#el is too but she doesn’t know much about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 15 days ago

Text

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ��Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

1K notes · View notes

britcision · 2 years ago

Text

(UGH I WROTE A BIG LONG THING AND TUMBLR FUCKING ATE IT SO YOU GET WHAT YOU GET)

Kara wanders into the first class not really expecting to find anything.

Clark had come to her, telling her he’d heard something he was sure was Kryptonian, but couldn’t quite parse it. He’d garbled the pronunciation along with the syntax, but still pulled a startled laugh from her

Because that? That certainly wasn’t the Kryptonian Clark spoke, formal and slightly clinical. Kara was pretty sure Clark didn’t understand half the swears, and was mildly surprised he’d pinged it as Kryptonian at all

But it probably wasn’t. There were only so many phonemes, and Kara had had that painful experience often enough; a phrase in a language that sounded just too close to home, but always meant something else here

Clark had pulled out the university directories though, pointing to a series of classes on Alien Cultures from the same building. And then he told her he couldn’t be the one to check it out

He wouldn’t Know like she would. Wouldn’t be able to tell if this was on the level, and didn’t want to get his (or his sons’) hopes up in case it wasn’t

He needed her to go. To tell him if it was any good. And Kara knew damn well what he was doing.

Making it seem like she was doing him a favour, so she didn’t have to go for herself.

Jon was a better manipulator when he was two years old, but Clark wouldn’t ever think of it that way. He thought he was being kind

She made herself annoyed about it anyway to keep the hope from slipping in.

She’d even come early, hoping to get a look at the professor before things begun, and was mildly disappointed when the man himself ran in a grand total of ten seconds before class began

For all he’d pass for Clark in a heavy fog (tall, broad shoulders, black hair and blue eyes) he was so visibly, painfully human. Even if his heartbeat was a little slow

It would have been so nice to find another Kryptonian. Just one other person who remembered their home world. But this was probably nothing, she reminded herself, settling in and missing most of his introduction as she fell into a funk

And was violently snapped out of it by a short, sharp phrase she’d never thought she’d hear again. Fast, easy slang, and then the grinning man translated it to English, and picked some modern slang to match

Kara herself probably wouldn’t have translated it to “have you considered getting good”, but the snickering of the students around her suggested this guy was bang on

The sense of kinship, of being able to share the meaning of a phrase from her home with a whole room of young adults was… well. She hadn’t felt anything like it

And the young professor, Fenton on her hastily checked schedule, kept going

He had sketches of buildings from so far away that the light of their destruction hadn’t even reached Earth. Different architecture styles that would never be built again

He had art, and not just the museum images that had been saved for Kal, there was graffiti, posters, recordings of songs (the quality wasn’t great but Kara couldn’t have cared less)

He had her home, the world she remembered, fashions from the highest class down to the casual daywear most of the population wore

Kara found herself blushing as she remembered the various “alt” styles her preteen self had gone through before deciding on her own. Before she’d been sent where she wouldn’t see any of it again

But it was here now

Kara didn’t realize she’d started crying until the boy next to her pushed a box of tissues across, and she almost asked him why

Superman wasn’t mentioned once

And Kara loved Clark, she did, but the way every conversation about her home, about her culture always turned to him, the cousin she could never share it with…

And she knew it was because this was his home. These were his people, and he was the logical touchstone for any of them.

That didn’t lessen the ache, only noticeable now that it was soothed

Someone asked, of course, at the very end where Professor Fenton - Danny, he corrected one student, with an awkward blush that made her realize how young he was - was taking questions

“What about Superman?”

Danny gave the girl a kind smile, tapping the screen that still showed his last slide

“These lessons are about Krypton, not Kryptonians on Earth. They’ve already had to learn and adapt to an alien culture, so it’s only fair we learn about theirs in return.”

A gentle reprimand, and reminded Kara of something else. The course wasn’t all Kryptonian, but it got a good chunk. Three weeks, six lessons in total, and she would come to all of them

Woe betide any alien invasion or jumped up supervillain that tried to get in her way

The next class would be about food, and Danny was promising to bring in the closest approximations he could to some of the popular foods from the major cities

Street food. Gods it didn’t matter if it was even anything Kara had had before, had ever liked, she would come for all of it

She’d never realized how much she had missed the gritty, day to day parts of home

Kal had fine art, music from great composers, all kinds of videos tucked away to show him his world, but that wasn’t what Kara had lived

She’d just been a kid, a stupid teenager, taking things for granted until she could never have them again

But now… she might

Danny was also offering adjusted recipes for anyone who wanted to try and help him turn the next class into a potluck

Kara didn’t join the rush to the front, students grabbing eagerly for printed recipe booklets, or the steady flow of students leaving the hall

She just sat, breathing slowly and deeply and working her way back to some kind of composure

She couldn’t trust herself to move without breaking something, to speak without shaking, and the professor had almost finished packing up by the time she trusted herself to try

And then he had paused at the end of her row, a gentle, sad smile on his face

“It can be an emotional topic. Realizing just how much was lost,” he said softly, without judgement

He couldn’t know who she was

Did students often cry in this class? Did other people cry for the world, the cultures, the people, all of them now long dead?

Gods Kara hoped so

It was too much to bear alone

She stood carefully, holding out a hand to shake

“Kara Zor-El.”

She watched Danny’s eyes widen, the moment of surprise, and her heart ached. He didn’t recognize her, not herself, but her name… he recognized the Kryptonian

It felt like such a stupid thing to miss, but remembering that there had once been a whole world, so many more people like her that she could never know all their names…

He took her hand gently, almost tenderly, like he was afraid he might break her and Kara almost laughed

“I am so sorry, Kara Zor-El,” he told her softly, and she believed him. That he might actually, truly know the weight of her loss

Even if it wasn’t his too, there was someone else who had seen Krypton, seen its people, and knew they were worth remembering

“It was a wonderful lecture,” she said quietly, and normally the raw emotion in her voice would have embarrassed her, but she just didn’t have it in her to care

Danny beamed at the praise, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Barest pressure, like she couldn’t crush his bones to dust by accident. Like she was actually as close to crumbling as she felt

“That means more from you than anyone in the world,” he told her sincerely, and she laughed at that. And then he added, “will you be back Thursday?”

She nodded immediately, no matter what else was on her schedule, it could wait. Then she paused.

“I will. I… might bring my cousin. I don’t know if we’ll say anything…” she trailed off, not sure what to say, but Danny was already nodding, diving into his bag

She’d barely noticed he was still holding her hand until it was cold with his absence, but then he pushed a handful of paper into her hand

“No obligation of course, for either of you, but… well, you may like this. Some of the early drafts from my cook weren’t exactly safe for human consumption, and we did have to make some substitutions, but I have a friend in Botany who’s been having real success with some of the Kryptonian and Tamaranean spices, so… that’s the more authentic version.”

He was rocking back and forth on his feet, and Kara just. Stared at him. For a long moment.

Then glanced down at the pages in her hand, and stared at him all over again.

That was written Kryptonian. Hand scrawled, messy and quick, in handwriting not her own and she couldn’t let her grip clench, couldn’t let her hand close and crumple this beautiful, wonderful thing

“How fluent are you?” She asked, her voice now little more than a whisper, and Danny gave a self deprecating little laugh

“Well, not perfect… but I have an affinity for dead or nearly-dead languages. That isn’t my writing though, mine’s basically illegible,” he explained quickly, and Kara gently stroked the sheets flat

A small smile pulled at her lips, something she hadn’t thought of in years.

“It’s funny,” she said, then cleared her throat, continuing in more of her usual tones, “Danny is short for Daniel, yes?”

Danny winced, and there was a story there, but she was lost in the memory

“Yeah…”

“I don’t know if you know this, but… there was a god of death on Krypton. Not a major deity, but… his name was Dan-El, the bringer of balance,” she explained with a wry smile, wishing she could remember more

Dann was smiling again though, and had clearly made his own connections

“I actually didn’t know that… I don’t suppose you’d want to talk more about your home?” He asked gently, snapping Kara’s attention back to his face

“In Kryptonian?” She asked in return, and watched the way his smile made his blue eyes shine

“Whenever you like,” he assured her, pulling out a card and a pen and nearly dropping his bag to juggle all three and still write a number on the back of his card. “You can get me any time with this number, or come by my office, or… anything. Any time, and I do mean that. I would love to hear anything you have to say.”

Something tugged in Kara’s chest, a warmth and a hope she hadn’t felt in ages. Fuck, her own Kryptonian was probably rusty, and that was just wrong

She’d have to teach the boys to speak it more. Teach them the swears their dad wouldn’t know

Maybe they’d want to take the class too

Clark was instantly enamoured with Danny and his classes too, and Kara attended every lecture

Even if they had been scripted and the subject matter never changed, she worked her way through them and would have come back every year

But Danny shook things up

Brought different samples, switched things around

And one day, when they’d known each other for a few years and she had come to know Professor Manson from Botany (Kara still had a black thumb, but Sam could make even Kryptonian plants flourish in Earth soil)…

Supergirl and Superman started to come in for guest lectures

Short DPXDC Prompts #649

Danny teaches an Astronomy & Alien Culture class in Gotham University. He knows far more about said cultures than the average professor should know. Almost as if he has first hand experiences on the planets he talks about.

#dp x dc #dead languages are special to me okay #and also just so much history #danny and kara get coffee on mondays and talk about tv shows in kryptonian #there’s so many loanwords but that’s what keeps language alive #danny doesn’t tell them he’s a ghost too for a very long time #they already have too many ghosts to mourn #but eventually for kara’s birthday they take a trip to the ghost zone and she has her 40th on krypton again #danny phantom #kara zor-el #kara zor el #no ship xylophone #but you can ship em if you like #kon and jon fucking love professor danny #he teaches them all the cool kryptonian swears and will not tell clark what they are #clark wrestles bruce away in a headlock when they find out danny is like 25 #and from a shitty home situation #‘no adopting my fucking professor that’s WEIRD’#batman: but CLEARLY that is a BABY #(he’s right danny is baby)#(but that doesn’t mean he wants random billionaires fighting for his hand in parenting)#tucker eventually builds a full immersion VR tour of kryptonian cities (filtered for ghost zone)#danny is absolutely the kryptonian death god #time travel shenanigans IN SPACE #he also knows the doctor’s real name and has his number

6K notes · View notes

stevieschrodinger · 5 months ago

Text

This is not how Steve wanted to spend his afternoon.

Actually, he’s found himself doing a lot of things he hasn't wanted to since Starcourt burned down but, honestly, this is probably right up there.

God it’s disgusting.

But he had to try. All the kids had looked at him with their stupid hang dog faces, so he said he’d try. Which is why he’s at lovers lake, freezing his ass off in the water and nipple deep into the shrubbery, ripping slimy crappy weeds and grass out of the muddy lake bed.

At least Robin got in with him. She’s shivering in her bathing suit, but she’s gamely holding onto the cooler as it floats in the water, so at least there’s that.

The bin full Upside Down vines next to the tank hadn't made much sense at the time, but it became apparent pretty fucking fast when the fish creature in Steve’s pool hadn’t eaten for forty eight hours, and Steve was now, finally, sober enough and not concussed enough to put two and two together.

Hopefully this works though; all the kids have, obviously, become immediately like, fucking pack bonded with the thing. Man. Fish Man.

El and Max keep insisting he’s a mermaid – Merman? Merdude? - like he’s something out of a fairy tail and is all magical and shit.

Steve takes a breath and ducks down again, having felt something hairy and frond like with his exploring toes.

“You think this is enough? Like as a fair test?” Robin rocks the half full cooler forward and Steve peeks in.

And alright, Steve just doesn’t want to fucking be here at all, so he says, “yep, looks good,” as they share a lightly guilty look.

