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pedgito · 3 days ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

part two– summary | It's a shitty situation, dependency brimming unspoken and one wrong move puts your life in danger and once again, you find yourself owing everything to Joel.

content warning | DDDNE — DUBCON, coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, attempted sa (briefly), brief mentions of pregnancy and procedures to prevent it, mean!joel, unhealthy coping mechanisms for trauma, all angst no fluff but a lot of emotion, smut (bc without it who am i), sex riding an adrenaline high after life or death situation, joel fucks you against a tree, showering together, weird domesticity, guilt-riddled joel, bed-sharing, unprotected piv, creampies, lots of progress made here i promise

author's note | part three will more than likely be out by the end of this month i promise! also thank you to everyone who's shown this story so much love, it means so much to me. this chapter is about as light as this story gets...so....sorry? <3

word count —9k

part one | part three | strangers masterlist

They argue about you like you’re not standing a few feet away.

“She needs a job,” Tommy tells him, “Rules, Joel. Everyone pulls their weight—how this works.”

“You act like I don’t know that,” Joel gripes, “but what are you expecting her to do? She don’t talk, she refuses to go anywhere without me. She sure as hell ain’t gonna be much use workin’ the stables or fixin’ fences when she’s so goddamn skittish.”

Tommy shrugs, “Patrol, then.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, “Like hell,”

Another silent standoff you were more than happy to stay out of, the nylon of your coat scratching against itself as you take a couple steps back in the fear of an impending blow up.

“Give me another option then,” Tommy argues, “You just said she won’t leave your side—”

“She ain’t ready for that,” Joel says rather defensively, your brow furrowing at his disdain over the idea, ignoring the fact you were on the run for several weeks, surviving on your own—this was different.

Admittedly, you had clung to Joel.

He was safe, comfortable, and had become a strange sense of home in an unfamiliar place.

As much as he tried to act like it didn’t affect him, he’s grown used to your presence. Though, he’s set a hard boundary with you—no touching, keep your distance, and always make yourself known. You were always quiet, eerily so, and Joel hated that.

Tommy attempts to decipher Joel, staring at his brother, “You don’t think she can do it,”

“Both,” Joel admits, both of their eyes flickering toward you briefly, expressions unreadable.

“I think she’ll surprise you,” Tommy admits.

Joel shakes his head in a lazy disbelief, not believing an ounce of what Tommy is trying to convince him of, “We’ll see—but she’s with me, no one else. Not even Ellie.”

“Figured that,” Tommy retorts, “You’re goin’ out pretty far, we haven’t hit the lodge in a couple weeks. That alright?”

Your body tenses at the mention of it, but neither of them notice. Joel’s hand curls into a fist and flexes open, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him when he was trying to steady himself, he nods silently in response.

When you both arrive back to the Miller home, Joel begins packing his bag up, already half-stuffed and switching out a few things. He tosses you a tattered bag, old and well-loved before he’s pointing toward the basement.

“A couple pairs of clothes, extra pair of shoes, nothing that ain’t a necessity—I’ll stock your pack with the other stuff come mornin’ before we head out,”

You had a night then.

There was only one lodge near Jackson that you could remember. It was the last time you saw them.

The men in tailored gear, embroidered with a gold patch that designated their status amongst the group.

Trackers, seekers—they handled the recruiting, though often forced. They were glorified kidnappers, taking young men and women against their will if they were unfortunate enough to cross their path, but they also managed the hunting.

If someone escaped, they never came back in one piece.

Whether that was a shattered mind or a missing limb, it was never good.

The lodge was empty when you found it, just at the crest of winter when you had snuck in, fitting yourself into a sizable gap in the flooring covered by a wooden panel.

The men had been on your tail for days, tracking you through the miles of forests behind you and into the town.

Luckily, they were unsuspecting at that moment.

Your misfortune came later, but the lodge was a warning.

They were near, always near—you had no idea if they were still searching, even after a few weeks of settling in.

It was the unknown, the looming presence, that terrified you.

They had an obligation to follow demands but most of them did it for sport.

It was never anything but a game.

—

Sleep is fickle that night, scratching at the rusted metal of your bed frame until it was caked under your nails, the soft hum of electricity above as it moved through Joel’s house, his soft footsteps as he woke, gentle as he strolled barefoot, eventually trading it for heavy footfall as his boots went on—it was early dawn when the tap came to your door, feigning sleep as you hid under the sheets.

Joel gives you a few minutes, pacing beyond the threshold.

His patience reminds you of the kind you used to wish for back when everything was different, back when you were nothing but a prisoner—you were pushing it, though. Even Joel’s patience would wear thin, making your best attempt to delay the patrol before he’s opening the door with a click, the key shoved into the mechanism before the door creaks open.

“Get up,” he barks, “we’re already late and holding up the rest of ‘em,”

You moan tiredly, barely audible, shuffling under the sheets, only for them to be ripped back in an instant.

“You’ve got about five seconds,” he warns, snatching your pack off the floor as he stands over you, daring to pry your eyes open to take a peek at him, “or I’m rippin’ you out of that bed,”

He catches your eyes as they open and his brow is cocked authoritatively, making your body move despite your apprehensiveness for the entire situation and Joel eyes you skeptically, stepping around you as you move with little enthusiasm.

“If you changed your mind, I can talk to Tommy,” Joel says with a tone that makes your chest tighten with fear—both of abandonment and helplessness, “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ for you to do here while I go and—”

You stop in your tracks at his words, coat on and shoes barely slipped over your heel as you’re approaching him with immediate worry, shaking your head furiously as you grip onto his bicep, eyes pleading.

He’s always direct with you now, making sure your eyes connect with his. He’s learned to read you through facial expression and emotion, settling with the fact you weren’t going to speak to him, whether capable or not.

“Alright,” he sighs, and you shrug slightly but not enough to break your hold, “then hurry up.”

His voice carries the weight of a thousand other mornings like this, where silence and glances fill the space between you. He’s grown comfortable, surprisingly. He didn’t like how normal your presence had become or how you seemed to settle into his life easily.

“Probably make a few stops along the way,” Joel explains, “I took myself off patrol duty for this,” he means you, this, the burden of your situation and disruption, “the lodge is far but usually out there we aren’t dealin’ with much, less infected in the cold and all.”

But not people, you think.

He sees you tense at the mention, coat shrugging over your shoulders.

Last ditch effort. Anything.

Just change his mind.

You reach for his palm as he extends it face up, examining you carefully.

You tap your pointer finger into the center of his palm before pointing it at the floor, the hand holding his wrist tugging insistently.

Stay. A finger into his palm.

Here. A finger to the floor.

You repeat it a few times until he seems to understand through the silent communication.

“Stay..stay,” he begins, deciphering your message, “we’re not—no we’re not stayin’ here.”

Your face falls, instincts turning to drastic measures as you drop his hand, invading his space in a way he’s been careful to avoid, hands curling around the side of his face and the soft brush of his beard itching your palm before you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own, eagerly pulling him toward you.

Joel’s quick, though. He rips your hands away, fingers tightening around your bicep harshly.

“Don’t try that shit again,” he growls, “ain’t no fuckin’ choice in you stayin’ here.”

You try to yank away from him but it was pointless.

“Are you gonna listen or do I need to drag you out?”

Your jaw tightens and you slackening under his grip and while he could let you go, he doesn’t.

You stumble behind as he pulls you with him, up the stairs, around the hall and into the living room until you’re standing at the door and he’s releasing you to jab a finger in your face, flinching with every flick as it grows closer, making you go nearly cross eyed.

“You give me even the slightest amount of trouble while we’re out and I won’t hesitate to leave you behind,” Joel threatens, that sinking feeling of regret swirling in his gut the moment your expression softens.

She fucking trusts you, he reminds himself.

As slippery as that slope could be, he’s got a responsibility.

You nod shakily and the tightness of his grip pierces your soul, immediately submitting to his hold as he jerks you to face forward and reaches around to grab the knob, chest pressed against your back as you step outside.

A swirling wind greets you, whistling its own kind of warning as Joel drags you through the brittle, dried grass. Your boots crunch against the frosty ground, doing your best to keep pace with him, breath puffing out in frantic clouds. Cold air bites your skin and the crunch of your boots, now on gravel, fills the silence between you. It’s tense.

You follow him to the stable as he releases his grip on you, to the weapon compound, close at his side as he steers the horse to the front gate, looking rather apologetic to his brother who seems to sense the situation between you and Joel and quickly averts the watchful eyes of others with his voice, calling off the list of locations and names like a roll call.

“Get on,” he orders, softer now but still edged and you oblige, feeling a hovering touch of his hand over your thigh as you climb onto the horse and lean back, making room for him to climb on.

Joel’s arms snake behind him to wrap yours around his jacket before he grabs the reins and clicks his tongue. The horse hesitates, feeling your combined weight, then lurches forward. You cling to the saddle as Joel steadies you with a firm grip, holding you close as Jackson fades from view.

The solace you’ve come to appreciate slipping through your fingers, even if temporary, made the pit in your stomach grow rapidly.

The landscape stretches out in muted colors. Bare trees reach like fingers, tendrils to the gray sky and frost clings to their branches. Joel’s silence feels like a wall between you, and you bite your lip to fight the chill that’s creeping into your bones, shrugging the hood of your coat over your head as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, eyes peeking over.

It’s a strange kind of comfort for Joel the way you settle into him, close and warm.

As much as he tried to keep his distance, there was always a loophole.

“You gonna explain what that was back there?” Joel asks, knowing his questioning is pointless, the roar of the wind and the bumpy ride making it nearly impossible for any type of silent communication, “I don’t want you doin’ that anymore, thinkin’ you need to act that way to…I don’t know—do whatever you’re wanting to do,”

The landscape rolls by like a somber, black and white film strip; broken fences and abandoned cars sprouting from the ground, dead infected and rotting animals, houses abandoned. It wasn’t as normal now, living in a lively place with such a dichotomy only a ride away, reminding you just how temporary your life was in this world.

“Were you scared to leave Jackson?” he asks curiously, trying to decipher what he could.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It was a yes and no question—safe was anywhere with Joel, but you were still weary. You don’t answer immediately, so Joel assumed that wasn’t the problem.

“Is it the weather? Don’t like the snow?” you shake your head almost immediately, uncaring for the elements, finding that dying from frostbite or heatstroke were both equally miserable.

“The lodge?” he asks after a long, drawn out silence—the ride was still long, more difficult as the snow began to pick up, falling in thick sheets, “Is there somethin’ out here you ain’t told us?”

You shift slightly, the leather of Joel’s jacket creaking beneath your cheek. The question hangs heavy, like the snow. It’s too much to explain, the knot of reasons tangled inside you. You press your face into his back again, wishing you could dissolve into him and stay there. You feel his sigh before you hear it, learning the way his body works through touch and sound. It’s not disappointment—it’s understanding.

But, that frightens you too.

Joel makes a few short stops along the way, simple checks on smaller lookouts that don't even require you to get off the horse, keeping watch as he was in and out within a couple of minutes, eyes always on you no matter where he moved.

You can sense the way his anger lingers in his face and the stiffness of his shoulders but his instinct to protect is stronger, shoving the sturdy emotion aside to traverse through the heavy storm until, hours later, the lodge comes into view, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your fingers tighten around the lapels of his jacket and he looks down, watching the way you strangle the fabric under your grip, shifting slightly on the saddle as he slows to a stop just inside the lodge before Joel helps you off the horse and ties him, leaving you for a moment that feels nothing short of a century, frozen in your spot as you hold your bag close to your chest.

“At some point you gotta start talkin’,” his voice startles you as it comes from the shadows, jacket stripped as he kneeled down at the fire pit near the center of the room, working quickly to warm the place up, “it ain’t about inconvenience either, it could get you killed.”

You move silently and sit nearby, eyes downturned and lips pulled tight.

It’s impossible to explain, the way your throat constricts at any attempt to speak, like a knee jerk reaction as you anticipate the strike of a hand or foot, a lash at your back or the hot prick of a cigarette into your skin.

You still felt it occasionally, the phantom pain.

Your bottom lip trembles as they part, desperately wanting to make the attempt but knowing your body won’t let you out of self-preservation. Joel doesn’t see the struggle, but he can see your fingers fidgeting, restlessness laying in wait.

“Did you bring your paper and pen with you?” Joel asks, sounding fatherly in a way that hints of a life lived and lost, “You can’t just ask the way you did this morning for no reason, I want answers,”

You nod obediently, riffling through your bag for the items.

Joel waits until they're in your hand and the fire crackles to life before he asks his first question.

“Is it the lodge? Is that why you wanted to stay in Jackson?” he asks, watching you scribble down a swift answer.

Yes. But, more.

He leans forward on his knees and into your space to read the scribbled note, sighing tiredly.

It isn’t what he wanted, obvious in the roll of his eyes.

“Explain,” He says tensely, “Stop bein’ so damn cryptic, I don’t like that shit,”

They followed me here. I hid.

Joel’s face contorts in confusion.

“They followed you that far?”

It was their job. Bad men, all of them. They enjoy it. I hid and they didn’t find me. That time. I was worried they might find me again. They didn’t that time.

Joel examines the concentration on your phase as you write out the words, taking the notebook as you gently shove it into his palm, large fingers wrapping around the notepad.

“Who is they?” Joel asks, “You keep writin’ they,” his fingernail scratches over the word, leaving an indent in the paper, “We’re tight about patrols out here, we woulda saw ‘em. You sure it wasn’t someone else? Maybe just some random raider? They stroll through from time to time lookin’ for shelter.”

No. Not random. They wore emblems, gold and threaded to look like an anchor. There are men we serve, higher-ups. Then ones that follow a code, like an army. The men after me were hunters. Trackers. Do you understand? Not for animals.

“Sick fucks,” Joel says mostly to himself as he reads over your writing,

Don’t leave me. Please. I will do anything.

His earlier words echo in your head, seeming to cross his own mind at the same time.

You shove the notepad at him hastily, hands trembling slightly,

“Don’t get worked up," Joel says, voice a little gruff, "I’m not leavin’.”

Safe. He writes it out underneath your own words.

Thick. Heavy.

He nods.

Suddenly, as Joel feels around in his pocket as he stands, he comes across an object Tommy had handed him before he left, careful as he approaches you and reaches for your hand, pressing the solid weight of the object into it.

It was your knife, cleaned up and sharpened to a dangerous point.

Joel makes a noise of warning, fingers tight around your wrist.

“This ain’t yours to keep,” Joel explains, “jus’ while we’re out here, in case you come across an animal or something, it comes right back to me when we leave, understood?”

Begrudgingly, you nod.

“Put it away,” he instructed, watching as you closed the knife and stuffed it into your pocket.

You couldn’t explain it, but the frustration in him still simmered, unsure if it was because of you or not. Joel was a sorrowful man, carrying enough guilt for a thousand men—it could be that he was just having a day, desperate for a moment to himself.

It comes a while later after you’ve both settled in and the place was filled with warmth, “Keep watch, don’t wander—I’ll sleep for a couple hours then take over, got it?”

You nod quickly, perched on the wide, open window as you watch the snowfall.

Something about it was oddly therapeutic, looking over to watch the scowl on Joel’s face soften as he fell into a deep slumber, leaning half reclined against a wall with his jacket balled up by his head to double as a pillow.

Hours pass without incident, thankfully. Joel said two, but it was already four and he was still sleeping, snoring now as he’s slumped down into a more horizontal position, growing slightly restless as the storm had calmed and the sun was shining overhead, desperate for a few moments of fresh air now that you were here, feeling comfortable enough in the quiet and with Joel’s presence that you could step out for a moment and breathe, putting on your shoes and coat quickly as you slipped out the back door of the lodge and watched a pair of birds on a branch as they hopped beside each other, chirping quietly.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this calm or relaxed, glancing over at Joel sheepishly despite his obliviousness.

You inhale deeply, letting the crisp, post-storm air fill your lungs.

The lodge is silent behind you, save for the faint sound of Joel’s snoring. The fresh air feels like a relief, a moment of stillness that you hadn’t realized you needed. That you deserved.

Your eyes follow the pair of birds a moment longer, chirping softly to each other.

It’s peaceful—almost too peaceful.

A small prickle of unease creeps up your spine, but you shake it off.

It’s just quiet.

Nothing’s wrong.

Then—

You feel your throat swell.

The snap of a twig.

You freeze. The birds flutter away, startled. Your breath catches.

You don’t have time to turn before an arm locks around your chest, a rough hand clamping over your mouth. You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to.

“Oh, easy, ea-sy,” the stranger coos with a sickening softness, “don’t wanna wake him up, do ya?”

The faceless attacker holds you tight, something sharp and jagged at your back as he guides you backwards, further away from Joel.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you struggle, but he’s strong.

He reeks of sweat and damp clothes, his grip unyielding.

"You people think you’re so damn careful… but you’re just easy pickings if you ain’t watchin’,” he sounds so smug and amused, greedy as he dragged you further and further away, feet stumbling out beneath you as you fell into the snow against him, a grunt shooting from his chest but ultimately it was followed by a spine-chilling chuckle, a hand slipping underneath the material of your shirt and over your abdomen, “been camped out here all day watchin’ you both, thought you were a dime, though–couldn’t pass up the opportunity,”

You twist sharply, managing to get free, clawing at his arm as you shove it away. He grunts in irritation but grabs at your ankle, yanking you back down as you fall to your ass, silently groaning at the pain.

"Feisty," he mutters. "I like it. Ain’t much fun otherwise."

You’ve fought for your life plenty of times and this was no different.

It shouldn’t surprise you that misfortune met you at every turn, allowing yourself to fall into a false confidence only to be disappointed once more as the man looms over you, a shadow of menace. You kick wildly, connecting with his shin. A low snarl escapes him.

“Little bitch,” he hisses, shaking his leg as if to brush off the sting.

But, it gives you a moment to scramble backward on your hands and heels, snow biting at your palms as you shoved your hand into your pocket to find your knife, watching as he stalked toward you in a pure rage, opening your mouth in a scream you know will never come, but then he’s tripping, scrambling to catch his bearings over you.

The tip of the blade slices through his guts like butter, feeling the bile rise in your throat at the sensation and the warm spread of blood over your hand, desperately trying to force his weight off of you, but his hands finds your face, thumbs reaching for your eyes in any attempt to injure you but then there’s a shot ringing out, startling the both of you.

Simultaneously, the man jerks violently, his hands going slack around your face as he falls with a gurgling choke. Blood flows down his neck and onto you, drenching your clothes in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You scramble to your knees, backing away without looking toward the gunman as you panic, wiping the blood from your skin and into the snow, desperate to rid yourself of the thick fluid before Joel’s invading your space, fingers tightening into your coat to yank you upright as he shoves you back against a tree, blinded with pure rage.

He had saved you. He was angry, sure. But, he saved your life. Again.

“Are you fucking stupid, girl?!” he asks, his tone tight and harsh, met with a meek nod.

“Wrong answer,” He snaps, “I said two hours, then you wake me. I said not to wander and you did—so answer me again, are you—fucking stu—”

He doesn’t register that sting of your teeth in his bottom lip until your hand curls around the back of his neck, tongue spearing into his mouth as his mouth parts in surprise, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him into the kiss.

Thank you, it breathes.

His grip slackens for the briefest moment before turning to steel again, fingers knotted in your clothes, twisting and pulling you closer. The violence of him feels like a lifeline, like something sure and solid in this brutal world. He’s safe.

Safe.

He shoves you harder against the tree, rough bark biting through your coat as his teeth gnash against yours, tangled breaths turning to steam in the cold.

Your head spins, heart shuddering up into your throat, and you lose yourself in the way he feels, like fury itself. His hand moves from your clothes to splay over your belly, warm and forceful where the knife was just seconds before on your attacker who lay lifeless on the snowy ground.

You can’t stop thinking.

The coppery taste of blood lingers everywhere: on your clothes, on the dead man, on Joel’s mouth now. The snow around you is red-stained as his hands roam over you, your own hands mirroring his unspoken neediness as you tear into the belt of his jeans, feeling him undo your own in tandem, unable to look one another directly in the eye at that moment, desperate for connection by other means.

He shouldn’t be allowing this, but the urge to consume your gratitude is stronger.

His thumb fumbles with the button of your jeans, and you’re practically writhing to get them off, burning up despite the chill. You sigh internally as he manages to get them free, yanking them far enough down your thighs before he’s turning you against the tree.

The world fades around you; it’s just him, just you, each breath mingling as he frees himself from his pants. You feel his heat press against you, insistent, frenzied, somehow apologetic as it fits between your thighs.

You feel his fingers fit between your legs and spread between your folds like instinct but you’re shaking your head, hand clawing at back of his neck as you arch your ass into him, a silent plea for him to just fuck you instead, needy as you bring his mouth to yours with a distinct hunger, swallowing up his ragged breaths as he rubs his thumb and pointer finger over the head of his cock and through your slick before he’s stretching you open with little grace, mouth open in a silent gasp as your free hand grabs at his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth, words dissolving into a groan as he sets an unrelenting pace. The tree bark is rough against your skin, but you don’t care, the rawness of it only adds to the frenzy growing between you. Hastily undressed and filthy, the kiss-smudged blood across his face smearing into yours.

He’s practically holding you up like this, his grip slipping over your hips as his mouth finds your neck, biting down just enough to bruise or draw blood of your own, not entirely sure.

His thrusts breath raw desperation, nails clawing at bare skin as he hisses into your neck.

There’s nothing soft about it, no measured rhythm, just a brutal need for each other.

Joel is acutely aware of the way your body is responding to him, silent sobs racking your chest as you pull him impossibly closer, “I gotcha,” he says, “I feel you, you’re gonna give it to me, aren’t ya? S’right there, I feel it,”

And he wants it more than he was comfortable admitting to himself, the satisfaction of filling the insatiable need you had craved from him.

His hand snakes over your mouth, smothering sounds that would never surface, but the gesture is heady, biting at the skin of his palm until you knew it would sting.

