#me updating when nobody is around? more likely than you think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mothandpidgeon · 4 months

Text

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you.

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller.

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely.

Her words still ring in your ears.

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said.

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you.

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart.

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder.

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says.

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask.

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room.

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid.

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you.

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better.

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now.

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say.

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture.

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say.

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh.

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles.

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her.

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there.

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face.

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy.

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself.

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze.

“Mercy?” Sarah asks.

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass.

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air.

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her.

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around.

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.”

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night.

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller.

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away.

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands.

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor.

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps.

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something.

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies.

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral.

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break.

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster.

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk.

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground.

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence.

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you.

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged.

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete.

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her.

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet.

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill.

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway.

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers.

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says.

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her.

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle.

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck.

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away.

You wait for a long time.

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now.

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes.

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine.

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare.

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you.

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family.

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope.

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning.

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday.

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt.

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you.

He left you to die but you just go on living.

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night.

You’re on your own.

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone.

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her.

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead.

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head.

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk.

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north.

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival.

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you.

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal.

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven.

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached.

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall.

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table.

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home.

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you.

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright.

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage.

“That really you?” he asks.

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope.

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife?

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner.

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller.

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up.

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become.

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up.

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel.

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival.

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago.

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath.

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall.

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened.

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks.

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out.

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes.

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says.

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you.

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious.

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself.

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder.

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark.

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back.

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say.

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing.

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall.

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel.

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today.

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine.

“You okay?” Ellie asks.

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much.

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall.

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers.

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken.

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says.

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out.

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache.

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted.

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you.

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded.

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves.

“Want some company?” you ask.

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in.

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him.

“Surprised you remember,” he says.

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.”

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living.

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything.

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck.

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down.

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.”

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him.

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says.

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says.

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear.

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him.

A thick knot forms in his throat.

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment.

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch.

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end.

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out.

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky.

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect.

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask.

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains.

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates.

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since.

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes.

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile.

“How’s she look?” you ask.

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods.

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair.

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library.

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor.

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all.

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”.

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved.

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly.

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink.

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy.

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing.

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet.

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago.

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek.

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours.

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it.

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say.

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went.

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night.

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning.

And then you kissed him.

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing.

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone.

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you.

That’s when he heard it.

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong.

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you.

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again.

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself.

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you.

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you.

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon.

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth.

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs.

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says.

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply.

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says.

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life.

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there.

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips.

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open.

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers.

“Stay,” you murmur.

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back.

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress.

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well.

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further.

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could.

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.

After a while, though, it happens.

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them.

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light.

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment.

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him.

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper.

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up.

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever.

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want.

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul.

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass.

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him.

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him.

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply.

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this.

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories.

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before.

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back.

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?”

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft.

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself.

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all.

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection.

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years.

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller fic #bfd!joel miller #jackson!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic

1K notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 5 months

Text

Mrs Doctor Reid

Nobody knew Spencer had a wife. But they found out. Nobody knew she was pregnant, not until she walks into the BAU sporting a sizeable bump.

1.2K

Season 4 Reid

Nobody on the team knew that Spencer Reid had a wife. Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the team, the resident genuis. He had a wife. And nobody knew. (Well, JJ knew, but she wasn't about to spill his secrets).

Before he had joined the BAU, Spencer had been engaged. They'd gotten married after his first year with the team, but neither of them wore a ring on their finger. She wore it around her neck and he carried it with him, fingerings it in the privacy of his hotel room.

Spencer told JJ. He had to tell somebody, just in case something happened to him. JJ was more than happy to keep her a secret for him. And, once she met Will, she understood why he wanted to keep her secret, keep her to himself.

Morgan was the first to find out. The case was a pickup artist, an unsub that was patrolling clubs to pick up women and murder them.

Morgan and Reid had been in the clubs, handing out flyers to give to the potentially vulnerable women. When Spencer teased Morgan for getting a lack of phone numbers, he challenged him. So, Spencer used magic to impress the girl at the bar. "Well, if you see anything, call me," he'd said with his usual awkward smile.

The awkward smile his wife loved.

"And, if I don't see anything?" She asked, obviously flirting with him. "Can I still call you?"

Again, Spencer wore that smile. "Uh, my wife would prefer it if you only called if you saw anything."

When Spencer turned around, he saw the expression drop from Morgan's face. "Reid, you're married?" He asked, and Spencer nodded. "I'm so sorry, man. I didn't know."

"Nobody did," Spencer replied.

When the team found out, they felt incredibly guilty. They couldn't help but think back to Tobias Hankel and when Reid got kidnapped. She had no idea. His wife must have been sat in their apartment, alone and worried.

But JJ smoothed things out, assured them that Reid's wife was kept updated while Spencer was kidnapped. JJ told her what she needed to know and kept her calm.

But now they'd been married for four years. Spencer started wearing his ring after the team found out. He called her in front of the others while they were working on a case.

The team was so happy their resident genius was in love.

They knew about his wife, about the love of his life, but they didn't know about the baby.

Kids was always on the cards, but they had waited. Spencer's career was taking off when they got married and, with how often he was away, it didn't feel right.

But they weren't careful. It wasn't like Doctor Reid to not be careful like that. She was on birth control and there was always condoms in top drawer next to their bed.

But they slipped up just once. She'd forgotten to take her pill and hadn't noticed (Spencer was good with gently reminding her when he could. This hadn't been one of those times), and Spencer hadn't reached for a condom.

Neither of them quite realised they weren't being safe. Not until she realised there was an odd number of pills in the packet at the end of the day. She'd taken both pills, the number should have been even.

But she didn't panic. Didn't mention anything to Spencer. What was the chance she was actually pregnant? She kept things quiet until the morning sickness started. Until she took a test, and then another, and then another. When they all came back positive, she called Spencer.

She didn't normally call Spencer while he was on a case. He was busy, she waited for him to call her in the evenings, when he was in the hotel room and he wanted to hear about her day. Spencer couldn't help but assume that something was wrong.

Far from it. Everything was perfect. The minute Spencer got home he pulled her into his arms, his face in her hair. "I love you," he whispered again and again and again.

Spencer didn't tell the team. Didn't want them to worry while he was on cases.

She became, admittedly, a little clingy when she began showing. Not to the extreme of stopping him from going on cases, but, whenever he was home, she was attached to him.

And Spencer couldn't say no to his wife. She was craving pizza? He was getting pizza. She wanted him to read to her? He was bringing in a selection of books, sitting her on the sofa and rubbing her swollen feet with one hand while he read.

If she wanted to bring him something to eat, he'd text her when they were landing to do paperwork.

It didn't matter the time. Mrs Doctor Reid made two sandwiches and set off for her husbands place of work.

She had met the team a couple of times before. It wasn't many, but it was enough for her to be friendly with them. With a science museum tote bag over her shoulder, she stepped out of the elevator and walked into the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Morgan spotted her first. "Hey, Mrs Reid," he called, gaining the attention of the rest of the BAU. But then Morgans eyes widened. "Holy shit," he couldn't stop himself from saying.

Emily let out a gasp as she walked over. "Congratulations, Mrs Boy Wonder," she said as she hugged her. Mrs Reid hugged her back.

Hotch shouted his Congratulations through his office doorway to the happy couple. As he did so, Morgan walked over and placed his hands on Spencers' shoulders. "My man," he said quietly and let go.

With a fond smile, Spencer pushed his hair back. He grabbed his chair and wheeled it over to her. "Hi Honey," he said softly, sitting her down on the chair.

Her bag was in her lap as Spencer wheeled her over to his desk. "I missed you," she said, pushing her own fingers through his hair.

Spencer softly smiled at her. "I missed you too," he whispered as she grabbed his hand. Public displays of affection weren't Spencers thing but, for his pregnant wife, he'd do anything.

She quickly let go of him and opened her bag. "I brought sandwiches," she said as she pulled one out and passed it to Spencer. He leaned against the desk as he unwrapped it, keeping hold of it as she unwrapped the second. Once they were open, they swapped. She took the sandwich from him and he took the sandwich from her.

As they ate, they spoke. She didn't ask about the case, she never did. No, she asked about the city and whether he'd been eating well.

Spencer assured her that he had been eating well. The conversation they had was the one they normally had in the evenings, when he was on a case.

He pressed his hand to her bump for a quick second as he finished his sandwich. "I've got paperwork to finish up," he said and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Wanna sit with me while I get it done?"

She nodded her head and Spencer grabbed another chair. As he worked she kept one hand to her bump, the other holding Spencers.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut

3K notes · View notes

spidybaby · 3 months

Text

We never go out of style

Summary: Pedri agrees to let you be his stylist for the day and change his wardrobe for the better.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: a little something because I know how much we loved the Mercier look for the party. He looked so good, and I couldn't help myself thinking about what it would be to help him change his style.

"Can I be your stylist today?" You ask Pedri

You notice how he's looking for an outfit for the reunion at Pablo's house. He loves a good blue jeans and some random t-shirt he has.

But you know he got some pr sent to him from the Brand Mercier, and you already made a few outfits in your head for him.

"I promise it will look good in the end." You smile.

He narrows his eyes to you, not sure about that. He knows you have an amazing style, but he's not the type to take a lot to get dressed.

"I'm not sure if I want to try a new style today, preciosa."

You pout, all your ideas for his outfit thrown down now that he declined your offer of styling his outfit.

"Can I at least give you a recommendation?" You ask. He nods, moving to let you pick something and showing it to him. "What about this?"

You grab some white muslin cargo pants, a plain black shirt, not too tight, not too loose. And pair it with his white D&G portofino sneakers.

"If you don't like it, I get it, but at least give it a try."

You go back to finishing your hair, letting him decide if he wants to wear the clothes you picked or if he wants to go with his own picks.

"Ready, preciosa?" He asks.

You turn, noticing how he's wearing the outfit you picked for him. You smile at him, loving how the outfit fits his aura.

"You picked my choice!"

He laughs at how excited you look. "I did, me veo bien?" (Do I look good?) He asks, posing for you.

"Muy guapo." You hug him, giving him a small peck. "Let's go, we don't want to be late."

When you two arrive at the reunion, Pedri gets a lot of compliments. Every room he enters, a compliment. Every person he greets, a compliment.

"Platanito." Ferran shakes him by the shoulders. "Joder! You got better at dressing yourself or what?" He jokes.

Pedri smiles, rolling his eyes at his friends tease. "I got myself a stylist." He laughs, turning to you.

"Finally!" Pablo says. "That person did an amazing job because this suits you."

You smile, not revealing you are the creator of his outfit. Letting him get all the compliments and the attention.

"Can you help me with my outfit?" He asks you from the closet. "Por favor."

You were watching a movie with him, but he got a call from his agent to go to a quick meeting with him and some other players that were represented by him.

"Si, let me pull you something together."

You take a few minutes to pick the right things. Not wanting to go out of his comfort zone but not wanting the skinny jeans to make a comeback.

"Do you have your blue sambas?"

"I do. I never thought I was going to wear them, but I think I was wrong."

"Put them on. It will make a difference with the outfit."

You let him finish his dressing on his own, walking to his bathroom and picking his favorite perfume.

"Let me spray you." You ask him, signaling him to open his arms so you sprayed his chest area. "That's it."

He smiles, taking a turn to show you his outfit, you smile at how confident and happy he looks.

"A model," you joke. Pecking him. "Go already, so you can come back quickly." You jokingly push him out of the room.

He got the same reactions he got at the party, everybody was telling him how amazing he looked.

How this new style fits him better than the skinny jeans, how it makes him look more mature and more presentable.

He was over the moon with how many people around him and even on the internet because Fer sent him some tweets he saw were praising him.

"I need your stylist number." Ferran says. "I want to update my closet."

He smirks. Nobody knew it was you because you let him have the shine and the praise. "You have her number already."

"Really?" Ferran sks, confused. "Is someone we met before?"

"It's Y/n." He confess.

Ferran was surprised. He praised how good you were at styling your outfits, but he never thought Pedri would agree to change his comfort style to experiment.

"Would you be mad if I ask her to help me with my style?"

Ferran is your friend, you two have a good relationship. But he asked pedri first because he didn't want things to get misinterpreted.

"Just don't copy my new style." He jokes. Hitting Ferran on the head. "Adiós, tiburón. See you at training."

Pedri drove back to his place. You were waiting for him there. He walks into his room, noticing you were playing on his iPad.

"I'm back, amor." He got closer, kissing your forehead.

"Hola!" You grab his cheeks. "How was your night?"

He taps his nose to yours, rubbing it in an Eskimo kiss. You love it when he does that. "I missed you." He kisses your nose and your cheek.

"Missed you too."

He hugs you, you wrap your arms around him and pushed him down with you. Making him lay down on top of you.

"Ferran asked me if it was true that I was the one who is behind your new style."

"Es un tonto." He laughs. "He wants you to help him too. But you're not allowed to give your best ideas to him, save those for me."

"You always get the best of me, guapo."

"As I should." He laughs, kissing you.

You love how confident Pedri has become since he decided to change his style for the better. He loves being praised.

"Pedri is so happy with you." Ferran says. "He's also so confident now. Love suits the two of you."

You blush at his words. You love hearing how Pedri is happy to be with you. Mostly because you are very happy to be with him.

"We are here, niña." Ferran parks in front of Pedri's house. He was standing in front of his door waiting for you. "Lover Boy waiting for his princess." He jokes. Making you laugh with him.

"Adiós, Ferran." You kiss his cheek goodbye. "Thank you for today, it was fun."

"Thank you, I love you for helping me. And don't worry, I will make it up to you."

You shake your head, opening the door and walking out of the car. "Adiós, Fer!"

He waved back again. "Adiós, Pedri." He shouts as he drives off.

You walk to the entrance of his house, he's waiting with open arms for you. "How was it, preciosa?"

"Mmm, kiss me first." You smile, grabbing his face and planting a kiss to his lips. "I love you so much."

He smiles into the kiss, he loves how your love language is physical touch. You are clingy in a good way. And he can't complain because he loves it as much as you do.

"It was so good, so fun." You say.

You helped Ferran with his closet renovation, helping him with the shopping and picking some outfits for the next games they have.

Pedri can't deny he felt a little jealous, not from Ferran in a bad way. But about how he ignored how much you loved doing styling jobs.

And he feels like the way you help his friend is to get him to a next fashion level. He's not a fashion icon, he's not Jules Koundé.

But he's ready to let you do what you asked him to do many times. He is going to let you change his style.

"And I got myself a bag." You lift the paper bag from the store. Showing off your purchase. "It was so much fun." You finish with the story of how your day with ferran was.

He warms dinner for you, you talk with him about his schedule, planning for a dinner date.

"Hey, are you free tomorrow?"

"I am." You say thinking. "Just need to pick my pills from the pharmacy. Why?"

He doesn't know how to ask, he feels weird because of all the times he declined your help, saying that he knew what his style was like.

"Want to go shopping with me?"

Your eyes light up, you were so happy he asked you that. "Si!" You smile like the Alice in Wonderland cat. "But first, we have to do a purge of your closet."

"Let's eat dinner and go do that."

You two talked about what kind of clothes he wanted to include into his style and what kind he wants to stop wearing.

"You are going to hate me." You say, walking with a box that you marked as "donations".

You place it on the floor in the middle of his walk-in closet. He rolls his eyes in a funny way. He knows this would be hard but he needs to.

"Preciosa, don't worry, you have full permission to do what you think is right."

You have a devious smile. Your eyes are already on his cut-off skinny jeans. He follows your gaze. Shaking his head and walking closer to the jeans.

"Give it." You order. "Now."

"But I wanted to take them for vacations."

