#he clinks wherever he goes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 6 months

Text

common tongue of you lovin' me

🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut

🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k

content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake.

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night.

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his.

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim.

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly.

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first.

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening.

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up.

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing.

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him.

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy.

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat.

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release.

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths.

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?”

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck.

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #e.m. thots from lu #drabble #smut #mdni

5K notes · View notes

alastorss · 4 months

Text

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You've never seen Alastor sleep before.

He's always lurking around in shadows—here and there and everywhere at once. But you hardly see him and his toothy grin past his working hours.

Yet here he is, head down on the table. The usual crackling static noise that follows him wherever he goes is missing, making the room eerily quiet. It's so horribly silent that you can hear the faintest shaking of the porcelain cup against the plate.

You'd only meant to bring him a coffee. You didn't mean to intrude on his break.

You're part way through deciding if you should turn and escape while you can—god knows what would happen if he found out you were staring at him while he slept. Maybe he would laugh it off and reassure you with that malicious undertone of his, or maybe he would kill you where you stand. You could never tell with him exactly what he was thinking.

"Well, are you just going to stare at me?"

You freeze, porcelain clinking together as you jolt in your spot.

"I brought you a coffee," you manage to stammer out, placing it down beside his head which is still buried in his arms. "Charlie said you might need one."

Static fills the room again as he opens his mouth, your hairs pricking up and standing on end. "How kind of you," he hums, sounding entirely uninterested.

Finally, he raises his head to look at you. He seems bleary still—completely unlike his normal sharp self. The demon tries to blink the sleep from his eyes, but to your annoyance still has that shit-eating grin plastered ear-to-ear.

Against your better judgement, you ask him: "Are you okay? You seem—"

"Tired. I know," Alastor interrupts, eyes narrowing at your inquisition. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear."

You blink at him a few times, watching as his smile slowly shrinks the longer you remain quiet. He hates this, feeling seen and being fretted over. Loathes it more than anything in Hell.

And, well. He was having quite a nice nap until you woke him up with that incessant shaking. Was he really that terrifying even in such a docile state?

He can feel his smile fading faster and faster, hopes dashed of having the chance to fall asleep again lest he end up vulnerable with you knowing he was unguarded. How terrible.

Only one solution, then.

"Why don't you join me for a siesta?"

You gawk at him, looking absolutely bewildered. "Y-You— huh?"

It would put him at ease to know you were asleep before he is; that you aren't poking your nose around in business you shouldn't be. He could keep you asleep with white noise for as long as he pleased.

"Come, sit."

Alastor kicks the chair opposite of him out from the desk, urging you to take a seat across from him. Hesitantly, you do. It fills him with deep satisfaction that you're trembling as you do, probably only obeying him out of fear.

You're quite amusing, really. Charming in a cute way. You were so forgettable when Charlie decided to take you in, but perhaps he should play with you a little.

He has found this place boring lately. You'd be an excellent way to solve all his problems with that nervous, flustered look on your face.

Alastor's smile bounces back to full size, fangs flashy and alluring as he grins at you.

"Go on," he chuckles, voice breaking with static. "I won't bite."

Oh dear. What have you gotten yourself into?

#🍓 faye's thoughts <3 #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin x reader #radio demon

2K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 10 months

Note

hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There��s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

1K notes · View notes

shalotttower · 5 months

Text

The Devil Is a Gentleman

Title: The Devil Is a Gentleman

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night with a headache.

Word count: 800+

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

Notes: Yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, my head is murdering me so I wanted some soft Chrollo stuff.

You shift under the covers and for a moment it seems that maybe this state of half sleep, half consciousness is here to stay. Just for a bit, until you slide all the way back into a dream, where the dull throb in your skull doesn't matter. No such luck; angry blurred dots start swarming behind your eyelids and the longer you lie there, the more evident it becomes that sleep isn't coming.

3 AM.

The red numbers from the alarm clock glow way too intensely in the dark. It's quiet. Chrollo's breath tickles your shoulder. No matter the position, he somehow manages to do this every single time - wrap himself around you like it's no tomorrow, with tangled legs and chest pressed to your back. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes sickly comforting, but not now. There's a faint feeling of nausea in your throat, the whole world is spinning and swaying from side to side even though you're lying still.

Sharing a bed is a recent development. Previously the floor was your choice, but two weeks ago Chrollo simply carried your sleeping body to the mattress. You woke up trapped between him and soft pillows, then the pattern repeated two times, four, six, until it became clear that this arrangement was going to stick.

Carefully, inch by inch, you wiggle out of his embrace. An awful taste coats your tongue, clings to the palate - not something you expected upon waking, but not unusual either.

The kitchen light is bright and unpleasant. It stabs right through your eyes without remorse, making you promptly settle for a dimmer one above the stove. One cabinet after another, the fridge - no pills. Of course, why would Chrollo keep anything like that lying around? You probably have to wake him up for medicine, but it's honestly the least tempting scenario. You don't want to talk to Chrollo, don't want to ask him for help, don't want him to see you in pain or sick.

So you brew a cup of coffee and hope that the nausea plaguing your throat will eventually subside. What you should know by now, however, is that Chrollo doesn't need more than you breathing wrong in order to wake up.

"Dear?"

His voice has a slight raspy edge to it.

You glance over your shoulder and see his figure standing at the door frame. The light from the hallway throws a shadow cutout across the floor, and it's the only time beside after shower you ever see him all mussed hair, loose pants and, of course, no shirt. You suspect its absence has some relation to the attempts at wooing you which range from subtle to not so subtle these days.

You make a non-committal sound.

"It's 3 AM," Chrollo says and steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing up?"

His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your neck, linger there, feather-light and warm. You take a small sip of coffee.

The pulsing in your skull feels like someone decided to tap a small hammer against your brain. Well, he's up, so might as well do something.

"Headache," you say and press your forehead to the cool marble of the counter. It feels nice for a short moment.

Chrollo doesn't respond. He does place a hand on your nape though, thumb drawing circles, massaging the tension there. It's so peculiar. His tenderness leaves marks wherever it goes - light trails on your skin, hands on your forearms - a constant reminder that in this current reality he's everywhere and everything.

'Stop,' you want to say, but instead a quiet "mm" comes out. Maybe you're too tired to muster up any spite. He takes the cup out of your hand and sets it aside with a quiet clink.

"How bad?"

"Bad. Don't get too close," you warn. "I feel like throwing up."

He does anyway, and wraps an arm around your waist. Chrollo knows very well that you'd rather jump into boiling oil than lean on him out of your own volition, maybe that's why he uses every given opportunity to hold you.

"You should have woken me up," his words are muffled, lips pressed against your temple. Chrollo smells of shampoo, sheets and himself. "I'll get you something from the pharmacy later, but for now you should try and sleep, dear."

Then you're up in the air, carried out of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" you frown, fingers gripping the muscles of his arm.

He hums something akin to a simple melody, the devil. "Taking you back to bed, where you can keep being miserable with more comfort."

This time you don't protest; the pillow has cooled down, and as soon as you lower your head on top of it, it feels like bliss. The bathroom door opens and closes, followed by quiet splashes of water. There's a pause before the mattress dips on your right.

Cold cloth covers your forehead.

"You should have woken me up," he repeats. "Next time do it, dear."

"Mm," is all you manage, when the bedside lamp clicks off, and then there're covers lifting, fingers rubbing your temples and a low hum somewhere above you.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #hunter x hunter fanfic #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer

489 notes · View notes

avtrbee · 2 years

Text

saving grace

summary: morpheus is captured by roderick burgess, but is swiftly rescued by his wife

A/n: yeah ik, ik, i should be working on love game but hehe this was way too irresistible. basically a Love game au where morpheus treated you right and you save morpheus from his imprisonment at the height if burgess’ power. Think of this as what could have been is morpheus was a better husband from the beginning. gif not mine !!

Jessamy was your final warning that Roderick Burgess is not your normal opponent. He was such a ridiculously luck-favored individual that despite failing to capture Death, he had imprisoned the next best thing. He stole his tools, bringing him prosperity. The magician Burgess became renowned in the waking world, a man of miracles, blessed by the gods who created magic themselves, and- some say, has a demon locked in his basement.

You had tried to enter it once, thinking that you could just pop by and drag Dream from his cage, but someone had tipped Burgess to write runes around every entrance and exit in his house that weaken you and can ban you from entering, unless someone wanted you in. You have a strong hunch that they were the same person to warn the magician not to break the summoning circle, and enclose Dream inside a glass sphere.

You were with Jessamy, helping her dodge every bullet Burgess had tried to aim. It is through Jessamy that you finally get your first glance of the mansion’s inner lodgings, preening forward as Jessamy lights up a fire and hides in the corners of the mansion until, finally, you are greeted with the first sight of Dream in a year.

His unruly hair was the first thing you saw, before he slowly lifted his head up in hope. Morpheus is stripped bare, without his helm, ruby and pouch of sand. Without any robes. He looks at Jessamy with adoration. Wherever Dream the Endless goes, there will always be his loyal raven not too far behind. But there was a quick lift of his lips as he spots his bird- a private smile. That one is for you.

Though you were far, far away from Earth, you could hear the small clink Jessamy’s beak made as she frantically pecked on the glass orb that holds your husband. You watch in devastation how the hope in Morhpeus’ eyes faded away, replaced by a look of utter resignment. Still, he lifts his hand to touch his glass cage to his precious bird.

While in her head, you could feel Jessamy’s emotions, how she was as desperate as you to set her lord go, her utter relief at how she finally entered the house after months of trying, and her overwhelming fear that something was going to go wrong. You feel how Jessamy pushes and fails to push this lingering fear of death that she senses in the air, trying her best to focus on the glass, to keep pecking, and pecking until-

Until nothing.

You open your eyes with a start and mouth agape, grasping your sheets in freight as you feel a phantom pain at your back. You try to remember where you are as you get up from bed. You feet touches a lush red rug that stretches a little more after the bed ends, a floor with pristine marble walls that shimmer as you walk, and a mirror on your right that if you go through would take you to your own realm.

Home. This is where you are, home in the Dreaming, home to the private chamber you share with your husband, Dream. Dream, who is not here. Dream, who is in the waking world, held prisoner by some amateur magician who got lucky.

You know what you must do. You exit your room and walk towards his throne room in a hurry, up the stairs to his seat of power uninterrupted until you sense a quiet presence with you.

Lucienne is at the foot of the steps, looking at you in both sadness and fear as she spots your bow and quiver with your person, your trusted weapons that will aid you in whatever comes next.

“My lady,” she starts, and her warm dark gaze falls on you as you stare at her eyes back. Somehow there is an entire conversation that was said in silence as you look at each other's gaze. You can hear her warnings, her hesitations on your leave, her worry on the slowly deteriorating state of the Dreaming. You can hear her attempts to persuade to stay, that perhaps Morpheus would free himself soon. In your ears, you can also hear your replies, your attempts to soothe her worry, your promises to come back. It is not lost to you that you may be repeating the exact same thing your husband said.

“Safe travels.” She says instead and you know you have gotten her blessing.

You slip into the waking world without a moment’s thought.

There are three facts you recite to yourself as you approach the Burgess Manor in all its splendor. First, there is a party tonight. The Burgess monarch seems to love these parties, having one at every month, each growing more extravagant than the last. There is a growing crowd of eager party goers hoping to catch a glimpse and the favor of the Burgess monarch. Two, thanks to the runes carved above every entrance of the house, you must be invited inside.

