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saetoru · 8 months

Note

Do you think there could be a chance where reader and bully! gojo meet again years later and try again? Maybe 🥹

part one here — contents. fem! reader, exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers, slight nsfw so minors do not interact, slight angst but it’s a hopeful (pretty much happy) ending, idk what else lmk what i missed

imagine you guys are neighbors—you accidentally meet when you’re both walking up to your apartment doors one night after work. he pauses, and you can feel eyes staring into you from the side so you look over and yeah. wow. there’s your worst heartbreak of your youth standing right there in all his glory, staring at you like you’re a figment of his imagination come true. like he never expected to see you again (you suppose he probably didn’t).

“hey,” he says softly. satoru has never been one to greet someone first, never been the one to reach out and bridge the gap himself. he always waits to be approached. that much has surprisingly changed since the last time you saw him.

“oh…” you trail off, “hi. it’s you.”

you don’t seem half as happy to see him as he does you—but that much is to be expected, of course. satoru didn’t have the luxury of moving on, you can tell because you still can read him just as easy after all these years. like he hasn’t changed the small quirks about him, like he’s still tried desperately to hold onto his past because that’s where you were. he still looks desperately in love like the night you left him.

it’s pathetic, you wanna say. to still be in love for so long. when it’s so clearly over and there’s no coming back. a small part of you is filled with this sick, evil satisfaction that he’s still thinking about you when you don’t spare him a single thought.

but you suppose you’re not at over him as you thought when there’s this much excitement bubbling into you at his suffering. maybe, if you were actually completely over him, you’d be indifferent to him. you wouldn’t forget, but you’d forgive. you’d hope he learned his lesson and spared another innocent, poor girl from what you suffered for simply loving him. for simply wanting him to feel cherished and special and worth someone’s time.

you hope he’s better now—not for yourself, but for someone else. he doesn’t deserve a second of your time.

“you live here?” he asks, mildly shocked.

you’re almost offended. does he mean he thinks you can’t afford to live in the same apartment building as him? or is he just that shocked to see you? nothing about satoru seems genuine—you can’t help but assume the worst in him.

“yes,” you say curtly, “i moved here for work.” (why did you add that? why are you giving an opening to make conversation?)

“oh, really? me too,” he nods. (why is he making conversation? why couldn’t he have just ignored that opening and spared you the trouble?)

“oh,” is all you say. it’s silent for a bit, and then, “well, i better—”

almost like he knows what you’re about to say, he cuts you off with a quick, “i teach now.” you blink, staring at him in confusion. he rubs his neck as he adds, “i uh…i teach at that high school down the block. so uh…that’s why i moved here.”

“that’s…that’s nice,” you nod awkwardly. why is he telling you all this?

“yeah, my students are really cool,” he adds with a grin—it’s…a bit cute, actually. because he means it. his smile is too fond for it to not be true.

this isn’t the satoru you know—at least, not the one you think is the real satoru. you’re not so sure which side of him is actually him.

“i’m glad you enjoy what you do,” you offer. there’s not much else to say. “i’ll be heading in now.”

“right,” he coughs, “s-see you around.”

and then you really do see him around.

sometimes, it’s when you both leave in the mornings—he lets you enter the elevator first and presses the button for you when he gets in. he always lets you exit first too, like he cares to be chivalrous even if you’re not together anymore. sometimes it’s when you’re coming home—he’s holding a bag of take out as he walks up to his own door. you suppose he’s never been one to cook, and that probably hasn’t changed. sometimes, you’ll see him at the grocery store too—his cart is usually just filled with snacks and sweets. it’s not a very adult like shopping cart, so something’s evidently never change.

and every time he sees you, he always tries to strike up a conversation. no matter how short of a window your time is. even if it’s the forty five second elevator ride from floor one to floor three, he’s determined to say something.

today my students got me a gift—it’s a pair of sunglasses, because he still apparently loves those.

i got to take my students on a field trip today. i’ve been planning it for weeks—they have to write a paper on it, though. they’re not too happy about that even if they enjoyed themselves.

today was my student yuji’s birthday. i let the others out early to celebrate with him—they’re apparently all a good bunch of kids. friendly and tight knit in a way satoru’s never experienced. he thinks kids should hold onto that. good friends are hard to come by, after all.

and you’re always guarded. always so cautious and careful when you talk to him. sometimes you try to be polite, other times it’s abundantly apparent you don’t want to converse. he doesn’t pay it any mind, though. just rambles away and away and away and talks enough for the both of you because he’s just happy you’ll listen. even if begrudgingly.

and then one night, it happens—it’s late and you had to stay extra in the office. you’re grumpy and tired and the only good thing about this is that it’s late enough that you probably won’t run into satoru today.

except he’s waiting right there, head against your door as he fidgets with the door knob and grumbles incoherently under his breath.

“stupid damn door,” he slurs, “jus’ fuckin’ open.”

“ahem,” you clear your throat—he stiffens. “any particular reason you’re trying to break in?”

he turns to face you—stumbles a little as his glossed eyes look at you in confusion. he’s drunk—you can smell the liquor on him.

“whad’ya mean? ‘s my door,” he holds an arm out to gesture at your door.

“no,” you sigh, pointing to the door next to yours, “that one is.”

“oh!” he perks up, “‘s why it wasn’t working?”

“most likely,” you nod awkwardly, “that’s usually how that works.”

you watch as he unceremoniously stumbles over his steps to his door—how he tries but fails to get his keys through the key hole before you sigh and take pity on him. you don’t have it in you to leave a drunk person out in the cold, no matter how much (bad) history you might have.

“here,” you sigh, grabbing his keys from his hand and opening the door for him. you try to ignore that brief moment of warmth where your hands brushed against each other.

“do y’know what today is?” he mumbles, breath fanning over your shoulder as you open his door.

“i….tuesday?” you ask, in confusion. he looks crestfallen when you stare his face.

“oh, n-never—” he stumbles a bit. you catch him before you realize. “never mind.”

somehow, you barely manage to help him to his couch before he’s passing out, too drunk to really register anything else. satoru never drinks much—it was the funniest part about him. you used to tease him for it all the time, for being a frat boy who can hardly handle some alcohol.

i like being in control, he’d say petulantly, i don’t need to be drunk to have a good time. i am the good time.

you take a quick glance around his place before you can catch yourself. it’s not very different from your place—the living room is the same size and the structure is more or less the same. his tv is a bit more expensive, and his furniture is more simple. that’s about it.

you glance down at him one last time before walking out and shutting the door behind you. you hesitate for a moment before turning on the screen of your phone to check the date—it takes you a moment, but then it hits you.

it’s the day you broke up. all those years ago. it’s certainly been a good few—you almost forgot the date, but apparently satoru remembers. he remembers enough to go get shit-faced drunk as if the memory is too much to bear.

does he do this every year? drink away his sorrows every anniversary of the day you left him? does he really still care that much? why hasn’t he moved on?

and then you stop thinking about it. it’s not your problem.

but then you just…can’t help but be a bit more gentle around him. it happens without your control. maybe it’s muscle memory. maybe you’re finally letting your muscles relax and do that involuntary thing of their own that they do.

evidently that’s to be more soft with the boy who broke your heart. except he’s a man now, you suppose. he should’ve been a man when you dated him—but you’re glad he grew up eventually. even if you couldn’t be there with him for it.

but you’re a bit more friendly with him now—you suppose you can coexist with your talkative neighbor that also happens to be your awful ex boyfriend. you answer him a bit more when he talks to you, ask him about his students when he brings them up—he brightens so much when you do. it’s….painfully endearing.

yuji is sweet, a little too kind for his own good. nobara is a little tough to soften up, but once you do, she loves tenfold. megumi is a grump, but he’s a real softie. yuta is a bit socially awkward, but he’s got a good heart. maki is all business and very studious, but she’s a determined young girl. panda is not a panda—his name is odd but he’s funny. toge is quiet, but he looks out for people.

they’re good kids. he cares a great deal about them.

and then you start to tell him about your job. how your boss is another baldy that’s annoying—just like the professor you both shared. he chuckles at that. your coworkers are a good gossip, but you’d never go hang out with them outside of work. well, maybe except for one—utahime is a nice person, even if a bit of a priss sometimes.

it’s nice, talking to him. he’s funny, makes banter easily like it’s second nature. sometimes….sometimes it feels like old times. you’re not so sure how you feel about that, but you think it’s not bad. you can be grown ups, the two of you. you can be adults and ignore your immature past. the hurt is still there, but it’s manageable now. doesn’t linger and doesn’t weigh on you anymore.

sometimes satoru still stares at you in that way he did all those years ago, sometimes he still stutters over his words and loses his train of thought when he meets your eyes. he still loves you—you knew that from the start.

you stopped loving him a long time ago. that’s what you thought, anyway—but sometimes seeing satoru is….too familiar. it makes you feel things you thought you buried away for good. maybe it’s just deja vu, maybe it’s just the history speaking for itself.

or maybe…maybe you’re starting to tread a more dangerous path. the one that led you to your first, and worst heartbreak. you can’t step foot on that path again, no matter what.

that’s what you tell yourself, anyway—but satoru and you are talking one night. in front of your doors, like usual. you’re excited from a raise at work, and he’s excited because his students have done exceptionally on their final exams and you’re both celebratory in spirit enough that it turns into a cheery hug—and then…and then you’re kissing.

that wasn’t supposed to happen, but it does. you don’t know who kisses who, but you’re both wrapped up in each other and your lips are pressed against the others and oh, he feels so, so familiar.

like home. even if it’s not always safe to be there anymore, it’s still your home. you can’t let go of that nostalgia.

and then his hands cup your cheeks and your arms wrap around his neck and suddenly he’s in your bed—your door was already unlocked and the two of you somehow managed to stumble through the entire apartment until your back hits your mattress. your place is similar enough to his that he finds your room without any issues.

it was never supposed to happen—the shedding of clothes and the desperately needy kisses. the way you held his face and he held you. the way he trembled as he touched you, scared he’d mess it up again. the way you laced your fingers and kissed him between his brows like old times.

and then he fucks you like he means it. has his head in the crook of your neck and sniffles into your skin, rolls his hips and makes you mewl his name while he tells you every good thing about you.

you’re beautiful, the prettiest he’s ever seen. you’re so soft when you love, so delicate with the ones who hold your affection, it’s too much for anyone to deserve. you’re laugh is like music, a melody that’s impossible to grow tired of. but the most important part? you look at everyone like they’re worth something—just for existing, just for being there with you and crossing your path. worth your time, and energy, and compassion. they never have to work for it.

it’s rare, finding someone like that. it’s even more rare to get them to fall in love with you—satoru has never stopped regretting letting that go.

he whispers that all through breathy moans and the occasional cracked sob. whimpers when your fingers lock into his hair and pull the strands when his swollen tip kisses that spot he never forgot how to find. you cum first, falling apart with a gasp—and he cums right after, like feeling you is what it takes to make him come undone.

you still do that thing you did—rubbing his back as he spills into you, soothing him as he pants harshly into your skin. the only difference is that you don’t kiss his head sweetly and call him yours. god, he misses that so, so badly.

when his body slumps over yours, it’s when it hits you, what you just did.

“oh no,” you breathe, “oh god. we….we shouldn’t have done that, should we?” you ask tiredly.

satoru’s lip is trembling—he can’t bear to have you regret him. not again.

“i love you,” he says desperately, “i…i never stopped.”

“obviously you didn’t love me enough,” you mumble, not looking at him. it’s something you’ve realized—looking satoru in his eyes makes you weak.

you can’t have that.

“i’ll love you more than enough now,” he promises.

“what if i say i don’t love you anymore, satoru?” you challenge, “it’s been years. i didn’t wait around for you.”

his breath shakes at that. you think you got him there, but apparently he’s determined. it shocks you.

“then i’ll love enough for the both of us.”

for a moment, you can’t help but think if only everyone could see him now. years later. gojo satoru begging you to let him love you hard enough that you don’t have to. being okay with half of you because that’s better than none of you.

it’s almost comical. maybe a little sad. entirely avoidable if he’d just been brave from the start.

“that’s not fair to you,” you sigh, “you’re an asshole but…but you don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who can love you—”

“then i’ll show you,” he grabs your hand, pressing it to his face as he looks at you with enough hope that it’s almost too cruel to crush it. even for someone like him. “i’ll show you how to love me again. it’ll be easier this time. i promise.”

there’s a tear that slips down his cheek—and then another and another and another. and your thumb, just like muscle memory, swipes it away.

you want to tell him—it’s always been so, so easy to love satoru. easier than anything in the world. easier than loving yourself. it came like second nature, flowed through your blood stream and pumped through your heart. you loved him so easily.

you wish he’d loved himself a little bit easier back then. maybe he’d have realized who was worth keeping and who wasn’t. maybe he’d be happier now—a selfish part of you thinks you could’ve been happier that way too.

“satoru,” you sigh, “i have more self respect these days.”

“i know,” he nods, “i’ll be good—so good. i promise. i’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed and we can have three cats and i’ll pay for the vet visits. just like you always wanted.”

you can’t help but chuckle at that. he’s always known how to be charming at the right times.

“and what about the fancy window i always wanted?”

“i’ll get you one of those too,” he swears, “find us a nice place by the school and your job and we’ll be the best cat parents ever. and i’ll be good. so good.”

“i can’t do that all again,” you shake your head, “crying over someone like you is not worth it.”

“i won’t make you cry,” he insists.

something in you screams to believe him—that voice from your youth. that one that never quite stopped falling in love. that one that can’t ever really let him go.

“you don’t deserve me,” you mumble, pulling him close. he tucks his head into your neck, kisses your skin and breathes you in like he needs you to live.

maybe he does.

“i know,” he murmurs. “but i love you. i’ll make you love me again.”

“good luck,” you snort—your hand weaves into his hair, and your lips kiss his head.

well….maybe he’s already succeeded.

#i wasn’t gonna tag this buuuuuuuut….its kinda long so #i was like eh why not #but i’m not like tagging every tag just the main few #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #bully! gojo tag

7K notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 5 months

Note

since you are a person of angst, i was thinking about spencer x reader where in the heat of an argument, spencer says he will only forgive her when she dies.

so in one of the cases the reader is shot by spencer and sighs "now you can finally forgive me"

happy or sad ending, whatever you want

muah 💘

forgiven [ s.r ]

Summary:

You lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR IAN DOYLE ARC, harsh arguments, death wishes, gun mentions, major character injury, details of gun related injury

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST with a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

masterlist!!

a/n: left the ending up to majority vote and majority vote said happy ending, you guys are so boring /j

happy ending or not this is still nice and jam packed with angst for all my angst enjoyers <3

Emily Prentiss had been buried for seven months.

So how on earth was she stood five feet away from Spencer with a half guilty expression on her face like she’d put salt in his coffee rather than the fact that she’d been in Paris, fully alive and well whilst he mourned her ‘death’ for months.

But he couldn’t be mad at her. Of course he couldn’t.

Instead his gaze turned towards the way Hotch, JJ, and you were stood at the head of the table, completely unfazed whilst the rest of the team stood in shock at the fact that the friend that they’d buried was still alive.

He couldn’t help that small feeling of loathing mixing with the shock when Emily pulled him into a hug, his arms loosely rested around her back as his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction.

He’d let you see him at his absolute worst, an emotional, crying, pathetic mess of a person who was desperately mourning over the loss of one of his closest friends.

And you’d let him. Whilst knowing that Emily was still alive.

His emotional state had gotten so bad over the last few months that you’d even temporarily moved him in with you to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself.

He’d spiralled into a state where he couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. And you’d let him.

He didn’t speak to you during your drive home that night, and you knew why.

You knew he was going to be angry at you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to immediately start unrooting himself from your apartment; Clearing out drawers and stuffing his clothes in the suitcase hidden in one of the cupboards.

“Spencer what are you doing-” You barely manage to step out of the way before Spencer walked right into you with an armful of books in his hands as he pulled them from the bookshelf in your living room.

He stacks them neatly in the corner of the open case laid on top of his bed as you stand in the doorway of your guest room turned Spencer’s bedroom, clear concern written all over your face.

“I’m going home.” Spencer’s reply is blunt, flat, with the tiniest amount of hurt lacing his tone if you were to listen closely enough.

“Spence-” You block his exit from the room with your body as he attempts to make a second trip to clear your shelves of his books. “Can we just take a second to talk about this?”

“About what? The fact that you lied to me for seven months?” He takes a step back from you as you block the doorway, looking you directly in the eyes to make sure that you could read every semblance of hurt, loathing, and betrayal that swam in his irises.

“The fact that I trusted you to the point where I let you see me at my lowest and you knew everything I was grieving over was a lie?” Spencer had given up trying to leave the room, clearing out anything left in the bedroom instead and zipping the suitcase shut.

“The fact that you let me spiral to the point where I was considering relapsing and couldn’t be trusted to live on my own?”

“Spencer-”

“I confided in you. I told you everything. All those nights I spent sobbing in your arms talking about how I just wanted the pain to stop and you left me in the dark.” He was borderline shouting at you by now, his eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and a lump in his throat that rended his composure shattered.

“I wish I could’ve told you Spencer but I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t?” Spencer cuts you off before you have the time to try and explain yourself. “Or you wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t- Spence I wanted to tell you I really did but Emily’s life was in danger-” You try to explain yourself whilst he’s giving you the time to do so, words falling out of your mouth as fast as your brain will let them form. “I couldn’t say anything without risking breaking her cover and sending her right back into Doyle’s grasp..”

“What about my life?” Spencer’s voice cracked slightly as he looked at you, a light flush covering his face from his frustration. “I spent ten weeks under 24/7 supervision because my mental state was so bad-”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t have said anything. And you let me ruin my own mental state anyway.” The end of his negation of your explanation is marked by the suitcases wheels hitting the wooden flooring.

“Look i’m sorry okay? I didn’t-”

“What? didn’t mean to let it go so far? Didn’t mean to let me consider relapsing and washing any progress i’d made over the last four years down the drain?” He pushes past you with considerable force to make his way towards the front door of your apartment with his suitcase in hand. “Well it’s too late for that isn’t it?”

“Spencer wait-” You grasp at his wrist in a moment of desperation, silently begging for him not to leave. “I’m sorry,”

“I’m so, so sorry and you have every right to be angry at me and I know that keeping it from you was wrong-” Your desperation shows through your voice, through the stray tear that rolls down your left cheek and pools under your chin. “Just- let’s talk about this, please,”

“We just did.” Spencer’s voice is much harsher than you’re used to, although he removes your hand from his wrist with a whisper of his usual gentle nature that you wish would take over the rest of his personality as he pulls your door open to leave.

“I was just trying to protect her-” Your voice hitches at the end of your sentence, stray tears turning into a steady flow that dapples your white shirt in damp circles. “..please forgive me…”

Your voice is hardly a whisper by the time you’re finished, although Spencer’s expression does not match the softness in your tone.

Nor does his response.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re six feet under like she was.”

“Spencer-”

You barely have time to be shocked by his words before the front door of your apartment is closed harshly in your face, Spencer’s presence replaced by the ghost of his cologne and a sharp coldness that runs its way up your spine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been three weeks.

And aside from asking Morgan to keep an eye on him you hadn’t so much as mentioned Spencer once.

It was a little difficult considering his desk was directly opposite yours, but a mix of wanting to respect his personal space and still being hurt by his comment allows you to keep to yourself no matter how close he was.

You’re thankful that the team hasn’t said anything, but you’re sure they’ll only respect your privacy until it interferes with the case you’re working on.

Emily had tried to talk Spencer down from his underlying anger to no avail during the plane ride, and despite the countless times that Hotch had taken full responsibility for keeping Emily’s living status a secret, it didn’t stop Spencer from sending you half-glares across the station or refuting any suggestion you gave with an overcomplicated explanation of why you were wrong.

By the fourth day you were on the verge of snapping at him, the Texas heat melding with his snark and making you want to tear all of your skin from your face.

You definitely weren’t in the right mental state to enter an active shooter situation, but as you followed Morgan into the building with your 9mm planted firmly between your hands, all you could think about is the conversation you were going to force Spencer into having with you once all of this was over.

You were so tired of being in this stalemate with him, you just wanted your Spencer back.

The one who would trap you on your couch so he could explain the Doctor Who lore in explicit detail with that bright starry look in his eyes the longer you let him ramble.

It was just radio silence. And you couldn’t bare it anymore.

Your mind was clouded by your own thoughts as you swept the building, and you suppose you only have yourself to blame for not hearing the unfamiliar footsteps behind you until it’s too late.

You turn on your heels towards the noise, expecting it to be Morgan or even Spencer, finished with sweeping the floor and ready to move on.

Instead you’re met by a sharp bang that rings through your ears and a pain in your throat that makes your breath catch and your legs fail underneath you.

Your left hand comes straight to your throat, immediately coated in the dark red liquid escaping from the new hole created in your body, and you manage to fire a shot in the direction of your assailant as he runs, although whether you actually hit him or not you’re not sure.

It takes less than ten seconds for your team members to arrive at your side, and you desperately point in the direction that the UnSub had ran off in as you try and refrain from coughing up blood and in turn flooding your lungs.

Morgan and Emily share a look before running off in your pointed direction. Spencer however, ignores your arm completely and rushes to kneel at your side, dropping his gun on the floor in the process and frantically holding the radio button on his watch to yell out his need for medical services.

“You’re going to be fine- Everything’s going to be fine-” You can practically feel the panic emanating from his body, his hands trembling as he tugged his bullet proof vest from his chest to tear at the hem of his shirt and use it to block the bullet hole in your throat as your hand compression weakened with your blood loss.

You can tell he was trying to reassure you, but it didn’t sound all that convincing, even to himself.

His right hand added a copious amount of pressure to the front of your throat as he aided you into the recovery position, checking the nape of your neck for an exit wound. Nothing.

A soft “two minutes” echoes back through the radio speaker in his watch and though he tries to mutter it under his breath to not freak you out any further, you can hear his uncertain “that’s too long,” even through the tinnitus plaguing your ears.

You cough up the clotted chunks of oxidised blood stuck in your oesophagus onto the floor beneath you, and Spencer makes an effort to protect your head from the floor by elevating it on his thigh.

“You’re going to be fine-” Spencer sounds more panicked than you as his eyes blink with tears, unable to be wiped as they fall down his cheeks from the red staining against his fingers and the ever present pressure he’s adding to your injury.

“Does this mean you’re going to forgive me now?” You choke out the words alongside what could barely be considered a laugh as it leaves you hacking up more blood through your mouth, your attempt at lightening the mood falling on deaf ears as it sends Spencer into a fit of tears.

“I’m so sorry-” Spencer’s tears run hot against his cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling onto the ripped fabric of his shirt he was using to try and stop your throat from bleeding. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you and barging out and just being awful to you I’m sorry-”

The distinct sounds of sirens sound over Spencer’s profuse apology and you can see the relief flood his face as he hears them. “You hear that? You’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna get you to a hospital and you’re gonna be fine,”

He nodded determinedly at you, more like he’s trying to convince himself than convince you.

He neglected to tell you about the fact that gunshot wounds to the neck held a 78% mortality rate, or how when they obstruct major airways that number jumps to 92%.

It was fine. You would be fine.

He can hear the pounding footsteps of the medical team as they breach the building, yelling out in their direction with as much composure as he can muster.

He helped the medical team carefully position you on a stretcher so they could rush you into the ambulance, and he runs alongside you, giving the EMTs as much information as he can.

“They were shot by a 7.5mm two minutes and forty seconds ago, it breached their trachea but there’s no exit wound so it’s likely lodged in the back of their oesophagus-” Spencer speaks through heaved breaths as his body fights to take in oxygen over his will to help the EMTs treat you as quickly as possible, following them into the back of the ambulance.

