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motherofagony · 7 months

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A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 1

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 5.6k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: life goes on after raiders infiltrate a routine patrol. you're a shut-in, and jackson residents tiptoe around your trauma. joel found you after the accident, but you don't know what to make of it. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, mentions of trauma (no s/a, i promise), blood, bodily injuries, death, shitty men, dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension if you close one eye, the softest enemies to lovers you've ever seen vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: longtime listener, first time caller. yes, there will be smut — in due time. probably a slower burn than you're used to on tumblr dot com, but there will be porn galore, i promise. heavy on the hurt + comfort trope in this one. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

“Get the fuck up!”

The boot connects with your side again, the rounded toe slamming into ribs you’re sure are already broken. You’re trying to play dead, but it doesn’t exactly work when yelps are being kicked out of you. Old Yeller, of all fucking things, comes to mind.

But you’re not sick, not infected. Just wrong time, wrong place.

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete.

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time.

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive.

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score.

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all.

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have.

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm.

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there.

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself.

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle.

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this.

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up.

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing.

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not.

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together.

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee.

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours.

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same.

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest.

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl.

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear.

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business.

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t.

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek.

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came.

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have.

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen.

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender.

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye.

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again.

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral.

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there.

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow.

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense.

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret.

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools.

—

You don’t see Joel for days.

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic.

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest.

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before.

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward.

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front.

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe.

Your head cracking against the pavement.

Two gunshots firing.

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders.

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting.

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say.

Tommy nods, but you’re already running.

#my writing #a heart for eating #ahfe #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #motherofagony

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mewvore · 15 days

Text

never played fallout new vegas, currently like 6 hours in, I genuinely didn't know what I was getting into.

once I got out of goodsprings and went buck wild and killed the convicts-turned-wannabe gangsters the Powder Gangers for their attempts at strong arming a town of nice people, I stopped by an NCR checkpoint. a lookout asked me to go visit a town a little ways away and I was like sure no problem, only to get there and see powder gangers had been crucified, beheaded, and burned alive by a man wearing a dog on his head. there was a lot of talk about this Legion purging sins, evil people etc etc but the thing that made me go "huh?" was when a survivor of this event said they took slaves. I thought "oh okay I should go free those slaves because thats the right thing to do okay game I see what you want me to do"

I go to the camp that has the slaves and I should have known but I was genuinely surprised its two powder gangers tied up. I know letting them go will probably make the Legion members mad but I stopped and thought wow didn't I kill like 20 of these guys, and they all hate me already. should I even bother? and I was genuinely conflicted about what to do, I'm definitely not pro slavery but these guys suck. I figured okay I'll kill these slaves, the Legion will be pissed that I took out their potential labor force or whatever and I'll make an enemy in both the Legion and Powders. So I kill one of the guys tied up and got ready to fight, only for no karma notification to pop up, no aggression, just all the Legion members in the camp echoing in unison

"A good kill."

and that's what made me feel like more of a monster than killing scores of those gangsters randomly like what the fuuuuuu

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urgonnaneedabiggership · 10 months

Text

Perfume Regret

ExBoyfriend!Miguel O'Hara x FemReader

Summary: A fic inspired by Attention by Charlie Puth. Your ex-boyfriend Miguel O'Hara left you heartbroken and no matter how intense the effect he has on you still is, you're determined to use this party to get even.

Warnings: +18 meaning SMUT AND LANGUAGE MINORS DNI OR SO HELP ME GOD. Also there's angst and good old anger-fueled sex. The ending isn't heartbreaking don't worry.

Word count: 4K

I know that dress is karma

Perfume regret

Got me thinking 'bout when you were mine

Nightclubs had never been your scene.

While you weren't strictly averse to them, you didn't thrive in that element as much as some of your friends did. Yet, whenever you decided to make an appearance, it wasn't the stroboscopic lights, the promise of a few drinks with friends, or the energizing music that made the night worth it.

It was the hunt.

And the preparations began long before you even set foot out of your apartment, from the moment you stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but a fluffy bathrobe, your face a blank canvas. Getting ready with your favorite, emboldening playlist was usually a luxury but not tonight. Judging by the way you struggled to apply eyeliner over your lids with such shaky hands, tonight, you were in dire need of a crushing amount of confidence.

So much so that a glass with one remaining sip of red wine stood next to your makeup bag, waiting for you to take that last bit of liquid courage.

Yes, the mere thought of the chase always made your chest swell with excitement. The stolen glances from across the dancefloor until someone gave in and tried to make contact. Loud music left people no choice but to hold conversations in loud whispers that tickled your ear. The desperate attempts to make themselves worthy of your time and the small concessions you made to make them feel like the most special person in that tiny, packed, overpriced club. Flirting was a tango meant for two, and not knowing what kind of partner you'd be dancing with was exhilarating.

Not this time, however, you thought as you picked up the glass and poured the remaining wine down your throat. Tonight you were after a much too familiar prey that you'd once been dumb enough to let get away.

As soon as you got the digital invitation to the Alchemax Innovation Department New Year's Eve party, you knew it was time to settle the score.

A short buzz coming from your phone interrupted your train of thought as the screen lit up with a text from whom you considered to be your work best friend, Liz.

Heyy :) u coming?

Yep. Be there in 20, is everybody there already?

O'Hara is missing. Idk if he's coming, though.

Oh.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of all of this being for nothing. Whatever,. Who cared? You weren't doing this for him. You were doing it for yourself because you wanted to go out and have fun.

A weak smile tugged at your lips when you couldn't even convince yourself with that blatant lie. God, you felt like a terrible feminist at the moment. Screw you, Miguel O'Hara.

Those had been the last words you said to him before marching out of his apartment and slamming the door after you. Ever since that week during which he’d vanished from work with no explanation, your boyfriend had started to cancel your dates at the last minute or still be out at odd hours, and when he started to simply disappear and not answer your calls or texts several times throughout the day you began to worry.

When he asked if you could talk about something important, you figured you'd be getting an explanation, not dumped.

The reason, according to him? He was dealing with some personal issues that he could not tell you about, but he'd single-handedly decided it was in your best interest to just move on with your life, so he'd decided to break things off. His face when he said all of that remained engraved in your brain since that day. Cold. Logical. As devoid of any visceral emotion as a doctor would be when recommending you to give up carbs or red meat.

Two years of your life you'd given to him. You were planning to move in together. You were happy. For what felt like the very first time in your life, you were in love.

You took a deep breath to keep tears from running down your cheeks and ruining your mascara.

Even almost six months later, your heart painfully fluttered at the mention of his name.

Carefully, you dried your eyes with a piece of paper and took another deep, slow breath. Your eyes, beautifully framed by a smoky eyeshadow, slowly traced the reflection of your body in the mirror. A sleek, simple dress with a small slit on the side hugged your figure. You loved the color: a nearly black navy blue that matched your chosen makeup palette.

At the sound of your phone, your eyes drifted down to the lit-up screen.

Oh, nvm, he just got here.

The game was afoot.

As much as it hurt your pride to admit it, you were decidedly nervous as you made your way into the dimly lit nightclub, your eyes discreetly scanning the crowd in search of a particular set of brown eyes.

Suddenly, a voice made your face in the opposite direction.