You walk towards the crowd in confidence, putting on a show to anyone who is looking. You glance to your right as you see yourself in the reflection of a car window- utterly gorgeous. Lips as red as the blood you will cry tonight, eyes as dark as sunless sky and your smile as deadly as your fury. Three, you are the most beautiful girl in the party.

Not that it matters, you think to yourself as you walk through the crowd who parts as you strut. They will all see who they want to see.

You catch a boy guarding the front door as he lets other guests in. You follow the line of people, before catching the arm of an unsuspecting man, halting him from entering the door.

“Wha- oh. Oh, hello, may I help you?” His initial anger has immediately faded as he saw you, replaced by an infatuated grin. You squint your eyes when you realize he is not a reminder of his lady wife when he looks at you, but rather a girl from a whore house a couple of blocks from his home.

“I can’t help but to notice you were unaccompanied on this lovely night,” you start, tugging his arm closer until you are hugging it. “I was wondering if I can keep you company tonight…?”

The nameless man smiles easily. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

You giggle in delight and the man leads you towards the door. As you passed by the carved runes of the door, you felt a wave of fatigue run over that almost made you stumble. The man you are thankfully does not notice, as his head was still in the clouds of scoring a woman so beautiful.

But despite his luck, the man quickly announces his leave as soon as he sees Roderick Burgess on a chair. He is more eager to save his dying company than to have the presence of Love themselves, it seems. You do not mind and laugh comfortingly as he mournfully apologizes as he takes his leave, giving you not one, but four longing glances as he approached his target. You do not mind. The nameless man had let you inside and led you to Roderick Burgess in less than five minutes. You would have considered blessing him if only he was faithful to his marriage.

You slink behind people, accepting a glass of champagne to blend in but never leaving your sights off the man who had imprisoned Dream. He is constantly surrounded by different people, some part of his household, but most were his fellow amateur magicians and cultists, eager to get his acquaintance. You wait until he is finally alone. He stands to walk, and you follow.

“All that talking must be tiring.” You have heard that he has a lover already, a young blonde girl that is often seen hanging on his arms in these types of events. But the fact that you had not seen her yet tonight makes you optimistic. That and how you wear his old wife’s face, the one that face that Randall inherited- its why he loved him the best, you know you have won. “Isn’t it tiring?”

It takes a second for him to reply, too taken aback by a dead face. “It is but a necessary evil of the powerful,” he says, offering you his arm. You happily accept and cling to it. “Do you drink, fair lady?”

“I do, but I am not as fond of wine, sir.” You reply. You place your hand on his chest as a spur of red magic ignites out of your palms. You feel his heart and squeeze. “I’m afraid you must drink twice as much for the both of us tonight.”

Love me, love me, love me, your magic inside him chants.

Roderick Burgess smiles and laughs like a happy man, and you knew you spoke like his dead wife came to life. Despite his sins against Morpheus, you find comfort to at least provide him this brief fantasy. A human’s grief has always hit you a hard, and you would have felt bad for exploiting his mourning if he did not have you husband locked under his house. You know what you must do.

You patiently wait with a smile getting harder to hide as the hours pass by. You watch as Roderick Burgess receives drink after drink, never declining a glass of wine that was offered. You wait until he is stumbling in his walk, until he needs you by his side to keep himself from falling.

The party was long over when he was finished. All guests had retreated home, or had passed out in the living room. Roderick Burgess clings on your shoulder as he thinks you are leading him to his bedroom. He is too drunk to notice that you have not climbed the stairs, but rather down to the hallway, towards the door to his basement.

You halted at the door that Jessamy had previously entered. “What is behind this door, sir? Surely not another one of your living rooms?”

Roderick took a glance at the door and laughed. “A great failure,” he replies. “But a blessing in disguise nonethelessh.”

His voice slurs and you smile. “Impossible. Failure does not know Roderick Burgess,” you say and he laughs even harder. “After all, they whisper of the demon you keep in your basement.”

He shrugs himself off your grip as he stumbles towards the door. “Failure? I know it well, girl. My son, gone. My wife-“ he mournfully looks at you before quickly looking away out of grief or lust, you do not know. “-is dead. You think I do not know what you are doing? You’re just like the rest of them! So hungry for power, so hungry for what I can give.”

You seethe. He cannot give anything. Every single blessing that was brought forth to his life was because of your husband's stolen tools.

“You are jushh like the rest of ‘em,” he declares, his words getting louder and sloppier. “But tonight, I shall show you, thanks to the wonderful company you’ve given me tonight.”

You did not give him good company. Roderick had fun by himself drink after drink. You had merely waited.

He swings the basement doors open and enters and you follow quietly behind him like a silent shadow. There is a stone hallway that you go through before finally, you see your husband’s sphere cage. At the sound of your voice, Morpheus lets out a small grin. His eyes were curious, head tilting in confusion on what you were doing down here. You make it a point not to look at him.

“He is not a demon,” Roderick starts, walking to Dream. He stops before the summoning circle. “He is Endless. More than a God, but less than Death.” Roderick turns to you and beckons you with his hand. You accept his hand gracefully, and Roderick leads you beside him. At the corner of your eye, you see Morpheus look at your conjoined palms. “I had tried to summon Death for my Randall. I got him instead,” he spits angrily.

“Then what does he do?” You ask, eyeing at the summoning circle. You see Dream’s prison, but you do not know how to break it yet. You must be smart. “And this?” You ask, your foot gesturing to the runes written on the floor.

You were tugged back harshly before your foot could even touch the circle. “Break that circle and he will kill you.” Roderick hissed in an angry breath. Morpheus’ eyes darken at Roderick’s grating action, but dared not to move.

“He does not bargain,” Roderick starts, looking back at Morpheus and you take it as your cue to move back slowly. You feel your bow appear in your hands, strong and steady just like how you must be. There is already an arrow ready on it waiting for you. “nor does he show any sort of emotions.”

You nock the arrow, keeping your eyes on the man. Before you, Morpheus eyes your weapon but keeps a passive face giving nothing away from your scheme.

“He cannot do anything at all.” Roderick raises a hand and gestures for you without turning. “Come, love. Say hi. Don’t be afraid, he cannot even speak.”

You look at Morpheus in the eye and raise your bow to Roderick’s head. “Hello, Dream.”

Morpheus looks at you now with all the fondness in his eyes and the softest smile on his lips- the rare kind of look reserved for a selected few that you receive in bulk. “Hello, wife.”

You could see Roderick’s confused frown reflected on the glass sphere before turning his head to you. As if in slow motion, you watch his eyes darken in fury and embarrassment as he realizes he has been tricked. He opens his mouth, but your arrow hits his head first. You watch as your arrow disappears as soon as it hits its mark, and you wait for Roderick Burgess to hit the floor before you scramble to the floor and erase as much of the summoning circle as you can. You frantically scrub every written symbol you can reach until there is a wide gap.

“My Love,” Morpheus calls, halting your action. You turn to him, relishing to see him through your eyes. You raise your hand against the sphere and Dream does the same. So close and yet so far.

“I am sorry about Jessamy,” you whisper, guilt lacing every word. Your husband closes his eyes in pain, as if reliving the exact memory of his trusted bird dying in front of him. “What must I do?” You look around quickly. “Morpheus, we don’t have much time and I- I am weakened here. There are runes, and if you want to get out you must do it now.”

“I cannot break this cage from the inside, my Love.” Dream says with the same resigned look on his face. “Leave me, if you must-“

“No!” You shriek. “No, please, Morpheus-“ You look around again, searching for the room for anything that might help. There were two desks before the sphere, probably for the guards stationed around Dream, but you do not see any firearms. There is nothing strong enough to break his cage, until the thought finally dawns upon you.

“I must cry,” you realize.

You drop to the floor as soon as you say the words, squeezing your eyes shut as the familiar pain of your blood tears start streaming from your face. You have felt fire burn before, but nothing will ever compare to the poisonous magic your tears bring. Your head feels like it's frozen and on fire at the same time, but your eyes carry the most damage your tears bring, making them feel like a hot white pain. It is a burn, poison and freezing at the same time.

Despite your weakened state, you managed to clutch a single arrow out. You grip on it like it's your lifeline before putting it’s tip under your eye to catch your blood tears.

“Love, why must you weep for me?” Morpheus asks, kneeling down in his cage, trying his best to be as close as he could.

You try to laugh. “I have been deprived of my husband for almost a decade, my lord,” you reply weakly, still bowing at your burning eyes. As soon as you know the arrow is coated fully with your blood tears, you halt crying and weakly nock the arrow immediately. “He was taken from me.”

Morpheus, familiar to the power your blood tears hold, had backed away as far as he could in his glass cage. You waste no moment aiming your arrow towards the glass and shoot. The glass explodes with a loud boom that echoes across the room, shaking the basement and the house above you. Distantly, you hear screams above and you wonder if you had accidentally caused an earthquake. Your arrow makes you fly across the room, hitting the stone wall that you were behind before.

But all thoughts leave your head when a familiar touch holds your face gently. Morpheus is finally in front of you, his hands feeling so warm despite not being human. He looks at you with stars in his eyes and a smile of adoration on his mouth.

“But crying pains you.”

You feel his thumb wipe your blood tears away, staining your cheeks even redder. “I would cry rivers of blood if it means having you back.”

You smile in his hands, eyes bloodshot and cheeks stained red. Morpheus has never seen you so beautiful. Slowly, he leans forward and gives you a kiss on your head before cradling your head again to look at you.

Your husband is not one to say his words aloud, but you heard thank you, I’m sorry, and I love you through his kiss all the same.

“Let us go home,” you say, grasping his hand and kissing his palm.

“As long as Dream of the Endless is with Love, his wife,” Morpheus starts. “He is already home.”

if you like this fic, check out my masterlist!

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus imagine #dream of the endless imagine

4K notes · View notes

celestialprincesse · 4 months

Text

🫶🪐💕

Ghost introducing Soap to single mom!reader and Charlotte I fear😧 jk ghoap x single mom live in my mind rent free💕

Charlotte and Riley both respectively lay asleep against you on Simon's couch as you yourself begin to drift off into the pefcetly worn in cushions, the My Little Pony episode you'd put on for Lottie long forgotten the minute her little head had come in contact with Riley's fluffy back. You don't even realise you're falling asleep until you wake to Riley's barking an hour or so later. Immediately you panic at the missing presence of your daughter, and the K9 that follows her loyally wherever she goes. The first horrified thought which springs to your head is that there's workmen in the building - workmen who you don't know - and Simon isn't here, which makes you distinctly more concerned. You'll adress that thought once you've found your daughter and ruled out any potential danger.

That rational, well thought out plan, flies through one ear and out the other when you hear a foreign laugh in the kitchen, and you're thrown back to that feeling which you'd tried so hard to run from. You try to rationalise with yourself, try to recognise that Simon's flat is more secure than the pentagon, and maybe you're just hearing things or he's watching something on his laptop and - and Charlotte is squealing. Charlotte is squealing in the kitchen and Riley is barking and you're convinced that it's happening all over again.

