#Will come to him in the next few days and asks if he could keep the picture
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Used to be Mine
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader
Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you
Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”
Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.
“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”
Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”
The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.
Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.
“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.
The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.
All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.
He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.
His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.
“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.
“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.
Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”
There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.
“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.
Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.
“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.
You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”
You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”
Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.
“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”
You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.
“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”
You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”
“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”
You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”
Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”
Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.
“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”
Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”
“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.
Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”
He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.
You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.
“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”
Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.
“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.
Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.
“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”
You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.
“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”
The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.
Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.
The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.
***
Six Months Later
The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:
1. C. LECLERC
2. O. PIASTRI
A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.
“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.
Arthur’s gut twists.
Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”
A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”
“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”
You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”
Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.
“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”
Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”
“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”
“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.
But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.
“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”
“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”
Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”
The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.
You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.
“Arthur! There you are!”
He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.
“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.
He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”
“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.
You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”
Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.
“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.
You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”
“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”
“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”
Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.
“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”
He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.
Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.
He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.
He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.
“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.
He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.
And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.
Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.
Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?
He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”
It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.
There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”
Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.
But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.
“Yeah, okay.”
The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.
“Hey … you okay?”
Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.
“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.
And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.
“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”
Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”
Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.
“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”
“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”
Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”
“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”
“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”
Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”
“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”
“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”
“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”
“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”
“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”
Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.
He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”
“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”
Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”
As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.
But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.
Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.
He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.
***
Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.
It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.
This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.
You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.
Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.
Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.
“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.
Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”
He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”
“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.
You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”
And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.
Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.
He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.
Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?
Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.
He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.
But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.
Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?
Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.
Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.
Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.
At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.
What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?
It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.
Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.
Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.
White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?
Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-
“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”
Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.
“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.
Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”
“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”
Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.
But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.
Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.
When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.
“Oscar. And Y/N.”
That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.
“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.
Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.
For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.
“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”
Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.
“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”
Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.
He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.
Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.
Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”
“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”
He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.
They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.
“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”
Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.
“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.
Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.
You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.
“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”
Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.
“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”
Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.
“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”
He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?
“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”
Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”
Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”
He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.
“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”
“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.
“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”
“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”
“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”
He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.
“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”
Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”
“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.
“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”
Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”
Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.
As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.
Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.
Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.
It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.
If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.
It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.
His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#arthur leclerc#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#arthur leclerc imagine#oscar piastri x reader#arthur leclerc x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#oscar piastri x y/n#mclaren#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc
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hi! can you do something with aaron and like a younger next-door neighbour and they're kinda secretly and newly dating and something with Jack goes wrong and reader helps fix it so aaron is just so in love and asks if he can tell jack and it's just super fluffy and cute!
Anyway, thank you so much, i love your writing!!!!
i love this idea so much!
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telling him- a.hotchner
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a/n: i got nothin.
summary: jack can't go to school, so you swoop in and become aaron's hero, he asks two pretty important questions.
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader
warnings: none
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Aaron didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d left the BAU. Jack was 11. He had a pre-teen who he’d just moved across the country and changed his entire life.
What the fuck were they doing in San Francisco?
Aaron was a lecturer now, on law in Stanford. Jack attended a new school, much to his dismay.
And then there was you. The gorgeous woman who lived next door to them. You were a lecturer as well, nuclear physics but you were often mistaken for a student, considering you were only 25. You’d been very kind to him since he started work there, and even had had them over for dinner a couple of times.
--------------------------------
“I don’t wanna go!” Jack exclaimed, arms crossed.
“Jack, I have work in 45 minutes, my students are taking the bar exam, and you know your babysitter is out of town, you have to go to school,” he sighed, feeling helpless. Doing this alone had been the hardest part. He had to leave the family he had, the entire team, and his life behind.
“But they’re mean!” he sobbed into his dad’s chest. “They make fun of me for not having a mom…”
Aaron’s heart broke. He didn’t want to send his kid into school if he was being bullied, and he made a mental note to speak to his teachers.
“Hey guys,” your kind voice filled the house from downstairs. Aaron had given you a key just a few weeks ago. “Ready to go?”
Aaron looked at the time on his watch, it was exactly when you all carpooled to school, then work.
“Up here!” Jack shouted down to you as he cried into his dad’s shoulder, ruining his suit. Aaron could hear your footsteps up the stairs and he braced himself for any judgy looks.
Judgy looks which never came.
“Poor Jack,” you sighed, rubbing his head. “What’s going on?”
“The kids at school laugh at me because I don't have a mommy anymore,” he cried, getting up and giving you a hug. You sent Aaron an empathetic look and hugged Jack back.
“That is awful Jack, how about this. You come to work with me and your dad, my lectures don’t start ‘till later so you can hang out with me and I know someone who works at your school, so if you tell me your teacher’s name I can get the lesson plan for today and we can work through it in my office, does that sound good?”
Jack nodded his head furiously and hugged you harder, his tears subsiding.
Aaron’s heart could’ve exploded. You were so kind. You two had only been on a few dates in recent weeks, you hadn’t told Jack yet, but you were so caring.
He mouthed a ‘thank you’ in your direction and you shrugged. ‘It’s the least I can do’.
Aaron ran into his room, pulling on a new suit jacket to replace the one soiled by Jack’s tears, grabbed his briefcase, and followed you out to the car. You’d called your friend at his school and gotten the information so Jack had his school books in his bag. You drove them to the Stanford campus, explained to your supervisor who told you it was alright, and departed for the day, Jack’s hand in yours. Aaron walked over to his building, and you stayed in yours, sending him updates throughout the day. You made the majority of your lectures for the day either study lectures, or just cancelled lectures so you could keep a close eye on Jack. You even allowed three of your most responsible students to teach Jack some maths.
At the end of the day, Jack fell asleep on the couch in your office while you were busy cleaning up your lecture hall.
“Hi honey,” Aaron smiled from the door.
“Hi love,” you smiled back. “How was your day? Did anyone faint in the exam hall?”
He crossed over to you in three quick strides and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You were so kind, you’d taken care of Jack all day for him, you’d made him feel less alone in the most isolating time of his life, and you were his. Well, maybe, he hadn’t exactly asked yet. “No one fainted, but a few did vomit before coming in.”
“Poor them,” you sighed. “Jack was fine all day, no issues.”
“Have I told you how wonderful you are?” He smiled and you chuckled.
“A few times, sure,” you teased. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”
Aaron smiled and moved one of his hands to cup your cheek. “You’re wonderful.”
You smiled back at him, pecking his cheek. “Well, good thing we have a date on Friday.”
“I want to tell Jack,” He admitted. “About us.”
You nodded. “You’re sure? It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“I’m sure. He loves you anyways, what’s the worst that can happen?” He asked, pressing kisses to your neck as he spoke.
“Umm- He could hate both of us because he feels like we’re replacing your and Haley’s relationship, he could start to resent you if we break up, he could hate me, the list goes on-”
“Don’t let it,” he smiled. “I have spent my whole life making calculated and deliberate decisions, even if I knew those choices wouldn’t make me happy. I want to be happy now, with you and Jack,” he admitted. In recent months you’d taught him the value of being slightly selfish, despite his altruistic tendencies.
“Alright, whatever you say love,” you smiled and kissed him again, then went back to your desk to gather your things.
“I also want to ask you something,” he stated and when you turned around you saw a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hands. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
You chuckled softly and smiled, the sweetness of the moment warming your heart. “Yes, Aaron, I will be your girlfriend.”
He grinned when you accepted and his hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed your lips against his in celebration.
He was happy, truly happy. For the first time in a long time.
And it was all thanks to you.
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criminal minds masterlist :)
navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)
#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#bau team#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction
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3:45 am
ryomen sukuna x f!reader
an: I can't find the request, but someone asked for a sukuna version of the 3:45 am chapter of roommate eren! here it is <3
“why do you have such a shit face?”
you look up from your computer to find sukuna lingering by the door – fidgeting with the buttons of his collar and the end of his tie – as he spares you an irritated glance. it’s one that you return right back, before hunching back over the table and focusing back in on the lab report you were writing.
“i’m talking to you.”
sukuna shuffles over to your side, before crouching down till your faces are side by side, the breaths coming out of his nose tickling the bare skin on your shoulder.
“i have such a shit face because i looked at you.” you mumble.
sukuna sucks in a breath, almost like he’s trying hard to conceal his laughter, before he leans closer, leaning his chin on your collarbone. the proximity makes it hard to ignore the sweet smell of his shampoo, which only gets worse when it’s accompanied by the sharp scent of his cologne.
“is that any way…to repay my kindness?” sukuna questions.
you roll your eyes, lightly jolting your shoulder up to get him to stop leaning on you. and he takes the hint just as much, as he draws up the chair at your side and pulls closer to see the molecules that you’re constructing on your computer.
“you know, when you said you were going to do this favor for me, i wasn’t exactly expecting that you were going to hold it over my head this way.”
ryomen sukuna was just an acquaintance – who happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time – and then he wasn’t.
it’s because he has a moral compass. or because really, he feels guilty for not telling you earlier – especially when he’s seen other friends of his in the same position as you. so when he found you down on your luck – getting cheated on by your boyfriend, who you lived with, by your best friend of all people – he offered you the extra room that he had in his apartment.
i’m lots of things, but i’m not a sadist. that’s what he said when you snuck out in the middle of the night, all of your things packed into a box that you subsequently emptied out into the free room that he offered. he had hell to pay from your ex-boyfriend the next day, the two of them jostling it out on the basketball court, before they both got reprimanded by the coach and decided to keep their distance
sukuna isn’t a bad roommate. he isn’t exactly a good roommate per say either. because the sweet kindness that he offered you wore off around the second day and you realized that really – he was one of the most irritating people that’s every walked the surface of this earth.
he brought over girls – tons of them. and when you asked him to keep it down, just so you could get some assignments done or study for an exam, he’d make it a point to bring multiple girls over – just to see the irritated expression on your face.
he’d make up for it of course. because what he lacked in face-forward politeness, he made up for with his quiet gestures. like making you breakfast the morning of said exam – set with a matcha latte that he learned how to make special for you, because you don’t like the taste of coffee. or whenever he found you crying, he’d always let you rant it out – but not without giving you a few insults about how you had no standards here and there.
“i think it’s dumb as fuck that you aren’t going tonight.” sukuna says.
you slam the enter key on your computer.
“your opinion has been noted.” you respond.
“then come.” he grates.
athletes at the university get to attend a formal at the end of each semester. it’s a nice dinner, accompanied with a horrible DJ, and a weird mix of sentimental speeches.
really, it was actually your idea of fun. only because it always felt nice to go to events like this. it was one of the few excuses you had to use the pretty dresses that you had in your closet, actually blow out your hair to make it look nice, and use the pretty glitters that your sister had given you for your birthday last year.
and even more than that, it always felt nice to be shown off. because you’d meet tons of people who had heard all about you – the coach, the athletic trainers – who’d all give you sweet comments about how you were far too good for your boyfriend, who would then make some silly comment about how he never knew how he got you to talk to him in the first place.
sukuna offered to accompany you. and also promised that he’d sneak some kind of contraband in so that the two of you could actually have fun – but it was something you denied. you denied most of the offers that he made that were similar to this, even though he was quite persistent, only because you knew that it wasn’t the right time.
for better lack of words, you felt like a kicked dog. and you needed time to recover – before you could see your old best friends, or your ex-boyfriend, or really anyone outside the three circle rotation of people that you were able to tolerate.
“i won’t have fun. and i don’t want to be a downer on the one night that’s supposed to be for you.” you respond.
“well, you’re always a downer. so it won’t exactly make a difference.” sukuna responds.
“thanks. that really makes me feel better, sukuna.”
“i live to serve.” he responds, before bracing his hands against the table and pushing off.
he spares you one last glance before stopping at the mirror near door, toussling with his hair and the piercings hanging from his ears. it’s a passing thought that you immediately banish – that panging in your chest at the thought of sukuna enjoying the night with a lanky girl on his arm.
“you know, if you stare for any longer, you’re going to fall in.” you respond.
“hilarious.” he deadpans.
“who are you going with? i’ll have to make a phone call and let her know that she’s just going to have to find her own ride.”
“no one.”
you feign shock, pressing one of your hands to your chest – and really, trying to hide the secret delight that you’re reveling in.
“wow. did hell freeze over?”
“just didn’t feel like it. this type of shit is always kind of boring.” sukuna responds.
you shrug.
“i don’t know. i always thought it was kind of fun.”
sukuna turns around, sparing you one last glance.
“you know, i do recall that you would stand in the corner and talk to the moms all night. that sounds like my personal nightmare.”
you smile.
“well, that’s just because the moms don’t really like you. i however get along with them quite well.”
sukuna rolls his eyes.
“i’m sure that’s true. i’ll see you, okay? don’t sleep too late.”
you give him a sly look.
“worried about me?”
“no, you just look ugly with eye bags.”
--
you do not take sukuna’s advice. instead, you finish up your lab report and open a bottle of pink wine – to accompany you in your endeavors to watch ten things i hate about you.
and it goes considerably well – until you hear a slamming pounding on your door at 3:45 am. you reach for the closest jacket, one of sukuna’s hoodies, before pulling it over your shorts and peeking out of the peephole.
you swing the door open.
