#i haven't posted a chapter in almost two years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simpee9000 · 2 months

Text

Not Just Friends - 6 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : 5.5k words

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

"Photos have been released, of the two of you," you shared a look with Katsuki from across the table, "Together. At the camping resort you went to this previous weekend."

Katsuki's PR manager was in front of you. Arms placed on the table as she clasped her hands together. Face stern and hair slicked back into a ponytail. The definition of professional. The opposite of what you looked and felt right now. You've been sweating your ass off since you got told to come in.

"Are you sure they know it was us?" Katsuki fixed his posture, sitting up straight for the answer to his question. The two of you haven't necessarily came forward with your relationship, but you haven't been hiding it. Still, you preferred to not be public. Mainly to protect your work, everyone would discredit you if they knew you had personal ties to the number two pro hero that led beyond friendship. But also because you knew the danger, you were targeted enough as his best friend.

"Yes," she said bluntly.

"Maybe they didn't see me?" you voiced your hope aloud.

"Look, they know it was the both of you," she sighed, "We need to focus on how to fix this. It needs to be address before it gets worse, and it will get worse, so I suggest acting now."

"Can I see the fucking pictures?" Katsuki ordered, sick and tired of not knowing entirely what's going on.

She clicked away at her keyboard, turning her laptop to face you two. "This was posted by a couple that were there," she showed the photo Katsuki took with the couple that almost caught you at the pond. "And this," she clicked to a photo that showed the lake, "was posted as well. You can clearly see Chargebolt, Red Riot, and Cellophane. And in the background it is also easy to see the two of you being," she coughed, "intimate. They've been able to connect the dots that it was you that he was kissing," she looked at you, "With your connection with their class."

Your stomach dropped. Words just fell from your brain. You were used to the press but not for these reasons. Mainly just for your work, or how you made all number one, two and three top heros support gear and costumes.

"So what the fuck should we do?" Katsuki crossed his arms, face scrunched in thought.

"We need you to make a statement," she paused, prepared for Katsuki to snap. He hated making statements. When all he did was nod, she continued, "We need to do this quick before rumors catch wind." Both you and her were glad that he wasn't being difficult about this.

"What rumors can even be made?" you were curious how bad the drawback could be, trying to see if you could lessen the stress for you and Katsuki.

She looked at you, an apology on her face already, "It is already being said that you are using him to get to Deku, wanting to get the best pro heroes under you." You physically winced. "It is also being said you are cheating on Deku with Dynamight."

Katsuki scoffed, rooling his his eyes as he threw his hands up, "So what the fuck do I say? This is bullshit."

"I've arranged a interview for tonight, they'll ask about it there and you will give as much truth as you want. Talk about how long you've dated and the bond you two have, you need a united front," She explained, "Deku needs to also make a statement that you have not had any romantic relations," she turned to you.

"Of course, I'll call him now," you stood up from your chair, grabbing your phone. Knowing that he was terrible with emails and likely wouldn't notice anything happened until it was too late for the press. Too focus on crime and other heroic things.

"Good, tell him to do it as soon as possible," she instructed.

You squeezed Katsuki's shoulder on your way out, leaving him to discuss about what to talk about in the interview.

Dialing Izuku's number the second you closed the door, walking towards the stairway so you could walk off the stress as you made your way to Katsuki's office, the next floor up.

He answered when you opened the door to the stairway, "Whatssup?"

"I need a favor," you immediately started with.

"What's wrong," he asked concerned. You could hear the wind blowing through his phone, he was likely jumping his way back his office.

"Could you do an interview tonight or something?" you walked up the stairs while talking to him, letting your body move on autopilot and lead the way to Katsuki's office.

"For what?"

"Katsuki's and my relationship got leaked, picture proof and everything," you confessed, "Now there's rumors that I'm cheating on you or some shit." You ran the hand that wasn't holding the phone through your hair. Before dropping it to open the stairway door, keeping your head down as you walked through the office.

"So I need to clear the air?" he concluded, you could hear him land on a building, taking a break from jumping.

"Yes, please," you sighed, "Just talk about how we're best friends. I don't think you have to do an interview, I think a social post might help, ask your manager."

"Of course, I'm happy to help," he smiled, "How are you and Kacchan doing?"

"I'm a little rattled, I didn't think this would happen," you opened the door to Katsuki's office, briefly waving to his manager. "I don't know how Katsuki is doing, he's still with his PR manager."

Izuku laughed nervously, "He's going to kill me."

"It's not your fault," you reassured, "he knows how crazy the internet is." You stood in front of the window, it was a floor to ceiling window that captured the view of the city perfectly. "Uraraka won't be mad right?" you asked, you've never been close to her but you knew her and Z were together.

"No, she'll understand," Izuku confirmed.

"Good, I would of felt horrible," the weight on your shoulders was slowly lifting.

"Well, I should talk to my manager about what to do," Izuku said his goodbyes before he hung up.

It was only Tuesday and your week was already shit. Barely got through lunch before his manager told you to meet with PR. The city was still buzzing with life, unbothered by how much yours was changing. It felt weird, to know each of the small humans from this distant, had their own life and motivation.

"Hey."

You jumped from your spot near the window, "Asshat," you said clutching your heart.

"How are you doing?" Katsuki stepped into the office, letting the door fall shut as he walked to stand beside you.

"I've been better, you?" you looked at him, his face was still scrunched with thought.

"I'm annoyed," he said plainly, "The one fucking time we kiss in public and it's everywhere."

He crossed his arms, his elbow slightly bumping you from where he stood. You hummed your agreement, "When's your interview?" The both of you were looking out the window, trying to puzzle together how to avoid the drawback.

"Right after work, with fucking Heroes' Gossip," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, knowing how much he hated every part of this.

"Was gonna happen eventually," he sighed, "Is that nerd gonna help?"

You nodded, "Yeah, he might make a social media post or something, I told him to listen to his manager."

"Good," he said plainly, letting the conversation end.

Everything was going to change now, it'd be impossible to go back to normal now. With the grief of your old life already setting in, you rested your head on his shoulder. He'd be the one stable thing, even if it got rocky.

---

You had the interview pulled up on the TV, waiting for Heroes' Gossip to introduce him. They've been teasing a surprise guest the entire show, waiting until the last few minutes to bring him on. You've been dealing with the show for the past 40 minutes with no sign of him. It was nice to watch for once though, but it felt like you were intruding on some of the topics. They brought up Mirko's lovers and then talked about spotting Best Jeanist in and out of the hospital, automatically assuming he had a horrible disease. It made you feel gross to watch.

Wondering into the kitchen you grabbed a glass of wine, wanting something to help make the show a little less painful.

When you sat back down they finally announced for Katsuki to come on. Having him grumpily stomp on set until he sat down near the obnoxious interviewer.

"So, Dynamight," she addressed him head on, "There's been some photo's leaked of you and the tech genius," she announced your name to the world. You took a long sip, trying to shake the unease feeling for being known as someone who was with Dynamight rather than a tech genius. The interviewer displayed the pictures his PR manager showed you earlier on screen, "Is this you and her?"

"Yeah," he answered flatly.

"So you and her were making out at this lake, correct?" She pushed, surprised she got this far already.

"Yeah, what about it?" you could see that he was close to snapping, face furrowed entirely as his arms were crossed.

"Despite the claims of her and pro hero Deku being together?" the interviewer smiled, glad to see she was riling him up.

He rolled her eyes, "As if she'd date him."

"Is she not?"

"No, I've been dating her for three god damn years," he confessed to the public.

The interviewer blinked in surprise, quickly getting back onto the questions, "You're not concerned they are seeing each other behind your back?"

"I've known them both since I was five, they aren't like that," he answered simply.

"That also means that they have known each other that long, you're not worried about their connection?" she pushed for more, irritated that Katsuki wasn't lashing out like normal.

"Lemme prove it to you dumbasses," you cringed at his swearing, it wasn't good press for him to swear during interviews. He was grabbing his phone out of his pocket, quickly pressing buttons before he put the phone on speaker, letting everyone listen to it ring.

"Hey," Izuku's bubbly voice echoed through the mic.

"Are you fucking with my girlfriend?" Katsuki was straight to the point, likely not having warned Izuku of his plan before hand.

"No! Why would i do that?! You know that it is just the press going on right? Anything for a story-" before he could ramble on anymore, Katsuki hung up on him.

"See?"

"Well that doesn't prove much," the interviewer was at a lost for words at this point.

Knowing that Katsuki had a handle on this, you walked back to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. All the premade dinners were eaten already so you'd have to cook something from scratch. The voices from the TV faded from your mind as your rattled through the ingredients to use. Deciding on a fried rice. You pulled out the vegetables and placed them to the side as you set the rice to cook.

Your phone buzz and you answered without a thought, "Sup?"

"You fucking Deku?" you laughed at Katsuki's angry voice coming through your speaker. "Stop laughing dumbass."

"Sorry, I just saw you call him for the same thing. No, I am not. I'll say that on a truth quirk as well," you said absentmindedly cutting up the vegetables.

"Great! We'll have you come in soon to do just that," you heard the interviewer cheer though Katsuki's side of the phone.

Katsuki grumbled, "I'm fucking out of here." You could only assume he left the set, hearing him stomp off. "Hey dumbass," his voice was near the mic, clear he turned the call off speaker as his voice was quieter and less aggressive.

"Yeah?"

"That was stupid, my PR agent is going to scream at you."

"Why?"

"Going under a truth quirk on TV is dangerous, you know so much confidental shit," he explained.

"Oh fuck," you realized how much you could spill if someone asked about too much. You felt as if the genius quirk you had wasn't much help.

"I'll be home soon," he skipped past it, saving the conversation for when he could see you.

"Okay," you nodded despite him not being able to see you, "I'm making some fried rice by the way."

"Thanks, see ya."

"Bye."

You put your phone back down, grabbing the now cooked rice and mixing it with the vegetables in a pan. You looked over the mess of the kitchen. You dirtied an extra pan for eggs last second, knowing Katsuki loved the extra protein. Walking back to the living room, you grabbed the wine glass and filed it some more in the kitchen to drink as you mixed the rice.

The rice was getting to a good mixture, just needing to heat for a little longer, you grabbed the eggs and dumped them in with the rest of the rice and vegetable, setting the pan aside on the stove.

You heard the door knob slightly move, as if Katsuki was having issues with the key. You glanced at the time, he wouldn't be over for another ten or so minutes. Fear gripped at your chest. You moved the finished pan of rice to the corner of the stove, putting the empty pan on the heat.

Before you could think of anything else to do, you heard metal fall to the ground. Turning around quickly you saw the doorknob melting off with the remains of it on the floor.

Looking towards the figure in the doorway you saw a girl, around your age. Maybe a couple years older. She looked insane, it sent a chill up your spine at how similar her glare was to Toga's. Her eyes were a bright red, her hair a darker shade as she wore torn up clothes, burn holes all throughout. As if she just got out of a fight.

"The fuck are you doing?" you forced yourself to question.

"So you're the bitch Katsuki is dating?" she ignored your question.

"How did you get up here?" you knew that the apartment probably wasn't the most secure, but you and Katsuki never had time to move. Still, security was set in place. Blood dotted her outfit as well, the smell of burnt flesh radiating off her.

She ignored you again, stepping closer. "You know, Katsuki's going to love me right? Once your out of the picture."

You couldn't help the slight laugh that slipped from your lips. Maybe Katsuki's cocky energy affected you more than you thought.

Her eyes glowed, "That funny to you?"

She was about arms length away at this point, you reached your arm slowly behind you, grabbing onto the handle of the pan. "Kinda," you shrugged.

"Such a cunt," the girl all but screeched, eyes glowing red. From the damage on the doorknob it was clear she had some sort of heat vision. Before she could burn hole through you, you picked up the pan and swung at her. Burning the side of her face and causing her to stumble. Keeping yourself aware of her eyes, you reeled the pan back and hit her straight on, letting the edge of the pan fall into her eyes.

She quickly started to grab at you, cornering you into the stove, blinded by your hits but still intent on hurting you. Digging her nails into your arm. Scratching as she managed to grab ahold of your hand during her flailing around, forcing it down onto the hot stove and burning you.

Filled with a new rush of adrenalin, you grabbed onto her hair with your free hand, yanking her off your hand and pushing her face into the stove. You felt horrible as she screamed, your and her burnt flesh tainting the air with a foul smell. Ruining the stove top in the process. You scrambled away from her after holding her down for a moment, grabbing the knife you used the the vegetables only 20 minutes ago. Almost slipping due to the wine that was spilt from her flailing around the stove.

You stole a glance at the clock, still five more minutes till Katsuki was home. All you had to do was not die in those five minutes.

The girl was standing back up when you looked back at her. Face half burnt as she held a crazed look in her eyes.

"That knife won't do anything," she pushed, "I've done my research, you hardly have a quirk. Another reason you aren't worthy of him."

You weren't interested in talking to her, you just waiting for her next move. "You know, we could end this here. Just stop fighting and Katsuki will talk to you," you suggested, throwing the offer out to distract her.

"With you in the picture, he won't talk to me," she said frustratedly. Her eyes lighting up again, having recovered from the hit to them.

She aimed for your stomach, you move to the side and crouched, kicking at her locked knees, cringing at the snap of it. The hit on your stomach burned through a lot, the pain causing you to hold a hand on yourself. While you were trained to survive, you couldn't handle it. The blood, the pain, the guilt that already worked its way into your bones. She fell down with a yelp. Pulling you with her, before she could get her other hand on you, you stabbed one hand through a cabinet. You stood up as straight as possible, pressing your slipper covered foot onto her head, forcing her to face the cabinet and away from you. Placing your other foot onto her free hand so she couldn't grab at you.

You wheezed, clutching both hands at your side now, pain getting to you. The girl was crying now, "My face! He won't love me if I look deformed." Her heat vision flickered on and off, burning a hole through the bottom cabinet. Slowly destroying your home with Katsuki.

"Shut up," you hissed, stepping on her hand harder.

The injury was getting to you, it was mostly cauterized but her heat vision burned a good depth into your side.

Katsuki kicked the door fully open, snapping his head to look at you. You most of looked crazy. Wearing his shirt from high school, barely visible shorts, fuzzy Deku themed slippers and standing above a very injured girl while bleeding from the wound of your side.

He stepped towards you, lifting you off the girl and making you sit on the floor next to the door. "Cops were already called by the way," he answered your question before you thought of it. "They'll be up here soon." He walked back to the girl who was panting now, going into shock from the pain, something you think you shared with her. He cuffed her quickly, making her quirk shut off. You couldn't be more thankful that he wore his hero outfit home.

With the girl contained, he walked back to you, "Is it just your side?"

You nodded your head aggressively, in too much pain to form words. He lifted the side of your shirt, wincing before putting it back down. Moving to pick you up and carry you.

"I need to get you to the hospital," he claim.

"What about that girl?" you forced out, sucking in a deep breath after. Eyes getting fuzzy as you looked at him.

"She tired herself out," he confirmed, the girl passed out and you felt like doing the same. Eyes blinking without any of your control.

"Kats?"

"What?"

"It hurts," you were only speaking to stay awake, not wanting to scare him anymore then you knew he was.

"You'll be okay, I promise," his voice waivered as he moved through the hallways, you didn't even know where you were at this point. The background slowly turning into black until you blinked the rest of the image away.

---

Everything was too bright, too loud, too stale when you woke up. You couldn't even open your eyes but you were overwhelmed. You're mouth lacked any taste besides meticalic. Muffled voices came from somewhere in front of you, a room away likely. You braced yourself heavily before opening your eyes. Seeing Katsuki in a chair pulled up to your bedside, book in his left hand as his right hand held onto yours. Flipping a page by placing the book into his lap and using his left to flip it. Never once letting go.

The light blurred everything but him, you could only put together the fact that you were in the hospital. He was wearing his glasses, the ones he hardly wore unless he was stress. It was always harder for him to read when stressed, to lessen the strain, he wore the glasses.

"Bright," is what you decided to croak out, voice rough from sleep and likely screaming from the events. Everything was blurred already.

His basically jumped out of skin at the sound of your voice, letting the book fall from his lap as he stood up straight. Looking over you.

"Lights off," is what you groaned next, unable to keep your eyes open in the blare of it for long.

"Fuck sorry," he rushed to turn the light off before returning to your side. "How are you?"

You only looked around now, happy to be without the strain of the light. Your right hand was covered in bandages, from where the girl slammed it against the stove. With how bad it hurt, you worried for her face. Your left side was also heavily wrapped. She burned entirely through you, you remember how burned your walls were before you passed out. Multiple cabinets having holes in them. "Our home is all messed up," you focused on.

Katsuki let out a laugh, it was his laugh that showed you were being ridiculous, when you looked back up at him with a frown he returned it, "You can't be serious?"

"I am," you pouted, looking down at your hands, "She fucked it all up."

"Yeah and you put a dent in her for it," he followed.

"She put a dent in me too," you changed you focus to your stomach. Acknowledging the hole in your side

He gripped tighter onto the railing at the top of your hospital bed. "I had our stuff moved out," he spoke, saying he won't let that happened again without any words.

"Where will we live?" you looked back up at him.

"I bought it on a whim, the first day you were out," he looked apologetic, "I think you'll like it. Safer than that shithole."

You grabbed onto his hand, "Okay, anywhere is home with you."

"The drugs makin' ya loopy?" he smirk down at you, pointing fun at your cheesy line but holding onto your hand nonetheless, gripping on tighter.

"Maybe," you blushed, looking away for moment to think over the feeling. Drugs were definitely dampening the pain right now.

"How are you though? Took quite a hit," he looked at your stomach as well. It reminded you on how he first saw it, likely seeing straight through you. It's probably why he rushed you to the hospital right after.

"Hurts," you mumbled, not looking down but staring at him instead. Wanting your focus off the pain. Looking over how soft the glasses made him look. It was something you always wanted to admire but rarely got to. His face looked softer in the barely light room, just having the glow of the hallway lights shine in.

"Figures, you put up a fight."

"I almost died," you clarified.

"But you didn't," he was trying to focus on the positives, for both you and himself.

You recalled him saying the first day you were out earlier, "How long was I out?"

"Four days," he answered, "Not too long, you were just tired."

You hummed, "When can we go home?"

"I'd have to call the doctor in."

You nodded in permission for him to do so, letting him go alert them. With the quality of the room, you figured that he had you in a hero hospital.

The doctor walked in and asked you to stay an extra day, claiming a healing quirk will be able to help you before you left tomorrow. You reluctantly agreed, mainly from Katsuki cutting in and agreeing for you. It was obvious he felt guilt. From the way he held himself and the way he spoke.

When the doctor left, the two of you sat in silence. Soaking in each others presences.

"Is she okay?" you asked.

"Who?"

"Crazy bitch," you labeled her as.

He looked at you confused, "Yeah, in jail."

"So I didn't hurt her badly?" you were trying to relive some of the guilt.

"No, you did. Put a hole into her hand and burned her face," he confirmed, "Something you did to protect yourself."

"Then why do I feel bad?"

He sighed, grabbing at your hand again and looking you in your eyes, "Cause you always do, you'll probably feel guilty for a while. But trust me, you gave that bitch what she deserved and I'm so fuckin' glad you did."

"How's the press?" you switched topics. Not even remotely proud of yourself for burning a girl's face.

"Everything's settled, police still need your report though," he told you softly.

"Okay," you took in a deep breath, flinching at the pain going up your side. Ignoring Katsuki eyes looking at you in worry. Trying to patch your guilt away.

---

You peered through the apartment door after Katsuki unlocked it and walked through. Taking in the view of the apartment, a clear upgrade from the last. After kicking off your shoes you noticed the empty space to the right, a perfect spot for a living room. Windows from floor to ceiling and a sliding door to excess the balcony, with just enough space for a long wrap around couch to loop around. Snug in its own cube. The left side was a nicely sized kitchen with a dining table near the middle.

The security on the way up was worth the apartment, it was beautiful. It was a good sized apartment overall, perfect for you. There's a total of three bedrooms and three baths. You wondered for a moment about where Katsuki would choose his bedroom. Shoto also lived in this apartment complex, so you knew it was safe. The thought of Shoto's scar hurt your soul, he hated that scare and you gave a random girl the same if not worse.

"We need to buy new furniture for the living room," Katsuki cut into your thoughts.

"Why?" you turned to him confused, you didn't have a wrap around couch but he didn't know your ideas.

He coughed, knowing you hated the topic already, " Other one is burnt."

"Oh," you said sadly.

"I also can't get shit here until Tuesday. Takes a week for em," he barreled through the bad news, "You can look up a couch and I'll buy it."

"I already know the one I want," you looked back at the space, "I saw it Monday online, we can go check the stores to see if it's in stock? If not we can look."

"I don't think you should be doing all that walkin'," he furrowed his face in distaste.

"Too bad," you pushed past your injury, walking back outside the apartment after slipping your shoes on, "We have nowhere to sleep, we can get a couch and have a movie night. Wait, do we need a new TV?"

"Yeah, other one was shit anyway," he put his shoes on and followed you out reluctantly.

---

You pushed past all press, keeping your head down as you walked in front of Katsuki, his arms around you to keep from touching you. It was horrible, worse than it ever was. After your police statement was in, the press went crazy. Needing every detail possible. The entire furniture store had to shut down while you shopped, it made you thankful for Katsuki's job for once. He saved the owners before so they easily shut down for him. Finding your perfect couch was easy enough, wasn't the exact one you saw online but it was even better. While you found the couch, Katsuki got the TV, both set to be delivered to your apartment during the next three hours.

So you and Katsuki got lunch and stopped by his agency in the mean time, him needing to grab some paper work to go over the next few days. Kirishima's bright smile welcoming you the second you walked upstairs.

"Hey!" he greeted, arms stretched out for you. Hugging you gently. "How are you?" he held you back by your shoulders as he looked over you.

"Alright," you answered watching Katsuki walk into his office, "I hurt like a bitch though."

Kirishima laughed warmly, "No doubt, sorry that happened. What you did was super manly though."

You cringed, "I thought you left the manly thing in high school."

"I say it on rare occasions," he smiled down at you.

"Say what?" Katsuki asked as he closed his office behind him, joining you again.

"Manly," you answered, leaning into his space, feeling safe. He hummed in reply, smiling down at you briefly before looking back at Kirishima, crossing him arms.

"You got my patrols cover till Tuesday right?" Katsuki asked.

"Yeah, Denki, Sero, Mina, me and even Midoriya are all taking a chunk of your hours," Kirishima smiled brightly.

"Till Thursday?" you looked up confused, Katsuki hated time off.

Katsuki refused to look at you. LIstening as Kirishima talked, "You need a break and we got it covered, don't worry."

He rolled his eyes, "Send me every detail that happens, I'll be available if absolutely needed."

"Got it," Kirishima gave a toothy grin. Likely happy that he convince Katsuki to take time off in general. You weren't surprised at him being at the hospital, but taking a week off was unknown for him. Yet he seemed perfectly okay with it.

---

Once home, you noticed the fridge was fully stocked. Katsuki's premade meals filling the shelfs. Glad to see no fried rice. Fruit also filling the shelfs.

It was the first thing you went for when you got home, ignoring the wrapped up couch and TV and going for the food. Afterall, Katsuki would set up the TV fully. Needing to wall mount it.

With a premade meal in your hands, warm and ready to eat, you stood at the counter and watched him work.

"So I remember saying I'd do an interview with a truth quirk," you brought up after a while, Katsuki humming to continue from where we set up the TV. "How do I do that without giving up information?"

"Aizawa is probably willing to help, he'll monitor you and turn off the truth quirk person if they ask something sensitive. Still don't know why you said that," he answered, cursing at the TV when it didn't hook into the slot on the wall mount easily.

"Just want to clear my name," you took another bite of food as you watched him grin in victory at the TV being attached to the wall now. Him plugging it in and starting to log into all the streaming apps and everything.