You come up empty in a search for something you could potentially use to fend off anyone with the intention of hurting your daughter or Riley or you. Weird considering that Simon is SAS, but you don't let yourself dwell as you storm into the kitchen to - to Simon with Charlotte in his arms, and another man bouncing a tennis ball on the floor, hence the barking. "Everything alright, love?" Simon immediately makes his way over to you, a dirty blond brow furrowed in concern, keeping his distance whilst still being close enough for you to reach out to him. "Ye look like ye've seen a ghost." The other man pipes up, and then proceeds to laugh at his unintentional pun, all whilst you stare at Simon like - well like you've seen a ghost.

"I - you - Charlotte - she was -" You stutter aimlessly before sighing, letting your head fall into your hands, whilst Simon pulls you into his chest, Lottie smushed and protesting between the two of you, muffling the apologies Simon whispers into your hair, handing your daughter back. "So yer jus not going to introduce me to the lass. Right, okay." The heavy Scots accent pipes back up sarcastically from the corner, leaving you jumping out of your skin whn you remember that he's there. "Ah, right, no, yeah. This is Johnny." Simon grunts, almost a little embarrased as he rubs the back of his neck, Charlotte gripping his calf, pleading for ice cream. "We work together. He's a pain in my ass - backside. Pain in my backside." The soldier picks your daughter up and swings her onto his hip with practised ease as he moves for the freezer, where he's got a constant supply of her favourite chocolate ice cream.

"I've heard a lot about ye." Johnny smirks wickedly as he gives you a polite hug, looking between you, Simon, Charlotte and Riley like he knows something he shouldn't. "And yer bairn, o'course. Ghost talks about her like she's his own." "Stop exagerratin' MacTavish." Simon's voice is muffled by the clink of bowls as he scoops some ice cream with an impressive proficiency despite his one hand. With that, Johnny gives you a conspiratorial grin, like you're both in on a joke that Simon doesn't understand. "So, does 'e talk about me much? Or the other lads?" Johnny's line of questioning makes you blush as you give a slow shake of your head, looking almost apologetic.

"M' not trying to scare her away, Johnny. Pack it in."

222 notes · View notes

lullabyes22-blog · 23 days

Text

Snippet - Puppy Love - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Sevika narrates a sad story...

tw: violence, gore, gang warfare

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"You have your city. Powder has no place in it. Let her have a normal life. In Piltover, with me."

Sevika stares a moment before a laugh spangles out. It's like rich, smoky music. In it, Vi hears echoes of a girlhood lost. She hears other things too. Disbelief, disdain. And the shock of epiphany, as if Sevika finally understands that Vi and Powder aren't simply sisters, but strangers to each other. Different species.

To Vi, Zaun is a black maw. To Powder, it is a cradle.

"A normal life?" Sevika repeats, when she can breathe without gulping. "With you? Do you even know what that means? Jinx would be a fucking fugitive. They'd throw her in the clink."

"I'd keep her safe! Get her across the sea." Vi's eyes glaze wetly. "We'd run away. Together."

"Yeah? Where would you go?"

"Wherever. It doesn't matter. Someplace warm. An island in Tereshni. With sun and sand. Or a fishing lodge in Bilgewater. Anything, as long as it's not here. She can paint, or build model ships, or—"

"You think it's that easy? Just pick up and start over?" Sevika's eyes are so dark the pupil and iris are indistinguishable. "What do you think she is, a fucking doll? Put her someplace new, and bam! She's fixed." She shakes her head. "Your sister's fucked beyond repair, Vi. There's no place for her anywhere. Except Zaun. Because our city gives her what she needs." She taps her temple. "Someplace to put all that chaos."

"That's not true! She doesn't have to be a monst—"

Vi breaks off, horrorstruck. She's spoken the forbidden truth. Her sister is a monster.

Just like Silco.

Sevika's eyes gleam cruelly. "Monster? That she is. No use making her into something else." Her chin tips. "Come to think, there was a kid who tried. After Silco took over the Drop, he'd hang around. Try to catch Jinx whenever she was alone. He'd show her toys he'd tinkered with. She'd show him her inventions. They'd be happy as clams." The reminiscence curdles into cynicism. "But whenever Silco showed up, Jinx clammed right up. Wouldn't leave his side. It didn't matter what the boy did or said. He might as well have been a pebble on the street. Something to make way for the man of the hour."

Realization judders through Vi.

"Ekko," she says.

"Yeah, that's right." Sevika snaps her fingers. "Ekko. The little man at Benzo's shop. He and Jinx had a thing, didn't they? Puppy love. I remember how they'd be off in the corner, doodling together. Always a few inches apart. Then he'd whisper something in her ear, and she’d light up like a birthday candle." A beat. "She sure wasn't smiling by the end. Neither was he."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, right. You were in the slammer." A faux-pitying sneer, before she sobers. "After Jinx came to live with Silco, he needed someone who could fine-tune her... talents. Take her knack for guns, and make it deadly. But the teachers he brought in, they couldn't handle her. Too scared. Too impatient. One of 'em went apeshit on her. Slapped her upside the head a couple times. She ended up with a busted lip. Silco found out, and, well. It's never wise to lay a hand on what's his."

Her once-over takes in the topography of Vi's bruised flesh. Vi braces for fresh mockery. It doesn't come. Sevika's features remain neutral; a look that's seen it all before.

"After the crew dumped the fucker's body," she goes on, "we decided to look closer to home. Found ourselves a local tinkerer. Old Giz, down at the Abattoir. Fine gunsmith. He'd done business with Silco before. Had the smarts and the patience to deal with a powderkeg like Jinx. Every week, he'd take her out to the scrapyards. Show her how to dismantle a firearm. How to build it back up from scratch. She gave him plenty of lip. Called him Geezer and made fun of his gimp. But she listened. Learned. Soon, she was building her own guns. Models with unique designs. Ones that made Giz's creations look like junk. Silco was real impressed. So were the rest of us. Until..." Sevika's jaw hardens. "Turns out, Giz was too much of a softie for his own good. Silco had been paying him a premium to give Jinx private lessons. But Giz, he'd turned his shop into a bona fide daycare. He let Ekko drop in whenever the kid pleased. Didn't mind having him underfoot, either. Boy had a way with tools. He'd sit and work with Jinx, and they'd chatter non-stop. Sometimes, they'd be too busy playing to work. Giz didn't mind. The way he saw it, the kids deserved to be kids."

Vi's throat works. "And—Silco found out."

"What can I say? He's a man who expects a bang for his buck. When he heard Giz had been letting Ekko hang around, he was none too happy. Giz had designed the security rigging at the Drop. And he knew where we stored the Shimmer. One slip-up, and our headquarters would be compromised. Silco was pissed. But he didn't think Ekko was trouble. So he let it slide. Told Giz not to make the same mistake twice." Her lips pull in tight. "Then Giz did something even stupider."

"What?"

"He left the schematics of the Drop's security at his workshop. Ekko, the little shit, found 'em. Took a good long look. Made his own copies. This was right around the time Jinx stopped taking her lessons with Giz. I don't know why. Maybe she got tired of his chatter. Maybe she found a better way to blow off steam. Whatever the case, Ekko didn't like it. He got it into his head that something fishy was going on. That maybe... Silco was hurting Jinx. He went from playing with her to pestering her. I'd see them sometimes on the rooftops. He'd be tugging her arm. Trying to get her to run away with him. But she wouldn't listen. Everytime Ekko pushed, she'd push back twice as hard. Eventually, he gave up." A beat. "Or so we thought."

A foreboding chill creeps in. "What happened?"

Sevika's eyes flick left and right, before resettling on Vi. "Ekko staged an... intervention. He got a bunch of brats from the Lanes together. They memorized the security checkpoints at the Last Drop. Then they decided to break inside, torch the Shimmer storehouse, and make a run for it—with Jinx in tow." She shakes her head. "The moron. I warned him to stay away. But he was gung-ho. Only fourteen, and Jinx was the moon to his sky. So, he and his gang—they snuck in at midday. Right when the guards changed shifts."

Vi's mind reels. She knows what comes next.

"It was a massacre. Jinx knew they were coming. Don't know how, exactly, but she knew. She went and told Silco. I remember them both in the barroom the night before. Him sitting at the counter. Her standing by his shoulder. Going on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. They had the same look. Same set to the mouth. The same fucking eye." Sevika's features shade into grimness. "The next day, Ekko and his gang snuck in. One of them stepped on a trigger wire. Set off a silent alarm. When they entered Silco's office, our guards were waiting. The punks didn't have a chance. Most were scrappers with switchblades and flashbangs. Silco's crew were trained militia. And they'd been armed with the brand-new guns Jinx had designed. I still remember those babies. The model was similar to a High Standard 10 riot gun. Generates a muzzle velocity of 625 feet per second. Enough to blast through an armored vehicle—or blow a man's guts across the room."

Vi's skin feels two sizes too small. She remembers the way Powder used to hold the toy guns at the old Arcade. The way she'd cock her elbow and squint down the barrel, her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth.

Just a kid.

And Silco turned her into a killer.

"How many…?" she whispers. "How many kids were with Ekko?"

"Six. All gangly brats. We had 'em rounded up in seconds. Then Silco ordered 'em dragged outside. There, as the Lanes watched, our men popped 'em, one by one, like fish in a barrel. Ekko got the ringside view. Held Silco's attention till the very end. Till his last little friend went belly-up, and his skull split like a melon. Ekko started crying. But Silco didn't want tears. He wanted to send a message. The old days of turf wars were over. The thefts, the break-ins, the midnight raids. They were all gonna end. And the Lanes were gonna toe the line. Or else."

Vi swallows a reflux of bile. "Ekko was a good kid. He didn't deserve—"

"He and his pals were a bunch of uppercut morons. What'd he think would happen? He and Jinx would ride off into the sunset on a pair of unicorns?" Sevika’s lips peel back from her teeth. "All of it could've been avoided if he'd minded his own damn business. Left Jinx be, and respected Silco's rules. But no. He wanted to play the big damn hero. To take Jinx away from the one man who had the resources—the balls—to keep her safe."

"Ekko was trying to protect her!"

"Bullshit. He was trying to 'fix' her. Same as you. He thought she'd be someplace different, and click! All that faulty wiring would untangle itself. Like she was a clockwork toy that needed a new set of springs." Disgust grits itself into Sevika's features. "People aren't gears and levers, Vi. And the past doesn't wash off like dirt. Everything Jinx did at the Cannery—the blood, the bodies—was a consequence of her own goddamn choices. There's no undoing that. Or unmaking her. A monster is… as a monster does."

The dreary summation of life and death in the Lanes—a lesson of brutal math that Vi has known since she was knee-high—doesn't keep the boiling tears from her eyes. Vi sinks her teeth into her lower lip until the pain stills the impulse to cry.

Or scream.

"Ekko got the message," Sevika goes on. "So did Jinx. She watched the whole thing. Watched the kids fall, one by one. Watched Ekko break down crying. Watched his rescue mission turn into what it was. Just a bunch of punks running around half-cocked. By the end, Ekko was a mess. Splattered in his friends' guts, and shaking like a leaf. He kept looking to Jinx, hoping against hope she'd help. That she'd do something. Anything. But she never did. She just stood by Silco's side. Didn't cry. Didn't even flinch. After the bodies were hauled off, Ekko got locked up the basement. Silco planned to put his skills to use. Get the little rat to work for Zaun. But it didn't work out. After a week, the kid slipped loose."

"How?"

"Good question." Sevika tips a shoulder. "I suspect Jinx knows the answer."

"You think… she helped him escape?"

