeter away from each others lips. looking at each others eyes and looking back down at each others lips.
“we shouldn’t.”
he nods, “we shouldn’t”
we slam each others lips against each other, making me let out the dirtiest of moans. he looks down on me and watches me unfold underneath him.
“you’re just a hot mess for me hm?”
i whimper and notice the throbbing feeling in my pussy intensify. it’s a hot steamy make out scene in his pretty little office, and i wonder how badly we can mess it up.
“spencer?” i gasp, barley having enough breath between kisses.
“fuck. say my name again please y/n.”
i moan, “spencer”
“again baby”
i cry out “spencer”
he says in his sweet voice “yes y/n?”
“fuck me.” i say in a whimper
and with those two words he kicks off his shoes and kisses me again. i mirror him taking off his clothes, working is way down, and up. once we’re both completely stripped he takes a second to look me up and down.
“you’re beautiful. all this time you’ve been hiding this?”
he bends his knees in front of me and kisses my breasts. i giggle at the feeling it gives me, similar to a tickle. he is just so sweet it melts me. while making out we move to his desk, where he pushes all his papers to the floor. he lays me down and my skin winces at the coldness of the wood. he’s sucks on my top lip, bottom lip, my jawline, my neck, my collarbone, making his way down to my nipples. i whimper, feeling his tongue go around in circles. i let out a loud moan, almost a scream, and notice the sudden arch my back went into when he starts to suck. he plans to leave every intimate place on my body with a hickey.
“you wanna leave marks on me spencer?”
he nods, making his way to the other nipple.
it’s just the sound of my whining and his sucking in his office, he breaks the silence for a second.
“i wanna show everyone you’re mine.”
then immediately goes back to sucking.
“my neck shows that enough-mm- spencer.”
“spencer… ohh spencer”
“yes y/n”
“feel me.”
that seems to have gotten him to stop sucking and he sticks to fingers up my throbbing pussy. i whimper at the motion.
“so wet, all of this for me?”
“mhm all for you”
he moves his fingers up and down, making me become a moaning, whining, whimpering, ‘hot’, mess again.
“spencer?”
“yes baby”
“i need you inside me.”
he looks down on me and suddenly the innocent light in his eyes disappear, witnessing a dark cloudy haze rolling in, covering his eyes.
“oh yeah?”
too far deep in the storm that is his eyes to speak, i simply nod. plus, that “oh yeah?” left me FOLDED.
he leaves a trail of kisses on my inner thighs, making me squirm. i feel the heat on his breath when he sticks out his tongue and sucks my core. he sits up and holds his dick, moving the the tip up and down against my folds.
“damn it spencer,” sounding like a whining brat, “stick it in already.”
he slams it in, thrusting forcefully, but slowly.
“faster.”
“yes baby”
i moan, grabbing his hair for support while my back arches even more, begging for more.
he speeds up, faster and faster, filling the office with the sound of unholy clicking, and not the type of clicking that comes from a clock. wet clicking.
i keep moaning his name…
“spencer, spencer, spencer?, oh fuck spencer, yes, please, fuck, fuck, spencer, i’m gonna cum im gonna cum, spencer.”
my head jolts back as he rails me through my orgasm.
now we’re laying on top of each other on his, now, filthy desk, covered in our cum and sweat. as we catch our breath i say unconsciously out loud,
“oh shit.”
i feel his laugh vibrating from his chest to mine.
“no, spencer, this is bad.”
“why?”
i sit up now realizing the mistake i made. he mirrors my action with a concerned expression.
“isn’t there some kind of rule in the university’s handbook that forbids students from having sexual relations with their teachers? i mean that’s considering that an average professor would be much older than them, usually it would be illegal anyways. do you think they would make some sort of exception? wait, do you think we’d have to tell them? will i get suspended? will you loose your job? oh my god, ok. so what if… what?”
he keeps staring at me rambling with a goofy smile plastered on his face that’s suppressing a laugh.
“whattt?”
“you know no one has to know about this, right?”
“but what if someone finds out?”
“y/n, what time did i have you come meet me in this office?”
“7pm”
“mhm.”
my eyes widen at the realization.
“ok so you made me come over when you knew the office would be closed just so you could confess your feelings to me, in your office, when the building was closed and everyone went back home?”
“yeah.”
“you know you could’ve just invited me over to your place. you didn’t have to make it so complicated.”
“well our situation is complicated, and if we want to continue to explore this ‘situation,’ we’re gonna have to be sneaky.”
i feel my face heating up.
“soo your likee my secret loverrrr”
he cracks a smile.
