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joelsrose · 2 months ago

Note

i’d absolutely love to see your take on a jackson era *SPOILER* (not dead obviously) joel who meets a new comer who’s harsher and more close off than him and only wants to use him for sex and he ends up falling first??🙏🏼🫶🏻 i adore your writing and also can’t wait for more TIP, G&R, and FD 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ok this prompt seriously did something for me and i went feral - enjoy (warnings smut/feelings - both equally as dangerous) thank you so much for your request ! i need the inspo sometimes so feel free to message me in my inbox with more requests xx

also update tangled in paradise hppefully out in the next DAY

all my work (though this needs updating)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The lukewarm air clung to your skin as you sat at the bar in the Tipsy Bison, a glass in hand, the bitter burn of the whiskey still fresh on your tongue. It was a disgusting kind of heat, the kind that stuck to you and made you wish for a shower—or another drink. It was late, later than you usually stayed out, and the bar was sparsely populated, just a few regulars nursing their usuals in the dim light.

You flagged down the bartender, your fingers drumming lightly against the counter. "Another," you said, meeting their eye. They nodded, reaching for the bottle.

Your gaze drifted as you waited, lazily scanning the room. That’s when you saw him.

A man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a glass of whiskey, his posture heavy. He looked older, maybe early fifties, his face etched with lines that spoke of a hard life, not just years. His dark hair was streaked with silver, the strands curling slightly at the ends, and a thick, scruffy beard framed a scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. His eyes were sharp, though, hidden beneath furrowed brows as he stared at the bottle behind the bar like it held all the answers.

Your brow arched in curiosity. You didn’t recognize him exactly, but he looked familiar—someone you’d seen in passing. Without overthinking it, you slid off your stool and moved down the bar, settling yourself in the seat next to his. He didn’t look at you, didn’t even acknowledge your presence. But that didn’t stop you from giving him a once-over, shamelessly.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and gruff, still not turning to meet your gaze.

You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Do I know you?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Doubt it,” he sighed.

“Oh,” you said, letting the word hang in the air. “You’re Tommy’s brother, right?”

He sighed again, the kind of exhale that sounded more like an admission. “That’s me.”

You smirked, lifting the fresh shot the bartender had set down in front of you. “Hotter than your brother, though,” you said before downing it in one smooth motion, the whiskey burning all the way down.

That got his attention. His head turned, and he finally looked at you—dark eyes narrowing slightly, lips parting as if to say something but stopping short. He looked genuinely taken aback, like no one had ever said something like that to him before. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?” he asked, his tone more stunned than angry.

You shrugged, giving him an unabashed once-over again. “I’m just sayin’. You’re good-looking,” you repeated, meeting his gaze directly.

He scoffed, a rough sound that came from deep in his chest. “Look, lady,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m way past relationships, so I suggest you just walk away.”

“Who said anything about relationships?” you replied, your tone light and teasing.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The room was bathed in the dim glow of a bedside lamp, shadows dancing against the walls as the dresser rattled softly with the force of his movements. Joel had you pinned there, caged in by his arms, his chest pressed against your back as if daring you to pull away—not that you wanted to. His breath was hot against your ear, low grunts and growls spilling out as he moved with deliberate, unrelenting intensity.

Your clothes were still on, mostly. His jeans were tugged down just enough, your own pulled halfway down your thighs, bunched awkwardly as you clutched the edge of the dresser, trying to anchor yourself against the tidal wave building inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder as your grip tightened on the wood. “I’m—God, I’m gonna—”

“Fuckin’ take it,” he growled, his voice thick and ragged, one hand gripping your hip so tightly you were sure it’d leave marks. “You’re right there. C’mon.”

The sensation overwhelmed you, and with a strangled cry, your body broke apart. “Joel!” you screamed, your nails raking against his forearm as you bucked beneath him, the dresser creaking in protest.

Joel groaned deeply, pulling out just in time, his breath heavy and labored. He finished on his hand with a grunt, his forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder as he let out a long sigh, the tension draining from his body.

You both stood there for a moment, chests heaving, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of clothing as he stepped back, adjusting himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he wiped his hand clean with a nearby rag, tossing it aside like it meant nothing, “You all right?”

You leaned against the dresser, still catching your breath, your legs shaking slightly as you straightened up and fixed your clothes. “I think so,” you said with a wry chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “Well… that escalated.”

Joel just shrugged, his eyes sweeping over you before he grabbed his belt, threading it back through the loops with practiced ease. “Yeah, well,” he said gruffly, his tone casual, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “Guess we’re doin’ this now.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

It had been a few months now, and the routine had settled into something both comfortable and volatile. It was almost always the same—you’d show up at Joel’s door late at night, the moon high and the town quiet. He’d answer in a wrinkled shirt and tousled hair, his face carved with irritation that didn’t quite mask the way his gaze swept over your form.

“Seriously?” he’d mutter as you stepped past him, already kicking off your boots and shimmying out of your jeans in the doorway.

“You’re too horny for your own good,” he’d grumble, his brow furrowing in that way that somehow made him look even more rugged.

“No rest for the wicked,” you’d shoot back with a sly grin, already dashing upstairs, leaving him standing there shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Joel always followed, though. No matter how much he sighed or rolled his eyes, he’d climb the stairs after you, his heavy footfalls a sound you’d grown to expect. By the time he found you, sprawled out and ready, he was already hard, already resigned to the fact that you weren’t going to leave him in peace.

It wasn’t soft, not with Joel. It was rough hands, bitten-off curses, and bruising grips that left reminders on your skin. You’d both cum, panting and wrecked, and then you’d slip out of his bed and pull your clothes back on like it was nothing.

At first, you’d knock when you came over, but after too many nights of him stumbling half-asleep to the door, he’d shoved a key into your hand. “Sick of you bangin’ on my door at all hours,” he’d grunted, and you’d just laughed, pocketing it without a second thought.

It worked for you—this arrangement. Whenever the day had been too hard, when your fingers weren’t cutting it and the frustration bubbled over, Joel was there. He was steady, dependable in his own gruff way. But there were rules, even if they weren’t spoken out loud. You never kissed. It just wasn’t part of the deal.

Instead, you’d press your lips to his collarbone, to the patch of skin where his pulse thrummed, tasting salt and sweat. He didn’t complain, but he didn’t ask for more, either. Maybe that’s why it worked—you didn’t ask for more, either.

Tonight had been no different. Joel had pulled you apart, his hands gripping your thighs as he thrust into you, his breath hot against your neck as you came for the second time. You were still catching your breath when you rolled off him, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“It’s cold,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly as he sat up. “You could just ... spend the night.”

The words were casual, thrown out like they didn’t mean anything. But they did. Joel didn’t offer people to stay. Joel didn’t let people in. And yet, here he was, offering you the kind of closeness he didn’t give anyone else.

“Nah,” you said breezily, oblivious to the weight of what he’d just said. You zipped up your jeans, running a hand through your hair as you glanced at him. “Got patrol early. You know how it is.”

Joel nodded stiffly, his face giving nothing away, though his eyes lingered on you as you grabbed your jacket. “Yeah,” he said, the word rough and clipped. “Sure.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving him a small smile. “Anyway,” you said, already moving toward the door, “see you when I see you.”

He swallowed hard as he watched you leave, the door clicking shut behind you. For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the empty space you’d left behind. Joel didn’t have the words to explain it, not even to himself. He didn’t want to need this, didn’t want to need you. But he did.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he hated even more that he wished you’d stayed.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The kitchen was dim, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound besides your heavy breathing and the occasional low groan from Joel as he worked between your thighs.

You were spread out on the countertop, your patrol gear still half on, boots kicked off somewhere by the door. The ache from hours on horseback had burned away, replaced with a sharper, hotter need that only Joel could satisfy.

You’d barely stumbled in, desperate, and Joel had opened the door with a gruff sigh, already knowing what you wanted before you even spoke. "Needy as hell," he muttered, but his hands had been on you in seconds, pulling you inside, settling you on the counter like it was second nature.

And now? Now, his tongue moved against you with an unrelenting, agonizing precision. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him grunt in response. His beard scraped deliciously against your thighs, grounding you in the moment as the coil in your belly tightened with every flick of his tongue.

"Fuck, Joel," you groaned, your voice rough and breathless as he dragged another moan from you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place like you might dare to squirm away. This wasn’t like usual. Normally, Joel was fast, efficient—out and over. He didn’t linger. But tonight? Tonight, he was taking his damn time, his lips and tongue teasing you, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge until you thought you might lose your mind.

“Yeah, darlin’?” he hummed against your core, his voice low and gravelly, the vibration making you arch off the countertop. He looked up briefly, his dark eyes hooded, lips slick and glistening as he smirked. “What’s that? You need somethin’?”

“Joel,” you gasped, your head falling back as his tongue flicked over your clit again, slow and deliberate. Your chest heaved as your nails dug into his scalp, desperate for something to hold onto. “I—shit—I’ve got a shift in ten minutes.”

“Then you’d better hurry up,” he rasped against you, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. But he didn’t hurry. No, if anything, he slowed down, his tongue tracing deliberate, lazy circles that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble.

“You’re—” you gasped, biting down on your lip as he sucked gently on your clit, “you’re taking too long.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, the sound dark and teasing as he kissed along the inside of your thigh, his stubble scratching against the tender skin. “Ain’t my fault you came in here all wound up,” he said, his tone gruff but laced with something softer, something dangerous that he wasn’t saying. “Maybe you should learn some patience.”

“Patience?” you nearly whined, your voice cracking as his tongue returned to your clit, working you over with a precision that made your toes curl. “Oh, fuck, Joel—”

He didn’t respond this time, just groaned softly against you, his grip tightening on your hips as he brought you to the brink. You shattered with a loud cry, your thighs trembling around his head as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless on the countertop.

Joel pulled back slowly, his lips glistening as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes locked on yours. “There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “That’s better.”

You were still catching your breath, your chest rising and falling as you pulled your pants up. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no heat in your words.

Joel just smirked, stepping back to let you slide off the counter. “Better get goin’, then,” he said, his voice casual, but his eyes lingered on you like he didn’t want you to leave.

And as you grabbed your boots and headed out the door, Joel stood there in the kitchen, his hands braced on the counter where you’d been moments ago, hating the way he already missed you.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Joel’s birthdays weren’t something he talked about. Hell, you were pretty sure he hated the day entirely. No celebrations, no well wishes—just another date on the calendar he could ignore. But when you knocked on his door that afternoon, a half-smushed cupcake clutched in your hand, you decided you didn’t care much for his rules.

You knocked again, shifting on your feet. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d stolen earlier in the kitchen as you snuck eggs to make the damn thing. It wasn’t pretty, but it was something.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing Joel in his usual worn flannel and jeans. His brows lifted slightly when he saw you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what almost passed for a smile. “Hey,” he said, stepping back to let you in. “Come on in.”

You slid past him, your boots clunking softly against the wood floor as he shut the door behind you. His place was as it always was—quiet, a little too clean, with that faint woodsy smell that clung to everything Joel owned. He turned to you, jerking his head toward the couch. “You wanna do it here, or… head upstairs?” His voice was gruff, casual, like it didn’t matter much either way.