“They’ve been conscious the whole time this far but I think they’re going through pulmonary edema and-”

“Spence-” Your voice is barely audible through your struggle to breathe, joined by the pressure on your throat as well as under your diaphragm as one of the EMTs checks for signs of your lungs being flooded. “Don’t backseat doctor-”

The fact that you’re still conscious enough to lightly chastise him makes Spencer feel a little less panicked, although removing a pebble from a mountain doesn’t affect its height.

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re unconscious but not yet critical, and he almost follows you right into the OR until he’s blocked from the door by one of the nurses and escorted into the waiting area.

“Well let you know the second anything changes Dr Reid,”

He nods hastily as he sits down, fiddling with his fingers and tapping his feet against the linoleum floors.

You weren’t critical yet, but that didn’t mean that you’d pull through. You had flooded lungs and a bullet lodged somewhere in the back of your throat that they were going to surgically remove.

If something went wrong, that was it.

Spencer spends the first thirty minutes mentally beating himself up.

Why did he lash out at you? You were only doing what you thought was best to protect Emily.

Why did he say he’d only forgive you if you died? You didn’t mean to cause him any harm.

Why was he constantly managing to ruin anything positive that was happening between the two of you?

Maybe he was cursed.

Cursed to live a life of eternal suffering as the perpetual cost for the gift of his intelligence.

He would give up every IQ point he had if it meant that you would recover with no complications.

He would sacrifice his eidetic memory in an instant if it meant he got to make new ones with you.

He’d give up everything that he was prided on as long as you were okay. You needed to be okay.

The next forty-five minutes was spent in an anxious silence. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d secured the UnSub’s incarceration, only amplifying the tension in the waiting area.

As the nurse calls out your name to the room, the team immediately stands to rush over, everyone silently praying that you’re okay.

“We’re glad to say that the surgery was a success,”

Those words are enough for the anxiety to dwindle in the group, a wave of relief overtaking it.

“They’ve had to have a temporary tracheotomy, and due to the placement of the bullet lodged between their vertebrae, a spinal excision, but both procedures progressed with no issues, meaning they should recover perfectly fine,”

Morgan and Emily share a audible sigh of relief, overshadowed by Spencer’s voice, less anxious but still filled with adrenaline. “Can I see them?”

“They’re currently under supervised care to make sure they don’t destabilise, but if you leave your mobile number we will contact you when they wake,” The nurse passes Spencer a small post it note and a biro pen from her clip board and he doesn’t hesitate to scribble his name and number down before handing them back.

“They’re strong, most patients don’t remain conscious for more than a minute or two after an injury like that,” The nurse takes the pen and post it from Spencer with a small smile. “I have full faith that they’ll recover perfectly fine,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer extends his stay in Texas indefinitely.

The rest of the team had left for Quantico two days ago to file out all of the necessary paperwork for the case, with Spencer opting to remain in Texas until you were fit to fly home with him.

Home. He wonders if you’ll let him come home with you. To stay with you in your apartment again and live side by side with him once more.

Maybe he can convince you through your recovery; That patients recovering with spinal injuries need 24/7 attention just in case something happens.

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

Spencer’s plans for taking you home were interrupted by the shrill ring of his cellphone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

His heart rate increases as he picks the phone up from his hotel room’s coffee table, his hands trembling by the time he holds it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“McAllen County Hospital, am I speaking to Doctor Spencer Reid?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer is in his rental car almost before he hangs up the phone, driving the speed limit as he tries to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

He runs what he’s going to say when he sees you over and over again in his head on the way there, but by the time he reaches your hospital room his mind goes completely blank, and he just stands in the door staring at you.

“Hello to you too,” Your voice is very clearly strained and raspy, still recovering from the emergency tracheotomy you’d been given during surgery.

The sound of your voice, as dry and strained as it is, immediately sends Spencer into a fit of tears, and he rushes to take a seat on the plastic chair beside your bed with the most upset, regretful expression you think you’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,”

“Spence…” You reach out your hand out from the hospital bed, laying it against his lower thigh and squeezing it lightly.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you I know you were doing what’s right and I didn’t mean what I said I don’t want you to die I promise-” He takes in a sharp breath through his nose once he’s finished his ramble, and you wait a few seconds to make sure he’s actually finished before speaking yourself.

“You’re fine Spence…” Your hand trails up to grasp at his own, intertwining your fingers with his and giving them a small squeeze. “You had every right to be angry,”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly at you. “No, i’m sorry. What I said was wrong and you didn’t deserve that,”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, his voice wavering and his hands trembling against your own. “Can you forgive me..?”

You question whether to make a joke about whether he’s close to dying or not, but opt out of it considering his fragile emotional state.

“How about we both forgive each other and call it even?” You let out a small chuckle at the end of your question, turning into more of a cough as it dries out your throat, and Spencer grabs the glass of water left on your bedside table with his free hand.

He holds it up to let you drink from it rather than unlinking your hands to let you hold the cup yourself, placing the styrofoam back down once you’re finished.

You give him a mildly embarrassed smile that he returns with one of his own, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against yours.

If you weren’t recovering from a spinal surgery he would’ve had you in a bone crushing hug by now, but holding your hand and leaning his forehead to yours would suffice for now.

“Forgiven?” You allow your eyes to flutter closed at the soft contact, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“Forgiven…”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

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onlyswan · 1 year

Text

summary: in which you give jungkook the silent treatment and he books a 5am flight to japan.

> fluff, angst lowkey / wc: 4.6k

> warnings: mention of c*m swallowing bc jk is a menace, oc overthinks bringing their new boots but jk wins the boyfriend of the year award <3 (these could be title candidates tbh)

note: hello friends! a late valentine’s day gift from me inspired by this ask <3 i almost cried writing this near the end lol. as always i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated ^__^

—

“ey, this stubborn- yah! what are you doing up there?” jungkook exclaims in panic, nimble feet rushing to the kitchen.

with your back facing him, you flinch at the sudden loud voice filling the empty silence encased by the four walls of the apartment. you feel his big hands firmly hold onto the curves of your naked waist, revealed by a loose crop top you opted to wear for comfort after your shower barely an hour ago. your heart almost jumps out of your chest because only then do you realize that your bare feet have gone closer to the edge of the counter, only two inches backwards and you would be on your way to the hospital.

you carefully face to the side and bend down on your knees, but he clicks his tongue and effortlessly swoops you up in his arms before you can step down on the wooden chair you used to climb on the counter.

a kiss is planted on your temple before your feet touches the warm floor. “haven’t we talked about being careful around here, baby? you were about to fall.”

you shrug off his touch with a huff, glaring at him with piercing eyes. “you know, they didn’t put a lot of thought into my name just so you can replace it with baby.”

and then you turn on your heel to walk away.

his jaw slacks open in shock. he’s left standing alone, a flabbergasted smile slowly forming on his face. “wow! what’s with this sudden attitude, huh?”

after returning the chair to the dining table, he follows you to the dimly-lit living room. you sit down on the couch, crossing your legs and placing a throw pillow over your lap. deciding to be petty tonight, you pretend to be highly engrossed in the performance taking place at the music show.

he plops down beside you as he pulls off the black hair tie holding up the upper half of his hair, wearing it on his wrist for safekeeping.

“aish- my hair is a mess.” he chuckles when the thick locks messily fall infront of his bangs, obstructing his vision. he patiently runs his fingers through the tangles before daintily tucking them behind his ears. after getting that out of the way, he rests his tattooed arm over the backrest of the couch, his tongue unconsciously playing with his lip ring as he figures out how to capture your attention.

he affectionately kisses your cheek and gently holds your forearm, drawing random shapes on your skin with the pad of his thumb.

“hi.” he says softly. “you don’t like me calling you baby anymore? then what should i call you?”

you remain unresponsive, vision stubbornly locked on the television screen. he inches closer to block your view, tilting his head to the side so you’re left with no other choice but to look at his face. and then he calls you by your name, as if he’s testing the waters, and he doesn’t miss the disgruntled frown you quickly hide.

“see? you sulk when i say your name!” he giggles as he gets flashbacks of the first month of your relationship, when you used to be shyly tell him that hearing him say ‘baby’ instead of your name felt weird.

oh, how the tables have turned. but still . . . he gets nothing.

he sighs at the suffocating silence, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face on your neck. “baaaby, what did i do? talk to me.”

he breathes you in, the smell of his milk body wash unmistakably embedded on your skin. this means you can’t be that upset with him, right? when it’s in regards of a serious matter, you usually call him out straight away instead of beating around the bush. but you’re not looking for a solution right now. you’re giving him a punishment. that much he knows.

“i’m so tired and hungry after boxing. you know how i haven’t trained in a while. my body hurts more than usual because of it- ah, i really regret putting it off.” he rests his cheek on your shoulder, squeezing your body delicately as he watches the on-going commercial. “should we order their chicken for dinner?”

you stay motionless, letting him do whatever he wants as if he’s a ghost and you’re ignorant to his faint presence. this makes him jut out his bottom lip somberly as he racks his brain for what he could’ve possibly done today to deserve this silent treatment.

“is it something i did? or didn’t do?”

these questions are what eventually elicit a reaction from you. funny enough, the roll of your eyes puts a small smile on his face, because at least this conversation is finally going somewhere.

“okay, okay- i see. i’m supposed to know what it is, right?” he nods in understanding, sweet voice determined to unravel tonight’s mystery.

why is my baby upset with me?

“i’m still sweaty so i’ll reflect on myself in the shower.” he announces before stealing a quick kiss from your lips. this trick earns another glare from you as he walks away, which he reciprocates with a wink when he whips his head back.

“it’s alright if you don’t want to talk to me, just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

you sink down into the couch when he disappears into the bathroom, tightly hugging the pillow to your chest as you sarcastically roll your eyes.

“this is my house, too. why would i go anywhere else?”

—

jungkook heaves another sigh of frustration as he unplugs the hair dryer. despite retracing his footsteps from this morning to afternoon, he’s still as clueless as he was earlier. you were sharing stories when you ate brunch together, and you even kissed him sweet goodbye before he left for the studio. he thought that perhaps you asked him to buy something important and he didn’t read your texts, but he already checked his inbox twice and your last message was from two days ago. it was a sleepy voice memo sent at 4:01am. you were asking him to go back to bed because he was playing games in the living room again.

he taps the play button for the third time in a row, your weary and mellow voice spilling out from his phone’s speaker.

“…kook, love, don’t mind you playing in here. ermmm, but no yelling or i’ll kick you out… just go back to bed, please? i’m cold.”

“ah, shit.” the curse is accompanied by an airy laugh as he punches the bathroom countertop with as little strength as possible, tattooed knuckles turning a light shade of red. the fluttering of his heart doesn’t cease until your voice fades into silence, ticklish giddiness spreading from his stomach all the way to his fingertips.

to be brutally honest, he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. there’s nobody else on earth who can love him, handle his difficultness, and keep him on his toes as effortlessly as you do.

“no but seriously, what am i missing?!”

—

“baby, i ordered the chicken! you’ll eat dinner with me, right?”

he walks into the living room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, finding that you’re still sitting on the same spot where he left you.

“i got that limited flavor- the one you wanted to try last time. what is it again?” he raises an eyebrow as he taps his bare foot against the floor, his forehead creasing in deep thought.

you glance up at him when his knee knocks against yours, taking the final bite from the choco cookie pepero stick you’re holding. the plastic pouch on your lap makes a crinkling sound as you bring out another one.

”map- maple crunch? that’s the one, right?”

he waits for you to tell him whether he got it right or not, but to his dismay, the seal on your lips prevail. with a dramatic sigh and droopy shoulders, he makes a beeline for the kitchen. he fills a glass halfway with cold water from the fridge, and as he chugs, his doe eyes land on the top shelf. that’s where he caught you when he arrived from the gym, and so, with his curiosity piqued, he pulls the small door open.

it appears to be empty at first, but in the dark, innermost corner hides the snacks your friend, who visited japan recently, dropped off yesterday.

and that’s when it dawns on him, the reason why your expression turned sour when you saw his face an hour ago. he shuts the door with a lighthearted chuckle, leaving the empty glass in the sink before padding back to the living room.

he supports the back of your head with his wide palm to plant a kiss on your forehead, before squatting down infront of you with his folded arms weighing down the pillow. you grimace inside your head because you’re practically held down on the couch so you won’t be able to escape his sickeningly affectionate ministrations.

“pssst.” he whispers at you, eyes glimmering with hopes met by silent disappointment. his head drops lazily on your lap, low and husky voice sounding slightly muffled as he sullenly speaks. “baby, you’re killing me here. this is the worst punishment… please, punch me instead. that would hurt less.”

and he stays like that for a little while, almost falling asleep as the soreness of his muscles starts seeping deeper into his system. maybe, just maybe, he also put himself in this position with the intention of tempting you into playing with his pretty, as you like to call it, hair. he recently learned that the longer it grows, the more attention it earns from you.

true enough, setting himself up as bait works its charm, but unfortunately, his patience meets its demise just as you’re about to give up your petty little act. he looks up at you with a sad frown and twinkling eyes, expression identical to that famous pleading face emoji, only he’s thousand times more adorable in your eyes.

you hastily chew the chocolate-y snack to hide an endeared smile, teasingly quirking an eyebrow at him before reverting your attention on the television. at this point, he decides that he has had enough. his knees collapse on the floor as he abruptly holds your face steady, greedily biting at the other end of the pepero stick until his lips inevitably crashes against yours for a sweet kiss.

“hmmph-” your dominant hand weakly grasps his shoulder out of reflex, sticky thumb and index finger pointing out so the chocolate won’t stain his white t-shirt.

jungkook pulls away with a cocky grin, teeth sinking on his lower lip before his tongue darts out to lick it.

“ugh, i hate you! first, my strawberry mochi, and now, my pepero?!”

your furious outburst causes his animated giggles to echo throughout the apartment, his sore abdominal muscles aching and heart feeling significantly lighter. your wide, striking eyes fluttering close against their own accord when your face gets peppered with apologectic kisses.

“fuck, you’re so cute. i love you. i love you. that’s why you’re angry at me? i’ll buy you more…” he wipes away the scattered wet kisses on your cheeks with his thumb. “you only took one bite and left them in the fridge. i thought you didn’t want them anymore. i’m sorry.”

the story goes: he randomly woke up around 3am again. struggling to return to sleep, he started feeling peckish and decided to venture into the kitchen. that was when he saw the transparent container of five strawberry mochi, one on the corner not even half-eaten. in his defense, that’s how your unwanted leftovers usually look. and he thought those ones… particularly looked delicious. almost criminally so.

“that’s how yummy they were. i wanted to save them! and nothing would taste the same from here, so there’s no point.” you retort with a sigh of utter defeat. the doorbell rings a second after. “…that chicken better be crazy fucking good that i forget mochi exists.”

jungkook’s precarious fate completely lies in the hands of bb.q chicken’s kitchen people. wonderful.

“i’ll get it.” he softly squeezes your arm before standing up to answer the door.

—

“why do i like this so much? i’m about to finish everything…” you mumble to yourself after taking a peek at the box of those maple crunch chicken jungkook mentioned earlier.

“jungkook, aren’t you going to eat?!” you yell out for him before taking another bite from your fourth piece of chicken, ripping off the meat from the bone using your teeth. you continue entertaining yourself with a variety show while you wait for your boyfriend to join you.

“i will!” he shouts back from the bedroom, emerging from the door a moment later. he bites the nail of this thumb out of habit, highly absorbed in scrolling and tapping at his phone screen. he automatically sits on the edge of the couch to be as close to you as possible, who transferred to the floor to feast on your dinner, without giving away the website he’s current navigating. his leg bumps against your side, and you instinctively lay your head on his thick thigh.

“is that going to take long?” you question ingenuously, thinking that he might be preoccupied with something related to work. “i want to start watching the glory. i’m so curious!”

you made it a rule to put your phones aside when you watch a show or film together, not liking any distractions from the plot (and mostly the cuddles, really). it might not be anything special, but it is your quality time together after all. two hearts intertwined by love, beating in sync, with no intentions of ever letting go. and for a little while, it’s all that matters in the world.

“download the episodes on the tablet so we can watch it in the plane.”

“what? watch it where?” you abruptly lift up your head to look at him, a look of sheer confusion painted on your face.

“what?” he mimics your tone with faux innocence, round doe eyes meeting yours. “will you ask your friend? i need the address of the local bakery where she bought the mochi.”

“are you about to fly to japan just to buy them for me?” you snicker, nudging his knee in jest.

“not just me.” he boldly raises an eyebrow, showing you a plane ticket to your name displayed on his phone screen. “we have a flight to tokyo at 5am.”

“are you insane? babe, what the hell-” you hastily remove the gloves from your hands to grab the device, reading the details written on the screen to process what he just told you. “i was just joking!”

he almost curls in on himself when he hears a pet name slip out from your lips.

yes, that was the main reason why he took a long time in the bedroom. he needed your passport numbers to book the tickets and he struggled to find your passport. in the end, he found it beneath his in the cabinet drawer.

“this feels like the perfect opportunity to finally do something this spontaneous with you. it’s valentine’s day the day after tomorrow. let’s be dauntless and spend it at disneyland instead of camping, baby.”

he nervously taps his foot on the floor as he observes your reaction, feeling a little shy after revealing his surprise. he’s not entirely confident you’ll agree with his date idea— the first and last time you went to a theme park together, he ran into a bit of trouble the day after because he got recognized. he can’t read your mind at the moment, but he knows how you’ve always felt guilty about that.

however, those worries get washed away the second you excitedly climb on his lap to wrap your legs around his waist, engulfing him in the tightest hug.

“you’re so annoying, oh my god! why are you the best boyfriend in the whole wide world? you’re really going to pull this off?!”

your whiny voice makes him smile fondly, a surge of warmth spreading through his insides because that kind of praise coming from your mouth is music to his ears.

“that means you’re going with me, right? because there’s an extra fee if i cancel on them.”

you playfully squeeze his soft cheeks together to make his lips pout, sighing dreamily at the golden boy under you. “you spoil me too much, you know that?”

“i should. i want to. it’s for valentine’s day, the day of love! and you’re the personification of love for me.”

you shrug your shoulders with a lighthearted laugh.

“i don’t know. most guys buy flowers and call it a day.”

ouch. it seems that you already forgot that’s exactly what he did for your first valentine’s day. but to be fair, he couldn’t pull off anything special because he was overseas. and he will be again this year, except it’s different because you’ll be by his side.

“…i mean, i still think gifts like that are romantic. but i’m just happier when we create core memories together.”

“that’s why i’m the best boyfriend for you. because i know your love languages.” he responds proudly, nose scrunching and corners of his crinkling as he beams.

“that you are.” you squeeze his cheeks a second time. “then i’ll pay for the hotel.”

“took care of that already. six nights. it’s where me and jimin-hyung stayed before, but there was only a room with two single beds left. we can just sleep on one of them.” he cheeses at the thought of being squeezed into a small bed together with you, not even considering the option of pushing the two beds into one.

with how fast he managed to book the tickets and the hotel room, you can vividly see how much he wants, and maybe needs, this vacation to happen. his excitement is contagious — because this is slowly beginning to feel real and you’re already imagining how beautiful your lover would look like under the bursts of fireworks lighting up the night sky of disneyland.

“hmmmm,” you purse your lips as you hum. “then i’ll take care of the food and transpo.”

“sounds good.” he repeatedly nods in agreement, hair bouncing as he does so.

“except for the strawberry mochi.” you squint your eyes at him threateningly, and he cheekily smiles in return.

“except for the strawberry mochi. i’ll buy you the entire tray of those.”

you fix his bangs as you utter an almost inaudible ‘pretty’, worried about them poking his eyes. he instantaneously melt from your wholesome gentleness, guilty of becoming all mushy when he receives said compliment.

“give me a kiss.”

“later. i taste like chicken.”

“babe, come on.” he gives you a dirty ‘you can’t be serious’ look. “you think i care about that? just this morning i kissed you after you swallowed my cum-”

“oh my god, okay! okay! shut up! that’s different!” you cover his mouth with your hand, flustered by his obscene… choice of words outside the bedroom.

he presses a kiss to your palm before you finally reward his lips with a peck, a triumphant smile replacing his pout.

“we need to start packing!” you eagerly climb off his lap, heavy footsteps striking the floor as you skip to the bedroom.

“jeon jungkook! hurry!”

his full name?!

he hurriedly puts on a clean glove on his right hand. guess he has no choice but to eat dinner while packing, he did this to himself when he booked the 5am flight after all.

“coming!”

—

you know that jungkook likes using spacious luggages when he goes on trips. that doesn’t necessarily mean that he overpacks, he just wants the extra space because he tends to especially enjoy shopping when he goes on trips. that’s why when he enters the walk-in closet, one of his biggest suitcases is already laid out on the floor.

he sits beside it cross-legged, holding the box of chicken under his chin so the crumbs won’t fall on the floor as he eats.

“which one are you bringing?”

“this.” you emerge from behind the door, slumping your upper body over the light pink suitcase as its wheels roll towards the center of the room. it’s a size smaller than his, but then again, you can just mooch off his extra space if you need it.

“cute.” he chuckles in adoration of your youthful charm. “want more chicken?”

you abandon the suitcase to crawl towards him, allowing him to feed you until you finish another piece of chicken in record time.

“okay, that’s my last one. i know i’ll get hungry at the airport again.”

“i’ll finish the rest.” he hums, feet kicking in satisfaction as he continues eating.

“then i’ll start by packing our underwear. six nights and seven days, right?” you speak in a sing-song voice, which makes him giggle yet again.

for a few minutes, he only watches you neatly fold the two sets of underwear while moaning and commenting on the chicken he’s happily devouring. later on, he exits the closet and comes back with your butterfly hairclips decorating the sides of his hair.

“i love that you wear them on your own now.”

you only notice the splash of colors contrasting his black hair after catching a glimpse of him in the middle of picking out which jackets to bring. according to the weather app, it’s less colder in tokyo than seoul, so you think you should be fine for the most part.

“i forgot where i put my hairtie again.” he explains as he sheepishly scratches his head.

“is it not on your wrist?” you ask without looking, too busy going through all the clothes you own to complete the outfits you have in mind.

“oing?” he raises his wrist to his eye-level, enlightment escalating in his brain. “ahhh- you’re right?! i thought i took it off but i got it wet it in the shower!”

“dummy.” you shake your head in amusement. “how did you not feel that?”

“you were ignoring me.” he retaliates, chest puffing up in defense. “i’ve been distracted!”

—

“what’s taking you so long? it’s an hour drive to the airport!” jungkook reminds you as he barges into the closet, unzipping your bag to check your passports for the third time.

you’re almost ready to leave. bam will be prolonging his stay with his brothers, song and paeng. the appliances have been unplugged. the two of you are already fully-dressed against the negative temperature outside. your boyfriend replaced the butterfly hairclips with a headband. he’s wearing his prescription glasses to aid him in safe driving. his suitcase is zipped up, and his backpack is hanging on his shoulder.

on the other hand, you’re having a crisis, still sprawled out on the floor like your own suitcase.

“are you finally wearing them?”

you tilt up your chin to find jungkook’s face beaming with more excitement. he’s referring to the knee-high, five-inch white boots you gifted yourself for christmas. they’re lying right infront of you as you inspect them with anxious uncertainty. you eyed this pair for months before you clicked the checkout button at last, but seeing it in the flesh somewhat intimidates you because of how big and flashy it is.

“you look sexy in those boots, baby.” he crosses his arms, muscles bulging through his black t-shirt. he tucks his index finger under his chin as he envisions his plans and goals for your week-long vacation. “i packed my camera for this. i’ll film for a video, but i want to take pictures of you that have the street style, insta vibe too.”

“i do want to wear them but…” you trail off, hugging your knees to your chest as you pucker your lips in deliberation. “i read that it’s either snowy or rainy there these days. what if i slip?”

“no, no. i’m sure it’ll be fine.” he waves off your worries. “just bring them and we can figure it out when we get there.”

your boyfriend sounding inexplicably enthusiastic about this more than you has thoroughly boosted your confidence.