Desperation blurs into pleasure, and you feel it shuddering through you like an electric current and the world comes rushing in again all at once: the cold air nipping at sweat-slick skin, branches clawing at your chest like a bitter, jealous lover. It’s hard to tell, the way you both are clawing at this for dear life, but you think this is maybe as close as the two of you have ever been, filthy and frantic and burning up together as you come, feeling Joel pull out in enough time to spill into his fist, low and drawn-out grunts that had you cunt pulsing, resting dissociatively against the tree.

It was the most human you’ve felt in years.

“Get inside,” Joel says suddenly, pulling you back to reality—surprisingly, his voice is calmer.

And for once, you don’t argue.

–

Joel watches you change, trading the bloodied clothes for fresh ones and wiping you down in between, a silent but intimate gesture that neither of you outwardly address, eyes scanning his face carefully as he taps at your chin so he can wipe underneath your neck.

And you don’t speak about it.

Joel doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He takes care of the body, stays on watch despite your quiet persistence to help

But, as your hand trembles at your side as you approach him beside the fire pit, his fingers thread into your own, a heavy weight holding you down until it stops shaking. You can feel the small tremor on his own, harbored for different reasons. But, it calms him too.

You felt like there was finally equal ground to stand on.

–

When you arrive back in Jackson a couple days later, Joel relays information about the raider with some omissions, only suggesting that there be more frequent checks, but as you and Joel settle into a routine, things become almost…too easy.

He’s always expectant of your knife the moment you approach the gates, handing it over without problem, but just as easily sliding it into your own as you settle into your patrol spot for whatever rotation you both ended up on, still increasingly weary around others that weren’t Joel, you find a similar protection with Tommy, though not entirely comparable.

Tommy only took you out so far as to teach you how to shoot and clear out infected that were a safe enough distance they couldn’t do any real harm, only swarms passing through.

Joel still hasn’t initiated any touch with you since that day, but his actions are increasingly more intimate despite his body language around you—though, that doesn’t mean he stops you.

Maybe it was how he justified his own righteousness, that he was absolving himself of the guilt that he had knowingly allowed you to attach yourself to him, almost selfishly.

With Ellie’s growing independence becoming more and more obvious, Joel leans toward your odd connection and the ease it brings to his routine.

You’re shivering over a cup of coffee one morning despite your layers and blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the chill making your bones ache.

“You can sleep up here, you know,” Joel tells you, “the couch is comfortable, s’close to the fire, too.”

You shrug nonchalantly, sipping softly at the strong brew.

“Sleep up here,” he tries again, a command, your hesitation curling around the steaming cup as your eyes connect, nodding hesitantly.

His mug scuffs the counter as his fingers curl around the ceramic, his hip settling into the edge as he leans into the surface and you meet him with an honest gaze.

“Are you only agreeing because I’m tellin’ you to?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

Joel doesn’t harp on it, though. It was a small battle won, less worry of you catching frostbite or a cold down in the basement, your presence more apparent as you move into the neutral living space, there when he wakes and when he retires for the night, quiet and somber.

Then, there was an instance with the shower that became routine.

Your skin caked with dirt and re-opened cuts crusted with days old blood, a particularly rough run-in with a group of infected that Joel had dealt with mostly, you trailing close behind and taking out the few stragglers.

Joel always opted for privacy anymore—save the moment at the lodge when you had shed your blood stained clothes and Joel had to make sure none of it was your own, but your body was exhausted as was your mind, losing your footing as you stumbled into the sink and made a soft noise that Joel’s never heard before.

He’s never heard anything from you, really.

Only your breathing, heavier in moments of anxiety or despair, but soft as you slept.

You were hunched over the tub and half-dressed, your head pounding as the blood rushed there, eyes squeezing shut as you bit at the inside of your cheek and Joel’s presence is there, but far, hovering near the door as he just needed eyes on you to confirm you weren’t hurt.

As the door closes and you’re pushing back to your feet, you yank it back with a similar strength and Joel watches your hand reach for him, curling in the fabric of his shirt as you silently plead for him to come closer.

Help me, your eyes plead.

Quietly, you guide the shirt over his head and his mind finally catches up, reaching behind you as he turns the water on until the bathroom was smothered with steam, his eyes wondering anywhere but you as you both stepped in naked under the stream, guided by Joel to turn away as he washed you in silence, careful and methodical, leaning into his touch as his fingers curl around the back of your neck to wash your hair.

It happens once or twice again, based around the frequency of patrols and whenever the house was empty and though Joel is hesitant to your touch, eventually he gives in, eyes usually closed as you face him, hands tugging through his dirtied hair and over his chest, a low rumble as your fingers curl a little too low, grazing over the curve of his ass before his fingers catch your wrist and his eyes pry open, shaking his head.

Eventually, his resolve fades.

He tries, but your persistence is steadfast, growing needful to his proximity in every facet of your life and the kisses are shy at first, gentle presses to his shoulder or arm, occasionally over his chest or neck, his hands hovering but never touching without necessity.

He doesn’t like to talk, either. But, he became familiar with the scar on your lower abdomen, just above your pelvis and thick, the skin clearly marred but not like the others on your body.

You always guide his hand away out of discomfort, unsure how to explain without using words.

Though, given what you’ve told him and the behaviors you’ve exhibited, Joel can make a guess.

He blurts it out one night as you shower until the water grows cold.

“They take something from you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod slightly, hands curving over his shoulders to dig into the muscle and knead, his eyes downturned and dark, intimidating as always.

The doctors performed a salpingectomy on many, including you, unsafe and at risk of death given the environment and lack of understanding, there was no telling what kind of damage they had done, but the most important part was that reproduction was null, some sick and twisted belief to keep women obedient and available.

You don’t remember much, but it was years ago.

Your face heats as you mimic a pregnant belly, ignoring how his hand guides over your breast with the soapy rag as you lock eyes with him, shaking your head.

His face twitches emotionlessly, nostrils flaring, “I’m sorry,” and he means it.

Joel remembers the harsh accusation he’d thrown at you, assuming your motives without understanding or knowing, but this—it gives him perspective.

–

A few hours later, you wake from a night terror.

It was dark, pitch black and quiet, but you couldn’t move.

Your mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out, thrashing against invisible bindings until you come to, Joel’s hands locked around your shoulders to keep you still, shaking you back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is an instant drug that soothes, eyes ripping open and searching frantically until they land on his face, “breathe, kid—you’re here, not there,”

Joel knew—of course he did.

He stays until you calm, pushing up on your hands to sit up and reaching for his arm as he stands, repeating the same gesture in his palm that he’s come to understand, crystal clear.

Stay, you gesture.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, but you’re pulling him closer, fingers curling against his sides and Joel shakes his head, giving you some resistance, “nono—ain’t enough room for that, alright?”

Your grip tightens, begging.

Joel exhales through his nose in defeat, his hands twitching slightly where they still hold you.

He doesn’t even need to ask, your footsteps following closely behind his own as he turns, padding back toward his room down the hall, slipping into his bed and under the sheets without a word, the weight of him next to you enough to settle your anxiety.

The second time you crawl into his bed, it’s after another nightmare.

He doesn’t say anything—just lets out a tired sigh and shifts over, leaving space for you. You don’t touch him, not at first. Just tuck yourself into the blankets, facing away, the tension in your body easing just enough for sleep to take hold.

Then, it happens again. And again.

Every night, the same thing.

You slip in, quiet as ever, and Joel tells himself it’s fine. That he can keep his distance.

But, you always end up entangled by the time you wake.

Your cheek pressed into his chest. His arm curled protectively around your waist.

His breath in your hair.

Him, around you.

Joel knows he should stop this.

He should tell you to stay in your own damn bed.

That it ain't right.

That he can’t be what you need him to be.

One night, he’s not asleep when you slip into his bed.

He feels the mattress dip, the hesitant pause before you settle in beside him, close but not touching. Joel keeps his eyes shut, breath steady, pretending he doesn’t notice.

But, then your fingers ghost over his wrist, then around his waist, your knee shifting between his thighs as you curl into him and nuzzle against his neck, lips pressing into his pulse point.

He stiffens. Feels you hesitate, then try again, pressing a kiss into the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Kid," he mutters, voice low, warning.

He can feel the neediness in your touch, eyes flicking up shyly to look at him as he bows his head to look down at you.

"You do everything I tell you to," he murmurs, and he’s right—voice rough with sleep. "If I told you to go back to your own bed, would you listen?"

Silence.

Then, your fingers tighten slightly where they’re wrapped around him. A slow shake of your head to answer his question and a sigh from him that follows, it shakes the room.

It’s defeat.

Your lips brush against his jaw first, tentative, testing. When he doesn’t stop you, you press again, slower this time. Then lower, over the rough stubble of his throat.

Joel lets out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling tight before forcing himself to loosen his grip.

His fingers twitch against your waist, the calloused pads pressing firm into the soft give of your skin. His breath is heavy, slow, controlled—because he has to be.

“Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, but it’s weak, “can’t be.”

A hollow protest.

You don’t say anything, just tilt your head, lips tracing along his pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your mouth, slow and steady. He’s always so calm, a constant beat that never skipped or faltered.

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening. “Christ,” he breathes, head tipping forward until his forehead brushes against yours. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You shake your head again, more deliberate this time.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and searching, like he’s looking for something—one last excuse to push you away.

But there’s nothing—he’s guilty for the need of this too.

And then you’re pulling him down, lips pressing against his, soft but insistent, and any last restraint he had left crumbles in an instant.

Joel groans against your mouth, deep and wrecked, his hands still hesitant to touch, only allowing it as you initiate, dragging his hand to your waist and down, under your thigh until he’s hiking your leg over his hip.

His lips part, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he kisses you again, harder, deeper, like he needs this just as much as you do. Like he’s just as desperate for it.

He is.

Joel pulls you closer, his hands gripping at your waist. His lips are slow at first, searching, but when you whimper against his mouth, something inside him snaps. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard, the first he’s ever heard, surprising yourself as the sound slips out, throat immediately collapsing on itself in fear, awaiting the hands that wrap tight around your throat and suffocate.

Instead, his hand fists in the fabric of your shorts, curling around your hip as your core drags over his groin, his quickly hardening cock pressing against the inside of your thigh.

"You don’t even think twice, do you?" he rasps against your lips, his breath warm and unsteady. "Just do whatever the hell I tell you without arguing?”

You nod, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. You nod, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. With your muteness, it meant Joel’s eyes had to be on you, constantly waiting and searching for communication.

It made you feel special, the way he was attentive to you at all times.

Your thumb drags over his lip as you pause for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in.

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickers across his face, and his hands still for a moment too, resting heavy on the bare skin of your leg.

“That ain’t always a good thing,” he tell you, but he’s already leaning back in, following the push into his shoulder as you raise your leg over his abdomen to straddle him, pressing him into the mattress as you grind down into him.

Somehow you know he’ll follow, that he won’t resist.

He’s guilty, too—doesn’t ever think twice when it comes to you. That’s what eats at him the most—how easily you give in to each other. How willingly.

Your hands skim down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the thick hair there, down to his stomach, lower—until he catches your wrist, shaking his head.

"Slow down," he murmurs, voice strained, rough around the edges as your hips moving at a leisurely pace, glancing down to admire the thickness of his shaft as the fabric hugged around him, leaving no part of him to imagination, the thick trail of hair that disappeared beyond his waistband, "You don't gotta—"

You shake your head, mouth hung open in silence as your eyes fall shut.

A groan rumbles low in his chest as he lets go of you, hands falling to his side as lets you use him, slowly realizing what this moment was for you.

A reclamation of your own pleasure and autonomy, using his body for release that did nothing to benefit him outside of the wonder that bloomed into his features as you move more frantic, fabric bunching up higher at your hips as you chase your high, working toward the crest of your orgasm that you just couldn’t reach, face scrunching up in annoyance as you start to hit as his chest with soft blows, seemingly frustrated.

Joel knows what you need, skin against skin, flush connection.

You look up at him with a pout that pleads, screaming out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you as you shift, a fury of limbs as you remove your shorts with impatience, tossing them to the floor as you tug at his sweats, his cock bobbing heavy and free, just far enough down his thighs that you can see how his balls tighten at your touch, taking a moment to admire him this way, his face contorted into something unreadable as your thumb slides over his slit, leaking with precum and his tip a blushed red.

Joel lets out a strangled breath, his head tilting back against the pillow as your fingers wrap around him, slow and deliberate, dragging over the length of him with just enough pressure to make his stomach tense.

He breathes slowly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

To guide you. Teach you.

But he won’t—he lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace.

You shift upwards, lining yourself up with him, the heat of your slick cunt teasing against his length, dragging up and down as you shudder at the feeling, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, the shlick of your bodies as they move against each other.

His jaw clenches, muscles taut as he watches.

Your fingers curl against his skin, nails pressing into him as you take all of him, inch by inch.

He finds himself waiting for a sound, silently begging for it, curious if you would sound as wrecked as he did, grunting when you’re seated fully, the burn mixing with pleasure so intense it makes your head fall forward.

Joel’s breath stutters. His hands find your waist with your guidance, squeezing tight, like this was your attempt in trying to get him to ground himself too. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust up into you—just lets you adjust, lets you take him however you want.

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice wrecked. “You feel that?” You nod, biting your lip, rolling your hips experimentally. A pleasurable ache growing in your gut. He groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your flesh. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Take what you need.”

And you do.

You start slow, your hands braced against his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath your palms as you roll your hips, testing, searching for something you’re not sure of. The stretch is deep, almost too much, but it’s what you want—what you need.

Joel’s hands grip your waist, like he’s holding himself back, like if he lets go, he’ll take over.

But he doesn’t. He just watches, dark eyes hooded, jaw tight as you find your rhythm.

He exhales through gritted teeth, watching the way you move, the way your body trembles every time you take him deeper, your breasts shifting under your shirt as you bounce, finding himself speaking before the words filter, like his pleasure has a mind of its own.

"You always listen so well, don’t you?"

Your breath hitches at the praise, the smallest whimper slipping from your lips, and Joel's fingers tighten on your hips, not guiding you, but steadying you, anchoring you to him. You’ve never made sounds like this before, not even by accident.

With him, the fear of retaliation has begun to ease. Each noise that slips isn’t met with anger or rage, but astonishment, eyes widening in wonder.

“You like that?” he asks, voice rough, like it’s been dragged down a gravel road, "Doin’ what you’re told?"

You nod frantically, grinding down harder, desperate for more.

For him, you think. Only for him.

Give me safety. I’ll give you everything.

He curses under his breath, his restraint fraying at the edges. "Fuck—look at you," he groans, his fingers digging into your flesh now, a warning, his own control slipping. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good."

A shudder runs through you at his words, your walls fluttering around him, making him hiss.

"Keep goin'," he murmurs, lifting up slightly as he settles on an elbow, the thumb of his free hand stroking your skin, the tension in his body betraying how much effort it takes to stay still, “I feel ya, how bad you need it,”

Your fingers reach for him, prying his grip from your waist and guiding his hands up, over your body, pressing them against your breasts, your stomach, anywhere you can, until he gets it—until he stops holding back. He rises to meet you, arms wrapping around your waist similar to how you had cornered him on the couch in the basement, but the implication is different.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him, and then his hands are moving on their own, sliding down to grip your ass, to spread you wider as he thrusts up into you, slow but deep, pushing a broken moan from your throat.

"Yeah?" he rasps in surprise, voice strained. "Is that what you wanted?"

You nod helplessly, nails scraping over his chest as you try to keep up with his pace, but Joel doesn’t let you. He takes over now, fucking up into you with long, deliberate strokes, each one dragging a whimper from your lips.

More sounds, he needed more sounds.

"You gotta tell me," he pleads, his grip almost bruising now. "I need to hear it."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp, your head falling forward against his shoulder, and Joel growls, wrapping the arm around your back tight to keep you pressed against him.

"Say it," he demands, voice thick with need as he looks up at you, "Tell me what you need. I know you can—you’re doin’ so good," It was such a stark contrast, the praise.

Your lips part, voice shaky, barely above a whisper and broken, your voice foreign to your ears as it leaves your mouth

"You."

Joel freezes beneath you, stilling for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face before it’s gone, replaced with something darker, something deeper.

He wants to fucking ruin you and build you back up watching as the tears form in your eyes, knowing what the action meant, the energy and bravery it took, he doesn’t push it aside.

His chest rises sharply against yours, breath stalling like he’s not sure he heard right. His fingers twitch against your skin, gripping tighter, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You feel the weight of it, the shift in the air.

His pulse hammers against your palm where you press against his throat, his body locked beneath you like the words had cut him deeper than any knife ever could.

Your voice.

You’ve never spoken before.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

And now, with your body wrapped around him, shaking, desperate, it’s him you ask for.

Him you need.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it.

You just press closer, urging him with slow rolls of your hips, hoping he understands, hoping he doesn’t make you say it again—because you don’t think you can.

And then, Joel moves.

Slowly. Carefully.

His hands roam, sweeping over your back, your waist, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs like he’s memorizing you, feeling you breathe. His touch is softer now, reverent, as if the moment itself has changed, evolved into something neither of you expected.

You nod to an unasked question, pressing your lips against his cheek, his jaw, anywhere you can reach, trying to coax him back, trying to keep the moment from slipping away.

His hips snap up, slow but deep, dragging a soft, broken moan from your throat that makes his grip tighten. A noise barely audible.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with something you can’t explain. His hands guide you now, steady but unrelenting, moving you with him, driving deeper, harder, every roll of your hips pulling another sound from your lips, another shudder from your body.

He drinks in every noise, every gasp, every trembling sigh like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Collecting them all and committing them to memory.

"Keep talkin’ to me," he mutters, voice ragged, desperate. "Let me hear you."

But, you can’t.

The pleasure is too much, coiling tight, pulling you under, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping against his throat as your body starts to shake through your orgasm. The energy it takes to speak, the courage bleeding you dry. You’d lost your voice again.

Joel feels it—your unraveling, your breaking, the way your walls flutter around him—and it undoes him completely. Your hands cradle your face, tilting his head back so you can see him, his dark eyes burning into yours as he thrusts up hard as he spills inside of you, not entirely thinking as he does it.

"That’s it, baby," he praises, “Keep squeezin’ me, I’m right here,”

And for a long moment, neither of you move.

The only sound is his ragged breaths, the pounding of your heart.

His lips brush your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

"You," he murmurs to you, soft, like it means something to him too.

Maybe it does, you weren’t sure.

–

He reaches you this way, through connection and touch.

Sex or something similar, the intensity of the moment clouding your thoughts and relaxing your worry, and his too.

It was a give and take with each other, distracting Joel from his constant stream of troubling thoughts and worries, still never approaching you—it was always under your guidance.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s wrong. But every time your hands find him, every time you press yourself into his space, silently asking for comfort, for connection, he gives in.

The moment you touch him, the constant, gnawing dread in his mind quiets.

Just for a little while. And selfishly, he needs it.

Your fingers trail up his chest, light, uncertain, tracing the scars like a map. Joel watches, his breath slow and steady, his muscles tense beneath your touch—but he doesn’t stop you.

He never does.

You cornered him in the kitchen this particular night, his hands curled over the edge of the sink with his head hung, chest heaving like he had just woken up from his own nightmare, sneaking out of bed but not quite enough that you wouldn’t notice.

When you press your lips against his skin, soft and searching, he exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long.

Like you were the answer.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice rough, low, but there’s no demand in it.

No expectation.

Only restraint.

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, between the constant time spent together and the nights spent inside of you, allowing your greediness to take hold.

He pushed his own aside, stuffed until it was boiling over.

You nod, and that’s all it takes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, guiding you the way you he needs, the way he knows you need too, his grip firm, like he’s holding something fragile—something breakable.

That's what this was, after all.

A delicate balance. A silent understanding.

You give each other this, and in return, he gives you himself, as do you—fully, completely, no barriers, no walls.

When he moves it is slow and deliberate, when his mouth finds your throat and his fingers grip your neck, guiding you against and up on the counter, fingers spreading underneath your top before it’s torn over your head, it was all the same. His palms curve around your neck, pulling you toward him as his lips capture yours in a surprisingly tender kiss, lips parting immediately as his tongue licks along your own, mirroring his touch as you spread your legs to make room for him.

You don’t need anything else but this.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you.

But, there’s that gnawing in Joel’s chest that makes him out to be the monster he knows he can be, taking advantage of your trauma and pushing your limits, using you like you’ve been used before.

He’s no better, he thinks.

If anything, he’s worse.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfic #my writing #fic: strangers

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sheepispink · 3 days ago

Text

Relief

supersoldier!reader x lt ghost technicallly the 141 too but he’s the main culprit (part 4)

One Two Three

cw: Reaper is reader’s callsign (backstory and meaning will be given at the bottom and thanks to @pythonmoth to help me with this :) ), nightmares, slight derealisation

————

“Lord, Ghost! Why do you think they don’t want to speak up? Look at their face!”

Soap raises his voice, louder than you’ve ever heard a sergeant before. Yet despite that, you watch in horror as Ghost shoves him out of his way, stalking even closer to you. The anger in his eyes is nothing short of fury, making fear spike in your heart and so the machines start beeping loudly, screaming in your ears. They’re not supposed to do that; your heart rate is supposed to keep steady outside of battle and serious situations—you’re breaking.

Wetness coats your cheeks as you scramble backwards, watching the terrifying skull mask grow closer and closer. You suppose you’ve taken it for granted that you never had to worry about the rumours surrounding the mask, but now you understand what every enemy had felt when they came across him, worrying that if you even so blink he’d have your heart in his hands the second your eyes opened.

