#anyway hope this brightens up your day a bit
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Valentine's Day
The Valentine's Day collab is finally here!
This is Elliot's POV. Cedar's POV will be on @ofclrosewriteswhump 's blog, but I will be adding both to the Worthless Masterlist.
I hope you enjoy!
Content: sickfic, an obscene amount of fluff, overwhelming gayness
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Elliot had begged Lyra not to text Cedar. They'd been planning their Valentine's date for weeks and Elliot couldn't bear to be the reason it was ruined.
He'd woken up that morning feeling achy and lethargic. His throat was sore, his nose was stopped, and beads of sweat continued to appear at his hairline, no matter how many times he tried to wipe them away.
Of course, Lyra had noticed right away that something wasn't right, despite how hard he tried to hide it.
“Please, Lyra. I'm fine, I swear!” Elliot begged. “Just don't tell him, please.”
Lyra already had their phone out with Cedar's messages pulled up. “Sunshine, you're sick. Your date isn't for another week, it's no big deal.”
“But if he finds out, he'll cancel it! He'll be too worried about me. He always—” Elliot coughed and gagged as he was forced to swallow back down the phlegm that had traveled up his throat.
Lyra sighed. “I'm sorry, sunshine, but I can tell you feel awful. It's only gonna get worse if you don't rest.” They sent the text and Elliot felt his heart plummet. “Now, let's get you to bed.”
That's what led to Elliot laying in his bed, sobbing quietly into his comforter with Dumpling curled up against his side, but that was several days ago. Since then, Lyra had been doing everything they could to help him rest and heal enough before their date. However, it wasn't enough. It was the day of Valentine's, and Elliot was still bedridden. That morning, Lyra had informed him that they were going to run some errands, but that Marlie was on her way over to keep him company. That eased his worries a bit, until all that was left was the guilt of ruining Valentine's Day.
Elliot was cuddling with Dumpling while watching a movie on Lyra’s computer when the door to his room suddenly opened. He glanced up to see Marlie standing in the doorway and instantly brightened up a little.
“M-Mar—” Elliot dissolved into a coughing fit, his throat burning as he did so. His eyes watered and he reached for a tissue, only to find the box empty. Elliot groaned and laid back down on his bed.
Marlie rushed to his side, mumbling a quick “be right back,” before returning with an unopened roll of toilet paper. “Sorry, Bluebell. I wanted to be quick. Do you need water?” she asked softly, sitting next to his bed.
Elliot nodded. “I'm sorry, Marlie. You-You don't have to d-deal with this.” He ripped off a square of toilet paper and blew his nose.
Marlie put a gentle hand on his shoulder, comforting him the best she could. “I don’t mind. I want to help you.”
Elliot sniffled and threw away his makeshift tissue. “Are you sure? You-You don't h-have to.”
Marlie nodded. “Of course. I brought a couple bottles in my bag. Here, Bluebell.” She handed him a water bottle before thinking of something. “Do you want help with anything?”
Elliot shook his head. “Can-Can you just k-keep me company? I-I don't know where L-Lyra went and-and I don't wanna be alone.”
Marlie nodded, knowing he was overthinking. “Of course! Do you want to watch anything?” She offered to hold his hand, knowing she’d get sick anyway with her weaker immune system.
Elliot shrugged. “I was just watching some m-movie that Lyra had saved. I'm not really p-paying attention.”
“Okay, want to keep watching it? It's fun being with you. Is it okay that I’m holding your hand?” Marlie spoke softly, hoping to comfort Elliot. She giggled when Dumpling’s whiskers tickled her hand.
“Are-Are you sure?” Elliot asked. “I-I don't want to g-get you sick.”
Marlie nodded. “It’s okay. I've always gotten sick easily but it’s worth it for you.” She smiled at him gently.
“O-Okay then. Um…can-can you h-hold me while-while we watch the movie?”
Marlie smiled and immediately climbed into bed next to him. She opened her arms. “Of course, Bluebell. I'm always happy to hold you.”
Elliot smiled and crawled into her waiting arms. He snuggled into the warmth of her embrace as Dumpling curled up beside the two of them. Just as Marlie repositioned Lyra’s laptop, the sound of her phone buzzing startled them both. Elliot looked up at her, confused. “Who is it?”
Marlie reached over with one hand, keeping her arm around Elliot. “Lyra, they want to know how you're feeling. Are you doing okay?”
Almost as if on cue, Elliot broke into a coughing fit, his lungs and throat burning. He reached for the glass of water Lyra had left him and downed half of it in a matter of seconds. Once he was finished, he wiped his mouth dry and set the glass back onto the bedside table to his left. His voice was raspy and nasal as he said, “N-Not r-really.”
Marlie rubbed his back. She tried her best to comfort him and make him feel better. “Do you have any cough medicine?” she asked after sending a quick text to Lyra.
“I-I'm not sure,” Elliot answered. “B-Broderick was supposed to g-get some, but-but I don't know if he's b-back yet.”
“Want me to text him?” Marlie asked, holding Elliot close and offering the comfort she could.
Elliot nodded. “If-If you don't m-mind.”
Marlie nodded. “I don't mind at all. Want me to keep holding you?” She asked, pulling out her phone to send the text. “Done.”
Elliot nodded. “Y-Yes, please.” He shivered and curled up to her.
Marlie held him close, trying to warm him up.
“Can-Can I have a blanket?”
Marlie nodded, “Of course!” She wrapped a blanket around Elliot, holding him close in her arms. “Now we wait for a response.”
It was a few minutes later that Broderick finally responded, the text reading, “Just picked up some cough medicine. Should be back in a couple minutes.”
Marlie looked at her phone, once again startled by the sudden noise. “Broderick says he'll be back soon.” She sent back a quick response, thanking him.
Elliot nodded. “Th-Thanks, Marigold.”
Marlie held him closer. “Happy to help, Bluebell.”
Elliot was still shivering, though much less so than before. “You're so w-warm.”
“I’m happy you think so.” Marlie smiled, relieved to feel Elliot relax. “Want me to ask Broderick for another blanket when he gets back?”
Elliot nodded. “Yes, please.”
Marlie brushed his hair, knowing how much he liked the feeling. “It should only be a few minutes. He’ll be here soon.”
Elliot closed his eyes and reveled in the gentle touch at the top of his head.
Marlie smiled, humming quietly until she heard footsteps approach the door.
Elliot opened his eyes just in time to see Broderick peek his head into the room. “Hey, guys,” he greeted. “I've got some cough medicine and an extra blanket.”
Marlie smiled. “Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, she resumed brushing Elliot’s hair.
Broderick stepped into the room, set the medicine beside Elliot's bed, and handed the blanket to Marlie. “How are you feeling, sweet?”
Elliot briefly glanced up at the medic and shrugged. “N-Not great. S-Sorry for-for causing so much trouble.”
“It's no trouble at all, sweet. This is my job. Just take one of those tablets every six hours and let me know if there's anything else I can do for you, okay?” Elliot nodded, and with one last friendly smile, Broderick left the room.
Marlie helped Elliot with his medicine; the tablet being small helped. She wrapped Elliot in the fluffy blanket and held him close.
Elliot cuddled up to her and laid his head in her lap. “Marlie?” He asked.
Marlie responded with a quiet hum, continuing to gently brush Elliot’s hair while he rested his head on her lap.
“Do you think Cedar's m-mad that-that I ruined our date? I-I haven't s-seen him in almost a-a week.” Tears flooded Elliot's ocean-blue eyes as he imagined the worst. “What if he b-breaks up with me?”
Marlie looked at him worriedly. “He's not breaking up with you. He's been trying to find a way to make your date fun while you're sick. I don't know exactly what he's planning but he's been trying lots of Spanish recipes.” She gently brushed his hair.
The worry and fear in the pit of Elliot's stomach didn't fade. “Then-Then why hasn't he come to s-see me?”
“He wants to perfect it. You know how you were going stargazing? He's going to bring the stars to your bedroom. Want to call him to feel better? I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Lyra’s helping him out with the finishing touches.” Marlie softly brushed Elliot’s hair. “It was going to be a surprise so I can't tell you what exactly Cedar’s bringing for food or how he's going to make a stargazing date for the both of you. I just know he's been tracking stuff down at thrift shops and astronomy places.”
Elliot felt even more guilty. “I-I ruined the surprise?”
Marlie shook her head. “Not at all. You know the basics of it but you don't know what Cedar is bringing here. That’s not ruining the surprise.”
“O-Okay,” Elliot said. “Um…when-when is he gonna be here?”
Marlie glanced at her phone. It was around late afternoon or early evening. “About an hour. I think he wants the sun to be down before coming.”
Anxiety swelled in the pit of Elliot's stomach. “Do-Do I look okay?”
Marlie nodded, not wanting to overwhelm him. “You look great. How about putting on a skirt or your new dress if you want. I can do your hair while you're in bed too.”
Elliot nodded and quickly jumped out of bed to go change.
Marlie followed, ready to catch him if he slipped. “Careful, you're still sick. You don't have to dress up a lot. Just do what you can, okay?”
Elliot ignored her concern and quickly scanned his closet for something nice to wear. “I just wanna look nice,” he said. “If he's putting all this effort into a n-nice date, I-I don't wanna look like I've been sick.”
Marlie nodded in understanding, walking over to Elliot to help him find something he liked. “What about your flower dress?”
Elliot examined his black, floral-patterned dress. It hung to his knees and had puff shoulder sleeves. He'd gotten it recently on a trip to the mall and had yet to wear it. “Do-Do you think he would like that?”
“He’d love it.” Marlie smiles at him. She was so happy to see him excited for a date.
“O-Okay.” Elliot grabbed the dress and bolted into the bathroom to get changed.
Marlie waited patiently, petting Dumpling while Elliot changed.
When Elliot emerged, he gave a twirl to show Marlie the whole thing. “What do you think?”
Marlie beamed, eyes glowing at how happy Elliot looked. “You look amazing!”
“R-Really?” Elliot asked, giving himself a once-over in the mirror. “Do you think I need shoes or anything?”
Marlie shook her head, standing next to him. “No, you guys are staying home. Kinda like a movie date but better.”
Elliot nodded, his breathing quickening.
Marlie looked at him worriedly, guiding him to sit. “Bluebell, he wants to bring stargazing inside. You’re safe, I promise.”
Elliot's breathing didn't slow. “I-I just w-wanna be g-good enough for-for him. Wh-What if he doesn’t l-like this? What if he gets m-mad at me for-for being sick? What if he's doing this just to b-break up with me?”
Marlie brought him into a hug, knowing his past relationships were horrendous. “You're perfect to him. Bluebell, he's so happy with you and will love this. He's not mad and he won't break up with you. I promise. Want me around for support?”
Elliot melted into her embrace and tried not to cry into her shoulder. “N-No that's-that's okay. I-I don't want him to-to get m-mad.” Elliot flinched when the distant sound of the doorbell rang. He gasped. “That's-That’s h-him.”
Marlie took his hand. “He wouldn't. Want to walk to the door with me?”
Elliot nodded and shakily reached for her hand.
Marlie gently squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, he’ll be so excited to see you.”
Elliot nodded once more and nervously followed her down to the front door.
...
Marlie opened the door, Dawn helping Cedar carry a box of food.
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. He felt like it had been months since he'd seen Cedar, even though it had only been a week. Anxiety churned in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his tall boyfriend.
“Love? How are you feeling? I'm so happy to see you!” Cedar smiled. “Happy Valentine's day.”
Elliot couldn't help the way his cheeks warmed and the dorky smile that grew across his face. “I'm f-feeling better now. H-Happy Valentine's Day.”
Cedar’s smile matched Elliot’s eyes, smiling as he saw his boyfriend. “Ready to start the date, Love?”
Elliot nodded. “I've m-missed you.”
Cedar set the box down in Elliot’s room, Dawn and Marlie following him. “Same to you, Love. I'm so happy to see you.” Cedar smiled as he opened his arms.
Elliot smiled back and practically collapsed into his boyfriend's strong arms. He had to stand on his tiptoes in order to kiss Cedar, but it was worth it. He just hoped Cedar wouldn't end up sick after this.
Cedar caught Elliot and kissed back. “I love you so much.”
Elliot's cheeks began to ache with how wide he was smiling. “I love you too.”
Cedar’s smile grew. “Ready to start, my Love?”
Elliot giggled and nodded before dissolving into a coughing fit.
Cedar put an arm around him, rubbing his back until it finished. “Do you need to lay down, Love?”
Elliot nodded. “S-Sorry,” he croaked.
Cedar lifted him gently onto his bed. “No worries. How about starting dinner?”
Elliot nodded. “Th-That sounds good.”
Cedar smiled, opening the containers of food that he had brought. “Take your pick, my Love.”
As Elliot's eyes scanned the multiple containers of food, his cheeks warmed. He couldn't believe that Cedar had done all this for him. “I-I can't decide. Everything looks a-amazing. Did-Did you m-make all this?”
Cedar blushed and nodded. “I packed so many. Maybe a little bit of everything? Is that okay with you? I just made our date sick safe, my Love.”
Tears began to prick the corners of Elliot's eyes at the sound of those words. “I-I just can’t believe you d-did all of this for me.”
Cedar gently brushed his tears away, kissing his forehead. “Of course, Love. I knew it would break your heart to miss out and I wanted to see you. I'd come over even if it meant cuddling and falling asleep.”
Elliot's lower lip started wobbling. “Can-Can I have a kiss?”
Cedar replied by gently kissing him, holding him close.
Elliot melted against him, heart pounding. He couldn't believe the lengths his boyfriend had gone just to make him feel special on their first Valentine's Day together. As he looked up into Cedar's forest-green eyes, he whispered, “I may or may not have just gotten you sick.”
Cedar brushed Elliot’s hair. “That’s okay. Seeing your smile makes it worth the chance.”
Elliot's cheeks warmed and he couldn't help the giggle that escaped his throat. “You try to make me blush on purpose.”
Cedar matched Elliot’s smile, chuckling. “I try to make you smile on purpose, my Love.”
Elliot tried to force himself to stop smiling, but it remained stuck to his face. He couldn't help it. Something about looking into Cedar's eyes made him indescribably happy.
Cedar smiled back, happy to see his love smile. “Ready to start eating?”
Elliot nodded, unable to take his eyes off of his boyfriend.
Cedar kissed Elliot’s forehead, serving multiple dishes for the two of them. “How about some candles? I brought some scented ones.”
Elliot nodded, cheeks beginning to ache from the smile that wouldn't leave his face. “That sounds nice.”
Cedar kissed his head gently. “That’s great. I’ll light them.”
Elliot giggled and watched as Cedar lit the candles. As nice as they were, the sudden aromas initiated a round of several sneezes and a few coughs. He reached for a tissue, his face burning with embarrassment.
Cedar looked at him worriedly, rubbing his back. “Do you need anything, Love?”
“Can-Can you hand me my w-water?” Elliot asked as he tossed the tissue into the trash. He sniffled. “I hate being sick.”
Cedar passed the water to Elliot, rubbing his back gently. “I know, Love. It’ll be over soon. I'm just happy I could get everything ready in time for our date.”
Elliot nodded. “I-I was so worried when you d-didn't come to s-see me at all. I thought m-maybe you were b-breaking up with me.”
Cedar kissed his boyfriend’s cheek softly. “I’m sorry I didn't reach out. I wouldn't break up with you, Love.” He felt guilty, knowing how he hurt Elliot.
Elliot nodded again, blushing. “I-I know. I just o-overthink sometimes, I guess. Marlie helped c-calm me down.”
Cedar smiled at him. “She’s good at that. I'm happy you guys have each other. You're amazing.”
Elliot smiled and took a bite of the dinner Cedar had made. He was still in awe of all his boyfriend had done for him. He'd never felt so loved before.
The smile on Elliot’s face made the whole evening worth it. Cedar smiled back, eyes so full of love and adoration.
As Elliot ate his fill and set down his plate, he said, “So, M-Marlie said you were gonna b-bring the stars to me. Wh-What did she mean?”
Cedar smiled, getting up to open a suitcase and take out a few star projectors. He plugged them into the wall and the ceiling mirrored a starry sky. “This is what I did to bring you the stars, my Love.” He kissed his boyfriend’s head, lips brushing his fluffy hair.
Elliot stared in awe at the starry sky projected across the ceiling. Never, in his wildest dreams could he have imagined a date like this. “This-This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Cedar held Elliot close. “Anything for you, Love. You are the best boyfriend a man could ask for.”
Tears welled in Elliot’s eyes. “Can I have a kiss?”
Cedar brought his boyfriend into a loving kiss.
Elliot melted against him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so happy, if he ever had before. He felt safe and comforted and so, so loved. In that moment, nothing else mattered; not his illness, not Christian. If only for one moment, Elliot let himself be happy.
-
I hope you enjoyed this! This was so much fun to do because I'm absolutely obsessed with Elliot and Cedar's relationship.
Please be sure to go read Cedar's POV!
Not tagging the taglist because this isn't whumpy Worthless content
#writing#nonwhump writing#fluff#fluff drabble#fluffy Worthless drabble#sickfic#whump blog#whump community#whumpblr#drabble#collab#my first collab!#original story#original writing#original characters#Elliot Cordova#Cedar Nightshade#Marlie Briarwing
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👑 Boy King AU fanart for @skitskatdacat63!
Not my proudest effort, but I tried my best. I hope you like it all the same, Catie. 🙂
⬇️ Reference images below: ⬇️
#I think I went a bit overboard with adding felt tips and Sharpies to these two pieces.#I wanted to replicate the vibrant look of your artwork but messed up a bit along the way. 😬#So uh…what do you think?#Both of them took about a week in total to finish.#I’m actually happy with how Seb turned out#The colours to me are just perfect 😚👌🏻❤️#Fernando…not so much. I couldn’t quite get the shape of his face to look right.#I also wanted to add some red on the throne but Nando’s outfit is red so I made it PINK!#It might not be historically accurate but I tried my best with this. Okay?#Anyway…I hope I brightened your day/night/whenever you see this Catie!#By the way thank you for the reference image you sent me of Seb bowing!#boy king au#skitskatdacat63#boy king seb#boy king fernando#Can’t be bothered to add proper tags
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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have
It had been a long few minutes since he'd opened the door and there were a lot of questions running through Dick's head. Most pressing of which was how this kid seems to have information he should not have.
"How did you..?" he asked, but the words wouldn't leave completely. There's so much he wants to know, so much he wants to ask.
"How do I what?" Danny tilted his head like the child he seems to be is.
"How do you know?" Dick knows he sounds weak. There's no hiding that, but there are a lot of implications in what the kid has said so far and none of it is painting a very happy picture for him.
"Oh!" Danny had the audacity to smile, "You want to know how I know you moonlight as a vigilante!" And of course he knows. Dick knows he knows, but he'd held a little bit of hope that the child Danny was mistaken. Danny's smile softened a bit as he explained, "Your hair and voice match up in both jobs almost perfectly. Not to mention your build and how you hold yourself. There's also the matter of your overall vibes, but that's not something living beings can normally pick up on." Excuse him? "Well, not living humans, at least, so no worries on that end!"
"Excuse me?" Dick was fairly sure his heart just stopped beating for a moment there.
"Anyway, I was a hero back home for a while, too. I know what it's like to have to walk the tightrope between maintaining a civilian cover and a hero persona. I know how it feels to have to keep secrets from everyone because anyone who knows will be in danger." he rambled, Though, admittedly, our circumstances are quite different. I was working as a hero all hours of the day as well as going to school. You only have to worry about properly balancing between day and night jobs. Either way, me having more to bounce between just makes me al the more qualified to help you!"
Oh. Oh he did not like that. He didn't like a single thing that just came out of the kid's mouth. Because that's what he is, a kid. "Are you...Are you alright?"
"Not in the slightest," Danny admitted with an even smaller smile. Then, it brightened, not quite to a grin, but to something similar, "But I'm here to make sure you are."
He gets points for being honest, but Dick felt his heart shatter. He knew for a fact that he'd never worked with this kid before. He also knew that the Justice League didn't know about him. If they did, he would've been picked up and dropped with either the Young Justice team or the Titans.