"(Y/N)! Over here!" Liz called from the bar, waving at you with a huge smile that you returned as you walked towards her after wistfully looking at the busy crowd one last time. It wasn't until you reached the bar that you noticed she was sitting next to a man you didn't recognize.

"So, this is she," she nearly yelled right next to the man's ear when you got close enough to be heard above the deafening electronic beats.

"Hi, (Y/N), right?" He said, reaching out one hand, "I'm David. Liz has told me a lot about you,"

"Dave here just joined the team," Liz explained, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, "I thought it would be nice to make him feel welcomed. I'll leave you to it. I have to go say hi to a few people," She continued as she left the bar, not before giving you a certain look that made you realize you'd walked straight into a trap. While David was decidedly handsome, and you could've considered him to be your type under different circumstances, right then, your mind was somewhere else.

"Sure," You replied distractedly, "So why did you choose to work here?"

That should be enough to keep him talking for a while about his college education and how all he'd ever wanted to do was work for this company and so on while you focused on the matter at hand.

Where the hell was he?

Could it be that he'd just popped in to greet a few people and had left before you arrived? Before the countdown?

Maybe he was celebrating New Year's with somebody else?

"Sorry, one shot of tequila, please," You loudly called as the bartender walked past you.

"Make that two, thanks man," David added with a flirtatious smile that you returned out of politeness, mentally praying for Liz to come back soon, knowing damn well that if she'd done this on purpose, there'd be no way out of this conversation.

You downed the shot as soon as it was placed in front of you.

David asked you something, but his voice reached your ears as if he was underwater. For a minute, you wondered if such a small amount of alcohol could make you feel so dizzy until you realized it was something else. Your eyes had landed on the back of a familiar head. Brown, scruffy hair and a hearty laugh that had your hands shaking again as you placed the glass back on the wooden bar.

"God, I'm so sorry. My head's all over the place right now. You were saying?" You said, leaning closer to David.

"I asked if Alchemax tends to go easy on the new guys or kick them to the curb at the first mistake."

You laughed as if he'd just told an amazing joke, your eyes covertly going from his face to your target right behind him. At the sound of your laugh, his back stiffened, and you could see he was about to turn around. Right before he did, you quickly tore your eyes off him and glued them to David's face.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be just fine. I'll tell you what, I'll look out for you. How's that sound?” You replied, a more relaxed smile plastered on your face. David's eyes lit up. Poor guy. He probably thought that out of nowhere, his luck had shifted.

Slowly and without losing the amused grin, you peeked over David's shoulder and found Miguel O'Hara's searing eyes staring right into yours. Unlike you, he wasn't smiling. Instead, he let those same calculating eyes unashamedly scrutinize every inch of your body that your gorgeous dress didn't cover and secretly fantasize about what it did.

Another loud laughter leaving your lips made him snap out of a trance-like state and look into your eyes. Hunting on grounds you were no stranger to had its advantages, such as knowing what to do and when. And so you didn't look away. You held his gaze, undaunted, as you took David's unfinished tequila and brought it up to your lips to take a sip, barely sticking out your tongue to slowly lick the last droplets off your lower lip. You mouthed an apology to the man before you as you walked away from the bar, both for the stolen tequila and for what was about to happen.

Trying your hardest not to smile or look at him, you made your way through the crowd straight toward Miguel, whose eyes you knew had remained with you since that intense visual exchange back at the bar. You felt them so intensely that you wondered if he could make you burst out in flames just by looking at you. You clenched your jaw as you got close enough for the scent of his enticing cedarwood cologne to fill your nostrils and travel all the way down to your chest, where your heart beat so strongly that it physically hurted.

You only had one shot. This was it.

It wasn't until you walked right past him that you finally acknowledged him, gifting him a faint smile as you stepped around him and walked toward the restrooms.

As soon as the door closed after you, you found the two stalls were empty. After confirming you were alone, a nervous grin took over your features. Biting your lip, you approached the mirror and distractedly began to comb your hair back in place and even retouched your nude lipstick, your eyes set on the reflection of the bathroom door.

Almost as if you'd timed it, the second you finished applying your makeup and threw it back into your purse, Miguel stealthily slid inside and shut the door after him.

A minute that felt like an eternity to him transcurred while you kept patiently tucking strands of hair behind your ears, concealing a smug grin. Something had to give. More often, sooner than later.

"Mind telling me what the fuck was that?"

His voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears like a once-favorite song you hadn't heard in months.

"What do you mean?" You calmly asked, never interrupting your task.

"(Y/N), stop that and look at me." He commanded, his patience wearing thinner by the second.

"I am looking at you," You nonchalantly replied, your eyes transfixed on his tense shape in the corner of the mirror as you slowly wiped some smudged lipstick off the edge of your bottom lip.

Outside, the one-minute countdown began. Neither of you could care less. Inside that dimly lit, empty nightclub bathroom, time was irrelevant.

In less than five steps, Miguel reached your side and, placing his hands on your shoulders, firmly spun you around to face him.

"Carajo, ¿Tú no entiendes, verdad?" He hissed, his next leaving his mouth after an ominous pause, "Now look at me."

Not happy with the way you were being handled, you shoved him away and shot him a glare with your arms folded before you.

"There, I'm looking. What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me who's that asshole and why you seem to think he's so damn funny,"

"I'm sorry, O'Hara, that's none of your business anymore, is it?" You spat out.

"It was none of my business,' He agreed, wincing at the dry use of his last name, "Until you showed up in here looking like that, laughing like a dumb teen at some guy's dumb jokes, making sure I'm watching after you did some pretty extensive research to make sure I was coming."

Wanting to rebuke that argument, you immediately opened your mouth just for him to interrupt you.

"What? You thought I wouldn't find out, bonita?"

Miguel started to move towards you without giving you a chance to explain yourself. Still, you weren't sure of what you would've said had you been given the time. Three seconds later, he was standing right before you, trapping you against the cold stone of the sinks.

"Why are you doing this?" He absentmindedly asked, as if he was actually questioning himself or already knew the answer. Before you could react, he suddenly leaned in, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath, taking in the scent of your perfume along with something else that you couldn’t perceive but seemed to pull him forward so violently that he had to use both his strong arms on either side of you to hold himself back. Still, he kept babbling against the soft skin of your neck, “I didn’t want to do it…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…mi amor, I just wanted to protect you,”

“Protect me from what?” You asked in a breathy whisper, your self-control flaking when you felt him move even closer until your backside was pressed against the sink and your front...

You pressed your lips together to keep a noise that would be much too revealing from leaving your lips.

Still, you realized your trials and tribulations weren’t over when his hands slowly moved closer to your thighs until his thumbs were tracing faint circles on them.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked in a hoarse voice before burying his nose behind your ear once more. You had to want him to stop. Before you could gather up the courage to tell him off as you should, you leaned forward and feverishly pressed your lips against his in a kiss that was all but sweet. Without breaking the kiss, in a display of both strength and coordination that was new to you, Miguel slid his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, placing you on top of the sink with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the way he nudged your legs out of the way so he could grind his lower half into yours. This time there was no way in hell you could contain your moans.