You suppose he’s talking, likely yelling more curses and insults at you but you can't hear any of it, nor Soap’s voice as he reaches for you, everything swirling into an incomprehensible blur. You have to blink, your vision blurry and the next second you open your eyes his hand is around your throat, forcing your eyes to blow wide and your own breath to clog in your throat. Everything is freezing; the walls are closing in and your entire body feels strange, like the world around you has tipped entirely. “You devil—”

“Reaper!“

Your hands clench at nothing but the cold flooring of the medical room you’re in, having fallen off of the bed altogether. The heart monitor beeps loudly, having been detached when you fell, also causing the iv drip to rip off, and leaving your bare arms feeling naked and raw. Gaz crouches before you, his hands like a furnace against your frozen body, trying to ease you. “What happened? Are you alright?” You do your best to nod quickly in response, a hiccup replacing the yes choked in your throat. He’s still soothing you when heavy footsteps approach, though you know well enough that it isnt the ones you fear—well, not that kind of fear anyway.

The Captain stands in the doorway, watching as Gaz pats your back and says reassuring words to your horror stricken face, the hot tears still curving over your cheeks and thawing the ice your hands feel like. It’s not like you were afraid of him like you were with Ghost, no it was more of a… professional intimidation.

The first time you spoke to him was the day you first arrived at base, having been picked up by Ghost and then taken to meet the Captain. He didn’t do much than tell you how to contact him, and a few words about the things you’d take part in whilst you worked alongside Ghost. Even so, you had figured immediately from the getgo that he wasn’t a man to mess with, and so you avoided him as best you could. In your head, talking to him only occured when something went wrong and well, nothing should be going wrong with a weapon like you.

“I’ll take it from here, Garrick.” His voice is low, but not harsh, and Gaz slowly stands, looking back at you one more time before he steps back. The Captain moves towards where you are on the ground, your back pressed against the small cupboard and your hands flat against the cold tiles. “I’m sorry i didnt come earlier.” It’s the first thing he says, and he takes his hat off, making him look strange and yet nothing like the stern authority he represents, especially when his brows are furrowed.

“Captain— I-” Despite that, you still didnt want to be seen as weak before him. All you had done for the past three months would be for a waste if something as menial as the events of the past day caused you to crumble to pieces. You wish you could explain everything to him, beg him to believe you when you say this was all nothing. All you need is for him to walk away now, pretend he didn’t see the visible distress in your face. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to move past all of this and live your life as the weapon his team would wield proudly. “It’s- I’m just—“

“No.”

The word is short, simple and stern and yet somehow it has you stilling, every nerve frozen as you stare at him.

You should’ve known that weapons don't get second chances, that the damaged soldier doesn’t survive the battlefield. You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for some weak straggler, someone who broke apart from a few threats on their stupid birthday. Even if you had led each of his missions to a swift victory. Even if his days had been spent lighter, with more free time because there were just less things to worry about when you were the equivalent to ten soldiers. Even if he had written star reports about you, even going as far as to someday wish to permanently add you to the team. Even if you held every mission you went on by it’s strings and you kept them taut— never letting go, not even for a second.

“Why’d you always call me Captain, hm? You can call me John, you know.” His voice is relatively calmer, even if it’s the same tone he’s always used for you. He crouches and easily slips a hand behind your back, nudging you forward enough to allow him to pick you up and place you back onto the military bed.

“John…” You test the word on your lips and he nods, your shaken up state not disregarded as his eyes rake over your trembling form. He quickly pulls them away to reattach the iv drip and the heart monitor before his hand carefully brushes through your hair from the front to the back of your head. “See? Slides right off your tongue.”

You realise now that you still had been breathing quite heavily, with your hand gripping the front of your shirt. Everything just felt so tight, everything around was completely fake. You’re used to having reservations about this, used to pulling away from any physical contact, or just staying blank faced. A defense mechanism perhaps, especially after you had been through torture training and they tried their best to prey on any possible weaknesses. The thought of that day makes you shiver, but still, you were too lost in it to care that you were breaking your own rules aswell now.

You look up as his thumb rubs absentmindedly at the soft skin of your cheek. It’s one of the few places untouched by the horrors of experiments and severe training, still somehow retaining that childhood chubbiness, even if you had been trying to rid that for a long time. His lips have pulled into a small smile as he looks down at you, one that seems so fond you’re almost sure that perhaps he’s laughing at you since it couldn’t nearly be possible. Then you see the guilt in his eyes, the way they flicker down every now and then, and when his hand grazes your bandaged arm, for the first time, you flinch.

“Why—no— Did..you ever want to tell me, at all?”

You nod quietly, and his breath returns, letting out in the form of a long exhale as he just nods quietly, nudging you up so he can sit on the edge of the small hospital bed. “What..made you choose not to?”

“I.. I didn't think it was that serious.. It seemed like a stupid threat.” You murmur out and despite how angry he is about the whole situation, he can't get mad at your mindset. It really isn’t your fault.

“You were scared though.” He points out, and you nod in response, his hand still rubbing your head gently. “If it’s enough to cause you of all people fear, I think it’s pretty serious, kid.”

You swallow sharply, and he notices, letting out another sigh as his eyes fill with even more guilt. “I’m sorry..about your party. I should’ve been there; Me and Ghost, and I should've bought all your things for you too.” Never in your life has anyone looked at you with guilt, especially not directed at you. “It’s fine.. I didn’t really care for the party.” You mumble out, wiping the remaining tears that had coated your cheeks.“No— kid, i mean it. I’ll make it up to you; we can have that party—“

”It was a lie- I.. I’ve never celebrated my birthday.” You finally admit, the words blurting out as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with the blankets. “I just.. I thought if one of you came then they wouldn’t have dared to try and harm me.”

John stills, staring at you so hard and his hands have frozen on your shoulder, the air growing silent. “I.. You just wanted us to protect you.”

There’s one thing you haven't been letting yourself think about. Maybe it was the fact you were so terrified by all the threats you received, maybe it was the fact that you wanted to believe you could be the one in control— maybe you just thought that after everything you’d been through you were allowed to feel that confident. Now that everything’s over, your mind can no longer push the undoubted facts out.

You’re a weapon, that’s something you’ve always known about yourself. But just like with a weapon, it can't fire on its own—it needs someone to wield it. Ghost, for example; he’d give you commands on the battlefield, whether vague or specific. Those experiments ensured you listened to him, years of brainwashing forcing you into submission only to who was your commander. And so, despite everything you convinced yourself of the last few days, you weren’t exactly all that feared, not by your comrades. Those who understood the nature of you knew you couldn’t lay a hand against them, no matter how bad it got. You were powerless without a handler, as useless as a gun with no bullets.

Understanding lays heavy in Price’s eyes, seeing the emotions that pass through you with every twitch of your hand and flicker of your lashes. You were just a kid damnit. Sure, you were well of age, but you never knew anything past military life. You were everything he fought against and yet you were still here, under his team’s command. You don't argue when he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in tight, and he doesn't argue when your face is pushed against his shoulder, wetting his thin shirt. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, whispering it in your ear again and again, making sure you dont only know it, but you believe it. You believe he didn’t mean it, and you believe he’ll do everything to fix this.

—————————-

10:23 pm, 3 days earlier

The tension in the room lays thick, the silence eating away at the two men sat infront of each other . Ghost was tense, muscles bulging as his fists clench at his lap, his eyes fixed onto the patterns on Price’s wooden desk. Meanwhile, the latter sat with his hands clasped, both of them with heavy hearts. “Reaper is in the infirmary; their arm took the brunt of the damage when she was protecting the fox.” He breathes out the words, suddenly wishing he has a cigar to fill the empty nausea in his throat.

Meanwhile, Ghost is only growing more furious, standing up way too fast before walking towards the cabinets. “They could’ve got killed, Capt.” His voice is stern, filled with fury that Price cant discern if placed on you or the soldiers at hand. Even so, there’s not much he can do, just sighing heavily.

“The higher ups are furious; we can’t afford for a failure in this program, and this sets us back months of research.” The glass sits in front of him, the golden liquid still inside and glowing in the low lamplight. Price steadies his words, watching as Ghost begins to pace back and forth. “They want to send Reaper back to the Scientists, brainwash any leftover fear out of their head.”

Brainwash

That word alone makes him snap, slamming his hands on the deep mahogany. “You cant be serious— We are not agreeing to that—!”

“I dont want to, Ghost.” Price reaches his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his elbows digging into the table as he tries to still the migraine that threatens to form.”But I can't deny them when we have nothing to disprove that Reaper’s state will only grow worse. We have to find out what happened, why they never told us about the threat—“

“So we have to coax it out of them? What, wait for them to feel all comfortable to tell us why they didn’t open their bloody mouths?!” He knows it’s more than that, he knows if it was that easy this never would’ve even happened because if you only functioned by orders, you wouldn't even be a person in the first place. Yet still he argues, because he knows this is all his fault. He chose to disregard the signs, he chose to hate you, he chose to push you to limits you didn’t even know you had. It’s his fault and he can't handle it.

He just couldn’t understand, why were you the one the team needed? It started off just testing if you’d handle the role you were destined for, a path you didn't know you were chosen to take once the time grew right. But then it grew deeper, a need to strain your limits, see if you could survive the cruelties he did. An abnormal urge and yet never too far, never over the edge. Just sheer of it.

Now look at what he’s done.

————————

4am. 5 days after the incident.

Another nightmare. You breathe heavily; for once no one is rushing to your room to check on your condition. Weirdly enough, Price had moved you to his barracks whilst he used a mattress hastily put together on the floor. Sure you had your own room, but with how frequent you managed to fall off of the bed because of recurring nightmares it was better to keep you here. Besides, this was far more comfortable than any sterile white hospital room which the rest of the 141 quickly realised hit a bad nerve with you. Your chest is tight, but it doesn't hurt, your lungs just feel pressured and yet you’re not short of oxygen either. It’s a strange feeling to say the least, and you just feel so, so exhausted.

Slowly you creep out of the bed, the bandage still tight around your upper arm and for once you’re wearing pajamas rather than the uniform you usually end up sleeping in to stop wasting time on changing. Disgusting perhaps, efficient regardless. Your feet creep into soft slippers Gaz brought you, hand sinking into your signature fox plush that Soap made sure to tuck in beside you. Quietly you slip out of Price’s room, the man snoring quietly on the mattress as you head down the corridor to the common room. They’ve let you use it now, like it’s actually yours too and that you belong there. Even if you know you dont.

It’s at the end of the hall, and you have to pass all their rooms to reach it. Gaz’s first, quiet inside, then Soap’s where you can hear a soft rustle— likely him rolling over. Your eyes linger on Ghost’s, the door shut and deadly silent. Ironically enough, he was sent on deployment the day after all the chaos went down, leaving radio silence on his part. It was strange, knowing your handler was around without you, going on a mission you would’ve probably been on too. All because you hadnt spoken up.

But would things really have changed?

You break your gaze away from his door, slipping into the common room to pour yourself a glass of water. “Hm? What ye doing up?” Soap is clearly tired, yawning all the way as he follows you over to the counter, pouring himself a glass of water aswell. “Thirsty..” You mumble, deciding to not let the idea of the nightmare linger much longer. Although, it seems like Soap’s already figured you all out, an arm lazily around your shoulder as he chugs his glass. “Nightmare, hm?”

You nod in response, and he lets out a small sigh, looking at you with softer eyes than usual. “Did ye tell Price?” He watches you shake your head, making him chuckle in response, a smile growing on his face as he lifts a hand up, ruffling your hair. “ ‘Course ye didn't, rascal.” It’s one of the few times anyone has been playfully mad with you before, the first being a nurse which accidentally just further reinforced your fear of medical staff. You never let that show though; it only came to light because of the trauma of the day. Soap and Gaz had been teaching you a lot of things, first of them being actually having a normal breakfast. You’ve joined them every morning now, well at least when they can make it, and it feels great but strange. They had immediately denounced your notions of “earning your breakfast” too, letting you have access to the actual food that was given at the normal breakfast times.

“Yknow, me and Gaz were thinking..” He hums, one hand still carding through your hair whilst he looks curiously at your arm for any sign of further damage. “You never celebrated in the end, did ya?” He watched you shake your head, teeth grazing your lips.

“No, i didn’t. I never wanted to though, i’m sure Price told you it was only a fib.” You respond, trying to downplay the situation. It’s not like you’d take much joy in celebrating now, even after all these years it felt better to just let the notion of it die in the trenches with your innocence.

“I know, I know.” He sighs, taking both your glasses and placing them near the sink for later. “Maybe we could do something small? Bit of cake, a movie. Nothin’ more.” You just shrug and nod, not sure what people even really do for their birthdays, and he gives you a smile, a hand on your back to lead you down the hall again.

You’re almost at the room when he stops you, his eyes almost locked onto you like he’s searching for something. “Do you wanna.. talk about the nightmare? It helps, I promise. You dont have to go in detail, but it’ll be good to know what you keep dreaming about.”

You debate his offer, staring back at him just as curiously. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't, even though you’re pretty sure the entire team is just anxiously waiting for you to speak. For someone whose silenced most of the time, it sure is weird.

“It was.. Ghost. I dream of when he yelled at me, except in my dreams he doesn't stop, he pushes you to the side and grabs me by my neck..” It’s straightforward and to the point. Well, maybe a little too much because Soap’s eyes have widened, pity swirling deep in his pupils. “He didnt— He was just angry that day, you know he wouldn’t do that.. right?”

There’s a rustle inside the room behind you, Price having woken up by your talking outside. You step towards the door, unsure what to respond to Soap’s question. “I…I know, .”

You disappear back into the room again, the door quietly shutting behind you again, leaving him standing outside and very worried.

——————

10am, the next day.

Gaz walks alongside you as you step through the forest, the morning air biting at your cheeks as he complains to you about whatever paperwork he had to finish last night. You’ve been at this for a while, the frosted leaves crunching beneath your boots and you dont feel the cold much thanks to his gloves.

“Through here.” You know the way and yet you follow him through the forestry, down the path, and towards the cabin up ahead. The floor is trampled, tire marks from when you were rushed back with blood trailing down your arm. Even Gaz looks a little tense at the small splotches on the ground but chooses not to comment on it, taking your hand as the ground becomes a little more uneven.

“Inside.”

He hums, unlocking the cabin door which has been tightly secured since the incident. You walk past him, stepping inside to hear an excited yip, the fox bundling towards you with joy. For once you smile out of relief, crouching down to pet the excitable creature that nips affectionately at your trousers. “Good to see you too.” You hum, hand running down his head and ears. Now that you can see it in the light, you realise they’ve cleaned it up properly, bandaged its dodgy leg and it looks noticeably happier.

The fox licks at your hands as you sit on the small bench, feeding it the occasional dried meat strips which it takes happily, tail swishing from side to side. Gaz sits beside you, one hand on the back of the bench and his arm grazing your shoulders.

“We called the wildlife centre for him. They’ll take him in the next few days, keep him safe and put him with some other foxes. He’ll be happier.”

Would you be happier though? When you look at the scrawny thing, all you really see is yourself. A known predator, a hated species, and yet just trying to survive like everyone else on this damn world.

“You’re right, it’d be better for him.”

—————————

Sleeping is increasingly difficult for once; usually you’re knocked out in seconds but today it’s like the concept of rest refuses you altogether. The reason behind it is Ghost’s return; you had heard the soft whispers between Soap and Gaz, the awkward tension as the day grew nearer. So you had resigned yourself to your room, left alone with your thoughts for the remainder of the day. However, now you were restless, unable to sit still with the threat looming down every corridor and through the vents. Your nails claw at the sheets– they feel sterile and uncomfortable no matter where you sleep– and so you slide off the bed, forcing one foot in front of the other. You need a break.

Somehow they had left you without surveillance tonight, which isn't surprising since you had promised you wouldn’t go out on your own. Oh well, you know two men who broke a promise to you. The air is cold as it blows on your face, slowly less frosty as winter begins to fade, and you walk past the track, planning to just walk through the other entrance and return to your room again. You wouldn’t dare go back the way you came– not when Ghost is around now.

It’s a rush of warmth when you reenter the building, the change making your fingertips tingle and your lashes flitter, mouth threatening to yawn. Thankfully, the hallways were clear, unlike your hazed mind. It was like swimming underwater, every thought swirling around and voices muffled by the water above—wait, voices? You pause infront of a door, immediately stilling when you recognise a voice too familiar.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” You swallow, the roughness of the voice enough to make your teeth scrape against eachother nervously. It’s him.

“Reaper’s not doing well, it’s obvious—“

”So what? We’re just going to send them back? To those stupid scientists-”

You don't hear the rest, those words enough to make something in your brain snap. All this time you’ve worked tirelessly, day and night, after every mission and every near death experience. All to be sent back where you came from, like what, some broken toy? The thought of it makes anger brim in your chest, a fury that tips the scales enough to make you actually want to break something. Your feet stumble and for some reason you're running, somewhere, anywhere. It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad idea, a tempting one even— to actually lash out. What’s the point in anything if your life will be a full circle?

What is the point of all the pain if you’ll only relive it again?

Change has to come, even if you grapple with the chains at your neck and leave rope burns on your ankles.

You’ll die trying either way.

“No; we wont. Reaper isn’t going anywhere, ever again.” Gaz speaks up, having just closed the door after seeing a glimpse of someone walking past. They really shouldn't leave any doors open for anyone to hear their conversation. “Their performance outweighs the struggles. We have the time to make things right.”

Ghost’s expression hardens, listening to the words of his teams. Of course he knows what that means— he’s the one who has to make this right.

***************************************

buy me a coffee!

CALL SIGN: REAPER— Grim reapers dont choose who dies, they’re told. The victims time has come, similar to how reader has never killed someone of her own accord, only through the orders another has given. They’re merely a tool.

Taglist:

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#simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x gender neutral reader

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monzabee · 3 days ago

Note

Ok so this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s not like to detailed but I’d say like a story where you and Lando live together and you eventually start liking each other but he doesn’t know you like him and like you see him and a girl and immediately like “omg he does NOT like me😔” so you go with your friend like to a bar or club not sure and meet someone(could be Charles or Carlos)

And the you end up liking him and then he takes you to your house and Lando is waiting for you and then sees (one of them) and then gets upset and starts asking like were have you been blah blah .Then you eventually say you liked him but you know it didn’t if he had liked someone else and then he’s like no I liked you and then it comes to a fluff or angst ending.(again I’m sorry first time requesting 😭❗️

the roommate experiment – ln4

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Lando doesn’t like his roommate, not one bit—this is a complete lie.

Pairing: lando norris x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: fluff, arguing (a lot), feeelings, jealous, i can’t remember but maybe cursing?

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! let me tell you one thing—this fic is VINTAGE at this point, and i'm not even kidding😭 this took me a very long time to finish, and it was a journey, and i do apologise for that, but hey—at least it’s here!!! let's all celebrate some good vibes for lando norris who is leading the championship, and hopefully i can get through rest of the requests on my list. i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always appreciated. also, my requests are open! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

One second Lando is on the podium in Miami, getting his first win, being absolutely on top of the world and partying until he doesn’t remember his name. Then, suddenly, he is back in his apartment in Monte Carlo, his mother sitting on the couch beside him as she explains how the daughter of a close family friend will be staying him for the foreseeable future. He thinks, for a moment, whether he is still hungover or not, or maybe he’s dreaming, because there is absolutely no way he’s going to be sharing his apartment with you.

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, hands cutting through the air to emphasise his point. “Why am I the one stuck with her? She’s not a child.”

“I’m not saying she’s a child,” his mother points out, “I’m saying that she needs a place to stay during her internship, and you have an extra room. She’s your friend, Lando, stop acting like you don’t like her.”

With a finger pointed at his mother, “I’m not saying I don’t like her,” Lando explains, “all I’m saying is that I don’t think either of us could be fine with living each other. You saw the last time we had an argument; do you want it to be like that every single day?”

No, she thinks, I absolutely do not, as his mother thinks of the thrashed-up villa that your families had rented out for a holiday and shakes her head to get rid of the imagine. “Well, she’s coming, so be nice to her and try not to obliterate your apartment, darling.”

“Mum, I just won my first race, is this how you want me the remember the best day of my life ending its high?” Lando tilts his head, giving his mom the best puppy eyes he can.

He thinks for a second that he manages to get through her, but then, she straightens up, gives him a small kiss on the forehead and starts walking through the door as she yells, “Don’t forget to bring out the guest towels!”

And as he slumps down onto the couch, his mind goes back to the fact that just over twenty-four hours ago, he was back in Miami, partying after his first win.

Staying at Lando’s apartment in Monte Carlo wasn’t your first, second or last choice for an accommodation if you’re being a hundred percent honest. Alas, you find yourself at his apartment, bags in hand, busy returning the look of disdain behind his mother’s back to match the look he gives you himself. She has somehow convinced your mother, who practically forced you to take her gracious offer, that this is a good idea. “You’ll get along splendidly,” she assures you all, including herself, “you are not little kids who fight because of everything anymore.”

Oh, little did she know.

The first hour you’re there, Lando makes a point of complaining of how many boxes you have, as if you were not in the process of moving your entire life to another country, and that you are to, under any circumstances, display any of your ‘girly’ things out in his ‘bachelor pad’. You decide to take the high road with that second one and opt for an eyeroll as you drag your suitcase into your room to unpack. The look he gives you behind your back? Priceless. And you only know how he looks because of the strategically placed mirrors he has on the corridor.

After a couple of hours, he throws a fuss because you’ve decided to order food. “I’m an athlete,” he points out. “You can’t just order food whenever you want around here.”

You try taking the high road, you really do, but how can you not egg him on when he is acting like such a petulant child?

The second argument occurs when Lando has a few friends over a couple of days later, and you wander into the kitchen in your loungewear—which doesn’t make any sense, because you can’t see what’s so scandalous about a pair of shorts and a tank top, but he insists that you cannot be hanging around his friend wearing ‘almost nothing’. You point out that his complaining within itself contradictory because if you are wearing something, then you cannot be wearing almost nothing. He leaves the living room, stomping on his way back to his room, you count it as another argument won. Your mother loses it when you tell her that you’re going to start looking for a place to move out, also reminding her of the fact that living with Lando was supposed to be temporary anyway, but she’s having none of it.