You joined him after finishing your food, pushing a part of the couch into the spot you wanted. "The fuck are you doin?" he spun his head towards you at the sound of the couch moving. "I'll do it, just fuckin' point where to go."

After huffing at him, you stood in front of the TV, facing the couch and leading him to place each section of the couch. Cutting off the wrapping afterwards and sitting in front of the TV.

"What are we watching?" he called towards you, you were digging through the little amount of stuff that Katsuki pack for you two. It was clothes and blankets, all you'd need until Tuesday. It was already Saturday as well.

You plopped down a big blanket for you to share and sunk into the couch, "I don't know," you mumbled. Watching as he clicked onto your favorite movie right after.

"Hate when you say that," he grumbled.

"Yeah sure," you leaned into his side, wanting to be as close as possible to him. The scare of the break in still getting to you. He messed with his hand for a moment before laying his arm over your shoulders, pushing you closer to him. It was something both of you clearly needed. Just the warmth of the other.

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

@ldk3347 @suki0 @ez4ra @mithicakurogo @aomi04 @ellielover69 @minori-taiga1 @54fangirl @zoast32 @mushroomsneedystuff @kazuumii @snxwflwr @keiva1000 @thescarletwallflower @juicyfingers @atashiboba @ofcqdesi @americasass1942 @kaboomkayla @ilovedenk-i @iamyoursonly @albakugo @venusluvslove @fairiesgloss @limitedstar @i-bitch-you-bitch @drageonix24 @sweetpandabiscuitrebel @sinyaaa @xreiiss @oddball08 @imsuperawkward @lomlchi @anime-manga-fanatic @irlpadfoot @lord-goosifur @chocoyanchan @gollumsmygel @yuptha-tsme @icedemon1314 @alstrums @suki0 @yesiamrobbysimp @supersecretsamm @maeveorsomethinggg @ivuriexo @schniti-is-in-the-house @dumbbitchenergy17 @slaydispussaylikeademon @whydoyoucare866

(make sure your can be tagged, your blog might be hidden)

669 notes · View notes

gothgoblinbabe · 1 month

Text

Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You

(chapter 1/2)

(Logan Howlett x afab reader)

A/N: Yeah, the brain rot has reached a maximum and I've completely disregarded the consequences of a digital footprint! there's a couple descriptions of style of clothing/jewelry but you can imagine that as you please, also absolutely based off of "Babe Im Gonna Leave You" by Led Zeppelin bc idk somewhere in my delusions I think Logans a Zeppelin kinda guy and its what I've been listening to. For the sake of the plot, stick with me, you've got an imaginary ex bf and his random name I picked is gonna be Danny and he suuuucks real hard okay? okay and I need you to pretend dear lovely reader that you like led zeppelin if you don't 💔[holding your face ever so gently and smooching ur forehead] and I've seen only xmen origins, x-men, X2, and Deadpool x wolverine so pls pls forgive me if some stuff doesn't canonically fit. This is kind of cringe but I wrote too much of it to get rid of it just bare with me I beg of u and it was so long I had to split it into two parts

Summary: Meeting the infamous Wolverine got you roped into a liiiitle more than what you bargained for

Warnings: swearing, you have telekinesis and telepathy (cause that's cool, c'mon), mild angst, suggestive stuff kinda, mentions of cheating (Logan does not cheat on u I pinkie promise), Logan calls you kid but you're not actually a child lol, you're a good bit younger than him but also so is anyone else who isn't borderline immortal

Word Count: 4K

Pt 2!

[credit for text post dividers here and here]

There had been muttering here and there between the students at the academy that Wolverine was coming back after a few years on his own, confirmed when Marie recognized the motorcycle now parked in the driveway of the mansion.

"Logan!"

He was immediately wrapped into a hug by Marie at the door, dropping his bags to the floor.

"Hey, kid, miss me?"

"Maybe," she smiled sweetly, tucking the white strands of hair behind her ears.

"Long time no see, huh?" Ororo's voice interrupted from behind her, earning a hug from Logan.

"Any one else around?" he questioned, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder again.

"Scott and Jean are around here somewhere, Charles as well. Oh, and there's a couple new faces you haven't met," she responded, smiling at the way Marie's eyes lit up at the chance to mention what she had been meaning to tell Logan.

Marie gasped and said your name, grabbing Logan's arm in excitement, "you have got to meet her. She joined us a couple of months ago, I think you'll really like her. She's kind of been like...our you, when you've been gone."

He quirked an eyebrow at that, looking between the both of them for an explanation as to what that was supposed to mean.

"You'll see," Ororo chuckled lightly, "oh, you will see."

"She's here now, I think, you should go introduce yourself to her!"

Logan had swiftly caught onto Marie's adorable attempt to play cupid and gave her a nod, "maybe when I settle in, okay, kid?"

She nodded in agreement and both her and Ororo watched him walk off further down the corridor.

"How do you think it will go when they meet?" the later of the two asked earnestly once he was out of sight.

"Well," Marie paused for a moment, thinking, "they'll be inseparable or absolutely hate each other."

Ororo nodded in agreement almost immediately, holding in a small laugh.

Much later in the evening, Logan had been beckoned into the study along with Ororo, Marie, Bobby, you, Jean and Scott by Charles.

He had been the last to enter, eyes immediately settling on your unfamiliar frame stood next to Marie with your back against the wall. You had plenty of rings adorning your fingers and necklaces dangling in front of your chest in the same kind of fashion he'd seen in those magazines with the Harley biker girls. You looked a little like one of them too, in well fitting jeans adorned with a belt, a band shirt and some chunky boots, except you were very much real and not on glossy paper.

"Oh! Logan!" Marie exclaimed upon noticing his arrival, beckoning him over with her hand. That turned your attention to him and he felt like the wind may have been knocked out of him when your eyes met his. You were far prettier than any of the girls he'd seen in any magazine.

"This is her," Marie whispered to Logan when he approached and nudged his arm, referring to when she had told him about you earlier.

"This is Logan," Marie said to you, gesturing towards him and leaning a little closer to you to whisper something he wouldn't catch, "and he's single, by the way."

A grin was plastered on her face when she pulled away and you rolled your eyes, "Marie - "

"I know, I know, too soon, but I just thought that was very good information for you to know," she raised her hands and stepped away a little, still intent on watching how the two of you interact for the first time.

Logan extended a hand for you to shake and you did the same. Your hands were small in his and your skin soft to the touch. It was almost hard for him to drop your grip when he did, nervous that he'd hold it even a second too long.

Nervous. Women had rarely ever made him nervous in the hundred - something years he'd been alive, and yet he could feel his heart pounding in his ears when you ran your hands through your hair to push it out of your face.

"Nice to meet you," he finally spoke, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

This may have been a good opportunity to try out your powers a little, concentrate hard enough on the handsome stranger's face to know what exactly was playing out behind his staring gaze, but you resisted the urge to do what you considered a tad bit violating.

"Same here," you responded at last, averting your gaze for just a moment to avoid inadvertently doing exactly what you had just decided you wouldn't.

Marie and Ororo had studied the small interaction between the two of you - of course - waiting for something more to happen, only to be disappointed when the both of you nodded courtly and turned away from each other.

"Well, that's not good. He'd be on her like a dog already - " Ororo started under her breath.

"No, no, I just think..." Marie interrupted, narrowing her eyes between the two of you, "I think they just need to get to know each other."

"Honey..."

"I'm telling you, I just feel like they'd be good together, they just need a chance to get to know each other!"

"Do you really think she's ready to get with another guy?" Ororo nodded her head in your direction, lowering her voice, "after all that stuff Danny pulled?"

Marie grimaced at the mention of one of the professors names, shaking her head in mild disgust, "have you seen him lately? always coming up to her in the halls and stuff, it's sad - for him, I mean."

Before either of them could further debate the topic, Charles gained everyone's attention to discuss a series of tasks he'd assigned to you all. As he spoke, you only tuned in once you heard your name.

"You are the one I'd like to send out to complete that with Daniel."

"Could, uh, can I do it with someone else? or have him do it alone, or something?"

Logan caught the confused look Jean shot your way, tilting her head before she spoke, "You don't want to go with Danny? What happened, I thought the two of you -"

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, scowling, "uh-uh. Hell no. He...uh, I'll tell you about it later."

You had realized the sudden vulnerability you'd found yourself experiencing in a room full of eyes on you and cleared your throat, attempting to change the subject.

"I can hang back and keep an eye on the kids, I don't mind."

"They do love you," Ororo chimed in, "and we need someone to stay back to watch them anyway."

"They only like her so much because she allows them to break the rules," Scott remarked, earning a nudge in the arm from Jean.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, "Scott, the thing with the kids in your room was one time and it was an accident - "

"Was it? Because one of them wrote 'asshole' on my bathroom mirror with sharpie."

"They're kids, they do that kind of stuff!"

"was that really one of the kids?"

You tucked your lower lip under your teeth in an attempt to smother a laugh. Logan almost immediately did the same when you darted your eyes around the room in a guilty attempt to avoid eye contact.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me - " Scott started but Charles interrupted, holding up a hand.

"Alright, the both of you - enough. You," he continued, gesturing towards you, "may stay back with the children. Please do not allow them into anyone's personal quarters and I would advise you to hide the permanent markers for the time being, away from the children and perhaps yourself."

You nodded and hung your head low to hide the reappearing smile across your face. Logan stared inadvertently from then on, watching you twist your rings around your fingers and focusing on you intently when you spoke every now and then. When you were all dismissed by Charles and filed out of the room, you and Marie walked ahead of most of the group, almost out of ear shot.

Logan heard Jean's hushed voice behind him as she leaned into Scott, "so...what do you think happened? With Danny?"

"Who the hell is this Danny guy?" he finally asked, turning over his shoulder to interrogate the two of them.

"Well," Jean whispered your name, looking ahead to be sure you hadn't caught their conversation, "it's her boyfriend. Or was, I guess. They had a thing for awhile but they stopped hanging around each other all the sudden and she can't even stand to hear his name - she hasn't told me what it's about yet."

Logan simply hummed in acknowledgment, turning back ahead and finding his gaze caught on the sway of your hips as you walked.

"Oh no," he heard Ororo huff beside him, almost immediately following her gaze to see a guy he didn't recognize slip behind you and put an arm around your waist. Too far out of ear shot to hear the context, he watched you squirm out of the young mans grip and shake your head as you kept walking.

"Is it bad I want to get closer to hear what they're saying?" Ororo muttered, looking to the other three in her proximity.

"It's not our business," Jean reminded her.

"So, that's him?" Logan asked, gesturing to the guy still on your heels like a puppy.

"uh - huh," Ororo answered, frowning as she watched Danny make another pathetic attempt to put his arm around you.

When the two of you stopped at the far end of the hall and you told Marie it was okay to leave you, Logan, Ororo, Scott and Jean all turned the corner to the closest hallway.

"Oh, I know It's bad but I have got to know what lame excuse he's got this time," Ororo shook her head, stopping just around the corner to eavesdrop.

"Ororo - " Jean sighed, placing a gentle hand on her friend's arm, "come on."

"They're in the hallway! it's not like I'm standing outside a door," she reasoned, hushing them after so that the only voices hard were yours and Danny's.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm sorry - "

"Danny, many times do I have to tell you I don't care? Why won't you just leave me be?"

You sounded exasperated, your voice slightly muffled when you rubbed your face with your hands.

"What do you think he did?" Scott chimed in in a hushed town, now fully invested in the dialogue.

Logan was still stood there, though he wasn't too sure why. He could have and should have kept walking - let the three of them do their weird detective work - but instead found himself leaned against the wall with the rest of them.

"I love you, you know that, sweetheart, I - "

"ugh, don't call me that. You gross me the hell out, you know that?"

Both Jean and Ororo made almost the same shocked expression.

"oh, it has to be bad," Jean hissed, frowning at the venom in your tone.

"Tell me you're not still in love with me, you know you can't, we - " Danny's voice began again and yours cut him short with a sense of finality in your tone.

"Danny. I stopped being in love with you the day I walked in on you fucking another other girl."

Jean's hands flew to her mouth to muffle a shocked gasp. Scott stood with his arms crossed, his face in a grimace.

"ooh, that is bad," Ororo whispered just as a door slammed.

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, following everyone else as they continued their path down the hall again. This Danny kid had to be a real idiot.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄ * ⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Weeks had passed and you shared small talk with Logan every now and then, sometimes making snarky comments here and there - though more often than not together and at Scott's expense. Funnily enough, the ability to piss Scott off so much made Logan like you even more. Maybe Marie was right, you kind of are like him.

You walked alongside him down the corridor one afternoon, intending to fulfill Ororo's request for the both of you to check in on some of the newer students.

"So, do you always do your hair like that?" you raised your eyebrows up at him, eyeing the peaks in his hair.

"Yeah. What, you don't like it?" He grinned, expecting you to make some smart remark about it.

"No, not that," you giggled, "it's like lil' cat ears, it's cute."

He looked down at you quizzically, stopping in his tracks.

"cat ears?"

"mm-hm. You're like a big kitty."

You bit down another giggle, reaching up boldly to touch his hair.

He gently swatted your hand away, still with a small grin on his face.

"Don't call me that."

"Big kitty?"

"Yes."

"Okay, kitty meow - meow."

He narrowed his eyes as you turned to continue walking in an attempt to hide the huge smile plastered on your cheeks that threatened to transform into a rather loud laugh.

"Uh-huh, whatever. You better not let anyone else hear you call me that," he huffed as he caught up to you rather easily.

As you were about to make another retort, your smile dropped at the sight of a familiar and unfriendly face that had come from around a corner.

"Christ," you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration, rubbing your forehead at the sight of your ex-boyfriend.

"Hey," Logan leaned down a little, nudging you gently, "I'm here, you're good. You're fine, don't worry about him. It's just us, alright? Walk past him like you don't even see him."

Though he'd be embarrassed to admit and absolutely deny it if anyone asked, he'd unfortunately (for himself) harbored a crush on you that only took a couple weeks to develop. He hadn't even really gotten the chance to know you yet, though that was precisely why he was glad about moments like these. He wanted to, even if he felt like a school kid with a playground crush.

You had simply nodded at his words, allowing him to place a gentle hand on your upper back to guide you down the hall with him. Even through the layer of a jacket and t-shirt, you could feel the warmth of his hand on you.

Logan remembered that moment in the hall on the first day you'd met, but never pestered you for details about what the hell went on before he got back. He figured when and if you wanted to tell him, that was up to you.

Keeping your eyes straight ahead, it took what felt like years to pass your ex-boyfriend. When you finally did, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, until his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"That's my shirt."

You whipped your head around, feeling Logan slip his arm a little further around you as a protective reflex.

"What?" you furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your attire. The shirt, a tad oversized and well worn, was so familiar that you had completely forgotten it once did belong to him.

"I want it back," he spoke again, crossing his arms.

"Do you really want it back?"

You were beyond fed up with his pestering at this point, already having decided what may make the message clear.

"Yes."

"Okay. Fine."

You pulled away from Logan and slipped off your jacket, turning around to hand it to him. He gave you a confused look, hesitantly taking it out of your hands. In a matter of seconds, you turned back around and tugged the t-shirt up and over your head, tossing it directly at Danny's chest. You turned back and took your jacket from Logan's hands, zipping it far enough to cover your bra. In the few seconds you had stood facing him, he had done his best to keep his eyes away from your body and failed miserably, looking up after to see the asshole a few feet away already glaring at him.

"What, you're just gonna walk around like that? And what are you doing hanging out with him anyway, don't you know he - "

You groaned at the sound of Danny's voice again, gently tugging Logan by the hand in the opposite direction as you began to walk away, "yap, yap, yap - just shut the fuck up."

Logan couldn't help the smirk plastered across his face as you continued to walk, finally turning a corner. Before you could apologize to him for having to awkwardly stand witness to that, Scott's voice echoed from the stairway above you.

"Hey, Charles is looking for you two. He says he has something he needs you to take care of, he didn't say what."

"Thanks for the specifics, Scott," you replied sarcastically, "but we're supposed to check on - "

"I know," he interrupted, "I got Marie and Bobby to cover you. You're welcome, by the way."

You rolled your eyes and looked back to Logan, dreading what exactly it was Charles wanted from you.

That landed you where you were the next morning, heaving your bags into the back of Logan's truck.

"If we have to take the truck like two states over, can I at least drive?"

The plane being needed for another assignment that Jean, Scott and Ororo were assigned left the two of you with Logan's truck. You'd been asked to retrieve a rare mechanical piece needed for the construction of some new device; you'd only been half-listening when Charles started to explain the details, lost in thought after he'd mentioned it would require the two of you to sleep out overnight.

Man, that had made your chest feel tight. It had been almost physically painful trying to swallow down every tell that you really liked him for the past few weeks and now you had no choice than to be each others only company for nearly 2 days.

"Yeah, in your dreams, kid," Logan scoffed playfully and brought you back to reality, dangling the keys in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at the keyring he began to spin around his finger. In a split second, the jangle of the metal could be heard as you snatched them from his hand with only a focused thought.

You caught them in your raised palm and tilted your head, a terribly smug smile across your cheeks.

"Looks like my dreams came true, huh?" you teased, walking past a still mildly distraught Logan to get into the drivers side.

"If you dent it, I'll kill ya," he warned as he finally slid into the passenger seat, watching your every move as you started the engine and carefully reversed out of the garage.

"Uh-huh, sure," you retorted sarcastically, "I'm terrified of the kitty claws."

"What did I say about calling me that?"

"Calling you what?" you feigned ignorance, fumbling with the knob on the stereo to change the station as your eyes stayed glued to the road.

"And don't mess with everything, kid, you'll end up breaking something. She's on old girl, you gotta - "

"Dude," you interrupted, simultaneously cranking down your window and fishing a pair of sunglasses out of his center console, "I know how to drive, chill out."

"Dude," he mocked, "this truck is probably almost as old as you, you gotta be careful."

You rolled your eyes under the shades of the worn aviators you had slipped onto your nose, simply nodding and continuing to flip through stations.

"Pick one and stick with it, will you?"

"Ooh, is someone mad I got the keys?"

Before he could say something in response, you gasped at sound of the song playing on the station you had just switched to, twisting the knob almost as far as it could go.

Logan recognized the familiar thump of "babe I'm gonna leave you" by Led Zeppelin, furrowing his eyebrows when you began to nod your head and sing along.

"You like Led Zeppelin?" he nearly had to shout over the music, leaning in to you a little further.

"Yeah," you responded, reaching over to turn the music down just enough for you to hear each other and glancing at him momentarily, "How come you're looking at me like that?"

He unfurrowed his eyebrows and shrugged, keeping his gaze on the road ahead as he spoke, " just never pegged you for a Zeppelin kind of girl, I guess."

"No? What's that supposed to mean?"

You were smiling again and it was excruciatingly difficult for him not to stare when you looked so good in the spot he usually sat with his old sunglasses on.

"Didn't think you had good taste in music."

That made you giggle and you shook your head, turning the stereo back up to a booming volume.

He watched you tap your fingers on the steering wheel to the drums as you continued to drive, occasionally moving to push your windswept hair out of your face. The morning sun shining through your open window highlighted your features perfectly and Logan sighed without a thought, unheard over the music. Jesus, he had it bad.

You could feel his stare in your peripheral vision every time he looked to you and it felt far warmer than the sun beating down on you from the opposite direction. You truly rarely ever used your developing skill of telepathy, feeling it was only justified when absolutely necessary to obtain information, but his burning gaze nearly had you veering off the road at times and his prior answer to the question of why he was looking at you that way wasn't too convincing.

With a deep breath, already wondering if it was a mistake, you kept your eyes focused to the road but gradually concentrated on the man beside you. Sometimes people's thoughts would appear as inner dialogue, other times as imagined scenarios, daydreams or visuals. You were confused, then, when you only saw an image of yourself as you were now. If you concentrated too hard, your own thoughts would transfer to Logan's mind and it would be humiliatingly obvious that you had been poking around in his consciousness and so you tried to clear your mind and try again, assuming your own mind was too preoccupied with yourself to concentrate properly.

Still, you could only see the image of yourself driving from the perspective of the passengers seat, one hand on the wheel and the other in your hair as you propped your elbow on the door. This time, though, you could hear the accompanying echo of Logan's voice over the hum of the music you had tuned out.

Is her hair always like that? I like it that way. Pretty.

You swallowed hard, fidgeting with the hair that was between your fingers. It's a compliment - innocent enough, and undeniably kind of sweet. You felt guilty then for probing his thoughts and nearly shook yourself out of it, only to realize the image in Logan's mind was no longer of just your profile. He was thinking about your legs, thighs squished against the seat of the truck.

Fuck

You nearly choked on your own saliva, clearing your throat at the echo of his voice again and immediately withdrawing yourself from his mind.

"You okay?" Logan spoke aloud, putting a gentle hand on your upper arm.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you lied, trying with every fiber of your being to just keep all focus on the road. You knew you shouldn't have done that. It was just a thought, though, nothing said aloud to change anything between the two of you, and so you pretended the best you could that you hadn't heard or seen a thing.

About eight hours, a handful of dad rock albums and a stop to switch seats later, you finally pulled into the parking lot of the nearest motel you had found didn't have a highlighted "no vacancy" sign.

"If there's fucking bed bugs in here, I will never let you hear the end of it," you warned from the passenger seat.

"I think you'd talk my ear off till the day I die anyway," he scoffed, shifting the truck into park and pulling the keys from the ignition.

"You won't die for another hundred-something years."

"Exactly my point, honey."

You rolled your eyes and slipped out of the truck as he did, pretending the nickname hadn't made your face burn. You both grabbed your belongings and once inside you looked around the small lobby as Logan checked you in, impressed with how surprisingly clean the place seemed to be.

"Hey, is that okay?"

Logan's voice took your attention from the painting on the wall you'd been inspecting and you raised your eyebrows.

"Huh?

"Uh, there's a room left but it's only got one bed."

Your face dropped and you looked between him and the poor kid behind the counter who already looked nervous as all hell.

"You're kidding."

"We can keep driving, but we've already been on the road all day and I don't think there's another place around here for a good few miles."

He was much more calm than you expected him to be and you exhaled, thinking of the literal pain in the ass caused by sitting in the car for so many hours.

"Ugh, fine."

A/N: I had to split this in two because it was so long but If anyone likes this at all I will post da other part cause I like spewing my brain rot on the internet <3

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic

493 notes · View notes

everythingne · 10 months

Text

christmas in monaco - cl16 [2]

Trying to even bring up boys with Max ends up in a fight. You and Charles have a heart-to-heart. Daniel and Carlos help you devise a plan.

warnings/notes: comparing Max to Jos during the fight, mentions of shit parents, one (1) jab at Kelly, the chapter is serious and then Daniel shows up and that goes to shit, the last bit of set up before i go full scooby-do search party through the doors on you guys

verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend

prev | next

You know you're in for it when you open the door to Max's apartment, groceries tucked lazily in one arm and coffees in the other and he's staring at you.

"What?" You ask as if you have no idea what he wants. You can see Penelope laying on the floor, coloring while some cartoon you've never heard of plays, and thus immediately switch to Dutch.

"[Why do you look like you're mad at me?]" You say, walking over to where he sits on the kitchen island, plopping down the groceries, and handing him the coffee you'd bought. Kelly's off doing god knows what today, leaving the two of you to watch Penelope before you return to your apartment next door.

"[Who is he?]" Max asks, taking the coffee with a nod of a thank you as he helps you organize the groceries. You knew posting that picture would cause this conversation, you and Charles had spoken about easing Max into the fact you were dating at all, and maybe it wasn't the best idea. Max had been fiercely protective over you since you were kids, you don't know why you assumed he'd stop now that you were adults.

"[I haven't told anyone yet. We're keeping it hush.] Okay?" You speak softly, setting down some things for dinner. Simple pasta, since Penelope had picked that over pizza--as long as you made her meatballs as well. You pluck the ingredients from the mess of other groceries, making sure you have everything as Max leans back in his seat.