“right. hi.”
you pause.
“megumi, right?”
“yeah. just bringing sukuna back. he’s plastered.”
you look down to where he’s gesturing to find sukuna slumped against the wall, offering you a half hearted smile from his bloodied nose.
“right. well, thanks for bringing him back. what happened to his face?”
“same as last time.”
you roll your eyes, as megumi drags sukuna up by the arms. he stumbles in the air, leaning his weight against you, as you shoot megumi one last smile before slamming the door shut.
the sweet smell of his shampoo and cologne is gone all together – now replaced with the mix of metallic blood, sweat, and the faintest smell of beer.
“sit down, sukuna. i’m going to clean you up.” you mumble, trying to stabilize him in the air to stand by himself.
“y/n?” he asks, before stumbling in the air.
you reach forward, trying to brace his fall as he looks down at you – suddenly somewhat awake as his face breaks out into a small smile. he reaches forward, bringing one of his bloodied knuckles to cup the side of your face.
“y/n.” he whispers.
you swallow the block in your throat in your stomach.
“don’t try to sweet talk me. i’m mad at you.” you respond, dragging him towards the center before leaning him against the kitchen counter.
you reach down to the bottom of the sink, setting a glass of water aside and pulling out the little box of first aid that you had put together once you got here and put it at his side. you open up the neatly organized compartments, pulling out the gauze and the alcohol wipes, before turning back to him.
“don’t be mad, princess.” he mumbles.
you feel your cheeks burn.
“don’t call me that.”
“isn’t that what you are? my little brat?”
you scoff.
“are you trying to insult me?” you ask, reaching for his left hand first and swiping the area clean.
“you have no…no idea what i think about you.”
you reach for the wrappings, tucking them in against the callousness of his hands, as he looks down, locking his fingers in with yours. and then he leans forward, snaking one of his hands around your neck.
you quickly shuffle yourself out of his embrace, before lightly pushing him back. he seems to take the cue, before you lean forward again, slightly hesitant this time, as you wipe the area around his nose.
“why’d you fight with him this time?”
sukuna scrunches his face up – irritated at the mention of the past few hours.
“nothing he didn’t fucking deserve.”
“right. last time, he missed a three pointer and you socked him in the face. so let me guess, he was two hours late today and you just got carried away?”
sukuna scoffs.
“he was running his mouth.”
your curiosity has piqued.
“about?”
“you.” sukuna slurs.
you smile.
“so glad to see you had sound judgment tonight, sukuna.” you respond, voice dripping with sarcasm.
sukuna leans forward, his lips a little too dangerously close as he rests his hands at the sides of your waist.
“he brought that stupid bitch with him.”
“sukuna.” you warn.
“he brought. that stupid bitch with him. and he had the nerve to stand there and talk shit about you.” sukuna responds.
you reach for the glass and place it in his hands, offering him a smile.
“just drink the water to sober up a little bit. it’s late.”
sukuna gives you a glare, as you let go of the glass, only for him to spill the entirety of it on you with his shaky hands. he barely registers that he did it – and you suppose that it’s really your fault for trusting him to hold the glass on his own – as you swing your arm around his torso and lead him towards his room.
he flops onto the bed as you rummage through his drawers, pulling out a pair of pants and shirt for him as you turn back around.
“sukuna. get up and change and you can sleep all you want.” you coax.
he responds with an unintelligible noise – further muffled by the fact that he’s face down on the bed – as you reach for one of his arms and pull. he somewhat works with you, sitting up as he wobbles, and reaches for the tie around his neck and tosses it aside.
his first struggle comes with the buttons. because he can’t seem to coordinate his fingers well enough to push the buttons through the holes – and obviously, with the short temper he has, gives up in all but three seconds.
“help.”
you roll your eyes as he stands up, leaning against you as you reach forward, and slowly unbutton down the length of the shirt.
“you drive me crazy, you know that?” sukuna whispers.
you ignore the comment as you pull the shirt down the length of his arms – exposing the tattoos that you’ve always wondered about, that peek out of the sleeves of his shirt or neck. you hand him the shirt, which he tosses aside.
“too hot.”
“okay, well. just put the pants on and then i’ll leave. i’ll turn around.” you respond.
you turn around, twisting the rings on your fingers as you wait for him to finish, only to me met what could possibly be your worst nightmare.
“y/n. wait, fuck. you have to help.” he whines.
you turn around to look at him, only to find that he’s still wearing his pants.
“what?”
“the button. i can’t…”
you feel your throat dry.
“sukuna. i can’t…take your pants off for you. just try harder.”
“just fucking help me.”
you shake off the nervousness, as you bend down on your knees, trying to squint through the dark light to find the button. except before you can fully do it, sukuna reaches for your biceps and somewhat harshly pulls you up.
“wh-”
you look up to find him swallowing hard, before he talks.
“it’s like you’re trying to make this difficult for me. don’t get on your fucking knees to do it.” sukuna responds.
“how else am i supposed to see it?”
sukuna doesn’t respond, as you shake your head and feel down the length of his pants, before you find the button. and surely enough, it’s hard to push but you get it after a second try, and turn around as sukuna switches the pants he’s wearing.
and you almost make your sweet escape before he tangles his fingers around your wrist and pulls back. his fingers are fast on your waist as he turns you around, somewhat toppling your balance so you’re leaning against his chest – and stuck in his embrace.
“stay.” he whispers.
“you are so fucking drunk, sukuna.”
“stay, please. i don’t want to sleep without you.”
you shake your head.
“my hoodie is wet. i have to change.”
sukuna shakes his head.
“are you wearing anything underneath? you know i wouldn’t mind either way.” sukuna whispers.
“a tank top, but really. i have to go back to –”
sukuna’s fingers are fast – since he apparently has enough coordination to help you with this – as he pulls it over your head, before setting his hands back around your waist. the way he’s looking down at you, eyes wide, makes you shiver as he leans forward, and presses his fingers against your collarbone.
“you have a tattoo.” sukuna whispers.
you laugh.
“so do you.”
and it makes your skin shiver, when sukuna snakes his hands underneath your shirt, leaning forward to press his lips against the inked skin on your shoulder, unable to contain your surprise. the tufts of his hair tickle your neck as you lean back, placing your hands on the sides of his face.
“you’re drunk.”
sukuna pauses.
“is that the only reason you’re saying no?”
you shake your head.
“go to bed. you don’t even know what you’re fuckking saying right now.”
“just stay with me.”
sukuna releases his grasp, instead reaching for both of your hands and squeezing at your fingers.
“please. don’t leave me alone.”
“okay, okay. let’s just go sleep. we’ll talk in the morning.”
--
you wake up to the most haunting sight known to man – sukuna hovering over you.
“jesus fuck.”
sukuna laughs as you press your palms into the sockets of your eyes, pushing as hard as can as you very quickly remember the events of last night – of the shivering feeling of sukuna’s lips on your neck and the horribly embarrassing moan you let out when he did.
“oh god.”
you open your eyes to find sukuna still hovering – an almost too excited grin painted on his face – his silver necklace hanging in the air.
“give me permission this time.” sukuna states.
you widen your eyes.
“i beg your pardon?”
sukuna snakes one of his fingers under your waist, using the other to trace the outline of your tattoo again, as he leans closer to you, the distance dangerously close considering the events of last night.
“give me permission.” sukuna asks.
“you…”
sukuna rolls his eyes, before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.
“if it wasn’t clear, i think about you very often. irritatingly enough, i’m actually very fond of you. so much so, that i turned down that fucking barista from the coffee shop last night and went to that fucking party by myself..”
“marie?”
“is that her name?” sukuna asks.
you bite down on your cheek.
“i also gave someone a beating for you and got suspended from playing for two weeks, so just give me fucking permission now.”
“you got what?”
sukuna leans down, resting his chin against your bicep, as he eyes you again, before pressing a kiss to the skin.
“give me permission.”
“you’ve already kissed me twice.”
sukuna shakes his head.
“cmon. i need to hear it.”
you shake your head, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that your heart is pounding in your chest as you look down at him, brown eyes peering into yours
“um. okay? ….yes. or yeah, whatever, i –”
all you hear is an excited chuckle before his lips are against yours, hands almost rough around your neck as he pulls you up, till your straddling him in his lap, hands secured around his neck. and you can tell that he’s enjoying himself far too much – from the way he smiles into the kiss, before pressing three, four, and five kisses to your cheek.
you fight the urge to smile at him fully as you lean forward, cupping his face in your hands and eyeing the cut across the bridge of his nose.
“have i repaid your kindness yet?” you murmur.
sukuna pauses, before leaning in.
“no, i think i need a little bit more.”
--
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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 39. we can't do this
content warnings: so much pining and yearning and praise and some thigh riding (wow!)
ONCE CHAEWON HAD LEFT THE ROOM, YOU HEARD A KNOCK AT YOUR DOOR WITHIN MINUTES.
Your heart all but jumped in your chest. It had to be him, and even though you were the one who asked him to come over, you were still nervous to see Jay.
You figured that after your little interaction with him on the airplane, something would eventually happen. After all, you two were in Europe and spent all this time together. There was clear tension between you two, and you had been patiently waiting for it to break all weekend.
It was never this hard; you were fairly confident when it came down to getting a guy's attention. All you had to do was get a little closer and smile a little bigger around them.
But Jay? You felt like you were losing your mind. Not only did he avoid eye contact with you all day, but you found it next to impossible to even talk to him properly. First, it was because he kept running away before you could strike up a conversation, then it was because he made you so flustered that your mouth went dry whenever you wanted to talk.
You thought being featured on his Instagram story was a feat to be celebrated, but that fizzled out as soon as Jay went back to talking to everyone but you.
When you opened the door, he looked as confused as you were with his eyebrows narrowed and his expression stony.
"Hey, what's up?" he greeted, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room. He was always so observant around you, and why would he be if he didn't reciprocate your feelings? "Are you okay?"
You opened the door wider to let him in before closing it. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to see you."
"We could've just gone out for drinks together."
"No, alone," you insisted, sitting down at the edge of your bed and looking up at him. "I wanted us to be alone."
You noticed him swallow thickly before he asked, "Why?"
"I just..." You hesitated before continuing, "I just wanted to make sure that what happened on the plane was real."
He looked more puzzled, if that was even possible. For a second, his reaction made you wonder if you had dreamed about the entire encounter. It was plausible, considering the whole thing felt like a fantasy that ended far too soon.
Jay took a seat next to you and placed his hands on his thighs, staring ahead at the wall as he tried to piece together what you were getting at.
"You mean... Shrek."
So you weren't hallucinating. Never did you think you would feel so much relief over hearing the name Shrek.
"What happened during Shrek, I mean."
"Oh, like—"
"When you had your hands on me," you said gently, taking his hand and placing it right where he had it earlier. The familiar warmth put you at ease while causing a flush of heat to rush to your cheeks simultaneously. Jay didn't move his hand, but he looked down at it and stilled. "Like this."
"What're you—"
"Is this okay?"
It took him a few moments to process that you were fully on top of him, but, eventually, Jay nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're good."
Neither of you said anything for a while, and the seconds felt so unbearably long that you spoke up first, asking, "I'm not going crazy, right? I just thought maybe we feel the same way."
He did that nervous habit of his again where he swallowed hard instead of answering, so you pressed on, "You told me to sit on your lap." You maintained eye contact with Jay as you moved to straddle him, sitting closer to his knees without much care for how your skirt rode up. Keeping your voice as steady as possible, you took his hands and placed them on your thighs again, murmuring, "And then you did this."
He breathed out, "Yeah, I just—"
"But you ignored me all day," you cut across him, and although you felt bad for interjecting so much, the flush of pink across Jay's cheeks was too endearing for you to stop. "I felt like I was invisible to you."
You knew he wanted you, too; it was the longing in his eyes, the way his grip tightened around your thighs, and the way he hung onto every word of yours as if it was the last sound he was hearing. It was unmistakeable, but why did he keep pulling away whenever you toed closer?
"You're not," he said sincerely, gazing into your eyes with an unrivaled intensity. "You're not, I swear. I wasn't... trying to ignore you or anything." For a moment, he stopped talking and just looked down at where you were sitting on top of him. "Actually, I felt like I couldn't stay away from you until I let Heeseung drag me away."
"Really?"
A little hopeful tug of your heart made each concern of yours peel away one-by-one.
"It'd be"—he shook his head in a decidedly frantic manner, all the while keeping his gaze locked with yours—"absolutely impossible to ignore you."
Everything you felt for him, everything you felt in this moment, it all festered and billowed around you until you couldn't keep it under the surface anymore. Your confession had been hanging on your lips for days, and it was somehow easier than breathing to let it slip.
You bit back a small smile. "I like you, Jay."
You couldn't understand why his face crumbled as soon as you said those four words, why the longing in his eyes felt like an endless pit you could drown in. Was it possible that you were misreading the situation? How could that be the case when it looked like his feelings for you were overwhelming him?
His steady breaths grew shallow. "We can't do this, Y/N."
"Why not?"
"You're... you're so... I can't." The desperation that clung to his syllables made his frustration clear.