“Temporary or not, you promised to stick it out until your internship ends,” your mother reminds you sternly over the phone. “And besides, you’ve known Lando your whole life. Surely you can survive a few months without tearing each other apart.”

“Define ‘tearing each other apart,’” you mutter, earning a long sigh on the other end.

“Stop being dramatic,” she replies. “Lando isn’t the problem. You both just need to grow up and learn how to live together.”

You don’t have the energy to argue further, so you reluctantly let the conversation end with a grumbled, “Fine, but if one of us ends up in the hospital, it’s on you.”

When you think about it, living with Lando is as much as living without Lando. So that’s how your days pass by for a while, at least until Lando has to leave to go racing or back to the UK to go to the Mclaren factory. You fight over everything like cats and dogs, and you are mature enough to admit that coexisting with Lando is not an option. The apartment is eerily quiet when Lando is not there, you realise. That makes sense, since he is not there to bicker with you about anything and everything you do, from the way you breathe to the way you walk. At first, you relish the silence. The absence of Lando’s constant complaints feels like a vacation. No sarcastic quips about your ‘obnoxious’ alarm clock. No eye rolls when you leave your shoes by the door instead of neatly tucking them away.

No Lando, period.

But then, as the days stretch on, the quiet begins to weigh on you. Without the petty arguments, the apartment feels almost... lifeless. You catch yourself lingering in the kitchen, half expecting him to appear and critique your choice of breakfast. Or walking past the couch, where you can usually find him lounging with a smug grin, daring you to say something about his feet on the coffee table. It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve grown used to his presence, how much his absence leaves a void.

You would never admit out loud that there is a teeny tiny chance of you possibly miss having him around, because admitting that would be like handing him a victory he absolutely doesn’t deserve. Lando is already insufferable enough—imagine the endless teasing if he found out you missed him. No, you tell yourself firmly, this is just about the sudden peace and quiet that you are not used to. It has nothing to do with him. But the longer Lando stays away, the harder it becomes to ignore the empty space. You find yourself pacing the apartment, glancing at your phone, half-expecting to see a message from him. Maybe just to poke fun at something you did or complain about something you didn’t even know was an issue. But there’s nothing. Not even a text.

It’s strange. The whole atmosphere of the apartment is different without his presence. The silence isn’t comforting anymore—it’s just oppressive. It makes you feel a little bit lost, a little bit too aware of the fact that the person who used to drive you crazy is the same person you now seem to miss, even if you won’t admit it.

You’re standing in the kitchen one afternoon, absentmindedly washing dishes, when the door slams open when Lando is back. He’s dragging his luggage behind him, looking dishevelled but somehow still effortlessly cool. As soon as he steps in, he scans the apartment with that familiar smug grin. “You miss me?” he asks, voice light and teasing, though his eyes are just a little too knowing.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly turn away, trying to hide the fact that you’re actually relieved to see him. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, scrubbing the plate a little too vigorously.

Lando laughs, clearly enjoying this. “Sure, sure. You don’t have to admit it. I can tell.” He tosses his keys on the counter and walks into the living room, looking around like he’s just returned to the battlefield.

“Only in your dreams, Lando.” You can’t stop the eye roll that follows, but you bite back the smile threatening to break through.

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your deflection. “Trust me, darling, you’re doing something very different in my dreams.”

You freeze for a second, a blush creeping up your neck despite your best efforts to stay unaffected.

Did he really just say that?

You turn your back to him, scrubbing the dish a little harder, trying to mask the sudden nervous energy that’s bubbled up in your chest. “Keep dreaming, Lando. I’m not that easy.”

His laugh follows you, light and teasing. “Oh, I know. But trust me, it’s a pretty good dream.” He drops onto the couch with the same lazy, confident air that he always has, kicking his shoes off and stretching out like he owns the place. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any satisfaction, but you can’t help but feel a shift between you two. “I’m going to be a good roommate for a second,” he announces.

“Oh, yeah?” You scoff, placing down the plate you were scrubbing on the drying rack. “I find that kind of hard to believe, but go on, I guess.”

Lando smirks, clearly enjoying your scepticism. “No, really. I’m going to invite you out to a party tonight,” he says, leaning back on the couch with that trademark smugness. “My friends are throwing something to celebrate the win. You might as well come with me. You’re already here, and it’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “A party? With your friends?” The idea of spending time with Lando and his crew seems like asking for more arguments, but something in his casual offer piques your interest.

“Yeah, with my friends,” he confirms, totally unbothered by your hesitation. “It’ll be fun. No arguing, no complaints. Just a good time. You’ll need a little distraction, considering how quiet you’ve been without me.”

“You’re a saint, Lando,” you laugh softly, drying your hands on the towel next to you, “but I’ll have to pass.”

Lando’s smirk falters, but only for a moment, before he stands up from the couch, stretching lazily. “Come on,” he says, his tone shifting to a mix of coaxing and playful challenge. “You’re going to pass on the chance to have some fun?”

You regret your decision to prove Lando wrong, as soon as you step into the club. The bass thrums through the floor, shaking your ribs as lights flicker across the packed club. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely expensive—probably Lando’s choice of venue. You’re still not sure why you let him talk you into this. Lando disappears almost immediately, swallowed by a sea of familiar faces, leaving you with a drink in hand and a mild sense of regret. You shouldn’t have come. This was his world, not yours.

You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room for any excuse to leave early, when a smooth voice pulls your attention. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

You turn, and your stomach flips slightly. Oh.

Charles Leclerc, dressed effortlessly in a fitted black shirt, his green eyes glinting under the dim lights, is watching you with an amused expression.

You laugh, shifting on your feet. “Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully,” he grins, sipping his drink. “Not a fan of the club scene?”

You shrug. “More like not a fan of being dragged here by a certain someone who insists I need to ‘loosen up.’”

Charles chuckles knowingly. “Let me guess—Lando?”

“Bingo.”

Charles shakes his head, smiling. “Classic.” He leans against the bar, his gaze settling on you like he’s studying you, intrigued. “So, what do you actually like to do for fun?”

You end up talking to him longer than you expected. He’s easy to talk to, charming in a way that doesn’t feel forced. And when he suggests getting some air outside, you don’t hesitate.

Lando doesn’t notice you leaving. Or so you think.

When Charles walks you up to your apartment later that night, you don’t expect to see Lando leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a frown etched onto his face. His eyes flick from you to Charles, jaw clenching. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice is sharp, accusing.

You blink, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“It’s two in the morning.” He points out, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow down.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “And? You go out all the time and come back whenever you want.”

Lando ignores that. His gaze snaps to Charles. “And what are you doing here?”

Charles raises his hands, staying neutral. “Just making sure she got home safe.” He then turns to you, “And I will be leaving, because I really don’t want my head chopped off, I’ll see you two later.”

Lando lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, how chivalrous of you.” Lando calls after Charles, scofffing as he turns back to you.

You glare at him. “Lando, what is your problem?”

Lando's jaw tightens, his arms still crossed over his chest as he glares at you like you’ve personally offended him.

“My problem?” he scoffs. “My problem is that you just disappeared without saying anything. I turned around and you were gone.”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you like a child.”

“You don’t,” he shoots back. “But maybe let someone know before you run off with Charles fucking Leclerc. Because I don’t know what to tell your mother.”

“My mother?” You let out a sharp laugh, crossing your arms. “Oh, so that’s what this is about? You have a problem with Charles now? Isn’t he your friend?”

Lando shifts on his feet, jaw clenching. “I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with you sneaking off in the middle of the night.”

“Sneaking off?” you repeat, incredulous. “I told you I wasn’t going to stay long. You were too busy chatting up multiple girls to notice.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying to hold something back. “You shouldn’t have left with him.” He takes a step towards you, which would usually cause you to take a step back, but you don’t step down.

“Oh my God, Lando.” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I wasn’t kidnapped. Charles walked me home. That’s it.”

Lando lets out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. Just being a gentleman, right?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, actually. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business,” he snaps, taking a step closer. “You live here. With me. And if something happened—”

“Nothing happened,” you cut him off. “And even if it did, you don’t get to act like this.”

Lando shakes his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Like what?”

“Like you own me,” you challenge, voice steady. His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to argue, but no words come out. For the first time in the entire conversation, he looks caught off guard. You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.” You push past him, reaching for the door handle.

But before you can step inside, Lando’s hand catches your wrist. It’s not rough—just enough to make you pause. You look up at him, and for the first time all night, there’s something in his expression that isn’t just frustration or irritation. He hesitates, then his voice drops, quieter this time. “I didn’t—” He exhales sharply, like the words physically hurt to get out. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

Your breath catches for a second, because there it is. The truth that’s been simmering under the surface for weeks, finally cracking through. You hold his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “And why is that, Lando?”

Lando’s grip on your wrist loosens slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. He looks at you, eyes darkened, as if he’s struggling with the words, unsure whether to let them slip. “Because…” He trails off, voice barely a whisper, a complete opposite of himself mere moments ago when he was yelling. “Because I care. And I didn’t want you running off with someone else.” His eyes flick to the ground before meeting yours again, this time with something softer, vulnerable. "I didn’t want to admit it... but I think I’ve been a total idiot."

You blink, heart pounding in your chest as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, unsure if you heard him right. “You…” you start, but he interrupts you, his voice urgent.

“I know I’ve been a prick. I know we fight constantly, but I—” He pauses, his hands fidgeting at his sides, clearly nervous for the first time in a long while. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care about you. I just… I didn’t know how else to handle it. And when I saw you with him tonight, I…” He swallows hard, looking almost embarrassed. “I hated it. I didn’t want to feel like I was losing you.”

Your head spins, trying to process what he’s saying. You blink a few times, trying to find the right words. “Lando… I thought you didn’t like me. I mean, the way you’ve acted, always arguing with me, always finding something to complain about—” Your voice falters, and you shake your head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you cared at all.”

Lando’s eyes widen, a flash of guilt crossing his face. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if struggling to form the words. Finally, he steps forward, closing the space between you, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just being an idiot. I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

A silence falls over you both, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, your hand still resting where his had been moments before, and for the first time, you meet his gaze without the usual annoyance or defensiveness. “You’re such an idiot,” you mutter softly, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays the words.

Lando lets out a small laugh, a genuine, relieved sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know. But I’m an idiot who cares about you.”

He leans in to kiss you, but you put your finger on his lips, stopping him in his tracks as you chuckle softly. “Hold your horses, you better take me out first before kissing me, champ,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of disbelief.

Lando’s eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and amusement as he pulls back slightly, the tension between you two lifting. He raises an eyebrow, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his gaze. “Take you out, huh? Guess I’m gonna have to step up my game then.”

You nod, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not that easy, Lando. You’ve got a lot of work to do after all the stupid things you said tonight.”

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough, I deserve that.” He steps back and scratches the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish but still confident. “How about tomorrow? I’ll take you to dinner. No more arguments, I promise.”

Your heart does a little flip at the thought of a calmer, less complicated night out with him. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes. “I guess I could let you—hey!” You shriek as he throws you over his shoulder, already walking towards the door.

You barely have time to protest before Lando's laughing voice rings through the apartment, his grip secure as he makes his way toward the door. “I’m serious. Dinner tomorrow, no complaints, no arguments. If you want your ‘I’m-not-that-easy’ dinner, you’re gonna have to accept the offer.”

“Lando!” you cry, thumping his back in a half-hearted attempt to get free. “Put me down!”

“I’m doing you a favour. You’re always so serious. It’s about time someone lightens things up!” He chuckles, effortlessly carrying you toward the door, his steps unwavering.

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. For someone who spent weeks driving you crazy, he was somehow making this moment feel lighter, better, despite your feigned indignation. When he finally sets you down in front of the door, you catch your breath, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t make me regret this,” you warn him, giving him a look that betrays the smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not going easy on you, Lando Norris.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, all charm and confidence, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Fine,” you say, nudging him playfully. “But you are definitely apologising to Charles later.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests with mock offense. “We can’t have a perfect night without a little argument, can we?” Lando watches you, his grin never fading, his eyes full of that familiar glint.

You shake your head at him one last time, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but your heart’s not in it anymore.

He steps closer, that cocky grin still in place, and leans down, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. “You love it,” he murmurs softly, his voice teasing but sincere.

You pause, staring at him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. And then, with a small sigh, you nod, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Maybe I do,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lando norris fluff

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asheepinfrance · 3 days ago

Text

Take It Like a Champ!

or art and reader are loser virgins

an: hey look its talia trying smut out. and it even got the art donaldson seal of approval (see first photo). specialest of thanks to @artstennisracket, @cha11engers, @jordiemeow, @diyasgarden and the BIGGEST special thank you to @newrochellechallenger2019 i love you all. this was the poll thing so wooooo hope you enjoy.

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Trying to watch movies with Art is always a thing. First, he’ll take at least seven bathroom breaks. Every time. Without fail. It’s kind of impressive, but a part of you doubts that he even needs them beyond that weird calm that just comes from sitting in a cold, tiled room for a few minutes. By the time his fingertips have gone pruney from the amount of times they’ve been run under the faucet, he’s digging under his bed for snacks, looking almost canine with the way he scratches at nothing but carpet, legs sticking out behind him. You’ve brought them, too, knowing the routine, but he absolutely insists on pitching in with a three month old bag of unsalted popcorn. But hey, it’s the thought that counts. But you’re finally here, and his hyperactive body just won’t sit still. It wouldn’t bother you if he wasn’t absolutely insistent on holding you between his open legs, back to chest, chin to shoulder, and watching you watching whatever chick flick it is you’d brought (he thinks that’s Mark Ruffalo?). Unfortunately for you, he is that insistent, and so is whatever has been poking at your back for the past 34 minutes and 52 seconds, based on the time left on the movie (‘Wait, you’ve never seen 13 going on 30?).

“Art, if you keep pressing your bony fucking knees into me, we’re gonna have a problem.”

He swallows around nothing, close enough you can hear the saliva in his throat push over itself in a wave and glide down his throat. He nods, spreads his legs a bit wider allowing you more room. Huh. Must be his keys.

“Art, seriously, can you-”

And then you’re met face to face with a bright red Art with quite the obvious issue.

“Uhmm…” you both say at the same time, staring at each other, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

“Shit, sorry. I am so fucking sorry, I can’t control it-”

“No, no, it’s- it’s fine! I mean, it’s like, nice? No, it’s flattering, or-”

You both stop rambling at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes and giggling like idiots. Bashful around each other for the first time in the months since you’d started seeing each other. Seeing each other? Sounds too adult. Regardless of a label on things, it’s been months of innocent kisses and this stupid movie night routine, and absolutely nothing beyond a bit of hands under shirts and slipping tongues. There was one time he caught you changing after a shower, down to just some ugly cotton panties you’d never choose to wear if you knew he’d see them and a bra, and he got so embarrassed he left the rest of the day.

“Do you… want me to do something about it?”

He looks down, and if the fact he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon is telling you anything, it’s that he wants you to.

“No, uh… ‘s fine.”

Oh.

“So… um…”, you both say simultaneously, lips pulling into Cheshire Cat grins. ‘You first!’, ‘Jinx!’ It’s cute, in a way, to be so in sync, but it’s really not getting you anywhere.

“Art… I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, but are you sure you don’t want some… assistance with that? For one, I feel like that’s gotta hurt, but also I wouldn’t offer unless I wanted to.”

He seems to go brain dead for a moment, staring at you with his jaw hanging open, and he doesn’t even notice when you place three fingers under his chin to pop it into place. You can practically see your words slowly bouncing around the inside of his skull, not unlike the DVD screensaver. All at once, he comes back to consciousness, haphazardly tugging at his shirt to pull it over his head.

“Yeah, fuck, please-”

The sudden transition from entirely reluctant to stripping like his clothes are burning off his skin is a bit jarring, but you aren’t going to even pretend to be upset about it. Especially not when he finally gets his sweats off (‘Ha… sorry, these are… strings are really tight’) along with his boxers and he’s staring at you like you’ve got the solution to all his problems in your potentially capable hands… or mouth.

He leans up on his elbows, loose and uncoordinated in his movements like a poorly handled marionette, to press a brief kiss to your lips. He settles back down, staring at himself like he’s never seen his own body before, then meets your equally shocked gaze.

“Um… good luck?”

You roll your eyes, don’t even justify the comment with a ‘thank you’, and start searching your wrist for a hair tie. That’s a thing girls mention when they talk about giving head, as you can recall from drunken conversations with your much more adventurous friends.

“Why are you scratching your wrist so hard?”

You look down. Not one in sight. Awesome.

“Shush. Just let me… do it.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it soon after, shrugging briefly as he lays back. Look down, look up, his eyes are screwed shut so tight his eyelids have wrinkled.

“Why do you look so scared? I’m not gonna, like, bite it or anything. I mean, unless you want me to-”

“I do not.”

You huff, suck in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. You lean down, tentatively poking your tongue out from between your lips to take his weeping tip in. You press a light kiss to his thigh first, smooth skinned and just as red as the rest of his body from some combination of heat and anticipation.

“Eugh.”

He pops his right eye open, leaving him perpetually winking, his face running even redder. God, this man cannot hide anything he’s feeling to save his life, and especially not right now.

“Is it bad?”

“No, you just… it’s like pool water.”

“It’s like what?”

He shuts up fairly quickly when you pick up where you left off, thank god, dipping his head back. Right back to the clamped shut eyes, which hopefully isn’t an indication of anything hurting. Hopefully.

It’s an odd feeling for sure, being close enough to legitimately taste him, and he smells kinda sweaty in a way that’s somehow still appealing? You’ll never quite understand how everything he does manages to have this innate beauty to it, and that includes the gross, human being stuff, too. He’s fucking whiney, too. You’re not entirely sure that he isn’t in agony at this point, considering the way he’s writhing around. Whimpering. Pathetic. Cute. When he grabs at your hair, though, just a bit too tightly to be pleasant, you get the idea you’re doing a good job. Bonus points for removing the need to tie your hair back. You can feel your throat starting to burn a bit from the lack of oxygen, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose, though it still feels inadequate with everything else. Art couldn’t care less, that or he’s genuinely too unaware of his surroundings to notice the incredibly obvious gagging on your end, caught up in babbling up at the ceiling about how good it feels, hands covering his closed eyes.

“Wait, shit, hold on-”

You register the feeling of something hot shooting down your throat before the words, pulling yourself off of him with a wet pop and a hacking cough. You glare at him through teary eyes, obviously provoked by his carelessness, pushing air out of your lungs and into the crook of your elbow. When you look down at the skin, little flecks of white appear mixed in with your spit. Gross.

“W-hat the fuck, Art?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just thought- I don’t know, I thought you’d take it like a champ!”

This absolute moron. When you’ve caught your breath again, you crawl up the length of his body to press a kiss to his pretty, pouting lips and god please don’t let there be cum on your mouth. With the enthusiasm he returns it with, hands pressed flat on your back, softly humming from the back of his throat, you’re guessing there’s not. Or he likes that there is. Neither would shock you. You sit back on your heels, wipe your lips, they’re clean, and seem all too proud of yourself for having given what was probably just subpar head.

“So… come here often?”

He frowns, looking genuinely concerned for far longer than was comfortable.

“Babe, that was the first time we’ve ever-”

“Jesus Christ, let’s just go to bed.”

#challengers #challengers fic #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #stupid ugly loser that i hate #is he a man or is he a blonde mole #i love him so bad #gonna blend him up #cannibalism as a metaphor for love so im making him into an organic smoothie

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bluebirdsfeathers · 23 hours ago

Text

Her Office

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Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: Wanda tried to get to know you a bit better before you start working together but an innocent question bring out painful memories.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), Past verbal and physical abuse, Slight hinted at homophobia, Mommy issues bc i have them too, power imbalance?

A/N: sorry this took so long. uni is really kicking my butt right now and just when i thought i'd have time to write my research supervisor gives me a 400+ page book to read.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me… and for my sister!” Pietro joked as he helped you clear out your desk. You’d made yourself at home over the past few months working for him. You were sad to be leaving but excited to be working for Wanda, also incredibly nervous, like throw up into the recycling bin near the printer nervous. Not that that had happened of course.

“But seriously, we are going to miss you down here. Don’t go forgetting about us.” He patted you on the back handing you the last of your stuff.

“How could I forget you? I’ll be down here like every other day wont I? Wanda visits all the time.” you reply with slight confusion. Wanda was always coming down to check on things, like she must do with all the departments. You assumed most of your job would be to accompany her many visits around the building. Staying close and taking notes on what she says like you’d seen Theo do.

“Yeah, she definitely was just coming down here for routine check-ins.” Pietro mumbled with the faintest air of smugness of someone who knows something you don’t has. Before you could register what he said, the doors on the far side of the room swung open and in came Wanda.

Her stride exuded confidence as she made her way over to you and your now empty desk. Her hair was slightly messy, shirt untucked, and instead of her usual high heels she wore flats.

“Got everything?” She sounded short of breath, like she had just been running. “The elevator to my office is being inspected so we’ll have to take the stairs.” Without another word, Wanda started walking back towards the door pausing to look behind her when she sensed you hadn’t moved. “Come on those 15 floors won’t climb themselves.” Suddenly her slightly dishevelled appearance made sense. You took a deep breath and gave one last look at Pietro, who seemed to be going to great lengths to not laugh at his sister, before following Wanda.

The stair well was in stark contrast to the rest of the building. Tall grey brick walls and bright white lighting. It seemed to also double as extra storage space judging by the stacks of boxes and pallets back here. You only seen them briefly while getting your monthly fire safety talks from a very unenthusiastic Dr. Banner, who once again felt the need to remind the group he had much more important things to be doing than this. As much as you found the man funny, he’s short temper made him a little scary at times.

People yelling had always been something you weren’t fond of. Your mom had always been so angry with you for not behaving like she wanted. The constant being told to sit, speak, and act ‘like a lady’ throughout your childhood had led to so many arguments. Femininity was just something you never had an interest in and the pressure to fit in from your family only made you reject it harder.