You let him think you moved from them. Grabbing some Jean shorts, putting them into the box.

"Any jackets, mi amor?" You ask, making him turn.

You grab the jeans quietly and put them on the side of the box. He was picking two jackets that were not a fit for him.

"Seriously?" He asks, noticing the Jeans on the box. "Y/n!"

"I love you." You smile at him. Grabbing the jackets and putting them on top of his jeans. "Back off, Pedro."

"It's Pedriiiii." He laughs, making the i sound for long. "Repeat after me. Pe."

"Pe." You roll your eyes at him, smiling.

"Dri"

"Dri."

"Pedri." He smiles.

"Pedri!" You smile. "Pass me the t-shirts you want to let go of, Pedri."

"Mhm, that's better." He kisses the top of your head, handing you the clothes. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, and we can go to the mall early so we don't find that many people."

"Okay, Pedri." You joke with him.

"It's amor, for you." He pouts, kissing your lips.

"Turn around." You say, clapping your hands at the sight of him. "Joder, you look so good."

"You think so?" He asks, blushing a little. "Isn't this jacket too much?"

You walk over to him, fixing the necklace of the jacket and fixing his hair. "Look at yourself." You point at the mirror. He turns, eyes on yours. "Do you like how you look?"

"It's new to me because I never wore this type of style."

"But are you okay with the idea of wearing this? Do you feel uncomfortable?" You ask him, again.

"I don't, I like the way I look so much!"

You smile, giving him more options. "You look amazing, Pepi." You say. "The last few clothes."

He nods, walking fast to the fitting room. He changed again, walking out for you to see him. "That's amazing, my boyfriend is a piece of cake." You take pictures of him to show him how good he looks on photos.

"Thank you for doing this with me, I love you for always having time for me and for always making me feel good in everything I want to wear."

"Don't thank me, I'll be there for you no matter how atrocious your outfits are." You pitch his cheeks, making him laugh. "No, really. I'm here for you, always."

Yourusername has added to their story

Pedri has added to his story

467 notes · View notes

ventismacchiato · 4 months

Text

O4 stuck with you — screaming and fighting !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

You and Scaramouche were dragged backstage and away from prying eyes, faces flushed and chests rising as the adrenaline from the argument on stage had yet to wear off. The dressing room was still, only filled with you both throwing insults at one another. The rest of your group members shared sheepish looks with one another, deciding to let you both get it out of your system.

As soon as the door was tightly shut you whirled around to face Scara.

“You just always have to get the last word, don’t you?” you asked, stepping closer to him.

“You’re the one who started yelling at me, I was just defending myself,” Scaramouche replied, his tone equally heated, but his posture was much more composed than you.

“You’re the one who told me to give up,” you accused.

“Yeah, give up the trophy so I could hold it,” Scara sighed.

“Yeah, as if you deserve to hold it.”

“Now that you mention it, I do deserve it more than you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to actually work for something,” you glared, voice laced with contempt, “You probably get everything handed to you by your mom.”

He glanced away, abruptly uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t talk. Your voice is even more unpleasant when you’re whining.”

Naturally, you kept talking

“That’s the only reason you’re even here with the rest of us,” you continued, letting your jealousy cloud your senses, “I can’t be the only one who thinks that.”

Scaramouche’s face hardened. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered, shoving his way past you to leave the dressing room before turning around one last time.

“Nobody even knew she was my mother until I became a trainee. I used a different name on the application forms. But if hanging onto that little fact makes you feel better about being so pathetic then be my fucking guest.”

And with that he slammed the door behind him.

You hated the way he could make you inexplicably self-conscious. It used to be a foreign sensation, one left behind long ago in insecure adolescence.

You stood there, breathing heavily, as the door swung shut. The room was silent, everyone stunned by the intensity of the confrontation.

Lumine stepped up and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, slowly guiding you outside to cool off.

“We’re also gonna head back,” Aether awkwardly laughed, grabbing Childe and Kazuha by their collars and dragging them out.

“So, that just happened.”

“Shut up, Venti.”

“We really need to broaden your vocabulary, Y/n. Your insults could be better.”

“You too, Fischl! Zip it!”

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

begging u guys to let me use ur usernames as fans in this au pls let me make u a crazy stantwt user xx but pls comment on the masterlist so i see it

also everyone saying scara keeps eating yn up w insults is sending me 😭😭

title from the way i loved you by ts it suits scarayn so well

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — 👍 leave me comments and asks instead of begging for updates pleek i need motivation to post more

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic

#scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche texts #stuck with you smau

553 notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 3 months

Text

Part 1: Simple Things

Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Cause your presence still lingers here (it won't leave me alone)

(In which a procrastinating writer starts another series to continuously procrastinate on)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 5.8K (lowkey shocked I managed that)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Look at me not being a liar! I'mma try to be good with updates but we all know me. This first chapter is mainly buildup and it's not my favorite but it's important to get the plot rolling. I know very little about California and it's going to become more and more apparent throughout this series so everyone who knows Cali, just pretend thanks! Did I edit? Yes. Are there probably still mistakes? Also yes. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked, and what you wanna see next!

February 2033

“Anywhere but GSV,” Paige says adamantly, staring at the white wall in front of her, instead of her exasperated agent.

Talia lets out a deep sigh, perfectly manicured sharp red nails tapping incessantly against her desk. For the most part, Paige is a dream client and when Talia says jump, she says how high. It’s easy to trust Talia’s vision when she hasn’t let her down once since Paige’s management company has assigned her to their basketball sensation. But most of those decisions had been about endorsement opportunities, opportunities that wouldn’t have other ramifications on the rest of Paige’s life, opportunities that didn’t come with personal consequences.

“Paige-”

“How about the Sparks?”

“They’re not offering nearly as much.”

“I’m okay with taking a pay-.”

“You do not pay me as much as you do for me to let you finish such a stupid sentence.”

“Fine,” Paige spins around in her swivel chair, “you’re telling me nobody else is offering me anything as big as GSV.”

“Well I mean Indiana…” Talia trails off, barely able to hide an impish grin at Paige’s pronounced eyeroll, “and of course you could always just stay in Dallas.”

Paige winces at the mention of the current team. With one championship and two MVP campaigns under her belt, it would be incorrect to say her time with the Wings hadn’t been fruitful but she’d never felt quite at home here. And that had been before the personnel changes had hit Dallas and suddenly, the team coming off a near perfect season with a trophy in their hand, was struggling to keep themselves in playoff contention. Paige had stuck it out two more seasons after, a testament to her loyal nature and desire to start and finish her career at the same place like many legends had done but ultimately enough had been enough and she’s come to terms with the fact that she’s not meant to be a part of the Wings forever.

“Can’t you try talking to the Sparks again?” she says, hands massaging her temple as she resorts to begging, “it’s fucking L.A. they’ve got to have some money lying around somewhere.”

“Even if they did, you and I both know the Sparks aren’t a good fit basketball wise either. GSV has everything you’re looking for. They need a PG and you need a championship contender who’s offering you a deal like they are. You can’t throw all of that away just because-”, Talia bites her lip, catching herself before she can vocalise out loud the real reason they’re having such a complicated conversation about what should be a simple decision.

Paige swallows uncomfortably, skin prickling with that all too familiar fire that spreads through her veins every time her past brushes a little too close to her present. It would be impossible to keep them from ever colliding, but for almost a decade now, Paige has managed to keep them separate beyond absolute necessity. She’s done the cordial handshakes when the Wings played the Valkyries and given due diligent praise when the media had asked about the competition, but that was it. More than that would have been like willingly walking into a fire with kerosene all over her body. And Paige can’t do that, not when the burn marks from years and years ago, still haven’t healed.

“Team chemistry is important,” Paige says finally, “I might be an on-court fit at GSV but that won’t matter if it’s a disaster off the court.”

Talia sighs and Paige can tell she’s fighting the urge to whack her head against her desk, “it’s been years Paige. You've lived a whole life without each other. The two of you are adults. You’re professionals and you’re two of the best goddamn players in the league. You have the same goal; you want to win. You don’t think you can put that behind you to get you both what you want?”

You've lived a whole life without each other

It’s like a well-aimed arrow that barely breaks skin but shatters something underneath, something buried deep within, something she should have gotten rid of years ago but hasn’t been able to let go of yet. Something that feels a lot like a forever she’d never gotten to live out and an always that had flown out of her reach. And Paige knows nobody lives the life they’d expected to live at fifteen or even eighteen but the truth is that most of her dreams had come true. The only thing missing was the person she’d expected to be there by her side when they did.

“Okay listen,” Talia begins again, “here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Bossy,” Paige smirks, bracing herself, knowing she’s not about to like the next words out of Talia’s mouth.

“You’re going to go to San Francisco,” the older woman raises a silencing hand the minute Paige tries to protest, “you’re going to meet the front office, you’re going to meet the GM and you’re going to tour their facilities. And if after talking with them and seeing all they have to offer, if it’s still not enough to counter having to play with her, then we can revisit this conversation.”

“Can I say no?” Paige tilts her head with a sigh.

Talia smirks and it’s enough for Paige to let her head finally hit the table, “your flight leaves in two days.”

***

Azzi wakes up to a light weight sprawled over her back and tiny fingers rubbing circles against her temple. She can’t help but smile, keeping her eyes closed and listening to the sound of her daughter’s quiet breathing as the little girl continues her ministrations. It’s a new skill she’s been taught, to wake her mom up like this instead of screaming. So far, Azzi think’s it’s been a successful transition.

“Mama,” Stephie whispers in Azzi’s ear, “are you awake yet cause I really really want waffles.”

Azzi laughs, finally flipping herself over and Stephie squeals as she goes from on top of her mother, to landing on the bed, “I thought you said you wanted pancakes last night?”

“I did,” a thoughtful look crosses the five-year-old's eyes, “I think I changed my mind.”

“You think?” Azzi suppresses a smile. It’s uncanny really how she’d given birth to her perfect mini-me. The moment the nurses had placed the tiny little creature into her waiting hands, she’d noticed immediately how much it felt like looking through a door into her childhood. And with every passing day, it seems Stephie morphs more and more into Azzi. From the way her face betrays her every emotion to the way she can’t make a decision to save her life, it’s all Azzi and really it makes sense, because Stephie is all Azzi’s.

“Yes,” Stephie nods matter-of-factly as she sits up onto her knee and pulls at Azzi’s blanket, “so can you get up and make me waffles now?”

“Oh of course I can, your highness,” Azzi says dramatically, rising off the bed and letting Stephie climb onto her back, “would you like chocolate sauce or maple syrup with that your majesty?”

Stephie groans, burying her face in Azzi’s neck as if her mother has asked her to make the most difficult decision in the world. They settle into their morning routine, Stephie brushing her teeth as Azzi goes through her meticulous skin care regiment, occasionally dabbing little bits of this and that on her daughter’s skin, eliciting soft giggles from the little girl. It’s her favourite sound in the entire world. Azzi’s life isn’t perfect and there’s a million what if’s, one bigger than all of the others, that plague her mind sometimes but then she looks at Stephie, and she knows she wouldn’t change a single decision she’d made. Because they’ve all led to this moment, 9 am on a Friday, making waffle batter as her five-year old sits on the counter-top. It’s not everything but it’s enough.

The frantic sound of a door being haphazardly slammed open has both Stephie and Azzi startled, until Colleen comes bursting through it like a tornado.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” Azzi’s best friend and manager says, out of breath, as she throws her car keys on the kitchen table.

“Hi Aunty Leen,” Stephie grins, waffle batter all over her mouth as she continues to dip and lick.

“Hey kiddo,” Colleen ruffles Stephie’s hair before sitting down and staring pointedly up at Azzi, “you might wanna sit down for this. I have news.”

“Sorry to break it to you Collen but your new h-o-o-k-u-p-s are not sit-down-newsworthy,” Azzi smirks as Colleen scrunches up her nose trying to keep up with the spelling.

“Oh trust me Az, I wish this was about my h-o-o- whatever,” Colleen takes a deep breath, “GSV is meeting with a potential point guard this week.”

“I would hope so. We really need a PG if we’re gonna redeem ourselves next season.”

“Right, well- you see- the thing is-”

“Today if you can please Colleen,” but there’s this knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Her sixth sense that’s been dormant for years is prickling and if she’s honest with herself, Azzi knows the next words that are about to come out of Colleen’s mouth before her best friend has even said them.

“GSV wants to sign Paige,” Colleen says slowly.

For a moment there’s silence and it’s ridiculous how all it takes is her name for Azzi’s mind to start flipping through pages and pages of a photo album she’s buried deep in the treasure chest of her mind. And for a second, she allows herself to get lost in a flood of everything we could have been until the sting of her hand slipping against the waffle iron jolts her back to reality.

“Fuck,” she curses, immedaitely blowing at her fingers. It does nothing. She should know by now that when things burn, the flames might die out, but even the ashes remain on fire.

“Bad word Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, unaware that her mother’s world has just been thrown off balance, “you owe me a kiss.”

She juts her cheek out and Azzi complies, trying to ignore the way her heart is desperately trying to beat out of her chest. It only calms down a little when Stephie presses a kiss of her own against Azzi’s cheek.

“Sorry sweetheart, mama’s bad, Here can you mix this batter for me,” Azzi whispers to the younger girl, distracting her child with something to do, before rounding on her best friend, “she can’t come here.”

Colleen sighs, getting comfortable in her chair, “unfortunately I don’t think you have much choice.”

“The h-” Azzi cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “the haystack I don’t. This is my team and I don’t want her on it and I’m gonna walk into Ohemaa’s office and tell her exactly that.”

“Right and what exactly are you going to tell her when she asks you why you don’t want the best point guard in the league on your team Azzi? Your team, who mind you, lost in the finals last year because you didn’t have a point guard.”

Azzi flinches, gritting her teeth, both at the reminder of the loss that had happened not long enough ago and the fact that she couldn’t very well go into her boss’s office and blurt out the truth about a tragic relationship that had lived and died in secret.

“It's a bad idea, the two of us- we’ll kill each other Colleen,” she struggles to string the words together, swallowing away the we already have that tastes like bile on the tip of her tongue.

“Well you’re gonna have to learn not to,” Colleen says decisively, slipping from being Azzi’s best friend to her manager, “because you and I both know that if you want GSV to win another championship, you’re going to need her.”

“Are you my manager or GSV’s,” Azzi grunts, rubbing a tired hand against her forehead.

Colleen smiles, “it’s the same thing isn’t it? What’s good for GSV is good for you. And we all know the two of you thrive on the court together.”

“We did. Past tense,” the admission falls like lava from Azzi’s lips, singeing the edges of her mouth as everything that she’d let simmer underneath threatens to bubble over, “there’s no guarantee we still will. Besides, it's all a moot point anyways because she would never agree.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Colleen cocks an eyebrow and Azzi groans at the rhetorical question, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop, “because last I checked, she’s flying into San Francisco tomorrow.”

***

Paige has a problem. A really big fuck i really want to be a golden state valkyrie type of problem. She’d fought it every step of the way since she’d landed in San Francisco. Something about the city felt like it was bursting with basketball. The drive from the airport into Oakland had been bursting with murals of the Warriors and the Valkyries and for a split second, Paige can see her own face up on the billboards in a #5 Valkyries jersey. She just doesn’t know if it she can imagine herself next to the woman in #35 again, the woman whose smile in the posters is exactly as she remembers it to have been like when it was pressed into Paige’s skin every night almost a decade ago.

On top of that, Omehaa Nyanin had seemed to know exactly what made Paige Bueckers, the basketball player, tick. Every argument Paige had about why she shouldn’t be Valkyrie, the woman had a counter ready, as if she’d already anticipated exactly what the blonde would say. The Valkyrie coach had been even more prepared with videos of their offensive and defensive sets and how they fit in tandem with Paige’s own skill set, all ready to show off the minute she had walked through the door. It should be the easiest decision in the world to let herself just belong to this world that is screaming her name but there’s a rope around her waist trying to tug her back to safety, trying to tug her away from dousing her still-open wounds in salt.