You frowned. "I'm what?"
"You're perfect. I can't"—he shook his head again—"I just can't give you what you want, or I'll end up giving you all of me, and that can't happen." He leaned forward a little to let his head hang, and you were certain it was to avoid looking you in the eye. "I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone who treats you right."
"You're saying you won't?"
"I can't," he whispered, agonized. He stammered a few times before starting, "Hoon—he'd definitely be upset about this."
By the way he hardly elaborated, you figured there was more reasoning that he simply didn't want to share yet, but you could still understand why Jay was cautious because of Sunghoon. Not only had you two broken up around three months ago, but now Jay was close with your ex-boyfriend. Part of you felt a little worried about how starting something with Jay would affect the group dynamic, too, but you knew that pretending like nothing was going on would make you feel worse.
You slid up further onto his lap, hooking your arms around his shoulders. Jay drew in a sharp breath by your sudden action, but he squeezed your thighs all the same. The flutters in your stomach from before had now become arousal pooling between your legs. You pressed your lips together and looked up at him again; hunger dawned in his eyes, and you could almost feel the way he was ravaging you with a single look.
"We could keep it a secret," you offered shyly.
"I'm sorry, it's impossible," he replied, sighing. His voice was hardly loud enough for you to hear. "I'm so sorry."
You couldn't help your emotions from pouring out when you squeaked out, "Am I really that bad?"
"No—no, never." He nearly shouted the words, his eyes burning with wicked desire. "I just promised myself I wouldn't do anything to you."
"But why?"
"You deserve better, Y/N. I won't let myself ruin you."
You hated hearing that phrase. Despite the pleasant goosebumps that prickled your skin at the thought of him ruining you, you couldn't understand why Jay thought so lowly of himself. He wasn't supposed to decide whether he was better for you or not, and you wished he could see himself the way you saw him—someone who gathered and fixed all of the stars in your sky.
"But I want you to ruin—oh." Your breath hitched upon the jolt of pleasure that left heat blooming under your skin. Whether intentional or unintentional, Jay had gripped your thighs so hard that he ended up pulling you up higher onto his legs, and the friction against your cunt left you needing more. "Jay, you—"
"Don't say that," he warned sternly, and when you looked up at him again, he looked as though he was fighting an addiction that he hadn't quite slipped into yet. And then his expression was pained, and how mad he was for you was as clear as day. "I've forced myself to stay away from you every single day, and my emotions always betray me. Just let me have this, at least. Let me stop feeling like I'm out of my mind."
And then his eyes softened, and he brushed away a loose strand of your hair. "If my circumstances were different, I'd have agreed in a heartbeat."
His words should have made your heart swell (and they did, to an extent), but you felt a strange sadness lingering in your chest. It didn't seem like he was going to elaborate on his reasoning, but you felt indubitably unfulfilled. You didn't understand, and he wouldn't let you understand.
Perhaps it was the fact that you had never been turned down like this, or you couldn't fathom getting this far and still being pushed away, or a rather unfortunate combination of both, but you couldn't stop yourself from tearing up. Even though he had been so, so kind, his words were like a dagger in your gut.
"It's okay," you warbled out, and before you could furiously wipe at the stray tear streaming down your cheek, Jay got to it first with a gentle, steady thumb. "I kind of expected it."
This time, he frowned. "You did? Why?"
"This is the first time I've liked someone like this... tried for them, you know. It's just hard for me to believe that you'd ever want me the way I want you."
Your words seemed to ignite something in Jay for the gentle flicker in his eyes was replaced with a blazing fire that only burned hotter when his eyes narrowed to slits. Your breath was caught in your throat when you felt the pads of his fingers press into your skin with a bruising grip.
The way he looked at you made you feel like you had burst into flames, too.
You weren't sure how long Jay had harbored such feelings for you, but they all came out at once in a fury. It was as if he pushed it deep inside, allowed it to simmer for months before it grew too wild to be contained. It was only a matter of time before everything came up to the surface, and now, it was on display.
"You think I don't want you?" He nearly barked out a laugh, disbelief thick in his voice. He let his head drop onto your shoulder, breathing out a few more baffled laughs before you felt his hot breath fan your skin. "You have no idea what you do to me. God, Y/N, you consume my every thought—day and night." When he raised his head again, there was a piercing intensity in his dark eyes. "I punched Hoon for you. I punched him 'cause he hurt you." He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath that seemed to shake his entire body. "I'm not a violent person by any means. I just couldn't stand hearing how he treated you."
Your lower lip was caught between your teeth. You could hardly believe you were hearing his unfiltered emotions like this, but you didn't want him to stop. You were only afraid that he would snap out of it soon and push you away again, so the least you could do was tell him a secret of your own.
"I have something to admit, too," you started. "Back in Seattle, I might have lied about the hotel availability because I was having so much fun." You paused to gauge his reaction, and you were pleasantly surprised that there was no trace of anger in his face; his eyes simply widened a fraction. "I was also freaking out about us sleeping in the same bed, but... it's not like I disliked it."
Jay went silent again, and you peered up at him curiously, waiting for a reaction. Eventually, he sighed heavily and pulled you an inch closer to his body, letting you chase that addictive friction for a split second.
"Please, Jay," you couldn't help but whimper, which, in turn, caused him to clench his jaw. "Don't make me feel good if you're not gonna keep going."
He shifted, cursing under his breath. "I can't, Y/N, I can't..." He then removed his hands to rub his face, aggravated. "I can't do this to you."
But then you saw his bulge strain against his pants, right in front of the apex of your legs—so close that you could simply move forward so that your cunt was flush against it. Jay didn't mention his boner at all, but he followed your gaze and ended up blushing scarlet under the dim light.
"Just ignore that," he muttered quickly. "I can take care of it myself."
"Are you sure?" You pouted. With Sunghoon, you always got him off first before he touched you; there were only few exceptions to this, but it was basically a ritual for you to pleasure him before he took care of you. "You're gonna go back to your room like that?"
Jay pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I'll figure it out, but are you gonna be, uh, okay?"
"I can manage just fine; I've handled it myself plenty of times."
It caught you by surprise, but those were apparently the words that drove Jay to the brink of madness; you stretched him thinner and thinner until he had finally snapped right then and there.
His voice was pitched dangerously low when he asked, "Are you serious?"
"Yeah? I thought that was normal."
"No fucking way." Jay scoffed. He shook his head in dismay. "Sunghoon's an idiot."
Careful not to push his buttons, you mumbled, "But... aren't you doing the same thing, too?"
He gave you a long, hard look. The weight of his gaze almost made you want to wither away on the spot. You trapped him with that one, and he seemed to be very aware of this fact when you heard him let out a half-frustrated, half-tired groan.
You quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"One condition," he interrupted. "I'll help you, but you're not allowed to touch me." He had a firm grip on your thighs again. "I'm not moving my hands, either."
Your heart stopped.
"Please."
That ache between your legs grew more desperate, and you felt like electric currents were running under your skin just by the way he held you. Truthfully, you did feel yourself deflate a little when he set down the rule that you weren't allowed to touch him, but then Jay sat against the headboard and pulled you back onto his lap with his eyes fixed on yours, and you couldn't remember anything anymore.
He was truly committed to only pleasuring you; even though his cock looked painfully hard through the fabric, Jay was adamant about keeping you on his thigh. His leg muscles were strong, you gathered, as he guided your hips down to grind against his thigh in torturous circles.
Immediately, you were dizzy with pleasure. Each motion ended with a little pressure against your clit that sent shocks of bliss throughout your body. He flexed his muscle enough for you to whine from the stimulation.
"F-fuck, just like that."
"Wow," Jay got out in a rush, his voice raspy and fervent, relishing the way you were bouncing on his thigh with occasional whimpers and moans falling from your lips. "You're perfect, Y/N. Everything I've ever dreamt of and more."
And when he called out your name, it felt like he was worshipping you, like your name was a prayer that he needed to chant to preserve some semblance of sanity. Jay was using all his might to suppress the all-consuming desire that threatened to take over every rational decision he had made so far.
Not that this was a rational decision in the slightest.
Not being able to hold onto him was the worst punishment you could've gotten. You were drawn to him, as if you were magnetized, but he put up a very clear boundary that you wouldn't dare push. You had already gotten this far, and you weren't going to push your luck any further—not when you were already seeing white flashes in your vision as he continued his rhythmic motion of helping you ride his thigh.
Maybe it was because you hadn't been taken care of in months, or maybe it was because Jay had tapped into some hidden talent at getting you off, but your climax crept up upon you unexpectedly. One minute your eyes were locked with Jay's as you ground your hips into his thigh, and the next you were arching your back and gripping the sheets underneath for leverage as your orgasm rushed over you.
You threw your head back as you succumbed to the current of pleasure that ripped through you. When you opened your eyes again, Jay was staring at you like he wanted to kiss you, and you were so sure he would for a moment. You leaned up, lips barely grazing his before he pulled back with a groan and dug his fingers firmly into your thighs.
Jay didn't stop even as you gasped and moaned his name throughout your orgasm. (It did seem to rile him up a little more, though.) He only tightened his grip so that he could continue the same, ancient rhythm that ended up driving you to the edge of your second orgasm.
"Oh my god," you gushed out, finally losing your balance and using your shaky arms to keep you upright.
Jay finally slowed down until he was sure you had fruitfully ridden out your orgasm. You were a fucked-out, panting mess by the end of it, and you craved nothing more than for Jay to pull you into his arms and show you just how much he could make love to you.
If he could make you feel that good by only holding your thighs, then you would surely be ruined if you two went further.
But, to your dismay, he gently moved you off of him and sat at the edge of the bed, letting out a soft sigh and staring down at the carpet.
"Are you leaving?" you asked once you regained your composure, slightly hopeful that he wouldn't.
"I should." He stood up and looked down at you tenderly, almost reaching down to fix your hair but stopping himself when he was inches away. "I really would spend the night if I could, I swear."
"I believe you," you said, "but we're gonna talk about this soon, right? I don't think I can just pretend this didn't happen."
Jay pondered for a moment before saying, "Yeah—just not right now."
"Okay," you breathed out, relieved. Blood rushed to your cheeks again. "Thank you."
He only blushed in response, ducking his head to hide how flustered he was.
"Are you going back to your room now?" you asked.
Jay nodded, but the two of you stayed where you were for a moment, and you were hoping he'd give you something—a hug or a kiss—before he left. He went with the former, which you had no complaints about, and squeezed you into a tight hug that you only had a few seconds to reciprocate before he pulled away.
His eyes lingered on your lips for a moment too long. His searing look left you with a curl of desire seizing you so viciously that you were certain you would feel empty for the rest of the night.
"Sleep well, Y/N."
You managed a smile for him, even though you oh-so-badly wanted him to stay. "Goodnight, Jay."
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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.
TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @zerasari @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowww @enha-stars @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct @hooniesuniverse @enhalov @enhypens-baby @isawritesss
AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ if ur reading this chapter and thinking omg jay's so screwed 😭 ur so right but this is crucial to the plot so let me cook
#enhypen#enhypen smut#enhypen imagines#enhypen smau#jay smut#jay smau#jay imagines#jay x reader#enhypen social media au#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#jay scenarios#jongseong smut#jay park#enhypen fanfic#jay fanfic#enhypen hard hours#jay hard hours#enhypen drabbles#jay drabbles#enhypen reactions#jay reactions
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Precious🩵
Summary: Reader gets separated from Daryl at the start and finds a farm with a wonderful family, she finds out she’s pregnant and one thing leads to another and a new group settles onto the farm
•Masterlist•
I waited for Daryl at our little house in the small town we grew up in, I had been gone to the city for the day when everything happened, I was able to find a car and drive back home praying that Daryl would be there waiting for me but I knew it would be a long shot, I waited for a few days until the food ran out and decided if I was ever going to find him again then I’ll have to go find him myself
So I pack up my bag with essentials, clothes, water, snacks that were left over and weapons for Daryl’s hunting collection, I drove for what felt like forever no signs of human life only blood and rotting corpses who some how took over the earth
I came to the interstate seeing the cars upon cars piled up blocking my way so I turned around hoping to find a back road to get around when I spotted a sign “Greene’s Farm” if the farm was still standing maybe it could have some food or more water, as I pulled up the drive way to a large white farm house people filtered out, it felt surreal to see people, live people
I got out of the car as the came down the stairs, it was an older man a girl around my age and a younger blonde, then what seemed to be an older couple and a younger boy
“How’d you find this place?” The man with the white hair asked
“I’ve been on the road looking for my husband, I got turned around in the road and saw your farm sign, I just need some rest” I say as I run my hand down my belly
When I went to the city when everything happened I found out I was pregnant and I was over the moon about finally starting a family with Daryl but now I’m scared, scared about delivery, this baby never meeting their wonderful father
The man noticed my movement and his harsher demeanor changed to one of pity
“Come dear we’ll get something set up for you”
They let me settle in the spare room after feeding me some eggs and fresh fruit, the house was cozy and they are lovely people but I can’t help that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling I always got when Daryl would be gone too long, he always soothed me even if he didn’t talk much he showed me comfort with actions of love and care
Whenever he scrounged up enough money he’d buy me little gifts, he got me a silver necklace with a bow on it which I never take off, I never got a wedding ring because I refused and said we should keep the money for the future and that I don’t need some diamond to show my love for him
“Knock knock” I look up to the doorway and see Maggie standing there with a wide smile
“Daddy wanted me to check on you, well both of you”
“Oh yes I think we’re okay, I only found out about two weeks ago”
“That’s when you first had symptoms?” She asked as she sat next to me on the bed
“Yeah, the nausea and a little bump”
“I’d say you’re about two months pregnant then, signs only show up later, does the father know?” I shock my head feeling my heart clench in pain
“I never got the chance, I don’t even know where he is but somehow in my heart I believe we will find our ways back to each other” she ran a comforting hand up my back and smiled
“You’ll find him sweetheart you never know what might happen!” She said before she left the room giving me space to finally rest
It’s been 2 months now on the farm and it was peaceful for some reason this farm has gone untouched from the world that’s filled with death, I haven’t stopped looking for Daryl, every other day I’d search farther and farther out but there was no sign, as I was walking back to the farm I saw two men and Otis running through the field, I got back to the house and Maggie told me of everything that was happening, Otis accidentally shot the boy who Hershel was working on now
I sat outside on the steps as the young boys father came out obviously in shock covered in blood, he sat next to me completely disheveled, I took a rag I had in my pocket and wiped some blood he smeared on his face
“Hershel is a good surgeon and a great man, your son is in good hands” my words seemed to calm him down and what he needed right now was a distraction it seems
“I remember when my wife found out she was pregnant with Carl, we were young but I was excited this little life was gonna be born, so how far along are you?”