You snorted, crossing your arms as you arched a brow at him. “You make me sound like a sex addict, Joel.”

His brow furrowed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, Aren’t you, though?

You rolled your eyes, pulling the slightly battered cupcake from behind your back. “Actually,” you began, your tone teasing as you held it out to him, “I’m here because it’s someone’s birthday.”

Joel’s expression froze for a moment, his eyes flicking to the cupcake and then back to you. “The hell’s this?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“It’s a cupcake,” you said, grinning as you waved it in front of him. “Took some serious effort, too. You know how hard it is to get eggs without pissing everyone off?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he took the cupcake from your hands, his calloused fingers brushing yours for just a moment. “You steal eggs for this?”

"Hey," you teased, "I baked for you. That’s a luxury, you know—not all my conquests get this kind of treatment."

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “Conquests?” he repeated, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Seriously, though,” you said, stepping closer, “Happy birthday, Miller.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. He looked at it for a moment before letting out a low sigh. “Another fuckin’ year older.”

You smirked, walking towards the couch, “Don’t worry,” you said with a wink, “The machinery still works, right?”

Joel barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” you shot back, your grin widening as you plopped down onto his couch, making yourself comfortable. “So,” you started, glancing over at him, “any big plans for your big day?”

Joel followed, lowering himself onto the couch with a groan, his body settling heavily into the worn cushions. “No,” he said, running a hand through his messy hair, his fingers raking through the dark strands streaked with silver. “Not really my thing.”

You tilted your head, watching him for a moment. He looked tired, more so than usual, the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders heavier. Birthdays weren’t just something Joel ignored—they were something he carried, quietly, like an old wound he didn’t let anyone see.

“Guess that’s why I’m here,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “Can’t let you sit around brooding all night, now, can I?”

Joel glanced at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, though there was a hint of something softer there, too. “You do that a lot? Rescue lonely old men on their birthdays?”

You grinned, leaning back against the cushions. “Only the ones who can still get it up.”

That got another chuckle out of him, the sound low and rough, like gravel underfoot. He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the cupcake still untouched in his hands.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the faint hum of the fridge filling the room. It was comfortable, easy, the kind of quiet that felt rare in a world that was always teetering on the edge of chaos.

“So really, no plans?” you asked, edging closer to him on the couch, feigning innocence as you tucked one leg beneath you.

“Nah,” he muttered, his eyes darting away from yours. But he wasn’t fast enough for you to miss the way his jeans were beginning to strain, the fabric tightening over his thighs.

Your gaze dropped to his lap, catching the telltale tension in his jeans as they began to tighten. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “Well,” you began, your hand finding its way to his thigh, your fingers brushing just a little too close to where you knew he was already hard. “I think I could give you a birthday present you might actually enjoy, Miller.”

His laugh was low, almost reluctant, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. “And you deny bein’ a sex addict,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Hey,” you shot back, your grin widening as your hand slid just a little higher, your fingers brushing the seam of his jeans. “I’m not the one who’s about to cum in their pants.” You tilted your head, nodding toward the very obvious bulge straining against the zipper.

“It’s a fuckin’ Pavlovian response,” he said, chuckling under his breath, though his voice was strained. “You walk through that door, and my body just knows what’s comin’.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re complaining,” you replied, your voice dropping lower as you slid off the couch, sinking to your knees between his legs.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, his voice tight as he glanced down at you, his eyes dark and hooded. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” you teased, your fingers trailing up his thigh as you grinned up at him. “I’ll let you cum in my mouth—just this once,” you added with a wink, your nails scraping lightly against the inside of his leg.

Joel huffed out a laugh, though it came out more like a groan as his hips shifted toward you instinctively. “You always let me do that,” he muttered, his tone gruff as his hands moved to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease.

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice softening as you tugged his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, freeing him. “Consider it my gift to you.”

Joel let out a low curse, his head falling back again as you leaned in, your hand wrapping around him as you pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the tip. He was already throbbing, his body betraying the control he usually clung to so tightly.

As you worked him with your hands and mouth, Joel groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. His usual gruff demeanor was slipping, replaced with raw, unguarded need, and you couldn’t help but smirk around him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hips bucked slightly. “You’re too good at this.”

“Maybe,” you teased, pulling back just enough to glance up at him, your eyes meeting his. “But I think you’re enjoying it.”

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Too much.”

His head tipped back against the couch with a groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and raw. “Just like that, baby. Just like that.”

You didn’t stop, your head moving in a steady rhythm, his quiet curses spurring you on. Your tongue worked him perfectly, coaxing those low, guttural noises from deep in his chest. His hips shifted slightly, a tension in his thighs that told you he was close, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

Pulling back for just a moment, you let a string of saliva trail from his tip to your lips, your breath hitching as you whispered, “Use my mouth.”

Joel’s head snapped forward at your words, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Alright. You sure about this?”

You nodded, your lips parting slightly as you gave him a wicked grin. “Positive.”

He didn’t waste any more time. His hand found its way back to your hair, his grip firm but careful as he guided you back to him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough as gravel as you took him again, deeper this time, his hips rolling forward just enough to test your limits.

The sound he made was low and guttural, almost a growl, as he watched you, his free hand gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles went white. “Jesus,” he muttered, his voice breaking as your hands gripped his thighs for balance, your movements eager and unrelenting. “You’re… fuckin’ perfect.”

The tension in the room was electric, every noise, every breath amplifying the heat between you. Joel’s composure was unraveling, his usual stoic demeanor cracking as he gave in to you completely. And for a fleeting moment, as his fingers brushed against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture, you wondered if there was something more to the way he looked at you—something deeper.

But before the thought could settle, Joel groaned your name, the sound low and guttural, reverberating through the quiet room. His hips stuttered, his control slipping as he came, his hand tightening in your hair, his breaths ragged and uneven. You didn’t hesitate, swallowing every drop, the heat of him lingering on your tongue as you pulled back, licking your lips with a slow, deliberate motion that made his chest rise and fall even harder.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice still thick with desire as he glanced down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You grinned, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you pushed yourself up. “Wouldn’t want you going soft on me, Miller.”

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, running a hand through his hair as he stood, his other hand reaching for yours. “Let’s go upstairs,” he muttered, his voice rough but full of purpose. His cock brushed against his abdomen with each step, and the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and fully undone—was enough to make your stomach flip.

You laughed, letting him guide you up the stairs. “I think I’ve corrupted you, Miller,” you teased, your voice laced with playful smugness.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Get on the bed,” he ordered, his tone firm but not harsh, sending a jolt of heat straight through you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied with a laugh, already peeling off your shirt as you stepped into the bedroom. But just as your fingers reached for the waistband of your pants, Joel’s hand caught yours, stopping you mid-motion.

“Slow,” he murmured, his voice low and almost tender, a stark contrast to the usual roughness. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his calloused thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Slow this time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Okay,” you said softly, nodding as you let your hands fall to your sides. His gaze lingered on you, searching, as if making sure you understood.

He took his time, his rough palms brushing against your skin as he worked your clothes off piece by piece, his eyes tracing every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

You felt bare—not just physically, but in a way that made your chest tighten. This wasn’t the hurried, primal need you were used to with Joel. This was different, heavier, as if he was letting you see a part of himself he usually kept locked away.

“Lie down,” Joel said, his voice soft but laced with that commanding edge that always made your stomach twist. You obeyed without hesitation, settling onto the bed as he climbed in after you, his weight dipping the mattress. He hovered over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his dark eyes locking onto yours like he could see straight through you.

You bit your lip as you watched him, the room’s dim light catching the silver streaks in his hair. There was something in the way he looked at you tonight—something heavier, more deliberate, that made your pulse race. His hand moved slowly, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh, trailing higher until they found your core.

A sharp inhale escaped your lips, your hips hitching instinctively as his thumb pressed against you, teasing through the fabric. Joel’s eyes darkened, his brows furrowing slightly as if he was studying your reaction.

“You’re wet,” he murmured, his voice low and almost a growl, the words spoken as if they were a simple fact.

“Kinda what happens,” you hummed, your voice trembling as his lips brushed against your neck, leaving a trail of slow, deliberate kisses that made your skin burn.

But Joel didn’t stop. His thumb pressed firmer now, dragging a quiet moan from you as he spoke again, his words rough and laced with something possessive. “You’re wet,” he repeated, his lips grazing your ear, “for me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, his voice curling around you like smoke, intoxicating and dangerous. His hand moved against you with a confidence that left no room for doubt, coaxing your body into responding to his every touch.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice catching as his mouth found the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent as his hand slipped beneath your underwear, his fingers sliding through your slick heat. “Tell me you’re wet for me.”

Your head tilted back against the pillow, your breath hitching as your hands gripped his shoulders. “I am,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m wet for you.”

“Damn right you are,” Joel muttered, his lips pressing against your jaw as his fingers moved with agonizing precision. There was no teasing now, no pretense—just Joel, gruff and unrelenting, pulling you apart like he owned you.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. “Fuck, I need your cock,” you said, your words raw and unfiltered.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded, biting your lip as he guided you, his hands firm yet careful, positioning you on your knees. He knew your favorite by now—doggy, fast and dirty, the kind of sex that didn’t leave room for intimacy, just raw need. But tonight, as he moved behind you, you reached back, stopping him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at you, his hands lingering at your waist.

You turned to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s your birthday,” you said softly, your voice lighter now, teasing but warm. “We’ll do it the way you like.”

Joel froze for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, searching for something. He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked by his usual stoicism.

He didn’t ask how you knew. Joel might not have been one to talk, but you’d paid attention. You knew he always came quicker during missionary, the way he liked being able to see your face when you fell apart beneath him. You knew how he’d hitch your leg over his hip, how he liked the way it let him sink deeper.

You leaned back onto the bed, your fingers trailing along his forearm as you tugged him toward you. “C’mon, birthday boy,” you said, your voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something gentler. “Let me give you what you want.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darkening as he climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs. He didn’t speak, but his hands said enough—the way they skimmed over your thighs, up your sides, lingering at your hips as if grounding himself.

He pushed into you slowly, achingly slow, his forehead still pressed to yours as he sank in fully. The stretch burned, but it was the kind of burn you craved, the kind that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Joel groaned low in his throat, his grip on your thigh tightening as he began to move, his hips rolling into you with deliberate precision.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, and you obeyed, your eyes locking onto his. It was too much—his gaze, the way his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin as he moved inside you. This wasn’t just sex anymore, not tonight.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, his voice breaking as your nails raked lightly over his back. “You feel so damn good.”