Pleased with the beautiful sounds he was eliciting from you, Miguel’s hands found their way back up to the thin straps of your dress, which he gently slid off from your shoulders before gripping your chin in his hand and tilting your head to the side so he could devour every inch of skin available, occasionally trapping it between his teeth to make sure it’d leave a mark. Even in your haze, you could notice there was something new to the way he was ravishing you. It was as if he was desperately trying to be gentle, to take things slow, just for something primal to take over and coerce him into taking you for himself.

Once again, you stopped thinking when he pressed the hard bulge in his pants against you, the friction over your barely clothed clit throwing all logical thoughts out the window.

“We don’t have much time,” You urged him, not even sure if he’d locked the door after himself. However, deep inside, you knew your motives had less to do with the little privacy and more with the way he unhurriedly worshipped your body and peppered kisses all over it, how his hands gently roamed it as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. It reminded you of what you two had in a way that was still too painful to remember. You wouldn’t lose yourself to the memories of your past and miss out on how good he was making you feel right now. Tonight you weren’t two people deeply in love with one another trying to fight back the regrets of letting go of what was most precious to you, but two strangers about to fuck in the bathroom of a nightclub.

As if to reinforce that thought, he swiftly pushed you further back onto the sink and pushed your legs apart even more, your dress ridding up almost all the way to your waist. You shivered as new skin was exposed to both the cold beneath you and the heat from Miguel’s skin as he fumbled with the fly of his pants. Meanwhile, you kept yourself busy trying to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands and silently thanked he wasn’t wearing a jacket in the first place. You needed to get him out of as many clothes as possible in the little time you had, needing to feel more of his skin against yours.

Your desire wasn’t fulfilled until the shirt slid off his tan, broad shoulders, and you were pressed against his bare chest, his hands resting at the curve of your lower back as his head barely slid over your soaked slit, prying a raspy moan out of his throat that sounds almost painful. Still, even when you slid your hands around his shoulders and intertwined your fingers behind the nape of his head, he didn’t move further.

“What are you waiting for?” You breathlessly asked, arching your back towards him with a huff just for him to move his hips away, escaping your touch, trying to regain some control over himself.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” He muttered. Shit. Not right now. Out of the whole night, he had to choose this precise moment? No. He hurt you. He owed you. And now it was his turn to shut up and take it.

Taking advantage of his low guard, you hooked your feet behind his back and roughly pulled him towards you, another needy moan escaping your lips as you felt him right at your entrance, whatever remaining reluctance keeping him from sinking into you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from begging.

“Alright,” He finally says, his hands sliding under your thighs to hold you firmly in place, “If this is what it takes for you to listen to me, bonita, así le vamos a hacer entonces.”

He accentuated his words by slamming into you and immediately picking up a maddeningly fast pace, the loud music outside hopefully drowning out your endless string of broken moans.

“I just…wanted you to be happy,” He spoke in a strained voice in between thrusts.

“Shut up,” You snapped at him. You were happy. And it did nothing but further enrage you to see he was unaware of how miserable you were now without him. Or maybe he was aware because he reached that spot that always made your legs uncontrollably quiver and focused all his energy on it as if he was trying to make up for everything.

“I love you,” He blurted out as he felt you clenching around his length, his hips stuttering for a second before the sigh that left your lips made him lift your leg further up his torso and slam into you with renewed fire, “God, (Y/N) I love you so much, I can’t do this anymore,”

“Shut up,” You sobbed, this time as a plead and not an order. Your heart fluttered as you heard the words you’d waited months to hear, and feeling him roughly stroke your walls at this new angle became too much for you to bear. A string of ‘shut ups’ and sounds that resembled his name left your lips as your hands fell to his stomach, trying to push him away while paradoxically needing him to be closer, needing to feel more of him just in case this was the last time you felt him stretch you out in a way you were hauntingly certain nobody else would ever come close to.

And he wasn’t doing any better. He wanted to pull your head against his chest and wrap his arms around you. He wanted to get on his knees and spend the rest of the night apologizing using his words or his tongue, whatever you wanted as long as you went home with him that night. He wanted you to live a happy, normal life. He couldn’t give you that anymore. Not after that night. Not after the accident.

But those bad thoughts melted away in his brain when he saw your eyes pressed shut, your beautiful, furrowed eyebrows arching over them perfectly as you chased that high that Miguel knew only he could give you. Something that sounded like an actual sentence left your lips so quietly that he had to lean closer to get it.

“What was that, bonita?”

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to repeat yourself until another perfectly calculated thrust pried the half-coherent words out of your mouth.

“Need you…inside. Please, Miguel, please,”

Hearing his name being called out like that for the first time in months was all he needed to come undone, his pace faltering as he pressed himself against you, strong arms gripping your waist as he spilled his load inside you with one last labored moan.

Nothing but extenuated pants could be heard inside the bathroom for a whole, tense minute before you finally moved, taking a few sheets of paper from the dispenser next to the sinks to clean yourself up.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you straightened your dress and tried to somehow fix your disheveled hair.

“You wanted to apologize, you did, and I forgive you,” You categorically answered, “But don’t expect me to come running back into your arms as if what you did was nothing,”

Still, you needed him to know there was hope left for the both of you. So you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then his cheek, granting yourself one moment of vulnerability as you looked into his eyes with a gentle smile.

“I love you too,” You whispered, giving in to the urge to kiss him again. You basked in his shocked look before turning your back to him and going back to the party, where you bumped into Liz less than five minutes later.

“There you are! Where the hell were you? You missed the countdown!”

It wasn’t until you looked around at the confetti-filled floor and the large numbers on a screen that you remembered.

“I went to the bathroom,” You replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and reaching out to take a glass of champagne from one of the several trays atop the tables, “Where did your friend run off to?”

“David?” Liz asked, a deep red blush spreading over her cheeks, “He had to go home. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re getting dinner next Friday,”

“Don’t mind at all,” You replied with a bright smile, eyes already scanning the half-empty club, once again looking for that same face. The one you knew you’d always look for in a crowd for the rest of your life. This time, thanks to the small number of people left, it wasn’t hard to come across his eyes. Amused, you raised your glass at him with a soft, genuine laugh. He did his best to look annoyed, but the minute you tilted your head and gave him your best apologetic look, Miguel rolled his eyes and shook his head with a reluctant smile that made you laugh again before taking a sip of that cheap champagne.

This was going to be a great year.

#miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fanfic

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short-black-diamond · 8 months

Note

please can you do bf headcanons for kaiser and sae and rin please (fem reader)

thxx

yeheeheheyyy

German vocab: "Schätzchen" = cute-ification of "treasure"

---

"That's my boyfriend!"

Kaiser:

Ayo how I hate that bitch

Please don't request stuff about him in the future

But him as a boyfriend?

I guess he'd be pretty chill, but he'd like to have you on his lap a lot

like, in that one chapter where he examined Isagi, he'd for sure have you on his lap, while trying to figure out what made Isagi so different

and he'd just--- stroke your thigh?

Idk I think he would do something like that

anf then hmmm...I think he's rich

not filthy rich like Reo, but pretty rich

I think he'd also spoil you? like--he'd sometimes buy you jewellery, but other than that, he would buy you other stuff, which is much more useful

like, one time he bought you a new tablet because yours got coffee on it

his coffee

soccer dates don't @ me

he'd try to teach you soccer if you didn't already know how, and if you did, he'd have you running after him as he always took the ball away right under your heel

It was funny, and you were happy to see your boyfriend laughing and giggling when he teicked you over and over again by dribbling the ball around you, before he gave you a small kiss to your cheek and scored a goal

"Jeez, you need to do better if you want the ball, Schätzchen."