“okay.” you rest your chin on top of your knees, chewing on your bottom lip to conceal a smile. “i need to make space for it then. or should i get a duffel bag?”

“ey, no need for that! i’ll go pack them in mine…” he wastes no time, immediately squatting down to put the boots back in its box. “finish up here and don’t forget to turn the lights off.”

“yes, sir.” you chirp, kneeling on the floor to zip up your suitcase while he goes out to the living room where he already wheeled out his.

you stand in the middle of the bedroom, looking around as you mentally list down and cross out the essentials for your travel. you turn off every lightbulb you pass by on your way to the front door, picking up your powerbank charging in the living room, until you eventually reach jungkook who is standing in the narrow hallway.

“there you are,” you are greeted with a loving kiss planted on your forehead. “time check, time check. it’s 12:55.” he reports in a dulcet tone, slotting the strap of your bag over your head and letting it drape across your torso.

this is when it undoubtedly sinks in. hours ago, you were just sulking over something so silly and now, you’re about to leave for the airport. god, you can’t remember the last time you felt this surge of thrill thrumming in your veins. this is so out of the blue. you plan on creating a rough itinerary during the car ride and you already have several spots in mind (cough, cough. your tiktok’s fyp has been filled with recommendations courtesy of your friend and curious google searches). plus, you’re 99% sure there are things you forgot to pack, yet for some reason, you look forward to realizing what those are and stressing over where to fucking buy them in tokyo. and you highly doubt that you would feel this alive if you were travelling with somebody else rather than your best friend and your lover.

“let’s go!” you squeal, dashing past your boyfriend to push the door open.

he follows suit, hauling his luggage outside. “let’s go!” he chuckles to himself after he teasingly mimics your high-pitched tone.

once again, your childish impulses take over. you slump over the light pink suitcase to ride it, pushing the soles of your shoes against the smooth tiles to gain momentum as you roll across the quiet hallways. it’s absurd how you almost feel like you’re sneaking out, but you’ve always been one to enjoy reckless abandon.

entering a serious relationship with jungkook was a gamble you invested all your faith into. you used to feel like you were both running out of time, holding hands beneath the thick sand trickling down the hourglass. you didn’t want to have high hopes about building a life together, but you sure as hell pictured it in your mind a thousand times. and granted by a wild miracle, the universe was kind enough to breathe life into that picture. nowadays, the butterflies in your stomach wake up in the morning fluttering with life instead of fear.

“i realized something.” you voice out your thoughts as you wait for the elevator to climb to your apartment floor, sat on your suitcase with your chin propped up by the handle. “our flight is at 5am, right?“

“yup.” jungkook confirms with a nod as he zips up his windbreaker.

“then that means we can watch the sunrise from the plane!”

the new piece of information makes the photographer and videographer in him perk up with burning interest, dimples on his cheeks popping out as he lightly slaps his forehead.

“fuck, i need to drink a liter of coffee to stay awake for that.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added or removed :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

3K notes · View notes

babygirlmurdock · 4 months

Text

Confessions

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Foggy drops a very drunk Matt on your doorstep one night, which leads to confessions.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption

a/n: Got this idea from the writing prompt: “You're drunk." "Yes. And hopelessly in love with you." - from @creativepromptsforwriting and I love a little “i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this” (iykyk). Also I was listening to You Are In Love by Taylor Swift writing this, although it doesn’t have direct correlation, I just love that song LOL. Please enjoy<3

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You were sound asleep until you heard a loud ringtone erupt from your bedside table. There’s only one person whose calls surpass your do not disturb.

Matt.

You saw his contact photo and answered groggily, “hello?”

“Hey,” this was not Matt’s voice. “Matt’s, uh, really drunk right now. Someone had the great idea to do shots tonight…” Foggy was trying his best to sound normal over the phone, but he was clearly not sober.

You sat up, scrubbed your hand over your face and glanced over to your clock. 2:17 am. “Foggy, it’s 2 in the morning, I have work tomorrow, you can’t get Matt back to his apartment?” You complained to him. Matt was your closest friend. Grew up going to the same church in Hell’s Kitchen. He was kind of the loner kid, so one day you befriended him and you’ve been close ever since.

“He keeps saying he wants to see you! He kept babbling your name, so we’re about a block away from your apartment now. See you in a few!” Foggy cheerfully said not really giving you a choice.

“Foggy wai—aaand he hung up. Great,” you said to yourself before putting your phone back on your bedside table. You put on the closest sweatpants you found on your floor and one of your sweatshirts. After you found your slippers, you putzed downstairs to retrieve your inebriated friend. When you got outside, you heard the boys laughing from half way down the block. You sat on your stairs leading to your apartment while you waited for your two bumbling idiots.

Matt slurred your name as he approached and almost ate shit half jogging to you. “Jesus christ, Matt be careful it’s dark out here,” you scolded him.

“It’s all dark to me,” Matt laughed at you.

“Alright I walked into that, dick. Hey, thanks for bringing him at least… here. I’ll hydrate him and make sure he’s okay for work tomorrow,” you gave a ‘you owe me’ look over to Foggy as he said goodbye to you. You and Matt made your way up to your apartment.

You closed the door behind you after Matt stumbled in, took his glasses off and put them in his jacket pocket then put his cane on the wall. “Thank you for taking me in tonight, you’re a really good person,” Matt said, pulling you in for a hug.

“God, Murdock, you wreak of tequila,” you pulled away from his strong hug. “I’m gonna bitch Foggy out tomorrow for getting you this drunk on a work night. Why don’t you try to take a shower, I still have an old boyfriend’s sweats in my drawer. They should fit you,” you heard Matt huff as you went to your bedroom to grab the sweats and one of his shirts you stole from him and never gave back.

You knocked on the bathroom door and shouted that you left the shirt and sweats outside the door when he’s done. You went to the kitchen to grab aspirin and make him a Liquid IV mocktail. You really didn’t care if he was going hate the taste of it, it’s nearly 2:30 AM and you want him to go to sleep on your couch quickly. You heard the shower shut off and the door open and close again assuming Matt grabbed the clothing you provided him.

“Your body wash smells girly,” Matt commented as he made his way over to the couch to sit next to you.

“It’s almost like I am a girl… here drink this, take these. You know how I get with people puking and I don’t need any of that tomorrow morning and I know how pissy you get when you have a headache,” you handed Matt the glass and put the pills in his hand.

Matt put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with the electrolyte mixture you gave him only to have him twist his face in disgust. “What is this? This isn’t water!” Matt protested holding the glass out to you signaling he didn’t want anymore.

“It’s liquid IV, it’s electrolytes. Supposed to hydrate you faster, a coworker suggested them for me when I had the stomach bug. Drink it,” You sternly said. You swore taking care of drunk Matt was like taking care of a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat their vegetables. He rolled his eyes and took another gulp out of the glass.

“You know, you should come out with the firm. Instead of being a stick in the mud,” Matt suggested, leaning into you. You huffed out in annoyance.

“Sorry I like my 8 hours of sleep and I’m not my own boss, sue me!” You threw your hands up in protest, “which my sleep is being rudely interrupted by the way.”

Matt leaned in a little closer to you, “your voice goes higher when you get mad at me.” You felt his body get close to you in a way that didn’t feel platonic. “And you breathe faster.”

“Most people breathe faster when they’re inconvenienced, Matt,” you tried to steady your breathing, trying not to sound flustered.

You and Matt knew each other on such a deep level that no one else got you like him and vise versa. Matt trusted you with his secrets and you trust him with yours. You were his first friend in the church. Learning about his dad’s death, being the first one to know he got into his top law school and staying up with him to help him study for the Bar Exam. You’ve been through everything together.

You’d be moronic to think that Matt wasn’t attractive. This man pulls any woman that he wants and you have to be the one to hear about the women he brings home. Whether that be positive or negative. You never thought about your friendship with him other than strictly platonic. Other than that one time you were dared to kiss him when you were 9 on the playground but you both always said that never counted as a real kiss because it was just a peck anyway. But to you, it was your first kiss. You loved telling the other girls at school that you kissed sweet Matt Murdock under the slide at recess.

Seeing Matt date these other girls but never give you the chance seemed like you two were just platonic. Nothing more. Plus you’re not his type, you’ve seen the women he has dated. Supermodel type. Not you. So you buried that feeling deep, deep down and hoped one day it would never be dug up again.

“You know I can hear your heart,” Matt said your name in a husky tone. “And it’s beating awfully loud…” Matt’s face was dangerously close to yours. Mere inches away from one another.

“You know— you know I don’t like when you listen to my heartbeat without my consent, Matthew.”

“And I like it when you call me Matthew. I like the sound of your voice. Have I ever told you that?” Matt’s eyebrows rose up as he drunkingly smirked at you.

“Matt, you’re drunk. I’m going to bed,” you stood up from the couch to make your way to your room.

“I’m in love with you.”

Those words made you stop dead in your tracks. “You—huh?” You whipped around looking at him in disbelief.

“I am. In love with you,” Matt looked up upon you. “Have been for the past few years now. I just never knew how to tell you. And—and I went out with Foggy tonight and ended up drinking way more than I remember. He was the first one to know. He finally pushed me tonight to say something to you. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want to tell you. I never wanted to ruin our friendship. You’re so special to me, I—I didn’t want to fuck this up.” Matt’s voice slowly started to gain sobriety the more he spoke.

“Matty– I…” you trailed off. Matt Murdock is in love with you. You never thought you’d hear the words you buried come from his mouth.

Before you could finish, Matt cut you off, “I understand if you don’t feel the same. But you have to tell me now so I can get over it. Get over you.”

“No I.. I just—I need to process this information. When did you start feeling this way?” You sat down in the arm chair across from your couch.

“Maybe a few years ago. I always thought you were one of the best people I know. But those platonic thoughts… eventually turned… romantic. Specifically when you came to me with nowhere to go when your ex boyfriend kicked you out after he found out that you were still friends with me and Foggy. God, I hated hearing about him. You deserved better. I learned that night, holding you, while you cried, that I loved you more than a friend. But then came more flings, then I realized you probably didn’t feel the same way. So those feelings were shoved down. Until now,” Matt’s head hung low, looking like he regretted everything that was spewed out of his mouth. Word vomit is better than actual vomit. Although, you felt like you were actually going to vomit.

You stared at him, your heart felt like it was going to come up out of your throat. You knew you felt the same way. But god forbid you dated, and broke up, you didn’t want to lose him. You cherished him so much. The dead air hung there waiting to be brought back to life.

“Please say something,” Matt begged you.

“Matt, I’ve felt this way about you for years. But being me, I never wanted to say anything because I feared losing you,” your voice cracked as your continued, “I feared dating you and potentially breaking up and never having you in my life again.”

You knew Matt could hear your heartbeat out your chest. Your mind was going a million miles a minute processing this. The wave of relief hit Matt like a tsunami. He looked up with his eyes glossy with tears. You got up, made your way to the couch and sat down next to him.

“I don’t want to jump into a relationship with you right away though. I want to be really cautious. I want to kiss you in the worst way but—“

“So do it,” Matt interrupted you.

“If you’d let me finish—“

“I will be doing plenty of that,” Matt smirked at you.

“Shut up and listen to me! I want to kiss you, but I want to take this really slow, Matty. My last long term relationship, as you know, tore me apart. And I’m still healing from that. Doesn’t mean I’m not over him, because I am. But I’m so scared of being kicked out of the blue,” you said looking into his eyes. Your heart was steady and loud. Which meant you were being really serious. You didn’t want to dive in head first and say to the world you were boyfriend & girlfriend.

“Okay. We can do that. Whatever it takes to do this right, sweetie. That being said, can I take you on a date? There’s a wine bar that just opened we can go to. I know how much you love your wine,” Matt teased you about your love for wine.

“Yes you can take me on a date, Matty. I’d love to. Saturday?” You smiled at him. Your first date with Matt Murdock. You’ve only dreamed about him taking you out on a date. “I feel like a teenager right now. My first date with you!” You said all giddy.

Matt laughed at you, “Saturday. It’s a date. it’s cute when you get all flustered. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that over the last few years.”

“What the fuck? I thought I was hiding that so well!” You exclaimed.

“You have to remember,” Matt leaned, inches away from your face, “I can hear everything.”

“Fuck, you’re making it so hard not to kiss you. Not until after the first date though,” you tapped his nose with your finger teasingly.

“Already breaking my heart,” Matt pouted and put his hand over his heart dramatically. You laughed at him. Everything started to look like it was in technicolor. It started making sense. All those years ago, Matt touching your arm lingering his fingers. Him always complimenting you in such poetic ways. None of it was accidental. He wanted you in the same ways all along. You were too oblivious to notice his actions. You couldn’t wait until Saturday to have your first date with Matthew Murdock.

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tags: @yarrystyleeza

I feel like this fic can potentially have a set up for a part to for our reader and Matt on their first date? 👀

All credit to the original gif owner!

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil fic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fluff

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frannyzooey · 6 months

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 16

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: Mature (some explicit mentions, tense situations, mentions of child starvation)

A/N: this chapter wouldn’t exist without @the-scandalorian and @bageldaddy , period. Literally walking me through it line by line, I could say a lot of really gushy things about them but I’ll refrain…just know, you two, that I could kiss you directly on the mouth. And will, when we meet someday. ❤️

—

A blanket hung to keep her in the shade, the sound of June’s babbling lifts into the air to join the soft give of roots snapping beneath the soil as you pull carrots from the garden. The distant splintering of dried out boards giving way occasionally cracks through the background, Joel grabbing another piece of rotted wood at the base of the shed and tearing it clean off, tossing it over with the rest he’s collected.

Brushing a drip of sweat away from your temple with your dirt-dried hand, you make a face at the gritty path you’ve left behind.

“You wanna go for a swim?” you coo over at June, her cheeks plumping into a corresponding wet grin when you smile at her.

Her bottom teeth coming in, drool pools around the carrot she’s gumming and slides down over her chubby grip, the edge of it glistening in her mouth.

You make faces at her, her dark eyes fixed on your face in bright delight until her attention catches something behind you, and you turn when she starts to crawl towards it.

“How are my girls doing?”

His shirt ringed with sweat and molded to his body, Joel blocks out the sun when you look up at him. His hand rakes through his dark curls, pushing the wet strands away from his forehead as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the pulse in his throat thrumming fast under his flushed skin. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he lifts it to swipe it over his face and your eyes flash down, where even his torso looks wet: the dark hair that collects in a swirl around his belly button to lead down matted and damp.

He watches with amusement as June crawls over to his boot with unsteady movements, her face set with determination.

“Hey, baby girl.” His tiredness transforms into something softer when he greets her, his eyes crinkling deeply around the edges. A dimple catching under his beard, he bends to scoop her up from the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I got enough over there to do somethin’ with. Definitely enough to board up that broken window in her room this afternoon.”

The glass broke while you were cleaning it: old age and the elements and a warped frame all contributing, and with the mosquitos being thick at night, she’d been sleeping in your room for the time being.

“I can fix that shelf in the pantry with one of ‘em,” he continues, “and if anything else, save the rest for burnin’ in the winter.”

A rotted shelf in the pantry breaking in half, the chair in the living room finally losing a leg, an area of the deck now off limits: exposed to the elements and after withstanding years of neglect, the cabin was having trouble standing up to the constant wear of its new inhabitants. Joel had been fixing things as they happened, but with a limited supply of resources, the plan to stay infinitely that you both made months ago was starting to fray.

The garden was going better than you could have expected, but the rest…the rest worried you. Running out of material to cut up and make do with, June’s clothing situation was beyond scarce. With the repetitive washing that everything had to stand up against, it was always fast to fall apart. Lucky that it was summer and so hot that she didn’t really need much, you had started to piece together things for the winter but there was only so much thread you could pull out of things, only so much you could fix and repurpose.

Joel felt the pinch too, in his own way. Voicing his frustration, he’d tell you how he would repair things if only he had the right materials, recounting to you the actual issue and the thought process behind fixing it. Even reminiscing about the hardware store days of past, he’d mentioned more than once the one right by his house that he liked to visit, the one with free popcorn for Sarah while he browsed.

With every item that broke and with every growth milestone that June reached, you could feel the encroaching pressure to make a choice: leave this place for the dangerous unknown, or stay and attempt to survive the dangers of isolation.

Either was a gamble, and so undecided, you kept fixing what you could, with what you had.

You eye the shed, your eyebrow lifting as you study the now sizable hole in the side.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how we don’t really need the shed for anything, so if we need more wood, we can just chop the whole thing down. Right?”

You stand and he nods, using his forearm to swipe at more sweat that’s gathered along his hairline. Streaks of dirt and dust are smeared along the bare skin, and when June reaches out to grab at his face, he catches her hand and gives it a kiss.

You admire them for a moment: the taut muscle in his forearm underneath her bottom, the collection of gray hairs gathered at the edge of his jaw that she grabs at, his wayward curls that match her own. They smile at each other, her face diving into his chest just above the collar of his shirt, and he laughs, gently tickling her back.

When he catches you watching him, you think you’d see a faint blush creep over his cheeks if they weren’t flushed from the heat already.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, turning to lead them down to the water.

You’re still smiling as he lays her out on the bank to get her undressed, watching his thick fingers brush against her cheeks just to chuckle at the way she chases them with an open mouth. Standing up with a soft groan, he strips down to his underwear.

Bare chested and tanned in front of you, his body is formidable without his clothing. Marred with the scars of survival and so familiar to you by now, he appears even bigger in comparison when he lifts June up. His large hand completely covers her dimpled bottom as they prepare to wade in, and his back facing you, your eyes run appreciatively down the broad slope.

Feeling your gaze, he smirks, and a glimmer of the confident, teasing Joel that’s been coaxed out of hiding peeks from beneath the surface. “See somethin’ you like?”

“There is something about when you hold her,” you admit. “You look so…big and strong.”

Rising on your tiptoes, you tuck your face into his neck to hide from the slight embarrassment you feel. Finding his sweat salt skin with your mouth, you give him a kiss and he hums in appreciation, the vibration of it felt against your lips when you give him another one.

“You really like it, huh.” More a smug statement than a question, his expression matches his tone when you pull back to look at him.

“I do,” you murmur, nosing along the edge of his jaw. “It makes me wanna have all your babies.”

Drunk on the heat of the afternoon sun and on your affection for him, you smile lazily up at him and he grins right back, winding his arm around your waist to keep you close.

“S’that right,” he murmurs, low and gravely. His voice slips through you and your pulse picks up, his humid breath ghosting across your lips. “All of ‘em, huh?”

You nod, and with hooded eyes, he grins.

“Don’t jinx us now, honey. Can’t be sayin’ that kinda stuff.”

His dark eyes make a slow, heated circuit down to your collarbones and back up, and arousal hooks behind your belly button fast and sharp.

Dragging his gaze from you, he turns his attention to June. “Besides, I think this squirrely girl is all we can handle right now, anyway.”

His shoulders swathed in sunlight, Joel wades in as you strip to join them. The water is crisp and cool against your skin when you slip in, and you submerge yourself for a moment before resurfacing closer to them.

Joel holds June around her back as he lets her float on the surface, water from her kicking legs flying up to cover his bare chest.

“You gonna be a swimmer? You gonna be a fish, baby?”

It’s easy to forget that the outside world exists when there is nothing but bird song and cicadas and the rippling water around you. No infection, no death, no fight for survival. Just Joel carefully scooping water to pour over June’s head, his soothing voice telling her to hold her breath as he ducks them under the surface, his practiced movements carefully transferring her into a one armed hold when you swim closer.

Tilting your chin up, you offer your wet mouth to him for a kiss.

His body is firm and warm against yours, your hand reaching to cup the curve of his jaw to deepen the press of your mouths together and the kiss pulls you in just like the current that wraps and molds your body close to his. Slipping your arms around his neck, you savor his taste until June lets out a soft cry.

Her wet fist rubbing at her eye, you reach to take her in for her afternoon nap. Emerging from the water, you feel the awakened heat in his gaze trained on your body all the way up to the cabin.

June is fast asleep in your room when he lays you out on the bed in the room next door, squeezing your bodies together on the twin-sized narrowness. His broad shoulders flex and shift under your knees, his river damp curls sliding through your hold as he licks you open, and when you arch into the wet heat of his mouth with a silent cry, he swallows everything you give him with a rumbled groan.

His skin is dry and smooth against yours when he fits his solid body between your legs, reaching down to guide himself into a place reserved just for him with slick, filling stretch and he murmurs his secret wants directly into your skin, a push inside you for each one.

“Wish you could have all my babies. Make you the prettiest momma.”

He breathes against the valley of your breasts, into the hollow under your ear, and against your mouth, just before he captures it with a kiss. His words dripping with reverence, you keen underneath him, arching your back to force him deeper.

“I wish I could too,” you softly moan. “I want it.”

Blatant hunger slips into his movements, harsh, filling punches of his hips bringing you up and over the edge, and your mouths stay together in a humid press until you feel him come, his need spilling thick along the inside of your thigh.

Afterwards, his sated body relaxes on top of yours.

Your fingers collect his curls in a rhythmic, soothing motion, following the timing of your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. His breath puffs across your skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the afternoon lulling you to sleep.

Twitching lightly in his sleep, his hold on you tightens and the corner of your mouth lifts. His weighted body covering yours like a shield, a gentle breeze stirs the stagnant air around you, and a tendril of a thought slips through your sleepy mind.

Heaven.

–

Your fingers dance along the produce in the pantry, your lips moving silently as you keep count in your head. More food than you could have ever dreamed of when you first broached the plan, the produce now crowds out the canned goods, and shifting in your crouch, you let the sun into the small space, narrowing your eyes in focus.

The back door to the cabin bangs open, startling you, and June launches into a responding cry seconds later, just as Joel rounds the doorway. Before you can stand, he hooks his hand around your elbow, tugging you up.

“Go to the bedroom. Now.”

“What –”

“Someone’s comin’. I heard 'em’ in the woods. A couple of ‘em at least.”

Stomach bottoming out in immediate panic, you scramble up and head to your bedroom, scooping up June along the way. Bouncing her lightly in your arms to quell her cries, a cold sweat breaks out along your back, and crossing the hallway, you head for the predetermined snug spot in the corner next to the dresser, grabbing your gun from the top drawer.

“You stay until I tell you it’s safe, okay? Don’t move from this spot. You got your gun? It loaded?”

The serious, frantic edge to his words has you answering him immediately, your back pressing against the wall as you slide down into place. Giving you both one last look to ensure you’re where you need to be, he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, and you have to fight the lurch your body involuntarily makes in an effort to follow him.

You’ve practiced for this exact scenario multiple times, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. During practice, there is no cold terror at what could happen. During practice, it was easy to go through every movement with calm motions.

Now, you try to inhale deep, steady breaths in an attempt to slow down the pounding of your heart, knowing June will sense your unease.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Your voice comes out low and smooth, your shaking hand betraying your nerves as it rubs circles over her back.

Straining to hear over her hiccuping whimpers, you try to listen outside the bedroom.

Nothing, for what seems like ages, and then:

“STOP.”

Flinching when Joel’s voice breaks through, you shut your eyes tight, reflexively tightening your hold on June’s small body.

–

“Put your hands up.”

A lone woman emerging from the tree line halts mid step, reluctantly pulling her hand away from the pistol at her hip.

Weathered and weary looking, she looks almost frail in her slight build and Joel scans her for any more visible weapons. His own gun gripped tight with the butt of it against his shoulder, he slowly advances, his finger resting alongside the trigger.

“What do you want?”

“I was just passing by and I saw your cabin,” she calls out. “Thought I might see if anyone was home.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see this place from the road.”

A beat of weighted silence fills the grassy space between them, and the woman changes her story.

“Fine. We –”

“We? How many?”

Her eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. Avoiding the question, she continues. “We saw your garden. Thought maybe we would help ourselves. Especially now, since it’s just you out here.” Direct and laced with the barest taunt, her tone implies the easy confidence of someone who has the upperhand.