“i guess this’ll be our little secret.”
after we get back in our clothes and walk out together to our cars, he turns to me and says,
“hey y/n, have you completed mission impossible?”
“yup, what about you?”
“yeah, same.”
😱😱😱 THE END 😱😱😱
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youreirrelevant · 1 year
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Skyglow
pairing: kendall roy/reader
summary: “I want you to take care of me.” That makes him ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong.
words: 1787
tags: explicit, sickfic, daddy kink, praise kink, but also a little degradation kink, pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, playful sex, like the tiniest bit of fluff, implied age gap, there's really nothing that establishes when this is so
a/n: I started writing this when I was sick a few weeks ago and I thought I'd finish it. It's just for fun. It's a little silly. It doesn't all have to be serious or good.
It always felt like a waste, to stay in bed all day. Somehow scrolling through your phone in the living room seemed more productive than if you did it in bed. You barely even had the energy to do that. Left thinking. Wanting. Always find your mind wandering to him and what he can do for you. A warm, soft place to rest your hands. Press your lips against.
A deep voice to coax you through what his cock brings out of you— 
But the exhaustion was bone-deep. Bending a finger, lifting an eyelid- both felt nearly impossible. Even while lying down you felt weak, like you couldn’t get deep enough into the pillow, into the mattress. You needed to pool and bubble out; water spilled on the counter. 
The door opening wakes you from what must’ve been the fifth nap of the day. You were in a guest room- you didn’t want to get Kendall sick. He had shit to do, things that were “unmissable.” 
It’s dark. You can see out of the window from the bed; the sky is blue-black, a yellow edge on the horizon that fades up into it. Planes blink red and white across it. Only some of the windows in the other buildings are lit, and you wonder how late it really is. It's quiet; you can hear the AC running. The apartment is thrumming with a sleepy energy, like the way voices sound when you’re dozing off- blurred and smoothed at the edges.
“Can I, uh, can I sleep with you?”
You mumble that he can, voice croaky and gone. Scooting further in on the bed to make room for him- every joint aching so badly you almost whimper. He wraps his arm around you, kisses the back of your neck, and breathes. The heat on your skin makes you melt. 
“I couldn’t sleep without you in there with me.”
He brings you a little closer, for emphasis.
“I’d like to say the same, but I’m exhausted.”
A little huff of air from him, an affectionate smile you can’t see. Another kiss, right along your hairline. 
You both lay there for a while, but you don’t fall back asleep. The thoughts are much worse when he’s flush against you, firm thighs and a softer chest. His arms around you- you want him to use them to pull you down over him. 
“Why aren’t you sleeping? You said you’re tired.” He sounds groggy, as if maybe he’d fallen asleep, for just a second. 
“I know I was just- I was thinking of this,” you giggle a little, “of this tweet. Where this guy said that pussy, when someone has a fever, is crazy because it’s so hot.”
He grins so wide it hurts his face.
“Is this your way of, uh, telling me you want me to fuck you?”
“I mean- we gotta at least find out for ourselves.”
Kendall slips his hand beneath the waistband of your pajamas, uses the pads of his fingers to guide your leg up, to drape over his leg. He’s surprised to find you so wet, skin scorching against his. Wonders how long you were thinking about it. Rubs your clit slowly, and you’re practically boneless already. But then fingertips work down, towards your cunt, and you tense in anticipation. He knows you’re sick; he should be nice. But he can’t help but tease, doing it a few times until you whine his name. 
“You need it that bad?”
“Please- ” you sound kind of annoyed, as if his denial doesn’t warm you.
His clothes are moved just enough, but he grips the waistband of your pants to yank them down as far as he can from his position- he wants to get at you fully. They get stuck above your knees, and you huff and whine as you kick them free clumsily. Kendall’s undeterred, puts you back where you were. Presses in easily, and maybe they were right. Your groan is distant in his ears. When he’s seated fully, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“Well?”
“It- it is hotter. It could be, uh-,” he makes a muffled sound, like he’s steadying himself, “be in my head, though. Placebo effect, or something.”
You can’t help but laugh a little, the noise scraping out of you so badly he almost couldn’t tell what it was.
“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been asleep all day, I come in to sleep with you and you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to take care of me.”
That makes him fucking ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong. He places a big hand on the back of your thigh, slides it up to lift your ass cheek, spread you open. 
“Like, a daddy thing, or-?”
Oh… man.
“I don’t know if we- if we have to be so- if we need to go quite that far.”