You huffed. "I hope this wasn't an insult.."

"I'd never insult you, ____."

You guys would also go through Germany, with him showing you a lot of sights and taking pictures of you, then some selfies and would also buy you a cute souvenir.

he's a gentle lover, who gives you soft kisses and holds your hand softly

I think he'd also bring you to a viennesse ball, just to dance viennesse waltzer with you with an expensive, victorian dress he bought you as you two danced the waltz in old fashioned clothing in an old fashioned building with old fasioned people

bonus points if it was a masquerade ball

(imagine if he told you he'd meet you at the ball and mistake another girl with you, thinking that it was you, and you arriving to him dancing with another girl who had similar features as you...just imagine the heartbreak...the drama...I'd dance with Ness then, just to spite Kaiser...maybe I'll write a fic about that?)

Sae:

If you read my last post, I guessed -correctly- that Sae's an ass guy

Excpect your butt to be warm and squeezed at all times, babe

No but seriously I'm so proud of myself for being right about something I didn't know was already canon

*pats my own shoulder proudly*

He's busy

He has to train

but if you want to come with him, he won't stop you

When he was with the U-20, and he agreed for you to come with him, he hated it the moment you stepped foot in the room where he and his team was in

Imgine the bloodlust he felt when Oliver and Sendo touched you and flirted with you like there was no tomorrow (they didn't know that you were together with sae)

"I'm Sae's girlfriend..?", you then said and Sae hugged you from behind.

"Yes, I am her boyfriend, so take your filthy hands off of her.", he seethed.

Safe to say, the two didn't really listen as they just kept flirting with you, and they got to feel Sae's wrath on the field as he just kicked the ball into their face and crotch area

Other than that, I'd expect him to be very clingy

he looks touch-starved

give this man some love

After practise, he would always take a quick shower before cuddling with you on his bed and just take a small nap, letting you do whatever you want, but don't move your legs

he once turned you around on your stomach with force before he just---let his face fall onto your ass cheeks

you have no idea why he has an obession with your butt but oh well

Rin:

Another touch-starved baby

But he enjoys your company, speak, the first weeks of you dating him were silent, but he always had a small smile on his face

but let me tell you- he blushed madly when you held his pinky with yours

it was actually the first time you touched him

boy couldn't breathe

what have you done ____???

However, as the days went on, Rin initiated the touch more and more, and after a few months came the first kiss, with him kissing you softly, but his lip was trembling

And a rin with a beet red face came to view

I think he'd talk very quietly to you, I don't know why, but I just--do, you know?

Like he only wants you to hear what he has to say to you.

and you love it

also expect him to buy you stuff you don't really need?

I mean, he means it in a good way, but do you actually need an owl plushie in all its natural colors?

"Rin...why?"

"I-I like owls...! ...and, you're my girlfriend...so I wanted to give you something I like.", cue him looking at you sadly, but with innocent eyes.

yeah, you kissed him breathless after that little confession

also like-- I don't think any of the blue lockers have a dominant bone when they have an s/o at first, which means that the boys would also be shy

and I can just imagine Rin taking many tries before he actually asks to hold your hand, or takes nearly an hour more time from his busy schedule to buy you flowers you weren't allergic to, but which you also haven't received yet

he's the type who'd try to bake you cookies, and only have a small error, like either not enough sugar or cocoa, or idk what

---

Okay and that's it! I hope I nailed it, tell me if I didn't!

Read you guys in the next post!

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munsster · 5 months

Note

Hiiiiiiii loved your Eddie munson x wealthy!reader fix, I was wondering if you could do a billy Hargrove one? Thank you bby💗

billy with a wealthy s/o

A/N: its 100% giving reluctant allies to lovers gif cred: @selinasdalton

Warnings: partying, drinking/smoking, insults (mostly playful), pet names (sweetheart), implied sex

the FIRST thing i thought of was reader rolling with the popular crowd

ie harrington, tommy, carol etc

and seeing billy for the first time at a party

honestly, he probably offers you a drink or better yet a smoke

and you’re disgusted (horny)

and he thinks he’s totally gonna score (you accepted his drink offer)

neither of you really remember how or when it started

you can never agree on an anniversary date

but you both know he fell first

mainly because he was absolutely floored by just how many insults you had ready in your back pocket

“the ball goes in the basket, airhead” “you look like rob lowe if he was a woman and a munch” “my dog could sink more free throws than you and he’s 20 years old”

honestly, he was a little flattered by your creativity

which is why he knew he had to get in your pants somehow

and the first time you invited him over to your house, you wouldn’t hear the end of it

“hey, richie rich, where’s your robot maid?”

“oh, it’s her day off”

“…”

“i’m kidding,” you tease, “she’s not a robot”

he does not know how to handle the amount of shit you spoil him with

“billy… i really like your necklace”

“…”

“i can buy you a new—”

“i dont need a new one, sweetheart”

and you don’t know how to handle the fact that he doesn’t want to be spoiled

but you eventually figure out how to be sneaky with it

making him lunches (con caviar), ‘accidentally’ misplacing his shoes so you have to buy him new ones, taking him to fancy barbershops and paying half the cost so it still seems like he’s paying the full price

some may say it’s manipulative. you say it’s loving.

and the first time he buys you a meaningful, mildly expensive gift, you tear up a little bit

you bringing him to the golf course and finding out 1) he’s really good at golf and 2) he is excellent cougar bait

not that you want the over 60’s hitting on your man, but it’s very sweet when they send him drinks and call him a handsome young man

you definitely encourage him to play into it with some “how are you young ladies this evening?” and “don’t you have to be 21 to sit at the bar?” action

he has his fun with it, but he really only does it ‘cause it makes you smile

would never BEG for anything…. but he DOES get really sad when you don’t bring him to the mall to watch you try on shoes or sweaters or whatever.

yeah, if there’s something he’d beg for, it’s that

he lives for the moment you walk out of the dressing room, do a twirl, and ask (like clockwork) “do you like it?”

his answer is always yes, but you claim to know the differences in his tone that indicate what he actually likes

sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll let him sit inside the dressing room. watching you change. watching you change.

he is the reason you’re both banned from sears at starcourt

the first really expensive watch you gift him is INSANE

it has like four dials and you said something about alligator leather and 18 carat gold

he can’t decide between wearing it on special occasions to preserve its value or never taking it off because he loves you

when you do stay at his house, usually no ones home

but you have met max

and she likes to stay away from you

but you took her to get a new skateboard and you think that might’ve helped her warm up to you

just a smidge

now she lets you gossip about stupid boys and watch shitty action movies with her

she even promised she would go as croft’s robin for halloween if you swore you’d go as wilson’s batman

that was an interesting halloween for billy

your mansion house has this shiny ass gramophone in one of the downstairs offices

and you told billy that the last thing that had played on it was a glenn miller ‘best of’ album

and that was just not good enough for billy

so one night, he brought over his twisted sister vinyl and convinced you to dance with him while what you don’t know blasted through the brassy pavillon

he also may or may not have convinced you to make out with him while the rest of the record played

even though you drive a brand new, cherry red benz (convertible, he might add), you still love it when he drives the two of you in his camaro

but you also let him drive your car whenever he wants. and he wants to most of the time.