"[Oh, so I'm just anyone now?]" Max lifts his hands in agitation, the same accusatory tone of your father's ringing in Max's voice. You swallow your vitriol, crossing your arms taught over Charles' hoodie you wear as you cross the room, then you tug up the red sleeves of the hoodie as you set down the ingredients for dinner by the stove.

"[Max, come on.]" You urge, hoping he'll drop it. But he's as stubborn as your father and as impatient as him too.

"[No, I feel like I have a right to be upset over this, how long have you two been seeing each other?]" His pointed glare at you as you whisk out a pan from under the stove makes your skin burn hot. You pause, mouth opening and closing as you slowly slide the pot onto the stove. If you say two years, does that link you to Charles too quickly? But if you lie, will Max see right through you? And you can't dodge the question, not here, not now.

"A couple months." You say. Yeah, twenty-four of them, then you scoff when Max makes a face, "[Stop acting like a child.]"

"[And how come Danny knows?]"

"[He found out on accident, and honestly I remember now why I didn't wanna tell you.]" You huff, filling the pot with water and clicking the burner on. You tie your hair up lazily, looking over at Max as your crack-open fridge next to the stove and then turn to grab the ingredients to make the sauce, "[you're treating me like a toddler.]"

"[You're my baby sister, I feel like I am kinda... obligated, to be concerned?]" Max's voice is sharp as you start to whip up the same sauce you've been making since you were fourteen. Max stands up and crosses the room to stand next to you, "[And I'm not treating you like a toddler. It's my job to protect you as your brother.]"

"[I'm a year younger than you! I'm not a baby, you just don't trust me, which is fucking stupid because I'm not the one dating a woman almost a decade older than me!]" You huff as you turn to Max, who tries to stammer some defense to his situation but you don't give him a chance to, "[and I don't know why you think I can't date drivers, by the way, you trust those guys with your life but not my heart?]"

"[Those guys are cheaters, I don't want you hurt.]" Max runs a hand through his hair, watching as you continue making the sauce. You can tell, just by his eyes, that he's thinking of the times you used to make him pasta after races growing up. You try to not think about the past.

"Who?" You ask, looking at the sauce and burning the red color into your retinas, mentally praying that he's not catching onto you.

"Lando, probably." Max huffs, stepping back, "Charles."

"Charles?" You hum, hating that you come to his defense immediately and not Lando's, "[The guy who just announced the girl he's been dating for two years?]"

"[He's done some interesting things.]" Max says in his defense and you can't help but laugh. You knew before Charles met you he had been a bit of a womanizer, or 'man-whore' as your friends so kindly said. But with you, it was like Charles was a brand new person.

"[You're so overdramatic.]" You deadpan, turning to add the noodles to the sauce and Max scoffs.

"[I'm trying to protect you so you don't end up with someone like Dad!]"

"[You haven't even met my boyfriend yet and you're assuming the worst! Why are you being such a dick, Max!?]" You slam the spoon down and then flinch, remembering Penelope is in the other room the second you do it. It takes a few seconds, and then her little head peeks around the doorway.

"Are you fighting?" She asks sweetly and you shake your head.

"No, Penny, it's fine." You try to smile at her, but Max seems to have taken another level of offense to everything.

"Y/n. [Go fuck off to your mystery boy, why don't you?]" Max takes the spoon off the counter. His cold shoulder isn't something new, but it's the way he says it, sounding like the harsh whispers your father would pass at you in public, makes you swallow hard. You walk across the room, grabbing your purse and car keys off the table before kneeling down in front of Penelope and kissing her hairline.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay honey? Sorry if I scared you when I slammed the spoon down." You squeeze her in a tight hug, closing your eyes as you feel Max's eyes burn into the back of your head.

"Okay, Tante Y/n." She smiles, throwing her tiny arms around you, "And it's okay, I thought you dropped it."

You step back, kissing her hairline again, before getting up and leaving the apartment in a breeze, coffee forgotten. Your hands fumble with your phone, finding Charles' contact and sending him a quick message as you try and calm your anger.

You have a spare key, and as you jiggle your phone and keys in your hands to find it, the door swings open and two arms wrap around you. Laughing softly, you bury your face into the fabric of Charles' sweater and sigh heavily. He's warm, smelling of the usual cedar cologne you'd bought for him a while back. He also smells weakly like his hair products and if you try to search for it, your perfume lingers on his neck.

"Hi, amour." You murmur into the fabric and he bends at the knee enough to scoop you up to carry you the few inches inside before popping you back on your feet as he uses one hand to push the door shut.

"Hi." He says back, stepping back and squishing your cheeks in his hands and peppers soft kisses to your hairline, "Sorry about Max."

"It's fine. He's just being overprotective again." You kick off your shoes and follow Charles to the living room, flopping down on his couch and burying your head in your hands.

"You know if..." Charles sighs, hand coming through his hair and then pausing as he scratches at his neck, "If it's gonna be easier for you, I can try and talk to him?"

"No... I should tell him, he's my brother. I just don't think now is a good time?" You say as Charles pops down next to you on the couch and you shift so you can lay his head in your lap as you kick your feet onto the coffee table to rest, "he just seems so... agitated."

"Because you're dating?"

"He's afraid I'm gonna end up with someone like Dad. That's the problem. He doesn't trust anyone with me and gives them no chances. He thought Jolie was a drug dealer for like, six months!"

"She's a teacher?" Charles turns to you and you can't help but just laugh because that's Max.

"I know!" You huff.

Silence lulls for a while, and then Charles sits up and grabs you to unceremoniously pull you against his chest as he lays you both down on the couch. your face squishes against his hands as he peppers soft kisses to your hairline, the apples of your cheeks, and your nose, before pressing one long kiss to your lips. Pulling back just enough to murmur,

"I wanna spend Christmas with you, properly, this year." He says against your lips, your eyes fluttering before he presses his thumb to your pulse to draw you back enough to make eye contact, "I want to be able to post you, to talk about you with everyone because you're so fucking amazing, and I wanna meet your siblings and your mom and go on holidays with you guys and have our moms meet because Maman and Arthur both adore you and..."

Charles drawls off for a moment, hands coming up to cup your face as he thumbs along the warm, delicate skin of your cheeks, "I want, one day, to be able to get down on one knee and give you my whole heart."

Your pulse rams under his touch, cheeks dusted red, eyes wide but happily smiling as he leans in to lock in a long kiss, then he peppers some pecks on the corners of your mouth.

"The problem is, I can't do anything without Max knowing about us. Two years of us dating without telling him is already bad enough and he's been in my life since we were kids--even if we absolutely hated each other at first." Charles sighs, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before letting you rest your head on his chest, "I feel terrible he doesn't know."

"But you know what he said." You sigh, closing your eyes against the warm fabric of his sweater--the grey one you'd bought for him a while back.

"I know, but we're either going to tell Max, or Max will find out." Charles sighs, "I prefer the first if I'm honest."

Even as you nod in agreement, you feel sick. The bubble of you and Charles had been safe for so long, that you weren't sure if you wanted to let Max in. But he was your brother, a year and fifteen days older, and you had told him everything up to this point. You'd be lying if you said you didn't also feel like shit for keeping Max out of the loop, but yet you feel like you have to.

"How'd Daniel find out?" Charles asks after a moment and he looks at you with those big eyes that make your heart thrum under your skin, love, and adoration seep from him and you don't understand at that moment how he could've ever been a womanizer when he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars just for him.

And then a small smirk peeks across his lips, "Because I know how Carlos did--"

"That one was your fault, Leclerc." You poke his chest, "Not locking the driver's room door was stupid."

"It was! But we're lucky it was Carlos."

"We're lucky we were only kissing."

"[We could've done more.]" He teases, making sure to really ramp up his accent as he speaks French so it's a bit harder for you to follow along, but you get the gist and whack his chest.

"Daniel saw me leaving, he was in the area doing media stuff." You explain, "I guess he saw me leaving."

"Oh, I thought it was because he moved in downstairs last week." Charles hums and you snap your eyes open and exclaim--

"What?!"

"Mhm. And Carlos lives in this building too." Charles looks over at you from where his eyes had been burning a hole in the ceiling, "Mon chéri, a lot of the drivers live in Monaco."

"I'm gonna lose it." You grumble, then pause, sitting up so you're hovering over Charles, one of his hands slides to support your waist immediately so you don't slide off.

"Carlos and Danny know." You say.

"Mhm."

"And... Carlos is your best friend--"

"--Arguably--"

"--and Danny is arguably Max's best friend, behind you."

"Uh-huh."

"...What if we ask them for help?"

"Absolutely not am I asking those two," Charles says and you huff.

"Come on! We clearly can't do it ourselves!" You exclaim, bouncing yourself on him with your arms, making him grunt as your body weight hits him.

"Daniel will tell us to do some sort of skit and Carlos will say for us to just say it!" Charles grips your waist and pulls you closer, "I don't need their shit advice."

"Maybe we need their guidance, and I promise it won't be bad! I promise! We can invite them over, have some wine and dinner, and voice our concerns--maybe they know something about Max we don't! Maybe they'll know he won't be mad or something."

"Y/n." He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Charles!" You whine, "Look, if they give us shit advice, we kick them out and go back to the drawing board."

"Fine. But I'm holding you to this."

"I'm going to kick Danny out in about five seconds." You hiss to Charles and he laughs.

"Dude!" Danny shouts from where he sits on the floor, "I'm just saying, Max likes Charles. We all see it!"

"Believe me." Carlos hums into his wine, "There's a reason that... what is it... Lestappen shit is so popular. He's not gonna be mad its Charles. If it was like... me? Probably. Charles and Daniel are probably the only two drives you could date."

"And Yuki." Charles hums, "I don't think Yuki could do wrong."

"He might stab someone with the chef's knives he got for Secret Santa." Daniel points out and you snort.

"But you seriously have nothing to worry about." Carlos nods, "Honestly, you both are so stressed about it, I don't think either of you can think clearly."

You huff, "I feel like I can be stressed though. Max will either be fine with it or hate me forever."

"No, not forever, étoile." Charles hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he draws you close.

"I don't think Max can physically hate you. I think he'd explode." Daniel hums, "Remember when you were sick and he thought you were ignoring him but you just literally couldn't hear out of one ear and he almost had a crisis?"

"You remember that?" You blink at Daniel. That had been only shortly after you'd met Daniel, the first race of that season. You were so delirious you couldn't remember most of the weekend, but you remember Christian and Daniel holding that over Max's head for weeks after.

"I do because he almost lost his mind for like four hours thinking you were mad at him and ignoring him. And then you rolled over and woke up from your nap." Daniel finishes the unceremonious story and Charles and Carlos burst into high-pitched laughter.

"He didn't think to like, shake her shoulder?" Carlos asks between laughter, finishing off his wine and grabbing a bottle from the little makeshift bowl cooler you put on the floor. He pours himself another glass and then tops everyone else off before putting the bottle back.

"He knew she was sick, and Y/n specifically told him not to touch her or go near her while she was sick." Daniel explains, thanking Carlos before taking a sip of the wine, "It was ridiculous. And then he made her promise that she wasn't actually mad."

"It was pretty funny." You grin and Carlos nods.

"So then Daniel is right, Max can't stand you being angry at him. So he can't be angry with you. If he is, he's a hypocrite, and fuck him, obviously." Carlos raises his glass in mock toast as sarcasm bleeds through his sentence halfway through, "But I can't say he won't be mad. He might be furious when he finds out, you have explained how protective Max can be, but I think he'll feel better knowing it's Charles."

"Charles is like his best friend," Daniel hums, "if you're dating someone he trusts I'm sure he'll feel better about it."

"Didn't we just make this point?" Carlos turns to Daniel who nods.

"Yeah, but it's a good one, so make it again."

"Max trusts Charles so it's fine," Carlos says and you laugh, waving your hands.

"Okay, so how the fuck do we do this?"

The plan is simple but effective. And it takes a few words to describe; be exactly the same, but a bit less secretive.

And the best way to start that is via social media. Once again.

y/nverstappen made a new post! ↴

liked by carlossainz, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 412k others..

y/nverstappen: he called me his star <3

joliejolie: CYOOTIE PATOOTIE WHHAAAT

user1: caption??? GUYS?? CAPTION??

maxverstappen: i still don't know who

charlesleclerc: thanks for using all my film

charlesleclerc made a new post! ↴

liked by ynverstappen, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 612k others...

charlesleclerc: never getting rid of this camera.

user2: get me someone who will do this for me.

danielricciardo: DUDE THERE ARE KIDS HERE.

⤷ landonorris: im covering oscar and logans eyes

⤷ logansargeant: yeah ok.

⤷ charlesleclerc: ill get worse

⤷ oscarpiastri: pls no

⤷ carlossainz: ill buy u wine if you do

⤷ danielricciardo: DONT ENCOURAGE THAT WE DONT NEED A FUCKING HOMICIDE ON OUR HANDS??? CARLOS???

⤷ ynverstappen: why is DANIEL on damage control??

user1: why is this the sweetest thing ever?

ynverstappen.jpg: make a jpg coward

⤷ charlesleclerc.jpg: who says i dont have one.

⤷ landonorris.jpg: its just priv.

⤷ danielricciardo: unpriv coward

⤷ charlesleclerc: ok ?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: YEAAA SECRET CHARLES PHOTOS!!

charlesleclerc.jpg made a new post! ↴

charlesleclerc.jpg: in her own world.

arthurleclerc: vomiting. put clothes on.

y/nverstappen: TWO shirtless photos. BRO.

⤷ charlesleclerc: oops.

maxverstappen: so she takes after you with not wearing a shirt?

⤷ charlesleclerc: low blow

⤷ ynverstappen: accurate blow tbh

landonorris: where is ferrari's pr manager.

⤷ carlossainz: no one can help her.

ynverstappen.jpg made a new post! ↴

y/nverstappen.jpg: some fuckin gems in my camera roll recently

charlesleclerc: omg finally a feature

danielricciardo: WHEN WAS THAT TAKEN I DO NOT RECALL

⤷ carlossainz: shit talk night w her and charles

⤷ danielricciardo: after the advice?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: yes and u still owe me a new shirt >:(

maxverstappen: can you ever post a nice photo of me on here?

⤷ y/nverstappen: nope <3!

charlesleclerc: the banana is so old why now

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: comedy

And by god, it starts working.

You're walking with Charles, hands intertwined as you wiggle through the tiny stalls in the small market that's popped up for the holidays. You both find a small corner to hide, stealing a chaste kiss and then you pop a chocolate strawberry in his mouth.

"Oh, damn." He hums, "You are right, these are amazing."

"I told you!" You grin, peeking behind your shoulder to see if anyone is watching. You swear you make eye contact with Max, but the longer you look the less the guy looks like Max so you turn back around.

"You good?" Charles rests a hand on your waist and you nod, taking a strawberry into your mouth and sighing.

"Mhm. Just hate hiding." You lean into his touch, letting him wrap a firm arm around your waist as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline.

"Hey, think about it this way." Charles says, "Soon we won't have to."

As you step back and agree, Daniel pops up next to you with big wide eyes--and not the usual excited ones you're used to seeing.

"Hey, Max, on your six." He pokes your shoulder and you make a face, before Daniel waves his arms around in some sort of odd gesture and hisses out to you, "Clock direction!"

"Oh-!" You whip around as Charles' hand moves off your waist and walking towards you is none other than your brother. Offering a soft smile and wave.

"Hey! Didn't think you'd be here!" You call and he pokes your arm, crossing his arms over his chest as you, Charles, and Daniel kinda scramble to make it look like nothing was going on.

"Kelly wanted to grab some flowers for the kitchen," Max hums. The two of you hadn't really apologized for anything said during the argument. In your family, arguments were never really apologized for, you kinda of just moved on from everything. So even if there was still a bit of an awkward twinge, nothing was said.

"Oh! Somehow Charles and Daniel haven't had the strawberries so I brought them here to try them." You smile, and someone's hand comes to your jaw. You blink as Charles uses one of the napkins to poke your cheek.

"You got chocolate on your face, somehow." He murmurs and you laugh, grabbing his wrist and taking the napkin into your own hands.

"Thank you, Charlie." You blot where he says the chocolate is and you notice Max giving you a weird look. Looking over at your brother, you go to say something before Daniel pulls Max away to look at something, mouthing to you both,

"Be more discreet, maybe?"

And you can't help the giggles that leave your mouth as you lean into Charles and he wraps an arm around you, laughing out apologies.

Yeah, Max was gonna catch on.

and now you and Charles had to get real good at lying and dodging watchful eyes. Monaco was a small little country, and now that it would be filled with more people who knew you, it was about to become a real challenge to see if you could make it through the holidays without anyone knowing or noticing.

Oh, especially when your Christmas Eve dinner was now going to have the Leclerc's stopping by as well.

taglist. thank you!

@angelayse @iamahallucinationnn @ilove-tswizzle @supremebaddietrash

#f1 fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #formula one smau

921 notes · View notes

kaleldobrev · 17 days

Text

The One Bed, Two People Problem (2) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Slightly vulnerable Dean, Self-Loathing Dean & Implied sexual fantasies (very minor)

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read Chapter 1

"One room please," Dean said, as he plopped down his credit card onto the desk in front of the motel worker: a big grin on his face.

The worker looked at him tiredly and picked up the card. Looking at the name on the card, he looked at Dean, who maintained the same smile. "John Paul Jones?" He asked, his voice matching the tiredness in his eyes. "Like the dude from Led Zeppelin?"

"I get that a lot," Dean stated, trying to sound convincing, despite the motel worker probably not needing to be as he looked tired enough as it is. The worker nodded and started putting Dean's information into the computer; Dean swayed back and forth on his heels, looking around the motel lobby, not enjoying the awkward silence that was between the two. "It's a good thing I'm a Zepp fan," he added, a bit of humor in his voice, as he attempted to make awkward small talk with the man.

"Huh uh," the worker mumbled, not seeming interested in having any sort of conversation with Dean, as he was trying his best to concentrate on what he was doing, as the lack of sleep and pulling all-nighters the last couple of nights was starting to catch up to him in this moment.

Dean started to get slightly nervous, as the worker seemed to be taking a little bit more time than usual to be placing the information into the computer. "Is there a problem with the card?" Dean asked, after the motel worker started making a face that looked similar to confusion.

The worker shook his head. "Nah man. Just tired. It's my third night shift in a row and it's been a killer. Can barely keep my fucking eyes open. But I'm thankful to be doing anything at least. You're the first person I've seen in days, since the regulars haven't even come by." Dean decided not to ask about who or what the regulars were, but he would be lying if he wasn't the least bit curious.

"Surprising," Dean said. "Thought you'd get more on-going business being right on the highway like this. I mean, I've been to Tulsa a few times, and it's always pretty lively, even this time of night."

The man scoffed, almost chuckling at his words. "People don't like motels like they used to. They rather stay at the Holiday Inn down the street. Apparently, motels give people the creeps now," he said, rolling his eyes. "Too much shadiness I guess for people."

"I've stayed at more motels than I can count, and uh, they basically feel like home to me. They've never once given me the creeps," Dean told him, partially telling the truth, as he has stayed at plenty of motels over the years that have had questionable stains and clientele more times than he could count.

The worker nodded, handing Dean back his card. "Alright, we have one room available with a queen," he said.

Dean gave him a semi-puzzled look, unsure how true that really was, as the worker just said that he was the only person he's seen in a few days, and the parking lot was essentially empty besides his and who he assumed to be this man's car. "Nothing with two beds?" Dean asked. He didn't mind sharing a bed with you, but he wanted to get two to be safe, as he was afraid that he'd somehow hurt you in the middle night if he had one of his PTSD style nightmares he occasionally got, more often than he'd like to admit.

"Look, I have one room left. And that one room has one bed that you're either going to have to share with your guest, or one of you is sleeping on the floor," his voice had no hint of tiredness anymore.

"One bed it is," Dean said, his lips forming into a fake smile.

"And you're in room three," the worker smiled, handing Dean the room key.

After getting off the phone with your boyfriend, you hit your head repeatedly against the headrest, frustrated that you had let him get to you again. He was hours away, and yet, he had managed to re-anger you, which was something that you were close to getting rid of during your nice and peaceful drive here.

In addition to your re-anger, you were minutes away from meeting someone new, and there was a part of you that felt bad for Dean, because being angry and mean was the last thing you wanted as your first impression. "Okay, you got this," you whispered to yourself, taking a few breaths before exiting your truck.

Walking out of the motel lobby, Dean started thinking of ways in which he was going to break the cliche news to you, as a one bed for two strangers seemed like something that came straight out of a chick flick or romance novel. "So bad news, we have to share a bed because for some reason despite the motel parking lot being empty as fuck, there was only one room that had a single bed in it," he thought to himself, cocking his head, thinking how saying that to you might work. Then again, he didn't want you thinking that he got a room with a single bed on purpose because you were a chick, and hoping to get lucky. Then again, he certainly wasn't against it...Then again, Sam told him that you had a boyfriend and you were off-limits.

As he started walking toward the room to put his stuff inside and examine the room, he looked at the parking lot, and noticed another vehicle had pulled into the lot since he had come into the motel; and it was parked a few spaces away from Baby. It was a Generation Seven, F150, in a brownish beige color that looked to be in brand new condition.

And that's when he saw you, or at least he hoped it was you, pulling out a large duffel back from the truck bed, that seemed to be a little beat up.

He started walking toward you, making a mental note to introduce himself just far enough way, because he wasn't sure how quick to the draw you were.

You sighed, grabbing your duffel, and slung it over your shoulder, as you were mentally preparing yourself to meet someone new. But you were tired, angry, and a little bit hungry; and all you really wanted to do right now was take a scolding hot shower and hit the pillow face first, instead of making awkward small talk.

"Hey, you must be Y/N," you heard a male voice say from a few feet away from you. Closing your truck bed, you noticed a blonde-haired man, who appeared to be a little over six feet tall, wearing a flannel and denim jacket similar to you, walking in your direction. This must be Dean, you thought.

"And you must be Dean," you said, when he was just a few feet in front of you. As he stood there, he leaned his arm on your truck bed, and stared at you with a smile that could easily melt the iciness that was inside your heart; you hoped that you weren't blushing. You're here to do a job, and you have a boyfriend, you told yourself.

"Nice truck," he complimented, as he patted the side. "Gen seven?" He questioned, but his tone insinuated that he already knew the model; he just wanted to see if you knew. And of course you did, as this truck was one that you had practically re-built over the course of a single summer without barely any help.

You nodded, and smiled at him, practically grinning from ear to ear; your smile was breathtaking. "He sure is. I practically re-built him over the course of a single summer before I started hunting. You should have seen the shape he was in; the whole body was practically rust," you explained.

Dean listened to the way you spoke about your truck, and he admired it, as it was similar to the way he would speak about Baby. But the way you spoke about the truck was not the only thing he was admiring; he was admiring the way the denim jacket you were wearing was slightly falling off your shoulders because of how big it was, as if you had borrowed it from someone Sam's size. Even though it was still slightly dark out, and the harsh yellow lighting was doing nobody any favors, you still somehow looked absolutely gorgeous in this lighting. Your skin looked so smooth, except for a few scars that he noticed in several places. He couldn't help but wonder the stories behind them. You're here to do a job, he reminded himself.

"That's pretty impressive that you re-built him without any help. Not a lot of people can do that," he said, trying his best to pay you a compliment. "Especially since you taught yourself."

"Yeah. My dad knows some stuff about cars, but he's no expert or anything. My best friend was the one who..." your voice trailed off, and you slightly had a blank stare on your face, as if you were reminiscing about something.

"I've re-built Baby more times than I could possibly count," he said, pointing at her for a moment before turning back to you. Your blank stare finally fading.