As soon as you say it you’re prepared to recant. It makes your stomach fill with butterflies and warmth but it seems so much more taboo than other things that people would actually consider worse. So heavily stigmatized, something everyone knew about and mocked. His teeth press into your shoulder, like he’s squeezing it out of you. 
“Well- it does sound… kind of hot. Maybe we ease into it? Maybe ‘daddy’ doesn’t have to be said, but implied?”
His hand slips over your hip to rest on your lower stomach, a slow pull and push of his hips as his fingers find your clit again. Not wasting any time.
“You want me to ‘take care’ of you?”
Plush lips slide beneath your ear as he speaks, and every inflection and hard consonant fills you with heat. It’s your words, but from his mouth, it sounds good and perfect and right. His voice is soothing in this condescending way and it makes your lashes flutter.
“Yes, Kendall.”
He uses his palm against your pubic bone to pull you close, allow him to get deeper, fuck a little rougher. Insistent. You reach behind you to grab at his waist, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your voice is fucked- every moan and whimper is broken and raspy and quiet. He kind of likes it, drags his lips over your neck, laughing affectionately when his finger presses harder, rubs at just the right angle, against just the right side and you cry out hoarsely. Barely able to keep your eyes open before but you want him so fucking bad. 
It’s like you’re next to a fire; you can practically see a red glow coming from your skin, penetrating your closed eyelids. You’re limp, melted into the smooth sheets, rolling weakly against him when you really need it. His brows pinch and his jaw falls open with a desperate noise before his lip is tucked beneath his teeth. Kendall props himself up on his elbow, fingers slipping into your hair, damp from sweat, turns your head enough to kiss you. So slack and pliant. You don't even think to stop him. 
“Does that feel better? Is this what you needed?” 
Jesus. It’s as if your brain is already fried- you’re already gone. Making some noise that’s probably the saddest attempt at an ‘mhmm,’ ever been done. Trembling, pulled tighter, breathing ragged and uneven and burning in your chest and throat. He brushes the tip of his nose over your temple- his own breath puffs rapid and hot against you.  Grunting when you grip even tighter. 
When you cum, it's so good it hurts. Like massaging a sore muscle, or fingers into your cheeks when your sinuses ache. It seeps into your hips and belly and back and you lean into it, into him. He shushes you and you can’t help but let out this startled ‘ god .’ You want to tell him he feels perfect, fucking perfect, but the words don’t come out. His pace doesn’t falter -no matter how snug and plush and slick you are around him- and it makes it seem like it’s lasting forever. 
Kendall thinks it’s lasting forever; you’re over a cliffside, on the other end of a rope, trying to pull him down when he has to keep you up. He makes sounds like he’s struggling; when you finally relax, he sounds relieved. 
Part of him wants to keep it up, and he can’t help, for a second, seeing the new ease with which his fingers slip over you, pressing three flat against your labia to make you squirm from the sensitivity. But that doesn’t last long, arm moving to wrap around your waist to hold you in place. Insistent. 
You’re awash with fatigue, fingers curling around the edge of your pillow, lids low over your eyes. Each time his hips meet your ass you make these pathetic little noises from the impact, sometimes barely even audible. He grabs your face again to turn you toward him- you feel hot, cheeks flushed to show it. Skin around your eyes, shiny, blueish, almost cartoonish. But you look up at him dutifully.
“You’re so pretty when you take it for me.”
That reignites something in you, makes you moan and grab at him.
“Such a pretty, perfect little girl deserves to feel good. Always desperate to cum on my cock- thinking about it when you can barely fucking think.”
You let out something between a gasp and a laugh, stunned. Thrown against the ledge but you can’t go over until you get that little bit more. 
“I- Ken, can you- would you-?”
This is how it always goes- just one more. Kendall gives it to you and goes to get his, but it always puts you right there, and he can’t help but oblige. He wants to tell you to do it yourself, because you’re tired, and maybe you won’t get off and you’ll get frustrated and whine. That makes him feel orange-hot and tingly, makes his hips stutter at the thought. But that’s not what this was tonight. The wide pad of his middle finger is tight against you -swollen, slick- and even with how fast you cum, he cums faster, hips so rough against yours that you whimper and wince.
He’s almost as light-headed as you are, almost as lax, weak. Every inch of you is unbearably heavy; it's like your skin could slough off your face. It’s so good.
“I might bring a whole new, literal level to sleeping like the dead.”
Your voice cracks and you slump forward onto your stomach, keeping your face turned from him.
“At least you’ll feel better.” Smiling softly, rubbing your back.
“You’ll join me shortly, since you fucking kissed me.”