“So do you,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he hit that spot that made you see stars. “Joel—”

"Yeah, baby," Joel murmured, his voice rough and low as his forehead fell to your shoulder. His thrusts quickened, his hips snapping against yours in a way that made your whole body arch. “I got you,” he breathed, his words sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your voice breaking as he pushed even deeper. “I feel you so deep,” you gasped, your fingers clawing at his back. The weight of him, the heat, the stretch—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Joel’s lips brushed against your neck, the coarse scrape of his beard a contrast to the softness of his mouth. He kissed you there, slow and deliberate, as though savoring the taste of your skin. But then, his kisses began to inch upward, moving with purpose—along the column of your neck, over your jaw, each one sending a ripple of heat through you.

You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as his lips lingered just below your chin. His pace quickened, his thrusts deeper, harder, but his kisses softer, more purposeful, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice trembling as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark, hooded gaze for a fleeting moment before they slipped shut again as he thrust into you with enough force to steal your breath.

He caught your wrists suddenly, pinning your hands above your head with one large, calloused hand, his grip firm but not harsh. The other hand slid under your thigh, hitching it higher to deepen the angle. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice raw and laced with something you hadn’t heard before—something close to desperation.

“Joel,” you warned, your voice trembling as his lips ghosted over yours, his breath hot and uneven against your mouth.

“Please,” he whispered, the single word heavy, his tone stripped of all its usual gruffness. And before you could respond, his lips met yours in a kiss so fervent, so unrestrained, that it stole every thought from your mind.

It wasn’t soft—it was passionate, consuming, like he’d been holding back for far too long. His mouth claimed yours, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched the way his body moved inside you. His tongue swept against yours, his grip on your wrists tightening as if to keep you grounded.

The kiss made everything shift, the weight of it hitting you like a wave. Joel wasn’t just fucking you anymore—he was with you, every touch, every movement speaking to something he couldn’t quite say out loud. His hips snapped harder now, his groans muffled against your lips as he swallowed every sound you made as you both finally came in perfect unison.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both struggled to catch it. His dark eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist where he still held it above your head.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.

But Joel didn’t say anything, not right away. Instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss—softer this time, almost tender. His lips lingered on yours, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, as if that kiss was meant to say what he couldn’t put into words. Whatever this was, it felt heavy, real, and it scared you more than you cared to admit.

You shifted, pulling away slightly to look at him. His face was uncharacteristically open, his usual guarded expression replaced with something raw, vulnerable. It was too much, too close, and you didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” you muttered, your voice breaking the silence as you pushed yourself up, your legs still shaky as you reached for your clothes. “I should probably go.”

Joel frowned, sitting up slightly, his bare chest glistening in the dim light as he watched you. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with something you didn’t expect—disappointment.

“Yeah,” you stammered, fumbling with your pants as you buttoned them. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the task at hand as you tried to come up with something, anything, to make this feel less... heavy. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got things to do,” you said finally, the excuse weak even to your own ears.

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his breathing still heavy, his eyes fixed on you as you moved around the room. He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pressing down on you.

“You sure that’s why you’re leavin’?” he asked, his voice low but steady, his question cutting through the air like a knife.

You froze, your hands fumbling as you grabbed your jacket. You didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, because the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to figure you out, like he cared—was too much. “Yeah,” you said quickly, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

But Joel wasn’t stupid, and you knew he didn’t believe you. He let out a quiet sigh, his head tilting back against the headboard as he watched you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not built for this, are you?” he murmured, almost to himself.

You flinched, the words hitting closer to home than you wanted to admit. “Don’t make this something it’s not, Joel,” you said sharply, finally turning to face him. “It’s just sex.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he studied you. “If that’s all it is,” he said, his voice rough, “then why are you runnin’?”

You didn’t have an answer for that—not one you were ready to admit, anyway. So instead, you pulled your jacket on, forcing a smile as you stepped toward the door. “See you around, Miller,” you said, your tone deliberately casual, as if the tension between you didn’t exist.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Joel’s words haunted you, replaying over and over in your head: “If that’s all it is, then why are you runnin’?”

It had been days since you’d last seen him, and you’d tried everything to shake him from your system. Your fingers weren’t enough, and humping your pillow only left you frustrated. Hell, you even considered finding someone else to fuck—someone who didn’t look at you the way Joel did, who didn’t make you feel like you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t know how to handle. But no matter what you did, deep down, you knew the truth: you didn’t just want someone. You needed him.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the clock. It was past 1 a.m. Joel would be pissed—you knew that. But you didn’t care. The thought of another night without him was unbearable, and before you could overthink it, you were already out the door, making your way to his house.

The door creaked softly as you let yourself in, the weight of the key in your pocket feeling heavier than usual. You climbed the stairs quietly, the familiar scent of his house wrapping around you like a blanket. When you reached his room, the sight of him stopped you in your tracks.

Joel was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. The soft glow of moonlight streamed through the window, highlighting the silver in his hair, the lines on his face that seemed softer in sleep. For a moment, you hesitated, your resolve faltering as you watched him. He looked peaceful—something you rarely saw.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stood at the edge of the bed. He didn’t stir. You tried again, a little louder this time. “Joel.”

He jolted awake with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he squinted at you in the dim light. “You scared the shit outta me.” He reached over, flipping on the lamp. The warm light illuminated the room, his brow furrowed as he took you in.

“I could’ve shot you,” he grumbled, running a hand down his face as he sat up.

“Your gun’s downstairs,” you said simply, your tone light, though your heart was racing. You crossed your arms, standing awkwardly by the bed as he stared at you.

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance evident as he leaned back against the headboard. “The hell are you doin’ here? It’s one in the goddamn mornin’.”

You swallowed hard, your confidence wavering under his gaze. “I… I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening just slightly as he watched you. “So you thought wakin’ me up was a good idea?”

You shrugged, your lips twitching into a faint smirk despite yourself. “You’re awake now, aren’t you?”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head as he looked at you. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t matter.

You knew this dance—knew how to dissolve the tension in the way you always did. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your shirt, starting to pull it over your head.

This you knew how to do.

“Stop,” he said, his voice low but firm. He sighed, sitting up straighter in bed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Just… stop.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric falling back into place as you stared at him. “Oh,” you muttered, the word quiet as you smoothed your shirt back down. “Okay.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the floor as he avoided your gaze. “I think… we should stop,” he said finally, his voice rough, like the words were being dragged out of him.

“Stop what?” you asked, your brow furrowing as a sharp sting of disappointment coursed through you.

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “What we’ve been doin’. I think it’s time to stop.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting you harder than you’d expected. You masked it with a scoff, trying to brush it off like it didn’t matter. “You got a girlfriend or something now?” you joked, your voice light, but the edge of bitterness still slipped through.

Joel’s head snapped up at that, his dark eyes meeting yours for a moment before he quickly looked away again. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe,” he muttered, his shoulders tensing.

It was a lie—you could see it clear as day. Joel wasn’t a good liar. Not to you.

“What?” you said, your brow furrowing deeper as you stared at him. “Since when?”

He shrugged, the motion stiff and unconvincing. “Couple weeks, maybe,” he said, still not meeting your eyes.

“Bullshit,” you snapped, crossing your arms as you tilted your head at him. “You can’t even look at me.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. He couldn’t tell you the truth—that it wasn’t about some imaginary girlfriend. That it was about you. That somewhere along the line, he’d started to feel more than he should have, and it was tearing him apart.

“Does it matter?” he said finally, his voice gruff as he forced himself to look at you. “It’s not workin’. We shouldn’t have started this in the first place.”

You flinched at the harshness of his tone, the wall he was building between you suddenly feeling insurmountable. “Not working?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the hurt bleeding into your words despite your best efforts to hide it. “What the hell does that even mean, Joel?”

“It means this is gonna hurt if it keeps goin’,” he said, his voice softening just enough to make it worse. “For both of us.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. This was Joel—gruff, unyielding, impossible Joel—and he was pulling away from you, shutting you out. And even though you’d told yourself this was just sex, that it didn’t matter, the ache in your chest told a different story.

“Fine,” you said finally, your voice sharp as you pushed yourself off the bed, grabbing your jacket. “If that’s how you feel, then fine.”

Joel didn’t stop you, didn’t say another word as you stormed out. But as the door clicked shut behind you, he let out a long, shaky breath, his head falling into his hands.

He’d lied to you—lied to protect himself, and maybe to protect you, too. But the truth was, Joel didn’t just like you. He’d fallen for you, hard and fast, and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

One week later

You found yourself at the Tipsy Bison, the familiar hum of muted conversations and the occasional clink of glasses filling the dimly lit bar. It was almost poetic, sitting here again, like the first time you met Joel. Except this time, the tension wasn’t playful—it was heavy, suffocating, and every sip of your drink did little to ease the weight in your chest.

The stool next to you creaked, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Joel sat down beside you, his presence unmistakable. He didn’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch before finally breaking it.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, throwing your own line back at you from that first night.

You turned your head to glare at him. “What do you want, Joel?” you asked, raising your glass to your lips and taking a long sip.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar as he glanced sideways at you. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying something deeper.

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice sharp as you set your glass down with a clink. “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, shaking his head, his brows knitting together in frustration. “You know that’s not true.”

You let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter as you swirled the drink in your glass. “Right. So where’s your imaginary girlfriend?” you spat, the words laced with venom as you turned to face him fully.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a loose fist on the bar. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low, warning. He said your name, the sound of it rough and heavy, like it carried the weight of all the things he hadn’t said yet.

“What, Joel?” you snapped, your voice rising slightly, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby patrons. “You think you can just show up here and—what? Smooth everything over? You lied to me.”

His eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned closer. “I didn’t lie,” he said firmly. “I—”

“You did!” you interrupted, your voice trembling now, your emotions spilling over in a way you couldn’t control. “You lied to me, Joel.”

“I lied because we had to stop,” he shot back, his voice rough, his words cutting through the air like a blade.

“Okay, well, you could’ve just said that,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Instead of pulling that bullshit about having some imaginary girlfriend.”

Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, his jaw tightening as he rubbed a hand over his face. “I know,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, more subdued. “I fucked up.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, the word coming out like a frustrated exhale as you turned away for a moment, your hand gripping your glass tightly. “I thought you liked it.”

“Of course I liked it,” Joel said sharply, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, his expression softened, his voice dipping lower. “You think I didn’t?”

“Then what?” you demanded, your voice raw as you turned back to him, searching his face for an answer that made sense. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been weird. Was it the kiss? Joel, you chose to kiss me.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice almost a sigh, his head dipping slightly as his shoulders hunched forward. “I know I did.”

“Then just tell me,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you,” Joel said quickly, his voice firm as he looked up at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, your frustration giving way to something closer to hurt, your voice quieter now.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he leaned forward, his shoulders tense. “I just… I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said finally, his voice low and gruff. “I can’t keep havin’ sex with you and actin’ like it ain’t somethin’ more.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded, like a bomb waiting to go off. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said.

“Something more,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself.

Joel nodded, his jaw working as he looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s somethin’ more. Least it is for me.”

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of his admission making it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the bar as you tried to steady yourself. “And you didn’t think to tell me that sooner?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something closer to fear.