“About 4 months now, I’m not sure if it’s a boy or girl, I got separated from the father when I found out but I’ve kept looking, I know he’s out there, he’s a stubborn man but god is he strong and pretty smart too”
“Yeah I know the type, got a man like that back in our group, we lost a little girl and he’s been looking for her day and night”
“Maggie should be back soon she must have found your group by now, it’ll be okay” almost as if she heard me I see her horse ride up the field with cars following, then I hear the rumble of a motorcycle and it brought back so many memories I had with Daryl, when he’d work on his bike I’d sit with him, when we’d go for a drive at night together, moments I kept dear to my heart, zoned out in nostalgic thought I didn’t notice the group coming to the steps
“Y/n?” The grumble to the voice that I fell in love with, I look up to see him standing there just as the day I last saw him still as handsome, I couldn’t stand up fast enough before I was pulled off the stairs and into his arms
“I can’t believe it’s you, I looked everywhere, I missed you so much Daryl” I cried into his shoulder as his group was most likely watching this moment unwind
“It’s me sunshine, I found ya” he pulled back and we just looked into each others eyes for some time before he looked me over stopping abruptly on my belly
He opened his mouth but he seemed to be at a lose for words
“It’s yours if that’s what you’re wondering?”
“My baby?” He asked placing his hands on either side of my bump
“Yeah our lil baby Dixon”
After everything settled down and people set up tents I decided to stay with Daryl since they were using my room for Carl, I was sitting across from him on my sleeping bag and he couldn’t take his eyes off my bump
“Do you want to feel?” He thought for a moment before he nodded, I lifted my ivory dress just above my belly feeling his warm hands caress my bare skin
“How did this happen?”
“Well remember that night you came back from the bar with Merle and I was wearing my pink sundress you love” realization dawned as a blush crossed his face
“Yeah that’s how it happened” I laugh missing how easily it is to embarrass him
“Where have you been?” I asked as we laid next to each other
“Found a camp outside of Atlanta with Merle, idiot went and got himself stuck on a roof don’t know where he is now, then we went to the CDC and that was a bust then that leads to now finally some sanity with ya”
“I’m just glad you didn’t get bite, the farms been secure so I haven’t had any troubles”
“And ya never have to with me ‘round”
It’s been 6 months and Daryl and I had a beautiful 1 month old baby girl, it was painful giving birth but with Daryl by my side it made it a bit easier, hopeful
She was a wonderful little thing, barely fussy, brown hair light blue eyes just like Daryl, and he was over the moon about her he praised me over and over for giving him such a gift he treasured
We were able to move into the house to make it more comfortable for the three of us, we named her Lily because Carl thought it suited her perfectly so we just went with it
I walked into the room seeing Daryl sat on the bed with her in his arms her little hands reaching to pull on his now grown out hair, I sat beside them curling up to Daryl’s side
“She loves you so much D”
“Not as much as I love her”
“You know I think she’s your favourite”
“Nah she loves us both sunshine, I love ya”
“I love you too Daryl, forever”
#twd fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl dixion imagine#twd x reader#daryl dixon#twd fluff#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixion smut#daryl x reader#daryl imagines#daryl dixon twd#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixon smut#the walking dead daryl#daryl x female reader#daryl x you#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixion x reader#daryl drabbles#twd#the walking dead series
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Price survived the sarin gas inhalation but it benched him for quite some time so Ghost had to take over the CO's responsibilities.
so now Gaz joins Ghost and Soap on missions and is forced to listen to their horrible jokes on comms.
but one day Soap says something so smutty to Ghost that Kyle is convinced Soap's days are numbered but to his utter surprise Ghost rolls with it.
Gaz suspects that Soap's and Ghost's bond is deeper than they let on.
don’t worry, happens to the best of us haha. love this idea btw im so sorry it took me so long to get to it 😭
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Gaz has seen and heard… a lot during his time in the military.
From having witnessed the much more traumatic gore and destruction and men gone mad with power to the decidedly less impactful crude jokes and stupid things soldiers get up to in their downtime, Gaz doesn’t think much could surprise him anymore.
As it would turn out, however, there’d been one thing that he’d left unaccounted for: his lieutenant and fellow sergeant’s flirting.
Now, he’s heard Ghost’s awful jokes before. He’s heard the offhand teases and ‘buy me a drink first’s, but without Price as the voice of authority, Gaz discovers that there is far, far worse to be said between the two of them—specifically by Soap.
The team’s first mission without Price, with the captain still in early recovery, Gaz gets the general sense of testing the waters. The mission itself goes off without a hitch—they couldn’t call themselves an elite task force for nothing—but the comments not meant for Gaz but still said over comms are certainly… something. Bordering on raunchy. But it’s fine, whatever, Gaz has heard far worse from soldiers who aren’t even friends, let alone whatever Ghost and Soap are.
The second mission is already worse.
Soap seems to have taken Ghost’s silence as permission to continue with his over-the-top flirting, and Gaz has already begun to worry at what point it becomes too much. At what point Soap will cross the line, and at what point Gaz will have to figure out what to wear to his friend’s funeral.
The second mission, none of the above occurs. They all make it out alive and with minimal injuries—though Gaz could argue his brain has already been scarred by what Soap seems to deem appropriate to say to his lieutenant.
It’s the same thing for their next few outings. Price is doing better but is still out of commission, and Gaz cannot wait until he’s back, it’s started to get so bad. He’s heard more than he wishes to forget. He thinks it’d do him well to have his mind erased, scrubbed clean of Ghost and Soap’s worsening banter, but alas.
But up until this point, anyway, he’s chalked it all up to the lack of Price in their ears not letting them get away with the awfully filthy talk and increasingly terrible jokes.
Gaz is fearing for his own life when it happens.
Mercifully, Price is green-lighted to go back into the field at some point during the task force’s current mission, so Gaz has been counting down the days until finally, finally someone with a voice of higher authority than Ghost’s can cut through the line and tell them to either knock it off or keep it to their own channel.
They’re almost in the clear, Gaz thinks, and just as he does is when Soap says something that no way in hell Ghost should be tolerating.
“—bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, LT? Havin’ me on my knees, cryin’ and beggin’ for mercy?”
Honestly, it isn’t the worst Soap has said these past few months. Not by far. But it’s the directness and very clear implication of what he means that sets Gaz on edge—because surely, surely even Soap couldn’t possibly outright proposition Ghost with a blowjob and not be reprimanded for it.
Yet for some reason, Ghost’s response is not keep it tactical, but rather, “Ask nicely and you might get it the other way ‘round.”
Gaz isn’t sure how to move on normally from hearing that, but he manages, somehow. The only good thing to have come from Ghost’s reciprocation is that it manages to make Soap go quiet for the remainder of the mission, unless there’s something critical to be mentioned.
It doesn’t click for Gaz right away, too focused on the mission and figuring out the most effective method of brain-bleaching, but hopping off the heli back at base and watching Soap drag Ghost off to god knows where is certainly telling of something that he’d missed all this time.
He’d bring up to Price later, he thinks. The captain ought to know if Ghost and Soap were really a thing—and if not yet, well.
They probably would be soon enough.
#ask#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soapghost#ghostsoap#writing#i could not think of skmething for him to say i’ll be honest#so this is what we have to settle on (i am sorry)
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♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part four
lando norris x fem! streamer! reader (fluff)
“. . . lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl he cant get out of his head.”
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“This is pointless” he thought tiredly as he turned to sleep on his other side, only to feel frustrated anger boil in him soon enough. Lando's been restless for a good few hours now and he feels like he's losing his mind. The Japanese Grand Prix week had ended and he still couldn't shut his eyes for the day.
He felt angry, and agitated. He didn't even know what drove him to pick up his phone and dial your contact. What was that going to solve, bothering you with his problems? Besides, it's a bad idea because it's 1am at yours. He'll just hang up and pray that sleep takes him.
Well, his phone didn't stay on his nightstand for long because as soon as you called back he had practically smashed the green button and pressed the phone to his ear. Lando opened his mouth ready to throw complaints, only to stop short hearing you yawn, which he hated to admit that it helped his heart rate calm down faster than you can blink.
"It's one in the morning, Lan." You yawned, shuffling to find a comfortable position where you didn't have to hold your phone up.
"I know— I'm sorry." The brit sighed, rubbing his eyes, laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry I woke you up." His voice came off as soft, he was clearly sorry. You could hear how tired and exhausted he was too.
"No, it's ok," you shook your head. "Tell me what's wrong." Lando sighed, staying silent for a few minutes, trying to search through his thoughts. Why was he feeling this way?
"I saw the race." You hum after a few moments, snuggling into your bed sheets as your phone rested on the pillow somewhere beside you. "That overtake was amazing." Your little tired giggle made Lando's heart skip a beat as he rested his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
"I was watching you on TV. My roommate thought I was crazy. Maybe I was being a bit too loud. Maybe I wanted my voice to reach you aaaaalll the way in Japan so you could go faster." You joked, chucking softly at the idea. Lando found himself smiling at the thought, imagining you jumping and cheering for him.
"How would I go any faster?" Lando chuckled, feeling his muscles relax and his eyes close.
"I don't know? You're Lando Norris. You drive super fast cars." You tease, making Lando laugh at your reference to his twitter bio. How you always make the minutes feel yellow and joyful, he'll never understand. The call has only been on for 13 minutes and you've already made him feel much better and lighter.
"Yeah," he nodded agreeing, feeling his smile widen. “I drive super fast cars.” He agreed with a happy sigh. Yep, he definitely felt much better now that you're here, even if you're not physically present.
It was as if you were mending him with magic. Not with stitches or bandages, or glue. No need for needle and thread, or having to change gauze or having to put layers of glue. You made Lando feel as if he was glowing.
"What's your favourite movie?" He asked out of nowhere. You took a second or two before giving your answer.
"I think I'll pick . . . Corpse bride." you hummed as you shifted to sleep on your other side. Lando's eyebrows furrowed in surprise at your choice.
"Corpse bride? Why Corpse Bride?" You chuckled and shrugged.
"It's a good movie. It makes my heart feel . . . I can't explain it. It's just a good movie." Lando thought for a second, scratching under his eye.
"Well I'll have to come watch it next time because I've never watched the full thing." You gasp at his confession, making him laugh.
"How dare you?" You pretend to be offended, making Lando and you laugh for a good few moments. "What about you? What's your favourite movie?" You ask. Lando held his breath before pulling it out.
"I'm not sure. It keeps changing every now and then." He shrugged, finding himself smiling.
"That's a very Lando Norris thing to say." Lando found himself laughing, face heating up.
"What's yourrrrrr," Lando paused for a second trying to think of something. "Favourite colour."
"Oh! Green for sure." You nodded with a hum.
"Green? What type of green?" Lando asked further.
"No, no, it's my turn to ask. What's your favourite colour?"
"Fluorescent yellow." Lando answered without hesitation. "Now. What type of green?" He asked the question again. You hummed for a second.
"I'd say, like, the green on your helmet. But like, with purple. But not fluorescent purple. A not so dark purple" You nodded. The brit found himself smiling heavily, cheeks burning. He's glad this was a voice call, otherwise he's not sure how he'd hide his face from you.
“You like my helmet’s colour?”
“Hey, pretty boy. It’s my turn to ask.”
The questions went on until you decided to invite Lando for a small game after he kept insisting that you should fall asleep. but you kept declining, insisting to give him company so he's not alone, not mentioning the fact that you heavily enjoy his company and voice.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Huge farm." Lando commented as he walked his little avatar around your house and crops.