Sighing, Paige lets herself into what she’s been told is called the “chill area”. Coach had offered to give her a tour of the facilities herself but Paige had declined, asking instead for her former UConn teammate and currently Valkyrie centre Jana El Alfy to do the honours, desperate for a familiar face who knew her history to bounce her thoughts off. It clearly wasn’t what the woman had wanted, but considering she was trying to convince Paige to choose them, whatever the blonde wanted, she was going to get. Massaging her temples at this irritating predicament she’s unwillingly found herself in, Paige’s head rolls back against the back of the chair, eyes closing involuntarily.

“You’re not supposed to sleep in here,” a tiny voice echoes and Paige almost jumps out her skin in shock.

“Fucking hell,” she curses as her eyes fall upon a little girl who seems to have materialized out of nowhere, “shit kid, you scared me.”

The child scrunches her nose and Paige feels her heart beat start to quicken as recognition settles in. She knows this little girl, has seen her on the sidelines at countless games and just like every other time, all she can think of is just how much this child resembles the future Paige had once believed would be hers.

“You owe me three kisses,” the girl says matter-of-factly, her tone so similar to her mothers. It shouldn’t surprise Paige, not when the kid has those same dark curls, those same doey brown eyes, that same nose scrunch.

“I owe you three kisses?” Paige repeats.

The girl rolls her eyes letting out a sigh far too grave for someone of her age, “yes. Mama says whenever someone says a bad word around me, they have to give me a kiss. You said three bad words, so you owe me three kisses.”

“And what does Mama say about asking strangers for kisses?”

“Stranger danger duh silly,” the child puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she looks at Paige with a far too familiar expression, “but you’re not a stranger.”

Paige purses her lips, “I’m not?”

“You’re Paige Bueckers. I’ve seen you at Mama’s games and Nanna and Pops have pictures of you in their house,” she stops, staring accusingly, “you don’t know who I am? Did you forget me?”

And Paige doesn’t know what catches her off guard more. The casual mention of a house that used to feel like a home, of people that used to feel like family or the fact that, that puppy dog stare still has the exact same effect on her that it did years ago, even if the owner of said eyes is different.

“Of course I didn’t forget you. You’re Stephanie,” Paige says softly, trying to muster a smile as she adds the last name, “Stephanie Fudd.”

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” comes the immediate correction, “but everybody calls me Stephie,” tiny hands wrap around Paige’s neck as Stephie climbs on to her lap, tapping a finger on her left cheek as she smiles up at Paige, “so now can I have my kisses?”

Slowly, Paige presses three featherlight kisses against the little girl’s cheek and when Stephie squeals in delight, she wishes she could record it. Someone somewhere is playing a practical joke on her, Paige is sure of it. Because all of a sudden, all the little things she’s been collecting as to reasons why she might just like the Bay Area are starting to feel insignificant in front of this one, in front of Stephie and her innocent smile and the way her free hand is curled around Paige’s neck as if she’ll hold on forever. And the world is definitely playing a cruel prank on her because Stephie can’t be the reason Paige wants to stay, not when her mother’s the reason Paige needs to go.

“Your Mama just lets you run around the building like this?” Paige asks, trying to focus on Stephie instead of the turmoil in her brain.

Stephie smiles sheepishly, “well I was ‘posed to stay with Aunty Leen while Mama talks to Miss O but then Aunty Leen got a call and I was bored so I came here.”

It doesn’t take Paige too long to decipher that Miss O must be Omehaa, but she’s stuck on who the hell Aunty Leen could be. She’s distinctly aware that her skin has no right to prickle, her hands have no right to sweat, her stomach has no right to knot, she has no right to feel anything when it comes to Stephie’s mother. But jealousy floods through her anyways.

“Who is Aunty Leen?” Paige asks and then mentally slaps herself for it.

“Aunty Leen is Aunty Leen,” Stephie explains unhelpfully, “so Miss Buecks-”

“Bueckers.”

Stephie shoots her an unimpressed look, “same things Miss Buecks. Are you here to join Mama’s team?”

“I-” Paige scratches her neck, only slightly taken aback by the direct question, “I don’t know.”

“You should,” Stephies says decisively, “Mama’s team is the best team in the world and Mama’s the best player in the whole wide world.”

Paige can’t help but smile at Stephie’s loyalty, “so why does her team need me then?”

Stephie looks contemplative for a moment before she uses her index finger to beckon Paige towards her, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course you can,” Paige says, leaning her ear down so Stephie can whisper into it.

“Don’t tell anyone but you’re my second favourite player.”

Paige swears her heart feels like it might burst. She’s been plenty of people’s favourite player and it’s always been nice to hear. But somehow, all of that seems to pale in comparison to being Stephie’s second favourite player.

“Why’s that a secret?” she asks softly.

“Cause you play for the wrong team silly. I can’t cheer for not Mama’s team,” Stephie huffs and then her eyes twinkle, “that’s why you should play for Mama’s team and then I can support you!”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Paige concedes, battling against the part of her brain that’s conjuring up an image of Stephie on the sidelines, cheering for Paige.

“What’s log-ic?” Stephie asks.

“Just means you’re a really smart kid,” Paige says, tapping the little girl’s nose. Her head is ringing with warning bells because this floaty feeling of belonging that’s encompassed in this little bubble she’s found herself in with Stephie is not one she’s allowed to feel, not now, not ever.

“STEPHIE,” a shrill voice echoes outside and Stephie immediately dives into Paige’s neck, hiding herself in the crook of it as a frazzled woman bursts through the door. Her eyes soften when they fall on Paige and the blonde can’t help the caught expression that filters on her face. She knows she’s done nothing wrong; Stephie had been the one to find her after all. But perhaps it’s because she’s scared Colleen will take one look at her and see that tiny rebellious part of her that wants to fight what’s coming next, wants to fight the woman who’s going to take Stephie away from her. Paige isn’t one to get attached easily. It had only ever happened once before when she was fifteen and she’d just known that the girl shooting three’s next to her on the court was meant to be in her life in one way or another. But things had been simple then. Nothing was simple now.

“Stephie,” Colleen says slowly, “what have I told you about running away from me?”

Stephie peeks her head out from Paige’s chest, a coy smirk playing on her lips, “not to do it? But you were boring me Aunty Leen.”

Oh that’s Aunty Leen, Paige thinks and she absolutely should not let out a sigh of relief at that but she does anyway.

“I was on the phone for two minutes, Steph.”

“Two minutes too long,” Stephie counters and Paige has to stifle a laugh.

Colleen rolls her eyes before holding out a hand, “well your Mama’s nearly done so we have to get going kiddo.”

“Can Miss Buecks come with us?” Stephie asks innocently and both Colleen and Paige freeze.

“I don’t think-”

“I’m not sure-”

They both begin before their eyes flicker to each other and they can’t help but smile. It’s funny how relationships work, how one snapped string can cause a whole web to dissolve, no matter how hard everyone involved had tried to make it work.

“I’m waiting to meet someone sweetheart so I can’t come right now,” Paige explains, “but maybe next time?”

And she shouldn’t add that last part, not when Paige should be devising an escape plan to never be in Oakland again instead of giving Stephie false hope about a next time that’s far from guaranteed. But it’s worth it for the way Stephie grins, staring at Paige like she’s given her the world’s greatest gift.

Before Paige can say anything, the little girl presses her lips against Paige’s cheek and she swears she stops breathing for a moment, “I hope you choose to play for Mama’s team Miss Buecks. I think you’d look pretty in purple.”

***

May 2024

“I’ve figured it out,” Paige says triumphantly as she unceremoniously flops onto Azzi’s bed.

“Well hi to you too babe,” Azzi grumbles as she scoots over to give the other girl space. It’s unnecessary because the minute she does, Paige only moves closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s torso.

“Hi baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss against her girlfriend’s lips and pulling away so quickly that it leaves Azzi chasing after her.

Azzi huffs and Paige laughs as she gets herself comfortable, resting her chest on the darker skinned girl's stomach, “I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our future,” Paige says triumphantly and Azzi can’t help but smile at the our as she intertwines their fingers together. It’s been years in the making and there’s nothing Azzi’s more confident in than those two words. Not everyone finds forever this young, but she’s certain they have because really she can’t imagine a life where they don’t belong to each other, a life where every night isn’t spent exactly like this.

“And what do you see for our future,” Azzi asks softly.

“Well it’s simple really,” Paige hums, “I’m going to get drafted wherever next year but the year after, you’re definitely getting drafted to Valkyries-”

“I don’t know about definitely-”

“Azzi it’s rude to interrupt,” Paige sends her a chastising look.

“Right of course,” Azzi nods solemnly, “continue.”

“As I was saying. You’re definitely getting drafted to the Valks and then we just have to wait for my rookie contract to be up and boom! I’ll join you in the Bay Area and we’ll be together forever and ever and ever.”

Azzi giggles, brushing her hands through Paige’s hair, “that simple huh?”

“That simple,” Paige promises, catching hold of one of Azzi’s hands to press a kiss to her palm, “it’s us Az, we’ll always be simple. Besides, I think we’d both look pretty good in purple.”

***

May 2033

The Valkyrie facilities are state of the art as expected. Jana is the perfect tour guide, pointing out everything she knows will garner Paige’s attention. As they step foot onto the practice court, Paige feels the overwhelming sense of this could be home that’s been dancing along with her every step of the way today. All the resolve she’d carried with her from Dallas is slowly crashing down and she can practically hear Talia’s sing-song i told you so voice echoing in her head.

“You’d be really good here P,” Jana says excitedly, doing a little spin.

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Paige teases, as she picks up a basketball and subconsciously starts dribbling.

Jana laughs, before a serious expression takes over, “we would. We got really close to winning it all last year and I think you might be our missing piece.”

“I want to,” Paige confesses, “I just-” her eyes flicker to the most recent MVP poster hanging on the walls, Jana’s gaze following hers, “I don’t know if I should. It’s so complicated.”

“Only if you let it be,” Jana says as she swipes the ball out Paige’s hands, “don’t think of everything else P, just- just think of the basketball. Because you know basketball-wise, this is the right move,” she passes the ball to Paige with a smirk, tilting her head towards the basket, “why not take a shot at it P?”

Paige shakes her head, palming the ball in her hands, “can’t believe my son’s all grown up.”

“Children of divorce have no choice but to grow up,” Jana says gravely and Paige laughs despite herself.

Taking a deep breath, Paige raises the ball, arching her arms perfect as she shoots it. It barely touches the rim, before falling through the basket with swish. Hitting the floor with a quiet thud, the ball rolls until it’s stopped by someone's foot. Behind her, Paige can hear Jana cheering for the shot but she barely registers it, her entire attention on the new figure who’s just entered the court. It’s a tale as old as time. Azzi Fudd enters the room and suddenly everything else in Paige’s peripheral fades away, until it’s just her and the girl who still manages to steal her breath away.

“Nice shot,” Azzi says, as she takes a slow step towards Paige. The air is thick with tension as if a time capsule has been opened and their past is leaking onto the pages of their present, staining it with marks of the you and me that we used to be. She should say something, even if it’s just an acknowledgement of the compliment but her tongue feels dry and she’s scared that if she opens her mouth, all the things she shouldn’t say will flood out instead.

“Hey Az,” Jana’s eyes flicker awkwardly between her former teammates, “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Had to talk to Omehaa about a couple of things,” Azzi says airly, eyes still fixated on Paige, “Jana can we have a minute?”

“You won’t kill each other will you?” Jana asks nervously.

Azzi laughs and even Paige cracks a small smile, “no Jana, we won’t kill each other.”

“Just making sure because last time-” Jana clamps a hand to her mouth as both Paige and Azzi flinch, “because nothing- you guys- you guys talk. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

She scampers away cursing to herself about putting her foot in her mouth and it would be amusing, if not for the fact that Paige can still barely breathe. They haven’t been alone in a room since last time and the air around them hangs heavy with the casings of the grenades they’d hurled at each other.

“I’ve never seen you with braids this early in the year. They used to be your summer braids,” Paige remarks slowly. It’s a mundane change to notice but it’s significant of the larger truth, significant of all the time that’s passed, significant of the fact they don’t know these new versions of each other.

“Yeah um, can’t really do summer braids with the W season,” Azzi chews at her lip.

“Right yeah- yeah that makes sense,” Paige nods. The awkwardness is killing her. She’d never been a fan of the silence, always more comfortable in the chaos but it had been different with Azzi. There had been something peaceful, something calming, about the quiet, when it was just the two of them, hands intertwined, eyes closed, as they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeat.

“Paige-”

“Are you here to tell me not to come to GSV?” Paige blurts out, “because it’s- it’s okay if you are like I get it. I mean- the two of us- it’s just really fucking complicated so I get it- I get it if you don’t want me here.”

“I didn’t,” Azzi admits and it shouldn’t, but Paige feels it sting anyways, “you’re right. You and I- there’s just a lot there and it would- it would be really complicated and when Colleen first told me I- I was gonna go fight Omehaa and be like abso-fucking-lutely not but-” she sucks in a deep breath, “do you remember the promise we made to each other?”

“We made a lot of promises to each other,” Paige says, unable to keep the harshness out of her tone, “sorry I-”

“No you’re right,” Azzi swallows, “but I meant the promise we made when we first started dating. We said we’d never let the personal affect the professional. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d never let our relationship affect us on the court And I know- I know we’ve broken a lot of promises to each other,” they both let out a breath at that, “but I think- I think maybe we should try and keep this one.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need a championship contender and GSV needs a PG. Paige, I’m not here to convince you to not come to GSV, I’m here to ask you to join our team,” Azzi says resolutely.

Paige isn’t easily shocked by anything really. She’s lived what she’d consider a pretty interesting life but of course if anyone was going to surprise her, it would be Azzi. Azzi, who has always been an exception to every rule.

“You- you want me on your team?” Paige repeats, a little dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Azzi affirms, “you told me once that we could be the best backcourt duo in college basketball and we were, even if it was only for a year, we were and so now I’m telling you that I think we could be the best backcourt duo in the WNBA.”

Paige is silent for a second before a smirk takes over her features, “I think I did a lot more than tell you, pretty sure I had a whole video that proved it.”

“Are you asking me to make you a recruiting video?” Azzi raises an unamused eyebrow.

Paige shrugs, “could be a nice gesture.”

“I have a five year old child, Bueckers. Trust me when I say I don’t have enough spare time for bullshit like that when you can easily just search up our highlights on youtube. Or just look in your trophy case if you’re looking for proof of how good we can be together,” Azzi says, a hint of that familiar sass bleeding into her spiel.

“We really were good together weren’t we,” it spills out before Paige can stop it and it’s like they’re taking two steps back from each other, the friendly-ish banter of mere seconds ago being clouded by a past tainted by their mistakes, “on the court I mean. We were really good on the court.”

“Right,” Azzi averts her gaze, “just- just think about it okay? This doesn’t- it doesn’t have to be about you and me, not like that at least. It’s about basketball. GSV is the perfect fit for you and you’re the perfect fit for us. And deep down you must know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I’m just in it for the free trip to Cali,” Paige surmises.

Azzi scoffs, “you and I both know you make too much money to need a free trip to Cali. If anything, the hotel they’ve given you is probably cheap for your standards.”

“Maybe I just like feeling important? I always did love people showering me with praise.”

“You always did love the attention,” Azzi grins teasingly, “but there’s one thing you always loved more.”

You, Paige thinks but she can’t say that, “and what’s that?”

“Winning. That’s what this is about. You want another championship, so do we. Come help us and let us help you. It’s that simple.”

As Azzi turns to walk away, Paige can’t help but call out from behind her, “you know I think your daughter’s pitch might have been better.”