"When Sam told me, I honestly didn't believe him. You must be really good with your hands," you said, with a slight hint of...was that...flirting? Were you flirting with me? Dean thought. No, there's no way.

He chuckled a little. "I'd like to think so." I'd do anything to put my hands all over you....he thought. "Oh, um, since I got here first," he began, attempting to change the subject before his brain started to create some fantasies. "I was able to get us a room. But, there's only one bed, so we either have to share, or one of us is going to have to sleep on the floor."

You felt your heart starting to race a bit faster now, and your throat was beginning to get a tad dry. Were you actually nervous about the possibility of sharing a bed with the eldest Winchester?

"I don't mind sharing a bed as long as you don't," you said. But as soon as you said those words, your brain was starting to create a moral dilemma. You have a boyfriend, this counts as cheating, you thought. No, it doesn't count as cheating, I don't plan on sleeping with him as much as I'd like to.

"I don't mind. But uh...just a heads up, I get um...nightmares," he said, sounding hesitant.

"It's okay, I get them too," you reassured. "Want to head inside then and see if we can get a few hours before we go to the station tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me," he smiled.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 3 (Not yet available)

Tag List: @madzzz0797 ⋆ @dumb-fawkin-bitch ⋆ @nancymcl ⋆ @deanbrainrotwritings ⋆ @roseblue373 ⋆ @jackles010378 ⋆ @deansbbyx ⋆ @uncle-eggy ⋆ @queenie32 ⋆ @jzackles ⋆ @shy-taylorsversion ⋆ @ladysparkles78 ⋆ @zepskies ⋆ @samslvrgirl ⋆ @stoneyggirl2 ⋆ @deans-spinster-witch ⋆ @littletomboy2 ⋆ @foxyjwls007 ⋆ @10ava01 ⋆ @peachhiz

Weren't Tagged & Think You Should Have?

If you weren't tagged, and think you should have, I'm sorry about that! But there may be a few reasons for that. You did not fill out of the Google Form List (which can be filled out using this link), you do not have your mentions on, or you are not currently following me.

If you're having trouble filling out the form, don't hesitate to send me a message or leave a comment! 💜

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem #dean x you #dean x reader

169 notes · View notes

whocaresstillthelouvre · 5 months

Text

Five More Games

Batter Up Chapter 3

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You haven't seen your boyfriend in over two weeks, your longing for Joel interrupts a FaceTime session. Warnings: smut, baseball talk, FaceTime mutual masturbation, pining, softness, Joel cum's all over his stomach Words: 3,000 A/N: These two have previously appeared together in 18 Seasons and Golden Corral. I wanted to write something super self indulgent to celebrate the month anniversary of posting my first fic Golden Walkway on here. I also want to shout out two people who helped me in this whole writing process. @ohheypedrito for being my steadfast fellow obsessor and idea bouncer offer and @justagalwhowrites for her very sweet response when I asked for words of advice that ultimately made me take the big step to hitting post.

Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

Joel has internally struggled this season: unhappy with his new team, unhappy with his new city, unhappy with the game he loved. Unfamiliar fans, unfamiliar apartment, unfamiliar restaurants, unfamiliar grocery store. The only familiar thing for Joel is you, taking the train down to the city whenever you can, staying in his aforementioned unfamiliar apartment making it seem more like home. You of course knew you couldn’t go to any of his games and openly root for him, but you were happy to watch the game on his couch in his new home, welcoming him back with a hug, smelling the sweat of the game still on him… Joel always far too impatient to shower at the stadium, too excited to get back to you.

The two of you stuck together living a secret nobody knew about, the two of you never admitting the love you had for each other was growing into something loud enough that soon everybody would hear. What would your dad think? What would Joel’s old teammates think? What would his agent think? What would your coworkers think? What would Sarah think?

For eight months you and Joel have done this alone, the only people privy to your relationship is whomever might look over at him placing his hand on your thigh at a restaurant, a couple of close friends of yours, and maybe the doorman of Joel’s apartment building delivering packages addressed to you. No, you didn’t want to live in this lie, but to stay with Joel and know him like you do, all of the struggles were worth it.

When he got off the call letting him know that the Philadelphia Liberties signed him to a one year deal, Joel didn’t call his daughter, he didn’t call his brother… he called you. Playing in Philly meant he would only be an hour and a half train ride away. How many more times could you make empty excuses as to why you needed to fly back home to Texas? He knew the toll it was taking on you personally and professionally, he couldn’t give you up, but he also couldn’t live with himself always seeing how tired you were as you stepped out of the airport and into his car.

The worst part of all of this… Joel was having one of the best seasons of his career. Articles and reporters all repeating over and over how at his age he was having a banner year. Joel loved a challenge and he loved to take his frustrations to the field, playing harder and more focused than ever.

He wanted to share his accomplishments with you, publicly. He wanted to see you as a part of the wives and girlfriends group, knowing how much you’d stick out against all of the preened and fancy clothed wives, never understanding why they dressed up the way they did to watch a ball game in the Summer heat. He wanted to see you cheering louder than anyone else as he rounded the bases after hitting a home run. He wanted his teammates to tease him for having a picture of you taped up in his locker. He wanted to see you waiting for him in the tunnel after the game wearing his jersey. He wanted to be able to call you his to anyone who’d listen.

He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in almost twenty years. Once Sarah’s mom left, he gave up dating and significant others to focus on the game and being a dad. Maybe there was just never anybody worth it, but you? You were worth it, and he hated that he couldn’t show everyone how much he loved you.

——

“Next week’s the All Star Game, you still able to head home?” Joel asks as he watches you change into one of his old Capitals shirts you took as a sleep shirt.

He loves FaceTime. For years he rolled his eyes at the idea of having to look at who’s he’s talking to… until he learned he can watch you go through your nightly routine in your bedroom. Now he gets to watch you apply your face lotion, feeling a bit like a voyeur looking in on your world from your MacBook screen. He especially likes FaceTime when you angle the laptop on the bed to show him your body as you make yourself cum while chanting his name and how much you miss him.

“Yeah, so far so good. Can’t believe we’re doing this, especially seeing as you’re in the actual game and we’re letting everybody know the night before. What happens if it’s not good and it affects your g—”

“I’ll be fine no matter what. It has to be done, I don’t know how many times I can tell Sarah my agent is texting. I think she knows something’s up, she’s too smart, she knows I don’t have friends,” he sighs. “How do you think your parents are gonna take it?”

“I think my mom will be cool with it, she always liked you, especially because of Sarah. My dad? I don’t know, I think he’ll be fine but I also think he’ll have a lot of reservations about us and how it’ll look once everyone finds out. He’s going to drop some business words and worry how it might end up as tabloid fodder amongst baseball people, and I fully understand his issues.” You get into your bed, moving the computer to lay next to you, Joel’s face and broad shoulders taking up most of the screen, it’s such a pitiful replacement to having his warm body next to you. “I don’t know, I wish we could just not do this but be able to do everything like normal people.”

“There’s nothing normal about this, I’m in a hotel room in Seattle and I just got done eating $45 grilled chicken and brown rice from room service. You just closed your blinds with a remote in your apartment with a view of Central Park. We’re not a normal couple sweetheart,” Joel gives you his reassuring smile, his dimple pressing into his skin, you wish you could touch it. God, you miss him.

“I know, I just wish things could be more simple.”

“I know baby, me too,” his smile faltering as he hears the longing in your voice.

“I think I just really miss you… it’s been almost two weeks.”

“It has, we’ll be together soon. Just have to wait six more days.”

“Five more games,” you whisper.

The two of you always finding it easier to break it down in games. Only 45 innings. Only five trips for Joel to step on the team bus and head to the ballpark. Only five games worth of you checking your phone for updates.

“Five more games,” Joel’s voice dropping. “You able to watch tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so,” you try not to let the disappointment in your voice show as much as it does. “I have that dinner with the group in from Toronto. I’m hoping I’ll be home around 9, and the game starts at 4 there… I guess I might be able to see maybe the last couple of innings.”

“Mm, pretty sure I’m just DHing tomorrow, so should be in for the whole game.”

“Save your home run for the last inning please.”

“‘Course,” he smirks. “I’ll swing for the fences.”

“Joel—“ you whisper out.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too, your bed’s always so comfortable. Sick of these hotel beds.”

You bring the neck of Joel’s shirt up to your nose and inhale. “Your shirt no longer smells like you, I need a new one.”

“I’ll have one for you next time baby. I won’t take this one off.”

“You can take it off now.”

“Yeah? Why do you want me to take it off?” Joel’s eyes get darker.

“I want to look at you while I touch myself, so take it off.”

“Love how bossy you get.”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“Very funny,” he leans forward, pushing his laptop farther down the desk to give you a better view and removes his shirt.

The two of you are well versed in the proper set up to have this type of experience over FaceTime. No bright lamp behind you because your body will be blown out by the light. Make sure you angle the screen the right way at the right distance so you can still see each other’s faces and bodies. Joel usually chooses to stay on the couch or in an office chair when he’s in a hotel room, allowing him to sit up and jerk himself off while he can still watch you. You always place your laptop on his side of your bed, laying diagonally across it so he can watch you touch your pussy while staring at the screen.

You love seeing him shirtless, the way his body fills out in all of the most broad and right places. His shoulders are so wide and muscular, connecting to his toned and strong arms, his muscles never being overbearing and huge, just the perfect size and super capable of hitting a ball over 250 feet. The smattering of hair across his chest trailing down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. His stomach, you’re obsessed with his stomach, it’s so soft, your favorite feeling on earth is laying your head against it. The perfect amount of softness filling out his athletic midsection. Joel’s body perfectly encompasses him, soft and rugged, broad and safe.

“You’re staring again sweetheart,” Joel’s voice blinks you out of your daze as you ogle the square of him on your screen.

“Sorry, I just really like looking at you.”

“I know, and I like looking at you.” Joel leans back, placing one of his arms behind the couch, his other hand resting against his thigh. “Now, let me really see you. Take m’shirt off.”

You nod and move your laptop to its customary location so Joel can see all of you. You take his shirt off leaving you bare for his eyes to roam across your body from over two thousand miles away.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, wish I could rub my hands all over your soft skin. Wish I could smell your hair, wish I could taste your skin. Miss you so fucking much.”

“What would you do to me if you were here?” Your voice barely above a whisper, your body aching for his touch.

“I’d rub my tongue up and down your neck,” you move your fingers to your neck and begin to trail them across it copying Joel’s words. You close your eyes and pretend instead of hearing Joel’s voice coming from a tinny set of computer speakers you’re hearing him from across the bed before he touches you.

“I’d move my mouth down to take one of your nipples into my mouth.” Your hand grazes down your body to one of your breasts, grabbing your nipple and pulling at it.

“Fuck baby, yes, grab your other tit, play with ‘em,” you open your eyes at the gruffness of Joel’s voice. His hand is still behind the couch, the other has moved from his thigh to cup his half hard cock through his shorts.

You begin to push and pull your tits apart and together, rubbing your nipples as you stare back at Joel holding eye contact through the computer.

“Looks like your pussy is drooling all over your sheets, lemme see how wet you are.”

Your hand goes down in between your legs, you pet yourself making sure to bite your lip, something you know Joel likes as you touch yourself. A groan spills out of Joel’s mouth as he watches you bring your soaked hand up, spreading your fingers to show him how your wetness stretches across your digits. He angles himself up to pull his shorts down, his cock standing hard and solid, you can’t take your eyes off of it as his hand wraps around his length. He begins to stroke himself, as you put your hand back to play with yourself.

“Wish you could smear yourself all over me and watch me jerk off, wish you would spit in my hand—,” Joel spits in his hand, “so I could fuck my hand until I cum all over your pretty face.”

Your back arches as you watch Joel lick a bit of spit up from his bottom lip, his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he smears the spit all over his shaft and begins pumping.

“You’re so pretty, god I miss you. I miss feeling your body pressed against me, I miss sucking your tits, I miss fucking you.” You can’t stop staring at the screen, your fingers paused and resting on your clit. He’s beautiful, the way his muscles in his arms tense as he strokes himself, the way he snarls as he twists his fist around the head, the way he can’t stop staring at you through his laptop screen. “You miss me babygirl?”

He knows what his words do to you, he knows that if he can’t touch you he can at least talk you through it. He’s so thoughtful, not stopping at anything to make you happy, to think about you, to care for you. You hate that you aren’t even close enough to be in the same time zone.

“Yes,” you whisper, if you were any louder you might just start to cry. “So much.”

“I know, I know, fuck,” Joel stops jerking himself off, “I know,” blinking the lust out of his eyes, his big brown concerned eyes planted on his screen. “You okay?”

You didn’t want to do this, you wanted to get off with your boyfriend, shut your laptop lid, and go to sleep. Now? Now you miss him so much you’re naked with your hand still in between your legs and sniffling away tears alone in your bed.

“I am, yeah, I will be. I’m sorry, it just really hit me how long it’s been and I guess I’m just nervous about everything we have to do. I don’t want to lose you…” and at those words and the fear that gets planted inside your heart, you pull your fingers away from your cunt.

“We’re going to figure it out sweetheart. M’not losing you.” Joel follows you and unwraps his hand from around himself. “It has been long, but we’ll have almost a week together next week.”

“Five games?”

“Five games.” The softness of his voice and the reassuring smile he gives makes your stomach twist.

“I’m sorry.” An apology, you’re almost embarrassed by your juvenility, missing your boyfriend so much you almost started to cry.

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize, believe me, I understand.”

“Did you still want to…”

“I’m only happy doing what you want to, sweetheart.”

“I want to show you how much I miss you.” Your hand snakes up your body to start petting the area between your breasts, the place where Joel always like to nuzzle his face in and smell your skin.

“Fuck, okay sweetheart.”

“Five more games until I can feel you inside me.”

“Jesus, getting right back to the point, aren’t we?” He smirks, his eyes follow as you snake your hand down to back in between your legs.

“I’m efficient,” you bend your knee to give Joel a better look as you begin to rub circles along your clit.

“Fuck sweetheart, you look so fucking good,” he groans, wrapping his hand back around his cock. “Fuck yourself with your fingers baby, pretend it’s me.”

You moan as you stick two fingers in, slowly pushing them in and out, ignoring how poor of a substitute they are for Joel’s cock.

“Good girl, look at you. My pretty baby, I love you so much.”

His eyes soften as he watches you get lost in fucking yourself. You love how you can tell just how much he loves you by his big, brown eyes, even on your small laptop screen they shine bright.

“I love you,” you whimper as you reach your other hand down to begin rubbing your clit. Your fingers working overtime inside you and on your clit causing your orgasm to build.

“Love you baby, so much. Love watching you do this for me,” he grunts as he fucks his fist faster.

“Baaaby,” you breathe out, your heart beginning to rapidly beat, the swirls around your clit quickening. You’re a quivering mess on your bed, staring into your computer screen as you feel your orgasm show.

“Oh, you’re close, can see it pretty girl, you gonna cum for me? M’gonna cum for you,” he grits out as you watch the hand against his thigh tighten its grip against his skin. He’s close, his jaw going slack, his tongue resting in between his lips, his brows furrowing deeper. It’s a sight you’ve seen so many times now, most of your FaceTime sessions ending like this.

“Cum for me,” you whisper as you orgasm, your pussy squeezes your fingers, your clit pulses against your finger, you fight the urge to shut your eyes because you need to watch Joel as he begins to spurt thick ropes of cum all over his stomach. You love how he looks, biting out swears totally blissed out, his cum pooling against the plush skin of his stomach.

He swears as he grabs his shirt and cleans himself up, you smile as you watch him, feeling like you’re spying on your own boyfriend. You love FaceTime.

“You’re smilin’ quite big,” he chuckles as he tosses his shirt next to him, and pulls his shorts back up.

“I like to watch you, that’s all, you’re so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm?”

“Yep, always thought it, and now I get to look at you whenever I want to.”

“Lucky you, huh?”

“Lucky me. Only five more games until I see my handsome boyfriend.”

“Five more games.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #baseball au #baseball fan fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou au #baseball #baseball joel #batter up

345 notes · View notes

niningtori · 6 months

Text

let me into your world | chapter three: our world

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you're single again and choi beomgyu is restless.

genre(s): romance, angst, angst with a happy ending (?), soulmate au

word count: 3.3k

notes: hi........ yeah i'm super fucking impatient and literally could not wait to post part 3 NENJWKWKDOE i'm sorry! anyway idk how i feel about this but i'm tired of looking at it so i hope it's likable! also, this chapter is extremely suggestive so be warned. there's nothing explicit, but i'm still freaked out. see ending for more notes!

you do nothing but think of him. you thought your heart was done breaking after beomgyu, but you realize even without the matching seal, your heart was still with soobin. 4 years of love and commitment over and done because of a fucking tattoo. you're tempted to continue wearing your ring to work because you dread the questions that will almost certainly follow. you haven't told a soul - not even sumin - about what happened. what were you supposed to say? the love of my life didn't want me... again?

you entertain the idea of keeping it on to maintain appearances, but the mere sight of it is enough to put a pit in your stomach, so you keep it in the drawer in your nightstand. it's close enough to your bed to take out at night just to do nothing but stare and fiddle with it between your fingers. you remember the night he put it on you. you remember him promising you forever and the sweet loving that followed. you remember every word, every touch, every feeling.

you wonder if he's happy with her, but you know he must be. you two were happy enough as it was - you can't even imagine how happy he must be with the person who was fated for him. you feel envious of a woman you don't even know. what you wouldn't give to have that green seal printed on your wrist. you feel sick just thinking about it.

"you alright?" a voice snaps you back into reality. your coworker, minjun. he's cute, very cute, but you've always been committed to soobin so you've never really noticed before now. you had eyes, of course, but you've kept them trained on soobin for years now. you suppose that dedication was futile.

"uh, yeah. i'm good," you reply while hastily shoving your ringless hand under your desk. he eyes you suspiciously before dropping the subject.

"are you planning on going to the company retreat?"

"what? oh, yeah. i guess," you say, still somewhat distracted. your company is planning a retreat to celebrate the success of combining branches. you don't really want to go, but you can't stand the thought of sitting at home and waiting around for someone who will never come back. "are you going?" you ask, trying to actually engage in the conversation for fear of coming across as rude, but you don't quite catch his next words.

"i'm going if you're going," he says.

"what? sorry, i'm a little out of it," you smile.

"i said i —"

"can someone help me?" beomgyu cuts in from out of nowhere. "the copy machine isn't working for some reason."

"can it wait? we're having a conversation," minjun replies irritatedly.

"it can't. i really need to make some copies," beomgyu says urgently.

"fine, i'll help you," minjun grumbles. you're relieved that he's stepping up because you certainly don't want to.

"actually, i just remembered that sooyoung wants to see you in her office."

"what?"

"yeah, so i guess you can't help me after all," beomgyu says with a smirk you don't understand.

"i'll help you," you sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. beomgyu smiles triumphantly, but you don't see it because you're already heading towards the copy room.

"what's the issue here? everything looks fine to me," you say confusedly.

"where's your ring?" he asks, seemingly harmlessly, but it stings just to hear. you immediately forget about your question to him as you shut the machine and defensively cross your arms, feeling incredibly vulnerable.

"i'm getting it resized," you cough.

"ah, okay," he says, and it's like he sees right through you. "you have lost weight recently. are you eating enough?" your eyebrows furrow at this. yeah, you've lost weight only because you're so fucking depressed eating genuinely seems like a chore. more importantly, why does he know that? and more importantly than that, why does he care?

"why do you —"

"turns out sooyoung didn't need me," minjun cuts in, nearly bursting from the door.

"mmm, i must've been mistaken," beomgyu shrugs nonchalantly. you sense tension, but you can't fathom why.

"did you get the copier fixed?" minjun asks, completely ignoring beomgyu.

"we fixed it, yes," beomgyu says before you can even open your mouth.

"oh. good."

"yeah, she really helped me out," beomgyu says, not without snark. why is he lying? never mind, actually. you don't have the energy to care.

beomgyu can't feel your joy for once, which should make him feel relieved, in theory, but instead there's an incessant gnawing at his heart. all he wants to ask is why, why, why. and what can he do to help? he doesn't have to wonder why for much longer when he sees you walk into work without your ring on. he doesn't mean to notice it, but his eyes always gravitate to the rock on your ring finger, almost like it's taunting him with what he can't have.

he'd be an even bigger liar than he already is if he said he didn't feel some sick sense of satisfaction knowing it didn't work out with you and soobin. this is what happens when you go against fate, he thinks. the thought alone used to scare him, but he's felt what it's like to try to be with people other than you and he knows going against fate just isn't in the cards for him anymore. he tried pretty much everything after you, from casual flings to would-be serious relationships, but nothing panned out the way he wished it would.

he continues to try to worm his way into your life in the little ways. he gives you updates on bands you used to bond over and he mentions jokes you two used to share. he brings you coffee when you're tired and tries to make you laugh. he slowly but surely chips away at your indifference until you unconsciously become dependent on him. he wants his presence to be felt by you, just for him to become a little bit meaningful to you, is that really too much to ask?

the first time you actually smile for him, really smile, for the first time since he hurt you, he almost cries. as cheesy as it may seem, he honestly was unsure you'd ever show it to him again. the smile is over almost as soon as it begins, but he'll take it. he thought he'd take anything you'd give him at this point, but the hunger he has is insatiable. he starts from wanting a smile to wanting every smile. he wants to monopolize your joy, your time, you. maybe he's moving too fast, but he decides he'll tell you just how lonely he's been without you during your company retreat. it hasn't been very long since your breakup with soobin, but he won't sit idly by waiting for you to get snatched up again. no way in hell is he gonna let that happen in front of his nose again. not this time.

the company retreat is full of icebreakers, which is to be expected, but the cool thing is that the bar is open, though it's not an "open bar". either way, you're going to try your best to get plastered as soon as humanly possible. you want to, but beomgyu is constantly on your ass, monitoring every move you make, so it's hard to even get to the point of almost tipsy. you give up after two drinks and you're not even buzzed.

you want to hang around danbi, but she's currently zeroed in on beomgyu, which is a good thing because it means he can't hang around you as much. minjun makes for really good company, though, and before long, you two are off in your own world. you didn't realize how funny he is before tonight. he hints at maybe taking you out some time, but you can't say yes without knowing about his soulmate first. he tugs on the collar of his shirt and reveals an ornate golden seal on his collarbone. it's a beautiful contrast on his gorgeous skin, and your breath catches for a second when he shows it to you.

"pretty, right? i thought so too. my soulmate doesn't want me, though," he laughs softly.

"i understand how you feel," you say.

"so soobin...?"

"is not my soulmate, but he doesn't want me anymore, either." you don't know why you're telling him this, but he's being vulnerable with you and you feel a sense of camaraderie you haven't felt in a long while.

"i'm sorry. i know it's hard, but i can't imagine anyone not wanting you."

"really?"

"i'm serious, if i were your soulmate i'd never let go."

"that's sweet of you," you blush.

"even if you weren't my soulmate, i still wouldn't let go." you still at that. you honestly didn't think you'd ever hear those words again, much less believe them, but he seems to be incredibly sincere. so when his lips come closer and closer, you're prepared to let it happen. you don't know minjun that well, but who's to say you can't? here's a beautiful man who says he wouldn't let you go. it feels nice to be wanted for once, and by someone who's already tried and failed with their soulmate. who knows what could happen? you close your eyes and wait for his plush lips to meet yours, but they never do.

"minjun! sooyoung wants you!" beomgyu shouts while hustling over to you.

"shit. some other time, maybe?" minjun says, face flushed.

"definitely," you giggle. minjun gets up as if it's the last thing he wants to do, and you smile as he stretches his hand out and helps you up. none of these actions escape beomgyu. you watch as his silhouette gradually gets smaller and smaller as he heads over to sooyoung.

"what did sooyoung want with minjun?" you ask beomgyu, trying to break the silence. you still feel a little high off of your almost kiss with minjun and you're not thinking 100% clearly.