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this one and the next- I'VE MOVED BLOGS! if you enjoy this and are looking for more, follow me @formulaforza
c.leclerc x female reader (no y/n, soulmates au) word count: 4.3k a/n: my first f1 fic 🫣 be gentle i'm new here
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Can we talk later?
You mill over the text, shaken, unprepared for the what are we conversation just yet, planning on living in the climate-controlled artificial relationship ecosystem for just a while longer. You write out an answer, delete, rewrite until the words don’t look like words and your fingers tap the wrong keys, delete again, set your phone face down on the arm of the couch. Chewing on it for a few more minutes, you attempt to play out the conversation in your mind, pausing here, clipping that short, slowing that down, and then your phone is in your hand again. 
You wonder if his phone sits deep in his pocket, buried somewhere in a bag, in his hand while he anxiously watches the typing bubbles appear, disappear, appear again. Maybe he’s as anxious as you, horrified, mortified, all the other -fieds at the thought of a label corrupting this, at the thought of rules and expectations and external opinions. 
You can plan it out as many times as you want, you’re always going to get stumped, because, well, you have no fucking idea what you and he are. You’re friends, best friends, the exchange of knowing glances, soulmates, a familiar laughter, strangers, a fading fire, nobody knows. Why, why must this conversation be had? You’re having fun, it’s fact, unwavering and unrelenting fun. Keep on, keeping on, just for now, until things aren’t so fun, and then the serious conversations can be had.
You can’t tell him no, refusing to have the talk would be worse than anything that could possibly come from actually sorting this situation out, from deciding whether or not this version of you will live on, or if it’s time they get buried, locked away far from your mind, replaced by someone new. 
Yes, you eventually reply. Dinner, my place?
There’s a pit in your stomach because you still don’t know what you’re going to do, what you’ll say, what your relationship is. His career, his lifestyle, it’s so, so different from yours. He’s home now, but he'll be gone soon, gone a lot, and you can’t just drop everything to follow him around, and you wouldn’t want to. You have no interest in every single move you make being talked about, photographed and scandalized. When you have a bad day, you don’t need the world to know, and when you have a good day, you don’t want to feel obligated to share it with anyone you don’t want to. 
He makes you happy, there’s no denying that, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same way, but you’ve been happy before. You’d be happy again, a simple happy, a regular happy. Is he really worth all that?
He’s knocking on the door at seven sharp, bottle of red in one hand, flowers in the other. You blush, because it’s the first time he’s personally delivered you flowers, and he makes fun of you for it, says you’re too easy to please with a cocky grin on his smug face. He asks you to be his girlfriend over the pasta dinner. You say yes, pretend you never had a single doubt, kiss him in the lamp lit living room. 
You meet his family in Monaco. It’s your first time on the paddock, first time at an F1 race,  and you pick anxiously at your cuticles the entire walk there. You’ve been planning your outfit out for a week, and yet still changed five times this morning. You would’ve kept going, but you were going to be late. You check your purse a million times, terrified that you’re going to forget something. They come up to you in Ferrari hospitality and introduce themselves. His mom is kind and respectful, and hugs you tight. His brothers remind you of him, same laugh, same mannerisms, same sense of humor. “She’s a keeper.” Arthur tells Charles that evening as you all leave the track. He nods, agrees, pulls you a little closer.
You move in together a few months after that, and find yourself explaining the intimate details of the past situationship to your mother over the phone. She’s just looking out for you, curious as to the stranger from another country that will be living with her daughter after only a few months of dating. She was expecting to hear that you’d been fucking for six and a half months before making the jump to boyfriend and girlfriend, but you weren’t expecting her to be so incredibly investigative. “He’s famous, Ma.” You’d told her.
“So if he kills you, I’ll see it on the news before I hear it from the police.” You laughed. She didn’t, and you promised to be out to meet her as soon as you could. You and Charles booked the flights over FaceTime that night.
Your parents had always held out hope you’d move back home, get tired of Monaco and all its pomp and circumstance and come crawling back to a twin bed in the land of dull beige apartments and gray skies. Charles impressing them was going to be twice as hard as it should’ve been, because the mere existence of your relationship was crushing their dreams for their little girl. He is an anchor, holding you steady in Monaco, stationary and happy and far, far away from them. 
He’s him, though, so all he had to do was flash those endearing eyes and that charming smile and they were calling him their son-in-law by the time we were eating dinner in the swankiest restaurant your hometown had to offer. You didn’t know it then, but he sat on the porch with your dad one morning and said he wanted to marry you. “Of course, you do.” Your Dad had said. “For your sake, I hope she wants to marry you.”
