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inklore · 11 months

Text

put on a show

premise: you like people watching you turn into a pitiful mess of need and desire, and hobie likes being the cause and effect of it.

pairing: hobie brown x (f)reader

word count: 2.3k

contents: established relationship, they’re both camstars, badly written british talk probably, unprotected p in v, coming inside, dirty talk, light choking, hobie has tongue and nipple rings because i said so, oh and tattoos, praise.

note: finally putting this out into the world instead of in my head, enjoy, eat it up, and thank my bby sil for sending in this request that made my brain short circuit.

You had seen Hobie first.

Or rather, that’s the story he insists be told when your friends ask how you two met.

That it was you who was bored after your own stream one night and scrolled through the lives and found him. Stumbled upon him by luck, and your tongue heavy and dry in your mouth when you saw his tattooed chest, body leaning back against a deep purple sofa. The sheer-ish look of the velvet made his body look ethereal with him perched on it—knees spread as his fist lazily stroked himself.

As if it were nothing. As if the piercings on his face and nipples, his thick hair, and the black studded collar around his neck didn’t make him look like a fallen angel. Like the users commenting on how hot he looked or how beautiful his cock was, it meant nothing over the comments of people cracking jokes with him and making the corner of his lips pull up in a smirk as he held a teasing conversation with them.

A conversation you would have with a friend. Fully clothed. Maybe around a slice of pizza.

Not completely nude with your hand around your cock.

And maybe that’s when you first fell in love with him.

When you stayed for his quick quips and banter with his fans rather than watching him get off.

Of course, until you actually watched him get off.

Watched the way his bottom lip hung open, brows furrowed, heels digging into the cushions of the couch as his hips bucked up into his fist. As his breath and words became heavier, more incoherent, and harder to understand with his accent, the closer he got. The harder he fucked up into his hand.

The noise he made when he came, spurts of his come decorating his tattooed skin, was all you needed to see to know Hobie had pushed his way to the top of your—possible—favorite things to get off to list; your fingers typing out the only word you could think of into the chat: beautiful.

“Looks like we've gotta celebrity in the room with us.” He smirked while reading your username. Thanking his tippers before giving everyone a salute and signing off.

His words indicated that Hobie had seen you first.

That the story you tell is missing the prelude of it where Hobie tells them how he’d watched your streams before you’d ever watched his. Something he keeps between the two of you when he’s between your legs murmuring against your thighs about how he loved watching the men in your chat section be at your mercy from even a flash of your pretty pussy.

And while you remember vividly the first time your eyes set on Hobie, it’s harder for you to fully comprehend how the two of you got here.

Together.

Streaming together.

A couple.

Who fucks for all to see on the internet.

Strangers begging Hobie to leave his teeth marks in the globes of your ass, and within those same seconds, others are begging you to edge him with your mouth until he’s a swearing, groaning mess.

You’d never tell your friends the nitty gritty details of it all. A simple “yeah, I found his stream first and the rest is history” is better than “yeah, I found his stream first and now he fucks me into the mattress of our shared bed and turns my ass towards the camera to show everyone his come dripping from my pussy”.

So you keep it simple if anyone asks.

And give the rest away to strangers.

To people who want both you and Hobie equally.

Who send in tip after tip that one would think is the reason the two of you do this. Why you keep coming back and giving them what they want.

You’d asked Hobie once why he likes to stream, among his other decently paid jobs—modeling, gigs with his band—that he could be doing steadily rather than this. He had told you that some scout manager for some big modeling agency tried to sign him after a show he did. Talked a big game about money and getting him in the clothes of real designers, the ones that mattered, only to end the conversation by saying how ‘his body, his rules’ only worked when you were with an agency that mattered.

So Hobie, being Hobie, proved him wrong.

Stuck it to every fake body positive agency out there by putting himself—his full self—on display on the internet, only for sales of the upcoming designers he was modeling for to be trending worldwide before the clock struck midnight.

It made your reason for streaming a little less proactive.

“You like it when people watch you make a total mess out of ya self don’t you, love?” He asks, his accent thick and deeper when you have his cock in your mouth like this. With your back splayed across the bed, your head hangs from the edge as Hobie uses your throat. As his hips create a pattern of thrusting slowly, then hard. The slow strokes move the underside of his dick against your tongue in a languid way that makes you moan around him as you savor its weight. The hard strokes burn your throat and make tears stream down into your hairline as spit and precome mix at the sides of your mouth and chin.

All you can do is nod around him. Eyes blurry and doe like as you look up at him from upside down. See the lopsided grin he’s giving you. See his stomach muscles tighten and move each time he hits deeper in your throat than the last, your throat constricting around him, unwilling to take him any further until he repeats the stroke and it grows accustomed to him being there, welcoming him with a whimper and your hips canting down against the bedspread.

And he was right.

You loved people watching you look totally consumed. Fucked out and raw with pleasure and need.

It was your favorite part of it all—before Hobie.

Watching the chat come alive with praises and degradations, from how you fucked yourself into exhaustion and delirium with a vibrator or the slow grind you would do against your pillow that always turned you into a whimpering mess.

You wanted people to see you in that weakened state. To be in awe of how badly you wanted to come or be fucked.

And Hobie loved watching you almost as much as he loved being the one to make you enter that state of delirium with just a swipe of his thumb across your bottom lip or a bite of your nipples. He loved doing the little things that would work you up to the point of your pretty eyes begging him for more—to be rougher, to go faster.

It’s why the two of you made the perfect team.

The perfect show.

He loved someone who was addicted to what he had to give, and you loved everyone watching you take whatever he was willing to give you.

And you both loved how heady the sight of each other's pleasure made you. How good Hobie looked with his head back between his shoulders, a hard swallow making his throat bob, groans slipping from his wet lips as you sucked on the tip of his cock as he pulled it out of your throat. Your tongue laced with the taste of his precome.

Hobie's eyes light up as he runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip, leaving a trail of your mixed saliva down your chin and up to your neck, where his fingers splay across the column of it. His rings warm against your heated skin. The involuntary intake of breath your lungs make when he adds the slightest bit of pressure makes his cock twitch.

Makes him want to fuck your throat with his hands right here so he can feel himself, feel how you fight back your body's survival need to struggle with something being that deep past your tongue. How you ignore it and do the opposite by moaning around him.

You look messy, dazed, and all his.

As much as he craves to paint your tongue with his come tonight, with one sidelong glance at the screen, he can see that your fans want to see his come somewhere else. Somewhere that’s already wet and making you squirm when he reaches over your body and cups your pussy against his palm.

Two fingers slip past your lips, making you mewl and squirm as your thighs clamp around his wrist. Your clit swollen and sensitive from his earlier abuse of it; his mouth attached to your pussy, the metal in his mouth aids in the friction of your hips to get him to where you were greedy to have him, and the metal nicking your clit in just the right way to make your back bow.

“Should we show’em how soaked this pretty pussy is?” He hums against your chest as his pierced tongue runs along the mounds of your boobs before rolling against a nipple. Your body contorting against him; a whine the only answer you can give. Hobie grins against your skin, “thought so.”

The embarrassment someone might feel to be now on their knees, chest to the bed, ass in the air, and Hobie’s fingers running through their wetness, has long since left your body. Embarrassment didn’t belong in this line of work or in your relationship with him. The two of you were like open books read and reread, pages torn out and dogged eared. He knew your dark parts just as well as you knew his light parts.

So with the squelch of his fingers fucking into you, your entire bottom half facing the camera and giving everyone the perfect view and show of your arousal, of just how wet you had gotten from Hobie down your throat, makes you moan into the bed. Makes you beg him to fuck you.

“Has she earned it, do ya think? Should we fuck this desperate pussy?” Hobie laughs at something, something you can’t see or even be jealous of not seeing because you’re too busy pushing back on his fingers. Too busy looking just as desperate as he describes. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” You feel his lips press against one of your cheeks before his teeth bite into the muscle, making you squeal.

And with one quick movement, you're pulled in the other direction, your ass flush against his pelvis as he thrusts into you.

The noise you make sounds more like a wounded animal meeting its end than something graphically sexy. But you know they’re eating it up. That Hobie loves it. If the way he starts out at a hardened pace is any indication of the matter. His fingers and rings dig into your hips as he fucks you; he doesn’t even have to pull your hips to him because your body is doing the work for him. Pushing back on him. Meeting him halfway and making his cock drive harder and deeper into your pussy.

“Sounds so fuckin pretty, doesn’she?” Hobie leans over your ass and presses a few kisses to your spine before reaching up to grip your shoulder. One of his legs bent up at the knee, giving him more leverage as he pounds into you. “She feels fuckin’ amazing, mates.” He groans, “god. The way she grips my cock like her pussy is tryna pull me in further, and further,” his thrusts accentuate his words as his hips snap harder and at a new angle now. Making you sob into the bed. Your fingers are messing up the fabric of Hobie’s comforter. “Such a greedy pussy.” An airy laugh falls against your skin as his mouth bites at your shoulder.

Making your stomach flutter and your body hang at that precipice.

It only takes a few more strokes and his thumb against your clit and you’re coming. Crying out as your body finally crashes down from that pleasurable high. That need finally being sedated and brought to a place of calming satisfaction. Like a wound being licked clean. Taken care of by the one thing, the one person, who could make the ache bearable.

“Good girl,” Hobie grunts into your ear. “S’fuckin good,” he says in that deep octave that makes your body swoon. Makes those sparks of arousal hang on longer and longer as he continues to fuck you. As his hips snap and fingers pull you back onto his cock until he’s coming undone. Until curses are mixed with your name and he’s praising you and your pretty pussy for taking him.