“I didn’t know how,” Joel admitted, his voice raw, like the words had been dragged out of him. “Hell, I didn’t even wanna admit it to myself. But I can’t keep doin’ this, can’t keep seein’ you and pretendin’ I don’t feel the way I do.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt like the ground had shifted beneath you. “I…” you stammered, searching for something to say, but your thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Hey,” Joel cut in gently, his voice soft but firm. “This isn’t about me tellin’ you how I feel and expectin’ you to feel the same. I’m a big boy—I can handle it if you don’t.” His eyes flicked to yours, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just that… it’ll be too hard if we keep goin’. Too hard for me.”

“Oh,” you murmured, swallowing hard as you tried to process his words, your fingers curling around the edge of the bar for support.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands as he rubbed the back of his neck. The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and yet there was something unbearably vulnerable about the way he sat there, shoulders hunched slightly, like he was bracing for a blow.

You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to find your voice. “I’ve never…” you began, hesitating as his gaze lifted to meet yours. The weight of his attention made it harder to get the words out, but you pushed forward. “I’ve never been in a relationship.”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and careful, as if he didn’t want to push too hard.

You nodded, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I’ve never been… in love.” The words came out haltingly, the weight of them settling heavily between you. “So I don’t even know what that feels like,” you confessed, your eyes searching his, hoping he’d understand the vulnerability in your words.

Joel’s expression softened, his rough exterior giving way to something warmer, something almost gentle. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and steady, as if grounding you. “That’s okay. There ain’t no timeframe on that sorta thing. No rules sayin’ when it’s supposed to happen.”

You looked at him, the gruff man who so often felt impossible to pin down, who was usually the one keeping things at arm’s length. But here he was, sitting across from you, making space for something you didn’t know how to name. “How does it feel?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Vulnerability cracked through your voice, a stark contrast to the version of yourself that usually tore his clothes off, always in control, always calling the shots.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly as he sat back, his gaze thoughtful. “How does it feel?” he repeated, almost to himself. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly before meeting your eyes again.

“It feels like someone you can’t stop thinkin’ about, no matter how much you try not to. Like every little thing they do sticks with you. The way they laugh, the way they look when they’re not payin’ attention…” He trailed off, his voice dropping lower, almost hesitant, as if revealing too much might make him unravel.

His jaw clenched briefly before he added, “It’s like missin’ someone even when they’re right next to ya.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you with a force you weren’t ready for. The realization struck fast and sharp—you felt that way for Joel. You had for a while now, but hearing him put it into words made it real, undeniable. Your throat tightened as you swallowed again, your hands gripping the edge of the bar as if it could steady you.

“It’s different for everyone,” Joel said with a shrug, his voice almost casual now, like he was trying to pull back from the weight of what he’d just shared. He sighed, his fingers drumming lightly on the bar. “You’re not upset, are you? I mean… I still want us to, you know, talk.”

“Talk?” you said, laughing softly despite the tightness in your chest. “Don’t know if we ever did a whole lot of that, Joel.”

He chuckled, the sound rough and low, but his eyes didn’t leave yours, like he was searching for something unspoken in your expression.

“Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. You took a deep breath, your gaze dropping to the scuffed wood of the bar as you found the courage to speak. “There’s… one person I’ve felt like that for.”

Joel’s posture stiffened slightly, his brows furrowing as he tilted his head, his dark eyes watching you closely. “Oh,” he said, his voice careful, guarded.

You nodded, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bar’s surface. “I miss him when he’s not there,” you said softly, the words coming out like a confession. “And I feel like he… sees me, you know? Like really sees me, in a way no one else does.”

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his hand flexed against the bar. His gaze flickered, his usual stoic demeanor cracking slightly as he shifted in his seat.

“And…” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, the vulnerability in your words making them stick in your throat. “And I think he feels the same way about me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had stilled. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his hand reached out, hesitating for only a moment before brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the bar.

“Is that right?” he murmured finally, his voice rough, his dark eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

You nodded, your heart pounding as your fingers turned, brushing lightly against his. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the weight of everything you were saying—and everything you weren’t—hanging in the air. “It is.”

“But…” you began, your voice faltering, “I think he thinks all I use him for is sex.”

Joel stiffened slightly, his hand pausing against yours as his jaw tightened. He looked away for a moment, his eyes darting to the scuffed wood of the bar as he exhaled slowly. “Do you?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Your chest tightened at the question, the weight of it pressing down on you. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, I don’t.”

Joel glanced back at you, his brow furrowed, his expression guarded but softening just enough to let you see the cracks in his armor. “Then why…?” he started, but he trailed off, like he couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it was easier that way. To pretend it was just physical. To not think about… everything else.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hand still resting over yours. “Everything else,” he repeated quietly, almost to himself.

You bit your lip, your fingers tightening slightly under his. “But it wasn’t, was it?” you asked softly, your voice trembling. “Not for you. Not for me.”

Joel’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes meeting yours again, and this time there was no hiding the emotion there. “No,” he said simply, his voice rough. “It wasn’t.”

For a moment, the silence between you was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space. And then Joel’s hand shifted, his fingers lacing through yours as he let out a soft sigh. “I thought… maybe that’s all you wanted,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Didn’t think you wanted more.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t know I did,” you said honestly, your eyes searching his. “Not until now.”

Joel nodded slowly, his thumb brushing over your hand in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “Well,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with something that sounded like hope, “guess we got some figurin’ out to do, then.”

You bit your lip as you took him in, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Even now, even with the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air, Joel turned you on in a way that made your stomach flip. Your panties were already damp, a low heat building that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how serious the conversation had been moments ago.

Joel’s eyes caught yours, and he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I know that look,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that made your breath hitch. He knew you too well—the way your eyes grew hazy when you were needy, the way you bit your lip like you were barely holding yourself together.

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat under his steady gaze. “Can’t help it,” you said softly, almost shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. His dark eyes searched your face, his expression unreadable. “You mean it?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “There’s… somethin’ there?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trembling as you nodded. “There’s something there.”

Joel stared at you for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath. “Fuck,” he said again, the word rough and full of meaning. He reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Let’s go home.”

A startled laugh escaped your lips, almost a squeal as the weight of the moment dissolved into an electric anticipation. You grabbed his hand, and together you practically ran out of the bar, your steps hurried, his long strides matching yours as you made your way through the quiet streets of Jackson.

The night air was cool, but your skin burned with the heat of what was about to happen. Every brush of his shoulder against yours, every glance he threw your way as you moved together, only stoked the fire. By the time you reached Joel’s front door, both of you were breathless, though not from the walk.

Joel fumbled with his keys for only a second before pushing the door open, and as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“This what you want?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl as he stepped closer.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “It’s what I want.”

Joel didn’t wait another second. His hands were on you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and tender, the kind that made you feel like you were being seen, completely and utterly. And for the first time, it wasn’t just about the heat or the need—it was about something more, something that neither of you had the words for yet, but both of you could feel.

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witchywithwhiskey · 1 month ago

Note

Ok for the Sweethearts Game I'm going with Ransom and true love! 💕💕

Happy Valentine's babe! 😊

skincare routine

pairing: boyfriend!ransom drysdale x female reader

summary: your boyfriend is in a dark mood when he gets home from work on valentine's day, but you're prepared to spend the night pampering him and showing him how much you love him.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), emotional hurt/comfort, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, bathing together, ransom is emotional and vulnerable, ransom's family has issues, non-sexual and sexual intimacy, fluff, emotions, pet names (beautiful), kissing, established relationship

word count: 2.7k

a/n: ahh thank you for sending in this request/prompt Kes!! i wasn't sure at first how to tackle "true love" with Ransom, but then i had this idea and i'm so so so happy with how it turned out!! i love taking a big mean man and making him soft—and who needs some pampering and emotional support more than Ransom?? 🤭 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

You could tell from the way the front door of the Boston townhouse you shared with your boyfriend opened and shut just a little bit shaper than normal that Ransom Drysdale was in a mood. Truthfully, you’d known it since he texted you that he’d be late coming home, his frustration clear in the tone of his message.

So, when he trudged into the living room, kicking off his expensive leather loafers in the doorway and tossing his wool coat haphazardly on a chair, you were well and truly prepared for the scowl on his handsome face. It made your heart lurch, wanting to take all his pain and anger away, and you were more than certain you’d made the right call about your Valentine’s Day plans that evening.

Your boyfriend didn’t even greet you before he collapsed on top of you on the couch, burying his face in your chest and curling his larger body around yours. His strong arms banded around your waist and dragged you so close, there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. Only then did a modicum of tension ease from his shoulders.

A soft laugh slipped from your lips at his grumpy demeanor and you carded your fingers through Ransom’s soft, brown hair, pushing it back from his face and raking your nails over his scalp until he let out a groan of pleasure. The tense bunching of his shoulders began to soften and you smiled down at the top of his head.

You kept up the soothing motion of your fingers, making soft cooing sounds to your boyfriend while, slowly but surely, he finally relaxed. After a while, he turned his face to the side, his cheek pressed to your sternum so he could mumble out the first words he’d spoken since he got home.

“Just gimme a few minutes, then I’ll get ready for our date,” he said. His voice was so heavy with exhaustion that you couldn’t help but hug him a little bit tighter.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but you knew his normally sharp, intelligent blue irises would be dull with fatigue and frustration. You could see the evidence of his annoyance in the two little furrows between his brows, and you smoothed them away with your thumb.

Ducking your head, you pressed a featherlight kiss to his hairline at the top of his forehead, watching with no small degree of satisfaction as even more tension drained from his exquisitely handsome face. It was a reminder that you were Ransom’s safe space, and you felt honored to be that for him—just as he was your safe place.

“I cancelled our reservation at Ostra,” you began to say, but your words were cut off on a startled sound when Ransom suddenly pushed himself up, his face twisted into a glare.

There was very little heat to the expression, though, and you noted that his eyes did look as dull and exhausted as you’d suspected they might. It was hard to take the glaring man seriously when he looked so tired and had been cuddling you so sweetly just a moment before, so you gave him a challenging look in return.

“I made that reservation six months ago,” Ransom bit out harshly, even as he was making obvious pains to soften his tone because he knew you didn’t deserve his ire. It was an admirable effort, but it didn’t matter, Ransom couldn’t ruffle your feathers that easily. “I wanted our first Valentine’s Day to be special,” he said sullenly, dropping his head onto your chest again.

You gave him a moment to take a deep breath and calm down, and then you pulled him up for a kiss. It was just a soft brush of your lips against his, but the rest of the anger drained out of him just as quickly as it had come and he sank into the kiss. His mouth pressed more firmly to yours as your lips slanted together. You could taste the apology on his tongue.

With a sigh, Ransom pulled away and lay back down on your chest, squeezing you tightly as he relaxed back into your body. Your fingers kneaded his shoulders lightly before returning to his hair, smoothing through the strands and pulling another, more contented exhale from your boyfriend.

“As I was saying, I cancelled our reservation, but Ostra agreed to deliver some food to us,” you said, biting back a laugh when Ransom made a grudging sound of encouragement. It was little more than a grunt, but you’d long since learned how to interpret his wordless sounds. “It’ll be here a little later. I thought we could take a bath together while we wait.”