Reluctantly shifting his gaze from her, he scans the trees, searching. A branch cracks somewhere within the woods, something shifting in the distance, and when he steps in the direction of it, she brings his attention back to her.

“It looked like you have enough to share.”

“We don’t.”

An instinctual reaction tied to his days as a raider, Joel’s mind digs deep for the old lines he used to say. Lie about your numbers. Lie.

“Don’t think about tryin’ anything’ either,” he asserts. “Heard you the second you walked onto this land. We got eyes on you from all sides.”

She lets her head fall to the side, frowning in skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel’s heart pounds in his chest, his face outwardly calm as his finger shifts to rest over the trigger.

“You got enough ammo to kill us all?” She tests the waters, taking another small step forward, but when Joel trains the barrel of his gun on her and presses forward, she stops.

“Listen.” Her face steels, hardening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You can let us take what we need and we’ll leave after that, or we can kill you and then take what we need. Your choice.”

His jaw ticks, anger rising in his chest. “You’re not takin’ a goddamn thing. Get the fuck out of here before –”

A faint cry pierces the air, and he freezes, the woman doing the same. Joel’s body goes rigid at the sound of June’s cry, the woman’s eyes widening, and she peers over his shoulder at the cabin.

June’s cries stutter for a moment before picking up in volume, and he pictures the exact face he knows she’s making. He knows that cry: an upset one that won’t settle any time soon. His heart lurches, an instinctual pull flooding through him to leave and soothe her.

He pulls up straight instead, adjusting his aim square at the woman’s face.

Her hands quickly raise higher, this time facing outwards in supplication. “Look, I didn’t know.” Gesturing towards the woods, her tone softens. “We have kids too. The food is for them.”

Before Joel can move, a horse emerges from between the trees. And then another, then another. Trying to keep them all in his sight, the group collects in the area in front of him; June’s cries growing louder in their pitch from inside the cabin.

“Please,” one of the riders says. A woman, with a small child seated in front of her in the saddle. “If you have anything –”

“I already said we don’t.”

The coldness in his statement dies as his eyes focus on the kid’s face. While the rest of the group has their eyes on Joel, the child isn’t paying attention to him and his gun. Their eyes are solely fixed around the back of the cabin and have been since they emerged from the woods. On the garden, just beyond.

“Please,” the rider begs one more time, quieter this time. “Please. We’ll take anything.”

Joel’s eyes linger on the kid’s slight frame, on the sunken rings underneath their eyes. Their face looks haunted, as if resigned to their hunger, and scolding himself for even wavering this long, he’s still thinking when the group's collective gaze shifts to something behind him.

A door opening, then closing.

Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he sighs deeply, frustration evident in his disappointed tone.

“Go back inside.”

–

June quieted and left in the cabin, he burns next to you when you come to join him.

“I heard everything through the window,” you explain. “I figured if you haven’t shot by now, it would be safe to come out.”

A tension thrumming between your bodies in the air, you ignore the heat of his scolding stare.

“Kids, Joel.” The word is spoken to him like a plea, and his jaw ticks before you take a look at the group for yourself.

The first people you’ve seen in over a year.

Worse for the wear with the sallow features of the starved, they look less…intimidating than you expected them to be. None of them have that shifty, hardened edge that you’d come to recognize in the QZ, nor the menacing, cruel stare of the people you’d met on the road before. They don’t look like how you imagine the other intruder looked either, the one you still see in your nightmares sometimes.

Instead, they just look…tired. Hungry. The children seem dirty, but cared for. The mothers protect them in their slouched hold, the men remaining frozen under Joel’s command to stay still, his gun trained on the woman closest to him.

You picture the garden you heard them ask for: the basket of carrots still sitting in the sun, the squash vines spilling over the fence. You know they could kill you right here on the spot - but they don’t. They could have come in with guns drawn because you know they have them, but Instead they wait, trying to protect their kids.

“I’m not gonna say it again, honey,” Joel seethes, measured and low. “Go back inside.”

“We’ll trade you.”

A voice comes from a woman, clearly the leader of the group with the way they all keep glancing her way in silent deference, waiting. For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, she appears calm, her expression a practiced blank slate. Her age hard to determine due to the dust covering her skin, her voice is clear and measured, like she’s used to negotiating.

“You don’t look like you have anythin’ to trade,” Joel replies coolly.

Thinking of your dwindling supplies outside of food, you rest your hand on his arm. “What’ve you got?”

“What do you need?” she replies.

Joel’s head tilts in warning, his feet shifting to further solidify his stance. “Answer her question.”

Her eyes run down the length of you, taking in your measure for a moment. “Got some liquor if you want it.” She gestures towards a saddle bag with a tilt of her chin, but Joel is already shaking his head.

“Already got some.”

She quirks her eyebrow up. “Fine. Some medicine?”

“What kind?” you ask.

“Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Tylenol. Might help with –”

“Already got some of that too,” he cuts her off.

Sighing, the woman appears to think. Glancing at a man to the left of her, they have a silent conversation for a moment before she looks over at the garden. Staring at it for a moment, she brings her eyes back to you.

“What about a horse?”

Joel’s jaw tightens in distrust. “Like you’re just gonna give us a horse. How much food do you think you’re gonna get from us?”

She shrugs, ignoring his anger to focus directly on you. “It’s yours, if you give us enough food for all of us. Not just the kids. Respectfully, it looks like you have plenty. Certainly enough for two people and a baby.”

The assumption in her tone and the challenge in mentioning your true numbers makes Joel bristle, but the woman doesn’t back down. If anything, she straightens taller, rising to his unspoken challenge.

Tough and firm, she waits.

Leaning towards him, you lower your voice so only he can hear it. “I can give them some of the –”

He cuts you off with an immediate glare. “We need that food. You know it.”

“Yea, but we don’t need all of it. We have some to spare.”

He stares at you in stern, silent disagreement, and you continue. “I was just in the pantry. We can’t eat it all, Joel. I know what’s in there. Trust me. Those kids need to eat. They can have those carrots that I just picked, and –”

His eyes flit quickly back and forth between the group and your face, not wanting to keep his attention from them for too long.

“It’s a horse, Joel. A horse.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a war within them. You know he knows the value of what they are offering. Eventually, he relents.

“We ain’t givin’ up our fresh stuff. If we have anything – anything - it’s gonna be the old stuff.”

Thinking of the sallow child in the saddle, you silently challenge him, but he stays resolute in his expression.

“Fine,” you back down. “The old stuff.”

“Some of the old stuff. Not all of it.”

In agreement, you face the group again.

“Don’t move,” Joel instructs. Flicking his head in the direction of the cabin, he motions to you. “She can get you some things, and then you need to be on your way.”

“What about the horse?” the woman asks. “One of us has to move if you want it. Where should we tie it up?”

He thinks for a moment, keeping his gun trained on her. Picking a spot a ways away from the cabin, he jerks his chin towards it.

“Leave ‘em over there.”

–

Two faded floral pillowcases in your grip filled with what you could spare, you approach the group with careful and cautious steps, Joel taking a couple of slow strides to the left to keep you in his sights.

“Are you okay?” the woman murmurs quietly when you reach her, glancing at Joel.

Looking at her up close, there is a softness to her that you couldn’t see from far away. Her skin is weathered but still youthful, her long brown hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and you recognize concern held in her gaze.

You frown, not understanding.

“That man there,” she tilts her chin at Joel. “He seems like a hard one. Is he keeping you here?”

Right when you’re about to defend him, June cries again, making her displeasure at being left alone again known.

Leveling you with a look, the woman repeats herself, this time more direct. “I mean it. Are you okay? Do you need us to help you?”

The implication is all over her face: a hard, threatening man all alone in the woods with a young woman. Holding her captive, forcing himself on her. A grim reality you’d seen plenty of times before, you understand her concern. Still, your response is a cool one, protective in your own right. “I’m fine. He’s just protecting us, like you’re doing with your own people.”

She studies your face for the truth. “He hasn’t hurt you or the baby, has he?”

“Of course not.” You understand her questioning, you do. Softening the edge to your response, you add, “He’s - he’s mine. We’re together. That’s our daughter crying.”

Her body language seems to relax along with her frown and she nods. Taking the sacks from you, she turns to pack them into the saddle bag of the horse next to her.

“Must have been scary, giving birth out here all alone.”

You huff, a small smile at the edge of your lips to disguise the way the memory makes you swallow hard. “Yea, it wasn’t ideal. We were lucky.”

“I helped her do the same a couple months ago.” The woman tilts her chin at another woman in the back of the group, and for the first time, you notice a small bundle wrapped tight to her chest. Hidden, protected from the elements. “You heal okay?”

“It was…rough, but I’m good now.”

Seeming satisfied in her questioning, she digs around in the pouch for a moment. Fishing out a jar, she hands it to you.

“I’m not sure how old your daughter is, but…here. Just in case you need it.”

A bottle of infant Tylenol being pressed into your hand, you look up to ask if she’s sure, but she cuts you off.

“Listen. We’re headed West. Towards Ja –”

“Jackson?” you interrupt, and her eyebrows raise. Joel’s impatience radiating from his position behind you, you ignore it. “Someone came by a couple of months ago and tried to take what we had. Joel took care of it. We found the map in his pocket.”

She smirks. “So he’s real protective of you then.”

“Is it real? Jackson?”

Unsure if you should be prolonging this conversation or even informing them you know the way they’re going, you can’t help the question spilling from your mouth. Curiosity pulled at you for months after you found that map, the destination now even more intriguing after seeing children in the saddle.

“Far as we know,” she replies, stuffing the bags away. “We heard from someone that it's safe. Safer than a QZ, though that doesn’t say much. They’re trying to keep it quiet, so they aren’t overrun with people, but…” her eyes flick towards the cabin. “It’s supposed to be off the grid. A place for families.”

Joel grits out your name behind you, and keeping the children in the forefront of your mind, you rush to say goodbye, giving her a warning.

“You can’t stay in the area or he will shoot you. I promise you, he will.” Clear and direct with your words, you think you see something of understanding laced with respect cross her features. Before you can stop yourself, you add in haste, “There is another cabin about two miles from here though. We’ve been in it, and it’s clean and safe for you all to stay the night. You can eat, get some rest.”

Her shrewd gaze takes you in for a moment, and you squeeze the medicine held in your grip, praying you won’t come to regret what you just said.

The edge of her mouth lifts in a small smile, and you let out a breath just as Joel says your name again, this time in a stern clip.

“Tess,” she says. Acknowledging the way Joel just told her your name, she offers her own. “My name is Tess. And thank you.”

The two of you coming to a silent understanding, you take a step back as she swings up onto the horse next to her, joining a rider already in the saddle. Motioning to the group with her hand, they all start to move.

“Thanks,” she says to Joel as she passes, but he stays silent.

Leveling her with a frown, he keeps his gun trained on her until they disappear into the trees.

–

Backing into the cabin to ensure it stays clear, Joel only lowers his weapon after the door is closed. You follow him cautiously into the bedroom, waiting for him to erupt.

You can tell he wants to, a tight bundle of anger set between his shoulder blades. His body is stiff as he picks June up to make sure she’s okay, and all the while, he keeps his back to you, as if trying to stay calm in her presence.

Her safety confirmed, he hands her to you before stalking back out to head straight for the traps and even after checking those, he stays on the front porch with his rifle, waiting.

Busying yourself with calming June down and eventually feeding her dinner, his anger with you weighs heavily in the space. Peeking every so often at his stern profile through the window, you put June to bed for the night, avoiding him as long as possible.

Afraid of the disappointment you’ll see on his face, you linger by June’s cradle long after she falls asleep, questioning your decisions over and over again in your mind.

In the end, you keep coming back to her milk cheeked profile as she sleeps.

The clothes you piece together for her. The lack of medicine should she get sick. The even worse situation she’d be in if either of you did. The people that came by today, the conflict that was avoided because they were reasonable.

You were right to give those children food. You know you were. If that had been June in the saddle, you would have done anything to get her food — including making a promise not to come back, especially knowing another child was depending on that source for their survival.

It required belief in people instead of immediate distrust, and though you couldn’t explain how you knew, you just knew they could be trusted.

Leaving her to join him on the porch, you’re expecting a calmer discussion with the hours that have passed, but he is still angry. Angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time.

Part nervous, part sorry, and part wanting to defend yourself, you tuck your arms around your torso and step outside to where his profile greets you.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let them go, Joel. I couldn’t not give them anything. They were starving.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the woods in front of him.

“Please come inside. They aren’t coming back.”

He faces you, his voice cutting. “And how do you know that, huh?”

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. “I told them about the other cabins. I told them they could stay the night there and get some rest if they needed – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes flash in the darkness, his expression twisted with frustration. “We don’ want them to stay close. They need to move on, so we know they aren’t comin’ back for what we have.”

“They aren’t.”

“You think just because they said so, they won’t? You can’t just trust what people tell you. I know it’s been awhile, but I thought you woulda remembered that.”

Hurt cuts through you at his dismissive tone. This version of Joel is one you haven’t seen in a long time, a shadow of the man he was before he met you and it hurts, to be back where you were. To have him look at you the way he is. Blinking back tears, regret starts to seep into your mind, but you fight against it.

You know he’s just protecting his own, and you are one of those people. His.

“The woman said they are headed to Jackson.”

At the mention of the town, he looks back at you.

“Did you see the kids with them? One of the riders had a baby, around the same size as June. That woman – Tess? She helped deliver it.”

Chastened, he looks down at the ground at your mention of that time.

“They wouldn’t start trouble with that many kids around. I know it.”

“They gotta feed them kids, don’t they?” He delivers his statement bluntly, looking up to hold eye contact with you. Weariness rings his eyes, his tone no less scolding for it. “You know just as much as I do that you would do anything for June. Anything. Including lyin’ to someone just to turn around and steal what they have.”

The truth in his words hangs heavy in the air between the two of you, and you press on.

“I gave them ample food. They have no reason to come back. I even put some meat in there –”

At this, he stands, outraged. His jaw ticks as he glares at you for a long moment, eventually letting out a huff of disbelief.

“Hell, why not some ammo too?”

Shaking his head, he glances away.

Disappointment pours off his body, his back to you and a tear slips down over your cheek. All the words you practiced saying to him die on your tongue, every good point turning to ash under the heat of his anger. You understand his worry because it’s also your own worry, but…the way the woman looked at you, the way those women held their children, the hope held in the woman’s eyes as she talked about Jackson?

They weren’t coming back. You knew they weren’t.

You’d thought he’d at least be happy about the horse, but the thought of another mouth to feed keeps your own closed.

Sitting back down, he flexes his hold on his rifle, resting it across his lap. His eyes won’t meet yours.

“I’m gonna stay up and keep watch. Just in case they do decide to come back. You should just…go to bed.”

All of the fight sucked out of you, you nod at his dismissal and turn, going back inside.

–

His disappointment in you eats at him.

Flares bright as he sits up all night, waiting for their shadowy figures to reappear. Simmers as he hears you soothe June back to sleep after feeding her. Lingers with a fade in his chest as the sun lightens the horizon, inky black turning into pinkish dawn.

He knows you saw those children and gave without hesitation, thinking of June. He knows that. But he’s also thinking of June. Always. Equal parts impressed and frustrated by the hope that still exists inside you even after you’ve seen what the outside world is still capable of, he doesn’t know how you can still trust. You still give; you’re still kind.

He appreciates those qualities in you, but to give away your rations and to take a gamble on them not coming back is more than letting your hope win. It’s dangerous, and he wishes you could see that.

He knows now that this will happen again. Clearly a route marked on that map, it’ll be used in the coming months by other people. The fact that they could see your garden was bad enough, but the fact that it was a group of people was even worse.

He can defend you against one man, but a group? There are limits to his skills; he knows more than anyone.

You can’t stay here anymore.

He fights against the knowledge, the memory of Sarah now woven in with the surroundings. So much more than a place for the three of you to stay hidden from the world, he sees it as a place where the four of you thrived: the ghost of Sarah visiting him freely here, as a welcomed presence. Finally not something he pushed to the darkest, safest corners of his mind as a means to keep her memory away from what the world turned into.

Even in death, he protected her.

He knows she’ll follow him wherever he goes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of wanting to be the father he’s got the chance to be with June as he is here — not as who he’d have to be, if you left.

His palm running along the smooth barrel of the gun, he stares into the dark woods and keeps watch, his weary eyes ringed with the need for sleep.

Jackson.

Responsible for your safety and well being, does he take the gamble and bring you there? Does he find another spot hidden deeper in the woods, hoping that one won’t be discovered? One requires faith in the words of other people, the other requires faith only in his own skills. After everything he’s seen and done, he knows which way he wants to lean…but still, he thinks.

Acknowledging the strength in numbers that you’ve been missing this whole time, a group encountering this place was a liability, but to be part of a group - that was a strength. Resources to help if June should get sick, other people around to take care of her if either of you should. Clothes, shoes, a shelter that isn’t slowing falling apart.

Those were just the basics of human necessity, but other things worm their way into his mind. The things not needed to live, but needed to thrive. Socialization, a community. An image of Sarah on the soccer field projects against the dark field in front of him; all grin and bright eyes at sleepovers, running around the park he used to bring her to when she wanted to play with her friends.

Any QZ that he’s been in was never the suburb full of children that he raised Sarah in, but at least there were other kids. Other people. A means to provide more than what you could, here. And with Jackson being a place being off the grid…there was a possibility it was better than a QZ. The world-worn cynic in him knew it was a long shot, but still.

He pictures your shadowed face in the darkness, as you argued with him. The earnestness in your eyes, the words you used to try to make him understand your reasoning behind trusting them. He was too mad then to listen, but now…he understands why.

Not only your belief in those people, but your belief in general. Understands that you’ve always needed to believe in something, in order for any of this to work.

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

He said that to you in bed one night, speaking of you and June, and he thinks about how you’ve always believed it in the same thing your own way: your something to fight for was a future still possible.

One that you’ve shown him to be true.

Rising stiff limbed from his position on the porch, it’s almost light when he wanders back into the silent cabin.

He tries to be quiet in the kitchen as he digs through the drawer for the map, and finding it, places it on the counter.

Making his way to the bedroom, he crawls into the space behind your curved spine and tucks himself around it, holding you close.

In your sleep, you reach for him and grasping your hand in his, he fits the bridge of his nose into the soft nape of your neck and closes his eyes.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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maxsimagination · 4 months

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𝗹𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗮 - 𝗮.𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘀

warnings: none

-----

the bar was quiet for once, a rare wednesday night the one time i didn't have to run around serving drinks in a frenzy.

there was a couple of people, groups at different tables in the building, but very few at the actual bar. i was wiping down the surface and stocking some liquors when someone walked up to the bar. i put the rag down that i was cleaning with and turn to the woman.

"what can i get you, ma'am?" the blonde looks at me, her faded pink strands framing her face. "just a rum and coke, por favor." (please.)

she looks tired, drained. when i slide the drink over to her, she looks up with a small smile on her face. "gracias." (thank you.)

"de nada." (you’re welcome.)

i use the small amount of spanish i know from living in the country for a couple of months. she perks up when i speak in her native tongue. i give a small smile in response and she grins. her smile is beautiful, it makes her face light up.

"do you know much spanish?" the woman speaks again.

"no not much. i've only been here for a couple of months." that seems to surprise her.

"how old are you?"

"twenty, i turn twenty-one in five months."

we keep chatting, the bar stayed quiet as some people filtered in and out and i served a couple drinks. i learned that the women was twenty-nine and she loves women's football. we had that in common, but i watched it a lot less as i had uni during the days and worked the night shifts at the bar.

"when do you clock off?"

"my shift finishes at 12, i'm on close today."

"i can wait for you." i glance up at her, kind of surprised why she'd want to wait until 12 for a stranger to get off work. "just to walk you home?"

she follows up in hopes of not making it awkward. i smile at her eagerness. "i'd like that."

it was a very uneventful three hours of waiting until i could go home, but the woman, whose name i still did not know, stayed with me the whole time. we talked most of the time, and occasionally when i had to serve some customers she would just scroll on her phone.

about an hour out from closing, i started on the tasks that needed to be done before i left.

"i'm going to start cleaning the place before we close." i let the woman know and left the bar to get the mop and other supplies. "bien." (okay.)

after the half hour it took me to mop all the floors, i returned to move all the drinks under the bar into storage.

finally i was done and it was time for me to go home.

"we can go now, i've done everything i need to."

we left the building and i locked the door with the key i had in my bra. it was the only place i knew i wouldn't loose it. we walked in comfortable silence for a bit, when i remember i didn't know her name.

"y'know, you never did tell me your name."

there was a block of silence before she answered.

"ah.., yea. there's a reason for that. i'm, i guess, what you would consider famous. alexia putellas, nice to meet you."

i knew i'd heard that name before, then it clocked; the spanish footballer. "alexia as in barcelona women?" she nodded sheepishly.

"okay."

i didn't mind that she was famous, it didn't change anything. i knew alexia from the conversation we had in the bar, not that fact that she was a famous spanish footballer.

"okay? you don't care that i'm famous?"

"i do, but it's not what i'm basing you off. i got to know the alexia in the bar, not alexia putellas, football legend. i like you for you, not your fame."

alexia flicked her hair away from her face and smiled down at me. "thankyou."

"for what?"

"for not treating me like every other celebrity. for seeing me as an actual person." i almost teared up at how she worded it but smiled at her still. we had been walking for a bit and made it to my street. we walked up to the apartment block and up to where my room was.

"did you want to maybe stay the night? y'know, just because you walked all this way." i unlocked the door with my other key and waited for alexia to answer.

"you haven't told me your name yet." it was not the answer i was expecting but i told her anyway.

"y/n. me llamo y/n l/n." (my name is y/n y/l/n.)

"well, y/n, i would love to stay the night."

and with that, we both walked into the apartment and i shut and locked the door.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

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Skeletons in the Closet // D. Grayson x gn!reader

Requested? Yep!

Warnings: reader is followed home at night!!! if anyone ever follows you home, you have my consent to beat the everloving shit out of them!!!! your life is far more valuable to a fucking creeps!!!

Summary: While being followed home after work, you get a call from your boyfriend. He sends in some help from a friend. Things are realized.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck fuck.

With your keys clutched tightly between your thumb and palm and your pepper spray poking out from your grip, you hurried down the street with your heart racing faster each step. Another glance over your shoulder confirmed it. You were being followed.

You had to stay late at work because two of your coworkers had the flu and this was the punishment you got for trying to be nice. Fuck this. Fuck capitalism. Fuck the world and having to be scared walking to your fucking apartment.

And just your luck, the red line stop near your apartment was closed for repairs to the platform structure so that meant you had to walk an extra four blocks to get home. Fuck.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden jolt to your system. With shaking hands you swiped your thumb across the screen and pressed it against your cheek as you kept walking.

“Hello?” You really hoped that the person on the other line couldn’t hear the pure, visceral fear in your voice but you doubted it.

“Hey. I was just calling because you never texted that you left work or got home.” Oh. Right. Your boyfriend of three months, Dick Grayson, was a perfect gentleman and he always appreciated a text from you when you got home at night, whether it was from work or a night out with friends. He didn’t care if you were out late partying. He just wanted to make sure you were home safe at the end of the night.

“Right, shit. Sorry. I just got out of work a half hour ago and…” You glanced back at the guy following you and dropped your voice. “Someone’s following me. I’m about ten minutes max away from my apartment and I’ve got pepper spray, but you should know that I-”

“Where are you?” His voice had grown frigid in the time you were rambling and you peered up at the street sign you just passed.

“Avalon and Fifth.”

Dick inhaled deeply and then said something away from the phone, as though he was talking to someone in the background. He moved back closer to the phone and started talking quickly.