Dick wasn't going to ask why he became a hero because that's not his place. It's more of a 'third mission with the team' kind of questions, anyway. Most of the heroes didn't have many options when they took up the mantle. Asking what Danny can do is a more appropriate question, but he wasn't going to ask that, either.
"Now that that's out of the way," Danny turned a few pages from the table of contents to another one that was topped with 'Why Sleep Scheduling Is Important' in the blue glitter pen that Dick was starting to suspect he favored. "You're not getting enough sleep. Following you around - no one's been able to find me for a while, so don't worry about that - for the last two weeks has given me some really worrisome information on you."
Dick was worrying. He was worrying a lot and even more questions were coming to the forefront of his mind.
"Your dayjob is as an officer on the Bludhaven Police Force, or BPD for short." He was looking over the page he'd turned to very aptly and Dick realized that the kid had notes written on him. "The average hours per week for police across the country is forty hours. Gotham and Bludhaven are the exceptions. As a member of the BPD, you work a solid two days and two hours. Six nights a week, you work as Nightwing from eight in the evening to three in the morning. The last day, you take off, which is good. No deserable pattern, so good on you for that. Regardless, that's seven hour nights and ten hour days, with one day off and one day on call as an officer. Seven hours are now left in your day for personal time, eating, and sleeping. That's not a healthy way to live."
Oh, god, the kid had honest to god notes on him! What the hell!
Danny didn't even skip a beat as he pulled Dick's attention back to him and his binder. "I've drawn up a schedule for you to follow." The back of the page had a meticulously drawn schedule, complete with blocks of time to eat, sleep, work both jobs, travel, personal time, and still have a bit extra left over. It was titled 'Ideal End Result' in green marker. "Drastic changes right away will only affect you negatively, so we're starting off smaller." The next page over had another schedule titled 'Where To Begin'. "I've only pulled one hour from your Nightwing hours because I know important that time is to you and the city. I am, however, going to be having you submit an appeal to your boss to cut back your hours from fifty a week to forty a week. That way, you'll only be working eight hours a day and not ten. You'll still be on call for one day, and you'll have that last day off. Altogether, you'll be going be going from working seventeen hours a day to fourteen hours a day. Nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, and eight in the evening to two in the morning. Not including breaks at work or travel time. It opens up a few more hours for you to sleep!"
"You really think the chief is going to pull back my hours?" Dick raised an eyebrow in question.
"He will if he knows what's good for him."
"You know I can arrest you for that threat, right?"
"Yeah, but you won't." And, damn it, he's right.
Although, there was now another thing he had to know. "How to you plan on enforcing this schedule of yours?"
Danny seemed to have been waiting for this. He got a gleam in his eye as he pulled a black folder from his bag, not breaking eye contact with Dick. He placed it on the table and pushed it across. "Congratulations, it's a boy."
Part 1 Part 3
#part 2#please read part 1#I had to redo a detail there to make something here make sense#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp dc crossover#dcxdp#danny phantom#dick grayson#dick needs a hug#dick needs sleep#danny's a hypocrite#work life balance#excelt it's being explained by a hypocrite 7 years younger than him#reverse adoption#is it really adoption if the kid shows up one day and just doesn't leave?#danny is going to make sure dick takes care if himself#good thing danny's sister and friends drilled this into his head#'this' being the importance of a proper work life balance#I maintain that Danny is a hypocrite#It's not adoption papers btw#It's a backstory
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ପ look like an angel ଓ
modern! college ellie williams x innocent reader!
part 2!<3
summary; ellie williams, the college’s most popular dealer takes an interest in you, the most angelic sweet shy girl she had ever landed eyes on. and when the opportunity arises, she makes a move. she wants you to be hers.
cw; +18 content! minors dni!, slight sa (a guy gropes readers ass before ellie punched him), blood, fighting, cursing, mentions of drugs such as weed, consumption of weed, extremely innocent (ellie is pretty much her first time in everything), making out, humping plushies —ellie shows reader how to and watches—, dirty thoughts, tension, teasing, ellie uses pretty names for reader, no use of y/n, dom! ellie and sub! reader, praising, choking, finger fucking (r receiving), thigh riding (r), oral sex (r receiving), hickeys, piv sex, strap on sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tit playing and sucking, cum eating, squirting…
REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3
REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!
-
ellie williams was not a good person. she was rough, harsh and couldn’t care less about the rest. she liked very few people. and had two friends: jesse and dina. but she also was very popular. she was the best dealer in her college, and had a million of girls fawning over her shoulders for god knows why. she didn’t really care about them anyways.
not when there was you.
you and your beautiful smile, which seemed to brighten up any room you were in. you and your sweet perfume, which made her want to hide on your neck for hours on end. you and your soft voice, bambi eyes and soft perfect hair…
you were shy, always talking with your honey sweet voice that made her bones melt. you were also smart, the smartest girl in your whole course, though you never really showed it off.
you loved white, and soft colors, but you’ll always go for a baby pink. your lips were always shining in a pinkish gloss that distracted ellie a little bit too much, but not as much as the tiny skirts and stockings that you liked to wear on a daily basis.
you looked like a doll, like a goddamn angel.
and maybe you were, ‘cause you were so… innocent.
you didn’t like drinking, or smoking, or parties. you’ve never dared to go to one. just the thought of it gave you goosebumps. and you’ve never even thought about the possibility of taking drugs.
your days were calm. always the same routine. go to college, get to your dorm, study and go to bed. it was simple. but you always had time for yourself though; reading a book, writing on your journal, listening to pop music…
the perfect student. the perfect girl.
and ellie… well. ellie was ellie. a complete opposite from you.
she was kind of a mess. always on her own world. she never took notes in class, instead filling notebooks with her drawings. she still passes with straight A’s her tests though —something Dina couldn’t really believe, always saying that she was bribing the teachers with free weed—.
she wore black. mostly. or things such as sweats and tank tops. and obviously, no makeup. as her father said once… not very girly. but she didn’t really cared. her hair was always in a bun somehow, half up or all the way up. and quiet. she liked to listen, and watch.
that’s why she knew so many things about you even if she hadn’t talked to you once. not once in the whole course even when you sat together on most of your classes.
you were always alone and by the windows, liking the silence and the views that the garden of the school offered you. you didn’t have anything else to look at from that to the chalkboard, since to your right was sitting ellie. and you never looked mat ellie.
you couldn’t, ‘cause your heart would start to beat too fast and your cheeks would flush. at first you thought the feeling in your stomach anytime she would be near was fear. she was quite intimidating. but then you started to notice that you’d stare a little bit too much at her.
she was always listening to music. she also played some sports from time to time with jesse and his friends —she likes to exercise and you could see that in the muscular yet thin body that she had—. she had a scar on her right eyebrows and the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, always rimmed in a reddish color. she had freckles too, and auburn hair that shone when the sun hit her. she was popular. way too popular. with all the girls of your class head over heels for her. you would blush anytime they’d gossip about her, talking about her muscles, and her tattoo, and…
her hands.
the girls had said something about her hands, about how good the looked, and ‘how good they could make them feel’. you didn’t really knew how her hands would make them feel good… maybe if ellie played with their hair?
also, having them around their necks. you’d frowned. wouldn’t that hurt? i mean in the series that your dad watched, it didn’t look alright… since characters would die by it and stuff.
but you had to agree that her hands were pretty, nails short and slim large fingers.
you looked away when you felt heat rising to your cheeks.
shit. you were staring again.
why were you feeling so hot all of a sudden? you were feeling kind of sticky too.
you sighed in relief when you heard the class being dismissed, quickly getting everything on your backpack to leave the class. ellie got the last goodbye of your perfume when you dashed by.
you were quick to get to your locker, opening it to show cute decorations and pictures, along with books and notebooks.
you were putting some stuff inside your backpack when suddenly a voice startled you.
“hey beautiful.” you turned around to face a boy with brown eyes and short wavy brown hair. you flushed, ‘cause you didn’t know him at all, and you were shy with strangers. he smiled. “i was just wondering if you’d be up to letting me take you out on a date.” your eyes shot open. “you know… you could always wear one of those pretty skirts for me. would make it so much easier once we get in the back of the car.” he stepped closer, and you backed up until your back was hitting your back.
“uhm… i don’t think…”
“come on, don’t be a prude. you’re basically asking for the attention, i can almost see your whole fucking ass.” you squealed when you felt his hand land on it, grabbing your skin and harshly digging his fingers. you were about to push him away when someone else was doing it for you.
the boy cursed when he received a good solid right hook straight to his nose, making it start bleeding.
“she said no, fucking asshole.” and then your heart was beating like crazy again, ‘cause i’m front of you was standing ellie williams, with a scowl on her face and her knuckles bathed in blood. you stared at her, and then at the boy. “if you wanted a little bit of skin contact you should have asked me. i have plenty to give.” she smirked, devilish, before punching again.
when dina and jesse finally came up to her to calm her down, the guy was already bleeding on the floor, and her knuckles were burning up.
but she wasn’t really listening to their worried questions, ‘cause she was looking at you.
“are you okay?”
-
after that, you and ellie grew closer. she made you feel safe. she kept you safe. no more guys had even dared to stare at you. but people seemed to approach you more since they’d seen you around her. something ellie really didn’t like.
“ellie…, you need to stop being so mean.” your doe eyes were staring at her, your soft voice making her heart beat faster. “they were just being nice.” you said as a pair of girls had come up to you to tell you how much they loved your outfit.
“a little bit too nice.” she muttered, one of her arms surrounding your shoulders to pull you flush close to her side. your stomach jumped. “although is true, you look really pretty today princess.” she smiled, and you blushed.
you stuttered and a smirk took over her lips.
“why are you getting so shy about now, hm? look at me sweet girl.” she said, leaning closer and down to catch your eyes.
“nothing. thank you ellie.” you gave her a sweet and shy smile. and she had to stop the urge to just kiss the hell out of you then.
fuck, had you ever even been kissed before?
“you’re welcome, angel.”
you opened the door to your dorm room, and ellie thought she might as well be a genius, ‘cause of course this was heaven and you were indeed an angel.
it smelled of your sweet perfume and cherries —probably due to the difusor on your desk—. it was filled with pink and books, and cute pictures everywhere. you had even your own little plants sitting on your window. they were being well taken care of, petals on full display and color. trinkets were laying everywhere, and it was clean and tidy. you even had plushies on your bed. ellie’s heart squeezed when an image of you hugging them to sleep went through your mind. jesus christ. you were so cute…
ellie just wanted to move in. stay in there forever. change her place with your plushies and hold you herself.
ellie took a seat on your bed, and soft blankets received her. you looked at her, and a happy smile crossed your plushy lips.
“what are you smiling at, hm?” she inquired.
“dunno. just… like you here.” you shrugged, cheeks flushing.
“i like being here too, baby.” she smiled and you blushed.
you two spent some time together watching some films, and talking. ellie loved to hear you talk, even if you were sometimes a little bit too shy to try.
now, ellie was smoking.
of course you knew she smoked, you really didn’t mind her doing it on your room as well. you also knew that ellie dealt weed. everybody knew. but you had never gone anywhere near it. so this was a first time for you. it interested you though. you’d always been scared of it. in the end it was a drug and drugs were harmful, but this one… this one seemed good. it made ellie feel good. more relaxed. and it made her happy. laugh more. talk more. get closer…
she always made sure to not let the smoke of the blunt even go near you, always blowing it away from you. you still could smell it around the room, that earthy calming smell now fusing with your own. ellie couldn’t love more the idea of leaving something ‘hers’ in your room, to leave a mark.
she was laughing, but her heart was slow, you could feel it on your back as she had pulled you in between her legs. you couldn’t help but blush at the touch. she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. not with you. you were as soft as she had imagined, and warm. so warm it was making it hard to hug you closer. and being high only made it worse.
“ellie…” you said, your eyes on the blunt in between her fingers.
“what is it pretty girl?” she muttered, putting away with a strand of your hair that had fallen on your face.
“can i… try it?” you muttered, eyes shiny and full of curiosity.
“you want to try smoking? you sure about that baby?” she made sure, and you nodded. “okay.” she smiled, and gently passed you the blunt. her hands were so warm it made your cheeks flush. you liked it. liked it when she kept you close. your stomach did funny things when she would touch you. “you need to inhale softly, alright, we don’t want you choking.” you nodded once again. slowly pulling it to your glossy and pink lips. you took a soft drag, making your throat burn. you felt the need to cough, but you waited it out, blowing out the smoke again. ellie’s smile grew. “there she is. atta girl.”
you squirmed at her praise, whole body running hot. you two shared the joint ‘till it burned out. taking soft drags that slowly became deeper and harsher. your mind was getting fuzzy, and your body was tingly. also ellie had started to draw little circles with her thumb on your thigh, caressing your skin. and you were shaking.
“how you feeling, baby?” your eyes were glassed over, and half lidded, rimmed in red.
“feels good els.” a silly smile crept up your face and she smiled as well.
“yeah?”
you nodded, snuggling into her chest. and ellie knew that jesse and dina would have probably teased her about how her whole face flushed red.
shit. she was in deep.
you loved it. how she made you feel. how your heart raced and your tummy filled with butterflies. but there was something else too, this throbbing in between your legs, this uncomfortable and warm feeling that had you squirming with every new pass of her thumb over your skin.
“you okay, pretty girl?” she inquired, taking notice of your little frown.
“hurts.” you muttered in a little hurt voice that had her heart shaking.
“hurts? where does it hurt baby?” she inquired, and your cheeks flushed. you hid your face on her chest and she cooed. “hey.” she took your chin in between her index and thumb to make you look at her. she almost cursed. your eyes were half-lidded and hazy, glossed over. your lips looked plushy and red, and your cheeks were flushed in crimson. “what is it?” she asked you again, this time harsher. there was something in her eyes that made you squeeze your thighs together. she saw it. “aw… baby…” she hummed and you whimpered. “does your little pussy hurt?” you nodded, flushing impossibly red.
“uh-huh…” you hiccuped. “every time you are around.” you said, and ellie almost choked. oh god. shit. fuck.
“every time i’m around? i leave you hurting every time i leave baby?” you nodded once again and she couldn’t help but curse under her breath. “want me to help you make it stop?” and one last time, you nodded. “okay. why don’t you help me take this off first, hm?” she inquired as her hands slowly made their way under your skirt —which had riled up your hips— and onto your beautiful little cotton panties. “that’s it, good girl.” she praised when you did, helping her push them down your thighs and legs, and you couldn’t help but whimper, cheeks burning, ‘cause it made the pain in your cunt worsen. “shh, it’s okay baby.” she hummed, her hand back to your thigh to caress your skin. “fuuuck. you’re so wet, angel.” she groaned when she took a glimpse at your panties and pussy, completely soaked. she just wanted to fucking ruin you with her strap, have that pussy of yours leaking on it and cumming over and over again. she wanted to ruin you. but she knew she couldn’t. not yet. you didn’t even know what being turned on was until now. she would scare the shit out of you. she had to take it slow… patience ellie. patience… “why don’t you choose one of your plushies out for me, hm?” she asked, and your eyes fell on your plushies. it was a quick response. you went for your favorite. mr hops. your little white beautiful bunny. “atta girl. now i want you to push it against your pussy baby.” she muttered against your neck, and you shivered. you blushed, even more when when ellie saw your shyness decided to cup your hand with hers to guide the plushie in between your legs. you couldn’t help but moan when the nose of the bunny bumped against your puffy little button. “that’s it.” she praised. “move it just like that baby.” she smirked when she saw how you unconsciously started to drag it up and down on your cunt, humping the plushy. your eyes were pricking with tears. ‘cause your whole body seemed to be exploding in pleasure, and it felt so good… her hand helping you with her movements, her voice praising you and calling you good girl every time you’d moan and whimper…
shit.
“ellie…” you whimpered, feeling pressure building up in your stomach. something felt about to snap. and you couldn’t stop moaning. it was as if you were reaching out for something you didn’t know what it was but needed.
“you gonna cum pretty girl? of course you are… such a good girl grinding her pretty cunt on her plushy. look at you. so fucking beautiful. let go for me baby, let go.” your vision went dark, and your ears rung. you couldn’t stop moaning and whimpering, your hips unconsciously rocking against mr hops to ride out your first ever orgasm. it was like nothing you’ve experienced before. it was like dying and coming back to life at the same time.
ellie groaned, holding you through it, your back arching against her chest as you fell apart. shit. she almost came on her own pants.
“that’s it, princess. now breath for me. you did amazing angel. so good for me.” she left a soft little peck on your forehead as she left soft rubs on one of your thighs. “good girl …”
-
after that night you had tried to take care of yourself like ellie had taught you. you’d hump your little bunny every night after she’d leave, trying to not make much noise so your flat mates on the other dorm rooms wouldn’t hear you. but you couldn’t make yourself cum anymore. not if she wasn’t there with you. you had started to wonder if instead of your plushy ellie would ever make you feel good too. touch you there.
one night, you were huffing, grinding down on your bunny unable to cum —like every other night—. every time you’d get close, the feeling would fade away and leave you tearing up and rolling in your bed without knowing how to make the ache go away.
that’s why, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you got up on your wobbly legs, you put back on your panties and pj shorts and went to her dorm. she opened after you left two knocks on her door.
ellie’s face completely changed when she saw the tears falling down your cheeks.
“woah, hey, hey…” she cooed when you jumped to her arms. “you okay sweet girl? what happened?” you hiccuped and held you closer to her chest.
“ellie please help me…” you whimpered and she pulled you into her dorm, closing the door.
“what is it baby? what’s wrong?” she rubbed your back as you squirmed.
“i can’t… i can’t make myself feel good anymore like you taught me. it hurts…” you cried.
“aw, baby… you can’t make your pretty little pussy cum, hm?” she cooed, and you nodded. “mr hops can’t make you feel good anymore?” your heart skipped a beat at her soft teasing.
“stop teasing me… it’s mean.” you pouted, and she falsely frowned and mimicked you.
“am i being mean to you baby?” she continued on her teasing. you nodded and she cooed. “you poor thing…” her thumb pulled from the pout on your face, pressing against your bottom lip.
your heart seemed to skip a beat, her touch sending shivers down your spine.
“my poor pretty little thing.” you blushed. “aren’t you sweetheart?” your stomach jumped, her voice low and silky. it was making you feel silly.
“don’t do that…” you shyly muttered and she smirked.
“do what?”
“talk to me like that. it’s making my stomach feel all funny.” you sighed, feeling your face and neck burning up.
“your stomach?” you hummed. “is it a bad funny or a good funny?” she stepped just the littlest bit closer. and that feeling went south from your stomach, down and down and down and… you gasped a little bit when her free hand took a hold on your hip. she wasn’t even touching you and yet you felt like melting under her fingertips.
“good.” ellie’s fingers squeezed your hip. she hummed, low, and you almost trembled.
“does it feel good too if i do this?” she inquired as she leant closer, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. you nodded. “and this?” another one to your jaw. her face didn’t pull away, her lips trailing lower when you nodded once again. you let out a little whine when she kissed over your pulse, your head tilting to give her more room. it felt too good. m
“feels good els…” you muttered and she almost groaned. fuck. your voice was airy, and so needy…
“you know… there are places where it feels even better.” she said, and your eyes shined with curiosity.
“yeah?” you breathily inquired and she hummed.
“want me to show you?” you nodded, and she smiled before leading you to your bed, where you two sat. “baby, have someone ever given you a kiss?” you frowned, but before you could talk she was getting the doubt out of your head. “on your lips honey.”
you blushed. so much you swore you’d actually burst in flames. you looked into her eyes and then away as you shook your head. ellie’s chest felt lighter. no one had ever kissed you before. fuck.
“want me to give you one?” your eyes went back at hers, and then fell to her lips. they were so pretty it hurt. and you knew they were soft. you’d seen people kiss before. obviously. but you had always been too shy to even think about receiving one. and now ellie was offering to kiss you. for the first time in your life. and your heart was going crazy. breathing was getting harder. you nodded again. “nuh-uh, speak up pretty girl.” you were burning up.
