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supercutszns · 10 months ago

Note

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.

This year, there were two.

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.

“You alright there, sunshine?”

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.��

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.

You haven’t talked to him since.

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both.

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.

He will not. Stop. Looking at you.

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.

Luke, calling your name.

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly.

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

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twistyfish · 3 months ago

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Can we get some comfort from the boys please? God especially after that last post with us being so insecure that hits me like a rock. MC’s selfish for having all of them I wanna be loved too 😭😭😭

(I love MC but jealousy is uncanny)

It doesn’t help that I read an angst no comfort a while ago and I still am not over it- help 😭

sure! i just wrote a double dose of angst so i hope this eases the pain. i don’t know why the hell sylus’s is so long, so don’t ask me.

prompt~ comfort.

content warning for brief mentions of death, periods, and detailed descriptions of blood.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered into the cool fabric of his jacket, gripping the velvety material in your fists. You were sitting on his lap facing him, your legs swung around his hips and hugging his sides.

“I would perish at your side before leaving you,” Zayne whispered back. “No entity in or outside this world could rip me apart from you.”

“I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to- why would you say that?”

“Zayne, I’m scared of dying alone, please don’t ever leave me alone.” Your voice was panicky and you weren’t making much sense.

“You’re not going to die alone, honey. I won’t leave you alone,” he reassured you softly. “Where did this fear come from?”

“I just… I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to feel that way again. I don’t want nobody to remember me.”

“Sweetheart. You aren’t alone. You have family and friends who love you so much. And I love you so, so much more than I can describe. I even think about you when you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. How could I not remember you?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you, holding your head with one hand and rubbing your hair soothingly.

“You’re the love of my life. You keep me warm on chilly days. You nourish me. Please never think otherwise.”

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

You were hunched over on the couch, curled up and gripping your knees. You were intensely nauseous, and it felt like a cat was clawing up all your insides. Your periods were notoriously brutal.

You were being extra cautious not to leak on Sylus’s leather couch, placing two towels beneath you and doubling them up. You flipped through channels on the TV miserably, pulling your fluffy blanket higher up around you.

It was all politics and sports. You shut off the TV and closed your eyes, trying to just marinate in the warmth of the blanket.

You were somewhat peaceful, until you realized the seat of your pants felt warmer than usual. Wide eyed, you scrambled up and checked the towels. The top one looked like the Japanese flag. You lifted it, and the bottom one mirrored it. Praying, you lifted the bottom towel.

The leather couch had a thick blotch of red on it, and you groaned aloud. You stood up and tossed the blanket to the side, ignoring the shooting pains in your back and stomach. Upon standing, you felt yourself leak down your leg. There was now a small red puddle on the floor that you were dripping into.

You seethed. Deciding against retrieving paper towels and potentially leaving a trail behind you, you took off your stained pajama pants and wiped the floor with them.

It wasn’t very effective, as you were bent over cleaning the blood and simultaneously dripping onto the floor at the same time. You were too embarrassed to call any of Sylus’s staff, so you ended up giving up and putting your pajama pants in a heap on the floor and sitting on top of them so you wouldn’t do any more damage.

You sat like that for a solid twenty minutes before Sylus came home. You heard his steps as he entered the room and turned your head, both dreading and being relieved at his arrival. His expression changed from suave to confused as he saw you on the floor sitting on your pants.

And then he saw the bloody towels and stain on the couch. “Oh, shit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you started.

“That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay?” His voice was soft and concerned.”

“Yeah, it’s just my period. Aren’t you mad about the couch?”

“Me? Mad about a couch? I can replace this a thousand times over. I’m more concerned-,” he bent down next to you, “-about the amount of blood coming out of you.”

You looked at him, both weary and confused. “I told you, it’s just my period. It’s pretty standard to bleed a lot.”

He shook his head. “Not that much. Get up.” You complied and stood up, revealing your pajamas which were soaked through by now. His scarlet eyes widened. “What the hell? That’s not normal.”

“It is normal. It happens every month.”

He shook his head, picking up your soiled pajamas and towels in one hand and wrapping his other hand around your bloody thighs. He hoisted you up like you were weightless, ignoring your protests.

“Sylus! I’m covered in blood, stop touching me!”

“You act as though I haven’t seen bodies doused in blood.”

“That’s different. This is blood from my literal va-“

“I’m plenty familiar with that orifice of yours, my love.”

“Oh my god.”

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

Your cheeks were flushed, and you were hacking up what felt like several lungs. After much harassing from Xavier, you had taken a sick day and were now taking the hottest shower of your life in an attempt to steam out all the muck in your throat.

You blew your nose one last time before exiting the shower, getting dressed with a heavy head. The air in the bathroom was hot and damp from your shower, and you felt like you were swimming as you walked to your bedroom. You ended up clumsily turning the fan on and collapsing on your bed.

And then the doorbell rang. Of course it did, because you and Rafayel had made plans for a movie night that you’d forgotten to cancel. You groaned into the mattress and forced yourself to get up. You answered the door with what must have still been a very pink face, because Rafayel immediately said, “You’re all red. Are you that nervous to see me?”

“I’m sick.”

He immediately pulled away and lifted his shirt over his mouth. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I was busy being sick, genius.” You were too tired to banter. You sneezed, to which Rafayel made a face. “You need some TLC, Ms. Bodyguard. I’ll be happy to assist. From a distance, of course.”

You didn’t feel like arguing, so you allowed him to lead you inside and prepare you some stew and hot chocolate. It was surprisingly comforting, and Rafayel didn’t pretend to be disgusted when you coughed up mucus. He rubbed your back while you coughed and attacked you with kisses when you sat quietly with a throbbing head.

Even when you pushed him away, reminding him that he would likely get sick from all his close contact, he waved away your worries.

“I need you to recover as quickly as possible so you can protect me. When I’m sick, you can just pay me back.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

You fell out of a tree. That was the short version of it. You and Xavier were having a climbing contest, and the branch you’d been holding onto wasn’t very stable. Well, the branch itself was stable, but the bark you were gripping wasn’t. It ripped off in your hands and took you with it.

You let out a squeaky noise when you hit the ground, almost like a dog toy. You would have laughed at yourself if you weren’t in so much pain.

“__! Shit, shit, shit!” Xavier was down the tree in an instant, like a rodent that spotted a snake. He sprinted to your side and hovered over you frantically while you laid on your back and tried to regain your breath. He ended up refraining from calling an ambulance because you had enough life in you to beg him not to. So, he drove you to urgent care instead.

Thankfully you weren’t hurt too badly, but you did end up with a bruised tailbone and a fractured rib, so now you were in the middle of the healing process with Xavier asking you questions every twenty minutes or so.

He’d ask, “Are you in pain?” to which you’d respond, “Yes.” And then he’d ask “Where?” And you’d angrily say “My butt.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, it was my fault.”

“But climbing the trees was my idea.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Do you need a butt massage?”

“No, idiot.”

Xavier was very apologetic for the next couple of weeks, sleeping over at your house every other day and bringing you burnt baked goods to tide you over. He took care of you in his own sweet way.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads #love and deepspace #lads x you #lads x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #reqs open #xavier x reader #sylus x reader #comfort

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guiltyasdave · 8 months ago

Text

come morning light

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.5k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury

a/n: i'm finally finished with chapter 2, and once again nervous af about it haha. there's not terribly much happening in this one, but i promise we'll get there, it just needs the buildup :)

thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but after hours of tossing and turning in the darkness of your bedroom, you think it’s probably time to get up.

You’re halfway convinced that last night’s events were a product of your imagination, that your mind has felt so lonely that it conjured up the whole scenario. But when you step out of your bedroom and find the door of your parents’ bedroom only halfway closed, the way you have never left it before saying good night to Ellie earlier, you have to come to terms with the fact that this might actually be your reality.

Ellie seems to be sound asleep, a lump under the covers, softly breathing, but when you head to the living area and switch on one of the smaller lamps, you’re met with the piercing glare of Joel. He’s still lying on the couch, much like you left him, still pale, still dark shadows under his eyes, but he’s much more awake now, his gaze following your every move.

“Hey,” you say softly, sinking down on the same armchair that you sat in when you watched him last night while Ellie took a shower. You suppress a shudder at the way he regards you, his eyes flicking up and down your body, taking in your size, you presume, searching for weapons. Your gun is tucked into the waistband at the back of your pants, which you’re sure he’s already aware of. You don’t like the way he makes you feel, like somehow you’re intruding on him. You should have the upper hand, this is your home and he’s injured, you helped him for crying out loud, and here you are, nervously watching his every move. You did the right thing. It’s gonna be fine.

“Where’s Ellie?” he asks, ignoring your greeting, his voice gruff.

“Sleeping,” you reply, nodding your head to the bedroom door. “She’s okay, I promise.”

Some of the tension seems to release from his body and he slumps back down a little, but the distrust in his expression when he looks at you doesn’t waver. Then again, you’re probably not much different.

“Look,” you sigh, “I’m not playing some kind of game here. You came into my house, I saw that you needed help, so I helped.” You try to infuse your voice with as much confidence as you can. “Don’t make me regret that, okay?”

He shrugs, a noncommittal grunt the only verbal answer. It could potentially be interpreted as a thanks, you guess. In a less tense situation, you’d probably grow annoyed by now. Shrugging yourself, you get to your feet and head to the kitchen. Anything to escape the way he’s watching your every movement.

“Hey, do you want coffee?” You don’t really want to offer him any, but you’d feel weird drinking it yourself without asking.

He pipes up at the question, head turning in your direction, his face the most open that you’ve seen it yet. “You have coffee?”

“Yeah.” That’s why I’m fucking asking.

“I– yes.” A breath, a second of him not meeting your eyes. “Thanks.”

You smile, small, fleetingly, busying yourself with the ground beans and the boiling water, reveling in the smell that slowly spreads throughout the room. It reminds you of happier times, when the world was still normal.

He has pushed himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily, when you walk over to hand him the steaming cup, still careful to keep your distance.

After you sit back down, the both of you stay silent for a few minutes. You enjoy the bitter taste on your tongue, the way you slowly feel your energy rising.

“Does it hurt much?” you ask eventually, gesturing towards his stomach.

Another grunt, the hint of a head shake.

“So it does.” He opens his mouth, the protest most likely already on his tongue, and you raise an eyebrow. “I have painkillers, are you sure that you–”

“No.” It comes fast, his voice raised, no room for arguments.

You instinctively flinch back at the unexpected louder sound, the cup shaking in your grip. You set it down on the table in front of you. Have your hands free, just in case.

There’s a hint of regret in his eyes, his free hand slightly raised, palm open. He’s trying to calm you down, you realize.

“Okay,” you breathe, working hard to keep your voice steady, “no painkillers, got it.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face half hidden, words almost lost behind the cup. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you tell him as much as yourself.

You’ve gotten jumpy, not used to loud sounds anymore, raised voices, not used to humans in general, you suppose. You hadn’t fully realized it until now, until there’s other humans around you again.

“Thank you,” he continues unexpectedly, “not just for the coffee, but– you know.” He’s struggling, the words not coming easily, but you think that he’s being earnest. “Patching me up.”

“Of course.” You nod hastily, your heart still beating a little too fast.

Another moment passes in silence, both of you slowly sipping the coffee. He’s looking around, taking in his surroundings, eyes lingering on the closed wooden doors and the stairs leading up. You try not to get nervous about it. It’s normal that he would want to know more about where he is, after all.

“This is the basement, right? Is it safe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “No way to get in from outside.” As long as you stay inside, you’re safe.

He hums, appreciatively, you think.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Always. It’s my parents’ house. I mean–” you laugh, but it comes out hollow, “we lived upstairs, obviously. But my dad was… kinda crazy. Or– not that crazy, I guess, all things considered.” Your lips curl into a wry smile.

Your mind flashes back to long lectures about survival techniques, learning how to shoot, your father going on and on about first aid, hunting, all the things that you couldn’t have cared less about as a teenage girl, but were ingrained in your brain nonetheless. You’re grateful, now, but it’s laced with guilt about how often you snapped at your father, how often you told him he was paranoid, seeing dangers that weren’t there, that he was wasting your time. You couldn’t have known, the rational part of you argues. But you can never take it back now, the guilt whispers.

When you look up, Joel’s eyes are on you, eyebrows raised in question. You shake your head, trying to clear it. Stay in the present.

“Sorry, what did you–?”

Worry is painting his expression. “Are you okay?”

Don’t show weakness. “Yeah, of course. Just spaced out for a second.”

You force a smile onto your face and stand up rather abruptly, gathering both cups and putting them into the sink. Joel hasn’t moved, but you feel his eyes on you as you move.

“Do you, um, do you want to shower, maybe? Or just wash up, I don’t know, how–” You gesture towards the dried bloodstain on his flannel, forcefully keeping your tone light. “I have clean clothes, too, if you want.”