There was some grumbling reluctance from Ransom, who didn’t seem to want to leave the couch, but you finally managed to coax him up and dragged him upstairs to the master bathroom. Once inside, he stared dumbfounded as you flitted about, lighting candles and drawing a bath, adding rose petals and a luxurious bath bomb to the hot water.

A little while later, the two of you were submerged in the blisteringly hot water filling the extra large clawfoot tub Ransom had put into the bathroom for the exact reason of comfortably fitting two people. The tiled room was quiet and dim, with only the softly flickering flames of the candles lighting the space.

“Do you want to talk about today?” you asked gently, your lips brushing against the shell of Ransom’s ear, smelling his freshly washed hair and letting the comfort of the familiar scent soothe your own aches and pains.

The two of you were laying entangled in the tub, your back against the cool porcelain while Ransom’s larger body was sprawled between your thighs with his back to your chest. You’d washed his hair and taken a loofah to every inch of his skin, scrubbing him clean while he’d relaxed.

You’d already refilled the tub once, and neither of you seemed in a rush to leave the bath, so your fingers were tracing idly up and down Ransom’s smooth chest while his big hands stroked your thighs beneath the warm water.

It was so pleasant, you almost never wanted to leave—or talk about what had bothered him that day. But you’d needed to ask, in case he did want to talk about it.

Ransom was quiet for a long moment before he heaved a heavy sigh, sounding like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You ducked down and pressed a kiss to the base of his neck, feeling his muscles loosen beneath your lips.

“It’s the same old bullshit,” he said heavily, his eyes closing as he sank deeper into the water. “I’ll never live up to my family’s expectations, I’ll never be… good enough for them.”

His voice cracked a little on his last words and you wrapped your arms around his big body, squeezing him tightly and giving him the comfort you knew he needed. It broke your heart to see the way Ransom’s family treated him, especially since all you could do was support him and remind him that you cared about him.

“I love you, Ran,” you whispered in his ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you exactly as you are—you’ll always be enough for me.”

A rough sound came from deep in Ransom’s throat and he turned his face, pressing it into your arm. You knew from the gentle shaking of his chest and shoulders that he was crying and you buried your face in his neck, holding him tight while he let it out.

All the while, you murmured your love into his skin, feeling his pulse beneath your lips and wishing you could pour your love straight into him. You wanted him to know your love wasn’t conditional like his family’s; you wanted him to feel your love with every beat of his heart.

When Ransom quieted, you sat up and rearranged the two of you in the tub. Some water sloshed over the edges as you moved to sit in his lap, your legs circling loosely around his waist.

Your handsome boyfriend’s cheeks were pink and his eyes were dull and watery, and you couldn’t help but love him all the more. He was having trouble meeting your eye, but that was fine. It had taken a long time for him to feel comfortable crying in front of you and he still struggled with it, so you appreciated every bit of vulnerability he allowed you to see.

You held Ransom’s face in your hands and kissed the remaining tears from his skin with featherlight presses of your lips. Even once you’d gotten them all, you kept brushing kisses all over his face, until he was laughing, the sound rich and deep and pleased, sending shivers of delight racing down to your toes.

“What’re you doing, beautiful?” he asked in a rough, rumbly voice that had sparks zinging beneath your skin. You made a mental note to make Ransom some tea to soothe his throat after you got out of the bath, even as you kept kissing his face.

“Skincare,” you answered sweetly. Your lips caressed his forehead, cheeks and chin with even more kisses, making him chuckle deep in his chest. “Kisses from your true love are the best skincare routine, didn’t you know?” you asked matter-of-factly, unable to keep the silly smile off your face.

Another laugh rumbled out of Ransom and his arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer until his half-hard length was trapped against your soft belly. For the moment, though, the two of you ignored it, content to bask in the intimacy of your bodies pressed together, skin to skin while you held each other.

Ransom’s mouth found yours, stopping you from continuing with his skincare routine, and he kissed you slowly, tenderly. Heat bloomed and unfurled from the depth of your core as your lips parted for your boyfriend, allowing him to slip inside and deepen the kiss.

In every sweep of his tongue and soft groan, you felt his love, and you returned it in kind, showing him how much you cherished and adored him. You loved Ransom Drysdale and you wanted him to know it, to be certain of it on his darkest of days.

“I love you, too,” Ransom murmured after pulling away and pressing his forehead to yours. His mouth ducked down and captured your lower lip, nibbling on its plump plushness in such a way that your body grew warmer than the bath water, desire for him rising within you. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely be way more miserable without me,” you quipped, your voice a little breathless from his kisses as you tried to lighten the mood.

But Ransom was somber as he brushed a kiss to your cheek and agreed, “I would.”

The seriousness of his tone had you squeezing your arms tighter around his shoulder, your mouth seeking his for a deeper kiss. With so much of your bare skin pressed against Ransom’s, it wasn’t long before the mood in the bath shifted, and turned into something desperate and craving.

“Ran,” you whined softly when he pulled away to press hot, suckling kisses to your neck. Your hips shifted restlessly beneath the water, rubbing against the stiff length trapped between your bodies. It was so close to where you needed him, but so far away, too. “Ran.”

“D’you need something, beautiful?” Ransom teased in his deep, rich voice, nipping at the skin over your fluttering pulse point. A moan tumbled from your lips as your head fell back, lolling to the side to give him more room to kiss and suck on your neck.

“You,” you moaned, when you managed to formulate a thought and answer your boyfriend’s question. “I need you.”

Ransom’s big hands slid down your back, palming your ass and lifting you up with the help of the water. Eagerly, you reached between your thighs and lined up the tip of his cock with your entrance. He lowered you back down slowly, giving you time to adjust to his thick length impaling your body.

When you finally settled back on his lap, you felt perfectly full, a blissful smile curling the corners of your lips as you let out a sigh and let your head fall against his shoulder. Ransom settled back against the side of the porcelain tub, the two of you getting comfortable in the bath so you could stay connected in the most intimate way possible until the water cooled.

For a long, long while, the two of you held each other, fingers dancing idly over warm, slick skin while you enjoyed being together. You told Ransom about the book you were reading and he chuckled at the mob boss romance, scoffing at the male main character’s antics. But he also shared stories from his day, updates on the manuscripts he was excited about at Blood Like Wine Publishing.

Eventually, the bath grew cold and the heat that had been building in your body from keeping Ransom’s cock warm in your pussy for so long grew impossible to ignore. Gradually, your bodies began to rock together, first slowly and then picking up speed as your mouth found Ransom’s for a blisteringly searing kiss.

Ransom fucked you hard and fast in the tub, the two of you having used up all your patience and needing to find completion together. With his big hands kneading your ass greedily, Ransom bounced you up and down on his cock, uncaring of the water spilling from the tub while his face was buried in your tits, licking and sucking and marking your body as his own.

As for you, all you could do was tangle your fingers in his still damp hair and hold on while he pounded into you from below, filling your cunt perfectly, stretching you exquisitely, and hitting a spot deep inside you so deliciously, you were rocketing toward your release. Your boyfriend knew just the angle to make sure your clit ground against the base of his cock with every thrust, and he used his hold on your ass to hit it perfectly.

Ransom worked your pleasure higher and higher until it finally snapped and you came with a shrill cry that bounced off the tiles of the bathroom. He held you tight while your body trembled and clamped down around his cock, groaning his own release into your skin as he pumped you full of his cum.

Your boyfriend held you close as you came down from your highs, his hands skimming up and down your spine soothingly. But when you shivered at the cooled temperature of the bath, he was quick to help you out of the tub and bundle you up in a fluffy towel.

Together, you cleaned up the bathroom, drained the tub and blew out all the candles, moving into the bedroom and stealing kisses from each other as you dressed. Ransom insisted that you wear one of his sweaters, because he loved seeing you in his clothes, so you happily pulled one on, along with some comfortable shorts while he dressed in a tee and joggers.

By the time you made it back downstairs, your dinner had been delivered from Ostra and the two of you ate the expensive meal on the couch, watching some mindless TV and cuddling in the Boston townhouse you called home.

It may not have been the Valentine’s Day your boyfriend had planned, but you couldn’t help but notice how happy he looked, his face relaxed and an ever-present smile curling the edges of his mouth while he buried his head in your chest and snuggled into you. It turned out to be the perfect night.

All you’d wanted was to spend the evening with your favorite person in the world, to make him feel better and bring him the comfort he’d sorely needed. And the fact that, as he was falling asleep in your arms on the couch, you got Ransom Drysdale to admit that your true love kisses were, in fact, the best skincare routine was just an added bonus.

sweethearts game masterlist

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fl #ransom drysdale fanfic #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskey's sweethearts #witchywithwhiskeywork #our-marvel-universe

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leclerc-hs · 1 year ago

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wait for your love - cl16

pairing: arranged marriage!charles x fem!reader summary: in which you're in a fake marriage OR you and your fake husband might be in love with one another warnings: none?? no smut in this part (SORRY), badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD!, angst, pining???, jealousy, complicated feelings word count: 3.6k author's note: I'm still unsure how i feeeeel about this one but I tried my best!! I think writing about an arranged marriage is a little hard because i didnt want it to be mafia related so this was my take on it. there will be a second part!! i also want to mention that all these separate parts are just events that are little peaks into their marriage. it is not in the span of a week or anything, it takes place over time. they do not go from nothing to being in love in the span of one week. just wanted to make sure you guys were aware of that LOL. ok love u all. sorry if this sucks.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE MARRIAGE WAS merely a façade, designed solely to serve the interests of both of your media images. You weren’t in love—far from it…right?

“Charles! How are you and the beautiful Mrs. doing?” A reporter placed a microphone in his face, an eager grin pulled on his lips as he awaited an answer.

“Elle est tellement merveilleuse, n’est-ce pas?” She’s so wonderful, isn’t she? His gaze strayed from the reporter to where you stood a few feet down the carpet, posing for the dozens of cameras. “Tellement belle.”So beautiful.

His eyes remained transfixed on you, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as he watched you approach. The chatter of the reporter beside him became distant background noise, overshadowed by the sight of your radiant smile. With each step you took closer, a surge of warmth flooded through him, causing his heart to swell with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Charles turned back to the reporter just as he said “Looks like she is making her way over here!”

“Salut beau gosse!” Hi handsome! You gently press your lips to his cheek, the warmth of your smile radiating as Charles’ face lights up upon feeling your kiss. His hand finds its place on the small of your back, a comforting and possessive touch that speaks volumes of his affection and protectiveness towards you. A united front.

“You guys are seriously too cute!”

The both of you smile largely at the reporter, thanking him, before heading down the carpet to enter the movie premiere.

It wasn’t until you crossed through the main doors of the building that you drop the smile, and his hand drops from the small of your back.

“Tellement crédule.” So gullible. He utters the words briefly, prompting a nod from you before you take a small, deliberate step back, putting some distance between the two of you.

You learned early into the arrangement that Charles wasn’t capable of love. His heart seemed barricaded behind the walls of his ambition, his sole focus on climbing up the ladder of success in his career. It seemed easy at first though, it’s not like the either of you had any feelings for each other.