in fact, he’s pretty sure he drives your car more than you do

he also loves to let you dress him up

and do his hair (please practice that cute hairstyle you saw on him. he’ll think about your hands in his hair for hours on end)

even if youre just going on a chill diner date, you still drag him into your (now shared) walk-in closet and pick out these satin shirts and pressed slacks and the shiniest shoes he’s ever seen

but of course, most of your dates are lavish and breathtakingly creative, anyway, so he’s already dressed accordingly

his new catch phrase is something along the lines of “what happened to eating somewhere normal. like pizza hut”

sometimes, his only requirement is “as long as there’s no chandelier”

you flatter him so often, he gets grumpy on days you forget to call him handsome (or pretty boy, which has really grown on him)

typically, he wouldnt go for all the fuss and feathers, but he likes to see you happy.

and boy, does prettying him up make you happy

seriously, you get the wildest look on your face. it’s fulfilling enough that billy feels safe to say he’s content being your ken doll forever

if you’d let him

masterlist

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #x fem!reader #billy hargrove headcanons #billy hargrove headcanon #fanfic #fanfiction

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simpcityy · 10 months

Text

Location Status: Unknown (Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Person!Reader) *Platonic*

Summary: You turned off your location to be able to enjoy a date, leaving Father Figure Miguel to figure out your whereabouts and to stop it from getting it further.

Disclaimer: I do not own Mavel or any of its characters. This is a 3-part series, so it feels incomplete at the end.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Father Figure Miguel, father and daughter fluff?, Miguel cursing in Spanish, you curse in English, Very Vague mentions of sex.

Pt.1 Pt.2

┍━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┑

Miguel walked into the cafeteria of the Spider Society scanning around each table. “Lyla, what’s their location?” The AI appears on his shoulder groaning, “For the last time, their location is turned off." Lyla reminded him before disappearing. Miguel only grunts in frustration before he comes across a table where he knows answers will be given. Pav and Miles were eating the Spider-Man 2099 theme burger, Miles was busy stabbing the bun of Miguel's supposed face before seeing Miguel towering over them. “Hey there…Miguel” Miles puts the fork down greeting him nervously once he was caught doing that. “Have you two seen (Y/N)?” He glared down at them, ignoring the fact what Miles was doing. Pav only fidgets in his seat, trying to look away. While Miles tries to play it cool, “(Y/N)? Never heard that person in my life” As you can see, he failed to play it cool. “Ustedes dos me dan un dolor de cabeza. Mientras Hobie me da cinco*” Miguel only whispers to himself before staring right at Pav, knowing the boy couldn’t keep anything to himself. “Pav?” He asked before the boy finally broke, “Okay Okay! Hobie was the one who helped (Y/N) turn off their location. (Y/n) told us to keep quiet so they can go on a date with someone.” Pav finally took a deep breath after spilling everything in one go. “ Qué! A date with who!?” The older man looked down at Pav for more information. “I don’t know, they didn’t tell.” The boy only shrugged his shoulders. Miguel looks at them before heading out of the cafeteria with this new information.

Lyla sighed watching the stoic man look at all the cameras in your version of New York. “Dónde están, nothing on all security cameras.” he glances over to Lyla, “Check to see if-” “Already did and the location is still off.” She sighs before appearing in front of him. “You know, they are old enough to do whatever they want. They are 19, almost 20.” She reminds him. Miguel only lets out a displeased look. Lyla finally puts the pieces together and lets out a laugh “Oh my! Is papa Miggy scared that your grown child is going to have more than a simple dinner date?” “What? Boys at that age are still stupid, Son estúpidos*” He grumbles before adding on, “And I know because I was that age once” He defends himself. “Aww Papa Miggy is worried, hey, you mentor them so I know they will pick the right guy or girl.” She shrugs before disappearing. Miguel only frowned more before he kept looking through the cameras to find your location.

“You’re such an idiot!” You laugh, playfully punching your date’s arm. Everything was going according to plan, your location off, you scored a date with the popular boy in the college and Miguel hasn’t found you to interrupt this perfect night. Swinging your legs over the bride of the small lake, you glanced over to your date. “Staring much?” He chuckles, stretching his arms before wrapping one over your shoulder bringing you closer to him. You happily lean into him watching the view of the lake in front of you two. “This is perfect” You mumbled out slowly feeling your eyelids getting heavy. “It would be better if we head to your place.” Your eyes open before looking up at him. Thinking to yourself, are you ready for this? Thinking carefully about it, you stood up. “Let’s go then.” Grabbing his hand, you walked through the busy streets to your two-bedroom apartment. You weren’t scared but rather nervous, it wouldn’t be the first time for you. You were nervous he wouldn’t be satisfied with what you're presenting to him. “Welcome to my place, my neighbors work night shifts so there is nothing to worry about."

You unlock the door only to be met with the smell of something good being cooked. Your date who smelled the air as well looked at you, “you got roommates?” You walked in quickly “No I don’t” Heading over to your kitchen you spotted Miguel placing something into the oven. “What are you doing here?” You walked over to him. “Por fin*, Did you forget I was coming over…for the night” He adds on as he spotted your date. You internally wanted to yell but you looked over to your date, “this is my-” “Miguel O’Hara, their father and you muchacho, who are you?” Miguel made sure to make the scariest resting bitch face he could. Your date only starts to sweat, “Oh would you look at that, I have to go (Y/N)” He slowly inches himself closer to the door before opening it, “See you at class!” He left and you knew you weren’t going to see him again. You waited for the door to shut before glaring at your father figure/mentor. “What the fuck was that?” You frowned. “Oye! Cuida tu tono*” He points his finger at you, frowning. “Solo te estaba cuidando* I didn’t want you to suffer with the consequences later on” You only sigh before sitting up on the counter. “Still, I am 19 years old, I am a young adult…as much as you hate it…I have to make my own life.” Miguel sighs leaning against the counter, “I know you’re 19 but to me, you’re still that 14-year-old I took in and mentor to become a hero for your dimension. Sigues siendo ese pequeño niño(a) asustado a mi*” He admits before rolling his eyes as Lyla appears. “You should’ve seen him (Y/N)!” The AI appears in front of you before showing you a small video of Miguel threatening Pav and Miles for information. The video ends and you look up at Miguel, “Really, you had to threaten them?” “It was the only way after you turned off your location.” You kept quiet as he had a point, you basically went MIA. The ding of the oven broke the silence. “Tienes hambre*?” Miguel looks at you “Yeah…that salad was not enough” You hopped off the counter and walked over to get the plates.