“i want it.” you begged, and her cunt throbbed. shiiiiit. she had thought about this before. you begging for her to fuck you, to let you cum all over her fingers. even dreamed about it. but it would never compare to the actual you.
“good girl.” she said, and your thighs shook. there was wet sticky slick pooling in between your legs and making a mess of your thighs. and the throbbing of your needy pussy was making you ache. it hurt. even more when she called you that. you whimpered when you finally felt her lips against yours. ellie groaned when she heard you, pulling you closer. at first she didn’t move her lips, after a couple of seconds slowly starting to guide you into the kiss. your hands fisted her shirt, and your eyes squeezed closed. it was a strange feeling. but it felt good. too good. “open your mouth for me, baby.” you followed her orders, a little and muffled moan leaving your lips when her tongue pushed inside. one of her hands cupped your cheek, deepening the kiss. you were going for more when she pulled away. fuck. ellie was dying. she was finally kissing you. and you felt amazing. “shhh.” she stopped you, and your hazy eyes met hers.
“ellie… please.” you tugged her close.
“you want more, pretty girl?” she inquired, and you nodded, once shaking parting your lips for her. this time the kiss was deeper, if it could get any more than before, wet strokes of her tongue filling your mouth. you were being laid down on her bed, hair all over her pillows and thighs open for her.
you were letting out the most beautiful sounds, and she was getting way too horny.
“fuck. you don’t know what you do to me.” she groaned, eyes taking you in, you and your swollen glossy lips and hazy reddened teary eyes. you were flushed red, and your breath was hot.
“feels good.” you muttered, shaking under her touch, her hands now touching your hips from under your shirt.
“yeah?” you hummed. “well… there’s another place were kisses feel even better.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.” she smiled, one of her hands traveling downwards. passing your belly button and down to your shorts. “right here.” you gasped when you felt her hand softly cupping your cunt over your peeking pretty cotton panties, making your eyes squeeze shit when you grinned down on her hand, seeking relief. you were soaked. “fuck baby…”
you hiccuped. “it hurts.” you pouted. you were throbbing.
“i know baby, i know…” she cooed, and you nodded. “want me to make the pain go away? want me to kiss it better for you, hm?” your cheeks flushed red. ellie wanted to kiss you there. you nodded, quickly, shyly, and she couldn’t help but groan when you whispered a little ‘yes please ellie.’ she was sucking marks down your neck as her hands pulled from your pj and underwear, making you gasp as the cold air of the room hit your drooling pussy. “fuck, angel. you’re so wet…” she said as she took a glance of the string of slick that connected your cunt to your underwear. soon enough, her thumbs were parting your lips to take a better look at you, and you were covering your face, ‘cause ellie was looking at you as if you were a fucking meal and she was starving. your back arched when you felt it. the long and torturously slow drag of her tongue thought your folds, lapping at your arousal.
“ellie!” you screamed, a moan ripping your throat. she left a little kiss to your clit before sucking it, making you whimper and gasp for air, your hands flying up to her hair and making her grunt against your cunt. she pulled you closer to her face, pulling your thighs over her shoulders and laying one of her hands down on your lower stomach to keep you pressed against the bed and still for her to devour. she had been dreaming about this for months. and knowing that no one has ever had you like this. never kissed you, or touched you, or made you moan expect her had her soaking her boxers and eating you out with need.
you couldn’t stop moaning, and whining, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gasped. ellie was telling the truth, it felt so much better than kissing. your thighs were shaking and your pussy was leaking on her tongue. it was the first time you’d ever felt this euphoria… this kind of pleasure…
and then you felt it. her tongue pushing inside of you, stretching you out. it was a new feeling. you had never felt anything like it. you’d never touched yourself. always too shy to even try, to oblivious to know the reason why your pussy would throb around the emerald eyed. and now ellie was helping you get rid of that aching feeling that tortured you every night, and you were falling apart.
“that’s it… pussy so sweet and wet…” she said, one of her fingers teasing the rim of your hole, pushing in just the slightest. you let out a scream when her middle finger pushed inside, your vision filling of colors and spots when she hit a spot deep inside as she curled it, making you sob and moan, tugging from her hair. “you sound so good. shit, angel. can’t wait to have you falling apart, creaming all over my fingers.” you didn’t know what she meant by that, but her finger was fucking into you, and you couldn’t even think.
she sucked on your puffy clit, slowly fucking in and out of you and relishing in the wet sounds that your pussy was making for her, adding another finger when she had stretched you out enough. they filled you to the brim, and so good you were choking. “ellie, ellie, ellie…” you moaned over and over again as she started to quickly curl her fingers against your g spot, making the knot growing on your stomach tighten. “ellie, i’m…, i’m…”
“you’re gonna cum, sweet girl? gonna cum all over my face?” you nodded, feeling that warmth bubbling up in your stomach, about to snap. “go ahead baby, let go for me.” your back arched as you gushed all over her fingers and lips, and she fucked you through it, humming at the taste, lapping at you like a starved women. she cleaned you up, not leaving a single drop of your come behind, helping you ride it out until you were whimpering due to overstimulation. she lapped at your sweet and sticky cum, licking clean your pushy and her fingers as she popped them inside her mouth, moaning. her chin and lips were shining, and she had this hazy look in her eyes that made your heart jump.
you opened your mouth for her when she kissed you, whimpering at the taste of your own arousal.
now that you had felt ellie’s tongue and fingers on you for the first time, you understood what those girls in your class meant by how good her fingers could make them feel…
her mouth was good too. too good. and you couldn’t stop starting at it, and her lips… and her hands. god. now you too wanted to know if they’d feel good around your…
“you’re staring pretty girl.” she smirked, and you looked away with your cheeks burning up. she chuckled, cupping your cheek to make you look at her. “nuh-uh. don’t hide from me. what is it, hm?” you looked into her emerald eyes, her thumb on your bottom lip. you shook your head, burning up. “you’re not gonna tell me?” you shook your head once again. “that’s mean angel, i want to know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours.” you saw her lean in. “you’re gonna make me have to get it out of you?” you shivered when you felt her breath hit your jaw, and then your neck, lips soft against your skin.
you sighed, your hands gripping her shoulders as she started to tug from your shirt, your nipples hard due to your arousal as she pushed it over your head, leaving you completely exposed to her hungry eyes.
“ellie…” you whimpered when her mouth latched to your breast, sucking the bud into her mouth and leaving marks on them. and she tugged you closer, making you fall on one of her legs, the denim of her trousers meeting your cunt.
her hands landed on your ass, grinding you down on her leg and making you moan. you felt embarrassed to speak up. completely caught in the feeling of her touch.
“come on baby. speak up.” she smirked, seeing you desperately grinding down on her thigh.
“want you ellie… want you.” you whimpered, and she hummed, sucking hickeys on your neck.
“you want me pretty girl? want me to stretch your little pussy on my cock? bet you’d look so cute riding my strap for me, cumming over and over again.“ you let out a needy moan. nodding.
“yes please, want it ellie, want it…” you begged.
“lay down and open your legs for me, baby.” she said, giving you a deep kiss before leaving you in the bed to go get her black strap-on. you were flushing red, and fidgety. and your eyes widened when she got back. ‘cause that was too big. her fingers had made you feel so full already… you couldn’t imagine how that would make you feel.
you squirmed when she was back in between your legs after having discarded her jeans and own shirt, leaving her in her boxers and sports bra. you were flushing and trying to not look at her, ‘cause she looked so hot it was impossible to take. she had abs, and such a pretty waist… her thighs were strong and big, and you couldn’t help but wish to be on top of her once again riding them, this time without her jeans on the way.
“look at me angel, let me see you.” she muttered, and your eyes were back on hers. “you’re so fucking beautiful.” your cheeks were red, and your thighs were trembling under her hands. a moan left your lips when she leaned down to kiss you. her tongue pushing into your mouth and you melted, feeling her body slot in between your legs and the plastic of her strap hit your naked soaking pussy. your hips pushed against it, and she thrusted against you, making the tip bump against your clit. your back arched, and your nails dug on her shoulders.
“please, ellie… please…” you cried out. needing more.
“what is it baby? what do you want?” you were throbbing, crying at her teasing, feeling the tip sliding in between your folds and hitching at your needy hole. “speak up. want you to tell me what you need.”
“need it inside…” you begged, your voice desperate and broken, completely eaten alive by your embarrassment.
“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the breath hit punched out of your lungs when she pushed in, your slick making it easy to slide in the tip. she went slow. “good girls get what they want.” you whimpered, feeling your pussy stretch to take her inside. it hurt. but it hurt so good you couldn’t help but buck your hips up for more. “aw, want more darling? want more of my dick? so greedy…” she smirked, seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head when she pushed all of it inside in one go, hitting your cervix. your back arched, and her mouth was sucking bruises on your neck and chest, making you see stars. “that’s it. atta girl. taking me so good…” she groaned, the strap brushing her own clit over her panties. “good girl baby, being so good for me…” tears were spilling from your eyes from the pleasure. her praise making you tighten around the strap and sucking it right back in harder when she tried and pull out to thrust inside. “so fucking tight, shit…” she cursed, and you whimpered, feeling the tip brush that spot that had you babbling out.
her hips slowly started to pick up pace, until she was properly fucking you, wet squelches coming from your cunt, which was impossibly wet. the strap slid easily i between your walls, and rubbed ellie just were she ached the most. you two were a mess of kisses, moans and hands everywhere. your hips fucked against hers, trying to beg for more.
“ellie, ellie please…”
she groaned at your need. “you’re driving me insane.” her hips snapped harder against yours, her cock plunging inside of you deeper and harsher, making it impossible to not scream. and she shut you up the only way she knew how.
your sight went white when you felt it. the hot grip of her hand around your throat. and ellie couldn’t help but groan when you were gushing on her strap, letting out little broken moans that got cut off with every harsh thrust.
“fuck. this is what you wanted, baby? wanted my hand on your neck, hm? my poor little thing just wanted to be choked.” you moaned, your nails digging on her back as she started to piston inside of you, making your orgasm grow and grow…
“ellie! ellie stop, something’s gonna come out, something’s gonna…!” you screamed as the pressure on your lower stomach grew and warmth liquid spread all over your thighs, soaking the strap and the sheets under you. your body was being filled in pleasure. you were falling and falling and falling. you were choking on it. there was no end.
ellie grunted and fucked you through it, reaching her own orgasm when she saw you squirt all over her cock. her cum had completely soaked her boxers by the time she had stopped rutting into you, the two of you panting for air.
and even with your hair made a complete mess, your eyes red with tears and your lips swollen by your kisses… you looked like an angel.
-
a/n; 🫨😵💫
ellie williams masterlist! <3
xxx
#ellie williams x f! reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x you#ellie the last of us#ellie williams fluff#ellie x fem reader#ellie x you#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#tlou fluff#tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlou x reader#tlou smut#tlou imagine#tlou fic
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wc 900, guys i’m still a 4.0 lore player so forgive me if lyney’s getting ooc now 🙁 but anw ENJOY THIS MESS OF A GUY!! requested by anon
or, lyney can't stop staring at your lips
Lyney is beginning to think he might be obsessed with you. Or that you’re bad for him.
He’s stumbling over his lines when he sees you in the audience, his fingers catch on each other when he catches you smiling knowingly, and he gets nervous—the most absurd tell. It’s unlike him to feel his heart pounding in his ears when he’s already started the show. None of this feels natural.
It gets to the point where Lynette has to drag him off after a scene, worry evident on her usually-passive features. “What’s happening to you?”
“I think I might be going insane,” Lyney admits, running his hand across his face. “I can feel it, Lynette. I’ve gone mad.”
All because you kissed him and he damn near exploded on the spot.
It wasn’t a special kiss. There wasn’t even tongue involved. He didn’t even see it coming. Hell, it was half a second and only on the side of his lips. Can it even be counted as a kiss?
If kisses could drive Lyney to a point where he can’t stop thinking about your lips, it might.
Lyney makes a pitiful noise, like a wounded animal. Lynette sighs heavily, as in relief that it’s not anything serious. But it is something serious. How is he supposed to move on in his life when you’re the only thing running through his head?
“Lynette,” Lyney cries, “this isn’t normal. I’ve caught something. Check my temperature.”
“You’re lovesick,” she replies simply, batting the hand that’s trying to get her to place her palm on his forehead. “and you have a show to finish. Get it together, brother.”
Get it together. Yeah, he can do that—if the object of his desires isn’t seated in the front row. But for now, Lynette is glaring daggers, stern like a mother, and Lyney sucks it up and makes a point of avoiding your eyes later on.
Avoiding your eyes usually means staring at other parts of your face.
Lyney feels the last bit of his sanity chip away when you decided it would be a splendid idea to wear something glossy over your lips, as if he wasn’t already distracted enough as is. You have got to be doing this on purpose.
Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip. He feels lightheaded.
“You look desperate,” Lynette tells him, which is frankly enough to make him want the ground to swallow him whole.
This also gets to a point where Freminet pulls him aside and asks him if he’s feeling sick. He feels like it. Lovesick and desperate, as Lynette so elegantly put it.
How embarrassing. Is this what you’ve reduced him to? Freminet looked at him with all wide, worried eyes, and Lyney can’t outright say the reason for his predicament. He excuses that he feels tired, and he doesn’t mention that his lips are feeling incredibly lonely.
Freminet, precious and understanding and thankfully unaware, nods and says, “I hope you feel better soon.” Lyney finds that unlikely, but he thanks him anyway. “Oh, and you should look behind you.”
Lyney turns and finds you waving at him, gesturing for him.Your fingers curl and it almost looks like you’re calling for a pet. And Lyney, weak and obsessed Lyney, follows without a second thought. Try as he might, he can never stay too long away from you, because as much as you’re driving him crazy, seeing you, hearing you, is enough to brighten his entire day and momentarily forget you’re the reason why he almost messed up with his lines.
He stands before you with a bit of distance. You want him gone so you pull him by the collar until his head is dipped down.
“You look feverish,” you say. Feverish, desperate, the list could go on and on.
I feel like it, Lyney wants to say; instead, his words are caught on the tip of his tongue as your eyes trace over his entire face. He feels as if he’s laying himself bare for you, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all, not when he’s soaking up your attention like he doesn’t know how to do anything else.
“Hey,” you whisper, a testament to your proximity, a smirk on your face, “my eyes are up here, Lyney.”
Lyney frowns, feeling petulant now that he’s aware of your schemes. “I’m not being indecent; please don’t phrase it like that.” Or is it worse that he’s ogling your mouth?
You laugh brightly, and he melts just a little. “You’re too obvious, Lyney.” He loves it when you say his name. He’s addicted to how your mouth carves his name. A poke on his cheek startles him enough to look up to your eyes, shame crawling in his cheeks. “See? You’re doing it again.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Lyney.” You have got to stop doing that. Then again, he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose seeing how it affects him terribly. “If you want something, take it. Don’t stand around and do nothing about it.”
Lyney’s breath hitches, his blush climbing higher from his neck to his entire face. “Don’t just say that.” He can’t handle your crooked grin. He pulls you to his chest and buries his face on your neck—if it’s to keep your face away or to hide his expression, no one would be able to tell. “You can’t just say that.”
“I know what I’m saying. Don’t take me for a fool.”
Your lips brush his. His mind blanks. You’re bad for him—you have to be, but everything that comes after feels natural, at least.
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#lyney x reader#lyney x you#lyney x y/n#genshin x you#x reader
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PAC: Your Person's Appearance
What Are Their Vibes & Characteristics?
PILE 1 (Source) | PILE 2 (Source) | PILE 3 (Source)
This was supposed to be a quick reading but idk what happened 🤨. I apologise if it's scattered though I think I saw that every time 😅.
Anyways, this reading covers your person's vibes they give off as well as any notable features about them. As always this reading is for entertainment purposes only. ✨
Version 1 Of This Reading
PAC Reading Masterlist | Paid Readings
PILE 1
Initial Impressions: Dark features, intelligent look, balanced masculine and feminine energies, ambitious, helpful, burnout, (Mount) Vesuvius, mystical, dreamy, starry-eyed, intuitive, regal, physically fit, wish fulfilment, hope, they brighten up the room, a new beginning, secure.
Vibes You May Pick Up On:
They have a quiet confidence. Even if they don’t say much of anything, you can sense their self-assuredness. They could be in a position of power career-wise where they oversee others or an operation but I don’t think that it’s something they’re particularly happy about or take lightly. People may think it’s all fun and games for them but actually, it’s quite the opposite. They could actually be quite lonely despite their work. They could have left home and they can’t return to it. They carry a heaviness with them. Working on themselves and levelling up. Focused. Lost in thought. Optimistic. They could exude a sense of hope and magic, just being in their presence may boost your mood. Busy. Moving from one thing to the next. Coffee shop vibes. Proportionate body. Someone new that you’re manifesting. You two could meet at a time of change and transformation in one or both of your lives. If you’re accustomed to unhealthy relationships or drawn to people that aren’t good for you, this is the opposite. They might not even look like they used to. They’ll have a very nice body… you may really like their legs. They may wear clothes that expose a part of their body... particularly their chest. Nurturing energy. I think you may just kind of know or you’ll feel a sense of peace.
Notable Characteristics:
Hair colours are pretty diverse— you’ve got black, red, blonde and grey (or platinum that came to me as well) hair. They could have curly or kinky hair types. The only one that came out for face shapes was square. Their eyes may be hooded or they may have a monolid. They could have a broad or roman shaped nose. When it comes to their mouth. They could have a cupid’s bow and thin lips, straight teeth and they may smirk a lot or their smile looks like a smirk. The last few physical things are they might be on the shorter side or shorter than you and they could have scars or a skin condition (eczema, vitiligo, etc). Their voice may be smooth or animated. Their style could be very aesthetic or vintage and they may wear a lot of formal/business wear. They may come across as quiet/reserved, intelligent and charismatic.
You can check out the discarded version of this pac here for any additional insights HOWEVER LOOK AT PILE 2!
If you enjoyed this reading check out my other readings here. You can also check out my paid readings as well if you're interested in getting a personalised reading
PILE 2
Initial Impressions: Symphony by Clean Bandit feat Zara Larson came to me, Someone you’re destined to meet.. the one who got away or someone who’s unforgettable from day one, dangerous look, security, a strong appearance, protective, fierce, a wish fulfilled, a musician, someone who moves with fluidity, muse, not the knight you expect, a little bit closed off
Vibes You May Pick Up On:
They may try to stay under the radar, but I think that may be a little hard… at least when it comes to you. You may need some help with them though, as in getting a relationship started. There’s a wildness to them but it might get them in trouble so they try to tame themselves (I also hear tame their desire for adventure). They may not look like their stable but they are and they worked hard for what they have. I think this person may look focused… a little bit scruffy or dishevelled if they’re a man. I felt like you may be cautious of them but I think that they may also come across as guarded and cautious of others. There’s definitely a sense of maturity to them and wisdom. Highly perceptive. They could have multiple ear piercings. You could meet this person by chance. In one of the previous versions (see the end of your pile’s reading) I think I wrote that you two might meet in a way ‘only the divine could have orchestrated’. I don’t know how to describe it, but it may not be a meeting you could have ever thought to dream of/up. I think of wolves when I think of this person based on the cards as well. They may have a tough exterior, not easily approachable. They’re everything you want whether or not you know or see it at first. They may carry a lot of stress. Actually very passionate and inspiring. A diamond in the rough or a lamp that needs polishing.
Notable Characteristics
Short, curvy (I also remember picking up on husky at one point in a prev version), they could wear glasses but prefer to wear contacts. For hair, you guys have a good set of cards so their hair may be a significant feature. The cards around hair were— wavy, unique cut/style, afro (or puffy hair), salt & pepper, short hair, blonde, grey hair, long hair, and straight hair. For facial hair, it’s either clean-shaven or a beard. Their face shape could be round, square or diamond-shaped. For lips, they could have a cupid’s bow. They could have brown or green eyes or their eye colour may look unique. Their voice could be youthful or higher in pitch or on the opposite end deep. You also got smooth and they could have a foreign accent (whatever that means to you). Lastly, some impressions about this person are they may come across as confident, charismatic, quiet/reserved and professional/polished.
