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jamminvroomvroom · 10 months

Text

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, yourfriendnancy, yourfriendmia, maxfewtrell and 378,654 others

youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, ashjbibby, yourfriendnancy and 344,555 others

youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y’all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, maxfewtrell, yourfriendmia and 332,211 others

youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

youruser just posted on instagram

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youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

and 588 other comments

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lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

youruser just posted on instagram

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youruser: commotion for the dress?

yourfriendmia: *commotion*

user5: on my knees begging

user1: no lando like? divorce? 😟

mclaren: always good to see you! 🧡

yourfriendnancy: kicking my feet looking at this lord have mercy

and 504 other comments

you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, francisca.gomez, lilymhe and 735,641 others

youruser: our secret moments

landonorris: “only bought this dress so you could take it off” 🕺🏻✨💘

youruser: @ landonorris omg shut up (omw over)

user1: FINALLY

user4: bisexual panic is a real thing.

otheruser: i used to pray for times like these

maxfewtrell: took you long enough.

yourfriendmia: mum n dad

user63: mclaren ships it and so do i

and 1,442 other comments

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

maintenance: i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!

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simplyholl · 10 months

Text

Frozen Stiff

Summary: Captured by the Frost Giants, your time on Jotunheim gets interesting.

Pairing: Jotun Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Loss of virginity. Size kink. Somnophilia.

See my Masterlist here

You really did it this time. Your father instructed everyone stay in their homes this night. Loki, king of the Frost Giants had warned your father, King Erik, king of the elves that he would be coming through Alfheim. If anyone was caught outside, they would be considered an enemy, and taken prisoner.

Your father’s royal decree had went in one ear and out the other. You were considered a trouble maker. Not because of anything you had done consciously. Trouble seemed to follow wherever you went. You were so unlike your sister, the future queen of Alfheim, and no one let you forget that.

She was tucked away safely in her chambers with the door locked. Here you were, hiding in the bushes outside the palace. You wanted to get a good look at the Frost Giants. You had never seen one in person, and you didn’t think the view from your chambers would do them any justice.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the forest as they stomped through. The trees were shaking with each step they took, the force of their large bodies leaving holes in the ground where they walked. They were approaching quickly. You really should run back in the palace, but you were frozen. The first few Jotuns walk by and you’re stunned.

They are even bigger than you imagined. Then you see him, King Loki. He struts through and a wild thought comes to you. He’s beautiful. You had always been taught that the Frost Giants were ugly beasts that would take misbehaving children in the night. They seemed nice enough. King Loki had even given your father warning before passing through. He and the last three giants walk passed you and you count the seconds before you can run back inside.

Woof

You look beside you terrified. Your sister’s dog, Arnie, pants beside you, tail wagging.

Woof

He barks again. You grab him, trying your best to shush him. But it’s too late. He’s gained their attention. They turn back around, looking toward the bushes you are hiding in. You sink lower to the ground, trying to shove your body under the bush. You close your eyes, hoping if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

But their footsteps shake the ground as they come closer. “What have we here?” One of them growls, picking you up with one hand. “We found a spy, your highness.”

“Bring him to me.” King Loki demands. You squeak as you are dropped from one huge hand into another. You shiver, the temperature of his skin is colder than you could have imagined. “Not a he, but a she.” He says amused, as he looks closely at you.

“What are you doing out here, little mouse? I warned your king that we would take anyone we found outside prisoner.” You swallow, trying to seem braver than you felt. “My father, King Erik, he did command the whole village to stay inside, your highness. I was simply curious and I wanted to see you for myself.”

Loki looks at you in the palm of his hand, amusement dancing on his features. “Your father, the king? So that makes you a princess? Are you the heir to the throne?” You shake your head. “No, your highness, that would be my sister.” You introduce yourself hoping it will get you out of this situation.

“A princess for a prisoner. What an interesting day it’s turning out to be.” He sneers. “No, wait!” You protest. He closes his hand around you, silencing you. When you arrive in Jotunheim, you are brought to a room with a giant bed, huge fluffy pillows, and a roaring fireplace. King Loki places you on the bed.

“This isn’t normally how I treat my prisoners, but you are still a princess. As long as you obey me, you may stay in this room and avoid the dungeon. You are free to walk around, and I will let everyone know that no harm is to come to you. Am I understood?”

“Yyyyesss” You stutter, you had been freezing the entire trip. You run to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together in an effort to get warm. Loki studies you, his red eyes lingering on your sheer nightgown. You really didn’t plan on getting captured when you went out, so you didn’t bother with putting on a proper dress.

You regret that decision now as his gaze lands on your breasts, heaving on your shaking form. He could see everything through the nightgown, and he was already looking, so you didn’t bother with attempting to cover yourself. “I’ll have someone make you proper clothing. In the meantime, there are extra blankets in the closet.” He walks out, leaving you with your thoughts.

Months had passed and you were settling into your new home. No one treated you like a prisoner, and you decided for once in your life to stay out of trouble. You had been given a job in the palace kitchen and you were making new friends. You were actually starting to like it here.

You giggle as your closest friend Marta, asks about your sex life. As a princess, you had to save yourself for whoever your father chose for you. You knew very little about the act itself. But Marta filled you in. She answered every question you had without judging you, and she even gave you some tips. The most shocking part was learning that a male might want to kiss you between your thighs. Marta told you there was nothing like it, so you couldn’t help fantasizing about it the rest of the day. When you laid your head down to rest, your tried to think of more questions for Marta.

The door to your room squeaked open. King Loki walked in, shutting it behind him. He gently removed the blankets from your sleeping form. You were wearing the nightgown from the first night you met him. He reaches out, his long finger grazing your nipple. The chill from his skin causing it to harden under his touch. You sigh from his attention, but don’t wake up. He carefully spreads your legs, laying down between them. His cold tongue meets your center, and you buck your hips toward him. He takes this as an invitation, long tongue lapping between your thighs.

You jump up, searching your room for him, but he’s not there. It was all a dream. You confide in Marta about it and she says it must be your conversation. It made its way into your subconscious. But you didn’t talk to Marta about it the next night when you had it or the next night. Weeks had passed and still, you had the same dream every night. It made it awkward for you when you had to serve King Loki his meals.

“King Loki has requested you serve his dessert in his chambers.” Marta told you, handing you the tray piled high with pastries, cakes, and fruit. You knock on his door, waiting for his instruction to enter. When he calls for you to come in, you bow to him. “My king, I’ve brought your dessert.” He’s propped up on his bed, gesturing for you to place it on a table by the window.

He’s so big, he nearly takes up all the room on the large bed. His muscled blue form has been the object of your fantasies for a while now. “Remove your dress, and get on the bed.” He demands. You drop the metal tray on the table. “Excuse me, your highness. I must have misheard you.”