"nothing, i just pulled that out of my ass," he shrugs.

"... so that was total bullshit? what the hell is wrong with you, beomgyu?"

"what's wrong with me? what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, if i see you two flirting again, i'm reporting you both."

"you wouldn't."

"try me," he challenges, eyebrows raised with that godforsaken shit-eating grin you've come to loathe.

"beomgyu," you struggle to muster up a shred of composure, "can you stop trying to lord over my life?"

"is that what you think this is?" he scoffs. "you think I'm trying to control you?"

"what i think," you sigh while pinching the bridge of your nose, "is that you're being a dick and i can't deal with you right now."

"alright, if i'm not a dick, how else will i get you to talk to me?"

"i do," you begin incredulously, "i talk to you every day!"

"not in any way that matters."

"has it ever occurred to you that i don't want to talk about anything else?" you inhale and exhale shakily. "please stop before i get angry."

"i wish you would!"

"what?" you question and you can physically feel the frustration rising like steam in your chest, begging to be released. as if he's in a position to be making demands. as if you should listen to a single word that comes out of his fucking mouth.

"i wish you would get angry! swear at me, yell at me, hit me — i don't care! just give me something!" you stare. you're tempted to relent and release all of your anger. your face scrunches in irritation at the implication that you owe him a goddamn thing, but just as you're about to let go and let him have it, you remember who and where you are and think better of it.

"that's enough, beomgyu," you turn to make your way back to your room. you don't have time for this. "i really don't want to—" he grabs your hand and spins your retreating figure back towards him.

"just say something!" his eyebrows are knitted in concern and his words are riddled with desperation. your patience snaps.

"you want me to say something?! fine! i hate you! i hate you, i hate you, i hate you!" you stamp your feet. your eyes begin to feel sour and the corners of your lips tense into a frown. his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open as he searches your eyes for the something he's wishing so ardently for. it feels like he's looking straight through you, just like he always does, so you break away from his gaze and your eyes focus on some fixed point behind him.

"i hate you! you... i wish you'd leave me alone!"

your words are teeming with emotion, just not the ones you're trying so hard to convince him (and maybe yourself?) they are. you look so vulnerable, so small, and so very afraid. he doesn't flinch at your biting words. his hand, so big and warm, still holds yours. his eyebrows are no longer furrowed and his dark eyes seem to lose the urgency within them. instead, they're filled with something that feels like patience, understanding, and tenderness all at once. you don't dare to put a name to the feeling, but you know it when you see it. love.

"don't you fucking look at me like that! you don't deserve to look at me like that! i hate you," you choke out with a sob. hot and angry tears begin to trickle down your cheeks and his eyes widen. gently, purposefully, he pulls you into his chest with one hand and cradles your head with the other.

"shh... don't cry. please don't cry. it's all my fault," he coos as you half-heartedly hit his chest in frustration.

"you're an asshole. you treated me like shit and now you're forcing me to talk about it. why are you making me do this?"

each point is punctuated with a "smack" against his chest.

"because i love you," he whispers into the top of your head as his fingers begin to soothingly stroke your hair. "even if i don't deserve to... even if you wish i didn't, i do. so much. and i think i always have, i just didn't know it."

"that's not fair," you strain between sobs. "y-you broke my heart."

tentatively, like he's handling glass so fragile it could break with the slightest hint of force, he unwraps his arms from your shivering frame and cups your reddened face in his hands, gently wiping away your tears. his head cranes down as he touches his forehead against yours. you look up with your misty eyes and see his gaze trained on you.

"i know, i know... i'm an asshole... it's all my fault. please don't cry. hit me harder, if you want. smack me. punch me. kill me if it makes you feel better. just don't cry anymore, okay? i can't stand to see you cry."

he sounds like he's bargaining with a child throwing a tantrum with the way his words are hushed and hurried, but pacifying all the same. in any other circumstance, you'd roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he seems so desperate to get you to calm down that you can't bring yourself to point it out. he pulls you back into his arms and you burrow your head into his chest as he rubs circles into your back. with every sob he shushes you softly and drowns you with affirmations.

i know, i'm sorry, i love you.

it's my fault, don't cry, i love you.

you stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time.

"i know i was wrong for treating you the way i did; i was young and stupid and i had no idea what i'd be missing. i know i'm being unfair, but i promise i'll make it up to you every day. i'm not going to hurt you and i won't leave unless you want me to. you're my soulmate, and i wouldn't have it any other way. i can't have it any other way. if it's not you, i don't want anyone else."

you're softening now and you hate it; you want to run away and continue to be angry. the betrayal you felt was indelible. you can still see him with a girl on his arm and you feel nauseous. you remember him telling you just how indifferent he was to you, to your feelings, to your pain. but none of that seems to matter anymore as he gently cups your face and runs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes to stop your tears. "okay," you say softly, and you don't have to explain, because he already knows.

when he takes you back to his hotel room, he promises he won't touch you unless you want him to. you want him to. you stand on your tip toes and pull him down towards your lips and his breath catches behind his teeth. he raises his hands up to your face, reminiscent of the way he held it as you cried a mere hour ago, and you giggle at the parallel. he seizes the opportunity to gently glide his tongue on your lips before entering your mouth. he groans into your lips as your tongues tease each other. you're even sweeter than he imagined you'd be, and he can feel his effect on you as he breaks the kiss and trails hot, opened-mouth kisses on your neck. this is what he's been missing, he thinks, as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

that night, beomgyu takes you again and again. it's more than sex - it's as if the stars aligned for the sole purpose of bringing you two together for this exact moment. you feel connected to him in a way so profound, you previously thought it was impossible. it feels like the universe put him on this planet just for you, and you for him. you suppose, in a way, it did. especially when you two are finally finished as you lay your head on his chest and feel every breath enter and exit his warm body. he cradles you in his arms and you look up at him, locking eyes. you both smile while he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ears, revealing your seal.

"so beautiful," he whispers.

"who? me or the seal?"

"the seal, of course," he says nonchalantly, "but looking at you now, you're not too bad." you playfully smack his chest and he reacts with a comically childish yell. you hurriedly cover his mouth and shush him, but he takes the opportunity to grab your hand and kiss your fingers with an overdramatic "mwah!"

"you're so fucking loud, you know?" you tease, poking his side.

"says the one who was screaming out my name the entire night."

"i hate you," you say embarrassedly, blush overwhelming your already flushed cheeks as you hide your face in his chest.

"maybe, but you're still stuck with me," he replies.

"mhmm," you mumble into his skin - already falling asleep.

"stuck with me forever, right?" he asks, and if you weren't so intent on burying yourself into his chest, you'd see the look of insecurity on his face - his long eyelashes trembling ever so slightly.

"forever," you say as you drift off to sleep, and you're so happy, so content, he finally feels safe enough to sleep without fear of waking up in the morning to an empty bed. he grasps you even tighter and mumbles "i love you" into your hair until he eventually drifts off himself.

notes pt. 2: not the best thing i've ever written i fear... anyway do y'all wanna read the extremely corny fluff that i originally wrote for this or no? it's sooo corny but sweet i think. as always, feedback is always appreciated :)

[taglist]

@my313 @woncheecks @superbbananananana @zzhyuu @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @defnotleee @everythingvirgoes

183 notes · View notes

w2beastars · 13 days

Text

Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 25

So, I know we were all disgusted by the freak South who dated a lizard who was the same species as him(ewww). So I am happy to tell you all that we are going back to some good ol' freaky furry romance.

Better yet, this chapter is about Haru and Legosi!

The main couple of Beastars now practically live together since their universities are pretty close to each other. Haru is doing her third year in college and Legosi, now with a clean criminal record, is doing his first year in college, studying entomology.

Good for you, Legosi :) It is never too late to get back to school!

So, the wolf and the rabbit has been together for three years now and (for the most part) live together. You know what that means...

Oh yeah! They sleep together!

... In separate beds! There is no sex whatsoever!

Haru asks the same question as the rest of us: HOW?!?!?

Well, the first night Haru spent at Legosi's place, the ussual happened:

Like most wolves, Legosi makes small bites when he gets overly exited. Haru didn't get hurt, she got a scratch behind her ear, it's not the end of the world.

But afterwards, their relationship has been... well, casual.

There is no sexy atmosphere between them since the biting incident. They still spend their free time together, but it is almost like they are a middle-aged married couple where they brush their teeth together and everyday stuff like that. It bothers Haru a great deal since she is a college girl and it makes her feel old, makes the two of them feel old. She would like to get wild while she is still young... But to be fair, don't you think you had plenty of fun already, Haru?

I'm not slut-shaming or anything, just saying.

Anyways, Haru contacts Juno. Yep, everyone's favorite queen wolf is back!

Two things I noticed is that Haru now calls her "chan", implying a bit more friendly relationship between the two of them. Second is that even though Juno is here to give Haru input and advise about wolves, we don't get to learn anything about what her life is like right now.

YOU ARE KILLING ME, PARU!!! YOU ARE TORTURING ME SPECIFICALLY BY NOT LETTING US LEARN WHAT HER LIFE POST-LOUIS IS LIKE!

As I was saying, Haru wants Juno to give her advice to kick Legosi's wolf instincts into high gear. Juno is unsure if that's such a great idea(no duh!) but share what would normally make a male wolf... excited.

There is just one problem... Legosi is... well, Legosi.

He is a terrible mix of extremely polite, concerned and dense.

Nothing Haru does triggers Legosi, he misreads the signals completely and Haru starts to wonder if they have simply lost their spark.

Then, one night as Haru goes to bed disappointed that she haven't unleashed the beast so to say, she sees that Legosi is awake.

It's full moon, and Legosi can't help it but to stay up and watch it. Even if it is bogus that the moon should somehow affect wolves, Legosi and his fellow canines are still emotionally attached to it. Haru says she can relate to this to some degree, probably because rabbits have a religious connection to the moon.

This is possibly the first thing their species have in common. So the two of them goes for a late night/early morning stroll, enjoying the beautiful moon.

The two of them just enjoy each other's company, it's nice and quiet. They are not tired from class or trying to study or doing everyday tasks, meaning they can actually connect on a emotional level.

And then we get the twist:

As stated earlier, Legosi accidentally scratched Haru's ear when he got "excited" and Haru assumed it killed the vibe between them. But this seems to imply that he was waiting for the wound to heal completely.

Or maybe it is because they are both relaxed that Legosi feels less anxious.

Either way, they don't spend this night in separate beds.

I'm gonna be honest, it was not the best Haru x Legosi story I read, I would have liked a bit more of the classic Paru insanity. But I very much enjoyed it, and this specific story shouldn't have that much crazy because it is about the lack of insanity in the wolf and rabbit's life. We get to see that Legosi can finally get a real career and even achieve his dream of working with insects and how much they have evolved as an actual couple, not just furry angst and tension between the rabbit and wolf. It also feels like Paru is ending Beast Complex for real this time to focus more on her other projects, and if that's the case then this was a nice way to end it.

I'm Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.

#beastars #beast complex #haru x legosi #haru #legoshi x haru #legosi x haru #haru beastars #legoshi #legosi #juno #itagaki paru #paru itagaki #paru

79 notes · View notes

hellfirenacht · 10 months

Text

Wing Man Part 6

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: What DID he mean by five? The second meeting.

5.1k words

A/N: How are we feeling in a post-"Flight of Icarus" world, y'all? I knew from the beginning that I'd want to add some of the lore in and let me tell you, I LOVE Ronnie Ecker. For those of you who did not read the book, or haven't had a chance to, Ronnie is Eddie's best friend who ended up with a full scholarship to NYU. They're siblings, your honor.

Also if anyone can show me on this map where the plot is going, I'd really appreciate it.

This late at night, the only sounds in the trailer park came from the occasional dog barking and the echoes of Eddie’s tapes blasting as he pulled up to Wayne’s trailer. His uncle was working tonight as usual, which would normally allow Eddie time to hog the tv before passing out for a few precious hours before he had to get up for school.

Tonight however, his mind was buzzing with what had just happened less than an hour ago. He liked you, he wasn’t sure how much yet but he did. You were sharp and knew your stuff about metal. It helped that you were cute. Really cute.

He liked seeing you in the passenger seat of his car, matching wits with his friends and ranting about Ozzy. He liked seeing you laughing and the way you watched him play. He really liked the way you had fiddled with the pick he’d thrown at you at the end of the set.

Eddie had never done that before. He’d wanted to, but never had anyone’s attention like that before- no. That wasn’t true. There had been one other person who’d listened to him play like that, two years ago.

Was he always gonna fold to the site of a pretty girl actually paying attention to his music?

“Of course you are.” Ronnie’s voice echoed on the phone. “And I’m gonna laugh every time you do.”

Eddie groaned, holding the receiver to his ear as his forehead pressed against the front of the fridge. He hadn’t planned on running to her with this, but he was nowhere near able to wind down. He hadn’t even expected Ronnie to pick up the phone this late at night with the time zone difference and the fact that it was a school night. He’d have to push his stash a bit harder to pay Wayne back for the long distance call.

The past two years had been a slow crawl of building back trust up with Veronica Ecker. The two had gone almost a whole summer without talking before Eddie had basically groveled for forgiveness outside of Granny Ecker’s trailer before Ronnie left for New York. She had forgiven him enough to let him give her a ride to the airport.

“Last time?” He’d asked.

“Last time.” She’d repeated.

“So why didn’t you shack up with her tonight?” Ronnie asked. “You got her into your van, and you dropped her off like a gentleman.”

“I don’t know, I panicked.” Eddie sighed, bonking his head against the fridge a few times. “She was right there, and she was leaning in and all I saw was Paige leaning in-”

“You know not every girl who shares your taste in music is Paige, right?” Eddie could practically see Ronnie rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“Any girl that shares my taste in music ends up fucking off to the opposite end of the country.”

This made Ronnie laugh. “You’re an idiot. Paige fucked off back to her job and I fucked off to college.”

“Fucking off is fucking off.”

“Maybe you need to fuck off.”

“I tried, remember?”

She remembered. Both of them remembered.

“Look, stop being a dipshit.” Ronnie said after a moment of awkward silence. “You’re graduating this year, right?”

“Uhhh...”

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m working on it. I just need those last stupid two classes and then I’m home free.” Eddie confirmed.

“You can’t stay in high school forever.” Ronnie said. “And you’re gonna realize that there’s life outside of Hawkins. Have you even talked to Paige since then?”

He hadn’t, and they both knew it. Eddie gave up two months after she’d bailed him out of jail. Two months of dead air silence. He got the hint.

“No.”

“Then stop worrying about one girl from over two years ago!” Eddie could feel the phantom pain of Ronnie punching him in the arm like she always used to. “Get laid and graduate, Munson. You earned it.”

Eddie snorted, sliding down the fridge to sit on the cool floor. “Is that the only advice you got for me, Ecker?”

“It’s the only advice you need. Did you pass that test last week?” Ronnie asked.

“By the skin of my teeth.” Eddie sighed, leaning his head back against the fridge.

“Your new girl graduated, maybe she can help you study.”

“She’s not my girl. She’s a girl that I’ve met a handful of times-”

“That’s turning your brain to mush.”

“She doesn’t even know who I am, Ronnie.” He fiddled with the chord in his hand, watching the spiral wind and unwind around his fingers. It was already stretched out pretty bad, with a few spirals already tangled beyond repair like his old slinky from when he was a kid.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ronnie asked. “She doesn’t know you, that means she doesn’t feed into the bullshit of the rumor mill.”

Ronnie had a point and he hated it, but that’s why he called her to begin with. Ronnie was the only person who could cut through his Munson bullshit and give it to him straight. He missed it. As much as he enjoyed the power he had to protect his little lost sheepies, they were all too intimidated to actually stand up to him and call him out the way that Ronnie would.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual.” Eddie could hear her snort and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “So why the hell are you even awake right now? Up til 2 am on a school night, Ecker?”

“It’s barely past midnight, the time zone isn’t that off. I was studying for a test, but hearing you complain about your love life is a far more productive use of my time.”

“You’re using me to slack off, aren’t you?”

“If I have to look at my flashcards one more time tonight my eyes are gonna go square. How’s Granny doing?”

“She’s an empty nester and is determined to turn me into her replacement grandson until you visit again.” Eddie shook his head. “She threatened to give me a haircut the last time she dropped off a plate for Wayne.”

Ronnie had come back to visit a grand total of five times since she’d left, returning for holidays and summers to visit Granny Ecker and by extension Eddie. Each time she’d come back with stories of law school and how different New York is.

It seemed impossible, everything that Ronnie had told him about going to college and about life outside their small town. She was playing Dungeons and Dragons still, having found a group that would play with her. According to her, being a rules lawyer for the game at a law school hit way different than it had their small Hellfire group in high school. No one even cared that they played outside of a few students who had better things to do than enact violence against a few nerds.

Then again, in law school everyone was some sort of nerd. Eddie wondered if even a freak would be accepted there. Well, socially at least. He wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d be able to be accepted into law school with his grades. Ronnie had invited him up to visit a few times, but there was never time or money to do it.

The two continued talking for another hour, catching up until Ronnie was scolding him for staying up so late on a school night.

“Yeah? And what’s your excuse?” Eddie said. “It’s almost 4:20 am there.”

“Ha. Ha. Again, ha.” Ronnie said. “Still not how timezones work. And my first class doesn’t start until noon.”

Right. In college you didn’t have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn every day.

“Night, Ecker.”

“Night, Munson. Graduate and get laid.”

“Does it matter the order?”

“Good night, Eddie.”

Talking to Ronnie had eased his nerves, but there was still something inside that wouldn’t let him lay down and go to sleep. It was late now, way later than he intended to stay up tonight. The night he played at the Hideout always had him up late, and his teacher already considered him more useless than usual on Wednesdays. It’s not like anyone would care if he slept in class, unless they were in a particularly foul mood.

He made his way to a stack of books in his room rummaging through a pile or two until he found what he was looking for. Eddie’s copy of Lord of the RIngs was well loved at best, and completely trashed at worst. The cover of the paperback was nearly torn off, taped back together haphazardly over the years. Pages were dogeared, the spine was cracked, notes were scribbled in the margins, and his name was scribbled in messy cursive on the front page declaring that this book belonged to Eddie Munson and that he was in third grade.

Eddie stripped out of most of his clothes, tossing his jewelry on his nightstand, and hopped into bed. He turned on a small lamp and opened the book. He could probably recite the first chapter from memory if he tried, the words on the page a comfortable lullabye for his wound up mind. But tonight he flipped to a page near the end where his bookmark was. The flower made out of blue construction paper wasn’t nearly as old as the book, and only in better shape because it never left the safe pages of Tolkein’s writing.

His eyes glanced at his arm again, your phone number a temporary tattoo on his skin until it washed off. Shit, it was going to wash off eventually. Eddie grabbed a pen from under his bed and added another scribble to the inside of the book before copying your number carefully onto the paper flower. At least this way he’d always know where it was.

With that aside, Eddie didn’t make it through three pages of his book before he passed out with the light still on.

Fall Semester, 1984

The PrinciPAL’s office was just as interesting and inviting as it always was, which is to say not at all. Eddie was slumped back on a chair, watching as Janice sorted through paperwork, pretending to look busy so that she could avoid any small talk with ‘that Munson boy’. He had been waiting for Higgin’s to show up for almost fifteen minutes now, because why shouldn’t he waste Eddie’s time at this point? The worst that was going to happen today is that they’d do their little song and dance, Eddie would plead his case that the flyers were absolutely serious and that Chris Morrison had every intent to run for student council, and that it was all of the club that had made the posters, Higgins would shake his head and not believe Eddie for a second (which to be fair, this would be the first time that Eddie would admit privately that it was his fault), they’d go back and forth until Eddie got some form of detention or Saturday school.

Honestly, the worst part would be rescheduling Hellfire if he wound up in detention.

Eddie had counted out 13 paper clips that Janice had used in her papershifting before the door to the front office opened up again. He looked up, expecting to see Higgins walk in, ignore him for another five minutes, before Janice would let Eddie go in.

He didn’t expect to see you, pale and shaken, clutching a teacher’s note in your hand. Eddie watched as you handed the note over to Janice who read it, shook her head, and pointed at the chair next to himself. Your eyes never left the floor as you sat next to him, staring at the cheap carpet as if you could somehow burn a hole in it and disappear.

Trouble was no stranger to Eddie, and Eddie was no stranger to trouble. In Hawkins the name ‘Munson’ might as well be in the thesaurus next to the word. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and it would be far from his last as long as Higgins stayed the princiPAL. He’d walk away with a lecture and a sigh and then it would be business as normal.

The look on your face though, that was far from the mild annoyance he felt. You look downright traumatized at the idea of having been sent here. Eddie glanced up at Janice who deigned to make eye contact with him now. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, a disapproving look behind her purple frames as if this was somehow Eddie’s fault that you had ended up here as well. But then, as far as any of the faculty from the office was concerned, even him being enrolled at this school was a death sentence to the rest of the poor student body. Eddie was a disease that they would try to contain until they had the cure to remove him.

The shaking of your knee made your chair (and his chair by proxy) rattle slightly. The quiet of the office and the mundane shuffling of Janice’s papers only added to the tension that was radiating off you.

“Janice, is Higgin’s gonna be long?” Eddie finally asked, and your bouncing knee stopped for just a moment before going back to its nervous movement.

“He’s in a very important meeting.” Came the reply over a stack of papers, still not looking at Eddie.

He sighed again and looked over at you, trying to place where he knew your face. Your eyes were a bit red, and you looked like you were on the verge of crying. Shit, he needed to do something before he had to ask Janice for the tissue box.

“First time?” Eddie asked, and when you didn’t respond he nudged your knee with his.

You jumped slightly, head snapping up. It was a wonder you didn’t give yourself whiplash and it would have been almost funny to Eddie had you not looked like a deer in the headlights looking at him.

“I... Huh?” your voice cracked slightly.

“What are ya in for?” Eddie did his best to give you a smile which he was sure made him look more like a serial killer than a comfort. It was rare he wished that he had his dad’s smile, but in cases like this he’d make an exception.

You looked at the paper in your hand and swallowed. “Uh... skipped.”

“Skipped school or just class?” Eddie prompted, trying to get you to talk more. If you were talking, then you weren’t crying. That’s what he hoped at least.

“Class.” He didn’t think you’d say anymore but you surprised him. “US History.” Eddie caught the way your eyes darted to Janice again as if to make sure she wasn’t listening in, but Janice had better things to do than to eavesdrop on two delinquents. “I wasn’t... I had a bad day. I'm having a bad day. I felt like I was going to explode and I went to the library.”

Eddie nodded, wondering what had happened today that made you need to duck out. It wasn’t his business, and frankly Higgin’s was going to grill you enough as it was.

“Rookie mistake.” He said instead.

“Rookie...?”

Eddie kept his voice low and leaned in closer to you as if telling you a secret. “If you’re gonna skip, you can’t go to the library. You might as well have walked into the teacher’s lounge and announced that you were cutting class.”

You let out a sharp breath that he swore counted for a laugh. “Thanks for the heads up, can you tell me that a few hours ago?”

There was color returning to your face now and Eddie kept going. His brown eyes scanned your face, trying to place where he knew you from. Hawkins was a small town, and there was nothing about you that screamed ‘I’m new!’.

He liked your sarcasm though, and his ‘comforting’ grin shifted into a genuine smile. “If you’re gonna ditch, you need to go to the bathroom or go outside.” He said. “Especially for last period. Go hide outside in the woods and you can slip into the parking lot seamlessly without anyone noticing. By the end of the day the teachers are barely taking attendance anyway.”

“Have you been in the girls rooms here?” you asked, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather take my chances here than stay in there longer than I’d have to.” Eddie wasn’t sure if you were trying to make a joke or if you were serious.