You did–want to marry him, and you danced with your friends and family into the morning on that summer evening, the air perfectly warm, the sun perfectly shining, a wedding band perfectly sat on your finger. It was the single most fun evening you’d ever had, celebrating the love you have for your husband. 
It takes a while to get used to that. Your husband, Charles.
“We’re not, not trying.” He told your grandchildren hungry parents at Christmas. You were mortified, wishing you could curl up into your own skin at the thought of your parents, especially your father, knowing exactly what’s happening in your sex life. It’s a year and three months to the day when they’re at your house in Monaco. You’re on the couch, raggedy pajamas and hair that hasn’t been brushed in three days, minimum, watching Charles carefully place your Mother’s littlest grandchild into her arms. He’s a month old, your son, and it seems like he’s already so big, but when you see him in your Mom’s arms, tiny wool socks slipping off his feet, you’re reminded just how small and dependant he is on you, both of you, to keep him safe from even his own fingernails. 
If you thought keeping mittens on the kid or waking up in the middle of the night to make sure his chest is still rising and falling was touch, nothing could’ve prepared you for that little shit learning how to open the babyproofed kitchen cabinets. The terrible twos were indeed, terrible. So terrible, that you’d decided hey, let’s do this again. Dragging yourself to those home races was anxious then, but now you’re chasing around a two year old, hoping and praying he doesn’t say anything or eat anything or, God forbid, break anything. 
Somewhere in the mess of it all, Charles was having his best season. The championship was so close he could taste it, and you made sure you were there, front and center, cheering him on when he finally achieved his dream. ‘It’s for my Father, and for Jules, and for my kids.” He’d said, teary eyed. He didn’t need to dedicate it to you, he never needed to prove anything to you, to show you his greatness. You loved him as he was, world champion or not, but you still hugged him with all your might in the middle of the track, still kissed him like there were no cameras and no people watching, because, for that immortalized moment in time, nobody was there but you and him. 
He smelled like champagne for three days, and you’re not sure you’ll ever bounce back from the celebrations that night, a permanent hangover and a queasy stomach at the mere mention of a top shelf tequila that shall not be named lingers on for years to come. Everything was perfect, though, and it was all so worth it. Two parents in love, chasing their dreams, a big house on a hill, a little boy and a tiny girl with the world at their fingertips. Your little family was so cliché it hurt. 
Before you knew it, you’re dropping your boy off at his first day of school, and you’re pretending not to cry while Charles laughs sweetly, wiping the salt from your face with the pads of his thumbs. He’s gone racing, and you’re splitting your already short time between this afterschool activity and that. When he’s home, he tries to shoulder as much of it as he can, and sometimes it feels like you kiss each other goodmorning and don’t see the other until you kiss again goodnight. 
Charles retires when the kids are eleven and eight. They understand, but they don’t. Their father is just their father to them, they can’t yet wrap their heads around the true passion he has for racing, the way it courses through his veins and occupies any free space in his mind, They don’t understand what it’s like to love something so purely, to know it’s what you were put on this Earth to do, not yet. 
It gets easier, for a while. There’s an adjustment period, and then you slip into a new routine, one where he tells the kids goodnight, and goes to sleep a few hours later rather than calling from somewhere else in the world and still having a million hours left in his day. 
The kids only get older, though, and their lives just get bigger, there’s more responsibility to shoulder, more things that need to get done. They develop new hobbies, add new sports practices and clubs and events to your already chaotic schedule. You’re tired, like, all of the time, and fight more than you ever did before. “I didn’t even want to be with you in the first place.” You said once, in the middle of your messiest argument. You two didn’t speak for three days, no hello, no goodbye, no tired small talk about your days or arguments about spending time with certain kids. On the third night, he slept on the couch and it felt like he had never been farther away. You made up the next morning.
At least, you told yourselves you made up. It only took a few days to slide back into the same stuff, hanging on by a single thread until a new fight came along to be the messiest one. You both tried to keep it quiet, hide it from the kids and your family and your friends, let everyone go on believing you were this perfect couple with this perfect life and perfect family. Nobody needed to know your relationship was going through the wringer each and every day, and you were convinced nobody was the wiser. “Are you and Dad going to divorce?” Your sweet little boy, the one who was now three inches taller than you, asked as you dropped him off for his first day at a new school. 
You called off work and went straight home, waited for Charles to get back from dropping off the younger one, and were crying on the couch when he got home. The two of you talked  until it was time to pick them up, and then you talked some more in the privacy of your room when you got back. It was the first time in a long time you actually talked to each other. You’d spent years speaking at each other, losing yourselves, losing each other, losing everything that mattered. 