A shiver runs through you at the thought of going through your dad’s things, of someone else wearing them. He doesn’t need them anymore. He’s not coming back.

You know that you’ve gone silent for too long again even before you see Joel’s expression. He doesn’t ask this time, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t place, something that almost looks like understanding.

“Yeah, I guess cleaning up a bit would be nice. I– thank you. Again”

His voice is gruff and he avoids your eyes. You think that he doesn’t like it, having to thank you. Owing you.

Giving him a nod, you head to the bedroom, hoping not to disturb Ellie, but she’s awake already, her eyes glinting in the light that’s falling into the dark room from the living area. You clench your jaw, heading for one of the drawers, trying hard not to think about what you’re doing. It’s not like he ever wore this stuff, it was just sitting down here. It’s fine, you’re fine.

“Don’t worry, it’s not about you,” Ellie says quietly from beside you, breaking through your racing thoughts.

You turn towards her, confusion on your face. “What is?”

“Joel,” she shrugs, still keeping her voice low. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s a bit of an asshole, really.” She sounds fond, saying it, like it’s an endearing character trait.

A surprised laugh escapes you. “I– okay, thanks, I guess.”

She waves it away, swinging her feet out of the bed. “No, thank you for not murdering me in my sleep.”

“Yeah, likewise.” You shake your head, still laughing to yourself. It’s so easy to like the girl, to feel like you already know her.

You hand Joel a pile of clothes, purposefully avoiding to look at them too closely, explain where the towels are and he grumbles his approval before the bathroom door closes behind him.

You release a breath and close your eyes for a second. You are undeniably warming up to Ellie, finding it almost impossible not to, but her companion is a different story.

“Hey, do you drink coffee?” you ask in the direction of the bedroom.

“Ew, no!” comes her reply as she steps out of the door, collecting the wild mess of hair on the top of her head and securing it in a ponytail.

Her offense at the mere suggestion makes you chuckle under your breath as you busy yourself with preparing breakfast in the form of porridge instead. She’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you, her eyes wide as she takes in the cupboards full of supplies.

You’re glad that you don’t need anything from the storeroom, keeping that door in the corner firmly closed. You want to trust her, want to trust them, but a feeling of unease still lingers at the thought of letting them know just how much you have.

Instead, you voice another question, a thought that fills you with unease as well.

“Hey,” you begin, keeping your eyes trained on the stove, “I’m sorry, but you and Joel, there– there isn’t anything weird going on, is there?”

“Like what?” She sounds slightly defensive, but when you steal a glance at her, she’s eyeing you with curiosity.

“I don’t know, like…” You shrug, stirring the mixture of water and oats, “you want to be here, he’s not forcing you to come with him or anything, right?”

“No, don’t worry about that,” comes her reply, almost amused. It was a bit of a stupid question, when you think about it, considering how worried she was about him last night, how protective.

“Okay,” you smile at her. You’re curious nonetheless, how they ended up together and where they’re headed, but it’s probably not really your place to ask.

You divide the porridge into three bowls and hand her one, while you carry yours and one for Joel back to the living area and set them down on the wooden table.

Ellie starts shoveling the food down immediately and you’re left wondering once more what happened to them and when they last ate something.

“So…” Ellie begins, her mouth still half full, “you’re just down here with all this food? Because your dad stored it here, before… things went to shit?”

You can’t blame her for her curiosity, you’re aware that you’ve probably found yourself in a better living situation than most people. Your thoughts go to the storeroom again, basically stuffed with enough supplies to last you multiple lifetimes, especially now that it’s just… No.

You hum in affirmation, not trusting your voice and you’re thankful that she’s too distracted by her breakfast to notice anything weird about your reaction.

“So you don’t go out hunting or anything?” comes her next question. You freeze.

You did go hunting, back when you cared about variance in the meals you prepared, about using fresh ingredients when you could. Until there was no need for that any more.

You realize that Ellie is saying your name, not for the first time, judging from the look on her face.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your hands tightening around the bowl. “No, I- I don’t go hunting.”

If she finds the situation weird, she shrugs it off impressively fast.

She nods to herself, eating quietly for a minute, before she speaks up again. “So what do you… do? Down here all day?”

“Uh…” What is it that you do all day? Time has been blurring together, days without anything happening repeating on a constant loop. You realize that you don’t remember, can’t talk of any activities that are part of your day. How long has it been like this?

You’re relieved from having to answer by Joel emerging from the bathroom, his face pale and his breaths going heavy. He has put on the sweatpants you gave him, but his torso is bare, the skin around the injury still an angry red.

He sinks back down into the cushions with a heavy sigh and you quickly get to work, cleaning the wound once more and giving him more antibiotics before you redo the bandages and hope for the best. Your hands don’t shake as badly as they did last night.

Ellie gets him some water and pushes his bowl of porridge into his hands, urging him to eat, before she turns to you. She’s trying to be strong, to hide her worry, but the pleading look in her eyes when she asks you if he’s gonna be okay tells a different story.

“Of course,” you say, giving her what you hope to be a reassuring smile.

Joel does look better after he’s eaten something, but his eyelids are drooping and after a few more minutes, his eyes close and his breath evens out. You do the dishes and check the cameras, calming down a bit more when you’re sure that everything seems to be quiet upstairs.

When you return to the living area, Ellie is rummaging through her pack, muttering to herself, until she pulls a book out of, proudly turning the cover for you to read it. No pun intended - Volume Too.

She starts reading them to you while you settle back down with a second cup of coffee and you share her laughs, enjoying the way it makes her look lighter, allows her to be a kid who can laugh at stupid jokes. You ignore the sting it causes in your chest because you once knew someone who would have loved this book just as much as Ellie does.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#fic: safe and sound #janas fics #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

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switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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akutasoda · 1 month ago

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hello!! blade, jing yuan, moze and dan heng with a teen!reader like lynette from genshin?? (please do include her backstory as well :3)

reader and [char] probably met by [char] saving them like arrlechino

saving trajectories

synopsis - how are they with a lynette!reader?

includes - dan heng, blade, jing yuan, moze

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, slight angst, maybe ooc idk, wc - 896

dan heng ★↷

↪after the latest stop on another planet, the express soon found you as their latest member on the express. they'd run into you and very quickly ended up deciding that they couldn't ignore you, they needed to save you. and before anyone knew it, you'd joined them on the express.

↪it was rather awkward at first. you barely knew any of them let alone trusted them but you were willing to try. it was a much better path than what you previously were on, so you were quite lucky that the express wanted to help you adjust.

↪namely, dan heng. he was certainly one of the more calm and composed members of the express and so he seemed like the most viable person to hang around while you were adjusting.

↪and so subsequently he was the first one you trusted, the first one you opened up to. and as you told him about your past, it made his heart ache. if only someone had helped you before, you could've avoided so much.

blade ★↷

↪it was a pure accident that the stellaron hunters stumbled upon you. they were finishing up another mission just to encounter the both of you. and it was kafka who was the one to point out that something was wrong - and that it must be part of elios's plan to meet you.

↪and before you knew it, they saved you from the suffering you were forced to endure. they couldn't risk leaving you there with nowhere to go and the potential threat of you falling back into the hands of someone else was too great to ignore. and so you became an honorary stellaron hunter.

↪blade wasn't exactly the most warm person, let alone the best person to help you. but you had similar personalities and you appreciated the comfortable silence around him while you got used to the rest of them.

↪it took a while for you to actually trust him to tell him about your past. surprisingly, blade was a good listener however - maybe not good at comforting but he tried his hardest.

jing yuan ★↷

↪he first heard about you, it broke his heart.

↪someone he soon found out was one of many being taken care of by the person he had previously fought. although he could tell that you were a bit more important to them then the rest. and so jing yuan took the initiative and offered to take you in for the time being.

↪jing yuan had previously, and still was, taking care of yanqing. so he reckoned he would be able to look after you as well. although you were a lot more closed off than yanqing, which he did anticipate seeing as how long you'd spent suffering with everything you went through.

↪although he was always very good at helping certain people feel more at ease around him. so luckily he helped you settle in quite quickly and it wasn't too long before he had started getting you to open up.

↪and after hearing about your past, he only wanted to blame himself for not saving you earlier. you could've been saved and yet the lack of attention paid to underground affairs on the luofu meant you'd suffered.

↪jing yuan promised to help you have a better future. to do what you actually wanted to do with your life.

moze ★↷

↪if anything, moze could sympathize with your situation the most. he was an orphan, one raised by the sanctus medicus. much like how you were an orphan raised by someone else for their own goals, uncaring of what you might've wanted to do with your future. he could understand your situation.

↪except for him, he was still “saved” when he was a young boy and when the rest of the sanctus had been killed or imprisoned. you weren't so lucky. you endured much more for a longer period of time, still destined to travel along the path set by the one who raised you.

↪seeing you reminded him of how feixiao found him. when he knew nothing but what he was taught, what he was raised on. moze didn't know what possessed him to act the way he did, but all he knew was that he wanted to save you. and if that meant fighting the one who raised you, then so be it.

↪feixiao didn't even question him when he brought you to her, if anything she was proud of him for saving you. for a while, you did stay with both moze and feixiao but ultimately you ended up being with moze most of the time - he practically became your legal guardian.

↪he'd always try to keep an eye on you. when he wasn't required by feixiao or jiaoqiu, he hovered around you. naturally, you became very good at sensing when he was nearby - you could always tell.

↪between moze's natural silence and your reclusive behavior meant that it took a very long time for you to become comfortable enough around him to share parts of your life. and it only served to break his heart - he wished you could've saved you sooner.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss , @frankiesteinn

#—stellaronhvnters.#x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr blade #blade x reader #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr moze #moze x reader

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thedemoninme141 · 2 months ago

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Her Heartbeat, Chapter 1: Her Anger.

Summary: Wednesday's anger got her into trouble, Where do you come along?

Warnings: There isn't really any warning but I guess WednesdayBeatingPeople???? FLUFF!!!! No angst in this chapter, but who knows what happens in the future...

Masterlist

Wednesday sat there, in her dorm, right in front of the half-colored half-dead window.Your diary in her hand. And for the first time in her life, Wednesday felt anger. Anger was for people who lost control, who let their emotions drive their actions, who lashed out in fits of rage. Wednesday was never angry. She was annoyed most of the time, but angry? Never. At least that's what she kept telling herself. But inside, her blood simmered with a quiet rage, an anger that she had never considered a flaw but rather a necessary tool for survival. It was not an issue—it was a tolerance bar. And God help whoever crosses it.

So when those boys at Weathervane decided to mock Enid, they unknowingly signed their own fate. The day was already going bad and Wednesday's tolerance bar had reached its limit, and she had done what she deemed appropriate. Enid had tried to stop her, of course, pulling on her arm. She was still in control, right?

Okay fine! She broke a few bones, dislocated a jaw or two, and made sure they would remember to keep Enid’s name out of their mouths for as long as they lived.

When the cops came to the scene, Wednesday was still standing over the boys, wiping her knuckles with a napkin. She was arrested for the third time in her life. Or was it fourth time? Those boys were arrested too, but somehow it was only Wednesday who ended up with a mandatory sentence: Anger Management Therapy sessions. How utterly ridiculous. What could possibly be wrong with expressing herself in a way that ensured she was heard, understood, and remembered?

"You cannot say no, Wednesday, if you do not attend and pass this therapy session, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Ugh, why did Weems even survive Thornhill's poison?

And that’s how Wednesday found herself stuck in this new circle of hell. It was infuriating. It was unjust. And it was a complete waste of time.

The sessions were held in a nondescript building just off the main street in Jericho, where people who had done things they "shouldn't" were supposed to fix themselves. They were meant to "reflect," "heal," and "improve." Wednesday didn't need improvement. She was perfect as she was, she was everything they could never be: self-sufficient, rational, and unapologetic.

The group leader, David, was an insufferable man in his mid-thirties. And much to Wednesday's dismay, he was the male version of Enid. He was incessantly cheerful, overly intrusive, and sickeningly optimistic about everyone’s potential for change. Wednesday found him exhausting.

David had made it his mission to get Wednesday to "open up," constantly encouraging her to share her feelings, recount her past, and dig deep into the source of her "anger." But Wednesday refused to play his game. She sat through the sessions in stony silence, expressing her disinterest as the other participants spoke of their mistakes and regrets. The only sound she made was the tap of her boots. Maybe she can annoy David enough to get kicked out of this nonsense.

She showed up late, ignored his questions, and rolled her eyes whenever he tried to address her. But David was unflappable. He would only chuckle softly, as if she were some mischievous child whose antics were endearing rather than infuriating. Every time she pushed, he merely pushed back with more patience, more persistence, and an infuriatingly steady resolve. After a while, she realized he would not break, and she would only be prolonging her sentence by continuing to fight him.