And when he turns you around again, your ass back in view of your fans—the people you’re sure are going crazy in the chat right now. Their praises, their jealousy, and their tips all ping ponging through the chat.

God she’s such a good little slut isn’t she

Fuck you filled her up nice

Make her choke on it next time

$100 pounds if you eat it out of her mate

Ya’ll are amazing!

Your body shudders when you feel Hobie’s fingers run through your sensitive lips, the squelch of his pointer and index pushing into you—the smallest hisses breathed out from your lungs from the sting of your swollen hole—gathering the remnants of his come on his fingers.

“Look at the camera, love.” Hobie says softly, soothes a hand at the back of your neck to give your head a more comfortable position as you move yourself, but keep your ass in the air. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open your mouth for him; no need for silent orders. You just do it. Happily. His fingers press down onto your tongue as you wrap your lips around them and suck off his come.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown smut #hobie brown one shot #hobie brown fic #hobie brown x y/n #atsv x reader #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown #atsv smut #atsv fic

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stsgooo · 5 months

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The Moonlight Goddess.

✩࿐ summary: the toy that got tucked away, would eventually come back out to play.

warning(s): chapter 48.2 manga spoilers, unedited. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader

a/n: caught up on the manga, feeling incredibly deranged. i will Not be speaking about chapter 65 as that was the craziest experience i've ever had at 1 am. also, i'll be reading the light novel soon :)) anyway, i hope you enjoy this random thing i cooked up.

part ii m.list ao3

WHEN MAOMAO SUGGESTED JINSHI TAKE THE PLACE OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY CONVINCED.

Sure, your master was a beautiful man who had won the lottery of genetics. But you weren’t sure if he could convince beautiful western women that he of the same level, if not above, as them. It wasn’t a slight towards him. A lack of confidence in his abilities. But the mere fact that this issue itself was presented as nonsense. Achievable for a god, perhaps. But not for someone as simple as Jinshi.

It’d been 50 years since the last time the convery had last visited and spotted this beautiful woman. Surely, these girls were aware of the effects of time and how… unkind it could be to some?

It all smelt bad.

“Uh, Maomao, are we sure this is the absolute best approach for this matter?” You had asked as the three others had come to some general consensus amongst each other.

Maomao had stared at you flatly and, for a moment, you ponder if she even knew who you were. “Have you ever dealt with unruly women, Y/N?” She asked in her usual monotonous manner.

You blinked, expression equally as flat as you regarded the younger girl for a beat. Her time at Jinshi’s home had been spent, primarily, with you and Suiren. It was fond to look back on, but the two months had been stressful and the girl was rather difficult to work with. She drug you around on one or two of her little investigations. Much to the disdain of you both. The only compliment she paid you in that time was that you were quick on your feet and able to keep up with. Something that you guessed wasn’t common.

Yes, you are rather unruly, Maomao. Was the reoccurring and unkind thought that passed through your mind.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of unruly people.” You opted to answer instead.

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Women?”

You deflated, “Many.”

Unfortunately, being Jinshi’s maid had meant you had your encounters with women who, blinded by their fondness for him, would attempt to make random walk-ins. Something strictly forbidden unless it was the upmost emergency. Despite them being the ones in the wrong, it was usually you who suffered the brunt of their abuse until Gaoshun finally decided to inquire what was wrong.

You were quite used to unruly women.

Unknowingly, you'd guaranteed your place in Maomao's plan.

She placed her fingers against her chin, eyes squinted on you. "Do you use makeup often?"

You blink, a weary frown on your lips. "What?"

"Are you familiar with makeup and hair, Y/N?"

"Of course I am." What did she take you for? A lazy uneducated lady?

Maomao grinned, something that was dark and twisted, and you felt like you had somehow stumbled into a terrible trap. "Wonderful, you'll help with Jinshi-sama's makeup!"

"Wha- no, I-I have my--" You attempted to decline, but were quickly cut off.

"That's a great idea," Jinshi spoke up, looking rather delightful as his eyes moved to you. "No one I would trust more with this."

Seeing the glint in his eyes and the kind smile, you knew you could no longer remove yourself from this plan. With a bowed head, you turned to Maomao, prepared to receive your duty.

You suppose this is how you ended up here. Maomao and Gaoshun out to find an outfit that would suit the Moonlight Goddess. And you awfully close to Jinshi's face as you carefully apply the eye makeup.

Silently, you were thankful that he had his eyes closed, as his violet eyes endlessly and innocently staring back into yours would surely make your heart stop. The work had been silent for the most part. The both of you uttering only what was needed: close your eyes, please look up, tilt your head to the side. It was the easy back and forth you both fell into.

It made you realize that most of your companionship with Jinshi had primarily been in silence. You simply deciphering exactly what he wanted from the twitch in his brow or the look he would shoot. It'd never really been on your mind before. Although, it had always been an easy agreement between you that shouldn't be brought to question or pondered upon too much. Ever since the both of you were children. Ever since you were just being trained for the duties that would be carried out in the rest of your adult life. You'd both just been in this tiptoe waltz that carried you through life.

He didn't pry too much into your personal dealings and you never questioned his demands as your master.

Life was, in all ways, easy.

But still, you felt as though this plan was toeing a line. Asking too much, underestimating the intelligence of another.

You supposed Maomao was like that and Jinshi would easily follow her word.

Maomao. Jinshi. Maomao and Jinshi.

They are quite the duo recently. You knew it would be nothing good the moment he'd called for her in Lady Gyokuyou's with that glint in his eyes. The eagerness and curiosity similar to that of a child. The way he sought her out at any given opportunity. If you had to guess, you would say Jinshi is rather fond of dear Maomao.

It made you sigh heavily, your eyes narrowed on the liner that looked a little wobbly.

"Any mistakes, you can just retry, don't stress yourself." Jinshi spoke, assuming that your sigh was related to the unsteady line rather than the trail of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You blink, eyes focused on the kind smile that stretched over his lips. A slight pitter-patter took your chest. "No worries, Jinshi-sama, I won't ruin your looks." You shoot back, softly.

Jinshi's eyebrows raised, a soft snort released. "Oh, really? Are you teasing me now?"

"I do have the ability to joke here and there, sir."

"You barely do anymore. Joke, that is." Jinshi observed, a subtle frown on his lips as you applied a bit of glimmer to his eye lids. "You're very serious now, very on edge."

"These are serious times, Jinshi-sama." You replied back smoothly, feeling an indescribable ache in your chest. "I'm sorry if I'm not entirely entertaining."

Jinshi's frown seemed to deepen. And, suddenly, his fingers were wrapped around your wrist and his eyes were open to reveal the clandestine violets that glimmered into your very soul. His hold felt warm and all encompassing, a disorienting welcoming feeling that made you falter in your work. Frozen, you offered him your undivided attention as he appeared to struggle with himself. gave him your undivided attention. His brows were furrowed and the frown on his lips was entirely too childish for the man he claimed to be. His lips parted and he released a sound akin to frustration. He huffed and huffed and huffed. Then he stared into your soul-- still, he couldn't seem to find the proper words for his thoughts.

One of the many things that Jinshi struggled with often is that he simply had a greater outlook on life while being so terribly confined. A childish optimism that should've left him once he was grown, clung to his soul desperately and gave him a more bountiful outlook on people and life. He knew the risks, he knew the dangers, he knew the nastiness of the world, but still stayed kind.

You know it was one of the many things his mother tried to change about him. That and his attachment to things. That was something you'd encountered first hand.

"You have your reservations about this, I can tell."

When he spoke, you weren't entirely sure what he'd say. There were times he was too insightful, too smart for his own good. It used to amuse you, now you only worried when it'd come across as unseemly.

Jinshi stared up at you, glittering eyes kind and approachable, his fingers squeezed gently around your wrist. "I don't want you to feel like you can't speak your mind." He continued as if he had no idea who you were. What you were. What you were to him.

Your gaze bounced between his own, a small frown breaking the perfect exterior you always desperately kept up. Maybe he was still stuck in the past. Maybe he was still enchanted by who you both used to be to one another.

The past was usually more lovely than a future unseen.

"I'm actually told not to voice my mind."

"By who?"

"Everyone."

There's a moment where Jinshi looks as if he's remembering something. Something distinct and obvious. Something that he had completely disregarded in the back of his mind for whatever reason, for however long. It must be pleasant, to not be constantly reminded that the people around you are paid or contracted to be by your side. Must be nice to have a choice.

Master. Servant. Master and servant.

That is all you and Jinshi shall ever be.

"I see," He uttered, eyes briefly tracing the tiles on the floor before fluttering back up to you with a new spark of determination. "But I'm ordering to speak your mind! Freely!"

You stared back flatly in return. Was he oblivious what freely meant? Ordering me and then saying it's of my own volition can't both be true.

Jinshi would put you into early death.

"Well, I, uh," you found his eyes to be too vibrant, to be staring too intensely and too welcoming. You turned your gaze away, desperate to grab some type of bearings over yourself. But, alas, his hand was still wrapped around your own. His skin scorched yours, tainted it with the warmth that was all his. "I think that this plan will not go entirely as you all hope."

"Is that so?" His voice is like a smooth honey, soft and all too endearing.

You hum, nodding, "Yes, uh, I believe they want you to fail, sir. And to have a rather unsavory thing to report back." Jinshi simply hummed in response. You could feel his eyes almost stroking against the side of your face. "I just think that they won't react the way you and Maomao hope they will. This is no slight to your or her intelligence, of course. Just a mere observation."

"I know what you mean, no worries." Jinshin's thumb was now slowly and softly stroking the butt of your palm. A soothing action that brought your eyes back to him. Captured in the way he serenely observed you. "What exactly about this makes you uneasy? Maybe I can ease you."