This never made the yelling easier, instead it had only made you desperate to avoid that sort of conflict. Wanda yelling the other day had scared you in a way you hadn’t felt since you were a child, and you were now desperate to make sure you were never on the receiving of her rage.

“Y/n, careful.” You had been so lost in thought you’d missed a step and stumbled forward. Wanda who had been talking non-stop about how inconvenient the elevator maintenance was stopped to help you pick up some pens that had fallen from the box you were carrying. “Do you need some help with that? It looks heavy.”

You saw this a challenge.

“No I’m fine, I’m very strong.” Wanda gave you a smile as she placed the pens back into the box touching your hand as she pulled away before turning around to continue climbing the stairs. Your face immediately flushed red.

“Only 4 more flights to go.” Her voice echoed off the bare walls was she turned another corner. You let out a sigh, the box was actually really heavy.

Once in her office you placed the box on an empty desk in the corner of the room. It was pushed up to the window and gave you an amazing view of New York. It was only then you realised how high up you were.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wanda came up behind you making you jump slightly, all this achieved was making the red head chuckle slightly. “You’re so jumpy you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You gave a small smile. Being alone with Wanda was terrifying and exciting all at once. The reality of the situation hadn’t really sunk in till just now. It was going to be the two of you, alone, very often from here out.

“Can I ask you something?” You nervously asked fiddling with the hem of your shirt not daring to look Wanda in the eyes. Her beautiful green eyes.

“Of course you can, darling.” Her final word rattled about in your brain momentarily making you forget what you even wanted in the first place.

“What you said, before,” Finally a coherent thought, “about wanting me, from the start. Was that true?”

“Yes, why would I lie.” Wanda raised an eyebrow giving you a no-nonsense look that you couldn’t if it was fully serious or not.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just, why didn’t you? You know, pick me the first time?” It was definitely a word salad that came out your mouth, thank God you were better at writing than speaking. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry…” you added after Wanda took a second to respond.

“No, no, don’t apologies…” She took a deep breath as if debating what to say. “That first day, I thought you had potential,” she began, clearly choosing her words carefully, “I just wanted to, see if you had what it takes to you know, be mine.”

“Be… yours.” The words caught in your throat as swallowed hard, struggling to speak.

“Be my intern, my assistant.” Wanda rushed to clarify but something inside you felt like her previous words were more honest. Not that you would dare push her on it. “And being my intern comes with a lot of responsibility, so I hope you are ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” You say saluting the older woman, who found the action quite amusing. “What do you need me to do first?”

Turns out Wanda didn’t want you to do anything just yet. Instead the two of you sat across from each other in the strange living room area of her office. Wanda lent back into a large leather armchair while you sat on the edge of the couch, almost velvety, black sofa.

She offered you a tea or coffee but instead you opted for the remnants of the energy drink you had tried to chug on the train this morning. Your choice in beverage clearly wasn’t approved by Wanda but she did little to stop you besides remind you of their negative health effects.

She asked you questions about yourself, clearly wanting to get to know you better but you held back from answering her questions too honestly, scared of being fired or disappointing her which was somehow worse in your head. They were all basic questions, and you asked some back at her.

She wanted to know about your favourite meal, how to you travel to work, where are you staying, and when you were going to get some proper work shoes. Your real answer being when they made comfortable ones but instead you opted to say when you get your next paycheck.

Then she asked something that caught you completely off guard. “How is your relationship with your family?”

“My family?” You repeat to make sure you were hearing things right.

“Yes, your family, you are one of the only interns not from a known family in the city, you mentioned you aren’t from New York originally, they must be proud of you?” Wanda spoke with a warm smile.

You hadn’t noticed but during the conversation you had leant back into the couch. It was like she had given you permission to relax for a change. You didn’t understand why but talking with Wanda made you feel comfortable, almost too comfortable at times making you need to remind yourself she was your boss.

“They umm,” your mind went to the argument you’d had with your father when you told him you were going to university miles away, almost across the entire country, “can we talk about something else.” Your voice shook slightly at the memory.

How angry he’d been, how angry he always was. The same with your mother, always so resentful, never protecting you from him. You spent your first semester coach surfing with a black eye till you had enough money to afford to rent a shitty little apartment.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Wanda had seemingly caught on that something was wrong and moved to sit next to you on the couch. She placed her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug that made your whole body tense. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen your grades and watched how hard you work. I’m proud of you y/n.” Her voice had the same warmth as earlier, it was sickeningly genuine to you.

All you wanted to do was melt into her arms, but you couldn’t this was your boss. She was just being nice, there was no way she would let you get that close to her under regular circumstances. You told yourself you wouldn’t let yourself get attached. You’d seen how ruthless she could be, and it terrified you to think of being on the receiving end. Catching feelings would just make your eventual fuck up ever worse.

Besides there was no way in hell CEO Wanda Maximoff, multimillionaire Wanda Maximoff, Old enough to be your mother Wanda Maximoff would ever have feelings for you in return.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You stood up as quickly as Wanda grip on you allowed. “Sorry.” You hurried to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, locking the door behind you before allowing yourself a moment to cry.

Cruel words from you parents fought the gentle reassurance Wanda had given you. You took a moment to collect yourself. Taking several deep breaths and trying to get rid of the redness in your eyes with a little cold water from the tab.

The bathroom, like everything in Wanda’s office screamed sophistication. The mostly white tiles with the smallest hint of red complemented the plush red hand towels, and several well looked after plants littered a shelf above the toilet. Most surprisingly was the shower and clawfoot tub in the room. Did she actually use them? Or where they just there because they could be?

Finally you were ready to leave the bathroom, stepping out you saw Wanda quickly look away from your direction. Had she been watching the door the whole time?

“Y/n, feeling better?” you gave a weak nod. “Good, right back to business then, first order is sorting out… this.” She pointed towards you clothing. Since Pietro had never required you to dress professionally, you had never updated your wardrobe. You wore the same baggy, teen boy esc clothing you always did.

“Yeah, I thought that would be a problem, sorry about the way I dress. I just…”

“No I like the way you dress.” Wanda cut you off. “I mean, you dress fine, it’s just not… appropriate if you are going to be accompanying me to important meetings and such.” You couldn’t tell if you were imagining it, but you could have sworn you saw a small blush creep onto the older woman’s face.

“Right, there should be a measuring tape in the third draw of the left cabinet in my office. I have some work to get on with you can’t help with.” Wanda began quickly pressing the button of the, hopefully, now working lift.

“I want you to measure yourself and note it down. I’ll sort you out some more work appropriate clothing.” Before you could ask any other follow up questions the doors to the lift opened and she rushed inside, disappearing almost immediately.

Walking into Wanda’s office you looked out at the city, everything seemed so quiet, so still from all the way up here. Grabbing the measuring tape you sat down at your desk, getting your phone out to look up exactly what measurement you need to give her. You’d never had to think about measurements when buying clothes before. Your face flushed a bit think about the idea of Wanda choosing you some clothes. Hopefully she wouldn’t put you in a pencil skirt, or God forbid heels.

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Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter @htinha157 @the-falling-avenger @reginassecretlover @canyonyodeler @mrsromanovaa @loneliestafterparty @imawandasimp @caramelcat123 @marvelwomen-simp @reginassweetheart @unadulteratedballoonduck @kei034 @coollemonsaresour

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hgfictionwriter · 1 day ago

Text

Revelations - Part Ten

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: An unexpected person reaches out to you and the pieces of your broken life continue to finally fall back into place.

Warnings: None.

A/N: The rest of the series is here.

"Hi Y/N. This is Sara. It's been a while and I hope you're doing well. I hope you don't mind me reaching out, but I'm doing so because Zoie would like to formally invite you to her birthday party this Sunday."

"Full disclosure. She's asked Jessie for weeks, but as I understand, Jessie's being very respectful of your wishes and doesn't want to push. That said, a soon-to-be 6-year-old doesn't really get it and doesn't care about things like that and is fairly relentless lol."

"She says she has so much fun with you and Jessie, and she doesn't know why the three of you can't keep doing that. And for the record, she loves her dinosaur shirt and gives me hell anytime I try to take it away to wash it. And when I asked her what she wanted for her birthday, one thing she said is she wanted you there - for all those other reasons - but also because Jessie was happiest when you were there. So, will you come?"

"If it doesn't feel right to you, that's okay. I get it. This entire thing has been a lot and I'm beyond sure none of it is what you pictured or wanted. I really didn't mean to crash your life. I really, really thought long and hard about bringing Jessie into Zoie's life. I ultimately felt I owed it to Zoie to. And I was terrified when I learned Jessie was engaged. I knew how this would potentially blow things up and I really didn't want that. I'm truly sorry it turned out the way it did."

"Anyway, you didn't ask for my story. My point was - not that you've asked - the way Jessie loves you is next level. She doesn't have to tell me a thing. It's apparent. It's special. I can tell any time she's talked with you. She's so much happier. It shows. And it's none of my business, but, if I were you, I'd maybe want to know."

"Okay. Now I'm done lol. If you don't reply, I'll leave you alone. No hard feelings."

You stared at the messages you came back to after your meeting. The last person's name you expected to show up on your phone was Sara's. She obviously thought you'd deleted her - you hadn't.

You and her had talked very minimally one on one, and always in a - more or less - forced capacity. And certainly never about topics like this. Again, you'd never hated her as a person. She seemed, well, perfectly fine. She just represented the force that brought your world as you knew it crumbling down.

But now here she was offering you a lifeline.

You needed a breath.

You backed out of your conversation with Sara and over to your one with Jessie. She was still in Canada with Zoie and you'd been texting intermittently since your impromptu reunion.

The texts had been light, both of you purposefully evading critical questions and topics knowing you were going to talk more when she got back. That said, the messages between you were more easy than before. And even if they weren't explicitly affectionate, there were undertones.

You smiled at the last messages from her. A picture of Zoie all done up in her snowsuit and playing in Jessie's parents' backyard along with a message of, "Someone loves the snow."

A dull ache formed in your chest, but it wasn't the same as before. Before, the ache had torn at you, gnawing, painful and malignant. But this new ache was different. It was longing and sweet. Something to chase; something to not be scared of.

You went back to Sara's messages.

“What does Zoie want for her birthday?”

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While you'd felt eerily calm leading up to the weekend, as you parked your car down the street from Sara's place your nerves started to make themselves known again.

You stared steadily at the house, spotting Jessie's car parked out front.

Jessie didn't actually know you'd be here today. You don't know why you chose not to tell her. You even asked Sara not to mention anything. Who knows, maybe Sara thought you wanted to keep it down low in case you bailed. No expectations and no hurt feelings for anyone, then.

Maybe you were woefully misreading things, but you almost felt like it could be a good surprise.

You took a deep breath and picked up the gift you'd wrapped for Zoie and got out of your car and walked towards the front door. Your heart raced, hoping, for whatever reason, Jessie wouldn't see you before Sara did. You needed to get some things off your chest.

Sara told you prior to just open the door and come inside. So you did. Quietly. Tentatively.

Your eyes darted around the room.

There was a handful of kids running around - Zoie was still pretty new at her school, but had clearly managed to forge some friendships there, at dance, at swimming.

No surprise. She was just as likable as Jessie.

Then, there were a few adults mingling about. Mostly parents, you assumed, watching over things, playing with the kids, or chatting idly amongst themselves.

That former sense of 'otherness' threatened to rise up within you again, but you dismantled it this time. You weren't going to feel that way again. You were invited. You were asked to be here. You were wanted.

Then you saw a glimpse of them. Jessie was in the other room where the kids were running in and out of. Zoie was hanging off of Jessie's back, a kid latched onto each of her legs as she playfully lumbered around, the kids all laughing and yelling as they hung off of her.

You turned as Sara was coming out of the kitchen and you almost collided.

"Oh my god," she said with a laugh. Her eyes lit up as she took you in. "You came! I'm so glad."

As you saw this woman for the first time in months - this woman who was the source of so much angst and upheaval in your life - you felt a flash of anxiety. Like some emotional PTSD.

But it faded as she smiled at you. She was just a girl whose own life had been turned upside down many years ago. Her own future permanently changed; visions and dreams as she’d planned them no longer the same.

She’d gone it alone. Turned her circumstances into something to be cherished. And, in time, and justly so, decided to do right by her daughter. And Jessie.

She wasn’t a monster. She didn’t come into your life with malintent. You’d been caught in the shockwaves and fallout, but it wasn’t her fault or her intention.

She certainly didn’t need to try to save your relationship with Jessie. To keep you in Zoie’s life. In fact, it would’ve been much easier on her to have Jessie and Zoie to herself.

But she reached out to you anyway.

You felt your cheeks heating up. "Yeah. Thanks again for inviting me."

She shook her head. "Of course. You were very much wanted at this party. Someone had to tell you," she said with a smirk.

"Here. This is for Zoie," you said as you extended the gift. Sara gently pushed it back to you.

"Why don't you give it to her," she smiled, before adding with a smirk, "But she can't open it until after cake. Don't let her tell you otherwise."

You chuckled. “Sure. I’ll watch out for that.”

A beat passed and your pulse picked up again. You'd gone over in your head countless times what you wanted to say, and if you were going to say it, now would be the time.

"Um, this day is about Zoie, so I'm not going to take your focus away for long, but I want to just say something really quick," you said. Sara listened attentively.

“I wanted to say thank you for what you said the other day. I think I needed to hear it from someone other than Jessie. And, honestly,” you bit back a weak laugh, “you’re the most impartial, in a way. If it was Janine. Sinc. Elysse. Whoever, I feel like it wouldn’t have been the same. So, thank you, it means a lot.”

“I’m glad you weren’t upset that I reached out,” Sara admitted. “I mean, yes, Zoie absolutely kept badgering me and Jessie to invite you," she chuckled, "but beyond that, yeah."

She took a breath.

"I know it’s not my business. I mean, yes, Jessie’s life impacts Zoie’s, but Jessie’s obviously free to make her own choices and decisions. And honestly, I have no clue what ultimately went down between you two. None of my business either! I'm really just piecing things together from glimpses I've gotten during drop-off and pick-up, and things Zoie mentions.” She shrugged vaguely. “Jessie plays things very close to the vest, but - even if she never says anything - it’s obvious where she’s at and how she feels about you even now. And I wasn’t kidding - Zoie’s enchanted by you. Must run in the genes,” she said with a sly smirk before growing serious again. “So, this seemed like the right opportunity to say something.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed her words. You weren't expecting her to say more than she did the other day.

But again, here you were. Jessie wasn't exactly confiding in Sara. She hadn't fallen into Sara's arms in your absence. It was even obvious to Sara, her ex, the mother of her child, that Jessie was still in love with you.

Your mind sharpened once more and you remembered what you planned to say. You cleared your throat.

"Thank you. I, um, I know things have been complicated. I don’t know how much has fallen back on you, or Zoie, during all of this. I hope not much at all. And I'm sorry for anything that did. I know things couldn’t have been easy for you either. A lot of big decisions along the way, uprooting your life and Zoie’s, rebuilding, introducing new family and friends into her life and yours. That’s a lot of change for anyone. You didn't know what you were going to find. That took a huge amount of courage. And I know you did it for Zoie and I respect that.” You took a quick breath. “But it really means a lot that you shared what you did. I know you didn't need to. So, thank you for this."

Your eyes drifted away before returning to her.

"I don’t exactly know what the future holds. But, I know that if I’m a part of Jessie’s life, I’m a part of Zoie’s. And I want you to know I don’t take that for granted. You've raised a really, really special girl. Zoie's wonderful. And even if I’ve been in and out of the picture, I really do care about her. A lot. I mean, she's great - full stop. But she's also a part of Jessie, which means...," you trailed off, not quite ready to declare to her that by proxy alone you'd of course love Zoie.

You took a quick breath.

"Anyway, I'm sure this is no surprise to you, but Zoie's made Jessie's life infinitely better. So, please don’t ever feel bad for bringing Jessie into her life. That little girl deserves to have her mama in her life, and Jessie deserves her just the same.”

Sara smiled appreciatively, taking a moment of her own. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

Her gaze shifted over to the other room where Zoie was.

"And yeah, Zoie's pretty's amazing," she said as she faced you again. "I'm grateful for her. She was - certainly - a surprise. But an incredible one and I can't imagine my life without her now. And she just adores Jessie. If Zoie's made Jessie's life infinitely better, well Jessie has 1000% done the same for Zoie. I'm grateful to have her presence in Zoie's life."

Her tone was earnest already, but it grew more-so and she held your gaze pointedly. "There's lots of room for you in that life too, if you want it."

You were about to respond when you heard your name yelled from across the house.

"That's your cue," Sara said under her breath with a laugh.

You turned to see Zoie haphazardly climbing down off of Jessie and running towards you. Your attention was split between Zoie sprinting your direction and Jessie standing there shell-shocked, two other kids still hanging off of her.

"Happy birthday!" You greeted with a bright smile as your mind righted itself. You extended the gift to Zoie, but she bypassed it, running straight into your legs in a tight hug, sending you back a step with the force behind it. You laughed, reaching an arm down to embrace her.

"Zoie, my God," Sara laughed. "Take it easy, sweetie."

"You came!" Zoie exclaimed as she pulled back to look up at you.

"I couldn't miss your birthday," you told her as your hand came to her head affectionately. You knelt down in front of her and gave her a more fulsome hug.

"Mama, you invited her," Zoie smiled as she turned partially in your arms to look at Jessie with a laugh.

You looked up to see Jessie, now disentangled, tentatively approaching. Her mind obviously still processing everything. She looked between you and Sara perplexed, but a smile of awe and surprise crossed her face.

"I, um," Jessie stammered and Sara cut in.

"Honey, let's let mama and Y/N catch up. You'll get some more time with Y/N later, okay?" She said.

Zoie pulled back a touch, her arms still around you and pouted slightly. You held out the gift to her again.

"Here, this is for you. Why don't you go put it with the others," you said. The gift seemed the perfect distraction and she grabbed it and ran to Sara's side.

"What do you say?" Sara prompted her, disbelieving and mouthing you an apology.

"Thank you!" Zoie said with a toothy grin before running off once more.

Jessie was just closing the space when you rose to your feet, now face to face with her. Her eyes searched you in wonder, that smile still tugging at her mouth.

"W-what are you doing here?" She asked, eyes curious and hopeful.

"Sara invited me," you answered. Jessie's expression changed immediately and her head snapped around to look in the direction the woman had departed. She looked back to you right away with a frown.

"It's all good," you said as you nervously tucked your hair behind your ear. "She, um, she told me that Zoie wanted to invite me. She said you wouldn't - but I know why."

Jessie opened her mouth to defend herself and you held up a hand, gently coaxing her to stop.

"You're not mad that I showed up, are you?" You asked, though a faint smile pulled at your lips. Jessie did a double-take, adamantly shaking her head.

"No. Oh my God. No, of course not," she readily assured you. She frowned before giving an airy laugh. She took a moment to find her words, her cheeks growing red. "I'm...I'm very happy that you showed up."

"I wondered if you might be. Hence why I didn't say anything when you were away," you said, a playful smile now finally crossing your face.

She smiled wider with another shake of her head. "Yeah. Wait, when did this all happen?"

"This week. You were already at your parents' with Zoie," you relayed. She nodded slowly, an adorable frown on her face as she put the pieces together.

"And, thanks for texting me while you were away," you added. "It was nice to get updates. Felt like I was almost there sometimes," you finished more shyly than you'd intended. She gave you a grateful smile.

"Of course. You were-" she stopped for a second, centering herself and giving a nod as she offered you a quiet smile. "You were missed."

You nodded, much the same as her and wearing a quiet smile of your own.

You felt light.

"Okay. Well, this is Zoie's day, so I don't want to get too deep into things. But," you said slowly, your gaze drifting away momentarily before you smiled at Jessie once more, "if you'd like to take me up on that offer to talk, you could ask me out for coffee sometime." You held her gaze and added in emphasis. "Not as friends."

Jessie stood before you and you could see quiet shock come over her. Her eyes didn't leave yours, but you could see them dart across your face, looking for any signal of a misunderstanding.

Her eyes started to well and she let out a breath that sounded more like a stifled sob.

"Are you serious?" She asked, her eyes shimmering further as her eyebrows furrowed together, her emotions plain.

You smiled softly back at her and simply nodded.

"I mean, I could ask you out if you like," you said before you rest a hand on your hip and tapped your lips facetiously. "Hmm, you seem like someone who would like...[whatever we think Jessie's coffee of choice is]."

Jessie let out a watery laugh as she stepped forward and pulled you into her arms, hugging you tightly to her. You reciprocated immediately as you laughed gently in her ear.

"Oh my god," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she rocked you in place.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes as she stepped back. Her face was bright red as she looked at you and your heart felt like it could burst.

"W-will you go out for coffee with me?" She asked, a slight stutter in her voice as she rode out her emotions. She laughed, wiping at another stray tear. "On a date."

You nodded readily, echoing her soft laugh.

"I'd love to."

"Mama?"

You both glanced down to see Zoie coming up, tugging lightly on Jessie's pant leg and looking up at her very concerned.

"What's wrong?" Zoie asked, looking so worried.

Jessie nearly started crying again. She gave a tearful laugh and bent down to scoop Zoie up into her arms, hugging her tightly.

"Nothing's wrong, sweetie. I promise," she said as she kissed Zoie's cheek. "I'm not sad. I'm great. I'm really happy. These are happy tears," she said with a sniffle as she held her close.

Zoie seemed to contemplate Jessie's explanation. She watched her carefully, though still a bit confused.

"Well, what are you happy about?" Zoie inquired. Jessie's gaze flit over to you before returning back to her daughter's.

"Y/N and I were just having a good conversation. And it made me very happy," she said. "Sometimes people cry when they're happy."

Zoie was still skeptical.