"Yeah," you nodded. "been playing this game for a long while now." You hummed smiling as you followed Lando around.
"Oh look! An NPC!" the brunette started running circles around the kid making you chuckle.
"That's my son." You say and immediately get a gasp from the other side of the call.
"You have a son?!" You found yourself laughing. "How'd you make him?" You found yourself laughing even harder at the question.
"What - do - you - mean?" You asked between wheezes, barely being able to breathe. Lando was even angrier when he found out you divorced your husband, insisting you file for child support.
"I'll marry you, Y/n! I'll look after you and your son." Lando said confidently, running in circles around you this time. “I’ll support you financially and be the father figure he needs. Marry me, marry me, marry me!”
"I think-" you tried to catch your breath, wiping tears of laughter. "I think I have a ring." You say and can immediately hear Lando's excited squeal from the call.
"I'm gonna get married before Max! Ha!" You thought you were going to drown in dopamine at this point, hugging your stomach as you offered Lando the ring. "WAIT, I DIDN'T PREPARE A SPEECH." He panicked.
"Most amazing and beautiful lady in all the lando-" The guy was too stressed in his thoughts that he accidentally said his own name instead of land, which was not helping you calm down from your laughing fit. "IN ALL THE LAND! I meant in all the land!" he corrected himself quickly.
"Y/n dev L/n. Will you marry me, lLando, in this RPG pixelated game and take my last name," he said quickly. "Wait! wait." He shouted, cutting himself off. You saw your screen flash with colours, seeing Lando open his camera and lamp. "Will you, Y/n devs L/n marry me." The Brit repeated holding his hands as if he was opening a ring box.
You bit your lip to suppress a smile, turning your own camera and setting it to lean on the heap of texts on your night stand. The PC on your bed illuminated your face just enough. Lando felt his heart hammer in his chest seeing your smile and eyes. So sleepy yet so effortlessly beautiful to the point butterflies swarmed his stomach.
"My, sir Lando. I would love to marry you." You nodded sheepishly, trying to brush your messy hair to look a little more presentable despite you both looking like a stuffed animal that got chewed on by a dog. You had thought Lando was naked at first glance but turns out he was sleeping in his underwear. You were no better, in a mickey mouse shirt with also no pants.
Lando put his hand over his heart, pretending cupid had shot an arrow through. "Oh, my wife." He sighed happily, making you laugh and blush.
You felt . . . some sort of way after this fake proposal. It was only in Stardew Valley. But you still felt something stir in your heart, seeing Lando's genuine smile. For a moment, you both forgot you weren't actually married, spending the rest of the night doing couple things and having the fake wedding which you recorded for memory.
#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾#﹒and they were streamers ﹒𐙚#lando norris#lando#LN4#lando norris x reader#lando x reader#ln4 x reader#formula 1#formula racing#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 x you#f1 x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris imagine#lando norris fanfic#lando norris f1#lando norris fluff#lando fluff#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#formula 1 fanfic#formula one fanfiction#sub!lando#formula one x reader#lando norris fanfiction#ln4#formula one
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Part 2 to the max fic inspired by the smallest man who’s ever lived?
“He Just Comes Running Over To Me”
Loss of my life part 2
a/n: this has been heavily requested, but honestly this is the best I could come up with...
Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked away from Max, his words echoing in your mind. You had to stay strong; you couldn’t let him see how much he still affected you. Your team quickly surrounded you, ushering you to your private dressing room. Once inside, you sank onto the couch, your emotions overwhelming you.
Daniel had followed you, his face filled with concern. “Y/N, are you okay?” he asked softly, sitting beside you.
You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “No, Danny, I’m not. How could he say all those things now, after everything? It’s too late.”
Daniel put his arm around you, offering what comfort he could. “I know it’s hard, but you’re stronger than this. You’ve got so much ahead of you, and you deserve someone who’s all in from the start.”
You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I just need to focus on my career. That’s what I need to do.”
The days following the race were a blur of emotions and activities. You threw yourself into your work, writing new songs and planning your next tour. But Max’s words kept creeping into your mind, making it hard to concentrate.
One evening, you received a call from Kelly. Surprised, you answered, not knowing what to expect.
“Hi, Y/N. It’s Kelly. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling you, I got your number off Max’s phone” she began, her tone tentative.
“Hi, Kelly. It’s fine. What’s going on?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.
“I wanted to talk to you about Max,” she said, and you could hear the nervousness in her voice. “I know this is awkward, but I think you deserve to know the truth.”
Your heart sank. “What do you mean?”
“Max and I... we’re not really together. We’re friends, and he’s been helping me out. Her father left us, and Max offered to step in, but he’s not her stepdad. He’s just helping us out because he’s a good person, and it comes across that we’re dating in the media so it’s just a bit easier to explain” she said.
You were stunned. “So, you’re not in a relationship?”
“No, we’re not. Max has been struggling a lot since you left. He talks about you all the time. He regrets what happened, Y/N. He really does,” Kelly said softly.
You took a deep breath, trying to process this new information. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I can see how much he loves you. He made a mistake, but he’s willing to do anything to make it right. I thought you should know,” she said.
“Thank you, Kelly,” you replied, your voice shaking. “I appreciate you telling me.”
After hanging up, you sat in silence, your mind racing. Could you forgive Max? Could you give him another chance after everything that had happened?
A few days later, you found yourself standing outside Max’s apartment. You had thought long and hard about what Kelly had said, and you knew you needed to talk to him. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.
Max opened it, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice filled with hope and uncertainty.
“I needed to talk to you,” you said, stepping inside. “Kelly told me everything. About you and Penelope, about how you’ve been feeling.”
Max nodded, closing the door behind you. “I’m glad she did. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I didn’t know how.”
You looked into his eyes, seeing the regret and longing there. “Max, you really hurt me. I wanted a future with you, and you made it clear you didn’t want that.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. I was scared. I didn’t realise what I had until I lost it,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I want to make it right. I want a future with you, Y/N. Kids, a family, everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him. “Max, it’s not going to be easy. You broke my heart.”
“I know, and I’m willing to work for it. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back,” he said, stepping closer to you. “I love you, Y/N. I always have, and I always will.”
You took a deep breath, your heart aching with the weight of your decision. “Okay, Max. Let’s take it one step at a time. But you need to understand, this is your last chance.”
Max nodded, relief and determination filling his eyes. “I understand. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
As he pulled you into his arms, you felt a glimmer of hope. It would take time and effort, but maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.
The anticipation in the arena was electric. The crowd buzzed with excitement, eagerly awaiting your performance. Backstage, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead. Tonight was special. You had invited the F1 crew to your concert, since they seemed to enjoy your performance so much at the last race. You knew Max and some of the other drivers would be in the audience, and you had a setlist full of songs that were deeply personal, songs that told your story with Max.
As the lights dimmed and the opening chords of your first song played, you stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupting into cheers. You spotted Max in the VIP suite, surrounded by his friends and teammates, their faces lit with excitement and curiosity.
You began with "The 1," a song about lost love and the one who got away.
"I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit
Been saying 'yes' instead of 'no'
I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though..."
Your voice carried the emotions of your journey, and you saw Max's expression shift as he recognised the story within the lyrics. The drivers around him were nodding along, clearly enjoying the music, but Max's eyes were glued to you.
Next, you performed "All Too Well," the iconic ten-minute version. The lyrics poured out of you with raw emotion, capturing the highs and lows of your relationship with Max.
"You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath
Sacred prayer and we'd swear to remember it all too well..."
You watched as Max's face reflected the memories of your time together. The pain, the joy, the love – it was all there, laid bare in the music.
During "Enchanted," a song about the magic of meeting someone special, you glanced at Max, and for a moment, it felt like no one else was in the room.
"This night is sparkling, don't you let it go
I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home..."
Max's gaze softened, and you saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was as if the music was weaving a connection between you two once again.
During the break between songs, you took a moment to interact with the crowd. Spotting a group of kids near the front, you crouched down, reaching out to them. Their faces lit up with excitement as you spoke to them, making them feel special. You even gave them a few pieces of the costume jewelry you wore, them screaming as you did so. The arena filled with joy and laughter, and you saw Max watching with admiration.
The final song of the night was "The Alchemy," a new song you had written, encapsulating your journey with Max – the heartbreak, the growth, and the possibility of something new and beautiful rising from the ashes.
“Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads
Beer sticking to the floor
Cheers chanted, cause they said
There was no chance, trying to be
The greatest in the league
Where's the trophy?
He just comes running over to me.”
As you sang, you poured your heart into every word, feeling the transformative power of your emotions. The audience was captivated, and you could feel the energy in the room shift.
The concert ended to thunderous applause, and you headed backstage to catch your breath. Moments later, you were escorted to the VIP suite where the drivers and their girlfriends were gathered. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, but as soon as you entered, all eyes turned to you.
Max was the first to move. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes locked on yours. Without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, right there in front of everyone. The room fell silent, then erupted in cheers and applause.
You pulled back, slightly breathless, and saw the love and determination in Max's eyes. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered. "You're incredible."
Tears welled up in your eyes as you smiled. "Thank you, Max. That means everything to me."
The drivers and their girlfriends crowded around, congratulating you and praising your performance. You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and turned to see Daniel grinning at you.
"You were amazing out there, Y/N," he said. "You really are something special."
#formula one imagine#f1 imagine#max verstappen#f1 smut#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1#f1 x reader#mv1 imagine#mv1 x reader#mv1#taylor swift
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How about the story of Nat realizing she's pregnant and dealing with it all. Then the day to day life of Nat and her babygirl
Wondering
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader
Summary: With help from her best friend, Clint, Natasha escapes the control of the Red Room and prepares for a whole new life.
Angst, Comfort.
Warnings: Mentions of Red Room, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Talk, Childbirth | 1.7K
Translations: милый (darling), я люблю тебя, солнышко (I love you, sunshine)
AC: I think this is the perfect request for the first fic of the AU! Thank you for sending this x I hope this helps set a little backstory for Nat.
A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist
Natasha had been nothing but quiet for the last four days since staying with Clint at his farmhouse. It was a big house for a man who lived alone, Clint assumed that his friend was worried that the widows of the Red Room would find her and take her back but the look in Natasha's eyes told him that was far from her worries.
"Alright, tell me what's going on" Clint spoke as he sat down next to Nat on the sofa. His friend looked at him and sighed lightly, "Nat, come on, you can tell me" he added. Natasha knew the time would come and she would have to talk somewhat about her time in the Red Room. She and Clint have been on the run since she met him, although this was not the first time, she was able to escape, this time was the only time they haven't found her and brought her back.
"Remember how I was telling you about the graduation ceremony?" Natasha replied, Clint nodded. "Well, I didn't tell you all the stages before it. Before the graduation and after you've completed the program, you're to hav-" Natasha paused, the trauma of her life catching up to her, although she was still young, in her early 20s, she felt she had already lived a lifetime of trauma. Clint placed his hand on top of hers for comfort, "whatever it is Nat, we'll get through it" he assured her.
"I'm pregnant" the words spewed out. Nat could see the questions flying around Clint's mind and deserved to answer them before he asked. "It's Dreykov's way of getting more widows without getting caught, they inseminate you, you give birth, they take the baby, and you go to what they call recovery which is just them brainwashing you until you have completely forgotten the last 9 months. After that, you go through the graduation ceremony and…well the rest is what you already know" she explained.
Clint took a moment to process the news he was just told, "do you" He paused unsure if his question would offend his best friend, but it was something he needed to know to be able to help, "do you want to keep the baby?" He asked. Natasha nodded as a soft smile tugged at her lips, "I've done enough bad in the world, and I'll be damned if I let them do the same to my baby. I know this isn't what you expected so I don't expect you keep me here, but I do need a little time to work something out" she replied.
"Don't be stupid Nat. You can stay here as long as you and the baby need, you're safe here, I promise" Clint spoke sternly, assuring his words got through to his best friend. Natasha hugged him tightly, thanking him for his understanding and kindness and for a moment any worries she currently had were no more.
----
Pregnancy for Natasha was a whole new chapter that she wasn't prepared for, but she loved every single moment of it. It gave her a sense of normality; she spent her days learning new things that would help her for when her baby would enter the world. Clint helped her along the way, he even began building a small homestead for Natasha to have a little more privacy when her baby was born. It was only a few months into her pregnancy that Clint met Laura.
Each night Natasha would read you stories from a children's book she would buy from the thrift shop, even though you weren't born yet, the little actions she did while pregnant gave her great comfort and made her even more excited to finally hold you in her arms. She would talk to you about anything she was doing, baking cookies for Clint and Laura? She would be talking you through each step and even asking you questions as if you could actually answer her, sometimes you would kick, and she would take that as an answer.
Even through all the happiness, joy and excitement there was still worries and fears growing with each day. She was suspicious as to why she'd gone almost her entire pregnancy without even a sighting or feeling that Dreykov was after her. Clint assured her that his farm was a safe place and even offered for Natasha to join the Avengers after you were born, and she felt ready. It was an idea that she spent time thinking about but at the end of the day all she wanted to do was make sure you were happy, healthy and safe.