“Would you rather hide in the boys room?” he asked. “I swear it only smells like piss almost all of the time and you’d end up in the splash zone even if you were in a stall.”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine one. Your shoulders were relaxing and you looked down at the paper again and took a deep breath that you exhaled with a sigh.

“I’ve never been in trouble before.” you said, your hands starting to bend and fold the paper on your lap absently. “I’m not good at being in trouble.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m here.” Eddie nudged your knee again with his. “Being in trouble is kind of my job here at Hawkin’s High. I’m a professional, you know. If I wasn’t here taking up all of Principal Higgin’s time he might have to actually do his job.”

That last part was louder, as he directed it to Janice who refused to take the bait and only reached for her lilac stapler instead.

A small smack on his arm drew his attention back to you, you were smiling at him looking astonished. “You’re gonna get us in trouble!” you whispered at him.

“We’re already in trouble.” Eddie reminded you, his smile never fading. “Look, you’ve never been in trouble before, right? You’re gonna be fine. Just give him a good sob story about being overwhelmed with school, or about a sick pet. If you can squeeze out some tears that’s even better. The worst that he’s gonna do is give you a slap on the wrist and maybe detention if he’s in a shit mood”

You take in his words, listening to him carefully and taking in every word he was saying as if this was life or death. Eddie admittedly, had purposefully slipped into his Dungeon Master voice. It was a skill that normally only worked on his little sheepies in his club, and that was after semesters of training his players to listen and pay attention to his words or else it would be life or death for their characters.

Having someone else listen to him like that? It felt really good.

Your mouth started to open to say something but then the office door opened again and Higgin’s stepped in, nodding to Janice and then looking at the two of you. There was an accusatory look in his eyes as he made eye contact with Eddie again, and it was clear what that look said. Leave her alone, don’t make things worse for her than they already are.

“Munson.” Higgins said and it took everything in him to stay still and not flinch at his last name. He was used to the weight that came with his name, but he hadn’t wanted you to know who he was. Not after he just remembered where he knew you from, glancing down at the note that you had folded into a flower in a fit of nerves.

“I heard you missed me, Sir.” Eddie forced his eyes to meet Higgin’s. “You really should just start saying hi in the hallways instead of inviting me to these little chats every week. You’re taking away valuable learning time from me, you know.”

If the two of them had been alone, Higgins would have snapped back at Eddie about being a smartass. But you were there, and the color had drained from your face again, and there was a shine to your eyes that was threatening to spill over your waterline. Higgins looked at you and motioned for you to follow him into his office.

Eddie wished that you would turn and look at him before disappearing into the PrincePAL’s office. He could imagine you turning to look at him for comfort, he’d give you a smile that would put you at ease and a thumbs up. You’d give him another smile and walk in feeling brave.

Instead it was like you forgot he was there as your figure disappeared behind the heavy wood door that shut with a heavy click.

Of course Higgins had you come in first, even though Eddie had already been sitting here since the beginning of the period when he’d been called in.

He was tempted to go over to the door and press his ear up against it to listen in on what he was saying to you but even Janice would scold him for that. So there Eddie sat for another ten minutes as he waited for you to step out again.

Higgin’s was the one to open the door and let you out of the office, as if he were some gentleman instead of Eddie’s own personal warden five days a week. You walked out and to Eddie’s surprise you gave him a nod and mouthed thank you as you slipped back out the door and into the hallway.

Eddie’s eyes followed you until he couldn’t see you anymore and it took Higgin’s standing in front of him with folded arms and saying his full government name for Eddie to snap back to reality.

“Munson. A word about your little flyers?”

“Well, I’d say a picture is worth a thousand words-”

“In my office.”

Eddie didn’t remember much else about that talk, only remembering the white paper flower that had been carelessly tossed into the trash next to Higgin’s desk.

“He still hasn’t called you?” Steve asked as you, him, and Robin continued your closing routine. The day had been busy, with almost everyone in Hawkins coming to rent a movie for the weekend. Robin was stocking the candy while you wiped down the sticky counter where children had been touching all day. Who’s idea was it to leave out free suckers on the counter anyway?

Oh right, that was your idea because you loved Halloween.

“Nope.” you said, your voice a little tense. It had been almost two weeks since that night at the Hideout. You hadn’t returned to the dive bar, hoping that Eddie would call you and make the next move. Each passing day you had stayed as close to the phone as possible when you were home and you’d checked your voicemail every day when you got home for any sign that he’d attempted to reach out.

Nothing.

You shouldn’t feel this rejected but you did. It was far too early to tell if you had any feelings beyond initial attraction to the guy, but... you’d felt something. An enjoyment of bantering with him and an ease that came as naturally as your friendship with Robin and Steve.

Plus, you had to admit it, he was really fucking hot. Seeing him play guitar two weeks ago had haunted your dreams and slipped into a few of your fantasies when you were alone.

You kept that part to yourself though, that was the last thing that Steve or Robin needed to hear. Besides, that was Steve’s job to go far too into detail about his sex life. Steve had tried ribbing you about going home with Eddie but you’d told him that you were a complete gentleman with him.

That night had left you feeling electrified, almost high as you danced around your room as you got ready for bed. Even as his odd parting rattled around your brain, you couldn’t help but to feel excited at the idea of seeing him again.

Then a few days went by. Then a week. And now two weeks later you hadn’t heard from him. The kids hadn’t stopped by either so you couldn’t hassle them about Eddie either. Even if they had, you weren’t sure if you could ask about him, you didn’t want to come across as desperate.

“Did you ever figure out what he meant by ‘five times?’” Robin asked, opening up a squished package of Reese's Cups. “Like, didn’t you say you didn’t know him?”

You threw your hands up before tossing the paper towels you were using to clean in the trash can.

“I have no idea.” you said. “Either I’m bad at math, he’s bad at math, or maybe we’re both stupid.”

“He did get held back a few times.” Steve muttered to himself.

“There’s a chance that you two have met before though.” said Robin, “I mean think about it, you’re both weirdos who went to the same school. Shouldn’t you both have bumped into each other before?”

“You’d think so, but my group kind of kept to ourselves.” you said with a sigh. “We were private weirdos. When I DID try and make other friends-”

“Yeah, yeah, Chris Morrison shot you down.” Steve said, waving his hand.

“Oh, you heard that story?” you laughed. “I didn’t think I mentioned it to you before.”

Steve gave you a blank stare that only made you laugh more. “I swear you keep talking about that guy more than Eddie. Maybe I should track him down and set you up on a blind date with him instead.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Hey, that could be fun!” Robin added. “We’ll dress you up super hot, set you up with Chris, and then you can turn him down instead!”

“Excuse you, Robin. I am always super hot.” you declared, straightening out your unflattering Family Video vest. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

You hadn’t done laundry in a week, and your hair had seen better days. The green polyester vest was wrinkled and if Keith saw you looking sloppy he’d probably have words about it. Not big words or even intimidating words, but words nonetheless. It was night and day compared to how you’d looked at the Hideout and the arcade earlier in the month. But it wasn’t like you had anyone to impress while you were at work anyway.

“Hey, nerdy chicks can be hot.” Steve said. “I mean, Nancy’s an academic nerd and I was crazy about her.”

You hummed thoughtfully and turned to Robin. “How about we get married instead?” you asked. “You, me, a fuck ton of cats, and a tax break. What do you say?”

Robin laughed and shook her head. “You aren’t my type.” Her eyes darted nervously to Steve for a split second and you sighed dramatically.

“Guess it’s just me and the cats I’ll eventually adopt.” you said. “Not even a tax break.”

“You know, Keith thinks you’re cute-”

“I am going to pretend that you did not just say that, Harrington.” you said firmly. “Nope, not happening. Uh-uh. Absolutely not.”

“He’s not... that bad?” Robin said, but you could hear the pain in her voice through the laughter. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“The lady is trying not to think actually.” you laugh. “We’re closed, I’m actually done thinking. I just wanna finish cleaning up and go home. What’s left?”

“Rewinding the returns,-”

“Ugh.”

“Cleaning up the kids movies,-”

“Ugh.”

“And cleaning the bathroom.”

“UGHHHHHH.”

“Would you rather clean up the porn room?” asked Robin.

“Yes actually, I would.” You said. “Whatever they think about doing in that room is what they do end up doing in the bathroom.”

“Gross.”

Steve sighed “Okay, I’ll be the hero and save you ladies from cleaning the bathroom. Robin, you fix the kids section, and you can rewind the tapes.”

“I thought I was in charge here.” You crossed your arms.

“Okay, did you have a better way to divide and conquer?”

“...No.”

“Then let’s hurry up and-”

Ding!

“Who didn’t lock the door?!” you asked.

“It was Steve’s job to-” Robin started.

“Oh, shit. Hi.” Steve was staring at the person who had just walked in. You turned around and your heart jumped in your chest and your stomach dropped.

“Cursing in front of customers, Harrington?” Eddie said. “Now that’s not very professional of you.”

Robin’s eyes were darting so fast between you and Eddie that you were surprised she wasn’t giving herself vertigo. You tried to give her a pointed glare but your friend either didn’t get the hint or refused to.

“Well, we’re closed. You can’t be a customer if you can’t pay.” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips.

Eddie looked away from Steve and made eye contact with you. It had been two weeks since you’d seen him, and you glazed at his arm for a second, trying to see if the faded remains of your phone number were still stamped on his arm. Unfortunately for you he was wearing a heavy leather jacket and you had not yet developed x ray vision. Perhaps in another genre.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Eddie asked and you, ignoring Steve who looked mildly offended.

You stood there in shock for a second before Robin nudged you in the rib.

“I- uh. I have to finish closing.” you said, snapping out of it.

“Steve and I can handle the rest of closing!” Robin grabbed Steve and shook his shoulder.

“Guys, I’m literally in charge of you both. I can’t leave before you.” You said, already reaching for your bag under the counter.

“We can handle it!” Steve said.

“And I can handle Steve!” Robin added. “We close without you and Keith all the time, remember?”

You could trust Robin, and as long as Steve didn’t knock down any displays then it wouldn’t take them more than another ten minutes to finish up. You were so tempted to turn them down, make Eddie wait as you had waited for him for the past two weeks.

But you were already stepping behind the counter towards Eddie and tossing the keys to lock up to Robin. Keith would murder you and write you up (in that order) if he knew what you were doing but looking up at the roundest pair of brown eyes you’d ever seen had you in the mood to make questionable choices.

You shrugged off your vest and tossed it at Steve, in an attempt to make yourself look like you hadn’t spent the whole day dealing with unruly customers and screaming kids. Part of you almost wished that you had agreed to bathroom duty, if only to give you an excuse to look in a mirror and straighten yourself out.

“Thanks, guys.” you gave them a quick nod, catching sight of Robin’s knowing smirk and Steve shaking his head before walking out the door that Eddie was holding open for you.

The last thing you heard was the scrambling of the entrance to Family Video being locked.

Part 7

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Please comment and reblog <3

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3

#nacht fic #wing man #eddie munson x reader

349 notes · View notes

httpiastri · 3 months

Text

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FOUR (MONACO)

genre: fluff, angst, etc.

warnings: heartbreak as usual

word count: 5.3k (like, exactly 5.3k. on the word. 😭)

author's note: it feels so wrong to say that im posting this to celebrate ollie's graduation to f1 because... this is such a sad chapter.... pain pain pain for everyone involved (especially ollie) 💔 but yay happy ollie f1 announcement day!!! hope you're all doing well & hope you enjoy <3 (also i wrote a lot of this chapter back in february? and proofreading it today nearly brought me to tears bcs of ollie-)

series masterlist

the career of a racing driver is a roller coaster for everyone involved.

if your name is max verstappen, then you've got more ups than most others. that roller coaster seems pretty fun.

but if your name is y/n harper, then your roller coaster isn't as fun these days. but if there’s ever a place to turn things around, it's monaco.

even just the track walk is enough to bring up your mood after a bad week like last. walking along the monegasque streets, almost getting hit by cars as you sign autographs and take pictures with fans... it's an experience you just can't find anywhere else.

coincidentally enough, ollie is done with the track walk just as you are, which means that the two of you can make your way back to the f2 paddock together. your boyfriend has always loved monaco – he pretty much doesn't ever shut up about the track and it's history unless you tape his mouth shut when you're in the country. that's why it's surprising that he not only brings up another subject, but also that he chooses a quite sensitive one – your father.

"he's going to be here this weekend, right?" ollie asks, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. he seemingly doesn't quite understand just how tense things are with your dad yet. to be fair, it isn't really his fault, since you haven't told him and since he isn't a mind-reader. but still, something in your chest tightens at the way ollie brings him up so casually.

you nod. "you know how much he adores monaco," you say with a sigh, before putting on your best impression of your dad. "the most iconic track ever, the only track to ever... blah blah blah."

having your dad along for races was always a given when you were younger. he was your best helmet carrier, your number-one supporter, and the first person you went to when celebrating or complaining.

but somewhere along the years, having him around started to become more problematic and anxiety-inducing. his support turned into criticism, and it became far more common for him to tell you to "go apologize to the engineers and ask them what you should do to perform better tomorrow" rather than give you any constructive feedback of his own.

at first, it was rough; the man who had always been your pillar to lean on, your main source of support, your safe haven, was seemingly gone. you continued to perform well, though you weren't sure if that was because you wanted to make him proud or if you were terrified of making him disappointed.

"let's have dinner with him someday, then," ollie suggests as the two of you come to a stop right outside the prema garage for the weekend. "maybe sunday, if we have things to celebrate?"

"let's hope so."

pepe calls your name once, twice, thrice, before he resorts to shaking your shoulder gently. his touch, along with the sound of the spaniard's raspy laughter, makes you finally wake from your slumber. you blink up at him, eyes droopy and mind empty. "what?"

"why are you sleeping?" pepe asks, shaking his head. "quali starts in... about an hour."

you begin to slowly push yourself up from the couch you've been lying on, yawning loudly. "i was supposed to just rest my eyes," you start, rubbing your eyes with your hands. "i didn't mean to fall asleep..."

"did you not sleep well last night? were you up late again?" pepe asks as he sits down next to you, watching you stretch your arms over your head with yet another yawn.

what are you supposed to say? yes, i was up until four am because i couldn't find any peace of mind at all? i've been dreading every second of this weekend because i never know when my dad will appear from around the corner? i'm scared he's going to be so mad over my performances that he disowns me?

pepe may know a lot of what's going on with your father, but he doesn't need to know this much.

you did, in fact, meet him earlier today, right before practice – if greeting him briefly and then instantly bolting in the opposite direction counts as a "meeting" – but since then, he's been nowhere to be seen. not even around dino or ollie when you last saw the two of them.

pepe takes your silence as an answer in itself, and he lets out a hum. "well, i'm quite nervous myself," he says frankly, pulling a hand through his hair.

"you did so well here last year, though." you nudge his shoulder with yours. "you'll be great again, i'm sure of it."

"dinner with the prince on sunday? both of us?"

you nod, shooting your friend a smile. "of course." but despite how much you wish it would become a reality, there's not even the slightest trace of faith in you. the only thing you can think about is how likely it is for this round to go in the same footsteps as your recent ones.

a great attitude to bring into a race weekend.

p9.

a top ten placement, sure. second in the reverse grid, sure. but other than that, there's not much positive in it. it's a step in the right direction, but in some way, it feels like a step that's way too short.

the sprint race starts with an incident right by you on the track, which is extremely unlucky for you since you get pretty much blocked and have nowhere to go. after being passed by several cars, the safety car finally comes out, and you find yourself in p7.

of course your father's words echo in your head all the way through the safety car period. "starting p2 means a free podium," he had told you when he stopped by right before you were getting into your car. "don't mess it up."

you're so focused on that expression on his face, the way he tilted his chin up and his head slightly to the side as he spoke, and the way it felt like your heart stopped beating for a few seconds, that you don't even realize that your engineer has told you about the safety car being about to end. you don't even acknowledge the fact that the race leader has taken off, nor that the rest of the field starts pushing again before it's too late.

some blue car tries to overtake you on the outside, and with another car on your inside you have no chance of giving either of them space – and you manage to crash into them both. not only did you ruin your own race, but also two other drivers'.

and of course, one of the cars buried into the wall next to yours is a silver hitech with a big number 17 on it.

climbing out of your car, you can hear several voices calling out for all three of you from the grandstand nearby, and you consider throwing them a wave as you climb through the metal fence to get off the track. but then, you hear one voice that's more familiar – one that belongs to the last person you want to talk to right now. "are you alright?"

you almost don't look at him, but the little glance you shoot him is enough to take in every single bit of disappointment in his eyes. what are the odds that your dad was sitting in the grandstand right where you crashed?

a nod is enough of an answer you reckon, pulling your helmet off your head and beginning to walk the way towards the paddock again. "do you want me to carry that?" your dad asks, having gotten past the security guards after showing his pass, now jogging to catch up with you.

"i'm not ten anymore," you groan. "i can handle it on my own."

"i wasn't saying you can't-" he cuts himself off, placing a hand on your shoulder. "you looked really out of it out there."

you keep your gaze forwards so he won't see you rolling your eyes at his words, determined steps carrying you forward quickly as you shake his hand off. "oh, you could see through my visor? that's cool."

"what's gotten into you lately?" your dad pushes, and you flinch slightly at the harsh tone in his voice. "what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"well, frankly, your driving had been shit recently." your eyes snap to him when he speaks, eyebrows furrowed. "it looks like you're not even trying."

you stay silent for a long while, trying to navigate your way back – and to a place where your dad hopefully won't be allowed – but you can't help but scoff. "thank's a lot."

"what? am i wrong?"

"yes, you're wrong!" you finally stop in your tracks, fully facing him by now. a hand goes up to your hair, pulling on it to relieve at least some tension. "i'm trying my best, i-"

"is there something going wrong with ollie?" your jaw drops. "i'll talk to him, i'll settle it with him."

"don't you dare!" you exclaim. "there's nothing wrong with ollie, okay?!"

"then what is wrong with you? why can't you score ten points in nine races?"

that's it – you're going to completely lose it if this goes on for even one more second. "leave me the fuck alone," you tell him, turning your head away so he won't get a chance to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

the worst part of it all? the fact that you agree with him. the fact that you can't even argue against it; nine points in five rounds is not a good result at all.

surprisingly enough, he doesn't follow you when you hurry away, allowing you to get to the paddock alone. the silence doesn't mean you can hold back from crying, however; it doesn't take long before your cheeks are stained with your tears, your breaths growing quicker and quicker for every step you take. navigating the paddock with blurry vision is hard, and you're basically just relying on muscle memory to take you back to the right part of the garage. just as you're rounding a corner, you bump into someone – someone whose white suit and broad, muscular shoulders are easy to recognize even through your tears.

the other last person you want to talk to right now.

"hey there," he says, a hand coming up to your shoulder to keep you steady as you stumble a little upon the impact with his chest. "are you- woah, are you crying?"

"leave me alone, paul."

he lets out a little chuckle, one he regrets in hindsight because it makes him sound like he thinks the state you're in is funny. "i can't just walk away when you're this upset, can i?" he asks, having to use all of his willpower to hold back from wiping away a few tears from your cheeks. "is it about the crash? i'm not mad at you, and i don't think victor is either-"

"i couldn't care less about the stupid crash!" you explode, a few sobs following your words. "i'm just- i can't-"

paul's eyes widen in surprise at your outburst, hand on your shoulder slipping further along so he's got his arm draped across your shoulders and it's easier for him to force you to walk with him. now it's your turn to have to hold back, wanting nothing more than to lean into his chest and just let out all of your tears. he pushes you with him into the hitech truck, looking around the lounge area to make sure no one's there before guiding you to sit on one of the sofas there. "what's going on? did something happen?"

"i'm a bad driver, that's what happened." paul slumps into the seat right next to you, eyebrows raised when he hears you speak. "i don't belong here, i don't know what i'm doing, i-"

"hey hey hey," he cuts you off with a shake of his head. "what have we said about this?"

you look down at the floor, wiping away a few tears from your cheek as you continue to sniffle in the silence that fills the area. a burning feeling spreads through your chest at his words, the familiarity of it all making your head spin. it isn't the first time you've been like this in front of him; through the almost entire year you dated, there were quite a few times when he'd have to console you after a breakdown. paul knows your issues like the back of his hand, he knows how hard it can be to convince you that you do belong. but he also knows to never give up.

"you are a great driver," he starts, hesitating for a moment before letting his hand rub your shoulder. the action makes your breath hitch in your throat, but not because it's wrong – it's because you've missed his touch, probably far more than you've admitted to yourself before now.

"even my lousy dad thinks i'm bad," you finally get out in-between sniffles, resting your face in your hands.

"and since when do you care about his opinion, huh?"

he's right. at least partially. but still, you remain hunched over, shaking your head. "i may act like it doesn't matter, but… him calling me all kinds of things…" paul allows you to gather your thoughts, his touch remaining gentle over your racing suit. "it hurt. a lot."

he hums understandingly, letting out a sigh. "when is that stupid little brain of yours going to understand that you're doing well?" his words should bring a smile to your lips – a few months ago, they would've. but now, you don't react at all. "no matter what he says, no matter what the critics say. you're a good driver."

after another few moments of silence, you drop your hands to your lap and look at him. there's a hint of curiousity in his eyes, surprised by your sudden eye contact. "why do you even care?" you question. he's been acting like a complete idiot these past few months – and after you literally cursed him out in melbourne, you haven't spoken a word to each other. and yet, he's taking time out of his day to comfort you like he would a year ago.

"come on…" he presses his lips together in a firm line, shaking his head. "no matter what happens between us, i'll always look after you."

his words, and maybe especially your emotional reaction to them, take you by surprise. despite the anger and frustration you've built up over the last few months, there's an undeniable warmth in his gaze that softens your defenses. the feeling of nostalgia and longing is so strong it's almost painful, as if he has reminded you of a connection you thought had been lost forever.

it's quite strange, considering everything that's happened. but you're not opposed to it.

"how are you feeling after the crash?" paul asks to break the silence as you reach up to dry away the last of your tears from your cheeks. "that was a big impact you had. i got away lightly in comparison."

for the first time since the crash, you stop to actually think about it and allow yourself to feel through your body. the adrenaline from the race has worn off by now, and there's a throbbing in your head that seems to just grow stronger by the second. "i think… i'm alright…"

"do you want me to go get ollie for you? the race should be done by now," he says, checking the clock on the wall in the truck. "he can take you to go see a medic."

you shake your head instantly. "please, don't. for real."

paul shoots you a strange, confused look, though he gives you a slight nod. "okay, but you have to tell him," he says, pausing a second before continuing. "i know that head of yours, you're going to combust if you keep hiding this. you can't go through it alone."