"Like I said. Puppy love. Maybe she cared. Or maybe she thought it'd be funny. A final Fuck You." Her laugh holds a note of marvel. "Point is—the kid scarpered. Doubt he got very far. Likely some charitable soul took him in. Likely Giz himself. We sent the crew to his shop, but Giz denied harboring fugitives. And Silco didn't want to kill the only gunsmith in the Lanes. He was ready to let Giz be. Except the old man had nearly cost us five-thousand Hexes of Shimmer. An example had to be made. Silco ordered me to take his right eye. So I did." A shrug, but her expression, for a moment, is oddly spooked. "You wanna know the funny thing? The old man didn't scream. Not once. He said he understood the risks, and was willing to pay the price. Afterward, he told me something else, too. Said he didn't blame Jinx. Told me she'd have been happier with Ekko, but she was safer with Silco. And if those are a girl's only two options, then fuck it. It's the world at fault, not her."

Her face clears, then closes like a door. "Maybe he had a point. The fact is, Jinx made her choice. She did the night she chose to tell Silco about Ekko's plans. She did when she watched those kids die without lifting a finger. She did when she let Ekko loose, and took her place by Silco's side. Your sister knows the score, Vi. Always pick the winning team. No matter how much it hurts. Because the world doesn't give a shit about your tears. It's not gonna hold your hand and kiss your boo-boos. It'll push you down and grind you under, and it'll do it with a smile. And if those are your odds, it's better to have a monster in your corner—and firepower in your hands—than to have a hero with nothing but a fucking wrench in his."

Vi has no comeback handy; her tongue is a desiccated stub.

She thinks of Ekko as a boy. Quick with a quip; quicker with a smile. A boy who'd lost his family, then lost whatever remained. Who'd witnessed a slaughter at Silco's hands. Who'd gone on, as a full-blown adult, to fight the monster with everything he had.

No matter how much it hurt.

"Winning team, huh?" Her throat is raw. "What about the people caught in the middle? Where's their victory?"

"Them's the breaks. The past is the past. There's only one direction. Forward."

Sevika's delivery is a smooth; her eyes are flint. Like a gambler who's all in. Vi wonders what feeds her stoicism. Wrong choices in the past, where she'd been forced to live with the consequences. Or right ones, and their bitter pay-off. Vi thinks of the woman's history. Her father, the Wharfside Devil. His business: bootlegging, brawling, murder. His fate: a life sentence in Stillwater.

Sevika, Vi thinks, is the byproduct of her father's errors.

Just as Powder is the byproduct of Vi's.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #snippet #arcane sevika #arcane vi #arcane ekko #ekko #vi #timebomb #jinx x ekko #ekkojinx

64 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 1 year

Text

A New Home (Pt. 2)

Joel Miller x Curvy!Female Reader

◆

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Body insecurity, age gap, brief alcohol consumption, dirty talk, size kink, brief mention of male masturbation, grinding/dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, brief cumplay

◆

A/N: Here's part two! I meant to post this much sooner, but life has definitely gotten in the way. I hope you enjoy my babies (:

Co-written with @fishingforpike

◆

Joel Miller Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

Falling back into his old routine is easy, he’s been doing it for years now. He goes to work, attending his scheduled patrols and contributing to the town wherever the council sees fit. He does his part. Back and forth, home to work, work to town, back to home. When he came to Jackson, all he wanted was rest, routine. And after some time, that’s what he found. While this was an easy pattern to return to, something has definitely changed. One small detail, but big enough for him to notice.

You were constantly at the back of his mind.

Everything he did was just like before, his work was just as good, he took care of himself and Ellie adequately. But behind every daily movement, there you were, your kind smile and dazzling eyes. Your voice, and the way you spoke to him. The interest you showed him.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Huh?” Cocking a brow, Joel grumbles, turning to look over his shoulder at his adoptive daughter.

“What’s been making you so depressed?”

Turning back to the eggs he’s cooking, he hides his sigh. “I’m not depressed.”

“You come home every day just to lay in bed. You don’t even go to Tommy’s anymore, man. I call that depressed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Walking over to the table, he slides the food onto their plates.

“Well I’m gonna.” But Joel doesn’t respond, just sits down to eat. Eyeing him up and down, Ellie’s lips form a stern line before she finally decides to venture into particular sensitive territory. “Is it because of her?”

She doesn’t know it, but the wound of you was re-opened only a few hours ago, and is hurting even more than before. He’d wandered over to your house, knocking on the door. He just wanted to see you, was worried about you. But you didn’t answer, didn’t even look out a window. Nothing. And where else could you be?

“Ellie.” Joel warns, his tone wavering slightly.

“What happened, Joel? It was only a week but I dunno, you seemed pretty happy.”

Dropping his utensils, they clink against his plate. “It just didn’t work out, okay?”

He’s fuming about this, chest rising and falling while his eyes fixate on the wooden table.

“But why?”

“Ellie, this is none of your business.”

“It is when I live with the big grump of a man that you are!”

“Ellie!”

“What was it? Was it her? Was it you?” She feels like she has a right to know. You’re new to town, and could’ve been new to their family.

“It wasn’t either of us, okay? It was just the, the circumstance.”

Before Ellie can say another word, there’s a knock on the door. Joel’s younger brother taps his knuckles against the wood before letting himself in and calling out for them. A routine between their small family.

“Joel?”

Groaning, he rolls his eyes. “Yeah?”

Trotting into the kitchen, Tommy walks up to the table, looking between the two of them.

“What’s uh… what’s goin’ on?”

“Joel won’t tell me how he fucked things up.”

“Ellie, you’re stepping over a line!” Pointing his finger, he glares at her, Tommy’s brows raising at the interaction.

“Woah, woah… you talkin’ ‘bout…” Pointing behind his back, he’s referencing you, your house across the way.

“Yeah! Who else?!” Tommy grins and Ellie’s outward sass, sliding off his gloves while sitting down.

“Hey,” He calls to his brother, his voice gentle. “C’mon, man. What really happened?”

A forceful breath is shoved out of his nose, those dark eyes darting over toward Ellie. And Tommy sighs.

“Why don’t you give us a minute, huh?” He tries to reason, offering a sympathetic glance.

“But I’m eating!”

“You can eat in your room.” That baritone voice booms, eyes watching Ellie huff as she stands.

Dramatically, she snatches up her fork and plate, stomping up the stairs.

“She’s a handful.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Joel groans, rubbing his face.

“So, tell me.” Clasping his hands together, Tommy leans forward, watching his brother release a heavy sigh.

“We went to the bar,” Clearing his throat, he props his elbows up on the table, fingers intertwining.

“Oh, I’m surprised I didn’t see y’all.” Tommy’s smiling brightly, delighted to hear that Joel took you out on a real date. “When did you go?”

“That doesn’t matter, Tommy.” Furrowing his brows, he scoffs. “Clark was there.”

“Shit,” Rolling his eyes, Tommy inquires further, “Did he say something?”

“Basically called her fat.”

“Are you shitting me?!”

Again, Joel scoffs, shaking his head. “He embarrassed her, Tommy. Embarrassed her bad.”

“What did you do?”

“Went to say somethin’ but, she stopped me. Put her hand on my chest and just… wanted to go home.”

Now, Tommy quiets down. He hasn’t seen or heard from you in days, and was getting worried, too. Clearly this situation was bad enough to keep you away for so long. Your second date with Joel was two weeks ago.

“I sat with her, told her what I thought and… how gorgeous I thought she was. Still is.”

“And?”

“Said she needed time. I guess… it was just too much for her. Got her feelin’ insecure and, I don’t know if…” A shaky breath leaves his chest. “I probably wasn’t it for her.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Tommy. I thought, I thought I was protecting Tess, keeping her safe but,” Glancing over at his brother, he shakes his head, an enormous amount of emotion in his eyes. “I’m a fucking fool.”

But instead of wallowing with his brother in his own self pity, Tommy scoffs. “Have you forgotten the man that you are?”

Looking up, those emotional eyes focus, brows deepening in their crease. “Huh?”

“Everything you did for Tess wasn’t for nothing, and you know that. I know you do. And everything you’ve done for Ellie? What about all that?”

“I don’t know, Tommy, I just -”

“Well I know.” He declares, cutting his older sibling off. “I know you’re better’n this. Better than talking yourself down and not realizing who you are. I’ve seen you be more resilient than this, Joel. If you want that woman, go after her.”

“Tommy I just, I don’t know if it would’ve worked out, anyway. I don’t think… I don’t know if she was actually interested in me… that way.” He’s so clearly gaslighting himself.

“Why would she go on two dates with you if she didn’t like you?” Ellie points out, shouting from the stairs.

“Hey!” Spinning around in his seat, he glares at her, having set up camp on the steps to listen in.

“She’s right, Joel.”

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he returns to sitting properly in his chair. “I wouldn’t even know what to do at this point.” With a heavy groan, he rubs a hand down his face, closing his eyes.

“Well…” Glancing over at Ellie, her face lights up with a grin, immediately hopping off the steps to come back in.

And when Joel hears her steps, he looks up, confused by her expression. But then he sees that Tommy’s wearing the same one.

“You still got that guitar?”

It’s intriguing, the sound. One you’ve yet to hear in Jackson. For being such a secure little town, you’d think music would bring it to life. But so far, all you’ve heard are nothing but quiet streets. But while the sound is new to your current home, you’re already growing to like it

Walking toward your window, you try to recall the tune. It’s slow and steady, and you’re not sure you can name the song it’s from, nor the person playing it. But the view from your bedroom quickly explains the situation to you.

It took everything in him to follow through, fearing that you’d just laugh at him. At best, he’ll win you back. And at worst, he’ll be rejected by you. He can’t stop thinking about that, wondering if this will be the final time you reject him. But when he glances up again, his thoughts subside into nothingness. His heart practically stops beating, and yet even through his fear, he’s happy to see your pretty face again. And even better, you smile at him.

“Fuck,” He breathes out, looking down at the strings again. “Time to sing, I guess.” Hell, he always wanted to do this when he was a kid.

Slowly, you slide your window up, wanting to get a better view of this. Nibbling on the corner of your lip, you rest on your knees with your elbows on the sil, wondering what exactly he’s up to.

With a deep inhale, he gathers every ounce of confidence before parting his lips. “I… haven’t done this before, but thought I’d give it a crack.”

Eyes widening, you listen to him, to the pretty voice he has.

“So, I’m kneelin’ here, tryna win you back.” Returning his eyes to the strings, he releases his anxieties, nodding. “I know what happened had a real impact, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry. But…”

Returning his gaze to you, he looks up as he sings, “I’ve missed you lately. I’ve missed my honey.”

While you’ve been apart, you have to admit that you’ve missed that southern drawl. The smirk curling on your lips betrays every negative emotion that’s been brewing inside you, every thought that had convinced you Joel was gone.

With another heavy sigh, he shakes his head. “That man was just dumb, to say what he said. I’ve seen him before and he’s just thick in the head.”

Giggling, you exhale a contended breath. He’s right, and being able to relax by yourself at home has led you to the same conclusion. That guy was an asshole and you’ve dealt with men like that all your life, and probably will for the rest of it, too. But that doesn’t mean you have to believe them.

"But that doesn't matter, because..." Looking up, Joel sighs dreamily, staring into your eyes. "You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And if you want, it’ll be just you and me.”

As he says this, a cold rush of air sweeps through the street. And while he’s wearing his coat, he still shivers, groaning quietly.