It might not work at all, of course, so their wanting to give up is legitimate. They can always come back when it’s warmer if the fish man does eat this shit.

He certainly isn’t interested in the raw fish the kids have been trying to feed him – Steve’s going to be eating fish for a fucking month with what’s in his freezer now, and don’t those reprobates realize the price of fucking prawns??

The fish man wasn’t interested in meat either, not raw, not cooked – even though Dustin insisted that because of his ‘forward facing eyes’, ‘claws,’ and ‘slightly pointed teeth,’ he must be a predator Steve! The vines must have just been for, in his tank, or whatever, Steve!

Whatever.

Steve’s here to prove them wrong, and Robin’s backing him up.

The kids have gone home when they get back, which is a fucking relief. Even with the heaters in the car on full, Steve still feels cold in his bones. His skin warm and tingly, but the shivers still locked inside; him and Robin head for separate bathrooms without even really talking about it, fishboy has survived this long, he can do another twenty minutes.

Steve finds the biggest sting of kelpy weedy seaweedy stuff from the lake, and drags the tip of it in the pool. It’s dark out, the light from in the house reflecting on the surface of the pool, making it impossible to see where the creature might be hiding; until he disturbs the surface, a few seconds later.

Steve splashes the end in the water, “here fishy fishy fishy.”

“Steve,” Robin elbows him.

“What, it’s not like he has a name,” Steve doesn’t look at her though, he’s watching that strange pair of eyes come closer. They reflect the light strangely, like a wild animal in the headlights. His dark hair is plastered to the top of his head, being wet, and everything else is submerged.

Steve knows he can breathe fine for at least an hour out of the water though; that’s how long the rescue took. And then the bathtub; he was fine in there for a day while they drained the pool of chlorinated water and refilled it with fresh. And it was easy enough to get him in there; if he was human, Steve would say that fish dude was starving to death. Concave stomach, all his ribs clearly visible, pale flesh pulled too tight over the knobs of his spine. Steve had lifted him easily, the sad curl of his dull black tail hardly adding any weight to him. He felt frail, breakable; like a bird.

If there’s any lingering chemical in there, it doesn’t seemed to have hurt fishguy, but then a creature from the upside down must be tolerant to plenty, Steve thinks, imagining the constant fall of ashy dust from the dark sky.

The creature cautiously approaches, and when he’s near enough, there’s a gentle tug on the weed, like the most cautious of bites on a line. Steve lets go, and both fish guy and weed disappear under the water.

“Do you think it worked?” Robin whispers, like they’re viewing a skittish wild animal. Which, they kind of are.

“Don’t know,” Steve whispers back, unable to stop himself. There’s just something about someone whispering to you that’s irresistible; it’s like an unavoidable instinct to follow suit.

“How will we know if it’s worked?”

“Dunno. Try another? See if he takes it?” Steve’s just about to break open the cooler again when the head pops up. All of it, this time.

He has dark hair. So dark it looks black; thick and ropey, it kind of reminds Steve of the vines of the upside down. His face is...pretty much human; just very pale. When he’s got his mouth shut, hiding the slight point of those teeth, nothing would give him away.

He lifts a hand out of the water, offering something to Steve who, gingerly but reflexively, takes it.

It’s the stalk of the weed. The leaves are gone, and the fleshy green of the outside has been carefully stripped off; use for those pointy teeth. Steve guesses all the plant material of the upside down is actually probably quite sturdy and quite hard to eat. It probably also has the nutritional value of wet cardboard.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish dude doesn’t leave this time. Steve watches as he eats; quick, practiced movements, trimming leaves with his claws, rolling them, eating them, then just as Steve suspected, using his sharp teeth to strip the outer stalk of all it’s fleshy wet goodness.

Steve doesn’t shudder at the thought of the mud at the bottom of Lovers Lake.

“Steve one, Henderson zero,” Robin says quietly, the fish man tipping his head to the side, as if he’s listening. Steve’s seen it a lot, the amount that the kids chatter at him, but the fish guy tends to stay at the other end of the pool to them. Watching. Nervous, and frightened, if Steve had to put a label on it.

But then, wouldn’t anyone be? Stolen from your world by unrecognizable creatures in hazmat suits. Shoved in a tank. Probably experimented on.

The whole thing sounds shitty.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish guy repeats the process, floating closer still, “Robin, humor me, go and see what’s in the crisper drawer.”

She follows his logic immediately, “on it.”

Steve watches the creature, the fish man, and the fish man watches Robin warily, moving away from the edge again a little, but coming back when Steve offers another frond.

He takes it, strips it, hands it back.

“We need a name for you man, I can’t just keep calling you ‘fish dude’ and ‘creature’ in my head.”

Steve looks over at the house, figuring he has another minute before Robin comes back, he taps the middle of his chest, fishguys strangely gimlet eyes tracking to movement from his too thin face, “Steve.”

Nothing. He tries again, pointing to himself and tapping, “Steve,” and then pointing to the creature, trying to get him to understand.

Fish guy swims a little closer, raising a hand out of the water. Steve sees the stubby but pointy black claws, like little ovals on the end of his fingers. His webbed fingers, Steve sees next, webbing stretched between them up to the first knuckle. He hesitates for a moment, but Steve doesn’t move, wanting to see where this is going.

Fish guy points cautiously at the center of Steve’s chest, close but not touching, lifting far enough out of the water to reveal protruding collar bones. He opens his mouth, and Steve watches with baited breath, fish guy frowning like he’s concentrating, such a human emotion on his face.

Footsteps, then, and he drops back into the water, backing away into the middle of the pool, sinking down so only his eyes are visible. Steve remembers to breathe; he’s not imagining it, something was about to happen. But he can try again tomorrow, once Robin has gone.

“I got some lettuce and some frozen peas,” she whisper hisses at him as she sits again, handing them over.

“Gimme the lettuce,” that seems like the next nearest thing to Steve.

Part two

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #mermaid au #mermaid eddie #creature eddie munson #steddie fic #pre steddie #mermeddie #upside down creature eddie

2K notes · View notes

meazalykov · 6 days ago

Text

first lady

barcelona femeni x uswnt!reader

summary: the girls give you a nickname for being the first american on the senior team

the day you arrive at barcelona feels like a dream. the journey from being just another girl playing in american youth leagues to standing in the famed blaugrana colors is something you never imagined happening.

you walk into the training grounds two days after your signing was official, trying to keep your nerves in check. the weight of being the first american on barcelona femení’s senior team presses on your shoulders.

keep in mind you’re the first american on the senior team.. there is an american at la masia, onyeka, who you’ve been in contact with– you hope to play with her someday. she has been telling you about the fun experience playing in barcelona.

you’re humble but you can’t wait to see what onyeka is talking about.

the first person you meet is alexia. she approaches you with a calm confidence, her presence demanding respect even though she doesn’t say much at first.

“bienvenida,” she says simply, her smile small but warm. it’s clear she’s sizing you up, trying to see if you’re up to the challenge. there’s no coldness in her eyes though, just curiosity.

you return the smile, trying not to seem too overwhelmed.

“gracias. it’s an honor to be here.”

“we’ll see how you do in training,” she says shortly after she gets to know you, teasing, but the underlying tone is serious.

alexia is known for her dedication, and she’s testing you without even needing to. her acceptance means everything here.

from that moment, she takes you under her wing. she doesn’t hover or smother, but she’s there when you need her on and off of the pitch. during drills, she’s quick to offer tips, showing you the ropes of how barcelona plays—fluid, fast, and always a step ahead.

it’s a steep learning curve, but you thrive on it. your dribbling skills, honed from years of street-style play and youth development back in the states, shine here in ways even you didn’t expect.

you notice the way some of your teammates watch you closely at first—wondering if you’ll live up to the hype. the media had already dubbed you the "american girl version of ronaldinho" for your flair and trickery with the ball, and it seems the team had caught wind of the nickname, too.

slowly, as you start dancing past defenders in the league and champions league— leaving them in your wake.

the skepticism by the team fades, replaced by respect.

alexia seems particularly impressed by your ball control. during the first el clasico, after you nutmeg two defenders and finish with a perfect strike, she pulls you aside.

“not bad,” she says, though her smirk tells you she’s genuinely impressed.

“keep playing like that, and you’ll fit in here just fine.”

you start to settle in over the next few weeks. the locker room becomes a second home, the banter flowing easier as the language barrier fades.

you’re still working on your spanish, but with every day, you pick up more phrases, understanding the jokes, and joining in on the conversations.

the younger players, especially vicky, start warming up to you quickly. she loves your laid-back vibe, but also the intensity you bring on the field.

alexia, though, remains your closest connection. she never hesitates to correct you or push you harder in training. she also pulls you into the social side of the team. the late-night dinners, the coffee stops after practice, the little moments that build a bond off the pitch as much as on it.

two months in, you feel like you’ve found your place. the media continues to talk about your dribbling, and your presence as the first american on the team still makes headlines.

the comparisons to ronaldinho haven’t stopped, though they’ve started to bother you less. you just want to be seen as you—not a copy of someone else, no matter how legendary.

it is after one particularly grueling training session that the idea of a new nickname starts floating around the locker room.

you’re outside on the pitch with patri, perfecting your penalties while the rest of the team heads into the locker room.

inside, vicky, ellie, and ewa sit around, chatting while everyone cools down.

“so, what do you think we should call her?” vicky asks, leaning back against her locker.

“i mean, she’s amazing, but we can’t keep calling her ‘the american ronaldinho.’”

“yeah, she’s her own player,” ellie agrees.

“we need something that fits her.”

ewa, sitting across from them, grins.

“but it has to tie in with her being american, right? i mean, it’s a big deal. maybe not to her– but she’s the first american to play on the senior team for the women.”

ellie nods, deep in thought.

“maybe something with ‘first’? i mean, she is the first…”

they go back and forth for a while, throwing out suggestions. nothing seems to stick, though, until ewa suddenly straightens up, her face lighting up like she’s cracked the code.

“wait, i’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers.

“how about ‘first lady’?”

the room goes quiet for a second as everyone processes it.

pina raises an eyebrow.

“first lady? like... the president’s wife?”

ewa shrugs, still grinning.

“yeah, but think about it. she’s the *first* american on the team. it’s perfect. and it’s an american term, so it’s fitting.

"plus, y/n got elegance on the ball." patri notes.

slowly, the others start to nod, the idea settling in. salma, sitting on the opposite side of the room, lets out a laugh.

“that’s genius. she’s literally our ‘first lady.’”

before long, everyone’s onboard, laughing and testing out the nickname as they get ready to head out.

the whole team seems to love it, and as they file out of the locker room, they’re excited to see how you’ll react.

meanwhile, you’re still out on the pitch, working through your penalties with patri. by the time you make your way back inside, you’re sweaty and tired, but satisfied with the extra work. as you step into the locker room, you immediately notice the way everyone is looking at you, a few smirking, some trying not to laugh.

salma is the first to break.

“hey, ‘first lady,’ how’d the penalties go?”

you blink in confusion, pausing mid-step.

“wait, what?”

salma grins wider, the rest of the team now barely holding back their laughter.

“you know, ‘first lady,’ since you’re the first american here.”

it takes a second for it to click, but when it does, you burst out laughing, doubling over as you process the absurdity of it.

“first lady? seriously?”

the whole room erupts into laughter with you, and suddenly, it feels right. the nickname sticks, and soon, it’s all anyone calls you.

at first, it’s a playful joke, but after a few weeks, you realize it’s become your new identity within the team.

even mapi starts using it, giving you a teasing smirk during passing drills.