You can check out the discarded versions of this PAC here for any additional insights HOWEVER LOOK AT PILE 1! Discard 1 (all piles) | Discard V.2 (your pile only)
If you enjoyed this reading check out my other readings here. You can also check out my paid readings as well if you're interested in getting a personalised reading.
PILE 3
Initial Impressions: Vibes of being a player. Not being from around the same location. Something about their eyes. A rake. Large and in charge. Good with words or a sweet talker. Lively. Someone not to be tied down. Awakening something with you. Happy. Young. Naive. Sociable. Could be from somewhere warm or they could make you warm. Strong. Visually impaired? Intuitive… like they know the "secrets of the universe”. Jewellery may be significant. Wanderer. Hands. Might wear lots of prints. Rings. Marriage material. They could be a risk taker or look like a risk you’re willing to take. They may be quite flamboyant which might resonate a lot if you’re more reserved in how you dress or present yourself to the world. Grey hair. Frustrating. Baby Charli XCX.
Vibes You May Pick Up On:
They might come across as slightly immature and before some of you roll your eyes, immaturity doesn’t always show up as a negative. It could be a playfulness to them that makes you think they haven’t really lived and explored life yet. They may give off the vibe that pursuing them is a risk of some kind on your part. You might feel like you’ve got to be very careful about pursuing them or allowing them to pursue you.
They could look like a social butterfly. An infectious vibe or personality. They may light up the room. For a lot of you, I feel like I’m viewing this person in an educational or work setting and like watching them from afar interact with other people. They could look like a drifter. One dynamic I’m picking up on as well is your person being the type of person willing to pack up and go anywhere on a whim while you may be more cautious and the type to need a plan first. They’ll say ‘runaway with me’ and look at you expectantly while your head and heart battle. They may seem very creative or flamboyant.
There’s a sense of home or familiarity too. Not sure how you’re going to get the final cut of this atm, but I definitely picked that up in the first deck I used. “Your person could look familiar to you— it doesn’t necessarily mean that you know them though for half of you I think you could. I think when you see your person you may have that “Have we met before?” moment.”
Physically you may find their hands very attractive. They could be skilled in a profession where they have to use their hands a lot (mainly for crafting I’m getting this scenario) and could either hand you something or demonstrate something where you’re focused on their hands. Very attractive hands lol, this may make you blush.
They could look very athletic. Very confident. They may turn your world upside down (in a freeing way I see).
Notable Characteristics
The most notable thing about your person may be their voice. I’ve made some traits/characteristics and the majority of what I got relates to voice. Some traits you’ve got for voice are: soft, smooth, deep, animated (they may speak in a way that paints a picture), youthful/high(er)-pitched voice
Their face shape could be round or oval. They could have wavy/shoulder-length hair or no hair at all. If they wear facial hair, it’d be a beard. Their nose could be upturned or described as aquiline. For eyes, they could be round or have monolids and they may have a unique eye colour. They may have full lips or crooked teeth. Freckles. Tattoos. They may look ethereal or be a boho/laid-back and/or vintage style.
You can check out the discarded version of this pac here for any additional insights.
If you enjoyed this reading check out my other readings here. You can also check out my paid readings as well if you're interested in getting a personalised reading.
#pick a card#pick a pile#pick a card reading#pick a pile reading#pick a picture#pick a picture reading#tarotblr#free reading tarot#future spouse#free tarot
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poly marauders with a golden retriever + sunshine type s/o? they're energetic and sweet as can be, loves finding random things ( rocks, flowers, knick knacks and trinkets ) to bring back to their boyfriends and physically brighten when they receive praise?
Okay but like I can't picture this without her and James being soooo cute and sunshiney together. Thanks for requesting sweetheart!
poly!marauders x sunshine!reader ♡ 771 words
“Siri!” Sirius looks up as you bound into the common room, James not far behind you. “Do you know how to press flowers?”
“Good morning, my angel,” he says with a saccharine smile. “My day’s going great, how about yours?”
“Sirius.” You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Please, we’re in a hurry.”
He quirks an eyebrow, unsure of how flower pressing can be such urgent business. Though he supposes for you, it very well might be. “I do not.”
You look momentarily disappointed, but then James says, “You know who l bet would know? Pandora.”
You perk right back up, reaching up on your toes to press a smacking kiss to his cheek. “You’re so right, Jamie! Let’s go.” You make to dash off, but Sirius grabs at the hem of your skirt.
“Wait just a minute. What’s going on?” he asks, looking between the two of you, both crackling with energy and flushed like you’ve been running everywhere. That’s when he sees that James is fidgeting with something, the object hidden in his palm. “What’ve you got there, Prongs?”
James follows his gaze and grins, opening his hand to display the rock within it proudly. “Y/N found it by the lake and gave it to me. It’s shaped like a heart, see?”
“I do see,” Sirius humors him, though to him it only looks vaguely triangular with a slight dent on one side. “Good find, sweetheart.”
You beam at the praise, whatever business you had with the flowers momentarily forgotten. “I can’t believe no one else had already taken it! It was just sitting there on the shore, so obviously perfect.”
Sirius has to work hard to tamp down his grin. “Obviously. Now, why are we so worried about pressing flowers?”
A pitiful little line appears between your eyebrows. “Filch is digging up all the dandelions outside,” you say, as though it’s a wicked crime for the groundskeeper to do his job. “He says they’re weeds, but they’re so pretty, and he’s killing them! I thought if we could press them then at least Remus could use them as bookmarks.”
“Aw, baby.” The thought of stern-faced Remus doing his studying with a dandelion poking out from between the pages of his textbook is nothing short of delightful. Remus would love it because it was a gift from you, and Sirius would be immensely entertained every time he saw it. “That’s such a good idea.”
“You think?” You do a little hop of excitement, and Sirius swears you could power the school with the sheer wattage of your smile. “Maybe even if Pandora doesn’t know, we can just try anyway. At least some have to work, right?”
“What has to work?” Remus asks, coming up behind you. You whirl, and his hands catch at your hips, stopping you before you can teeter over in your hurry. The two of you are so close together you have to look up at him, and a bit of color comes to your cheeks.
“Nothing,” you say, though you’re unable to suppress a tiny grin. “It’s a surprise.”
You squirm a bit as his amber eyes narrow, but James saves you from further questioning. “We’re just on our way to pick some flowers, wanna come?”
Remus quirks an eyebrow at him. “I hope you don’t mean the dandelions in the courtyard. I just passed Filch with a bucket full of them.”
Your eyes widen in horror. “Shit, we’ve gotta go!” You tear out of Remus’ grip, grabbing James’ hand as you pass and whisking him towards the door.
“Dove,” Remus calls after you.
“Hm?”
“Tie your shoe, please.”
You halt. “Oh, thanks.” You lift your foot, and James lets you use his knee as a steady surface as you hastily retie your undone lace.
“Attagirl.”
You flush, stumbling a bit as you put your foot back down, but you return Remus’ smile before dashing out the door.
Sirius tsks as Remus comes to sit beside him, grinning smugly to himself. “You know exactly what you’re doing when you say that to her.”
Remus shrugs. “No harm in giving our girl credit when it’s due. And don’t act like you don’t do it, too.”
Sirius can’t very well deny that. He scoots into Remus’ lap, reclining against his chest. “Well, you’d better get ready to dish out some more credit soon. She and Prongs have got a gift in store for you.”
“Yeah?” Remus toys with the ends of Sirius’ hair casually, but Sirius can hear the intrigue in his voice. “What’s that?”
“Oh, I’m not telling. You’ll have to wait and see.”
#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders oneshot#poly!marauders drabble#dom!marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders era#marauders#marauders fanfic#marauders fic#the marauders#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#dom!sirius black#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#dom!remus lupin#sunshine!reader
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i. the likeability paradox.
pairing. joel miller x fem!reader
synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.
warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!
word count. 12.9k
hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it
taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !
read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )
distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.
in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.
if anything, he’s made himself more empty.
rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.
an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.
this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.
“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.
somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.
she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.
she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.
which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.
“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”
joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.
“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.
frank is quick to shush him.
“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”
there you sit, parallel to him.
the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.
you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.
the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.
“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”
they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.
silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.
being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.
were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.
something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.
just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.
the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.
the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.
“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.
as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.
to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.
“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.
“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.
he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.
“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”
“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.
“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”
he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.
discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”
with you as its protector.
he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.
survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.
but i could keep you safe.
he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.
his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.
he never imagined her working in a bank.
bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.
joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.
but you weren’t smiling.
he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.
the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.
he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.
“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”
he almost chokes on his own breath.
i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.
“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.
the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.
he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.
“your watch, it’s broken.”
“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”
you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.
“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.
“i don’t keep it for the time.”
you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.
the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.
he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-
“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”
“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”
nature falls silent.
skies grow dull.
you juggle sadness.
there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.
joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.
“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”
“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.
“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”
the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.
we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day
the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.
the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.
tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.
at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.
-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.
the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.
a protest rings true in his head and his ears.
was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.
it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.
“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”
he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.
neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.
“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”
you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.
late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.
“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”
“it bores me!”
“it bores you!?”
the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.
the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.
you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.
maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.
“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”
joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.
he does so, regardless.
“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”
“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.
you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”
this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.
“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”
he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.
and you’re the one to blame.
you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.
his own self being the first he’d need fight.
joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.
the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.
he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.
amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.
the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.
this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.
you take up no space of this room.
neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.
there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.
he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.
he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.
he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.
i don’t like you, joel.
those words stop him from trying.
he tells himself it’s for the best.
with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.
the refrigerator.
it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.
keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.
she never lived long enough to get either.
he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.
“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.
beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”
he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.
he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.
you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.
he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.
“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”
“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”
you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.
“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.
by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.
“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”
would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.
i don’t like you, joel.
of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.
he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.
i don’t like you, joel.
i don’t like you, joel.
i don’t like you, joel.
i don’t like you, joel.
over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.
and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.
only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.
a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.
you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.
“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”
if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”
he scoffs, “i don’t.”
“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”
“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.
joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.
what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.
maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.
instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.
not one bit.
joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.
he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.
“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”
he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.
the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.
the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.
“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.
it’s his turn to respond with a hum.
“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”
this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”
even upside down, your beauty is striking.
“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.
“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.
“you’re hurting me,��� you whine, joel growls.
animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.
your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.
“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.
“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”
he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.
“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”
he doesn’t specify.
he doesn’t need to.
you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.
“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”
you say nothing. joel pulls harder.
“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”
joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.
“who said anything about an offer?”
the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.
a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.
the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.
smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.
your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.
joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.
you breathe in, you breathe out.
one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.
inhale, exhale.
your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.
“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”
where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.
lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.
curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.
in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.
the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.
delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.
his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.
“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.
“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”
you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”
“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”
“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.
as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.
it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.
“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”
he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.
but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.
cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.
rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.
it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.
so he does the same.
working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.
two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.
“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”
“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”
a tongue meets skin.
the knife clatters onto the counter.
you lurch forward.
his hand pulls you back.
“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”
the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.
‘could keep ya satisfied.
that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.
“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.
“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”
diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.
licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.
he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.
he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.
what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.
it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.
and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.
his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.
hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.
burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.
“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”
next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.
sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.
and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.
his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.
except, the oven door is made of glass.
glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.
and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.
the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.
“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”
you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.
fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”
you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.
he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.
you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.
your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.
the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.
“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.
he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.
“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”
joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.
people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.
it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.
that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.
he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.
he hears you before he sees you.
“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”
he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.
the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.
so instead, it sends you.
peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.
the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.
“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”
a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”
“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”
you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.
“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”
“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.
pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.
you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”
it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.
so he tries again, louder.
“why don’t ya like me?”
“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”
he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.
"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."
"answer the damn question, girl.”
“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”
had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.
instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.
joel says nothing.
“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”
he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”
“a dress.”
“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.
“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”
unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.
“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.
neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.
his feet remain glued to the ground.
tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”
“she ain’t my-”
“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.
only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.
“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”
you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.
tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.
answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.
i don’t like you, joel.
it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.
till then, he needs to find a dress.
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Late Nights
Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, back on my Joel x Teacher!Reader shit (though her work hardly plays a role in this), established relationship
Summary: Getting home late is an unfortunately common occurrence in Joel’s line of work. When you both have busy days, it can be hard to find time to share, but you make do.
Warnings: extreme fluff, just utterly fucking saccharine at this point, is fluff without plot a tag?
——————
It’s Wednesday night. Joel’s night to cook dinner.
You get home earlier every day, no question. But since you like to take most every night during the summer months, he insisted on a 60/40 split during the school year. Sundays, Mondays and Wednesdays are his. You had Tuesdays and Thursdays. Friday & Saturday are mainly for pizza, take out, or date-nights.
When he’d grill on Sunday afternoons, you liked to try and help him with prep, but he’d just pour you a glass of wine or mix you a drink and try to usher you out of the kitchen. You’d always sit and talk with him while he worked anyway. Sarah too, when she wasn’t working on homework or out with friends. It’s one of his favorite parts of the week.
On the nights he’d come home late, though, he always worried about leaving you to it. He was meant to be home cooking for the three of you while you relaxed, tried to let the stress of the school day roll off your back. He loved giving you that time.
This particular night, when six o’clock rolled around and he realized he still had a good hour or more on the site, he knew he needed to let you know he wouldn’t be timely with his return. Didn’t want you to worry.
You’re on the couch, grading. By this time of night, Joel’s normally taken the work from your hands and pulled your attention toward anything else. Noticing the room darkening, you wonder where he is, just as your phone dings:
Wednesday, October 7, 6:03 PM:
Sorry baby, gonna be later than I hoped tonight. Y’all don’t wait on me, okay?
Supposed to be my night too, dammit. I apologize, sweetheart.
You’d told him till you were blue in the face he didn’t need to apologize to you when he was the one having to work until long after dark. It never took.
You responded quickly, knowing his phone would be back in his pocket and forgotten again soon when his attention turned again to the work and his team.
Wednesday, October 7, 6:04 PM: (Outgoing)
Dont worry about it, sweetie. i promise i can handle dinner, just don’t work too hard and get home when you can ❤️
And take a break and drink some water, will ya? if that bottle ain’t empty yet, you haven’t had enough! see you soon, love.
He’d be dead on his feet when he walked through the door, that much you knew. And he’d have no business rifling around in the kitchen for something random he’d throw together, not substantial enough by far for a day of working like he’d been. You hopped up and started to the kitchen, determined to make a hearty meal for you and Sarah to share now, and to ensure Joel had a real meal when he finally made it home for the night.
————
A couple of hours had passed by the time Joel finally walked through the door. You’re back on the couch, this time reading a book while the lights from the tv danced softly in the dimly lit room, with a bare haze of sound playing at low volume.
It was nearly 8:30 when you heard the key turning in the door. Sarah had retired to her room for the night after dinner. She’d tried to help you clean the dishes, but you’d ushered her off to relax after spending most of the afternoon doing homework.
Joel trudges wearily through the door, shoulders slouched and eyes heavy-lidded when he thinks you can’t see him. The second he lays eyes on you, though, his posture straightens and his expression brightens, eyes opening a bit more as he lifts into a smile. Your expression mirrors his, and you sit up, closing your book and rising to meet him halfway. You practically speak over each other in greeting:
“Hi darlin’, how was your day?” he says.
“Hey honey, how’d it go today?” you ask.
You laugh a bit when you realize you’re asking the same question on top of each other, and he pulls you close, arms resting heavily around your waist. You drape yours around his neck as he leans down to kiss you. When you pull away to look at his face, you see past the tired smile he wears to the exhaustion etched in his face, settled in his drooping eyes.
You move one hand up, fiddling gently with the strands of hair at the back of his head. You smile and put light pressure on the base of his neck with your other hand, moving his head down to rest on your shoulder. He catches on instantly, and settles comfortably where you direct him. He nuzzles into the nape of your neck and you feel his eyes close against your collarbone, his warm fatigued breaths rhythmically grazing your chest.
You continue playing with his hair with one hand, while the other remains resting on the back of his neck. You turn your head to place a soft kiss to his temple and, after a moment of restful silence, quietly speak:
“You’re tired, huh? I missed you today.”
“Missed you too, baby,” he murmurs against your neck, tightening his grip around your waist, and snuggling closer.
“You gotta be hungry. Got a plate waitin’ for ya in the fridge. Want me to warm it up?” you ask him, moving your hand down his neck to rub gently against his back. He breathes deeply in contentment at your comforting touch.
“No, I’m never leaving this spot. I live here now,” he says, and you feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You chuckle lightly and speed up your ministrations, applying a bit more pressure as you discover the tightness of the muscles in his back.
“Mhm. And when was the last time you ate? Or drank anything for that matter?” you ask knowingly.
“Uhhhh, i guess it was, arou-“ he cuts himself off with a yawn, “around lunch time? Maybe one? Did finish that bottle like you asked, though,” and he smacks his lips lazily, somehow nuzzling further into your shoulder.
“Good, thank you. But lunch was seven hours ago now, so you need to eat something. Wanna start there? Or shower first?” you ask, chuckling a bit.
He raises his head a bit and squints at you, frowning playfully. “You sayin’ I smell, darlin’?” he mumbles, laughing into your shoulder.
You giggle in response before elaborating: “I’m saying you’re sweaty and would feel better if you rinsed the day off before crawling into bed.”
He sighs and rasps into your neck, “you changed the sheets didn’t you?” you feel a smile form against your chest.
“Sure did. So it’s food, shower, and bedtime. You can pick the order. Which first? Want me to grab your dinner?” you ask.
He sighs deeper this time, “What’s that thing about objects in motion and objects at rest or somethin’? Gonna keep doing whatever they already got goin’ on?”
You rumble a little laugh in return before responding. “I see. C’mon Newton, let’s keep ya moving. Go hop in the shower while I get your dinner ready.” You say, patting his cheek as he raises his head with a little groan.
You catch his eyes with your own and let your hand rest on his cheek. You move a thumb beneath his chin and pull him to you, giving him one last peck before ushering him down the hall. You pull his plate from the fridge and get to work on reheating his meal.
——————
He emerges less than ten minutes later smelling fresh and dressed in a clean t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, padding into the kitchen just as you’re filling a glass of water to place next to his warmed plate. He rubs a fist into one eye, yawning again, and plops into a chair at the kitchen table.
You approach behind him, placing the glass on the table with one hand and rubbing his shoulder with the other. He lifts a hand to grab yours and squeeze as he takes a sip. His eyes reach up to meet your own.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, sweetheart. It was my night anyway, and now you’ve cooked and even put the damn plate in front of me,” he huffs.
“You don’t need to thank me, love” you respond, leaning down to kiss him again before taking the seat next to him with the glass of wine you’d poured to sip while you sat with him. You reach for his left hand where it rests on the table, and gently squeeze. He wraps his fingers around yours before you can retreat. Your fingers remain intertwined for the duration of the meal.
The two of you discussed the highlights of your respective days - roses and thorns, both too sleepy to bother with buds. When Joel finishes, you grab his plate to wash, but he takes it from you.
“No way are you washing my dishes too, honey. You’ve done enough already tonight,” he tries to insist. You’re not having it.
“Will you just let me take care of you, dummy? You’re bone tired, I can see it in those beautiful brown eyes. Here. How about this?” you rinse the plate and utensils, shove them quickly in the dishwasher, close it emphatically, and raise your empty hands.
He rolls his eyes, but relents with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever you say, darlin’,” he responds smiling, a bit bashful from the care and compliment.
“Good. Now c’mon, bedtime.” you say, taking his hand in yours once again and leading him to the bedroom.
“Whatever you want, baby” he grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You can’t help bellow a hearty laugh at that one.
“Jesus, like you could keep your eyes open, Miller,” you respond, as you pull the covers back and lead him onto the bed next to you. You settle back against the headboard and open your arms up, beckoning him into your lap. He shuffles closer and leans into your embrace.
“It was-“ he pauses, only to finish through a yawn “- worth a shot.” You chuckle quietly as he rests his head in your lap, eyes instantly slipping closed.