"Woah there милый" Natasha chuckled, rubbing her hand over her bump, "this isn't the world cup" she added.
"Kicking a lot today?" Clint asked, taking a sip of his afternoon coffee.
"She hasn't stopped" Nat replied. Clint looked up at her with wide eyes, "she? When did you find out" he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. Natasha couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips while her hand naturally rubbed her seven-month pregnant stomach, "I didn't need to find out" she replied, "She was always going to be a little girl" she added but she didn't let the faint memory of the Red Room bring out the happiness she had been having with each day you grew.
Clint got up and hugged Natasha and congratulated her, he could see the sparkle in her eyes for the first time ever, he'd never seen her so happy in the few short years that he had known her. "I wanna show you something" he said, taking her by the hand and walking her out to the small homestead that he had just finished and was waiting until the next day to give her the key.
"I was going to wait until tomorrow but given the news, maybe you want to start planning out the nursery" Clint smiled. Tears built up in Nat's eyes, "what do you think baby girl?" Natasha whispered as she looked around the empty room, "you can paint it, do whatever you like with it, this is all yours" Clint said.
"You've done so much for us, I can't thank you enough" Natasha turned on her heels and hugged him, "thank you" she whispered.
Over the last couple months of pregnancy, Natasha was preparing for you to enter this world. She and Clint painted the nursery in a soft pastel green color, she hung a photo from her first ultrasound on the wall above your changing table, baby animal décor stickers were also put on the walls. Clint helped up together all the future and placed it wherever Natasha thought would be best and once the nursery was complete, she couldn't wait to rock you to sleep in her arms in the rocking chair or watch you play with your toys on the purple rug when you would get a little older.
You entered the big wide world at 5:23am on a Thursday morning, healthy and a little smile that made everybody melt. Natasha didn't want to let you go, she could barely take her eyes off you, even when Clint and Laura came to bring the two of you home, she was nervous as anything when Clint held you.
"Do we have a name yet for the little one?" a nurse asked, "we really need to get the birth certificate done today" she added.
Natasha nodded, "Y/n Melina Romanoff" she replied with a soft smile.
"Melina?" Clint questioned, "I'll tell you later, now give me my baby" the red head replied with a soft smile and arms wide open.
"A beautiful name, I'll finalise the certificate" the nurse smiled, writing your name on a piece of paper.
----
Natasha was loving every moment of motherhood, even when she felt like she was going to fall asleep while feeding you and when sometimes she thought it was going to be another sleepless night on the cards but being your mother was the only thing she wanted to do every single day. When you slept, she slept and often Clint would find her asleep in the rocking chair by your crib when he came to check on things. Clint and Laura helped as much as they could, but of course, your mother was head strong and said she was fine with looking after you on her own.
"You look exhausted" Clint said as he placed a small bag of groceries on the counter for Nat. "She just didn't want to sleep last night" she replied, pouring herself a mug of hot coffee and sitting down at the small table in her kitchen. "Why don't Laura and I take her for the night so you can get a decent sleep for once" Clint offered but Natasha shook her head, "it's not that I don't want that, I just hate the idea of not being with her" Nat admitted.
"She'll just be up at house, you need some sleep Nat, you can't keep being supermom on coffee and 3 hours of sleep each day" Clint spoke, worried for his best friend. "Besides, how else am I going to show her how great of an uncle I am if you don't let me do that" he added to lighten the mood. Natasha cocked a brow as she took a sip of her coffee, deep down she knew she had to eventually let her guard down just a little and allow others to help. She just wanted the best for you.
"One night" Natasha replied.
Clint smiled, "you've got it"
As the weeks turned to months, things got easier for the new mother, each day you had her in awe. Nat eventually did allow for Clint and Laura to spend more time with you while she had a little me time and caught up on sleep. She loved taking you for walks around the property in your pusher, she loved bath time and hearing your little giggles and of course capturing your sweet smile whenever she played peek-a-boo.
At night when she would pop her head into your room to check on you, she found herself watching you for minutes on end. Her mind wondering about what life was going to bring for the two of you, what tomorrow would bring. She often wondered what your first words would be, when you would take your first steps and what all your favorite things would be but for now, she wanted nothing more than to just enjoy these early years and learn everything she possibly could about you.
"я люблю тебя, солнышко" your mother whispered as she placed the soft kiss on your forehead.
Taglist: @koinsss | @liloandstitchstan | @marcia-maximoff | @skittlebum | @katethewritersblog | @taliiiaasteria | @nova-kyle |
If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.
#yelenasdiary asks#anon#marvel#fanfiction#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#awidowssunshineau
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Disco Belgica
You and Joost work in an office in his early days as a musician. Enemies to lovers who?? what??
CW: haterperson and loverboy truly, toxic workplace behaviour
wc: 814
•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•
You were Joost’s worst nightmare. He was plagued by you everywhere he went. It wasn’t helping that you were so fucking bright and cheerfull to everyone you met, yet when it came to him - he never got the same treatment. “Do you mind?” You said as you waved at him, your eyes and voice full of disdain. “What?” He answered. “You’re staring.”
It happened more often than he’d like to admit, the constant surveillance made your stomach do flips. Joost has been working in the same office as you for a few months and, apparently, made it his purpose to drive you crazy. “I need you to go through these documents.” You dropped them onto his desk, his blue eyes drifted to your own. “What’s this?” His accent evident, the venom rolling deliciously off of his tongue.
“Boss told me to give them to you I don’t know what they pertain to Klein.” You were about to turn on your heel and walk away but he called your name. “I didn’t tell you to use my name, did I?” You said making sure to convey as much hate in your tone as you could. “Jesus you’re such a pain in the ass.” You opted against retaliating his stupid remark and went back to your work.
At the end of the day you were getting up to leave as one of your coworkers approached your desk. “Hey, Klein left this for you.” You looked at what appeared to be a folder with over 2 hours of work. “That motherf- this was supposed to be done by the end of the day! Did he tell you why he didn’t finish it?” You were fuming. “I’m not taking this home, it’s his job left unfinished.”
Joost was just walking past the reception when you caught up to him and almost tripped him over (it was meant to be a tap on the shoulder). “Jesus, what the fuck?” The folder was shoved into his arms. “Don’t take me for a pushover, Klein. I’m not gonna do your fucking work.” Walking away you caught his face going red.
God damnit. He hoped it wasn’t visible - although his pale complexion must’ve given it away. Truth be told he just liked fucking with you to rile you up to the point of breaking. Your authoritative side came out just when you were about to snap and he loved it. He did the remaining work in his house but couldn’t quite keep his mind off of you.
The next day he dropped off the documents at the boss’ office and made a beeline towards the kitchen where you usually resided for the first few hours of the day. “I need to talk to you.” You raised your eyebrow. “No you don’t, save the apology for someone who cares Klein” He rolled his eyes. “Just- please?” You eyes widened when you heard him mutter the word, for the first time since you’ve known him.
You stood up wordlessly and followed Joost to the desolated part of the office - a corridor mostly used for the cubby holes of the janitors and cleaning supplies. “What the fuck do you want.” He looked increasingly nervous with each passing second. You crossed your arms. “Cut the shit Klein. Come on, spit it out.” He straightened his back and pulled out a small packet of your favourite candies.
“What is this?” “I just wanted to apologise properly. I don’t hate you and I wish you wouldn’t hate me too.” You were flabbergasted. Your hands fell to your sides. “Cat got you tongue?” He smiled at you for the first time since… ever, you realised. “H-How did you know I liked these?” You were starting to suspect he was stalking you. “It’s
not anything bad! I just asked the only guy who you talk to. B-besides me…” His voice faltered a litte when he mentioned Alex.
You took the candies into your hand and quickly thanked him then walked away moved by his sudden change in attitude.
The next day when you walked up to his desk he actually gave you a smile and you handed him a thank-you card. “I wasn’t sure what to give you so I went with the path of least resistance. It isn’t as thoughtful though…” He read the little annotation you wrote under the pre-written text. He smiled and proceeded to chit-chat the whole time you would spend in the kitchen.
“So… you and Klein huh?” Said Alex jabbing your side. “It’s nothing like that… we’ve just gotten on better terms.” Your face got hotter. “Yeah, suuuure.” You were packing your things and just about to leave the office when he called your name and when you turned around he gave you a wave and a huge grin. Your heart started to beat faster and that’s when you felt and knew you were in big, big trouble.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•
masterlist
#x reader#joost#joost klein#joost x reader#joost klein x reader#joost klein x you#joost klein fanfic#enemies to lovers#eurovision#eurovison song contest#eurovision 2024
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everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]
Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck.
Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v, and fingering), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar.
Notes: So much love for this fic goes to @trulybetty for encouraging my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games created this concept in my head I couldn't let go of. Fic title from the Noah Kahan song of the same name.
It’s starting to weigh on you.
You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.
Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.
The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.
That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.
“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”
You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.
The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.
“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.
“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.
It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.
“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”
The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.
He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.
You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.
“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”
“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.
“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.
“Pity.”
“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”
“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.
“You’re Joe, right?”
“Joel,” he corrects instantly.
“Joel, right. Sorry.”
“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.
“It’s only your first shift.”
Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.
He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.
You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.
“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”
“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.
“I’ll say.”
You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.
You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.
This isn’t just a job for you.
“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”
“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.
“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.
Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.
Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.
Life had different plans for you thought.
“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”
”I’m -“
The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.
“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”
He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.
You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.
Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.
He’s calm, polite even for the most part.
He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.
There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.
“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.
“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.
“Nah, I say when I’m done.”
“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.
“Look, just pour me -”
“You’re done.”
“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.
“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.
“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.
“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”
He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.
Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“
“That, Miller, that was nothing.”
You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.
“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”
Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.
You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.
You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.
You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.
Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.
“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.
“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.
He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”
“The odds are the odds.”
“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”
“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.
“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.
“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”
“Maybe.”
“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.
“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.
“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.
“I could eat.”
”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”
“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”
“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”
Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.
You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.
“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.
“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”
“Call me Joel. Please.”
“Okay, Joel.”
You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.
It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.
He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?
“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.
The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.
The place is falling apart.
“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”
“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”
“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.
“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.
“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”
“The door.”
“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”
“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”
“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that
“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”
“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.
“What sort of contractor were you?”
“Building, just the general type.”
“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’d expect so.”
Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.
He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.
“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”
He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.
You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.
You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.
You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.
“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.
“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.
“Ah. Say no more.”
“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”
“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.
“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”
“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”
“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”
“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”
“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.
“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.
”You’re welcome.”
“Do I need to make a speech?”
“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.
“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.
“Exactly.”
“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”
Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.
“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”
“That a challenge?”
He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.
You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.
“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.
“You could have a concussion.”
“I'm fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”
“You hit the bar.”
“Standard night on the job.”
“You hit it with your head.”
Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.
“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.
It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.
“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.
“Oh.”
“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”
“’m fine.”
“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”
“I’m -”
“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”
Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.
You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.
“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.
“Are you on the lam?”
“What?” He asks incredulously.
“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”
He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”
“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”
“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”
“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.
“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”
You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.
“We can talk about it later.”
“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”
So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.
“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“
“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”
“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”
“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.
“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”
He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”
“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.
“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.
The balance has shifted and something’s changed.
The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.
And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.
“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.”
“You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.”
“Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.”
“Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.”
“Don’t do yourself down.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.”
There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”
You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.
He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.
You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.
He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.
“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.
The Rattlers are.
“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”
“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”
“They cause trouble when they’re here?”
You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”
“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.
You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.
Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”
“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”
Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.
You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.
“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”
“Well,” Owen begins.
“Leave.”
“Look, Miller, it’s not -”
“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”
Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.
“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.
“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.“”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”
“Please,” you say quietly.
For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.
“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.
You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.
People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,
Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.
Then a flash and searing heat.
That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.
Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.
You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.
It’s fine. It’s fine.
You’re fine.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”
There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”
You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.
“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”
“Yeah. What happened?”
”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”
“Got me.”
“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”
“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”
“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”
”It’s fine, Joel.”
“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.
You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.
“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”
You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.
His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.
There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.
“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”
He turns out of the bar.
“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.
“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.
“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.
“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.
“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”
“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”
“You know the town I live in.”
Joel chuckles mirthlessly.
“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”
“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”
“It would be harder with the blood right now.”
“Just a tad.”
“Thanks for driving me.”
“Of course.”
You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?
He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.
You’re friends.
That’s normal, right?
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”
“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”
“I should have -”
“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”
Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.
“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.
“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.
Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”
No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.
He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.
Joel stays with you the whole time.
You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.
“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.
“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”
This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.
You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.
“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”
“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”
“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”
“It’s really good.”
“Nah, not really.”
You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.
“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.
“That would be great, thanks Joel.”
There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.
There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.
This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.
You do have feelings for Joel.
It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.
It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.
You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.
He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.
“Are you okay?” Joel asks.
“Why?”
“You have that serious thought face on.”
“I have a serious thought face?”
Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”
“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”
Joel frowns then. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”
“That should be illegal.”
“Shouldn’t it?”
“I might just leave now.”
