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eviemonroeer · 1 day ago

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The Monroe Effect: Chapter 51

Set during Season 7, Episodes 16 and 17 of ER. Spoilers if you haven't seen the show.

Warnings: some lewd/suggestive conversation, mentions of bullying, language, gun violence

WC: 3.2 k

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, @antisocialfiore, @snowflames-world, @guiltypleassure243, @omgbrianab, @dizzybee03, @secretmoonphantom, and @emma8895eb

MASTERLIST

“You have got to learn to be quieter.”

Carter eyebrows raised over the rim of his coffee mug before he put it down on the table. “What are you talking about?”

I rolled my eyes and put Meghan into her highchair next to him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I was walking back down here after changing Meghan and Corrine walked past me on the stairs. Wouldn’t even make eye contact.”

“She did not hear us.”

“Carter, baby.” I started, sitting in his lip. “You don’t really know it because you’re in the moment, which trust me, I appreciate. I really do. But you can get pretty loud.”

“I am not loud.” He scoffed, almost like it was an insult.

“I’m pretty sure you yelled ‘Stat!’ last night.”

“I did not.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I did.”

I put a hand on his chest. “Are you still having to think about procedures so things don’t end quickly?”

“No.” He scoffed and looked down. “Okay, maybe. But not all the time.” He paused. “Only in certain positions.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re really cute. I’m kind of shocked and still embarrassed Millicent has never said anything.”

“We really need our own place.”

I nodded. “We needed one months ago.”

“We tried looking at places once.....”

“But that got put on pause.” I finished for him. He nodded, biting his lip. The last we had gone house shopping was right before he went to rehab. I ran a hand through his hair. “Well, maybe we can un-pause it.” I turned to Meghan. “How does that sound to you, Meghan? Want to go house hunting with Mommy and Daddy?”

“Mama dada.” She babbled before sticking a glob on scrambled eggs and her hand into her mouth.

“Well, looks like 2 out of 3 are on board.” I said, turning back to him. “Carter?”

He sighed. “Let’s do it. We can talk about it more later. Lunch?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’m still working on this.”

The waitress nodded and left us, leaving Carter’s almost fully uneaten sandwich in front of him as she took my plate. I held up the list so we could both see it. It was some of our preferred wants and needs in a new place. “Alright, here’s what we have so far. Two bedrooms, but three would be preferred. Two bathrooms also preferred, especially as Meghan gets older. Something with at least a little bit of a yard for her to play in would be nice. Nice schools. Perfect circumstance would be something a good distant from County and not ridiculously far from your grandparents.” I sighed and put down the list. “I feel like we’re never going to find anything even close to this list.

“Oh, come on.” Carter said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Don’t give up on me now before we’ve even started this. It might take a minute, but this is what we wanted. Staying with my grandparents was never supposed to be a long term thing. Just a reprieve.” He grabbed my hand. “But now it’s our turn to get a place that is really ours. And besides, don’t you still know that realtor? Why not give her a call with our supposed “impossible” list?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess I could. She might laugh at me. But I’ll call her.”

“Good.” He smiled and cupped my face with his hand, brushing his thumb on my cheek. “We’re going to find the place we’re supposed to be. Even if it takes us a while. I know we will.”

The door to linen closet opened and I felt something hit the back of my legs, sending some of the sheets in my hands to the ground. “Oh!” I grunted and turned, seeing a little boy, no older than eight, if that, standing there. “Hi.” I said, bending down to retrieve the sheets. “Who are you?”

“Simon!”

It was Carter yelling off in the distance. “Are you Simon?” I asked. The boy shook his head. “No? Are you sure?” He shrugged and I chuckled, putting the sheets on the shelf and grabbing the boy’s arm. We both walked out of the closet as Carter rounded the corner, first going into the trauma room. “Hey Carter!” I called out. He returned to the hall. “Lose something?”

“Simon.”

“Where’s his mom?”

“Mom went to the cafeteria to get some chocolate milk.” He replied, picking up the boy into his arms. “But Simon’s not getting any treats until he lets me draw his blood.” His tone shifted to what I affectionately referred to as his “dad voice”. Even though she was just fourteen months old, I’d heard him use it a couple of times with Meghan. At this point it was mainly cute and a little funny to think Meghan would find it convincing in any way.

“I don’t want you to take my blood.” Simon groaned as Carter walked him back towards curtains.

“He’s only going to take about this much.” I said, holding up my fingers barely apart from each other.

Carter dropped Simon onto the bed with a groan. “If you sit still, this won’t hurt.” I put on some gloves to try and help him.

“I don’t want a needle!”

“How about a papoose?” I offered. “Or just a gentler approach?”

“I think we’re okay.”

“You sure? I’d hate for you to lose him again.”

“Can you just hold his arm still?” There was a slight edge to his voice, so I just decided to let him do what he wanted. He put on his own pair of gloves before he bent back down in front of Simon. “Be brave and do not move.” He grabbed Simon’s arm and gently tapped his inner elbow.

“There’s a good one at the wrist.” I offered, knowing it might be a little easier.

“Antecube looks better.” He countered, wiping it with a sterile pad.

“No!” Simon yelled and began to move back and forth.

We both stood. “Want to try an arm board?”

“Nope.” He said sharply, moving to take off his gloves. “Let’s take break.” Damn, if he gave up that easily, I’d hate to see what happens when Meghan starts having toddler tantrums.

“Evie, I need another nurse!” I turned and Yosh had come in from Exam One, a bloody gauze on his head. I immediately ran after him. “He kicked me in the face.” He explained as he opened the door. Malik and a man partially in restraints were inside. The man was thrashing and yelling.

“We need some Haldol.” I told Yosh before going to help Malik finish the restraints.

“Careful, he bit a nurses finger in psych.”

“What’s he doing down here?”

“He cut up his face.”

The man started to thrash more violently as Luka walked in from trauma. “You want some help?” He asked as the man started grabbing at me.

“Yes!”

Luka moved quickly, taking the syringe from Yosh and injecting it into the patient’s thigh.

“Hey!” Malik yelled. “What did you do that for?”

The patient pulled off the hood on their head.

“Malucci!” I yelled.

“It was an April Fool’s joke.” Yosh told Luka.

“April Fool’s?” Luka asked, obviously having no clue what that meant.

“Was that Haldol?” Dave asked, his face full of concern. He turned to Yosh. “You actually put Haldol in that thing?”

“You weren’t actually supposed to get injected.”

I scoffed and removed my gloves, throwing them at him. “You all can deal with this.” I said, before leaving the exam room. Shaking my head, I turned, finding Carter had walked away for a break of his own. Simon was now sitting on the gurney with his mom, drinking a carton of chocolate milk. I sighed and knew there was a better way to do this.

“Hey Simon. I’m Evie, the nurse from before.” I knelt down in front of him. “You know, I have a little girl. Her name is Meghan. And whenever we go to the park, she loves playing with bubbles. Do you like bubbles?” Simon nodded, a little bit of milk dribbling down his chin. “I thought so. Would you like to blow some bubbles right now.” He nodded again. “Great. I’ll be right back.”

Getting up off the floor, I headed for the lounge. Ever since Meghan was born, my purse had not only doubled in size, but became a black hole of sorts. There was all sorts of stuff in it: a small first aid kit, a brush, a single baby sock, a pack of graham crackers, and so much more. And thankfully, a thing of bubbles from our last family outing. I closed my locker door and took the container back into the curtains area.

“Look what I got!” I said in a sing song tone. I handed Simon the bubbles and he happily started blowing them. Smiling, I started gathering the things I needed to draw his blood. “Can I take this?” I asked, taking the container from him before handing it to his mom. He continued blowing the bubbles, sticking the wand into the tube whenever he needed as I prepped his arm. “Alright Simon. Now I want you to blow the biggest bubble you can.” As soon as he was distracted, I easily slid the needle in and filled the vial with blood before he even had a chance to realize what happened as I put a Band-Aid on him.

“What's going on here?”

I turned my head and smirked as Carter walked up. “Oh, you know, just doing your job.” I said, showing him the vial full of blood.

“How did you do that?”

“Sometimes you just need a mother’s touch.....” I looked down at the bubbles and chuckled. “And something out of the pit that is her purse. What do you want for labs?”

Carter blinked a couple times. “Uh....... CBC, lytes, BUN, creatinine, and glucose.”

“Coming right up. Simon, really good job buddy.” I praised, writing on the chart. “I’m very proud of you. And you can keep the bubbles. Dr. Carter owes our daughter another tube anyway.” I handed the vial and orders over to Malik.

“Thank you.” Carter said as we walked towards admit. “That was really smart.”

“You really need to work on your patience.” I said, leaning against the desk. “Our daughter has your personality. I’d hate to see you two butt heads in the future.”

“That’s probably bound to happen. But I think I just need to start with more coffee.”

“Uh-huh.” I tsked. Carter shook his head before bending down and giving me a quick kiss.

“Did somebody order a school bus?”

We both looked up at Chuny, furrowing our brows. We both pushed away from the desk admit and followed her outside just as a Chicago school bus pulled into the ambulance bay. I had grabbed an umbrella since it had been raining earlier, but it was useless now. Kids were hanging out of every window and the doors opened, revealing an older blonde woman and a boy. “Grace Linden. Stuart’s having an asthma attack.”

“I’m Dr. Carter. Let’s get a gurney and a handheld neb.” Chuny ran off to go get the items. “Do you use an inhaler?”

“Empty.” The kid sputtered out, holding it up.

“How long has he been bad?” I asked the teacher.

“About ten minutes. There were fumes on the bus.”

“Exhaust fumes?” Carter asked.

“No, it’s something else. A lot of the kids have headaches. Some of them are throwing up.”

“Now, we can’t bring them in. It’s a hazmat situation. Until we can confirm there’s no contamination, you’re all going to have to wait outside.”

“In the cold?”

“Unfortunately.” I said. Chuny had brought out the nebulizer as well as trauma gowns and gloves for both of us. I turned back to the teacher as I began putting the items on. “Can you please get all the students off the bus so it will be easier for someone to assess them?” She nodded and got to work.

"He needs a 125 of Solu-Medrol.” Carter told me as Chuny now brought out a gown and gurney. “Alright, let’s get him into a gown and bag his clothes.”

“Can you hop up here?” I asked Stuart as I walked him to the gurney. He tried to hop up, but faltered, Carter catching him. That’s when a group of boys started mocking him and calling him stupid.

“Hey, I think you broke your ass.” One of the boys said. “I can see the crack.” I shook my head, and we helped get him settled on the gurney. Carter began to help get him out of his clothes, the taunts getting worse. I turned and found the umbrella I had brought out and discarded before we changed. I opened it and used it to try and block Stuart from those turds.

“So, you guys on a field trip?” I asked, the boys groaning as I blocked their view.

“Art institute.” Stuart said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, yeah?” Carter asked. “The Gauguin Exhibit?”

“We never made it.” I nodded and handed the hospital gown to Carter, still keeping a strong hold on my umbrella shield.

Once we had Stuart changed and settled on the gurney, we rolled him into the ER. “Dr. Weaver, we’ve got a status asthmaticus.” Carter called out to Kerry, who was helping to roll another gurney down the hall. She stopped.

“Chuny. Can you help her with a bed pan?” She asked, referring to the old woman on her gurney, before coming over to us.

“He needs continuous nebs. Where do you want to put him?”

The two started discussing and asking Stuart questions, when I heard a loud “Hey!”. I looked and the older woman Weaver had just been helping was up out of her gurney and holding a gun, the weapon shaking back and forth in her hands as she was mumbling. “Carter.” I said and grabbed his hand. His quickly turned and then put himself between us and the old woman. An officer was standing, pointing her gun at the woman and Benton was trying to talk her down.

Then there were two shots and the old woman fell to the floor dead.

As things somewhat calmed down, we got Stuart moved into an exam room. Since I was down to no patients, I stayed with him so I could keep giving him continuous breathing treatments. “How you feeling now, Stuart?” I asked, marking down the third nebulizer on his chart.

“Better.” He replied, not as wheezy as earlier. “Thanks for early. With the umbrella.”

“No problem.” I said, giving him a smile. “Girls used to pick on me too. I get how you feel.” I paused, setting down the chart and checking his levels. “Don’t let them bother you though. They’re not going to get anywhere in life by being mean.”

The door to the exam room opened and Carter walked in. “Feeling better?”

Stuart nodded. “Starting to.” He paused. “Did that lady die?” Carter looked at me and then nodded, taking off his stethoscope. “You think it’ll be on the news?”

“Yeah.”

“She could have blown my head off. Weren’t you scared?”

“A little.”

“Then why’d you get in front of me?”

“Guess I wasn’t thinking. I was really scared.”

“Me too.”

Carter nodded and checked Stuart out as he continued his treatment. “You’re still wheezing.” He said and looked at me for a moment. I held up the number three to tell him how many nebs I’d given him so far. “Have you had a cold?”

“No.”

“Well, something triggered your asthma. You think it was the fumes?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“You’re not sure?” I offered. Stuart shrugged. “We’re just trying to help. You know, like with the umbrella.”

Stuart thought for a moment and then nodded. “It was the fumes.”

“Where’d they come from?” Carter asked. Stuart stayed silent. “You know, anything that you tell me, it’s a secret. Evie too.”

We both watched Stuart for a moment as he silently contemplated telling us. “It was a can.”

“A can?” I asked. “A can of what?”

Stuart shrugged. “Maybe a solvent?” Carter offered.

“I think so. They put a rag over my face."

Carter nodded, looked at me, and then patted Stuart’s leg. “Don’t worry buddy. We’re going to get you feeling better soon.”

“Please don’t say anything. They’ll get back at me. Bo will kick my butt."

“Don’t worry Stuart.” I said, trying to comfort him. “Dr. Carter can be discreet when he needs to. Right?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Carter nodded before leaving the room. I sighed and shook my head. “Hey Stuart, you’re going to be here for a while. Anything you like to do to pass the time.”

“I like playing on my computer. Do you have one of those?”

“You know, I think I might.”

While Carter was gone, Kerry came and grabbed me, needing me to help out with a couple other patients. So, after getting Stuart settled with the laptop from upstairs, I headed back out on to the floor. After a little bit of triage, I came back to check on him and found that Carter had returned.

“Listen, I knew a boy who was a little husky, and he didn’t have very many friends and all the kids used to make fun of him. So, he spent most of his time studying. And he went on to college and he became a surgeon...... And at his high school reunion, he took out his scalpel and he cut the tongues out of every kid who ever made fun of him.”

“That’s supposed to cheer me up, doc?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that burst from me, putting my hands to my mouth as Carter and Stuart turned around. “Sorry. I was checking on other patients. How are we doing in here?” I asked, stepping into the room.

“Good.” Carter said, standing up. “Wheezing has stopped. I think just a little more observation time and we should be okay.”