He pats the bed, “You heard correctly, little mouse. I know you desire me. You dream of me every night. I’m only rewarding your good behavior.” You fight the urge to pinch yourself. You must be dreaming. “How did you know about that?” You manage to mumble. “I know all, little one. You can hide nothing from me.”

He beckons you with his thick finger. You do as he instructed, removing your dress and getting on the bed with him. He lifts you with one hand, hovering you above his face. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stammer. “I’m having my dessert.” He quips placing you on his mouth. His long, cold tongue covers your center. You shiver from the chill. His velvety muscle curls beneath your clit, flicking it.

He treats you like a porcelain doll, holding you as if you might break. He could easily crush you without trying. You really were like his own personal doll. He enters your untouched flesh with his tongue, rocking you back and forth on it. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, trying to ground yourself. He drinks you like it’s water, the icy muscle tipping you over the edge, making your toes curl.

He suddenly tosses you on your back, his bulky form trapping you beneath him. He settles between your thighs. They start aching as he spreads them as wide as he can. It’s still not wide enough to accommodate him. So he pushes your knees to your chest, his gigantic cock nudging your center.

The thought of ruining such a small, delicate woman driving him mad with lust. “I’ll split you in half, little mouse. You would like that wouldn’t you?” Your still dazed from your orgasm, so you only hum in response. “My sweet princess is cock drunk and she hasn’t had any cock yet.” You nod, reaching for him. “I am the first to touch you, correct?” Another hum to confirm.

You gasp when he dips a large finger inside you, curling it upwards. “I have to get you ready.” He explains. As he works his skilled finger inside you, you rock your hips, hungry for more. You whine as he removes his digit from you, but you’re not left wanting for long. He thrusts into you, and you scream. He stretches you, and you try to adjust to his size. You feel him bottom out and you wiggle to get more comfortable.

Tears fall down your cheeks, the stinging not subsiding. “My poor princess. I’m too much for her. It’s only the tip, my sweet girl.” He gently traces the outline of his cock bulging in your stomach. Loki presses on it. “I can see myself protruding out of your stomach, little one. Do you know how feral that makes me? Such a small creature struggling to take the head of my cock.”

He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Goosebumps line your arms when you feel his breath on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, my little princess. You feel incredible. I’ll keep you forever, my little plaything.” You whimper at his words, a gush of arousal soaking him. He moans, looking at your fucked out expression. He wraps his enormous hand around your waist, thrusting you down on him, faster.

Loki roars as he releases inside you. He pulls out, spreading your now limp legs. “I want to see me dripping out of you.” He lowers his head, black tresses covering your stomach as his icy tongue laps at you once more. “What a delicious mess you made.” He coos.

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

#loki x reader #loki #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki x yn #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x reader smut #frost giant loki #jotun loki #loki of jotunheim #frost giant Loki smut #loki fanfiction #frozen stiff

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seunmong-in · 6 months

Text

🌅Sunsets in Sydney🌅

Genre: Fluff, childhood best friend to lovers, Idol! Felix x Reader, Humor, slight cursing, she fell first but he fell harder.

Words: 2.1k

Summary: After being on tour for a whole year, Felix is finally back in Sydney for a well-deserved break. While he is ecstatic to be with his family again, there’s one person who he wants to see most. His childhood best friend and crush, Y/N.

A/n: Okay, can I start this off by saying, Holy crap… Thank you to all who like or reblogged my first fanfic with Han!! ( click his name if you wanna read it ! ) I honestly thought it wasn’t that good since I wrote it in a very sleep-deprived state, lol. But y’all proved me wrong🥹❤️‍🩹 That said, I hope you guys also like this story with Felix! Like always, if you have any feedback or want to make a special request just DM me!! Here’s also my latest one with Seungmin as well 🫶🏼

P.S Does anyone else have “that’s not very nice” stuck in their head too?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⊰∙∘

365 days.

That's how long Felix has been away from the place he calls home. And no, he doesn't mean his actual home back in Sydney. He means being away from his childhood best friend, Y/n.

Felix and Y/n have been best friends since grade school. They have always been there for each other, from performing in talent shows to caring for each other when one falls ill. They are like two peas in a pod; wherever one goes, the other is sure to follow.

On the day Felix had to tell Y/n that he was leaving Sydney to become an idol in Korea, he broke down crying. He was worried that being thousands of miles away from his closest friend would strain their relationship. As he was about to board the plane, he turned around to see Y/n waving goodbye to him with tears streaming down her face, and he couldn't help but cry, too.

Surprisingly, Felix and Y/n's friendship didn't end after that day. Instead, their bond grew even stronger. Y/N would constantly update Felix through text or calls, sharing the details of her day and making sure he didn't miss out on anything important. While Felix enjoyed receiving these updates, what he loved most was the pictures his mom would send him of Y/n with his family on small family trips. Seeing her smile and taking selfies with his sisters always warmed his heart.

He had already surpassed the stage of simply developing feelings for Y/n. Felix adored her. He loved her. Whenever he watched a video of a couple on TikTok or Instagram, he imagined how to recreate the same videos with Y/n by his side. His heart skipped when Y/n surprised him at one of his earlier concerts with Olivia and Hannah, Chan's sister. The memory of her dancing his part of God's Menu while Hannah danced Chan's part on the big screen was something he would never forget. Since that night, Felix had been planning to confess his love to Y/n, and he decided to do it under the sunset in Sydney.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽

Under the hot summer sun, Felix's freckled face is lit up with a big smile as his family rushes to greet him. Olivia is the first to embrace him, screaming, "Oh my God, do you even know how I miss you, Lix?!"

Felix laughed, embracing his youngest sister and repeating, "I miss you more." He noticed that Olivia had grown a bit since the last time he saw her and that her hair was now dyed at the ends. Noticing her brother staring at her hair, Olivia mentioned that Y/N did it a few days ago at one of their usual girls' nights. His mom and dad were the next two to hug him tightly, with his mom shedding a few happy tears.

"I say this every time, but I am so happy to have my baby back home."

Felix wraps his arms around his mom, hugging her as he says, "I am happy to be back home to Mom."

Felix was sitting in the back of a car, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Y/n. He was waiting for her message, asking if he had reached home safely, but he had yet to receive any message from her. Although this was unusual, he assumed she might be busy.

Suddenly, Olivia abruptly interrupts Felix's train of thought, "So, are you finally going to ask Y/n to be your girlfriend while you're here, or are we still sticking to the whole 'she's just my best friend' excuse?" The unexpected question catches Felix off guard. His face turns red with embarrassment as his mother turns her head around from the passenger seat, waiting for a response.

Avoiding eye contact with his mother and sister, Felix clears his throat, allowing himself to find the right words.