“Assez!” Charles roared from behind his imposing oak desk, his voice echoing through the room. “That’s enough!” His words cut through the tense atmosphere like a thunderclap, commanding your attention and halting any further discourse with an authority that brooked no argument.

With a subtle roll of your eyes, the delicate sundress draped over your form swayed gracefully with each purposeful step towards his desk. His gaze, cold and piercing, met yours as you reached out, your fingertips lightly grazing the polished wood surface. Leaning in just slightly, you locked eyes with him.

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

“Es-tu affamé?” Are you hungry?

You didn’t care if he was. You just needed to distract yourself from the fact he never came home last night. From the fact that he came home obviously smelling like another woman.

The marks on his neck had your throat feeling tight. Marks from another woman. Marks on your husband.

You tried your best to ignore the dark purple marks littered on his neck, and the tiredness in his eyes as he plopped down on the chair across from you. The umbrella in the center of the table, protecting you both from the bright sun as you sit beside the pool.

“Non, simplement fatigué.” Just tired.

You nodded slowly, your movements languid as you bit into a strawberry, its juices trickling carelessly past your lips and trailing down your neck in a sensuous cascade.

Charles couldn’t help but allow his gaze to follow the path of the juice, his eyes tracing its journey down your neck, almost reaching the enticing curve of your breasts.

You made no effort to wipe away the trail of juice, the glistening droplets lingering on your skin like a tantalizing invitation. With a knowing smile, you relish in the anticipation, fully aware of the effect it had on Charles. Men, they’re too easy.

“You should cover up those marks.” You bit into the rest of the strawberry, before standing from the table, preparing to dip into the pool. Charles hands reached out as you walked by him, his fingers dipping into the strings of the bikini bottoms at your hips.

His touch seared through you like a branding iron, leaving a scorching trail of sensation in its wake.

“Est-ce que ç ate derange?” Does it bother you? He looked up at you, his face serious.

The words felt like lead in your throat, heavy with unspoken truth. It didn’t bother you, did it? But deep down, it gnawed at you like a persistent ache, an undeniable discomfort you refused to acknowledge.

“No.” You attempted to push out of his grip, to no avail. “Lâche-moi.” Let go of me. He didn’t.

Never, is what he wanted to say.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned; his eyebrows scrunched as he looked up at you from his chair.

Your hands slipped around his wrists that rested on your hips. “Rien ne va pas.” Nothing is wrong. He cocked his head to the side, as if to say liar. You finally pull out of his grasp, walking towards the pool and jumping in.

End of discussion.

“Did you really need to eye fuck her the whole night?” You half-shouted in the passenger seat of his car, the cool leather seats contrasting with the warmth of your bare thighs clad in the mini skirt.

“Did you really take that guy’s number?” He half-shouted back, his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong with taking his number?”

There was nothing wrong with taking his number. You both agreed you can date other people if it was kept under the wraps. But despite the coolness of the leather against your skin, it did little to quell the agitation simmering within Charles.

Perhaps it was the rarity of you into dating others. It wasn’t that you couldn’t attract men; in fact, men often vied for your attention. Rather, it was your own inclination against one-night stands that set you apart. Charles concluded in that moment that this must be the reason for his discomfort. And considering you had finally shown interest in someone, did it imply he was special?

“Tout le monde remarque!” Everyone noticed! He spat out the words, unable to conjure a coherent response in his frustration. Deep down, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with simply exchanging numbers.

You laughed, a carefree melody that seemed to dance through the car, causing you to lean forward over your lap. The casualness of your reaction grated against Charles, intensifying his frustration. How could you be so nonchalant about accepting another man’s number? The knot of unease in his stomach tightened, gnawing at him with a persistence he couldn’t comprehend.

“So?” You turned towards him; his eyes were focused solely on the road. “It’s not like I fucked him in front of everybody.”

Charles head snapped briefly towards you; his eyes narrowing with sharp intensity. The mere thought of you being intimate with another man felt like nails scraping against a chalkboard, setting his teeth on edge with raw, visceral discomfort.

Why was he so bothered? It’s not like he doesn’t fuck other girls.

“Où vas-tu?” Where are you going? You found yourself stood in the archway of the kitchen; Charles leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of water in his hand.

His eyes trailed down your figure, a short black dress that hugged your curves. He felt his patience wearing thin as he watched you engrossed in your phone screen, fingers tapping away and a large smile on your face.

Who were you texting?

“Hm?” You said, still smiling down at your screen. “Où vas-tu?” He egged on, his tone dripping with impatience at your lack of an answer.

“Oh, j’ai un rendez-vous.” I have a date. You tore your gaze away from the screen for the first time since you came downstairs. Lifting your eyes, you met Charles with an infectious smile spreading across your face. The sheer warmth and joy emanating from you caused Charles’s heart to momentarily falter in its rhythm.

A date? He felt sick.

Charles remained silent for a few moments, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand betraying the turmoil within him. The sudden crash of the glass hitting the kitchen floor startled you both, causing a shared flinch as shards slid across the tiled surface.

“What about my event tonight?” He disregarded the broken glass around him, his attention consumed by the word “date” echoing relentlessly in his mind.

“Pretend I’m sick or something,” You tilt your head in confusion. “You’ve gone to events without me before.”

It wasn’t until you went to make a step towards the broken glass that Charles snapped out of it. “Don’t come near, tu pourrais te faire mal.” You could get hurt.

The words made you stop in your tracks and your heart clench slightly.

“Je dois y aller.” I must go.

Your eyes meet Charles one last time, you offer him a small smile before pulling your phone to your ear and answering it with a smile.

Leaving Charles alone in the kitchen, the lingering question of when this feeling would dissipate hung heavily in the air.

“Je ne veux pas que tu partes.” I don’t want you to go. He muttered to nobody but himself in the empty house.

You went on a relentless series of dates since then, each time returning home with a grin that seemed to mock Charles. He longed to wipe that smug smile off your face, but deep down, all he truly desired was to see you genuinely happy. Yet, the idea of your happiness being derived from someone else filled him with a sense of dread he couldn’t shake.

One night, Charles felt his sanity slipping as he anxiously waited for your return, each passing minute amplifying his restlessness. Was this what you did when he was away?

His unease peaked when you finally walked through the door well past noon, wearing a smile that seemed out of place and with your hair tousled, a stark departure to your usual pristine appearance. A faint, barely perceptible mark gracing your collarbone served as Charles’ triggering a tumult of emotions within him.

“Did you fuck him?” His voice was gruff as he walked up to you by the front door, essentially cornering you between the front door and his body.

Your eyes widened at his tone and question.

“Cela ne te regarde pas!” That’s none of your business! You shouted, your finger pressing into his chest.

His eyes blazed with fury, the green in them almost appearing black. “C’est tout à fait de mon affaire!” It’s all of my business!

He was aware of his irrationality, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming emotions stirring within him. All he wanted was for the burning ache in his chest to subside.

“Ce n’est pas juste.” That’s not fair. You countered, your narrowed eyes reflecting your simmering anger, your chest flushing red with frustration as you breathed heavily.

“Tu es ma femme.” You are my wife. He folded his arms firmly across his chest, the sinewy muscles of his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his imposing presence.

You rolled your eyes, “C’est faux.” It’s fake. The words almost hurt to say aloud.

“Is it?” His words were short as he looked down at you, his gaze unfaltering, almost begging you to admit that there is something between you two.

“Oui.”

You pushed past him, rushing up the stairs and slamming your bedroom door shut.

You didn’t always fight though. There were good and bad days. Almost like a real marriage, right?

“Mon ange, wear the blue one.” His voice came from a distance as he sat on the edge of your bed, surrounded by the chaos of your closet. You felt a sense of panic wash over you, unable to find solace in any garment you tried on. You couldn’t even decide on a color.

“You always look good in that one, yeah?” He continued; his tone almost absentminded. Despite your turmoil, his words elicited a small smile, causing a faint blush to rise on your cheeks. Grateful that he couldn’t witness your reaction, you silently thanked whatever higher power existed. You vowed never to let him see you blush from his words.

You stepped out from your closet a few moments later, the blue silk dress that left little to the imagination of your breasts, with a small thankful smile on your face. Charles felt his hands itching to touch you as you leaned over the vanity, applying a last coat of lip gloss.

“Prête?” Ready? You turned back towards him, the small pebble of your nipples poking through the thin fabric, a sight that momentarily arrested Charles’s attention. With an effort, he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat discreetly before nodding in response and leading you out the house.

“Pourquoi cela?” What is this for? You quickly ask about the purpose of tonight over the low murmur of the radio as Charles pulls into the valet area of the event.

“It’s for charity,” He swung open his car door, the faint sound of camera clicks filling the air in the moment it remained ajar before he swiftly closed it again. With a sense of urgency, he hurried around the car to open your door, his movements a flurry of activity as he sought to ensure your comfort.

Tonight, he remained steadfastly by your side, his attention solely focused on you, his wife. He didn’t allow his gaze to wander, even as other females vied for his attention with near desperation. It was a departure from his usual behavior, as if he finally decided to listen to your complaints.

“Tu es magnifique.” You look beautiful. He muttered into your ear, his words meant for you alone, shielded from prying cameras. It caught you off guard—a genuine compliment, untainted by presence of the reporters or observers.

“Mon ange, regarde tes cheveux!” Look at your hair! Charles laughter filled the kitchen, reverberating off the walls with a hearty resonance. It wasn’t long until you joined in, your laughter mixing with his in symphony. The sight of both of you covered in flour from your baking rendezvous added a touch of whimsy to the moment, the white powder dusting your hair like a playful snowfall.

You stepped closer towards him, a playful pout forming on your lips, while he looked down at you with a twinkle in his vibrant green eyes. The intensity of the green hue in his eyes was so striking that it caused your stomach to flutter with nervous anticipation.

You noticed his eyes briefly flicker to your lips before meeting with yours again. A silent ask.

His flour dusted fingertips rested against your jaw, holding your face in the palm of his hands, while his eyes flickered to your lips again.

“Laisse-moi t’embrasser, s’il te plait.” Let me kiss you, please. His words were so quiet, as if you both were secluded in your own bubble. You didn’t answer as your eyes trailed all over his face. As if you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

“Ne me fais pas supplier.” Don’t make me beg.

He could feel the rapid pace of your heart, almost beating out of your chest as he uttered the words. You nodded in response, but before you could even finish the nod, his lips crashed into yours.

It was anything but gentle. As if, you both had waited years to be able to do this without a camera in your presence.

His tongue slipped into your mouth almost instantly, eliciting a soft moan that escaped your lips and melded with his own. He groaned in response, his arms encircling your waist to draw you closer, pressing you flush against his chest before guiding your back against the messy countertop. One hand found its place against the nape of your neck and jawline, holding your head in place with gentle insistence. Meanwhile, the other hand tenderly played with the ends of your hair before wrapping them around his fist, holding your hair firmly yet tenderly.