You turn on the tv, keeping the volume low. It’s only a little after 9, so still early for you to fall asleep. You would read, but you’d rather turn off the light, hoping the dimness in the room helps him get some good rest.
You lay one hand on his back and the other in his hair, both softly rubbing in comforting circles, and you feel him melt further into you. A familiar warmth fills your chest at the sight of him there, resting peacefully in your lap. You lean down and press one last kiss to his head before whispering to him.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
“G’night, darlin’” he rumbles, muffled into your lap. You smile, one hand still on his back as the other reaches up, flicking off the lamp, before returning it to his hair. Your fingers gently massage his scalp, and within minutes, you hear his soft snores.
#call the fucking dentist bby#ur gonna get cavities fr#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel x reader#tlou fanfiction#tlou hbo
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Scratch My Back
Masterlist
Joel Miller x reader
word count: 889
Summary: The tide is pulling you under, just like it has plenty of times before. Your husband helps you communicate.
A/N: I’ve been struggling with my mental health & looking after myself for a long, long time and I was getting myself all psyched up to get a shower but I didn’t end up getting in and decided to write this lil thing that I’ve been thinking about for a while! I hope you enjoy it and if anyone out there is reading this and is struggling too, just know that you are not alone and that if Joel Miller were real, he would scratch your back❤️
Also thank you so much for 100 followers🥹🫶🏻 really brightened up my spirits a lil bit💓
Warnings: No Outbreak. Depiction of poor mental health. Sadness. One big loving man (it’s Joel Miller) (Not a warning but I didn’t want it to seem all doom and gloom😅) No use of Y/N.
To Joel, it was just a Wednesday, your day off. To you, the ceiling was caving in. Before he left for work you were sound asleep, your thoughts at bay, laying still against the sand, he placed a gentle kiss to your temple before rolling out of bed. Now that you were awake your thoughts were thrashing against the cliffs, the mental whiplash you were facing ultimately draining your body of all its energy.
You watch the clock on the bedside table blink from one minute to the next. You thought about all if the things you should probably be doing; showering, tidying the house, preparing that home cooked meal you’d been promising your husband for over a week but all you could do was slip in and out of sleep, that was the safe option, the one that would keep you somewhat sane until he returned. You didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to text him those three words because you knew he would stop everything for you, everything would be put on hold so that he could soothe you and you didn’t want to add that onto the ever-growing list of things to feel bad about. So you waited.
“Honey?” His voice reverberated off the walls, the sound of his gentle tone floated up the stairs. You didn’t have the energy to shout back, the sound of his boots hitting the wooden steps told you that it wouldn’t be long until he was by your side anyway. He took in the sight of the drawn curtains, the sight of you facing them, still in your t-shirt and underwear and you felt the bed dip behind you, the warmth of his body encompassing yours, his scent filling your scenes.
“Something happen?” A gentle kiss placed to your shoulder blade, the feeling of his lungs emptying and filling behind your back soothing you. You shook your head, allowing a silence to draw over you both as Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you further back into the curve of his body. He was always so patient with you, so tender.
“Scratch my back.”
Scratch my back, a cry for help. A promise made between two lovers. A rule established when you’d first started dating. Joel knew that you struggled with your mental health, you’d opened up to some extent, brushing him off with a ‘I’m having a tough day but I’ll be ok x’ text in the beginning, even then he gave you your space.
One week in spring however, everything was not okay. He hadn’t heard from you in four days, no text and definitely no phone calls. At first he thought that this was your way of letting him know you were no longer interested and selfishly, he couldn’t let it end that way. So after days of mulling it over and chewing his bottom lip raw, he drove over to your apartment and that’s where he found you, dark circles engulfing your eyes, threatening to swallowing them whole, hair unwashed, apartment flooded in gloom.
He took a bath with you, washed your hair as best he could. The spring air still had a slight chill to it so he’d made sure your new set of pyjamas were on the radiator ready for bed and he laid with you in silence until you turned into his chest and he felt the wet of your tears seep into his fabric.
“You don’t have to talk to me.” He pressed a kiss into your hairline. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to talk to me, I mean obviously you can, when you feel comfortable and ready to but there is something I want you to do for me baby,” another soft kiss. Your eyes travelled up his face to finally look him in his eyes, those soft brown eyes that made you fall in love with him in the first place. All you could do was give a small nod, you would do anything he asked. “I want you to come up with a word or a phrase,” he continued, “so that when things get bad and you don’t feel like you can talk about it…” he trailed off, his hands drawing shapes up and down the length of your spine.
“Like a safe word?” He let out a huff of air at that, a small smile adorning his face.
“Yeah, kinda like a safe word, so I know that you’re safe,” his palm came to rest on your cheek, thumb cupping your jaw, “up here,” and his fingers tapped gently on the side of your temple.
“Scratch my back,” It was soft, the way it came out, tears threatening to spill over, “because if you promise to scratch mine, i’ll always scratch yours.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling then, the last thing you wanted was for Joel to see you like this and to become his burden, but the way he’d shown you such care and compassion made your head feel a little less foggy, you wanted to promise that you could do that in return, that it wouldn’t just be him constantly looking after you.
“Oh sweet angel.” Both of his hands were cupping your cheeks now, pressing a light kiss to your nose and then your lips.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller drabble#joel miller fluff#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#joel miller fic#the last of us#tlou#dovedewdrop writes
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Fitting In
alessia russo x reader with social anxiety
You've been with the team for a few months, but your anxiety is making it hard to find your place. When you spend lunch hiding out in your car one day, Lessi comes to find you.
A/N: this is my first woso fic, i hope you like it! i'm planning on writing a part two with real fluff, maybe taking place a month or two later. also this is basically just a self insert fic but i figured maybe someone else could relate to it, so this is for all my other girlies with social anxiety and adhd out there
---------------
When you joined the team a few months ago, you weren’t sure how you would fit in. And now, 3 months later, you still weren’t sure.
You had a tendency to over analyse social interactions, situations, anything really, and you knew it didn’t help your social anxiety but there was no way to shut off the constant noise in your brain. At least, not until you met her. Alessia Russo. One of Arsenal’s, and England’s, star strikers. The way she moved on the pitch was like magic, and you swore you could see glitter in the air when she laughed. The crush you had on her grew by the minute. You wanted to at least be friends with her so badly, but you just didn’t know how.
You still didn’t really have any close friends on the team. Yeah, everyone was friendly, but there were clearly established friend groups, and you didn’t know how to find your place in any of them. When you first joined you would be invited out with everyone, or invited to people’s places for movie nights, that sort of thing. But a lot of the time you felt out of place, so worried about what to say and how you were coming across that the whole situation ended up making you more anxious than if you hadn’t gone in the first place. When you did come out of your shell and say something, you’d spend the rest of the evening thinking about what you said, if it made sense, how you said it, what you should have said instead.
It was exhausting.
Your sleep schedule was awful, most nights you couldn’t get to sleep until 3am. You’d be lying in bed, desperately trying to sleep but your brain not letting you. You’d wake up feeling groggy, but you didn’t want to let anyone see how badly it was affecting you, so you put on a brave face in front of your teammates. Most days, as soon as training was over, you’d go straight home. You were too tired to do anything other than be alone.
One day, at lunch, you couldn’t face the thought of trying to figure out where to sit, the overstimulation from everyone talking, the noises and smells, so you decided to sit in your car, alone. You figured that no one would miss you anyway, everyone seemed to have figured out that you were a bit of a loner by now, and they mostly left you alone.
“Something’s up with y/n, right? It’s not just me?” Leah asked Beth at lunch the next day, scanning the lunch room as she tried to find your face.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what,” Beth shrugged, frowning. “I want to help her, but-”
“Have you guys seen y/n?” Alessia interrupted, coming up from behind them. “She’s not here.”
Leah and Beth both shook their heads. “Maybe she’s in the gym, or on the training field?”. It wasn’t unusual for players to spend their breaks hanging out in other areas, and Alessia nodded.
“I think I’ll go see if I can find her,” she said, and Leah nodded.
“That’s a good idea, Less. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong.”
Alessia peeked into the gym, but it was empty. She thought maybe you were walking laps, so she checked the training field, but you weren’t there either. Now she was starting to worry. The two of you hadn’t talked much, but she always listened to what you had to say, and got the feeling that there was a lot more to you than you let on. Deciding to check the car park to see if your car was still there, her face brightened as she found it. When she realised you were sitting inside it, her brow furrowed in confusion.
You look up from your lunch to see Alessia stood a few metres away from the car, looking at you with a small frown on her face. Is she upset with you? Your eyes meet, and you freeze for a second before raising a hand to wave awkwardly. Her frown clears, and she comes over to the passenger door.
Knocking on the window and opening the door, she leant down. “Can I come in?” she asked, smiling sheepishly.
“Uh, yeah, sure!” you reply, sitting up a little straighter, mind racing. Why is she here? What does she want from you?
“So, um, what are you doing out here?” she asks gently, glancing down at the lunch on your lap.
“Oh, um, sometimes it’s just a lot, you know? Everyone talking and all of the noise. And I never really know where to sit,” you trail off, laughing awkwardly, inwardly cringing at yourself for saying that.
“I get that. Sometimes some of the girls can be so loud! Like, Katie, didn’t you ever learn what an inside voice is?” she laughs gently, and you smile. “And you know you can sit wherever you want, right? None of us are going to bite you.”
“Haha, yeah, I know, I just…” you shrug, face burning.
Alessia turns to look at you, worry lining her face. “Y/n, is something going on? Has anyone made you feel unwelcome here, or anything?”
“No, everyone’s been so nice, I promise, no one’s done anything,” you start rambling, anxiety rising in your chest as hot tears start to well up in your eyes. You bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.”
Suddenly you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, pulling you in to a tight hug. You stiffened to the touch but Alessia’s arms held you gently, and slowly you relaxed into it.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel your breath returning to normal.
After a minute she lets you go and you let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, wiping your eyes.
“Y/n, you don’t need to apologise, it’s okay, I promise,” she says, big blue eyes full of sincerity. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
You shrug, not knowing what to say. “There isn’t really anything going on, that’s the problem. I just, my brain is just, I feel like everyone else got like, a manual telling them how to exist and how to talk to people and how to have friends, and I didn’t get the manual. You didn’t get a manual, right?” you ask, looking at her with a wry smile.
She smiles apologetically. “Nope, no manual.”
“Well, it was worth asking,” you laugh. “Things just seem to be really hard for me when everyone else finds them easy, you know? And I’m just so tired all the time, but I don’t know why, I barely do anything, I’m so lazy.”
She frowns at that. “You’re not lazy, y/n. Do you get enough sleep?”
You laugh at that. “Oh no, definitely not. Most nights I don’t get to sleep until like, 3am, sometimes 4am.”
“What, why?” she asks in shock.
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just can’t sleep a lot of the time. I try to, I lie in bed with my eyes closed, but there’s just too much going on in my head, it feels like my brain is actively working against me.”
“It’s no wonder you’re so tired then!” she admonishes you gently, and the look she gives you makes you fall for her a little more.
“I’ve always had trouble sleeping,” you explain. “Ever since I was little. And I’ve always found social situations hard, too.”
“I’ve always hated meeting new people,” the blonde admits, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s gotten a little bit easier, I think, especially after the Euros, I had to do so many interviews and media things, it helped kind of desensitise me to it, but I still don’t like it.”
“Huh,” you say quietly. You never would have guessed that she felt that way. “You always seem so confident.”
“All just a part of my effortlessly cool persona,” she grins, winking at you. You laugh, and she gives you a look of fake hurt. “What, you don’t think I’m effortlessly cool?”
Smiling, you tilt your head. “As long as you believe you’re effortlessly cool, that’s all that counts.” you tease.
Suddenly, Alessia’s phone buzzes. “Oh, we should probably head back in. The others will be glad to see you, they were worried when you weren’t there at lunch.”
“Really?” you ask, surprise clear in your voice, but it quickly turns to worry. “Oh no, am I not meant to leave during lunch? I’m sorry, I just thought-”
“Woah, hey, relax!” she puts a hand on your arm. “Y/n, you’re allowed to do what you want during lunch. The others were just worried about you because you’re a part of the team. Our team. That makes you a part of our family.”
You smile sheepishly.
“Now come on, let’s get going. I don’t fancy giving Jonas an excuse to make us run extra laps, do you?”
#woso x reader#alessia russo#alessia russo x reader#alessia russo fluff#russo x reader#woso#woso imagine#woso fanfics#awfc x reader#lessi russo#arsenal women#arsenal wfc#hannah writes fics
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I’d love if you could do a very fluffy-smut with Spencer, like you had a tough case and the day after he calls asking you to go to his apartment and you see he has made food & made a fort to watch movies with fairy lights and just everything really romantic & it ending with very slow/soft sex🩵
A/N: I loved writing this one! Spencer is absolutely the type to build a perfectly engineered pillow fort just because you're having a bad day 😭😭 I hope you enjoy it!!
Warnings: 18+ minors dni, soft sex, oral sex (f receiving), slow/ gentle sex, multiple orgasms, implied creampie/ no contraception mentioned :) tee hee
There was something about the cases that took you to the other side of the country that sunk the ache into your bones just that little bit more.
It didn't matter if you were going for a kidnapping or a serial or a spree, you always returned more weary than before. The weeks work that you endured was never as tough as returning home to your empty apartment, to the cold floor and the lonely bed.
This time, your case had a happy ending. You weren't sure how many more of them you were going to be able to live through before the bad endings rendered them null and void. It didn't matter how many people you saved some days because your brain was crowded with the names and faces of the ones you didn't.
The drive home from Quantico was unsurprisingly quiet. Having landed in the dead of night, there were never going to be too many people on the roads to your apartment.
You weren't sure if it was fate, or the fact that you hadn't eaten anything in the last 18 hours that made you pull over to the side of the road to pick something up from the 24 hour drive thru, but in the end you were glad you did.
The second you pulled your car off the road, taking a breather and deciding to stretch your legs a bit before going in to order, your phone screen lit up.
“Spencer,” you answered the phone, “what's up?”
“Y/N, hey, I just got home. Listen, remember last month I was talking to you about that one indie film that I couldn't find anywhere? Well, a friend of mine from college just sent me a file entitled ‘the movie.’”
You weren't sure if it was Spencer’s enthusiasm or just the way you were always ready to drop anything to do something with him that had you giggling and nodding along. You didn't remember the discussion, let alone the movie he meant, but you liked hearing him talk about the things he was passionate about.
“So I was thinking, we're both probably not going to get much sleep anyway since we clocked out only 23 minutes ago - movie night?”
“You couldn't have called at a better time, Spencer. I'm grabbing food, text me your order and I'll see you in 15.”
-X-
The drive to Spencer’s apartment was clear, but the hum in the air was lighter than the silence of before. By the time you pulled onto his street, your mood had already brightened significantly.
You trudged up to his apartment softly so as not to cause any complaints and sent him a text to let him know you were waiting outside.
You knew instantly that he'd received and read it - the garbled sound of the large man tripping over his feet in his attempt to rush to the door were the same every time you arrived. Stubbing his toe on some pile of books or the other was practically ritual.
“Hi,” he whispered, opening the door just a crack and giving you a bright smile.
“Hi,” you smiled back. “I bought food.”
“Perfect. That's perfect. You're… come on in. It's cold, right?” He guided you into the small entryway in his apartment and let you drop your keys with his as if they were supposed to be tangled together.
“I have a little surprise.” He said, suddenly sounding bashful as he grabbed for your hand in the dark - you hadn't realised as he'd led you in but there were no lights on in the small apartment on at all, as far as you could tell.
“What? Spencer-”
“You'll like it, I promise, you just have to trust me.” You relaxed as he wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you with him into his living space. His hand was warm as it settled against the small on your back, and his chest was surprisingly broad and firm as you brought up your hands to steady yourself against him.
“Okay, now close your eyes.”
“The apartment is pitch black. Why am I closing my eyes?” You giggled a little, surprised that your whole body felt so light and calm now, when it had felt so terrible only half an hour before.
“Trust me,” he said, and you did. Truth be told, your eyes were already shut before the words had even left his mouth.
“Okay, you can open them now.”
He must have flipped a light switch the second you opened your eyes because your vision was blurred by the dazzling light when you did.
Blinking through the adjustment, you started making out shapes and couldn't stop the small tears that pricked the corners of your eyes.
He hadn't just invited you around for a movie night - he'd built a fort. Held up by a few chairs and piles of books, he'd managed to prop up at least three layers of blanket to surround the most comfortable looking floor you'd ever seen.
You didn't even know he owned this many pillows, but when he tugged your hand down as he began to move into the fort, you didn't need to care.
Not with his fingers gently laced with yours and the fairy lights he'd surrounded everything with, giving his skin a golden glow. You didn't need any explanation. You just needed him to hold you.
“Spencer this is beautiful,” you whispered, sound dampened by the lump in your throat that you tried to swallow, to no relief. “This must've taken so much time. How did you even-”
“PhD in Engineering. I don't get much use out of it these days, but it certainly comes in handy.”
You couldn't help the laugh that burst from you, the tears finally flowing as tears of joy.
“Spencer, what is all this for?”
“It's just because. You looked like you had a hard day, and I enjoy spending time with you.”
They weren't the most romantic words in the world. They probably didn't come close to some quotes he could recite as easily as breathing. But they hit you hard and fast.
You knew you were in love with Spencer Reid long before this moment, but there was no holding back the flood after hearing the sincerity in his voice.
You slowly stretched your neck up and pressed your lips against his. It was fleeting, a small moment that if this didn't pan out, you could brush off as a friendly show of appreciation.
You pulled away to gauge his reaction, but you didn't get to. His hand on your neck had pulled you back to him for another slow, but deep kiss, and it was as if your entire body was on fire in those sheets.
You weren't sure how long you spent breathing each other in, exploring each others lips softly. You just knew you were growing desperate for more. You didn't notice that you'd climbed into his lap until your eagerness knocked him onto his back, forcing you apart.
Your chest lay atop his as you both gasped for air, legs tangled, eyes locked as both of you feared talking first.
After almost too long without anything said or done, Spencer chose silence again, flipping your positions so you were the one on your back on the pillows as he hovered over you, lips meeting yours again.
This time, you made the conscious decision to wrap your legs up around his waist, hand tangling in his hair as you smiled and giggled against his kisses, so obliviously happy to be there with him.
“I love you,” you whispered between kisses, not even hesitating for a second to contemplate whether he felt the same.
“I love you more,” he said as if it were a competition where you both won in the end.
You became more talkative after that, responding to every touch, every kiss with praise and a confession, a moan as his fingers pushed under your shirt, a shaky breath as they unbuttoned your pants.
“Fuck, Spencer, please touch me more,” you begged as his hand toyed with your nipple, having discarded your shirt and bra quickly after receiving permission to do so.
“I will. I want to know all of you,” his voice was strong even in a whisper, as he dropped his head to your other nipple to begin suckling and teasing you.
You always thought his hair would be soft, had been tempted on multiple occasions to tuck a strand behind his ear, or just run a hand through it, and now you held it firm, pushing him further into your chest as you arched into his mouth.
“I want to feel m-more of you, Spencer.”
He raised his gaze to you as he let go of your nipple with a pop and quietly complied with your will. Trailing his head lower, he kissed across the expanse of your stomach, biting and sucking here and there to leave a path of markings in his wake before arriving right where he wanted to be.
He made quick work of your pants and panties both, surprised that a man who never failed to bump into things in his own living space could be so graceful when it came to divesting you of your clothing.
You couldn't ponder for too long as he dived between your legs, spreading you open like a book he needed to read and memorise. His to guess hit your clit quickly, and a few twitches and moans here and there showed him how you liked it, where you needed him and his tongue.
You again got to grasp his hair pulling him further into your wet cunt as you chased your high, needing so desperately to ride out an orgasm against his face.
When his two fingers stretched you open, you practically drowned him, thighs clamping shut as your brain emptied itself of stress.
You calmed down and watched him come up for air, fingers still slowly and gently pumping inside of you, reminding you that this wasn't over.
“You taste sweet.”