"Um.. what makes you think I even have feelings for her?"

Olivia stares at her older brother, scolding him with his earlier response, "Felix be so fucking for real right now. It's obvious you have feelings for Y/n. You look at her as if she is your whole world, your face lights up with a smile whenever she texts you, and you always seem to find a way to talk about her when we talk on the phone. If that doesn't scream, "I am in love with my best friend," then I don't know what does. Oh, and before you go and argue with me about this, even the boys agree that you are completely strung up on her. So do us all a favor and tell her how you feel, will you?"

Felix sighs as he looks up to see his sister's gaze. He knew he had to come clean now before his plans got ruined.

"Have I mentioned how much I dislike you sometimes, Liv?"

"Yeah, but I'm your favorite sister, so start spilling before I call Hyunjin and have him tell Y/n to you."

During the last five minutes of their car ride, Felix confided in his family about his plan to ask Y/n out when they reached the house. He made them promise not to say anything to Y/n about his plan since he wanted to create a memorable and private moment between them.

As Felix's father pulled into the driveway, Felix noticed Y/n's car parked across the street. His heart raced as he jumped out of the car, ignoring his mother's yelling about not going inside yet.

Felix barges through the main door and stops when he sees the handmade "Welcome Home Lixie" banner that Y/n was struggling to put up. He chuckles softly and leans by the living room doorway, watching as she gets on her tiptoes to hook the string onto the nail.

"You know, I could've helped you put up the banner, sunshine if you would've waited a little longer."

Y/n turns around to find Felix smirking. Blushing, she runs to him and hugs him. He hugs her back, lifting her up and spinning her around.

Trying not to cry on his shoulders, Y/n ever so softly whispers, "You have no idea how much I missed your hugs, Lix."

"Me too, sunshine, it's been way too long."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⊰∙∘

After returning home and having dinner early, Felix went upstairs to his room. There, he discovered a welcome-home basket in the center of his bed. The basket contained his favorite candies, face masks, a small chicken plushie, and gift cards to his preferred places. Felix smiled, realizing that it was a gift from Y/n. She was always the type to spoil others with gifts, even if it was a small occasion. Looking through the gifts in the basket, he heard a soft knock on the door, and Y/n walked in. When Felix looked up at her, they locked eyes for the second time that day. Time seemed to come to a standstill, and after a while, Y/n was the first to break the silence.

"I hope you like it; I saw it on Tiktok late last night and thought I should make you one."

"I love it a lot; thank you, sunshine."

He gives her a soft smile and motions for her to sit with him on the bed. She walks over and sits beside him, watching him unwrap more gifts. Y/n can't help but laugh as Felix brings the chicken plushie up to his face, jokingly asking, "Do you think it looks like me?"

"As much as I want to say yes, I feel like I am going betray BbokAri, so I must lie and say no."

Felix and Y/n laugh as Felix places the plushie back on the shelf behind him. The room lights up in a golden hue, indicating the sun is about to set. Without wasting more time, Felix takes Y/n's hand and leads her out of his room and towards his car.

"Lix, what are you doing? Where are we going?"

"I was hoping we could watch the sunset together again, just like we did as kids. It's been quite some time since the last time we did, and let's face it, we're not getting any younger. Before we know it, we'll be as old as old man Chan."

""I'm going to tell him you said that," she says, laughing as she follows him to his car. They both jump in and drive to the nearby beach.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⊰∙∘

As the car pulled onto the sandy shore, Felix practically flew out of his side to open the door for Y/n. She beamed with delight as she stepped out, feeling the warm sand under her toes. Felix swiftly closed the car door and took her hand, leading her towards the beach. The sky was ablaze with a breathtaking display of pink and orange hues as the sun descended below the horizon.

"I forgot how pretty the sunset could be when you can see the reflection on the water."

"I know, but it's even prettier with you beside me," Felix responds.

Y/n stands before Felix, unsure if he is joking or serious. He chuckles as she becomes flustered.

"You know that's not very nice."

"What isn't sunshine?"

"You saying that to me and not explaining what you mean," Y/n states as she turns away from him.

Felix grabs Y/n by her waist and spins her, holding her close. Y/n's face flushes a deep shade of pink as she catches her breath. They've been close for years, but something feels different about this moment. There's a palpable tension in the air, a feeling of unspoken love that's hard to ignore. Felix looks deep into Y/n's eyes, examining how the sun's warm glow illuminates them. The sound of waves crashing against the shore adds to the moment's magic. Fighting the urge to kiss her immediately, Felix takes a deep breath as he stares into her eyes.

"Do you remember why I decided to return home for a break instead of staying in the dorms with the boys?" Puzzled by his random question, Y/n nods her head, looking back into his dark brown eyes.

"Of course I do. It was because you wanted to be with your family since you were homesick, Lix."

"You're right. But there's something important that I need to tell you, something that should've been said from the very beginning. Y/n, I like you. I'm in love with you. I love you so much that it hurts not to have you by my side most days or even to call you mine. The night before I left Sydney, I intended to confess my feelings to you, but I knew it was bad timing since I was leaving, and I didn't want to end our friendship. So, I kept it to myself for years. However, seeing you with Liv and Hannah at our concert earlier this year, dancing and singing to our songs, made me realize that what I felt for you was more than just a simple grade school crush. Y/n, I'd be lying if I said you weren't the person I want to spend the rest of my life with because I do. I want you to be mine, my only sunshine. And if you don't feel the same way, I understand..."

Felix was toward the end of his sentence when Y/n suddenly cut him off by pressing her lips against his. It was a bold move, but she had been crushing on Felix for what felt like an eternity and couldn't hold back any longer. When they finally pulled away, Felix looked at Y/n with a knowing smile, pressing his forehead on hers. In a very soft voice, Felix finally finishes his sentence.

"I cannot imagine spending a single day without you by my side anymore. Will you do me the greatest honor of all and be mine forever?

""Until forever stops existing, my love."