It didn't sound like an offer, but a promise. If his words weren't enough, his eyebrows were drawn together in careful contemplation. He wasn't going to walk away from this conversation without you both reassured in some capacity.

"What if they want to talk to you?"

Jinshi might had fair and delicate features, and a soft voice, but it wasn't nearly feminine enough to pass. If anything, they'd grow more suspicious. Then they'd report back about what a joke they all were and then Jinshi could suffer some type of punishment for his embarrassment. It wasn't that you were too pessimistic or didn't believe in the little group, but that the women's request felt bad all around.

A set-up if anything.

So, you took a deep breath and focused on that reassuring circle being drawn into your skin as Jinshi contemplated this for only a moment.

"Then I'll have the apothecary cover for me." Jinshi smiled, all too bright and all too reassuring. "We've already decided that I'll swim across the pond-- give me a vanishing effect and she'll deter them elsewhere."

You furrow your brow, all too worried, but bow your head instead of voicing such. "Of course, I have no doubt in you, Jinshi-sama." You reassure.

There was a beat of silence, then, "You're my oldest friend, you know?" You tense. Frozen into you bow, your wide eyes stare endlessly at his feet. His tone is tender, soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should be speaking these things aloud. Yet, he continued. "You're the only one, beside Gaoshun and Suiren, that has stuck by me without judgement or doubt. I thank you for that, but I also fear that we've grown apart."

"I suppose we have." You uttered, trying to ignore the clench in your chest.

"Even as children, we started to grow apart." He continued to observe.

Because of your mother. Because of her fear that you'd end up like him, like your father. That disgusting and vile man. How could she not know you'd never be like him?

There was a day, a very distinct day, that you and Jinshi had been separated for "his own good". Your birthday. You had waited him eagerly in the main courtyard, being able to slip away from your duties out of kindness from Suiren. You waited and waited, until Gaoshun had approached. His expression downtrodden and dark. He informed you that it was no longer proper for you to play around with the boy you so dearly adored. Said his mother commanded it.

If he plays with a toy too much, take it from him.

You used to be bitter, resentful, and angry over it. Only eight-years-old, you had clung onto any companionship you could and he had given the illusion that he'd be there forever. Until he wasn't. Until you were a toy to be tucked back into the chest, forever forgotten with time.

He would be there forever, but you only merely a pawn for him to use as he pleased. To do work and to never grace the same level as you had when you both were only children, not yet exposed to hierarchy. Pure and innocent.

Now, you were mere servant and master.

Finally, you willed yourself to pull away from his hold, turning around to pick through various hair products. "It's been a long time, Jinshi-sama. We're no longer children."

"Hm."

As you reached for a brush, he pressed against your back. His hands coming to rest against your own with a delicate, featherlike touch. He was suddenly surrounding your ever sense. His warmth enveloping you into a hug that was almost earth shattering. Your lips parted and your eyes wide, you tensed as his lips brushed against the top of your head.

"I think of you often," his words are a whisper against you and your eyes, if possible, widen further as you almost lean back into him. "I sometimes wish I could just reach out and...and hold you, like we used to. Is that so bad?"

"Jinshi-sama, this is rather inappropriate!" You whisper back, not daring to look back at him in fear for how quickly you'd crumble.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest into your back and sending various chills down your spine. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, then please, tell me."

You don't open your mouth, as much as you wished you would deter him, you were rather eager to keep this up for a moment longer. To have something to think about and something to cherish later. Surely, this wouldn't happen again.

Instead, your attention goes to keeping your heart steady as Jinshi gently turns you around. His eyes heavy as he stares at you earnestly, lips quirked up barely. Your hands came up to clutch his forearm, gently squeezing as he did the same with your shoulder. You felt your heart stammer and a sweat collecting on your brow, this was definitely something frowned upon. To be so close and to breathe his same air-- as he exhaled, you inhaled the rich oxygen.

Suddenly, Jinshi's eyebrows furrowed and his fingers reached out, gently tucking some hair from your face. "What did they teach you to make you tremble like this?" He whispered it to himself but, thanks to your proximity, you heard it.

It made your ears redden, your lips pressed together. Did he really not know?

Before you could even speak, the door to his room were opened. Both your heads snapped to the door where Maomao and Gaoshun stood, both varying degrees of expressions on their faces that brought shame to you both. The four of your frozen in your respective places, staring at one another dumbly. Your hold on your master slackened and Jinshi took that as a sign to move first.

Jinshi made a rather odd noise, jumping away from you, face red and wide awkward smile to the two at the door. "Did you find the goods?" He asked as he approached, nervous fingers moving about.

Maomao, bless her soul, decided to ignore whatever it was they had walked in on, moving forward with a bundle of things in her arms. "Yes, Jinshi-sama."

You nervously pulled yourself from the table, turning your back to the three, hoping to conceal the red hue on your face. You really, really, hoped that no one would say anything.

Your hopes were tarnished as Gaoshun stepped up beside you.

The man was family. He'd been there for every milestone, or the rather unruly years when you found yourself in trouble more often than not. You'd grown accustomed to reading into his expressions more than his words. He was more open there, his only weakness.

That's why you withered when you saw that aghast expression on his face. The glimmer in his eyes that said it all-- he knew what was happening.

You ducked your head at the same time you heard Maomao ask, "Why isn't your hair done?"

You mustn't get ideas above your station. You are there to serve your master. Nothing less, nothing more.

That is the first thing that they taught you when you were "of age".

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

That's the second thing they taught you.

There were many things that contributed to your regression. That made you cower away from who you used to be. Going from a loud troublemaker to the polite, obedient lady that lived to serve her kind master.

But as you watched Jinshi, or more correctly, the Moonlight Goddess dance elegantly at the edge of the pond. As you witnessed the light hit just right an illuminate him in a way that would send even the most beautiful angel into a rage. You realized one thing.

You would never tell Jinshi of those things.

Someone as beautiful and perfect as him, untouched from the life that you lead, shouldn't be exposed to the things he confined you to.

All you could do was gaze upon the Moonlight Goddess, utter your most daunting praises and wants, and tuck it all away.

You mustn't get ideas above your station.

You were a lowly maid after all. Someone so dignified and beautiful wouldn't settle for you.

"My hair is still wet!" Jinshi's voice bounced off the walls, a scowl etched on his face.

You bowed your head as you entered, towel tucked in your arms. "I have a towel for you, Jinshi-sama."

As you ruffled his hair with the towel, watching his shoulders relaxed you thanked the Moonlight Goddess.

A coward like you would never belong with a Goddess like him.

#jinshi x reader #apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries x reader #jinshi #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto x reader #Kusuriya no Hitorigoto #jinshi x you #jinshi x y/n #✩࿐ t writes

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wannab-urs · 5 months

Text

Title: Something Sweet

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You’re new to the team in Colombia and all alone on your birthday. Your partner, Javier Peña, decides to do something sweet for you.

Tags: Set vaguely during season 1 before Javi gets extra angsty, canon compliant-ish, reader feeling lonely, sassy!reader, flirty!javi, alcohol (wine), brief mention of a gun bc I feel like a DEA agent wouldn’t just answer the door all willy nilly, kissing, javi asking for consent, but y’all did share a bottle of wine, kissing, fingering f receiving, marking, unprotected PinV, cuddling. I always write angsty Javi, but this is FLUFF, so sorry if it’s OOC, I’m slightly out of my element here.

WC: 2107

A/N: This fic is a birthday gift for @psychedelic-ink. Sil, you’re a wonderful friend and you do so much for the Pedro Pascal Fandom community on top of being an incredible writer. So, with some help from @pedrorascal with the beautiful gifs, I schemed up a little fic for you. I hope you love it! Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays AHHHH.

Moving to a new country two weeks before your birthday, which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is not ideal. You moved to Colombia from Miami after a promotion, earning a spot on the elite team working to catch Pablo Escobar.

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, trying to catch up on all the facts of the case. You have to learn every sicario by sight and all of their names, aliases, and frequent hang outs. You have to learn about everything Escobar has done in Colombia, all the cartels and how they connect, it’s all extremely exhausting and time consuming.

Which is why you have no friends yet, unless you count your new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. Which you don’t. You barely know them, and from what you’ve seen so far, Peña is an asshole. Steve might be okay, but you just haven’t had time to get to know him yet.

You take off your windbreaker and hang it on the back of your chair. It’s kind of ridiculous that you have to work on Christmas Eve, but there’s no rest for the wicked and therefore no rest for you either. You sit down and open the first file on your desk, immediately getting down to business without so much as a greeting for your partners.

A couple hours into the work day, a shadow darkens your desk. “What do you want, Peña?”

“God damn, hermosa. Touchy today? I brought you a coffee.” Peña sets the cup of lukewarm black slop on your desk and leans further into your space, peeking at the files you’re reading.

“Yes, actually. Did you need something or did you just come over here to bother me?”

“I just came over here to compliment your nails, actually,” he takes your hand in his, inspecting your nails, and then looks into your eyes. “I like the color. Suits you.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. Peña is cute. Gorgeous, really, but you don’t make a habit of flirting with your coworkers. “Thanks… They were my birthday gift to myself.” You tug your hand away from him and place it in your lap.

“It’s your birthday?” He asks, still leaning much too far into your personal space. You nod and look back down at the file.

“I have to get back to work now,” you almost whisper to him, all your bitter snark from earlier replaced by a sense of melancholy. There’s not a soul in this entire country who knows it’s your birthday today. Aside from Javier, now, you guess. Javier lingers for another moment before pushing off your desk and leaving you to your work.

You’re starting to pack up for the day when Peña comes up to your desk again, sitting on the corner.

“So what are your plans tonight?” he asks.