There’s a smile playing on Azzi’s lips when she turns her face back a little. It’s a new smile that Paige can only assume is Azzi’s Stephie smile, “yeah? What did she say?”

“She told me she thinks I’d look good in purple,” Paige smirks.

Azzi laughs, and it’s exactly like Paige remembers, “it’s that simple huh?”

“It’s that simple.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

474 notes · View notes

bwskj · 1 month

Text

Keeping You Safe…

leon kennedy x reader r18 smut:

synopsis | leon kennedy, a government agent ordered to rescue you, keeps you safe while waiting for the storm to die down in an old abandoned cottage.

tags l backstory, rough, intimacy, cream🥧, soft

word count: 6763

fic is mine alone, no repost~

—— enjoy! ——

The sky is dark and thunder echoes from high above. Hands over your ears, you follow the steps of the agent sent to rescue you, jumping every time he shoots or knifes one of the monsters along the way. Uneasy, you take a look behind you, but thankfully there’s nothing and nobody there.

The sound of static pulls you back ahead of you. Leon is holding a talking device close to one side of his face. “Yea, like I have any other choice. I’ll give you an update when I find one.” There’s a pause while the person on the other end replies. No matter how hard you try to pick out the sound, the wind and rustle of leaves overpower the callers voice. “I’ve been doing this job for years. You don’t have to tell me again… Copy that. Condor one out.”

Though shivering and slightly numb, you muster up some strength to close the small distance between you and Leon. “What’s happening?”, you ask.

“Chopper can’t land because of the incoming storm. We’ve gotta find some place to stay and wait. Come on, just stay close behind for now.”

Your stomach twists when you hear this. How long do you have to endure this?! How long do you have to be afraid? You watch as Leon carefully treads the path, hands gripping around his revolver, ready for any enemy. It surely is going to rain soon, you think, as you look up at the sky which seems even darker now than earlier.

Luckily, as the both of you slowly made your way down the path, there weren’t as many monsters needed to be dealt with. They were mostly alone too so Leon was able to easily sneak up to them and stab them in the throat. An old wooden and stone cottage soon entered your sights, and for a second you feel relief. You’ve been running from monsters for a long while. At least you’ll be able to get some rest.

Leon tells you to stand still, and so you do, arms now wrapped around yourself. You watch as he goes around the house, checking to make sure there weren’t any monsters lurking nearby. When he cleared the property, he went up to the front porch. Once again positioning his handgun, he slowly opens the door to check the inside. The moment Leon’s body vanishes in the house, fear starts to bubble up within you. But it isn’t long until the door opens wider and Leon comes out.

“It’s safe. Come in.” He says, gesturing with a nudge of his head.

You don’t wait a second before you’re making your way up the porch and into the cottage. It’s definitely much warmer in here so you loosen the tight grip you have around yourself. There’s a musty smell to it but it’s probably because of the wet wood. There’s a table, a sofa chair, a chimney, a sink, a bed… everything a human would need to live decently, except there was no more human living in it.

“Make yourself at home,” Leon says, waving over to whatever still exists in the house.

“It’s not your home,” you say.

“Well, finders keepers.”

You sigh, which seems to help warm you up even more. Leon’s making some noises again and when you turn to look, he’s busy rummaging through his things on one of the work benches.

Walking over, you peer from behind him and watch as he starts mixing some ingredients together. “What’s that?” You ask.

“Medicinal herbs,” he replies, “If you mix them they become more potent and effective.”

He stuffs the mixed vials back into storage. Then, he takes some other stuff and starts forging them together. “And that?” You can’t help but ask.

Leon huffs a sigh. You think he might be getting annoyed, but he replies, “I’m making more ammo. In case, they get in here.”

You freeze up and from his peripheral, Leon notices. “And for the journey ahead,” he adds, “Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Unfortunately, his words don’t reassure you. Instead your stomach turns even more, now with a growing guilt. You’re helpless, just a maiden in need of rescuing.

“Do you think, maybe, you can give a me a gun to use?”

“Just keep doing your thing, princess. I don’t want to have to worry about being accidentally shot by the one im protecting.”

You grumble a, ‘im not that stupid’, under your breath but secretly you know Leon’s right to worry about that. And, princess? Really? You’re capable of handling yourself, to some extent. Surely, if only your opponent weren’t flesh eating monsters and cultish mutation-obsessed maniacs.

Leon turns to look at you after setting the ammunition he just made down on the table, “You should go get some rest. I’ll be awake so you can rest easy.”

Your eyes lift to look at his face. You’ve never been directly in front of him like this before. It’s also the first time you ever saw him clearly. You already knew he was a handsome man, just from his build alone, but even his face is good looking. Chiseled jaw, tall nose, and with sharp piercing eyes. Silver, almost overgrown, strands of hair frame the sides, which was probably why you never certainly saw his face. You flinch, spotting the still open gashes and scratches on his face.

“You’re hurt,” you start as your hand reaches up to his face. But Leon grabs your wrist, stopping you from going any further.

“I’m fine. I’ll be healed sooner than you think.” He lets go off your arm, but your limb still hangs in the air. Leon brings his attention around the room, looking for something that you can rest on. Again, you watch as he searches through drawers and cupboards until he finds a soft piece of cloth—for sleeping or for the table, you’re not sure.

“You can lay on these,” he points to some rice bags in the corner, “and use this to keep yourself warm,” he hands you the cloth he found.

“Thanks,” you manage to say. The cloth in your hands doesn’t feel as dusty as you thought it would. It’s probably because it was kept shut in a cupboard. Might be even better to hide in a cupboard forever rather than face those monsters again, you think.

You walk over to the pile of empty rice sacks in the corner of the room. Those look dusty. You look back over at Leon but he’s back to being busy with his stuff again. As you crouch down and plop yourself onto the floor by the bags, you start to feel the exhaustion truly set in. Your feet and legs burned in soreness. Your shoulders drooped and your eyelids grew heavy. You lay on the sacks and you aren’t even able to fully cover yourself with the cloth before you fall into a deep sleep.

——

The monsters are heading towards you. And that powerful man, floating, he’s coming from the opposite way. And what are those? More of them screeching with what looks like tentacles sprouting from their heads.

You run, run as you fast as your legs can take you. But they are feeling sore and your heart can’t seem to catch up. You have to run, but you can’t breathe well. As you stumble, you take one look at your arm which terrifies you even more to your wits end. Your veins are turning a deathly black. It’s the mold.

“yn!”

Quickly, your head turns. “Leon!” You cry out.

Where is he? Where’s Leon? Your head feels like it’s spinning as you try to look around the fog and the hoards of scary things coming your way. His voice calling out to you echoes in every direction. You can’t find him.

Until you do, and he appears almost entirely consumed by the same mold as the one creeping up your arm. And all of a sudden, the monsters aren’t right behind you. They’re charging straight towards Leon, running right past you with a speed so quick that wind almost knocks you over. You know that he can no longer run.

“Wait, no! Leon!” Your cry is louder, clearly ringing in your ears this time, and your eyes snap awake. Breathing fast and heavy, your hands try to reach for your face but somebody else’s beat you to it. Leon is sitting next to you with a grip on your arm with one hand while the other is muffling out the sound of your voice.

“Hey, hey, shh it’s a dream. It’s a dream.” Your eyes twitch around until it finds the surprisingly soft gaze in Leon’s own pair as he holds you and your face in his hands.

As you quiet down, Leon slowly removes his hand from over your mouth. You start to gasp and hiccup, feeling tears welling in your eyes. “Leon…” you say and you throw your arms around his neck because you thought he had died just seconds ago. “You’re here.” You try to sniffle up your tears because you don’t want them to fall and wet Leon’s shirt.

“Of course, I’m here.” Leon says, pushing past his surprise at your sudden action of skinship. His arms which hung awhile in the air in hesitation, begin to softly pat and rub your back in an attempt to console you.

You hiccup some more, burying your face into Leon’s shoulder. There’s no way his shirt isn’t getting a little damp. His big hands rubbing on your back feel nice, and you can already feel your heart rate calming down.

“Don’t you ever think about yourself?” You mumble against him.

“What are you talking about?”

“In my dream… you were going to die. You had no chance. You were dead.”

You feel his chest rise and fall beneath you. “That’s not gonna happen. It’s my job to keep you safe until I get you home. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

You pull your teary face away from his shoulder, looking straight into his determined eyes. Your heart skips a beat, you think. “You’re going to stay alive for the sake of this mission.”

“Yes, I don’t plan on failing any of my missions.”

You chew on the inside of your lip and stare at him before saying, “Promise you won’t die. Or get fatally injured. Or injured at all.”

Leon frowns, wondering where the hell these words are coming from. “I can’t promise that. What i can promise is that I’m going to get you home, no matter at what cost.”

This time it’s you who frowns. He can’t seem to stop thinking about fulfilling his mission and keeping you safe. But what about him? How is he faring with all these wounds and having to worry about himself and you at the same time?

Leon notices your stare spacing out so he knows you’re thinking about something. Are you still not reassured? “Try to get some more rest. The rain hasn’t stopped,” he says.

It’s only now you notice the strong pitter

patter of rain outside. The wind blows as equally intense. “I can’t,” you say, because you’re scared the nightmare will happen again and you’re scared that when you wake up, the nightmare would have come true while you were sleeping.

You stare at your hand that is resting close to Leon’s chest, now only realizing how close the two of you are. It’s been a while with the both of you like this and Leon’s hand is still on your back. Does he have no intention of pulling away? Suddenly, your heart feels warm, not only because of Leon’s body heat creeping over to you but because he most definitely cares. He’s intent on keeping you safe.

“Thank you, Leon… for doing all this.” You position your head on his chest this time. Before he could open his mouth to tell you that it’s his job, you continue, “I know my father paid you to do this, but still… it must be difficult.”

You feel him breathe deep again. “You’re welcome,” he says, and you smile softly to yourself.

For a while, the both of you sit still and close. The rain continues to pour outside but you both can hear each other’s breathing. It’s so calming you can almost forget the nightmare you just had. You take a large breath in; Leon smells like dirt—the good kind. You watch, hypnotized, as your finger draws small imaginary circles on Leon’s shirt. When falling out of the trance, you shift your head up to check on how Leon is doing.

He isn’t looking at you or particularly anywhere. His expression is the same cold one he usually wears, but he appears less guarded and distressed. The cuts on his face are still open but he’s wiped off the dried blood and dirt surrounding them. He huffs out another deep sigh. You lightly frown before saying, “Are you comfortable like this?”

Leon’s gaze flicks over to you. You realize you’re so close to him you can even notice the slight twitch at the front of his brow.

He clears his throat, takes his hand off your back, and moves you off him. “Rest. I should get back to keeping watch.”

He pushes himself off the floor leaving you on the ground. Not even a few seconds of him away from you and you feel a shiver run through you. “Wait, don’t go!” You say, grabbing onto his leg because that’s the farthest you could reach. “Did you not like it?”

Facing you, he looks at your hand grasping his pant leg and then back to your concerned face. “I need to stay alert for our safety.”

Your eyes fall to the ground, but you don’t let go of him just yet. You look at his pants and catch sight of his pockets. “Can’t you just keep watch while you’re beside me. You have a gun in your pocket anyways.”

“Gun? I don’t have any with me right now. They’re all on the workbench.”

Huh? You think, and your head snaps up to look at him… then down to his pockets. That is not a… gun?

“I’ll just be by the door,” Leon says and he starts to move to step away. You’re clinging on strong, however, and you try again, “No! Just bring a gun with you here and stay here. Please, I still don’t feel safe being by myself.”

“I will only be a few feet away,” Leon states, like that isn’t obvious.

“Still…” you mumble, “you know what i mean.”

Leon sighs for the nth time and gives you a disapproving stare before saying, “You’re really a princess, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to argue but Leon tugs his leg away (apparently you weren’t holding strong enough), grabs a rifle gun and revolver from the workbench, and tosses it on the floor beside you. In seconds, he’s back on the ground with his back leaned on the wall. “Better?” He says with those sharp eyes again.

You feel a blush heat up your cheeks. You didn’t think he’d actually give in… and without much argument. You stayed sitting upright, however. You aren’t sure if you could just resume the position the both of you were in earlier. Leon’s squinting out the window on the opposite end of the room. He sure is keeping watch.

Then a shiver runs up your body again. It must be the rain making the air so cold. You take your makeshift blanket and put it around yourself, eyeing Leon as he grabs his weapons and starts pulling some levers and fitting pieces of metal in.

With him busy, you keep on looking. At first, you were locked on the sight of his arms, a vein peeking out whenever he exerts a certain amount of force. But then your eyes wander and it lingers at the thing you saw in his pants. That isn’t a gun, you remind yourself, and you feel a little bit of warmth wave over you for a second. It’s huge… or is it because he’s wearing tight pants. Something faintly pulses inside you and you bite on your cheek, knowing what it means.

You shiver again. The cold isn’t being fought off. You press your hands together, trying to eliminate the chill in your fingers.

Leon, noticing this, says, “Are you okay?” There he goes being concerned again.

“Yea, just…” your words trail off as Leon puts down his weapons and reaches for your arm under the cloth. His fingers run up and down your arm as he inspects for any sign of mold. You blush as his fingertips tingle on your skin. His hands are quite big too, probably almost twice as big as yours.

He looks up at your face. “Do you feel sick? You’re face is red,” his hand moves to check the temperature on your face. It’s warm alright. He takes your chin and moves your head up and around.

“What are you doing?” You say, finding it a bit too hard to keep a calm composure.

“Just checking,” He says.

He won’t seem to stop pushing your face in different directions, checking on and behind your neck, so you grab to stop his arm.

Something twitches on his face in what seems like surprise. “You’re cold,” he says, and he in turn takes your hand off his arm. He encloses both your hands around his, and almost immediately it warms your fingers up.

How is he so warm? He doesn’t even have a jacket on. “Don’t want you getting hypothermia,” he says, and you feel like scoffing. Great, another way you could die.

Just as he says this, you shiver for the third time, and you wonder if he noticed. Even if he did, he doesn’t say anything and sits still holding your hands in his. A shiver for the fourth time comes by, then, all of a sudden, Leon lets go, and he puts his arm around you to pull you close to him.

“Leon!” You exclaim in surprise.

“Just stay still if you want to warm up,” he says. With one hand wrapped around you rubbing heat, he fixes your blanket, making sure it’s covering you well, over your head, shoulders, and half your face. When he’s done, you’re snuggled up under the cloth and in Leon’s arms. For the first time in a while, you’re so comfortable.

Like this, you feel even more grateful for Leon. It’s like every part of you is warm now: your heart, your face, and your body. Leon’s still soothing you when he asks, “How is this?”

“Better,” you mumble into the cloth hovering over your mouth.

Leon sighs, and you think it sounds like one of relief. This would be the perfect time to fall asleep again, but for some reason your eyes won’t stay closed. Looking off in front of you, your sight is directed towards the floor, and how conveniently (lol) at Leon’s crotch. Is it just you or did it grow even bigger?

After a while more of staring, you come to the assumption that he is… hard. No man just exists with that big of a…

Leon clears his throat, causing u to jolt a little. You shift your head to look up at him. You seem to be looking up at him a lot of the time. The blanket on your head falls out of place.

You make eye contact, but you can’t tell what Leon is thinking. The both of you hold your gaze until it’s been too long and a tension snaps you both out of it. Your eyes fall back down, and you think… maybe, if he would like…

“Leon,” you say, and your hand thats all warmed up peeks out of the cover of your blanket. It hovers lightly somewhere on Leon’s chest. “Could I, maybe, show you how thankful I am?” Your finger lands on his chest, and slowly, cautiously, you start tracing a random path down his torso. His stomach softly rises and falls.