#stray kids #straykids imagines #straykids smau #stray kids fake texts #stray kids x reader #straykids fluff #lee felix #lee yongbok #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz fanfic #skz stay #skz x y/n #skz smau #stray kids imagine

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atsu-i · 1 year

Text

#hey #i just feel like saying #have a nice day/night wherever you are ^^#also i kinda miss being active a bit weirdly enough lol #but yeah that's it #i will be active again i think #not like anyone cares lol but yeah i will try lol #and will do whenever lmao #anyways #stay safe 🖤#take care always 🖤#hoping you find a reason to smile today too ^^ always want that for yall tbh #later~

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diorcities · 4 months

Note

What habits the dreamies got from their gfs (like adapting her rutine style to theirs)

you ask, i deliver. i don't think any of them would read if you're a bookworm D':

thanks to sofi for the inspo ily :(

jaemin: starts baking. i think after seeing you happy baking cakes for him every chance you get he'd slowly start making cookies and muffins for his sweet girl; he'd suggest spending a day making sweets with you, especially if you smell of vanilla afterward.

mark: starts copying your speech and mannerisms. he'd start using your expressions and quirks. if you make a gesture he would immediately copy it by inertia until you point it out. he thinks you're so cool, poor guy loves everything you do so he just can't stop mimicking you.

haechan: starts sleeping with a teddy bear. gets jealous really quickly when you fall asleep and it happens to be in the middle of the two of you. the first nights he'd toss it aside so he could be hugged instead, but then when you're gone he brings it with him to bed because it smells like you.

jeno: starts liking plants. if you have a fond to take care of plants, little by little, his apartment would be filled with small flowers that he'd take care of because it remind him of you. i think he'd try to recreate your cozy apartment, and he'd probably plant your favorite flowers.

renjun: starts collecting trinkets. vinyl records, seashells, shiny little things. wherever he goes, he'd take a coin or a nice rock or a keychain because you have a habit of collecting tiny trinkets whenever you travel to have a piece of it with you, so when he's on tour, he makes sure to always bring you something with him.

chenle: starts to fiddle with members' hands when he's nervous. he's used to biting his nails as a stim until you start holding his hands and fidgeting with them to make him stop. when you're not around, he starts to grab his friends' hoping they'd do the same thing.

jisung: follow along with your jokes. they're mostly playful teasing. you have this silly habit of sharing something similar but really distorted to make it sound more awesome when he's telling a story.you both know they're not true so you begin to overdo what really happened in each other's anecdote until you're both laughing.

#nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream soft hours #♡% letters to anon #♡dream

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familyvideostevie · 11 months

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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ladyelissarose · 1 year

Note

Hello! I really loved your miguel o'hara works , and i would like to make a request,about headcanons of miguel with a sweet and shy housewife reader ,like ,she is always in home ,cooking ,cleaning and taking care of the house in general ,and always welcomes miguel saying how proud is of him and his job,if youre comfortable you can include a nsfw part but if you dont want to you can just make the fluff part , i hope its okay and have a nice day!

Miguel O’Hara x housewife reader

Warnings: there’s the SFW & NSFW headcannons!! Fluff and alll…

Authors note: Thank you for your sweet words hun!! I wish you the best!! And of course I added down NSFW! I had to- it’s Miguel we’re talking about!! But yes.. I hope you enjoy and I met your expectations:)

•Ever since the start of your relationship, you knew Miguel was the Spider-Man of Nueva York, after he saved your life and kissed your scared tears away. He instantly felt a connection with you and knew he had to have you.

•You were very shy tho, and kept to yourself. Only had trips to the library and to the flower shop- you were basically a home-body.. not a fan of being around or in large crowds.. but Miguel made you feel safe instantly and he took you safely home through a path that was quiet and not around much people and noise.

•Miguel was gentle and didn’t push you to do more than you wanted too, and he was the first person that made you feel comfortable with yourself. That’s why after countless dates and swinging trips on his back, you’re happily married to him and are kept safe in your guys’ home. Where you live with and for him while he keeps the beautiful city safe.

•Everyday he’d come home with a new book or a bouquet of fresh flowers, showering you with things that made you happy, to earn him your gorgeous, shy smile. He’s seen all of you and loved you entirely, yet he was proud on how he made you blush everytime he brought something home, and he lived for kissing that cute pouty smile you had.

•To make up for all the gifts he gave you- tho he said payback wasn’t necessary because you were his love and life. You still worked to give him the best life in your shared home. It was only fair since he sheltered you and your heart, and kept your city as safe as he possibly could.

•During the time he was gone, you clean up your home, doing the laundry and fixing up his backup suits that got ruined on missions. And you found comfort in doing such, as they all smelled like him, no matter how much you washed them.

•And he liked it that way, he stopped asking Lyla for remakes of his suit when he found out your cute hands fixed his suits perfectly. He always kissed you deeply and called you ‘his good girl’ once he had it on and it was good to go. Your hands also got sweet kisses as he praised you for your work.

•The city was messy and dark all the time, even while saving the world it had its dark places that were messy and particularly smelly, burning Miguel’s nose sometimes. But when he came home, he was met with the aroma of your sweet scent, it smelled like home and it was his favorite. And one of the best things, it was clean and orderly.

•Miguel loved seeing things in order and perfectly clean, and he had asked you if you had a maid to get all done perfectly- to which you said no. And he found out it was true (not that he didn’t believe you) when one night he came home earlier than usual, and you were up dusting all the little trinkets on the shelf ever so delicately and efficiently.

•His favorite thing to do was come up to you quietly, wherever you were cleaning, and sweep you up in his arms, chuckling to himself when he heard your squeals as he held you up kissing your neck. Praising you for your time to keep things nice, but scolding you for not being in bed resting well and keeping the bed warm for him. Or if it was during the day he’d ask why you’re not reading or enjoying the afternoon.

•Oh and when you cook? OH- that makes Miguel the happiest (besides you and everything that involves only ‘you’) He’s always starving after a long mission or day at Alchemax. So when he comes home smelling your homemade meals, he’s falling in love all over again. His heart growing twice it’s size at the sight of you singing lowly and stirring the pot... or kneading the dough for the empanadas.

•He tried telling you a few times that it was ok for take out once in a while, not wanting you to cool all the time, worried that you might think he only wants that from you if not. But you were always happy to make something new or his favorite, it made you proud when Miguel wore a smile while he ate, complementing,

“...mi amor, esto es delicioso.” (My love, this is delicious)

•You always let him know how proud of him you were. In actions or soft words, and he’d beam proudly and smile sheepishly. A tight hug and good kiss made it onto his lips everytime you caught him coming in through the door or fire escape. You wouldn’t let a word escape until you both were out of breath from crashing lips, you was always the first to break to say how much you missed him- but he’d chase your lips like a mad man. Whining,

“Dejame besarte!” (Let me kiss you!)

NSFW!

•He occasionally grew hard at the sight of you doing something that screamed ‘wifey material’. The cleaning, cooking, fixing, even resting on the couch reading a book- just everything about you made him crave you instantly at sight. So he’d take you wherever it was you were, of course if you wanted to- but you’ve yet to say no (I mean who would-)

•Over the couch he’d take you from behind, whispering praises while kissing your neck, after he caught you reading your new book while resting over the armrest. Your little dress was so cute and gave him access to have you right away, pounding into your pussy slowly yet roughly. Letting his love for you sink in deeply. He loved marking your neck and caressing your sides as he did so.