“But… while I’m crouching down, I’m feelin’ kinda old.” Quirking an eyebrow at this comment, you grin. “‘Cause my back’s kinda hurtin’, from being in the cold.”

Poor baby, is the first thing you think. He really is doing so much for you, he’s doing more than any man has ever done for you.

“So could you do me the favor, of comin' down?” And when he sees you nod, he smiles happily. “And get back to scoldin’ me for being such a grouch.”

Sprinting down your stairs, you hadn’t even bothered to close the window or grab a coat before you’re running out the front door. Standing with a groan, Joel grins shyly, setting his guitar on your snowy grass.

A soft grunt is forced out of him when you hit his chest, arms wrapping around his neck. But his arms were open and ready for you, immediately circling your smaller frame. With his dominant hand rising, it finds the back of your head, lightly stroking your hair while keeping you pressed against him.

“Did you really mean everything you said?” You’re whispering into his neck, grinning when you see Tommy and Ellie’s heads jerk out of frame from across the street. They’d been watching the entire thing through their living room window.

“Oh, baby.” He finds himself feeling emotional, pulling back to look down at you. Sliding his hand down and around, he cups your cheek. He’s so happy that this worked, so happy to see you in his arms again. “Of course I did.”

Without even thinking about it, he leans in. But hesitancy then overcomes him, that is, until you reach up on your tippy toes to meet him. Reassurance and warmth fill his insides when your lips meet, leaning into the comfort of them. He missed this, missed the way you feel and smell and look. With his hands sliding down, they land on your hips, holding you firmly as you repeatedly kiss him.

“I missed you.” Your own palms move to his cheeks, petting at his silver scruff.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” Looking into your eyes, he pleads, “Does this mean I can see you again?” And that deep southern drawl you love so much is now growing a little desperate. “Please?”

“Yes, Joel.” Nodding, you press your forehead to his, smiling. “Do you… I mean, are you busy now?”

Leaning down to grab his guitar, Joel lets you take his free hand to lead him inside. And before he’s through the threshold, he’s glancing back at Tommy with a grin. He’s proud of himself, and his brother is glad to see it.

Inside your home, that same guitar finds a place against the wall of your entryway, both of those strong hands returning to your hips. And when the wind is shut away by the door’s sturdy frame, there’s finally room for warmth inside your home.

Joel’s lips barely find time to leave your own, and when they do, it’s only for a breath. His kisses aren’t necessarily hurried but are merely passionate, sensual. And you return them with fervor, with small smiles and kitten licks over his lower lip.

“Mm…” It’s a deep groan, one you’ve never heard from him before. He liked your small lick.

It’s then that the wetness of his tongue finds your own, moaning into your throat when your hands rise to cup his face yet again. And the deeper your kisses get, the more his hands seem to tremble, the quicker his breaths have been.

“Joel,” Exhaling a small laugh, your palms lower to cover his quivering hands. “It’s okay…”

Gulping down your nerves, you hold his gaze, running his hands down your hips, around your lower back… all the way down to the space he hasn’t been able to stop staring at.

Innocently, his expression changes, lips parting and brows turning up in the center. With his fingers on your backside, you finally let go, your own petting at the scruff along his chin. His excitement almost dulls his reaction, unsure of what to do next. But your pretty smile prompts his adrenaline to rush through his limbs all over again.

“Fuck,” Crashing his lips to your own, he grabs you in hand, your small mewl nurturing his confidence.

Pressing you into the wall, he massages your backside, feeling the softness of it for the first time. Helplessly, he rubs himself against you, leaning and grinding into your hip. And the way he moans from the subtle contact is so beautiful, so light and airy as it travels into your mouth. He’s reveling in this energy, in the attraction you have for one another and the way you connect.

“What do you wanna do?”

“Hm?” Furrowing your brows, you lean back to look at him, but he doesn’t let you. His mouth is too determined, his sloppy kisses making you feel light-headed.

“You wanna make a decision now, or later?” He rasps out against you, his scruff scratching along your cheeks.

“About…”

“I want you to be mine.” With that emphasized word, his fingers twitch, fisting your ass.

“Really? I mean, are you, are you sure?”

“Hell yes I’m sure.”

“Why don’t we… go upstairs first.”

Staring down at you, his brow creases in confusion. “Why?”

Shrugging, you smirk, nibbling on the corner of your lip. “Think my sink’s broken again.” Slipping to the side, you talk his hand, leading him over to the steps. And Joel gives you an amused smirk, that look fading to gentle shock when you finish with, “I’m all wet again.”

“Cheesy fuckin’ line,” He drawls from behind you, putting his hands on your waist when you get to your bedroom.

Spinning around in his arms, you grin, “Made you smile, though.”

“That, it did.” With his hands lifting to your face, he brings you in, walking you back toward your bed.

Awkwardly, you reach out behind to feel for the sheets, quickly bumping into them. But while you’re fumbling around dumbly on your bed, Joel’s moving with a sense of coolness you’ve yet to see from him. He’s climbing over you, pushing you back into the blankets while he moves down to your neck. It’s like he can’t keep himself from you, wants to be pressed up against you.

“Oh, baby,”

“Joel,” Quietly, you whine, feeling his lips suck on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Hm?” He mumbles against you, mouth unmoving. One of his hands travels up the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your breasts. And again, he’s shaking, trying to calm himself from the excitement of this.

Sighing out excitedly, you smirk, eager to bring your thoughts to life. “You wanna take my shirt off, baby?”

“Oh…” Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, he groans, both sets of fingers finding the hem of your shirt. “Baby.”

Arching your back for him makes it easy, and it just as easily steals his breath. Dropping your shirt onto the floor, his eyes are immediately on your chest. But yours, are on him. His face is priceless, he might as well be drooling. And everything about this moment, about him, is making you feel so fucking sexy.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this…” He sighs, shaking his head.

“You want me to be yours, Joel?” And just saying it lights a fire in your belly.

With a sure face, he nods, eyes returning to your own. “Yeah, honey. I do.”

“Then show me how good it feels.”

“Fuck.” That’s all the permission he needs.

Diving down, he shoves his face into the softness of your breasts, still covered by your bra but he honestly couldn’t care less. This is the most he’s ever seen of you and goddammit he’s already so embarrassingly close to losing his shit.

“Joel,” Your fingers card through his graying hair, cradling his head while he starts to suck on your chest.

He bites into your flesh, groaning while he does it. And his hands are lifting to cup you, too, fingers kneading you through the material of your bra. He almost can’t stand it, being so close to you. Desperately, he wants to ask for more. But he worries more about pressuring you.

Shoving his thoughts away are the palms of your hands, landing on his shoulders and haphazardly pushing the material away. Without even thinking, he complies, thick fingers dipping down to undo the buttons on his front. And while he’s working on that, you work on yourself. Easily, you unclasp your bra, watching his eyes widen as it falls away.

“Jesus Christ,” Shucking off his shirt, he’s back on you in a matter of seconds, hot mouth covering your already pebbled nipple.

He revels in the way you moan for him, basking in the knowledge that he’s causing it. Now, his hands really do massage you, fingers pressing into your sweet flesh over and over again while his mouth continues to suck on it. And while you love the way he feels, his warm, strong hands fondling your chest, you also wish you’d had more time to admire him. He moved so fast after he took off his shirt that you barely had time to look at him, but you’re promising yourself that you’ll get that chance again.

Joel’s tongue rolls over your skin, stimulating your sensitive peaks while cupping your soft flesh in two muscular hands. And then he’s burying his face into you, shoving your breasts up against his cheeks. An amused smile forms alongside your sigh, fingers skimming through those pretty waves of hair. But then he does something unexpected, something that makes your insecurities bubble into your throat.

Moving downward, his dominant hand moves across your stomach and sides, dragging all the way down to your belly button. He caresses you gently as he goes, his fingers now toying with the hem of your pants.

Glancing up, he sucks in a deep breath, deep brown eyes meeting your own. “You tell me if it’s too much…” He whispers slowly, eyes dipping to your lips before they’re met with his.

Joel kisses the breath from your lungs, moaning as he presses himself to your lips. Moving with him, you shuffle your legs, spreading them as his fingers dip past the edge of your pants. Inside, your heart leaps from your chest, pounding against your rib cage when he finally touches your panties. His muscles twitch from it, breaths becoming shaky as he rubs you through them. It’s slow, firm, his fingers finding your most sensitive spots and grinning wildly when he does.

“Joel…”

“Can feel you throbbin’,” He huffs out against your lips, eyes still closed as he pulls your panties to the side. “You’re so wet…” It’s already all over his fingers, and he hasn’t even touched your bare sex yet.

You can feel it, the vulnerability creeping in. And although you still have the cover of your lower garments, you still feel extremely exposed to him. But it doesn’t matter, you know he won’t take advantage of it. He won’t take what isn’t his.

“You want this?” Joel nearly chokes out, his throat going dry. He’s stilled against you, fingers hovering above the place that needs him most.

Fingers curling into his hair, your chest rises with an inhale, exhaling a genuine, “Yes.”

Delicately, his middle finger glides through your opening, his head quick to drop down on your chest. Turning his head, Joel kisses your plump skin, sighing, and rubbing his digit across your wet skin.

“Feels so good…” He whispers over your body, suctioning his lips to the curve of your chest.

Inch by inch, he slides his middle digit in, all the way until it’s fully nestled inside you. A breath of relief is released in unison from the two of you, your hips shifting upward into his hand.

He’s thick inside you, far bigger than your own fingers. It fills your insides more than you’d originally thought, because of course you’ve thought about this.

It’s sloppy, the way he licks you, running his tongue along every inch of your chest, flicking the tip of it over your nipples while his finger retracts. With a languid pace, he pumps it into you, groaning when you tighten around him. He can only imagine how it would feel if it were really him, if it was the erection currently throbbing in his pants. And at just the right angles, his hand rubs over your clit, rolling the heel of it against the delicate pearl he so desperately wants to suck between his lips.

Your hands haven’t left his head, and now, they’re guiding him back to your lips. Happily, he lets you guide him, your mouths colliding while you shake beneath his body. And still, your tongue meets his, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him further in.

His moans, the way his facial hair scratches across your skin, the way he flexes above your body, makes you feel engulfed by him. He’s consuming you, touching every part of you that he can, reaching and pawing at the curves of your ass and chest, all while curling his finger against your most sensitive places. And then, he’s adding another, doubling the pressure of your sweetest sensation.

“Beautiful,” He mumbles, making his way down to your neck. “Sound so beautiful for me.”

“J-Joel, baby, I…”

You’re rotating your hips upward, reaching for the friction of his hand. And through it all, you’re clinging tightly to him, sighing pretty songs into his ear.

“You gonna do it for me, honey?” Kissing your ear, he groans. “Please do it for me…”

Already, you’re shivering from it, the euphoria he so easily brings to you. You weren’t sure what to expect when it came to this; you were maybe even a little worried. But so far, Joel is shoving aside any and all doubt. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and he isn’t afraid of showing that to you.

“Been dreamin’ about this since the first time I saw you, saw this gorgeous face…” Lifting his hand, he cups your jaw, the web between his thumb and forefinger settling beneath your chin. “I wanna please you, baby. Wanna feel all over your body…”

“Joel,” You’re tugging at his hair, mouth agape as you gasp.