You don’t dare to look up to see Leon’s reaction just yet. But surely he knows what you mean, right? And you know he can stop you if he doesn’t want this.

“Show me?” You hear his voice, low, almost like he’s hesitant to speak.

You get to the end of his shirt, your fingers lightly picking at his belt. The bulge in his pants is only inches away from your touch. Your heart beat is speeding up with every second that passes in which Leon hasn’t pushed you away.

Mustering up courage, you pull your face up to meet his eyes again. Leon is staring back, and you try desperately to tell him what you mean with your own. You notice Leon shift his jaw, exhaling a breath through parted lips. You bite down on your lower lip as you start to feel that pulse again. He still isn’t moving away.

It’s now or never. You push yourself up with the hand on Leon’s belt, and it doesn’t take more than a second for you to lean in and put your lips on his. Your nerves freaking out at what you just did almost makes you yourself pull away but then Leon presses his mouth willingly onto yours and kisses you back.

He’s found a hold on your lower back as the two of you are kissing, the pulse inside growing stronger when you sense Leon’s obvious desire for your lips. His breaths in between every kiss is causing an electric feeling to run across your skin. It’s exciting you more that it really should. Well, this all shouldn’t be happening in the first place, but how can you stop yourself now.

Like Leon magically heard your thoughts, he pulls himself away. You guess it’s because he’s thinking exactly about that. “This,” his chest rises and falls quick as he tries to catch his breath, “We shouldn’t be… your father is not going to like this—“

“Of course he won’t,” you quickly say, “But why would we even tell him.” You don’t want to make it out to be but you’re desperate to feel him again.

“You’re my client.” He says with a frown. Who is he trying to convince?

“No, my dad is your client,” You reply, “I’m… I’m the one you’re trying to keep safe.” You go to hold his face in your hands, meanwhile his stare is still unsure, so you say, “And I need you to make me feel safe… right now.”

You can feel his hand scratching lightly on your back. With the way he was kissing you, he must want this as much as you do.

“You feel unsafe,” he asks but it sounds like a statement.

“Very…” you almost whisper as you slowly lean back in. His hand on your back squeezes you lightly. “So kiss me”

There’s a spark in his eyes before he does, closing the gap in between both your lips. This time his kiss is stronger, as if he doesn’t wish to think about anything else anymore. He pulls you in even closer and his hands feeling you up brings a good shiver up your spine. As the both of you move to respond to one another’s lips, the blanket becomes a bother so Leon rips it away. Your skin is now only separated with the cloth of your fitted blouse.

You try to push yourself closer because he tastes exceptionally good and you want more. When you start to get up on your knees, still kissing him and playing with the hair at the back of his nape, you feel Leon hooking an arm below your thigh to lift you over and on his lap.

“Leon,” you gasp because you’re sitting on him, and you can feel his rock hard dick beneath you.

“Don’t worry,” Leon says as he starts to move his kisses to and under your jawline, “I’ll keep you safe.”

You can’t help but lean your head back so Leon can kiss you even more. Your fingers are intertwined with his silver locks just above his nape. You can’t stop either from starting to shift against him, especially when Leon’s teeth grazes your skin. He knows what he’s doing, you think as you feel yourself flush in warmth, because as aggressive as he was from the start, his touch on you is also gentle and careful.

Leon’s hand slips under the back of your blouse, inching towards the clasp of your bra. It rests on top of it and you anticipate it to come loose, but it doesn’t and you look down at Leon, though all you see is hair.

Thinking he’s wary, you tell him, “You can… take it off.”

That’s all Leon needs to hear and he unclasps your bra with a tug and flick. Cool air seeps onto the skin under your shirt and you don’t even have time to gasp before Leon’s got hold of your breast.

“Ah, Leon,” you say, because Leon’s big hand feels warm and perfect on your cool chest. He squeezes and his mouth on your neck kisses you like he has to make sure he’s got every spot.

You can’t hold back any longer and your intently moving your hips against his big boner. There’s a low growl from Leon and you feel the vibrations of the sound on your skin. He grabs you from behind your neck and puts his lips back on your mouth. When he caresses the surrounding skin around your nipple, a louder moan accidentally slips from your lips. With your mouth opening, Leon takes advantage, trying to kiss deeper and on your tongue.

Noticing that you particularly liked that, Leon continues to play with the center of your breast. You’re breaths grew more ragged the gentler he touched you. When your lips disconnect to take a moment to breathe, you can’t take any more of Leon’s shallow teasing.

Grabbing onto Leon’s wrist under your shirt, you push his hand onto your chest, your nipple sitting in between his 2 longest fingers. “More,” you breath out.

You gasp as Leon listens, touching you there more purposely. Your back straightens as you try to push your chest closer to his hand while your clothed cunt still rubs on his erection. With eyes closed, pleasure courses through your whole body and you can already feel yourself dripping wet in your pants. You want to get them off.

You open your eyes, and look at Leon. His gaze is locked on you while you breathe heavily and rock back and forth on him. Somehow, him looking at you like this made you feel even better, and even when you close your mouth, you can barely stop the moans from sounding out.

“Ha..” Leon exhales, his hand that found it’s way to your waist squeezes the side of your stomach. You only notice now how his own breathing is rough too. He’s definitely feeling good.

“Leon,” you call his name again because just saying it alone feels amazing.

“yn.” hearing your name in that breathy voice of his makes your stomach flip. You feel Leon put pressure on your waist, likely trying to bring you closer to his dick. This is enough to drive you crazy.

“Leon, I can’t,” you say, “I need…” you don’t know how to say it.

“What yn?” Leon lightly puts his face in your neck again. You feel him breathe you in.

“I… I need you inside me,” hearing yourself actually say it out loud felt insane.

Leon exhales, “Take this off?” He runs his finger in between the rim of your pants and your soft tummy skin.

“Mm,” you move to work quickly with your zipper but you can’t get the button out. Leon helps you with that and you kneel up a bit to get your pants off.

“Is it cold?” Leon says as you sit back down, his big hands running over your exposed thighs.

“No, it’s okay.” You kiss him before he could worry even more.

Leon gladly reciprocates, trying to get his tongue in your mouth again. Leon’s hand on your thigh moves it’s way to your front. He softly circles your clit over your wet panties and you moan, feeling more of your juice spill out.

You grind, this time seeking more pleasure from his hand. “More,” you whisper on his lips.

Leon scoffs as he pulls away to look at you. “Needy, princess.” Surprised, you’re about to say something in retort, but then he slips his hand down your panties and his fingers start touching your bare pussy, and you forget what you want to say.

“You’re so wet,” Leon says under his breath. At this point, you think you might actually go crazy. Your moans start to sound more like needy whimpers the more Leon lingers only outside your pussy lips. You push your cunt down onto his hand and he knows you can’t wait any longer.

Leon is immediately able to put two fingers in. You gasp as it shoots right at your g spot. “Ah fuck,” you let out as Leon starts moving his fingers in a circle inside you. Gripping onto his broad shoulders, you steady yourself as he then pulls his fingers out before pushing it up inside you again. As he finger fucks you like this, you can’t control your moans, and you’re quite out of it that you don’t realize Leon focused on your lewd expressions and subtly rubbing himself outside his pants with his free hand.

The longer he fucks you the more you feel your muscles relaxing, and soon, even clenching against his fingers didn’t make you feel as filled up as you like. Your g spot feels good with every thrust of his fingers but you know you need more.

“Leon,” you ride on his fingers and go to kiss his neck this time. “It’s not enough,” you mumble, because you might be starting to feel shy.

“I need you… inside me,” your hand feels behind you until it meets his hand which has been palming his own boner. The cloth on this part is damp from precum.

Leon, alarmed, pulls you off his neck to look at you. “I… don’t have contraception.”

“I don’t care,” you say, and it’s mostly true. How do you tell him it’s even better for you when it’s raw and pounding inside you? How do you tell him you might be fine with risking it just to know how it feels to have his hard and big dick filling you up.

“This isn’t…” Leon starts, and you know he’s trying so hard to hold back.

“Please,” you say, giving him your most persuasive pair of eyes as you start softly palming his hard on in his pants, “Please fuck me.”

“You always get what you want, don’t you.”

You shyly look away because he’s right, being a daughter of a high official, you’re used to things going your way. You’re not that surprised when Leon starts unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You blush as you watch him do so underneath you, flushed as red and as excited.

“I’m going to fuck you then since you want it so bad,” he says and he lifts your body up with one hand, surprising you with how easily he does so, before slipping your panty to the side and positioning his raw cock right at your entrance.

You don’t have time to say anything as he helps you fit his cock inside. You can only gasp and shake when you realize the size and length of what was about to fuck you.

“Fuck,” Leon moans and you say “shit” as well because how the hell does it feel like there’s three fingers inside you. When you push down and his dick hits the end of your pussy, you exclaim and Leon has to put his hand over your mouth again.

“Quiet,” Leon shudders, “They might hear us.”

Suddenly, you remember the reality you are in. You’re not fucking Leon in a safe place. You were just running from mutated monsters hours ago. What would happen if one of them came in here while this was happening? Your heart rate speeds up at the thought, but you can’t keep it there as you get distracted every time Leon’s dick hits deep inside you again.

You continue this slow and steady pace of riding his cock. Just a bit more up and downs and you know you’ll get used to it. You breathe shakily as his thick member stimulates the nerves on your walls.

“You’re squeezing tight,” Leon exhales.

“N-no,” you stutter, “you’re just big.”

“Are you okay?” He asks in between heavy breaths, sweeping a strand of hair away from your face.

You nod, “I’m okay. It… It feels good, Leon.”

Just like you thought, it’s starting to become easier along the way, and before you know it, you were heading towards bouncing up and down his dick. As much as you try to keep your moans down, it was difficult since Leon is filling you even better than you thought he would. Every time you think he’s hit the deepest part, the next stroke goes even deeper. Though after a while, your pace starts to slow down. The position you are in is starting to bother you.

“Leon.”

“Do you need help?” he asks. Can he actually read your mind? You give him a nod and he grabs you by your waist again. “Lean on me,” he tells you. You lean forward wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing him softly.

Leon starts moving on his own, pushing his whole length into you. At first its slow, and you can keep most of your voice down. But he’s gradually speeding up, making sure to not leave any feeling of emptiness in your cunt while also directly hitting your gspot. It must be the position you two are in. The lack of rubber between your parts made Leon’s movements feel smooth and hot. Is this what heaven feels like?

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter under your breath as he fucks you hard while squeezing and spreading your ass apart. It’s so good you can feel your eyes rolling back. It’s so much better than when you ride it on your own. Leon accompanies your moans with soft grunts and sharp exhales of air.

As you feel your muscles clench on his dick, you know you’re going to cum soon. Leon lifts up your shirt and puts his head under, finding your nipple and sucking on it. Caught off guard, you quickly cover your mouth with your own hand, muffling out the sound of a lewd moan.

“Fuck, Leon, I’m gonna cum,” you say in a loud whisper. Picturing in your mind how Leon’s dick pounding inside you would look like pushes you even more to the edge of an orgasm.

Hearing this Leon sucks and kisses on you harder, one hand going under to play with your other breast before going down to press below your stomach. Seconds later, you’re moaning messily into the palm of your hand when you orgasm all over Leon’s lap. As your legs quiver, you grab on tightly to Leon, the pleasure overwhelming you.

“Ha… Leon,” you say. Leon’s face appears from under your shirt, lips a little swollen and hair ruffled up. In what seems like a blink of an eye, Leon picks you up again, this time off his dick. He grabs both your arms with one hand and turns you around, before knocking you over to lay on your hands and knees.

“Hey! L-Leon!” You exclaim, as he pulls your panties down and shoves his cock back inside. “Ah!” You throw an arm over your mouth to shut yourself up.

“That’s right. Be a good girl and stay quiet.” Leon says, looming over you with every new thrust. “I’m not done.”

Just like that, pleasure shoots up through your cunt again. So good you can somehow feel it in your stomach. Your cum made fucking even easier and you can hear the slap of his skin and the clang of his belt against you. ‘Fuckk, Leon’ you drawl against your arm, saliva heavily wetting it.

Leon groans as he grabs on to the back of your neck. At this point, you’re not even sure if he remembers he’s fucking a person. But even if it’s for his own pleasure, you feel like your mind is in a haze. Dizziness passes by the harder he fucks you and you don’t even remember how many times you’ve come in the past 3 minutes. As far as you know, he hasn’t even slept. How does he still have this much energy?! In the back of your mind there’s an intrusive hought that thinks maybe you shouldn’t care anymore. Fuck those monsters. All you want is to let yourself freely express how good you feel.

“Fuck.. ah,” Leons voice is bordering on whimpering. You can feel him getting close by how hot it feels inside your pussy. “Shit.”

“Leon, nghmm… cum inside, please inside..” you’re a mumbling mess.

Leon unsure of what he heard, pulls you up from the floor by a big tug on your hair. He presses your back onto his chest and holds you as he slows his pace a bit.

“What did you say? You want me to cum inside?” Leon says right next to your ear. “Is that what you want? Is that why you were so desperate to be fucked raw? You don’t care what daddy will think, don’t you. You don’t mind if I cum inside and get you pregnant?”

Leon’s sudden and harsh attitude is so unexpected it turns you on drastically and you feel like cumming again. “I-I never…,” he squeezes your breast again as he kisses your shoulder.

Father will understand, you faintly think.

“Yes, Leon, please cum inside. Fill me up. I need it so bad.”

Leon turns you over for another time and lays your back on the floor. He interlocks his fingers with yours and pins your hand down by your head leaning in to kiss you again. You don’t think you’ll ever get sick of this.

Leon’s thrusts speed up back to his usual pace. He’s panting and groaning in between kisses. Eventually, his pleasure intensifies to a point that he cant even properly kiss you anymore. You cup his face with your free hand and look up at the sight of Leon’s flustered and pleasure filled expression.

“Gonna cum,” he says and he presses down on your stomach again. You gasp as whats left of another orgasm flows through you. You make sure to keep your eyes open to watch Leon as he finishes. When he does, his body jerks and he lets out a couple more short moans. You let out one of your own which merges into a sigh as you feel his member twitch inside yours and a warm liquid settles.

Leon slowly pulls himself out and plops down on the floor. He’s catching his breath. Meanwhile, you lay on the ground in a euphoric state, staring off at the ceiling as you feel his ejaculation drip out of you.

All you hear is soft rain from outside when static suddenly enters the air. “Hello, condor one, are you there? I repeat, condor one, do you hear me.”

Leons head flings towards the workbench. Scrambling to his feet and almost losing his balance, he tries to stuff his dick back into his pants before grabbing the talking device that was speaking.

“Yes, I’m here,” he says with a clear of his throat.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been trying to contact you for 30 minutes now!” The caller’s voice is so angry you can hear her from where you’re laying. “Please tell me you still have Blue Lily.”

“Yes, she’s here. We just… had a little trouble, but we’re fine,” the volume of the callers voice fades out, “and i’m fine, thanks for asking by the way,” he continues with a sarcastic tone.

“Okay, got it. We’ll be there as soon as possible… alright! 10 minutes… 7… Condor one out.”

A beep sounds and Leon puts the device down. “Come on, princess. I know you’re tired but aftercare has got to wait. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

——

a/n: thank u for reading! im still getting better at r18 fics so leave ur comments/criticisms <33

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #smut #leon kennedy smut #x reader #x yn #leon resident evil #leon x reader #resident evil smut #oneshot #fanfic

309 notes · View notes

estrellami-1 · 1 year

Text

If I Should Stay

Holy shit, y’all are insane. My tag list is over a HUNDRED (wtf y’all I’m kissing every single one of you on the forehead it was EIGHT before this) and the first part got over 800 notes in 24 hours. I love y’all 😂 With that being said though, Tumblr only allows for 50 mentions per post. So I’m drafting another post with the other 50-odd mentions that I’ll link this to. Unfortunately I’m not willing to make more than two posts, meaning my tag list is officially CLOSED. I’m so sorry, y’all, please know I love every single one of you SO much!! If you’d like to follow along and didn’t make it onto the taglist, go ahead and follow the ‘#if I should stay’ tag. I’ll make sure to use this tag for every update! Thank you all SO SO MUCH!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and if you want to be dropped from the taglist, that’s fine too; just let me know! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Steve is terrified.