•Since you were quiet and shy most of the time, even around him, he’d do the most open things to make you blush and push your buttons of pleasure to make you moan out loud, as you were shy at first. One day you were painting a picture of you and him, a replica of a photo you two took at the library, but soon- Miguel was digging his face in between your breasts kissing them softly while he fucked you against the incomplete painting, legs wrapped around his waist tightly. And you couldn’t care about the painting- you didn’t like it anyways after you messed it up earlier (after getting distracted by eyeing the picture too closely)

•One of Miguel’s favorite things to do was eat you from behind while you were tip-toeing trying to reach the top shelf to clean it. You hold onto it tightly while you felt his tongue swipe over your pussy and dig into you, making you pull his hair closer to you as he drew your high close right away, not relenting in eating you out like he starved for your taste. He lived for you coming undone on his face. And when he stayed home afterwards he’d kissed you to taste yourself on his lips, or when he had to go to work, he wear his mask over his coated lips with your juices- either way he leave himself full of you.

•And the kitchen was a good place- HIS FAVORITE PLACE TO FUCK YOU RAW. He was excited already to see his gorgeous, sweet and quiet house wife cook his delicious meals. But soon you became a moaning, crying mess, begging for him to fuck you harder as you were laying on the kitchen table, holding onto his shoulders tightly as he fucked you deeply. And you knew he was in to fuck you in the kitchen, when he’d come from behind you and lower the heat on the stove, if not turn it off.

•Let’s just say Miguel found a perfect wife in you, you completed him in every way and made him happy. From keeping his home warm and happy, safe and bright, to his heart held, loved and cherished- and beating wildly while he took you under his spell and ride of pleasure.

•And you? Could never get enough of Miguel, something of him was always on you, around you, and in you.. sometimes he’d leave his cum dripping from your pussy while you finished your things while he was gone. It made you blush crazy to know only he could pull that out of you, but he was your home and made you confident around him.. so why not?

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara atsv #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara angst #miguel x reader fluff #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man 2099 smut #miguel 2099 #astv smut

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wonysugar · 7 months

Text

angel | jang wonyoung

synopsis : she was convinced everything you did was to seduce her.

pairing : wonyoung x 6thmember!femreader

genre : smut

tags : noncon, degradation, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification, wonyoung is genuinely a creep, blood mentioned, scratching, physical and verbal abuse, choking, slight mentions of tribbing, fingering, slight nipple play, just plain suffering tbh, death threats, ‘good girl’, ‘slut’

!! warnings : this is like. PURE noncon so please please please read with caution and please for the love of god read the tags before continuing :(( !!

word count : 2.1k

a/n : okay i know i made the poll yesterday and all but look i had ideas and here they are I HOPE YOU LIKE IT this was so interesting to write cause this is SOOOO OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE AND LIKE?? idk it was a nice experience i hope you like itfkendn

also you know the drill THIS IS NOT OKAY NOR IS IT HEALTHY DON’T DO THIS IRL BITCHES CONSENT IS KEY YALL😭🙏🙏do not give tea to someone who doesn’t want tea CAUSE THEY DON’T WANT ITT IT’S SIMPLE

god, finally.

you sat on the corner of your mattress, still carefully drying your wet dripping hair with the fluffy towel that belonged to you. after a shower like that? you felt refreshed, you felt good and oh did you feel so ready to just pass out on your bed at that moment. that was until you remembered that you couldn’t; since you had to wait for wonyoung, your dorm mate, to come back from the mall with yujin— or, wherever the hell they were at this hour. her dumbass forgot to bring the keys with her, so you’d have to stay awake to be able to open the door for her.

grabbing your phone, you checked the time. it read 12:37 am, which then lead you to text her, very politely yelling at her through SMS to hurry the fuck home before turning it off again and plugging in the charger.

what a hassle, you thought, groaning. you were fucking exhausted and were practically dying to get some amount of rest, especially after such a long day of non-ending schedules.

mentally sucking it up and shrugging it off, you put the towel aside and laid down on your back, grabbing your phone yet again as an attempt to cure the ongrowing boredom and impatience inside you; maybe instagram reels would make the time go by faster.

indeed, before you knew it, you were startled by a quiet knock at the door. feeling immediate relief, you quickly got up and rushed to open it, already thinking about the amazing night of sleep you were gonna get afterwards.

“any second later and i would’ve left you outside, wonyoung.” you complained as soon as you turned the knob, immediately greeted by her face. you particularly noticed her expression switch to one of slight guilt as she giggled nervously.

you also observed how she stared at you, as per usual.

“sorry, angel.” she apologized, looking up and down at your entire body, seemingly distraught by the sight of your naked thighs, before walking in and continuing. “we just got so caught up in conversation that we ended up just walking around for hours, i hope i didn’t keep you waiting for too long, though.” she scratched the back of her neck, still staring at you, this time more so focused on your chest.

here’s the thing, you loved wonyoung. she was one of your closest friends, that was undeniable. but for some reason, sometimes whenever you’d talk to her.. she’d have a certain look. the same look that she’d give you whenever you’re wearing a somewhat revealing outfit, or doing quite literally anything, for that matter. it always made you feel uneasy, it made your skin crawl. you’d never tell her, though; she was a sweetheart, and you knew that her last intention would be to ever make you uncomfortable.

right now was one of those moments, though, and her staring was getting overwhelming.

more overwhelming than usual.

subtly trying to brush it off, you responded, “it’s— it’s fine. just, please bring the keys next time?”

she simply nodded before apologizing again, clearly aware of her mistake and swearing to never commit it again. that gave you the permission you needed to finally get ready for bed. whilst you were doing that, she was changing into her comfier clothes and also getting ready to sleep as she threw occasional warm smiles at you.

until she squinted at you.

“man, you look pretty tired, y/n. did you sleep early yesterday?” she asked with a worried tone, afraid that you maybe weren’t getting enough sleep.

you waved your hand around, “yeah, i did. today just wore me the fuck out really, but oh well.” you cut the conversation short, heading straight towards your bed. “goodnight wonyoung—“ but before you could do so, you felt her hand grab your wrist.

tightly.

“wait but— don’t you wanna cuddle like we usually do?” she asked, her mouth formed into a small pout.

and there went that stare. again.