After a nice warm dinner, you sat on the roof of your building. Next to you, Miguel was sitting with you trying to fix your watch to turn back on your location. You don’t know what the hell Hobie did to turn it off, but you were having issues to turn it back on. “mierda*” He mutters as Lyla tried to guide him how to fix it but gave up as he wasn’t paying attention. You looked at him before grabbing your watch. “Maybe you should take it back to use the right equipment to fix it.” You smile putting it back on your arm trying to fix it yourself but gave up right away. “Pero*... How will you be able to get to the Spider society? How will you contact me or Jess if you need back up?” Before he can give you more questions you stop him “One, Lyla always tells you whenever an anomaly is not where it’s supposed to be and two, you have the cameras of the city so you can watch me if there is a fight, from there you can conclude if I need backup or not. After all, I was trained by the best.” You grinned before leaning your head on his shoulder yawning. Miguel sighs but lets a small smile on his face before picking you up. “Ay niña*” He carried you on his back making sure to support you before walking down the stairs to your apartment door. Laying you carefully on the bed. He took the watch off to take it back before covering you up. Opening a portal back to headquarters, he looks back at you before down at the watch in his hands. ‘You’ll be fine’ He thought as he walked through.

How he wished he took those words back, if he knew that bad luck was lurking around.

┕━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━┙

Authors Notes: Thank you Everyone who's been giving me so much support on my first series I posted on my blog! You are welcome to reblog and comment to be on the taglist of this 2-part series. I might make this a 3-part series but that TBD. I always loved reading Miguel x daughter figure reader but there is not enough. As always, forgive me for any grammar error. Stay hydrated and keep on simping. (Simp City Population: 16 *Thank you! 💕*)

Spanish Translation: 1. Ustedes dos me dan un dolor de cabeza. Mientras Hobie me da cinco: You two give me a headache while Hobie gives me 5. 2. Qué: What 3. Dónde están: Where are they? 4. Son estúpidos: They're stupid 5. Por Fin: Finally 6. Muchacho: Young Man 7. Oye! Cuida tu tono: Hey! Watch your tone 8. Solo te estaba cuidando: I'm only looking out for you 9. Sigues siendo ese pequeño niño(a) asustado a mi: You're still that small, scared child to me. 10. Tienes hambre: You hungry? 11. Mierda: Shit 12. Pero: But 13. Ay niña: This girl

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara x reader #Miguel Ohara x platonic reader #Father figure Miguel Ohara #spiderman: atsv #spider man across the spider verse fic

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yurinaa-world · 3 months

Note

platonic dr ratio with child reader having a personality of madoka magica? the reader is a magical girl and dr ratio idk taking care of their clumsy behavior? i dont see anyone writing for platonic dr ratio and i really need a bit of comfort😭

write whenever you want or idk

Characters: Dr. Ratio platonic! x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: with a student reader that has the personality of Madoka Magica

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜

He doesn’t like your clumsy behaviour at all. Please watch you run around during battle; it might be worse than looking at an idiot's face. You're unpaired and should think of a plan before you jump.

A lot of the time, he’ll have to fight alongside you since you’re illiterate and can’t figure out where the enemy's weak points are.

But don't think it’s the battlefield is the only place he’s going to teach you. Count the classroom also because now you’re officially his student, and he’ll ensure you’ll become the best. He’ll make you shine like the star you meant to be! But this means you're going to have to do math…You'd rather fight than do the math!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your teacher, Dr. Ratio, immediately stopped you from leaving his class. You already know the problem since he’s 100% going to yell and lecture you for hours because of your poor grades. “Yes si..-" You swiftly turned back but went a little fast and fell right backwards. You were finding yourself on the floor while in a bit of pain.

“Enough with this Tomfoolery.” He sighs, watching you get from the ground. “Sorry, dr. ratio " “It’s Mr. Ratio to you.” “Sorry, Mr. What seems to be the problem?” You scratch the back of your neck, a little nervous. "The math test you did yesterday. Why, no earth, did you get 8 out of 20."

You might have rushed it a little, so you get out there since you were the only one still doing the test. You didn't know it would be this bad! Now you'll have to do extra work. "really? but I tried my best!" Your words weren't convincing at all to him. "What? Are you trying your best to fail? It's as if you weren't even reading the paper and just doodling on it," he disappointed expression as he turned your test in his hands so you could look at it.

It's just a bunch of cats in black ink and nonsense answers to the questions. "From tomorrow, you're getting extra work," Dr. Ratio goes over to write in his book. You sigh, knowing this is going to happen.

"come on, it was just a couple of mistakes!"

"12 incorrect answers."

"I'll do better next! Please!" you clasped your hands together. Hoping he shows you a little mercy, but no, he will never show you any mercy. If you can learn it when he's being nice, he'll beat you instead.

"you're right; I ensure you’ll get a perfect score.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #honkai dr ratio

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gojoest · 1 year

Text

DEDICATING A GOAL TO YOU — ITOSHI RIN

.°⊹ tags / warnings : sfw, tooth-rotting fluff if you will, fem! reader, rin’s first ever ‘i love you’, established relationship, 0.6k, not proofread

a/n : as i promised — here's some more ! had so much fun with this <3 more characters coming soon >.<

the first time rin realized he loves you was during a quiet night in — both wrapped under a fluffy blanket on the couch watching a horror movie picked by him. it was so warm and cozy, your tummy full with the homecooked meal rin and you prepared for dinner, that 20 minutes in sleep creeped in and you dozed off. head resting on his shoulder, cheek squished and mouth slightly open, drooling on his hoodie — he thought you looked silly. but in an absolutely adorable way.

what a dealbreaker, he chuckled to himself, the girl i love falls asleep to horror movies. also — drools.

the girl. i love. the girl i love. i love. i love that girl —the voice in his head kept repeating like a broken record. each time louder and lauder, even more deafening than the screams of slaughter coming from the tv and filling the room. what a revelation.

however, these three magical words never made it out of his mouth. not in front of you at least. he did practice in front of the mirror a few times. but stopped right after realizing how pathetic and out of character he was being. you make itoshi rin do silly things like that.

or things like taking you out to the coffee shop he first saw you at. he thought, maybe, the first ‘i love you’ should be said in a special place. so, he took you back there, to the very spot he kept visiting, after seeing you just once, until he gathered the courage to come talk to you. he had no idea if you’d be there the next day but still, he went. it took him a week to figure out around what time you dropped by. he memorized the orders you bounced between. he was so smitten. of course, to this day he claims he went there around the same time on daily basis only because their coffee was good and totally worth the 40 min ride from the other side of the city. you simply happened to be there.

there was a serving tray on the table with all of your coffee orders day by day — from day one till the day he finally sat next to you and asked for your name. everything was going as planned. until your cute little date got interrupted by mutual friends whom you, completely unaware of rin’s hidden agenda, invited to join you. and of course, rin had to come up with an excuse for all the drinks on the table . . . for taste tasting purposes, he said.

rin never thought there would come a day he’d so desperately want and try to say those words to someone. sure, it scared him a little. and he didn’t really know how and when exactly he was supposed to say them. what if you didn’t feel the same way? what then . . . maybe, he thought, timing was everything. he had to choose the right moment and make it very special and as captivating as possible that would make you love him in a heartbeat in case you didn’t already.

and so he did.

during his debut game as a pro rin scored a hat trick. after each goal he made the hand-heart gesture — index fingers curled and thumbs pointing down joined together to create the shape of a heart, and pointed at you on the stands. the first goal said i love you. the second one — always, and the third — forever.

this turned into his trademark. from that day on he’d dedicate all of his goals to you and make it impossible to unlove him.

#ઈઉ — ai writes #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bllk x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x you #itoshi rin x you #bllk x you #rin x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk x y/n #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons

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rosesbxrry · 2 years

Text

The Laundromat

Pairing: Stranger! Heeseung X Stranger Fem! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞 (Minors DNI), college AU, neighbours!