“Huh?” You don’t have any plans. A phone call from your friend in Miami and a bottle of Chilean wine maybe.

“Your plans? For your birthday?”

“Oh. I don’t have any. Don’t really know anyone yet so…” you trail off. You feel kind of pathetic, even though you know it’s completely reasonable to not have a group of friends yet.

“Me and Murphy could take you out?”

“Oh um–”

“Actually, Jav,” Steve calls out from his desk. “Me and Connie have plans tonight. Christmas Eve and all,” he gives you an apologetic look.

“It’s fine really. I’m gonna have a nice relaxing night in. Thanks though.” You put on the best smile you can and head for the door.

You hang up the phone after your short call with your friend. It’s expensive to call long distance, but she stayed on with you as long as she could. She told you all about her new boyfriend and that everyone had wished you a Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays. You’re grateful she didn’t ask about your job or your love life.

As you pop the cork on a bottle of wine, there’s a knock on your door. You stare at the door questioningly, as if it will tell you who’s there. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 8pm on Christmas Eve?

You grab your gun and sneak over to the door, peeking through the peephole. Broad shoulders and a dark head of hair are all you can make out through the tiny lens. Javier? You set your gun on the side table and pull open the door.

“Peña? What are you doing here?”

He turns around and holds his hands out to you. “Brought you something.” He’s holding a birthday cake, clearly store bought, decorated with a generic “Feliz cumpleaños” scrawled on top. A bright smile lights up your face.

“Oh Javi, you didn’t have to!”

“I wanted to. You gonna invite me in for some cake?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh! Yeah sure. Come in!” You step to the side to let him through and close and lock the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not fully unpacked yet.”

“I’ve been here for 7 years and I’m not fully unpacked. It’s fine.” Javi reassures you. He sets the cake down on your kitchen counter and starts rifling around for plates and silverware.

“I can do that,” you try to move him out of the way, but he’s having none of it.

“No, it’s your birthday. Let me. You pour yourself a glass of wine and go sit on the couch.”

“Fine… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You grab a couple glasses and the bottle of wine and carry it to the living room with you. You’re kind of shocked he’s here. He’s always flirty in the office, but he’s like that with everyone. He’s not what you’d call friendly otherwise. Maybe he just feels bad for you.

Javier drops down onto the couch beside you holding two plates with hefty slices of chocolate cake. He hands you one of the plates and a fork. “Happy birthday. I’m not going to make you do the whole candle thing.”

“Thank you, Javier. This is really, really nice.” You feel like you might cry. It’s just cake, but you felt so alone, and it’s like he really saw you. He saw through whatever exterior shell you were wearing and decided to try to make your day better.

“Just Javi is fine. And it’s not a big deal, really. You deserve something sweet on your birthday,” he says looking down at the cake in his hands.

“It is to me. A big deal, I mean,” you say softly before taking a bite of the cake. It’s nothing special, just a plain chocolate cake, but it means so much to you.

You and Javier, Javi, chat about where you’re from and how you came to work for the DEA. You tell him about living in Miami, about the promotion that brought you here. You finish the bottle of wine and a couple more pieces of cake and the conversation doesn’t stop for a long time.

Late in the evening, you finish a story about your 6th birthday, one your aunt always told to the whole family every single year at your birthday dinner. He’s sitting close to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite there being plenty of room on the couch to sit without touching. It makes your heart flutter a little.

You don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but the little crush you have on him is getting pretty hard to ignore. Javi smirks at you, reaches up, and brushes his thumb over the corner of your lip.

“Got a little icing there, cariño,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than it has been all night. He brings the icing smeared thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. Your eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide. He really is pretty.

You feel yourself lean in toward him, almost unconsciously chasing that thumb to his mouth. He brings his hand up to your cheek and searches your eyes for a moment. He must see what he was looking for because he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.

His lips are soft, warm, gentle on yours. You grab his face in your hands, not wanting him to pull away yet. He slips his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them, letting him in. You’re not sure who makes the move, but slowly, your back is lowered to the couch, Javi a comfortable weight on top of you. Your hands explore his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his trim waist, as he plunders your mouth with his tongue.

“Can I touch you?” He rasps against your lips.

“You already are,” you giggle. “Sorry. Yes, Javi.”

He huffs a laugh into your mouth and slips a hand into your lounge pants, fingers finding your dripping seam. “Wet for me already, hermosa?”

Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, but you nod. You’re soaked just from kissing him. By the feel of him against your thigh, he’s not better off. He pushes two fingers inside you and presses his lips back to yours. You gasp into his mouth, hands fisting in the back of his shirt.

His fingers immediately find the spongy spot deep in your core. He curls them, dragging the pads of his fingers along your g-spot with every pump of them inside you. You cling tightly to him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your body responds to his command instantly, the tension in your belly releasing into waves of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his fingers and you whine into his neck as he works you through it. You collapse back onto the couch, and he wastes no time dragging your pants off you.

You hear the clink of his belt opening, the sound of it hitting the floor. You sit up on your elbows to watch him as he strips off the rest of his clothes. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous man before you.

He takes your hands in his and pulls you to your feet before pulling your tank top off you. “Shit, hermosa,” he whispers almost reverently as he takes one of your tits in his large hand, rolling the nipple between two fingers. “Gorgeous.”

He kisses you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pushing his chest flush with yours. “Bedroom, cariño?”

You walk him back to your room, barely separating your lips from his for the entire journey. You fall back on your bed and he follows, settling between your legs. His lips drag down your jaw line to your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. Javi sucks a mark just below your collarbone as he slowly thrusts inside you.

You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper into you, whining at the stretch. “Fuck, Javi.”

“Working on it, cariño,” he teases as he bottoms out inside you. He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares into your eyes as he pulls out and thrusts back in smoothly. Your mouth falls open, a little huff spilling out as he bottoms out again. He feels so fucking good inside you.

Javi sets a steady pace, thrusting into you hard and slow, eyes never leaving yours. When your eyes flutter shut and your back starts to arch in pleasure, he slips his arm under your back, pulling your hips higher on his thighs. The new angle is everything. You gasp out a moan every time his cock punches deep inside you.

Javi is everything in this moment. Your world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pounding into you at that same maddeningly slow, hard rhythm. You feel yourself tightening around him, feel a coil winding in your belly tighter and tighter.

Javi’s lips find yours again with a kiss that’s more a clash of teeth and tongues than anything as you come hard on his cock. Javi lets out a low groan into your mouth at the way you squeeze him. He thrusts into you a few more times, fucking you through your high, before he quickly pulls out and spills all over your belly.

He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you deeply one more time before falling to the bed beside you. Javi pulls you into his arms, not paying any mind to the mess he made on your stomach. He holds you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Happy Birthday, cariño.”

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saradika · 9 months

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— BLEED FOR ME MASTERLIST

[complete] | [playlist] | [preview]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 20k

prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, blood/drinking blood, shared memories, angst, death/violence, biting, body worship, possessive!pleasure!dom!din, implied aphrodisiacs, mind meld, praise kink, oral, piv, marking

For the haunted hoedown, hosted by @psychedelic-ink and @inklore! References some themes from this fic & also inspired by this post.

When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not as alone as you think.

Because he has one, as well.

❧ part i

❧ part ii

❧ part iii

❧ part iv

❧ part v

❧ epilogue

❧ just a taste - vampire!boba fett x f!reader

❧ bound version of this fic

(And a huge thank you and lots of love to laur and sil for making such an amazing event!! 🥀)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #vampire!din #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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lendeah · 5 months

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A small prompt because I needed soft Astarion for once :)

Prompt: Astarion has a nightmare in the Underdark.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader

Words: 804

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

You rest peacefully, enjoying the calm breathing of Astarion beside you. Your bodies naturally meld together, having grown so accustomed to sharing the same bedroll since the first night you spent together, both seeking the closeness of having another body or soul. Suddenly, the elf begins to mumble, and his breathing grows rough and fast. His nightmares have really worsened since they entered the underdark, the scenery reminding him too much of his old life in the shadows.

His mumbling quickly starts scalating.

"No, please… Cazador… please…"

The elf's breathing is shallow, his face scrunched in agony.

"Please, not the rats again… Not the blood… please…"

Rising from your bedroll, you gently shake Astarion.

"Hey," you whisper gently. "Hey, Astarion..."

Despite your efforts, he continues to twist and hyperventilate.

“N-No! Please! I'll do as yo-you say, just don't…" Desperation echoes in his pleading voice.

You climb on top of him, shaking forcefully to pull him from his nightmare. "Astarion! You're not there! Wake up!"

He awakens with a sharp inhale and a shiver, pupils dilated, body trembling. His breathing is heavy, and tears stream down his cheeks. You breathe a sigh of relief, taking a moment to gently wipe away the tears with your thumbs.

“You’re okay,” you whisper softly, your voice comforting. “Cazador is very far away. You are safe now.”

His tear-streaked gaze meets yours, but the sobbing lingers, accompanied by quivering breaths and trembling body. He wraps his arms around you, his tears soaking your shirt. Even if he’s awake and no longer dreaming you can’t seem to put his mind at ease. He squeezes you, tightly, as if this is the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

His intense reaction catches you off guard; it’s the first time you have seen him this affected by a nightmare. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close to your body and gently caressing his bare back in a soothing rhythm. Gradually, his body relaxes, and the sobs subside into quiet sniffles against your chest.

“Was it a bad one?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his hair.

Astarion doesn't withdraw; instead, he melts into your embrace, burying his head in the crook of your neck. There's a pause before he speaks, inhaling slow, shaky breaths until the shuddering subsides. In a weak, hoarse voice, he finally responds, "Yes..." but he remains tightly pressed against your body. "Cazador..." he manages to say, as if uttering the vampire's name demands a considerable effort.