“Glad to hear.”

Carter pat the bed. “We’ll be back soon.” He told Stuart before putting a hand on my lower back as he escorted me out of the room.

“That was a nice story.” I scoffed. “Actually got me there in the beginning. Thought was about you.” Carter scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. I turned as he leaned up against the wall. “Wait...... was that about you. Carter.”

“I went through a rough patch in middle school.”

“Oh sweetie.” I said and wrapped my arms around him. “That was nice of you, trying to help him. But I really hope the scalpel part wasn’t true.”

“Oh no. I keep those tongues in a jar in the closet.”

We both laughed and he pulled me in, kissing my head. “Hey, where did you go earlier? You were gone for a while.”

“I went up to see Meghan.”

“And she let you come back downstairs?”

“Only because I just looked in through the window. And don't say anything, because I know you do that too.” He paused, moving a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m really not ready for her to grow up. To have to worry about her body or the stupid things other kids say.”

“Me neither.” I sighed and laid my head on his chest. “At least we have a while before that happens.”

“We can’t keep her little forever?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Damn.”

I chuckled and stood back up. That’s when my eye caught something through the window of Stuart’s room. “Would you look at that?” Carter turned around the corner and chuckled as he saw what I did. Two of the girls from the bus were smiling and talking with Stuart as he showed them something on the computer. “Looks like he’s found some friends.”

Carter nodded and put his arm around my waist. “Maybe some kids aren’t all that bad after all.”

#er #john carter #john carter er #noah wyle #original character #john carter x female character #dr john carter #john truman carter #john truman carter iii #john carter x reader #er tv series #er nbc #er 1994 #er tv show

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erroryeswifi · 3 months ago

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Family Trip!! ✈️

(Part 1?)

Where do you think they’re going..? 🤔

#Thanks to the people that voted on the poll from the other day!#gave me that little push to actually finish this #also tried out a new brush. It’s pretty nice I think #tawog #the amazing world of gumball #mr small #steve small #larry needlemeyer #larry tawog #mr small x larry #smallarry #rob tawog #tawog rob #dr wrecker

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simplygojo · 8 months ago

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Pussydrunk ⸺ Choso Kamo

author's note ⸺ Saw some crazy Choso art this morning and I know that the world can always use more Choso smut...so enjoy. Also yes-he does thank you for your pussy... pairing ⸺ Choso Kamo x reader teaser ⸺ '"You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responds with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course..."' content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, pussydrunk choso, he is OBSESSED, cunnilingus, shy emo boy turned feral, oral sex (reader recv.), choso is such a nice boy he thanks u for ur pussy, he lovesss to eat you out but let a guy have hobbies!! overstimulation, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || fic image artist ||

Choso is perfect. Too perfect—really.

Your sweet, soft-spoken, emo boyfriend who always knows exactly what you need. The one who texts you to remind you to drink water, gets you your favourite snacks even when you don’t ask, and holds your hand like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

He’s calm, attentive, and gentle—everything anyone could want in a partner.

But there’s something about him—a hidden streak that surfaces only when you’re alone.

And only when he’s between your legs.

It’s almost comical how the man who blushes when you tease him in public—who can’t take compliments without fumbling for words, turns into someone so utterly unrestrained when he’s got his face buried in your cunt.

Your shy, sweet Choso becomes something else entirely. Feral. Hungry. Completely pussydrunk.

It’s not just a casual thing for him—it’s a fixation, a need.

The way his pupils blow wide whenever you start to undress or the way his hands unconsciously flex when you shift your legs apart? He’s thinking about it. How soft you’d feel, how warm and wet and impossibly sweet? Yep, he’s thinking about it…and he never tries to hide it.

It starts so innocently every time, just like it had tonight, his long fingers brushing your thighs as he kisses your inner knees.

He whispers something tender, something like, “You’re so beautiful,” as his lips trace paths closer to where you’re desperate for him.

His words always make your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, he’s dipping his head lower, brushing his nose along the seam of your panties.

You let out a quiet gasp, hips twitching when his tongue flicks out to trace the damp fabric.

“Already wet for me,” he says, and there’s something darker in his tone now—a hint of what’s to come.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, sliding your underwear down your legs with deliberate slowness, and his breath catches when you’re finally bare before him.

Then the first taste hits his tongue, and that’s it—Choso’s gone.

Your thighs barely get the chance to press around his head before his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, so he can bury his face in your pretty cunt.

The first press of his tongue against your folds makes your back arch off the bed.

Choso groaned like he’s the one being pleasured, and the sound vibrated against you, drawing a soft cry from your lips. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in you like a man starved.

He alternates between teasing your clit with quick flicks of his tongue and plunging it back inside you, each movement pulling a new, breathless whimper from your lips.

The soft squelch of his mouth working on you made your thighs twitch, but Choso didn’t stop.

If anything, he groans louder, the sound reverberating through your core as his tongue dips back down to your entrance. He licks into you slowly, savouring the way you tighten around the soft, wet muscle.

You try to push him back once you’re trembling, overstimulated from his relentless attention, but Choso isn’t having it.

“Just once more,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’re glassy, unfocused—completely drunk on you. “Please, baby. Can’t stop. You taste so good.”

And how could you say no to that? To the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters? He is just so damn pretty. I–

His hands roam your thighs, holding them open as he devours you, sucking your clit between his lips and humming with satisfaction every time you cry out.

When your fingers thread into his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss, he only doubles down, tongue thrusting into your heat like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. His lips and chin are coated in your arousal as he looks up at you with his dark hooded eyes—absolutely pussydrunk.

He looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, chest heaving like he’s the one who just came—and yet, he’s still leaning forward, nuzzled against your thigh, leaving lazy kisses like he can’t help himself.

“You okay?” You’d ask, voice shaky, and his lips curl into a sheepish smile as he rests his cheek on your leg.

“More than okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “You’re perfect. Thank you for letting me do this baby..”

You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?”

Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responded with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course. You’re like... a goddess, and I’m just the humble servant here, living the dream.”

You snort at his attempt to be dramatic, your hands running through his messy, dark hair. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re really living right now.”

He peeks up at you, giving you a wink that’s way too cocky for his usual shy self.

“Absolutely. You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says, and you can’t help but giggle at its ridiculousness.

“Choso, you’re so extra sometimes.” You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’re enjoying it.

His lips curl into a grin again as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “What can I say? I don’t hold back. I’m committed, you know?”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “Committed, huh? To eating me out?”

Choso nods earnestly. “Yes, baby. To you. This is my true calling.” He lets out a dramatic sigh and presses his face against your leg again like he’s contemplating his life choices.

You laugh out loud at his melodramatic antics, but before you can make another joke, he dives back in, his tongue moving expertly against your clit with a series of teasing strokes.

And that is how you and your cutie-emo-pussydrunk man spent the next few hours…

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sincere1ystar · 12 days ago

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ kindergarten teacher! reader takes her class on a field trip to the Daily Planet ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

clark kent x kindergarten teacher! reader

Your class was eager to go on a field trip, and really they were due for one as all the other kindergarten classes at the school had already went on their yearly field trip. So when Clark suggested that you take your students on a tour of the Daily Planet, you took his offer quickly.

You didn't consider how busy the place could be until after you had emerged out of the elevator and into the newsroom with your kids. "Okay everyone follow the line leader!"

"Alright so this is where they write articles for the paper! News is being written in this very room!" You tried to take an enthusiastic tone for the sake of your students, but really you had no idea where to start when it came to this tour. "So.. here is the printer where they.. print the news".

"Where do they go for break time?", one of your students asked.

"Oh.. well I'm sure there's a break room or something.. Maybe it's through that door!", you say pointing to the elevator.

"So they don't have a playground here?", another one of your kindergartners spoke up. Her little lip started to tremble as she looked around and didn't see anything of the sort.

You immediately bent down to the little girl's level, trying to find anything that would avert her attention to the lack of childlike wonder they were usually used to within the building. "Well they have a stapler! Look they use this to staple the news". You smile sheepishly as a few of the journalists sent a wary look your way. Oh the trouble you were going to give Clark for convincing you this was a good idea!

"We don't just write news", a voice interrupted. "We also take photos of it too". The words put a smile on the kids' faces and their expressions mirrored something joyous. "I'd love to show you some samples, if all of you just followed me this way".

"I'm Jimmy by the way", the man introduced as he caught up to your stance.

"Nice to meet you Jimmy!", you ecstatically shake his hand. "Thank you for taking over I was so lost".

"No problem", he replies sheepishly. "Clark sent me over actually. He told me to 'go hold down the fort while he finishes something up', apparently he's working on something for the kids".

You smile, knowing only Clark would take a visit from kindergartners this seriously. Really they would be entertained by just the coffee machine in the newspaper room.

"Alright!", Clark rushes in with his hands full. "Sorry I'm late, crafting emergency. How is everyone liking the Daily Planet? I brought you guys a little gift to say thank you for visiting us?"

"Gifts?"

"Yes I made everyone hats out of newspaper! Actually this was made out of the paper that shares the news that we write in this very room!" Clark looked more excited than the kindergartners as he passed around the hats.

"Jimmy you can go ahead and show them your photos now", Clark signaled and Jimmy led the group to a following room. You were following before Clark pulled you aside into a small empty room.

"Clark!", you scolded while he just chuckled at your strict expression.

"I had to wait for Jimmy to watch over your students so I could give you your gift sweetheart".

"You made me a newspaper hat too?" The previous urge you had to scold him was replaced with fondness.

"I did, but I was thinking of giving you another gift too", Clark grins as his thumbs made their way to your face. "Can I?"

You giggle as his nose brushes against yours. "Why yes you can". His lips were still smiling as they pressed against yours.

"Clark!", Jimmy calls out knocking on the door. "Some kid lost their newspaper hat will you come out here and fold him another one?"

""Coming!", Clark responds before he turns back to you. "You can stay in here for a bit okay? You looked pretty overwhelmed when you first walked in here, Jimmy and I got this".

You give him one last small kiss and Clark walks out with that dopey grin that only your kisses could paint on his face.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent fic #clark kent imagine #superman x reader #superman fic #superman fanfiction #superman 2025 #superman david corenswet

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buckyalpine · 3 months ago

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Wrote in a rush and this was meant to be a fluffy drabble (lo behold is now much longer) but give me Bucky who finds the littlest ball of orange fluff on the side of the road, picking her up and tucking her into his leather jacket to take care of her. He can't leave behind that trembling baby behind on the streets which is exactly why she's scooped away without protest and snuck right into the tower and straight to his room, doors locked behind him immediately.

His biggest concern isn't the fact that he's currently housing a stray kitten in his room. It's not that he was breaking the no pets policy which he was already given an exception for. Once.

No.

His biggest concern is currently staring daggers at him with blue eyes that match his and an irritated swishing tail.

"C'mon Alp" Bucky tried to reason with his stubborn cat only to be met with the bat of a paw to his cheek, "You gotta be nice to your new baby sister, she needs a home"

Alpine isn’t having any of it. He saunters away and curls up high on the cat tree Bucky installed, turning away to ignore the new visitor.

"That could have gone....worse" Bucky mumbles to himself, knowing a grumpy Alpine was as good as it was going to get.

Now, he didn't exactly think any of this through when he picked the kitten up. He forgot how sharp those tiny claws are and he definitely forgot orange cats were a different breed. Still, he manages pretty well, playing with her and feeding her.

It's great until there's an attack on the compound the security system is breached. It's more of an inconvenience than actual threat which is why Bucky grumbles while rubbing sleep from his eyes when he hears the sound of a scuffle down the hall near his room. He's out of bed and grabbing his gear, the handle of his room jangling before being kicked down by the intruders, weapons in hand.

Alpine jumps up to his spot high in his cat tree waiting for daddy to handle business. Bucky is about to take down whoever entered his room until he feels soft fur brush his ankles, his tiny orange furbaby leisurely strutting over and sitting in front of the first gunman without a care in the world. She licks her paw and just before Bucky could react-

"What's this tiny piece of shit-OHFUCK-FU-

*Silence*

"What the hell..." Bucky's jaw is on the floor and his eyes are frozen on the spot where the intruder stood now empty. Because he is in his baby's belly. His tiny kitty just unhinged her jaw and a bunch of tentacles for a tongue grabbed the man whole and swallowed him like a Friskies snack.

"Meow" She purrs and comes to nuzzle against his leg, her tail swishing and curling around his ankle as she looks at him with all the love in the world. She goes back to licking her paw like nothing happened and Bucky stays rooted in place.

A Flerken. The tiny kitty he rescued was a whole ass Flerken.

Fuck.

After that night, imagine every time Bucky joins the team for dinner or training he has a new scratch somewhere or the other. The longer he hides his secret, the worse his excuses get but how can he tell them it's just his baby Peaches. Little Peaches the orange kitten who was also apparently a Flerken.

"I-I nicked myself while shaving"

"On your arm, Buck? Really?"

"It's just a papercut!"

"Why the fuck is it on your chin"

"Broke a cup, must've been the glass"

"....across your nose. The broken cup got you across the nose..."

"Yep"

"What are you, training with Alpine in your room?"

"...something like that"

Now at some point he does get caught because all you hear from his room is “awww-ow, fuck-shit-aren’t you the cutest”as he continues to coo, rubbing Peaches' furry tummy, her little paws reaching to bat the long strands of his hair. Everyone know he definitely can't be talking to his sassy white fur baby so who could it be-

"Really Bucky?" You stood at the door with an incredulous expression your face while he's in the middle of his cuddle session. You knew your boyfriend was hiding something all this time. Honestly, no one is really surprised given how much of a "secret" softie Bucky can be.

Still, no one really gets why he had to keep her a secret for this long, it's just a cat, what was the problem....

Now, I’d absolutely love for him to sneak her on a mission, a small lump rumbling in his jacket and Sam and Steve can only assume it's some type of weapon though for some reason Bucky keeps petting it. Eventually they get to their location and instead of reaching for his gun, he pulls out Peaches, holding her out like a rifle.

Before anyone can bombard him with a flurry of questions as to why in the FUCK would he bring a kitten to a mission, she eats off 4 of the bad people with one swallow and a content meow.

“That’s my baby” kisses her head before stuffing her back into his leather jacket where she purrs against his chest.

"Barnes what the fuck-"

"You guys can get what you came for" Bucky says with a shrug while scratching her behind the ear, a now stunned Sam and Steve slowly backing away to retrieve whatever they came for.

Bucky couldn't be prouder. The only mission he's still working on is getting trying to get Alpine to not plot to kill them both and it's going great.