She attended every session and waited silently while the others poured their hearts out. She refused to say a word, they didn't deserve to know a thing about her. Maybe things aren't exactly too bad. She can just go through alone without causing any trouble so David can finally give some positive feedback on her report and let her be free.

But he had thrown a new wrench into her already miserable routine. He announced, with that obnoxious grin plastered on his face, that they were now required to bring a "partner" to the sessions. Someone who can vouch for them, that they are making progress outside of the therapy session too. Someone who could act as their support system, their "anchor" in times of distress. As if she needed an anchor.

The mere thought of dragging someone else into this circus wasn't exactly unpleasing. At least she could pass her time watching them suffer.

But the problem was she didn't have a line of volunteers waiting to join her in group therapy

Enid, unsurprisingly, had refused immediately, citing her “makeup sessions” with Yoko as an excuse. Wednesday could see right through her, though. Enid’s answer wasn’t about makeup; it was about not wanting to spend her Fridays and Saturdays in a gloomy room with a bunch of disgruntled teenagers and their annoying leader. And honestly, can Wednesday blame her?

Eugene was a possibility, but he was too innocent, too eager to please. He would end up making her look ridiculous in front of the group.

Xavier would have jumped at the opportunity if he hadn’t transferred out last month, much to Wednesday’s relief. Wednesday needed someone but Xavier? Ew, Wednesday wasn't that desperate.

However, she was desperate enough to ask Bianca, who, getting the chance, mocked her before refusing her, “You got yourself in this mess, Wednesday. Surely you can get yourself out,”

That left no one. Not a single person who would willingly subject themselves to the torture of these sessions, and certainly not for her sake. But David had made it clear: no partner, no progress. And no progress meant more sessions, dragging on into the foreseeable future until she complied.

Fine. Screw Bianca. Screw this whole place, this entire ridiculous therapy group, and all its pointless exercises. There wasn’t even a single murder to investigate, no mysteries to solve, nothing to occupy her mind except these meaningless tasks assigned by the so-called professionals who think they can ‘fix’ her. Wednesday was done. Maybe she should run away again. Yes, she could slip out, make her way to Weathervane, and catch a bus to anywhere but here. No one would miss her, and she wouldn’t miss them.

Wednesday was so engrossed in her thoughts of escape that she didn’t even notice when someone approached her. It wasn’t until she heard an exasperated voice that she snapped out of it.

“Hey! Are you even listening?”

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the source of the interruption. A girl stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking more annoyed than intimidated. Wednesday’s eyebrows knit together.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Y/n.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. “Congratulations. So what am I supposed to do with that information?”

"Ugh" you groaned “Well, I need your help,” you stated, trying to sound confident but there was an edge of uncertainty in your voice.

“No.” Wednesday didn’t even bother to ask what you needed.

“Oh, come on!” you shot back, clearly annoyed by her immediate dismissal. “At least ask what I need help with! I heard you’re quite good with these kinds of things.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What things? If you’re talking about murdering someone, then sure.”

“No, not murdering someone!” You glanced around nervously, almost mumbling. “It’s… umm… kind of like that, but not really… how do I say it…”

Wednesday cut you off with a sharp glare. “Waste my time, and you'll be the one getting murdered.”

“Okay, Jesus, calm down,” you muttered. “I need your help kidnapping someone.”

Wednesday blinked, taken aback. Her expression flickered with surprise, but it was quickly masked by her usual indifference.

"Why would you even think I’d help you? Wait, first of all why would you even think I’m qualified for this job?"

"Because you’re bored," you said plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You see, I missed the last few months of last year, so I missed your grand entrance and your Hyde case, but I’ve heard about your reputation. How you took down Crackstone and how you saved the school. But I know you didn’t do it for the school—you did it for the thrill. For the challenge. You like going against the system."

She hated how accurate that was. It made her uneasy, like you could see right through her. Still, she wasn’t about to admit that you were right. Instead, she said, “No,” once more and got up, ready to walk away.

“Wait, I can give you money.” you blurted out.

The audacity... Wednesday stopped in her tracks, turning to glare at you. “What on earth is wrong with you? Do you really think I’m some kind of hired goon? Someone you can just pay off?”

Your face flushed, and you quickly shook your head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It just… slipped out. Please, I really need your help. Just tell me what I have to do.”

Wednesday should have turned around and left. She should have put as much distance between herself and this ridiculous request as possible. And yet… there was something in your audacity that intrigued her. Besides, she did need a partner for her therapy sessions, and making someone else suffer through them could be mildly entertaining.

"Fine," Wednesday said, her voice low and measured. "I’ll help you, but in return—"

You didn’t even let her finish. "Okay, done, agreed."

Wednesday blinked, momentarily thrown off by your eagerness. She hadn’t even told you what you would need to do, but you didn’t seem to care. You grabbed her hand, pulling her along with you as you headed towards the main gate.

"We don’t have much time," you said hurriedly. "We need to kidnap her right now."

Wednesday stumbled slightly as you dragged her along. Why wasn't she yanking her hand back? Her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Right now? Without any plan or any information?"

"Yeah, yeah," you said dismissively, waving your hand as if that was a minor detail. "I’ll tell you that on the way to the asylum."

“The what?” Wednesday’s voice rose slightly.

You just kept walking, your grip on her hand firm, and for once, Wednesday found herself caught up in someone else’s madness instead of her own.

CHAPTER 2 : Her Touch

[Author's note: Celine pretty much wrote the chapter 1, I just made some changes here and there, lol it took more time for me to create the art for this project than writing this, good news is Chapter 2 and 3 are almost ready.]

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finniestoncrane · 4 months ago

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Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 3k the night after cooper finds out about barb and vault tec he goes looking for something destructive to do. his plans were to get black out drunk, but then he finds you, and you're far more destructive 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: cheating/affair sort of (he's asked for a divorce but it is not official yet), hate fucking, hair pulling, angst, shame, rough sex

There was a brief moment where Cooper wondered if he actually wanted this. Any of it. A divorce. A reason for Barb to get angry back at him. But he'd already decided in his mind, even if his heart was a little bit behind. The second he had removed his ring, setting it on the dashboard as he gripped the steering wheel, he'd sealed his fate.

With a deep breath, he left the vehicle and made his way towards the entrance of the bar. An expensive place, one he could afford now but potentially not for much longer depending on how the alimony worked out. But for tonight, at least, he could afford to be Cooper Howard, the movie star. Buying rounds, sending drinks in lieu of actual flirting, letting his money speak for him. Hopefully, given the clientele, he might attract someone worth hating himself for.

Because that's what he was here for. Someone else. Someone to comfort him. He didn't want his friends. He didn't want Barb. He wanted someone he could pin his anger to, someone to do something reckless with. Someone that would help him to understand that his marriage was over. A misdeed that would secure his separation.

He couldn't burn the bridge alone. Someone else needed to be there to hold his hand.

As his palm pushed open the door he was assaulted by the noise, and then the smell. A cacophony of chattering, soundtracked by the loud and frenetic jazz coming from the band on the stage. A sniff of perfume, the assault of cigarette smoke, and a lingering hint of desperation. It bode well to know that there were others here in the same state of mind as he was. Despite having this in common, however, Cooper refused to mingle, at least not until he was sufficiently addled by a few drinks. So he walked past the crowds and the groups at tables, noting each person who turned to comment on his presence which was almost all of them, and pretending to ignore the loud remarks and gestures as he found himself a seat at the end of the bar.

The darkened corner suited him, a slightly hidden spot for him to search out his target, his prey. But distanced enough that people might not notice him, or at least they might leave him alone. He wasn't sure if he would back out of this yet, and the isolation gave him the option at least. Although, as the hour passed by, Cooper felt distinctly lonely, a little bit put out by the lack of attention he had received. Even the bartender, who Cooper was sure had the look of a man who enjoyed a good Western, hadn't recognised him.

So when he noticed you staring, an attempt to surreptitiously confirm who you thought he was, his heart thumped, pathetically grateful for the morsel of attention you were offering him. He held back though. Nothing, he reasoned, would stink of desperation like speaking first, confirming that he was indeed the Cooper Howard to someone who might not know who he was, but just happened to find him attractive. But you were equally nervous, afraid to say anything to someone so far above your station. An actual movie star, and one you'd harboured a crush on to boot.

He was alone, but maybe that's how he wanted to be. What would you say to him anyway? How would you approach him? What did you expect was going to happen? He was a married man, you knew that from his interviews.

But there was no ring on his finger.

Rumours of Hollywood sham marriages, attempts to hide sexualities or proclivities that were a little too out there for mass consumption, but Cooper had always seemed so in love with his wife. Maybe he was a greater actor than you thought. Or maybe you'd caught him at his most vulnerable. Either way, you weren't brave enough to make the move, so with a sheepish smile towards the bar tender, you lifted your drink and began to walk away.

Realising that he was missing his chance at the only person who had looked his way since he had sat down at the bar, Cooper spoke suddenly, not even aware that he'd begun speaking until he could hear his own voice.

"You know, that tastes a lot better neat."

As you turned you pressed on your best smile, watching it melt away into a lopsided grin as his own smile took your breath away. You made an attempt to push away the immediate anxiety you felt from knowing that Cooper Howard himself was addressing you and looked at your glass.

"Are you sure?"

He raised his hands, opening himself up to you.

"I swear, I wouldn't lie to you."

He spoke so softly, an instant relaxation warming you as his charm put you at ease.

"Here, let me buy you another. And this time, you can drink it the right way."

It felt a little bit like a power move, but the way he winked made you feel ok with it. It was playful, mischievous, and maybe just an excuse to talk to you. And it worked. Once you had your drink he offered you the seat next to him and for the next hour you found yourself talking to him effortlessly. There was something so easy about him, like he had enough confidence to share, enough pull and magnetism that you felt like you were the only two people in the world. But there was still something holding you back.

Even with the flirtatious back and forth, the little movements of his hand against your thigh, his eyes lingering on your lips as he spoke to you, there was a block there. And you decided it was worth asking.

"Ok then, Mr Howard. You said you wouldn't lie to me, so I have a question for you."

His soft brown eyes focused on your own, watching you with a calm smile as he nodded to you.

"What's with the tan line? No ring? Is this... what is this?"

It felt completely invasive, but at the same time, you knew you owed that much to yourself. And to his wife. And to Cooper. But the guilt settled in immediately as his smile turned into a pained expression. Cooper stayed silent for a minute, sipping his drink and avoiding eye contact. But eventually, with a deep sigh, he spoke.

"It's over. That's what it is.

"Oh, god... Cooper, I'm so sorry."

Your cheeks felt warm, embarrassment at your social faux pas spreading through you.

"If there's anything I can do..."

It took a moment for you to register your own movements, but when you realised your hand had fallen to his thigh you chose to wait for him to move it away. When he didn't, you let your fingers squeeze the limb, emphasising the meaning behind your words as if there had been any doubt as to what you were alluding to. You were braver now, three drinks in, and he had given you the go ahead to flirt throughout your conversation. With his permission, his consent, there wasn't much that could stop you now. Especially not when he finally spoke, drawing his eyes from your fingers to your own gaze.

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Cooper placed his hand over yours, his eyes boring into you. As you looked back into them you could see that they were sad, something glimmering behind them that told you how tired he was, how much he was aching. But beyond that, there was something pleading, begging you. He needed a little bit of attention, of something good to keep him going. So you grabbed his hand, fingers entwined together, and you pulled him out of the stool, waiting for him to toss down more than enough cash to settle his bill, and led him out of the bar.

Outside, Cooper began guiding you instead, tugging your hand towards his car.

"You're drunk, Mr Howard. I don't think you should be driving."

He stopped for a moment before stepping closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist and settling at your back as he pulled you into him.

"I agree, I can't drive. But I'm not drunk. I don't want you thinking that I don't know what we're doing here. I'm very aware. Are you?"

With a smile, you leaned in to kiss him, lips meeting his with a sharp inhale as you realised what you were doing. He was kissing you back, though, assuaging your concerns that you were overstepping his boundaries, or setting yourself up for embarrassment by thinking that someone like him would be interested in a stranger in a bar. As you pulled back, he grinned.

"I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?"

You nodded, raising your hand and waving to one of the cabs in the rank outside of the bar and taking Cooper's arm as you walked towards the one at the front. Ever the gentleman, he remained polite and civil in the back of the cab. It was only a short distance, anyway, and the driver insisted on spending the journey telling Cooper how much he loved his last film, asking when he'd see him again on the big screens. And Cooper avoided any definitive answers, maintaining an air of gratitude despite the tell-tale expression of disappointment he wore on his face. Still, he tipped generously when they exited the cab, shrugging his shoulders at you as he opened your door and walked you up the steps to his apartment. He stopped at the front door though, pausing for a moment, as though he were reconsidering everything. And afraid that that was exactly what was happening, you took the opportunity when it presented itself, lunging into a kiss when he turned to speak to you.