“Okay, baby, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to put my friend on the line and she’s going to keep talking to you, okay? And in the meantime, I have another friend in the area and he’s going to come meet you. Keep walking towards your place. Don’t stop moving. Barbara will talk you through it.”

The line clicked before you could say anything and then a calm, pleasant voice filled your ear. “Hi, I’m Barbara. Dick’s told me a lot about you. Did you know he’s kind of obsessed with you?”

The sudden levity of the question elicited a laugh from you as you hurried down the darkened street. You could hear the footsteps getting closer and it made your throat close with anxiety.

“Hey Barbara, what’s going to happen?” you asked quietly.

“Don’t you worry about that. Just keep walking. You’re doing fine. Why did you stay late at work?”

“My coworkers are sick. Flu season and all that.”

“Hmmm, viruses are a bitch.” There was something in her voice that indicated more to her comment than you knew, but you didn’t have time to pry. The closer you got to an ally, the faster the steps sounded until the guy was full on sprinting towards you.

“Fuck,” you gasped as you turned to watch him barrel at you. Before he could get within three feet of you, a blur of black and blue swung down from seemingly nowhere and then Nightwing was standing over him, escrima sticks clutched tightly in his hands.

“Go,” the vigilante barked. He looked back at you and what a sight you probably made. Shaking, phone pressed to cheek and other hand gripping keys and pepper spray, and what felt like tears streaming down your cheeks, you stared back at the mask covered eyes. His chin dipped and you realized that he was inspecting you for some kind of injury. Nightwing raised his head to stare at you once more and then he jutted his chin out towards you in a silent command. The silvery white scar on his lower jar stood out under the light of the street lamps.

“Go,” he repeated. The man below him tried to sit up and the vigilante snapped one of his bludgeons down onto the man’s arm with a sickening crack, eliciting a scream from the man. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

You didn’t need another prompting and instead you turned, tucked tail, and sprinted the rest of the way home. You nearly forgot that Barbara was on the other end of the phone until you heard her call your name.

“I’m…I’m okay. I think. I…I’m okay.” Your hands shook so hard as you tried to unlock the door to your apartment that your dropped your keys and cursed under your breath. Scooping them up once more, you tried again and flew into your apartment.

“I’m home. Door’s locked. I’m fine. I…fucking hell. What just happened?”

“Hey, hey,” Barbara said. “Breathe with me, okay? That was a scary situation. Breathe. In two, out three. There we go.”

The fragments and pieces of your scattered brain started to knit an image together of what just happened. As the adrenaline receded, you were able to try and come to terms with the events of that night and one thing stood out to you.

The scar on his chin.

Nightwing’s.

The same scar that you pressed a kiss to in thanks for coffee. The same scar you made sure to pepper with kisses when your boyfriend curled around you and fell asleep against your chest. The same scar that you looked up at when he pulled sweet moans out of your lungs.

“I’m going to kill him,” you hissed.

Barbara barked out a laugh. “Please make sure to film it for me.”

“Oh, I will.” You tossed your keys and pepper spray onto the table just as a shadow passed over the window of your living room. “It’s been nice meeting you, Barbara, but I have to go strangle someone.”

“I’m going to put your number in my phone and we will be getting coffee soon.” You gave her a final goodbye and then stalked towards the window. Your phone tumbled onto the plush cushions of the couch as you passed. Yanking open the window, you stuck your head out and glared at the vigilante standing on the far end of your fire escape.

“So this is why you always make an excuse to not stay the night,” you snapped. Anxiety had turned to rage real quick. Nightwing grimaced and raised his gloved hand to run his fingers through his hair. It was then that you saw the fresh blood that mottled his knuckles and you knew exactly where it came from.

“And also why I make sure you get home at night,” he added quietly. You crooked your finger at him and he complied wordlessly. His footsteps were nearly silent on the old fire escape and you took a moment to marvel at how such a muscular man was able to move so quickly and quietly.

“Is this it? Any more skeletons in your closet?” you asked.

“You know about my family, so no. No more skeletons.”

“I’m going to ask Barbara when we go and get coffee,” you breathed against his lips. Dick paled slightly before he cleared his throat.

“That’s fair.”

“Now get in here and get that suit off. I’m still mad at you but I could really do with a hug right now.”

He didn’t protest.

Tag List: @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @bunny-kawa @khaylin27

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #richard grayson x reader #richard grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine

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munariplans · 14 days

Note

YES PLEASE WRITE ABOUT THAT

the second i heard about all the merch nat had amassed i thought about what readers reaction would be if they would think its sweet or tease her or make fun of how she most definitely got ripped off for most of them but will now get them free (and the most important signature of all going on the marriage certificate duh)

But it also made me think what about readers 🤔

In my head reader has all of nat’s articles printed out some even framed

synopsis: just a short one-shot / drabble based on the cute request above!

read the original forty, love.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 1.9k words

it had been a spontaneous decision; natasha inviting you back to her apartment. the both of you were more than slightly tipsy at that point, and you were in no condition to drive back home. luckily, or not, the bar had been right by her place, and within walking distance of her way home.

natasha thanked her lucky stars that she had liquid courage fuelling her bravery, as she asked, “do you just want to go back to my place?”

at your surprised glance, she laughed, and slapped you on the shoulder. “n-not anything weird, i promise. you will take the couch, and i will be very cosy in my bedroom.”

you were holding her up by then, and the smirk on your face was so teasing, so smug for a moment, that natasha had to remind herself that she was drunk, and it was wrong to kiss a friend. a friend she very much had a deep history with, a friend that she wouldn’t want to stay just friends with.

“okay, lead the way, ms. romanoff,” you gestured out of the bar, and natasha and you leaned against each other the whole walk home, in the freezing temperatures of new york in winter.

it was only when she had let the both of you in through the threshold of her space, and cursed drunkenly as she tried removing her thick socks, that she noticed you weren’t by her side anymore. and you weren’t as drunk as she had been when you left the bar.

natasha heard a snicker, and when she turned to see you crouching over the television stand, her heartbeat began to raise in embarrassment and her palms cold.

she was across the room in the next moment, screaming, “no, no! don’t look at that!”

but you were quicker, and you caught her right as she tried to block your view of the rows and rows of memorabilia that she had of you, carefully curated and collected over the years. her flailing arms trying desperately to release herself from your hold and swipe the memorabilia off of the stand and out of your memory.

then, she heard your laughter. a hearty, amused rumble from the depths of your chest, ringing against her ears as you laughed, and laughed, at her embarrassment and the blatant obsession over your career that she had followed through the years. “oh, natasha, my natasha.”

if she even had half her mind right on trying not to make her cheeks any redder, she would have blushed at the proclamation of you calling her yours. but you were already kneeling back down to eye level with the memorabilia then, inspecting each one with amusement, and slight fondness, in your eyes. she began right after your qualification for the Australian Open, while you were still in college, but broken up.

natasha decided it was pointless trying to stop you, and simply resigned and fell flat on the couch behind her, sighing until you had your fill.

“this was from years ago!” you picked out a ball that had been used for your final round in the qualifiers, and natasha threw her arm over her eyes.

“i know.”

you picked out a cap this time, “i remembered signing only about ten of these to give out to fans during the festive season.”

“i know. i signed up for your team’s emailers, lucky draws, even bought your stupid posters and water bottles, anything, to get a chance of winning that thing.”

you let out another grin, and while she couldn’t see you, you let your eyes soften at the fact that she had done so much to support you, and you hadn’t realised. all these years. it made everything a little bit of a shame; the lost time and wasted efforts.

finally, you took a row of little figurines of your racket designs over the years, neatly arranged and kept in an acrylic casing. “nat, you could start a museum about me at this rate.”

“oh, shut up!” she shot up this time, trying to wrench it out of your grasp, but you pulled away, giggling at her cheeks reddening again.

“seriously, how much have you spent on all this? must’ve cost you thousands, i’m a really expensive player,” you gave her a cheeky grin, and she took your cheeks in between her fingers, pinching as hard as she could. you yelped in pain as you jumped back, “ouch!”

“i hate you, i hate you so much.”

you rolled her over, grabbing a marker that you had spotted lying nearby, and immediately taking her arm to sign on it. she tried to bite you this time, but you managed to escape just in time. “your collection seems to say otherwise.”

that night, the proposition for you to sleep on the couch and her in her own bedroom was quickly forgotten; as the both of you ended up play fighting all the way until you landed on her bed. natasha pointed you out on it, but you were adamant, and pulling the covers over the both of you, exhausted from the bar and natasha’s punches, you sighed happily. “too late, i’m here now. bed’s too warm.”

she grumbled that she hated you once more, as she came in closer and slung her arm over your midriff to pull you close, under the guise of still being cold. you decided not to point out that her limbs were practically tangled with yours in the morning, head on your chest as she slept as peacefully as a child who had just gotten their first tennis ball signed by you in a tournament.

it was only years later, when you tried to point it out on the day of registering your marriage, had natasha threatened you sleeping on the couch in your shared apartment again. this time, you knew she meant business; and the threat was most likely real, so you shut up quickly and followed her into the registry.

while you signed the certificate beside her, she caught you stifling a laugh again, and jabbed your side to ask you what it was about.

“nothing.”

“tell. me,” she glared at you, “or i’m not signing that thing.”

your eyes twinkled with amusement, you looked so entertained by your own memory. “j-just…i was just thinking…how much the you in the past would have paid for this signature right here, on this certificate. you were my number 1 collector and fan, of course.”

the witness couldn’t control his own chuckles, seeing natasha pull you in by the ear and scolding you for teasing her until her whole body turned red with shame.

afterwards, however, when the two of you were alone, did she finally admit, “i still am your number 1 collector and fan. don’t you ever forget that, or try to replace me.”

–

but natasha had her own arsenal of materials to make fun of you for your obsession with her too, of course. while you hadn’t had memorabilia or kept up with her over the years with no contact, that was a problem that was quickly alleviated once you learnt of natasha’s full-time job as a reporter and editor.

the next match natasha came to after your first grand slam win, your manager had asked her how her day at the office the previous night went, and while taken aback, he sheepishly admitted that you had asked him to, and to make sure she was comfortable at the seats. she had first chalked it up to a lucky coincidence that you knew she was on the news yesterday, reporting on a recent economic trend that hit the country.

then, it was all debunked when you came to her later, and while distracted with fans that were coming up to you at your hotel, you had left your phone unattended at the bar with natasha. it wasn’t really her fault you received a ping from a message then, to reveal your lockscreen had been changed to one of a scheduling sheet. upon closer inspection, it had been natasha’s schedule sheet, of when she would be on air for the month, complete with the locations and timings that the firm had published for her. she presumed the ones in red highlights were when you had your matches, and true enough, they were, when she found your manager helping to record a segment of her news portions one day, and having to admit to her that you had asked him to so you could watch her after to destress. she could hardly control the butterflies that erupted in her belly at the confession.

when the both of you had gotten closer and you would spend some dinners and mornings at her place, natasha would find that you had even pinned her as the top editor in the morning news you would read, always reading what she had published first before anyone else, as if her writing was your morning coffee. she chose not to say anything of it, silently gleaming at the fact that you paid so much attention to what she wrote.

you would often say, “i really liked that piece, the one on the impacts of artificial intelligence in sports,” or some other topic that she would have written, and point out your own thoughts on her piece. it was like having her own personal editor, with no judgments, no criticism. just love for what she had put out, and validation for her work. natasha was glad she had a supporter so ardent as you had yours.

and when the two of you had officially gotten together, natasha once received a text from your best friend during your match, while she was at work, and sighed at the opportunity that she had missed. however, when she did open up the text, it gave access to a video that said best friend had recorded, and there you were, in your dressing room before the match, crouched over the small television set there was, watching her cover the daily news like it had been an action movie. you paid attention to every word, eyes following her as she moved around like an entranced puppy, and when you had to get up and leave, natasha saw you leaning close and pressing a kiss from your fingers to the screen where she was, in replacement of the lips you couldn’t kiss in real life then, and she couldn’t control her burst of laughter. you had to know about this, at the very least.

you physically recoiled and clamped your eyes shut in embarrassment when you saw the video yourself, natasha still fighting hard to control the chuckles coming out of her, and you begging for her to delete whatever you had just seen. “nat, please, please!”

“no, this is hilarious!” she said between fits, “you are hilarious. is this your pre-match ritual, baby?”

“it is not! n-no, i can’t have anyone else see me like this, i can’t have the public see me like this,” you tried to wrestle her off for the phone, but only half-heartedly, because natasha was never in a million years going to let you delete it.

“oh relax, it’s only going to leak if you really, really piss me off one day, or if this phone gets hacked,” she replied, eyes still dancing in amusement as you hid your face in your hands, shaking your head in shame. “it’s kind of sweet, i must admit.”

you pouted at her. “promise me it’s not going anywhere. promise me you won’t send it to anyone else.”

she interlaced her pinky with yours, “i promise.”

natasha had already sent the video to your manager, however, and allowed you to become the laughing stock of your team just days after that match occurred.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #tennis player! reader #forty love #natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

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loonmartell · 1 month

Text

𓄹𓄼 Rainy day brew 𓄼𓄹

(No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary : Can a stormy night and well brewed coffee bring two hearts together?

Rating : Explicit/+18 (Smut! MDNI)

Word count : 6,336 (I got carried away sorry..)

Warnings/tags : No outbreak AU, pining, Alternating POV, pet names, one “yes, ma’am” because I couldn’t help it, a sprinkle of plot, SMUT (unprotected PiV sex, fingering, dirty talk, grinding, kissing, teasing, One (1) playful ass slap, creampie), storms (rain, thunder & lightning), A LOT of yapping about pour over coffee, no use of y/n.

A/N : Hello again! Today I come with Joel smut 🙏🏻. I wrote this for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge! I absolutely fell in love with the idea when i saw it, cuz if there’s one thing about me it’s that I LOVE rain! So ofc i had to try and do it <3 A big huge colossal thank you to @joels-darlin for being my lovely beta <33 and @coispunk for not blocking me after i bounced off the walls contemplating if i should upload this or not ✨✨✨

Masterlist

——

“You need a ride home darlin’?”

You turn to the source of the voice and find Joel talking to you through the rolled down window of his pick up truck.

“Oh! no it’s okay I can wait for the rain to—”

“Non ‘a that now, This storm could last ‘til tomorrow night” he leans over the passenger seat to open the door for you.

It’s not that you wouldn’t appreciate the ride —you most certainly would— but you didn’t want to be an inconvenience and you especially didn’t want Joel to think that you were aburden.

You didn’t know each other very well. Your best friend Maria is dating his brother Tommy. And you’ve been dragged to a couple of dinners and drinks over the last couple of months with the three of them. But the conversations were always guided by the other two, so you and Joel never really spoke much. In fact, you had the fleeting idea that maybe Joel didn’t like you. He’s always so tense around you, you know this because you literally saw his jaw tensing after you showed up. And you caught him glaring at you a couple of times. You thought you may have unknowingly offended him somehow, but Maria assured you afterwards that you didn't say or do anything wrong and that he was probably just tired. So you let it go, but the idea is still floating around in your head.

Tonight was one of those nights where you went out for drinks, Maria and Tommy headed home early and left you with Joel half an hour ago. And not long after that Joel excused himself saying he had an early morning and said his goodbyes.

You waited a couple of minutes before you got out as well. Only, much to your delight; a storm was brewing and it was raining by the time you were ready to walk home. What an incredible choice you made to walk instead of drive on this day.

When Joel was one street away from where he left you at the bar. He thought back on when you mentioned leaving your car at home because you thought it was nice weather for a stroll. He tried really hard to get the idea of you walking home in this storm out of his head. You can manage. Get an uber, call a cab, whatever. But then again, Joel's southern manners would never allow him. That, and this big, colossal crush he has on you.

The first time he ever saw you was when he picked up Tommy from Maria’s (and your) apartment one morning. Tommy left him waiting long enough for you to get out and go to work (he assumed). You really had him in a chokehold. You were really, breathtakingly beautiful. You had your hair in a high ponytail with a few strands deliberately out, framing the gorgeous features of your face. You had both your hands full. One had a large handbag hanging from your wrist, hand holding a travel mug and a coat hanging on your forearm. The other hand was holding a bright red watering can. You started watering the flower beds on the windowsills and the big pot of gardenias right by the door. Your next door neighbour, an old lady, got out at that time. And Joel saw your cheery smile for the first time, and what he assumed were good mornings were exchanged. What a sweet, little thing.

He had the sudden urge to roll down the car window so he could hear what voice accompanied that divine face. But he thought better of it. And sooner than he would prefer, you were in your car and driving off.

When Tommy finally showed up, apparently physically unable to take his lips off of Maria’s, judging by how they never separated even after he was out the door. Joel rolled his eyes and turned his face away from that scene and towards the street on his other side.

Finally Tommy got into the car with a disgusting, lovesick smile on his face. But he smelled like shampoo and his hair was relatively wet. He showered and for that Joel is eternally grateful.

“You’re late” Joel deadpanned.

“And good morning to you too, brother” The younger man scoffed before placing two travel mugs in the cup holders.

Joel scrunched his eyebrows “what's that?”

“Coffee, Maria’s roommate brews her own with one ‘a those pour over kits and she insisted that we try hers.”

Joel’s throat went dry, thinking about that pretty girl he was unashamedly staring at, going out of her way to make enough coffee for her friend’s boyfriend’s brother. A sweet, delightful little thing.

“That’s real nice of her” if his voice cracked a little, Tommy didn’t notice.

“Yeah it is. So I’ve been thinkin’,” Tommy changed the subject faster than Joel would like. “You think you can drop me off at my place at say.. Two?”

“Two? We finish at the site at least after Three, what d’ya mean you wanna get out at Two?” Joel shifted his eyes from the road long enough to glare at his brother.

“Yeah I know but I was thinkin’” Joel is really starting to hate it when Tommy thinks “today’s me and Maria’s six months anniversary, and I kinda wanna do somethin’ special for her”

Six months anniversary Joel mentally scoffed, the fuck is a six months anniversary? And why isn’t he talking more about that damn sweet roommate!

“Yeah no can do, Romeo. We’re already behind ‘cause ’a last week, need I remind you that you ditched me laying down parquet on my own? had to do the three bedrooms that day all by myself”

“I told you we should’a done planks instead of parquet but you never listen to me, do you?” Tommy’s counter argument was weaker than he was hoping for. It was the owner’s choice, not Joel’s. And they both knew it. “Plus I had a damn plausible excuse that day”

“Not sure if a discount on an already cheap restaurant counts as plausible”

“It wasn’t just a ’discount’, Joel. It was a surf ‘n turf for half the price!”

“Yeah well I was surfin’ and turfin’ alone on the floors of the Johnsons. You’re not ditchin’ me again.”

Tommy slumped down on his chair like a toddler would.

On a red light Joel finally picked up his mug and took his first sip. A sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making little thing.

——

Before he even knew it, Joel was opening the passenger side door for you, not taking no for an answer. Thankfully, you didn’t put up that much of a fight and climbed your pretty ass in his truck.

The ride was pretty short and silent. The sound of thunder and loud smacks of raindrops against the car not leaving much room for chatting anyway.

When he parked as close as he could to your door, he reached behind your seat to the pocket of it. And brought out a small, folded umbrella. He knew it was a mere seconds walk from the car to your door, but he had the umbrella with him already, so why risk giving you a cold? Your nose, red and sniffling. He had to actively suppress the upturn of the corners of his lips.

“Here” he handed you the umbrella and before you could get a chance to speak, he followed with “not taking no for an answer, darlin’. Gettin’ soaked in this wind could get you sick”

“Um.. actually the storm’s getting stronger, and I was gonna suggest you come inside? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you driving in this weather”

A sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful little thing.

He looked out the windows, trying to figure out his next move.

“Think I’ll take you up on that offer. It does look pretty bad, and the slippery streets are harder to navigate when I can’t see further than my nose.” He brought his eyes to you. Hoping he wouldn’t seem too eager to agree.

You graced him with a smile and said “well alright then, guess now I don’t have to feel bad for hogging you umbrella”

“ ‘s not hogging if I’m voluntarily givin’ it to you” he smirked as he turned off the car. He got out of it with a quick “stay where you are” and opened the umbrella as he rounded to your side of the truck.

You walked under the umbrella he was holding. You’ve never been this close to him before and it gave you goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather. You fiddled with your keys until you got the door open. There was no car outside or shoes in the foyer. They must’ve gone to Tommy's then. As much as you always wanted some quiet, alone time in your apartment. This was not one of those times. You were hoping Maria and Tommy were here to take the edge off of being alone with Joel, but you can’t really back out now and you’re already here. So, time to take a page out of the southern manners book.

”What would you like to drink?” you offered after he settled on the couch. His large frame dwarfing your whole living room, making everything look almost miniature. The thought had you blushing and you don’t really know why, but you don’t even want to find out.

“Coffee would be nice, if it's not a bother” his voice travelled through his place on the couch to the kitchen.

You can’t help the excited grin you have on “not at all! I just got a new Holklotz set that I’ve been dying to try out” when you get a new brewing set, you need time to experiment with different coffee grinds, ratios and timing between blooming and brewing to master the perfect cup. Time is a luxury not available to you on late mornings when you trade it for extra minutes of sleep.

Footsteps approaching the kitchen make you raise your head to see Joel coming into view, his eyebrows scrunched and confused “you got a what?”

You smile and hold the wooden base of the dripstand that you took out of the cabinet “this is my newest set, it arrived a week ago but between work and being too tired after, I haven’t had the time to bring it out and try it yet. Until now” you look at him with a too excited smile that you don’t try to hide.

“Well alrighty then, you happen to have here the perfect white mouse, test away” he settles at the barstool by the kitchen island that you’re standing by. You weigh the coffee beans and put them in the manual grinder, set to the size you need. Not too coarse but not too fine.

“Okay white mouse, care to help?” You hold up the grinder.

“Tell me what you need, boss” he concludes. So, you hand him the grinder to work on it as you heat the water and take the rest of the set out and put it together.

He continues working on grinding the coffee and wonders if you have immensely great upper body strength, since you do this every morning. His coffee is already ground and comes in a container. He doesn’t see the necessity for an upper body workout every time you need a little caffeine. But truth be told, he has been craving that coffee you made him that one time. Damned if it wasn’t the best cup he’s ever had.

The silence is killing him, and he has to avail from the storm that brought him to your home. “So, when you’re not at work or training for an arm wrestlin’ tournament,” he gestures to the grinder “what do you like to do?”

“Obviously, I take part in the tournaments I train for” you say with a serious expression that has his eyes widened in surprise. “I’m kidding, Joel. Although I think I have a good solid shot at winning.” You stick your nose up in the prettiest little smug face and Joel wants to kiss it away so bad. Focus.

He drags himself back to the present “can’t argue with that. But, if you’re basing that over this,” he again gestures to the grinder in his hands “then it’s not enough bargain for winning”.

You scoff and raise your hands up, wiggling your fingers “you have no idea what these hands can do” Joel can see you regretted blurting out the words without thinking, judging by the rising blush on your face and the way you don’t meet his eyes anymore. He can’t say he’s any better, his mind is already conjuring unholy images, reeling his brain and sending a rush of tingling heat down south.

What can they do? He imagines your small hands trying to wrap around his throbbing cock. Or you writhing on your bed stuffing yourself with three of your too small fingers, desperately trying to cum. He bets he can do it faster and better for you. If you give him the chance.

He knows he shouldn’t be picturing you like this. It’s crazy to even think about you like this. You haven’t even told him if you’re interested. Hell he never even said anything to show you he’s interested.

Clearing your throat, this time you’re the one bringing him back to the present, you say “anyway, I think I got off topic there” you let out a nervous chuckle. “To answer your question. My time is pretty much divided between work, coffee and my plants. I’m kinda boring, don’t really got much going on”

Joel doesn’t hear the presence of a partner in your life, and he selfishly likes it.

“Don’t sound boring to me, ‘s pretty comfortable” you smile at his comment and he gives you the coffee grounds, ready to be used.