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evening-desire · 2 months ago

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More popular mean femboy please please please imma kiss your feet, gotta see him vulnerable and flustered (im losing it)🙏

hello- you don't need to kiss my feet pooks, come kiss me on the mouth instead /hj, also i hope this one is to your liking 🧎‍♂️

yandere! popular! mean! femboy x gn! childhood friend! reader part 2

tw : male yandere, gn reader, vulnerability, bullying, manipulation, suggestive, yandere is a freak, also i potray the femboy as gyaru type of femboy.

so although yandere femboy never showed his vulnerable side, he does have his vulnerable moments sometimes, but of course he'll only let one person sees that part of him while no one else can, not even his parents. only you.

you're the one who's been there with him the whole time, from the start until the present. you're the only person who's seen it all, seen all of yandere femboy's sides, seen all of his secrets and moment of weaknesses.

there's a fair amount of times when you hold him close in your arms as he cries softly into your chest, his tears soaking your shirt as he lets out all of his frustration and burden off his shoulder. you don't even need to say anything, don't need to say fake comforting words to him, just stay by his side, hold him, and he's already content.

maybe it's the real him that he's showing you, that deep inside- he's still the same fragile little boy that you used to defend from the mean kids back then, the same wide eyed boy with shy smiles and rossy chubby cheeks stained with tears are still there, he's still the same old him.

or maybe- it's his plot all along, to keep you by his side, to make it seems like he's still dependent on you, so you would stay out of pity. it feels nice to be wanted and needed right? he just hoped that you won't ever see the winning grin on his pretty little face when you hold him close to you.

yandere femboy is not easily flustered, he's the embodiment of control and manipulation, he's the one who get people flustered by his fake tooth-rotting sweet and whinny voice, using his looks to manipulate and use people.

but when he does get flustered, like genuinely flustered, it's of course- can only be done by you and you only, his darling. the twist is- he can always tell whenever you purposely try to tease him or not.

if you do try to make him flustered purposely, he would stare at you for a second before laughs at your face mockingly, now you're the one who's flustered as he pats your heated cheeks softly trying not to poke your eyes out with his brand new acrylic set.

"you gotta try harder than that hun" he commented with a wink as he continue to chew on his strawberry flavoured bubblegum while typing furiously on his phone, probably bullying some randoms online before shooing you off to buy him something.

but if you do somehow succeed on making him flustered without you even realizing it- you'll get him flustered, hard. he would sweat a bucket, avoiding eye contact, face all red, and tried so hard to insult you, but the words that are coming out of his mouth is all shaky, reducing him into a stuttering mess.

and the things that you do to make him flustered is somethings that are very weirdly... normal... like if when you do anything that he asked (ordered) without any complaint, or when you opened the door for him, and even the smallest thing like when you brushed off a single strand of hair out of his face will turn him into a boiled crab.

or when you get angry. he also thinks you're weirdly attractive when you're fuming. you've been very preserved since you two were still in kindergarten, you won't be mad when he stole your favorite crayons, you won't yell when he ate all of your favorite parts of your sandwich.

even until now- when he treats you like you're nothing but his servant, ordering you around before laughing at your "lame" self. you still complied without any comment.

but when you finally snap. it awoken something inside of him, something that he never thought he would feel.

maybe it's the way your eyes are blazing when you get mad. the way your chest is rising and falling fast. your jaw is clenched, lips parted, skin heated, and you’re standing your ground like you’re ready to throw him off the building.

and goddamn, why is it hot?

is it because he's so used to people cowering before him, that the feeling of being smaller than you makes him excited, it's like he just discovered a new drug if you can say.

yandere femboy feels the back of his neck get warm. then his ears. then the apples of his cheeks. “oh,” he says, too softly. then louder in realization “oh...” he’s flustered. actually flustered.

which is ridiculous. he doesn’t get flustered. he flusters people. he likes control. he owns it. but the way you’re looking at him like you might strangle him with your fingers around his neck, and it’s doing things to him.

i might make a sketch for yan femboy but who knows when

divider by @.adornedwithlight & @.cafekitsune

#tw yandere #tw bullying #yandere original character #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male #yandere femboy #yancore #evening guests

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wolfish-trickster · 5 months ago

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Naked Cuddles with Astarion 🥰🦇

After he kills Cazador and spends some quality time ✨️ with you on his grave he thinks he's all healed now and can be intimate with you with no disgust or loathing

Oh how wrong he was

The grave intimacy was amazing, he was present, focusing only on you, the best night he has ever had

The next time he tries to have a "night of passion" with you is right after you defeat the netherbrain, as a reward and also a celebration

But the unwanted happened: he dissociated

He didn't even realize he wasn't there until you tapped him on the shoulder

It felt like a dagger to his back, but from himself. What went wrong? Cazador was dead. Tadpoles were gone. You were there with him despite everything. Why can't he just have sex with you like a normal person?!

Because healing takes time baby boy 🥺

He ran away that night. Because of anger, shame, desperation, he didn't know. Maybe all of it?

He only showed up two days later, apologizing and offering to continue, claiming to do better this time and not dissappoint you

You just hugged him and told him he didn't need to, that you'll be happy if the two of you just talk under the stars like you used to back in camp

He wants to agree and spend time with you but he blurts out no. He's angry at himself more than you. He just wants to give you everything you deserve, including a proper relationship with everything that belongs to it

You reassure him you understand but he needs time to properly heal

"Time? What should I wait for? Cazador's dead, I'm under no one's control, the wretched worms are gone and the two of us are together. I should be okay!"

It takes some time for him to calm down and admit what he has subconsciously known: he isn't ready yet. No matter how much he wants to be

You see his struggle. He wants it all at once now that he's free

Seeing him in this state makes you want to help him but there's seemingly nothing you can do. Except...

With a smile and no other word you take him by the hand and lead him to your shared bedroom

You start pulling your clothes off of you and you can feel him smirk behind you, until you finally reveal your plan to him

"We'll strip and cuddle. Nothing more. You need to explore other ways of being intimate, not just sex."

He's a bit puzzled to say the least. He has never heard of laying with someone naked as the day they were born and just...lay. By all logic and what he's known for most of his life it makes no sense. How can someone get pleasure out of just laying? He imagines it would be similair to locking him in a bloodbank but forbidding him from touching anything

Regardless, he starts stripping. If this is some manipulative tactic of yours it's pretty weak but he wants to see where this will go

No tactic, no ill intention, the two of you strip and get under the covers

He lays down after you and for a second has no idea what to do. Should he embrace you first? Should he wait for you?

Carefully, as if aproaching a stray cat, you move closer to him and slowly lay your head on his cool chest

The lack of clothes makes this a completely new experience for both of you, the contrast between your warm living body and his cold undead one is much more evident now

After a while you get a bit bolder and fully cuddle up to him, arm wrapping around his torso, your legs locking around one of his

When he felt your sex press against his thigh he expected to get aroused. Logically he should, right?

But he didn't. And neither did you. You just sighed and relaxed more

Astarion propped up his head with one of his hands, the other one brushed along your spine up and down

"This feels... nice."

You smile against his pectoral, silently celebrating your small victory

As you begin to drift off, lulled by his rhythmic breathing, he makes his own step forward and turns fully towards you, one hand on your lower back pushing your torsos together, the other pulls your thigh up and hooks it around his hip

If he was hard and you moved just a bit downwards he would slip right inside you, so close and yet

He nuzzles his face into your neck and plants a little kiss on your pulse point, over the marks he's made on you while feeding on your blood

"This is really nice," he purrs like a cat

When you wake up the next morning you remain in the same position as when you fell asleep, the only difference is Astarion's hands: firmly planted on your ass

After your first little intimate session he feels a lot more relaxed, behaves a bit more carefree, a bit happier over all

You try to carefully suggest couple of more cuddlings but he needs little convincing

Once the door to the bedroom is closed all clothes are off

Almost. Every. Night.

It was like entering a whole new universe for him, he wanted to explore everything this new arrangement could offer him

The two of you tried every position you could think of, it kinda reminded you of sex minus the sweaty mess afterwards

On the bed, spooning, chest to chest, sitting down, him between your legs, you between his, on the love seat, random windowsill, standing behind you with his amrs wrapped around you while cooking

When you had very busy days but still wanted the skin to skin he would go shirtless, tear your own shirt off of you and hug you as long as he could

An absolute power trip for him would be if you were the only naked one, sitting in his lap while he himself sat somewhere, either a couch or some random chair

Makes his imagination run wild. What if he had ascended back then? He would think of how he would make you slowly strip infront of him while he sat on a throne of sorts in Cazador's, now his, palace. How your naked body would dance against the finest silk of his robes as he took you over and over again

As much as this little idea aroused him he was glad it stayed only in the realms of "what if". He couldn't imagine how ascession would corrupt him and rob him of what he currently has

He loved taking you in missionary, but he might love having you sit on his lap a bit more

Your soft breasts preassing into him, head resting on his shoulder, giving him the perfect angle to grab your ass and squeeze it like a stress toy

Not to mention your weight grounding him in case his mind decided to wander against his will

However the more often you spend time like this, either sleeping cuddled up together or just hanging out, the less he felt his consciousness slipping away. Maybe all he really needed was to adjust his body and mind to intimacy, convice them he's safe with you, that he doesn't need to escape anymore

On one such cuddle session, when he had you comfortably on his lap and his back against the head of the bed, he desperately wanted to suggest trying to make love again

But something inside him, maybe an intuition or fear, told him he might not be ready yet, he might fuck it up again, dissapoint you, and return back to ground zero

Instead he suggested kissing. Small innocent pecks

You agreed with such enthusiasm, it made his heart almost skip a beat

The two of you agreed to go with the flow and let whatever would happen play out, see how far the two of you could go

It really started out innocently

At first you peppered his whole face with small kisses, not leaving one centimeter of skin untouched

He loved being admired, but he wanted to give some of his loving too

At first with pecks

Then proper kiss

An open mouthed kiss soon followed

A tongue slipped out and inside the other one's mouth soon after

You didn't even realize it and you were making out for almost an hour now

It wasn't rushed like when hot passion hurries you, it was slow, intimate, comfortable. Like two people who had all the time in the world and decided to slow down and enjoy eachother

This first make out session didn't lead to anything more, none of you minded. Astarion was happy, so were you. But most importantly he hasn't dissociated in almost a month now

You still cuddled every day, pyjamas and other sleepwear became foreign concepts in your household, maybe one day one of your make out sessions will probably lead to more, who knows

But you do know that if it ever will lead to proper love making, it would be on Astarions's terms. Once he knows and feels he's ready

Until then you'll happily enjoy his naked form just pressed against yours every single night

#bg3 astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion headcanon #astarion angst

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storiesoferoda · 19 days ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐣𝐨𝐛𝐬 જ⁀➴

Summary: A missed alarm leaves you waking up late for the most important job of your life at the Daily Planet. A rushed morning turns into a coffee disaster when you run into someone random and spill coffee all over their very nice work attire.

warnings: none, reader is just clumsy.

Author's Note: This is my first fic and piece of writing in a longggg time, so be nice. It's not amazing, nor is it proofread read but if you want more, let me know, I'll write more!!

Word count: 1,607

A loud blaring alarm had jolted your body awake leaving you in a mini state of panic as you reached for your phone to snooze the blaring alarm. In your half dazed half scared state you had held the phone to your face squinting to read the time believing your mind had played tricks on you. But nope your phone had read 8:15, you shot out of bed in record time throwing the rubber band from your hair across the room as you ran around your apartment with the grace of a wild dog.

Of course this would happen to you of course you should've listened to that stupid anxious voice in your head that told you to set 15 alarms starting at the ass crack of dawn. But no, your new therapist had talked about trusting yourself and life or some bullshit that you didn't care to think about as you tried to apply makeup and brush your teeth.

Today was your fresh start, a start that is now in danger of being just as messed up as your last one if you don't leave your apartment in the next 10 minutes. And because the universe is clearly on your side you’re out of coffee and milk today too. So while you grab your bag hurriedly and pray that everything had gotten in there from the night before and use your phone to place an order for a coffee to go because currently you had no time to waste even stepping in to order and wait, you set off down the stairs thinkings its faster to get down 10 flights on foot rather than by an elevator.

── .✦

The idea that you could both run down the stairs and speed walk to your coffee turned out to be a bad one considering in your hurried and dazed confusion instead of using yourself to open the door rather than your hands which are occupied by a eye lash curler and mascara you very politely crash into what only can be described as a god of a man.

He stood there dazed as hit piping hot…four? Coffees sat on the floor and…on his shirt. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed as you also kindly dropped your mascara wand…karma? “I am so sorry. I had been in a rush and this new job is gonna kill me if I'm late so I placed an online order for time efficiency and I also wasn't paying attention because my new therapist said something about too many alarms being bad for my sleep…” you cut yourself off as this sweet, tall…tall man stared at you with all the attention in the world as if he was actually listening to you and as if you didnt just spill his probably expensive coffee run all over the sidewalk. “Let me buy you a coffee and a new shirt I am so so sorry” the words had come out more defeated than you had intended but you were defeated this new job was going to fire you and your parents would be right and the ad on the wall of the coffee shop for a new barista would probably be filled by you…again as it had in the last 5 cities you lived in.

He had bent down to pick up the trash that littered the floor and you realized you should help him too he had looked at you and opened his mouth “it's fine honestly I’m actually pretty early on my way to work so I have enough time to go back home and change. Accidents happen, don't worry about going to your new job and good luck.” He had picked up the last cup and tossed it in the trash as you tore yourself away and ran in the direction of the daily plane.

── .✦

Your running had stopped in front of the comically large building and as you set to open the door you realized both your mascara wand and your coffee and lets be real your dignity had been let on that side walk. But there was no turning back, especially considering you'd find a new coffee place in hopes of never showing your face to that poor guy you had hit this morning. The kind stranger who let you run off would haunt your dreams as you tried to sleep. And as you stepped into the building to enter the elevator set right next to the door you pressed the button for the 15th floor. Checking the time it was only 8:56 that kind stranger probably saved your ass otherwise your new boss Perry would’ve had your neck by now.

You had heard the stories, how Perry was nice for those who were valuable. Currently you were just the new girl who got lucky because her article about the red and blue streak that started flying around metropolis had gained enough traction that he had finally pulled out your resume and gave you a chance three years later.

The ding and jolt of the elevator pulled you out of your worry as you watched the doors push open and you stepped out to find Perry. But a vaguely familiar voice stepped out of the elevator next to you…mystery coffee boy…working title. Stepped out in all his glory as he adorned a new fresh shirt with no hint of coffee on him. He didn't even smell like coffee…besides the fact that in his hand he now held four new coffees. Great.

In a shallow attempt for him not to see you yet you rushed to the big office where you knew Perry would be and knocked hurriedly.

── .✦

The introduction meeting had been long and boring but it made you excited. Perry didn't even mention the coffee smell from you as you lingered in his office while he spoke about all the duties that you’d have to fulfill. The difference between the soft and hard deadlines, how quickly he needed everything, how you most likely would only be writing mundane things for about the next six months but you’d be writing and getting paid. So with a new found spark you stood up and shook his hand and followed out the office towards the rest of the writers.