“first lady, over here!” she calls during one session, and you can’t help but shake your head, grinning.

as the season rolls on, you know you’ll keep proving that you’re not just the first american here—you’re their first lady.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #esmee brugts #alexia putellas #vicky lopez #mapi leon #jana fernandez #keira walsh #aitana bonmati #kika nazareth

500 notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 29 days ago

Text

Marvel is Kryptonian

This takes place when both of them are first starting out. Clark started first. Then, the bubble popped. Now, since this is early in Supes’ career, that means, sure, there are other heroes around, but none else in Metropolis. So, when he heard of a hero that recently popped up who was suspected by the media to be related to him, he grew curious. He was even more curious when he found out the guy had similar powers to him, not to mention they looked alike. So, when he’s at work, writing a paper, imagine his surprise when he sees many people crowding around one of the tvs in the lounge. Lo and behold Captain Marvel, the guy he’s been hearing about is on live, fighting a giant monster somewhere in Kansas— wait a darn minute, he’s right next to Smallville. Looks like this is a job for Superman.

When Supes gets there, the monster goes down with one final punch from the Captain. When Clark saw the man floating, wearing a warm smile with his cape billowing in the wind, he was struck with the idea that maybe, just maybe they could be related after all.

Marvel: *notices Supes and gives a little wave, torn between wondering if Clark is another hero, or a dude who just happens to be wearing spandex*

Superman: *Flies up to him* “Hey.” *awkward*

Marvel: “Hey?” *also awkward*

*awkward silence of two super powered dudes floating mid-air*

Superman: “Right! Uh- Kal-El.” *offers handshake*

Marvel: *wondering what a “Kal-El” is* “I’m Captain Marvel? Or Marvel? Or Cap? You can call me whatever.” *shakes hand*

Superman: *little disappointed Marvel didn’t respond with his own Kryptonian name. Then says some form of greeting in Kryptonian*

Marvel: *confused at the sudden gibberish from the other man until Solomon translated it for him. Responds back also in Kryptonian*

Superman: *face lights up brighter than the sun*

They got burgers after that. They became super good friends after that too! I mean, sure, Clark’s new friend hasn’t really told him anything about himself yet, but that was fine! Marvel’s super nice, and he’s always willing to help the Kryptonian if Clark needs it. I mean for Rao’s sake, when he got mind controlled for the first time, the Captain was the one who held him off. Then when all was set and done he took Clark to get ice cream. (Buddy doesn’t know he’s boarding the Dad Marvel bus)

The media’s picked up on their new friendship too. There are more and then a couple videos of Marvel’s 8 foot 5 self, picking up a 6 foot maybe 4 inch Superman like he’s a toddler. People think they’re brothers, or at least cousins.

Speaking of cousins, we can’t forget about Kara. When Kal said that there was another Kryptonian, she was skeptical, but then she met Marvel. She was excited when she learned he could speak Kryptonian. She also found it awesome he spoke like an old man. The man also had no problem in learning any new traditions from her. And, he also had no problem in teaching her ancient traditions that she had no clue how he knew. The man looked at to be in his mid thirties at most. (He has knowledge of really really really old Kryptonian traditions and history because a long, long time ago a previous Champion got married to a Kryptonian woman and visited the planet whenever they could. Though, it wasn’t often due to their champion duties.) He also gets her to bake with him while he told her stories about old wars and conflicts she hadn’t even heard of. Not only did she get to teach more of their culture to Clark, she got to learn more about it from Cap. (Is also unknowingly boarding the Marvel Dad bus)

Also, Ma and Pa Kent love him and he helps around the farm as much as they allow him.

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #kara zor el #kara danvers #clark kent #superman

443 notes · View notes

elliezato · 9 months ago

Text

✮⋆˙Ellie Williams headcanons⋆˙⟡

nothing crazy, just sweet els headcanons ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

modern world hc✮

I wouldn’t say there is nsfw but mentions of it

Ellie x fem reader

ִ ࣪𖤐Ellie LOVES taking pictures. She has a collection of disposable and digital cameras. You always complain because she takes pictures of you when you’re not paying attention but it doesn’t stop her. She’s always posting candid pics of you on her story, it was her way of soft launching.

࣪𖤐Her love language is definitely words of affirmation and physical touch. Ellie never takes it seriously when you complement her or tell her she’s pretty but she loves it. Her notebook is full of rants talking about all the things you say about her. She doesn’t make it know that it’s her love language but you know.

She always has her hand on your thigh or grabbing your waist. You’re usually the passenger princess. She always drives with one hand on the wheel and the other in your lap or holding your hand.

Ellie secretly prefers little spoon. At night she holds you close with her head resting on your chest. She doesn’t mind how hot it gets when you two are this close. You have to gently push her off when she’s asleep because you’re sweating too much.

With this being said, she absolutely hates pda. Kissing and touching each other up in public makes her cringe. She’ll hold your hand every now and then but she saves the rest for when you’re alone.

࣪𖤐Ellie prefers staying in for dates rather than going out. She always loves to surprise you with movie dates. Shes such a movie nerd. Every Friday she tries her best to makes dinner and plans the whole night. She puts in the effort to make it feel like a date, she loves making you feel special. Sometimes she lets you pick the movie but most times it’s her begging you to watch some action movie when she finds out you haven’t seen it.

࣪𖤐Ellie definitely isn’t much of a party person but once she’s there she enjoys herself. She definitely keeps you close and wants everyone to know you’re together. She’ll wander off at some point and come back a little while later. When she kisses you, you can taste the weed in her breath. Ellie doesn’t like to get wasted but she’ll have a drink or two and smoke a bit to loosen up and have fun. You guys always end up leaving early on in the night so you can spend the rest of the evening together.

࣪She might not be the biggest fan of parties but she absolutely loves party games. I feel like Ellie would be so competitive when it comes to beer pong or other games like that, especially with a bit of alcohol in her system.

࣪𖤐Ellie takes pride in after care. She always makes sure to clean you up no matter how tried she is. Usually after, she’ll fall asleep as soon as she lays down but sometimes she’ll lay and talk with you for a while.

Talking with Ellie is easy. She loves to rant about her comics and the small things that happen in her day. As much as she loves to talk she also loves to listen. She wants to hear about all your fixations and interest. Your nights always end in you two laying in bed staring at the ceiling talking.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams headcanons #loser ellie #the last of us #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #tlou

1K notes · View notes

eccentricwritingbaby · 4 months ago

Text

hard life or wag life?

carlos sainz jr x reader

summary - reader and carlos are in a fresh romance, but the comments online are starting to drive her crazy, questioning if the relationship is even worth all of the hate she receives.

masterlist

it was sunday, race day. you despised race day. you were constantly on edge, worried about your boyfriend, worried about your appearance, worried about the fans. sunday was hard. but monday was worse. you were usually fighting a hangover, celebrations from the previous night going a bit too far. but it all came with twitter. and instagram. and the comments.

as much as carlos kept telling you not to look, that the hate didn’t mean anything, you couldn’t help yourself. you would scroll as you woke up, seeing how many fans would comment on your relationship, your looks, your support. anything they could find to criticize, they would.

you knew it was because your relationship was so fresh and that once the fans got to know you better, it would die down. but you were tired.

so here you were, hidden in the back of the garage, attempting not to draw too much attention to yourself as you watch your boyfriend. he’s currently talking to his engineer, eyes drifting every so often to meet your own. excusing himself from the conversation, he begins to make his way in your direction.

“que haces?” what are you doing? he asks you, hands finding your hips to pull you closer, “no quieres pasar el rato con alexandra?” you don’t want to hang with alexandra?

“está cerca de los fans en la hospitalidad,” she’s around the fans in hospitality you shrug, looking up at him, his eyes laced with concern.

“mi amor-” he starts, shaking his head.

“no, no,” you cut him off with a smile, “i’m alright,” assuring him further as he continues to watch you, “plus i get to see you more,” you giggle, poking his stomach to get a laugh.

“muy cierto, mi amor,” very true, my love he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips, “i love when you’re around,”

“i love being around,” a smile plastered on your face at his reassurance.

“i have to get in the car soon,” he sighs, pulling you into a quick hug before starting his departure, “te quiero mucho, cariño,” i love you so much

“te queiro, carlos, buena suerte,” i love you, carlos, good luck you kiss him on the cheek and begin to move out of the garage in order to give the team their space.

as you’re walking along, you hear your name called out and whip around to find the voice. coming face to face with carlos’ dad, you hug him and give your greetings while proceeding to walk with him to hospitality.

“como estas, y/n?” how are you, y/n carlos senior asks you, holding an arm out for you to grab onto during your walk.

you take his arm with a smile, “bueno, bueno,” good, good, “y usted?” and you?

“bueno,” he laughs as you arrive at hospitality, “listen, y/n, carlos told me about the online comments,” he starts with a sigh, pulling a chair out for you to sit.

as he takes the seat across from you, you can’t help but widen your eyes in shock that he knows, “what?”

“he’s worried about you, y/n,” carlos senior pushes, “and i just want to know if you’re okay,”

“i appreciate that, i really do,” you sigh, rubbing your palms over your thighs a few times, an anxious tick you have started to exhibit, “i’m okay, i’m alright, it just gets exhausting,”

“i’m sure,” he agrees, “just know that we don’t feel that way about you,” he reaches over to give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “and my son really doesn’t,” you both laugh at his last comment as he continues to mock how carlos loves you. a few moments later and the race had begun, carlos senior excusing himself to go watch from the garage.

you sat and thought for a minute, hyper aware of the cameras and your appearance on the television. you could already hear the comments starting about how you weren’t in the garage, or how carlos’ dad had left you alone in hospitality, or how you and carlos weren’t around each other that much today, or how you arrived separately. it was making your brain itch. you couldn’t even focus on the race, too caught up in your own thoughts for a while.

carlos having to retire his car brought you out of your fog, hearing the announcement had you getting up quickly and starting your own race to his garage. once entering into the madness, you spot your boyfriend in a heated discussion with his father and cousin, then overhearing them tell him to cool off.

you attempt to walk up to him, but his cousin gets to you first.

“not right now, y/n,” he shakes his head, “he’s too heated, you’ll want to give him a few minutes of space,”

“is he okay?” you ask with a nod of your head.

“he’s fine, just pissed off,” you both share a knowing look, understanding that when carlos was mad, all he needs is his space, “give him five minutes and you should be good,”

“got it,” you nod your head again, “i’ll just wait in his drivers room,”

“okay, i’ll let him know,” with that, you walk to his room and sit down, patiently waiting to console your boyfriend.

after minutes had passed, you were bored and needed a distraction from the thoughts clouding your mind. pulling out your phone and jumping onto twitter, you instantly regret your actions.

‘why is carlos walking through the paddock alone? where tf is his girlfriend??’

‘y/n being a bad luck charm, what's new’

‘kika really showed out with her outfit today, and there was y/n…giving us nothing’

‘i’d ditch her like carlos’ dad too’

‘carlos and y/n didn’t even arrive together, he def is ab to breakup w her’

you sigh and throw your phone down, tears threatening to escape your eyes as the words continue to replay. the door creaks open, carlos spotting you in the corner and he lets out a breath.

“amor…” you start, wiping your face and getting up to meet him in a hug.

“y/n…” he wraps his arms around you, holding you and rocking you - letting you stabilize him and his emotions.

“i’m so sorry, love,” you try to help, “so sorry,”

“it’s alright,” he shakes off, pulling away slightly to give you a kiss, “i just want to get out of here and go back to the hotel, but i have to stay,”

“hm,” you hum, attempting to think of something to help, “why don’t i head back early, i’ll order us some food, i’ll start a bath-”

“i love the sound of that,” carlos sighs, kissing you again, “i should be able to leave in about an hour,”

“okay, i’ll see you in an hour,” you peck him quickly, moving to grab your things from around the room.