“I know how much you like sweet things.” Your juices glistened on his lips and chin, a few drops running down his neck as you stared at him with pure desperation in your eyes.
“Spencer, please, fuck-” his fingers picked up speed every time you tried again.
“Spencer, fuck me, please just fuc-”
“As you wish, Y/N.”
He didn't bother removing his own clothing, though you desperately wanted to see his entire length and explore him just as he had with you.
But after cumming on his face already, you decided you'd let him go with whatever he wanted.
Shifting up behind you as you laid there, he gently rolled your body onto its side as he pulled your back towards him, giving him better access to your cunt as you arched into him again.
He sank in slowly, almost as if he was scared to break you, but didn't stop until he was almost fully inside of you, practically sheathed.
He adjusted his hold on you, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your neck.
With deep, slow strokes, he made love to you. You weren't sure if it was the fairy lights, or if it was just that good, but you saw stars, saw them burnt into your eyes, watched them every time the pleasure felt too good and your eyes rolled back into your head.
The second orgasm came slower than the first, but it was just as hot.
“Y/N, look at me - you're so beautiful, I want to watch you cum.”
“Spencer, love- I love you, I love you, fuck, oh my god, I love you so much.” You reached for his lips but he pressed his forehead against yours as he whispered in your ear a final time: “cum for me now.”
Your body wasn't one for taking your queues, but it responded to him as if he'd been the missing part you'd missed this entire time.
Your cunt tightened around him, milking his cock as he moaned and released seconds after you did.
You lay tangled in those blankets and pillows for hours after, and you weren't afraid or lonely anymore.
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#mgg#spencer reid smut#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you
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Hiii, can i request a scenario on how naoya (when he has reached a point where he loves wife!reader from an arranged marriage) would react to one day not being greeted at all when he comes home? It is completely silent, no response as he calls for her and is getting a bit worried as he starts searching the rooms. But then he sees her laying on the couch, shivering and sweating from a cold that’s so intense she���s barely lucid and can’t even tell he’s there and talking to her
Heya!!
So... I took some liberties when writing this, kind of went a completely different route (the sick part, alongside worried Naoya still remains though), it just occurred to me when reading your ask, but I hope it's still of your liking 🥺!!!
anyways, here are the warnings: mentions of death, miscarriage, a very concerned and overprotective Naoya, a bit of fluff, and everyone wants to spoil you rotten lol.
And without further ado, happy reading!
“Y/N, I’m home!”
Home.
A word he never really cared for, always considering it sappy, alongside the fondness that was usually assigned to it, which Naoya couldn’t think of as nothing but ridiculous, if not hilariously overrated.
For many years, Naoya thought that a home was simply the place that one was raised in and that’s about it. Nothing of the sentimentality others liked to apply to it, brag about it…
Until, of course, he finally came to understand what the word meant; why it was so special, and why it was important to have one.
A home wasn’t made by the people he knew as family, blood related, found in the place he was forced to be in since he was born, and probably die in—no; it’s the one that was made by the people of his choice, people he met through his course of life, connected with, and now, cherished.
Amongst them, you.
He considered himself lucky to have found the love of his life, a concept he considered so… foreign, impossible for someone like him, if not a stupidity of delusional people desiring more from life.
So was Naoya destined to think for the rest of his existence, condemned by his same family to live a life of loneliness, hatred, and die the same way.
But you’d come to show him otherwise, shockingly, and unexpectedly, and in such a way he couldn’t even put up a fight, completely surrendering to you and the wonderful feelings that being in love with you provided.
Now that he’s experienced them, he couldn’t find the reason as to why his family would ever reproach such beautiful thing as harshly as they did—or that he believed them in the first place…
Well, that’s not something that bothers him anymore; the Zen’in clan could continue on in their hard stuck ways for all he cared; he, on the other hand, plans to spend the rest of his days alongside the woman of his dreams, starting by today, finally back in your arms after days of being pulled into pointless missions after pointless missions, which he would not hear of for a few weeks—having earned a well-deserved break for his consistently good performance.
Naoya even prepared accordingly for the occasion, having bought gifts from all the places he’d been to, as well as ideated ways to distract you from the boring estate and his nagging relatives he knows you don’t enjoy being around with, only tolerating them because they were, well, your in-laws, his family—with exceptions of those you do get along, and for them, he’s grateful that they do.
Ah, he couldn’t wait to see you, your face, and the adorable way it brightens up whenever receiving him.
To tell you of his day while resting his head on your lap, with you passing your fingers through his hair, gently soothing his stresses away as you reassure him that he’s the best sorcerer out there, he’s just… unlucky to bump into lesser talented ones.
Get something to eat too, he’d like his favorite for a start, miso soup—and perhaps have you feed it to him? God, it’s been a while since both have done that, and it’s not because he doesn’t like doing it, or you for that matter, but rather, he doesn’t want to risk being seen by others, it has to be in the utmost privacy, after all! He isn’t to be vulnerable in front of his family!!
Oh, he needs wishes to see you—right now. And he’s absolutely sure you’re feeling the same way…
If so… why hadn’t you responded? Why hadn’t you come to receive him in the same manner you’ve always done?
Naoya knows that his schedule can be a bit… unpredictable, making it difficult for you to know exactly when he’ll come back home—but even then, it didn’t take you that long to meet him after announcing his return.
You’d always come to the entrance, no matter if it happened right that moment, or a bit later; you just… did.
But today… it seems that you opted to break the routine by taking far longer than you usually do.
He’d remain attentive to his surroundings, hoping to either hear your approaching footsteps or voice softly calling for him at a distance, yet as time went on, he was received with neither…. And Naoya only begins to grow more worried.
Your husband tries to not jump to the worst conclusion just yet, opting to think that you were perhaps simply caught up tending to the house, maybe even partaking in an unwanted conversation with one of his relatives and having trouble brushing them off—for no matter the times you’d reminded them that your husband was back, and you needed to be there to receive him, still acted as if it wasn’t that important.
Things that implied that even when running late, you were still ok.
Yet…
“Y/N!” Naoya calls once again, hoping for a change…
…
…
…
Silence.
It’s by this time that he decides it’s better to search for you than to stand around and wait for you to magically appear.
Naoya begins by going into the main wing, eyes scanning through the gardens, your usual place of leisure when not busy, where you’d calmly enjoy the diligently tended for flowers (the ones he had changed to your favorite as soon as he found out which ones they were) while snacking on something, or in the company of your loyal staff—if that were the case of your absence, he understood why you didn’t answer.
But he wouldn’t find you near any of the gardens, or anywhere in fact! A statement that weighed even heavier upon finding out that the staff was in the same predicament as him, for when he asked a nearby servant of your whereabouts, he was received with the following answer:
“We haven’t seen her” Naoya’s heart sinks.
“What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” he breathes. “Where could my wife—did she—did she leave the estate?”
No. You… didn’t. Because that’s not what you told him you’d be doing a few hours ago, after letting you know he was on his way back home; if anything, you replied with how excited you were to see him again and that you’d be eagerly waiting for him!
So obviously, their words didn’t make sense. But if so… where were you?
Naoya now frantically searched for you through every wing, room, space, chamber, closet, just— anywhere, literally anywhere you could be while repeatedly calling out your name in hopes of getting a response, or even a glimpse of you; he doesn’t care what at that point, he’s happy with either!
Yet, the longer he went on without an answer, the bigger his sorrow became, to the point where his mind was machinating nothing but the worst-case scenarios, slowly losing his inhibitions as he repeatedly wondered Where were you? How come no one has seen you? Did he have to escalate this situation?
Just—Where are you, Y/N?!
Thankfully, there would be no need to pursue bigger solutions for he’d get his answer soon enough after entering the east wing, passing through the living quarters, and arriving to the laundry room, one of the last places he’d thought you’d be—rightfully guessing so, for you were there, apparently washing whatever garments you had pending, which you hadn’t been able to wash due to a variety of unknown reasons…
But far from feeling elated to have found you, Naoya felt as if whatever he had left of his heart was effectively broken, which felt short compared to the way he found you.
“Y/N!”
The sight that received him is one that will remain imprinted in the back of mind: you were laying on the floor, on your side, tightly clutching to your stomach as you breathed heavily, eyes tightly shut while groaning in what Naoya could only interpret as pain.
As if his worries weren’t through the roof at that point, this last conclusion is what urged Naoya to hastily make way to your side, swiftly kneeling to your level as he calls out for you once more.
“Y/N—Y/N” He’d breathe, firmly yet carefully placing his hands over you with intentions of picking you up, but his hold falters when his fingers briefly graze your skin, making him gasp in return. “Y/N you’re—you’re burning!”
This would be the only time you’d respond to him, barely able to move your head onto his direction, slightly opening your eyes to see him, a gaze that shows how much pain you were going through, barely able to understand what was going on, except for gently breathing the word that makes his heart squeeze out in pain.
“Na—Naoya…”
Any hesitation is effectively thrown out the window by that point, picking you up and rushing you towards their shared bedroom, all while barking orders to the nearby staff, demanding them to call for a doctor, as quickly as possible, unless they wanted to be jobless by the end of the day!
The staff reacts accordingly, and a few minutes later, the family doctor arrives to the estate, guided to your room and seeing that you were already being tended to, or at least that’s the idea he gets from the dampened towel on your forehead, undoubtedly in efforts of lowering your fever—which unfortunately, had been for nothing.
Well, he was there now, and he didn’t waste time either to get to work, quickly assessing your condition by the apparent symptoms, starting by your temperature, the color of your skin, and even the way you reacted to him while doing so, completely uncooperative—apparently, whatever put you in this state had evoked great instability from you, thus the doctor found it necessary to put you under sedatives.
But even when he was able to quickly gain control of the situation, the doctor still couldn’t arrive at a proper conclusion, less when the people around you had an even smaller idea of what struck you.
“I—I don’t know.” Naoya would respond, angrily, frustrated—and rightfully so. How come none of the servants had noticed your absence? Or worse, hadn’t seen anything that could hint as to what your sickness was about?! “Can’t you just—help her?!”
“That’s what I’m trying—I can’t help her if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.” The doctor responded as calmly as he could, but even he had to admit that everyone’s seeming ignorance annoyed him as well. “But I can still say that this seems much more than just a simple… sickness.”
“What do you mean?” Naoya frowns, the doctor looks at the nearby servants, tasked to be on stand-by if needed.
“I’d like to discuss this in private.” He tells them.
The servants don’t wait for Naoya to repeat the order before they’re already out the room and away from their earshot; a request that while didn’t raise any concerns from Naoya —if anything, he was glad their pesky, useless presence, was finally away from you— the doctor’s face was quick to convince your husband that something far worse than what met the eye.
And this made Naoya’s nerves reach a new limit.
“I told you; I don’t know what happened—” Your husband is quick to defend, believing the doctor was to interrogate him once more, only to be interrupted.
“You don’t need to tell me for me to know what happened.” He interjects, Naoya’s eyes widen.
“I’m lost.” Naoya scowls. “Stop talking cryptically and get on with it!”
“I’ve seen these symptoms before, Naoya. And as I said, these are not from a simple sickness, an allergy or any of the matter” He takes a deep breath. “I heavily suspect she was intoxicated—and not accidentally, but rather, intentionally.”
“Excuse me?” Naoya frowns. “I told you to stop talking in riddles, say what you—”
“Poisoned, Naoya. I believe your wife was poisoned.”
Naoya’s world comes to a screeching halt.
You…
You were poisoned.
According to the doctor, you—You were attacked, besieged, with malicious intents.
Taken advantage of in the one place you’d never be on edge, your home, the same one he had repeatedly reassured your father that you’d be safe in—the Zen’in estate, home to the prestigious Zen’in clan! There was no safer place in the whole world! There couldn’t!
No one— no one wouldn’t dare do such a thing here—they knew better! Naoya would force them to now better…
Yet, someone dared to commit this transgression against you.
And to make it all worse….
Almost got away with it.
Who would even think of doing such transgression against you?! You?!
You had no quarrels with anyone, and even when you did, you handled things in such an amicable way just so you’d live peacefully, free of nonsensical arguments—you had no space for them in your life!
And yet, this still happened, and right underneath his nose….
There’s no doubt that he’ll put an investigation into order to find the bastard responsible for your suffering, and once he does, he’ll make him regret his existence, to the point he’ll have him begging for mercy—and even then, it wouldn’t be enough for Naoya.
However, that is something that will have to wait until he knows you’re safe, healthier, which the doctor had slowly began to help you with by giving you something that will immediately trap the poison from being further absorbed by your blood—activated charcoal, so he remembers— as well as some other prescriptions for side effects he wishes to prevent.
“Your wife was very lucky to survive, have you waited a second more—”
“I wasn’t waiting.” Your husband immediately responds, offended by his wording. “I wasn’t aware of this until I returned.”
The doctor presses his lips together, taking notice that throughout his whole visit, Naoya has never left your side, nor freed your hands from his.
“And I’m not surprised.” He silently admits.
Naoya hates the notion the doctor was implying, that this was an inside job. But considering the odd behavior of the staff, their seeming ignorance of your location and your status… it all pointed to that same conclusion.
The boiling fury inside him grows bigger.
“How could this be?” Naoya seethes.
How could someone get this far, this close to you, and no one suspecting a thing?
Your husband might’ve reproached the way the doctor expressed himself, but there was an undeniable truth behind them; he truly was lucky to have gotten back home just when he did, for had he taken a second longer, just one, you could’ve die—
Outside of that, the second most important question regarding this whole situation was…where was your staff? Why, of all days, were they absent?
Naoya is confident that if Mariya, your closest confidant, had been around, this would’ve never happened in the first place; the moment she saw anything out of the ordinary, she would’ve pulled all the stops and acted accordingly.
Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, and this makes Naoya both highly suspicious, and furious.
Where was she? Where are the rest? Why would they leave you in your most needed time? Did they plan this? Plot against you?! Where the hell could they possibly—
“They’re going to be away for the weekend to visit their families.”
He suddenly remembers; you told him so earlier that week through a text.
“Will you be ok?” Naoya also remembers asking; he didn’t feel happy knowing you’d be alone without your most trusted staff.
“It’s just a few days, Naoya. Besides, they deserve a break! I don’t want them to get tired of me, you know?” you laugh. “But you better come back quickly, ok? Just because they’re not around doesn’t mean I like being alone…”
“I won’t take long. I promise.”
If only he’d kept his word…
Well, if that was to be the answer to their absence, then it wasn’t fair to hold any level of animosity towards them, a weight being lifted from his burdened shoulders upon realizing your staff could strill be trusted in.
Now all that was left to worry about is finding the culprit… and the status of that too.
“Is she ok?” Naoya would ask.
“She is, I managed to—”
“No, I mean… that.” Naoya’s voice hints to a silent agreement between the two. “Is… that ok?”
The doctor quickly catches what he means, affirming so by a nod. His reassurance lifts an immeasurable weight from his heart, even greater than the alleged betrayal of Mariya and the rest. One less thing to worry about.
“What now, then?”
“Since the damage was limited, to say the least, it won’t be necessary to move her to a hospital, however—”
She’s still in danger. Naoya concludes. More so if the attack came from someone inside… And what makes him think that just because he’s back they’ll stop trying?
If anything, seeing how close they got, they could try once again!
The mere thought is enough to push him into taking what is perhaps the most radical decision he could’ve taken in this situation, something that might come to torment him in the future, but until then, he won’t care, not even a bit; not when he had your safety to worry about:
That is… Naoya fired everyone, effective immediately.
He took no heed if any of them had been serving the family for years, if they were close friends of his father, or if their livelihood would be affected— Naoya just wanted them out of his sight, the estate, and as soon as possible, less they wanted to receive more of his anger, before continuing with the rest of his plan.
Due to the gravity of said situation, Naoya knew he had to contact your family; he also knew that you would’ve refuted the idea as soon as he mentioned it to you, not wanting to worry them if you’ve truly been attacked, but he couldn’t do this to your father; not when he was amongst the few people in the world he knew had your wellbeing as utmost priority— as well as holding a great amount of respect and appreciation for him, specifically for the way he welcomed him into your family.
Eiichi, your father, had to admit that getting a call from the Zen’in estate that didn’t come from you surely surprised him beyond any comprehension, and yet, that would be nothing compared to the shock he’d get upon knowing the motive behind said call; Naoya swore he almost heard your father passing out, or at least, in the process of.
“Poisoned?!” Eiichi gasped, tightly clutching onto the phone—he might’ve as well passed out and dived into a nightmare! “Is she ok?! Where is she right now?”
“At the estate, with me—the doctor didn’t think it necessary for her to be hospitalized since he was able to stop the poison from spreading any further, but she still needs rest.”
“And the baby?” the referenced secret between Naoya and the doctor; your pregnancy.
“Fine.” He breathes, swallowing. “The doctor didn’t tell me of any damage done to the baby… but I’m—I’m still taking her to the doctor, just—just to be sure.”
“How could this happen?” Eiichi laments, heart breaking not only for you, but for Naoya as well. Your father knew all too well what it was to lose the love of his life, a pain that he would never desire on anyone, not even his own enemies…
One that he could slowly begin to hear in Naoya’s voice; oh, he could only imagine the pain he was going through, or what waited for him if he had lost not only you, but his child too.
But, well, the worst is over… at least for now.
“Someone from the staff did it.” Naoya declares, Eiichi’s heart sinks even further. “But I’ve taken care of it, I’ve fired everyone.”
And your father, contrary to Naoya’s relatives, did not question him. If anything, he seconded his decision, because had he been in your husband’s shoes, he would’ve done the same thing.
“Was her staff involved?” Your father asks, feeling a slight… anger with the idea that the ones you greatly cherished could’ve plotted against you.
“No, they were not; in fact, they were out of the estate when all this went down.” Naoya responds. “But I know that if they had been here, this would’ve never happened in the first place.”
“Bring her here, with me.” Eiichi immediately suggested, Naoya blinks, startled by the idea, if not against it.
“Father—"
“We can take care of her while she’s recuperating, take her to the doctor too. I’ll make sure that she has everything she needs. And not to misjudge your staff, or lack of, but the people here would never hurt her—they’ve known her since she was a child! There won’t be another safer place for her to be than here, Naoya. At least… until she’s better.”
Previously, Naoya would’ve questioned the veracity of his words, done all he could to prove you were much better with him, but after this occurrence… he had to agree.
As much as it hurt him to know you’d be away from him, especially when you were pregnant… he knew this was the right decision to make. He couldn’t expose you to another similar situation—not even if he got a completely new staff… or if you didn’t want to leave.
So, Naoya accepts Eiichi’s suggestion, alongside buying him a ticket for the earliest available flight to Kyoto; a few hours later, your father would arrive to the estate, rushing to your side, keeping you company while tending to your every need as Naoya prepared everything for your departure.
When you eventually regained consciousness, you were (although a bit surprised) overwhelmingly elated to see your father visiting you, for it had been so long since you’d seen him, probably around the time you announced your pregnancy!
However, that excitement would soon diminish when Naoya told you why he was there… alongside the cryptic explanation of your “sickness.”
“It was an allergy.” Naoya would say, not wanting to stress you by the fact that you were intentionally poisoned, although that excuse did little to stop you from doing so. “Rare, but it can happen, especially with pregnant women.”
“An allergy…? But I didn’t…” you frown.
“It happened to your mother, once.” Eiichi followed Naoya’s lead. He hated lying to you, but… he concurred that keeping you safe, both mentally and physically, was worth doing so. “It’s nothing but hormonal changes, so don’t worry much about it.”
“I guess…” you frown, pressing your lips. “But that still doesn’t explain why I have to leave.”
“We need to check what caused your allergy” Naoya responds. “It might be something about the food, the flowers, or even the wood; I rather you be safe than to go through that scare again.”
“But is… all this really necessary?” Naoya gives you a tight smile and a nod. “Naoya, I—"
“It’s not all bad, Y/N.” Naoya says.
“Besides, don’t you want to spend time with your papa? It’s been so long since I’ve spent time with my adorable pumpkin!” Eiichi laments.
“Dad!” you gasp, flustered by his words. “Don’t—don’t say that in front of Naoya…”
“What? It’s true! And that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I learned I’m going to be a grandfather!”