He walked quickly as you almost jogged to keep up. He sought out a woman who was standing around with a cup of coffee in her hand leaning on a filing cabinet. “Lois” he called out and the girl stood up straight and looked towards him “Sir.” she had replied. “This is…” he waited for you forgetting your name already but you took no offense as you shot up looking at her while replying with your name. “She’s new here. Show her around her desk, help her out, yeah?” Lois nodded. “I’ll be working in my office.” and with that he turned around and walked away not paying anyone else any attention as he closed the door behind him.

“Dont pay him any mind,” Lois said setting her coffee down.

She extended her hand out offering a hand shake “Lois Lane, been here 3 years and it took him a year and a half to learn my actual name.” She offered it as a way to lighten the mood. She dropped your hand to point to a man in a chair very obviously watching you and Louis. “That’s Jimmy listen to nothing he says and never ask about his weekend, otherwise it’s an hour of your life you’ll never get back” you laughed to yourself nodding along “Rude” Jimmy exclaimed. As she looked around the room and pointed at the mystery coffee boy and waved him over as he spotted her.

“That’s Clark I have nothing to say other than be on his good side then he’ll bring you coffee every morning” she joked.

Your mouth pursed into a line as Clark stood in front of you holding out a hand for you to take “Clark Kent” he smiled. God, he was even more beautiful when he smiled and he had dimples. If you weren't so worried about him bringing up the fact you had drenched him with coffee you might’ve let your eyes linger on them. Instead you trained them right behind his head

“Oh!” he exclaimed as he clumsily walked to a desk close by picking up a coffee, walking it back before extending it to you “Here happy first day” he spoke kindly, genuinely, it was weird you felt almost comfortable already. You took the coffee from his hand fingers brushing slightly and if this was you on any other day you definitely would’ve lingered on that but you quickly took a much needed sip of coffee and looked down. “Thank you that is really nice of you Clark Kent” you smiled.

Lois watched you two before speaking up “Well your desk is right here.” She pointed to the empty desk…next to Clarks… “Well since you two are desk neighbours I'll let him help you with the rest trust you are in good hands!” she said kindly before walking to her own desk further away from the two of you and quickly got to writing. You sat down at the chair next to Clark and suddenly you two felt more secluded. Was this desk further away from the rest? Were you in the corner? Why did the room feel hot?

Your thoughts were quickly dissolved by a mystery coffee boy opening his mouth, now known as Clark.

“So this is the new job?” he said.

God, this is gonna be a long day…

next part

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curiouser--and--curiouser · 10 months ago

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Elrond Peredhel A-Z Smut Headcanons

Kinktober 2024

Warnings: SMUT, switch!Elrond, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, cum, anal play, toys, dirty talk, etc., x reader, gender neutral reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Such a sweet and attentive boy. Elrond is immediately up on his feet, getting whatever you may desire. Especially if you'd just had a more rough session, he would always double check he didn't hurt you and pamper you. Definitely his body's last hurrah before he eventually falls asleep in your arms.

On the flip side, if you'd taken control for the evening, he would be so appreciative of you taking care of him while he stared at you with loving, glassy eyes, bringing him back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Elrond likes (how much you like) his hands. They are the link between his mind and the page as a herald, and the thing to make you truly fall apart. Some of his favourite memories feature him crowding you against a wall with his fingers inside you, gently shushing you so you are not caught.

On you, Elrond always comes back to your hips. Stroking them, grabbing them, kissing up and down them. His hands are always at your hips: to manhandle your pliant body into a new position, or just hanging on for dear life as you make him lose his mind.

Also, just a quick point about Elven ears generally: definitely a major erogenous zone for all elves, so if you even lightly brush your lips against his ears, Elrond is ready to give his soul to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he actually sees it as a sign of connection between you both. Either cumming inside of you and mixing his with your own, or spilling all over both you and himself, he just can't help but stare down between you while trying to catch his breath.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The first time he ordered you to ride his thigh, he came in his pants. The sight of you getting yourself off on him, the power he had over you - it was too much for him. He tried his best to hide it as you were coming down from your own high.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Elven life is so long, so Elrond is undoubtedly fairly experienced, having a fair share of elves and mortals lured by his charm and good looks. But I feel he may not have ever been as experimental as he may have fantasised of late at night, stroking his cock at great pace. However, despite his long life, Elrond had never loved someone so much as you; he is slightly stunned the first time you make love, forgetting for a moment what to do and where to put his hands.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Below you. In awe. Watching you. Seeing you in control in any situation does things to him, and you on top of him, riding him, controlling him, choking him, makes him lose his mind. Nowhere in the whole of Valinor does Elrond expect to see something quite as beautiful as you over him with your head thrown back in pleasure. All he can do is wrap himself around you and hold on.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Elrond can go both ways. He can be all cute smiles and giggling, all in your own little world. Or deadly serious, purely focussed on you and the love you share.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't believe he is completely shaven, but the small amount of curly hair that is there is very nicely kept and groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Such a hopeless romantic. The first time, he decked out his rooms with rose petals, dimmed lights, silk sheets - everything to give you the most pleasurable and intimate experience for your first time together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would always just prefer to find you. But if he is ever away on a mission for Lindon, Elrond can't help but spend nearly every night one hand fisting his cock and the other covering his mouth, muffling his moans and whimpers. He will always take a reminder of you with him, and it stays firmly between his lips when he dreams of feeling your touch again.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

First and foremost, Elrond is a switch - he is overwhelmed the moment you stand over him and use an authoritative tone, but can have you in a puddle on the floor with once single command.

Hair pulling - those beautiful curly locks are too gorgeous to not run your fingers through and grab, and it makes Elrond's eyes roll back in his head every time. And if you ever pull him by his hair, either back to your lips or back to his work under the covers, he's going to cum right then and there.

Face sitting - Elrond would die a happy man, suffocated between your thighs. Nothing is too much for him - he just wants to do good for you - so give him all you've got and watch him buck his hips up and rut against the air like an animal.

Commander kink - need I say more? You were there when Gil-galad ordained him Commander Elrond, and the name immediately went straight through you - and he noticed. Now, he will do barely anything until you have sufficiently begged your commander to keep moving, before he finally slams into you with a power you never thought he could possess.

Overstimulation - it doesn't come out often, but when he is angry with you - and you can't help but fight back - Elrond has no choice but to teach you a lesson. Soon, he has you on his lap, your back to his chest, fingering you harshly as you cum over and over and over again. And he just keeps going, even as your head lolls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, one more. Just give me one more. I want to hear those beautiful moans again. Look at you, finally being so good for your commander."

"Yes, Sir."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Sometimes the simplest is the best: in the confines of your shared rooms and marriage bed, you can take all the time you might desire with each other, completely uninterrupted and focussed on each other. Otherwise, he loves to spend a day with you in the woods; take a picnic, sing to you, and make love to you under the canopy of trees.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just the sight of you. Also, pretty sure Elrond has a competency kink. Seeing you working and succeeding and leading really makes him weak and submissive. And for any little doubts and anxieties that may crawl there way into his mind, just simply knowing you want him, and only him, really frees his soul.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't believe Elrond would ever be into impact play. He may sometimes grab you with hard hands and leave bruises on your hips, but he would never intentionally hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Elrond is without a doubt a skilled and enthusiastic lover. At any possible opportunity, he will go down on you (or otherwise beg to) and how could you say no to him? His tongue was moulded by the Valar themselves just for you and his eyes close in pleasure as he plays your every string like a lute. Also, he has no gag reflex.

On the other hand, Elrond absolutely loses his mind when you suck him off. He is so overwhelmed and can barely breathe. Definitely when you surprise him by undoing his pants and distract him from work at his desk. And definitely when he stands before you, you on your knees, tears streaming down your face, taking everything he gives you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Elrond has a lot of energy, so he can't help but use it sometimes, pounding into you with his lips connected to your neck. But his roughest side comes out when he is stressed from work or angry with the world, your face pushed into the pillows and body pinned to the bed as he takes you in whichever dark way he may desire. If he is in more of a romantic mood, he takes it slower, deeper, more sensual, wrapped up in each other's bodies. Usually slow and sensual, but loses his mind sometimes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He always needs you, so whenever and wherever possible. In great hallways in between his meetings with the King, pushed up against the wall (something he had been thinking of doing the entire meeting beforehand. In the gardens in a little secluded corner you know, shushing each other to be quiet between giggles and low moans.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If he isn't busy with work, Elrond is always down for a quickie. So, you have both taken a lot of risks in your time with regard to location. He was a bit cautious when you first got together about experimentation, but he has become (very) open with time. Elrond just wants to make you happy, and he will do nearly anything to make that happen.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Elves, y'all… The lot of them have the stamina of the Valar, so you happen to be of a race with any less endurance, then good luck… Elrond is no different: bouncing with boundless energy, ready to go again with very little rest time. He can go all night long. Insatiable.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't believe his own personal collection would be vast before getting together with you; his primary possession a small metal vibe he teases himself with to thoughts of you. However, he is excited to delve into your own collection, eager to find out what you like and don't like, and which he could persuade you to use on him. He never expected he would ever react like this, but the moment you mentioned it, it lit a fire in him... and so did those nipple clamps he found at the bottom of your box.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He dishes it out but he can't take it. You really both drive each other insane. Private whispers of dirty promises just before he is called away by Gil-galad, or intentionally low-cut robes that make him choke on air when you bend over - you are both insufferable.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's so loud, he just can't help himself. He gets lost in you and your body that he sometimes forgets he's making noises at all. Loud moans all the time, and delicate whimpers when you climb on top of him. But this transforms into low, feral growls when he is jealous or angry, his animalistic and possessive side coming out. Also, no one in the whole of Middle Earth can stop this man's constant dirty talk whispered in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I don't think Elrond had done a lot of anal play before meeting you. He had experiemented with himself, fingering himself with breathless gasps in the confines of his chambers. But never particularly with other people; he had always been more of a giver than a taker. It intrigued him, and you helped to bring him into the light. You started slow, trying to relax his nervous trembling, but soon he was thrusting back against you or the toy, eyes glossed over as you hit the just the right spot again and again. Now, it is a frequent feature of your nightlife together, where he can embrace his little subby side and let go to complete pleasure.

"Please, my love, more, I need more. Fuck. I need you so bad, please give me more, I can take it. I love you. Please."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is not the longest, but has a fair girth and is slightly curved up in just the right way to make you see stars.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Definitely high. He's so in love. He will physically tell himself to calm it before meetings with the High King (more frequently than he'd like to admit), and then he is able to stay focussed on the job at hand. But when he is writing speeches - and ultimately calm in his beloved art - he can start to feel his mind wandering to you. All the strength in his body is needed to make sure all his work is finished before running off to find you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he has taken of you thoroughly, Elrond gets very sleepy. He tries his best to engage in pillow talk with you, but soon his eyes start to flutter close - not without them leaving your beautiful face.

#elrond #elrond peredhel #lord elrond #elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond peredhel x reader #lord of the rings #rings of power #smut headcanons #a-z smut headcanons #smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #gender neutral reader #reader insert #lotr #elrond smut #elrond imagine #fanfic

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cl0udy3 · 4 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

ellie williams x dina's sister!reader (pt2) basically just angst ; MAYBE some fluff literally dina is a homewrecker except there was no home to wreck; reader and ellie drift apart; reader uses jesse as rebound of sorts, he knows and is also doing the same; idk what else wc: 10016 a/n: i saw someone asked for a happy ending but i refuse.......... something about this feels mid but whatever i think its done! also not thoroughly proofread i just skimmed it!! ✩ pt1 | pt3

The last of the party fades with the golden-pink haze of evening.

Empty plates and glasses are stacked near the sink. Candles burn low, flickering soft light across faces you love. Tommy’s already wandered home with Maria, and Jesse promised to help clean but vanished an hour ago after someone convinced him to “check the stereo” and never returned. You don’t mind. The house is still full of life—laughter echoing down the hallway, your sister snacking on leftovers with a plate in one hand and a beer in the other.

You catch Ellie’s eye from across the room, and for a moment, it’s like it always is. Just the two of you in a crowded space.

She lifts her chin, subtle, like she’s saying c’mon, and you follow without a word.

Outside, the air’s crisp. Cool enough to make you rub your hands together as you step onto the porch, settling into the familiar creak of the wooden bench. Ellie’s already leaning against the railing, cigarette half-smoked between her fingers, gaze tilted up toward the stars.

You let out a breath, slow and tired in the best kind of way.

“Think that counts as a successful birthday?”

You grin without looking at Ellie. “No one cried. Nothing caught on fire. Pretty solid, honestly.”

She laughs lightly, nudging your boot with hers. “High bar, huh?”

“It’s Jackson. You never know.”

The silence that follows is easy. Comfortable. Familiar.

You watch the sky with her. The stars, scattered like dust. Somewhere down the street, a guitar strums a lazy melody. Laughter trails off into the dark. You lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes for a second.

“This was nice,” you say softly.

Ellie nods. “Yeah. You deserved it.”

You open your eyes again, glance at her. She’s watching you now. The kind of look that feels like it could unravel you if you let it.

You don’t say the thing you want to. The thank you for taking care of me. The I want this to be just us, forever.

You’re about to look away when the door creaks open behind you.

Dina steps out, a little out of breath, a new jacket slung around her shoulders.

“Damn,” she says, flopping into the empty seat beside you. “It’s cold.”

You straighten slightly. “Thought you went to grab dessert.”

“Got distracted. Joel was telling me about the time you tried to ride his horse drunk.”

Ellie snorts. “That story again?”

“It’s a good one,” Dina says, grinning between you both.

She’s warm. And charming. And she hasn’t been around in so long, it feels wrong to feel anything other than grateful she’s back.

You smile, even if it feels a little thin.

Conversation drifts between the three of you. You and Ellie trade looks, but now Dina’s part of it too—her laughter like bells, easy and light. At one point, Ellie says something that makes her laugh so hard she leans against her arm, brushing her shoulder.

Ellie doesn’t move.

You notice.

You tell yourself not to.

Later, when the stars are a little brighter and your limbs feel heavy with the slow ache of healing, you glance at Ellie again.

She’s still smiling. But it’s not at you.

***

The greenhouse was one of your favorite places in Jackson—quiet, warm, full of life. You and Ellie had come for supplies, hands full of bags and tools. Dina had tagged along too, claiming she needed to stretch her legs. You were getting used to her being around again, especially after she’d been gone so long.

The place smelled like earth and growth, the kind of scent that settled your nerves. Light streamed through the glass panes above like a soft promise, giving everything a warm, greenish glow. It was nice, really. A quiet morning. The three of you working together.

You smiled when you caught sight of Dina pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with plants, her usual easy grin tugging one from you too.

“Didn’t think you’d be the greenhouse type,” you said, trying to keep things light.