“Your parents are so in love,” Your boy’s girlfriend–yes, he has a girlfriend now–said at his little sister’s graduation party. In a few short months, you’re going to be empty nesters, and Charles is taking it particularly hard. He feels like he’s missed out on too much, that his relationship with the kids will never be what yours is. You try your best to comfort him, but you both know he’s right. You weren’t the only ones who made sacrifices for Charles to chase his dream, the kids were forced to share their father with the world, whether they liked it or not. 
Charles was an emotional wreck the weekend of your little girl’s wedding. From start to finish, he was moments away from shedding a swimming pool’s worth of tears. He was so happy to see her so happy, and it was bittersweet for him, giving his little girl away, knowing that she didn’t need him anymore. He understood now what your father had meant all those years ago, that it was impossible not to love her, and that anybody lucky enough to be loved should never take advantage of it for even a moment. You danced together at the reception, laughing and reminiscing about your own. You’d asked, jokingly, if he regretted marrying you. “Never.” He said, without elaboration or grand gesture, and you knew he meant it, despite the challenges you’d faced together. 
Before you knew it, there was another Charles running around the house, laughing that sweet belly laugh and harboring all the innocence of the world in his big doe eyes. You’ll never be able to explain to anyone how much that meant for Charles, a grandson named after him. It was as if every doubt and insecurity  he’d had about raising your kids was silenced. As if you son was telling him, you built me, Dad, thank you
The years faded into each other, both of you graying and aging with an optimistic grace. Your kids threw you a surprise 40th anniversary party, and you thought it was impossible to feel so surrounded by love. You danced to your wedding song, resting your head on his shoulder like you had all those years ago, laughing at his stupid jokes and silently reflecting on everything that got you here. It was never easy, it was never going to be, but it was so worth it, to love him and be loved by him. 
And when your memory started to escape you, when you searched for a younger version of him in every room, he stayed by your side as a stranger. In a moment of clarity, ones that were becoming fewer and further between, you’d asked him to promise you something. “Let me go first.” You pleaded, feeling all the weight of a life without him, knowing that if he dies before you, you’ll forget he was gone and be forced to relive the sorrow over and over again. 
As your breathing slowed and the sounds of the world faced away, his hand stayed on yours. It’s only a matter of time, now. You’ll be gone soon, leaving behind the wonderful life you’ve created. “Wait for me wherever you go, mon ange.” He whispers in the stillness of the hospital room. “I will find you again.”
– – – –
You see him for the first time at a café. You’re sixteen and don’t even like coffee, but your best friend is dragging you in. He’s working behind the counter, flustered and busy, running around mixing drinks and taking orders. "Que voulez-vous commander madame?” He asked your friend, and she ordered. “Et vous?” I don’t drink coffee, you told him. He smiled, goofy, something familiar in his eyes. You noted his nametag, carefully drawn on with a chalk marker. Charles. 
He calls out your friend's name a few minutes after, and sets two drinks down on the counter. Her name is written messily on one, his phone number on the other. 
You spend the next month stopping by the shop randomly. Sometimes he isn’t there, but when he is, he makes you a different drink every time, his number scribbled on the side without fail. It takes the whole month before you’re convinced to actually call him, and he doesn’t answer. You leave a message.
Your first date is the weekend, coffee in the morning. Because, of course it is. He pulls out your chair on the patio of the small shop and the first date turns into a second, lunch in the park, and then a third, dinner at your favorite restaurant. Not once do you run out of things to talk about, something vast and unfamiliar and welcoming about him. In the silent moments there is  solace, warm and comfortable, like you’ve known each other your whole lives. 
Nobody believes in your relationship, not really. You’re fighting the odds from the time you decide you’re not going to break up before going to university. Everytime you catch up with friends from home, they seem surprised to learn you’re still together. Family whispers, tells you it’s not going to last, that you should prepare yourself. But you and he know something nobody else does, acutely aware of the draw and connection you share. A once in a lifetime, once in a millenia, once upon a time love story written just for the two of you. 
When you graduated, a cheap, shiny engagement ring on your finger, he was watching with a proud smile and a bouquet of flowers. You went home together, to your dumpy little apartment, paid for by your waitress shifts and his hours at the café. He cooked dinner, you ate off paper plates in the living room and made infinite, optimistic plans for your futures. 
You could dream far and wide, but when it came down to it, anything would be heaven if he was there. Cheap dingy apartment and barely paying jobs felt like the lap of luxury with him by your side. 
This time though, your story is much more tragic. Lovers fated for a John Green novel, a manic pixie dream girl to live on in montages on tiny phone screens, destined to be someone he thinks of in dark lonely rooms or when someone doesn’t answer his call. 