Honestly, after the Russians and the Upside Down and everything else, Steve thought he’d never be scared again.

Then he woke up in school in 1984.

He looks around, wide-eyed, only to stop when Tommy and Carol look at him weirdly. “Uh, Steve?” Carol asks. “You look like you’re about to puke.”

Full of tact, just like always. He shakes off the feeling of wrong crawling on his skin and smiles at her. “I’m fine,” he says, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She opens her mouth to respond. Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the bell goes off, only for him to realize he has no idea where he’s going.

Thank God for Carol, apparently, because she throws her head back with a groan. “Math,” she complains. “I hate math.”

Steve feels a zing of recognition dart through him. He had English while she was in math. They used to complain about it between classes.

He feels excited when he realizes Robin will be in this class, then just as suddenly excitement turns to nausea when he realizes she might not remember him.

He walks into class, trying to keep his hopes down, and briefly makes eye contact with her.

She’s doodling in a notebook, looking around the room. Their eyes meet.

Robin’s pencil lead snaps.

Steve freezes.

He opens his mouth, he’s not sure for what, but she shakes her head slightly.

She stands and makes her way towards him before her eyes flutter back in her head and she drops.

She would’ve fallen on the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Whispers start up, enough to get the teacher to look up. “Mr. Harrington,” she says. “I’m not sure what dance moves you think you’re trying, but I will remind you this is an English classroom.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. “Um. She passed out. I think I should probably take her to the nurse.”

She leans over her desk to peer first at Steve, then at Robin, who still has her eyes closed. “Very well,” she says. “I’ll give you a hall pass. Please ensure she returns once her little spell has worn off.”

He nods, shifts Robin completely into his arms, and walks out of the classroom.

He walks down the hallway and stops by an empty classroom, darting in when nobody’s looking. “Robs,” he chokes, and her arms are around his neck and now he’s choking for an entirely different reason.

She’s shaking, and he feels hot tears land on his shoulder, and he knows she feels the same from his tears. “I thought-”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I thought the same. I woke up and I was with Tommy and Carol again and I didn’t know what was going on and I was terrified you weren’t gonna remember me.”

“Jesus,” she says. She’s laughing a little, through her tears. “Imagine how I felt, waking up in Mrs. Click’s class. Thought I’d had a weird fever dream. Then you walked in, and…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Jesus, Robs, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Right back atcha, Dingus,” she whispers, which really just makes his tears start all over again. “Who else do you think knows?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. And other than asking them, and risking getting sent to a padded room…”

“Yeah.” Robin sighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, tensing up.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still with Nancy.”

I tried to tag everyone who wanted it… I’m so sorry if I missed you! Once again I’m so sorry about closing the taglist. Thank you for understanding! ❤️

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

@paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

Me @ all of you:

#if I should stay #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #platonic stobin #robin buckley #we gonna see Nancy pretty soon here #also Jonathan #maybe #also I have no idea how the timeline works #starambles

2K notes · View notes

shuenkio · 5 days

Text

That basketball player | Lhs.

Paring: Heeseung X M!reader | Genre: SMUT

Synopsis: Since when did heeseung get that big glow up? Back in the junior year he was just a guy with his bang covering his forehead but now? You can't help but to stare at him every time he is playing basketball, jingling.

Cw: masturbate in the bathroom, bigger cock Heeseung, drunk, public explicit scenes, cursing, no plot Ig, alone time, mentioned of cum, stained etc. [18+] mdni

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st.

A#N: Yo what! I feel pity to leave y'all alone with my no update so here a smut hardcore, before I vanish once again. (Yes this is me, a bit freaky than usual ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Being friends with a sports guy like Heeseung is not an easy job, nor is it for your mental, freaky mind. Every time you were there, watching him practice for the competition. You can't find but to stare at a little distracted place, like a weirdo. However, it's not one fault side; since Heeseung does have his own package ever since then, it'd be a jingle bell at every instance.

Not to mention, back in the junior year, Heeseung is just a guy who just hit puberty, freshly adult, bang cover all his forehead like a nerd. In the meantime, all that matters transformed into this: a hot guy with a huge beard that could squeeze a lemon, a slender yet masculine frame from head to toes, and the most glow-up part was probably his middle part.

Which you can't help but to wonder while nosebleed; imagine how'd it look like to be sight. And so on, wondering turns into reality when it's happening during the party of one of your classmates. Walking in the bathroom, as you thought nobody was there with no light on, until when the lights flickered, you were stunned, your hearts just doing a back flip once you saw the tipsy Heeseung who's jerking off on the toilet.

Omfg, is this for real? Think to yourself. Can't hide the red blush that was painted on your face, you immediately apologize and leave; however, before you could, a large hand appeared and pinged you against the door, allowing you to escape this awkward situation.

"Hmm... M/n? What a surprise to see you here during my alone time," said the half-drunk guy, looking down to see his cock peeking through his zipper, naked. In front of you, but did he care? No. You swallow down, feel like a stone stuck in your breath—this is just a dream wake-up.

Your reaction was funny enough to make Heeseung chuckle out; you seem to be nervous, shy, and lately a bit of a turn-on.

"We're alone, aren't we? Now don't hide your true colors, bud; I know you've always wanted this, isn't that right?" Heeseung claim, pointed out right through you. No way he caught you in act, but where? Yet there's no use right now to wonder about it; a big gigantic cock is staring at you right now; he was so hard his cum is leaking out, desperate for some way out of those balls.

Out of surprise, you snapped as Heeseung let out a moan, in contact with his skin too close to yours. Cover your face with your palm to evade your crazy mess face; his pre-cum began to stain on your pants!

"Fuck m/n, take a hold of it. Before I change my mind, I'm not sober," panicking Sprint free in your vein as you shudder to his words, Should you or shouldn't? This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity is so rare, you wouldn't want to go to waste.

Seeing you froze in the spot, back pressed against the door too much, Heeseung snatched one of your hands and wrapped them around his shaft. Lord, have mercy.

"Ahh, so good, m/n, euuu, that's right," biting his lip, his back arching forward, thrusting inside of your palm in rhythm. Both of his hands are pinning you in between, while he endures in pleasure. No word to say; you seem to enjoy what you're doing. His foreskin moved up and down, his tip peeking in every stroke.

Heeseung's freaky side was not what you expected; he was far more wild. Your surroundings are no longer your priority; you didn't care if anyone might hear. Continue to please the man of your dreams; no, this is a dream to be able to touch him, your friend.

A few more strokes, his hip bucking more and more needy, his balls later slipped out of his underwear, come out before slapping against the friction of his own pant. As a result, the fire in him turned on even better. Both of you can't think straight, locked in this bathroom, just the two, enjoying times together.

"Cum... I need to cum m/n!! I'm going to piss Ahh Ahh FUCK." He's knees weaken. The hands that are pinning you in find their way to belt around your waist, despairing for support, before a load of hot cum splashes out on both clothes. Heeseung is indeed sensitive; that might as well be one of his weaknesses for your dictionary.

He then falls down on the floor on his knees finally, as he leans against the wall nearby in this tight space. Draining out and overwhelmed by the masturbation. Little did you know, there's also a stain in your pants too, not only from Heeseung's cum stained. Ugh, he got you in anyway possible.

"Shit..." A couple of minutes passed, his brows furrowing while his eyes shut, before he pissed out for real.

"I—damn it."

272 notes · View notes

adonis-koo · 10 months

Text

sweet nothing • 8

| in which you run into an old costumer |

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: just know that the only reason these updates take so long is because I keep writing plot based chapters and I really just wanna post fluff based chapters 😭

“Thank you for taking me out!” You grinned as you took a large sip of your hot chocolate, it was still definitely not cold enough for it yet but you didn’t care.

Something about hitting your third trimester had you wanting to nest like crazy, it had you going around the estate cleaning and getting guards to help move furniture around.

You really had no right to be doing it but nobody told you otherwise.

Jungkook had come back midday, surprisingly early, he had paused in the entry hall of his home locking eyes with the pregnant menace that had abruptly put herself at the forefront of his life once again.

It was then he realized you definitely needed to get out of the estate.

“If it keeps you from not moving all my stuff around,” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering from his phone to you.

You frowned, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what possessed me.” You sighed, “Well I do, they say third trimester can make you start nesting.”

“Nesting?”

You glared are the way he snorted as if not believing you, “It’s a fact, you can look it up.”

“The fuck is that even supposed to be? What are you, a bird?”

“It means you just get the innate urge to just…” you puffed your cheeks, ignoring that look he was giving you, “Clean and decorate and just…I don’t know I can’t describe it! Just wish I had my own place to do that with and prepare for the baby.”

Jungkook sighed, his eyes went from looking at you to dropping down to your stomach, it was round when you had first come to the estate, but it was evident six weeks had passed, “Then maybe it’s time we talk about a nursery.”

You paused, getting ready to take another drink from your cup but it never meets to your lips.

Jungkook sighed, “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but finding your brother has quite literally lead me to dead ends I didn’t even think would exist. You’re almost thirty weeks pregnant, that’s less than three months.”

“Okay yeah I can do basic math, but it’s already been almost two months. Surely it won’t take another two months to find him,” You pressed your lips together nervously.

“Would it be so terrible if you gave birth in the estate? It’ll probably be a better experience than the hospital.” Jungkook commented, picking up his coffee as he took a sip.

It wasn’t that you were against giving birth in the estate, professional staff in the comforts of a bed? That was a luxury every woman could only dream of having, it was more the aftermath of it.

The idea of still living at the estate post pregnancy…it was a dangerous thought, it was too close to the life you had once wanted with Jungkook.

You just weren’t sure how to articulate that too him.

Jungkook finally raised a brow at you, noticing your lack of reply.

“I just…don’t want to get too comfortable at the estate.” You finally spoke carefully, “I don't think that's good for anybody involved.”

“I understand but I also don’t like being unprepared- in any aspect concerning me or my estate, and that includes you whether you want it or not.” Jungkook replied, “Just because a nursery is there doesn’t mean it’ll ever be used, it’ll just be there so first of all, you stop moving all my shit and you have a place to do your bird stuff-“

“Nesting.” You glared, lips quirking into a pout as your hands wrapped around your stomach.

Jungkook’s lips curved a little, “Bird stuff. And second, if it does turn out that your stay is extended, it’ll be ready.”

You still weren’t completely sold on the idea, if anything you felt like it would just feed into the delusion even further.

“Why hello there mama.” Another voice suddenly cut in, grabbing a chair from the empty table next to you both and plopping it on the side of your table.

Jungkook immediately straightened up, eyes glaring daggers that could definitely kill, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yoongi!”

The man brushed his black hair from his eyes a quirky smirk on his face as he shrugged, “Uh I’m just stopping in to say hello to my favorite barista who got put on bed rest early.”

A smile twisted on your lips, you were familiar with his face, he had been a regular for almost two years, the realization however quickly hit that Jungkook was very acquainted with this man.

You felt flabbergasted for a moment, you couldn’t believe you never made the connection that the regular customer Yoongi was also Underboss business partner Yoongi.

“It’s nice to see you again Yoongi! I can't believe I didn’t recognize you as Jungkook’s partner…” You sheepishly smiled.

Jungkook clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, his nostrils flared and he looked ready to maul his partner.

“Nah probably for the best you didn’t realize. You as well, you look only a thousand times prettier, have that pregnancy glow about you.” Yoongi threw your a wink.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what made him more violent, the fact that you both were already well acquainted or Yoongi so casually flirting with you.

It was part of his personality but it still didn’t make any attention he or any other male gave you, any easier for Jungkook to witness.

“If you aren’t here for business, get the fuck away from our table.” Jungkook gritted his teeth, as if it took every fiber of his being to not right hook.

Yoongi didn’t seem phased, “Oh I was just in the area, been coming to Serendipity for a long while now, and then I suddenly see my favorite barista who’s been gone for two months, of course I have have to say hello.”

“Okay well you said hello, now go the fuck away.”

“Jungkook!” You said sternly, “Don’t be so stubborn, Yoongi can sit with us for a few minutes at least.”

His eyes were a raging fire as they burned into you, his chest puffing but he said no more as Yoongi observed you both, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“How are you enjoying the estate Y/n?”

You smiled tenderly, “The company makes it honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without Jungkook and Yeonjun.”

“Yeonjun?” Jungkook looked like he sucked on a sour lemon as he spat the name out.

“I still want my apartment back but I’ve made the most of the it. What about you? Why haven’t you come to visit if you knew where I was?” You asked, curious as to what the man had been up too.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, “Well…let’s just say I was asked to not drop by unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And it isn’t.” Jungkook gritted.

“Okay well first of all this doesn’t count cause we’re not at the estate, second of all you’re not the only one who has relations to Y/n, I mean have you ever had this woman’s chai? Or her baked cinnamon rolls? Talented hands right there.” Yoongi stretched out in his seat, that playful nature about him.

“Oh don’t flatter me.” You shooed his praise.

“No you deserve all the praise in the world, in fact you deserve-“

“We’re going.” Jungkook stood up from his seat, sick of this if he had to hear one more word come out of his stupid partners mouth.

“Jungkook!” You complained, but nevertheless took his hand when he offered it, “Please visit Yoongi, you’re conversation is always welcomed.”

Yoongi only smiled, sunk into his seat as he watched the tall broody figure practically drag you away, it made him laugh in amusement.

Yoongi by no means kept an eye on you the last two years for his own benefit, but he supposed somethings would always remain thankless.

He had accomplished what he wanted though, evidently no matter how much Jungkook talked- and he talked a lot, it was clear he had grown possessive over you in the last few months.

Yoongi shook his head in amusement, watching the viper leave the parking lot through the window, he was happy to see that old spark in his partner return.

“What was that about!” You complained, immediately dialing the heat down to sixty in the car.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Jungkook grumbled, hands gripping the steer wheel as if he was trying to strangle it, “If you care about your baby’s safety you’ll make an active effort to not talk to him.”

“Hes been one of my regulars for like two years,” you complained, “How was I supposed to know he was your partner? I never even officially met him! What makes him anymore dangerous then you? Hm?”

Jungkook deflated, obviously not having a good reason, “The difference is I’m protecting you.”

“Oh so you’re saying he wouldn’t?”

“The point,” Jungkook gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Is don’t talk to him.”

You frowned as you twisted to fully look at Jungkook, was he…jealous?

“Are you mad that I’m paying attention to someone else?” You asked upfront, you could only be discreet about so many things.

“I’m not mad”.

“No you’re definitely mad.” You replied pointedly.

“I’m annoyed that my business partner is talking to me outside of business.” Jungkook replied.

“But he was talking to me, not you.” You crossed your arms.

“He was doing that on purpose.” Jungkook huffed.

It was silent for a long moment as you folded your hands into your lap.

Of course you didn’t have to point it out, but truthfully it felt too ridiculous to not? “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was another pause.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” you replied, a pout on your lips, “You always do this when someone talks to me, men specifically.”

“Do you actually want an honest answer?” Jungkook looked even more annoyed, even so much as throwing you a frosty glance before his eyes returned to the road.

You blinked before a troubled frown slowly curved on your lips, you could think of several ways he’d be honest and none of them you’d be able to fully believe.

“What I want,” you took a breath, “Is to be able to have a conversation without you looking like you’re shooting daggers out of your eyes.”

“I wasn’t shooting daggers out of my eyes.”