You start your brewing process, talking him through every step you’re doing. Wetting the filter, dumping the coffee grounds in and meticulously pouring the water on the dripper. The blooming, the timing. He can’t promise he heard everything. Because you bite your bottom lip and your face contorts in the cutest focused face and he can’t help but stare. You really love doing this and he wants to eat you up.

“My chemex is my go-to on late mornings,” You suddenly pipe up as you’re waiting for the water to drip through the coffee grounds. “Even though it takes longer than a V60, It’s just faster to clean up and I can dual-task while it’s brewing. So I don’t mind.”

He lets out a hum from the back of his throat, considering what you said. “What about the taste? Whaddya like more?” He surprises himself that he actually cares and not just trying to be polite.

“I like them both the same, the flavour with the V60 is usually richer ‘cause the filters are thinner, but I still like the soft, smooth taste when using the chemex”.

In the back of his mind, Joel thinks he’s ready to fall in love with you. He loves coffee, sure. But to him it’s just something he needs in the morning and sometimes later in the day. Never really thought much of it, he has a coffee machine that gets work done for him. And yet, here you are, showing him a different, almost artistic aspect of it.

“Although..” Okay so you’re not done yet. “If we’re talking taste-wise in the brewing methods, I’ll have to go with the syphon”

“Syphon?”

“Yes syphon, I tried it once in a lovely family owned coffee shop across town. I’m telling you, if I lived near there? I would be a regular faster than you can say syphon”

“Well syphon is a long word, two full syllables” he faux ponders, making you giggle.

“Okay smartass, coffee’s ready.” You pull out two mugs from the cabinet. And fill them up. And slide his across the kitchen island, a brown owl adorning the ceramic surface.

You both sip at the same time then let out a ridiculously simultaneous soft sighs. You look at Joel with wide, pleading eyes, gauging his reaction. And of course, being the honest man that he is, he would never lie.

“Damn, that is good” he clicks his tongue and goes for another sip.

You smile brightly “I like it too. Although it’s a little more bitter for my liking, think I'll adjust the grind next time.”

You want to kick yourself so bad. You’re only now realising that you got too comfortable and you let yourself go on and on about something he probably doesn’t even care about. You had to shut the caffeine talk down.

“So, Joel, how's Sarah?” You gestured for him to follow you to the living room.

He settled on one side of the loveseat while you occupied the other, folding your legs under yourself. “She’s alright, her mom wanted her to see her grandma so she’s with her this week.” Maria told you all about their co-parenting system and how they’re succeeding in making it work so far. Little 10 years old Sarah spends equal amounts of time with both her parents and she feels loved by both. Not everything is a bed of roses, of course. But they deal with obstacles when they appear in their time.

“That’s nice, and how was her game last week? I remember you said she was nervous about it?” He stared at you for a few seconds too long that it makes you wonder if you crossed a line or said something wrong. But he blinked a couple of times and continued.

“Doin’ great actually, my little goal getter” he pondered softly before announcing “she scored the winning goal in last week’s game!” He sat up a little, you think it’s unconsciously as a result of his excitement.

“Oh my god! That’s so amazing!” You matched his energy “you must be so proud!”.

His smile widened if it was possible “I am, she puts her mind into something and never rests ‘til she gets it,” he reclined against the couch again “dunno where she got it from, but I sure as hell am not gonna complain”

“You’re selling yourself short, Joel.” You offered a warm smile “I’m sure you’ve been a great influence on her, your determination is probably rubbing off on her.”

Joel’s expression softened, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “Thanks, sure means a lot coming from you, sweetheart. If I’m bein’ honest, I just wanna see my girl chasin’ her dreams and be happy. ‘s all I want”

“I have no doubt she’ll do so much, and she’ll achieve great things with your guidance and support” you placed your hand on his knees for reassurance.

He felt warmth all over his chest, his heartbeats exceeding those of a hummingbird. His eyes fell down to where your hand was touching and almost burning him, and they stayed there for a while before looking back at your eyes. He has this immense urge to kiss you. The tension has been building all night and his ability to hold himself off is getting harder and harder by the second.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his racing heart as he met your gaze. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your faith in her means the world to me."

Your hand lingered on his knee for a moment longer before you withdrew it, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. "She's lucky to have you as her dad, y’know" you said softly, the look in your eyes showing the sincerity of your words.

A moment of silence passed between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Joel's gaze flickered to your lips, his own heart still pounding accompanied by longing. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to convey the feelings swirling inside him.

He brought his eyes back up to yours only to see that your gaze had been on his lips, mirroring his desires. Your gazes met, the tension snapped. Lightning flashes through the window right before your eyes and your lips crash in a bruising, soaring kiss that to outsiders would look as if you were trying to devour each other. Everything happened at a rather fast pace. The roaring of the thunder dwindled by frantic breathing and the rush of blood in his ears. His tongue demanded entry, which you gave no problem. He brought his large palm over your hips, pulling you over to straddle him, never breaking the kiss.

He felt your heat through the layers of clothes between you as you settled on his lap, pulling a soft gasp out of you. Using his grasp on your hips, he rocked you back and forth to grind your center on his bulge, eliciting a string of whines you let out in between the clashing of tongues. In a moment of sudden clarity, he broke off your lips but never moved too far away, he rested his forehead to yours, sharing the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice husky with emotion.“Um- I’m sorry, is- is this okay?”

You continued to move against him, seeking more friction. Then you chuckled through your laboured breathing, “yeah, yes I want this. If- if you do too.”

“Oh darlin’ you have no idea” he hurried out before picking up where he left off, trailing his lips down the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck where he settled on open mouthed kisses that sent your head falling back, giving him more of you. He got addicted to the taste of your skin on his tongue fast and he craved to taste more.

Dragging his mouth over your shoulders then to your collarbone. He huffed in frustration, your shirt was personally offending him by denying him the access he needed. Seeming to sense his frustration, you pushed him away slightly so you could pull off your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. He wasted no time roaming his hands all over your torso, returning his mouth to your collarbones, kissing his way down to the parts of your breasts spilling out from your bra.

His hands slithered up from your hips to the sides of your waist, then wrapped around your back and moved up to hook his fingers underneath the strap of your bra. He mumbled against your skin, “can I take it off?” You gasped your affirmation. Overwhelming sensations leaving you breathless.

Even though it was a simple bra strap, he struggled to unhook it. Hands too shaky and excited. You breathed a laugh and did it yourself. Once you’re completely bare, nipples perking up as soon as the cold air hits them. He pulled away, looking at you with wide, fascinated eyes. His lips immediately latched around a nipple, flicking his tongue slowly, almost as if he’s savouring the feeling. He pulled away and murmured “beautiful”. Just to latch onto the other one with the same treatment, “absolutely beautiful” he murmured again into the plushness of your tits.

You felt a shiver at the undivided attention from the gorgeous man that seems to never get enough of you. Of course you always thought he was handsome, that was non negotiable. The man was gorgeous from day one. And tonight, you felt a connection that you never felt before. And as soon as the ties were made, the tension rose suddenly, as if it had always been there but you were too much in your head to notice it, contemplating whether he likes you or not. But now, you do notice it. Very much so. And it’s becoming unbearable. You want him so bad. You want him to drown all your senses. You want him inside, outside, under and over you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You held his head with both your hands to pull him away from your chest before saying “need to see you too, Joel” you pleaded as you fumbled with the hem of his shirt trying to lift it. His eyes darkened at your desperation. As quick as the lightning that occasionally lights up the room around you, he flipped you so your back is against the couch and took off his shirt and jeans and hovered above you.

You took a steadying breath and your eyes drank in the sight in front of you, bringing your hands on each of his wrists. You mapped the outlines of his thick arms, moving towards his shoulders. Then brought them back to his broad chest, bare except for the hair that formed a thick layer in the center. You felt the muscles ripple under your fingertips. Built from the physical labour that a contractor would endure. You lowered your touch a little to feel his soft stomach. Squishy tummy, a sign of a man that was actually living and feeding himself well. Not shying away from a meal or obsessing over fitting society’s mould of perfection. You wanted to kiss it and nibble on it so bad, but you weren’t sure if he’d be okay with it, that was probably more of a second time type of thing. Mentally shaking your head away from the idea that you’re already thinking of next time when nothing even happened yet. Lastly, you ran your fingers on the smattering of coarse, dark hair that dipped further down into his tented boxers.

Mostly empty coffee cups long abandoned on the table. He knelt on his knees between your spread legs, and yanked your pants and panties in one quick motion. Towering over your naked form. His eyes danced around every inch of your body. He brought his thumbs to each side of your heat. Tracing the outside of your folds. He murmured so low, almost as if he’s talking to himself “Too goddamn pretty for your own good, baby”. He was basking in the sight of your desperate writhing as your need for any kind of friction became unfathomable.

“Please,” you whined in frustration, A smirk pulled on his lips at your little pouty face.

“Please what, darlin’?”

“Touch me” your keen hands reach for his wrists to coax them where you want him. But he was determined to keep his hands at their place.

Yeah, your hands are too small, too soft for such a sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager little thing.

“I am touching you now, ain’t I?” He keeps stroking the outside of your lower lips.

“More, please.” You whimpered.

“Well, you leave me no choice now, since you asked so nicely”

He wasted no time gathering the slick from your opening and plunging his thick middle finger in and out. Your breath catching at the sudden but welcome stretch. Not long after, his ring finger joined inside and he curled them both up, searching and finding the spot that makes your eyes roll and your hips buck into his hand in shock.

“sit still, angel.” He placed his other hand on your lower stomach to keep your back rested on the couch. He picked up the pace of his fingers thrusting in and out, in and out, massaging the same spot over and over and over. He felt your walls slightly tightening around his fingers, and there’s a change in the rhythm of your breathing. You’re close. “Cum for me, angel. Come on lemme see this pretty pussy droolin’ for me”. He kept his pace up until you were gasping for air. And with a specifically strong stroke, your walls clumped down, choking his fingers and soaking them to the wrist. Working you through your high, he kept his eyes on you, the sight of you coming apart on his fingers. Heavenly.

He took his fingers out and sucked them with lewd, obscene sounds. He made a show to lick his palm clean of your release and humming around his fingers. “Next time, I’m havin’ it straight from its source” he leaned down and kissed your parted lips. “Oughta have a palate cleanser ‘f we’re gonna give your coffee a fair shot” he gave a playful smack to your ass “and you sure know how to make ‘em.”

You blushed and giggled as you couldn’t help the giddy feeling of the prospect of a next time. The image of Joel relishing the taste of you is already seared deep in your brain. You couldn’t wait to have these slurping noises happening between your legs, certain already that he doesn’t eat, he devours.

He sat up on his haunches and lowered his boxers below his balls. He took his cock in his hand. Not even his large hand wrapped around it makes it seem any less girthy. The head is angry and leaking a steady stream. He gives himself slow, languid strokes from base to red-purplish head. You couldn’t help yourself, you sat up and your hand took over his. Stroking him at the same pace he was. He shuddered at your touch and marvelled at the contrast between his rough, calloused hand versus your soft, smooth ones on his cock. You gradually increased the pressure, adding a twist at the end that sent his head falling back with a stifled groan between his clenched teeth.

His hands were tight fists by his sides, desperately trying to hold off but ready to pounce at you any moment. “Hold on, baby” he groaned “I- I gotta grab a condom”

“But I wanna feel you, and I’m safe” you said in a little, unsure voice. Still stroking him and loving the velvety softness enveloping the steely hardness. When your gazes met again, the hungry look in his eyes made a tiny sound climb to the back of your throat. With that, the last thread holding off the beast inside him snapped. With a low growl he grabbed your ankles, yanking you closer to his pelvis, making your back hit the soft pillow on the couch with a dull thud.

“Baby, I’m clean too. But I need ya to be sure, angel. ‘Cause when I start, ‘m not really sure I can stop” He said through dark eyes that were straining to hold off.

You held firm eye contact with him “I’m sure, Joel. Please fuck me now”

“Yes, ma’am” with that, he ran his cock through your slit, gathering you wetness before lining it with your entrance and with one quick motion he sinks into you. Your moans and his name on your tongue, dripping honey onto his ear. He feels your warmth enveloping every inch of him. He wants to get lost in the feeling. To replace every bad memory he has with this sensation, the divine fit of your silky smooth walls, encompassing him. So tight, so soft, so perfect.

As his hips rocked back and forth, you wrapped your legs around him, and dug your heels into his ass, wanting him impossibly deeper. Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy little thing. He removed his hands from beside your head to hold the base of your skull in one of his palms and wrap the other under your waist for leverage. Grunting into your neck while your pretty moans filling his ears got louder as he moved in a pace that promised him a date with painkillers and an ice pack on his back tomorrow night.

When he felt the telltale signs of your near release, he gently let go of your head to bring his hand down and circle your bundle of nerves. Your continuous string of frantic pleads prompted him to lay soothing kisses to the corner of your mouth. With a compulsive string of “it’s okay, baby”, “sound so pretty whinin’ like that”, and “just let go for me, princess.”

The last one pushing you over the edge. With your legs quivering, your breathing turning into shallow panting and your hands clawing at his back. He was working you through it all with a “that’s it, angel. There ya go”, “so good for me” and “look so pretty cummin’ on my cock”.

Once your muscles stopped contracting and your heartbeat settled on. Joel switched to a more gentle pace. You stuttered out between small gasps of air “cum for me, Joel. Fill me up”. Leaving him no choice but to buck into you wildly with renewed vigour. Fucking you like all of his goddamn life is depending on it.

Loving the effect you have on him, you whispered “Wanna feel you inside me after you leave, Joel”. This makes his release hit him like a freight train. With a few forceful plunges and a string of grunted out fucks. He shoots his load with a prolonged groan of your name, painting your walls with strong, long spurts. He came so hard, he thinks he blacked out for a minute.

He collapsed on top of you, nuzzling in your neck and surrounding himself in your scent as he comes down from his high. In the middle of the chaos of regulating heartbeats and relaxing bodies, your laboured breathing turns into a giggle when his beard tickles your neck and under your jaw. He lifted his head to look at you with a “what?” and scrunched eyebrows. You stifled your giggle with a shake of your head. Only failing when he dips his head in your neck again. He smirked when realisation hit him. Lifting his head again “You’re ticklish ain’tcha, angel?” His face is so close your noses were touching.

You pressed your lips in a firm, straight line and shook your head again.

“No? So you don’t mind me doing this?” He rubbed his beard on your neck again and again. You went into a giggle fit that triggered his own breathy chuckles as he switched to the other side.

“Okay, okay I am, I am!” You managed to say between giggles.

He stopped and looked you straight in the eyes “ ‘s what I thought” he descended his lips on yours and they mingled in a soft, deep kiss that made you lightheaded. He wouldn’t mind getting used to this, “Lemme clean ya up, princess”.

One year later.

The anniversary of your first “get together” is today. Joel wanted to skip work all together, but he knew Tommy would give him shit about it. How ironic.

He rented a gorgeous, comfy cabin for the weekend, that’s a thirty minutes drive away from town. Joel coaxed Sarah into a slumber party at her uncle’s, which she would’ve very happily agreed to either way. But she’s a smart kid and she chose to haggle for a later bedtime and ice cream for dessert both nights.

He wanted to take the extra time to prepare everything you might need, from basic essentials like food or first aid kits, to extra entertainment options like books or puzzles. He doubts they’ll need the latter though.

——

But then again, it’s April, and a storm was closing in. Rendering the drive there too dangerous to make during the night. And the storm is predicted to last the whole weekend, even threatening to close schools on Monday.

“I’m just upset you didn’t get your money’s worth from that cabin” you say with worried expressions as you put away the food that you aimlessly packed earlier.

Joel brings the last of the suitcases in, sitting them by the door. “The owners seem pretty nice, bet they’ll understand and agree to push the reservation back”

“Then, that settles it.” You sighed and closed the fridge with finality. “We’re having our anniversary weekend here” you approached him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He instinctively placed his hands on the dip of your waist, and grunted with furrowed eyebrows “I got a long ass list of things I wanted to do to you in that cabin, now ‘s just sitting in my wallet mockin’ me”.

“It’s for the better, gives me time to make my own list” you teased him with a wink and a bite to your lower lip.

He squeezed your waist with a low, gravel groan. Eyes on your lips in a strong, hungry stare.

But before he can act on his thoughts you unwrap yourself from his tight grasp and turn away with a shout that carries upstairs “Sarah, change of plans! We’re staying here for the weekend!”

Hearing her footsteps descending the stairs, Sarah asked “you’re staying with us too?”. She squeals when you nod with a bright grin. “Now we can watch that movie I told you about last week!” With that, she drags you into the living room, gushing to you about the movie while you listen with interest and occasional oohs and aahs and reactions Joel knows are genuine.

Every other sound dies down as one thought only echoes in his head.

Oh god, please let me keep her.

The black, velvet box burns a hole in his suitcase. And item no.1 on his list sits idle by, just waiting to be checked.

He knows you’ll say yes, this isn’t a subject you avoid. You’re both aware of what you want in a relationship and you communicate your needs to each other. So you’re both sure that you’re on the same page. The element of surprise lies in the timing and method only.

As he looks at you and his daughter, he knows that this feels right. This is how it is supposed to be.

Okay, he owes Tommy an apology. Because now he understands disgusting, lovesick smiles and the urge to get out of work early. He understands six month anniversaries, because when he’s with you; there isn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for the mere chance to make you happy.

A Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy, dreamy little thing.

My Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy, dreamy little thing.

——

A/N : Again, if you’re still here, I love you so much & you made my day <333 pls tell me your thoughts! I write cuz i love doing it but i need to know if i should continue to upload or just let the contents of my delulu brain stay in my phone 🫣

Loon out, luv yaa <33

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller x f!reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

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hachixko · 24 days

Text

Breaking Dishes

Summary: You send your boyfriend Sukuna a text you instantly regret.

MDNI

WC: 1355

You bite your lip nervously eyeing the door to the shared apartment for probably the fifth time in the last fifthteen minutes. You fucked up. You fucked up badly. Half of you wishes you had a time machine to correct your mistakes. Like really wished. There are no sorries when it comes to your boyfriend. He believes strongly that whenever someone says something they mean it. He isn't wrong. You meant it in the moment, but certainly not now. You only said it to get him angry. The bratty part of you is still relishing in the fact you got a rise out of your usually level headed man. Your level headed man that was definitely on his way to fuck your shit up.

You check your phone again to see no new notifications. Just the last message he sent before you squealed and tossed your phone on the bed. Standing up and walking into the kitchen you shakily pour a glass of water just to give yourself something to do. It was a petty argument. Of all the things. The fucking dishwasher is what you decide to argue about. Not barely seeing each other for the last two weeks (only in passing), not the endless late nights out, not the lack of phone calls and communication. The fucking dishwasher.

You've reminded him time and time again just to unload the dishes, He remembers to do everything except that. Cooks you dinner before heading out to work, stuffs your messenger bag with your favorite snacks before you head to your classes, takes out the trash and even folds your laundry from time to time. You probably shouldn't have even got as angry as you were in the first place.

Is it that fucking hard to unload the dishwasher Sukuna?

You watch as within the minute your message is marked as seen and within that same minute three dots jump rhythmically as he types his response.

On my way to fix that rn.

You know he's not talking about the dishwasher.

He's talking about your attitude.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the lock on the front door turns. You suddenly hate the open layout of your apartment, Wishing there was a wall that blocked out the living room. You make eye contact with him as he locks the door behind him before stalking into the kitchen. Clearing your throat you push back some of the flyaways from your messy bun suddenly feeling cold in your pink slip nightgown. You try to damage control as he clears the living room in long unhurried strides.

“Uhm im sorry. S-shouldnt have lashed out like that. I-”

You think he's reaching for the dishwasher but he grabs you by your hips and pins you over it. The cool granite makes you shiver as he rests his weight against you. You squeak when he pushes your legs together tightly. You try again.

“Kuna i'm really sorr”

“I dont give a shit how sorry you are” He sighs out boredly before pushing your short nightgown over your plush rear. You gasp when he squats down without warning. Warm palms on your ass spread you so far your nether lips separate and your pussy is on full display for him. “I wanna know how sorry she is about that fucking attitude.”

You moan loudly when a familiar pierced tongue finds your clit. Tracing it lightly before he presses a wet smooch against your folds. Instead of giving your clit the attention it so desperately needs he turns his head and kisses your left thigh. You try to spread your legs and he chuckles “Mmm keep your legs closed baby” he speaks into your pussy before turning away again and kissing your right thigh. You feel him smile when you shuffle your legs a little closer. You can't help but be a little fidgetly. He has your pussy spread and hes just-

“Fuck”

Tongue fucking you.

You try to reach for anything to keep grounded as he groans into your slick. Moving his head with tongue. Alternating between burying his tongue into your cunt and placing wet open mouth kisses around your entrance. Rising on your tiptoes and whimpering when an arm locks around the front of your thighs pulling you more fully into his face. Moving his tongue in and out your hole at a fast pace. And there's still no stimulation on your clit but it's okay. If he keeps this up you can cum like this. One of his hands is sliding up between your thighs. You barely pay mind to it too busy grinding your ass into him finding a rhythm where your practically fucking his face. He pulls away from you watching your hole clench around nothing. Desperate to be filled. His eyes drop down to your clit. Swollen and almost pulsing with need.

Smirking he slides the hand in between your thigh higher watching you pathetically rub your clit against it. It's not really enough to get you off but it's still entertaining to watch you try. You let out a frustrated groan before stomping your foot and he checks that fast by unexpectedly sliding two fingers into your cunt and just as quickly they're gone. He thinks he knows exactly what you need when you let out a frustrated huff.

“Quiet the temper tantrum for such a needy fucking pussy sweetheart.”

There's a loud smack on your ass before he pulls back spitting on pussy before standing. You whine when you hear him unzip his jeans and there's another smack on the opposite cheek. The pierced head of his cock finds your entrance and you feel tears spring from your eyes as a hand settles on to the back of your neck.

Your cheek is pressed into the cold granite with a squeeze. Mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he sinks into you in one fluid stroke and stills. Trembling you reach a hand behind to rest on his stomach. Freshly manicured french tips curl into his black shirt and pull him into you because forget the trash-dishes you just missed him and his dick. You really didnt give a fuck about the dishwasher. Leaning over you Sukuna chuckles at your senseless tears.

“Your such a fucking brat you know that?” He murmurs into your ear as you still try to adjust to him. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own heart beating so loudly. You can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks because he's not moving. He's just watching you struggle to take him. Sukuna kisses your ear before his tongue traces your upper ear. Bringing it into his mouth and sucking it loudly- exactly how you wished for him to do with your clit that's still pleading for this kind of attention despite being so full. He straightens back to his full height. “Texting me bitching about dishes when all you really want is some fucking dick.” He's pulling back slowly, dragging his cock out of your cunt before snapping back into you. Your entire body jerks when he repeats it over and over again. Continuing his pace until you can feel yourself climbing right back to that peak he so rudely denied you a few minutes ago.

A hand tangles itself into your messy bun before dragging you up so that you make eye contact with the ceiling. “My poor little girlfriend huh?” he makes an exaggerated pout at you before grabbing the hand that is still tangled in his shirt. “No one to fill her little pussy for a few days and starts acting bitchy instead telling me she misses me.”

As loving as your boyfriend is, it's times like this that he reminds you of how mean he can be.

Confused, you let him guide your hand down to your clit before rubbing slow circles around the bud.

“Gonna make you wish you played with this pussy tonight instead of me princess.”

Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 🩵 TY for reading ^.^

#jjk smut #sukuna x smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x black reader #jjk x you #jjk x black reader #black writer #jjk sukuna

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w2sology · 20 days

Note

DOING THE PRANK WHERE U PRETEND TO GET SOMETHING FROM THE BACK OF THE CAR BUT INTENTIONALLY SMACK YOUR S/O WITH HARRY PLEASE!!!!! would love if u included the comments at the end

cut it out, harry lewis.

summary: harry's been a bit sick of you hopping on tiktok trends, but this one leaves him a little more than baffled.

warnings: none

notes: this trend had me giggling so bad omg 😭😭😭 guys it's been ages (like a month but still) since i last wrote something writer's block was KILLING ME 😀 feel free to send in some prompts or reqs <3

harry had told you to get ready in the next half an hour, that you'd be going on a little date in central london. well, he didn't tell you, rather he sprung the idea up on you after you complained about being bored for the last two days.

it took a lot more than he thought it would've to convince you to leave the house, with harry going as far as telling you that he'd drive. that's how you knew he was being serious.

so as he was getting ready after you, you scrolled through the obsession of your life that was tiktok, laughing every so often and sending some to your friends who had yet to respond to the others that you sent.

stopping on one video that you couldn't stop giggling at, a thought formed in your mind. the tiktok was of a girl who wouldn't stop "accidentally" hotting her boyfriend whilst trying to get things out of the backseat of the car.

it had been ages since you last pulled a joke on harry, yet only the other day he pulled one on you with the help of the boys.

"are you ready yet or are you still laughing at your phone?" harry came back into the bedroom, pulling his navy blue nike hoodie over his shirt.

"i am ready, in fact," you got up, tiptoeing to gently grab a hold of his face, pressing your lips to his. "and the things on my phone will always be funnier than you."

"good joke," he smiled a false smile at you, squeezing your waist before grabbing the keys off of the dresser.

"i still can't believe you're driving. wait, pose with the keys, let me get a photo for your mum."

"don't get too used to this..."

harry walked out before you to put his shoes on, but seeing as you already had yours on, you asked him to unlock the car for you. to him, it seemed you were just eager to leave but really, you had to make sure that there were items in the backseat.

placing one of your tote bags in there, you evenly spread out one of the jellycats that you left in your car and another bag full of spare things. putting the camera at an angle that was able to capture both you and harry, you smiled giddily. soon enough, harry joined you in the driver's side, about to start the car.

"wait!" you called out. "i think i forgot something in the back."

"can't you get it whilst i drive? it's not me you forgot, right?"

"ha ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "no, i might rip it apart by accident."

harry shook his head, nonetheless not starting the car before he looked dead into your camera. he did wonder why you were recording, yet he never actually brought it up.

messing about in the back, deciding which item to use first, you decided on the jellycat.

it was an octopus, one that faith had got you from a trip in florida that she and ethan went to.

"here she is!" you smiled, pulling the jellycat back and purposely hitting it into harry. you did it gently, but not too gentle to the point where he didn't get irritated.

jumping as it made contact with his arm, harry frowned. "ow?" he said, looking at you, but you were too busy dusting off the jellycat.

"hm, actually no." you turned back around to put the stuffed animal back, this time reaching for the tote bag.

luckily, it didn't have anything too sharp in it, so you wouldn't actually hurt harry.

again, you pulled it back with enough force this time slightly jolt harry out of his relaxed position. "are you alright?" he asked, blinking at you.

"huh? what d'you mean?"

"you've just... full on wacked that into me?" he said, more so asked, in shock.

"did i?

"yes?!" you could've sworn you saw his eye twitch, having to restrain your laugh.

"oh," was all you mustered out, looking into the bag as if you actually needed something from it.

harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he waited for you to finish. "can we go now?"

"un, not yet actually," and you turned again to the backseat, this time grabbing the last bag.

pulling it back again, it hit harry in his arm, but this time he grabbed the bag from you, tossing it back in the backseat.

"harry! i needed that," you gasped, again to hide your laugh.

"no you didn't, y/n, unless you were using it to target me again" he mimicked your whiny voice.

you didn't know what had you more speechless, the mimicking or his reaction to your silly little prank.

"i wasn't targeting you..."

harry turned to you, giving you the most dead straight look ever. "cut it out, you hit me in the arm three times."

"maybe you were just too close to me."

"i— what?!"

you both stared at each other; harry with a look of shock and slight irritation and you with a serious look that you couldn't quite hold, bursting out in laughter soon after.

"oh my god!" you managed to say in between laughs. "you should see your face!"

"right, let it out. it's not that funny," harry shook his head at your state.

you leaned forward to grab your phone from where you left it, rewinding the last part where harry three the bag in the back. "oh, this is gold."

"you're a right wind up, you know that?" harry said, refusing to give you the satisfaction of know your trick worked on him.

"oh, i know," you smiled at him. "but you live me regardless."

"unfortunately."

"hey," you pushed a hand in his face, instantly groaning when you felt his tongue poke the same hand. "god, just drive."

#wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #sidemen x reader #sidemen #wroetoshaw imagines #harry lewis x reader #wroetoshaw imagine #harry lewis

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ellephlox · 10 months

Text

Muted Dawn

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Summary: You get mugged in the middle of the night, but Matt isn't there to save you.

Warnings: mugging, canon-typical violence, swearing, injuries, physical/verbal assault

In mid-summer, the midnight air of New York had a surreal balminess to it. You wore a tank top and a thin red jacket on top, your suitcase rolling loudly behind you as you hurried down the sidewalk. Every crack, every pebble, every sewer grate — they were all thunderclaps compared to the otherwise quiet evening. The luggage was too heavy to carry, though, so it would have to roll behind you.

It was a long day. You'd flown out to visit family, and your return flight was supposed to be midday. It had been cancelled, though, leaving you to scramble for a layover that could get you to New York by morning. It was a complete shit show, and you'd had to sprint to your gates at the airport with this stupid shitty suitcase that you were half-tempted to just dump in the garbage.

Matt still thought you'd arrived in the evening. He texted you earlier that he had a case to work on with Foggy, and that he'd be up in the office plowing through work, probably until early morning.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you'd actually touched down in New York at eleven p.m. because that would be a surefire way to pull Matt out of work to meet you at the airport. Dragging him from his responsibilities — which were already too numerous — was the last thing you wanted.

So, solo travel in the middle of the night was your only option. You took the airport train to the nearest station, and from there took a train, and from there took another train that deposited you at 50th Street. Matt's apartment was only a ten minute walk, tops, from the station. Just a short walk. Too short to justify calling an Uber, mostly because you didn't exactly have a lot of money left in your wallet and your next paycheck wasn't for another few days.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump—

"Shit," you said aloud, staring between your luggage wheels and the sidewalk, which had switched from mildly smooth to practically cobbled. That didn't bode well for your plan to walk quietly back to the apartment. You snapped the handle down and tried to carry the suitcase again, but managed only to go a few steps before your arm felt as though it were going to break off. "Come on."

"Need some help?" The voice that came from the shadows was most definitely not Matt's, and goosebumps ran down your arms immediately. You didn't bother answering; it was always best to ignore anyone who tried talking to you on the streets of Hell's Kitchen. To regain some speed you pulled your handle back out — no sense in trying to be quiet now — and continued on your way, the thumps more rapid this time as you picked up the pace.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—

"I asked you a question, darling." To your horror, mingled with the sound of your suitcase wheels smashing along the sidewalk were now footsteps, and a figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

"You gonna answer? Not very nice of you." He jogged in front of you, blocking your way effectively, and now you could properly see him. He was pale — practically pasty in the moonlight — and wore a sweatshirt so stained it might as well have been a used napkin at a greasy fast food joint. He had a beard, untamed and straggly, and despite the wild look to him that suggested he was hungry, he was big. Most definitely someone you didn't want to try taking on in a fight.

"Get the hell out of my way," you snapped at him.

"I want to see what's in that suitcase. It's making a hell of a racket."

"Sorry to disappoint." You tried to weave your way around him, but he stepped in front of you again.

Damn it. You suddenly regretted not texting Matt about your late arrival. If you had, you wouldn't be alone on the street right now — Matt would have been beside you — and this wouldn't be happening. Fear, potent and throbbing, swirled in your stomach like a dense fog. You felt like a wild animal, ensnared in a trap with nowhere to go. You glanced behind you; the street was just as empty and silent, with the few streetlights flickering menacingly as though about to burn out.

"Look, bitch, you want to do this the easy or the hard way?"

"I said, let me get by. I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" he said, then laughed, scanning you from head to toe. "You look like little Red Riding Hood. What're you going to do?"

"I can scream. People will come and you'll be in deep shit."

"You're a fucking idiot if you think that. These back streets of Hell's Kitchen are the furthest you can get from help, darling."

"Unless the devil hears me," you breathed out, depending on the hope that this man had heard of Matt's other persona. "Then I have a good feeling your legs will get broken. You heard of him?"

Except the devil wasn't out tonight. He was instead filing paperwork, far away on the other end of the Kitchen, and probably wearing a suit. Unless the man in front of you fell for the bluff... you were thoroughly screwed.

But the man pulled out a gun, which you had not been expecting. "Devil ain't out here. No one's seen him in a few days. Hard way it is, then. You scream, darling, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

You froze. Never had you felt so helpless in your life. Your heart was banging against your chest like a frantic bird, trying to escape, and yet your limbs wouldn't move, for fear of that black weapon pointing directly at your head. "Please," you said finally, the word coming out in a rasp. "I just want to go home."

"And you can, once you gimme what I want." The man pointed the gun at the suitcase. "Open it up."

You trembled slightly. Should you try fighting him? Sure, Matt had taught you some basic self-defense, but this man had a gun. What could you do against that? Maybe you could try grabbing the gun, or kicking it from his hands, but... that was ridiculous. You had hardly any training. Most likely you'd end up falling on your ass, and then the guy would put a bullet in you.

No, your best chance was to comply. Slowly you bent down and fumbled with the clasp of the suitcase, your hands shaking so hard that it wouldn't open up.

"I said open it!" the man demanded, jabbing the gun against your temple. It was cold and hard, and against your volition you yelped, squeezing your eyes shut. When the bullet didn't come, you slowly opened your eyes, and resumed your struggle with the clasp, finally popping it open. Shame grazed your face as you opened the luggage to unfolded laundry and toiletries haphazardly thrown in; not that this man cared, but somehow you felt as though your last shred of dignity was chewed up and spat on.

Maybe Matt would finish his paperwork early and put on the suit. Maybe he could hear you, right now, and he was on his way, leaping across rooftops. But no one was coming, and you stepped back, allowing the man to root through your belongings. He stooped over the suitcase, his gun now dangling at your side. You eyed him. Though you weren't exactly fast, especially compared to Matt, maybe you could make a break for it, and at least get away. Your suitcase was a lost cause at this point, but frankly, you didn't care.

Do it. Now. While he's distracted. Before you could lose your nerve, you took off, terror burning in your veins and making you pump your arms as hard as you could. You were only a few blocks from home, not far at all —

But footsteps rang behind you, heavy and faster than you. You chanced a look over your shoulder, and hardly had time to react before the man behind you overtook you entirely, tackling you to the sidewalk. Pavement slashed and gnawed against your skin, burning white hot — your cheek, your knees, the palms of your hands.

"Never run away from me like that before I'm done," the man said, in an almost childish way, as though a toy had been taken from him. He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you roughly to your feet. "I'm not finished with you yet."

By this point, tears were flowing down your cheeks, and all sense of shame was gone. Nothing mattered now except surviving, leaving this man and getting into the safety of home. Desperately you thought of the couch, and the shower, and bed, places that had seemed so close just ten minutes ago and now felt impossibly far away. "Please," you begged him. "Please. Take whatever you want, I just want to leave. Please."

He wrenched your arm in response, twisting it back much farther than it wanted to go. You shrieked, thinking that your arm must be broken, but then he let go and slapped your face, right across the cheek that still burned from the fall.

"Quiet!" he said roughly. "Let me finish." He kept his grip on your arm as he bent down to return to the suitcase, and you were yanked off your feet, falling to the ground like some absurd doll in the hands of an aggressive six-year-old. You didn't watch closely what the man took, because your vision was too blurred, but a dazed glance downwards told you that your laptop, earbuds, and jewelry were gone.

"Where's your wallet?" he asked, turning back to you. You didn't question him at all and reached into your pocket, your fingertips searching obediently for the wallet. Where are you, Matt? The man wasn't patient, though, and plunged his hand into your pocket to take over. You stayed stock still, the feeling of his hand against your thigh more disturbing than you could have predicted, as he extracted the wallet, then your phone, and pushed you away.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he said, pulling the gun out again. "I'm gonna let you live, because bodies are hard to take care of. But if you try squealing, if you go running off to a cop — if you tell anyone at all, I swear I'm going to find you and kill you." He took out your license and read it aloud — your name, your height, your weight, your address. "See, darling, I know everything about you. And if I get a whiff that you've tried telling someone about this little exchange we had tonight, I'll come to your address, and I'll slit your throat. Got it, darling?"

You nodded violently.

"Now get out of here," he said, and shoved you one last time. You didn't hesitate, and ran.

He could have taken more. Your clothing, your bracelet from Matt that you wore, your body, your life. All those you still had. The things he'd taken were meaningless, just trinkets. Things you could buy again.

But this reasoning didn't comfort you at all, and the moment you were in the safety of the apartment, with the door locked, you broke down altogether. You could hardly breathe, and every two seconds you ran to the window to check the street, certain that you'd see that stained sweatshirt ambling along the sidewalk, or hear a sudden knock at the door. Your phone was gone, so there was no way to call 911 if you needed to. And Matt wouldn't be able to reach you, either. You wished, like never before, that you could have his hearing. The ability to know when Matt was on his way back, and to hear him coming down the sidewalk, would be infinitely comforting; even more so would be the assurance that you'd hear that man who mugged you if he decided to come to the apartment.

But all you could hear was the whir of the refrigerator and your own shallow breaths.

It was therefore a heart-wrenching shock when you heard the deadbolt unlock, maybe an hour later. Maybe two hours later, or three. You weren't sure; time was a vortex, or even a black hole, with an event horizon so monstrous that everything was sucked into it.

Matt's home. As if you were dropped into an icy bath, you suddenly leapt to your feet. You hadn't showered. Your clothing was torn at the knees, and that man's scent was probably all over you, not to mention blood was smeared across your face and hands from the scrapes. Not good. Not good at all.

You ran into the bathroom just as the front door sprung open, and you only caught the smallest glimpse of the storm cloud of emotion already on Matt's face before you slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.

Why, exactly, you were hiding from him, when there was no doubt he could smell the man and blood either way, wasn't clear to you. Maybe it was the shame of him seeing you like this. He was so capable, so responsible, and to sense you on the floor like a puddle... it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Yes, you'd wanted Matt to save you, but it was too late now, wasn't it? Now you were just going to be another thing he had to take care of.

So, a shower it was.

Matt's fist pounded on the door. "Y/N? What happened?"

"I'm showering."

"It's two in the morning. I can smell your blood and your heart is flying. What happened?"

This time, it wasn't Matt asking, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. You could hear it in the low growl of his voice, the restlessness that simultaneously wanted to defend you as well as throw a punch at something.

"I'm okay, Matt. I'm okay. I just need a minute to clean up," you told him, starting the water. "Please."

"Y/N, if you don't unlock this door, I'm going to knock it off its hinges."

The thought made new tears spring to your eyes all over again. Your money — all gone. You'd have to cancel your credit cards now. And while you'd spent most of your money while visiting family, you'd had at least two twenties in your wallet — forty dollars, now gone, and forty dollars less to fix a broken door with.

Matt must have sensed the tears, because his next words were much gentler. "Whatever happened, you can tell me. I can—"

He fell silent. You peeled off your jacket, examining the scrapes on your hands briefly. Those would sting in the water, undoubtedly. Taking care of them was an imperative. Matt had a case to work on, and a city to save. The thought of him being preoccupied with your damn hands was enough to make you want to throw your fist into the wall with anger. Anger with yourself. How could you have let yourself get mugged? If you'd just called a fucking Uber from the station, then this would never have happened.

Matt said something on the other side of the door, too softly for you to hear.

"Didn't catch that," you said, as casually as possible. Priority number one was making sure Matt didn't know the extent to which you were freaked out.

"I said, who did this?"

"I don't know," you said evenly. It was harder than you thought it would be to keep your voice steady, when every instinct in you wanted to say it with a sob, and to curl back up on the floor. Standing was too hard, listening to Matt was too hard, simply breathing was too hard — every time you closed your eyes, the feeling of the gun against your temple returned to you.

There was a sudden click, and the door swung open. Matt had unlocked it, somehow, and you didn't have the energy to question how he'd done it.

His presence was like a live electric wire as he stepped into the room. You could feel the tension rising within him, threatening to spill over if you didn't give a name or a hint of what happened. You crossed your arms, wishing you'd left your jacket on, even though it didn't make a difference for what Matt could sense about you. The scrape on your face seared angrily and the fleeting thought passed through you that Matt could probably feel the heat of it just as clearly as you.

"I said I was fine," you said finally, keeping your voice controlled. "I told you I needed a minute."

"That doesn't matter when you're hurt. I need to know how hurt. Let me just feel—"

"Matt, please." You were shaking now, and torn between collapsing into his arms and never letting him know the extent to which you were absolutely petrified. Matt froze.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked softly.

"I... no. I don't know what I need. I need..." A thrill of horror raced through you at the realization that you hadn't checked the window in awhile. What if the man was coming up the street now, on his way to break in and finish the deed with a bullet in your head? A bullet in Matt's head? You brushed by him and hurried to the window, squinting out at the dark.

Matt followed, and this time he didn't wait before coming up right behind you and cupping your cheek with his hand. It was gentle, but not a romantic act — you could feel the way his fingertips grazed over the scrape, accounting for the grit and sweat and blood that adorned it. Unable to bring yourself to move, you stood like a deer in the headlights as his hands then moved to your temples.

"No concussion," he said, but his jaw remained just as tight as he lowered his fingers to your own hands, breezing over them gingerly.

"These scrapes need to be cleaned." His face tensed as his hand hovered near your thigh. "Did he—?"

"No. No, I was just..." Mugged. It was too embarrassing to admit, and the word lodged in your throat. "Just some things were taken. Phone. Wallet. Suitcase."

"Jesus, at seven in the evening? Did anyone see? I want a name. A description. Anything. I'll find him and—"

"It wasn't seven in the evening." You dipped your head, tears welling again. "My plane was delayed."

You feared that he was going to be pissed, but instead he simply looked bemused. "Why didn't you say anything? I would've met you at the airport."

"Because you had work," you said, more stiffly. "And I know that me getting robbed looks bad, but I don't want to be your burden. Foggy needed your help tonight, not me."

"Not you? That's bullshit, Y/N," Matt said, and the electricity that had been buzzing in his movements finally exploded. "The reason I put on the damn suit anyway is because I care about people, including you. And you — you're above the rest, because I love you. Don't you see that? I need this, I need to find whoever did this, because if I don't, then I've failed you. I've failed myself, I've failed the city, I've failed my faith."

"Matt, it's not that serious. I overreacted, that's all."

"Like hell you overreacted. How do you think I felt when I left work and heard your heartbeat from two blocks away, racing like you were staring death in the face? When I got into the apartment and could smell your blood? When I came in here and could taste your fear?"

"I didn't ask you to sense those things," you snapped, and the moment the words were out of your mouth, you regretted them. It wasn't as though you could have simply elected to not see Matt that time he'd arrived at the apartment, torn up and bloody, or simply turned your head when you'd heard him yelling in the hospital as Claire stitched up his guts. In fact, it was impossible to not pay attention even more at times like that. Your mouth was dry as you shook your head. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't mean that."

Still, he didn't get mad at you. "I know."

And it was that, his patience despite the energy palpitating in his fists that made you sink onto the couch, placing your face in your hands. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I... I can tell you what happened. It's just that admitting it makes it so much more real. It's humiliating."

Matt sat next to you, just shy of touching you. Waiting for your permission, likely. "Who was it?"

"Bearded man. Stained sweatshirt, really large — probably six foot four."

"Where?"

"Three blocks directly west of us."

"How did you get the scrapes?"

You closed your eyes. "I tried to get away. He tackled me. There was a gun, too. He kept it pointed at my head, and — Oh, God. He said if I told anyone, that he'd come here. He's got our address because of my license. He said he'd come here with the gun and—"

"Pointed at your head?" Matt's voice dropped to a dangerous low again, reminiscent of the devil. "You could've been killed." He got to his feet, stalking to the cabinet and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Matt," you said weakly, unsure of how to make the request for him to stay. He wanted to leave. He needed to let out the energy and protect, as was his standard, but you needed him to protect from here. The thought of being alone in the apartment was unbearable; you wanted him by your side, keeping you safe with his presence, not the mask.

"I wasn't there for you." Matt's fists were clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he stood in front of the suit, shirtless. Contemplating, or strategizing? You weren't sure. "I — if he had shot you — I can't—"

"Matt," you said again, louder this time. "I need—"

You were about to say "you" but the energy broiling in Matt's stance made you fall short. He needed to do this. You could be alone for a bit longer, you told yourself. "I need the bandages," you finished. "They're... not in the bathroom."

"They're under the kitchen sink," Matt said, and suddenly he turned around, his expression softer. "Let me help."

Inwardly sighing, you sat on the armchair, hugging your knees, while Matt cleaned your scrapes with a steady hand. He didn't say a word as he worked, his eyes darting about uncharacteristically. You still couldn't get a read on exactly what he was thinking. There was no chance he'd be angry at you, but that didn't preclude him from being disappointed.

How many other people would have been able to hold their own against that man? Everyone else in Matt's circle would have been capable. Frank, Jessica, Danny, Luke — they wouldn't have been even fazed at all. Elektra would have had a field day with him. Even Karen and Foggy had proved themselves quick to react in dangerous situations, and you couldn't help but think anyone in that situation other than you would have walked away unscathed. Your cheeks burned at the thought, as much as you willed them not to.

"What is it?" Matt said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Of course he'd notice the shift in your temperature.

"Maybe I deserved it," you said, a bit bitterly. "I shouldn't have been walking out there. Like you said, I could've called you. And I didn't. I could've learned more self-defense over the past few years, and I haven't. It's my own stupidity that's got me where I am."

Matt stilled. "You're blaming yourself?"

"I'm blaming my lack of foresight."

He resumed dabbing at your hands, and was silent for so long that you thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "With that line of reasoning, then it's my fault Elena Cardenas was killed. I should have done more."

"That's not the same, and you know it."

He ignored you. "It's also my fault that Foggy got shot, that time we were in Reyes's office. If I had been listening more closely to what was going on down the street, then I would have heard the threat coming sooner."

"Matt, come on. You know what I meant."

"And it's my fault that Fisk got out of prison. If I had the wherewithal to kill him the first day I met him, he would never have—"

"Stop it!"

"Do you get it?" he whispered. "It's not your fault. We could preoccupy ourselves all day with the ifs that might have changed what happened. But you can't beat yourself up over the ifs that you couldn't have predicted. The bad people in this world don't get to benefit from your own self-degradation. Never take the fall for something they've done."

You let out a short laugh through the tears that caught in your eyes. "You give great advice, Matt, but you're terrible at following it yourself."

"Touché. Take off your pants for me?"

You smiled. "You really know how to sweet-talk a girl."

Matt brushed his thumbs over the corners of your eyes, exactly where they were still damp. "Well, maybe once your knees are cleaned up, I'll show you how it's really done."

You pulled off your pants and tossed them onto the couch. "You're not... heading out onto the street?"

"I'd rather be here."

You hardly dared to believe it. "You sure?"

"Positive." He didn't hesitate as he bent down onto the floor, methodically poring over the scrapes with the washcloth. "You're my priority."

A warm glow flushed through your cheeks, this time out of relief, and the smile that tugged at Matt's lips told you that he sensed it. You let him finish bandaging up your knees before you grabbed his arm and pulled him next to you on the armchair. There wasn't much space, but you lifted your knees so that he was partially underneath you, squeezed next to one another so tightly that you could feel his heartbeat.