“Si doux.” So sweet. He murmured against your lips; his breath warm against your skin as he continued to savor the moment.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his biceps, holding him close, though he showed no inclination to pull his body away from yours.

His lips trailed along your jawline as he pulled the ends of your hair, lulling you head back to give him more access to your neck. Another soft moan left your lips, escaping into the kitchen, as he sucked on the spot where that mark once was.

“Drive me crazy, mon ange.” He muttered against your skin, peppering kisses along your neck, along your jawline, until he met your lips again with a soft peck.

Your eyes met his and you could’ve sworn you would’ve dropped to your knees right then and there for him.

The distant ring of a cell phone was heard in the background, immediately causing you to push him away from you. Your cellphone.

You looked at Charles with a sense of panic. What were you doing?

As if Charles could sense that panic, he brushed off the pain with a small smile. “Tu devrais répondre à ça.” You should answer that.

You didn’t see Charles for a few days following the kiss.

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here? Charles eyebrows were furrowed as he took in your figure standing before him, an unnamed bag in hand.

You shook the bag in your hand, “Déjeuner.” Lunch. You waved the bag around like it was no big deal. Like you didn’t come all the way to Maranello to bring your fake husband lunch.

You found yourself unsure of the exact reason behind your actions, yet you did it anyways. With Charles away for the past few days, leaving you alone at home, a peculiar sense of longing seemed to linger in the air. Though you refused to admit it outright, all indications hinted at a quiet, yearning for his presence that you got so accustomed to over time.

“Tu n’avais pas besoin de le faire.” You didn’t need to. A smile pulled on his lips as he slung his arm over your shoulder, grateful for the sight of you.

“Je m’ennuyais.” I was bored. You confessed with a shrug, a hint of sheepishness coloring your tone.

He pulled you into an empty room, wordlessly. Instructing you to take a seat as he grabbed two waters from the nearby fridge.

“Comment se passe le travail?” How’s work? You asked, although your inquiry was more out of habit than genuine interest. Since the kiss, you found yourself at a loss for how to engage with him, unsure of how to navigate the shifting dynamics between you two.

He chuckled softly, choosing to settle into a chair beside you rather than sitting across from you, as if he wanted to be close to you. “Tu m’as manqué.” I missed you. He confessed quietly, his tone revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed with you.

The tips of your ears flushed with a rosy hue in response to his confession, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your gaze softened as you reached into the bag, delicately arranging the food on the table before him, each movement infused with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“C’est bon.” It’s okay. He muttered, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. “I know you missed me too.” A smirk pulled on his lips as you shoved his shoulder half-heartedly.

You didn’t deny it.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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haleswallows · 3 months ago

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DC x DP Dead Tired 'Fake Relationship' plot bunny

Alright, imagine me presenting you with this like a proud cat bringing you the hair tie I just murdered. (Anyone is welcome to add to this - to treat it like a prompt or to expand on it. Just, like, let me know so I can consume it with an unhinged fervor, thank you!)

Tim (no longer forever 17) finds himself in a bit of a situation. One being that he's really fed up with Dick and Barbara and Alfred and even Bruce being nosy. And why are they being nosy?

Because that's their love language. And also, because for some absurd reason Tim cannot discern, Dick got it in his head that Tim is lonely. Which, of course means everyone has accepted the mission to get Tim hitched.

Is it that Tim and Bernard broke up? Is it that Tim has gone stag to every charity gala for the last year? Is it that Bruce finally pulled his head out of his ass and made things work out with Selina? The world may never know.

What Tim does know is he isn't lonely. He's fine. Truly.

Enter Danny Phantom.

The ghost hero is interesting. Tim side eyes the guy pretty hard when he joins the Justice League. For a dead guy, he's pretty cheery and up-beat. Honestly, with all the quips & puns, he could have been a Robin in a past life.

Surprising absolutely no one, Nightwing and Phantom quickly become butt-buddies, joined at the hip, partners in crime. Tim is not jealous, no matter what Dick says. He has his own team, his own cases, CEO work, etc etc etc and even more etc. Great, Dick has a new friend.

Too bad for Tim, one of his cases overlaps with Phantom's 'jurisdiction'. No one will tell Tim what that means. No worries, Tim will find out. He always does.

Red Robin and Phantom team up. It goes... great. No grievous injuries, the case gets solved, Phantom takes the frankly disturbing relic of Red Robin's hands. Tim cares only in-so-far that the thing is out of Gotham and Phantom promises (so-signed by Batman? the actual fuck?) it will be safe and won't return to the human realm.

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim was going to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He's reflecting, watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box, sitting on the counter, looking like he belongs there. When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim liked working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not not physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says, eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our mission and blew the lid."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract. Phantom will remain Red Robin's boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and no secret identities will need to be disclosed. Tim doesn't ask why Phantom would have a secret identity... he's dead? Saves the question for the later.

Red Robin will remain Phantom's totally human badass vigilante boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and Tim won't be required to do anything in any capacity for the Infinite Realms.

Then they set boundaries. Date ideas, what they're comfortable with for PDA, how much they'll have to do to sell it.

"I mean," Phantoms says, again with a mouthful of Cheerios. "Clockwork monitors the timelines, so he definitely already knows what we're doing. And he hasn't intervened yet." When Tim gives him A Look, Phantom helpfully explains, "He only intervenes when I do something stupid enough that'll change the course of the multiverse. So," then shrugs, entirely too nonchalant for Tim's tastes.

"If Clockwork already knows, won't he say something to the council or the Observants?" The very Observants Phantom has guaranteed will pop in on Tim at some point. So Tim feels compelled to ask.

"Nah," Phantom says. He kicks his feet from where he's sitting on the kitchen table now, right at Tim's elbow. "He hates the Observants more than I do. I bet he loves this. He's always down to fuck with them."

Great. That's... great.

Nothing can go wrong, right?

#my writing #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp ficlet #dc x dp prompt #Danny Fenton/Tim Drake #Dead Tired #Fake Dating Trope #not me writing this prompt and realizing it's practically a chapter #i never claimed to be capable of doing things in halves #and i do want to write this #i have no clue when i will be able to get to this so i am gifting my brain worms to the fandom #so with this as you please #Promises Promises

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thebearer · 1 year ago

Text

love, i found you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: how anchovy berzatto came into your and carmen's lives. or the story of anchovy berzatto, dumpster kitten turned spoiled cat.

contains: mentions of animal being abandoned/ stray kitten. small, malnourished anchovy but nothing graphic (i won't do that to you i promise). mainly fluff. language. richie being a hater a little lol.

word count: 2.9k+

“Chefs, keep the stations clear-”

“-Has anyone seen Richie?-”

“-Jeff, I need more branzino for the seven fishes-”

“-Heard, Tina. There, uh, I think there’s some-”

“-Carm, have you seen the books for tonight?-”

“-Has anyone seen Richie? Richie! Where the fuck is he?”

A chaotic melody of screams meshed together in some kind of disarray of harmony, one speaking over the other, the sound of pots and pans clashing, hisses of sizzling food in them a backtrack to the madness.

“I’m right here, Sugar.” Richie scoffed, buttoning the front of his jacket. He patted your shoulder in passing, cheek pressing lightly to yours, muttering, “How’re you, sweetheart? Doin’ good?” In passing.

He was the first to notice you, even over Carmen. The rest of the staff bustling through the kitchen prep, trying to squeeze everything in before the family meal. Carmen had invited you to family, but you were starting to regret agreeing, feeling useless and in the way in the face of the hectic nature.

“Where have you been?” Sugar huffed at Richie, heels clacking in a stomp towards the office. “I have a million fucking things- oh, hey.” She paused, eyes lighting in a greeting when they landed on you.

“I didn’t know you were here. How are you?” Sugar hugged you, a soft side hug in greeting that you returned stiffly.

“I’m good. How are you?” You muttered, eyes still scanning the kitchen.

Sugar let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ask me in about an hour.” She shook her head. “I have a million fucking things to do as I was telling Richie.” She turned, eyes narrowing pointedly at the man. “Only two dishwashers showed up tonight.”

“You’re shitting me.” Richie groaned. “That fuckin’ jagoff- take a chance on me, bullshit.”

“Yeah, so Neil needs to wash utensils tonight between the floor, ok?” Sugar jabbed a manicured nail into her clipboard.

“Is there anything I can do?” You squeaked, much smaller than you meant it to. Richie and Sugar turned to you, both blinking, like they’d forgotten you were even there. “Carm invited me to family, but I can help. I can wash dishes if you need me too. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“That would be-” Sugar nodded in a sigh, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I ever tell you I love you? Seriously.” She turned to Carm, who was passing behind her. “Carm, don’t ever fuck this up with her, you hear me? I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen muttered, and you knew by the drone in his voice he wasn’t listening, too consumed with other things, discarding vegetable scraps into the trash.

“This thing is fuckin’ full. Can they not- Oh, hey.” Carmen’s features softened at the sight of you, spine straightening gently. “When’d you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” You leaned forward, his lips brushing your cheek softly in greeting. “I didn’t want to disrupt. You seemed… busy.”

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, uh, that’s a word for it. Busy, out of my fuckin’ mind because this trash is fuckin’ full!” He boomed at no one in particular.

“Now, I gotta take this out and replace it, and that puts us back, and every second counts, does it not, cousin?” Carmen rambled, glaring at Richie, yanking the sides of the trashcan off the rim.

“Look, I didn’t know that the two didn’t show-”

“-No, of course you didn’t. Can’t pay attention to shit-”

“-Alright, let’s bring it down.” Sugar lifted her hands, eyeing Carmen with a slight nod of her head towards you.

“Sorry.” Carmen muttered, eyes lifting to you. “Sorry, cousin. I-I’m just, we’re fuckin’ booked, an-and I’m so far behind-”

“-I’ll take it.” You squeaked, a little too eagerly. Carmen’s brows furrowed, you cut him off before he could finish. “No, seriously, you’re all busy. I’ll go take this out and then I’ll help make sure the utensils are ready.”

“N-No, I can’t ask you to do that. That would be shitty.” Carmen shook his head, pulling the trash bag out of the can.

“Good thing you didn’t ask me. I offered.” Your hand wrapped over his, squeezing his closed fist gently with a tiny grin. “Go, I got it.”

Carmen beamed, cheeks tinging pink. If he wouldn’t have been in the middle of the kitchen prep rush, he would’ve kissed you, pressed you right up against the wall and smooched you sloppy. Instead, he let you take the trash.

“Gary!” Richie called behind you. “Make sure you let her back in, alright? Just knock and he’ll let you back in. You’re a fucking life saver, y’know that?” Richie beamed, pushing the heavy steel door open so you could duck under his arm.

It was surprisingly warm- well, warm-ish for Chicago in the winter. No snow, no need for a heavy jacket but brisk enough for a chill. The dumpster lid was already flipped over, and you were thankful for that, slinging the bag over the edge, turning to go back inside.

You stopped, halting just as you’d turned. The tiniest squeak of a cry, desperate and alert. You turned scanning the alley walls, the corners by the dumpster until you heard it again, that same pitiful whimper echoing off the metal of the dumpster- inside the dumpster.