“Stop it!” your face becomes redder. “You’re embarrassing me!”
Naoya chuckles; it’s not like he’s seen you in… worse situations. Or better?
“But… I guess a visit is overdue.” You eventually concede, Naoya and your father sigh out of relief. “Though what about Mariya, Haruko, and Hitomi?”
“They’ll go with you, if you want.” Naoya says; he doubts they’ll say no, especially after knowing of the whole fiasco that occurred when away, might even offer themselves before he suggests the idea.
“If I didn’t know any better, sounds like you want me gone.” You jest, Naoya frowns. “It’s a joke, of course…”
“There’s nothing more I would like than you staying here, but until we figure out what caused that reaction from you, I’d rather not risk it.”
“It’s only temporary, Y/N. Besides, look—I brought you gifts!” Eiichi says, taking out the bag he brought from home seemingly out of nowhere, filled with things he knew you’d love, such as sweets, your favorite mochi’s of course, alongside some plushies that would always brighten your day when you were a child. “And there’s much more back home…”
Naoya can’t help but feel relieved you had your father for support, but at the same time, a bit jealous and, well, threatened. Not for bad reasons, of course, it was simply because how the hell did he not think of bringing you gifts first?!
“Dad… you’re embarrassing me in front of Naoya.”
“Ah, that’s a parent’s bane, isn’t it? To always embarrass their children—you’ll see what I mean when you both have your baby.”
Perhaps the main reason why you ended up agreeing to leave was because your pregnancy did not seem affected by your supposed allergy; had it been you would’ve refused to leave your husband’s side!
… Well, you still would’ve refused either way, but perhaps a bit more. You hate the idea of being away from the father of your child for too long, after all.
“I don’t think so—Naoya and I are going to be the cool parents, you’ll see.”
“That’s what your mom and I thought, and look at me now, can’t even say anything without you telling me I’m embarrassing you!” Eiichi says, you chuckle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mom was cool! You were always the funny one!”
Naoya smiles.
Now he knows for sure that there’s no safer place for you to be in than with your family, even if that were to be on the other side of the country…
After Naoya prepared everything for your departure, the three eventually made way to the exit, where you and your father would bid their last goodbyes.
“Won’t you accompany me?” you ask, a slight pout on your face, he smiles in hopes to cheer you up, but really, he felt miserable.
“I want to, but I can’t.” He explains. “I have to deal with this as fast as possible if you’re to come back quickly.”
“… Will you visit me over there, at least?” you frown.
“Yes. As soon as I have a chance, I’ll go see you.” Naoya promises.
It had all been too soon, just a few hours ago he arrived at the estate, and now, you’re leaving. Naoya laments that he couldn’t spend a day with you before your departure… but he guesses this to be a rightful sacrifice for your well-being.
“I wouldn’t dream of keeping away from my wife and baby for too long.”
At those words, Eiichi couldn’t help but frown out of sorrow.
It wasn’t fair that neither of you had been able to enjoy this wonderful occasion as you should.
He still remembers the excitement in your voice, the glint in your eye, and the beaming smile on your lips when announcing your pregnancy—alongside the nerves that came with it, of course, which Eiichi eased by reminding you and Naoya that their enthusiasm was nothing but indicative they were already on their way of becoming the loving and supportive parents their baby needed.
But as excited as both were, Eiichi had to cruelly put a stop to their celebrations, especially after Naobito was made aware of this, who wished to proceed by announcing the news to the whole community.
“I have to disagree, Naobito.” Eiichi would be the first to reject the idea, much to everyone’s surprise—yours, specifically.
“And why is that?” He’d ask back, not understanding why the father of the expecting mother, of all people, would be the one to reject so.
“It’s best if Y/N keeps her pregnancy a secret, at least… until it’s undeniably noticeable.”
“But… why, dad?” you asked. This was a moment of absolute joy, to be treated as such! So why did he intend to keep it a secret? Was he… disappointed?
No. Never. He was nothing but happy to see you happy and become a grandfather himself for the first time in his life!
But as a man of his years, he’s learned to be cautious of how said blessings are to be celebrated, as well as seen his fair share of happiness turn sour… things that Eiichi would rather take upon him than allow them to ever befall you.
“Because there’s people out there that might try to hurt you—or the baby.” He’d explain. “Naobito cannot not deny this, but if anyone hears that you’re pregnant with the Zen’in heir’s baby, those that want to hurt the Zen’in clan, or our family, will see this as the perfect opportunity to do so.”
“I’d never allow such thing, rest assured, there’s no safer place than—” Naoya quickly interjects, wanting to reassure your father, but Eiichi was set on his warnings.
“I wouldn’t have said this if I didn’t see it myself.” Eiichi reminds him, Naoya swallows. “We live in a highly competitive world due to the nature of our families; I’ve lost my wife because of this! And I’d be damned to allow it to happen again to my daughter.”
He hated to remind you of the harsh truth; hated to see how your face would sadden, the excitement for your first child, his first grandchild, quickly disappearing…
“Why would someone do that?” you murmur, frowning.
“They wouldn’t dare—I’ll make sure of it.” Naoya hisses.
Eiichi remained silent, sad for you and your husband. Because even if you’ve experienced first-hand what it is to lose someone through these matters, both have yet to fully understand the extremes those supposedly loyal to them can go to if properly incited. Especially for someone who had so much to lose, just as the elite members of prestigious Zen’in clan.
Even then, your father would not allow such pain to reach you, not the same way it almost did to him and your mother, so, he insisted you keep these news secret from the world—and if you must, only if you must, reveal it to your most faithful ones; the rest could learn when your stomach was too big to deny.
If you do so, keep your baby hidden from the world, safe from those that harbor nothing but pain and sorrow… all will be fine. Eiichi promises so.
…
Or so, that’s what everyone hoped would’ve happened, because if there’s one thing to be learned from this incident, is that no matter how cautious you were, word of your pregnancy still managed to land in the wrong ears, and now, were actively against it.
The question no longer pertained as to how, but rather, who; who was the author of this terrible act?
The notion that someone of Naoya’s relatives, indirectly informed through Naobito’s… drunken rambles, soon crosses the minds of your father and husband. If so, it would make sense as to why they’d use an innocent staff member to do the deed, keep their hands clean of the whole situation, instead of going to bigger extremes.
It’s the most probable of the theories, but they could not annul the following: jealousy from the servants.
Naoya considered that statement to be the most delusional one your father could’ve gathered, but he’d be wise to remember how others perceive him—or more like what he represented. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched that others would desire what he had, or him, in some cases. And naturally, you’re an obstacle to that goal, your baby even more so…
It wasn’t fair, but it was your reality.
Nonetheless, Eiichi and Naoya will still do whatever it takes to keep you safe.
“It’s just for a few days, pumpkin.” Your father would say upon seeing the sadness in your face, which remained even when reassured that Naoya would be with you as soon as possible. “Besides, you’re going to see your brother and sister too—they’ve missed you very much, you know? They’ve been wanting to spoil you and their future niece, or nephew!”
You smile, it’s good that even when in the storm, your family is still able to exude happiness. You could only imagine how enthusiastic they’d be when the baby was finally here.
“I know… I missed them too.” You admit, before looking over to Naoya one last time. “Well… I hope that whatever is keeping you here is quickly dealt with.”
“You won’t even notice I’m gone.” Naoya promises, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything—before you know it, you’ll be back at the estate, with me.”
That’s a promise he unfortunately, doesn’t know if will become true inside the promised timeline, but will do anything in his power so it does.
Either way, it’s safe to say that Naoya did manage to keep one part of his promise—and that would be the one where he reassured you wouldn’t even notice his absence, done through sending you endless amounts of gifts, every day, effectively filling your room to the brim with all things he’d knew you’d like, and some for baby too: from clothes for you, to cute onesies he’d like his baby to wear when she was finally here.
“You still think the baby is going to be a girl?” you’d ask through one of the many videocalls he’d make—one daily, at the very least. “Wait a minute… you better not have spoiled me!”
“I just know” He reiterates with shrug; you roll your eyes. “If not, then I’ll have lots of things to return.”
“Well, if it’s worth anything, I also feel like our baby is going to be a girl.” You smile, warming up Naoya’s heart. “I can’t wait to meet her—I just know she’s going to have your eyes!”
“Or yours, I hope.” He longs, you blush. “Have you been eating well, my love?”
“Yes; and no allergies yet.” You explain, Naoya feels relieved—at least the problem didn’t follow you there. “Maybe I was just unlucky that day, Naoya… Are you sure I can’t return to the estate yet?”
“Not until I’m sure you’re going to be safe here.” Naoya responds, and while his words are meant to be comforting, you can’t shake off the sense that something worse happened; that something far bigger than a simple allergy had struck you, specially with the way your staff and family would act around you, going as far as denying you of any information pertaining to the Zen’in.
But… if your husband had a reason to not say anything now, then the best you could do is trust him. The truth will come out eventually, you suppose. So instead you could focus on other pressing matters.
“Well, at least don’t send me too many gifts.” You continued. “While I appreciate them, between you and my father, I don’t think my house has enough room to store all the things you’ve both given me.”
“Who’s given you more things? Me or your dad?” Naoya nonchalantly asks, you gasp.
“Naoya! That’s not the—take it seriously! Control yourself with the gifts, ok?” you say, he chuckles, but ends up agreeing; at least until the topic has quieted down, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to let your father win the upper hand like that one day ever again. “Or at least save them to when I’m back at the estate… which I hope is soon.”
“Almost there.” Naoya says. “Just a few more things, and we’ll be together once again.”
… even if the answer was to be the same, you still needed to ask.
“Is… everything ok?”
Not precisely, not when he has yet to find out the one responsible for all this…
But he’s gotten a lead, an idea of where to start, of who to hunt—which he knows he’ll find in record time thanks to the fury he harbors, further motivating him to do this as quickly and precisely as possible just so he’d have you back home, with him.
“Nothing you should worry about.” He reiterates. “Just keep focusing on your health, the baby, and not doing anything strenuous.”
“I’m just pregnant, Naoya… nothing extraordinary. I still want to help around., you know?”
“I know, and you’ll be able to do that and more in due time, but for now, keep safe, for me, ok? And our little mochi.”
“When will I see you again?” you ask again, hoping that perhaps this time around, the answer will be different.
“Soon.” He promises. “Soon, my love.”
Once he deals with the bastard that hurt you.
Naoya will give them nothing but a glimpse of the sorrow and pain they’d put you through, his fury—make their life a living hell, make them regret the foolish idea that they could ever get away from it; and still, he doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied with his revenge.
He’d want more, he’d want everyone to know that his family are not ones to mess around with.
He’d burn the whole world to set the message across if necessary—and that would only be the bare minimum for you, the love of his life, and now, his baby…
His home.
#ask#naoya zenin#naoya zen'in#naoya x reader#naoya zenin x reader#naoya zenin x you#jjk naoya#naoya zen'in x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk x you#prompt series: jujutsu kaisen
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Stay | JJK
summary: when a creepy stranger follows you to your new job, your best friend jungkook makes sure he never does it again. but now he’s hurt and you’re determined to tend to his wounds, no matter how awkward if feels.
pairing: jungkook x reader
wc: 5,778
warnings/genre/rating: 17+, best friends to lovers; swearing; mentions of violence and bruises; insinuation of stalking; emotional distress; kissing; romantic touching; a bit of jealousy; vague reference to family estrangement; in this world, jungkook likes coffee but you don’t; and this is all obviously made up, none of it’s real
a/n: look, idk what this is. it just happened while i was missing a cute someone. having a really hard time writing rn so apologies if this isn’t what you were expecting. maybe you’ll like it (i hope so!)
The last few hours of your shift pass quietly.
You weren’t expecting any customers at this hour, especially given the warming temperatures, although convenience stores do tend to have some weirdos walk in at odd hours.
You duck below the front counter to clean the glass encasing the lottery tickets and hear the front door chime.
Quickly removing your hand, you start locking up the case when you hear something land on top of the counter. Tilting your head up, you see two Starbucks cups sat atop the counter.
“We don’t—“
When you meet the eyes of the customer, you realize it’s Jungkook.
“Done yet?”
“Not yet,” you reply, sighing as you glance at the clock behind you. “Nearly an hour left.”
Jungkook sighs. “You need a different job,” he says, looking over his shoulder before stuffing his hands in his pocket. “ I have a bad feeling about those dudes hanging out front.”
You look past him and shake your head.
You recognize one of the guys, the same guy that asked you out a few weeks ago. The one you’re certain belongs to some gang or mafia or something. You wonder if he thinks you may change your mind if you see him around enough times.
Little does he know, he’s the reason you’ve been applying to dozens of jobs to get out of this hellhole and as far from him as possible.
But you haven’t had much luck yet and you can’t afford to be jobless.
“Don’t worry, Jungkook. I can handle them. Anyways,” you stop for a second, pointing at the cups. “One of these for me?”
“No, I need both of these if I gotta listen to you.”
“This one better not be coffee or I’ll—“
You grab the one closest to you, sniffing the warm chocolate aroma and sighing in relief.
“I asked them to spike it with espresso.”
“Jerk,” you reply, smiling with the knowledge that Jungkook would never forget your drink order. He knows how much you despise coffee.
One by one, customers leave the coffee shop and you don’t blame them. With the number of mistakes the new barista is making, spilling drinks on the floor, on himself, on customers, you would be inviting a burn just to stay within 10 feet of him.
But you remain standing, grimacing every time one of the customers walks out with rather harsh parting words.
Too harsh, considering that his face probably drew in far more customers than the small shop usually sees.
Finally, you’re next in the line.
Well, you’re now the only person left in line.
When he sees you, his face brightens up tenfold.
“Y/N!! I didn’t expect you here. Hi!”
You step forward and smile at the beautiful boy behind the counter, hoping and praying that the warmth in your cheeks is not translating onto your skin.
“Hi Taehyung! Jungkook told me today was your first day so of course I had to come. How is it going?”
“Good,” is the first word out of his mouth but when you glance at the carnage of spilled drinks being wiped up by another worker, he quickly adds, “But it could be better. I guess I have much more to learn.” The way he scratches the nape of his neck is unexpectedly endearing.
“Let me make you a drink. You hit me as an iced Americano drinker, right?”
Iced Americano. The most repulsive, rancid drink on the menu.
“Yep, mhmm. That’s my drink.”
This is a new low. You’re not proud of yourself for folding but after all the mistakes he made today, you don’t have the heart to add another one to the list.
He prepares it quickly and regretfully manages not to spill it on you. As you take your first sip, the door to the coffee shop opens up behind you.
“Jungkook! You made it, buddy.”
Shit.
You wish the ground could swallow you whole when you notice Jungkook in your periphery, staring at the drink now leaving your lips, your throat twitching from having to push the vile liquid down it.
“Is that… coffee?”
“Haven’t seen much of you lately. So this is where you work now?”
You drum your fingers along the counter of the coffee shop, trying not to let your panic show on your face. You don’t even bother looking at the guy, the same one that fuelled your desire to leave your old job. You assumed you would never have to see him again once you found a new place to work but you were wrong.
With some effort, you manage to muster up your best customer service smile. “What would you like to order?”
He steps closer and you can almost imagine his smug expression as you look past him, trying your best to avoid eye contact.
“What drink can I buy you, beautiful?”
You flinch at the last word, scrunching up your nose as if something smells. You can smell the bullshit on him.
You take one deep inhale and straighten up to face him head on, locking eyes with the creep.
“I don’t want a drink from you. Ever. So either order something for yourself or leave the shop.”
He chuckles. “Don’t get emotional, beautiful. It’s just one drink.”
You scoff, amazed at his audacity.
“Look, I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.”
“Come on, it’s just one drink—“
“She asked you to leave her alone. That means you leave her alone.”
Taehyung is now standing between you and the man, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Why don’t you butt out, man. I’m just talking here.”
“No,” you interject, pushing Taehyung gently aside as you face the creep again, “I’m done talking to you. Are you going to leave or would you prefer the cops escort you?”
“Open up, Y/N. I know you’re home.”
You run to the peephole in your apartment and see Jungkook standing on the other side, pacing back and forth with his hands in fists.
“Now, Y/N, or I’m breaking the door down.”
When you open the door, he practically jumps at you, grabbing your shoulders as he scans your face and then looks at the rest of you. “Are you ok, Y/N? Did he hurt you? Give me his name.”
You realize Taehyung must have told him what happened. You grab Jungkook’s wrist and bring him to your couch, guiding him down as you sit down beside him.
“I’m fine, Jungkook. Perfectly fine. He just asked me out again and I said no. Nothing else happened.”
Jungkook looks relieved. Then he turns back to you.
“Again? You know him?”
“It’s… no, not really. Just some guy.”
You avoid his eyes, picking at a thread on your jeans. He puts his hand on yours.
“Tell me.”
“It’s no one. You don’t know him.”
“Y/N…”
You sigh. “It’s that guy you saw hanging out in front of the convenience store. He had asked me out back then and somehow found me at the coffee shop today. But don’t worry, I told him…” You pause when you notice his eyes clouding over, seemingly in a trance as he stands up, hands tightening into a fist.
“Jungkook?”
“It was the same guy? You’re sure?” He’s looking at you but you know he doesn’t see you. He sees him.
You stand up to face him directly, trying to wade through the fog in his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, Jungkook. He won’t—“ He doesn’t wait for you to finish as he pulls his hood over his head, slamming your door behind him.
You run out into the hall but he’s already gone.
Jungkook isn’t responding to your texts or calls. You’ve spent the last two and a half hours walking the streets trying to find him, terrified he might do something incredibly dangerous.
He has a habit of being overprotective and you’re worried he might land himself in the hospital again.
Or worse.
You scan every possible spot he may be, checking in with Taehyung every few minutes ever since you asked him to join the search, but so far neither of you have had any luck.
It’s cold and you can’t stop the disturbing thoughts, the ones with a badly hurt Jungkook. You’re hoping Jungkook doesn’t find him. That asshole is undoubtedly dangerous and if he happens to be with the thugs he usually surrounds himself with, you can’t bear to imagine what they’d do to Jungkook.
A few more hours pass and Taehyung’s roommate forces him to come home, leaving you to continue the search on your own.
You feel helpless and completely alone, letting your feet guide you as you continue to beg the universe to let you find Jungkook safe and sound.
Without realizing it, you’re in the middle of the park where you and Jungkook first met. You look up, almost pleading by now and feel droplets hit your face. You didn’t even realize it was raining.
“Y/N…?”
You turn around to see Jungkook standing a few metres away. Without warning you cry out, hot tears free falling onto your cheeks. Through the tears, you can only see the outline of Jungkook standing in the moon light and wonder if he is really there or if he’s just a beautiful mirage.
“Where were you,” you shout through the tears, nearly wailing at this point. “Why didn’t you answer my calls, idiot? I thought you…you might…”
Jungkook had started walking towards you at some point because his arms are now wrapped around you, his hand cradling your head against his chest. “Shhh, I’m here.”
“I thought you might…might be hurt,” you mutter between breaths, your tears spilling onto his chest and you’re not sure if he even understands what you’re saying.
“I’m ok. Really.”
You sniffle, and Jungkook tilts his head back to look at you. But you immediately pull your arms out from his hug and punch him on the chest. “You jerk, you could have—“
You pause mid sentence when you notice Jungkook wince in pain, far more than you would have expected. You blink a few times and notice the cut on his lip. His eye also seems quite a bit more red and swollen than you remember.
You pull back and stare at him. Although he attempts a smile, it doesn’t fool you, especially when the action causes his cheek to twitch.
“What happened, Jungkook?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking away now. “Nothing.”
You tilt his face back to you and run your finger over his cut lip. His lip twitches though you know he’s trying to keep a brave face. You trace up to his eye and catch another flinch, and the very beginnings of a bruise.
“You’re hurt.”
“You should see the other guy.”
It takes quite a bit of convincing to get Jungkook back into your apartment. He keeps insisting he can clean himself up and you know it’s because it’s past midnight now.
But you can’t let him take care of himself. Especially when you’re the reason he’s hurt.