It worked, knocking him back against the wall, silencing him from whatever he might have been about to say. Instead of hesitation, he was now focused on the moment, his hands tracing your sides, gripping at you as he caressed your body, exploring it, new and exciting. Only when he ran out of breath did his palms find your shoulders, pushing you off slightly, but keeping his fingers tensed so you couldn't get away.

"I assume that means you will join me for a drink inside?"

You barely managed to nod before he had grabbed you once more, his hand flung clumsily around your waist, free hand working his key into the door and fumbling with the knob. Once you were inside, he wrapped both arms around you, keeping you to him as he kicked the door closed and walked you to the bedroom. No drink. No sofa. No chit chat while he waited to loosen you up a bit more. Cooper wanted you to have your wits, to be able to consent to this. He didn't want to make this mistake any worse than it already was.

As you made your way to the bedroom, Cooper began grabbing at your clothes, pulling hard enough to let you know how desperate he was, but gentle enough that he wasn't about to ruin anything you had on. You tried to express your gratitude, to confirm your enthusiasm for what you were sure was coming next as his hands caressed you lips grazing over your neck hungrily, but you found it hard to catch his eyes.

In fact, since entering his apartment, you'd found it hard to make any eye contact with him, as if he was avoiding it for some reason.

And he was. Cooper was well aware of your efforts to catch his eye, knowing that it might provide you with some comfort but unable to afford it to you. He was too full of hate, angry at himself for going through with this, angrier still for wanting it, wanting you. If he stopped for a moment and let that feeling sink in, let your eyes see behind his and into his pained soul, then neither of you might have the stomach to continue. But he needed it. He needed to feel the heat of desire, the warmth of another person, the self-congratulatory pride of orgasm.

With his lips firmly pressed to your throat, tongue lapping out over your skin in intermittent flicks, he brought his hands to your waist and sat down, pulling you with him, resting you on top of his body as he sank into the mattress.

"You ok... with this?"

He sounded nervous, his voice quiet and low, almost shaking. It could have been excitement, perhaps anticipation of what you were about to do, but it felt like the unmistakeable shudder of fear that lingered below the deep tone of his words.

"Of course. Of course."

With that, he rolled you over onto your back, quickly settling himself on top of you. His eyes still avoided yours, but it wasn't bothering you all that much now that his hands were skating over your sides, his lips peppering gentle kisses over your exposed skin as he undressed you, his hands fumbling with his own shirt and pants until you were writhing together, entirely unclothed. The sweet sting of whisky on his breath, the dark musk of his nervous sweat mingling with your own scent as you became one on top of the sheets.

Each kiss felt almost deranged. Angry, passionate, hungry. Lips that dragged down over your skin, teeth that were bared, scraping over you. His fingers, ghosting over your chest, circling your nipples until he pinched at them softly, then firmer, releasing the grip only when you hissed, wincing slightly at the dull ache.

He was considerate. And that at least calmed some of your nerves as you considered what you were in for when he decided to start fucking you. You'd only managed to steal glances at his body, his firm chest, surprisingly toned abdomen, and the worryingly large, fully erect cock that pressed against you.

"You look nervous?"

He followed your gaze, glancing at his own length before giving you a slick smile.

"Don't think about it too much, it's not so bad. In fact..."

His fingers dug into your waist, rolling you over under him until you were on your stomach, legs spreading in anticipation of his cock. Cooper retrieved some moisturiser from the drawer at the side of the bed, not exactly a good substitute for lube, but you weren't about to question him. You waited patiently, instead, quiet except for the small mewl you gave as he pressed the tip of his dick between your folds and lowered his body onto yours.

With a soft roll of his lower body, he inserted more of himself into you, an immediate filling sensation dulling your other senses, your eyes half-lidded as you focused on letting him enter you as completely as he wanted to.

The gentle pace didn't last long, however. The moment he felt your walls cling to him, the feeling of his head hitting the furthest point in you, he begun to rut wildly. You were wincing in pain, moaning in pleasure, allowing yourself to be flattered by the fact that you felt so good that he was struggling to control himself.

But the animalistic way he had begun to pound you was less an expression of arousal and more out of anger. He was full of it. Anger for Barb for what she had done, for what she had made him do. Anger for himself, for stooping to this level, for not seeing the truth sooner. Anger for you, because you were letting him fuck his emotions into you, every aggressive thrust of his cock a little bit of relief from the pain and misery he felt, but only for the split second afterwards, because then it came back ten-fold. It was a vicious cycle, one he could get addicted to, pummelling himself into your open, willing cunt over and over, just to briefly rid himself of the feeling of loneliness and misery that surrounded him.

He ran his hand up your spine, tangling his fingers in your hair before he pulled your head back. Your body arched a little, raised off the mattress as you hissed in pain. He didn't let up though, in fact, as he saw his wedding ring glinting though the strands of hair wrapped around his fingers, he only got rougher.

Cooper's eyes drifted backwards, and when he pulled himself back to focus, he caught a glimpse of the photo of Barb on the dresser, a memento he'd taken from the house he once shared with her. Shifting his attention to something else, anything else, he found a spot of damp on the wall, yet another thing to add to the list of shit in his new apartment. He stared at it intensely as he rammed his hips into your body, pushing the rage and dissatisfaction out of him, letting it fill you instead.

That notion, the idea of getting rid of his bad feelings, of depositing them inside of you instead to keep them for him, had a profound effect on his psyche, an instant relief, and one that he felt physically too. His cum, warm, copious, drained inside of your welcoming cunt, walls painted white, inner thighs dripping in him as he pulled out and lay down on the bed with panting breaths.

When he rolled onto his side, you did the same, facing away from him, unsure of what he wanted you to do now. He hadn't asked you to leave, but he hadn't asked you to stay either.

You got your answer, however, when you'd moved away from him a little bit, trying to give him space, and he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back to him. It was so obvious to you that he wasn't sure what it was that he wanted, or what he needed, but whatever it was, you were grateful to have the opportunity to offer it to him.

#fallout #fallout amazon #finnie writes #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #walton goggins #cooper howard x fem!reader

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elliesbelle · 2 years ago

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 1

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you’re in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, use of marijuana, use of alcohol, sexual speech and content, anxiety attack, homophobia, brief mentions of predatory men, potential smut in the future so minors do not interact, a little bit enemies to lovers

word count: 3.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

You lean against the living room wall, holding three of your friends’ purses along with your own. The intoxication from a cup of jungle juice from an hour ago was beginning to wear off. You didn’t mean to become the unofficial mom friend of the group tonight, but your reluctance to endure more close-quartered gyrating cemented the position. If you had to utter another “excuse you” to an incredibly handsy frat boy, you’d be getting kicked out for an aggravated assault attempt.

You didn’t really mind sobering up a bit, not tonight. Whether it was your hazy thoughts or the particular ambience in this frat house, you just weren’t in a huge mood to socialize.

Earlier this morning, your friends had flooded your group chat with enthusiastic messages about yet another party happening later that night. It was a regular fall Saturday at your university, which meant there was always a rager or two.

You were perfectly fine tagging along with your friend group to these events, though. You were well aware of your friends’ ulterior motives in pushing you to come out, but you chose to ignore it. Instead, you’d allowed them to hype you up while getting ready earlier that evening. Some pre-gaming had ensued in the form of vodka shots, and sharing of eyeshadow palettes & lipsticks had occurred when dolling up pre-party.

“Babes, if you don’t teach me how to do my eye makeup the way you do, I swear…” Your friend Sidney whined next to you as she watched your steady hand apply finishing touches to your eyes.

You chuckled but said nothing as you set your liquid eyeliner down and reached for your setting spray. There was no need for such meticulous styling to your makeup for some trivial frat party. You mostly did it for your own satisfaction, but a particular memory had tugged at your brain with every brush stroke. But this memory remained unacknowledged as you fanned your newly set face.

You’d allowed yourself a revealing outfit tonight: a lacy black bralette peaking from underneath a maroon leather jacket and a tight black miniskirt that flounced with the slightest movement. Peaking from underneath your shirt was a pair of fishnet stockings. Topping it off was your favourite pair of knee-high black boots. This particular attire garnered squeals and wolf whistles from your friends in their equally slutty outfits.

A couple of hours later, however, your appearance was a contradiction to your spiritless demeanor. You were tired and sweaty, the majority of your foundation having been perspired off in this sauna of a gathering. Feet blistering as a betrayal of high-heel boots, you struggled to keep yourself upright against the wall.

“Hey, hot stuff.” An approaching voice says.

Your eyes darted to the sound, ready to hurl a harsh “fuck off” at whatever creep decided to enter your sobering bubble. But upon spotting the culprit, you relaxed immediately.

“Hey, Jesse.” You exhaled.

“Damn, you looked like you were gonna rip me a new one just now.” He chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry. You know how it can be at these shit parties.”

Jesse was a rare guy friend of yours. You didn’t make a habit of befriending boys at college, but he was an exception.

You’d met him freshman year when your friend group merged with another on the way to some start-of-the-year party. After some mutual friends introduced you, you hit it off almost immediately.

Jesse was easy to talk to, never a creep or too invasive. You loved his dumb dad jokes and loyal nature. He never hit on you, even before finding out you were a lesbian. During tough times in recent years, he was there for you. He was a genuine guy who you’d instinctively trust your drink with. And right now, he was good company to have when you were alone and wistful at these stressful shindigs.

“I get it, dude. But mom friend again tonight?” He asks, gesturing to the mass of purses in your hands.

You shrug and reply, “It’s cool.”

“Man, you’ve danced probably a total of three times at one of these things since last year. Are you even having fun?”

“Eh. After three years, I’m a senior citizen.”

“So what does that make me, since I’m graduating this year?” He asks, mockingly put his hands on his hips.

“Ancient,” You reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

Jesse places a hand on his chest and gasps dramatically, replying, “Fucking rude.”

You chuckle.

“I’m really okay, though.” You reassure him. “The girls wanted to go out tonight, but I’m just a bit tired.”

“Tired or overstimulated?”

You smile at his understanding.

“Both.”

He chuckles.

“Some cool people are passing around a fat ass joint outside. Wanna join?”

You hold up the handful of purses you were tasked to guard as a response.

“Alright, gimme,” He says, reaching his hand out. “Mom friend substitute while you go get high.”

“You don’t wanna smoke?”

“It’s cool, that’s where I’ve been for the last half hour or so. I should cool off for a little bit anyways.”

You feel guilty for leaving Jesse to watch your belongings, even for a few short minutes. But his fingers wiggle expectantly and you know there was no point in arguing.

“Thanks, dude.” You exhale as you hand off your weight. “Probably been needing a few hits of a j all night, anyway.”

“Looks like it. Go ahead; D’s out there smoking with them if you wanna say hi.”

“Oh, nice. Haven’t seen her tonight yet. Be back in a sec, then.”

You tear yourself off from your spot on the wall and will your blistered feet to move towards the door. Not absolutely sober yet, you stumble across the living room before you could push past the screen door and into the brisk October air. Following the smell of pot laced with lavender in the air, you see a circle of people hanging out by a parked Jeep, illuminated slightly by the embers of a joint being passed around.

Lavender?

“Oh, fuck.” You say a little too loudly.

A few heads turn towards your voice, one of which was Dina’s.

“Hey, babe! I didn’t know you were here!” She says enthusiastically, approaching you with a bounce in her step. She pulls you into a brief but tight embrace.

“Been here for the past hour, D.” You laugh nervously. “Where have you been?”

“Been helping El’s lazy ass roll a fuckton of j’s for the past half hour that she was supposed to roll for customers before the party. But now, we’re just chilling. Want a hit?”

Dina’s chin tilts towards the Jeep. Your eyes follow her aim to the girl sitting on its hood. Your breathing stops when you see the very person you were hoping not to encounter tonight.

She was unmistakable in a simple grey, unbuttoned flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves to show off an arm tattoo, slightly distressed jeans, and her old Converse sneakers. A few strands of auburn hair fell in front of her face out of the usual half-bun. You watch as her eyebrows—the right one with its notable slit slashed through—furrowed in concentration as she attempts to relight the joint in her pursed lips.

Your throat closes up and you feel your heart clench tightly in your chest.

Ellie.

You immediately redirect your eyes back to Dina before Ellie can look up from behind her left hand shielding the lighter from the slight breeze.

“Uh, no. I’m good. Just needed to step out for a hot sec. Needed a breather from the sea of raging hormones in there.”

Another breeze suddenly hits your exposed skin, colder than the last. You figure this was a good way to excuse yourself back into the house.

“I’m about to freeze my tits off out here, though. Gonna head back in.” You hug your arms around your bare stomach, goosebumps starting to form.