“Wouldn’t blame ya.”
He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.
“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.
“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”
“I do. I do want.”
Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.
You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.
“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”
His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.
He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.
He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”
“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.
You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.
He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.
You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.
There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.
There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.
Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.
The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.
Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.
He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.
You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.
You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.
He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.
You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.
“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.
You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.
He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.
You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.
He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.
He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.
You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.
He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.
You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.
He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.
The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.
Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.
You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily
You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.
You feel like you could stay here forever.
Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.
You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.
He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.
Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.
“I promised tea, didn’t I?”
“We did get sidetracked.”
“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.
“I agree.”
The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.
“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.
Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.
“That wasn’t exactly ”
“Would you have been wearing a trench coat?”
“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”
He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”
“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”
“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.
It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.
“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”
“Nope. You?”
You shake your head. “How about that?”
“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”
“Dinner?“
“People still do that, right?”
“Yes, but - I’d love to.”
“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?
“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.
“Leave?”
“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”
“There’s always some trouble.”
“Don’t. You know what I mean.”
Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”
“But this isn’t usual?”
He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”
Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.
“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.
“I think there could be,” you say.
“Good. I’m glad.“
The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.
Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.
“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure.”
You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”
“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”
“I want to play tonight.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.
“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”
“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”
You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.
It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.
The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.
It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.
You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.
Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap
#joel miller x reader#no outbreak!joel miller#no outbreak au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#the last of us#tlou fic#the last of us fic#the last of us smut#joel miller smut#joel tlou#joel the last of us
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is reader okay after the whole elevator panic attack? kisses be damned, i’d probably sleep for a week after that if it was me
Jason paused outside your door, hesitating.
You'd been keeping your distance for days. Feeling too raw and too fragile to be around anyone for more than a few minutes; basically just long enough to prove you weren't dead. Popping up for a moment before you disappeared. Back to the woods or to your room like a ghost.
But Jason hadn't seen you. He felt like you were avoiding him altogether. And it stung a little even if he understood. You never kissed anyone before ever and he'd sort of sprung it on you. But- he didn't know what else to do.
The hall was quiet and he took a deep breath, wrapping on the door, "Y/N? You there?"
"Kinda?"
Your voice sounds raspy and Jason takes a deep breath, trying to push his hurt feelings aside for now. One thing at a time. He could talk to you about that in a minute. First he just needed to talk to you. And maybe see how you felt about it- maybe you were avoiding him because you felt weird now- maybe-
"Loud," you murmur, flinching away from him.
Jason exhaled slowly and worried his lip in his teeth, "Sorry, baby girl," he said softly. "I'm just- I was worried about you. And I thought. I guess I wasn't as calm as I thought."
"I'm not either," you sigh, "Everything hurts."
"You seem pretty chill," he said, "I don't wanna flip-"
"I felt you coming," you tell him, pulling a pillow closer to your chest.
"Oh." He crossed the floor slowly and knelt on the floor next to your bed. "I just- I- I'm sorry if kissing you made you feel weird. I just- when I talked to you I just-"
"I-Kissing wasn't-I didn't-I-" you break off and take a deep breath, "It was weird but not bad."
Jason smiled a little and reached out carefully to stroke your hair, "Weird how?"
"I-I- I always know when I just- it's gross and this time it didn't feel like that and my stomach didn't hurt and I just-" You exhale sharply, irritated with yourself, "Sorry. It's hard to explain to other people and not sound crazy, I don't really like talking about it and-"
"It's okay," he said quickly, "I expected you to say that you didn't think I knew how to kiss someone or something." He leaned down and kissed your temple. "You don't have to explain if you don't want."
"Okay."
He stroked your hair and smiled, "Let me know if you ever want me to distract you again?" he teased.
"I-"
"Do you want me to distract you today? Or just stay and keep you company?" he asked, gratified that you were flustered and trying not to smile. You mentioned things hurting and he didn't want anything to hurt. He didn't want to make your stomach hurt, maybe some butterflies though. That would be okay.
"Keep me company?" your voice is hesitant so he refocuses.
"Just cuddling and watching a movie," he murmured, "Whatever movie you want." Maybe it would get you to go to sleep. He figured you'd not been sleeping well, if at all.
When you nod and shift over, he gently takes the pillow out of your arms and lets you pick a movie before you snuggle into his arms. "This okay, baby girl?" he asked
"Yeah," you murmur.
"Tell me if it's not," he said, "I don't want to make your stomach hurt, 'kay?"
"You don't," you tell him. "You make me dizzy."
He chuckled and stroked your back, adjusting the pillow behind his head. It wasn't butterflies but he'd take it.
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weird thought but i went in to get my iud and my friends found out how that worked and were SHOCKED, imagine one of the boys finding out how you got your iud and looking at you like you’re crazy and asking all these questions bc you went through all that 😭
"why are we whispering?" paul asked as he stepped into emily's cottage, his question coming in response to emily almost immediately shushing him when he stepped through the threshold of her entryway.
"she literally just fell asleep, let her sleep for a little bit before you wake her up. she's been having cramps all morning," she explained, also keeping her voice quiet as she stirred some honey into the raspberry tea she had just finished brewing for you.
"cramps? she said she just had to go to the gynecologist," paul started, peeking around the corner into the living room to see your sleeping figure curled up on the pullout couch with one of emily's quilts thrown over you.
"to get an iud," emily added, figuring you would've explained what was going on a little better to your imprinter but apparently not because paul's eyebrows furrowed as he turned his attention back to emily who pulled out a chair at the table to sit for a few minutes while she waited for the tea to cool a bit.
"why would that give her cramps?" he asked, coming to sit in the chair next to her so they could continue their whispering.
"did she not explain any of this to you?" emily asked, muffling her laughter when paul shook his head, clearly clueless about what was happening, "that's a pretty painful procedure, paul," she explained, quietly laughing again when paul immediately looked guilty.
despite the fact that you'd told him you didn't need him there when you got the iud inserted, he definitely felt like he should've been a bit more pushy when it came to being there for you after knowing how painful the whole thing was going to be.
"she's gonna have cramps for a few days but she'll be fine. do you wanna bring her the tea? she was asking for you a little bit ago," she suggested, sliding the steaming mug across the wooden table to your imprinter who gladly took it with a nod.
"thanks em," he shot her a quick smile before he was getting up so he could bring the tea over to you. despite how big he was, he managed to be pretty quiet as he stepped over to the pullout couch, setting the mug down on the side table before he sat down on the bed next to you, "hey princess," he murmured, gently running his hand up and down your side soothingly to see if you'd wake up a bit for him.
sure enough, you let out a quiet whine before you were reaching up to blearily knuckle at your eyes, "paul," you breathed out a sigh of relief, rolling over so you could rest your head in his lap.
"you okay?" he asked, deciding again bombarding you with questions about why you didn't give him all the details on your iud before you actually had the procedure done.
you hummed, eyes falling closed again as you settled in his lap, "not great," you mumbled, already beginning to drift off again as you slid your hand over his lap to interlace your fingers with his free hand.
paul let out a soft sigh, leaning down to press his lips to your temple, "you wanna go back to sleep?" he asked, already knowing the answer so he helped you tug the quilt up a bit so you could get comfy before drifting off again.
"you're staying here, right?" you whispered, cracking a tiny smile when he squeezed your hand.
"i'll be here as long as you want me princess," he reassured, soothingly running his other hand up and down your side again as you drifted back off.
#paul lahote#paul lahote x reader#paul lahote imagine#paul lahote blurb#paul lahote fluff#paul lahote oneshot#twilight#the twilight saga#twilight imagine#imagine#blurb#fluff
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New To This - Chapter 7
MASTERLIST
Parking her bike next to the sidewalk, Delilah pulled out her phone and dialed his number via the FaceTime app. She couldn’t help but smile a little when his bearded face popped up on her screen, a hoodie over his head and sunglasses covering his eyes. He had to be out in public which explained the attempted disguise.
“Ayyyy, wassup baby girl?” Josh smiled brightly at her through the phone. “I was just about to call y-”
“Are you back in town?” she asked.
“Yeah, got back last night. Why? Ya miss me?” he teased.
“Can you meet me? I need y-...need to talk to you.”
His brows furrowed with concern. “Ay, you good?”
She didn’t mean to sound impatient but she craved his presence right now. “I’m headed to President’s Park. Can you meet me there?”
“Yeah, let me finish up with grocery shopping. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay.” Twenty wasn’t too bad. There wouldn’t be too much time to wrangle with her angry thoughts, which seemed to be the only thoughts she harbored lately thanks to her infuriating fiancé.
Josh pulled up in a Cadillac Escalade. His car collection was the stuff of dreams. WWE was definitely paying him well. When he stepped out, she found her heart racing a little bit. Man, he looked really good. Only he could make a simple tank top and joggers look fire. “Nice ride,” she greeted, ensuring her hug was strictly sideways. If he noticed, he said nothing. Thank goodness.
“Nice bike, ah-yeet!” he quipped back, making her laugh. He opened up the back of the truck and pulled out a bag filled with groceries. “I brought snacks,” he offered, bringing out a bottle of beer and handing it to her, helping her inside the back of his spacious trunk.
“Thanks.” They sat shoulder to shoulder, basking in the quiet of the empty parking lot overlooking the vast park. Delilah was reminded of all the tailgate parties from back in high school, all of which had involved Andre, when things had been so much less complicated.
Inwardly, Josh admitted that he missed Delilah. This was their first face-to-face meeting in two months thanks to his constant traveling, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to her phone calls and FaceTime chats, answering her whenever he could. Her enthusiasm was infectious and he was glad to be there for her when she needed him.
“So…you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He finally broke the silence, looking her way. “Cuz you do not look fine.” He paused, smiling cheekily at her. “I mean, you fine, but-”
“Stop.” Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she presented him with the letter that had caused all this chaos. She told him what happened, leaving out the condom part of course. It should have been weird talking to him about her personal life, but they’d been conversing for a few months now and he always seemed happy to let her talk his ear off about wrestling and more. Having the guidance of a man of his influence was exactly what she needed to help her stay positive about her new career shift.
“So long story short, you keep expectin’ him to come around and he ain’t?" Josh asked, knowing the emotions she was dealing with all too well.
Delilah shook her head, tossing a macadamia nut into her mouth. “No, and I’m tired! I swear to God I just wanna throttle his ass sometimes,” she griped, “Or hit him with a Spear or something. Drive my shoulder right into his gut, ya know?”
"Why you still with him, then?" Josh said pointedly, almost regretting the eagerness in his tone when she cast a questioning glance at him. He played it off with a shrug of his tattooed shoulders. "I mean, if he’s so unsupportive, why put up with his ass? Why not just leave?"
Because it was unfathomable to her. Despite the fact that she complained about him almost constantly these days, she never considered leaving him. At least not seriously. But the offer from WWE had compelled her, for the first time since embarking on this journey, to understand that choosing her career could possibly mean leaving Andre behind. She felt he was starting to realize it too and didn’t know how to handle it.
Swinging her legs absently underneath her, she shielded her eyes against the sun. "He wasn’t always like this," she defended her man. Which was the truth. It hurt that things had changed so much.
Josh stared at the woman next to him. She was twenty-four years old, which was way too young to be worrying over a miserable relationship in which she wasn’t even married yet. "How long have y’all been together?" he asked, pretending that he cared.
"Since I was fifteen, so nine years," she answered. "Engaged for almost two years now."
Josh swallowed another long gulp of his beer. "Why you wanna get married?"
Delilah thought about her answer. Because it was the logical next step for any woman to take, according to her mother and aunties at least. Because it was the easy choice. “Because I love Andre and I wanna be his wife," she finally said, shrugging her shoulders and staring at the crisp Jordans on Josh’s feet. She understood that her reasoning was naive, but at the time she accepted Andre’s proposal, she was young and bright-eyed and believed in fairytales.
"Why you wanna be a wrestler?" Josh asked next.
She didn’t have to think too hard. "For years, I wondered if I could cut it. My late dad and I watched Raw every Monday night.” She smiled at the memories. She missed him. She could have done with his advice right now. “My friends at school were obsessed. There was no Tuesday when we weren’t talking about it. Because I was so athletic, I had the best chance out of all of us to make it if we really wanted to. I took one step further because I had to know for certain."
Josh nodded slowly, processing the information she had just given him. "Well, the higher-ups think you got somethin’," he gestured with the letter in his hand. "So whatchu gon’ do about it?"
Delilah snatched the letter back and rolled her eyes at his question. “Um, that’s why you’re here, you’re supposed to tell me.”
“Advise you? Yeah. Tell you what to do? Naw,” he clarified, leaning back in his seated position to observe her. “No matter what I say, the decision is ultimately up to you, which is something you gotta seriously think about when WWE hires you. What Tank say?”
“He’s waiting for my decision on the flight tickets.”
“Meaning he’s on board. So that leaves Andre.”
Shaking her head slowly, Delilah stared at her hands, using the brightness of the sun as an excuse to avoid his gaze while she fought to keep her composure. "To be fair," she whispered, "I'm asking him to drop everything for me."