He’s leaning into you as it happens, burying his face in the slope of your neck. It rolls through you, the pleasure of it growing gracefully. Eyes closing, your back arches against him, but Joel keeps you down. He continues shoving his fingers into you, feeling the way your fleshy walls cling to them. And he rubs you with the heel of his palm, too, all while pressing sloppy kisses to your neck.

Grunting against your skin, he feels you shiver, your limbs clinging to him. But he suddenly feels himself sadden, the more you begin to relax beneath him. He doesn’t want this moment to end.

“Baby, I…” He’s gasping, as if he was the one that just came. “I don’t…”

Lifting both hands to his cheeks, you bring him back to you, silencing his stutters. Your lips meet, the press of them sweet and passionate, searing. And the small whine that you breathe out against him makes his center pulse, finally sliding his fingers from your lips.

Before Joel can stop himself, he’s glancing down, staring at his wet digits. He watches his palm leave the luscious space between your thighs, enamored with everything about you and this moment. Licking his lower lip, he sighs. “Can, would it be, can I…”

Watching him stumble over his words is just so cute. He’s constantly flustered by you, he can’t believe he’s finally doing this with you, laying over your half-naked body and begging for more. Again, he wets his bottom lip, unable to form the right words. But thankfully, you do.

“You… want a taste?”

Instantly, he’s looking into your eyes, gulping heavily; your brazenness prompting a redness to rise to his neck and face. He hasn’t tasted a woman in years, far before the outbreak. But he’s thanking god you just offered it.

Joel’s gaze never leaves your own, his expression softening as he watches as you reach up, gently cupping his hand. Nibbling timidly on the corner of your lip, you push forward, guiding his fingers toward his own mouth. And he just sits there, watching, unable to take action in this erotically tender moment. But the second those two fingers are past his lips, his eyes are closing, an incredible groan rumbling in his chest.

“Hm…” Grinning, you lean in, kissing his cheek. “You’re so cute, baby.”

For a moment, he sucks on them, running his tongue along the length of his digits. Your taste is… sweet, sexually refreshing. He’s needed this, he needs you.

Shocking him out of this moment is your gentle touch on his jeans, fingertips moving delicately. With his free hand, he captures one of your own, shaking his head.

“W-What?” His action surprises you, embarasses you.

“You don’t have to do that, baby.” His voice is calm and kind, incredibly soothing as he cups your cheek while kissing the other. “This was about you.”

“Joel,” Grinning widely, you ring your arms around his neck, holding him. “Are you sure?”

“Baby,” He sighs, shimmying his hands between your back and the mattress so he can hold you tight. “I’m just so happy you let me do that.”

“Let me make you happier.” You insist, combing through his hair.

“It’s late, honey. Don’t worry about that, really.” Lifting his head, you witness the beauty of his face, of his graying stubble and dark brown eyes, his curved nose and the one dimple he has nestled in his cheek. “Maybe I’ll be lucky enough for you to offer that another day.”

Giggling, you shake your head at him. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Joel then settles into you again, both of your bodies shifting as he moves to hold you from behind, just like he’s been wanting to. He’s not sure if you want him to stay much longer, and honestly, you aren’t either. Regardless, you kick off the rest of your clothes, wanting to feel the other’s skin. And after such a sexually intimate moment, it’s nice to have a tender one, too.

His chest tightens, eyes closing as he tries to steady his breaths. The last woman he ever held was Tess, and when she was in his life, he didn’t see any reasonable way another woman would replace her. Not when he depended on her so much throughout the outbreak. And during the outbreak, it seemed like the world would never change. This situation, right here and now, is something he never thought he’d get again. The last woman he held without the worry of clickers around was Sarah’s mom, and now, he can’t even count how many years ago that was. That thought alone reminds him of all the loss he has harbored inside him, all the people that he’s been forced to let go. But he can’t go through that again, he knows it would just kill him. And now that he’s been gifted the absolute angel of you, he’s hoping he’ll never have to deal with that kind of loss ever again.

While Joel’s emotional thoughts run laps in his head, he finds ease in the action of holding you, of feeling your calm breaths. You’re holding onto his arms as they sit wrapped around your midsection, resting back against him. And before you even realize it, your eyes are drifting shut, slumber easing your body further into the bed.

“Honey?” Joel whispers, wanting to catch you before drifting off to bed.

“Hm?” You return kindly, rubbing his forearm. Somehow, it feels like you’ve known him forever.

“Tommy, he uh…” Joel can smell your pretty hair, allowing the scent to help him relax. “He’s havin’ a bonfire tomorrow night.”

As soon as he says it, your belly tingles with excitement, waiting for him to ask you. Will he take that step with you? Now that you’re with him?

“Would you wanna come with me?”

He can barely finish his sentence before you’re releasing a giddy, “Yes.”

The last time he did something like this is when Tess brought him to have dinner with Frank and Bill. He doesn’t normally do things like this, casual socializing. It helps that it’s his brother, though. And that Ellie won’t be attending. He loves her more than he can even find words for, but tonight is a couple’s event. He doesn’t want to worry about her sass.

Joel is met with his proper appearance when gazing into the mirror, a deep breath exhaled slowly as he thinks. He’s wearing Frank’s flannel again, something physically and mentally comforting. His hair has been combed, his facial hair trimmed and brushed. He’d even gone into town to buy a new cologne for you. Something to accentuate the smell you already love.

Amidst his nerves, Joel feels excitement. He doesn’t care if he’d laid with you in your bed only last night, he misses you. Being apart made him long for your touch, for your sweet smile and kind voice. And he’d been feeling this way for hours, ever since he left your house. After you’d fallen asleep, Joel took it upon himself to gather his things. He didn’t want to move too quickly or pressure you. In the midst of him leaving, you awoke, small tears in your eyes until he’d explained his reasoning. And it was something you respected.

Surprisingly, you come to him. Knocking on his door, you bounce giddily on your heels, waiting for him to answer. You’re thrilled to be able to introduce yourselves as a couple for the first time. You’ll also be able to meet Maria for the first time, too. And usually, you’d be nervous for something like this. But with Joel involved, you’re blinded by happiness.

“Look at you,” He grins, stepping out onto the porch. Quickly, he realizes that your outfits are matching. You’re wearing a pair of jeans, tight jeans, and a red sweater that compliments the red tones in his flannel.

“Is this okay?” Unable to help yourself, you step closer to him, hands sliding up to his neck.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” He grins against your cheek, pressing his lips to you. “Never seen so much makeup on you.”

“Is it too much?” A nude shade colors your lips, concealer hiding any potential flaws with a modest amount of eyeliner and mascara accentuating the features of your eyes.

“Didn’t I just use the word gorgeous?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, feigning annoyance through another kiss to your cheek. “You ready, honey?”

Intertwining your fingers with his, you nod, letting him lead you down the street. And while walking, he does his best not to outwardly oggle you. He knows that as soon as he’s able to, he’s going to get a good look at those pants. They look like the ones you’d been moving in, the ones that immediately caught his attention. The way they hug your hips makes his insides stir, the creases between your crotch and thighs making his body heat rise.

Even through your chilly walk, Joel’s insides run hot. And as soon as you’re at Tommy and Maria’s door, he lets you walk in first, granting him that view he’d been searching for.

“My eyes are up here.”

Snapping his gaze upward, he meets his brother’s shit-eating grin, slapping his palm against his.

“Shut it.” He grumbles, accepting his quick embrace.

“How’s it goin’ with her?” He inquires quietly, closing the door behind Joel.

“Good,” Joel grins, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Real good.”

“So, uh…” Glancing over his shoulder, he watches Maria lead you further into the house. “What happened last night?”

“What do you mean?” Joel chuckles, “You saw what happened.”

“Nah, after you two went inside.”

“Went pretty well,” Glancing down, he grins. “Went upstairs, and… now we’re here.”

Tommy eyes him, raising a brow. “Not gonna spill any details, huh?”

Grinning, Joel looks further behind his brother, shrugging.“Those jeans serve her right.”And it’s those very jeans he’s eyeing right now.

Almost instantly, Maria led you inside, thrilled to meet you and show you around their home. She brings you to the kitchen, showing you the food she’d prepared and where to find the drinks. She also shows you the bathroom, insisting you tell her if there’s anything you need.

It’s easy to admire the home you’re currently walking through, Tommy and Maria have put so much love into it. Pictures of their journey as a couple hang on the surrounding walls, pieces of the life they built displayed proudly. It’s cozy here, too, throw blankets adorning the couch and loveseat, a candle lit on their coffee table as a minimalist centerpiece. It has a very specific charm to it, something akin to a ranch. And you figure, you might as well be living on one.

“So, I never really took Joel for a singer.” Maria smirks, sipping from her cup.

You can’t even hide the grin growing on your face. “Honestly, neither did I. I didn’t even know he played the guitar.”

Chuckling, she crosses her arms, thinking to herself for a minute. “From what I heard, Joel was a pretty mean man before Ellie came around. And now, seems like you’ve softened him even more.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t seem so mean anymore.” Turning, you watch the two men pass by the kitchen, making their way to the backyard. But before walking out, Joel reaches for you, giving your hand a brief and gentle squeeze.

When he’s gone, you sigh, feeling all fuzzy inside. “He can be so sweet.”

“He seems it.” And she never anticipated that before you came along. “Tommy’s the same way.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” Shrugging, she nibbles on the corner of her lip. “He’s… giving.”

“Giving?”

“Yeah, well, you know we’re on our second kid, right?” Laughing, she raises a brow, reaching for her glass again.

Oh, you think to yourself. Oh.

“But I don’t expect you to know about that, not from Joel.”

“What? Why not?”

“I mean, you’re only just now together. Unless… you’ve already seen him like that?” Holding her cup with both hands, she grins, just barely tilting her head.

Glancing out the side door, you take a look at the guys, currently gathering some of Tommy’s firewood. Joel has rolled up his sleeves, the muscles in his forearms twisting and turning. And when he leans down, you can see his flannel stretch across the broadness of his back. Altogether, the sight makes you sigh, wondering what he’s really like in bed.

“Maaaybe.”

“Really?! Holy shit, you have to tell me. I’d love to know what that grump of a man is like in bed.”

“What?!” Busting out a laugh, your face twists slightly in confusion. “Why the hell would you want to know?”

Shrugging, she replies, “Honestly, I just never thought I’d see him with a woman, not like this.”

“Well, I guess they’re more alike than we thought.” You return with a sassy grin, her brows now raising sky-high.

“And that means?” She prods further, loving the girl talk she’s constantly deprived of. Even though Maria wasn’t all that girly, talking with another woman has been surprisingly refreshing.

Thinking back to the beginning of your conversation, you settle for answering with, “He’s pretty giving.”

“Hey, honey.” Joel grins, turning toward the sliding door.

The two of you walk out into the nighttime air, greeted by the warmth of your partner’s smiles and the fire they’ve built. And as soon as Maria is in her seat, she’s smiling, huffing out an amused chuckle.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Joel this excited about a woman.”

Reaching for her hand, Tommy sighs, a happy sound. “Yeah… think I can second that.”

Their comments make you blush, fidgeting slightly in your stance. Averting their gaze, you inhale a breath, feeling like a lovestruck little girl. And when Joel sees your nerves bubbling to the surface, he reaches over, hands securing to your hips. Immediately, your eyes widen, feet shuffling to the side as he pulls you over to him. Spreading his legs slightly, he guides you backwards between them, pulling you gently into his lap.

“I guess you’re special, huh?” He hums, kissing your cheek, those strong hands tightening on your hips. And Tommy and Maria are just shocked to see him like this.