You begin to turn right back around, but Dina grabbed your arm.

“Oh! You came with Sidney and them, right? She said you were all planning on going to Sterling’s after this.”

“We were?” You ask, thrown off and a little irritated that your friends hadn’t consulted you in this change of plans.

“Yeah! We’re gonna come with ‘cause I’m craving a blueberry pancake bad and Jesse’s deranged self wants a strawberry milkshake.” Dina affectionately rolls her eyes. “Just let us know when you leave? We’ll head out with you.”

“Um, sure.” Your heart begins to pound twice its normal speed.

By “we,” did she mean—?

“Okay, yay! We should go soon ‘cause I feel the munchies creeping up on me. I blame El for smoking me out as thanks for my rolling services.”

The auburn-haired girl smirks at Dina’s comment, but you refuse to look at her this time. Instead, your eyes trail after the joint that Ellie was now passing to the girl to her left.

The girl looked unfamiliar, but something in her face and posture screamed “freshman.” A brown motorcycle jacket was laying on top of her shoulders. Joel’s old motorcycle jacket. Ellie’s jacket.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and settle for pursing your lips.

Chivalrous fuckboy graciously offering her jacket to a beautiful lady. Typical Ellie Williams move.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on whether Ellie had decided to lend her dad’s old jacket to a pretty stranger or a new girlfriend. You certainly don’t allow yourself to settle on which scenario would hurt your feelings more. And you definitely don’t dwell on the fact that she’s pulled this move on you more than once in the past.

The girl takes no notice of your gaze as she accepts the joint, taking a hit.

“I love that you always add lilac to these, Ellie. It smells so much better than a regular j.”

Biting back the impulse to correct the girl, you merely look back at Dina to say, “Right. I’ll see y’all in a bit then, D?”

“Sounds perfect. We’ll be here!” She replies happily.

You give her a quick smile before returning inside the house, ignoring the green eyes now watching your departing figure.

You don’t know how, but you know for a fact that Ellie’d been staring at you ever since she heard you mention your freezing tits and unintentionally pushed your breasts together when you’d grabbed your exposed stomach.

You walk through the front door and head straight for the bathroom that was just to the right. It wasn’t clear at the moment why you’d known that there was a half bath in this direction, but you were busy catching your breath to care.

The bright, ugly fluorescents illuminating from the bathroom ceiling was sobering you up quickly. You wished you had gotten drunker. Trying to recall some breathing techniques an old therapist had taught you, your eyes fall on your appearance in the mirror.

Not awful. I still look kind of hot.

You reassure yourself that Ellie had only gotten a dim glimpse of you and hadn’t gotten a chance to notice how flushed you looked.

Is it from the alcohol or was it from seeing her again so close after all these months?

You could bail from the party now. Tell your friend group chat that you were heading home and text Dina separately, saying you weren’t feeling well.

I can’t…

It takes you about five seconds to scrap that plan. You weren’t that type of friend to just bail, especially not when you’ve got drunk friends who were all girls surrounded by creeps or creep-adjacent frat boys. Plus, you’ve barely seen Dina and Jesse since the start of the school year. You could set aside your selfishness for one night and endure Ellie for just a little while.

It’s okay. It’ll be like old times, except I ignore her the whole night.

You hadn’t noticed that you were tearing up a little. Quickly but delicately, you wipe any tears threatening to fall, carefully avoiding smudging your eye makeup.

I shouldn’t be letting her get to me tonight.

You give yourself a half-hearted pep talk that works, to an extent. Using your fingers to brush out strands of hair off your sweaty forehead and straightening your skirt out, you convince yourself to emerge from the bathroom and hunt down the man who led you to face Ellie.

You find him easily, not far away from the spot you had previously occupied from the wall.

“Jess…” You begin as you approach the raven-haired boy.

He was conversing with a frat boy, yours and your friends’ purses now either draped on his shoulder or slung around his chest. You would have giggled at this adorable image if you weren’t slightly ticked off by him.

Jesse sees you approaching and calls your name, beckoning you towards him and his conversation partner.

“Yo, tell Adam about Ellie’s dope ass joints that she laces with that lavender shit.” He points at you with his thumb. “Her idea, originally.”

“Huh,” Adam says. “Kinda cool. Not something I’d do for myself, but I know she’s always got primo shit. Must be a nice touch with the strains she got.”

You let out a noncommittal “mhm” and look back at Jesse, who has a sympathetic and apologetic smile on his face.

“You irritate my life, Jess,” You say, leaving out the guy Adam from the conversation.

“Sorry. It’s all out of love, my friend.” He replies, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Did you end up taking a hit?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Thought I’d try. I’m sorry.” He says, sighing in defeat. “Dina tell you we’re going with you guys to Sterling’s after this?”

“Is she coming along with us, Jess?”

“We’re a codependent trio, so yes. Hey, that rhymed.” He snickers at his own joke.

You groan.

“I think I’ll head home instead.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. Just hang out with me and Dina. We really miss you and we’ve barely seen you. You don’t have to talk to her.”

“What happened to being a codependent trio?” You challenge.

“Our marriage counselor said to work on boundaries,” Jesse says jokingly.

You sigh.

“You wanna go now, then?” You say, relenting.

“Sure, I’m craving a strawberry milkshake real bad.”

You roll your eyes.

“Let me go round up the girls. We’ll meet you outside?” You say, reaching for the purses.

He waves you off and says, “I got it, girl. See you in a sec.”

You give him a tentative smile and proceed to the basement of the frat house.

After you successfully herded your friends, all of whom were at different levels of drunkenness, you ushered them upstairs to the living room and towards the front door.

You had your arm around one of your more intoxicated friends, who all of a sudden exclaims in her drunken stupor, “Babe, we should come to this frat’s parties more often! We haven’t been since freshman year!”

This stops you in your tracks, almost pulling your friend into you.

Ahh, you thought.

That’s why you’d been apprehensive about this house since arriving. This was the very same frat house where you’d met Ellie Williams for the first time. You met her the same night you met Jesse. You’d spent an hour or two conversing with her on a shabby couch in that same living room. The same house where those ocean green eyes pierced yours for the first time. The same house where you’d begun a “friendship” with someone who ultimately broke your heart.

Uttering a quick apology to your friend, you nudge her forward to exit the house you had no desire to remain in.

The twenty-minute journey from the frat to Sterling’s Diner did not seem long enough to you. Though you were longing to sit and rest your sore feet (you gave up a seat on the bus to one of your drunker friends who could barely stand upright), you preferred moving in a rather large group of friends where you could easily situate yourself away from Ellie if need be. You remained at the front of the group with your friend Astrid, arms linked as you trekked towards the bright lights of Sterling’s.

You all sit at a long makeshift table formed by three smaller tables pushed together. Your anxiety ramps up when Ellie sits across and a seat to the right from you. Refraining from glancing her way would be much more difficult now that you were both in each other’s line of sight.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Your group was embarrassingly loud, disrupting the peace of the few restaurant-goers nearby. You silently make plans to pardon yourself to the bathroom and hide out for a good 15 minutes before you make an excuse to go home to your apartment.

Some of them are sober enough. As long as I check up to make sure they all get home safe…

Deciding not to order anything to avoid waiting til the end to pay, you tell the server that you don’t need anything. But before they can walk away, Dina, who was sitting directly across from you, interjects.

“Oh, she’ll just get a hot chocolate.”

You look perplexed.

“Dina, I don’t need anything.”

“I know for a fact that your tits are freezing cold and you need to warm up. Besides, I know you love hot chocolate.”

“D!” You whisper, embarrassed at the loud comment about your tits in front of the server. Dina snickers.

You smile at Dina’s thoughtfulness, though you’re slightly annoyed that your escape plan was thwarted. In the corner of your eye, you think you see Ellie make a certain facial expression. But refusing to look her way, you can’t make a guess as to what it was.

Not wanting to hold up the server’s time by arguing with Dina, you give a quick thank you and glare at your nosy friend.

“You and Jesse are really competing to see who is my number one tormentor tonight.”

Dina rolls her eyes playfully, “Why? What did our sweet Jesse do this time?”

You have to catch yourself from blurting out Jesse’s earlier endeavour. Despite the commotion your friends were making, you’re certain that your voice is still within Ellie’s earshot.

“Uh… ask him later.” You say, making eye contact with Jesse, who sat to Dina’s right.

He smirks and you grimace.

It feels like a lifetime waiting for everyone’s order to arrive. You sat awkwardly sandwiched between your friend Astrid to your right and Frat Guy Adam to your left. You stay quiet, not engaging in much talk. Dina and Astrid would attempt to pull you into their respective conversations, but you merely give slight nods and smiles and an occasional “mhmm” before going back to scrolling on your phone.

After exhausting all forms of social media that no longer entertained you, you sigh and place your phone down on the table.

Frat Guy Adam notices your movement and glances at your lockscreen.

“Boyfriend?” He suddenly asks, nodding towards your phone.

“What?” You say, startled.

“Dude on your wallpaper. Where is he tonight?”

Your lockscreen photo was of you hugging your favourite cousin, Rafael, and it was taken after your high school graduation.

“Oh.” You gulp. “No, uh. Older cousin. No boyfriend.”

“Really?” He says suddenly interested. He turns in his seat to face you better.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“Not really the boyfriend type of girl…” You mutter.

“Why not? You’re pretty hot. Can’t be that hard to get a date.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a lesbian. Don’t need a boyfriend.” You say quietly but assertively.

Adam tsks, saying, “Man, really? Didn’t clock you as a queer.” He adjusts in his seat to his original position, chatting instead with his friend on his left.

You freeze. You knew Adam didn’t exactly intend for his words to be malicious, but you’ve heard enough comments like this in your life to understand its meaning.

No one else around you could hear his comment over the buzz of conversation. Except…

Your eyes meet Ellie’s, you having momentarily forgotten that this was what you were trying to avoid. It was strange to look into a familiar face and see an unfamiliar expression.

What was she thinking? Is that concern on her face? No, that’s something else…

You break her gaze, deciding that she’d only looked at you because you accidentally looked her way. She probably didn’t hear what had happened; and even if she did, it was none of her business.

Before you can even decide whether or not to say anything to Adam, everyone’s orders come flooding out. Your hot chocolate was placed in front of you, and ignoring Ellie’s piercing green eyes, you just stare at the steam rising from your cup.

You were growing more uncomfortable every second that passed. Being neither drunk nor high, you sit soberly in your seat and wish you hadn’t come out tonight in the first place. You suddenly feel tears welling up in your eyes, unsure if it was from your anxiety or Adam’s comments.

Muttering a brief “be right back” to nobody in particular, you quickly make your way to the two-stall women’s restroom. You nearly collapse against the bathroom door once it closed behind you. Burying your face in your hands, you try not to break down into tears of frustration.

After several moments, you pry yourself off the door and dare to look at yourself in the mirror. You look like a more tired, sweatier version of yourself from earlier in the night. Sighing, you grab a paper towel and dab it underneath your eye to remove any dripping eyeliner.

You nearly jump and poke your eye when the bathroom door suddenly opens. You feel your throat close up and your heart clench once more.

Ellie.

author’s notes:

this is the first ellie fanfic i’ve written and posted on here so be kind pretty please but feedback is very much welcome! i actually have more than one chapter written out already shdjfjf but hopefully this does well and i’ll post the rest if people would like!

i plan on making this a kind of long series, so i hope people will like that sgdjfjf (sorry, i know i should just post and not apologize and look for validation, but i haven’t written in a while!)

@lonelyfooryouonly asked me on my main to be tagged when i finally start posting my own fics on here, so here bby ty for the push! can’t wait for the next chapter of selfish to come out hehe

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes

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queen-of-the-avengers · 7 months ago

Text

After So Long

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: angst

Summary: You're forced to go back to the one place you tried to hard to get away from. You're forced to contront the memories you left behind.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: protection (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Then

It seemed like wherever Bucky went, Steve and Sam followed. You thought it’d be nice to go shopping at your local mall with Bucky since he’d been so busy with work. You put on something cute to wear and did your hair only to feel like you’re being followed the whole time. You tried to ignore them but it was hard when you saw their black clothes in every corner.

“Does this look cute?” you asked and held up a shirt.

“On me or you?” Bucky joked.

“Ha-ha, very funny. Wait, it might look good on you.”

Bucky smiled and took the shirt while you moved to a different section of the store, the dresses. He didn’t mind holding the things you wanted to get. He’d do it forever if he knew this made you happy. It does. You liked shopping. Just not with grown men following you.

“Do they have to be here?” you sighed as you looked at the dresses.

“It’s a precaution, pisică.”

You liked the little nicknames he gave you, especially in his native tongue, Romanian.

“Because of your job?” Bucky nodded. “When are you gonna tell me what you do?”

“I’d rather stay in our little bubble a little while longer, if possible.”