"Hey," you said, after a moment. "How'd you unlock the bathroom door without a key so quickly?"

"It's an easy trick. Stick showed me years ago."

"Can you show me?"

"A good magician keeps his secrets," Matt said. At your frown, he laughed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

"I love you," you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," he answered. You fell asleep to his hand running through your hair, the billboard outside rotating between hues of violet and cobalt, and the faint thrum of the muted air conditioner in the apartment above.

When you woke, you were in bed. It was still early; the dawn outside was muted. Matt must have carried you into the bedroom, because you had no memory of moving in there yourself. For a moment you feared he had taken to the streets, but feeling the warmth on your left, he was still there, and had been for some time. You shifted, trying to get nearer to his warmth. He said nothing but tugged you in even closer, his arms and legs thrown over you protectively.

What if you had been shot and killed? The thought was eerie. This bed would be empty. Matt would surely be out for the man's blood. And all this... you wouldn't ever get to experience it again. It was far too easy to take each day for granted. Far, far too easy.

One day at a time, then, you decided, and closed your eyes again as Matt's hand crept over your own.

#matt murdock #reader insert #matt murdock x reader #marvel #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #hurt/comfort

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sinon36 · 1 month

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Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine

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minniesmutt · 2 months

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♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAMPIES, PET NAMES, OVERSTIM, AFTERCARE, FOOD MENTIONS, ALCOHOL, DRUG MENTIONS, PUBLIC SEX, GRINDING, EXHIBITIONISM, CAR SEX, DOM!HYUNJIN, SUB! READER, DOM!FELIX, BONDAGE, DEGRADING/PRAISE, GROPING, CLIT PLAY, ♱ ━━━ WC: 3.2K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER, HYUNJIN X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ new chapter for the new blog; previously was published on jonespicy.

“One more princess,” Felix groaned in her ear as he turned her onto her back from her stomach.

Felix meant what he said about using her to get off once he was done working. Y/n moaned as he pushed her legs over his shoulders and slipped back inside her.

She lost track of how many rounds they had gone after the second round. Lost in the moment. Felix had all but stopped working the moment she came on his dick. Immediately taking her over to the bed and fucking her.

Felix leaned forward, planting his hands next to her body and effectively bending her in half.

“Lix!” Y/n moaned

The blond smiled as he started his pace again. Pounding into her as she grabbed onto his sheets. Trying to ground here from the sensitivity.

“Gonna cum,” Y/n whined

“Yeah? Sensitive little thing gonna cum already?” Felix grunted

Y/n nodded, head throwing back into the pillow. Felix smiled as he kept going, watching her face and body contort with pleasure. His sensitivity playing a part. Dick twitched inside her as cum covered walls pulsed around him.

“Fuck. Cum on me baby. Let me feel you soak my dick again,” Felix rambled, getting off his hands and pushing her thighs down towards her chest

Y/n let out another curse-moan mixture as her orgasm finally hit. Felix whimpered a bit before he pushed in and his cum mixed with the loads he had already pumped into her. Both of them caught their breaths finally as they sat in the afterglow for a moment.

“Fuck,” Felix groaned and pulled her legs down around his waist. Laying his head on her chest and wrapping his arms around her.

“What the hell do you have all that stamina for?” Y/n asked

Felix just laughed as he kissed her collarbone before sitting up again, “It comes in handy,” he said, slowly slipping his softening cock out of her

“For what?” Y/n asked, “Fucking people for information?”

“Yeah,” Felix confirmed as he got up and walked to the ensuite bathroom

“I was joking,” Y/n called

“Are you jealous now?” Felix called before walking back in

“No,” Y/n said as he sat her up and wrapped her arms around him.

Felix just smiled as he helped her into the bathroom. Helping her clean up and starting a shower for the both of them. Letting her lean on him under the water, legs feeling wobbly.

“Felix!” Hyunjin’s voice was heard outside the door, over the water

“Shower!” Felix called

“Have you seen Y/N?”

“She’s in here with me.”

Y/n leaned back against Felix as the bathroom door opened. Y/n could see the outline of Hyunjin through the fogged glass of the shower. “We’re going out tonight,” He said

“M’kay,” Y/n replied

“We’re leaving at nine. Get some rest and get ready.” Hyunjin closed the door after and left the two.

“Looks like you got work tonight,” Felix chuckled behind her and kissed her neck.

“How fun,” Y/n said.

Felix cleaned her body and washed her hair for her before cleaning himself and getting them out of the shower. Dressing her in one of his shirts before taking her back to her apartment to get some rest before she had to go out.

The male cuddled with her per her request, taking a pretty good nap himself. Finding himself up before her after a couple of hours. He watched her peaceful figure sleep before getting up and making some dinner. There were still a few hours till she had to go work with Hyunjin. Some food would do her good.

He heard her walk out of the room as he finished cooking, grabbing some plates from her cabinets as she walked into the kitchen. “Morning,” Felix greeted her

“Morning,” Y/n smiled as he handed her a plate of food, “Thanks.”

“You’ll need it,” Felix told her

“Do you know what I’m supposed to be doing tonight?” Y/n asked as she sat at the table in her kitchen, Felix joining her with his plate of food

“No. I’m sure Hyunjin will fill you in, and tell you what you need to do. Probably just some information gathering,” Felix answered.

The two ate with a bit of conversation before the elevator dinged through her apartment. One of them coming into the unit

Felix peeked around the corner, “Speak of the devil.”

Y/n watched Hyunjin come around the corner to the kitchen with two bags. “What you got there?” Yn asked

“You’re outfit for tonight. I’ll leave it on your bed,” Hyunjin smiled and walked off.

“Have fun,” Felix smiled as he finished up his food, taking care of his plate

“Hey lix, can you manage communications for us?” Hyunjin asked as he walked back into the room

“Yeah. You still have yours right?” he asked

“Yeah. Y/n just needs one.”

“I’ll bring one over before you guys leave,” Felix told them before leaving the apartment.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Y/n asked as she finished up her food.

“Mainly listening. Felix thinks he got a hit on the guys who hit our shipments and one of them is supposed to be at Oddinary tonight. We’re just listening but if he approaches you— which seems likely— try and get information out of him.” Hyunjin explained

Y/n nodded and took care of her plate. “So don’t make a move unless he does?”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, “I’m gonna go get ready then.”

“I’ll come back in a bit to get you.”

Y/n nodded as Hyunjin wrapped an arm around her and quickly pecked her lips before walking out of the unit. Y/n headed into her room, going about her usual routine of getting ready for a night out. Doing her hair and make-up before even looking at what Hyunjin had brought her.

The outfit was zipped up in a bag, keeping it pristine for her. Two boxes sitting next to it on her bed. Y/n opened the bag to reveal the black strapless Versace cocktail dress. She took the dress out of the bag and changed out of her “Thoughts?” She heard behind her

Y/n turned to see Hyunjin standing at her door, “It’s pretty,” Y/n smiled

“Perfect for you then,” He complimented as he walked up behind her, zipping up the back before wrapping his arms around her, “We’ve got a few minutes till we leave.”

Hyunjin pushed a small little earpiece into her ear, “Felix is watching club cameras for the guy. Nothing yet but he’ll let us know if he sees him and we’ll do the same.”

“Alright,” Y/n said as she turned to walk back to her bed. Opening the two boxes. One holding a pair of heels and another holding a bag— both branded Versace as well.

Y/n slipped on the shoes grabbed her other bag and switched her things over to the new one. She slung the bag over her shoulder and grabbed a coat from her closet then met Hyunjin at her bedroom door. The male led her over to the elevator and took them down to the parking garage.

Y/n followed him to the car and got in after he opened the door for her. Going around to the driver's side. Starting the car as she put her seat belt on. Hyunjin took the car out of park and got them on the road. Driving down to Oddinary, the city flew by them.

Hyunjin’s hand landed on her thigh during their drive. Holding the skin just under the hemline of the dress, giving the occasional squeeze at the red lights before he pulled up to the club. Green ‘Oddinary’ sign flashed as a line for entry stretched down the sidewalk. Hyunjin parked the car on the side of the road and shut off the engine. He unbuckled his seat belt and went to her side of the car, holding the door open for her as she got out.

Hyunjin shut the door behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, both walked right in after Hyunjin nodded at the security guard. Some people in the line complained as they just walked in but Hyunjin thought nothing of it. Walking into the nightclub like he owned the place— he partially did— with her on his arm.

“I haven’t seen him on camera’s yet,” Felix’s voice came in Y/n’s ear. She almost forgot about the earpiece till Felix spoke.

“We’ll set up in V.I.P. Might try and get a table there,” Hyunjin said

Y/n nodded and followed him over to the section. The bouncer working the section let them in as soon as he saw Hyunjin walking towards them. “Good evening Mr. Hwang,” he nodded

“Evening,” Hyunjin nodded as they made their way to the second floor. Finding a table right in the middle to see the whole dance floor and bar.

Y/n put her coat over the back of the couch with Hyunjin before the two sat down. Hyunjin sighed as he pulled her closer to him. One of the bottle girls came over with a couple of glasses and an ice bucket with an open bottle of champagne. Hyunjin thanked her and reached over and poured two glasses for them, handing one to her before sitting back again.

Hyunjin sat back with her as he scanned the floor below. Looking out for any sign that their target was here. It was about an hour and a half before Felix’s voice rang in their ears.

“He just walked in. He’s got a couple of other men with him.”

“Might just observe then. I’m not putting Y/n in danger,” Hyunjin said

“Well, they’re heading to VIP.”

“Okay.”

Y/n sipped on her drink as she looked around, not knowing who she was looking for. She guessed it was the group of three walking down the aisle to one of the other sections. Y/n put her drink on the table before her before sitting back in Hyunjin’s arm, his arm wrapping around her shoulder tighter. Pulling her closer as the group walked past, turning their heads forward

“Looks like you caught their attention,” Hyunjin said to her.

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Y/n teased

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Getting possessive over there Hyune?”

“Felix,” Hyunjin warned

Felix’s laugh could be heard in both their ears.

“Don’t like sharing your toys, Hyune?” Y/n teased

“Not to ruin your guys' moment, but they pulled out some baggies.”

“Go down to the bar and order a couple of drinks. High chance at least one will follow.”

“Alright.” Y/n grabbed her bag before Hyunjin slipped her his card. Y/n took it and headed down to the main floor. Making her way through the crowd of bodies towards the packed bar. Everyone trying to get one of the bartender's attention.

“‘Scuse me,” Someone said behind her before tapping her shoulder

Y/n turned to look and saw one of the three from the VIP lounge. “Am I in the way?” Y/n asked

“Not at all gorgeous,” he smiled, “Saw you up in the lounge, and wanted to introduce myself. I’m Kihyun.”

“That’s him Hyune. Ring leader.” Felix’s voice rang in her ear

“What an idiot,” Hyunjin replied

“I’m (Fake Name),” Y/n smiled

“Let me buy you a drink,” he offered

Y/n barely saw Hyunjin walk up behind the guy before two of the bouncers grabbed the guy and pulled him away, his two friends getting dragged behind him.

“You alright love?” Hyunjin asked, wrapping his arm around her

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded.

Hyunjin walked over to the bar and immediately got the bartender’s attention, ordering two drinks and handing one to Y/n.

“Minho and Changbin are on their way down to interrogate them. We’re free the rest of the night,” Hyunjin told her as he led her back to the lounge.

“Hm. Easy work,” Y/n shrugged as she sipped her drink.

“For now. Good job on the fake name,” Hyunjin commented

“Figured it would be better than giving them my real name.”

The two sat down again and Hyunjin all but sat her on his lap after setting his drink on the table. He pulled the earpiece out of her ear and put it in his pocket. His large hand found a home on her thigh again. Gripping the skin before his lips were roaming her neck

“Our pretty girl,” he mumbled against her neck

Y/n repositioned herself to straddle him— just like she had the first night she met Chan. Wrapping one of her hands around his tie and pushing her lips onto his. His hands grabbed the flush of her ass and pressed her up against him. Plump lips wrapped around hers while they moved in sync.

Y/n rolled her hips against him. Feeling his bulge under her. “Gonna make me want to fuck you right here,” Hyunjin groaned against her lips

“For everyone to see?” Y/n teased

“You’re the one grinding that pretty cunt on me, begging for me to fuck you right here.”

His hands grabbed her hips, rolling her hips against him. Y/n moaned against his lips and then ran her tongue along his lips. Hyunjin pushed his own into her mouth, the two muscles dancing between their lips. Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck and gripped at the roots of his hair. Her wetness seeping through her panties and probably soaking the crotch of his slacks.

“Hyune,” Y/n pulled away from his lips

“Needy girl,” Hyunjin moaned against her neck. Sucking and nipping on the skin, “Just need someone’s attention on you all the time, hm?”

“Need your dick. Please,” Y/n begged

“Cum like this first.”

“Jinnie,” Y/n whined

“No complaining. Cum in those pretty panties for me and I’ll give you what you want.”

Y/n moved with his guiding pace. Dick getting harder under her the more she ground on him. Trying to go faster but Hyunjin’s hands wouldn’t let her. Keeping her hips at a steady pace, slowly building her orgasm. Y/n hid her face in his neck as she was getting closer, whining in his ear.

“Give it to me princess. Cum for me.”

Hyunjin’s deep sultry voice in that moment sent her spiraling over the edge. Her orgasm taking over her body and Hyunjin kept her hips moving till she finally came down.

“Grab your stuff,” Hyunjin said after a moment.

Y/n managed to climb off his lap and collect her things before they rushed out of the club to the car. Hyunjin got her in the car before he came around the side and shut the door behind him. “Panties off, legs spread, now.”

Y/n followed his instructions as he started the car. Pulling the useless fabric off and dropping it on the floor in front of her, spreading her legs for him as he pulled away from the sidewalk. Hyunjin didn’t waste another second bringing his finger to her folds and running his finger up and down. Teasing her clit a little before one of those pretty, long fingers slipped into her.

Y/n moaned as the finger curled up into her, looking for that special spot inside her as he pulled around the back of the building. Too desperate to fuck her to make the drive back to their building. Putting the car back into park then pushing her seat back. Y/n squeaked in surprise as he pushed her backrest back.

“Stay like that,” Hyunjin told her before he got out and walked around to her side of the car. Opening the door, climbed between her legs, and shut the door again. Hyunjin stripped his belt off, tossed it onto the driver’s seat, and undid his slacks, pushing the fabric down with his boxers.

Y/n smiled as his dick sprung free from his confines. Painfully hard and leaking precum. Hyunjin wrapped his and hard his length and pumped himself a few times before lining the tip up at her entrance and pushing into her. Y/n gasped as he stretched her open on his cock. Hyunjin smiled as grabbed his belt from the driver’s seat. He pinned her wrists onto the headrest and strapped them down with his belt.

His hands traveled down her body before bunching the skirt of the dress up around her waist and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Pretty girl,” Hyunjin smiled, thrusting into her.

Hyunjin leaned over her body and grabbed the shoulders of her seat. His pace started slowly but picked up quickly.

“Fuck,” Y/n moaned as he was picked up to hammer into her.

“Like being tied down and fucked in a car? Any chance for someone to walk up and watch you get fucked like a whore,” Hyunjin smiled

“Mhm,” Y/n nodded as Hyunjin watched himself disappear inside her. His eyes wandered along her body before he leaned down again and marked up her neck and chest.

Y/n pulled at the belt around her wrists as he just barely grazed over the spongey spot inside her. Moaning loudly into the atmosphere of the car. His hips shifted a bit more with each thrust till he hit the spot dead on. The moan from her was his indicator he found what he was looking for— and her walls clamped down on him the moment he hit the spot.

“Hyune,” Y/n chanted as he hit the spot again and again.

“Gonna cum all over my cock now?” He teased as he sat back, watching her body twitch with pleasure.

Yn nodded in response as his hands pulled down the top of her dress. Hyunjins hands wrapped around her breast and groped the mounds. Using them as handles to hold onto as he pounded into her. Eventually, he moved one hand away from her chest and used his thumb to rub her neglected clit. Watching as she buckled her hips up towards him seconds before he sent her over the edge. Her pulsing walls spasmed around him as he continued fucking her through the high.

“Good girl,” Hyunjin groaned before letting his orgasm finally hit him. Pushing himself inside her and letting his seed shoot into her. Painting her walls white. Groaning with each little push after to ensure he finished.

Hyunjin tilted his head back and caught his breath before looking down at her again, taking the belt off her wrists and tossing it to the back seat. “Feel okay princess?” he asked as he took her wrists into her hands and brought them up to his lip, gently kissing her wrists.

“Feel perfect,” Y/n smiled as she pulled him back down to her.

Hyunjin smiled and leaned back down to her. Pausing when there was a knock on the window. Hyunjin looked back— not too worried about the person outside seeing them since it was dark out, the lights in the car were off, and the windows were as tinted as the group could get them. He was even less worried when he saw Minho and Changbin outside.

“Having fun in there?” Changbin asked

Hyunjin rolled down the window a bit, “How long were you guys standing there like perverts?”

“Not long. Next time you fuck in a car, blast the music if you don’t want to get caught,” Minho advised

“Whatever,” Hyunjin scoffed

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jujutsukatsuki · 2 months

Text

Memories || B.K

|| in honor of someone sending in a hate mail about my writing and specifically part one of this work, which you don’t have to read to understand this. Here’s part two! This is dedicated to that hater! Listen to Memories by Conan Gray to get the full effect! ||

It had been six months since she saw him, since he broke her heart. Since he walked out the door like she meant nothing. She saw him on tv often, Pro Hero Dynamite, every week it was a report about how he saved the city or was accepting a new award for his heroics.

It wasn’t fair.

She stilled lived in the same apartment, mainly cause they had signed a two year lease so she couldn’t leave. She had finally managed to get herself to stop crying when she would look at the old pictures of the two of them.

She watches the rain out the window, a black cardigan pulled around her as she sees the sidewalks puddled with water. She takes a sip of her red wine as a soft knock breaks the gentle silence of the apartment. The cat she had gotten a month after he left her, gently meows and jumped up on the entry table next to the dark oak front door.

The walk to the door is quick from her cozy chair that overlooks the sidewalk. She looks through the peephole and sees red eyes peering through it at her. She jumps before she opens the door.

“Bakugou?” The use of his last name makes his skin crawl, he groans.

“I just.. can we talk? Y/n?” He looks at her, he can watch the gears in her brain turn as she looks at him. She can see how wet his hoodie is and she can’t help but open the door for him.

He slides in and goes to walk into the living room but stumbles over the cat.

“Who put a fuckin’ cat there?!” He grumbled before letting the cat sniff his hand.

She watches him cautiously, like she’s a wild animal and he’s prey.

Somehow they end up on the kitchen floor, Bakugou is wrapped in a blanket, his clothes put in the dryer. Y/n has her back against the cabinets as she watches him, her knees are pulled tight to her chest as if they were a shield guarding her heart from him.

“I miss you.” His voice is rough, she can see the remainder of the black make up he wore under his hero mask.

“I wish you’d stay in my memories.” She bites back, her tone is sharp, callous, calculated.

“I deserve that.” He agrees and runs his hands through the damp blonde streaks, the black cat named Starfire had curled up next to him.

‘Traitor’ Y/n thinks in her head as she eyes her companion.

“I hate what I did to you.. I was trying to pr-“

“So help me god if you say protect me.” Y/n snaps, her eyes watering from the confrontation.

“Y/n.. baby.. you don’t get it..” he tried to reason, his eyes search hers for any hope that he can explain.

“I get it. I got it when I came home to a half empty apartment and you sat me down and then walked out. I understood when you blocked my number. I understood when you had security kick me out of your agency when I wanted to talk to you.”

Bakugou closes his eyes, the alcohol has gotten to his head and he feels ill, or maybe it’s the guilt for his actions.

“You protected me all through out high school and college and I supported you when you were in hero school and starting out and you faced greater threats then whatever it was this time. You didn’t leave me then. So what was it Bakugou? What the fuck was it?!”

His last name on her tongue feels wrong, he wants to hear katsuki from her pretty lips.

“I.. I got scared. I wanted to marry you but I got scared. I wasn’t ready.” He whispers and moves closer to Y/n, he moves to lay on the ground, his head in her lap.

“Please Y/n… I’m sorry… please understand.”

She can feel the tears fall on the bare skin of her thigh, she thinks about the last few months that they were together in her head. The way he had gotten a call about a nine thousand dollar transaction on his card, the way he always would stand in the closet and be staring at something but hide it away when Y/n would come around. His mom texting and asking when they could go get their nails done even when they had never done that before.

Y/n looks down at the sobbing drunk man and sighs, she rubs the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. The sound of the dryer going off rips her from all thought.

“I’ll be right back.” She gently maneuvers out from under him and goes to get his laundry. When she returns with the clothes, he’s still on the floor petting Starfire and whispering to himself.

“Your mom is so beautiful, I wish I never fucked things up.. I miss her every day. I know I ruined her but I could fix it.. make it up.. god..”

Y/n clears her throat and Bakugou sits up quickly startling Starfire who scampers off.

“You can sleep in the guest room. You’re in no condition to drive or walk.“

Bakugou stands up, keeping the blanket tight around him.

“Okay,” he agrees and walks to where the guest room was, he loved this apartment, remembered the day the two moved in like it was yesterday. He opens the door and it looks different. Y/n’s things are in here.

“Wrong door.” Y/n says as she crosses her arms over her chest.

Bakugou turns and opens their old bedroom. The guest room furniture was now in here.

“Why?” He asks and looks at her.

“Couldn’t stand to be in there.” She looks away.

He doesn’t say anything else as he goes into the room.

“Oh. Here.” She grabs his clothes from the kitchen counter and hands them to him.

“Thanks Y/n.” He smiles, his head feels gross, he needs to lay down.

“Yeah. Well good night.”

She walks into her bedroom and closes the door, she puts her back against it and slides down it, hands running through her hair.

Y/n lets herself cry, she sniffles as she wipes her tears on the black cardigan. It’s not fair she tells herself that right as she’s fully put back together he comes in here and fucks it all up, it’s not fair that he can ruin her own self image of herself and run back to her like it meant nothing.

She takes her sweater off and puts on a big t shirt and crawls into bed. Within a few minutes there’s a knock at the door and Bakugou peeks his head in.

“Y/n?” He says “I love you.” He finishes.

Her eyes flick to him and she jumps out of bed, the door flying open to see his full body

“No. No. No. No.” she picks up a pillow and starts to hit him with it, all the rage she had built up exploding out.

“You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to come here and ruin my life over again like you did already! You don’t get to make me believe that we could be something again when you already proved that I was nothing! You made me feel like I was nothing! Don’t you understand that you’re holding yourself back from finding someone you actually love?! I was barely surviving after you left! It’s not fair!” She screams at him, tears rolling down her cheeks like the storm that rages outside.

Her face is red and warm and her body feels like she’s laying on hot coals. Bakugou gently grabs her and pulls her into a hug, she can faintly smell the cologne he always used, the one she still kept in her bathroom. She can smell the beer on him as well. She breaks down in his arms, she can barely hold herself up as he strokes her back and holds her.

“Shhh, I got you. It’s okay.” He whispers and pulls her to the bed, he lays down with her on his chest. He keeps a tight hold.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He whispers over and over.

They fall asleep like that. When the sun comes up and shines in their eyes, they lay in the aftermath of the storm. Bakugou wakes up first like he always did. Y/n isn’t far behind when she feels gentle kisses on her forehead.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” He whispers

“Hi.” She muttered and closes her eyes once again.

Maybe they didn’t have to be what they were before, maybe they could be something better.

Bakugou gently sits up and holds her.

“I am sorry Y/n.. and I do miss you. Just please.. one shot..”

Y/n takes a deep inhale of the cologne that sticks to his body. She slowly nods.

“Okay.. one shot, that’s all you get.”

“That’s all I need. I won’t fuck up again. I promise.”

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