Even though you’re only with two other people, you’re flushing like a fool. No one has ever been so openly affectionate toward you. And it seems like Joel couldn’t care less about being so visibly loving. But in his head, this is solid, it’s defined and real. You’re finally his.

“Tommy, been meanin’ to ask you,” He then says, his facial hair gently rubbing along your neck. “Her bedroom window needs some better insulation. Been far too cold up there, think we could get to fixin’ that?”

Turning, you eye him, grinning. You’d never mentioned that before.

“Sure, we have some materials in town. Has it been causing any serious problems? Has the heat been working fine?”

“Yeah, heat’s been fine. Furnace is doing its job for the time being.”

Truthfully, this conversation is baffling you. How the hell does Joel know all of this about your home? Has he really been paying such close attention? He did help fix it up, after all. But to focus on such minute details? Maybe he really has cared for you since you met.

“How do you know about all of that?” Whispering, you turn in his lap, only deciding to ask when Tommy and Maria have left.

He shrugs. “Felt a draft.”

“And my furnace?”

“Wanted to make sure you were livin’ okay.” That sweet smirk then forms on his face, his dimple shining through. “Don’t need you freezing.”

“Hm…” Humming, you shift on his lap, sitting over his left thigh. “You’re pretty cute, baby.” Reaching up, you cup his chin, grinning. But then, your smile drops, and quickly.

For just a second, Joel adjusts in his chair, grunting a bit. Eyes widening, you gulp, a certain fear brewing in your mind. Am I too heavy to be sitting on his lap?

“I-I can move.”

“Huh?”

“I can sit in a chair, if you want.” Nibbling on your lower lip, you sigh, trying to steady your breath.

“Now why would you do that?” He asks, nuzzling his chin into your shoulder and neck. And while Tommy went to get more wood, and Maria chose to retrieve a few drinks, Joel’s already feeling warm and dizzy just from your presence.

“I just, I don’t want to hurt you…” When he lifts his head again, he frowns, clearly still confused. “I mean, you… adjusted.”

At this, Joel releases an amused hum. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He mumbles to you in that deep voice, his hands smoothing over the fronts of your thighs. “Just getting comfy, is all… I love havin’ you on my lap.”

His affection is dizzying, your face burning hot all over again. Seeing Joel’s more forward side is making your insides turn to mush. This older man holding you, touching you… kissing you like he’d been in need of it while fingering your quivering cunt. The recent memory has you inhaling a shaky breath, muscles tightening above him.

“And you know what?” He then asks, and you turn your head to the side, inquiring a small, hm? “Feels good, too.”

You’re gone, you’re fucking done for. The organ inside your chest is nearly breaking free, your lungs trying to steady themselves desperately. And while you’re trying to keep your composure, Joel sighs, both hands still rubbing your thighs.

“Feels good to have you snuggled on my lap.” Easily, his fingertips pick up on the clench of your thighs, certain that the space between them is growing wet.

“Just let me know if I’m bein’ too forward, honey.” He tells you sweetly, but you immediately shake your head. “No?” He asks, almost teasingly, but wanting to read you right.

“No.” You whisper in response, the word airy and expressing your anxious excitement. “I like it.”

And hearing you say that lights a fucking fire inside him. Instantly, he’s returning to last night, to when he had his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. He’d wished so desperately that it was him, he’s gotten off so many times to the image of it. Of him finally fucking you. Slipping between your legs and stuffing you full, grabbing onto the softness of your thighs, your hips, repeatedly pulling you into him. And if he had an ounce of decency left in him, he’d be embarrassed by how rapidly he’s growing just beneath your ass. But he doesn’t, he’s not a decent man.

“Well, then I might as well tell you…” Leaning in, he kisses your cheek again, whispering, “I love feelin’ your soft ass against me.” And that’s when his hands slide back toward your hips, gently squeezing the meat of your outer thighs.

“Hm,” He groans, giving his head a quick shake. “You really do get to me…”

“Baby,” You giggle, glancing up to make sure no one’s on their way back.

“Did you like last night? Hm?” Now, he’s really grabbing hold of your thighs, releasing a harsh breath against your neck.

“Yes,” You don’t mean for it to come out like that, high and airy, almost a whimper. But it does, and it kills him.

“All those pretty sounds… shit, I need ‘em again.”

“I want it again.” Nodding, you swallow, leaning back against him.

Before either of you know it, Maria and Tommy are back again and settling into their seats. Turns out Tommy decided to skip out on more wood, and Maria is claiming these will be their last round of drinks for the night.

“Babysitter’s been calling, updating us on the baby. We hadn’t realized it’d gotten so late.” Tommy says with a sigh, tipping back his bottle.

“That’s alright,” Joel’s gruff voice answers, giving your outer thigh a small tap. “We understand.”

Briefly, he thinks about what it’d be like to have another kid. It’s wishful thinking, obviously; he’s getting ahead of himself. But what’s the harm in daydreaming? Maybe if he had another girl, he’d give their middle name to Sarah.

“It’s been really nice having the two of you over.” Maria comments, offering a kind grin. Getsuring between her and her husband, she explains, “We don’t get many visitors.”

“We’d love to come over more often.” Joel returns, almost immediately. “Right, honey?” He then inquires genuinely.

“Yeah,” Nodding, your insides tighten with emotion, already feeling so familiar with him. “I’ve really loved this.”

Friends weren’t something you’ve had in multitude throughout your life, let alone family. Maybe you could really grow with these people, make a real life in this town. Something calm and quiet, peaceful. Maybe you and Joel will settle down.

These sweet thoughts continue to form on your way home, Joel’s hand securing to your own the entire way. The snow has died down, although not completely. Small stars of frost collect along your hair, even your lashes, too. And glancing down, Joel thinks it’s the prettiest he’s ever seen you.

“Would you maybe want to come in?” You ask him, staring up at him with so much kindness. He’d expected the invitation, but that doesn't mean he wasn’t still overjoyed to receive it.

Stepping inside with a shiver, the two of you shove off your coats while stomping the snow off of your boots. And now that you think of it, Joel’s right, there is a small draft. Maybe he’ll be able to warm you up tonight. You hope he sleeps here this time.

“We can go upstairs?” You then offer, turning and holding both of his hands. “I can wash up and then maybe we can talk?”

Talk? Immediately, his thoughts swirl with worry. Oh god, what did I do wrong? Was I too much back at Tommy’s?

Swallowing nervously, Joel simply nods. “Okay.”

Becoming comfortable with your home, he finds himself sitting on your bed while he waits. He’d been here only last night, after all. Just across the hall, he can hear you freshening up, washing the makeup from your face. And then there’s the soft sound of clothes, likely you changing into something more comfortable.

“Is, um… is everything okay?” Once you’re in the bedroom, he can’t help himself. He’s brewing with anxiety, brows folded almost innocently.

And all you can do is sigh, stepping closer to him. He’s sitting on the side of your mattress, legs slightly spread. And you step between them, reaching out to cup his handsome face.

Quietly, you admit, “I haven’t been this happy in so long.”

Pulling him in for a tender kiss, he breathes out his relief, heart soaring from your admission. “Baby,” He sighs in that deep southern voice.

“Sit back on the bed,” You gently instruct, grinning from his already rapid breaths.

He does as you say, shuffling back until he’s against your headboard. Watching you with eager eyes, he sees you climb up, crawling toward his lap. And if this kind of scene didn’t get him going, he doesn’t know what will.

“Is this okay?” Your voice is sweet, alluring, dripping from your mouth like tasty honey as you settle directly over him. “You said you liked it before…” Shrugging, you offer a flirtatious smile. And lord, is he loving this side of you.

“Yes,” Nodding, he leans up to find your lips again. “Yes.”

With both hands on his face, your kisses deepen, fully leaning into each other. And you can practically feel Joel’s fingertips shaking on your hips, trying to not dig in or wander; even though he’d done so much more less than a day ago. Smiling against his mouth, your hands leave his face, falling to the tops of his.

Sliding his hands further down, he groans into your mouth, feeling you guide him to the ethereal softness you have. Immediately, he’s grabbing you, pawing at you with both hands.

“Fuck me,” He mumbles against your mouth, voice guttural and deep.

Rolling your hips forward, his lungs stutter in his chest, feeling you drag your covered sex directly over his lap. Grinning, you take advantage of his flustered state, fully grinding down on him. And when he gathers himself, he encourages you, shoving your hips forward with every roll, fisting your ass in his hands and moaning openly when you push back against the broadness of them. And still, your tongue slides against his, tasting him, mouthing at him, doing everything you can with him.

“You wanna see me again, baby? Huh?” Teasingly, you speak to him, whispering sweetly against his lips.

“Oh, yes; god yes, please - please.”

Easily, you lift your shirt from your midsection, revealing to him your lack of undergarments. Your breasts fall before his face, those brown eyes completely ogling you. Before he even gathers the decency to ask, he’s leaning in to suck on them. But that’s alright, more than alright; you would’ve said yes.

“Joel,” Fiddling with the collar of his shirt, you sigh. “Can you take yours off?” He’s sucking on your nipple, pulling at it with his lips. “Can I take your shirt off, baby?”

“Yes - yeah, baby.” Nodding, he stares up at you in awe, licking languidly over your chest while holding your eye contact.

Lips parting, and now forming a timid smirk, your fingers fall to the line of buttons keeping him from you. He grins when you do it, opening his shirt with hurried fingers and then shoving it off his shoulders. And now, you see him, his broad chest and softening stomach, the few hairs he has, including the little trail leading down to his pelvis.

“C’mon,” He grunts, grabbing onto your hips. “Don’t stop now.”

Giggling, you return to him, cupping his face as you bring yourself in. And you expect to stay like this, rubbing yourself over his lap again and again, but Joel changes your positioning. Rolling over with a huff, he lays you onto your back, his pelvis nestled between your legs. At this point, he’s so turned on he feels like he can’t even breathe, his one hand continuing to grab your sweet thighs while the other keeps him above you. And his mouth hasn’t left, either, repeatedly meeting your lips, sliding his tongue inside so he can taste your spit.

You feel like you’re somewhere else, no longer plagued with your everyday burdens in a post-apocalyptic world. Because right now, it’s him, it’s all him. His body, his face, his breath and his moans, the way he touches you, the way he smells.

“Joel,” Moaning quietly, your fingers once again find his graying hair, curling into the strands ever so slightly. “Baby…”

But you’re not calling for his attention, he knows it. You’re only saying his name, reminding yourself that this is the man you’ve grown to trust. And you finally feel safe with someone like this.

And now, his hands are falling to your hips, fingers hooking into the hem of your pants. He can feel himself getting carried away, adrenaline rushing through his veins, his breaths erratic and ragged. And his next move makes your own breaths nonexistent.

Lowering himself alongside your pants, he begins to kiss every inch of exposed flesh he sees. His lips find the insides of your thighs, his arousal prompting his confidence to shoot higher than he can even believe. And he intends to continue, until you inch away from him.

Immediately, he’s lifting himself, those baby browns full of concern and worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, stopping every one of his motions. “Is, is this alright? Did I go too far?”

“No! No, I… I just…” Sliding your feet along the bed, you lift your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you sigh. This isn’t new to you, and it’s not really new to him, either. He’s seen this side of you. “I… don’t like how I look, Joel.”