You puffed your cheeks, “Well you claim you don’t do a lot of things, that you do in fact, do.”

“How about we just stop talking.” Jungkook replied.

You pouted but spoke no more as you yawned.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded with a small groan, “Yeah, I need to take a nap,” you nodded with another yawn.

Jungkook only nodded in return, eyes occasionally glancing at you, attempting to sleep in the car, when did his life start revolving around you this much?

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #mafia!jungkook

478 notes · View notes

furiousgoldfish · 2 months

Text

I have an update about this situation, which if you didn't read it, was about me finding out that my parents are searching for me, going door to door and asking people on the street if they know me, even asking with my fake name. They found someone who did know me, and they chatted, and this person later called me and told me what had happened, to which I freaked out, asked them not to share any details about me, and explained that I had ran away due to violence and that I'm terrified of these people.

Now knowing that my parents are out there looking for me, I spent the next few weeks locked in, afraid to go out, only going to work and back, and sometimes disguised so I wouldn't be recognized. I didn't run into anyone on the street, nobody came to my door, I didn't get any other phone calls, so I eventually relaxed and decided that it was okay to be outside, even if they are looking, unless they find me directly where I live, I could easily escape on bike, and they wouldn't know where I went.

The other day I got the phone call from the person who talked to my parents, and they asked me to come over, to be gifted some extra clothing. I was scared, worried that it was a trap, that my parents somehow got this person to cooperate and to bring me to them, but I decided to be brave and go anyway, since the chance of this was very low, and on the phone they reassured me that I could forget that last situation. Still, when I got there I startedly looked around to see if anyone was in there, but it was all empty.

I got some extra details of what happened; it was my mother and a friend looking for me, my father was not present. This person admitted to actually knowing me, and where I live, so my parents know someone who is in contact with me right now. However the person didn't share my address with them, which is why I was still safe.

Then the person revealed they actually got a call from my mother later that day, and they had an argument over the phone. The person repeated what I had told them – that I ran because of violence, because I was forced to work to deserve to eat and sleep there, because of death threats, torture, neglect, and my mother responded angrily 'You don't know what kind of trouble they were causing me!'. Then my mother still tried to convince this person that she cares about me and is worried about me, but the person rebutted with 'you should have cared when they were younger', and when my mother wouldn't stop asking for information, the person said that if she calls again, the police will be called and hung up.

Now this was very interesting to me, firstly my mother getting a police threat upon trying to find me, that is extremely good, satisfying, reassuring, positive, made me so happy. I was in a good mood for the rest of the day just thinking about what kind of reality-check that must have been, to have other people threaten with police and stand in their way of getting to me. I feel it was the first time someone actively protected me and it feels like I've been waiting my whole life for that to happen, and I never thought it would.

Second thing is her 'you don't know what kind of trouble they were causing', because she wasn't even denying the accusations of violence and torture! She blatantly did admit that yes, I had to work to deserve to live as a child, I was beaten, neglected, I was threatened death, I was kept in sub-human conditions, but she just felt it was justified! Because I was 'causing trouble', which is a lie, I did everything she asked me when I was a kid. It's like she still thinks me standing up to her violent abusive husband was 'me causing trouble' excuse me why did you marry that thing, and then never stood up to it? I had more backbone as a child than she has as an adult and this was 'me causing trouble'. I stood up to him because it was the right thing to do, because he was attacking me and my siblings, what do you mean I was causing trouble defending rest of the family from violence and absorbing it so the rest of you wouldn't have to. Ungrateful lying coward.

And also her saying I was the awful troublemaker doesn't check out with the rest of her story; if I was such a menace why is she out there looking for me? Why is she not blessed that I am gone and she can finally enjoy your life? Would you actively seek out someone you have to control with death threats from how much trouble they're causing to you? The lie is falling apart.

This has me very calmed down and grateful that not all people are cowards and unwilling to stand up to abusers. I've never seen this before, in my experience, people were always ready to bow down to my parents and see me as an ungrateful horrid creature who needs to be put into their place. This person has known me enough to see that I'm honest, fair, hardworking, kind, accommodating, they even told me that they can see there's nothing twisted about me. They understood that my situation is one of a struggle and that I have to work hard to survive, and often expressed that I struggle too much compared to others. And this isn't someone I'm on constant contact with, we talk once a year. I was surprised they picked up on this much.

I'm feeling better about the situation now I understand I was defended, I'm not that afraid anymore. I did get upset that my mother is trying to convince people that I was just so bad I deserved all, but at least not everyone believes it. I mean, it's ridiculous for anyone to believe a child could possibly deserve this, but I know a lot of people who do believe that. I thought everyone would side with my parents forever. Feeling better knowing there's one person who sided with me, when it was crucial for my safety.

#abusive parents #child abuse #running away from home #abusers trying to track me down #me having luck of not being betrayed this once #tw mentions of child abuse #tw mentions of death threats #tw mentions of torture #its just a passing mention #but stay safe

150 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 3 months

Text

With a total of 1,176 votes tallied, the preferred plushie poll winner with 28.8% of votes is…

What a close one! Jonathan came in with 27.7%, the mysterious Mr. Morse with 24.9% and, delicious irony of ironies, London Dracula with 18.9%. Rest in pieces. Now, what does all this mean going forward?

First, just to reconfirm: I will absolutely be looking into the costs for having more than one plushie character produced at a time. For all that Mina has the top spot if it comes down to a solo run, Nobody Wants to Separate the Gothic Horror Soulmates, even as wee little plushies. It hurts my heart to think of. Mina and Jonathan deserve to sit side by side on everyone’s pillow. Just as Quinn Morse deserves to haunt the pillow next to theirs while casually throttling and carving London Dracula into pieces. For enrichment.

But beyond that, some other key things:

How is this getting done?

Sadly, I was not a cool enough kid for Makeship to greenlight a collaboration with me. Tragique. But while I was sitting around waiting for them to get back to me, I had time to browse around for other options. During that sniffing around I dug up a couple of promising manufacturers—one of which has some really neat options for not only plush toys, but all sorts of bric-a-brac like stationery, shirts, bags, cups, et cetera—and I plan to reach out to them for quotes to start with. Nothing really gets to move forward until I can nail down prices and the amount of X plushies to be made.

I am more than a little hesitant to tell anyone MAKE ME 1000+ PLUSHIES, PLEASE, THE TUMBLR POLL SAID THEY’RE GOOD FOR IT. These aren’t as simple as print/make-on-demand products, so I need to be careful estimating the amount of folks ready and willing to drop money on the little guys. But I will keep everyone updated on the numbers regardless!

Sooo is this a crowdfunding thing or an investment or what?

Don’t know yet. I am still between jobs at the moment—reminder to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to drop me a buck or commission some art!—but if this is something I can safely drop some of my own money in with the guarantee that it will let me do better than break even, I’ll do what I can out of pocket. However, if the cost of making something of good quality turns out too steep, I’ll start looking into stuff like Kickstarter and Backerkit and so on. I want to be sure I’m not gutting anybody’s wallet to pull this off and I want to be double-sure that what we’re paying for isn’t some flimsy throwaway junk. We are all here on the same Dracula book club starving artist site, so It Has to Be Worth It and not a money-sink for anyone.

Got it. Any other info to spare?

For the plushies specifically, this is when I’ll start:

Polishing up the current four designs into cleaner illustrations with different angles to provide for mockup samples with whoever I pick to manufacture with. If I get stuck on something—(which is likely)—I may throw up another poll to bug everyone about palettes and fashion choices. I have a few more designs I haven’t dropped yet for Epilogue Harkers, a non-Bloofer Lucy, and keychains that I’d love to share too!

Eyeballing materials. I’m already picturing a very close-cut cloth for the build and clothes, but I need to decide on filling too. Stiff overstuffing to hold a pose versus softer/lighter plush for floppy cuddleability.

Poking at other character roughs, ala the Suitor Squad, the Weird Sisters, Van Helsing, Renfield, and Baby Quincey. And if all of those go well…

…maybe some designs for other favorites in the public domain playground. (Looks meaningfully at Clarimonde, Carmilla, Victor Frankenstein and the Creature, the King in Yellow, too many others.) ((But that’s all far-future stuff at the moment.))

Cool! But you also mentioned something about other merch?

I did.

Because goddamn do I want some Dracula-themed stationery. Journals! Memo pads! Pens! Every day we don’t have these things with the Harkers’ mark upon them is a victory for the forces of Count Dracula’s document-destroying evil. Likewise for shirts, totes, mugs, keychains, face masks and other things that could use some novel-flavored goodies. Hell, I’ll probably even get on with making stuff for The Vampyres to link on my website too. Because I am. Maybe behind on that. By several months.

Anyway.

I’ve got to start working on some designs for those too while the plushie process is progressing. Pray that my carpals don’t get tunneled.

Nice! Sounds like your plate is pretty full. So that’s it, right?

Arcane?

:3c

Arcane. I need you to tell me this is all you’re working on.

>:}

Arcane.

Please stand by.

I have a little treat brewing for the Dracula Dailiers and @re-dracula folks in honor of a very special day for our good friend Jonathan Harker.

#I am scheming #my art #my writing #dracula #jonathan harker #mina murray #mina harker #quinn morse #the vampyres #c.r. kane

162 notes · View notes

theemporium · 1 year

Note

hiii, i’d like to request a poly maxiel after danny’s crash in zandvoort - max has to finish the practice and focus on the gp so it’s only the reader that accompanies danny to the hospital and then to spain for his surgery, but max is obviously stressed because he can’t be with danny and you (even though they keep in touch through messages and facetimes) but as soon as he can, max joins his partners in spain and they celebrate max’s win a little to cheer danny up and take his mind off his injury maybe?

i’m not sure about the ending but something like this would be nice if you’re okay with writing this🙈 but it’s also totally understandable if you don’t want to write this! either way, thank you for hearing me out!😇

btw, i love your writing and i also love poly!f1 so this is a match made in heaven for me haha! thank you for sharing your amazing stories with us and i hope you’re feeling a lot better soon🫶

ahhh thank you thank you!! you're so sweet omg🥲also i didn't know how to end this either but thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Max shouldn’t have felt so on edge when he was the one who insisted you go with Daniel.

He had been notified over the radio when the crash had happened. The second Daniel’s name was uttered, he felt his heart rate spike. He caught glimpses of the crash through the massive screens around the track but nobody was giving him details on how he was, what had happened, if he was going to be okay.

It wasn’t until he was back in the garage after the practice session that he started to mangle the details out of people. You had joined Daniel at the hospital, sending Max a quick update on what was going on and what happened. You told him you would send any updates on his condition.

He didn’t think he was able to take a proper breath until you and Daniel returned to the paddock, this time with a cast on the latter’s arm.

Max could see the conflict in your eyes, so he made the decision easier for you. He told you to go to Spain with Daniel, to be with him during the surgery and the recovery.

You had insisted that it was his home race, that you should stay with him to be there when he breaks the record. But Max had just smiled and told you that Monza would be where he would break the record, and you would be there for him.

Daniel needed you right now, more than he did.

So, you eventually gave in and took Max’s jet out to Spain to meet with the doctor who would be doing his surgery.

It wasn’t like he was totally cut off from you both. He had received a handful of messages—some of them updates, some of them just nonsense—in the group chat that had the three of you in it. Any time he wasn’t in the car or in front of a camera, he had one of you on facetime so he could be there for Daniel in some way too.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. He felt on edge, he felt off without the two of you by his side and he didn’t like it.

The race was more than chaotic enough to keep his mind off everything until he passed the checkered flag. The second he was climbing out that car behind the number one spot, his mind was on you and Daniel once again, his fingers itching to be close enough to hold the two of you again.

The second his duties for the race weekend were over, Max was catching the first flight out. He didn’t care about anything else. He just needed to be with the two of you again, even if it means skipping his own celebrations.

“Hey, stranger.”

The heaviness in his body left in seconds as soon as he stepped into the hospital room, seeing Daniel grinning on the bed with you sitting on a chair beside him. He rushed over before he could stop himself, being careful of Daniel’s arm as he pulled him into a hug.

“Are you okay?” His words were slightly muffled from where he had shoved his face against Daniel’s neck.

“I’m all good, I promise,” Daniel murmured.

Max then pulled away and instantly tugged you from your chair, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you close like you were seconds away from disappearing. “And you?”

“I’m good too, baby,” you laughed softly as you hugged him tightly back, knowing very well that this was what he needed. “Congratulations, champion.”

“Nine in a row, huh?” Daniel wiggled his eyebrows. “Almost reminds me of that time—”

You lifted your head to shoot the boy a glare.

The Aussie grinned. “Never mind.”

Max laughed, something he didn’t like he had been able to do since both you and Daniel left Zandvoort. “I don’t care about the record,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “I’m just glad I’m with you both again.”

“Awww, our little softie,” you cooed as you jokingly reached to pinch his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed as he grabbed your hand before intertwining your fingers together. “Whatever, we can celebrate in here.”

Daniel raised his brows. “You smuggle a bottle in here?”

Max grinned. “There’s many ways to celebrate without champagne.”

“Absolutely not,” you snorted. “Not in a hospital room, guys. Have some decency.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Daniel grinned.

713 notes · View notes

paruparuparuparu · 1 month

Text

UNHOLY ALLIANCE SPOILERS (again, I can’t stop yapping about this update):

Either I’m the slowest person alive, or I just think too much (though it’s fun to do so). BASICALLY I was just playing my game and thought over the Bishop’s final quest until I realized all of their dialogue had a connection to their injuries. I’ll start from the most obvious to the more vague.

First up- Leshy

In this dialogue, he makes the connection to his blindness and his ignorance, being so out of touch with reality that he didn’t know the extent of what he was getting himself into.

Narinder’s plans were not at all a bother to him, having his own cult to run and experiment with. He relished in the devotion his chaotic ways had to offer, and because of his foolishness, he lost his sight; hence see no evil.

Now for the genocide. Once again, he explains he didn’t know the full extent of what he was getting himself into, more focused on what had happened rather than what will happen. Therefore he thoughtlessly agreed, seeing how his siblings were compliant to Shamura’s orders.

He never saw the evil in the actions of his peers until it was too late, his eyes acting as both a symbol and punishment for his ignorance to all around him.

Next- Kallamar

This can be easily skipped if you didn’t pay attention to the dialogue, but he explains that all of which he has heard he wishes to unhear.

I already explained this in my other post, but he knew of Narinder’s plans, and instead of speaking out, he cowers and wishes he never knew of it in the first place. Unlike Leshy, who remained ignorant on the matter, Kallamar knew too much.

For the genocide (Which might explain the Mystic Sellers description of Kallamar), he hesitates when he hears of Shamura’s orders to kill all Lambs. A part of him knows that what they’re doing is wrong, but rather than listening to his sense of justice, he complies. An action in which he regrets.

He hears too often, and wishes to not hear. He listens, and yet doesn’t listen to himself. His ears act as a symbol and punishment for his cowardice and lack of self.

Now- Heket

This one is a little less obvious than the previous ones, but only a small part admits it. Heket shows her love for her siblings quite often despite being the cruelest of them. So imagine her despair once everything fell out of order.

For Narinder’s plans, she was most likely unaware of them before it was too late. And once everything started falling out of order, she was demanding for everything to go back to normal, urging her siblings for all that has gone wrong to right itself, and finally in her most vulnerable state, begged for the family she once knew to come back together, knowing that it never would.

After being left vulnerable, her despair turned into rage targeted at Narinder. She was determined to protect her remaining siblings, and in turn, immediately agreed upon hearing Shamura’s orders to carry out the slaughter of all Lambs. She heard the lambs scream and beg with their lungs, cry for lost loved ones, and demand justice for those who have been wronged. Though, she showed no remorse; for she knew there was none.