“thank you, cariño, i appreciate it,”

“always, baby, always,” you smile at carlos, him smiling back and your mind finally quiets. the words and tweets disappear. your fears gone, your mind at ease, the only thing you can think is how much you love the man in front of you. and that’s all that matters.

“i can’t do this any longer,” you cry to your friend, sophia, as she continues to rub your back, “it’s so fucking hard, i mean, i-i love him so much, but-”

“i know, honey, i know,” she speaks softly to you. after you had left early from the race, the fans got worse. calling you all sorts of names and terrible things because you ‘abandoned’ your boyfriend. you were going crazy. sophia had made you delete the socials off your phone, worried that your mental health would spiral even worse since you were constantly checking them. she was currently at your house, after you had called her in shambles, trying to make you feel better, “have you talked to carlos?”

“no,” you shake off in a sob, “i don’t want to keep bothering him with this,”

“y/n, he loves you,” grabbing you another tissue for you to wipe your eyes, she continues, “he’ll want to know what's bothering you and hurting you, you wouldn’t be burdening him,”

“i would be, soph,” you cry again, “i’ve bugged him about this so many times, he’s probably over it,”

“stop, y/n, he won’t be like that. he’ll want to know,”

“i don’t think i can do this anymore,”

“ugh good,” she laughs, “i was waiting for all this crying to finally give you a headache so we can get the alcohol started,”

“i’m not talking about my little pity party,” you’re serious tone causes her to stop laughing, realizing you weren’t joking around, “i’m talking about the relationship,”

“y/n…” she trails off, her eyes holding so much concern as they stare at you.

“i’m serious, soph,” you shake your head, tears now drying, “all the love doesn’t outweigh the hurt,”

“don’t do this, y/n. not until you at least tell carlos how you feel,”

“tell carlos how you feel about what?” your boyfriend asks with a laugh as he walks into your home. his laughter dies down in seconds, noticing your puffy face and red eyes along with sophia’s solemn expression, “what’s going on?”

“that’s my queue to leave,” your friend stands up, gathering her things. she kisses you lightly on top of the head and whispers quietly, “call if you need anything,” you nod at her suggestion and watch her leave. she passes by carlos with a pat to the shoulder, and his confusion only grows stronger at the pity on her face as she looks at him.

“y/n?” carlos questions, now moving towards where you were sitting on the couch, perching himself on the coffee table across from you.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you whisper out, your eyes meet his and immediately well up again.

“what do you mean, y/n?” carlos pushes sternly, “you want to break up with me?”

“i’m sorry, carlos-”

“no, no,” he stops you, “no, we’re not breaking up,”

“carlos,” you sigh, your eyes wandering in the direction of his stuff you had packed into a box next to the couch.

“you’re serious?” he whispers out, “why?” he gets up and sits next to you, his eyes now tearing up the same as yours.

“i just can’t do this,” you shake your head, fresh tears falling yet again, “i mean, i can’t do anything right in the eyes of your fans-”

“but you do everything right in my eyes,” he cuts you off to emphasize, “please, mi amor, don’t let them break us up because of a few comments-”

“it’s not ‘a few comments’ carlos,” now it’s your turn to cut him off with a sob, “it’s all of your fans, all of the time, and you’re fans are who you are-”

“okay, okay,” he wraps his arms around you, trying to control your crying as well as his own, “te entiendo, mi amor,” i understand

“lo siento, carlos, te quierdo mucho pero-” i’m sorry, carlos, i love you so much but-

“but what? but what, y/n? if you love me, please let’s try and work this out, porfa, cariño,”

“i don’t know-”

“y/n, please. you could stop coming to races, o-or i could put out a statement or-”

“it won’t work-”

“it will, i promise you,” carlos begs, his hold on you only getting tighter, “give us one more chance, please,” you stared up at him, through the tears the both of you have shared, and see his pleading look. the eyes you see are the eyes that have brought you peace and quiet in the storm of hate. the eyes you love, the eyes that are worth it.

“bueno,” good you whisper, “one more chance,” carlos’ eyes light up and his smile appears wide and bright.

“you won’t regret this, y/n, i promise you,”

“i love you, carlos,” you give him a weak smile through the tears and his lips land on your forehead.

“i love you so much, mi amor, so so much,” he whispers into your hair, “now can i please unpack that box it’s giving me anxiety,”

“yes,” you laugh out, standing up to grab it. he stops you curtly, pulling you back into him and grabbing your face in a kiss. you melt into it, and him, remembering why this has all been worth it. because of him.

it was three weeks later on a race day, and you had gotten bolder with your decisions. you were now strutting around the paddock, confident in how you looked or what you wore, and spoke to whoever, whenever. yours and carlos’ conversation had led to your idea that it shouldn’t matter what people say, as long as you both love each other. the deletion of your social medias had also been a large help to your personality adjustment and your newfound confidence.

the race had finished and you were waiting for your boyfriend to finish up a few interviews before the both of you left together. as you waited off to the side you could slightly overhear the interviewer asking about the race, and then, then, they asked about you.

“and what do you have to say about your girlfriend and her receiving so much hate the past few months?”

“honestly it’s very rude and annoying,” carlos starts with a sigh, “what happens on the track can be talked about because you get all the information, but my personal life is private. what happens is between me and her, for it to be so loudly commented on with no information is insulting - especially that it comes from people who call themselves my fans,”

you smile to yourself at him defending you, knowing that you made the right decision three weeks ago to give him another chance.

“she’s a great person - beautiful, kind, funny, smart. if people would take the time to see that, they would see the fantastic person i see. bottom line is if you love and support me, you should also love and respect the people i love,”

you’re now grinning so wide you’re cheeks hurt, the confidence in you growing as much as your love for carlos. he was worth it. he would always be worth it. and the lack of hate directed towards you after his little speech would also be totally worth it.

932 notes · View notes

gracieheartspedro · 10 months ago

Text

More Than Friends

how to help the Palestinian people

pairing: best friend!ellie williams x fem!reader (set in the jackson era)

description: you and ellie have been friends for awhile. while at a party for tommy’s birthday, you try to catch the attention of your crushes. sadly, they are all over each other. in a childish effort to get them to pay attention, you two try to make them jealous. 'cause that always ends the way you think, right?

word count: 3.3k words

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, smut, wlw, f!receiving oral (reader), fingering, jealousy, semi-public sex, dirty talk, tons of nicknames, no mentions of reader's appearance. talks of sexuality, but it's vague. reader wants to fuck whoever, it doesn't matter lol. let me know if I missed anything!

author's note: I wrote this after watching one too many ellie edits on tik tok. it was written in two hours, so it's not my finest work but it scratched my little ellie itch. okay, much love xoxoxoxxo

“So… you really like Dina, huh?”

Her face twists immediately at the question. She throws herself back in the wooden chair, cursing under her breath. Her arms cross over her chest, her t-shirt riding up a bit above her jeans.

You saw the way Ellie looked at Dina. She looks at her like she hung the moon. She was always fumbling over her words around her, nervous to say the wrong thing. When she did try to flirt, it came up awkward and strained. And you understood her predicament because you were the same way about Jesse.

You both were pining after two people in a committed relationship.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” She mumbles, gesturing towards the center of the room where Dina and Jesse slow danced. He was leaning down to whisper something in her ear and it made your stomach flip. “She would never go for me.”

You felt bad for Ellie. She was everything you wished you were yourself; beautiful and funny. You felt like you were the only one, besides the Millers, who got her dry humor. You two had met in class about two years ago, now. You were a newcomer to Jackson, arriving about two months prior with your mom. When you got seated next to Ellie, you could tell her give-no-fucks attitude would mesh well with your give-too-many-fucks attitude. Over the years, you two had really rubbed off one another. You two were inseparable.

“You’re the whole package, Els,” You say before nudging her shoulder with your elbow. You two are moping at a table near the exit of the food hall. It was Tommy’s birthday celebration, so everyone in Jackson got together to plan a big bash for him. Ellie felt obligated to come and your mom was pretty close to Maria. More time spent with your best friend wasn’t time wasted, so here you are.

“At least she shows you the time of day,” You say under your breath.

Jesse had been pretty flippant with you. He could never remember your name, let alone that you two shared the same street in Jackson. You also once shared a table at the mess hall. He was so tall and strong. Your crush on him was more physical than it was emotional. He was funny, sure, but you mainly just wanted to get him alone.

“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” She ponders, finally looking away from the canoodling couple across the room, “We could do so much better!”

You know she’s just trying to convince herself of something she doesn’t really believe. The tone of her voice changes when she’s lying.

“Like who? Slim pickin’s out here, Ellie. We have them and maybe 4 other undesirable people. There’s always the butcher’s son, he always had eyes for you.”

She grabs her cup from the table in front of you, “Yeah, men are… not my type.”

You turn your body so your legs are nudging her thighs, “Then, you really don’t have any choices.”

She nods her lips in a thin line. “I wish I could just.. Just go up there and talk to her. Ya know?”

“Why can’t you?”

“The same reason you can’t just go up and talk to Jesse.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward on your knees. Your body is practically in her bubble, but she just sits back with her arm over the back of your chair.

You and Ellie had no real boundaries. You had no qualms about physical touch and Ellie never said anything or seemed to mind. You two have shared a horse countless times and even a bed. She never steered away from you.

“Well, Dina will talk to you if she sees other girls talking to you,” you state, reflecting on the last time everyone in Jackson got together. Some random girl came up to you two and as soon as Dina saw Ellie laughing with the other girl, she scrambled across the room to see what the fuss was about. You saw the same glint in her eyes that Ellie had.

For some reason, it made you kind of jealous.

You never tried to explore those knee-jerk emotions you had for Ellie. She was your best friend and you were positive she never felt romantic feelings towards you. Plus, you weren’t sure of your feelings about your sexuality. You always told Ellie you just liked who you liked, not really putting any importance on what was between their legs. You weren’t very experienced, but you had hooked up with both genders and liked it all equally.

“That was a coincidence, bug.”

That stupid nickname that she called you. Born from the one time you practically attracted every infected in the area with your scream over a huge beetle. She could not let it go and ended up calling you bug, just to annoy you.

You finally look up at her freckled face, waiting for her to crack a smile. When you squint at her with contempt, she smirks.

“Why don’t we find another girl and test the theory?”

She glances around the populated party, “Everyone here is over the age of 40.”

You turn back to the crowd of people around you and see that she’s right.

You mull it over, your brain working to find a way that you both could get their attention. You two could simply say fuck it and go watch a movie and forget this stupid encounter happened. Joel would probably chew Ellie out, but when doesn’t he do that?

Your next idea is something dangerous but something you had thought about before. You had never brought up the idea to Ellie because you were afraid of her reaction.

“What’s your idea?”

She could read you like a book. You pursed your lips, wondering if you should even propose the idea to her.

“How desperate are you?”

She laughs out loud, completely taken aback by the query. “Jesus, what are you thinkin’?”

You lick your lips, trying to make sure the idea comes out as a whisper.

“Why don’t we make them jealous? Just you and me?”

“How though?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Well, I’m a girl.”

You glance back at where Dina and Jesse were just dancing. They are both now facing you two’s direction, Jesse engrossed in a conversation with Tommy. Dina is just sipping from her glass, not really staring anywhere specific.

You look back at Ellie who’s also looking at her, but meets your eyes when your face gets closer to hers.

You would tell her how beautiful she was all the time and she just would roll her eyes and change the subject. You were physically attracted to her and there had been a couple of times you had thought about kissing her and wondered what her lips would feel like against yours.

But she was your best friend.

“Wrap your arm over my back,” You are still positioned, your elbows on your knees, your knees facing her thighs, “And rub it.”

She furrows her eyebrows, but she submits and brings the arm that is slouched over the chair to your lower back. You nod, watching as her lids lower. Her hand creeps up and down your side, her fingers grazing your ribs, up to your side boob. “Now what, bug?”