"i promise."

you don't end up going to the medical center.

you do, however, go find ollie yourself – but you don't tell him about your chat with paul. instead, you hope he doesn't take notice of the not-so-subtle signs that you've just had a complete meltdown.

it's easy to break promises to people who you don't need to stay truthful to, you realize. last year, you wouldn't even think about breaking a promise to paul – but an ex boyfriend is much easier to lie to.

your current boyfriend wraps his arms around you the second you step close enough. his lips press to the side of your head, his arms giving you another squeeze before pulling away.

ollie has gotten used to your red eyes.

he's gotten used to the sight of your tearstained cheeks, the slight pout on your lips, the heaviness in your sighs.

he's gotten used to the sinking feeling in his stomach, the pain in his chest, the guilt.

but he's also gotten used to not asking, because he knows you won't tell.

when you wake up on feature race day, something is different. it's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders after talking to paul; like the air is suddenly much easier to breathe, and the whole world seems a little lighter. you're much more excited for the feature race of the day than any race so far this season.

in today's race, it's ollie's time to crash out. it isn't his fault, though; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got squeezed up against the wall by a trident car. there was nothing he could do.

as soon as he's deemed free of injuries, he makes his way back to the prema garage, joining the team in watching the rest of the race. it's a good one for you; choosing to go with the opposite strategy has really worked out for you so far, with you and zak o'sullivan being the only two drivers in the top who haven't pitted yet.

ollie follows your car intently on the screen in the garage, secretly hoping for a safety car to come out and help you out with your strategy as it's nearing the last few laps. he almost doesn't pull out of his trance even when a hand lands on his shoulder. "she's doing great," dino says from behind him, the brit nodding along to his words. "especially considering... well, she must've told you about yesterday, so i won't repeat it to you."

yesterday?

ollie looks dumbfounded for a moment before he composes himself, though he has no idea what the swede is talking about. "of course."

dino lets out a chuckle, patting his friend's shoulder. "paul said she was a complete mess when he found her," he continues, not realizing he's giving ollie more clues to help figure out what in the world he's talking about. "her anxiety was all over the place, apparently. but she's recovering, she's strong. she won't let this affect her."

ollie hums agreeingly at his words, eyes still glued to the tv in front of him. "certainly," he finally gets out. "she'll get through it with ease."

and so you did – at least for this particular race.

the virtual safety car was incredibly lucky, but that's racing sometimes. with both you and zak changing your tyres in the last lap, you both managed to end up ahead of the rest of the field, and secure a podium each.

unlike in jeddah, seeing paul's car pull up right next to yours on parc ferme isn't all that bad. after yesterday's heart-to-heart with him, you feel like at least part of this podium is thanks to him. if it weren't for his encouragement, you likely would've stuck it in the wall again.

you don't ignore him this time. you don't scoff at his words, you don't feel frustrated at his mere presence. this time, you give him a tight hug when he comes over to congratulate you, arms around his shoulders forcing him close.

"thank you," you can't help but whisper, and paul is grinning from ear to ear when he pulls away from the hug.

"don't," he answers with a quick shake of his head. "you could always pull this off. you just needed a little reminder."

and not only do your shoulders and mind feel a bit lighter as you step onto that monaco podium, but most importantly, your heart.

"i'm exhausted," you huff as you shrug your bag off your shoulders, leaving it by the door as ollie, too, makes his way into the hotel room. "thank god this weekend is finally over."

you dive onto his already-made bed, landing face-down between the pillows and blankets. the bed is huge, probably over two meters in width, and unbelievably soft. it's the first time you feel like you can truly relax since you got to monaco, and every single cell in your body thanks you for allowing them to rest a little.

"and i don't even have any sim sessions scheduled in over a week. i'm the luckiest person ever." ollie lets out a chuckle at this, his own bag crashing to the floor with a thud before his feet carry him deeper inside the room.

you turn your head and watch as he picks out a water bottle from the mini fridge, but he doesn't drink from it. instead, he makes his way to the bed, choosing to just stand next to it at first. you can't really read his expression, so you speak up – but he beats you to it. "ollie-"

"can we talk?"

you press your hands into the mattress, sitting up properly. "of course," you say, a look of unknowing dejection spreading across your features. "what's wrong?"

"that's... what i wanted to ask you, actually." ollie finally sits down on the bed, but on the opposite side of it, far from you. "what's going on? what happened yesterday?"

"oh, well..." you pause for a second, eyebrows rising as you try to find an explanation. "i just had a bad day, i didn't realize that the safety car-"

"i don't mean the race, i mean what happened after the race." his eyes are piercing into yours, not missing even the slightest movement of your face now. you've got his full attention. "with paul."

your breath hitches in your throat and you instantly look away. your voice is as low as a whisper when you speak again. "i can't believe he told you..."

"he didn't. it was someone else, but that's beside the point." you don't know if you should feel relieved that paul didn't tell ollie, or furious that he told someone else who then told ollie, but you don't have any time to think before his voice infiltrates your thoughts again. "i heard you were... i'm not going to use the same word he did, but i heard you were really upset. something about anxiety, or..."

he hopes you'll pick up where he trailed off, and despite how you're really not in the mood for this conversation right now, it feels unavoidable. "i guess... yesterday's race was really rough on me. and my racing has felt really bad recently, the anxiety has been through the roof, and..." your eyes land on your hands, watching as your fingers tremble slightly in your lap. "i don't know. something about yesterday just triggered it all again."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see ollie nodding understandingly. "how long have you been feeling like this?"

"since always, basically." a single teardrop rolls down your cheek before you even notice that you've started tearing up. you hurry to wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. "my mom likes to tell this story about how i used to cry if i performed poorly when i was jumping rope in kindergarten. or about how one time, i came home sobbing over the fact that i thought i was getting kicked out of kindergarten because my drawings weren't as good as the other kids'." the old stories bring a soft smile to your lips, one that soon disappears when you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut. "it's not usually this bad, but…"

you sigh.

"it's like... imposter syndrome. i'm one of the very few women in motorsports, and i can't help but think that i'm just here because the fia wants to make the sport more equal. or because my sponsors think it's funny to have a woman among the men. or if i'm just here as eye candy. i don't deserve this, i don't have enough talent."

your little rant makes him speechless – both because he didn't expect it at all, and because to him, you're so wrong.

"you're here because you do deserve it and because you consistently perform good results, unlike most other drivers. that has nothing to do with your gender." ollie pauses for a second. "if you didn't have enough talent, you wouldn't be performing this well in a series this hard."

you can't hold back the little smile that slips onto your lips. "this is all very sweet, and i really appreciate it. but it's not that easy for me to just accept what you're saying."

yet again, he nods. "i understand." his voice is so calm, so gentle, so patient. it makes your heart soften. "i'll make sure to remind you of it more often, so that maybe it sticks."

"thank you, ollie."

a long silence follows, and you take the time to brush away a few more tears that have left your eyes. you don't know what to say or how to follow up on this heavy subject, but you don't have to think much more.

"why did you go to paul instead of me?"

your eyes dart to him at the sudden question. he's sounded so composed and calm, but he actually looks quite... nervous? his fingers are fiddling with the lid of the water bottle in his hands, and his entire upper body looks like it's trembling slightly as he breathes. "i didn't," you tell him simply. it's not a lie, per se. "he just happened to walk in on me crying."

"but why did you tell him?" ollie questions, looking up at you from the bottle. "i thought you two weren't even talking these days? ever since that fight you had?"

he is right. you don't even know why you confided in him yourself – it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. you didn't even try to deny his help; you welcomed it (and him) with open arms.

"we talked about my struggles last year," you finally say, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "so he knew already. and… i don't know, i guess it felt nice to talk to someone who really knows me."

"but i want to know you." he takes a deep breath before continuing. "i want to know more than your birthday and your favorite color. i want to know it all; what makes you feel good, what makes you anxious, what keeps you going, what slows you down..."

the physical distance between you two may only be a mere two meters, but you feel much more separated than that. you totally understand where he's coming from – he might be exaggerating a little, but your conversations with him are never really deep. though not sure whether it's because you just don't trust him or because you just have a hard time opening up, you can understand the despair he must be feeling.

when ollie notices that you aren't too keen on saying anything, he keeps going. "i want you to trust me. i want to be the person you tell these things to." he scoots closer to you on the bed, one of his hands landing on top of your knee. "i really want to make this work between us. my feelings for you are so strong, just..."

the pain in his eyes is so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze cutting through you like a knife. your own eyes begin to well up again, but you can't look away now.

"i really want you to give this, give me, a chance."

you've never seen him like this before. hopeless, desperate, practically begging. and in an instant, the guilt comes creeping back into you.

you're the one who's making him feel like this; it's all your fault. and how cruel wouldn't it be to not at least give him an honest chance?

"of course." your voice is weak and shaky, but you nod. "i want that, too. really."

ollie drops his water bottle to the floor before opening his arms wide for you. "come here."

it's easy to climb into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he holds you close. it's easy to lean into him, to inhale his sweet scent, and it's so easy to relax.

you wish it was as easy to open up to him. oh, how badly you wish it was as easy as a-b-c or do-re-mi. you really want to let him in; you, too, want this to work.

the silence that follows is a comfortable one. the air feels thick with unspoken emotions, a heaviness of the previous conversation still lingering, but there's an unspoken understanding between you and ollie. the previously well-known weight of the world on your shoulders seems to lift, if only momentarily; his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back is like a silent reassurance that he's there, he's present, and he's willing to wait for you to open up in your own time.

after what feels like an eternity, ollie breaks the silence. "let's do something. let's go on a vacation together."

you lean back slightly, just enough to look at his face but stay in his hold. "…what?"

your reaction isn't exactly what he had hoped for, but he goes on. "i'm going back to italy this week, you should come with me." he reaches up with a hand to your face, thumb softly massaging away the frown you hadn't even noticed had formed. "we'll travel around, go see the national parks, hike in the mountains... swim in the sea, eat at good italian restaurants..."

your features soften at his suggestions; it all does sound very sweet. still, you can't hold back from asking, "but why?"

"we have almost a month until the next race weekend, and you said that you don't have any sims this week. this could help take your mind off racing, and..." a sheepish smile appears on his face. "maybe it could make us get a little closer."

uncertainties and conflicting thoughts continue to cloud your heart, making the decision harder than it should be. on one hand, accepting the offer could offer a much-needed reprieve from all the pressures of the racing world. on the other hand, your unresolved feelings for paul still hold you back. spending a romantic holiday with ollie sounds like a dream, just as much as the mere thought of revealing yourself to him makes you nauseous from the fear.

but you want to be brave. and maybe to let go of paul, you need to just forget about your worries and dive head-first into ollie.

"it sounds perfect. let's do it."

yourusername just posted!

yourusername we're back baby!! leaving monaco with some good points. 🔜 barcelona and the team's home race, let's go 😁

show all 78 comments

user finally back on the podium! ❤️💙

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user great drive today !!!

→ user it was just luck 😭 without the vsc she would've never gotten that podium

→ user okay and??

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

olliebearman what's up with the hair dinobeganovic_

→ yourusername it's called fashion

→ dinobeganovic_ it's called waking up at 5 for a feature race

→ user you're still gorgeous dino 😚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

redbulljuniorteam 💪💙❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

sebasmontoya58 pepe don't punch the girl, she did nothing wrong

→ yourusername i did nothing wrong!!!

→ pepemartiofficial tell him what you did

→ yourusername never

→ pepemartiofficial sebas check your whatsapp

→ yourusername YOU WOULDNT

→ pepemartiofficial i totally would

90 notes · View notes

pearlessance · 2 months

Text

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital.

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.”

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible.

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide.

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?”

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too.

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to.

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway.

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot.

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice.

“Hey! Hey, over here!”

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant.

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway.

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament.

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes.

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true.

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours.

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears.

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore.

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself.

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it.

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him.

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed.

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop.

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is.

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor.

That’s the first time he hears it.

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence.

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door.

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive.

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here.

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger.

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air.

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry.

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh.

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself.

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun.

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice.

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center.

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you.

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight.

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus.

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him.

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face.

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years.

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second.

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it.

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way. He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots.

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too.

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away.

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again.

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again.

It’s all too familiar.

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out.

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have.

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway?

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here.

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back.

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does.

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw.

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says.

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance.

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin.

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection. He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing.

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to?

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though.

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them.

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you.

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something.

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead.

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you.

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too.

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads.

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way.

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss.

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

#ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #idle threats #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel tlou #pearlessance #ellie williams #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller fic #angst

98 notes · View notes

punkshort · 1 year

Text

Chapter warnings: language, violence, m masturbation, smut

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

Back in your apartment, the two of you set to work quietly organizing everything spread out on the living room floor that you could think of to pack. The biggest section was food. Luckily you were still used to a dorm room diet, so you had tons of useful items to take on the go. You had focused on the cans with protein like tuna, chicken and beans, then moved on to granola and protein bars, nuts, dried fruit, ramen noodles, cereal, instant rice and easy mac. Joel packed each of you a flashlight with extra batteries, and handfuls of matches and lighters he had found rummaging through your floor. Justin's camping equipment came with a canteen, plate, bowl, and foldable silverware for each, and a small first aid kit, which Joel significantly bolstered after raiding all the bathrooms on the floor.

He told you to only pack one or two extra sets of clothes, that you would have to break into houses or stores along the way if you needed more. He didn't want to waste the space in your packs that could be used for food and medicine.

You both set to work filling your bags with as much stuff as you could. Joel slipped a map into his pack that he had picked up from a kitchen drawer down the hall, and you had snuck in an unopened box of tampons and a folded up picture of your parents in yours when he wasn't looking.

It was around midday when you were all set to go, making sure to eat something left behind in your cupboards one last time.

You closed the door behind you, but you didn't lock it in case someone came along and needed something. Then sadly, you turned and gripped your baseball bat, following Joel down the long hallway, down the stairs and to the lobby.

Before Joel pushed the lobby door open to the outside, he turned to you.

"Which way's the subway?"

You pointed down the street to the right.

"It's about 3 blocks that way, not far. It's mostly all apartment buildings and a few stores on the corners."

Joel nodded, cracking the door open to listen for any sign of trouble. It sounded clear, so he ventured out to confirm before pulling you out behind him.

"We gotta be quick, but not too quick. Don't want to accidentally sneak up on somethin' out here," Joel explained in a hushed tone. "If you hear anythin', stop and don't make a sound. And you tell me if you see anythin' at all, understand?" You walked closely next to him as he was speaking, the whole time looking all around you frantically, your senses in overdrive, and your heart hammering in your chest. All you did was nod, not wanting to risk making too much noise.

The streets were quiet. Joel peeked around the corner and made sure no soldiers or infected were nearby before ushering you across the open street and back behind the safety of a building. One block down.

The two of you trotted down the sidewalk, swiveling your head around every few feet to see if there was anyone behind you. You almost made it to the next corner when Joel swung out his arm to stop you. You held your breath, heart racing as you focused on the noise he heard. It was the slow rumbling of an engine that reminded you of the FEDRA truck you heard patrolling outside your apartment last night. Joel must have figured that out, too, because he grabbed your arm and pulled you over to hide behind a dumpster that was sticking out of a narrow alley. You both crouched down and waited for the truck to pass. Fortunately, it didn't turn down the street you were on, where you would have been exposed.

Once the noise faded, Joel stood up slowly before motioning for you to follow. Again, he poked his head around the corner and took extra time to make sure no one was around before dragging you across the street once more. One more block to go.

You were halfway down the block as you passed a pawn shop, windows smashed in and the place ransacked. You grabbed Joel's arm and his head whipped around in a panic. You shook your head to tell him nothing was wrong and pointed into the pawn shop.

"Weapons?" you mouthed.

He hesitated a moment, trying to decide if you should press on or see if there was something useful in there before ultimately deciding to check it out. If the subway had infected in it, it would be better if there was more than just one knife between you. Joel stepped through the broken glass door carefully, glancing around at the small shop before holding his hand out to guide you through the opening. You both took a quick look around, noticing anything valuable was long gone, and most of the knives were picked over, but you did find a decent sized switchblade for yourself. You tucked it into your jeans pocket, and you carried on down the street towards the subway entrance.

You had a long way to go down the dark tunnel, but so far it had been quiet and uneventful. Your flashlight beams bounced off the brick walls as you walked in silence, trying to stay focused on your surroundings. Your anxiety spiked with every new subway station you passed, reminding you of just how much deeper into the city you were getting. From what the soldiers had said, more densely populated areas were worse off, and so far in your limited experience that had proven to be true.

You were two stations away from the one you stopped at for work when you first saw people. It was just two families, huddled together on the platform. They had seen your flashlights long before you saw them, so trying to sneak by was useless. They seemed like they were just innocent survivors, so Joel kept walking, holding his head up. He made eye contact with two of the men in the group and gave them each a firm nod, hoping to convey you were just passing through and not looking for trouble. They nodded back wordlessly, and you carried on your way.

The next station had more people who had sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, and lanterns. It looked like they were trying to wait it out underground long-term. A few of the men approached the end of the platform to address Joel.

"You soldiers?" one of them asked.

"No, just passin' through, tryin' to stay off the streets, sorry to disturb you all," Joel replied. He paused for a moment, and looked back at the men who were still watching you carefully. "Any of you see any infected down here?"

One of the men shook his head. "Nah, man, that's why we're sitting tight down here. Soldiers must be keeping them busy up top."

Joel nodded. "Thanks... good luck to you."

Finally, you approached your stop for work and found the platform to be filled with people, just like the previous one. They were kind and immediately helped you both up off the tracks. You introduced yourselves and explained you were headed to Joel's apartment not too far from there. One of the women, Josie, warned you the closer you got to the heart of the city, the worse it was.

"We heard, thank you. Once we get up top it won't be a long walk," you said, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead to clear the sweat collecting there. "We've been walking for hours. Joel?" You turned to him, interrupting a conversation he was having with Josie's husband, Peter. "Can we rest here for a bit?" Joel turned back to Peter.

"That ok with you folks?" he asked. Peter and Josie nodded, seemingly the leaders of the small group of strangers huddled on the platform.

The two of you slunk down against the tiled wall, pulling out protein bars and your canteens after sitting down. You shut your eyes for a few minutes, leaning the back of your head against the wall, chewing and grateful to be taking a break.

"You holdin' up alright?" Joel asked softly beside you. You nodded, keeping your eyes closed.

"I'm just tired," you replied, taking another bite of your protein bar without looking.

"It ain't much further, once we get on the street it's another few blocks. We should be able to get there before - "

Joel's sentence was cut short by screaming, and your eyes flew open in surprise as you dropped your protein bar and grabbed your bat while fumbling around in your pocket for the switchblade. Joel was already standing, gripping his bat and trying to locate the source of the scream in the group. One of the men, who looked asleep when you arrived, was snarling and had his teeth clamped down into the shoulder of an older man, blood pouring down his arm and soaking both of their shirts. Peter and another man jumped into action to pull the infected off the poor man screaming in agony, struggling to pin it to the ground.

Joel charged forward before you could stop him, your hands desperately clawing at his t-shirt, but he was already throwing himself into the group to help. You watched in horror as the three men struggled to hold it down, and just as Joel was getting ready to bash its skull in with the baseball bat, it lunged forward, knocking Peter and the other man off to the side and pushing Joel onto his back.

Joel held the infected up by its shoulders as it pinned him down, snapping and growling inches from his face. Joel's jaw was clenched tight, his eyes flashed with rage as he summoned all the strength he could manage and pushed it off him, making it stumble backwards. It was just enough time for Joel to reach to his side for his hunting knife and plunged it into the infected’s skull with a guttural yell.

The infected went limp immediately and fell to the floor. Joel stood over the body, tense, covered in blood, and panting heavily with the knife still clutched in his hand. Peter and the other man rushed to join the rest of the group helping the one who was bit in the shoulder, but you raced straight to Joel, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Surprised, he lifted one arm to place it reassuringly on your back, the other still clutching his knife.

You let him go, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you frowned at him angrily. He looked down at you, the adrenaline wearing off, and saw the anguish on your face. He reached his hand out to you, but you slapped it away and instead shoved his chest heatedly, making him stumble just a bit in surprise.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" you seethed, narrowing your eyes at him and fighting to keep the tears from falling. "You could have gotten killed!"

Joel stared at you, still panting slightly, then put the knife back in its holder. He couldn't gauge your reaction. Were you upset he would be killed because then you would be alone, or upset because of something else? He sighed and reached out to you again. This time, you didn't shove him, but you didn't go to him, either.

Josie approached you, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Thank you, Joel, for saving my husband," she said, clutching his outstretched hand in her own, then turned to you. "Don't be mad at your boyfriend, dear, he just saved us all."

Your mouth fell open, and before you could correct her, she went back to Peter and hugged him tightly. Joel cleared his throat beside you, seemingly pleased with himself.

"You heard her," he winked at you. "Can't stay mad at me." You scowled back at him, and with a more serious tone, he added, "us or them, remember?"

You sighed, relaxing your brow. You knew he was right, but you were still pissed off. You turned on your heel and headed back to your abandoned protein bar, effectively ending the conversation.

Joel joined you and watched as the group deliberated quietly on how to deal with the man who was bit. You had learned he likely only had a few hours before he turned, based on the location of his bite. Ultimately, Peter volunteered, and he quickly and privately put the man out of his misery with a kitchen knife. You winced when you heard the squelch of blood from across the platform, burying your face in your shoulder.

You didn't stay much longer after that. Once Joel had gotten his strength back, you picked up your belongings and gave your farewells. Josie and Peter thanked Joel again, and you headed up to the familiar street corner, dusk fast approaching.

It took you both an hour to walk to Joel's apartment, which normally would have taken ten minutes, but he insisted on going slow and being careful at every turn. When you approached his building, you had to crane your neck all the way back to take in the full height. His building definitely used to have a doorman: it was fancy. You walked into the ornate lobby and turned around in a slow circle, taking in everything from the detailed crown molding to the beautiful, tiled floor that looked more like a piece of art. You almost felt bad for stepping on it. Even the ceiling was vaulted and decorated in tiny, intricate squares with gilded chandeliers hanging from it. Finally, you looked straight ahead and saw an arched window that overlooked a private garden.

"Shit," you whispered, "I almost got an apartment in this building."

Joel turned back to you, surprised, then realized you were being sarcastic when he saw your grin. He smiled to himself and shook his head, leading you down the hallway towards the stairwell door.

"I take it you're not on the second floor?" you asked him quietly as you began to climb the stairs.

"No, little higher than that," he replied. "30th floor."

You stopped dead in your tracks, which made him stop and turn back to you questioningly. He could tell what the problem was when he saw the pained expression on your face without you even having to speak.

"I know, it's gonna take us a while, but we can stop and rest whenever you need to." You sighed and hung your head, continuing your journey up the stairs.

You made it to the halfway point before you had to take a break, sitting on a step, panting and chugging water from your canteen while Joel leaned against the wall across from you, sipping his own water. The sun was going down, so you each dug your flashlights out of your packs before continuing.

"Not much further," Joel panted, turning the corner of another staircase, "then we can rest. No point in diggin' around in the dark, it's been a long day." You nodded, choosing not to speak to conserve your energy, and focused on the flashlight beam ahead of you.

You weren't sure how long it took, but finally you climbed the last step to face the door marked with a big, red "30". That's when you looked up and noticed you were on the top floor. Of course he lives on the top floor.

Joel pushed the door open a crack and peeked down the hall, which was very short and only had two doors and an elevator at the other end. He held the door open for you to walk through, then gently closed it. You frowned, looking back and forth at the two doors, puzzled.

Joel looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight when he saw your confusion, before mumbling, "It's a penthouse," and brushed past you to unlock his door.

You had never seen a penthouse before, but you knew they were for people who were really rich, especially in New York City. He opened the door, locking it behind you. You couldn't really see much other than what your flashlight exposed, but you could tell the room you were standing in was massive. You briefly flicked your light around, taking in some couches, bookcases, a fireplace and some other furniture. You stopped when you noticed the entire wall was top to bottom windows with a balcony attached, and covered your flashlight quickly. Joel kicked off his sneakers, and noticing the dimmer light, turned his flashlight to shine on you questioningly.

"Can't people see in? Like, the lights moving?" you asked. He shook his head.

"Privacy windows," he explained, then turned and headed towards another room. You quickly kicked your own shoes off, skittering after him, sticking close. The place was so huge you were afraid you'd get lost, and the darkness mixed with the eerie silence from lack of power and road noise made the hairs on your arm stand up. As you walked, you shined your flashlight on everything around you, baffled by how far the apartment seemed to stretch. You were so engrossed in your surroundings that you bumped into him when he had stopped walking.

"Oops, sorry," you whispered.

"Why are you whispering? We're safe here," he replied at full volume. You shrugged.

"I don't know, this place is huge, Joel, give me a minute - oh my god, is this your kitchen?!" you exclaimed as your jaw dropped, noticing the kitchen island in front of you that must have seated ten people. On one side. Easily. The island, made of marble or quartz, was white with silver and black specks. You noticed the counter was the same all over the kitchen, even on the built in bar in the corner. The cupboards were a light oak that was soft against your fingertips as you gently trailed them against the wood, wandering around his kitchen in amazement.