“Eh, I’m not,” Dina replied with a shrug. “But I need something to do while you two talk about god-knows-what.”

Ellie snorted beside you, shoving a crate into place. “You’re just mad because we keep talking about shit you don’t get.”

Dina raised an eyebrow. “Uh, excuse me? I get more than you think. You can talk about whatever you want, as long as I get to avoid it.” She winked dramatically, and you laughed at the back and forth.

You and Ellie had spent so many moments like this—quiet, unspoken connection tucked into the gaps of easy conversation. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the steady presence of your sister until now. It wasn’t like you were jealous, exactly. It just felt like things were shifting. That the rhythm of your friendship with Ellie—something that once felt private, sacred—was now shared.

But it didn’t feel bad.

No, it felt... natural. Like a reunion of sorts. A reconnection.

You felt at peace as you worked alongside them, carrying tools, gathering plants. The tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding these past few weeks slowly unwound. Dina kept the energy light, joking often, her voice a small breeze in a heavy world.

“Hey, you two need help with those?” she asked, coming over just as you were shifting a stack of crates.

You nodded, but before you could speak, Ellie grinned. “Yeah—just don’t break anything.”

Her voice had that same playful edge you’d heard a hundred times before.

It was easy. Familiar.

You were used to this—the three of you working together, laughing, passing the time. The change hadn’t settled in yet. Not in a way that felt threatening.

Still, you caught yourself watching Ellie.

The way she handed Dina a tool without needing to be asked. How she stood a little closer when they worked side by side. It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything worth reading into.

You shook it off.

It wasn’t the first time Ellie and Dina had spent time together. And there was no reason it should feel strange now.

Later that evening, after the greenhouse, everyone ended up at your place for a movie night. You’d invited Dina—it had been a while since you two had just hung out, and now that she was finally home, you wanted to include her. It made sense.

You and Ellie had done nights like this before. Curled up on the couch, watching old tapes, laughing at the worst ones. Close, but not too close. Comfortable. Safe.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the new dynamic. Maybe it was the way Dina laughed a little louder, the way Ellie looked at her when she did. Maybe it was just you.

You stepped outside to grab snacks from the porch freezer, Dina beside you, laughing at something you barely heard. Her voice was warm. Familiar. Yours.

And then the door swung open before either of you could knock.

Ellie stood in the doorway, grinning. “I could hear y’all from a mile away.”

Her eyes sparkled in a way that made something in your chest twist.

Dina laughed too, brushing your shoulder. Ellie rolled her eyes playfully and leaned against the frame, like this was all normal.

You watched them—how Ellie’s posture softened around her. How Dina’s eyes lingered just a little longer than they used to.

The realization nearly came, but you pushed it down.

Inside, Ellie dropped onto the couch and patted the cushion next to her—the one you’d normally take. But Dina slid into the spot before you could move.

You paused. Just for a second.

Then you crossed the room and sat in the chair instead. Told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were imagining things.

It was just a movie night.

Just a movie night.

They laughed a lot. Ellie leaned a little too close. Their shoulders touched and neither of them moved.

But that didn’t mean anything.

You told yourself you were tired. Still healing. Emotions running high.

You watched the movie in pieces. Your eyes flicking more toward them than the screen. Told yourself you were just zoning out.

Dina left halfway through the second movie, stretching and saying something about crashing early.

Ellie offered to walk her out, but Dina waved her off. “It’s five houses. I’ll live.”

You stood beside Ellie at the door while Dina zipped up her jacket. She gave you both a hug, then disappeared into the dark.

The door closed. Quiet settled over the house again—the kind of quiet you used to love.

Ellie flopped back onto the couch and patted the now-empty cushion beside her.

“You staying?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. If that’s cool.”

“‘Course it is,” she said, like nothing had changed.

You curled up beside her, blanket shared between you. Familiar. Safe.

But even then, the distance lingered.

She clicked through a few channels, settled on something neither of you cared about. Somewhere along the way, she dozed off—arm slung over her eyes, breathing soft.

You lay there, still.

Awake.

The flicker of the screen danced across her face. You watched the way her lashes rested against her cheek. The way her mouth relaxed in sleep.

And you wondered—quietly, selfishly—if she was dreaming about you.

Or if she was dreaming about Dina.

You told yourself it was probably nothing.

You saw Ellie the next morning, boots kicked up on the back porch of the Tipsy Bison, an arm crossed behind her head, a cigarette tucked between her fingers like always.

She looked up when you walked by, squinting against the light, and gave you that lazy grin. The one that always curled at the corner slower than the rest of her mouth, like she was still deciding whether or not to smile at all.

“Hey,” she called.

You crossed the gravel path toward her, your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

She shrugged, flicking ash over the side of the porch. “Didn’t sleep much.”

You didn’t ask. She’d tell you if it mattered.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Duh,” she said, nudging a crate with her boot so you could settle beside her. The cold seeped through the wood, made your thighs stiff, but you didn’t move. It was one of those mornings where everything was a little too quiet—fog clinging to the fence posts, the town still half-asleep.

Ellie offered you the cigarette, and you took it without thinking, even though you hated the taste. She knew. She didn’t say anything about it.

“Think they’ll make us do another run today?” you asked.

“Hope not.” She pulled her hoodie tighter around her neck. “I wanna just sit around and draw stupid shit all day.”

You smiled. “That’s the dream.”

The silence stretched comfortably for a few minutes—two people used to sharing space without needing to fill it.

Then Dina’s voice cut through the calm. “They said you might be back here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see her coming up the steps, hair braided loose, cheeks pink from the cold. Ellie straightened a little, flicking the cigarette off the edge of the porch.

“You missed out yesterday,” she said. “Joel tried to fix the generator and nearly lit himself up.”

Dina grinned as she dropped onto the other side of Ellie. “You always get the good stories.”

Ellie laughed, a short, surprised thing. “That’s ‘cause I’m the one who causes them.”

You smiled too, but it felt… smaller this time. You shifted in your seat, listening to their voices mix together like something new. And you told yourself it was good—really, it was good. Dina was back. Things were settling again.

You just weren’t sure where you fit now.

A few days later, you and Ellie were assigned a short patrol through the north woods.

It was cold, brittle morning light filtering through bare branches, frost crunching underfoot. You both moved with quiet familiarity, weapons slung over your backs, conversation light but steady.

You liked these mornings best—where nothing had to be explained.

When you reached a clearing, Ellie paused. The frost-glazed field stretched out before you, dotted with the stubborn remains of wildflowers clinging to life.

She crouched, brushing her fingers over one. “Look at this one. Still trying.”

You tilted your head. “Resilient little bastard.”

Ellie laughed softly and plucked it with care. “Reminds me of you.”

You blinked. “Because it’s almost dead?”

She tossed a glance at you. “Because it’s annoying.”

“Ah. Very flattering.”

She handed you the flower anyway. The stem was thin, fragile between your fingers. Still warm from her hand.

You tucked it into your coat pocket without thinking.

“Don’t lose it,” she murmured.

Later, while repacking supplies near the gate, you caught a glimpse of Ellie pulling another flower from her bag. Not the same as yours, but close. She wrapped the stem gently in a scrap of cloth.

She didn’t say anything about it, and neither did you.

Maybe it was just for her sketchbook. Maybe it was for someone else.

You didn’t ask. It was probably nothing.

You found Dina one afternoon in the stables, her sleeves rolled up, straw in her hair, brushing down a restless mare.

You leaned on the half-door of the stall. “Didn’t think I’d find you in here.”

Dina looked up, flashing a tired grin. “Swapped shifts. I missed the horses.”

You wrinkled your nose. “They smell.”

“Yeah, but they don’t talk back.”

You stepped inside anyway, hands in your pockets, the warm, earthy smell filling your lungs. The horse snorted and shuffled a few steps.

Dina patted its side. “You ever think about taking one out for a few days? Just riding and not coming back for a while?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “Wouldn’t get far, though. Someone’d probably come dragging me back.”

Dina chuckled. “Ellie would. She’s got good aim.”

You paused. “Guess she would.”

You helped her sweep the stable floor, falling into that easy rhythm of sistership. It felt nice. Familiar.

Then Dina asked, almost too casually, “You and Ellie do movie nights, right?”

You glanced up. “Yeah. Sometimes. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering. I’ve got a few reels Jesse gave me. Thought I might drop 'em off sometime.”

You nodded, brushing away the way your chest felt suddenly tight. “She’d probably like that.”

Dina smiled and didn’t say anything else.

A couple nights later, you were helping Ellie sketch.

She was cross-legged on the floor, journal in her lap, surrounded by balled-up papers. You were stretched across her bed with a book, pointing out shapes she could practice.

“Try this one,” you said. “The petals are weird.”

She peered over, eyebrow raised. “You and your weird-ass flowers.”

“They have personality.”

“They look like moldy cupcakes.”

You laughed. It was easy, familiar.

Music played softly in the background. Something instrumental and slow. Ellie’s pencil moved across the page, light and steady.

Then the door creaked open, and Dina poked her head in.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry—didn’t know you were in the middle of something.”

Ellie looked up. “It’s fine. Come in.”

Dina hesitated, then stepped back. “Just had something to drop off. I’ll catch you later.”

“You sure?” Ellie stood halfway up, eyes following her to the hall.

“Yeah,” Dina said, already halfway down the stairs.

The door clicked shut.

You glanced at Ellie. She was still standing there, staring at the empty doorway.

Then she sat back down, too fast, and picked up her pencil again.

Neither of you said anything.

But the music felt louder now.

***

The first time you really noticed it, it was in the way Ellie lit her cigarette.

You were walking back from a late patrol, boots caked in half-dried mud, dusk stretching long shadows across the road. You were tired in that bone-deep kind of way, the kind that made conversation harder, footsteps heavier. But you’d stayed close anyway, bumping shoulders now and then, trading short glances. Just enough to remind each other you were there.

When you reached the porch, Ellie leaned against the railing like she always did, pulled out her lighter and tapped the edge of the cigarette pack with one practiced flick.

Only this time—before she lit it—she glanced at it, held it between her fingers with this thoughtful kind of pause, and smiled.

Smiled.

Not at you. Not at anything.

Just at a thought she didn’t share.

You sat beside her, like always, pretending not to notice.

But your stomach sank anyway.

You didn’t say anything, just stared out at the darkening town while the smoke curled up into the soft orange light. You tried to tell yourself she was probably remembering a joke. Or a story. Something old. Something irrelevant.

But she didn’t offer to share it. And you didn’t ask.

Another time, it was her laugh.

You were helping string up lanterns outside the main hall for some upcoming dinner. A thank-you party, or a welcome party. You couldn’t remember. Just that your hands were cold, your arms were sore, and Ellie was standing across from you on the opposite ladder, making dumb comments to keep you both from getting bored.

You were smiling, genuinely, and she was mid-sentence when Dina wandered up from the far side of the lawn.

“Hey,” Dina called. “What the hell are you two doing? That’s crooked.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the supervision.”

Dina grinned and stepped up beside Ellie’s ladder, tipping her chin up to get a better view of your shoddy knot-tying.

And Ellie laughed.

Not the small kind. Not the quiet huff she gave you when you made a stupid pun or muttered something under your breath.

This was different. Louder. Unfiltered. Her head tilted back a little, the kind of laugh that slipped out like it surprised her too.

You froze halfway through tying your rope.

It was stupid. It was just a laugh.

But still, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching the way Ellie was looking at Dina when she did it. Like something in her had relaxed.

Later, when you were coiling up the leftover string lights and Dina had gone off to grab food for the crew, Ellie bumped your shoulder and muttered, “We should make you the official lantern person.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’ve got the most unstable knots I’ve ever seen. It's impressive.”

You forced a chuckle. “It’s a skill.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach the place it used to. And you didn’t know if that was you imagining things.

But you couldn’t stop imagining anyway.

A week later, you were sent on patrol with Jesse and not Ellie.

It wasn’t a big deal. You’d all been rotated out a hundred times before. But this time… this time when you saw Ellie waiting at the gate, she was already leaning against the horse Dina had taken out earlier.

They were talking. Close. Quiet. Not quite laughing, but Ellie was smiling in that low, private kind of way. The kind you hadn’t seen since the first few weeks after Dina came back.

When she saw you approaching, her smile didn’t drop. It didn’t change at all.

“Guess I’m stuck with Jesse today,” you said lightly.

Ellie didn’t meet your eyes right away. “Jesse’s not that bad.”

“Wow. Praise from the queen herself.”

That got a snort. But it wasn’t the kind that warmed your chest like it used to.

Dina gave you a smile. A friendly one. You returned it without hesitation, because it wasn’t her fault, after all. She was just your sister.

You just didn’t like the way you were starting to feel like a third person in your own space.

When Jesse came up behind you and nodded toward the gate, you followed him without looking back.

But you heard Ellie laugh at something Dina said behind you.

And this time, you didn’t pretend not to notice.

That night, you tried to convince yourself you were just being sensitive.

You and Ellie ended up back at her place, both tired and sore and too wound up to sleep. You stayed up playing cards by candlelight, the electricity flickering on and off like it always did during heavy winds.

For a little while, it felt like old times. Just the two of you. Your hands brushing when you reached for the same card, her teasing you about your terrible strategy, you flicking a crumpled wrapper at her when she called your bluff.

It was fine. Good, even.

But then she paused mid-shuffle and said, “Dina said she used to cheat at this game. Said she figured out how to count cards when she was like ten.”

You looked up.

Ellie wasn’t smiling. Not really. Just thinking. Maybe remembering something she hadn’t told you. Maybe picturing something you weren’t part of.

You reached for your drink. “She tell you that today?”

Ellie nodded. “At the gate.”

You looked down at your cards again.

Played your next move in silence.

***

It’s been a few days since you started pulling away. You can’t really pinpoint when the shift happened—it was gradual at first, almost imperceptible. But now, it feels like something is missing whenever Ellie and Dina are around. You still spend time together, the three of you, but it’s different. There’s a distance that’s settled between you and Ellie that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but notice the way they speak to each other now, how much more they lean toward each other, laugh louder with each other, and talk about things you’re not a part of.

Tonight, the feeling is even more suffocating. You’re in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner, when you hear their voices drift from the living room.

“I was thinking we could head out to that lookout tomorrow, you know, the one up north,” Ellie’s voice sounds almost too casual, but there’s an undertone of something else. Something closer. More familiar.

Dina’s voice follows. “Yeah, sounds good. We could grab breakfast at the diner, too.”

You freeze, the dish you’re washing forgotten in your hands. Your breath catches in your throat.

You know they’re friends. You know it shouldn’t matter. But this feels… different. No mention of you. No glance toward the kitchen where you’re standing. No acknowledgment that maybe you’d want to go too.

And just like that, the reality starts to settle in like a stone in your chest.

They don’t need to say your name to make it obvious you aren’t invited.