You silently nod in understanding, letting one of your hands move up to gently bury in his hair, fingers caressing the soft strands. "Is it the darkness? Does it make it worse?" you ask softly.

"Dark... yes... and the caves... so... many caves..." his voice still trembles. "It's... too dark here," he murmurs against your chest.

“We’re all a bit frightened of the dark at times. A little light can make it more bearable,” you reply softly, conjuring dancing lights with a subtle flick of your wrist. The small tent is then bathed in a gentle glow, pushing back the shadows and offering a comforting radiance.

Gradually, he starts to relax in your arms, but to your surprise, doesn’t release his hold on you.

“This…this is better,” he sighs, “Thank you… I really miss the sun,” he says softly.

You smile against his hair, murmuring, “I know you do. We’ll be back up in no time. I promise.”

Though you can’t see his face, the way he seems to curl into you adds an intimate air.

“Could you hold me?” he asks, uncertainty lacing his words.

The request surprises you, causing your heart to squeeze, but you conceal the reaction, not letting it show. Under normal circumstances, you would have messed with him for his tender disposition. However, this moment feels too delicate to disrupt, so you simply nod in silence. You lie back down on the bedroll, guiding his head to rest on your chest, fingers gently threading through his hair once more.

As his breathing gradually slows, the only audible sound is his own quiet exhales. He’s so close that you can feel his cold body, the velvety touch of his soft skin against your own.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, so softly that you almost can’t hear him. The tiny lights seem to dance in his hair, creating a somewhat angelic aura around him.

You tighten your embrace around his frame, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head before closing your eyes. A quiet sigh escapes him, and in the gentle ambiance created by the dancing lights above and the distant, faint sounds outside the tent, neither of you utters a word. The space is transformed into something more than a tent �� in that fleeting moment, an unexpected sense of home envelops you both.

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #writing prompt

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traumxrei-archive · 1 year

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【 (waking up) next to you 】

prompt #4: They slept in the same bed for reasons but now he was waking up and there’s something about their bleary eyes and mussed hair (ft. deuce spade, silver, azul ashengrotto)

gn! prefect (you/yours), drabbles, word count: 1.1k

a/n: i'm back with more short drabbles !! i had a grand time having trouble keeping these short— like could you tell i wanted to write more for most of these jsfjdfk (also the azul favoritism bc i like teasing him too much)

Deuce Spade

( set during the events of book 5 )

Deuce Spade was fucked. He had woken up in a bed that isn't his. Normally that would be fine, since he probably just mistook one of roommate's beds for his own. But this...was very much not fine.

He had stumbled into "his" room last night after an exhaustive rehearsal. The closer they got to the SDC performance, the harder the training was. And he had collapsed into "his" bed. Thinking about it now, he was sure he heard a startled noise somewhere. But he barely had time to think before sleep claimed him.

"Shit," Deuce muttered, raking a hand down his face because he wasn't in "his" bed.

He was in your bed.

The evidence was clear as day, with the way your warmth was against his back, arms wrapped around his middle. At first he really thought he was dreaming, but then he felt your breath tickling his nape.

He probably would've had more of a crisis if you hadn't suddenly stirred. He held his breath as you seemed to wake, yawning somewhere near his ear.

"Deuce?" Your raspy morning voice made him shiver. "You awake?"

"Y-yeah," Deuce squeaked. (He didn't even know his voice could go that high.) You tugged at his shoulder and he could now see your sleep lined face. You looked...cute when you were sleepy.

"It's still early," You mumbled, using his shoulder as a cushion. "Let's sleep more."

"O-okay," He used his other hand to pat at your head and soon, your breathing had evened out. He pressed a hand against his chest, right over where his heart was thundering.

Well...Deuce Spade was definitely fucked.

Silver

Silver wasn't a stranger to falling asleep. Really, he did it all the time. But this had to be one of the first times that someone had fallen asleep with him.

He blinked his eyes open, the sleepy haze promptly disappearing as he stretched. Only there was an unfamiliar weight on his shoulder. And when he looked down....

Oh. It was you. Lying on his shoulder. Fast asleep.

Silver rubbed at his eyes. Clearly, he was dreaming. That was the only explanation as to why you were so peacefully cuddled up to his shoulder, the sunlight shrouding your figure in morning glow. This was a dream, right? Or else why would he be so near to...

"An angel," He murmured under his breath. He immediately stiffened as he watched you shift, your eyes slowly fluttering open. Ah, he had woken you up with his voice.

"Sil...ver...?" You rubbed at your eyes, just as he did seconds before.

"My apologies," He said, carefully avoiding your eyes. "Your nap was disturbed because of me."

Your hand turned him to face you, "I slept well thanks to your protection, Sir Silver." And Silver felt his ears turn hot, no doubt flushing under your stare.

"You..." Silver couldn't finish his sentence, instead hiding his face above your head and praying that you couldn't see how easily your words affected him. You really did know what to do to make a knight lose his composure.

Azul Ashengrotto

( set during the events of book 4 )

Azul Ashengrotto never thought a day would come where he would have to share a small rickety bed with anyone. But here he was, stuck in the Scarabia dorms, staring in disbelief at the ceiling and then to you, who was sleeping peacefully by his side.

He recounted the events of last night sourly, glancing over at the tweels and Grim, who were sharing a king-sized bed after winning a game of rock-paper-scissors. Azul mentally cursed the Scarabia students for not providing a big enough bed. Otherwise, he would've been able to avoid—

You shifted, your hold on his waist tightening as you sighed in content.

Azul cradled his face in his hands. This was impossible. He was never going to regain his status or composure in time for when you woke up. And worse than that, his heart was currently beating out of his chest.

And why was that? It was because—

"Azul-senpai." He stiffened. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, he didn't have to answer to the soft call of your voice. But no, you moved once more, "Azul." This time your voice was so close to his ear that he had no choice but to flinch.

"A-Ah, Prefect," Azul's voice came out wobbly. "Have you finally awakened? I'm glad that you woke up, but—"

There was a hand tugging at his wrist, and his eyes finally met yours. Your appearance was definitely one of someone who was just asleep. He assumed that his was the same, so...why did he find the sleepy droop of your eyes adorable?

His heart leapt in his throat when you leaned in, "Good morning, Azul-senpai. You're up way too early."

"F-Force of habit," He bit his lip when his voice wavered. "Do we have to be so close?"

"Why?" You smiled at him, and your fingers intertwined with his own. "You like it, don't you?" He liked it? He...couldn't deny that. But he had to deny that, he couldn't just outwardly—

"Your thoughts are so noisy, I can see it written all over your face," You yawned again before flopping back onto the bed. "Let's just sleep a bit more." Azul made no move to comment as you made yourself comfortable, and he tried not to tremble when your arms wrapped around him once more.

"For the record," Azul mumbled. "I-I'm doing this because we lost rock-paper-scissors. Not because of any ulterior motives."

"Uhuh," You said, very obviously unconvinced. "For the record, I'm cuddling with you without any ulterior motives either." Sevens, what was Azul going to do with you? There was such blatant sarcasm in your tone, yet he couldn't help but melt into your embrace.

But he did have to ask himself...did his ulterior motives match up to yours? And if so, did that mean that he could...do this with you again? Azul buried his head into your shoulder. No, he shouldn't be thinking about that or getting greedy. He should just...forget this and go to sleep. That's right, he should just go to sleep.

As if Azul was going to be able to go to sleep in this type of situation. (Azul ended up staying awake the whole time while you slept. And when the Scarabia students came to whisk everyone away for training, Kalim had commented on the bags under his eyes. You had shot him a cheeky smile after that.)

thank you so much for reading these drabblessss !!! if you'd like to see more drabbles or ficlets from the 600 followers event, check it out here ! and if you'd like to check out more writing, here's my masterlist >:DD

#/trau writes #deuce spade #twst silver #azul ashengrotto #deuce spade x reader #silver x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #hella late #but WOOO #sleeping together >>>>

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tom-whore-dleston · 5 months

Note

for the event how about snooze with steven grant <3333 they just fit so perfectly together !!

Snooze

Pairing: Steven Grant x f. reader

Word Count: 1.5k

This fic contains: fluff, neighbors to lovers, insomnia, meet cute scenario, confessions, kissing, corny play on lyrics of Snooze

Summary: You are the main constant that helps combat Steven’s insomnia. This night, things are a little bit different.

Notes: omg Sil you are so right about how Snooze is Steven-coded!! Thank you bb for the request and I hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏽 Thank you to @potatothots for beta reading and sharing your insight 🩷

Spotify Wrapped 2023 challenge | send a request here

Steven glared at the blue squares of his Rubik's Cube. It had been the third time he solved the three dimensional puzzle since the moon illuminated the night sky. The toy tumbled into his lap as Steven’s groggy eyes flickered towards the shimmering sphere that tauntingly gazed back at him.

The classical record that was meant to aid his sleep came to an end. Steven lost track of how many times he played that record. When his insomnia began many moons ago, the record did wonders for his sleep. Now, it basically is a broken record because of how often he played it at night.

Yet, there was one constant that always helped him fall asleep. And that was you.

You were new to the apartment complex and moved in right next to Steven. The way you both met was one for the books. Your flat mate was running late for work due to lack of sleep from the night before. He rushed out the door, struggling into his coat. Without realizing, his shoelaces dragged carelessly across the floor. Steven, as clumsy as he was, crashed into you carrying a box of clothes, and you both fell to the floor.

The British man’s eyes widened. “Oh my- I am terribly sorry! Are you alright?” His eyes widened even more after one glance upon your beauty.