Warnings: unprotected sex (pulling out), Heeseung being a pervert, male masturbation, fingering, panty stealing thing, voyeurism (as in publix sex in the laundromat), reader being a pervert as well, handjobs, lots of cursing, dirty talking, and a bunch of unwash laundry. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else

Summary: Heeseung had just moved into his own place after abondoning his roommate. With a laundromat and you, his hot neighbour in the new building, eveything seemed perfectly good until he open the dryer machine, only to see a baby pink panty.

The problem? It has your name on it.

Main masterlist

Word count: 3, 220 words

Lee Heeseung described himself as an ordinary college student who was just getting by.

He went through the same shit as any graduated high school student does; move out of your parent’s house and get a taste of what the adult world feels like. To say he struggled was an understatement really, because he did move out together with his best mate Beomgyu, whom he made a pact with since high school— sharing a flat together once they’ve escaped from the clutches of their parents.

The freedom tasted sweet, if only Beomgyu didn’t ruined it by having sex with a random chick every night.

Heeseung was no prude— as a young healthy man in their early 20’s, he had he’s shares of hook ups and sexual fantasy evident by the amount of porno magazines and DVDs under his bed.

At first, he was kinda turned on by the voyeuristic aspect of hearing your roommate having sex. With the walls being extremely thin, he could hear every moan and wet sounds that it got him jerking on his white bed, pajama pants down to his knees with a hand on his hard leaking cock. But when he starts to hear it every fucking night, Heeseung wished he didn’t have a dick to get hard.

It didn’t help that sometimes it sounded like it came out of a bad porno. He had to wear noise cancelling headphones just to burn the midnight oil to finish an assignment at two in the morning.

The last draw was when he went to the kitchen one night, oblivious to the fact that Beomgyu was doing the devil’s tango on top of the island bar seat (He was wearing headphones on so he didn’t realize in the beginning). Heeseung crashed at Jake’s place for the moment because ain’t no way he was eating cereal there anymore after witnessing that.

It took him a few weeks just to find a good place when he scored a good deal on a studio apartment not far from his campus.

The monthly rent was reasonable, he didn’t have to share with any roommates and he had exclusive access to all the facilities in the building, including the laundromat at the ground floor beside the gym.

It felt like a reward after all the sufferings he went through.

But this was all just the beginning. You see, there was one tenant in the building that got his attention.

The first day he used the laundromat, it was late in the afternoon. He was minding his own business, learning on how to operate the machines when you waltz in, clad in freshly used workout clothes that were sticking tight to your figure.

Heeseung can’t help but stare at you in the corner of his eyes, your ass peeking out from the leggings you wore, back facing away from him as you used the coin exchanger to get some change. Even with the loud music from his air pods and the blinking lights from the washing machine, he can’t take his eyes off you.

Heeseung hasn’t been indulging himself sexually, which he blames it on Beomgyu and his studies for repressing the need for it, but you were literally the hottest thing he’d ever lay eyes on.

He contemplated introducing himself but he backed off every time due to his cowardly nature, and the fact that he can’t stop the bulge forming whenever you were in the laundromat with him. He was your neighbor in a way after all. It wasn’t like he wanted to get in your pants right? Wrong. He very much wanted to dive straight into them.

It didn’t help that you were always wearing workout clothes drenched in your sweat.

It’s been like this for the past few weeks— he would secretly look at you, run away in embarrassment after finishing his laundry and touch himself with the thought of you, whether it was in the shower or on his bed.

It was so fucking wrong for him to that, but you look so fucking hot wearing that shirt without a bra on, perky nipples visible under the fabric. He was glad that it was one in the morning with no one else doing the laundry except for you and him, enabling him to be the only one who got to witness it.

Heeseung was a routine man. He likes to do his laundry precisely at a spot that no one else would use. He uses the one at the far corner on the left, the lowest row possible that he had to squad down in order to reach it. When he opened the lid without much thought, he closed it back hastily in shock.

No, this can’t be true.

He slowly opened it back, and low and behold, a baby pink panty was just sitting there.

Heeseung stayed in his position while staring at the article of clothing, confusion plastered on his face. He was sure that no one else would use this spot, but he was naive to think that, clearly. Don’t panic, Heeseung. Just move it to the next machine and act as if nothing happened. The male made up his mind, pinching as little fabric as possible from the undergarment before pulling it out of the machine.

He was gonna toss it in the other machine when he noticed a label on the inner seam of the waist. It was labelled with a name on it, specifically yours.

L/N Y/N written clearly.

Heeseung stood there in bewilderment. Fuck, what was he suppose to do now? He could be a good normal person and leave it in the machine and just use another one. You were bound to notice it was missing and come looking for it next time. But the perverted side of him, the one that has been aching for you, wanted to keep it to himself.

And he did. He tossed it in his basket and brought it home.

The things that he did to that article of clothing was unimaginable.

He smelled it first, and it was definitely washed, the faint smell of floral and detergent was evident as he pushed the fabric closer to his noise. The little void inside of him wished that it was a used one, hoping to catch a whiff of your arousal in any way possible.

God, to be able to smell the juices of your pussy, he would do anything to do that.

Heeseung was laying on his bed, pushing his pants and boxers down, pumping his hardened dick with one hand while the other was grabbing your panty, smoldering it on his face.

“Fuck.” he let out a desperate moan, thinking about the curves on your body, and the sweat that was dripping down your neck after you work out. Your scent sends shivers down to his cock, tiny precum trickling down his length before Heeseung gathers it, spreading it across until the tip of the head.

“Your so fucking hot, Y/N. I wanna fuck you.”

Heeseung moaned in pleasure, hips bucking on his hand, imagining that it was yours that was jerking him off, delicate and soft hands with blue nail polish pumping his cock. He swipe the tender head with his thumb, sending shockwaves of pleasure as he hump the air with his back arched, the familiar knot in his stomach burning for more.

“More, please.” His whines filled the room, moving your panty to his shaft and rubbing the cotton fabric of your underwear with every thrust of his hips. His stomach rises and falls, feeling the delicious friction of the panty against his pulsating cock.

“Please, please.” He whimpered. “Y/N, please fuck me.” His desperate request to you was lost in the empty room as he neared his high.

He closed his eyes, imagining that you were on top of him, your wet pussy filled with his big cock as you ride him, hands on his thighs, fucking yourself dumb until you cried his name out. He would have the beautiful view of your tits bouncing with every movement, his hand gripping on your hips to speed up the pace.

Heeseung groaned in agony, biting on his lips as he was close to orgasming. He imagines sucking on your nipples, eating your folds and pounding into you with your head down and ass up, feeling your panty giving him the most beautiful pleasure before he cums, soiling the cotton fabric with his hot seeds.

Strings of moan echoed the room as he pump his cock continuously, feeling ropes of hot semen smearing the fabric of your panty. His breathing was labored, mouth open to savor the last of his delightful high before feeling the evident flush on his skin due to cold sweats.

Heeseung used your panty until your scent was no longer there.

He watches the baby pink panty among his clothes, the bulk of clothing spinning around the machine as he washes his shame away. With his head down, he began to wonder what was wrong with him. He was definitely classified not only as a pervert but also a panty stealer.