“wony i’m sorry, i’m really tired and—“

“come on, please. i missed you.” she insisted, her grip on your wrist getting tighter as she kept her unsettling gaze on yours.

your tired brain didn’t seem to register that, however, since you didn't even think about saying no.

i mean, she seemed pretty insistent on cuddling that night, so who were you to even say no? either way, you were gonna fall asleep immediately, so did it really matter if she was cuddling you or not?

you groaned dramatically, then signaled for her to lay on the other side of the bed. her eyes immediately lighting up, she rushed to jump on that side of the bed.

it didn’t take long at all for you guys to finally be settled in bed and you particularly thrived in finally feeling the warmth of your weighted blanket against your cold skin. she, on the other hand, just seemed to be happy to be there with you, considering the grip she had on you was quite strong for like, literally no reason.

after telling each other goodnight, you expected to doze off immediately, but you couldn’t. you felt bizarre, you didn’t feel like yourself at that moment. every single ounce of exhaustion left your body and it was like insomnia just kicked in for no reason whatsoever.

frustrated, you tried to sleep. that’s when you heard her breathing heavily… very heavily. her inhales and exhales were loud and violent and you felt them on your neck, since she was especially close to it. you would’ve shrugged it off,

if you didn’t feel her hands moving a lot more than usual.

“wonyoung?”

you felt her shift before hearing her hum, indicating you to keep going.

“you feeling okay?? you’re.. you’re breathing quite heavily.” was what you asked, somewhat concerned. “plus, you’re like, grabbing me—“

“sorry.” she responded immediately, “you just— you smell good, is all. i saw your hair was wet, you took a shower, right? you used the body lotion i gave you, right?”

you nodded reluctantly, somewhat weirded out by her behavior tonight, to which she hummed again.

“i knew you’d like it, it’s so soft and sweet,” she leaned in closer to your neck, sniffing it closer, “just like you, angel.”

what the fuck was actually wrong with her that night??

getting even more weirded out with each second that passed, you were about to let out a hesitant ‘thanks’ but got cut off by the sensation of her slowly sliding her hand up your pajama shirt as she kept sniffing you.

woah.

woah woah woah???

“wonyoung— what the fuck—“

“you smell so fucking good baby. fuck— so good. you used that body lotion just so i would notice, hm? i know you did.” she whispered into your ear, smelling your hair in the process as her other hand went down to your crotch.

triggering your fight or flight, you tried pushing her off of you slightly, but she simply wouldn’t budge.

wonyoung had always been taller than you by a long shot.

your own breathing getting heavier, you were starting to get progressively worried. why was she keeping you in place, why was she smelling you like this?? why the fuck was she acting weird???

“wonyoung get off of me—“

“god your smell.”

she just kept mumbling that same sentence as she sniffed you all over, gently putting her hand on your neck to keep you secure, making you squirm under her whilst you’re trying to break free from her tight grasp.

in a state of panic, “you’re scaring me wony stop it please—“

“stop moving or i swear to god i’ll fucking kill you.” was all she said back, it was dark, but not dark enough to where you couldn’t see her staring at you with that look again. you were shaking by this point, but you obeyed. you stopped moving, in fear of what she was actually going to do to you.

“look at you, being a fucking slut and putting on the body lotion i gave you, always wearing these outfits around me, and you seriously expect me not to do this shit? god, you probably sounded so good washing up too—” she rubbed your inners thighs with her free hand before adding on,

“what do you want me to do when your ass is out in front of me all the time, y/n? i tried to be nice and do it only when you’re sleeping, but answering the door at midnight in booty shorts and tshirt this tight? baby, you’re asking me to fuck you.” her hand still reaching down to your thighs and squeezing them, hard enough for her acrylic nails to dig in slightly as you winced in pain.

you tried speaking up, but words wouldn’t come out.

you could only stare at her, tears quickly welling up your eyes.

“oh angel, don’t cry..” she pouted, quickly taking that same hand she used to hurt you and wiping your tears with it. you could only flinch “i’m so sorry baby, i— i just can’t help it. you look so good and smell so good and—“ she slid her hand up your shirt and quickly went under your bra, playing with the nipple for a few moments almost immediately as she breathed in more of your pheromones before exhaling sharply yet again. “fuck y/n your tits—“

“—i’ll be quick, okay? i promise it’ll be fine, i’ll be sooo quick.”

wonyoung very quickly slid her hand back down your crotch as she forcefully kissed you, tightening her grip on your neck whenever you weren’t giving her enough tongue. “come on baby, work for it, i know you want this.”

you didn’t. you didn’t want it.

her fingers slipping under your shorts and onto your panties, she rubbed circles around your wet clit through the fabric of them, closing her eyes in euphoria when she heard your choked up moan.

“shit.. look at you, being all wet for me. i knew you’ve always wanted me to do this to you. hm? come on, say it.”

“l-let go off me—“

her nails dug into your neck once more, making you whimper. “shut. the fuck. up.” she whispered, “i guess bitches like you shouldn’t be allowed to speak up, huh. that’s fine, we’ll have you be a stupid puppy instead, okay? you can do that, right?”

you only cried out in front of her, clit still being stimulated from her long and cold fingers. her disturbing gaze piercing through yours, her pretty face exhibiting the ugliest thoughts she had about you.

“i said, nod, bitch.”

and so, you nodded. eagerly, at that. of course you did, with the amount of strength this girl was putting on her grip, you needed to obey her every word.

even if you had abundant tears rolling down your face.

“you’re so pretty like this.” she breathed out, before kissing you then pulling back away, “you’re getting me so fucking wet y/n.”

then, she gradually reaches into your underwear and puts her hands on your naked cunt, rubbing the slit and feeling how wet it is. in response to that, she laughed.

she laughed in your face.

but before you could even process anything, however, she already had two of her fingers buried deep inside your pussy, already curling in all of the right places.

and that’s when you remembered the fact that she had acrylic nails on.

“w-wonyoung— take them out take them out it h-hurts wonyoung it hurts p-please—“

“i don’t give a shit. you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and take it. you know what’ll happen if you don’t, don’t you?”

she pumped and curled her fingers in and out, watching you as your facial expressions changed with each movement she made, smiling and mocking you.

and that went for what felt like hours.

until she decided she had enough of you crying and begging for her to stop. she believed that it was, in her words, ‘her turn to feel good’ now.

so she took off her own clothes and rubbed her dripping pussy onto your own, her hand digging into your neck if you moved in a way she didn’t like.

her words rang in your head, things like “y-you’re so fucking selfish y/n, it’s usually so much better, whenever you’re sound a-asleep peacefully— oh my god.”

it didn’t take long for her to cum, since seeing you sob so prettily made her so unbelievably aroused. and when she did, she just went back to cuddling you. as if you weren’t bleeding from your nose, thighs and neck. as if you weren’t in pain, she just went back to cuddling you.

and you just had to silently cry in her arms. those were the only ones you could do that in at that moment.