Ellie and Dina are making plans without you.

They don’t even know you’re listening—but the silence that fills the kitchen after their words hangs like a heavy weight in the air. You try to shake it off. Tell yourself it’s nothing. Just two friends hanging out.

But it doesn’t sit right. And it stings more than you expected it to.

You leave the kitchen and step out onto the porch, trying to clear your head. Trying to breathe around the tightness in your chest. You want to say something. To ask why. To make it not feel like this.

But you don’t. You don’t want to seem like you’re overreacting.

So you stay quiet.

And let the ache sit.

The next day, Ellie and Dina are waiting on the porch, ready to head out. You’d talked to them for a bit. But something feels off. Something in the way they glance at each other before looking at you.

Ellie’s the one who speaks first, voice a little too casual, a little too bright.

“Hey, you wanna come with us? We’re gonna head out in a bit. Thought you might want to join.”

You look at her.

Her eyes seem softer than usual. Unsure. Like she’s trying not to show she’s already decided how this day will go.

“Yeah,” you say, even though your chest tightens. “I’ll go. Give me a sec.”

You step inside. Grab your bag from upstairs.

And stare at the bed for too long.

The blankets are still tangled from the night before. The sunlight cuts across the floor in a way that makes everything look too quiet. Too still.

It would be easy to stay here.

Too easy.

You move to the window. Glance out. Ellie and Dina are talking, backs turned to you, closer than you expected. Smiling at something you’ll never know.

They don’t notice you watching them.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Wait. Think.

Minutes pass.

You glance at the clock.

You already said you’d come. But your legs don’t move.

They’ll be fine without you.

They already are.

You hear them downstairs—Ellie’s voice, soft and joking, and Dina’s laugh echoing close behind it. The sound used to make you feel warm. Now it makes your stomach uneasy.

You were supposed to go with them.

You’d said you would.

Instead, you stay holed up in your room when you said you were going to get ready.

You don’t slam the door. Don’t stomp your way out. Just disappear quietly, bag still packed, shoes still by the door.

By the time Ellie knocks on the door to you room, your blankets are already wrapped around you, your body curled in tight, your face pressed toward the wall.

“Hey,” she says through the door. “We’re leaving in ten. You ready?”

You wait a beat, then croak back a response—carefully strained, just hoarse enough.

“Not feeling great.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for you to picture her standing there, frowning.

“You sick?”

You hesitate. “My side’s acting up. Feels like the stitches might’ve pulled.”

Another pause.

You know she doesn’t believe you.

But all she says is, “Okay. Get some rest, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hear her footsteps move down the hall. Then another voice, lower—Jesse’s.

You can’t make out the words, but you hear Ellie respond, quiet.

Then the door closes behind them.

You close your eyes and try not to feel like a coward.

Jesse knocks later that morning. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… there.

You don’t answer right away, but eventually you sigh and walk downstairs only to crack the door open.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the frame, hands in his jacket pockets. “Ellie asked me to check on you. Said you weren’t feelin’ great.”

You nod once. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He studies you for a second, not pushing. Then tilts his head toward the hallway.

“Wanna go for a walk? Just around the block. Get some fresh air and all that.”

You hesitate. You’re still in your sleep clothes. Your hair’s a mess. But the idea of staying in this room another second makes your chest ache.

So you nod.

You don’t say much at first as you walk—just the crunch of gravel underfoot and the soft rustle of wind through bare trees. Jackson is quieter in the mornings. The streets still waking up, the air still cold.

Eventually, Jesse breaks the silence.

“So,” he says. “Ellie and Dina, huh?”

You snort, bitter. “Subtle.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got eyes.”

You glance over at him. “You okay?”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Define okay.”

You walk a little further, the quiet stretching between you.

“I don’t even think they realize what they’re doing,” you say finally.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s the worst part, isn’t it?”

You stop near the old porch by the trading post. The one where you used to sit with Ellie. You lower yourself onto the steps, careful with your side, and Jesse sits beside you.

“I keep telling myself I’m reading into it,” you murmur. “That it’s nothing. That they’re just friends. But it feels like… like she’s slipping away from me. And I can’t stop it.”

Jesse’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Dina and I ended for a reason. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Watching her look at someone else like that.”

You nod, eyes on the frost-glazed railing in front of you. “She used to look at me like that.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just sits with you, shoulder brushing yours.

After a while, you look over at him. “Do you ever wish you could just… forget how it felt? Before?”

Jesse exhales. “Yeah. Every day.”

You both sit there in silence. It’s not comforting. Not exactly. But it’s understanding—a quiet, heavy ache that neither of you has to explain.

He doesn’t reach for your hand. You don’t lean into him.

But something shifts between you anyway.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something.

After Jesse leaves your at home that day, you don’t leave the house for two more.

You tell Maria you’re still not feeling well. That the wound in your side aches more than usual. She doesn’t push. You’re grateful for that.

But really, the wound had healed enough for you to live normally a week ago, so it wasn’t pain. It’s the ache somewhere further in. Somewhere you can’t bandage.

You think about Ellie and Dina, the way their voices had sounded in the living room. The softness. The comfort. The ease.

You think about how Ellie used to sound like that with you.

You try not to let it feel like betrayal. They never promised you anything. But it’s hard not to resent how easy it was for Ellie to drift from your orbit into someone else's.

Harder still not to resent yourself for letting her go without saying anything.

Every time you imagine her looking at Dina the way she used to look at you, something inside your chest pulls tight. You want to scream, or cry, or disappear—but you just lie there instead. Motionless under too many blankets.

By the third day, you finally leave.

But you're not ready to see Ellie. You can’t. Not yet.

So you go looking for Jesse.

He’s sitting outside the stables, sharpening his knife with that quiet focus he always has. He glances up when he hears your boots.

“Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

You give him a half-smile. “You got room for a recluse?”

He pats the spot beside him, and you sit.

For a while, you say nothing. The knife scrapes softly over the whetstone, rhythmic and familiar. The sounds of Jackson move around you—voices, wind, the creak of a barn door. But here, next to him, it feels like a small, safe corner of the world.

Eventually, you speak.

“She’s with her now.”

Jesse doesn't ask who. He just nods once, still sharpening. “Yeah.”

“I feel like I’m watching someone get picked second in a race I didn’t know I entered.”

Jesse exhales slowly through his nose. “You think that’s bad, try being the guy who did come first, and still lost her.”

You glance at him.

He finally sets the knife down, rubbing his thumb across the blade like he’s not even sure what he’s feeling.

“She loved me once,” he says. “I really think she did. But I guess it just ran out. Maybe it wasn’t enough. Or maybe I wasn’t.”

You stare at your hands. “Do you think we’re just... placeholders?”

“For what?”

“For people who are braver than we are.”

Jesse doesn’t answer.

Instead, he offers you his flask.

You take a sip, wincing. It burns. You pass it back.

It becomes a thing.

It wasn’t meant to be anything.

Just another night where you ended up at Jesse’s because the silence in your own house was too loud. You’d both had long days, and somehow—somehow—it just felt easier to be around someone who didn’t ask too many questions.

The two of you sat on the porch, sharing the last of a bottle of something you didn’t recognize, watching the stars blink above Jackson’s skyline.

“She laughs different now,” Jesse murmured. “Dina. When she’s with Ellie.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes on the stars. “I think I used to make her laugh like that.”

You didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, “Ellie doesn’t look at me the way she looks at her.”

Jesse passed you an old bottle of whiskey. You took a long sip, coughing after the heat of the alcohol slips down your throat.

“You know what sucks?” he said after a moment. “They don’t even realize what they’re doing.”

You smiled, but it was bitter. “That’s what makes it worse.”

At some point, you ended up leaning against him. At some point, your head dropped to his shoulder. You didn’t remember when. Only that his breath was steady, his arm warm where it rested behind your back.

He didn’t try to kiss you.

You kind of wished he had.

It had become a sort of routine to hang out with Jesse now. Almost like what you and Ellie had. Almost. You woke up on his couch, wrapped in a blanket you didn’t remember pulling over yourself. Jesse was already up, sitting on the floor with a bowl of cereal and watching an old movie on mute.

“You snore,” he said, glancing over.

You made a face. “You lie.”

He grinned. “A little.”

You sat beside him on the floor, shoulder to shoulder again, sharing the silence.

It wasn’t romantic. Not really.

But there was something there. A tether. A shared ache. Something that made you feel less alone, even if it wasn’t love.

Jesse offered you the spoon.

You took it.

Over the next week, you started spending more time at Jesse’s place. Not because you were trying to build something, but because you didn’t know where else to go.

It had been one of those days.

You’d spotted Ellie and Dina by the gates earlier—laughing about something, heads tilted close. The kind of closeness that didn’t need explanation anymore. The kind that used to be yours, at least in part, before everything changed.

They didn’t see you watching. Or maybe they did and just didn’t call out.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You ended up at Jesse’s without even thinking about it.

He opened the door and didn’t ask any questions. Just stepped aside, like he always did, like you belonged there.

You sat on his couch with a drink you didn’t finish, legs curled up beneath you, jacket still on. Jesse sat beside you, close but not too close, elbows resting on his knees, eyes on the floor.

It was quiet for a while.

Then Jesse spoke. “You ever feel like you’re grieving something that never even happened?”

You blinked, startled by the words, but they landed too neatly in your chest for you to dismiss them.

“Yeah,” you said. “All the time.”

He didn’t look at you, but his voice was softer now. “I used to think Dina was my person, you know? Like even if we didn’t make it, she’d still… be mine in some way.”

You nodded. “And now she’s not.”

He looked at you finally. “And now Ellie’s not yours.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You stared at each other for a beat too long. The kind of pause that’s filled with all the things neither of you wants to admit out loud. All the things you’ve both been carrying quietly, side by side.

You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was both of you at the same time. Maybe it had been building since that first night when you stayed over and the two of you sat shoulder-to-shoulder under a shared silence and a frayed blanket of hurt.

His mouth met yours with a kind of careful hesitation, like he wasn’t sure this was a good idea but couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

The kiss was slow. Warm. It didn’t spark fireworks behind your eyes or set your skin on fire. But it settled something in you. Quieted the noise. Filled the space, just for a moment.

You sighed into it, and Jesse’s hand cupped the side of your jaw like he meant it. Like maybe he needed it just as much.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his.

Neither of you said anything.

Because you both knew it wasn’t about falling in love.

It was about needing someone to see you. To understand what it meant to be left behind.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

That night, you didn’t sleep well.

Jesse’s couch wasn’t exactly made for two, but somehow you both stayed there—limbs tangled beneath a fuzzy blanket, his hand resting lightly on your hip, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that but didn’t want to move.

You were the first to wake.

The light slipping through the slats of the blinds painted pale stripes across the hardwood. His breathing was slow and steady beside you, lips slightly parted, hair tousled from sleep.

It should’ve felt strange.

But it didn’t.

Not really.

Instead, it felt like something inevitable. Like reaching for a jacket you knew would still smell like home, even if it didn’t quite fit right anymore.

You stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about the night before—the kiss, the silence afterward, the way neither of you had tried to explain it. You didn’t want to.

It wasn’t about love. Not yet. Not ever.

But it was something.

It was someone choosing you, even in the smallest way. And right now, that was more than you’d had in a long time.

After the kiss, you didn’t talk about it. Didn’t need to because things just… changed.

You stayed over more. Jesse started bringing you extra rations without asking. You found a scarf of his in your coat pocket one morning and didn’t bother to return it.

He walked you home a few nights later, said goodnight a little too softly, eyes lingering. You kissed him again. No buildup. No hesitation. Just comfort wrapped in someone else’s mouth.

There weren’t labels. No official “thing.” But he’d touch the back of your hand when you stood too close. He started saving you a seat at the Tipsy Bison. He started showing up at your patrol gate early—quiet, patient, waiting.

It didn’t take long before people noticed.

You heard them first in passing. Quiet remarks over drinks. A few raised brows at the trading post. Nothing cruel, just… curious.

“She’s with Jesse now?”

“They seem close, huh?”

“Didn’t he used to date her sister?”

Jackson was small. Words traveled faster than horses. But you didn’t confirm or deny anything. Neither did Jesse. You didn’t have to.

You didn’t owe anyone that.

Still, when Ellie found you behind the stables that afternoon—alone, finally, after three days of the two of you skirting around each other—you knew it was coming.

The stable yard was quiet that evening—overcast and still, the kind of sky that made everything feel heavier than it was. You were brushing down one of the horses, not because you had to, but because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands anymore.

You heard Ellie before you saw her. That familiar shuffle of boots on gravel. The slight hitch in her breath, like she wasn’t sure she should be here at all.

You didn’t look up.

“Is it true?” she said, voice steady but low. “You and Jesse?”

You slowed your brush, thumb pressing into the horse’s neck before you finally turned.

She was standing a few feet away, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes on the ground. Like even asking the question had taken something out of her.

You shrugged. “I guess.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed. “You guess?”

“It’s not a secret,” you said. “People are talking.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not what I meant.”

You leaned back against the stall, arms crossed. “Then what did you mean?”

Ellie looked at you then—really looked. Her gaze sharp but unsure, like she was trying to read something in your face that you weren’t letting her see.

“I just... didn’t expect it to be him.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Shrugged. “You two didn’t seem like…”

“Like what?” you pressed.

Ellie exhaled, frustrated. “Like each other’s type.”

That made something twist in your chest.

You gave a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe we’re just the right kind of wrong.”

She looked down again. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and fraying.

You swallowed. “He gets it, you know?”

Ellie looked up, eyebrows pulling together.

“He listens,” you said. “Doesn’t try to fix anything. Doesn’t make it complicated.”

Ellie was quiet for a beat. Then: “It’s just... weird, I guess.”

“Weird?” you repeated.

“You and him. Together. After everything.”

You nodded slowly, gaze slipping away. “A lot of things feel weird lately.”

Ellie shifted on her feet. “So... are you happy?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched the horse flick its ears, unbothered.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m trying to be.”

Ellie didn’t say anything after that.

She just stood there for another moment, like she was waiting for something else—something you weren’t going to give her. Then she gave a quick nod, almost to herself, and turned to leave.

You watched her go, throat tight. The weight of everything unspoken hanging thick in the air behind her.

Not angry. Not sad.

Just... unfinished.

And maybe that was the worst part.

A week later you had patrol with Ellie again.

It was one of those warm spring mornings where the frost had finally given up and the air smelled like wet grass and fresh pine. You and Ellie were back on patrol together for the first time in weeks. Not part of a larger group. Not squeezed into a three-person team with Dina. Just the two of you again. Like before.

You tried not to read into it.

Tried not to let it mean more than it did.

Your horses clopped along the worn trail that wound past the edge of Jackson’s outer perimeter. Birdsong hummed through the trees. No infected, no alerts, no talking for the first hour.

Just quiet.