He folded your panty and placed it ontop of his side table. There was no way in hell he would return it back to you with the amount of dirty things he did to it.

Heeseung usually does his laundry every Monday, dead in the morning when no one was there. His schedule switches from time to time where he does the laundry at odd times due to restricted time.

It was three in the morning when he decided to do his forgotten laundry, hoping to end his lazy ass for procrastinating on doing his chores.

With his air pods and a basket full of dirty clothes to wash, he stops in tracks when he spots you at the glass window of the laundromat. He backed away to hide himself in case you saw him, peeking at the corner to see what you were doing at this late hour.

You were squatted down in front of the dryer, the one he specifically always uses. Heeseung felt his heart beating fast and throat getting dry, thinking you were there searching for your missing panty. But when you place your bra inside the machine, leaving through the back door of the laundromat, he blinks his eyes in surprise.

To say he was shocked was an understatement.

Did you leave it there on purpose for him to find?

So many questions bombarded his head. He slowly went inside after he was sure you had left, making his way to the machine. He opened it to see the red bra staring back at him, and pulled it away to make sure your name was there. It was.

He decided to grab an empty paper and pen from his place to write a message, telling you to meet him at exactly the same time dead in the morning. He left a message inside the dryer but took the bra with him.

Heeseung was sure you and him were the only ones using that specific machine because when he saw you in the elevator one day as he squeezed through the amount of people, the stare you gave him allowed him to be confident that you saw the message loud and clear.

He was shitting in his pants waiting for you in the laundromat.

He doesn’t know what to say— should he confront you about leaving your undergarments on purpose for him to find? Or should he apologize for taking it in the first place? So many worries cross through his mind when he hears the door opened, turning his head to see you walking towards him shyly.

You wore a blue cardigan with white flowy skirt, in contrast to your usual workout clothes.

The both of you stood there awkwardly, facing each other but with your gaze averted from one another. The tension was tense as neither of you found the courage to speak first, but when Heeseung took the chance to open his mouth to say something, you pushed him to sit on the empty bench; totally taking him off guard.

When you capture his lips with yours, you taste as sweet as he imagines. He tightens the grip on your hips, letting you lean down further with your hands on his cheeks to deepen the kiss— he lets your tongue explore the cavern of his mouth. Your scent invades his senses, the same one that sticks to your bra and panty (yes, he smelled the bra you left him too)

It was at this moment that Heeseung realized that his fantasy was coming true.

A soft moan left your mouth, sending all the blood rushing to his shaft. He was becoming dizzier the more you moved your lips, saliva coating at the edges of each other’s mouth. When you let go of his mouth, tugging at the hairs on the back of his neck, you said something that had him exploding.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad.” Your breath was hot against his cheeks as he saw the lust swimming in your eyes, causing him to swallow down.

“Really?” His voice cracked a bit, not believing the words coming out of your mouth. You now grip on his shoulder, resting your forehead against his as you nod your head.

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave my underwear for you if I didn't want to.” Heeseung flushed when he heard you say that; so you did purposely leave it for him to find. He brings your waist closer to him, standing in front of him with your lips close to his.

“I want you so bad.” He whispered, the lust evident in his voice.

You grab onto one of his hands that was resting on your waist, leading it under your skirt. Heeseung let out a gasp when he felt his fingers touching your wet folds, feeling the dampness between your legs. You were not wearing any panties. Fuck.

The dent on his jeans grew bigger when he rubbed your soaked folds, earning whiny mewls from you as his lanky fingers probed your pulsating hole. You lurch forward when he pushes a finger inside, letting out a high pitch moan when he slowly rubs the inside of your walls. When he moves to enter another finger, scissoring your hole with back and forth motion, you are holding him by the shoulder to regain some balance, feeling your knees buckled at the pleasure that washes over you.

“You like that?” He taunts, liking the way your face contracts with pleasure with each movement of his finger.

“Hmm…love your fingers fucking me.” You move your hips to reciprocate his fingers that were moving in and out of your hole, your juices leaking down your inner thighs. You move down to palm his dent, earning a groan from Heeseung’s pouty lips.

“Want to feel your cock in me.” you unzip his jeans, searching for a way to free his hardened shaft from the confinements. With skillful hands, you pump his dick out of the hole of his boxers, he’s precum coating the palm of your hand as you move to jerk him.

Heeseung hissed at the warm contact but he let out a chuckle, watching you desperately rut your hips against his fingers for more friction. “Your pussy is drenched, you know that yeah? Are you ready for my cock baby?”

You let a string of incoherent words of affirmation, lost in the way his fingers were moving inside of you that tears were starting to form at the corner of your eyes. You move to straddle his waist, holding onto his dick as you slowly push him inside. He aids you by holding on your waist with both hands, watching you choke as he stretches you out.

“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His eyes rolled at the back of his head, feeling you engulfing his cock with your wet and hot walls.

“Hee you're so big, you're stretching me out.” You moan, pushing down yourself as close to his hips as possible, needing to feel him fill you up.

His heart stirs when you breathe out his name. You knew his name.

When you feel yourself adjusting to his size, you start bouncing on his cock, holding onto his neck as you feel him thrust into you as well. The wet sound of skin slapping and the moans filled up the vacant laundromat, echoing in the dead of morning when every tenant was still sleeping.

The both of you were glad that the CCTV inside was broken, making you feel less shameful at how loud your moans were as Heeseung continued to pound into you mercilessly. You burrowed your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his hands wander under your cardigan, hearing him letting out a curse when he pinch your bare nipples.

“Fuck, no bra too?” He growled close to your ear, causing you to yelp when you felt him dick twitch inside. He played with your breasts, thrusting roughly into you to the point where your legs felt like jelly.

“Are you that desperate for me to fuck you huh? Baby wants my cock so much that she puts on a show just for me?” Your fingernails scratch at the skin of his neck, unable to move your hips at the amount of pleasure overwhelming your senses. But Heeseung didn’t mind doing all the work, rapidly ramming into you until you felt the familiar knot in your stomach.

“I’m close.” You sobbed into his neck, feeling him hitting your g-spot over and over again, not letting you rest in between thrusts. His finger snakes into the front, thumb latching on your tender clit, causing you to go haywire at the feeling.

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock.” He coaxed, your pussy clutching onto him tightly and sending him over the edge at the stimulation. All he could think of is his clumsy thrust and your wet pussy sucking him in, feeling dizzy at the amount of pleasure that was about to unfold.

He lets you cum first, the loud whine that emitted from your mouth sends shivers down his spine as he rides you out of your high. When he reaches his own high, Heeseung pulls out in time for the ropes of his semen to drip down his jeans, dampening the area together with your juices.

Heaving breathing filled the silence, and the sound of the flickering fluorescent lamp from time to time. You lay snug on his chest, feeling the aftermath of the orgasm relaxing your muscles. Heeseung pushes his bangs with one hand that was sticking to his forehead, adjusting his legs to give you more space to sit on his lap.

“I guess we’re beyond introduction at this point huh?”

You laugh, the embarrassment evident in your tone. He laughed as well, his chest moving up and down at the thought that you had wanted him the way he wanted you. But the real question was— Heeseung moved to look at you, eyes staring back at you with a cheeky smirk.

“Do you still want your bra and panty or can I keep it?”

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