“Fine, but you will have to tell me eventually.” Bucky didn’t respond to that. Once you were done with the dresses, you moved to the jewelry section. The prices in this store were outrageous and you turned to Bucky with a frown. “Are you sure we should keep shopping here? I’ve already spent enough of your money.”

“Pisică, I make more money in an hour than the one hundred grand you’re going to spend.”

“You’re spoiling me,” you grinned.

Bucky pulled you into him and placed his hands on your ass, not caring if anyone saw.

“You’re my girl. Of course, I will.”

He leaned down and kissed you and your heart swelled in happiness.

Now

You always knew Bucky would find you but you didn’t know when or where it’d happen. He truly didn’t know where you were for the first six months you were gone. After you enrolled in college, he found you. In order to apply for it, you had to use your real name which Sam caught when he was looking for you online.

Despite what you may think of him, he really does love you. He just has a weird way of showing it.

Bucky has left his men behind where you crashed your car at while his driver takes you to one of his mansions. You’ve been to almost all of them because he used to take you all around the country for the hell of it. You have a room in every single one of them.

“Pisică--”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap and look at him.

“It took a long time to find you. I thought you had dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“Bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he smirks. He loses it when he thinks about what to ask next. “Why did you run?”

You look at him with wide eyes and a parted mouth. “Did you really just ask me that? You’re a murderer.”

“Well, that depends on how to look at it.”

“There’s no looking at it differently. You kill people. That’s murder.”

Bucky decides to change the topic because he’s not gonna get far with you accusing him of things he’s done.

“Remember how we met?” It’s incredible how this man can jump from one topic to the next. “I do. I even remember the kiss we shared. Care to hear it from my perspective?”

“Not really?”

He tells you the story anyway as if you weren't there to begin with.

Bucky met up with several potential business partners that he thought would benefit him and his company. He’s one of the biggest mafia bosses this country has ever seen and having allies is much better than having enemies. He controls the weapons market, the communication sector, and most of the casinos across the country. These men would give him access to most of the drug trading posts if they’d only get their heads out of their asses and agree to his terms.

He doesn’t let the storm outside prevent him from doing business which is why he took this little meeting to one of the most expensive and high-end restaurants in town. The owner knows him and always gives him a good deal.

“Ma’am! You can’t just run in here!”

Bucky looks up and locks eyes with the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen before. Granted, she’s soaking wet from the rain outside. She looks fearful as if she’s running from someone. For some reason, Bucky would kill anyone who ever made her feel unsafe, and he doesn’t even know her.

She looks back outside and runs further into the restaurant, ignoring the calls from the hostess. She runs right over to him and interrupts the meeting he carefully set up without a care in the world. There’s panic in her eyes. She’s afraid. If only she knew who he was.

“I’m so sorry. Please play along.”

A man comes into the restaurant just as soaked as she is but Bucky doesn’t have time to react. She sits on his lap and kisses him desperately. He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her from falling off his lap and kisses her back. She is getting his nice suit wet but he doesn’t care. This kiss not only screams ‘I’m desperate’ but it screams ‘I need help’. The men Bucky is with chuckle but he tunes them out.

“Sir!”

Bucky can only assume the man had left the restaurant. His mysterious lover tries to pull away from him but he pulls her in closer and continues to kiss her. Only when he is satisfied does he finally let her go. She turns to check that the man isn’t there anymore and visually relaxes.

“I am so sorry.”

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t let me leave and I only managed to get away from him.” something comes over her face and she backs away in embarrassment. “God, that was so rude of me. I don’t know you. Thank you for that. Again, I’m really sorry I interrupted your dinner.”

She leaves the table and checks to make sure her ex isn’t outside looking for her. Once she feels she’s safe, she runs back outside into the pouring rain. Bucky clears his throat and takes out his phone so he can call one of his trusted men. He has Sam working on something in another state so Steve is who he calls.

“Boss?”

“Did you see her run out?”

“Yes.”

“Follow her. Find out about the boyfriend.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky gets off the phone and returns to his meeting like nothing happened.

“You came in there dripping wet. You came over to me and kissed me. Do you remember that kiss? How desperate you were for it?” During his storytelling, Bucky pulled you closer to him and slid his hand in your hair. His hand is so big that he can cup the side of your head and still run his thumb over your bottom lip. “Do you remember the taste of my lips on yours?”

“I will never kiss you again much less do anything more than that.”

You push him away and he smirks in amusement. He keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the ride. His mansion is like the one in New York just with more acres. He has the ultimate dream house fit with anything you can think of. Pools, spas, theaters, sports courts, and a ton more.

You dread coming back here not because it reminds you of Bucky but because it reminds you of the good times you had with him. The times from before you knew what he did for work.

You’re escorted inside his mansion and taken to a room with Steve. It’s like you’re being placed on time out because Steve stands by the door as if he isn’t allowed to let you leave.

“Ai grijă la ea, e foarte drăguță, dar e o fire plină de luptă. Ea nu iese din casă.”

Watch out for her, she’s real pretty but she’s a feisty one. She doesn’t leave the house.

Bucky keeps eye contact with you the whole time before leaving the room. Your blood boils.

“Ești un laș care se ascunde în spatele unei armate de oameni!”

You’re a coward who hides behind an army of men!

Bucky doesn’t bat an eye at your words. He’s the one who taught you Romanian, now you’re using it against him.

“I’m leaving,” you say to Steve and storm to the door.

Steve lets you out of the room knowing there are guards posted at every door to prevent you from leaving the mansion. Sam stands at the front door so he must be done cleaning the crash of your car.

“Sorry, you can’t leave. Bosses’ order,” Sam says and stops you from leaving.

Instead of standing here arguing with him, you figured you get this over with. Your room hasn’t been touched since you left, and you can only assume your other rooms in the other mansions haven’t been touched either. This room is filled with so many good memories of you and Bucky. You hate that you’re looking at them now with such disdain.

Bucky was never one for pictures so the ones he did take were inappropriate to post anywhere. He thought it was funny to print them out and frame them for your room to always remind you who you belong to. Maybe you still do. Maybe you don’t. You’re not sure of how you feel anymore.

It hurts to look at them because you still love him. You’re so damn in love with him and it hurts because you thought you’d never love a murderer.

Bucky returns to the house hours later, well into the night. He finds you asleep in your own bed with dried tears on your cheeks. He looks at the pictures on the dresser and yanks his tie off angrily. He makes sure to be quiet as he walks over to you.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

He kisses your forehead before leaving your room. God, he wishes things were different. He hates seeing you in pain.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

Text

The Danger Zone (Part 5) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 3.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Secret Relationship; Angst; Undefined Relationships; Overprotective Family; Background Relationships; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: Jake tries to process the news of your pregnancy while you try to get him to finally talk to you.

Series Master List

Master List

After dinner wrapped up and your family finally left you in peace and solitude, you immediately reached for your phone. Pulling up Jake’s name in your texts, you stared bitterly at the texts that you sent him that he never responded to before typing out another message.

Hey if my brother or Mav said anything weird to you, just ignore them. Do you still want to talk? I do, if you do

Sending the simple message, you set down your phone and refused to look at it. Or to debate how stupid your last text was. Of course, the one time that Jake decided to actually reach out to you just had to be when Mav and Bradley were over at your apartment to ruin everything.

Why hadn’t he just texted you before showing up? Why the hell did he just spontaneously decide to waltz back into your life? He couldn’t respond to any of the text messages that you sent him but he could take the time out of his life and drive over to your apartment?

Sighing, you pressed a hand to your face in annoyance before moving to clean up your apartment. You left your phone on the table, face down, as you walked around, cleaning up, and getting ready for bed. You took a shower and changed into your pajamas, but not without staring at your abdomen in the mirror for a few seconds. You swore that you could see a light curve.

Letting out a sigh, you turned and rubbed your hand up and down your small bump, and reminded yourself about what was important in this situation. Your pride wasn’t, so you would keep reaching out to Jake until the pieces went back together. Or completely shattered into a thousand pieces. Anything was possible at this point.

You grabbed your phone and walked into your bedroom. Shutting off the light, you climbed into bed and finally pulled your phone up to look at it.

And . . .

Nothing.

Jake hadn’t responded to you.

Unable to hide your disappointment, even though you knew that he could still respond, you set your phone down. You stared at your ceiling for a moment before you rolled over and went to sleep.

~~~~~

“You alright, Hangman?” Bob asked Jake, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jake grunted out, turning to Bob. Straightening out his uniform again, Jake walked past Bob like nothing was wrong. “Why do you ask?”

“Why are you avoiding the conversation?” Bob muttered, mostly to himself, raising an eyebrow as Jake headed out of the office quickly.

Jake walked confidently through the halls of NAS Miramar, but his brain was not in his body. No, his mind was still sitting in your bathroom, where that bomb was dropped on the top of his head without much of a warning. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and had potentially worn a line in his floor with all his pacing. And he still felt like he was going to pass out a bit.

But Jake knew that he had to do something about it. He couldn’t just ignore you over this. Not anymore than he had already anyways.

“Hangman,” Rooster called, causing Jake’s internal monologue to shatter. Clearly a bit on edge, Jake turned to Rooster, who walked over to him with a stack of folders tucked neatly under his arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“About?” Jake asked, trying to not sound too defensive.

“The lesson plans,” Rooster stated, holding out the folders.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jake asked, taking one from Rooster’s hand.

“They were asking if we would also cover a couple more complicated maneuvers,” Rooster explained, handing Jake a list.

The two aviators walked through the halls, discussing the merits of changing their lesson plan. Their conversation wasn’t confrontational and purely professional in all respects. Jake was almost lulled into a false sense of security around Rooster as they discussed carrier landing simulations.

Almost.

“Alright, that works,” Rooster responded, scribbling some chicken scratch in the margin of the page. Slapping the folder shut with his hand, Rooster turned to Hangman with a stoic expression. “But what exactly is going on between you and my sister?”

Jake turned to Rooster with an annoyed expression, but Rooster continued to stare him down. Handing over the lesson plans that Rooster provided him with earlier, Jake didn’t dignify Rooster with any kind of emotional response.

“Is that really a professional question to ask in a work setting, Rooster?” Jake drawled condescendingly. When Rooster didn’t answer his question, Jake added, “So, I guess my answer last night wasn’t good enough for you?”

“It wasn’t,” Rooster replied calmly, though his glare was anything but friendly. “It’s still not adding up to me, Hangman.”

“Well, maybe use a calculator this time if you’re not so good at math,” Jake returned with that good old Texan accent that he knew pissed Rooster off. “I’ll see you ‘round, Rooster.”

Giving Rooster a good old pat on the arm, Jake turned and headed off down the hall, well aware that Rooster was glaring holes into the back of his head. Jake only got a grand total of five steps away from Rooster before he spoke again.

“If you’re messing around with my sister, Seresin . . .” Rooster warned him.

Jake paused and turned around to see Rooster glaring at him. He didn’t finish his sentence, but Jake was sure that Rooster would finish him off if he found out about the actual situation going on between Jake and you. And Jake couldn’t really handle another grain of stress right now. He had too much more important shit weighing on his mind without worrying about Rooster’s reaction to it.

“She’s been through enough shit in her life already. I don’t need you fucking around with her head,” Rooster stated firmly. “And that’s the last thing that she deserves.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment before Bradley turned and continued walking down the hall, heading for the classrooms. Jake watched Rooster walk off with narrowed eyes and a defensive look, but when the sound of Rooster’s footsteps faded, so did Jake’s confidence. Letting his shoulders drop, Jake looked at the floor for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and pulled up your name. Staring down at the text that you sent him last night, Jake raised his thumb to respond—with anything at this point, really—but shook his head and put his phone away.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered to himself before turning and continuing on his way.

~~~~~

“Okay,” you breathed out, staring at the familiar building in front of you. “You’re not crazy. He started the crazy when he showed up at your place. You’re just returning the favor.” You nodded to yourself as you let out a breath. “Because a completely sane ex-whatever totally hangs out in the parking lot of his apartment building to show up without any warning, talking to themselves. Right?”

It had been a spur of the moment decision.

You were driving home from work and the right turn that you would have to take to get to Jake’s place had a green arrow, whereas the left turn that you needed to take to get home was red. And you make a split-second decision because you were zoned out and just following traffic.

Well, no, but that wasn’t the only time that you lied to yourself this week.

“You’re just going to knock. That’s all you’re going to do,” you reasoned with yourself, grabbing your purse. “He might not even be home. You’re just trying. That’s all you’re doing.”

Opening your purse, you rifled through to see if the little box were still in there, even though you checked three times before. Summoning your courage, you grabbed your purse and climbed out of your car. You headed inside the building and made your way up to Jake’s apartment, knowing the route. And then you were standing outside of his front door.

Raising your fist, you knocked on the door once, twice, and then you stepped back. Chipping at your nails nervously, you looked up when you heard the deadbolt turn.