You sat up chuckling, unaware of his gawking. “No need for apologies. I am perfectly fine.” Then, you noticed the items scattered on the floor. “Although, I’m not too sure about the pile of clothes.” The man mirrored your movements as you crawled towards an article of clothing.

“Allow me to help you ma’am,” Steven began tossing shirts and sweaters into the box. As you reached for your favorite scarf, a strong hand slightly brushed against yours. You stared into each other's eyes, smiling softly. You could have sworn you saw a twinkle in his brown eyes.

“Oh heavens, I am late for work!” He checked the time on his watch and began to panic. “I missed my bus, too!”

“Perhaps I can take you to work?” You helped him to his feet, and your cheeks grew hot as he began to tower over you.

“Oh no, I-“

“It’s okay. I want to.” You paused. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

Steven unclenched his jaw and let out a quick laugh. “Thank you ma’am! I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

“It’s my pleasure…” your voice dropped upon realizing you didn’t know the name of the British man before you.

“Steven. Steven Grant.”

It was a typical late Saturday night when you arrived at your apartment complex. Your watch peeked through your cuffed long sleeve, catching a glimpse of the time.

3:00. That was a record time for the latest you came home from a shift at the local bar. Your body, especially your legs, yearned to crash into the coziness of your bed and sleep until the sun was at its peak in the sky. As you approached the door to your apartment, you stopped in your tracks after meeting your neighbor’s hazy eyes.

“Steven?”

The gentleman in question half smiled. “Hello, darling.”

“Rough night?” You interrogated knowingly. Steven nodded with closed eyes.

You fumbled your key into the lock for a moment before opening the door and stepping to the side. “C’mon in. I’ll make us some tea.”

Steven walked into your apartment and headed towards your couch, as he had done many nights before. He wrapped himself in the blanket you knitted yourself as you fixed a pot of tea. The blanket smelled like you, which always brought him a sense of comfort. A kind of comfort he couldn’t find in his own home. In fact, Steven couldn’t remember the last time he felt any sense of security before meeting you.

“You really fancy that blanket, huh?” You giggled, admiring how adorable he looked being swaddled in your own creation. The day you moved in, you decided to knit a blanket to combat your boredom. Once it was finished, you didn’t dare touch it as you were too afraid it would get ruined. The first night you welcomed Steven into your apartment, he was immediately fascinated with the blanket that he cozied onto your couch bundled in the blanket before falling into the best sleep he had in a while.

“I do, indeed. It helped me sleep when I had no other way of falling asleep.” Steven peered down at the wooly fabric, tracing over the patterns as if his next words were hidden between the stitches.

“Well, I’m happy to have helped you in a subliminal way.” The rest of your surroundings blurred as Steven became the focus of your gaze. Your heart skipped a beat as the dim light in your living room accented his structured face and wavy dark locks. Even with the blanket draped over his frame, his plain white t-shirt did little to hide his muscular arms and broad shoulders.

The abrupt screech of the kettle caused you to jolt and you quickly turned off the stove to avoid the sound reaching your other sleeping neighbors. After steeping chamomile bags in two separate cups, you joined Steven on the couch, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you. You handed him a mug and he gingerly peeled it from your grip. Your teeth gritted together as his soft fingers brushed against yours. Steven frowned, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“You cold, darling?” He shimmied out of the blanket, letting it fall to his waist.

“It’s okay, it’s no big deal-” Suddenly, Steven scooted next to you before throwing the blanket over both of your laps with one hand. It was the smoothest thing you had ever witnessed, you forgot how to breathe in that moment.

“There we are. It wouldn’t be right of me to hog all of your blanket.” You couldn't help but laugh. Without further thought, you and Steven simultaneously sipped your cups of tea, the hot beverage instantly calming your mind and muscles. Steven hummed happily as the tea warmed his body. Yet, he was still wide awake.

The grandfather clock that stood strong in your living room ticked loudly to fill the silence of the room. It glared dauntingly into your and Steven’s souls as you drank your tea while avoiding each other’s gazes. The pendulum swung from side to side as if waiting for one of you to make a move. As Steven drank the last drop of tea, he was left with no other choice but to break the silence.

“You know something, love?” You suddenly became more interested in Steven as you set the mug on your coffee table. “Ever since I met you, things have changed.”

“I hope it’s a good kind of change.”

Steven peered down, smiling softly. “Yeah, it was. For starters, you have really helped me combat this insomnia. I couldn’t tell you about the last time I had a good night’s sleep.” Your lips curled into a dopey grin, and your skin grew hot. Yet neither the tea nor the blanket contributed to the warm feeling inside you.

“Then, there is your kindness. No one has been as nice as you have been to me so it feels reassuring to know there’s still good people out there. You are also extremely bold. To move all the way from across the pond is…It’s brave. You’ve done all the things I’m scared to do.” He rambled on and on but one thing reeled in your attention. “To tell you the truth, I’m quite smitten with you, love.”

“Steven…” You were at a loss for words. Your heart skipped a beat after learning he felt the same way about you.

“Forgive me if I am too forward, but-”

“No, not at all. In fact, I feel the same way towards you.” Your hands met in the middle of the blanket, bringing you back to the moment your hands first touched outside your doors. This time, the spark between you two was much stronger.

“Can I kiss you, love?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Steven laughed before cupping your face with his large hands and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and sweet yet full of passion. It reminded you of a flame so bright you couldn’t help but reach out and touch it because you knew it wouldn’t hurt or scar you. Your lips molded together like a sculptor forming the greatest piece that’ll be admired for centuries to come. Time froze as your lips danced in unison and space ceased to exist around you and between you.

Losing sleep was the last thing on Steven’s mind. For how could he lose when he was with you? Sleep will eventually find its way back to him. He couldn’t snooze and miss the moment of you and him in each other’s embrace.

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thought--bubble · 4 months

Text

Let's Work it Out

Ettore X (Indifferent Crewmate Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Based on THIS request

Word Count: 1979

Ettore Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Ettore, swearing, Smut, dub-con, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex (P in V), one brief line is a reference to previous non-con just a proper heads up. It's really quick, but yeah. Just in case.

"I hate this fucking ship." This is the thought that runs through your mind on a constant loop.

When you agreed to take this mission, you had thought it would be a good alternative to prison.But after months of floating around on this metal hellscape, you know you should have just stayed on earth.

Trapped in a tin can with a bunch of arseholes. At least in prison, the population was bigger. You had a better chance of finding people you could stand.

But here? Misery.

Boyse was fucking annoying with her constant bitching "this isn't right", "she can't do this", you know she's right but fuck, you can't change it and neither can she, so at least she could do you all a favor and just shut the fuck up.

Then there's Monte. The high and mighty one who thinks he is too good for the box. He walks around as if he is somehow morally superior to the rest of you, as if he wasn't a murderer too.

"You wouldn't be on this ship if you weren't asshat. Calm down."

Then there is the absolutely insane Dr. Dibs, who is apparently the only other person on this ship that is allowed to touch you and not in a fun way. Doing her freaky experiments knocking all the women up one by one and accidentally killing them off like some fucked up version of Russian roulette.

Then there is Ettore. He doesn't bother you as much as he bothers all the other female inmates, which actually makes him amusing in a way. He's definitely got the creepy staring guy role down, but who could blame him? There isn't much to look at on this stupid ship. Everything looks the same.

There are more irritating, annoying inmates, but you couldn't be arsed to learn their names. Fuck every single person on this ship, as far as you are concerned.

Most days, like today, when you have "free time," you just lay in your bunk. Trying to daydream and imagine you were back on earth before you irreparably fucked your life up.

Nansen is up on her bunk doing the same thing. She doesn't bother you much as she's quiet, and at the moment, Ettore is hanging off her bunk, literally sniffing at her.

"He's so fucking weird" you think as you watch him, trying not to laugh at the fact that this is what passes for amusement around here.

Nansen clearly gets fed up with him sniffing around her like some deranged dog and finally shoves him away.

The frustration on his face finally does you in, and you start laughing, no not laughing, cackling. He responds quickly with a flash of rage before quickly exiting the room.

"Thanks for that, that was actually fun," you yell over to Nansen before you roll onto your side, still chuckling to yourself.

Time moves slowly here and after what felt like hours Nansen left to go do something or other leaving you in the room alone still laying on your side and staring at the wall as if willing it to bring you some sort of escape from this place.

Your eyelids get heavier and heavier as you stare at the wall before they finally slide shut. Only the slight humming of the ship and distant voices can be heard as you feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

Until you hear it. The door closing. You open your eyes but don't move. Normally, it wouldn't be weird to hear someone enter the room. It is a shared space, after all. But no one ever closes the door. It's always left open.

You wait a few minutes while you continue to pretend you're asleep. Maybe one of the girls are douching after a visit with Dibs or puking up their sleepy time pills? Best to pretend you are asleep so they don't try to kick you out of the room.

So you wait. For movement, noise, or anything, but you are met with silence.

What feels like eternity passes with your heart thumping in your chest when finally, you turn around to see Ettore sitting on the floor next to your bunk, some of your long loose hair between his fingers.

You instantly jump back.

"Piss off!" You yell while pushing back with your feet towards the wall.

Ettore grips your ankle and drags you across the bunk and onto the floor.

"Arse!" You howl as your back makes contact with the harsh floor. Ettore stares down at you, a predatory look in his eyes.

"Don't you touch me, you prick!" You snarl at him, slowly rising to your feet.

Ettore doesn't say a word. Just slightly tilts his head to the side as his eyes scan you from top to bottom.

This guy isn't a dog, he's a fucking wolf and he is sorely mistaken if he thinks you're a lamb ripe for the slaughter. Yet you can't help but find him oddly enticing, the piercing blue eyes, his fill chest, and the fact that he keeps his mouth shut is a nice bonus.