"Well, what were you talking about?"

Jessie shot you a look and you stepped in.

“Your mama’s right, Zoie. Tears aren’t always sad,” you reinforced. “In this case? Just boring adult talk.”

“What adult talk?” Zoie asked innocently. With this amount of determined curiosity, she was certainly Jessie’s child.

"Coffee," you said flatly for effect. "Kind of boring? Right?" Zoie made a face and you smiled at her before distracting. "Hey, how has dance been?"

Zoie's eyes lit up and she wriggled in Jessie's arms to be let down. Jessie set her down with a laugh and Zoie grabbed you by the hand to pull you into a more open area.

"I want to teach you my routine," she said excitedly. "I tried to teach Mama, but she’s not very good at it," she relayed very matter of fact and you stifled a laugh.

Zoie began showing you her routine and you played along, following her disjointed, but enthusiastic motions.

When you weren't paying attention to Zoie's choreography, your eyes were drawn to Jessie who now leaned back against the wall watching you both with a weepy smile, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie now and then.

As Zoie showed you the steps, her hair wispy and wild in a messy pony tail, her cheeks rosy, smiling up at you and looking so much like Jessie’s baby photos - you recalled what Jessie told you so many months ago.

“How can I look at her and feel like my life is ruined?”

That argument seemed like another life now. The sorrow and insidious pain that coursed through you every moment during that period was a mere memory now.

As you smiled down at Zoie and over at Jessie who watched you both adoringly, you understood what Jessie meant. You felt it.

When you finished, Zoie ran off to rejoin her friends and Jessie approached you, still sniffling. She exhaled in self-effacing exaggeration.

"I'm a mess," she said.

"You're lovely," you countered without missing a beat.

Jessie shook her head slowly, looking at you with love like all the years before, but part of it felt new - deeper - as well.

"I love you so damn much," she said. She cracked a smirk a moment later. "That's totally appropriate to say before a first date, right?"

You laughed and you drew her into a kiss, soft and slow.

"Completely."

A/N: Not quite done yet. One more chapter.

Tag requests: @ryuushou @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader

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wlwsoccerfics · 3 days ago

Text

Not a Single Sound (LeahWilliamsonXTeenReader)

Warnings: reader got in a Car accident. Deaf Reader

A/N: what's Written in ' ' is signed.

Summary: Leah gets a call from the hosptial cause you got into a Car accident.

Leah was just spending time with some of the Arsenal women. Who also were your teammates. Suddenly her phone rang. It was your name on the screen, but it was not a video call. Which was super confusing. Everyone else was about to say something but when Leah answered the call, they knew it was serious by the way she looked.

"are you the mother of y/n Williamson?" The voice on the other end asked.

"yes who is this?" Your momma wanted to know.

He explained his name and that he is calling from the hospital.

"What about my daughter?!" Your momma asked, tears now streaming down her face.

"She has a broken arm, a fractured Leg and a broken nose. A few bruises but other than that she is fine. But she won´t talk to any of us!"the voice on the other end said. Well there certainly was a reason you didn't talk to any of them. You were deaf.

"y/n is deaf! That´s why she hasn´t answered!" Your momma explained, trying to calm herself down. Letting the person on the other end know that she was gonna be there soon.

"want me to drive?"your auntie Beth offered.

"yes please!" Your momma replied.

"keep us updated, please!" Your auntie Lia stated.

"please do. And call us If you need anything." Renée answered. Everyone was concerned about you.

Beth was driving as fast as possible without getting in trouble with the law. The entire drive was only 10 minutes thankfully. She parked the Car and both your Mom and auntie Beth asked a nurse to show you to your room and she did. Telling them that you are awake and got some pain meds.

When they walked into your room they both were quite surprised to see you not being alone. No someone was holding your hand. It was Justine. Beth's and Viv's daughter. who was 16 years old. Just like you.

"what are you doing here, liefje?" Beth asked Justine. She was quite confused. Walking over to her daughter.

"checking on y/n.' she Just Said, not revealing anything else yet. But Beth knew there was something Justine was hiding.

Leah walked over to you. Your face was all bruised up. Your Mom kissed your forehead gently.

'how are you feeling?' your Mom signed. Justine let go of your hand so you could sign back. Was more difficult then you thought with that broken arm of yours.

'like i got hit by a truck.' you signed. Trying to smile a bit.

'thats not funny.' Justine signed and shook her head. Beth was about so say something when you pulled Justine close with your good Hand.

"sorry, love!" You told her. Which was rare. You barely talked cause you couldn't hear yourself and didn't like talking out of fear of what it may sound like.

"you are not just friends. you are together." Beth said to No one in particular.

"we are. She was actually on the way to our place, Mom. Our friend Cole was driving her. He is fine but the Car hit the Passanger side." She explained.

'why didn't you tell me you were dating Justine?' your Mom wanted to know.

'cause i didn't want to make things awkward.' you let your Mom know.

'awkward? How?' your Mom signed. She was obviously confused. Justine and Beth were following the conversation. Justine understood way more then Beth. Beth knew enough to hold a conversation with you. Justine was very invested in sign Langauge though. You were her girlfriend after all.

'because she is my best friend and we didn't want to get the sex talk from the two of you.' you signed.

'oh, are you two being Safe?' your Mom asked, looking at you and Justine now. You two blushed.

'mom, can we drop that topic for now? Maybe until i am out of the hospital?" You suggested. Justine nodded her head softly.

'i agree with y/n.' your girlfriend replied.

"let's wait with the talk, Leah." Beth said, Justine was surprised that her Mom understood so much of the sign Langauge. Because this sure was more than just Smalltalk.

"you understood that?" Justine asked her Mom.

"i try to practice more often so i can talk to y/n more." Beth explained.

Your Mom asked Beth to update the team, which she did. And they all were relieved that you were okay, given what had happened. Your Mom stayed the night with you while Beth and Justine went Home at some point. Lia came by to bring some clothes for you and your mom and checked on you herself. She was an important Person in your Life as well. Given that she was one of your godmothers. Kim was the other one.

The next day Lia picked you two up cause you were allowed to leave. But obviously had to rest. So you laid on the Couch. Your Leg gently placed on a pillow.

'you let me know If you need anything, kiddo. Please!' your auntie Lia signed and you nodded your head gently

'i promise i will, auntie.' you signed. Your Mom was currently getting your pain meds ready for you. The Team would be coming over later and so would Justine.

You took your pain meds and fell asleep for a bit. Thankful for all the amazing women in your Life. You knew you could always count on them.

#woso x reader #woso fic #leah williamson x reader #lia wältixreader #beth mead x reader #arsenal women x reader

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notsodelirious · 2 days ago

Note

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

Look at me — Jason Todd

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to now how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

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bucktommyyendgame · 14 hours ago

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Back to the Drawing Board

Wasn't that something? Are Buck and Tommy endgame-shaped, or what? I obviously couldn't let that ending go soo...here is a little post ep ficlet.

SPOILERS FOR 8X11: Holy Mother of God

bucktommy - words: 800-ish - rating: gen - complete

It does feel good to get things unpacked, that's for sure. His talk with Maddie helped but he knows she was wrong about plenty of things.

And definitely about the need to be alone. He doesn't want to be alone. He knows exactly what--who--he wants.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up a very familiar text chain.

Hey. Can we talk?

He watches and watches and watches.

And the bubbling starts.

He swears his heart is in his throat and he holds his breath. It feels like it takes forever but Tommy’s answer comes through.

I would like that. Free today?

Buck takes one long exhale in relief. Coffee shop in an hour?

I’ll be there.

Buck makes it in 45 minutes. He orders both their coffees, Tommy’s Iced Flat White with Almond Milk in one hand and finds a table. The feeling of deja vu is so eerie that he looks around to make sure he didn’t also accidentally pick the same table.

He texts Tommy to tell him where he is and waits.

It only takes Tommy about two more minutes before he’s walking up, an uncertain smile on his face. He still looks as sad as he did when he left the kitchen and Buck really really hates that he put that look there.

“Hey,” Tommy says as he sits down. Buck pushes the coffee toward him and he talks a sip, humming in approval.

“Hey,” Buck answers.

They sit in semi-uncomfortable silence for a moment or two before, at the exact same time, they both say, “I’m sorry.”

They each laugh a little before Tommy sobers. “Please let me start.

“Okay,” Buck says, feeling off-kilter.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “I never should have brought up Eddie. It was stupid. I never seriously thought I was in competition with him.”

Buck eyes him. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Tommy sighs. “I-”

“No,” Buck insists. “Look, Eddie is my best friend. We’ve been through some really difficult things together. But I want you to know that there are no, absolutely none, romantic feelings there. When you said you wanted to try again...God, I thought I was getting exactly what I wanted.”

Tommy looks down, fidgeting with his cup. “Until I stuck my foot in it.”

“It was something that was clearly bothering you,” Buck points out. “Is...is that what you thought the entire time we were together?”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I just...Look, Evan, I’ve never...I’ve never been the first. For anyone. You have this huge support network around you and I don’t.”

Tommy holds up a hand when Buck opens his mouth to say something.

“And I don’t say that to, garner sympathy, or something, I say it because when push comes to shove, I don’t have the family that you’ve found for yourself. I guess, maybe, I was unsure of my place in that,” Tommy explains. “I have friends, acquaintances, I’m not alone. I guess I just didn’t know how to fit into your life.”

“Okay,” Buck says slowly. “But what if I said that I wanted to do that? I want to work on us, I want you to fit into my life. I’m sorry Eddie cut off contact, I didn’t know that.”

Tommy shrugs, but Buck continues. “Maybe we just didn’t communicate enough in those first six months. I see that now. But, I want to figure this out. I want to be with you.”

Tommy purses his lips, takes a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Buck holds a hand across the table, palm up. Tommy barely hesitates, sliding his fingers through Buck’s lacing them together.

“Yeah,” Buck confirms. “That night...was everything I’ve been wanting for months, Tommy.”

This time, Tommy’s smile is sweet and soft. “Me too.”

“We slept on the box spring,” Buck says with a laugh, gratified when Tommy laughs too.

“I was a little desperate for you,” Tommy admits.

“I think you could tell I was the same with you,” Buck says wryly. Tommy laughs again.

“So,” Buck says with a deep breath. “What do you say? Can we try again?”

“I would really really love that,” Tommy says, squeezing his hand. “Starting now?”

Buck brings his hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Starting now.”

tag list part 1

@desert--moonchild, @blitzynatural, @multishippinghussy, @mmso-notlikethat, @esendoran

@sunnywithachanceofbi, @sleepywinchesters, @buck-up-buckley, @manifestingchaoticvibes, @corvid-cryptidd

@lbltpsmspenguin, @theotherbuckley, @cliophilyra, @actuallyitsellie, @thecarrott

@louvemeanyway, @misstommykinard, @the-omniscient-narrator, @comfortpilot, @a-mel0n

@hyperfocusthusly, @mayorjack, @weewookinard, @swagmaster9k, @dudedudeduda

@byunbuckjunmy, @adamkaradecc, @retromodgirl, @gaybonesforivy, @cull3nblaze

#911 #bucktommy #fic #my fic

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cheol-e-kat · 18 hours ago

Note

Hi! New follower here! Im in love with your work! Could I please request Cheol x reader. Sexual frustration and ex sex please. Where ex's have been with other people but no one can get them off like their ex can. Thank you!!

haiiii not anon for once ^^ thanks for your follow ♡♡ and for participating in bingo - i hope you submit more asks

i know it's been a bit since you submitted this, but i hope you like it ^^

♡ kat

bingo squares: sexual frustration + ex sex

pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: y/n is missing her ex, especially a certain part of her ex and all the things he can do with it, and decides to send him a text

word count: 2.4k

genre: pwp, alternate universe, f2l, ex sex, low key make up sex

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: explicit language, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex, squirting, overstimulation

y/n fell back against the cool sheets.

she listened to the guy next to her breathing hard like he was on cloud nine after round 14 of pounding her pussy - it was round one and had been dull.

“whew, that was fuckin’ amazin’, darlin’” he said giddily.

she gave him her best customer service smile and reached for her phone. there was a text she desperately needed to send.

[y/n 04:23]

hiiii

she didn’t expect a response. ever probably. they had unquestionably broken up. she knew that. she definitely knew that.

but she had to try because the mediocre sex she had been having lately was just not it.

she didn’t even look forward to sex anymore. it was dull, at best - she might as well be doing her taxes.

instead, she was just wasting her time, placating men with her lack-luster, ‘oh, yes, b-a-b-y, that is just so good’…’yes, right there’…’u h u h’…’oh boy, howdy, just like that’- she was completely phoning it in.

if they paid any attention, they would know she was speaking roughly like the worst pre-recorded robocall machine to ever be invented. but funnily, they never seemed to notice. so she just kept saying more and more unhinged things - she had to entertain herself somehow.

she slid out of bed and grabbed her clothes and headed for the bathroom.

he stopped her for a moment, “hey, now, i thought you promised you would stay the night, make me breakfast and all that,” he said with a wink.

she stared blankly for a moment because when the fuck had she ever offered anyone that, much less texas pete over here.

“oh, yeah, sorry about that sugar, but i plum forgot, i’ve got this thing in the mornin’ and i just can’t miss it, ya’ know?” she shrugged.

for some reason, she had let a friend drag her to a country western club the night before, and she had been using her best southern accent all night. it was heinous. but again, she had to make her own fun.

“well damn,” he sighed, “i was lookin’ forward to that.” he squeezed her hand gently. “you just seem like you know your way around a kitchen,” he smiled again.

it wasn’t that he wasn’t cute - he was fine. totally okay - for anyone else on the planet.

she nodded and smiled, “sorry to let ‘cha down, but my boss is a real son of a bitch,” she smiled as she spoke and slowly pulled her hand from his grasp.

she went to the bathroom, cleaned up, threw on her clothes, and made a quick getaway.

she was in an uber when she saw the text.

[cheol 04:23]

u up? also why?????

she smiled - a genuine smile for once.

[y/n 04:46]

just going thru a drought T-T

she stared at her phone for a moment before flipping it face down in her palm. she didn’t want to watch the lack of response. they had been friends. they should have never fucked. they should have never dated. because now she couldn’t even complain to him when things sucked.

she felt her phone buzz and almost threw it. she really was not expecting a response.

[cheol 04:51]

you still know my address, right?

she read the message over several times before answering.

[y/n 04:52]

yea

he was quick with his response, though.

[cheol 04:52]

just come over then - i want to hear the southern accent tho

she snorted and asked her driver if he could change the address.

seungcheol answered the door in his underwear, which was cute and made her wonder where he had tossed his pjs - she knew he slept in them.

he leaned against the door, smiling, “seriously, i want to hear it,” he whispered.

she rolled her eyes, “oh god, at least let me come in first,” she pleaded.

he grinned and shook his head, “got to give me something,” he smiled cutely, “you know ‘m worth it,” he watched her with a flirty gaze she knew too well.

she looked him over, “fine,” she sighed, “uhh, hey, good lookin’,” she laughed, “fuck that was terrible.”

he nodded, still smiling, “come on, one solid thing,” he asked, his voice daring her.

she sighed softly and reached out - she caught her finger in the waist of his underwear and snapped it against his skin.

“fuck, really? how old are you?” he kept it to a whisper. his neighbors would complain otherwise. they both knew that all too well.

she smiled, “awe, darlin’ did that hurt? i didn’t mean nothin’ by it, my hand just got away from me, and lord knows what it’ll do next,” she scrunched her nose and held back a laugh. he looked dumbfounded.

but he finally moved out of the way and let her in.

she dropped her bag by the door and followed him into the kitchen. he tossed her a bottle of water.

“so, shua’s idea was less than perfect?” he leaned on the counter, watching her.

she rolled her eyes, “i mean,” she paused, “why do you even know for one?”

he grinned, “you were killing him with the accent - you know his LA-brain can’t handle when you whip that out.”

she smiled and shook her head, “right, so just voice messages or what went into the gc?”

she knew there were several she was no longer in, but she tried to get past the awkwardness of that. besides he shook his head - the gc was sacred.

she groaned, “look, can i shower?”

“you texted me at this time to take a shower?”

she shrugged and pouted, “please,” she put her hands together, pleading fully.

she didn’t like the idea of being all grimy from a bar or from where she had been, which neither of them addressed. because if seungcheol knew about the accent and the bar, then he knew about the mechanical bull ride - which was 12 out of 10 in her opinion - and he knew about the guy she went home with.

he followed her into his bedroom and left her to find her way to the bathroom. she stripped and took a long shower, thankful for the hot water and that he still had the soap she picked out. by the time she was out and had dried off, she noticed that there were clothes for her to change into. she hadn’t even realized that he had come in - not that she minded. it was sweet.

she pulled on one of his shirts and some boxers - and she wandered into his bedroom. she knew she should probably sleep on the couch, but when seungcheol reached out for her, she couldn’t resist.

she was happy to climb into his warm bed and snuggle against his side.

she woke up slowly - she wasn’t exactly surprised by where she was - she knew what it felt like to wake up with him. it was more of a bittersweet feeling. she barely admitted to herself that she missed him as much as she did.

she tried to pretend that none of it bothered her - like seeing him with other people - or how absolutely fucking bored to death she was without him. she wanted to hurry up and leave before lying there dredged up too many feelings.

the problem was when she moved - he pulled her back down, kissing her softly. and it worked like a spell. she couldn’t break that kiss - that perfect kiss with seungcheol that she had been missing so badly.

and when his strong hands pulled her back where he wanted her, lying on top of him, she couldn’t resist that either. she kissed him and ran her hands through his hair. she moaned softly and happily let her tongue slide against his, tasting him. she felt his hands firmly trace along her thighs and ass, squeezing her cheeks and spreading them before finally giving her a soft smack that only made her smile.

she felt like she was in a daze by the time she was on her back, and he was undressing her, kissing all the places he liked most. she played with his hair, savoring the feeling of him. she groaned softly as he kissed and licked her nipples, sucking at one breast and then the other, as his hand slid down between their bodies and his fingers began to tease her pussy.

he didn’t say any ridiculous things as he stroked her clit. he didn’t ask any weird questions as he slid his fingers inside her, knowing what she liked and how. he filled her pussy without her needing to explain a single thing to him.

he kissed her softly as he worked her open - stretching her the way she had been dying to be stretched for weeks. he was three fingers deep in her without any awkward exchange about how ‘yes’ she liked that feeling - she liked the edge it brought her to. but it was also basically required for a guy with a dick like seungcheol’s.

she had missed his dick.

she pressed him back gently, interrupting the normalcy of it, “can i go down on you?” she whispered.

he nodded, “yeah, but i was about to do that to you,” he said with a soft smile.

she reached up, smoothing his bangs, “we could both do it?” she asked, shrugging, pouting just a bit.

his smile widened, “you really do miss it then?”

she flushed, wondering who the actual fuck had told him that little juicy nugget of information. and also, not really caring, because yes - she had.

she nodded.

and they moved so she was lying across him, her pussy in his face, and she was staring directly at the cock that she measured all other cocks against. were they as long as his? were they as thick as his? did they just look like a thing that belonged deep in her throat because his always looked that way.

she was felt his fingers and tongue making quick work of her - his fingers roughly massaging that little spongy spot that did things to her, while his tongue worked her clit.

she moaned as she licked and sucked the head of his dick - she used her hand to work his length, squeezing the base of his cock tightly and loosening her grip as her hand came closer to her mouth - she pulled off, spitting in her hand before going back to working him.

she took him deeper in her mouth, letting the head of his dick hit the back of her throat, loving how the smooth, soft skin felt against her tongue. she wanted him to fuck her face and make her gag.

but it was early in the morning - she knew he just wanted to fuck. not f u c k.

she knew she was close to coming, but she wanted to taste him. she started to work quicker, moving her mouth and hand in unison, creating the illusion that she was taking him deeper than she was - she could feel the hard way he was gripping her ass now.

she could hear his soft groans, and the gentle, whispered, “yeah, baby, just like that - so fucking good,” even as he dove back into her, licking and sucking her until she came, until she was a dripping mess that he licked into even more. he finally pulled back, “fuck, i love how you come for me.” he leaned back in, kissing her opening and licking into her - his fingers working her clit again.

she shivered from the overstimulation, but she kept working his cock, licking and sucking even faster, until she felt the sudden explosion of liquid heat in her mouth - she forced herself to take him deeper, wanting all his cum down her throat. she swallowed and gagged around him. she kept pumping him, until she was sure she had swallowed every last drop.

when she landed on her back again, and he grabbed her waist, pulling her into the position he liked - her legs wide, one over his shoulder, his hands under her ass lifting it so he could thrust fully into her. she loved when he made her take all of his cock.

“miss this, baby girl?” he asked - his voice was so low.

she nodded, “missed it so much,” she whined, grabbing the sheets before he was even inside her - she knew how good it would feel. and with how long it had been, she was sure it would be like the first time - like he was splitting her apart.

and was she ever right about that part - she bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming. he didn’t stop to say anything - he knew she loved it - knew she loved the way he stretched her every time - not just the first time.

she was a whining, whimpering mess - she could feel tears pricking the edges of her eyes as he was really fucking into her - rolling his hips relentlessly.

when he reached down and grabbed her chin, “crying for me?”

she nodded.

“that good?” he asked, breathless and grinning smugly.

she nodded, “so fucking good cheol - i’ve missed you so much,” she whined.

she definitely hadn’t meant to say that, and even in her dick-addled mind, she hoped he took it as ‘i missed your dick.’

but she felt him pause, it was this one millisecond of him staring at her, having heard her perfectly, knowing exactly what she meant.

she was shocked when he shifted their position, all so he could lean down and kiss her while still managing to fuck her brains out. sloppy, sweet kisses that almost distracted her from what his cock was doing.