Jake opened the door to his apartment and the two of you locked eyes. You folded your arms so that you couldn’t nervously fiddle with your fingers anymore, and offered Jake a small, but very awkward smile.

“Hey,” you mumbled out, causing Jake to blink back into reality.

“Hey,” he returned before opening the door to his apartment. “You came to talk?”

“Yeah, if you’re free,” you replied quietly.

Jake nodded and invited you into his apartment. You stepped into the familiar space and walked into his living room. Jake shut the door behind you before slowly moving to join you. He took a seat on his couch, but you stayed standing, knowing that you’d nervously tap your feet if you sat down.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” you started off with, causing Jake to pick his head up. “With my brother and everything.”

“I should have asked you to come over first,” Jake conceded, causing you to nod slowly. “And besides, I can deal with your brother.”

“Right.” You shifted your weight on your feet nervously before letting out a breath and trying to get down to business before you lost your edge. “Jake, I have to tell you something serious. It’s why I kept texting and trying to call you.”

“Okay,” was all that Jake replied with, looking oddly calm. “What is it?”

“Um, well,” you trailed off, setting your purse down. Pulling out the positive test from the bottom of your purse, you turned back to Jake. “Well, you know how we were safe most of the time, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you remember the few times that we weren’t so safe?” you continued, pulling the test out of the box.

With shaking hands, you held out the test to Jake, who took it with another oddly calm expression. If anything, he almost looked more relaxed than he did when you arrived as he stared down at the test.

“Jake, I’m pregnant.”

You held your breath, waiting for Jake’s reaction. For him to freak out. After all, most guys wouldn’t exactly react happily to finding out that the girl that they had been hooking up with had fallen pregnant. You weren’t expecting a positive reaction, but you were expecting a reaction. Just any reaction.

But Jake didn’t seem to react. At all. His eyes didn’t widen in shock. He didn’t change his breathing pattern. He stayed in the exact same position on the couch. And he just stared at the pregnancy test. Frowning and frankly more than a little confused about his lack of reaction, you tried to figure out how to respond to Jake’s non-response.

“And the baby’s yours, if I wasn’t clear,” you added awkwardly.

“How far along are you?” Jake asked after a few moments, finally picking his head up.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “My first appointment isn’t until later this week.” Licking your lips nervously, you replied, “But I think I’m already into my second trimester. Or at least close to it.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m starting to show.”

Smoothing down your loose shirt, you turned to the side to show Jake the start of your bump. He stared at it for a long moment, even after you turned back to face him. Still confused by his reaction, you folded your arms in front of your chest and tilted your head to the side a bit.

“You’re taking this news surprisingly well,” you commented offhandedly, causing Jake to look up to meet your gaze.

“I sort of had a . . .” Jake trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Someone told you already?” you asked, suddenly alert.

“No, I just . . .” Jake stood up and set the pregnancy test on the table. “Yesterday, you were acting weird. Rooster mentioned that you were throwing up and you didn’t touch your wine at all. And . . .” Jake brushed his hands down his pants nervously. “I saw your prenatal vitamins in the bathroom.”

“You saw my—but I took the wrapper off of it. You just know what prenatal vitamins look like?”

“Well, no,” Jake replied, causing you to frown. “I saw the wrapper in the trash—“

“—You went through my trash!?”

“—because I knocked it over and was cleaning it up,” Jake finished, a bit louder than when he started. “And I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s the truth.”

You looked away from Jake for a moment, still a little on edge, before turning back to him. Unfolding your arms and letting out a breath, you looked up at him with a serious expression. You held your lips together and summoned all of the courage that remained in your body.

“Do you want to be involved then?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“That’s my baby, isn’t it?” Jake returned without missing a beat.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s my answer.” You stared up at Jake with a mix of relief and disbelief while he shifted his weight on his feet. Fidgeting a bit nervously, Jake picked his head up again. “Can I come?” Jake asked quietly, pulling you out of your internal questions. “To your appointment, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding slowly. “Of course. I’ll send you the details.” After a few more beats of silence, you finally summoned the courage to ask, “You really want to be involved? Because if you don’t, that’s fine, but I’d prefer to know now, Jake.”

“I’ll be honest,” Jake stated, glancing down at the ground, “I’m scared shitless.” Jake picked his head up to lock eyes with you again. “Yesterday, after I left, I ran here and freaked out for a couple hours. Barely slept. Hell, I’m still absolutely scared shitless. I don’t know anything about kids. And I always thought that I’d make a shitty dad.”

You nodded slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stared at the floor. Hell, you were scared shitless as well. You hadn’t thought through everything yet, obviously, and the fact that you finally talked to Jake eliminated a lot of the planning that you had done.

“But I want to try,” Jake replied quietly, causing you to lock eyes again. “I really want to try.”

“I want that too, Jake,” you returned softly. You shifted a bit on your feet before adding, “You know, I really thought that this was going to be a more difficult conversation.”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re not exactly the best communicators,” you pointed out, causing Jake to wince. “Especially with each other.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about ignoring you like that. It was petty.”

“I mean, I ignored you first,” you replied with a shrug, fiddling with your fingers. “We both screwed up.”

“Who else knows?” Jake asked, causing you to drop your hands to your sides. “About the baby and everything.”

“Penny knows. She was there when I took the tests. And Emma knows. I sort of broke down and told her.”

“Any chance they told Mav or Rooster?”

“I don’t think they would have let you walk out of my apartment without a mention of it if they knew about our situation,” you replied quietly. “But I can’t hide forever.”

“No, you can’t,” Jake agreed.

“I was planning on telling Mav after my appointment. I thought that he would react better to the news than Bradley would. And then depending on how he reacts, I think I’ll tell Bradley this weekend.”

“That quickly?” Jake asked, looking surprised.

“Jake, I’m already showing,” you reminded him, folding your arms over your chest. “And I would rather tell them than someone else telling them. Or them just figuring it out. I mean, you did. What’s stopping them from figuring it out?”

“Alright,” Jake replied, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Well, tell me when you’re ready and I’ll be there with you for it.”

“I appreciate that,” you returned, nodding along. After a few beats of silence, you asked, “Did you want to tell your family?”

“I’ll tell Javy once your brother knows,” Jake replied, but that didn’t fully answer your question.

“And your parents?”

“They’ll find out when they find out,” Jake responded noncommittally.

“Ok,” you agreed, not wanting to push it. “Well, my appointment is at 3 on Wednesday. Do you think that you can get the time off?”

“I'll figure it out. I’ll be there,” Jake promised you, causing you to nod.

“Good,” you returned softly. “I want you there.”

You and Jake stared at each other for a moment before your phone started to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you cursed when you saw that it was your brother. Turning back to Jake, you shot him an apologetic look as you stepped towards the door.

“I’ll see you Wednesday then?” you asked, causing Jake to nod.

“Text me the address.”

“I will,” you assured him before answering the phone. “Hey, what’s up?”

Jake watched you go, staring at the closed door for a moment. Letting out a breath, he walked over to his couch and sat down. Picking up the pregnancy test, Jake stared down at it as he let his thoughts swirl around in his head all over again as those two blue lines sat there mocking him and hitting him over the head.

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velocesainz · 2 months ago

Note

Seb n his F1 rival(from karting days) realise thru friends that they do love eachother thru their actions whether they admit or not

Unknowing love

F1 Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Summary: Seb and reader have been rivals since their karting days and after years of rivalry and reaching formula one realise they’ve loved eachother throughout this time

Pairing: Rbr Seb x f1!driver!reader ft. Mark Webber

Warnings: a light bit of angst

Reader pov:

Me and Seb have been feuding for as long as we’ve known eachother which is over 20 years at this point when we met during my first karting race

Sebastian was this adorable boy who after the race had some rather rude words to say. It was really a shame, I really would’ve liked to be his friend.

After that day for the next year after every race he would have some rude or sexist comments to say to me which I ignored for the most part

After a while I started reciprocating these words to him as well and our rivalry grew even more intense

We were now in formula one, the pinnacle of motorsport and we still hadn’t grown out of our silly bickering

We were currently in imola and had just started the race being a few laps in when a red flag was raised and I was asked to return to the pits

“Who crashed? That’s quite the wreckage” I asked my engineer as to who crashed as I approached the crash site

“I believe that was the red bull of Vettel that went into the barriers there” my engineer replied

My heart dropped. Was he alright? That looked like a really bad crash

I didn’t think, I stopped my car by the side of the track and ran to check on Seb

Knocking on his helmet I invoked no response. My mind was spiralling. I helped the marshals get his body out of the car and was forced to return to my pitbox and not Seb who was being taken to the hospital.

The race resumed but all that clouded my mind was Seb. How was he? Did he sustain any serious injuries? Was he going to be ok?

I could barely focus and my team noticed too and asked me to keep focusing and told me they would update me on his condition which made me incredibly grateful

I finished the race on the second step of the podium but I didn’t care for the press or the celebrations and rushed through all of them

I was pacing around the paddock waiting for mark to go visit Seb at the hospital

“About time you guys realise that you care for eachother” he said as he approached me

“What are you talking about Mark? Also what do you mean about time? I’ve hated him forever. I’m just looking out for a fellow driver” I retorted.

“Any person not deeply in love wouldn’t care this much dear. Look at the rest of us. We care sure, but not so much that we drop everything and go visit him” Mark explained

Albeit it was a weirdly rude explanation I realised he was right.

We reached the hospital and let Mark go in first as he was his teammate after all

Mark pov:

Entering Sebs room I placed the flowers y/n has got for him insisting that I give to him in a vase.

“How did you know I love sunflowers?” Seb asked looking at the flowers

“ That’s because I didn’t, y/n got them and wanted me to give them to you” I said

“She’s here?”

“Indeed she is. She was worried as soon as she saw the crash site”

“Whatever not like I care she’s my mortal enemy”

“Aw don’t be like that, I know you have the most massive crush on her”

Seb started at me wide eyed with a red hue tinting his cheeks

“I’ll send her in, she’s waiting outside”

I left and sent y/n in who was relieved to hear that he was ok

Seb pov:

I saw y/n enter the room and looking at the immense concern etched into her face I asked myself why I decided to create such an enemity with this beautiful soul

I knew I had to confess soon as her potential suitors were getting harder to drive away.

“Hey”

“How are you feeling now?”

“I’m better now that you’re here”

I watched as her face heated up turning her into the cutest tomato

“I love you”

“Seb..”

“I love you y/n. I have since the day we met”

“I love you too Seb. Always have”

With that we connected our pups in the most magical kiss ever.

We broke apart to the sound of Mark Webber cheering for us from outside

Chuckling we embraced.

I couldn’t have asked for a better ending.

A/n: hello lovelies! I’m sorry it took me this long to complete I’m sorry but I’m much more free now and I’ll start posting more. I’m getting the catalogue ready and would love for any suggestions about what the theme could be! Let me know your thoughts. Kissies ✨

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 angst #formula 1 #formula one #f1 smut #rbr seb smut #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel #mark webber #mark webber imagine #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfiction #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel angst #sebastian vettel smut #sebastian vettel one shot

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months ago

Text

Better Care

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!teacher!reader

Summary: One of your students is absent, and you worry about her until you return home and see her with your husband, Tim Bradford. He's taking care of her following the death of her parents, but neither of you want it to be a temporary arrangement.

Warnings: angst, parental death (OC Lilliana), fluff, adoptive girl dad Tim Bradford

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (ignore the jack-o-lantern and focus on the handsome boy)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your classroom is one of the most welcoming places you’ve ever stepped foot in. You and your husband Tim worked tirelessly over the summer to make your classroom feel like a second home to your students. Being a teacher is your dream job, something you worked for throughout college, and you continue to strive to do better each day. Teaching second grade can be challenging, but the rewards outweigh the bad days and the tiring students. Being in your room early like this is one of your favorite things; it’s quiet, the day is full of potential, and you have time to prepare for your day and your students.

While you put your things away and begin placing morning worksheets on each desk, you put a personalized sticky note beside each and hope for a good day. This year has been good so far, but your students can always benefit from a little reminder that they’re doing well.

Meanwhile, Tim is seated in roll call and mentally preparing for a good day. He doesn’t have quite as much faith in people as you do, but he knows that what you do is important, so he supports you in all you do. Visiting your class has also become one of his favorite pastimes, and whenever Wade asks for someone to do community outreach, he finds himself sitting beside you and talking to your class. Your students love him, too, and ask about him often. As Wade greets the officers, Tim decides to drop by and surprise your kids (with your permission) soon.

“Good morning,” you greet with a smile as you walk to your desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bradford,” your class answers together.

“Who’s ready for a good day?”

They cheer, and you chuckle at their excitement to learn. Though you wouldn’t admit it to many people, this is your favorite class so far. After they silence, you give them directions to complete their morning worksheets as you fill out your attendance report.