Gulping, he frowns, a concerned crease in his forehead. He makes sure not to move, though, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But honestly, he doesn't know what to say. Even though he’s seen this side of you before, it still surprises him.

“I know you’ve said you do, but… I just don’t. And most men don’t, either.”

“Baby,” Sliding further up the bed, he moves himself to your side to put you at ease. “You’re so beautiful, you’re so beautiful.”

You feel embarrassed by these emotions, and honestly, you expected him to be sick of them by now. Nobody wants to hear someone complain, especially about their own body. You thought this all would have turned him away, or at least turned him off. But it doesn’t seem that way.

“The second I saw you, I…” His eyes trail over you, a gentle shake moving his head. “I felt like I couldn’t help myself.”

Pouting in thought, you wonder aloud, “What do you mean?”

“Honey,” He sighs, almost dramatically. “You’re… so fucking sexy.”

Of all things, those were the last words you expected to hear. But then he keeps going.

“All I wanted to do was touch you, grab your thighs and feel how soft you were. And you are, you’re so soft, baby. You know how hard it was for me to keep my hands to myself tonight? Feelin’ your sweet ass snuggling my lap? Every little move you made rubbing against me?”

It’s starting to make you grin, his words and overt expressions. And the more he talks, the more expressive he seems to become, leaning in to place his warm hand on your thigh.

“Even after you said no to me, I kept comin’ back. You know why? Because you’re gorgeous, sweetheart. You’re so pretty, you’re so curvy, and you look so good to me.”

“Really?”

“I want you to see yourself that way, too.” Joel continues, eyes glazing over your body. He’s passionate about this, about you. “It breaks my heart to know you don’t. But I need you to know that I do, I like how you look, baby. I fucking love how you look. Your body isn’t something I’m just okay with or wish would change. I love it.”

With your emotions completely rising to the surface, you reach for him, bringing him to you once again. And he fully leans into it, pressing his lips to yours with something between a whine and a moan.

“I want you, honey. But if this is too much for you, we don’t have to do this. Not tonight, not until you’re comfortable.”

“No,” Shaking your head against him, you lean in, pressing your forehead to his. “I want it.”

Easily, he slides back between your thighs, hovering above you. Both broad hands find your thicker thighs, fingertips rubbing your soft skin as he sighs. And just like before, he moves himself down, gently dragging his lips over you.

“So sweet,” He mumbles, pressing a timid kiss to your inner thigh. It’s an experimental act, he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. Moaning softly, you grin, spreading your legs a bit wider for him. “So soft…”

Joel sees the cellulite on your legs, his fingers pressing harder into your skin and watching the dimples further indent. And he loves it, he loves your squishy-soft thighs. Letting himself go, he begins to explore, lips and teeth sucking on your smooth skin. But he doesn’t stop there, he makes sure to pepper all your insecurities with his loving nibbles. And before he knows it, he’s leaving splotchy marks on your body, groaning while he soothes the sting with tender little licks. He’s worshiping your body, the curves you’ve been so insecure of in the past. Because it’s almost in the past; he’s changing the way you see your body.

“Oh, baby,” Joel’s voice is muffled, that deep southern tone making you tingle inside. “Please let me taste you.”

With almost embarrassingly quick movements, you lift your legs, encasing him between them. The soles of your feet rest on the comforter above your bed, settling on either side of Joel’s midsection.

“Yes,” Already reaching for his hair, you whine, feeling the heat from his breath fan over your most sensitive space.

And even though you’re still covered, he kisses you, your very center, over the thin fabric of your panties. It makes you shiver, inhaling a sharp breath when he finally pulls them to the side.

“Oh,” He groans, face going slack at the sight of your bare skin right in front of him. “Fuck me.”

Leaning in, he kisses you again, feeling your body jerk beneath his hands. Securing them to your hips, he sighs, sliding his tongue up through your lips.

“J-Joel,”

His response comes as a short grunt, pressing himself further against you. He licks into you, slowly, deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you once again. The facial hair along his cheeks and jawline tickles your skin, rubbing against you as he lifts himself to your clit. Inhaling sharply, you reach for his hair, feeling him suck your reddened nub between his lips.

Leaning forward, Joel wraps his arms around your hips, holding you against him. Passionately, he mouths at you, feeling your pelvis roll up in time with his licks. And he loves the way you’re pulling on his hair, the subtle sting exciting him. Moaning into you, he feels his chest tighten, his lungs stuttering as he continues to indulge in you. He’s licking repeatedly past your folds and returning every few seconds to lave his tongue over your clit, reveling in the way you shake for him. And he’s so fucking hard that it hurts, sliding his hands to the side of your waist, lowering down to the pretty little divots in your hips, holding them just like he’s always wanted to.

“Baby, baby,” He’s gasping, mouthing at you and sucking on your clit. “Oh, I love this. You’re so sexy like this.”

“That’s so good,” Rolling your hips up, you tighten your hold on his hair, eyes pinching shut as you finally experience this with him. “That feels so good…”

“You’re so sweet, baby. Such a sweet girl…” You can feel his hot breath, his stubble rubbing roughly against your thighs. “I want you to be mine.” It’s expressed in one long, heated sigh. And even though he’s sure that’s what this is, he’s sure you’re already his. He wants you to say it again.

“Baby,”

“Will you?” He pleads, right hand reaching down to squeeze your backside. “Please. Oh, please.”

“Joel… yes, baby.”

“Yeah?” He asks, and he wants to slide a finger into you so badly. But baby steps, he tells himself.

“Yes!”

You feel so incredibly close to him, how could you not with his face buried between your thighs? The way he sucks on you makes your head spin, your chest heaving from it. With your back arching, you feel yourself begin to unravel beneath him, your thighs shaking around his head.

“B-Baby, baby… yes.” Gasping, you cling to him, feeling his arms secure on their hold around you.

He’s so strong, fully capable of holding you down while you cum in his mouth. And he can feel it, the hot rush of it washing over his tongue, the sweetly tangy taste of you fucking consuming him.

“Jesus,” He’s grinding down into the bed, grunting from the barrier of his jeans still restricting him.

Turning his head, Joel licks you clean, running his tongue all along your inner thighs. And it’s overkill, but it’s sexy as hell.

“Baby,” Giggling, your body jerks beneath his touch, feeling sensitive.

“Honey, can I?” He’s then begging, whining against your leg.

“You wanna fuck me?”

Head shooting up, he nods it at you. “Please.”

He doesn’t waste any time; as soon as you say it, he’s shuffling back off the bed to stand. Hurriedly, he undoes his belt, popping the button on his jeans before pulling down his fly. Watching intently, you see his pants drag down, collectively pulling his boxers away from his body.

The first thing you notice is his hair; he isn’t trimmed too neatly, but isn’t exactly bushy. And your mouth waters from the sight of it. He’s hanging heavy and uncut between his legs, his shaft glistening from the slow drip of his prespend.

“Baby…” You intend to sit up, already reaching out for him, but Joel’s body presses you back into the bed.

“Honey,” He moans, voice muffled from the way he shoves his face into your neck. Easily, he’s back between your legs, one hand lowering to hold himself above your sex. “You want me, huh? Want me inside you?”

“Yes, baby.” Naturally, your arms lift, clinging to him. “Please.”

He rubs the tip of himself over your still wet center, chuckling briefly from the sensation of it. The head of his dick taps against your clit, forcing your body to jerk and shiver.

“Calm down for me,” He coos, that beautiful voice deep and gravely as he speaks to you. “Just relax while I slide in…”

“Joel,” Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you gasp, feeling the subtle pressure of him.

The grunt you receive in response is deafening, the boom of it echoing in your ear. It’s animalistic, the sounds coming from him as he continues through your center, feeling your warmth envelope him. He’s stretching you, the pain insignificant compared to the ethereal view of him. He’s sweating, a light sheen covering his skin. And when his pelvis meets your own, you release a heavy breath. He’s here, he’s in your bed. Joel is naked in your fucking bed and sliding between your thighs with the most restraint he’s ever had.

“Jesus Christ,”

“Fuck,” Tossing your head back, your lips part, walls throbbing around him.

“I don’t, wow.”

“What?” You giggle, fingers petting at his soft curls .

“You… just feel so fucking good.”

“Then move,” You tease, turning to kiss his cheek. “I wanna feel you, baby.”

Your soft words make his eyes roll back, a soft groan spilling from his lips. And still, he does what you say, slowly retracting his hips. The forward motion of him diving back in is even better than the first, somehow prodding deeper into your center. Your legs lifting to his sides is what does it for him, feeling your body encase him, pulling him closer, deeper.

“Baby,” Grunting, he rolls himself against you, thrusting harder with every motion he gives. “Sweetheart.”

Lifting your hips, you sigh, feeling the firm drag of him along your walls, his erection weighing heavy inside your sex. And every harsh rut prompts a subtle rub over your reddened clit, his pelvis brushing over your own as your bodies move together in unison.

“I don’t think, ugh, fuck.” Lowering his hand, he grabs onto your left hip, pressing you down. He uses this as leverage, fucking into you harder, faster, teeth coming out to bite at your neck. “I’m not gonna last, honey. Not like this.”

“I don’t care,” Your voice is light and airy, fingers tugging on his dark brown hair, every part of you pulling him in. “Fuck, I love it. I love it, baby. I love the way you feel.”

“God, you’re mine. You beautiful fuckin’ thing.” He’s almost begun to ramble, his words quick and pace quicker. “Gorgeous girl, young little girl.”

“Hm, you like that, baby?”

“Oh, do I.”

You chuckle at his wording, gasping shortly thereafter when his tip punches against your sensitive inner flesh.

“Yeah?” He teases, fingernails digging into your skin. “Right there?”

“Fuck, harder. Please.”

Shoving his face into the slope of your shoulder and neck, he does just that, thrusting into you without abandon, the sound of skin slapping on skin ringing throughout your empty home. His sweat drips over you, his humid breaths washing over your neck. He can feel the scrape of your nails down his back, the strength of your legs pulling him in.

“W-Where?” He then asks, desperation lacing his tone. “Where, baby?”

“Pull out, please pull out.” You’d love to see him paint you.

As soon as you say it, he’s leaning back, pulling himself from your warm and welcoming walls. Joel’s dominant hand then comes down, fervently jerking his shaft over your lower tummy. Lifting your head, you watch with eager eyes, still gasping from the feeling of him.

“Ngh,” Shaking, he grunts above you, spurts of his spend littering your skin.

It comes out in ropes, the hot gooiness of it dripping over your belly. He reaches for your knee with his spare hand, gripping it harshly. Shaking slightly, he breathes through his orgasm, eyes glued to where he’s just came.

“Honey,” Comes that ragged voice, the word spoken through a sigh.

“I’m here, baby.” It comes out with more emotion than you’d meant it to, but you don’t regret it.

Instantly, he’s meeting your eyes, leaning all the way down for a sweet kiss.

“I want you.” He expresses wholeheartedly, arching his back so he doesn’t rub himself into his own cum.

“You have me.” You coo sweetly in return, reveling the feeling of his body heat.

“Wanna keep you.” Turning his head, Joel kisses along your shoulder and neck.

“I’m yours, Joel. I promise.” And you’d do anything to keep him. “Will you stay? Tonight?”

Releasing a heavy breath, he grins, the gorgeous expression evident against your skin. “Of course, honey. Of course I’ll stay, stay as long as you let me.”

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x curvy reader #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller tlos #The Last of Us #The Last of Us fanfiction

403 notes · View notes