Then Ellie spoke, her voice low. “Kinda forgot what this feels like.”

You glanced over. “What?”

“This. Just us.”

You shrugged, but there was a smile trying to sneak its way across your face. “Yeah. Me too.”

She glanced at you sideways. “You’ve been... quiet lately.”

“Noticed that, huh?”

Ellie smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I notice a lot.”

You didn’t say anything. Just kept your eyes on the trail.

She clicked her tongue, nudging her horse ahead slightly. “You mad at me?”

That stopped you. You pulled your horse up next to hers again.

“No,” you said. Too fast. Then, quieter: “I don’t think so.”

She nodded, slow. “Okay.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t as heavy this time.

Later, you both stopped by a shallow creek to refill your canteens. She sat on a flat rock, rolling a blade of grass between her fingers. You crouched nearby, watching the current twist through smooth stones.

“I miss this,” she said eventually, voice barely above the wind.

You didn’t ask what she meant. Because you knew.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

And for a little while, it felt like nothing had changed.

You talked. You laughed. She nudged your boot with hers while you passed the last protein bar back and forth like old times.

It didn’t fix anything.

But it dulled the ache. Just for a little while.

when you both returned, Maria informed you of your chores for the next day: Sorting the old clothes in the community center. Jesse also had to help.

The morning light poured into the community center through slanted windows, catching the dust in slow, gold streaks. You and Jesse sat on the floor surrounded by half-sorted piles of clothes, tasked with organizing donations for the upcoming festival. There were jackets, skirts, a few things too moth-eaten to be worth keeping, and someone’s tragic attempt at sewing lace into a pair of jeans.

Ellie showed up late, as usual—damp curls still clinging to her temples from a rushed shower, sleeves pushed up, boots scuffed and muddy.

“No way you’re actually helping,” you said when she wandered in.

She raised her eyebrows. “I come bearing sarcasm and zero work ethic. You should be honored.”

You smirked, tossing her a wrinkled flannel that hit her in the face. She caught it and plopped down beside Jesse, already picking through the nearest pile.

After a minute or two, she spoke up. “So... I heard Maria's pulling the whole dance thing together again.”

You looked up from where you were folding a denim jacket. “Thought that was off this year.”

Ellie shrugged. “Guess they changed their minds. ‘Celebrate survival,’ or whatever.”

Jesse made a face, holding up a dress with sequins dangling off it. “Guess I better bust out my party vest.”

Ellie smirked, but then her eyes flicked to you. “You going?”

You hesitated, folding slower. “Maybe.”

She nodded. “You should.”

Her voice was even. Too even. You couldn’t tell if it meant anything or if you just wanted it to.

Jesse gave you a little nudge with his elbow, a quiet nudge like he was watching the way you watched her.

Ellie’s gaze didn’t linger. She went back to the clothes pile, like she hadn’t just left something behind in the air between you.

A few more dys passed like a blur. That’s how most days passed now that Ellie was hanging out with you less and less.

You left your house in the morning to take a walk, maybe catch up with Jesse since he was sort of your boyfriend. A day like any normalish one.

The sun was high and hot when you got sidetracked. Ended up making your way to the training field, notebook tucked under your arm. You told yourself you were there to write, maybe clear your head. But the real reason was already swinging a wooden staff at your sister.

Dina and Ellie were sparring near the fence line, kicking up dust as they circled each other. Ellie laughed when Dina faked left and struck right, catching her lightly on the ribs.

You sat on the grass, pretending to focus on your notebook. The pages stayed mostly blank.

Jesse found you a few minutes later, dropped down beside you with a sigh and a grunt. “They’ve been at it all morning. Bet you five ration slips Dina ends up with a bruise.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m not betting against Dina. That’s a death wish.”

Dina won the next round with a low sweep that knocked Ellie on her ass. They both laughed—loud and breathless—and Ellie offered her hand from the ground, which Dina took without hesitation.

You tried not to watch too hard.

When they finally came over, sweat-slick and grinning, Dina pulled the tie from her ponytail and fluffed her hair out.

“You coming to the dance?” she asked.

You blinked. “Uh... yeah. I think so.”

Ellie stood beside her, arms crossed, cheeks still flushed. “You should. It’ll be fun.”

Her voice was light. Easy. Like the two of you hadn’t been slowly drifting for weeks.

“Yeah,” you gave her the same answer as last time. “I’ll think about it.”

They nodded. Dina grabbed her water bottle from the bench and tossed it to Ellie.

You watched them laugh about something you couldn’t hear.

And when Jesse leaned over and said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you didn’t answer.

Because part of you did.

And part of you really, really didn’t.

After an hour of just staring at a blank page in your journal and talking to Jesse, you decided to go. Jesse followed, you kept talking to each other,

You ended up back at his place again.

Jesse’s house always smelled like pinewood and laundry detergent—simple, easy, safe. The couch creaked when you sat down, blanket still tangled from the last time you were here. A half-eaten protein bar sat on the side table, next to a wrinkled copy of some book he’d been pretending to read for weeks.

You curled into the corner with your knees tucked under you, letting the silence between you fill the room like steam. Jesse moved around the kitchen, boiling water for tea like he always did when you dropped by. He didn’t ask why you were quiet tonight. He never did.

“You decided what you’re wearing yet?” he asked casually, from behind the counter.

You frowned. “For what?”

He stuck his head out, eyebrows raised like you were the one forgetting something. “The dance?”

“Oh. Right.”

You hadn’t forgotten. Not really.

Just didn’t want to think about it.

“Not sure,” you said, fingers picking at a loose thread on your sweater. “Maybe that blue dress. The one with the ripped hem.”

Jesse leaned against the doorway leading to the living room, mug in hand. “That thing? It’s practically a war relic.”

You smiled faintly. “It’s got character.”

“Yeah, and probably tetanus.”

You laughed—soft and genuine, even if it faded too quickly.

He walked over, set your tea down on the small coffee table by your arm rest, and dropped on the seat beside you. His knee brushed yours. You flinched but didn’t move.

“You gonna go with anyone?” he asked after a moment of silence.

You looked at him, confused. “Why? You jealous?”

He smirked. “Only if you leave me to suffer alone.”

You hesitated. “You asking?”

He shrugged, looking at the wall instead of you. “I mean… people already know we’re something, right? Might as well lean into it.

You were quiet for a moment, your heart ticking slowly through the pause.

“Is that what this is?” you asked, softly. “Us leaning into it?”

He turned his head head then, eyes meeting yours. There was something honest there. SOmething raw. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You looked down at your mug. The tea was too hot to drink. “Yeah. Okay.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, “We don’t have to keep this a thing. Doesn’t have to be real real.”

“But it kind of does,” you murmured. “Right?”

He didn’t answer. Just bumped your shoulder with his, eyes warm.

“It’s something,” he said. “That’s gotta count for something.”

You nodded slowly, but there was a hollow space in your chest where the warmth should’ve landed. Because you knew what this was. What you were doing. And it wasn’t fair—not to him, not to yourself.

But he let you bet quiet.

He let you sit there without need to explain the ache inside you. And in the absence of everything you couldn’t have, that meant something too.\

Not love. But something.

After Jesse asked you to the dance, you started working on your dress.

The fabric had come from the donation pile in the community center—old rags that weren’t too stained or torn, the ones that somehow made it through without blood soaking through the seams. You picked through it slow, hands shaking a little as you tried to find enough of the same shade. A soft, dark green, just enough leftover from an old certain and a couple of dresses no one claimed.

The design comes together in pieces, trial and error. A few of the older women around town helped with the top—they show you how to make the bodice snug but not stiff, how to stitch the neckline just right so it frances your collarbones without slipping. One of them lets you borrow a needle sharp enough to thread through the thickest layers. Another hands you a tiny packet of mother-of-pearl buttons with a wink.

It’s not fancy. Not perfect.

But when you slip it on for the first time—a square neckline, long puffed sleeves that flow to the wrists, a fitted wait that flare gently in to a full skirt that nearly touches the ground—it feels like something you made for a version of yourself you used to dream about.

The kind of dress you might’ve worn in another life. A life you probably shared with someone who loved you.

You looked in the cracked mirror of your room, barefoot on the wooden floor, and almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Not quite beautiful.

But soft. Gentle.

You ran your hands down the sides of fabric, smoothing it out like it matters. Like you’re preparing for something.

You wore it for a while. Just… stood there. Twirled a little. Imagined things you knew would never be true.

Then, quietly, you took it off. Folded it carefully, like it was something sacred. Traded it for regular clothes—jeans, a hoodie. Something that made you feel less exposed. Less vulnerable.

You found Jesse outside the kids’ school building, leaning back on the bench like he had nowhere to be.

When he saw you coming, you didn’t say anything. Just held the dress up by the sleeves, letting it drape in the air like a flag. His eyes went a little wide.

“Whoa,” he said, standing up straighter. “That’s what you’ve been working on these past few weeks?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He whistled, low under his breath, stepping forward to get a closer look. “You made this? Like, from scratch?”

“Well… sorta. Pieced it together. Got help with the top,” you shrugged, not really knowing how to take the praise. “The fabric’s from the donation pile.”

“It looks pretty nice,” Jesse said, genuine. “You’re gonna kill it at the dance.”

You smiled a little. Just a small one. “Thanks.”

A small moment of silence. Then—

“Have you shown Ellie and Dina yet?”

You shook your head. “Was just about to.”

He nodded, pointing vaguely toward the park. “Think they’re at the playground.”

You walked the path you’d taken a hundred times, the dress bundled close in your arms like gold.

The sun dipped low, casting gold across the swings and the slides. You spotted them before they spotted you—Ellie sat on the edge of a stair, Dina stood beside her, bracing herself on a rail as they laughed at something.

You slowed your steps, about to call out for them.

Then you heard it.

“So…” Ellie murmured, voice light, a little unsure. “You wanna… go to the dance with me?”

Dina laughed—soft and teasing. “Ellie Williams, are you asking me out?”

Ellie snorted, and a cheesy smile formed on her lips. “Maybe.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Like she’d been waiting to say it.

Dina hummed, drawing it out. “Huh. Took you long enough.”

And then a pause—high laughter. Easy. Warm.

“Yeah,” Dina said. “I’ll go with you.”

Some more joking. Something about matching flannels or who was going to lead when they danced.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You turned around, fingers tightening around the sleeves of your dress. You didn’t even try to show them. Just kept walking. Head down. The warmth of the sun suddenly too much.

You made it home without crying.

Almost.

It was only when you hung the dress back up, alone in your room, that the weight of it all hit you. You sat on the floor and pressed the fabric of the sleeves to your face, trying to breathe through it like that’d stop the tears. It didn’t.

You cried a little. Just a quiet, exhausted kind of cry. The kind where your chest hurt but you didn’t make a sound.

Jesse showed up not long after, knocking once before stepping inside like he knew you wouldn’t answer. He saw your face, saw the puffiness around your eyes, and didn’t say anything dumb or cheerful. He just sat next to you on the floor.

You didn’t even have to explain. You knew he knew.

He nudged your shoulder with his. “They’re dumb.”

You sniffled. “You didn’t even hear what happened.”

“I don’t need to.”

You laughed a little, wet and weak. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

He didn’t fix it. He couldn’t. But he stayed. That was enough, for a little while.

The next morning, you tried. You really did. Dragged yourself out of bed, pulled your hair into something halfway decent. Headed into town and browsed the market with your hands buried in your pockets.

There wasn’t anything you really needed. But maybe—just maybe—something small could help. A ribbon, a little bit of makeup, some old perfume someone had dug out from storage.

You wandered the stalls, eyes glazed over, half-listening to vendors talk about their wares. It was crowded, but you felt a million miles away. You walked home with a few things in a paper bag and nothing in your chest but that same dull ache.

The day of the dance, you didn’t move.

You lay in bed, curled on your side, staring at the dress where it hung on your closet door. Light filtered through the windows, shifting with the hours, but you didn’t shift with it.

The knock on your door came just before sunset.

“Still breathing in there?”

You groaned into your pillow. “Go away.”

“Nope.”

You heard the creak of the door, the familiar weight of his boots against the floor.

“I brought snacks.”

You didn’t look. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s okay. I brought snacks for me.”

You rolled over just enough to peek at him. He stood there with two granola bars and a paper cup that definitely came from the Tipsy Bison. His hair was still wet like he’d showered in a rush, his shirt a little wrinkled. He looked clean, though. Soft around the edges.

“Bribery?” you asked, voice hoarse.

“Desperation,” he said with a shrug. “You’re not skipping. You spent weeks on that dress.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “I don’t wanna go.”

“I know.”

He didn’t argue with you. Didn’t try to hype you up or tell you you’d feel better once you got there. He just sat at the edge of your bed, sipping from the paper cup.

After a while, he spoke again. “Let me help?”

You didn’t answer, but you sat up.

Getting ready was slow. Quiet. Your limbs felt like they didn’t belong to you. Jesse moved through your room carefully, like he didn’t want to break anything.

He pulled your chair out from your desk, sat you down, and stood behind you.

“You look like hell,” he said gently.

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks.”

“Hell with good bone structure, though.”

You cracked a tiny smile, even as he picked up your hairbrush and carefully worked through the knots. He wasn’t great at it. He winced every time you did.

“Should’ve just cut it all off,” you muttered.

“Blasphemy.”

When he finished brushing, he handed you a little tin of lip color you’d picked up at the market. You dabbed some on, just enough to tint. Nothing too much.

Jesse glanced over your shoulder at the mirror. “You sure you’re not trying to look cute for me?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright. Just checking,” he said, hands raised in surrender.

You slipped behind the door of your closet and pulled on the dress. It felt heavier tonight. Not in a bad way. Just… different. You did the zipper yourself halfway before stepping out.

“Turn around,” you said.

He did, automatically.

You reached for the small mirror by your dresser, trying not to think about anything too hard while you pinned up part of your hair. Jesse’s reflection stood in the background, pretending to study a lamp like it had great architectural significance.

When you finally said, “Okay,” he turned back around.

He looked at you for a second too long.

“You look nice,” he said, voice softer than before.

“Shut up.”

He offered you his arm, same as always. Not for romance. Just to keep you steady.

You took it.

By the time you reached the festival, the sky was already dark, dotted with stars. Lights were strung across the square, music drifting through the air. Laughter. Movement. People dancing in the grass and weaving through the food stalls, hands full of cider and roasted foods.

It was… fine. For now.

Jesse tugged you gently forward.