Jungkook is sitting on your couch and looking the least comfortable you’ve ever seen him, his leg bouncing so fast you fear he may take off.
“Stay still. I need to get the ointment on your lip or it’ll scar.”
“Wouldn’t I look handsome with a scar?”
Jungkook laughs when you huff in annoyance, but immediately winces in pain, reaching for the cut.
“You’re lucky your lip ring wasn’t ripped out, Jungkook. I can’t believe you would stoop to violence.”
You’re leaning into him now, tilting his chin up so you can get a closer look at the cut.
You notice your heart racing and can’t figure out why. Then you realize Jungkook is staring at you.
“It might be easier for me if you close your eyes.”
“Who says I want this to be easy?”
Groaning, you leave the couch, returning a few seconds later with a bag of frozen peas. You press it against his blackening eye, a little carelessly given his last comment.
“Such gentle bedside manner,” Jungkook mutters, taking the peas from your hands and gently pressing it against his eye.
“Shut up.”
You stand back and survey his face, noticing a crusted cut above his eye. Grabbing the wet towel, you start wiping it off when he grabs your wrist.
“You’re shivering.”
“Hmm?”
Looking down, for the first time you notice you’re drenched, having been far more preoccupied with getting Jungkook cleaned up.
He reaches over and pushes a wet strand from your eyes. You’re staring at him now, swallowing when he wipes away a droplet from your cheek.
“Maybe you want to change into something warmer?”
“Yeah, ok. Give me one sec,” you reply, jumping up to grab a change of clothes. You pause mid-step and look back. “I’ll bring you the hoodie you left last time.”
You let him hit the shower first, standing back in awe when he emerges 20 minutes later in his old hoodie (it’s yours now, but whatever) and a pair of your baggy sweats. He really looks exceptional in sweats, you think to yourself. When he catches you staring, you clear your throat.
“Right. My turn now.”
His reaction to you after your shower is not nearly as… complimentary. You had grabbed the first pair of clothes in your drawer and maybe that was a mistake.
“Duckies?” He looks like he’s fighting back a laugh, but you don’t see anything wrong with the pyjama set. “It looks like someone barfed ducks on you.”
“What? These are normal pyjamas,” you reply, eyes narrowing. “What do you wear? Ironman shorts?”
A grown man is now giggling in your living room. You’re livid.
“How did you know I was wearing Ironman shorts? Did you peek?”
“What the heck? Seriously?” Ease sets in again as you laugh freely, walking over to playfully shove him. He winces in pain again, prompting you to stare at him. “Are you hurt here too?”
You place your hand on his chest and slide it over to where you shoved him. He sharply inhales, the action answer enough for you. You blink a few times and consider the options before landing on one. You realize you need to go with the one that feels the least comfortable.
“Take it off,” you say, vaguely gesturing to his chest.
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” you repeat, grabbing the layer covering his top half. “I need to see what I’m working with.”
“What, again? You really like making me take my clothes off, huh?”
Despite the annoyed groan you let out, you’re actually grateful for his attempt at lightening the mood.
He struggles for a few moments but manages to remove the hoodie with your help. Once it’s completely off, you can’t help but stare at his chest.
“What the fuck, Jungkook. Your boobs are bigger than mine.”
When you look up, you expect to be received by a smug grin or at least a smirk. But he seems to be avoiding your eyes, his ears turning an impressive shade of red.
Instead of teasing him further, you lean in to examine the injuries. Thankfully it’s not as bad as you feared. There is definitely the beginnings of bruising, but nothing major.
You run your hand over the bruised spot on his chest to check for swelling, noticing him jump a little.
“Too cold?”
He nods.
Rubbing your hands together, you try again, resting a fingertip on his skin. He looks up at you and nods. You slide your hand lower to his ribs and Jungkook groans in response. The bruising is a bit worse there and you decide to apply an ice pack to reduce the risk of further swelling.
Unfortunately, ice is not very comfortable.
Every time your hand glides over his chest, he jumps, pulling away from your touch.
“I need to hold this in place for it to work.”
“Fine. Be quick.”
He inhales but the second your hand touches his chest, he jumps again.
“Sorry, try it again.”
You place your hand on his chest again and notice him tensing his body, his abs distracting you momentarily. As you glide it over to his bruised rib, you hear his muffled groans. A few minutes pass as you continue holding on, noticing how cute he looks with his eyes squeezed shut and his self restraint as he bites his lip, willing himself to endure a bit longer.
You let go one hand to reach for his face when you feel him grab your other wrist again.
With his eyes still shut, he whispers so low you almost don’t hear it. “How much longer?”
You blink at him and when you don’t respond, his eyes flutter open.
Suddenly there isn’t enough air. His breath sounds shallow and you wonder if yours sounds the same. With how close he is, you almost forget he asked you a question.
Clearing your throat, you glance into his eyes momentarily before averting your gaze to his hand wrapped around yours. “A few more minutes. Think you can hang in there a bit longer, hmm?”
He sighs, grip loosening but staying where it is. You chance a glance at him again and he is looking at you. The intensity of his gaze runs through you, an intensity you assume stems from his pain. Pain you wish you could take away.
Your eyes drift to his chest and your mind to somewhere further away. You would have never guessed he looks like that under all those baggy clothes. He’s always been so shy about showing his body, and now you can’t help wondering why.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of thumping. Jungkook’s leg is bouncing again and you reach over to rest your free hand on his leg. Your eyes meet and he gives you a small smile before looking away.
You lift the ice pack and press it higher. He hisses, biting his lip again, so hard you fear he may draw blood. Suddenly his hand squeezes yours again, eyes snapping shut. “Ok, enough, Y/N. I can’t take it any more.”
You exhale the breath you’d been holding, removing the ice pack from him. “Ok, fine. I guess that’s enough.”
A shiver passes through him and you watch as he rubs his arm, looking up at you with a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”
As you wrap up the ice pack, Jungkook reaches over you to grab his hoodie. With his face so close to yours, you notice how long his eyelashes are, and how cute his nose looks sitting above his pretty lips.
You quickly look away and wait for him to put on his hoodie. Once it’s on, you look at him again. He looks really tired, the very picture of how you feel.
“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Jungkook quirks his brow and then shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch very slowly. “I’ll be way more comfortable in my own bed.”
You quickly run to your door, covering it up with your body. “Absolutely no way I’m letting you walk home in this condition. Besides, I’m taking you to the doctor first thing in the morning.”
Jungkook reaches behind you but in his exhaustion he ends up collapsing onto you. You let him lean on your shoulder, cradling his head as you imagine what he’s been through.
He slowly wraps his arms around you, and you two stay like that for a little while longer, standing perfectly still in each other’s arms. These last several hours have been hell.
“Ok fine, I’ll sleep here,” he whispers onto your shoulder, inhaling deeply before pulling away. “But I’ll take the couch.”
You manage to convince Jungkook to share the bed with you, something that Jungkook fights you on even as you’re guiding him under the covers. But you insist, especially since it means he can tell you immediately if he feels worse.
After you tuck him in, you leave for the washroom. When you return, Jungkook is already asleep.
You chuckle when you notice the little pillow barrier he built between you two. You flip off the light and get into bed, leaning over the barrier to give Jungkook the lightest kiss on the head you can manage. “Love ya, dork,” you whisper with a smile, flipping onto your side.
Before long you’re fast asleep. He chances a look over the barrier and confirms it.
Sighing, he lies back down, staring at the ceiling.
“I love you too, Y/N.”
You toss in bed, realizing you’re now awake. With a few blinks to adjust to the darkness of the room, you tilt your head up and catch the red glare from your clock. 3:42am.
Not morning yet.
Blinking some more, memories of this night float to the front of your mind.
With the utmost care, you twist towards the other side. The breath you’d been holding releases as you see Jungkook laying peacefully beside you.
It wasn’t a dream. He’s still here.
You prop up on your elbow as you lean towards him, reaching over the pillow partition to brush a strand that has fallen over his face. He stirs a little, one hand coming over his stomach as the other twitches under the covers.
You watch him breathe.
In and out.
In and out.
He’s such an idiot.
You shiver as that thought hits you. The thought of what could have happened to him.
Behind that rough exterior lies the gentlest person you know.
To the world, he is the bad boy. The tattoos and face piercings. The bruises on his knuckles from boxing. The sound of his motorcycle in the dead of night.
To you, he is the only good thing in your world. The bunny nose scrunches and elmo giggles. The giant hugs when you have to let go first. And the way he always shows up when you need him.
When you two first met, your father warned you away from him. He went so far as to threaten disowning you.
Well. Turns out it wasn’t just a threat. And when the final bell rang, you chose Jungkook.
He has no clue, though. He just knows you as that annoying rich girl who now struggles to make ends meet.
And he’s always been way too considerate to ask what happened. Instead, he offers his ramen whenever you come over and always gets two cups of Starbucks.
And he doesn’t need to know. All that matters is he is the best friend you could ever ask for. The one person who has stood by you through it all.
And the only person you have ever been in love with.
You only wish you could be brave enough to tell him that.
Maybe you could…
You feel an urge to lean over and kiss his forehead.
That should be ok, right?
You stare at him a bit longer, watching his chest rise and fall, soft sounds escaping his lips.
You lean across and rest your hand at his side, taking care not to touch him.
He is still as night itself.
You dip down and let your lips hover over his forehead.
His eyes are closed. Even with his eyes closed, he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
You wish he could see it too.
It’s comical, actually, because he truly is beautiful. But when you told him so, he made some offhanded comment about Taehyung being the handsome one and asked you not to lie. You just brushed it off but at this moment it bothers you. What does he mean?
Look at his cute lil nose.
If you had a nickel for every time you wanted to boop it, you’d be rich again.
And those perfectly pouty lips. Like rose petals on top of each other. You’ve always wondered how…
Only a split second and suddenly your lips are on his. Just the gentlest touch but it’s enough.
You gasp the slightest bit before you pull away, embarrassed and ashamed. But your hand remains planted at his side. When you look back you see Jungkook’s fingers circled around your wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jungkook’s eyes are still closed but he’s smirking now. With a quick tug at your wrist you fall on top of him and he groans, prompting you to prop yourself up again.
“Jungkook—,” you gasp but his other hand pulls you down, your lips crashing onto his again. He sighs against your lips and then kisses you, soft and hard all at once. You smile, kissing him back. When you finally pull away, his eyes are still shut.
“If this is a dream,” he murmurs, his hand making its way up your back. “I’m never waking up again.”
“Jungkook,” you whisper again, sliding your hand up his chest and he groans when you touch a sore spot, “oh, sorry,” you add, glancing down.
He hisses, pulling you onto him and wrapping his arms around you. “Hold me. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
You press a kiss against his chest before snuggling into him.
Then it hits you.
Just for tonight.
You wonder if he wants this to be a one-off thing.
Or he could still be half asleep.
Worries cloud your mind as his arms envelope you. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.
You inhale deeply and lift your head a bit. “Just for tonight… is that what you want?”
He sighs, pulling you in tighter. “I want this forever. Just you and me.”
You notice he hasn’t said your name once. Maybe he is still dazed. You did give him some pretty strong painkillers.
He groans again and you lift your head. “Maybe you could…,” he starts and when he doesn’t say anything else you rest your head again.
“Wha—,” you exclaim as Jungkook then pulls you across him, dragging you over his body to his other side, the less bruised one.
“There,” he says, kicking away the pillows and nestling himself into the centre of the bed. “This is perfect. You comfy?” He looks down at you with the biggest smile and warmth spreads across your chest. You can only nod. He chuckles, pulling you in tighter.
And somehow you fall asleep like that.
Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Morning comes much too soon.
You blink open your eyes to white and yellow haze. The blinds must be drawn.
Fear creeps up your throat as you run your hand across the bed. The tangle of white sheets are just that. Sheets.
He’s gone.
The doubts start to swirl in your head as you remember what he said.
Just for tonight.
He probably regrets it. The kiss. The cuddling. Everything.
Was it too much? Are you too much?
Lost in your own world, you don’t hear the sound of footsteps growing louder as they approach.
Or the sound of something hitting your night table.
But you do feel the arms that snake around you, a hard body gently setting against yours, and warm breath on your neck.
“Mmm,” he hums, kissing your neck, “time to eat.”
When you open your eyes, Jungkook is staring at you. Contrary to the soft and easy way he spoke, there is uncertainty in his eyes. A searching look. A car waiting for a green light.
And it hits you.
He’s just as worried as you are. This is new territory you two are exploring.
He opens his mouth then shuts it, his teeth peeking out to catch on his lip ring. You watch, fascinated, as you wait for him to speak.
He comes in a bit closer then hesitates. “Is this ok? Should I leave? I didn’t know if what happened last night—“
You lift your head and kiss his nose. “More than ok. I want you to stay.” And just like magic, the lost look disappears. His nose scrunches up as he smiles down at you.
“Hungry?”
“Mhmm.”
He helps you up and pulls the sheets from your legs. You can’t help noticing the ease with which he’s moving.
���You seem a lot better than I expected. You’re not hurting still?” When he gives you a quizzical look, you gesture to his chest and ribs. His eyes widen and then he grins.
“I’m JK, remember? Here, I made these special,” he replies, setting a plate of pancakes on your lap. He then pushes off the blanket and sits next to you, setting a plate in front of him. “Do you wanna… maybe take a shower with me after this?”
You nearly choke on your bite, pancake spraying all over the bedspread. “What?” You manage to turn to him and he’s smirking at you.
“I ran home to check on Bam before you woke up and now I’m kinda sweaty. And too tired to wash myself,” he replies, throwing in a quick wink that almost stops your heart, “Don’t you wanna help me wash?”
You groan. Jungkook might be the best person you know but he’s also the most annoying.
Maybe that’s why you two are a perfect match.
“Here,” he says, reaching over to grab the cups from the tray. “Thirsty?”
“Yep,” you reply, taking the cup he’s holding out to you. You sniff it.
“Wait, what is this?”
Jungkook giggles as he takes a sip of his own drink.
“Try it.”
You bring it closer but one sip has you gagging and nearly spitting it out. “Fuck, Jungkook, why?”
He’s laughing, but the moment you look back at him, his expression turns serious. “What? You drink coffee for Tae but not me? I see how it is.”
He starts to get up but you grab his arm. “One sip! I had one fucking sip! You can’t possibly be angry about that,” you yell back, reaching for him. When he turns back around, he’s grinning.
Then he holds out his own cup. You eye it suspiciously and he laughs. “This was yours,” he says, smiling, “It’s hot chocolate. Your favourite.”
He swaps the two cups and pulls you in for a hug.
“And you’re my favourite. I love you, Y/N.”
You’re startled by how suddenly and easily those words fall from his lips. Then you realize you might not have imagined those same words last night.
You wrap your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his hug and the way it engulfs you in a feeling of safety and security. The way Jungkook always makes you feel.
“I love you too, dork.”
so…? did you like it? ♡
#jungkook x reader#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook imagine#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#stay#lilo fics
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First of all: Every single follower is DESERVED
Congratulations. Like I'm so happy you're here blessing us with your lovely personality and incredible talent.
SECOND... I feel like Steddie hasn't been Gallavich-ified enough. Which is why I think THIS (a combination of the kiss and the pose on the right - or just the pose on the right)
is something I NEED to see.
Thank you SO much honestly. If you decide to do this. If not - I obviously won't complain. I'm excited to see whatever else you come up with and work with!!
💙💚💐💙💐💚🥰🥰🥰🥰
@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
First of all, I'M SORRY. It took me ages, you sent me this last June, but I'm finally catching up, darling of mine.
I hope you love this because it was such a trip to draw. I looked for Gallavich references, not because the ones you gave me wasn't good enough, but because I wanted you to surprise you a bit. And there is this one, they're in the club and the lighting is just so perfect and unique, and god, the grab.
This gesture, they're not holding, or cradling their faces, they're grabbing, and it's in every single picture I found of them, and it's so passionate, so captivating. This one kept me sighing and gasping, and I can't believe I still haven't watched Shameless. I know. Shame on me.
Anyway, I hope you love it, and it brighten your day at least a little bit. Doing it for sure brightened mine.
#inklessletter#trust the process#ask#fanart#fanart request#steddie#stranger things#steddie fanart#st fanart#eddie munson#steve harrington#kissing#artists on tumblr#digital art#digital fanart#illustration#xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
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I LOVE YOUR HOTCH FICS!!! <3 You write him so well, and I just adore how soft he is 🥺! I've read a fic where the author basically describes him as a Jane Austen hero, and I can't help but agree (what are you thoughts?)! Sooooo, is it possible to get a fic where Hotch reads to sick!reader to help her sleep? TYSM!
omg ur so right he is very much jane austen coded!!! tysm for requesting i hope u like it!!! | 0.7k of fluff, sick reader and gentle hotch <3
Aaron’s job isn’t one that allows him to take much time off of work, even when he wants to. You know it, and would never be angry at him for it, so when you wake up feeling a little too warm, you reassure him that you’ll be fine by yourself.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” He asks, already dressed in his suit and sitting on the edge of the bed by your waist. “I can if you want me to.”
Of course the only time he’d be eager to ask for a day off is when it’s in your favor. He doesn’t even call out when he’s the one who’s sick.
“No, you can’t, Aaron. They need you over there,” you say, hoping your smile is convincing enough. “I’m just gonna sleep this off. I’ll be fine.”
He sighs, reluctant to leave even though he sort of has to, even though he knows you can take care of yourself. He just hates not being the one to do so, anyways.
Hotch leans over to press a kiss to your heated cheek, “I’ll call you when I can to check in, okay?”
“You really don’t have to-”
“Let me do that, at least, sweetheart.”
“Okay.”
He kisses your cheek again and then stands to leave, pausing at the bedroom doorway to turn back and look at you one more time. You snake your hand out from under the sheets and give him a thumbs up.
Aaron calls you exactly five times throughout the day, most of them quick, couple-minute phone calls where he asks how you’re doing, if you’ve eaten. One of them during his lunch—which he rarely takes—and lasting nearly half an hour, him doing most of the talking.
The sun is close to setting by the time he gets home, where Aaron finds you curled up on the couch in the comforter from your bed, your skin clammy, your baby hairs sticking to your forehead.
His heart aches a little bit at the sight, because he knows you’ve been downplaying how sick you feel all day to keep him from worrying, as if anything could.
Hotch walks over to the couch, crouching in front of where your head is propped up on a pillow. “Sweetheart.”
“Hi, Aaron.”
He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, frowning at how warm you feel. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a fever? You should be in bed.”
“Got too warm in there, then too cold out here, so I took the comforter. Hope that’s okay.”
The medicine you took hours ago hasn’t done much other than make you a little groggy, and it’s clear in the way you speak with your cheek still squished to the pillow, your eyelids heavy.
Aaron’s hand is still on your forehead, like he can will your fever away with his touch. “Have you slept? Are you hungry?”
You shake your head, “don’t really feel like eating.”
“You should,” he says. “How about I run you a bath and make you some soup? Then bed.”
“Okay, doctor Hotchner.”
He shakes his head, though the small smile on your face as you tease him makes him smile, too. Even feeling poorly, you manage to brighten his day. A ray of sunshine.
He does exactly as promised, and after a bath and a generous bowl of soup that Hotch made sure you finished, you’ve got your head in his lap, his hand gently pushing your hair back.
Looking down, Aaron finds you still awake, blinking up at him lazily. “Aren’t you tired?”
“It’s been hard to sleep,” you say, fingers fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “Will you read to me?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Pick a book.”
You choose, and whine when he gets up to go get it even though he’s back in a matter of seconds. With your cheek comfortably pressed against his thigh once again, he starts reading to you.
You’ve always loved Aaron’s voice, the way it sounds when he speaks to you, the low and calm tone that seems to wash over you. He’s using a gentle voice now, a quiet one that you love even more because it’s one he saves for you. Intimate and lovely.
It’s only with his hand in your hair and his voice in your ears that you’re finally able to fall asleep.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner blurbs#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner imagines#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner request#hotch blurb#hotch blurbs#aaron hotchner requests#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotch fluff#ssa aaron hotchner#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#hotch
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