She screamed and begged for her family, and in turn heard others scream for their own. Her throat symbolizes and acts as punishment for the injustice she faced herself, and for the injustice she caused others.

Finally- Shamura

Shamura’s dialogue is the longest of the Bishops, as well as the most confusing for me to pick apart.

Shamura knew of Narinder’s plans, and yet decided to tell nobody. They knew of the risks of supporting such practices, yet went along with it anyways until the consequences were apparent. Then and there, they decided to put a stop to it all, banishing Narinder to his own realm.

This part would just be a guess in order to connect the dots, but I have a feeling that Shamura and Clauneck conversed one day. On that day, the cards were drawn, telling of a lamb that would slay all the Bishop and set the Chained One free. Shamura didn’t accept this, and politely dismissed themselves, almost immediately thinking on how to avoid such a fate.

One day after resting for years, they come up with a solution- that solution is of course, to destroy all lambs. They order their remaining siblings to hunt them down, spreading propaganda, putting bounty’s on their heads, and spreading plauge and famine across the lands.

They feed their siblings lies about the prophecy, twisting and molding their fate to bring a sense of hope to their siblings. Eventually, they start believing their own lie, convincing themselves that blood must be spilled in order to preserve the Old Faith.

They spin and mold the web to their liking, though eventually it will all come apart, and all that they’re left with is guilt. Their skull symbolizes the strings they pulled. The lies they fed. The guilt of knowing. The guilt of deceiving. All of it. For it is the way they will be punished.

All of these are basically my take on the whole thing, and are not confirmed besides the dialogue. I just enjoy piecing everything together because this game is just so amazing!! Also if you made it to here, thank you for reading all of that, and if you have any thoughts or corrections, feel free to comment and or repost!!

#cotl #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #shamura #kallamar #unholy alliance #cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #cotl heket #heket #leshy #cotl leshy #cotl narinder #Narinder #mmmm thoughts thoughts thoughts…

135 notes · View notes

russellradio · 4 months

Text

~to be updated when I post a new fic, so I have them all in one place~

you can find me as bucksclipboard on ao3 💕 kudos and comments make my day!

buddie fic masterpost here

clear the air (G, 1.8k) | ao3

After the basketball incident, an injured Eddie (on heavy pain pills) can’t stop worrying about Buck. Tommy knows how important they are to each other, even if he only met them a few weeks ago. So, he convinces Eddie to give him Buck’s address.

or: missing scene, set right before tommy shows up at buck’s loft (7x04)

nobody compares (G, 1.3k) | ao3 | (ambiguous bucktommy/buddie)

"Sorry", Eddie said and scrunched his nose.

"No, you’re right", Tommy admitted. "I don’t want that. I want to give him something he’ll love."

"Well, then not a gift card. Look, I’ve been a terrible gift giver in relationships, so I’m not judging. But you look like you’re getting a migraine, so maybe… let me help you?"

A deep sigh escaped him. "How?"

or: eddie helps tommy shop for buck's birthday gift and inadvertently makes things worse

to be loved is to be seen (E, 2.1k) | ao3 | rebloggable

"Right now, Buck was standing in front of the window stark naked. The curtains were drawn wide open, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

Tommy had heard bits and pieces of his Buck 1.0 history, he knew he wasn’t as shy as their first encounters had made it seem. Still, this was a surprise."

or: tommy learns that buck doesn’t mind being seen at all

fond at first sight (T, 1.5k) | ao3 | rebloggable

“Aren’t you off the clock, Kinard?”, a confused voice called after him. Technically, he was. His shift had ended about 30 minutes ago and Tommy was free to go home – however, he couldn’t. He had promised to stick around in case he was needed.

or: 7x03 missing scene – buck and tommy’s first meeting

kiss in the kitchen (like it's a dancefloor) (T, 1.6k) | ao3 | rebloggable

When Buck realizes Bobby is going to be ok, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. Tommy insists on coming over and keeping him company – and for the first time, they make dinner together.

or: maybe buck and tommy get a little distracted

(set before their scene in 7x10)

born to make you happy (T, 1.8k) | ao3 | rebloggable

Buck kept thinking of that Parks and Rec quote. “If I keep my body moving and my mind occupied at all times, I will avoid falling into a bottomless pit of despair.” He smiled to himself as he opened the door to his loft, exhausted and ready to collapse on his couch but feeling somewhat accomplished. He had spent the morning volunteering at a dog sanctuary, and then raced home to take a quick shower before going to his annual checkup and to get a haircut he didn’t really need but hey, why not. It was his birthday after all.

or: tommy surprises buck on his birthday

more under the cut

written all over your face (T, 2.5k) | ao3 | rebloggable

A completely smitten Buck decides he wants to keep Tommy all to himself for just a while longer. When an accidental goodbye kiss exposes their new relationship, the 118 wants to be respectful – but when has that ever worked?

or: buck and tommy try to keep their relationship a secret and fail adorably

let me hold your hand (T, 1.1k) | ao3 | rebloggable

They could’ve lost their jobs over the unauthorized cruise ship rescue – instead, they’re receiving medals. Buck and Tommy arrive at the ceremony together and share a sweet moment before going in to join their crews.

or: buck and tommy can be professional AND hold hands in public

better than revenge (E, 3.5k) | ao3 | rebloggable

Buck is having a hard time adjusting to Captain Gerrard’s reign of terror. After weeks of keeping his worries to himself, he tells Tommy – and they get their own kinky version of revenge.

or: does this qualify as revenge sex?

series: I think we'd feel good together (4/4)

the fics can be read in order or as standalones

you talk to me like lovers do (M, 2.3k) | ao3 | rebloggable | (1/4)

After that beast of a fire, Buck makes sure Tommy is taken care of. He brings him home to the loft – not only so he can kiss him some more but sure, that too.

or: tommy shows up for buck and buck shows up for tommy

you better come get your man (T, 3.2k) | ao3 | rebloggable | (2/4)

Buck and Tommy bask in the early stages of their relationship – but there’s one concern Tommy just can’t seem to shake. He decides to confront Eddie about a careless comment he made and learns more than he bargained for. In the words of Chandler Bing: can open, worms everywhere.

or: tommy tries to understand the 118 dynamics and gets a little overprotective

oh what a beast, oh what a man (E, 2.2k) | ao3 | (3/4)

Tommy doesn’t want to pressure Buck – and Buck has been holding back for his own reasons. One night, he decides to take the next step and ask for what he wants.

or: buck finally gets to have sex with his beast of a boyfriend

it's in his kiss (T, 3.4k) | ao3 | rebloggable | (4/4)

Buck finds out Tommy confronted Eddie about the comment he made, and it leads to the first fight in their relationship. It’s time he learns: This is what it feels like to be someone’s priority.

or: I hope buck gets a kiss on his birthmark every day

if you made it to the end of this post: thank you so much for reading!

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #fic masterpost #tevan #kinley #911 #911 abc #911 fic #911ramblings

126 notes · View notes

its-all-papaya · 2 months

Note

do you have any clingy/possessive landoscar thoughts? 🤔

Yes. I do have thoughts. Thank you for asking.

tell me what you wish I'd write

I am… obsessed with clingy needy Lando. And I don’t write him suuuuper that way a lot, I usually try and rein him in, but if you want me to be self-indulgent, I can and will.

snippet at the end!

update: second bonus snippet here

Lando basically always wants Oscar. His attention, his laughter, his hands, his everything. All of it. All the time. Lando’s always been like that with the people he cares about. Max F, Carlos, everybody he’s ever dated… He knows he’s needy. He can usually keep a pretty good handle on things, though (he’s had a lot of practice). But sometimes, when his guard is down or when things are bad, his control over it slips a bit. And with Oscar, it’s like it’s ten times worse.

Even before they were properly close, Lando would get drunk and start asking after Oscar. His teammate was never out with them, but Lando would have his eighth drink in the club, or he’d do some lines with Max, or whatever, and it would be “I wish Oscar was here” and “can you call Oscar and ask if he’ll meet us?” and “I bet Oscar’s still awake, should I text him?” Extremely noticeable. And some of Lando’s more casual friends would be kind of blindsided because - again - Lando’s really good at being normal about Oscar when he’s got his whole brain to work with. But it’s Saturday night in Monaco over winter break and he says “it’s morning in Australia, I can FaceTime Oscar, right?” and his friends are like “didn’t know it was like that, mate?”

(He does FaceTime Oscar, on his walk home when there’s nobody to stop him, smile dopey as soon as Oscar picks up. The sun is shining in the background and making Oscar kind of glow around the edges, and Lando says “you look like an angel” and Oscar laughs and that’s even worse, Jesus, “you’re so pretty, Oscar, did you know?” and Oscar had been in the middle of a workout, but he sucks on his water bottle and grins and lets Lando talk nonsensically at him for 15 straight minutes until he’s safe and locked into his apartment with a glass of water on his bedside table. “Put some paracetamol out for yourself in the morning, okay? And sleep tight, Lando.” “Thanks, angel.”)

The second season is really different. They’re much looser and Lando forgets more often that he’s supposed to be holding himself back, giving Oscar space. It’s stupid, he’s been doing it with everyone all his life, but it’s like Oscar wipes his mind blank, and he’s weaseling his way under his arm every other minute at the MTC, hooking a chin over his shoulder while they review data, following him into his driver’s room after practice and talking Oscar through his entire hour, every lap. Oscar never really tells him off, though. He just nods and smiles his quiet smile and drops odd comments when Lando lets his train of thought go a little too far off track.

Getting closer with Oscar is probably a mistake for at least one of them, because it’s like giving Lando’s brain permission to think about him even more. Oscar’s thread is always near the top when Lando opens WhatsApp, and tapping his number to call is too near to muscle memory for Lando to talk himself out of it when he’s drunk. More often than not when he’s out, the night begins and ends with Oscar - a “coming tn?" as Lando walks in and a blurry, giggly “‘lo, Osc,” through a dark front camera on his way out.

Oscar starts out with a hint of decorum. He’ll throw a shirt on before answering Lando’s call, flick the bedside lamp on, and prop his phone up so his face is mostly in frame. That lasts a few weeks, then he starts answering in the middle of whatever he’s already doing (like brushing his teeth, one memorable time, when Lando had insisted on counting up to 120 for him to make sure he did a satisfactory job) and in whatever state he’s already in. By China, Oscar’s answering from bed half the time, face barely discernible in the dark of the hotel room, mostly just mumbling “mhm” while Lando tells him all about what he’s gotten up to at the bars.

SNIPPET (kind of? this was a bullet point and then I realized I was typing actual prose so it’s a bit of a blend… bare with me… it was like 2am for me when this was cooked up…)

Oscar doesn’t come out after Miami. But he does - and he’d deny this to anybody except Lando himself, probably, and even then only when Lando’s too fucked up to remember it - stay up waiting for Lando’s call. He’d congratulated Lando in person multiple times at the track, but it doesn’t feel the same. It’s embarrassing to admit, but as much as he used to find Lando’s drunk calls a little inconvenient (though always distantly amusing) he’s grown quite attached to them somewhere along the line - the quiet intimacy, the little jokes and admissions and compliments Lando hands out when he’s far gone and using Oscar to bring himself down. Lando doesn’t call anybody else like that (Oscar had asked him once, when he was waiting for his Uber in some city or another at half two in the morning). It’s just for them - a special them.

It gets late, though. Lando always rings late, but it gets late enough that Oscar starts worrying that Lando won’t call at all, that he’s taken someone home, or he’s passed out on someone’s couch, or he’s planning to be out so late it turns right over to early the next day instead. The sun is rising when his phone finally goes off. He’s dozed a bit on and off, the exhaustion of his own race winning out for minutes at a time, but he’s left his ringer on to make sure he doesn’t miss Lando. It’s a special occasion, yeah? He can’t be held accountable. He just doesn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing Lando down from his high inadvertently by shirking his cooldown call.

Anyway, it’s past 4 a.m. when Oscar’s jolted from his half-daze by the notification, and he sees he’s missed a few texts ahead of time, asking if he’s awake. He hadn’t answered, obviously, but Lando’s calling anyway. Oscar’s too tired, brain too soft and amorphous, to decide how to feel about that at the moment.

“Morning, angel,” he says when he picks up. It’d started as a joke, as most of their little idiosyncrasies had, a reversal, but it’s probably not totally that anymore.

“Oscar,” Lando says. Oscar had expected him to be loud, still riding out his high, but he’s practically whispering. When Oscar finally musters up the will to check the screen, Lando’s in the dim dark somewhere. All quiet.

“Yeah, babe.” They don’t talk like this normally. It’s like these calls exist in a liminal space between their day-to-day lives now and whatever Oscar’s convinced they’re headed towards.

“It’s not morning,” Lando says. A light turns on off-screen.

“Not for you, maybe. I was asleep.” Oscar rubs at his eyes for effect, even though Lando’s not really looking at the phone. His eyes snap to the camera at that, though, and Oscar watches his face fall a little.

“I woke you?”

Oscar doesn’t give it long before he’s shushing Lando gently, “It’s alright. I’m glad you did, I want to hear about your night.”

Lando brightens back up. He’s not as drunk as Oscar expected, but he’s far enough from sober to be pretty suggestible, still, pretty easy with a smile.

He launches into a story about Max and some other names Oscar instantly forgets and a band Oscar’s never heard of, and - as the camera jostles with Lando’s efforts to pry his own shoes off - Oscar realizes he’s already back to his hotel room.

When Lando hits a long enough pause in his rambling, Oscar says, “Hey, Lan, you want to get ready for bed? You should sleep a little.”

Lando’s nose wrinkles and his face takes on the petulant tilt Oscar is well-acquainted with after half a year of these late-night-early-morning calls.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “you’ll feel better tomorrow. I’ll help.”

Lando agrees, though he still looks a little sour about it, so Oscar talks him slowly through his nighttime routine between stretches of “Oh! Oscar! Max called Charles pretty five times, I think," and “Have you ever had a cherry bomb? Someone ordered me one.” Oscar helps him pick out a soft t-shirt to sleep in and reminds him to fill a glass with water for the bedside table and counts to 120 while Lando brushes his teeth, phone propped against the mirror.

When everything’s sorted and Lando is sliding into bed, Oscar yawns and says, “Good to go?”

Unexpectedly, Lando’s eyes go big and kind of watery at that, and he picks the phone up from the covers and brings it close to his face so Oscar’s screen is mostly pout.

“You’re going?” Lando asks, and he sounds so forlorn that Oscar can feel his heart ache in his chest.

“Was going to,” Oscar confirms, even though it hurts a little, “You want me to stay?”

The light’s off, but Oscar can still see Lando hide his face in his pillow. It’s no surprise, then, when Lando’s, “Yeah. Please?” comes out muffled by the bulk of it.

Oscar softens to it. It was never a question.

“Okay,” he says, “you need me to talk? Or just stay on?”

“Stay on,” Lando says. His voice is back to normal, but it’s tiny, a little fragile. So different from the hours and hours leading up to this, Oscar thinks, contextualizing.

“Might fall asleep,” Oscar warns. His lamp’s back off, too, and with Lando safe and sound, Oscar’s bed feels cozier than ever.

“S’okay,” Lando says, “me too.”

“That’s good,” Oscar sets his phone next to him on the bed. Lando’s done the same, both screens matching black and gray, matching hotel ceilings just a few doors apart. “Goodnight, race winner.”

Lando’s laugh is mostly just a hard exhale, but it warms Oscar from the inside out just the same.

“Goodnight, angel.”

(I wrote another whole scene for this ask but this got kind of long already.... so if anybody would like to see it.... all it takes is one little ask... lmk.... xoxo)

#answered #drabble #landoscar #landoscar fic #landoscar fanfic #lando x oscar #my landoscar #soph writes #these two scenes + that original facetime are basically half a fic already so like #don't be surprised if this spawns a word doc in the near future

106 notes · View notes