He realizes a year and a half after the abrupt end to your story that he can’t remember your voice, your laugh, your smell. He spends the day watching videos of you, re-memorizing the way you spoke, your mannerisms, you. He’s moved out of the apartment, and your parents have all your things in boxes in their attic. He drives into the early morning, stopping once to use the bathroom, nothing more. When your Dad opens the door in the middle of the night, he gives Charles a heavy hug and leads him to the attic. It’s there, under the A-frame roof, amongst the humid air and cobwebs that you are immortalized. Beyond the dust is everything that made you, you. Forever young and hopeful and in love.
In a cardboard box labeled your room, corners dark and misshapen, he finds a stack of disposable coffee cups, familiar label printed on the cleaned cups, familiar number scribbled on each one with the haste of a seventeen year old boy’s black sharpie. He had no idea you’d kept them, the stupid advances of a shy boy enamored with the pretty girl. 
He moved forward, somehow, sometime later. But, he never moved on, looking for your smile, your sense of humor, your heart, in everyone who followed. 
– – – –
The next lifetime is spent platonically, a lifelong companionship that nobody else could ever fully understand. You were old souls, cherishing the minute details of the world and longing for something simpler. There was no longing, or waiting to meet. You’d known him for as long as you could remember. 
He was a brother, without the blood. Charles the comedic protector, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and then promising to use you as a human shield, a plus one to a wedding when your boyfriend dumped you the night before then did the chicken dance in front of strangers just to get an embarrassed laugh out of you. Charles, who walked so you could run, who jumped to make sure you wouldn’t fall, who held you back so he could throw the punches. 
When you met his wife for the first time, then barely his girlfriend, you’d made him promise not to fuck it up. “She’s too good for you, Cha.” You’d told him, because it was true. 
When she put you in a purple chiffon cupcake dress at their wedding, he struggled to bite back laughter while you walked down the aisle. You flipped him off with your eyes and he looked to Arthur, who was cracking up beside him. 
“He looks just like his Dad,” She said, holding your son in the hospital. Thank God for that, Charles said, and she smacked his arm. 
“We can only hope yours doesn’t suffer the same fate.” You said, a smug expression on your tired face. 
He went first this time, a million years later. You held her hand at the funeral and kissed the boys’ cheeks, tears pricking your nose when their grip on you tightened. 
There was comfort in the grief, something sure and steady in you, this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. 
– – – –
Yes. Dinner, my place?
He gets there at seven, wine and flowers in hand. Your heart sinks and you’re ready to have a panic attack. You can’t do this to him, he’s too sweet, too kind. He leaves your apartment an hour and a half later, and you cry for what feels like the entire night. The flowers are in the trash the next morning, because you can’t bear to look at them.
“Do we have to watch this?” You asked, sitting on the couch next to your boyfriend. I thought you liked it, he’d said. There was nothing you wanted to watch less than Charles winning his first World Championship, watching him celebrate on the podium, kissing his girlfriend for the whole world to see. You didn’t know how you were supposed to feel, it was a combination of ache, longing, joy, and pride. None of which were your place to be feeling. “Just, turn it off, please?”
You threw up three times on your wedding day. Something was wrong, you knew deep down that you were making a mistake, but you didn’t have the resources or the balls to do anything about it. You knew you’d be happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something better was out there somewhere, that your soulmate was walking–or driving–around somewhere in the world. You went through with it though, never knowing for sure the reason behind your tears at the altar. 
Things were good, until they weren’t anymore, and you find yourself in the aftermath of a messy divorce and a messier custody battle. You live back in your hometown, the one you swore you’d never live in again, in a beige apartment that doesn’t belong to you. It’s all you can afford, and you need your parents' help with the kids. Not that you found yourself with much time to look back on your life, but when you did, it wasn’t the sunshine, roses, and simple happiness you’d aimed for when you opted down this path years ago. You found yourself wondering, more often than you’d like to admit, about what could have been, about what almost was. 
Your son, because the universe is sick and twisted and determined, decides he wants to be a Formula One driver. He must get it from his father, the drive to chase his dreams, because it certainly didn’t come from you and your desire to settle for something simple and regular. 
You don’t know how you manage it, the financial aspect of what feels like the most expensive dream in the world, but you do. Before you know it, your leg is anxiously bouncing for what feels like nine straight months. Watching him drive horrifies you, leaves you shaky and exhausted even when everything goes right, but especially when anything at all goes wrong. 