“Now, slowly move your hand up my back,” She does it as you’re speaking and the movement makes the hairs on your arms stand up, “Grab the nape of my neck.”

“Why are you making me do this?”

You lift up off your hands, bringing your face closer to hers. She doesn’t budge, sitting still and only focused on you and your words.

“Because,” Her hand grabs the back of your neck, before slowly bringing it forward to collar bone. The gentleness of her touch and the fact that it’s your Ellie, makes every sense heightened. You don’t even realize how her touch is making you feel until you see her crack a smile.

“Because why?” She whispers, her voice teasing.

“Cause I want them to see you touch me.”

It comes out needy and desperate. Her eyes change when it slips from your lips, instead of being playful, she’s looking at you like you’re her next meal. She leans forward, her face millimeters from yours.

You had never talked to Ellie like this but at this moment, you were completely transfixed on her. She was wearing a flannel over her shoulders covering her usual gray t-shirt. The sleeves were rolled up exposing the tattoo Cat did on her a year ago.

You always thought it was hot, the way it trailed up her arm from her delicate wrist.

Her jeans are ripped and her legs and man-spreaded like she was carrying something in her jeans.

And she smelled like pine. You loved it when you got the privilege to sleep next to her because her linens always smelled like her. You would love the idea of getting into bed with her right now.

“How do you want me to touch you?”

You chew the inside of your lip, “Any way you want to.”

She chuckles before brushing her hand down your exposed arm, “Is this for the bit or do you want me to genuinely touch you?”

You notice her being sincere. You think back to all the times you joked about sleeping with Ellie, and while at the time you chalked them up to being jokes, deep down, maybe it’s actually what you wanted.

With the way she’s looking at you now, you prayed on every star that she would continue pushing your buttons. That somehow she would forget Dina even exists and realize it was you all along.

“Hey guys,” Her voice brings you out of your horny daze. It was the last voice you were expecting, and you can tell by the look on Ellie’s face, she is thinking the same thing.

“Oh, hey Dina!” You quip up, not moving all the much to ensure she sees Ellie’s hand on your bicep.

“You two busy?” The way she asks is almost too demanding. You glance back over at Ellie whose color is draining from her face.

You shake your head, finally sitting up. Ellie’s hand doesn’t leave you though, instead, it just drops to your thigh. You try not to acknowledge it, as you notice Jesse coming up behind Dina. But now it feels so heavy against your legs, the weight of the situation finally hitting you.

It worked.

“We are just talking,” Ellie manages, her voice cracking.

Jesse comes up behind Dina, wrapping his arms around her. You’re suddenly grateful that Ellie’s hand is still on you, the jitters hitting your system subsiding by the physical feeling of her being so near.

“Looked like more than that,” Jesse jokes, his smile taking up a lot of his face, “You good Ellie?”

“Ellie was just telling me about the patrol she just went on with Jesse,” You explain quickly, making sure to look at Dina and not Jesse. “She told me about the infected y’all ran into!”

“Oh yeah, shit was crazy,” Jesse squeezes Dina tighter, “We gotta get back out there again, Ellie. You were a beast at taking those suckers down.”

“U-uh yeah, absolutely.”

You grab her hand as a reassurance. The exchange gets awkward quickly, none of you knowing what else to say.

“Well, we should get goin’,” Dina says tapping Jesse’s arms, “See you two around?”

You two just nod. They walk away, not saying much of anything else. You stare at the wall, humiliated by the last 10 minutes of your life. You were unsure if you could even look Ellie in the eyes again.

Ellie huffs loudly, sitting further back in her chair. “Well, that failed.”

You start to agree until that little bit of Ellie that’s rubbed off on you starts to come up your throat. The not-giving-much-of-a-fuck is creeping up on you.

“Did it? Because I think it went exactly how I wanted it to.”

You finally return your eyes to her bewildered expression. You pull her hand off your lap as you stand up, yanking her up after you.

“You wanted it to go like that? What was the point?”

You pull her closer to you before raising your lips up to her ear. Her hair is tucked behind the crest of her ear, so it tickles your nose a bit before you speak.

She turned you on, so now you needed her to do something about it. Here’s to not giving a fuck.

“The point was to get you to finally touch me.”

The temperature in the room rises a million degrees. Ellie’s eyes light up at the statement and you know that was exactly what she wanted to hear before Dina came up to you.

You start to pull her towards the kitchen door, right near your table. You remember finding a hidden supply closet back there last Christmas party. Your skin was on fire as you dragged her through the appliances to the somewhat large closet. It was practically empty, void of anything anyone at the party may need, so it was safe. Plus it had a lock.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Ellie’s on you. Her lips hit yours and it was exactly how you imagined it. She was quick and eager with her kisses, her tongue plunging into your mouth immediately. She was grabbing your hips, pushing you towards the wall where all the brooms and mops were. You try not to trip, giggling as you pull her face closer to you.

“So this is what you wanted?” She pulls away from you for a breath, “Using making Dina jealous as a ploy to get to finally kiss you?”

Your hands find the spot above the hem of her jeans, right under her t-shirt. Out of instinct, you start to unbutton her pants.

“Actually, that wasn’t the plan.”

Her eyes are trained on your lips, “Is that so?”

“No, but you were playing the part way too well and I realized something.”

“What did you realize?”

The overhead light was so dim but you could still somehow see her cute freckles.

“That I want you more than I want anyone else. I need you to touch me more often.”

She chuckles, her fingers still pressed into your hips, “Well, bug, I’m touching you just like you asked.”

She drags kisses up your jaw and neck. You try not to fall apart over that alone. Ellie always talked about how inexperienced she was, but she’s probably the most tentative kisser you have ever encountered.

“Can you touch me here?”

You press your hands to the zip of your jeans. She looks down at your body to where you’re touching and she clicks her tongue.

“Ask politely, baby, and I’ll do anything you want.”

The nickname change makes your heart stop.

“Can you, my sweet best friend, touch me and get me off? Please?”

She groans at the question, a sound you never thought she’d make for you.

“Of course,” She grabs the belt loops of your pants before yanking them down your legs without resistance, “What are friends for?”

You know you’re soaked by the way she smiles up at you. She gets down on her knees, looking up at you, as her hands slowly start to spread your legs. You are standing against a wall, watching your best friend’s face creep close to your center.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. She pulls at your panties, toying with the fabric before you take matters into your own hands and pull them down your legs.

She brings her lower lip between her teeth, “This wet for me?”

You could slap the stupid smirk off her face, but before you can even say something snarky back, she slips her digits between your glistening slit. Your body practically buckles at the prodding, so you brace yourself against the shelf next to you.

Your normal reaction to feeling good is to close your legs together tightly, but Ellie has her left hand mounted to your inner thigh, keeping you open for her, while the other one is slowly creeping up to your weeping hole. She’s gentle when she puts one finger inside you.

Once your body reacts around her, she pulls her finger out to inspect how wet you are. After she’s satisfied with her findings, she adds another which causes you to mewl at the sensation.

“Ellie, please,” You beg, trying to get more friction. She’s not letting you do anything but watch.

“Mmm,” She hums before moving her face closer to you, “Love to hear you moan my name, bug. You wanna be a good girl? Keep begging.”

You never took Ellie as someone who loves to hear her sexual partner beg, but it turns you on even more.

You watch her close in on your clit, her tongue finding the bud and flicking it a couple of times. The moans that come out of your mouth are so deprived. Her fingers slip so seamlessly in and out of you, that you try to remember a time you were so wet. Nothing comes to mind because all your brain is thinking is Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

“Please, please,” you plead, trying your best to egg her on so she goes faster. It works because she picks up the pace fucking you. Her mouth suddenly closes around your clit, and she sucks.

Your one hand is still gripping onto whatever is next to you, but your other hand has to rest somewhere. Her short brown locks are right there, so you grab on.

Her mouth leaves your clit, and instead, her tongue licks up and down your weeping hole. When you bring her closer in, her nose starts to stimulate your sensitive bud.

The sounds are so wet and depraved, you’re sure the bubbling in your stomach is about to come to a tipping point. You find yourself grinding forward, trying to get friction on your clit again. Her nose prods the spot over and over again as you grind down onto her face.

Ellie hums as she fucks you, trying her best to push your limit. You know you’re close and you are sure she can feel how tight your pussy is gripping onto her fingers. She knows you’re close so she kicks it up a notch and shakes her head between your folds. That motion alone sends a tidal wave within you crashing to the shore. You pull her hair so hard, you know it probably hurts but fuck, you needed her to feel how good she was making you feel.

The white-hot feeling starts to subside and you are panting like you just ran a mile. You finally release Ellie’s head, letting her come up for air. Her lips are saturated with your slick and it looks like she’s drunk on you by the way her eyes are half shut. She pulls her two fingers out of your tight hole, making you whine at the emptiness.

She stands up, bringing her two fingers up to your lips.

“Wanna see how good you taste?”

She’s so fucking dirty. It gets you so riled up.

You grab onto her wrist and bring the fingers up to your mouth. You suck them dry, giving into how absurd this is.

“You’re a freak, too,” She beams at you, before bringing you into another feverish kiss. You were so mesmerized by her. She grabs onto your hips, pulling your naked bottom half to her still-clothed legs.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” You grumble, still recovering from the drilling you just had. Her hands travel up your sides, under your t-shirt. She is holding onto your ribcage, looking at your exposed tummy as the shirt rides up.

“I didn’t think you’d go for me, especially when guys like Jesse are your type,” She explains, so enthralled by the way your body looks to her, “I don’t know if I can let him have you, now.”

You smirk, your hands twisting around her shoulders, “Oh, I see. Well, if he can’t have me, then Dina can’t have you.”

“Well, thank God they have each other, then.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams oneshot #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #tlou2 #the last of us 2 #gracieheartspedro #tlou ellie #ellie williams x you #ellie williams smut

1K notes · View notes

antiquarianfics · 1 year ago

Text

A Slip of the Tongue

a/n: how would y’all like an un-proofread one shot i wrote? ‘twas inspired by someone else’s story with a similar concept, but i lost it. :( anyhoo. i made you some content.

warnings: brief mention of death, otherwise none.

masterlist

—

“Me and Nina played on the swings today!” Your daughter, Ellie, tells you as you strap her into her car seat.

“Yeah? That so?” You ask. This is one of your favorite parts of your day; that is, listening to Ellie tell you about her day at school.

“Yeah! Nina is new. Her daddy got a new job and had to move them here. She speaks 2 languages!”

“Wow! That’s really cool, baby. What other language does she speak?”

“I think she said… Um. Something that started with an R.” Ellie scrunches her face up in consideration.

“Russian?” You ask, finishing buckling her in. You close the door and move around the car, getting in yourself.

“Yeah, I think,” Ellie replies.

“Did you know Bucky speaks Russian?” You ask her, sharing the tidbit about your boyfriend with your daughter.

Ellie loves Bucky, and he her. When Ellie’s father passed away, you truly never thought you would move on, and it killed you Ellie would grow up without a father. Then, you met Bucky, and he was wonderful. It was a complete meet-cute. You ran into him—literally—in a coffee shop 5 minutes away from Ellie’s school. You were in a rush, trying to get your coffee, your belongings, and your bearings to go pick up Ellie, and in your frantic fumbling, you crashed into a stranger who, rather than getting upset by being hit and drenched in a late, simply steadied you by the arms and asked if you were alright.

Bucky insisted on buying you a new coffee because “It’s my fault for being on your way, Doll. Besides, my ma’d kill me if she knew I passed up an opportunity to ask a pretty woman on a date.”

The admission took you by surprise, and Bucky later revealed it took him by surprise, too. Something about you, he said, brought out his old 40s confidence. He didn’t worry about scaring you like he would anyone else. In fact, he said, in that moment, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, and he never was. He was just Bucky.