“missed you too,” he whispered as they pulled apart.

and he sat back up, picking up both her legs this time, putting them over his shoulders, so his dick somehow hit even deeper.

she yelped from the impact of his dick hitting as deep as he possibly could, pounding her cervix - not to mention he had decided to stroke her clit too.

she knew the familiar sound of her pussy being that wet - the lewd sound it made every time he thrust inside her, every time his dick hit just right - she knew what she was on the precipice of - and then it happened - he pulled out just in time for her to pussy to gush as she came. and then he was thrusting back into her, fucking her like she needed him too. until she felt him come - felt him fill her full and fuck it deep inside her.

lying next to him after, even if he told her to ‘fuck off’ - at least she had gotten one more great fuck from him.

but when he pulled her close and curled around her, she had the feeling she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

a/n: i've never written anyone in a 69 before - kind of fun hehe anywayysssss bingo responses are still be responding to, so if you want to send in an ask, feel free - i'm just a bit slow since i finally picked a long fic to work on

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo request, here are the bingo choices - just send an ask:

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚ monster themed bingo ⋆.˚ bingo v. 5 (new)⋆.˚

♡ bingo reqs master list

♡ seungcheol: knotting + marking || professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) || monster || spanking (neighbor seungcheol) || big dick + hate sex || forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) || voyeurism + punishment || coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) ||

♡ mingyu: lingerie + praise kink || bed sharing + big dick || praise + worship kink || vehicle sex + oral fixation || drunk pda + no underwear || enemies to lovers + tentacles ||

♡ seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral ||

⋆.˚ my [master list] if you want to read more

⋆.˚ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

[ taglist ] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @halavia [e - drab/one/multi] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎

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ninelieswithme · 11 hours ago

Text

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛’𝚜

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⛧ ᴛᴡ = sʟɪɢʜᴛ ɢᴏʀᴇ, sᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, sʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴsꜰᴡ.

⛧ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ －after moving to a old American suburban town after your parents split, you found yourself here in a upstate univercity, bumping into new faces.. one being a very important someone~

⛧ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ － HAYYY ɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴇᴇᴇᴘʏʏʏ ɪ ᴍɪssᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs sᴏʀʀʏ ɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴠɪɴᴄɪʙʟᴇ/ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ!! Also I drew him :3 (ps don’t hate im pretty new to digi art 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻) HES AT THE BOTTOM IOF THE POST BBGS also this was really fun till their were so many plot endings ughhh ☹️☹️ BUT YEA ITS LIKE MARK OF S1-S2-S3 all kinda together 😭😭 + I had this on repeat when I was making this.

⛧ ʜᴇʀᴏ x ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ － 2.1k ᴡᴏʀᴅs, EXTENSION AT THE BOTTOM - 679 words additional :3 - overall 2.7k+ words

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ!!

ʀᴇʙʟᴏɴɢs/ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ!

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

Your worn sneakers skidded and slid down the halls tiling, you tripping on your laces every so often.

You were late.. Already??

First day in your new school?

And you’ve already fucked it up..

Way to go Y/N.

…

You really need to invest in a clock.

Seriously

18 and still not waking up on time..

Come on that’s embarrassing, it’s not first grade!!

You cut corners, ignoring the occasional question from a walking by teacher.

Your head was down, a map of the school clutched in your hand, undone laces swinging,

You didn’t see him, He sure did until it was too late.

You fell head first into his chest, even in a sweater you could feel tone muscle.. hell even abs if you looke-

“What are you doing?? He’s not your boyfriend!!”

You mentally scolded yourself, pushing off of him a little to harshly, stumbling back, stepping on your undone lace, landing hard on the cool tile.

“Stupid laces”, you blamed as if you weren’t the one dismissing the concerns.

The scent of old books and something else…musky, almost animalistic.

You dusted yourself, while Mark looked stunned at you..

Shell-shocked even.

You quirked a brow at the guy, him just turning away.. weird..

Obviously you thought the worst like usual, thoughts on asking, A. “is something on my face”, B. “what” or the most likely one you’d say C. “the fuck are you staring at.”

Mm so you chose option D

Apologise.

You’re new, the last thing you need are bully’s.

So you apologised profusely to mark.

Averting eye contact.. idiot..

If you had just stared at him.. you would have seen..

he’s a total nutter

His eyes intense.

Not breaking or yielding, not for a second.

And people think eye fucking isn’t a thing. 🙄🙄

But no.. you’d rather be selfish, look away, make things harder for yourself.

Your map all crumpled.. looks like you’re gonna need another.

You mumbled a final apology.

Eyes averted, looking to the ground, more entertained by silly sneakers than him.

“S..Sorry.. I uh- this is so embarrassing, I’m uh New?, and yea.. fuck this.. I’m just gonna go bye”

Fixing your skirt one last time before walking off.

You held your skirt harshly running off to god knows where, you’ve probably missed your class six times anyways..

When you were out of his fully extended ear shot, he sighed, as if you stole his breath.

His heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

It wasn’t just his heart, he could hear yours, a frantic drumbeat echoing in his ears, a rapid staccato against the thrum of his own.

It was such a pretty sound!!

I mean everything about you seems pretty already..

He heard the shallow, slightly ragged breaths, the frantic whispers of her thoughts – a torrent of self-recrimination and fear of being late.

He could feel the tremor in your hands, the quickening pulse point near your throat, hell, even the subtle shift in weight as you braced herself for the floor.

It was overwhelming.

Mark possessed powers, he’s a Viltrumite after all, and from what his dad said that’s somehow a big deal.

But you didn’t know that..

You didn’t know shit.. all you knew was that you just bumped into a really weird kid..

Not fucking invincible

He could hear the inner workings of others – their heartbeat, their breathing, the silent symphony of their anxieties.. even desires.

His powers more burdensome than helpful.. everyone around him always dying.. it’s not fair.

ITS NOT FAIR??

WHY DOES HE HAVE TO SPRAY GUTS AND GORE GALORE FOR A PLANET HE DOESN’T EVEN WANT TO PROTECT?!!!

NO NO NO NO!!

ITS SIMPLY NOT FAIR!

ITS HIS DADS JOB NOT HIS?

But You.. You were different.

You gave him a bigger meaning.. after dad left and had Mark in charge.. everything’s so fucking bleak..

Don’t get him started on Amber.. or Eve

Their both headaches

Whining birds, bitch and squawking, only ever caring when it suits the chicks.

Hell now he has to manage this ungrateful planet, look after a sibling that’s off leash..

This is all too difficult.. he only wanted to help.. to help this dying planet.. and what he gets in return.

A slap in the face

Well that’s too bad..

Cuz he’s so fucking close to just splitting this planet in half and run thousands of people 6 feet under.

But you.. gee, this feeling.. he’s never felt it before and never wants to stop feeling it.

With the small seconds he was with you.

You’ve just changed not just Earths whole destiny.. but well

Your own.

it was a tidal wave, a sensory overload that left him breathless.

Left him feeling like he just took his true first free breath, a rebirth.

Like love a first sight.. mmm nahhh more like.. It was love at first…collision.. no no no love at first breath.

Maybe even love at first life.

A few days had passed and well you were settling in fine, family’s dialled down after the divorce.

But mark.. oh no he hasn’t lost any momentum.

Giving up is something foreign to him.

So it didn’t take long for Mark to get notes on you,

Especially that mark’s desperate enough to ask GDA..

Seriously.. Ceci…

After WHAT HE DID TO MARK.. and he’s able to set that aside for a few address leaks 😋 Mm your favourite things or two.

Cecil didn’t want to at first, especially after mark nearly killing him for what.. the third time now.

But hay it’s hard to say no to the strongest being on the fucking planet right

The spawn of the Omni-Man himself.. the same man that killed all the guardians of the globe.

And maybe a spring of hypocritical threats “i don’t do threats..” mm that’s not what Cecil remembers..

More on the lines of “Cecil I swear.. if you don’t fucking tell me, I’ll pop your skull like a pop rock and use your brains as a face mask.. TELL ME Y/N’A NUMBER YOU PEIC-“

Soooo Cecil tried backing you up.. but well how can you keep a being like a Viltrumite at bay from its objective.

After Cecil finally fed into marks delusional ideas.

Seeing it fit, as a way to manipulate and control Mark..

He didn’t need more reasons to work with Cecil.. he has infinite data on you now and owes it to Cecil.

Seeing it as Cecil was one of the best way for you and him to get together.. even thanking Cecil..

After the info was out, in the light..

Marks mental health deteriorated.. quickly.. scaring even Rex at the globe, how brutal he was becoming.. for a guy who’s known to pull his punches..

Creaking villains heads open like walnuts.. it wasn’t a good look for Mark as an older brother..

Oliver always being brutal and lacking compassion but after you and Mark met.. Oliver straight up disregards life.

It wasn’t like he cared.. only thing he cared about is keeping you safe..

Making Mark more Viltrumite than man, at this point.

And if being Cecil’s lap dog does the trick in keeping you safe, then he’ll be the best god damn lap dog, Cecil will ever have.

He’s memorised your schedule, your routine, everything.

Over a few weeks, Mark has completely gone cold to Eve, shoving her off, Mark’s pursuit on you escalating.

He’s always there.. always around.. in the mask or not..

Especially when it came out you liked Invisible..

Poor you.. poor poor thing, your the definition of fucked, literally and figuratively

Mark making sure to be extra.. in well everything, fighting bad guy, flirting with you, at the university, flirting with you like a nerd.. at your WORK?? FLIRTING WITH YOU..

The guy won’t give up!!

And at the university it was like having a body guard.. he created you with the highest respect he had..

But he was always around.. holding your books.. in the hallway, in the Library, even at your locker…

The only reason he hadn’t dropped out yet being his only tie to you right now is that satanic place!

Like come on baby.. just give him your number~ he knows you like him.. so let’s make it official.. Don’t be difficult now~

He knows your schedule better than you do, it’s almost embarrassing 😔

His silly girl.. not knowing her next class.. it’s fine he’ll take you, just don’t ask howwww~~

He knew your likes and dislikes, your hopes and fears, all milked from the symphony of your inner world.

He knew the you let out a soft sigh when you read a particularly poignant passage in your novels you love..

He even bought the whole series, so he could bond with you how sweet!

The frustrated groan you let out when you struggled with a math problem, the thrill of victory when she aced a history test.

The cough you did intentionally so people would stop talking

Even that you have a.. well.. adventurous mind about Invisible’s physic.. that he’d happily spoil to you..

Spoil that he does whimper and whine when he’s close..

That he imagines your hot cunt clamping on him then a silly flesh light, That he growls on accident.

Spoil that he slur’s his words when he’s close as if he has a lisp..

That he sucks pussy likes he’s a major in it.. that he’d suck your folds for the life of him…

That he’d nip and whimper if you asked

You’re such a perv.. but a perv he’ll happily entertain and love to the fullest.. even if it means a few thousand have to die

Remember love~ super hearing~~ you and your “friends” should keep it down. It’s annoying hearing them speak about what should only.. ONLY be yours..

Obviously eventually the constant stalking started freaking you out.. in the beginning you thought he was.. yes awkward.. a lil weird.. yea.. but charming, even cute.. but his “kindness” has morphed into something suffocating..

Plus items are getting moved.. or going missing without a trace.. you’d hate to point fingers but.. you’ve got a big feeling.. your onto him

And well you’re hitting your breaking point.. Even hiding from him.. pulling sick days..

Everything but he just.. won’t. Get. The. Hint..

More like he ignores the hint..

He knew far too much.

Understood you too well, leaving you to have a chilling feeling of being exposed, vulnerable.

A specific time, mark was walking with you out of university to your bus, him eventually pulling you to the side.. with hurt expression.. leaning in very close.. lips close nearly.. putting a hand on your shoulder.. rubbing gently while he spoke in a feather light tone.

“You know.. I’m sorry about your dad and mums divorce that much be very hard..” Mark would say.. HOW THE FUCK DOES HE know.. Who told him.. your blood ran cold, all you could do was stand there fawn, while this.. this.. this MORON poured out special memories y-you had with your family when it was intact.. for him.. to.. what… relate to??

You snapped.. yelled in his face stunning him.. he looked very shocked, then hurt..

He tried soothing you back to his side.. that only overstimulating your nerves more.. so you shoved him away from you. Walking off fast.

he had his hands out.. eyes begging to come back to him..

Mark swore he’s never felt his heart break like this.. he just wanted to care for you.. you’ve been through so much in a small human life..

He’s sorry.. so fucking sorry.. JUST DON’T LEAVE!! PLEASE

He just wants to check your okay.. but instead you wound his bleeding heart and run off..

This is so unfair.. when he’s trying your mad at him.. when he’s not your not interested..

Just let him love you!!

Please..

It’s all he’s ever wanted..

If you don’t love him back.. theirs no guarantee you and your family are safe.. and definitely not Earth.

So now you better stop being an ungrateful brat and come back here right now!!

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

⛧ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ － ALSO HERES MORE OF MY WRITING FOR KINDA A ENDING :3 LOL HERES THE DRAWING BTW AND ALSO SORRY I LOST PLOT A LITTLE I WAS A LIL TIRED (Eepy he’s so cute). But love you guys nighty nighty me = eeppy deepy

This extension being - 679 words :3

Screaming.. Crying, everything, You just wanted to him to leave!! His eyes hurt and glossy.. looking like a lost puppy. Eventually you tried to slam the door in his face.. Mark blocking it with expert speed slamming the door back into one of the walls, the thing going of the hinges.. A huge hole in the wall.. mark still holding on to the thought you’ll prevail.. and he won’t need to kill you and conquer this planet..because well the only reason he’s even protecting earth, your Marks most valuable thing in the universe to him. You <3 You stepped back looking at mark as if he’s a freak of nature.. “Y/N please.. listen.. you need to hear this.. I haven’t been honest to you.. a-and you’re mad.. b-but this’ll change it.. and w-we’ll be the same a-again!”Mark said in a shaky tone, tripping over his words.. his eyes watery.. what is this pain..It makes him want to crush his own heart.. rip out his own eyes.. eat his own skin.. WHY DOES THIS HURT?!!“Thing’s will go back to n-normal right” Words tumbling out in a rush, a torrent of desperate emotion. Mark trying and failing to persuade you.. more like himself.. giving you the crooked smile you used to like.Forcing his hand onto yours.. in a vice grip..He’s terrified.. of what.. he has no idea.. but he’s on the verge of tears to just beg for your forgiveness. You recoiled, heart beating like a panicked drum solo in Mark’s ears. Trying to tug your hand away.. only making mark construct more.. “Y-You love me.. you’ve told me.. please baby.. I love.. the only reason I know everything about you is to protect you!!?”Love.. Mark?? WHAT“I don’t love you mark what??” You shot back.. Marks lips quivering..“You love Invincible.. don’t you.. right?? You have drawings of him” “What are you talking about-“ You spoke, looking confused at mark his hold on your hand numb when he snarled. “ANSWER ME!!” You flinched immediately staring at mark.. clearly he’s been having mental breakdowns far too often. You tried to calm your nerves.. mark wasn’t doing good, you tried prying your hand away to help, for Mark to just-, with lightning speed have you in a choke hold. “Answer.. now” Lifting you up, while he hovered on to the ground. He shook you lightly.. legs dangling, your body consumed by fear you nodded your head just wanting this to end. Mark abruptly putting you back down gently, with a gentle smile.. What The FUCK? Then leaning forward kissing your slightly red neck. You froze fast.. this was all a weird mind fuck, Marks psyche this badly damaged from what.. a few harsh actions from you.. God save us all “Mm’sorry.. I didn’t mean it.. mm’im sorry.. i just.. I’m so scared.. you were so mean Y/N.. made me lose my temper..” He said feverish, peppering a trail of kisses over your slightly red neck from him choking you out a second ago. He quickly herded you from the house, dragging you forcefully. You tried resisting, but that resistance was only faced with discipline. You tried bargaining, screaming, promising not to tell to even begging It was too late for that.. He’ll take you by force. You tried keeping distance.. Feet padding back, the laces damp from what was the rain of the night. In a flash all of the distance was gone, he didn’t answer your pleas..He felt horrible.. yes.. would he stop.. mmm noWith one of his hands around your waist the other near your neck. Vision going blotchy.. You tried to struggle.. tried to scream.. but no noise came out.. He strangling you. You heard small sorrys and begs while your ears rung.. Feeling the light headed.. eventually passing out. Once he was.. sure you were asleep in his arms he kissed you lightly. A gentle reminder.. he’s doing this for you. Because well.. he loves you “You gave me no choice.. Y/N.. this is your fault..” And there shouldn’t be a reason they’re just school strangers. He won’t allow it!

BYE

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

#yandere #yandere boy x reader #yandere x you #male yandere #male yandere x you #invincible #yandere invincible #yandere mark grayson #yandere mark #yandere invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x fem!reader #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x y/n #yandere mark x reader #yandere alien

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kilesplaysthings · 3 days ago

Text

The Purrfect Solution

~ A Yes, Cat Caretaker Fic ~

Summary: I found out from Liam that Caleb hadn't returned to Skyhaven after we spent a few days together. A trip to Meow's Cafe gave me the hilarious answer as to why...

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Caleb x MC fluff. Slight separation anxiety. Slightly suggestive: use of a human-sized collar.

I will be forever salty that Caleb wasn't around for the Yes, Cat Caretaker event. We were deprived! Deprived, I tell you!!

Therefore, I wanted kitty!Caleb, so I wrote kitty!Caleb :3 also, Caleb would be an orange tabby and no one can convince me otherwise

It all happened about a week ago, when I received a call from Liam, Caleb’s adjutant.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Hunter, but you’re the only person I could think of to call.”

“Don’t worry about it, Liam!” I decided not to dwell on the fact that Liam had my number in the first place. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if the Colonel was with you? I don’t want to alarm you, but he hasn’t reported in for duty yet. He was supposed to be back in Skyhaven yesterday, but every time I tried to call him, he didn’t answer.”

I frowned. Caleb had come down from Skyhaven to hang out for a few days. He had left on Sunday as scheduled and I hadn’t heard from him since.

“He’s not with me. He left on Sunday as planned…” Concern began to sprout up within me. “Now that you mention it, he hasn’t called me to let me know he made it back there, either…”

“Like I said, I don’t mean to alarm you. It could be nothing. Perhaps he received a classified mission while coming back here that he needed to handle immediately.”

I told myself not to panic yet. Being the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet was a rigorous job that asked a lot of Caleb. Liam could very well be right, and if he wasn’t suspecting the worst yet, I reassured myself that I shouldn’t either.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I see him. Please let me know if you find anything out.”

“I will, Miss Hunter. I’m sure everything is all right. The Colonel wouldn’t let anything happen to him that was out if his control.”

“All right. Thanks, Liam.”

He hung up the phone and I was left with so many thoughts whirling around in my head. Caleb seemingly hadn’t made it back to Skyhaven. His right-hand man had no idea of his whereabouts, and he hadn’t contacted me, either. It was still too soon to suspect foul play, but my wayward mind couldn’t help imagining various incidents that could have happened to him; like that train accident he’d been on not too long ago, or a Wanderer suddenly attacking him.

I decided to call his friend Gideon on the slight chance that he would know where Caleb was.

“No, I haven’t heard from him in a few days. He’s not in some sort of trouble, is he?!”

The call with Gideon proving fruitless, I called Caleb myself. No answer. My stomach began to churn with anxiety. The last thing I wanted was Caleb going MIA on me. It reminded me too much of that day…

I decided to text him:

“Hey! Are you there?”

“I tried to call you. Text me back!”

“No one’s been able to get a hold of you. You’d better answer me or you’ll be sorry!”

I gripped my phone and paced around my apartment. A couple of minutes passed and still no response. My heart pounding, I was about to rush outside and tear up the Linkon streets to search for him when –

Ring ring

“Caleb!”

“Heyyy Pip-squeak.”

Sure enough, it was Caleb on the phone.

“Don’t ‘hey Pip-squeak’ me! Why didn’t you answer your phone?! I heard you didn’t go back to Skyhaven on Sunday! What gives?”

“Aww, what? Miss me? Or… are you upset I’m still hanging around?”

“No, you dummy! You adjutant just called me saying you haven’t reported in yet! What are you doing? Are you still in Linkon?”

“Oh.” He sighed. “Why’d he have to go and call you?” I heard him mutter.

“What’s going on, Caleb? You’re not hurt or anything...?” I couldn’t hide the growing concern in my voice.

“No!” He quickly replied. “No, I’m fine! Promise! I just--”

Suddenly I heard what sounded like a couple of kitties meowing followed by Caleb trying to shush them. I frowned.

“Caleb… You wouldn’t happen to be at Meow’s Café, would you?”

Silence. From him, at least. I could still hear the cats meowing in the background.

“I’m coming over there,” I told him.

“Pip-squeak, you don’t--”

“I’m already out the door,” I interrupted, snatching up my keys. “Don’t even think about going anywhere.” I warned him.

A resigned chuckle came over the phone.

“Okay, okay.”

I reached Meow’s Café in record time – under fifteen minutes. Strangely enough, the café’s windows were shuttered and a “closed” sign hung on the door.

“I’m here. Can you let me in?” I texted him. He sent me a thumb’s up emoji in response. A moment later, I heard the lock click and the door slowly swung open. When I stepped inside, the café’s OTTO Bot manager whizzed up to me.

“Hello, dear guest! We apologize for the inconvenience, but the café is closed until further notice.”

“Don’t bother with that. She’s with me.”

Caleb’s voice drifted towards me from a back room. When he appeared, all I could do was stare at him.

Caleb looked fine, dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, with nary a cut or bruise to be seen. But one thing blatantly stood out right away; two things, to be exact, and they were sticking up right on top of Caleb’s head nestled in his dark hair. Cat ears. Fuzzy, twitching cat ears which looked to be orange in color. As I stared at him, I caught a subtle movement out of the corner of my eye. Swaying behind him was also a tail, a fuzzy, striped tail that was also orange with cream highlights.

“Uh… Caleb?” I couldn’t take my eyes off of those ears.