Tossing his empty beer bottle into a bag of trash on the ground in front of them, he reached across her lap to grab the bag of trail mix. It would have been easier to ask her to pass it, but for some weird reason he wanted to get a little closer to her. "If it were the other way around, would you do the same for him?" he asked.
It really shouldn’t have been this easy baring her soul to Josh, but it was. For some absurd reason, she felt that she could trust him. "Yes, I would. At least that would have been my answer before I started training," she confessed. "Part of the reason Andre let me enroll in Tank’s school was because he thought I would get it out of my system. And I knew that. I knew that he wasn't expecting it to become what it is now.” She swallowed, tears stubbornly piercing through the corners of her eyes. “You shoulda seen the look on his face when he opened that letter. It was like I unleashed some kind of hell that we could never return from. Like I ruined his life. Maybe I have.”
The complete lack of support from her future husband, to the point that she was doubting herself, made the Samoan angrier than he should have been. Her relationship was none of his business, but since getting to know her, he felt like Delilah Parrish had now become his business. He wanted to protect her, encourage her, make sure that she realized her full potential. And if her fiancé was the problem, then that was a problem for Josh.
Wanting to shift some of the focus off of herself, Delilah cleared her throat and looked at the big man with wide apprehensive eyes. "Please be honest with me, Josh. This whole wrestling thing…is it worth it? Is it worth sacrificing everything I know? Should I rip up that letter and return to the stability of a normal life?"
Pursing his lips, Josh rolled his shoulders. In his opinion, she was not ready to hear the truth. And as open as she had been with him, he wasn't exactly ready to reciprocate. But he did owe her a candid response. And judging from the way her fists gripped the edges of her seat, she was expecting nothing less from him. She was looking to him for answers that nobody else could really give her, and he wanted to be the one she could lean on.
"For me, it was," he admitted. It was his turn to gaze at his palms. "I know the hell I went through to get to where I was in the business before I got married. I worked too fuckin’ hard for too many years to watch it go down the drain. Especially to be with someone who wanted me to give it all up."
Delilah wasn’t sure why her heart sank, but it did. “So you are married.”
“Separated,” he corrected, “The longer I was away from home, the more our marriage suffered. We tried to make it work for our sons, but it wasn’t happening. This business takes a lot outta you, uce. You gotta figure out for yourself if the sacrifices are all worth it.”
Delilah expelled a long breath and placed a comforting hand on his bicep. "I’m sorry," was all she could say.
Acutely aware of her touch, Josh struggled to reconstruct the wall he had built around his private life. He didn't like letting people in, and the fact that he’d easily done so just now, unsettled him. "But that's me though. Don't let my decisions affect yours," he added quickly, scooting out of the truck and landing on his feet, breathing in the outdoor air. He turned to face her fully, smoothing his hands over his pants. "Go to Orlando. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if nothing comes out of it, it’s an experience you’ll carry with you forever."
Suddenly overwhelmed, all Delilah could do was nod, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. So many thoughts were running through her mind like a malfunctioning treadmill. Making the mchoice seemed so simple before, but now she was more torn than ever.
Josh saw right through her trepidation. "Hey, come here," he said, stepping between her open legs to wrap her up in a warm embrace. It was a bold move on his part, and he waited to be pushed away but it didn’t happen. He heard her soft sigh, felt her chin on his shoulder and her arms tighten around his back. Fighting the urge to dip his face into the crook of her neck, he held her loosely, one hand resting just above the curve of her backside.
"I been watching, baby girl,” he whispered in her ear. “You got so much potential, a chance to be great in this business. Plus, you sexy as fuck," he added, chuckling when she smacked his arm. “Homie, I’m engaged. To another man. You cannot be saying stuff like that to me,” she warned.
He merely shrugged. “Just cuz you engaged don’t make it any less true.” When she gazed up at him, he caressed her chin with his fingers. "All I’m saying is, the only thing holding you back right now, Delilah, is you."
This was way too intimate. Her skin prickled from his touch, both on her chin and on the small of her back. Her loins tingled from the lustful twinkle in his eyes, the drag of his teeth over his bottom lip. The erotic fantasies she'd been keeping at bay for months resurfaced, causing her heart to pound. He was getting too close. She had to stop it before she went too far, before she did something she couldn't take back. Gently but deliberately, she peeled herself out of his grasp and made a point of snatching the bag of trail mix to keep her hands busy. Thankfully, Josh read the room and took a step back, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers. She was grateful for the space.
"So what’s it gonna be?" he inquired, “To go or not to go?”
Delilah chewed pensively as she pondered her decision. It was safe to say that she was convinced to take this chance she may never get again. With a shrug, she looked him in the eye, hers glinting with steely determination.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I’ll go.”
-----------------
Thoughts?
Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.
🏷️: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @harmshake @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @harmshake @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @caramelcleopatraa @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @ajenae @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @mindairy @headoftheetable @truefant4sy @mscarter213 @ariiaeltheedonn
#jey uso#main event jey uso#jey uso smut#jey uso fanfiction#jey uso imagines#jey uso fanfic#jey uso imagine#jey uso x black reader#jey uso x oc
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Career Fair
Summary: James holds a parents' career fair, to which Liam's mom is invited.
Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr. Hah, remember last time where I said I was updating semi-regularly? Ok well I actually mean it now, I promise lmao. Not edited but I'll do that tomorrow. Also kinda short, sorry
A/N (25/5/2024): edited, yay!!! I'll do my best to start working on the next one <3
James ended up pushing the career fair back a couple weeks because there was a conflict in the schedule
(not because you emailed him back saying you wouldn’t be able to come the day he had originally planned it)
(and definitely not because he asked you to send him your shift schedule so he could make sure you could come, and you were working overtime for two weeks straight)
(James was pretty sure your work schedule violated some labor laws or something, but he was in no place to question you)
Liam is soooo excited for the couple days leading up to the career fair
Because his mom is cool af and he can’t wait to show everybody just how badass you are
(You had Liam pretty young, so you’re totally the parent who all the kids think is the coolest person alive and who all the kids’ older siblings have crushes on and who all the kids’ parents judge because of your age and assume you’re irresponsible, but we don’t have to talk about that)
James is also excited because he hasn’t had a real conversation with you in a couple weeks and he really just wants to talk to you
Poor Sirius and Remus have had to deal with him swooning and fawning and over you and also helping him frantically prepare for this career fair because “guys it HAS to be perfect”
But at long last, the day finally arrives
James scheduled the career fair in the afternoon so he could threaten children with canceling the event if they misbehave, so both he and his kids are bouncing off the walls in excitement all morning
He eats lunch in the library with Remus and Sirius, and they both spend the entire time hyping him up
(It’s mostly Sirius tho)
“You’ve got this, Prongs—be smooth—be nice—you’re a nice bloke, that’s not gonna be a problem for you—”
And eventually, it’s time
The parents that are participating in the fair arrive ten minutes before James has to get the kids from the cafeteria so he can explain to them what’s going to happen (because god knows the majority didn’t read the goddamn email he sent)
You’re a little late (profusely apologizing again, and again, James insists it’s nothing to worry about) but you read the email the night before (and take another piece of James’ heart hostage while you’re at it) so it’s no worries
James’ summary instructions take a shorter amount of time than expected, so the ten or so parents all get to talking
And ofc James takes this opportunity to talk to you
You’d emailed back and forth about the fair but you hadn’t really talked in person since that night in the grocery store, and James was starting to feel like he’d die if he went another day without talking to you
So he’s plotting his route to you across the classroom when he notices you’ve secluded yourself a few steps away from the majority of the parents’ conversation
James is also horrified to discover you look slightly uncomfortable too
Like you’re somewhere you don’t belong
And of course James can’t have that
So he sidles up next to you and asks how your day is going, if your boss gave you a hard time getting off work early, how the chocolate chip cookie dough from a month and a half ago was—anything he can think of, really
By the time James has to go get the kids from the cafeteria, you’re smiling and laughing, and James desperately wants to keep you like that all the time
He shakes himself out of his daydreamy state on the way to the cafeteria because this is your JOB, James, you can’t be distracted by your favorite student’s mom. His sweet, kind, whip-smart, dazzling … mom …
James knows he’s screwed, he just doesn’t really know what to do about it
CERTAINLY not act on it, because that would be a complete conflict of interest and totally unprofessional of him
But it’s just a crush
It’s fine
Right?
ANYWAY
Liam’s on the lookout for you as soon as he steps through the door, and he beams the sweetest little chubby-cheeked smile when he finds you and points you out to his friends
You wink playfully at him, and he and his friends giggle excitedly as they sit in their seats
If James is being completely honest with himself, the career fair was a little disappointing
The majority of the parents’ presentations were kinda lame
And they didn’t make their jobs understandable or appealing for the kids
Lyra’s mom (she’s regional manager of a popular grocery store chain) complained to the class about her boss pretty much the whole time
Diego’s uncle, a professor at the local university, just spewed a bunch of nonsense technical jargon about physics or something that not even the parents could understand
And Alfie’s dad (he owns the local insurance company and is just obscenely wealthy, which explains quite a bit of his son's attitude) straight up said he hated his job, so there’s that
But then there was your presentation
James is sure he’s in love by now because you made being a nurse sound so amazing
You talked about how you’re in charge of taking care of people when they’re sick or hurt, how it’s nice to be able to help people, how even when your job gets hard, you feel like you’ve made a positive impact at the end of the day
Once the parents left, James asked the kids who’s presentation they liked the most
Every kid in that room said yours was the best
And a solid 75% said they wanted to be a nurse lmao and he was just so proud
Proud of his kids and also you because your presentation was awesome
As James is taking the kids out to the buses, Liam thanks him for inviting you to the career fair
Ofc James says it was no problem and that you’re really cool, so it was a pleasure to have you there
And Liam kinda gives James this … look … and is like “… yeah, my mom is cool …”
And James gets this horrible feeling that Liam somehow knows
Knows he’s completely smitten for Liam’s mom
Fallen head over heels
Practically in love at this point (though James has a nasty habit of throwing that word around willy-nilly)
(Liam kinda freaks James out a bit sometimes lmao)
#teacher!james potter#teacher!james potter x reader#james potter x reader#teacher!james potter x you#james potter x you#nurse!reader#james potter x nurse!reader#teacher!james potter x nurse!reader#james potter x mom!reader#mom!reader#librarian!remus#librarian!remus lupin#school librarian!remus#school librarian!remus lupin#secretary!sirius#secretary!sirius black#kindergarten teacher!james potter#background wolfstar
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Poems - Ophelia [James Patrick March]
Part 5 to my poems series. Find the others in my masterlist.
You've won a local award for your poems! You were invited to read a poem out when accepting the award. So you asked your friend to record it for you, James just has to see it!
This is me trying to get back into the flow of writing, and I felt like the poems series needs an update.
No one's perspective
⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷
You sat up, waiting for the man you called your husband to appear. Your news was exciting, and you had to tell James now, since you had been out of town for a few days. Those days were long, tedious and incredibly dull according to him. Not having you around almost brought everything back down to that depressing, boring state of the Cortez.
"James! I have to show you something!" You squealed excitingly as he stepped into the room. His arms holding you tightly. Admiring you still, the ghost hummed. "I know you don't like phones but it's on my phone."
"Is it related to the reason why you had to leave?" He seethed slightly, not particularly revelling in the fact that you kept your trip a secret. But you nodded happily and sat him down. As soon as you sat next to him, you unlocked your phone and opened up your gallery to a sweet picture of you, dressed to the nines standing next to a presenter. You were holding what seemed to be an award, and the largest smile on your face. Your happiness and nervousness was noticed by James, who stared at it for a few moments. "My dear, what is that?" He pointed to the award in your hands, curious as to what it was.
"that's what I want to show you!" You chuckled with a wide smile. Turning the volume on, you presented the video to James, who was immediately encaptured by the video:
"So! This poem I am going to read to you all, is called Ophelia." Applause rumbled as your friend behind the camera gave a little 'whoo!' you cleared your throat and begun; "her eyes, enchanting. That's the only good, to come out of her. It's not that fun you know? Having her, as a lover. Cold heart, never melting. Warm brown eyes...capturing her smile. Love her, seduce her, with those eyes. Ophelia is dangerous. Keep wary, of those... beautiful eyes." Applause brought up again when you finished speaking, your eyes obviously admiring the crowd before you.
James sat there in silence for a bit. "Is.. that why you had to leave my dear? You won an award?" You nodded and James immediately captured you in a kiss, keeping you held tight. "I am very proud of you my hummingbird. More than you could imagine." A bashful smile made it's way onto your face, and you couldn't help but be swayed into such a kiss. A possessiveness that told you to never leave again, but also, pride for the fact his darling now had an award for their work.
"thank you James." He nodded and kissed you again, pressing your body onto the bed below you. So, you had an idea of how James wanted to show his pride for you.
⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷
Tag: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent @coentinim @nahoyasboyfriend @bluerthanvelvet444 / @yandereunsolved @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @fear-is-truth
#ahs#evan peters#american horror story#james patrick march#james march#james march x reader#jpm x reader#jpm x you#JPM#james march x you#hotel#ahs hotel#ahs imagine
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