As he moves toward you, the decision is made, you tackle him, wrapping your arms around his midsection, bringing him to the ground with a loud smack, and straddle his hips.

"Don't fuckin move you prick!" You hold his hands up by his head and are surprised when you see no anger, only unbridled lust.

And then you feel it. He is rock-hard beneath you, and suddenly, the fact that he isn't fighting you off makes sense.

Against your better judgment and any rational sense, you decide to tease him. It's been so long since you have been touched. Why not indulge for a moment?

"You like being under me, don't ya?" You tease as you rock your hips against him.

"Yea, nice place to be" his words are dripping in lust as he pushes his hips against yours grinding his cock against your cunt.

This boy is desperate.

You chuckle to yourself and grind back against him. His eyes roll back slightly as his jaw drops open.

He's so responsive, so much so that it drives heat straight to your core.

"You want me to apologize? For laughing earlier?" You continue to grind against his cock a sensation he loves, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

"Don't care," He grunts as he moves his hips a bit faster against you and closes his eyes.

"What if I said I would apologize by riding that big old cock you have stuffed into those scrubs huh?"

Ettore's eyes flash open, and he stares up at you, licking his lips.

"Would you like that?" You tease as you again roll your hips against him, but you make the mistake of closing your eyes and when you do Ettore wastes no time breaking out from the grips you have on his wrists and flipping you over onto your back.

You grunt at the impact. "Fuck, thought we were getting somewhere?" Your grumble in pain.

"Collectin my apology." He sniffs up the side of your neck before reaching down to pull off your scrub bottoms.

You want to correct him. Maybe explain. What riding him means, but again, you couldn't be arsed.

You push your scrubs down the rest of the way and bring your legs up around his hips.

It's been far too fucking long since you've been fucked and he's weird yeah but he's also hot and is most likely gonna fuck you silly.

Ettore leans forward to capture your mouth, but you turn your head to the side.

No fucking kissing dipshit.

Luckily, he is quick on the uptake and goes for your neck, seemingly unbothered by the subtle rejection.

He brings his hand to your heat, sliding his digits into your leaking wetness.

"Mmmmm" He groans eyes closed as he hovers above you, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing small precise circles on the nerve.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, your climax getting closer as he continues his ministrations while gently biting at your neck.

You feel your body tense as you climb that hill, wanton moans slipping from your lips as Ettore slides a finger into your canal, his fingertips exploring, looking for the magic spot that makes a girl go wild.

You take a deep breath in and rock your hips against his hand, your labored breaths, and sounds of pleasure gradually growing in volume, and he knows he's found it.

Ettore gets to work rubbing at the spot deep inside you as he pulls back to watch your face contort in pleasure.

It's so primal. Emotions aren't necessary. Just basic physical need and gratification, one of the driving forces behind Ettore's every move.

He quickly removes his finger from you and grips your thighs tightly, pulling you up to him, and plunges himself inside you in one swift thrust.

The only thing he feels.

He audibly groans at the sensation, jaw hanging slack as his pace quickly increases.

He has tunnel vision. He wants that sensation and needs that sensation, and there is not a thing in heaven, on earth, or this damn ship that is going to stop him now.

In just moments, his pace is punishing the hard smack of his hips against your skin and the delicious mixture of pleasure and pain have you reeling.

"Fuck!" You bite your lower lip nearly breaking the skin as he bullies your insides, hitting all the right spots with each violent thrust.

He watches himself entering you memorized be each movement. He is practically drooling seeing your fluids building up on the base of his cock. Dampening the short blonde curls that grow there.

He can't help but think to himself how much better it is when they want it.

He brings his thumb to your clit working the nub in small circles wanting that clench he knows you can give him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Your eyes fly back open as you hit your peak temporarily going deaf, body numb to all feeling other than the overwhelming pleasure.

Ettore smiles, not a happy smile, more of a victory smile. It's time to chase his peak, to take what he wants needs.

As you begin to float back down from your high, Ettore is climbing his. Every thought in him consists of reaching that goal. That euphoria.

His grunting grows louder, and his legs begin to shake as he pushes his body to its limit, determined to have the most intense experience he can create.

"If you ever want to do this again, you'll pull out." You don't know if he will heed your warning. He doesn't care about you. Why should he? You do hope that his needs in the future will outweigh his wants right now, but only time will tell.

He says nothing, his eyes closed as he groans loudly, you feel him stiffen, and just as you think he is going to ignore your warning, he pulls out shooting his spend onto your quivering thighs.

You both stay put a moment before you reach into your laundry and snatch up a shirt that's meant for washing, wiping yourself down.

Ettore watches you intently before finally opening his mouth. You see him debate with himself whether or not he should say whatever it is he is planning on saying.

You watch the gears move in his head moderately, amused as you start to put your bottoms back on.

"Good grief, just say it." You can't help but lose your patience. He is back to being the weird, staring guy, and it's irritating.

"Again?" He finally mutters.

You chuckle as you realize he is confirming that this is going to happen again.

"Sure" you shrug "Need something to do on this fucking ship"

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#ewan mitchell verse #ettore x reader #ettore fanfiction #ettore high life #ettore smut #ettore #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ettore imagine #ewan mitchell #jess fics #my red flag bf

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prolix-yuy · 5 months

Text

The Reason for the Season

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: What does Christmas mean after the world falls apart? Ellie sure doesn't know, but Joel knows who might.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: T, some suggestive thoughts, one steamy kiss, teen angst and a whole lot of yearning! Our reader is given the following attributes: a history of Christmas celebrations, a father, and while not stated in the fic, she was old enough to be a teacher when the outbreak happened. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Hello to my sweet Sil @psychedelic-ink! I'm your not-so-secret Santa and I'm here to deliver your holiday fic! And doubly, your birthday present! I’m so glad we got to meet on this wild app, and may your holidays and your birthday be as amazing as you!

You asked for something very Christmas-y with some friends to lovers romance, and boy did this get out of hand! I hope you enjoy Joel finding a little Christmas spirit.

Cross-posted on AO3

There’s little sacred in the world anymore, but making the morning cup of coffee might be as close as Joel gets. The early rising, his bedtime vestments crumpled and stretched across tired muscles. The soothing routine: the mug, the pour over coffee dripper, and the Holy Beans. Every movement is seamless, practiced and almost sightless for those mornings when he can’t peel his eyes open. All in service to the first sip, and the glorious awakening it will bring.

Though with the clattering of Doc Martens and teen angst coming down the stairs, it’s not necessarily needed.

“Mornin’,” Joel rumbles over the mug, eyebrows raised at Ellie’s earlier-than-usual scowl. She opens the fridge, every movement thrown to the extremes of her small frame. Bowl clattering, spoon chiming against stoneware, a worrisome glug of milk, and she returns to flop into her seat across from Joel. He takes another sip, maybe a little louder than usual.

“Sounds the same going in as coming out,” she grumbles, but the half smile she allows is a triumph.

“Told you not to listen in on a man’s morning movements.” Ellie scrunches her nose up at that, jabbing her spoon into some granola. She’s only moving it around, not partaking, and Joel sets his cup down on the table. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks down his nose at her.

“Something on your mind?”

Joel was never much for beating around the bush with Sarah’s moods, and he certainly hasn’t changed much with Ellie. She sighs and lets the spoon clatter back into the bowl.

“What the hell is up with Christmas?”

The question works better than the coffee, brain scrambling into overdrive in much the same way as when he caught Ellie holding a beat-up Bearskin magazine.

“Well…” he starts pensively, but Ellie bowls right through his low hum.

“Like some of the kids celebrate it and others don’t, but neither of them know why. Everyone’s arguing about something called Santa. And they’re bringing trees inside!” She tosses her hands, giving him a weird am I right look that butts against his confused expression.

“FEDRA didn’t teach you kids about Christmas?”

Ellie shrugs, folding her legs up into the kitchen chair.

“I’ve heard of it, but y’know…not exactly high on their list of priorities.” She starts worrying at a small rip in her jeans until Joel snaps a warning look. He just bartered for those, he won’t have her hurrying them back to scrap.

“I’ve kinda been…pretending I get it.” She trails off, face closing back up and Joel recognizes the outburst for what it is. Embarrassment.

“Well, Christmas is something that, uh…that lots of families celebrated before. It’s, uh…it’s a time at the end of the year to be…you know, to be together and thankful. That sort of thing.”

He can practically hear her eyes roll.

“But what the hell’s a Santa, and trees, and all the baking?” Her finger shoots up, angled directly at Joel. “I know there are presents!”

Joel scoffs, taking another sip and ruminating on how to tackle a tradition he’s barely paid attention to since the outbreak. It all felt so insignificant in the winters following, only a counter for how long he’s suffered so far. Then, when things calmed a fraction, the idea of opening his heart to anything remotely like thankfulness made him want to bloody every knuckle.

So he tucked his chin and paid no attention to parents trying their best to give their children something bright in the darkest days of winter. Tess never mentioned it, the shine in her eyes at candles lit in windows hard to distinguish from tears. And now, twenty-odd years later, he can barely fathom where to start.

“There’s a lot of traditions, variations. I don’t remember half of ‘em, but…” A sudden spark of an idea, a way to cheat out of this conversation and not get sulked to death over it, catches the corner of his mouth. “But I think that teacher you like might have some books about it.”

Ellie’s face lights up, abandoning her bowl to go galloping back up the stairs to her room. “Eat something first, then we’ll go,” trails up behind her. Joel savors the last bit of coffee before rising to rinse the cup, his own smile tugging at his lips. Shouldering his heavy winter jacket, Ellie wolfs down four bites of her granola while still in motion. Wiping her chin with the cuff of her jacket, she shoots a shit-eating grin at Joel as she heads to the door.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that, old man,” she sing-songs as they move into the bracing Wyoming air. “Always looking for an excuse.”