#smut #kpop gg #female reader #ive smut #jang wonyoung x y/n #jang wonyoung #jang wonyoung x female reader #jang wonyoung ive #jang wonyoung smut #ive jang wonyoung #smut ive #wonyoung ive smut #wonyoung ive #wonyoung #ive wonyoung #wonyoung smut #wonyoung x female reader

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monzabee · 1 year

Text

the name game – cl16

masterlist

Summary: The one where you and Charles try to get through one of the first hardships of parenthood.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: pregnancy (and pregnancy symptoms), crying, angst but also tooth rotting fluff

Request: “Can I request Charles and his girlfriend or fiancé having a baby? And they are talking about names and she suggest her ex boyfriends name to piss him off and he gets really upset and mad. And they then tlak about last names and she tells him she wants their baby to have her name and he is not happy about that or hyphenating as he feels strongly about his family name”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’m so happy to be back after a month of exams, and what better way to kick it off with a charles fic?? the whole concept was extremely cute and i loved it so much, but i kind of wanted there to be a chaotic aspect to it?? thank you anon for your request, and i hope you guys enjoy this one! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Some people keep saying that the hardest part of pregnancy is the first trimester, some say that the hardest part is actually giving birth because, well – it’s quite literally pushing a baby from right there. But to you, the hardest part is not the nausea, or the possible pain of giving birth, or the sleepless nights to come, no. To you, the hardest part is deciding on what to name your baby. Everyone around you seems to have an opinion on what to name the baby, of course, and with the increasing amount of (sometimes uncalled) suggestions coming from you from all around, you and Charles find yourselves in the middle of a never ending game of name the baby.

“Alfred?” Charles suggests, raising his head from his phone.

The suggestion gets a groan, you shake your head to let him know that it’s definitely not the name. “Excuse me, are we about to raise Batman’s butler?”

“Good point,” he nods his head, “we are Marvel people anyway.”

“You guys are useless at this, you know that right?” Arthur scoffs, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “Why don’t you wait until the baby is actually born? Many people say that it’s easier to name a baby that way.”

“And how do you know these people?” Charles asks, eyes narrowing at the edges.

Arthur raises his hands on the either side of his face in mock surrender. “Touché.” He takes a moment to think, “Why do you only looking at boy’s names? I thought you didn’t want to learn the gender until the birth.”

“We don’t,” you affirm, slowly perching yourself on the barstool next to Charles, “Charles just thinks that it’s going to be a boy.”

Arthur watches as his older brother nods while smiling proudly, then shares a look with you which screams, He knows there’s a fifty-percent chance, right? You shake your head as you shrug, turning your attention back to your phone. “Oh, oh! What about Luka?”

“Luka,” Charles repeats, and tests the name coming out of his lips, “Luka Leclerc?” His watches as you give him a bright smile as you nod repeatedly.

“It does have a nice ring to it,” Arthur comments from his place on the couch as he abandons the book filled with baby names in his hands.

“Luka.” Charles repeats the name again, but as he looks into your expectant eyes, he can feel a nudging at the back of his mind. Luka, Luka, Luka – has he met someone with the same name before? Well, probably, he thinks. He does meet a lot of people during his day to day life, not to mention the race weekends. He decides to let go of the worry, establishing in his mind that he probably met a fan with the same name– “No, chérie! We can’t use Luka!”

“What?” You ask him with a small pout on your lips, “Why not?”

“You dated a guy named Luka, remember?” He reminds you, expecting you to catch onto what he’s saying. “Chérie, it was right before we dated!” You look at him in confusion as you try to piece what he’s saying together, but Charles just looks at you in disbelief, “I can’t believe you want to name our baby after a guy you dated!”

“But–” You start, eyebrows furrowing together as you try and make yourself remember. “That can’t be true.”

“I’m telling you,” Charles turns to Arthur, raises his eyebrows as he looks at his brother for support, “Arthur tell her that I’m correct.”

Arthur chooses to throw him the pillow he takes from behind him. “How should I know the guy she dated before you, you idiot?”

“Would it kill you to be on my side for a change?” Charles deadpans.

You tune out the rest of their argument, still trying to remember whether Charles is actually correct or not – the pregnancy hormones definitely not helping you on your case. “Wait!” You exclaim, making both of the brothers to turn towards you. “I never dated a guy named Luka,” you raise a finger towards Charles to shut him up before he even gets a chance to speak, “let me rephrase that. I never dated a guy named Luka, because the last guy I went on a date with before we got together was Lucas.”

Charles’ voice is tentative as he asks “Lucas?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You roll your eyes at him, “Why would I try to name our baby after a guy I went on one date with?”

Arthur nods in support of you, “You have to admit you overreacted, Charles.”

“Okay, you? You zip it.” Charles snaps at his brother and then turns to you. “I’m sorry, chérie, but I thought it was Luka.”

“Well it wasn’t,” you cross your arms over your chest, “and don’t tell your brother to zip it, he’s right!” You let out a chuckle as you share a look with Arthur as Charles watches the both of you let out chuckles at his expense.

He lets his eyes narrow and he silently watches as the two of you make fun of him for his outburst. He only talks when your laughter is dying down, “Are you guys done?”

“Oh come on, darling, it was cute.” You lean towards him to link your fingers between his.

He raises one of his eyebrows as he asks, “So you wouldn’t react the same way if I just did that?”

“Oh, Charles, don’t–” Arthur warns him, but you quickly stop him.

“No, no,” you bite back a smile, “continue, my love.”

“As I was saying,” Charles gives his brother a pointed look and then turns his attention back to you, “you wouldn’t react the same way if I wanted to name our future child ‘Charlotte’?”

“Excuse me?” You stutter, frowning as your expression turns into a pout. You wait for a moment for Charles to realise what he’s just said, but when he fails to do so, you prompt him by asking, “How is that similar to what just happened? And why would you bring her into this in the first place?”

Charles shakes his head in disbelief, “How is it not?”

Arthur gets up from his place on the couch and pretends to yawn as he stretches his arms over his head, “You know what, I’m feeling kinda tired maybe I should go home.”

“You sit right back down on that couch, Arthur Leclerc.” You point a finger at him despite having your attention solely focused on your fiancé sitting in front of you, and not on the poor boy who tried to get away from the inevitable fight you and Charles are going to get into.

He lets himself fall back on the couch as he groans and presses a pillow over his face as he mumbles, “Here we go again.”

“I hope you know that these two situations are not similar to each other – like at all.” You emphasise for Charles, “I can’t believe you would even say that!”

There is a clear look of bewilderment in Charles’ eyes as he asks, “You dated ‘Lucas’, I dated Charlotte, how is it not the same?”

“I went on one date with the guy, didn’t date him for three whole years, that’s not the same, you idiot!” You exclaim as you quickly press your hand against your chest as you glare at Charles. “I can’t believe you couldn’t see that, God, Charles! You do this, you always do this!”

Maybe under different circumstances, Charles would have acted a bit smarter. He is, after all, a smart man, he prides himself of being one, but being the absolutely stupid man he is, he asks, “Do what?”