Your name on his lips is startling. You vaguely recognize it, turning to a familiar face that matches the maturity of the voice. It’s him, because who else would it be? “Charles?” You say, and you feel twenty-something and insanely vulnerable again.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“My boy.” You explained. 
“And, his father?” He asked, something strained in his voice. Hope, maybe. Or boredom. You don’t know him the way you once did, and he’s even more closed off than before. 
“What about him?”
“Is he here?” He said, hanging, something unsaid stuck on his tongue. You gave him the room to speak. “With you?”
You shook your head. “He’s here, but. We’re. I’m divorced.” You admit, something about it still sounds so taboo, so scandalous. Like it’s something you should be ashamed of. “You?”
“Widowed.” He said, and you inhaled sharply. 
“What was her name?” You don’t know why you said it, but it was coming out of your mouth before you could catch yourself, before you could express your sympathy. He told you. You’d never heard a name sound so sad. “I’m so sorry, Charles.” He swatted your words away, shook his head. “What was she like?” His face brightened, like nobody had ever asked what she was like. It was as if he had been desperately waiting to tell someone about her. 
He smiled, thought about it for what felt like a hundred laps. Quietly, practically under his breath, he spoke something you were completely unprepared to hear. “You,” He said. “She was a lot like you.”
<3, mack. hope you enjoyed, if you did, please don't be a ghost reader!
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fluffvstheworld · 4 months
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hihi! i had n idea so i was holping you could indulge me maybe... matthew patel with a (male) reader who saw him fight in the rockit and made a craigslist post to try and find him again afterwards? idk if it makes sense but i think it would be silly :-3
A/n: This was such a cute prompt to write TToTT hope I did it justice! I decided to use the original universe in this one because I feel like Matthew would be moping on his computer after losing to Scott
Note: Although no pronouns are used, it was written in mind for a male reader
Reader Trying to Find Matthew Patel on Craigslist After the Rockit
You were pretty excited for the battle of the bands
It was Crash and the Boys vs Sex Bob-omb, two of the most well known indie bands in Toronto
There was a lot you were expecting. Cool songs, the fun of competition, the excitement in the crowd…
What you weren’t expecting was a man blasting his way from the balcony towards one of the main bassists
As he got punched back into the crowd by Scott, landing himself fashionably, you finally got a good look at him
And to your surprise... he was quite cute!
A lot of talk started about his ex-girlfriend in the crowd, a league of exes apparently made in her stead. But once they stopped, the fighting started again
Along with a musical number!
You do admit it was quite catchy
Sadly the mysterious boy was defeated, sent back to his home only leaving $2.10 in his wake
But as you walked out of the venue in shock, there was only one thing on your mind:
I need to find that guy!
And the thought stuck to you like glue
At your home, at your job, on the bus, etc
Even now, as you lay on your bed staring up at your ceiling, the thought still continued its rampage in your mind
Your eyes slowly wandered towards your desk, most of its space being taken from your computer
You shut your eyes in thought for a moment before promptly getting up and sitting down on the chair. You were not going to wait any longer, otherwise you were going to go insane
Booting up the crappy piece of hardware was a challenge, but eventually you got onto craigslist and into the general tab, typing away
[Hey! The other day there was this guy at the Rockit fighting the bassist for Sex Bob-omb.. anyone know him? I think his name was Matthew?]
After you clicked enter, you leaned back into your chair and waited
And it surprisingly didn't take too long
A notification from your email made your heart jump as you quickly clicked onto it
[...Are you perhaps talking about me?]
You smiled widely. You finally found him!
[Depends. Is your name Matthew Patel?]
[...yes?]
[Then yes!]
[May I perhaps ask as to why?]
[Your musical number left a very big impression on me. Plus I think you're cute.]
Although you couldn't see it, you could tell the comment flustered him as the next email came back a few minutes later
[Oh..!]
You giggled a bit to yourself. Guess he didn't really know what to say to that
[Was that a good or a bad 'oh'?]
[..A good one I guess.]
[Well that's good at least haha. I was thinking... do you wanna meet up one of these days? I know you live in America, but I want to learn more about you!]
[Oh.. sure! I live close enough to the border.]
[Alright, it's a date then! Meet you back at the Rockit this Thursday?]
[Sure.. though I didn't quite catch your name.]
You smiled as you typed in your name and leaned back once more
[Well alright then, I'll see you there]
Your grin widened as you shut off your computer to process what just happened
You got a date! With a cute guy at that!
The grin faded as you realized you needed to iron out your clothes
As you scrambled to get up from your chair towards your closet, you smiled knowing that Thursday was going to be a great day
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