You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t leave it, whatever it was, it sounded pathetic and in pain. Your eyes flickered back to the building, you could see Gary in the small window, head turned towards the others. They were so busy, you couldn’t ask Carmen or even Fak.

“I’ll be right back.” You cooed towards the dumpster frantically. “Just hold tight for me, ok? I’ll get you out, one sec.” It was silly, but you felt the need to say it, even if just for yourself.

Sprinting towards the door, you knocked on the glass rapidly. Gary pushed it open. “I need your help.” You stopped him before he could walk away. “J-Just for a second. I promise.”

Gary’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, are you- you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I mean,” You turned towards the dumpster. “There’s something in there. I think it’s a cat? I think it’s hurt.”

“A cat?” Gary’s eyes widened, still, he followed your furious pace towards the dumpster. “Wait, I-I don’t think- Lemme get Carm-”

“-No, he’s busy.” You shook your head. “It will just take me a second. I just need you to help me get down.”

Gary paused, watching you in complete awe- maybe horror- push off a discarded crate towards the ledge of the dumpster. “This is- no, this is fuckin’ crazy, I’m sorry. You don’t know what that thing has-”

Your small gasp cut him off, eyes rounding in awe. There in the piles of trash, a fuzzy blip of orange fur nestled into the black bags- a tiny, scraggly kitten, mewling helplessly.

“Oh my God,” You muttered. “It’s a baby.”

“A baby?” Gary gawked.

“A kitten baby.” You corrected, lip jutting. “I have to get it.”

“I really don’t think you should be doin’ this.” Gary looked back at the door then to you. “You can’t go in the dumpster, c’mon.”

“You want to go in instead?” You huffed, eyes rolling at his disgusted snarl. “Just- I’ll do it.” You leaned to the side, taking a deep breath of fresh air, swallowing down a gag at the expected smell.

Holding your breath, you let yourself fall into the dumpster, the squishy bags of trash uneasy under your feet. The small kitten whined, crying at the shift of your weight.

“This is fuckin’ insane.” Gary muttered, shaking his head.

“Aye, Sweeps, what the fuck?” Richie’s voice boomed, the slam of the door making both of you jump. “Take your smoke break later, you jagoff, I need your-”

“-I’m not-” Gary huffed in annoyance. “She’s in the dumpster.”

“Who?” Richie asked.

“Me!” You swallowed a retch, the pungent stench of the trash filling your senses as you crouched closer towards the kitten. At least it wasn’t summer.

“Why the fuck is Carmen’s girl in the dumpster?” Richie roared. “Carmen! Get out here now, cousin!”

“Why is she in the dumpster? Why the fuck are you in the dumpster?” Richie’s furious stomps were muted from the outside. You cringed, still trying to hold your breath, coaxing the small kitten into your hold.

The poor thing, so small- so fucking small. Shaking in your hold, crying and whining, but turned into the warmth of your palm. A cry bubbled from your chest, mixing with a gag at the smell.

“Cousin, what? What the fuck is-” Carmen bounded outside, stopping when he saw the top of your head pop up, out of the dumpster. “The fuck?”

“Your girl’s in the garbage.” Richie shook his head.

“Yeah, why the fuck- Baby, w-why are you- What are you doin’?” Carmen jogged towards you, hoisting himself over the side of the dumpster, arm extended for you.

“She found a cat.” Gary rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“A cat?” Richie repeated.

“A kitten.” You showed Carmen, pulling the small thing from your chest, where you cradled him close to you.

Carmen blinked at you. “You went in the dumpster f-for a cat? A cat?” He shook his head, confused. “Baby, that thing could have diseases a-and rabies and shit-”

“-He’s starving.” You countered, lip jutting in a firm pout. Carmen hated the way he could feel himself melting. The determination in your glare, ferocious yet soft.

“I could hear him crying, a-and I couldn’t leave him.” You shook your head, petting the tiny kitten’s soft fur.

“So you climbed in the trash?” Richie snarled in disgust.

“Climbed right in the dumpster.” Gary nodded.

“Alright.” Carmen looked over his shoulder at them, a pointed glare on his face. “Just- Lemme get you outta there, alright?”

“Here,” You handed him the small cat, carefully cradling him. Carmen hesitated, a grimace in his scowl. Your eyes narrowed at him, a warning. “Hold him gently.”

So he did, of course he did, it’s what you wanted. Passing him to Richie with the same snarl of instructions, pulling you out of the dumpster, a firm hold on your waist as you climbed back over.

Richie was passing you the kitten with a grimace of disgust, dusting his hands off dramatically. “There. There’s your garbage cat that can not come back in the restaurant. Cousin,” He glared at Carmen. “We don’t want another fuckin’ C. Get shut down for havin’ fleas or shit.”

Carmen glared at him. “No, he’s right.” You nodded. “Can you bring me my purse? I’m going to see if I can get him checked out. I’ll be back.”

“Let me come with you.” Carmen offered, motioning for Gary to go get your things, untying his blue apron.

“Carm, no. You’re busy. I can do it.” You shook your head.

Carmen rolled his eyes. “No, I’m comin’ with you. Last time I let you do somethin’ alone. End up in the fuckin’ garbage.” He snorted playfully. “Besides, I think there’s a place down the street. The vet has been in a few times. I’ll see if I can, y’know, coerce him to squeeze us in.”

“Coerce?” You lifted your brows playfully, petting the tiny kitten gently, trying to still his quivering.

“Yeah, coerce.” Carmen rolled his eyes, swapping his apron out for his jacket, handing you yours. “Give ‘im a free dinner or somethin’.”

“No fuckin’ way, no.” Richie shook his head. “Cousin, you’re already late- Sydney is pissed, and you’re not bringing that fuckin’ flea bag in here.”

You held the small cat close to your chest, still damp from his bath at the vet. Carmen’s coercing had worked, Dr. Vallenti had took the bribe happily, squeezing you both in for a check up. The tiny kitten, barely two pounds, malnourished and positively pitiful. You didn’t even have to ask, Carmen knew from the way you held him close to your chest, eyes rounding just barely when the vet asked if you’d be keeping him.

“Of course,” Carmen nodded easily, squeezing your knee gently. “Just give him whatever he needs for right now, and what we need t’get. We’ll get it.”

“He doesn’t have fleas, Richie.” You sneered, cradling the small cat in your jacket to keep him warm. His shake was down to a soft tremble, not as constant but still there.

“Yeah fuckin’ right, rabies then-”

“-Cousin.” Carmen sneered. Richie stopped with a huff, throwing his arms up and muttering something as he stormed away.

“Here,” Carmen muttered, a hand on the small of your spine, pushing you into his office. “I’ll grab you a bowl and a plate for his food, alright? You just, just stay in here, ok? Richie’s right, he can’t be out.”

“I’ll keep him in here.” You nodded, sitting in the small chair. “Do you have a towel?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab that too.” Carmen slung his jacket off, running a hand through his messy curls. “I, uh, I gotta get scrubbed up and put my stuff on, but if you need anything just yell, alright?” He ducked out to the small closet, snatching a towel and two dishes off the drying rack.

“I’ll be alright.” You hummed, fingertip tracing down the kitten’s tiny head. He purred under your touch, made your chest burst with warmth.

Carmen’s lips pulled in a smile, putting the dishes on the ground for you, shedding his own shirt. You were entirely enamored with the cat, that was for sure, not even a sideways, ogling glance at Carmen’s shirtless figure.

“Shit.” Your head snapped up, wide eyed at Carmen. “I forgot the dishes. I-I’m so sorry, I can-”

“-It’s alright, baby.” Carmen dropped his pants, biting back a smirk at how your eyes did drop this time. “Tina got her son and his friend to come in. We’re good, baby.”

“Oh.” You nodded, eyes lingering on his boxer clad ass, before back to the kitten. “Good.”

Carmen shrugged on his chef’s coat, walking over to you. “It’ll be kinda a late night.” His eyes softened in apology. “I’ll have someone run you a plate when we get outta the weeds, alright?”

“Thank you.” You muttered, head tilting back for a kiss. Carmen obliged, your lips pulling him in for a longer kiss than he expected, sweet- left his body burning with heat. “Thank you.” You repeated, eyes shining sweetly.

“C’mon.” Carmen whispered gently, shaking his head at you. “You know I would do anythin’.” He pressed a kiss to your head, looking down at the small kitten before he left.

“I think he likes it?” You whispered, on your stomach next to Carmen.

It was nearly two in the morning, the two of you just returning back to the brownstone you called home. Lying on the freshly laid tile of the kitchen, you watched the small cat explore the space.

“Yeah, think he’s gettin’ used to it.” Carmen muttered, shaking the small stick so the feather danced over the kitten, grinning when he’d scrunch and bat at it clumsily.

You pressed your head into your hand, watching the kitten prowl, ears finally perked up instead of flat back in fear. “We have to name him.” You blinked, looking up at Carmen.

“Yeah,” Carmen grinned. “Yeah, that-that would be a good idea, right?” He beamed playfully.

You smiled, gently petting the kitten’s back, smiling at how he arched into your touch. “I think it should be something kinda with the restaurant.” You suggested. “Since that’s where we found him.”

“Yeah? Like Bear?” Carmen muttered.

Your nose crinkled gently. “He doesn’t really look like a Bear.”

“No,” Carmen agreed, shaking his head. “More like a Garfield.”

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. “That’s such a gimme name.” You shook your head. “Maybe not the restaurant, exactly, but… similar?”

“Yeah? Like Trash Can?” Carmen muttered, lips curling playfully.

You gasped lightly, smacking his leg playfully. “No.” You huffed. “Something maybe with food?”

“Carrot?”

“No.” You pouted lightly, head tilting towards the small cat, occupied with Carmen’s sweatpant strings. “What about, like, Anchovy?”

“Anchovy?” Carmen snorted in amusement softly.

“Yeah, like the fish.” You shrugged softly. “And cats eat fish- well, in the cartoons they do, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” Carmen grinned softly down at you. “You think he looks like an Anchovy?”

The small kitten turned, perking towards Carmen, padding happily over to him. Your face lit, glowing with beaming pride and adoration as Carmen scooped up the small kitten, let him rub his face into his chest sleepily- sweetly. You thought you might melt into a puddle on the floor at the sight.

“Alright.” Carmen laughed lightly. “Think you’re right. Think he’s an Anchovy.”

“Anchovy Berzatto.” You hummed, crawling between Carmen’s spread legs, petting the tiny cat. You smiled so brightly at Carmen, his own cheeks burned, flaming under your radiant affection.

Your lips caught him again, pulling him in for a sweet, longing kiss over the small kitten’s head. Your hands in Carmen’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, kissing him like a lifeline- it made his head swim, chest swell with adoration.

Anchovy chirped, teetering on a meow and yawn, little paw stretching in Carmen’s hold. Your forehead pressed to Carmen's, you ducked down to coo at the small kitten, moving to sit in between Carmen’s legs, your back to his chest.

Home with your little family, complete with the little kitten, Anchovy Berzatto.

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