Joel watched you as you walked around his kitchen, gently touching the handles of the knives in the block and running your fingers along the countertop. You looked like you had never seen anything like this before, and his chest ached when he wondered what would have happened that night if you agreed to come home with him. You could have seen this place in a whole different light. He could have made you a drink from the bar and played you some music over the sound system. If he was lucky, he could have laid you down on the kitchen island you were so currently fascinated with, your fingers gripping the edges as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear to explore your soaking wet folds, pushing one finger inside you, and then another, slowly teasing you until you begged him for more.

Having you in his place was clouding his mind, he needed to focus. He cleared his throat before heading towards the pantry door. You eagerly followed closely behind and when you realized the pantry was a room as big as your own kitchen, you moaned with envy, causing his eyes to flutter shut momentarily.

"This place is amazing," you told him, sifting through the food on his shelves. You grabbed some peanut butter and crackers, turned and headed back to the kitchen.

"Where's the silverware?" you asked over your shoulder.

"Drawer next to the sink," he replied, and watched as you grabbed a butter knife. He picked up a can of Beefaroni off the shelf and opened the drawer in the kitchen with the can opener after picking a fork out from the silverware drawer you left open in your haste to eat.

He sat across from you at the island, eating his cold Beefaroni out of the can while you slathered crackers with peanut butter and popped them in your mouth. You smirked at his choice of food.

"Chef Boyardee?" you asked curiously, eyebrows raised. "I'm sure your private chef could have made you the real thing from scratch." Joel chuckled.

"Alright, I ain't got a private chef. Besides, this is the real thing. Nothin' beats it."

You smiled, fascinated that a man who lived in such a lavish apartment would have Beefaroni as his guilty pleasure. Feeling full and sleepy, you twisted the top of the peanut butter jar closed, and out of habit ran your tongue along the butter knife to clean it. You didn't even realize how that looked until you heard Joel's breath hitch and he looked down to study the empty can in front of him. Your cheeks felt warm from embarrassment, but luckily, he couldn't see it under the cover of darkness. You cleaned the knife (with a sponge, this time) and Joel's fork, putting them back in the drawer.

"Alright, let's get some shut eye. We should try to get an early start tomorrow, I want to get out of this city as soon as we can," Joel said, grabbing his pack he had set down when you walked in, and headed further down the hallway.

You followed him nervously, looking at the expensive-looking art on the walls and even a few statues on pedestals before reaching his bedroom. He pushed the door open, and your flashlights bounced around the room to illuminate the corners the moonlight hid from view. As expected, his bedroom was spacious with a bathroom and two walk-in closets attached. You noticed one of the closets was void of any clothes, and the other was packed to the brim. You poked your head in his bathroom, sighing enviously when you saw the huge, glass walk-in shower and built in vanity. You turned around to find Joel had dug out a couple lanterns from his closet and placed one on each end table so you could conserve your flashlight batteries. You clicked it off and walked over awkwardly, not sure what the sleeping arrangements should be. Unlike you, he has couches more than big enough to accommodate a grown adult, but the thought of being alone in the living room of this huge apartment made you nervous.

It hadn't even been a question in Joel's mind.

"Hop in and make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back," and he left the bedroom, back down the hallway to double check the locks. You rummaged in your pack for some more comfortable clothes to sleep in, and quickly changed before he returned, nestled under the covers on the most comfortable mattress you had ever been on in your life.

When Joel reentered the bedroom, his thoughts didn't even have time to catch up with how fast he felt the blood rushing to his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut as he blindly walked right to his closet and shut the door so he could change into his pajamas, willing his erection away. He groaned quietly, leaning his head against the wall of the closet, frustrated with how distracted he's been. If he doesn't stop, it could get you or him killed. He would have to do something about it before heading out tomorrow. He was lucky so far, you've had relatively safe places to hole up in, but that was going to end.

When he finally got himself under control, he exited the closet and got into the other side of the bed. You already had your lantern off and you were laying on your side with your eyes closed, exhausted from all the walking and events of the day. His bed was much larger than yours, and he hoped the extra space would help him get his mind out of the gutter. He turned his lantern off, and leaned back into the familiar pillow and sheets, closing his eyes. It was silent for a few minutes before you spoke.

"Joel?" you squeaked.

"Hm?" he replied, keeping his eyes closed.

"This is the nicest apartment I've ever seen, how long have you lived here?"

"About six years or so," he said, shifting a little under the covers. "But I like your place more," he admitted.

"My place?!" you said, outraged. "You could fit my entire apartment into this bedroom, you're crazy."

"Yeah, well, your place felt more..." he trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Like a home. This place feels like a museum."

"I'm sure you could make this place feel just as cozy," you yawned before adding, "this bed, for instance, is the most comfortable thing I've ever laid on." Joel smiled.

"Glad you like it." Sweetheart.

He waited until he was sure you were sleeping deeply enough before he locked himself into his bathroom and pulled his sweatpants down just far enough to free his throbbing cock, stroking it steadily with one hand while the other propped him up against the wall, eyes screwed shut. His thoughts picked up where he left off in the kitchen, his fingers deep in your pussy, but then he would add his thumb to your swollen clit, making your back arch off the cold counter and gasp his name. His thumb would pick up the pace, keeping up with your moans, rubbing tight circles and flexing and thrusting his fingers inside of you until your body finally stilled under him, whimpering his name as you came.

He imagined you gazing up at him hazily, the same way you looked at him last week outside the bar, but now you would reach out and grab the waist of his jeans, pulling him closer and whisper hoarsely to him, "Please, Joel, I need you, I need more..."

He imagined what it would feel like to slide inside you, your cunt soft and warm, so welcoming and taking him inch by inch. He would grasp your hips, his feet firmly on the ground and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, one of your hands lost in your own hair and the other firmly holding onto his wrist, eyes rolled towards the back of your head, moaning, as he stretched you out. When he would start moving, he would go slow at first and enjoy the way your tits bounced gently along with his movements. He would do his best to take his time, but he imagined you asking him - begging him - to fuck you harder. Of course, he would give you what you wanted. He would slam into you, over and over, groaning as he would feel your cunt squeezing around him, warning him you were close. His thumb would travel down to your clit once again, pressing firmly from side to side until you were screaming his name and he felt your warm release spill over his cock.

"Fuck!" Joel grunted out into the darkness, as he shot thick ropes of cum over his hand and onto the tile floor, completely losing himself and forgetting to grab a tissue. He stood there a few minutes, catching his breath, his forehead pressed against the bathroom wall. Finally, he pushed himself away and cleaned up his mess carefully, using his flashlight to make sure he didn't miss anything. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hoped that would help keep him sharp and focused for tomorrow.

He opened the bathroom door quietly, relieved to see you hadn't moved a muscle since he left. You were still sleeping peacefully, facing his side of the bed with your lips slightly parted. He smiled at the sight, setting his flashlight down and about to slide back into bed when he heard a noise coming from down the hall. He froze, listening intently, trying to figure out the source. He glanced down at you once more to confirm you were still asleep and headed quietly out the bedroom door, carefully closing it behind him.

He walked down the hallway, now on high alert, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He walked by a statue, grabbing it and turning it upside down so the square base was upright in his hand. He gripped it tightly as he neared the kitchen, now hearing rustling and seeing a beam of light coming from the pantry. He glanced around the room before peering around the open pantry door, seeing someone crouched on the floor and rifling through his food, but all Joel could focus on was the revolver on the floor next to him, shining in the moonlight. Shooting one more glance over his shoulder, Joel stepped inside, silently placing the statue down on the floor, and then lunged forward, quickly wrapping his arm around the intruder’s neck, and using his other hand to lock his arm in place. Joel yanked them both up to a standing position, putting his foot over the revolver and shoving it under the shelves in the pantry, out of arms reach. The intruder slapped wildly at Joel's arms, then tried clawing at his face, desperate to loosen his grip so he could breathe, but Joel didn't budge, his grip strong and unmoving, his face contorted in a fury and a heat he never felt before. It didn't take long before the man passed out, but Joel held on a few minutes longer to make sure the air didn't revive him.

Once he was satisfied he was dead, Joel laid him gently on the pantry floor, frantically trying to catch his breath. He slowly picked the statue back up, temporarily forgetting about the gun, and then closed his eyes a moment as his breathing began to stabilize. He reopened them, nostrils flared, and jaw clenched. He needed to make sure the man was alone, and you were safe.

He left the pantry, glancing around the room once again before stepping forward. He was about to enter the hallway to head back towards the living room when something hard hit him across the chest, sending him crashing loudly back into the kitchen, dropping the statue. Joel gasped for air in the darkness, scrambling backwards and reaching around blindly to try to find his statue, but the other intruder kicked it away and pinned Joel down with his own baseball bat. The bat was being pressed to his throat, and Joel struggled to push against the man's weight.

"Who else is here with you?" the intruder sneered. Joel was barely able to make out his face in the darkness.

"No one," he gasped and shook his head, pushing back harder now that he was reminded of you sleeping sweetly in his bed, hoping and praying you stayed in there.

"Bullshit," the man spit. "I saw the shoes by the door. Maybe I'll have a little fun with her after I kill - "

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and Joel coughed, holding his throat. He whipped around frantically, trying to find anything to use as a weapon, when he heard wet thumping over and over. He stood up, desperately trying to make his eyes adjust to the shadows. Remembering the flashlight, he scrambled back in the pantry and snatched it up, casting the beam of light over the scuffle.

You were bent over and brutally caving in the skull of the man who almost killed him.

Over and over, you aimed the corner of the statue at the man's disfigured face, beating him to a bloody pulp, the squishing sound of blood echoing in your ears. Joel calling your name and grabbing you around the waist was the only thing that stopped you. You dropped the statue and looked him in the eye, like a wild animal cornered and ready to strike. He grabbed your face, repeating your name until your eyes focused back on him. The enormity of what you did hit you in an instant: you just killed a man.

Tears welled up in your eyes and your lips trembled as you continued to stare into Joel’s eyes. He shook his head when he saw the emotion on your face.

“No. No, no, no, no. C’mere,” he said, pulling you into his embrace, and it was then you let the tears flow as you sobbed uncontrollably into his chest, gripping his t-shirt in your fist like a lifeline. He snaked his arm up your back, so his hand rested at the crown of your head, and his other arm tightly squeezed you around the ribs. You both slunk to the floor of his kitchen, holding onto each other for dear life, the horror of the world around you finally making its mark on you both.

Chapter Nine

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us game #the way we were joel miller fic

346 notes · View notes

thetorturedbuckydepartment · 2 months

Text

chapter two: the arrival

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings: language, heavy mentions of sex, brief and non-specific mentions of Bucky’s past

word count: 2.9k

taglist: @cjand10 @mcira

PREVIOUS PART

A/N: so excited for you guys to read! sorry ive been MIA recently -- the first half of august will be extremely stressful for me as I have my drivers theory test on the 10th, then I find out if I get into uni on the 15th, hopefully all goes well but you never know!! so for that reason, I haven't been able to write much since posting the first chapter, so updates might be every 2 weeks or so! im so sorry </3, but as always, please let me know how you're finding the story!!!!

The wedding band offers you a strange comfort as you twist it around and around your fingers, staring out of the window of the private jet. It’s a simple golden band, with your initials and Bucky’s engraved onto the inner edge. You hate it, but are too ashamed to vocalise it. It was less than a week ago that you were sobbing on the floor about pretending to be married, and now the wedding band, his initials rubbing against your skin on the inside of it gives you solace?

Bucky notices, because of course he does. He moves to sit directly in front of you, and you turn to him. Officially, the two of you are on the clock now, and so you keep your face impassive, instead of scowling or staring angrily at him. He leans back in his seat, shoving his hands into the dark leather jacket you’re all too familiar with, slouching. He’s wearing jeans the same colour as his eyes, and a red henley that’s just peeking through the top of the jacket. Average, suburban white guy, with a bit of New York flair.

“You’ve been avoiding me all week.” He states simply, like it’s the most abhorrent fact he’s ever had the displeasure of narrating. You nod, trying your best to not let a snarky remark sneak past your lips, currently coloured in a sheer red.

“I don’t want to get sick of you too soon. It’s the longest we’ve ever been on any mission. You remember Bucharest, right? How we were almost at each other’s throats in two weeks, and because of us poor Sam spent a week in the medbay? I don’t want that to happen again.” He glances down at the memory, as if humiliated by the outcome of that mission. You know you are — you still check Sam’s hands to see if he’s still healing. You assume he’s done with talking to you and turn to stare back out the window, admiring the green fields and fluffy clouds.

“I understand. But that means we haven’t talked about anything. Like our cover story, how I proposed. Or how affectionate we’re going to be with each other.”

“Well, you’re still going as James Barnes, aren’t you?” Realistically, you should’ve said The Winter Soldier. That’s what you mean, and he knows that. But you can’t bring yourself to say it, to remind him of everything he’s trying to escape from. It seemed to be an unspoken boundary between the two of you, that you’ll never throw that title in his face, especially when you’ve seen the way he retracts from society and begins to shake in his seat at those three words, regardless of who uses them. His past, before you knew him, you decide to leave untouched. You couldn’t live with yourself if you belittled him and shamed him for things that happened to him, things that he was never in control of.

You’ve read the case files. You know the atrocities. You can’t do that to him. Even if he chose to cross that line, you can’t wound him in such a way, especially not for petty revenge. You want to annoy him, yes, but you don’t want him to truly ache irrevocably because of you. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

“Yes. And you’re still going as you?” You nod, gears turning in your head.

“We can say we met in Wakanda, and we were friends for 5 years. You were hopelessly in love with me the whole time, obviously. But I only started seeing you as more than a friend after… we went to a friend’s wedding together, and I didn’t have a partner so I dragged you along with me. When they exchanged their wedding vows, I realised that what you and I had was special, and that you’re ridiculously handsome. And the rest is history.” You shrug, hating that you’ll have to admit to his stupid, pretty face that he has a stupid pretty face.

“How’d you come up with that? You don’t really seem the romance type…”

You think for a moment, reabsorbing the insult that you almost fire at him. Is he implying that you’re a slut, again?

“Just because I’ve never been serious about anyone before, doesn’t mean I’m a heartless monster, James. I’ve read books, and seen TV shows. I prefer romance, to remind myself that somehow, sometimes, men can be at least decent.” Your eyes bore into his then, silently expressing your anger. “And I’d really appreciate it if half of your insults toward me aren’t slutshaming. Keep it to yourself.” You can’t help it.

His eyebrows furrow, and somehow he looks even sexier. God, you hate how your sexual attraction toward him peaks when he’s civil with you. “What? I’ve never…”

“Yes you have, don’t lie. Almost every other sentence you say to me, you mention me sleeping around. Now, I don’t give a fuck what you think, but it’s beginning to get annoying. You wanna get your marks up? Find some new material.”

“Butterscotch, no. That’s—That’s not what I mean. You’re the only person I’m ever around who’s had so much sex, but it’s not a bad thing. Definitely not a bad thing. It just genuinely seems to me that whenever I see you, you’re always planning to hook up with someone. That’s why. I’m not shaming you for having sex, do whatever the fuck you want. I’m sorry if I made it seem otherwise, or if that’s why you hate me.” You’re constantly shifting between staring out the window, and at him, but when he apologises you can’t help but give yourself whiplash, wondering if he’s joking.

A million more questions circle your mind, and your anger flares up before you can stop it. You stand up, walking over to where he sits. He watches your face, as you grip the armrests and lean down so you’re uncomfortably close to him. He gets flustered so quickly, it’s another one of your favourite weaknesses of his to exploit. “You think that’s why I hate you? I hate you, because you’re an arrogant, self-centred bitch, who’s only ever treated me like shit.” In truth, he’s only arrogant and self-centred when it comes to you. To everyone else, he’s as sweet and humble as they come, and that’s what bothers you the most.

That he’s chosen to have some personal vendetta against you from the very first night he met you, when you tried to be kind. You greeted him, smiled at him, bought him a vinyl player and limited edition vinyls from the 40s in mint condition for his fucking birthday, and all he ever was, was cruel to you. He scowled, he turned away from you. He all but threw your thoughtful gift across the room and fled from the birthday party.

That was your breaking point, when you decided that he’s not worth it. At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was fresh out of Wakanda at the time, and you thought that maybe he was just having trouble reintegrating into society, what with the hell he’d been through. But then, you noticed the way he spoke to Nat with a wide smile on his face, how he loved to laugh with the other agents, and you noticed it was just you that he was still closed-off and horrid to. That’s when you began to be cruel, began to insult him and scowl right back, mirroring his expressions

You’d never done it before then, but it felt so natural, so deserved. And then it had become second nature, as easy as blinking, or finding someone new to sleep with. It’s even more embarrassing to admit that you’d found yourself, for the first time, having strong and true romantic feelings for someone, and then he shut you down like that. How could you not? With a face like that, and an unwavering passion in those cobalt eyes, how could you not form some semblance of attachment?

You briefly remember the way you’d acted around him, like a giggling schoolgirl who’s just dipped her toes into the dating world. How naive you had been, how foolish. It all just makes you grimace now, fuelling the flames of your hatred all that much more.

He searches your eyes, trying to dig beneath all the malice. As if you’d let him. He must know that to poke the bear is futile at this stage, because he decides to change the topic.

“And what about me proposing? How long have we been married? Where did we go on our honeymoon?” Your faces are so close…if he were half a decent person you wouldn’t leave any room for him to even breathe at this current second.

“Don’t tell me I’m gonna carry all the braincells on this mission, Barnes.” You retreat back to your seat, slumping over yourself, trying to ignore all of the bitter memories that have just been dragged to the forefront of your mind.

A brief silence descends over the two of you, and you swivel your attention once again to the landscape outside, buckling your seatbelt as the flight attendant announces that you’re about to land.

“One day, I asked you over to my apartment, on our three year anniversary. December 22nd. I cooked you your favourite meal, chicken biryani with that raita that you like, and red velvet cake for dessert. It was a candlelit dinner in my tiny apartment, with a red tablecloth the same colour as your dress. After the dinner I asked you to marry me, reciting stanzas and stanzas of prose about how beautiful and amazing you are, and how in love with you I am. Then, we made love until dawn, obviously.”

A smile graces your face at his last words, at how innocent he appears when he refers to having sex as making love. The sentiment is sweet.

His seeming innocence catches you off guard at times — he’s been amongst all the agents and Avengers for eight years now, as opposed to your 13. The agents are always throwing themselves at him, especially those not into women, at all. You’ve often assumed he hooks up with most of them, seeing as Steve’s often recounted stories of what a charmer he was back in the 40s. And when he’s nice, you doubt anyone could resist him.

So why does he seem so new and inexperienced to most things? Another mystery you can’t be asked to solve.

“God, you’re just dying to have sex with me, aren’t you?” You tease, letting your grin mould into something a little more sadistic, indicating that the thick, putrid air of a few minutes ago has passed.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, the story pretty much requires it.”

You nod in mockery. “Uh huh, of course. You pervert, we’re not going to tell anyone that. The idea of premarital sex will probably give half the kids in those suburbs a heart attack.” His eyes rake up and down your figure, and you give him your most salacious grin. You usually reserve it for men across the bar, when you catch them checking you out. It’s reserved for inviting them over for casual conversation and bathroom sex.

On Bucky? It flusters him to hell and back when he’s on the receiving end of it. Just like it is right now, as he tries desperately to hide the blush that’s spreading quickly across his cheeks. He swallows, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob against his throat in an almost predatory manner.

It’s in moments like these you’ve often thought about hate sex. Specifically with Bucky, about what it would be like to pull on his hair, to boss him around like you usually enjoy to. Would he listen to you? Or would he bark orders of his own at you, gripping at every inch of you desperately? But you’re scared, because he’s the first person to ever make you want to pursue them romantically, and you’re scared all the hate will melt away with every gentle yet scorching touch, leaving you vulnerable.

You hate being vulnerable.

“We’ve only been married a month, and we went to Spain for our honeymoon. We just got back two weeks ago to finish packing.” He completes, and it seems simple enough. You notice how his voice shakes ever so slightly, still influenced by the way you look at him, and the way he refuses to make eye contact.

“Sounds good. We’ll stick with that then.” You offer, not bothering to look at him twice as you leave the jet and step into the family sedan that Bucky’ll be driving.

You sigh as you sink into the passenger seat in a car that smells too clean, staring out the window as if bored. You wonder if either of you will be able to not kill the other in these six months.

In your mind, you either fuck or fight it out. There’s no other way you’re emerging.

You wonder which option he’d choose, studying him as he settles in beside you, so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s taken off his leather jacket and shoved it to the backseat, exposing his arms and—his left arm is no longer metal.

He catches you staring — he’s always looking for an excuse to stare at you. “Fury handed it to me after the initial briefing. It fits over my arm like a second skin, so it looks normal. I’m supposed to be trying to get back that normal life, remember? Fury said it’ll help disillusion and distance me from The Winter Soldier in these civilian’s minds.” Somehow, it sends a pang through your heart, still, at the way he’s trying to not lose his shit and start crying at even the thought that they’ll still see him as an empty weapon, a vessel for unimaginable evil. You soften.

“Here, let me drive — you just learned what a car was, like, six months ago. Plus it’s manual. I know Steve only let you learn automatic. Come on, stop being a bitch and switch with me.” You’re goading him, holding out your hand for the keys as he blindly stares at the console, trying to process how you know that fact about him.

Steve and you are close, best friends even. That’s why. He turns off the engine and does as he’s told, mind probably currently too occupied with awful memories to register you’re being soft with him.

As you settle into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors as he stares down into his lap. “Besides, when you walk in there unarmed and without a murderous look on your face, they’ll know, James. It’s been years.” Your tone is too gentle, too gentle considering your history. But you can’t help yourself, and you let your hand gently touch his arm even though he won’t feel it. He looks up, and you see his eyes brimming with tears.

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if they see right through me?” His voice is so small, unlike any tone he’s ever taken with you.

“It will. It will work, they won’t see right through you. If they know who you are, you know they followed your trial, your rehab in Wakanda. They know you were pardoned. And they’ll know when you treat all the kids with respect, because you’re good with them. When you help the seniors cross the road, when you help the sexy neighbour with her groceries. They’ll know, because you’re good. You have a good heart, and you treat almost everyone you know with nothing but love and affection. Just because I’m not on the receiving end of it, doesn’t mean I can’t see that. Trust your gut, James. It’ll all be fine. And if I can pull off being in love with you, they’ll definitely see it too. I’ll sing your praises to everyone in town, I’ll do everything to convince them if I have to. Because that’s the only way our cover will work. This is official business, James. This isn’t you and me around the Tower, or sparring in the gym. Just trust me here, okay?” You don’t know why you’re sympathetic, you don’t know why you care. You don’t know why you’re saying all of these things like you’re falling in love with him, all you know if that he’s falling apart and you have to try and stop it.

You have to try and be there for him, gripping his hand between both of yours, trying to offer a physical reminder that he’s in the car with you, not back in that horrid lab or in the sterile courtroom as some bald, red-faced lawyer tries to write him off as the most heinous cretin to disgrace this planet. You look at him and he looks at you and the tension is almost palpable, like you could cut it with a knife. You have no idea what’s happening to you.

“Okay.” He says quietly, his thumb stroking the side of your hands. Sam beeps the horn behind you, him and Steve posing as the movers and carriers you and James have hired.

It startles you out of the moment, reminding you of your rapid heart, beating so fervently against the jail of your ribs that you feel it in your fingertips. You turn to the road ahead, signalling to the PARKER PACKERS AND MOVERS truck towing behind you. You swallow, hopefully taking any softness for Bucky along with it.

It’s going to be a long six months.

NEXT PART

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #x plus size reader #marvel #k's writing corner #bucky barnes fanfiction

65 notes · View notes