That day, though, you’d declined, telling him you had to pick your daughter up from school, but you quickly amended your statement to let him know you were at that very coffee shop everyday for an hour before you picked up Ellie. “So,” you had said, “if my being a single mom doesn’t scare you, you can buy me that make-up latte another time.” And, by god, Bucky Barnes was at that coffee shop then next day, waiting with your latte.

Fast forward to today, and Bucky practically lives with you and Ellie. He still has his apartment, but he spends 6 out of 7 days at your house. It’s so natural, though, you wish he’d just ditch the apartment and make it official. After all, he is an excellent roommate. He does the dishes, cleans up after himself, doesn’t hog the blankets, and—most importantly—he is fantastic with Ellie. He plays with her, he reads her bedtime stories, he cuts her food for her, and so much more. He is everything to you and Ellie.

So, when you tell Ellie that Bucky also speaks more than one language, you can’t help but grin when she rambles the rest of the car ride home about how she is going to ask him about that language he speaks—what language does Bucky speak again, Mama?—and then she is going to learn it too so she can show Nina.

Ellie’s rambling lasts all the way home, into the house, and into the living room where she drops her backpack on the ground and runs to Bucky, jumping in his lap with no warning. Bucky grunts at the impact, but he smiles fondly at the young girl.

“Hey, El,” he greets. “How was school?”

“Bucky, I made a new friend! She’s so cool. Did you know she speaks 2 languages! That’s really cool. I can only speak 1 language. Her daddy got a new job, so they came here. She’s my new best friend. I don’t remember what language she speaks, though.”

Ellie speaks a million miles a minute as she tries to fill Bucky in on her day. Bucky makes eye contact with you over her head and you merely smile and shrug, making Bucky grin.

“Russian,” you offer, as you move to sink down onto the couch next to your boyfriend and your daughter.

“Russian!” Ellie exclaims, nodding her head excitedly. “Mama said you speak Russian, Bucky. Do you speak Russian?”

“I do,” Bucky confirms, laughing at the amazed look that crosses Ellie’s face.

“Say something! Say something!” She begs.

“Yeah, Bucky, say something in Russian!” You join in on Ellie’s begging with a laugh.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки,” Bucky says, chuckling to himself as he watches Ellie’s amazed face.

“Wow,” she says, eyes transfixed on Bucky.

You laugh. “Yeah, wow,” you confirm, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek before standing to go to the kitchen.

You make it just across the room when you stop dead in your tracks, turning to make eye contact with Bucky and attempt to gauge his reaction to Ellie’s words.

“I can’t wait to tell Nina tomorrow that my daddy speaks Russian, too,” Ellie says, lying her head on Bucky’s chest.

You and Bucky make eye contact across the room, and you hold a silent conversation.

Bucky’s eyes are widened in shock, but he raises an eyebrow at you as if to ask, “Did she just call me her daddy?”

You shrug, mouth slightly agape. Ellie has never called Bucky her daddy before, but it doesn’t surprise you. Bucky is always around, and he acts like a father figure regardless of your relationship with him. So, you say nothing, just shrug your shoulders and hope Bucky gets the message:

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell her not to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Bucky shakes his head to let you know he doesn’t mind. Really likes it even.

Finally he speaks, “Yeah, tell her your daddy speaks Russian. I’ll even teach you some if you want.”

Ellie shoots up in Bucky’s lap, grabbing his face between her hands, and seriously begging him to follow through with his promise immediately.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She exclaims. “What did you say a minute ago?” She asks, assigning her first Russian lesson.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки. It means, “Did you two know I love you? My beautiful, silly girls.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky x you #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky x fem!reader

2K notes · View notes

p0orbaby · 6 months ago

Text

Too Hot To Handle

summary: Alexia doesn’t want the past to repeat itself

warnings: a smidge of heatstroke, and a collapse, how fun

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 828

Record temperatures they said.

You can believe it.

The aircon was dearly missed as soon as you stepped off the bus.

“Aquí”. You turn to find a bottle of water being eagerly pushed into your empty hands. “Necesitas mantenerte hidratado”

“I’ve just finished one” you tell her, ready to put the bottle in your backpack for safe keeping. But the look she gives you tells you there’s no room for arguments. You roll your eyes at her stubbornness, “thanks, Ale”

“De nada”

Girlfriend, captain, synonyms of each other, really. Her protectiveness spans over both mantles. That’s Alexia for you, in control of every situation, regardless of whether football is involved or not.

You take the bottle from her with the intention of sipping on it as you get changed for warm-ups, but she grabs your wrist and stops you from following your teammates into the stadium.

“Ahora, cariño”

“Alexia,” you start, very aware of the horde of fans calling for the two of you. “I’ll be pissing like a horse if I have any more right now”

She looks at you with a furrowed brow and a tilt of her head. Her English has improved immensely since you’ve been together, but even now some phrases catch her out.

“Necesito el baño” you clarify.

She relents, partly because the sun is beating down on her, partly because she doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the sea of traveling blaugrana.

Their dedication is rewarded with a wave and a smile from her, and a shrug of the shoulders from you as you're whisked away towards the changing rooms.

The game started as usual, but the scorching sun quickly turned every movement into a struggle. The hydration breaks were a welcome respite, yet even those seemed insufficient as the match wore on. You pushed yourself, focusing on the ball, the strategies, and your teammates, but the heat was unrelenting.

With every sprint, your legs grew heavier, and your head pounded in rhythm with your racing heart. You caught glimpses of Alexia, her worry evident despite her composed exterior. She was always perceptive, always attuned to you, and now was no different.

You ignored the warning signs, convincing yourself you could handle it, that you had to push through for the team. But as the game entered its final stretch, your vision began to tunnel, and a wave of dizziness washed over you.

Just a few more minutes, you thought, trying to steady yourself. But your body had other plans.

The ground felt like it was moving beneath you, your legs buckling under the strain. You stumbled, hearing a distant shout, but before you could process what was happening, everything went dark.

She still blames herself, even after all this time.

You weren’t together then, not quite. The lines between teammates and more were starting to blur as your relationship blossomed in the shadows.

You know she feels guilty for not keeping a closer eye on you during that match, afraid that her concern would draw too much attention to the two of you. She didn’t want people to find out about your relationship before you were ready to go public. The secrecy made her hesitant, and she worries that her hesitation contributed to your collapse.

You’ve told her countless times that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t have known. But Alexia, ever the leader and protector, took it to heart. Since then, she’s been extra vigilant, constantly checking in, making sure you’re taking care of yourself.

Today’s heat brings those memories back, and you can see the worry etched on her face despite her attempts to stay focused on the game.

You push yourself to play smart, to stay aware of your limits, knowing that’s the best way to ease her mind. As the match progresses, you find yourself glancing at her frequently, sharing small smiles and nods of reassurance. Each time your eyes meet, there’s a silent understanding between you, a promise that you’ll both be careful.

When the final whistle blows, signaling a hard-fought victory, you make your way over to Alexia. She’s already looking your way, concern and relief in her eyes. But before you can even say a word, she’s ushering you towards the shade near the bench, her hand firm on your back.

“Drink,” she says, shoving another bottle of water into your hand.

She must mean business if she's dusting off language number three.

“Ale, I’m fine,” you start, but she cuts you off with a determined look cutting through her sweaty features.

“Drink,” she repeats. Deadly serious.

You sigh but comply, taking a few sips to placate her. “¿Lo veis? I’m drinking”

She nods, but her eyes scan you from head to toe, making sure you’re really okay. “Bien. Continúa”

You know there’s no point in arguing, so you take another sip. “Happy?”

“Por ahora,” she mutters, still watching you closely. She doesn’t relax until you’ve downed half the bottle.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso community

762 notes · View notes

elliesdoll · 8 months ago

Text

pt. 3 to my angsty loser!ellie thingy 𝜗𝜚

pt.1 pt.2

nsfw! ellie cries lol, it’s kinda sweet? giggly sex at first, boobie sucking, ellie is kind of a weirdo idk… she makes out with your pussy, oral(e!receiving), fingering (e!recieving), squirt alert!, ellie cums way too fast, tribbing, desperate ellie like damn shes genuinely tweakinf. this is lowkey so nasty idk wut came over me

this is kinda long im sorry… AND NOT PROOFREAD im too lazy for allat. forgive me for any typos i will not be fixing!😊

daily click don’t buy tlou palestine mp

she had no fucking clue what to do. maybe she could pull her pants up and push herself through the tiny ass window above your shower? leave and block your number, move towns, and change her name. maybe that would work.

she shamefully pulled her sweatpants up and wiped her wet fingers on the fabric, then hid her face in her hands. what the fuck was she gonna do now? she was so sick, so perverted. all ellie could do was imagine you in your room right now, feeling so betrayed by your closest friend for being so perverted in the safety of your own home.

ellie was secretly praying to die right in this moment. she’d die happily, if zeus decided to strike her down with a lightning bolt and disintegrate her, right on your tiled floor. why was she like this? she loved you so much, she couldn’t help shoving her hand in her pants at the sight of you. but in a sick way, it wasn’t from lust.

it was from love.

ellie told herself she had some sick masturbation problem, and she probably needed to be put on some medication for being fucking insane. she just couldn’t help it. your kindness made her heart swell so much that it made her horny, in the weirdest way.

ellie had gotten horny from other things before, sure. but that’s all it was. lust. you, you made her horny in the same way that you made her tummy get butterflies. she just wanted to love on you. she had so much love and affection to give, the only way to release it was through taking care of herself, shamefully.

which is what led her to be in the predicament she’s in right now. she swore she’d never masturbate again, after this.

after maybe 10 minutes of sitting in silence, she decided to leave the bathroom. no use in staying there forever.

the walk down the hall to your room felt so suspenseful and wya too fucking long. maybe it’s because her steps got slower the closer she got.

she had already composed what she was going to say to you. “I don’t know what you saw, but it’s not what it looks like.” and go from there. But the second she entered through the door and saw you sitting on your bed, looking up at her with the most intense look in your eyes, all that went out the window.

“i am so sorry.”

she mumbled, her throat having this large, suffocating lump in it from the urge to cry. before you could say anything back, she spoke again.

“i’m so fucking sorry, i don’t know what i was thinking. i— im so fucked up i know, you didn’t deserve that—“

she continues on, her hands gripping so tightly on the bottom of her hoodie, to the point her knuckles turn white. she doesn’t even realize the tears that spill down her face, not until the look on your face changes. your eyebrows raise, and you look almost like you’re pitying her.

“els… stop that. it’s okay. you’re fine.”

you say, standing up and getting right in front of her. you almost wanted to say sorry for intruding on her, but honestly— what the hell was she doing that for in the first place? you didn’t pry, only wanting to calm her down.

“i thought we could laugh it off. yknow.. like something we could look back on and smile about. no need to cry.”

you say softly to her, using that gentle voice you had whenever you wanted to be sincere. you even go as far as to wipe some of the wetness off her cheek with your thumb.

you were so good to her. she should be relieved to hear your response, but she’s not. it only makes her more frustrated.

“i can’t.”

she looks down at the floor, unable to look you in the eye.

“can’t? can’t what?”

you’re confused, why can’t she just move on from it? you really wanted to bury this memory and stay the way you were.

“i can’t move on.”

she blurts out, a few stray tears still rolling down her cheeks. you just stare at her for a moment, and then it clicks.

“oh.”

you knew exactly what she meant by that. the poor girl, she had her feelings for you all pent up inside of her for god knows how long. you felt terrible, for making her feel even worse about this whole thing. but at the same time, you felt unreasonably giddy.

the fact that ellie, your very bestest friend, had such a big crush on you that it brought her to tears? how flattering is that? you always had a little thing for her, but you brushed yours up as some silly friend crush.

but her tiny confession made your heart pound like nobody has done before.

you grab her hands and lead her to your bed, sitting her down in front of you. you were gonna set this right.