“’Sup?” He replied. It was obvious he was trying to be as nonchalant about this unusual predicament as possible.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Ya know, something seems different about you. Can’t quite place it, though. Got any ideas?”

That fuzzy, striped tail swayed behind him.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

I sighed, exasperated. “Oh, come on. So, you mean to tell me those ears and tail are a new fashion statement or something?”

“Well…”

I quickly approached him and reached up to pinch one of those ears. Caleb flinched.

“H-hey! Watch it! They’re sensitive, you know!”

“And they’re very real! What happened?”

Caleb sighed resignedly. “I think this is because of that long match of Kitty Cards we played. Remember? The cats weren’t too happy at how many rounds we did.”

Some of the nearby kitties began to meow loudly, as if they were agreeing with him.

“All right, all right,” Caleb shook his head. “Also, I don’t think they liked how combatively I was playing, either.” He glanced upwards as those furry ears swiveled around on his head.

“Yeah, I remember.” It had been a long couple of matches, and we were both super competitive with each other. “You were ruthless with the assist cards. I think that one orange kitty was pretty fed up with you by the time we were done. So, this is because of the kitties’ evol?” I wondered.

“Guess so. At least, that’s what this OTTO said.” He nodded to the nearby Bot.

“This guest came bursting in here a couple of days ago, demanding we do something about the ears and tail. We tried to explain that they will go away gradually and there was nothing else that could be done.” It told me.

Caleb sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t have all the time in the world to wait for these to go away, though,” he murmured defeatedly. “And I definitely can’t let the Fleet see me like this.”

“So, what? You were just gonna wait it out here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

I glared at him. “What about me? You could’ve called me.”

His eyes skittered away from mine. “I didn’t want to make you worry…”

“Too late for that, isn’t it?” I sighed. Then I reached out and touched his arm.

“You remember what I said a couple months ago, the last time you came to see me?”

He blinked and looked back at me. “Hm?”

“You don’t need to act like a stray. Not with me.” I slid my hand down to grasp his.

“Come on. We’ll go back to my place.”

The OTTO Bot manager seemed pleased at this turn of events. “Thank you, Miss Hunter! I’m sure Master Tabby’s problem will go away soon!”

Tabby? So that’s what type of cat Caleb is? I glanced at the tail and noticed the stripes. Yup. Orange tabby seemed pretty accurate.

Caleb had his small duffel bag with him, and we made our way back to my apartment.

“You sure this isn’t a problem, Pip-squeak?” He asked as we walked down the street.

“If it was, I would’ve told you. The only problem I have is how you worried me when no one could contact you. You owe me.” I gave him a look as I pulled up Liam’s number to call him.

“Yeah, you’re right. What do you want me to do?” He asked.

I thought about it as the phone rang. Then I grinned as an idea popped into my head.

“You have to let me touch your ears and tail whenever I want.”

He sighed. “Guess I can’t say no.”

“Nope.”

Liam answered at that moment, and I let him know that I found Caleb. I told him something had occurred to prevent him from going back right away and that I would keep him updated on Caleb’s status. And with that phone call over, we returned to the apartment.

I led him inside. “Guess I’ll be taking care of a big kitty for a few days,” I remarked. I couldn’t help but continue to stare at his furry ears and tail. The long tail was slim, not fluffy like a long-haired cat’s, but it was still cute with its orange and cream stripes. I wanted to feel how soft it was.

“Ha ha.” He plopped down on the couch. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” I went over to sit beside him and watched as his tail slowly moved up and down on the couch.

Caleb noticed my staring at it and smirked. “Wanna touch it?”

My eyes darted from the tail to his face, and back to the tail. “Well…” I sheepishly shrugged.

“Go on. We made a deal, after all. It’s all yours.”

“Thank you!” I couldn’t hide the glee in my voice. Happily, I lifted the tail to feel its soft fur, making sure to be gentle with it. I knew cats’ tails were sensitive. It curled around my hand as I held it which made me smile.

I could hear Caleb huff out a laugh. “You like it, huh?”

“Your fur is very soft,” I told him. I brushed my thumb along the tail, tracing its stripes.

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head at me, his still-visible human ears turning a slight shade of red.

Noticing his reaction, I grinned. “I’ve taken it quite the cute stray,” I teased, tugging the tail slightly.

“Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun,” he groused out, snatching up my wrist.

That made me laugh and I let go of his tail. “Fine, fine. So, how is it being part cat? Is your hearing better?” I glanced up at those ears that were continuously moving, no doubt catching so many different sounds.

“Yeah actually. So’s my sense of smell. Being a cat’s not awful, I guess, but it seems to be affecting my evol. Can’t use it right now.” He shrugged.

“I bet that’s annoying. I can imagine that would make things hard for you in the Fleet huh? And you can’t even be lazy and make things float to you now!” I joked, nudging him.

He scoffed and leaned towards me, resting his head on top of mine. I smiled up at him.

“Want something to eat? It’s just about supper time.”

Those ears perked and I watched as his tail rose up in the air. “Yeah, sure!”

“All right! What should we have?” I went over to the kitchen to see what I could whip us up to eat. When Caleb followed me, I quickly stepped in front of him and put my hand on his chest, making him stop short.

“What?” He queried.

“I don’t think so, big guy. I’m the one doing the cooking.”

He immediately frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who usually cooks.”

Determined, I placed my hands on my hips.

“You’re part cat right now. And I’m not about to let cat hair get into my food or all over my kitchen!”

His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Ridiculous. You really think this is enough fur to make me shed everywhere? Besides, I’m a short-haired cat.”

Caleb could be stubborn, frustratingly so. But so could I. No matter how much I loved his cooking, I wasn’t backing down from this.

“My kitchen, my rules. And don’t even try to give me your Colonel Caleb Look. How about you go decide a movie we could watch while we eat?”

“But Pip-squeak…”

“Go on. Be a good kitty.”

He stared at me for a moment, almost petulantly. I stared right back. After what seemed like an hour of this standoff with him, he sighed and bowed his head, his ears drooping.

“Make fried cod, then. I’m in the mood for fish.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “You got it."

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this new Caleb. I mean, the last thing that I ever imagined would happen was that he’d become part cat, complete with ears, a tail and a cat’s instincts. But this was still Caleb, my best friend and the most important person in my life. I wasn’t anticipating anything too crazy, and cats were such cute, lazy animals most of the time. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Boy, how wrong I was with that thought process.

“Caleb, what are you doing?!” I nearly shrieked as I ran out onto the balcony.

This big, 6’2 bulk of a man was perched on the railing, staring up at the nearby tree that hung over my balcony. He was reaching for the nearest branch, as if he was going to jump up into the tree!

He slowly turned to me and blinked, startled by my yelling.

“…Nothing,” he answered.

“This is nothing?! You don’t even have your evol right now! Don’t tell me you’re trying to jump up there!”

He was about to answer me when we heard chirping noises above us. Nestled in some branches higher up in the tree was a nest of baby birds along with their mother that was feeding them. Caleb watched the nest with gleaming eyes. His tail was thrashing back and forth.

“Caleb! No! Don’t you dare!”

I ran up to the railing and wrapped my arms around his waist. He hesitated at first but ultimately let me pull him down off the railing and back into the apartment. He was still watching the birds as I slammed the balcony door shut. Then, as if waking from a trance, he blinked a couple of times and shook his head.

“Sorry… don’t know what came over me,” he sheepishly muttered. His tail’s swaying was slowing down and his ears flattened on top of his head, ashamedly.

I let out a deep breath. “It’s okay. Just… be careful. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

If mischief had a middle name, it would be Caleb – specifically, Kitty!Caleb. When he wasn’t trying to catch birds from the windows or balcony, he was either following me around as if looking for something to do or nosing around the apartment investigating everything. If something could be dismantled and put back together, he would fiddle with it as his tail swayed back and forth.

“My alarm clock was working just fine, Caleb,” I said when I found him taking the thing apart one afternoon. Pieces of it were scattered around the coffee table as Caleb examined the wiring of the machine.

“Yeah, but I wanna see how it works,” he muttered. “I’ll put it back together, promise.”

I was worried to leave him alone for too long, in case he really did end up breaking something. I would never say Caleb was annoying, but his kitty self was… a lot to handle.

One afternoon, we were sitting – or rather, snuggling together on the couch. Caleb now had this habit of making trouble and then wanting to snuggle, preferably on top of me, just like a big, heavy cat who made it difficult for you to move when he was comfortably resting on you. He would nuzzle his head against my neck while nudging me with his nose; a sign that he wanted pets. When I wouldn’t respond to him, he’d lift his head and stare at me with big, pitiful eyes. It was undeniably cute, and near impossible to resist.

“You’re heavy, you know,” I mildly complained. “I think my legs are gonna fall asleep.” I stroked those felt-like ears and played with his hair.

All he did was hum in response before muttering, “’m comfy.” He then slightly tightened his arms around me.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Just like with a big cat on top of you, I felt like there wasn’t much I could do. I tried to focus on the tv show that was playing when I suddenly heard something: a low, rumbling noise coming from below me.

“Wait. Did you just purr?” I blurted out.

He glanced up at me before looking away. “No…?”

“You totally did!” I exclaimed between giggles.

“Ugh, don’t laugh at me,” he complained moodily, even as he nudged my hand that had stopped caressing his head.

“But I can’t help it when you act so cute.”

He rolled his eyes and moved off me to lean back in the couch. It seemed he no longer wanted pets, so I sat back up, massaging my numb thighs. On the coffee table were two glasses, one with water and one empty. As I reached for my glass to take a sip of water, I noticed Caleb was staring at the empty one. With a slight tilt to his head, he slowly reached for it.

It was almost like the world was suddenly set in slow motion. I merely watched as he extended a couple of fingers to push the glass slowly towards the side of the coffee table. Perhaps it was because I didn’t actually think he would do it, but I didn’t make a move to stop him at first even as he pushed the glass further and further. It was only when the glass was teetering off the table’s edge that I realized,

Oh. He’s really gonna do it, huh?

“Caleb…” I uttered his name as a warning.

“Hmm?”

“What are --”

Before I could say anything else, he gave the glass one last push, and it toppled to the floor. Fortunately, there was a rug underneath, so the glass didn’t break. All the while, Caleb stared at the glass as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Why’d you do that?” I had to ask.

“I dunno. I just really wanted to see what would happen if it fell.”

All I could do was let out a defeated sigh. He was just one of those cats: rambunctious, always curious and with an immense amount of energy.

“Don’t you do daily training at Skyhaven?” I asked him.

“Yup. First thing every morning,” he responded as he munched on a bag of calamari-flavored chips. Lately he had been craving snacks that were fish flavored.

“Well, I have an idea! I’ve noticed how restless you’ve been. If you need to let off some steam, instead of being cooped up in the apartment all day, why don’t you go out for a run? You could go out while I fix dinner. That way, when you come back, you’ll be ready to eat!”

“Trying to kick me out of the apartment now?” He teased with a smirk.

“Oh, come on!” I scoffed. “You’ve been following me all over the place when you’re not taking things apart! You even sit outside the door when I’m in the bathroom!” I accused.

He laughed. “Fiiine. You do have a point.” He got up and stretched. “A run would do me good. I’ll change into something lighter and head out.”

Once he was changed in a tank top, shorts (with tail still visible), and sneakers, he gave me a wave and left the apartment. I could see him running down the street from my balcony window. It was quiet while he was gone. I couldn’t help the sigh of relief as I prepared our dinner: shrimp scampi. I had a feeling he’d be excited for it when he came back.

Even though he was a troublemaker, I did love having Kitty!Caleb around. I wouldn’t admit it to his face, but his constant presence made me happy and filled me with a sense of security. While he was under the cat evol, he couldn’t leave, either. That realization did admittedly please me and there were moments when we were curled up on the couch together – with me playing with those ears of his – that I found myself wishing the cat evol would stay. That way, he would never leave...

“I’m going for a run! Be back in a few!”

It was the sixth day of Caleb staying over. We had a routine at this point: in the late afternoon, he’d go out for a run while I began making dinner. This daily ritual of his really helped the restlessness he’d begin to feel around this time of day. We knew it was the result of him being part cat now, as cats would get what everyone called the “zoomies.” Caleb’s daily runs were basically him trying to combat that.

“’Kay! Food will be here when you get back!” I said to him before he was out the door.

“You’re picking it up, right? Sushi?”

“Yup!”

“Awesome. Then we should catch up on that series you showed me the other day.”

“It’s a date!”

“Cool. See ya!”

And he was gone. While he was out, I stopped by the nearby sushi place to pick up our order. Caleb insisted he pay for the meal since I had been the one doing all the cooking lately. As such, we splurged, getting several different rolls – all seafood, of course. We were especially excited about the crab meat and fatty tuna.

After I picked up our food, I stopped by a couple other stores before going back home. I timed it so I was out for about an hour – the same amount of time Caleb was usually out on his runs. When I arrived back at the apartment, he was still out, so I began unpacking the food. I set it on some plates for us and grabbed two pairs of chopsticks. I also decided to heat up some leftover rice and miso soup from a previous meal.

The hour was passed, and Caleb still wasn’t home. Another ten minutes went by and still no sign of him.

Maybe he stopped somewhere to grab a drink or something.

After another ten minutes, I decided to text him. No answer. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Don’t freak out. He’s not an actual cat. He’s not lost. I’m sure he’s fine.

Then I remembered he couldn’t use his evol right now. He said it was starting to gradually come back, but slowly. It was basically still unusable at the moment; too weak.

I took more deep breaths and whispered “stay calm” to myself again and again, like a mantra.

He wouldn’t have left Linkon without telling me, right? No way.

I glanced over to the side of the couch. Sure enough, his duffel bag was still where he’d left it. It was slightly open, and I could see some of his clothes peeking out. No, he hadn’t headed back to Skyhaven.

I decided to call him this time. My stomach dropped when I heard the buzzing sound of his phone vibrating. He’d left it sitting on the coffee table. It was now an hour and thirty minutes since Caleb had left, and I had no way of contacting him.

I ran out of the apartment, took the steps instead of the elevator to get downstairs faster, and out the building’s front door. Like an owner who had lost her actual cat, I called out his name. No answer, and the streets were empty and silent. Gripping my phone, I decided to run down a couple blocks in case I spotted him running back home. Meow’s Café was nearby, but even a peek in there proved worthless. The café had opened back up, but Caleb was nowhere to be found.

“Should I contact the police? It would be too much if I made missing posters, right?” I muttered. I slowly walked back home, heart pounding, fighting the tears that sprung in my eyes.

He could be anywhere. What if he’s really hurt this time and he can’t contact me? I bit down on my lip and took a couple shaky breaths.

Back in the apartment, I slowly lowered myself down on the couch, staring at his phone that continued to sit on the table. The sushi still sat on the kitchen island counter untouched. I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do.

Am I overreacting? He could be fine, just running late. But he usually doesn’t forget his phone.

It had been almost two hours at this point. I pulled my legs up to my chest and lowered my head until my forehead touched my knees. I kept holding my phone tightly, on the off chance that I received a call about Caleb’s whereabouts.

My head jerked up when I suddenly heard my door’s keypad beeping. Someone was dialing my passcode and only one other person knew what it was.

I could have burst into tears at the sight of Caleb coming through the door. I jumped off the couch and ran up to him. The moment he saw me, he began to speak quickly.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I even forgot my phone! I was trying to get back as soon as I could but --”

I wasn’t listening to him. I couldn’t. I had been so terrified something had happened to him. That I’d lost him again. As soon as I was in front of him, I pummeled him lightly with my fist.

“Where have you been?! Do you know how worried I’ve been?!”

“I know. I --”

“I was so scared, Caleb! And what are you wearing?!” I suddenly asked, now noticing the change in his wardrobe. He wasn’t in his workout combo of tank top and shorts. He was wearing a chocolate brown three-piece suit with a forest green tie. He even had gloves on.

“You know what? Never mind. Come here.”

I grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the bedroom. He let out a quiet gasp but didn’t protest or try to resist. Once we stepped inside, I pushed him down onto the bed. Standing over him, I glared at him, still reeling from how scared I had been.

He looked up at me with concern and regret in those sunset eyes. “I really scared you, huh? I really am sorry.”

“I should have known better when taking in a stray like you. You know what we caretakers do with naughty cats who wander off?”

The corner of his lifted ever so slightly, as if he was trying not to smile.

“What?”

“It’s just like what you told me.” I grabbed a nearby bag and pulled out a collar – a human-sized one. It looked just like the ones people bought for cats. It had a bell dangling from it, and next to that, a small, black square box. I was told the box was a tracker, with a built-in GPS. A lot of cat collars had the same things, for owners to know where their outside cats were roaming; the perfect solution for making sure their beloved kitty didn’t get lost.

“You said you put a collar with a bell on that injured cat we took in when we were kids. So it wouldn’t run away before it recovered without us knowing. I remember you telling me that. At the time, I didn’t understand. I thought you were being too overprotective. But now…”

I unbuckled the collar. He watched me quietly.

“Now I get it. Now I’ll know wherever you go. You won’t be able to disappear on me again.” I told him.

“Go ahead.” Was his response. He even leaned closer to me.

I blinked and stared at him. He didn’t flinch or move away, just watched me expectantly. Despite my anger, desperation, and everything I’d just said, I hesitated.

“You don’t mind?”

“If this will make you feel better, do it. I don’t mind you keepin’ tabs on me,” he replied.

So, I put the collar around his neck and fastened it. However, I made sure not to make it too tight. Once fastened around him, he ran his fingers along the leather and poked the bell, causing it to jingle.

“If you think about it, you’ve given me two collars now,” he remarked. He pulled out the familiar dog tag necklace from under his shirt. “Guess this means I’m pretty important to you, huh?” He teased with a smirk.

I gave his shoulder a shove. “You’re not allowed to joke about this. I was really scared, you know.”

His smile faltered and he gazed at me seriously. “I know. And again, I really am sorry about that. I swear I was on my way home, when some guy from a butler café stopped me. He thought I was one of the workers slacking off on the job. Guess they were doing a cat butler theme and noticed my ears and tail. Took me forever to convince him that I didn’t work there. Then he gave me this suit as an apology. Thought I’d wear it to surprise you, but…”

I huffed, still not ready to let go of my resentment from him scaring me.

“So, someone tried to take my cat and even tried to bribe him with nice things. Guess I really can’t take my eyes off you, huh?”

He tilted his head playfully, tail raised and swaying from side to side.

“You know no one can take me away from you. Buut, if you’re mad, I can make it up to you, my lady.” His voice dropped an octave lower as he put on the persona of a devoted butler, placing a hand on his chest.

“Let me think…” I took a moment to consider my options as he gazed at me with shining eyes.

“You have to buy me all the snacks I could ever ask for. Including drinks.”

He chuckled. “Don’t I already do that?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You have to text me every morning and night and tell me what you’re up to.”

“That’s not difficult at all. You’re goin’ pretty easy on me.”

“And you’re not allowed to take random gifts from anyone without asking me first.”

He shrugged. “Can do. Not that I’d want anyone else’s gifts anyway. Anything else?”

I paused, not sure what else to demand.

“Aw, c’mon. There’s nothing else? I’m ready and willing to do whatever, you know.”

I admittedly pouted a little. “I dunno. I'm still thinking.”

He grinned. “Well, how about…”

He suddenly took hold of my arm and gently pulled me down onto the bed beside him. I quickly sat back against the headboard, eyes widening as Caleb hovered over me on all fours. His ears were perked, and his tail was raised up, forming what almost looked like a question mark.

“How about all the snuggles with your big cat that you could ever ask for?” He lowered himself down and placed his head in my lap, looking up at me with the sweetest, most adoring expression I had ever seen from him.

“Why would I want that?” I muttered, trying to ignore the heat spreading from my neck to my ears.

“Well, they say cuddling with a cat is soothing, and improves your mood.” He even began to purr. “A cat’s purr even has health benefits.”

I couldn’t help myself. He was being so endearing; I could feel my anger dissipating as I reached down to run my fingers through his hair and over those orange ears. As his eyes slid shut in delight, he took hold of my free hand and nuzzled it, planting kisses and even light nibbles on my fingers.

I felt my heart begin to pound and frowned at the blush I could just feel on my face. “Ugh. Why can’t I stay angry at you, Caleb?” I whined.

He opened his eyes and grinned up at me. “’Cause I’m a cat. Your cat.”

Later on, we decided to finally eat the food we’d bought for dinner, while huddled together on the couch. Caleb insisted on continuing the role as a devoted butler and that it was my turn to have my head resting in his lap. As we watched a drama together, he fed me bites of sushi and rice, making sure not one grain fell onto my face.

“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” I wondered, feeling a bit awkward at this level of pampering.

“Course not. You just sit there and relax, my lady. This cat butler is here for your every need.”

I sighed and reached up to touch that black box on his collar he still wore around his neck.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind the collar?”

He laughed. “I’m your cat right now, right? While I still have the ears and tail, I’m gonna wear it.”

My hand drifted from the collar to his cheek. “I wasn’t really mad, you know. I was just scared that you had disappeared again…”

His smile was tender. “I know. I would have acted the same way if I were you. But I promise, Pip-squeak, I won’t disappear on you ever again. Not as a cat and not when I’m back to normal. Although…”

He set the plate down and picked up my phone that was sitting by his on the coffee table. He held it out to me.

“I still wouldn’t mind if you were tracking me. If you want to keep a GPS on me, just say the word and I’ll program it into your phone.”

I stared at him for a moment before taking my phone. “I’ll think about it,” I said quietly.

He nodded and stroked my hair. “And even after this is all over, and I head back to Skyhaven, all you have to do is call me. I’ll only be a phone call away.”

I looked away. “You can’t always promise that…”

“Yes, I can.” He said firmly. “We found each other again, and I won’t let anything tear us apart.”

He sounded so certain of this conviction that I was prone to believe him. I pressed my face into his torso and wrapped my arms around his waist. We stayed there on the couch in each other’s arms, feeling closer to each other than ever before.

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