Arthur turns back from the couch, almost breaking his back in the process as his eyes widen in shock as well as he gives his brother a look which screams, How more stupid can you be, you dumbass? In an attempt to diffuse the tension, which is building between the two of you, he recommends, “How about we focus something other than the baby’s name, like the theme of the nursery?”

“Fairy tales,” you answer at the same time Charles chimes, “Racing cars.”

“Okay I take that back.” Arthur mumbles as he watches you and Charles throw glares at each other. “Let’s just stop talking about the baby? It’s clear that the two of you are set on having all the fights you didn’t have before deciding to have a baby.”

Charles lets out a supportive sound. “We clearly suck at discussion right now, this is starting to turn into the argument we had about you taking my surname.”

“Are- are you serious right now?” You stutter once again, eyes widened with surprise. “You are so obstinate, Charles! You refuse to see the right when you’re in the wrong and you refuse to compromise!” You voice is coming more of as a groan now that he’s opened that door. “We didn’t need to have that argument, because i’ve been telling you that I am hyphenating my surname.”

He lets out a similar groan, as he tries to reason, “I just don’t understand why–”

“So our children can have your name, but they can’t have mine?” You raise an eyebrow in warning, eyes narrowing on the edges as you look at your fiancé with suspicion.

“No,” he retorts, trying to defend himself, “I never said I didn’t want the baby, or our future children, to have your surname, I said I just wanted them to have mine.”

You let out a humourless laugh at his reasoning, “So I’m just supposed to lose a big part of myself when we get married, is that it?”

Charles immediately feels a wave of guilt wash over him as he realizes the impact of his words. He jumps up from his seat and rushes over to you, kneeling down in front of you as he gently takes your hands in his. “Well, no– I didn’t mean it like that–”

“I think I know what you’ve meant, Charles.” You voice is shaky as you mumble the next words, “Can you just help me get up, please?”

“What?” Charles asks, motioning his brother to stand back. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stand up on my own, I’m six-months pregnant!” You exclaim, the tears finally start falling down your cheeks. “And it’s all because of you!”

In hindsight, Charles should’ve foreseen the way his words would cause such a commotion in your relationship – given the fact that the two of you have talked about it before. As the weight of his insensitivity settles in, a new wave of panic washes over Charles – he just couldn't shake the thought that his thoughtless words might push you away. And he knows he should’ve listened to Arthur’s warnings before, and probably should have used better words to express his feelings instead of saying things he didn’t mean in the first place; but then again, he’s never been too good at it in the first place. After receiving a very lengthy lecture from Arthur what to say, or rather what not to say, to a hormonal pregnant woman, he left the apartment the two of you share in a hurry to find you. Despite the logical side of his brain constantly remind him of the fact that you know the city well enough to not get lost, the nagging voice at the back of his mind reminded him of the worst things that could have happened both to the love his life and his baby. So imagine his frustration when you don’t answer any of his calls as he frantically rides around the city in hopes of finding you and apologising like he should’ve before you got out of the door.

After dialling your number for the umpteenth time that night, he releases a relaxed breath when you finally answer his call. “Mon amour, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Charles?” He hears your voice play through the car play speakers, “Oh, Charles, I did something bad.”

“Y/N.” Charles can swear his heart stops for a moment, he pulls the car over quickly to give you his undivided attention. “Talk to me, love, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident–”

“Chérie, please tell me what happened.” He pleads, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter with anxiety. “Where are you? I’ll come to get you.”

He hears you take a shaky breath as you mumble your next words, “I accidentally ordered both raspberry and lemon ice cream, and I can’t finish both.”

“I- darling,” Charles lets out another relieved breath, “I’m coming to get you now, okay? Just wait for me.”

Your voice is sheepish as you mumble, but the small sniffle Charles hears through the speakers is enough to make his heart clench. “Okay, can you please bring me my blanket?”

“Of course I will, just stay there okay?” He mumbles as he starts up the car again, “I love you.”

“Thank you, darling, I love you too.”

Some of the anxiety he has been feeling about your brief disappearance ease with the enlightment as Charles begins to drive towards the small ice cream parlour near your apartment. Of course, you were right around the corner when he was looking for you throughout the entire city; and of course, he should have known you’d crave ice cream after eight o’clock. Thankfully, it doesn’t take him long to get to you, and he remembers to grab the blanked you keep in the car for when you get cold during night drive the two of you go on frequently.

He finds you sitting at one of the tables right near the door, sitting by yourself as you eye the cup in front of you with a small pout on your face. “Chérie.”

“Charles.” You mumble, meeting his eyes as you exhale a deep breath. “You found me.”

“Well to be fair, love, you’re right around the corner from our home.” He drapes the blanked across your shoulders before settling next to you. A small smile forms of his face when you push the small cup towards him. “You got lemon ice cream?”

You sigh sadly as you wrap the blanket around you tighter, “I couldn’t get far because the baby wouldn’t let me, and she wanted ice cream – and it’s habit, Leclerc.” You scowl at him, quickly adding, “I’m still mad at you.” You let out a frustrated groan when you find him smirking covertly, “What?”

“You called the baby a ‘she’.” He points out, grabbing the spoon and getting some of the ice cream on his spoon, “You think it’s going to be a girl.”

“I- I- no!” You gasp as you watch him bring the spoon to his mount and gives you a dimpled smile, “You stop that right now, Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc!” You reach over to hit his arm lightly, “I’m still very much mad at you.”

“I know,” he responds grimly, “we have to talk about what happened.” He laces his fingers against yours as he takes your hand on his arm in his, “I didn’t mean anything I said, I am so sorry.”

You let out a deep sigh, eyes softening around the edges, “I need you to understand that I don’t want to lose a part of myself just because we are getting married and starting a family, Charles.” You shake your head lightly as you give him a sad smile, “Do you know how it makes me feel when you say that you want our children to have only your surname?”

“I do.” Charles replies, but after receiving the look from you, he adds, “I mean – I do, now.”

“Charles,” you begin, “I love you, and I love that we get to go on this journey together, but I am not giving up my name. And I want our children to have both of our names.”

“I’m sorry, chérie, I don’t know why I said that.” Charles looks at you with a sad look.

“Your feelings are important to me,” you tell him, “I need you to know that.”

His eyes widen in surprise, “I know that, oh God. I do know that, Y/N.” He presses a small kiss to your conjoined hands, “And you have to admit, love, Y/N-Leclerc sounds great.”

“Thank you,” you let out breathily, eyes brimming with tears, “I love you.”

“I love you too, chérie.” Charles’ smile turns into a mischievous one, “So you think the baby is going to be a girl?”

“Shut up, Perceval.” You bite back a smile as you bring your hands on your belly, “I just hope she has your dimples and not your anger threshold.”

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