“ellie, why didn’t you tell me?”

she looks at you as if you were dumb. why in the hell would she ever admit her undying love for her best friend?

“because you’re… i don’t fucking know! you’re my best friend nd’ i didn’t wanna mess things up— n’ you have those stupid fuck buddies of yours and—“

oh, the fuck buddies. you now realize why ellie was so quick to leave your home that day she showed up unannounced. the poor baby probably had her feelings so hurt.

“you know, there’s a reason i never actually end up dating them, ellie. that’s all they were to me. they didn’t really make me… feel.”

you say, wiping the tears off her cheeks with one thumb. the way she looked at you made your heart melt.

“..huh? feel what?”

she raises an eyebrow, completely missing what you’re saying. you laugh, covering your eyes for a moment. you forgot you’re talking to ellie. you kinda have to spell it out for her.

“dude. i’m saying that you make me feel.”

she stares at you blankly. she really is doesn’t wanna assume, too afraid of embarrassing herself. you sigh.

“fuck, ellie. i like you too.”

you’ve never seen the girls eyes get so wide. is this even fucking real? ellie couldn’t believe her reddened ears. she doesn’t even have the capacity to feel embarrassed anymore. all she feels is absolute, genuine shock.

“are… are you sure?”

she asks quietly, sniffling a bit. the girl’s nose was still running from her humiliating breakdown in front of you. you almost get pissed at her stupid question.

“yes? the hell?”

you narrow your eyes at her, giving her shoulder as slight shove. she grunts and shoves you back, playfully.

“i was just making sure! i can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.”

“why would i be fucking with you? i’m not evil, ellie.”

she just shrugs, and lets out a slight giggle. she smiles a bit, wiping her damp, sticky face. god, how you loved her smile. it was the sweetest thing ever. both of you giggled for a minute, laughing at the absurdity of this whole thing.

after a few seconds of comforting laughter and smiles between the two of you, you realize ellie isn’t gonna make a move. of course she isn’t, even after that confession. ellie would never make the first move, no way in hell. so, you lean in and give her a quick peck on the lips, less than a second long. it caught her completely off guard.

her eyes widened so much, and her eyebrows raised so far up. you literally saw her cheeks redden, like you two were in a movie. she couldn’t stop herself from beaming at you. a large, toothy grin right that made her cheeks hurt. she didn’t even say anything, just grabbing the sides of your face and bringing you in for a kiss again.

she kisses so hard. her lips push against yours, you could feel her smiling against your mouth. she pulls apart for a second, just looking at you. then, she moves right back in.

the kiss is softer this time, more passionate. in ellie’s mind, she was gonna do this right. she’s gone over in her head thousands of times what she would do if she got to kiss you, to make love with you. she couldn’t mess this up.

you two make out for a bit, the smacking noises from the kissing makes your head feel fuzzy. you’re still pretty wet, from the kissing and the sight you saw earlier. after you pull away from her lips for some air, you give her this look. you want more.

“is.. is this okay?”

ellie asks, slowly kissing your neck and stopping just to look at your reaction. you smile and nod, finding her mannerisms to be too fucking cute. she was so eager.

ellie was in heaven. your skin tasted so good, and you smelled like you. her favorite scent. she peppered kisses over every square inch of your neck and shoulders, her hands resting on your hips. she didn’t dare move your top though, too scared to initiate it.

you slowly moved her shaky, clammy hands to the bottom of your little top, letting her grab it and guiding her hands upwards. you whispered to her in a reassuring tone.

“els, it’s okay.”

she just looks at you, pupils blown and nods. she slowly pulled your top off and over your head, letting your tits spill out right in front of her. of course she noticed you weren’t wearing a bra the second she came over, but it still took her breath away.

“holy fuck.”

she muttered, staring right at your tits. they’re better than she imagined. and she imagined them to be the most perfect tits ever. she couldn’t help herself, poor baby. she just had to lean in and take one of your nipples into her mouth. her left hand flew to your other breast, kneading the soft flesh.

the quick action made you gasp lightly, letting out a tiny whine at the feeling of her teeth nipping at your skin. she was tasting you. you felt her warm face press against your skin, as if she was trying to suffocate herself. you got a bit worried, so you tapped her cheek.

“e-els, you gotta breathe—“

you were cut off by her lips popping off your breast, a string of saliva connecting your nipple to her lips. she murmured a quiet “fuck me,” and immediately went to your other nipple, repeating the same motion.

your eyes almost roll to the back of your head. how the fuck was she so good with her tongue? the way she eagerly licked over your nipples until they hardened in her mouth, nipping at them softly. literally eating your fucking tits right in front of you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful. so so beautiful.”

ellie mumbles to you, forcing herself to get off your boobs. she could spend the rest of her life right there, but there was more to tend to. her hands went to the hem of your shorts, looking at you for permission.

as much as you wanted to say yes and let her do whatever the hell she wanted, you wanted to see her even more. you tug lightly on her hoodie, giving her a gentle smile.

“take this off first?”

say less. say fucking less, is all ellie thought. she stuttered out a quiet “okay, okay,” and nodded, messily pulling her hoodie off of her. you giggled as it got stuck on her head, and it made her giggle along with you. neither of you could stop laughing at any little thing the other one did.

you sighed at the sight of her in her sports bra and sweats, but you wanted that shit off too. ellie wasted no time either, immediately pulling off her sports bra. you didn’t even get to admire her beautiful tits before you saw her pulling her sweats off and kicking them to the side, leaving her in her spongebob boxers. they had spongebob printed all over them.

“interesting fashion choice,”

you said through a laugh, and ellie just smiled awkwardly. she would’ve chosen a different pair if she knew she was gonna do this. fuck her stupid past self for buying that pack of spongebob-themed boxers at spencer’s a few months ago.

“god, don’t look.”

she muttered, moving closer and kissing you again. you kissed back softly, still giggling a bit. nobody made you laugh as effortlessly as she did. her thumbs hooked around the soft fabric of your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one go.

all the words ellie wanted to say died in her mouth. she laid down between your thighs and was face to face with your pussy. your pussy. she thought she was going to faint, she swore she felt her vision going.

gorgeous, that’s the only word to describe you. you were absolutely soaked, your slick making your puffy pussy lips shine and look tantalizingly supple. your swollen clit, and those gorgeous folds. somebody pinch her.

the scent of your arousal filled her nostrils, and she moaned. a deep, guttural moan from the pit of her stomach, just by smelling you. your cheeks were so warm, as you lifted your head to peek down at her. you were gonna say something, but your throat closed on you the second her lips touched your cunt.

this, this was new. ellie had her nose and mouth shoved deep into your cunt, your wetness and warmth englufing her. you expected to feel her tongue push out her lips and onto you, but no. the first thing you felt was her inhaling. her nose sniffed your pussy so deeply, you fucking heard it. you looked down, confused, seeing a half-lidded ellie groan as she inhaled your scent. you didn’t say anything, literally just watching. nobody’s ever gotten off to your scent before, like ever. but shit, it turned you on way too much.

she mumbled something incomprehensible against your pussy, then slowly, languidly, started lapping at your cunt. her tongue pushing through your dripping folds and collecting every single drop of slick you had, and fucking swallowing it. swallowing after every couple of licks. you moaned, because what the actual fuck.

how did she make this so fucking hot?

it felt so good, but it wasn’t enough to make you cum. it was too slow. your hips greedily moved and pushed against her lips, but she didn’t increase her pace one bit. she was clearly doing this for her own pleasure. too pussydrunk to care. her eyelids were so low, but you saw her staring at you the entire time she ate you out. like clockwork, her tongue dipping into your hole, drinking you up like you were liquid gold.

after hearing enough of your desperate whines for more, she slowly moved herself up, the lower half of her face was completely drenched. she kissed the soft mound of your cunt, then up your tummy, through the valley of your breasts, and finally slowly kissed your lips again. tasting yourself on her tongue made you feel brain dead.

“eat my pussy, please…”

she murmured against your lips, giving you the tiniest peck on your mouth after she spoke. since when did she get so bold? it made you embarrassingly wet.

who were you to say no to her?

you simply nodded, and gently pushed her to the side so she could lay down on her back. you immediately got between her legs, as she planted her feet on the mattress. shit, she was so eager.

she lifted her butt and chuckled quietly as you pulled off her silly boxers. once they’re off, you’re met with the most beautiful sight. her auburn bush, decorating her cunt so delicately. it made your mouth pool with saliva. her pretty, red and needy clit poking out, just begging to be touched. she was so wet. you don’t think you’ve ever seen a cunt dripping this much before. she was already clenching in and out softly, drops of arousal leaking out of her and forming a tiny droplet on your bedsheets. you could’ve came from the sight.

“how long have you been wanting this?”

you ask her quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to her clit. her hips bucked into your face, and you smiled.

“ssss—so fucking long. needed you from the start… fucked myself to you s’much…”

she just kept spilling her guts to you, just trying to get you to put your fucking mouth on her cunt. your fidgety, nervous ellie that you knew turned into a completely shameless slut for you.

“yeah? you could’ve told be earlier, els.”

you tease her lightly, and she just whines desperately. you decide not to deprive her any longer, and lick a long stripe up her soaked pussy. she groans, hands flying to your hair and gripping it. your tongue licked over her clit, making her hips jolt upwards and further into your face. you had her a mess, babbling anything through grunts.

“mmh, so good…”

“jjjust like that, fuck me…”

“i-i love you. love you s’fuckin much,”

you kept sucking on her clit, letting her hips grind against your lips to her hearts desire. your left hand went to hold hers, your fingers being gripped so tightly that you felt your knuckles pop.

your right hand went straight to her pussy, unlatching your mouth from her clit so you can gather some wetness on your fingers. she groaned, and you slowly pushed in your middle and ring finger once they were slick enough. your lips went right back to her clit, sucking and licking on it again.

you got a good two pumps into her cunt before you felt them being squeezed tightly, and her voice suddenly turning high pitched and whiny.

“oh fuck!!— m’cuh.. cumminggg…”

she said quite loudly, and before you could even register what she was saying, you felt a large spurt of liquid splash onto your face. you slowly kept pumping your fingers, taking your mouth away as she literally drenched your entire face with her very theatrical squirt.

she squirted on you after only a minute.

you blinked, slowly pulling your fingers out of her and letting her catch her breath. once she regained most of her sanity from that, the humiliation set in.

she wasn’t supposed to cum that fast.

“oh shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t think… fuck.”

she said a breathlessly, looking down at your drenched face. she was so embarrassed, cumming pathetically fast. she wasn’t even properly fingered and she already made a mess all over you and your poor bed. but honestly, you didn’t care.

“ellie. that was probably the hottest thing you could’ve done.”

you smile at her, sitting up and wiping your face a bit, licking the residue off your hand. you give her a soft kiss on the lips, getting ready to settle next to her. but ellie has a different plan in mind.

“wait, i wanna make you cum.”

she’s shy with her words, as if she wasn’t slutting herself out for you less than a minute ago. she sits up, not letting you turn down her offer. she wants to make you feel good so bad. so, you let her do her thing.

but when she situates herself between your legs once more, lifting your right leg over her shoulder and kissing your calf lightly, you speak up.”

“oh, els. you’re not too overstimulated for that?”

you protest lightly, not wanting her to push herself. she shakes her head, not wanting to back down from this. this is what she’s wanted for so long. to make love to you, in the most intimate way possible.