“C’mon. Let’s just see where the night takes us.”

tag list: @vahnilla @liasxeatt @elliesactualgirlfriend @willurms @robinphobia @smaugayra @wrappedinvines @starfire1008 @eriiwaiii2 @piercedome @modernvenuss

for those of y'all who asked for a happy ending oopsies (theres still going to be a part 3) but i hope yall enjoyed :D

#tlou ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x fem reader #tlou 2 #tlou

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woniwontons · 2 months ago

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could you possibly write a joaquin x fem reader fic where the reader gets severely injured after getting caught in the crossfire of a fight. can you make joaquin super anxious and guilty about it and have him really upset. when they see each other again he wont let himself touch her, and if she tries to touch him he physically shakes. idk if this makes since and i know you are probably busy, but i hope you like it.

i hope this is what you were looking for! this plot is pretty similar to a fic i already have (zephyr), so i made some tweaks to the request. 🥹🫶🏽

shrapnel of guilt | joaquin x reader

w.c: 2.8k; warnings: gunfire, blood, politicians, reader injury

“You’d look really good in one of those fancy dresses, you know.”

Joaquin leans over the back of the couch, dangling his government-issued invitation like it’s a golden ticket. His grin is all mischief, boyish and smug and clearly proud of himself for snagging a plus-one.

You don’t even look up from your laptop. “Is that your way of asking me to be your date, or do you just want to see me in a dress?”

“Both,” he says, dropping the invite in your lap. “Also, it's a state dinner. When do you ever think we'd get another opportunity like that?”

“Since when do you care about rubbing elbows with Senators? Especially after what happened after you met the ex-president.” you ask, giving him an amused side-eye.

Joaquin shrugs, climbing over the couch like the house was a jungle gym and flopping down beside you with a dramatic oomph. “Since Bucky said there’ll be press. Sam said that any positive publicity I can get as Falcon will help the public trust us again.”

You turn your head toward him. “And me showing up makes that better… how?”

“Because you make me look like a real person,” he says, a little too rehearsed. “Not just the new guy in wings, you'll make me look approachable and human. Sam really wants that for our image, to inspire the kids, you know?"

That silences you for a moment. His eyes search your face, playful glint softening into something closer to vulnerable.

"Are those your words or Sam's words?"

He exhales, tries to cover it with a chuckle, but avoided the question with a sheepish grin. “Also, I kind of just… want you there. Selfishly. I’ve been doing all these missions and briefings and press calls, and it’s boring without my girl around. It’d be nice to walk into this one with you.”

You blink, and he quickly adds, “You don’t have to. I mean, I can go alone. It’s not like—”

“No, I’ll come,” you say, cutting him off.

His brows shoot up, surprise giving way to a blinding smile. “Yeah?”

You nod once, trying not to let on how much his words got to you. “Yeah. But you're paying for the hair appointment.”

Joaquin throws his arms up in triumph, then collapses sideways across your lap like he’s been emotionally winded. “You’re the best. Just a perfect and great everything.”

You laugh, brushing his curls out of his face.

"Anything for you, Joaquin."

The ballroom of the White House shined like something out of an old movie. Warm amber chandeliers swing faintly overhead, their light scattering across polished marble floors and tall, mirrored columns. There’s a string quartet playing something soft near the far end of the room, and every table is dressed in crisp white linens and centerpieces that cost more than Joaquin’s entire wardrobe.

He’s never been to anything like this. Not for real.

And yet, you—standing beside him in a champagne-colored dress that clings and glimmers every time you move—fit into it effortlessly.

He barely hears the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth.

Something about intellectual property clauses. Legislative oversight. Sam, looking just as uncomfortable in his tux as Joaquin feels, nods along while sipping on his drink and subtly trying to loosen his tie.

Joaquin clears his throat and straightens his shoulders as a well-dressed older man approaches your group. A balding, sharp-eyed man with the telltale lapel pin of the New York State Senate.

“Senator Greene,” Bucky says, offering a handshake. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Senator Barnes,” the senator replies, smile polite but guarded. “Wilson. Torres.”

Joaquin feels a jolt in his chest when he hears his name spoken like that.

He steps forward. “Good evening, sir. I’m Lieutenant Torres—and this is my—”

His voice catches slightly.

You smile and offer your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Senator.”

There’s a second where Joaquin just watches. How you hold yourself, how your dress glows under the golden lights, how you don’t flinch under the weight of political scrutiny. Like you belong here more than he does.

Senator Greene accepts the handshake with a nod. “Likewise.”

There’s talk after that. Some mention of trademarks and future legislation. Sam cracks a joke about the Avengers’ name being harder to copyright than Mickey Mouse. Bucky deadpans something about merchandise royalties. Joaquin tries to keep up, but his mind wanders.

To you.

To how your fingers brushed his when you took your glass earlier. To the way your perfume still lingers on his jacket from when you leaned in to fix his crooked bow tie.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, voice low beside him.

He turns, startled. “What? Where are you...?”

“Bathroom,” you murmur, flashing him a look. “Don’t worry, I saw it on our way in.”

He nods, a little too quickly, trying not to make it obvious how reluctant he is to let you out of arm’s reach.

You glide through the crowd with ease, the hem of your dress brushing against the floor like liquid gold.

Joaquin turns back to the group just as the Senator launches into a longwinded story about his campaign.

But something unsettles him.

Maybe it’s just the chill from the nearby service doors. Maybe it’s nothing.

Still, he finds himself checking the time.

The Senator is still talking when the lights flicker.

It’s subtle at first, just a momentary dip in brightness. Enough to make a few guests glance upward, confused, before brushing it off with nervous laughs. Power surge, maybe. Faulty wiring in an old building. Nothing new.

But Joaquin’s stomach twists.

His eyes flick toward the direction you disappeared in, by the archway leading to the restroom hall. It was now half-obscured by servers weaving through the crowd with champagne flutes and dessert trays.

Then—

Boom.

The chandeliers rattle before shattering over the room, as a deafening blast erupts from somewhere deep in the east wing. The floor jumps under Joaquin’s shoes, glass rains from the ceiling like a second wave of shrapnel, and every conversation in the ballroom dies mid-breath.

Then comes the screaming.

Then the gunfire.

Sharp, deliberate cracks that echo off the marble, coming in calculated bursts as bodies begin to fall to the floor.

Joaquin’s ears are ringing so loud he can’t hear Sam yelling his name, but he sees him. Across the floor, pushing someone behind a pillar, waving Bucky into position. There’s already blood on the floor; someone hit by debris, maybe, or something worse.

Joaquin doesn’t move.

Not yet.

His eyes are locked on the archway.

The last spot he had seen you, reduced to partial rubble.

“No.”

He takes off running, shouldering past civilians, ducking when another round of gunfire erupts from the mezzanine. The air is thick with smoke now, coating his lungs in dust and plaster. He can’t tell if the pressure in his chest is adrenaline or panic or both.

He skids into the hallway, finding it empty.

Doors flung open. A sconce flickering. One of the Secret Service guards is on the ground, blood leaking from a gunshot wound to the throat.

Joaquin steps over the body and sprints for the bathroom.

All he can think is: Too slow. Too far. Too late.

“Please be okay,” he mutters, barely realizing he’s saying it aloud, over and over. “Please, please, please…”

He hits the women’s room door, shoulder first—it swings inward, hanging off one hinge, glass everywhere.

The mirror’s shattered.

The air smells like smoke and perfume and hot metal.

And there you are.

Slumped against the far wall near the sinks, knees drawn to your chest, arms trembling. Blood speckles your arms and collarbone. Nothing appeared deep, but enough to stand out against your champagne-colored dress.

Your eyes are closed tightly as you curl in on yourself, hands covering the top of your head.

Joaquin rushes to you, knees nearly buckling from relief.

“Hey, hey,” His voice is ragged, hoarse. “You're okay. You’re okay, baby. Look at me—”

You flinch when he touches you, but you don’t pull away.

“It's just me, I'm here. You’re not alone. Can you move for me?”

It takes a second. Then a slow, stiff nod.

He helps you up, gently pulling your arm around his shoulders. Your weight sags into him, and he grips your waist tighter. He badly wishes he could carry you, but putting your body in front of his felt wrong.

When he turns to lead you out, he steps over the body of a security guard face-down on the tile. Blood trails out beneath him like black oil, the edge of a steel pipe protruding from his back where the wall must’ve given out.

Joaquin keeps your head turned away.

Another wave of gunshots erupt from the ballroom, closer now. The familiar cracks of suppressed guns. The metallic clatter of fallen chairs. His ears are still ringing terribly, but his adrenaline cuts through the haze of his splitting headache.

He tightens his grip on you.

“We're getting you out of here, okay? I got you. Just stay behind me.”

Your fingers fist the lapel of his jacket like you’re afraid he’ll vanish.

Behind you, the shattered mirror glints under flickering lights.

Ahead, screams rise again.

But Joaquin doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

The air tastes like ash.

Joaquin’s grip tightens around your waist as he pulls you through the smoke-filled ballroom, weaving between overturned tables and burning linen. The room around you had collapsed into chaos, elegance turned to warzone. Splintered chairs. Blood-slick marble. Glass raining down from the balconies where figures in all black move with terrifying precision, rifles snapping in controlled bursts.

You stumble, barefoot now, your heel lost back in the hallway. Your breathing is sharp, quick, shallow. Shock still holds you tight, your movements jerky and unsure. The cut across your arm glistens in the firelight, a thin, but angry red line. A slice from the mirror. You don’t speak, and he doesn’t ask you to.

Joaquin scans the room for cover, spots a fallen Secret Service agent not far ahead. Blood pools beneath the man’s jaw. One arm still clutches a sidearm.

Joaquin moves on instinct—snatching the pistol, checking the mag, then stepping in front of you.

“Stay behind me.”

You nod shakily, trying to wipe your face with trembling fingers.

He fires twice—cutting down a hitman on the upper balcony. The recoil shudders up his arm. Another burst rings out in retaliation, closer this time.

Then it happens.

A hollow crack, sharp and wrong, and your body jerks beside him.

The sound you make isn’t a scream. It’s a fracture in his already aching head, splitting the sanity holding him together.

You twist as the bullet grazes your shoulder, blood blooming against your dress like spilled paint. Your legs buckle. You fall hard, crashing backward into a table, then sliding to the floor, one hand clutching your shoulder, the other scrabbling for balance. Blood spatters across Joaquin’s collar as he instinctively turns towards you.

Without hesitation, without regard.

His vision narrows to nothing but you.

The horrible ringing in his head spikes to a blinding pitch. Static swallowing sound. The world moves in slow, jerking frames for him then. Somewhere behind him, people scream. He takes your body and drags it behind the cover of the table to survey your condition.

Joaquin drops to his knees beside you, grabbing your uninjured side, fingers already sticky with blood. His hands trembled. You’re conscious, but barely as you attempt to regain your bearings. Pain etched deep into your face. Your fingers dig into the wound for pressure to slow the bleeding.

“No, no, no.”

“I’m fine,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I’m okay, I swear—”

“You’re not okay! You’re bleeding," he cries out, at a loss.

You try to stand in retaliation to his words. He doesn’t let you.

One of his arms wraps around your back, the other bracing your legs as he prepared to lift you up.

“Joaquin!” Sam’s voice cuts through, distorted through the ringing. “You need to move now!”

Bucky clears a path ahead, covering with clean, practiced shots. Joaquin forces himself up, hauling you with him despite your cries. Every step you take, more blood soaks the fabric of your dress. You’re crying now, not just from the excruciating pain, but from fear. You’re trying to stay conscious, trying to stay calm, but it’s so much.

Joaquin sees the exit doors and barrels forward.

Two agents cover him as he crosses the foyer. A guard reaches out to him. “We’ve got her from here Lieutenant, go!”

“No, I’m staying with her!” he snaps, voice cracked and hoarse.

But you, barely standing, shake your head.

“You need to go back,” you cry. “They need you, they're outnumbered. I’m okay,” you wince, buckling slightly. “Just go. Please.”

Joaquin doesn’t move.

He doesn’t want to.

But you look at him with such pleading certainty, even through your tears, that something in him breaks. You reach out to him, but he falters then, stepping back away from you. His hands shakily undo his tie as he thinks to himself.

He turns to the nearest guard. “Get her out safely. I’ll find her. Find out which hospital the ambulance she will be going to and report back.”

The guard nods, pulling you gently into his arms.

Joaquin hesitates one second too long, eyes locked with yours, before turning back to the smoke.

The door clicks shut behind him with more force than intended.

He winces.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. The street outside is silent, wrapped in the hush of a city trying to sleep after the terroristic events of tonight. His ears are still buzzing; not from an explosion this time, but from the hours that followed.

Briefings. Statements. Orders. The President’s tight voice behind a sealed screen. His friends tense with restraint and anger at the situation. Pictures of bodies and bullet trajectories and names of people Joaquin shook hands with just hours ago.

All Joaquin could think about was the blood on your shoulder.

The way you screamed.

The way you crumpled to the floor from the pain of the shot, and yet he was morally forced to leave you.

He’d called to check on you more times than he could count. Left frantic voicemails if they were unanswered. A single text from your best friend that you were okay, just sleeping at home now.

“Just checking you’re home.” “Text me, please.” “I’m on my way now.”

He sets his keys down with a shaky breath and steps into the living room.

You’re there.

Curled sideways on the couch, into the oversized throw blanket he'd gotten you in your Halloween basket. The room is dim, lit only by the low blue flicker of the muted TV, still playing some old re-runs of your favorite show. An empty mug sat on the coffee table, your phone on the floor beside it.

You're fast asleep.

Your dress is gone and replaced with one of his old t-shirts. Your hair is damp, hinting towards the fact that you likely showered at some point. And your shoulder, the one that took the bullet, is wrapped in a thick bandage.

Joaquin swallows hard.

He drops slowly to the floor beside the couch, resting on his knees as his eyes trace over every inch of you. You had texted him that it was just a graze. The medic said it didn’t need stitches. Lucky.

But it doesn’t feel lucky.

Not when he can still see it. The blood. The way your body hit the table. The sound.

The implications of the position he'd put you in, unable to protect you in what was supposed to be one of the safest buildings in the country. How he begged you to come, only to regret it all. How much worse the situation could have been if the bullet had hit you just inches to the right.

His hand hovers inches above your hand but never lands. His fingers twitch, aching to press against your skin, to feel you warm and alive and breathing.

But he doesn’t.

Because he'd replayed the situation in his mind hundreds of times already. He shouldn't have brought you, should've walked you to the bathroom, should have made sure you were covered before he returned fire, should've...

But he didnt. And so, he just sits there in his self-made wallow and contemplation. Because some part of him thinks if he touches you, you’ll wake up and flinch. You'll hate him for making you go with him, blame him for not being a better man for you.

He's shaking in his silence. Watching your chest rise and fall beneath the blanket, slow and steady and beautifully boring.

His head drops into his hands.

And for the first time since the explosion, he fall apart. Lowering himself down to the ground next to your place on the couch, letting his head rest on the floor. His gun placed on the coffee table, just within a moment's reach.

And silently cried for you.

#joaquin torres #captain america brave new world #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres fanfic #joaquin torres fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #marvel x reader #danny ramirez #joaquin x reader #marvel imagine #fanfic request

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