When you reach the bottom of the list, you look around the room with your lips pursed.

“Where’s Lilliana?” you ask.

“She isn’t here, Mrs. Bradford,” one of the girls in the front row replies.

“Her backpack isn’t in her cubby,” another student adds.

“Okay. Thank you,” you reply.

You mark her as absent but hesitate before you input the report into your computer. Using the paper before the computer is unnecessary, but you like being able to walk around and actually see your students as you fill out the attendance. Not seeing Lilliana unsettles you. She loves school, to the point that she cried in your arms once when she was checked out early to go to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe she’s just running late or not feeling well. You make a note to check with the officer later before returning your attention to the students who are present and nearly done with their worksheets.

“Bradford, Chen, we need you at my location for a double homicide,” Angela radios. “The neighborhood’s blocked off from the main streets, so come in from the east side.”

“10-4,” Tim answers.

He sighs as he returns the radio to the dash. There are plenty of ways he could be spending his day, but babysitting a crime scene doesn’t sound like the most exciting or the best use of his time. But, this is Tim’s job, and he’s good at it, so he hits the sirens and drives to the entrance Angela directed him to.

“Hi, Marsha,” you greet when the school secretary answers. “My student Lilliana is absent today, and I wanted to check if her parents have called. I’m just worried about her.”

“Oh, yes, sweet Lilli,” Marsha says. You can hear her keyboard click as she types. “I haven’t received a call about her, but I could call them if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for checking, Marsha.”

“She has perfect attendance. Strange that she isn’t here today.”

“I thought so, too. Maybe she’ll be here before lunch.”

“If she isn’t, let me know, and I’ll reach out for you, hun.”

“Thanks, Marsha. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

“You, too. I’ll see your class when they head to recess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You end the call more distraught than you were before. It’s completely out of character for Lilliana to miss school, but for her parents to not call and explain why is even stranger. When she left forty minutes early for a doctor’s appointment, her mom told you two weeks in advance and insisted that it would be okay to give her more homework for anything she may miss. As your class returns from their extracurricular, you tap your fingers on your desk to expel your nervousness before beginning a math lesson. You’re tempted to call Tim and let him calm you down, but he’s busy too. You’ll just have to worry about Lilliana later.

Tim closes the shop door behind him and waits for Lucy. They approach the crime scene together, and Lucy whispers about how many people are surrounding the house.

“Double homicides usually require a lot of hands,” Tim informs.

“And that’s all we are today?” Lucy inquires.

“Welcome to police work, boot.”

“I’m not a boot,” Lucy grumbles.

“Bradford!” Nyla yells across the front lawn.

Tim nods as he raises the crime scene tape. Lucy goes under first, and he surveys the bullet holes littering the front of the house as he walks across the grass.

“What happened?” Lucy asks.

“The caller said-“

Someone yells Tim’s name, though the fear and tears mumbling it make it sound like “Off’cer Bra’ford!” He turns quickly and sees a young girl running toward him. She jumps toward him, and he bends to catch her easily.

“Lils,” he says as he pulls her against his chest.

She cries harder in his hold, her face pressed to his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Tim recognizes her from the number of times he’s visited your class, but seeing her here, like this, during a school day, concerns him.

“What is she-“ Tim begins, looking toward Angela.

He realizes quickly. Between her presence at this specific house and the look Angela gives him, it’s easy to deduce. Her parents are inside.

“Lils, do you want to go sit in my police car?” he asks kindly, rubbing a large hand over her shaking back. “We can turn on the sirens.”

She nods before she pulls back. Her face is streaked with tears and a deep frown starkly contrasts her usual smile, the one that is on her face from the moment she steps into your classroom until she leaves.

“And the lights?” she whispers.

“Of course.”

Tim nods toward Angela and Nyla before he shifts Lilliana to his hip. He positions her so she can’t see the house as they walk. When she points to the firetruck waiting down the street, Tim takes a quick detour to see it. He sits in the driver’s seat of his shop with her on his lap. She lays her hands on the wheel and giggles before he shows her where the switch to turn on the lights and sirens is. Tim considers calling you, but you’d leave work, and he isn’t sure of the full story yet, anyway. So, for now, he’ll try to comfort her and distract her until they have more answers.

Back in the house, Lucy follows Angela through the rooms and looks at the damage caused by the murderer.

“Did she see anything?” Lucy asks. “The little girl?”

“We don’t think so. She was in the backyard when we got here. Definitely heard it, though. We’re not sure of anything. The woman is her mother, and there’s a male victim as well, but…” Angela trails off. “Until we get more answers, we’ll have to trust child services to get any answers she may have.”

“She knows Tim, maybe she’d talk to him,” Lucy suggests.

“Yeah, she’s in Tim’s wife’s class. That’s why I called you two. I was hoping you’d be willing to help secure the scene while Tim helps us work the case from a different angle.”

“Of course,” Lucy agrees.

Tim pulls Lilliana back into his arms when he arrives at the station. She hadn’t wanted to sit in the backseat until he promised to turn on the lights and stay with her the whole way. The moment he opens the door, she raises her arms toward him and clings to him.

“Use my office,” Wade says when Tim enters. “There’s some stuff in there I thought she may want.”

“Thank you,” Tim calls over his shoulder.

He closes the door behind him and sits in Wade’s chair. Tim expects Lilliana to climb out of his hold to search through the coloring sheets, a large bin of crayons, and toys littering the desk, but she only twists to sit in his lap.

“Which one?” Lilliana asks.

She pulls two coloring sheets toward her; one is a cop with a police dog and the other is a police car. Tim moves the chair closer to the desk so she can reach it to color as he taps the picture with the dog. She nods once before raising her chin to look through the different crayons. Tim unconsciously raises his arms by her sides to keep her steady as she leans over the desk. He watches her color and smiles at her enthusiasm.

“What color is this part?” she asks, pointing to the vest on the dog.

“Blue, black, or dark green,” he answers. “Since he’s brown, maybe do blue or green.”

“Can you help me?”

“Of course. With what?”

Tim leans forward and looks over her shoulder. She draws a line over the blank area at the top of the picture.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Well, you could draw a rainbow, or write your name…” Tim suggests. “Maybe even add another picture.”

“Rainbow,” she decides with a nod.

Someone knocks on the door, and Tim looks up. Wade shakes his head before he gestures toward a woman from child protective services.

“Grey,” Tim begins.

“It’s protocol, Bradford. I’m sorry,” Wade interrupts.

Tim takes a deep breath before he gently takes the crayon from her hand.

“Do you want to finish this later? We have to go see some people,” Tim explains.

“You keep it,” she answers.

Tim thanks her quietly before he stands. She lays her cheek against his shoulder, and he hugs her tightly before he sets her on the floor. Lilliana takes his hand and holds it firmly as they follow Wade out of his office.

“Hi, Lilliana,” the woman greets. “I’m Karen and I’ll be taking care of you for a while. Can you come with me, and we can talk?”

Lilliana shakes her head and tightens her grip on Tim’s hand.

“It’s alright, Lills,” Tim says. He squats beside her and adds, “She needs to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to,” Lilliana whispers.

“It’ll only be a few minutes, Lilli,” Karen says with a disarming smile.

Lilliana looks up at Karen and Tim sees tears building in her eyes even as she agrees. Tim reluctantly releases her hand and watches Karen lead her into a private room. Lilliana looks over her shoulder at Tim, her lip wobbles, and Tim hopes that she’s okay in there alone.

“What happens now?” Tim asks Wade. “Foster care?”

“Not today. They’ll take her to a shelter for tonight and push the paperwork through in the morning for foster care placement,” Wade answers. “You’ve done all you can do and more, Tim.”

“No, I haven’t. She’s gone through enough without having to move in with strangers who will never understand what kind of trauma she just experienced. You know that she won’t even be able to grieve in foster care,” Tim argues.

“It’s the way it is, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, prepared to argue that there has to be a better way, but is cut off by Lilliana yelling before she begins crying. He stands up straighter, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides, and watches the door. Her crying grows in intensity before Karen pulls the door open and steps out.

“Officer Bradford?” she calls. “I could use your assistance in here.”

Tim nods but turns to Wade to say, “Let me take her home. We’ll take better care of her than any shelter.”

He rushes into the room and Lilliana immediately calms. As she calms down, Wade knows that Tim’s offer to take her home is more than just seeing a kid in need. Tim is the man for the job for more reasons than Wade can count.

“Karen, a word?” Wade calls.

“Bye!” you call with a wave as your last student is picked up.

The moment your classroom is empty, your smile falls. You move quickly on autopilot as you clean up today’s mess. Lilliana’s desk is untouched, your heart-covered sticky note still adhered to her name tag. As soon as everything is tidy, you gather your things and walk out. There’s too much on your mind to hang around this afternoon. Though an empty house doesn’t sound much better than an empty classroom, at least you won’t have to look at an empty desk with no answers about where its usual resident is.

When you pull into your driveway, you’re surprised to see Tim’s truck. He’s supposed to be at work for a few more hours, but you certainly won’t complain about his early return. You rush inside to tell him about your day and hug him tightly, but you stop short when you see the living room.

Dozens of bags, an oversized coloring pad, and a dismantled police car model litter the room. Tim is leaning back on the couch with none other than Lilliana asleep in his lap. Your eyes widen at the sight, and he sends you a close-lipped smile as he waves for you to come over. After you set your bag in its proper place, you sit beside him on your knees. Lilliana looks peaceful, you think, but you have so many questions that you don’t dwell on it long.

“She wasn’t at school today,” you whisper.

“Lucy and I got called to a double murder,” Tim explains. “She was there when we arrived and ran straight to me. Child services was going to put her in a shelter tonight, then foster care in the morning. I- uh, I couldn’t let her go through that, too, not with everything else she’s struggling with right now.”

“So, her parents were…”

“As far as we know, yeah. Her mom was ID’d at the scene, but Angela and Nyla are still working.”

You raise your hands to cover your mouth as your eyes water. Tim extends his arm toward you, and you twist to sit beside him. The movement jostles Lilliana, and you freeze as she stirs. Her eyes open briefly, and she smiles when she sees you. She moves so she’s between you and Tim, but drifts back to sleep quickly.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper to Tim.

He shakes his head and rubs your shoulder in response. You can’t imagine sending her to a foster home, where she’s just another temporary resident who gets the parents a government paycheck each month. Especially after what she just went through.

“Are you working tomorrow?” you ask.

“I took the day off,” Tim answers.

“I will too. I feel terrible, Tim. Maybe if I had called her parents earlier-“

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts softly. “Don’t think like that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Lilliana says as she rubs her eyes to wake. “I wanted to come to school today.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” you assure as she climbs into your lap. “It was boring without you, anyway.”

She giggles before asking you to color with her, and you happily agree. Tim watches you interact with her and knows that he can’t do it. He can’t let her go.

“Tim,” you say as you stand beside your bed. “Did Lills see it?”

Tim moves his head to gesture for you to join him. When you’re in bed beside him and wrapped in his arms, Tim kisses your forehead.

“We don’t think so. She’ll have to talk to a psychiatrist and the detectives soon, but she was in the backyard when they arrived. At the least, though, she heard it,” he answers.

You ignore the tears running down your cheeks, the result of sympathy and concern for the young girl sleeping across the hall from you. Tim wipes your cheeks gently and whispers that everything will be okay. You trust him, but you know it won’t be okay for Lilliana if she has to acclimate to an entirely new life just hours after her parents were killed.

A small knock on the door draws your attention away from Tim. Lilliana stands in the doorway holding the police dog stuffed animal Tim bought for her on the way home.

“What’s wrong, Lilli?” Tim asks.

You move out of Tim’s hold and walk toward her. She hugs you tightly and mumbles that she missed you, and you close your eyes to keep more tears from leaking out. Tim smiles when you look back at him and moves so that there’s more room in the bed. As you set her between you and Tim, he mouths I love you over her head, and you waste no time in replying.

The following morning, as Lilliana eats breakfast and watches Paw Patrol beside you, you look toward Tim. Beginning the conversation about not sending her into foster care is harder than you anticipated. You hesitate, but Tim smiles as his eyes meet yours.

“I know,” he answers before you begin.

You smile, glad that he knows you so well, and Tim pulls you close as he nods. You kiss him quickly before Lilliana calls for you. She raises a coloring of a cop, a woman, a kid, and a police dog.

“It’s us!” she cheers.

Tim smiles as you applaud her work. He’s as attached to her as you are, and he loves you so much that he knows exactly what you are thinking. This may not be exactly how he planned to become a parent, but he would do anything with you, even adopting one of your students. Seeing you interact with Lilliana in your home like this, though, makes Tim confident that he wants to have a child of his own with you, and Lilliana does seem like she would be a good big sister.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #the rookie x reader #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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