“let me do this for you, please.”

her voice is soft and desperate, practically begging you. how could you turn down that offer. you smile warmly at her, and she takes it as your green light. she whispers a tiny “i love you” before lowering her sopping cunt and slotting it right against yours.

euphoric. mind fucking blowing. both you and ellie gasped at the sensation. your sticky, warm pussies pushed up against each other felt so good. you let out a slightly strained moan, and ellie slowly started to move her hips in a rhythm against yours. poor baby couldn’t even focus on her overstimulated clit— she was desperate to make you cum. and it felt way too good.

“oh, right there.. so good ellie.”

you let out a string of praises to her, and she just kept moving. the sloshing noises of your cunts mashed together was mind numbing. ellie definitely wanted to cry.

the way you two made love was so intimate. she felt so connected to you, no words could describe it. she started at your face with a fucked out expression, continuing the movement of her hips.

“gon…gonna cum, els…”

you warn her, and she keeps going. her hand grips onto your leg so tightly, fucking her cunt onto yours so deliciously.

“i know baby, i know. m’close too. gonna cum with you, okay?”

she rambles, voice unstable and shaky as you both reach your breaking point. you nod and keep whining broken parts of her name, your nails digging into her forearm.

with one last thrust, you two cum basically at the same time, your cunts leaking onto each other. she keeps moving her hips slowly until the overstimulation sets in, which forces her to pull away from you, her weak body plopping right down next to yours.

both of you lay in silence for a few moments, just enjoying your post-orgasm bliss. ellie’s hand snakes back over to yours, and your fingers immediately intertwine the second they touch. she looked at you with all the love in the world. and of course, you did the same right back at her.

she was still your best friend though, so you had to push her around just a bit.

“so, you wanna tell me why you own spongebob boxers?”

ellie smiles and shoves you lightly. yeah, she was so in love with you.

Ok baiii i hope u guys liked it! :3 i can’t tell if im satisfied with it but i tried… sending love xoxo

taglist: @lil-elliesgf @a-little-bit-of-everybody 🩷

#dolly’s stuff 𝜗𝜚 #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #lesbian #wlw #tlou2 #ellie x reader #tlou part 2 #ellie x fem reader #loser ellie #the last of us #ellie smut #i’m sleepy

1K notes · View notes

xo-cori · 1 year ago

Note

ok but get this

ellie is definitely the type to fall asleep while eating you out. gently tapping her head and you cant help but laugh. shes so cute resting her head on your thigh, completely pussy drunk that it made her so sleepyyyy

ok im done.

opiate this hazy head of mine

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: no matter how tired she may be, she just can’t get enough of you.

warnings: smut (MDNI), slight overstim, brief mention of a minor injury, ellie snoozin

a/n: stop this is so cute. ellie b like… eat sleep repeat

Your eyes shoot up from the book in your lap when you hear the door to the room open, knowing exactly who it is before you even see her face.

It’s at least midnight and it’s almost painful how exhausted you are, but you’d made a habit out of waiting for your girlfriend to get home from patrol before ever going to sleep. As much as you assure her that it’s only because you want to be there for her after such a long day, you know deep down that your own anxieties play a big part in it. Every time she passes the gates to Jackson, there’s a little voice in your head reminding you that this could be the time she never makes it back.

She does, though. Every time. Your luck has been grand so far.

You smile as she trudges over to the bed, flopping down onto the mattress, breathing in the scent of the freshly washed sheets. You set your book down on the nightstand. “Long time, no see.”

“Too long.” Ellie groans, crawling up the bed until she’s settled between your legs, cheek pressing against your upper chest.

You wrap your arms around her and place a kiss on her frizzy hair. “Agreed,” you mumble, “but you know the rules. No outside clothes on the bed.”

Her chest puffs up before she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Come on. You can’t make an exception for me?”

“Not really, since the rule is specifically for you.” You gently push on her shoulders to make her sit up, which she does hesitantly. “Come on. The faster you change, the faster we can go to sleep.”

Ellie grumbles as she scoots to the edge of the bed so she can get to work with unlacing her shoes. While she does that, you stand up to retrieve the pajamas that you had laid out for her; a big, grey t-shirt and one of her many pairs of black boyshorts. You walk over to her and slip her shirt off over her head. “Oh, Els,” you sigh, reaching out to see that she’s got a bruise on her shoulder. It’s a big one and it’s already dark, a pretty mix of purple and yellow. “How’d you get that?”

“Kinda embarrassing, actually– I ran into this tree branch that was sticking through a window. It doesn’t really hurt as long as I don’t move my arm.” She shrugs.

You shake your head as you move down to start unbuttoning her jeans, which are just utterly filthy. Blood, dirt, and some other nasty shit that you don’t wanna know about; you aren’t exactly a clean freak, but you’d be caught dead before letting her stay in these clothes any longer than she has to. You pull her jeans down along with her underwear and pass her the pajamas. “I’m gonna go get a washcloth.”

As you walk away, you toss her dirty clothes into the laundry basket before wetting a rag with warm water in the bathroom, then taking a seat next to her on the bed. She’s already got her pajamas on and is rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes.

“Fuck, I’m tired.” She practically whispers.

You pick up her arm and run the washcloth over any bits of dirt that lingered on her skin. “I know,” you hum, “just want you to be comfortable.”

Ellie watches you clean her off with a focused care, handling her like a porcelain doll that could break at any moment. If it were anyone else, she would’ve gotten pissed off at how weak it makes her feel. But you aren’t anybody else. You’re the only person who can break down those walls she put up with nothing but a washcloth and a fresh pair of pajamas.

When you’re done, you just throw the rag on the bedside table and crawl back up the bed, motioning for her to follow you, which she does without a second thought. She lands herself in the same position as before, just a but cleaner this time; ear pressed to your heartbeat, sighing contently when she feels your arms wrap around her. “Yeah, this is pretty damn comfortable.” She says, though her voice is muffled by your shirt.

“Worth the thirty seconds it took for you to get changed?” You wonder, the snarky tone not making its way past Ellie.

She lifts her head to look at you with a huff. “You’re a lot prettier when you aren’t talking, you know that?”

You reach up to jokingly push her face away from you, but she takes it as an opening to latch onto your neck, chapped lips peppering kisses across your pulse point. Both of you know what that means, and you’d like to stop it before it goes too far. “Oh– Ellie, I think we should go to sleep,”

She hums against your throat, a quiet mm-mmm that shows her determination to finish what she’s started, regardless of how tempted she is by sleep. You sigh out in both disapproval and pleasure; a hypocritical combination that she pretends not to notice. Before you know it, her hands are sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, calloused fingers brushing over the soft skin on either side of your stomach. “You’re a pain in my ass.” You mutter.

Her only response is a quick bite to your neck, causing you to gasp and dig your fingers into her back, but she’s already moving down your body before you can react. Her hands smooth their way to the waistband of your bottoms, which happen to be a pair of her own boxers, she realizes with a smirk. “Come on. You put on my boxers and expected me to not get all hot and bothered?”

“Don’t ever say ‘hot and bothered’ again, but yeah– I know what makes you tick.” You reply honestly. She just rolls her eyes as she quickly pulls them down your legs, helping you kick them off to the floor. Not only can she already smell you, but the sight is enough to make her mind go blank. How are you already so wet? Had you been expecting this?

Her eyes momentarily flicker over to the book you’d placed on the nightstand and sees that it’s a familiar one; the one with a few portions questionable enough that you hurriedly stuff into one of the drawers before Joel or any of your friends come to visit. She grins at the realization. “Holy shit, you’re all hot and bothered too, huh?”

Before you’re even able to come up with another response, perhaps berate her for using that damn phrase again, you feel Ellie’s thumb swipe through your folds to bring some wetness up to your clit so that she can rub it in slow circles. Your hands grab onto the sheets and your legs fall open, making more room for her to lay between them comfortably. “Yeah, you are. Jeez.”

As turned on as you are, you can’t help but worry for her a bit; this is probably the latest she’s come back from a patrol, and if Maria hadn’t lectured her yet, she would definitely be in for it tomorrow. The dim yellow light from the lamp next to the bed gives you a clear view of those bags beneath her eyes, too, as she looks up at you like it doesn’t even phase her.

“Maybe, but you’re tired,” you whine, reaching down to stroke her freckled cheek with your thumb.

“Are you?” She asks.

You tuck some loose hair behind her ear. “No, but still, you–”

Much to your surprise (the best kind, you hate to admit), Ellie cuts you off by replacing her thumb with her tongue, immediately latching onto your twitching clit like it’s her sworn duty. Your hips jump as you gasp, taken aback by the sudden rush of pleasure that courses through you. Her quiet moans don’t do much to help. That hand on her cheek quickly comes up to grab her hair, clearly unsure whether you should pull her away or tug her closer. Either way, she doesn’t budge. You knew she wouldn’t.

Though it still feels good, way too good, you notice the tiredness creeping up on Ellie while she exhausts her last bits of energy into eating you out– slowly, more messy than usual, which is a welcome change. Little do you know, the only thing keeping her from completely dozing off is the feeling of your fingers tugging her hair (and the way your taste melts on her tongue like honey).

Due to this change in pace, it’s easier for you to keep your legs open wide for her, not exactly having the energy to struggle whatsoever and not wanting to tire her any more than she already is. If this is what she chooses to help her relax, then so be it; you’re getting something out of it too, after all.

A few minutes go by before you’re weakly crying out her name. “Els, I’m close,” you say, “just like that, okay? Oh, fuck,”

Ellie gives a tired smile as she pushes one finger into your clenching hole, softly curling it upwards into that spot that knocks the air out of you every single time. That’s all it takes to push you over the edge.

Your hand falls from her head and seeks out her free hand, twining your fingers together as she lets you ride out a gentle, quivering orgasm– but she doesn’t stop there. Of course she doesn’t.

It takes you a moment to process that she hasn’t stopped, even after removing her finger from inside of you. Her tongue is relentless as ever despite the ache in her bones telling her that her time is up.

“Ellie–” You hardly whine out, cut by a gasp. Still, though, you don’t make any attempt to fight back. You just squirm and cry as she licks up the mess she’s made of you with no regard for your sensitivity. It isn’t because she’s feeling mean, though. Just one glance down at her is all it takes for you to understand that she’s really just out of it.

You squeeze her hand each time she moans into you, the once pleasurable vibrations becoming torturous. Not before long, though, those moans turn to whines, then huffs, until you feel her head go limp against your thigh as she licks you one last time before letting out a low hum.

Relief floods you when you think she might just be done for the night

That is, until you look down once more and see that she’s completely knocked out.

Your eyes widen. Her lips glisten in the little bit of light in her room, her hands resting on your hips, cheek smushed against your shivering inner thigh. It’s a beautiful sight, really, but the context makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

Cautiously, you shake your leg, jostling her head and watching her brows furrow at the disturbance. “Ellie.”

Her squinted eyes finally flutter open and meet yours, obviously still well aware of her situation. “What, can’t a girl get some shut-eye around here?” She groans.

You shake your leg again before she can nuzzle back into it, which is her cue to hesitantly crawl up to your side, bringing the blanket over the both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist and burying her face into the warm crook of your neck. “Better?” Ellie questions muffledly.

You reach over to run your fingers through her (now messy) hair, successfully easing her sleepy state of irritation. “Much better, sleeping beauty.”

Though you expect your tease to be met with a dirty look or at least a snarky comment in return, you’re met with a very telling silence. Then, that big exhale Ellie always does whenever she’s completely fallen asleep.

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams smut

2K notes · View notes

solarmorrigan · 2 years ago

Text

See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#steve & eleven #steddie #steve harrington #el hopper #eddie munson #stranger things #wanted something wintery before christmas hit #I'm sorry if something about the yarny aspect of this is wrong or awkward #I haven't crocheted in years let me live #solar wrote #eddiesteve

7K notes · View notes