“Whaddya mean?” he asks with as much nonchalance as he can muster, but Ellie’s raised brown and carefree shrug clearly don’t buy it.

“You’re a lousy liar, Joel.”

Not as bad as you think.

The schoolhouse is not much more than a converted home, the ground floor filled with bookshelves and improvised desks and controlled chaos. By the time Joel and Ellie came to Jackson it was well established, but Maria explained how it changed hands and struggled for years before the current teacher.

“It’s hard to prioritize learning over survival, but it’s the only way we move on as a community,” she said as she led the pair through their Jackson orientation. Ellie had been sighing heavily and dragging her feet - “school is boring, Joel, why can’t I go on patrol?” - before Maria led them into the kitchen.

“And here’s who we have to thank for dealing with our wild ones,” Maria said, and you looked up from your work.

The first thing Joel noticed was your smile. It spread so easily across your face, unselfconscious and radiant. You extended a hand to Ellie first, who suppressed enough of her ennui to act pleasant. Joel was next, enveloping her cool fingers with his large palm. He blanked on your name that time, needing to ask Maria privately for it, but the warmth and lightness of your presence could be blamed for that.

Joel didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that meeting sure as hell paved the way for the private and closely guarded crush he had on you now.

Ellie took a liking to you almost as quickly, and Joel could see why you were successful when others might have failed. You assessed her mood with ease, redirecting her dread to a section of the schoolhouse that held instruments. She moved immediately to an old guitar, cross-legged on the floor with the too-large instrument in her lap.

“Can you teach me how to play this?” she asked, and you admitted to only knowing a few chords.

“I can,” Joel piped up, his own voice surprising him. “I know how to play.”

Twin bright eyes danced on his face, and he struggled to keep the flush from creeping past his collar.

“If you have some time, I have other students who would love to learn.”

And that’s how on some afternoons Joel found himself showing a handful of teens on the cusp of adulthood how to strum chord progressions. He viewed it as a duty to the community…or at least that’s what he said when Maria and Tommy asked. It was also the perfect excuse to stop by early and chat with you, or scrutinize a leaky window or dripping faucet. Anything to keep him in the same room as you taught simple math or reading comprehension.

“Any time you want to bring that handiness by my place you’re welcome,” Tommy teased when he caught Joel waving you goodbye on the well-trodden path home.

“You take better care of your place, you won’t need help,” he spat back with no fire. Tommy shrugged, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

“Just sayin’, that schoolhouse might withstand another apocalypse with all the work you’ve done on it. I hope its proprietor is…appreciative.” The cheeky wink eggs on a shoulder punch that almost becomes a wrestling match between two men who should know better. Instead Joel calls Tommy a name and Tommy laughs and Joel stares at the ceiling that night wondering if you would be…appreciative of what he’d like to give you.

Only some of those thoughts are pure in nature.

But the years, even the kind ones, have choked up his tongue and made him a coward. You’re clearly eligible, no other men sniffing around much to Joel’s surprise. He doesn’t think it’s completely one-sided either. You smile at him and put your hand on his shoulder and stand close enough that he can smell your soap and gentle musk. And what’s worse is you’re something rare to him, something miraculously unsullied by twenty years of hell. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to survive without hardening, without breaking and mending over and over until the repair is the whole self. But you are still kind, and understanding, and gentle, and open. There’s only one reason Joel can attribute to this rarity.

Someone loved you.

Someone loved you so very much that they protected you, let you be open-hearted and trusting even with the world crashing down. And if that someone is no longer here, that’s a hole he can never fill. But every day he spends in Jackson shedding years of plate armor and barbed wire, he contemplates if he might be getting closer to someone who could at least try.

In the meantime he makes his excuses, much like now, and suppresses the little smiles and giddy feeling in his stomach.

“Been meaning to check on that plumbing issue she had last week,” he says breezily, snow crunching underfoot and the chill air nipping at his nose.

“Suuuure, I bet you’d love to see her plumbing,” Ellie snarks, sprinting away as Joel’s face heats up.

“Watch your fucking language, kid,” he growls, the irony not lost on him, as the schoolhouse comes into view.

You can always tell when Ellie arrives. The kids born after the outbreak have a peculiar set of social norms and rules. You’re not sure if she even knows that she should knock before entering, or take her boots off. Then again, it’s an exercise in contemplation when you consider why those societal norms would return when their framework’s been shattered.

Keep your boots on in case you have to run.

Don’t announce your entrance in case something’s lurking.

A whole other etiquette you watch like a zookeeper behind glass.

“Good morning Ellie,” you call from the kitchen. Your heart flutters briefly wondering if…

“Morning, ma’am.”

Joel ambles into the kitchen, massaging heat back into his palms. His cheeks are ruddy with windburn, and you bite the inside of your lip considering how your own hot palms could warm them.

“Good morning Joel, didn’t expect you in so early.” Dusting your hands off, you round the counter to step into his space. A little game you like to play: how much more obvious must you be before he’ll notice you’re flirting with him? Another brushed shoulder, squeeze of the forearm, eyes connecting a second too long. Thrilling yes - it’s been a long time since you’ve had a crush - but at this rate you’ll both be ninety before either of you admit it.

“Ellie has something to ask you,” he says, turning to look for his ward. The strange wording patters your heartbeat into an uneasy rhythm.

“Should I be worried?” you laugh, Joel’s deep brown eyes coming back to your face with a sheepish smile. Oh god, when he smiles your knees can barely handle it.

“I might have passed the buck on a conversation.”

Before you can ask Ellie slips into the kitchen, weaving around Joel’s wider frame and hopping up on one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island. The ones Joel made with those strong hands and thick fingers.

“What’s the deal with Christmas?”

The question catches you off guard no matter the preamble.

“Um. Huh. Well, I guess…what do you want to know?” you ask, sidling around to lean across the counter from her. Joel is still in your peripheral, practically filling the door frame.

“Everybody’s talking about it,” she bemoans, taking a dried apple slice you’d laid out and turning it on the countertop. “And I keep pretending it’s like, so awesome, but I just don’t…get it.” Her thumbnails pick at the leathery edge of the fruit, and the child you’ve watched pressure girls twice her age into shenanigans softens around the edges.

“It’s all, ‘my family does this, my family does that,’ and it’s like…I never had anyone to celebrate with before. FEDRA did some stuff with us, but it was…” A shrug, accepted without comment. “And they all seem to love it, and I maybe want to…feel that.” The hedging makes you lean further over, grabbing your own apple slice and turning it between your fingers.

“Well, Joel must have told you there are a lot of ways people celebrate the holidays.” Looking up to Joel he grimaces slightly, raising one shoulder in apology. “And there are lots of different traditions. I’m not surprised you’re confused.”

“Yes! Is Jesus like, Santa’s kid or something?”

The stifled laugh comes straight out of your nose and you have to clear your throat to keep from snorting further.

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here but tell you what, I’ve got a plan.” Ellie looks up at you with a guarded sparkle in her eyes, and it only widens your smile. “Let me do some research first. There are things I don’t know either. So how about you come back next week and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned during the tree decorating.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Tree decorating?”

You must be glowing by now. “Oh, you are in for a treat.”

Leaning against the doorway, Joel takes in the scene. Ellie’s moment of vulnerability, buried back under her feigned indifference. The excitement bubbling under the surface of your smile.

The way you lean over the counter, the curve of your back only accentuating your shapely ass as you sway slightly.

Fuck, maybe he should just come out and confess his crush so he can at least feel awkward when he sees you instead of embarrassingly horny.

He’s relieved Ellie suggested coming to you. Your solution to his problem is simple and brilliant, a weight lifting off his chest. Sometimes Ellie is no different than his child, and other times Sarah’s memory makes the smallest endearing unbearable.

Sarah’s mom had taken care of the holiday explanation, navigating the unique customs of their little household. She explained why they had a tree and a menorah, and who’s Santa and the Festival of Lights. When Sarah got older and started asking more pointed questions, they both sat down and explained all their traditions and why they were important. Joel had, admittedly, been more of a supporting role, but for their family it worked.

Then Ellie had to pitch that question at him, looking up like Sarah had, though so much smaller, and his throat closed up. He knew she needed it. Hell, maybe even he could use some holiday cheer, but Ellie was too no-nonsense and Joel was too out of practice, ripe for bungling it up.

He’ll have to thank you in some way. Though there’s not much to fix nowadays, and if he spends much more time here volunteering he might get roped into actually being a teacher.

“...and since it’s your first time, you get to add your own ornament to the tree. It can be anything you want, and at the end of the holidays we pack it up with the others for next year.”

That’s it, he thinks. A small way to repay your kindness. He has some scrap wood in the communal woodshop, and most evenings are quiet there. There must be a coping saw in some toolbox, a few rasps and awls.

“That does sound pretty cool,” Ellie says, and where you might have thought it to be begrudging, Joel can clearly hear her excitement.

“I think you’ll love it.”

That week was one of the busiest - and sneakiest - that Joel could recall in recent years. It seemed to be the same for you, watching you flit around town with a battered notebook and chewed-up pencil. You were talking to people, smiling, laughing. Whatever the conversation was made everyone else smile too, throwing fond looks at each other. Sometimes playful bickering, or conspiratorial whispers followed, and you gathered up all those words into that well-worn notepad.

Joel, on the other hand, was making himself more scarce than usual. He kept up appearances, not slacking on patrols and showing up when he’s expected, but every free moment is spent in the woodshop.

He could have gone the simple route, cutting slices out of some nice quality wood, something with a live edge, but it was too simple. He wanted something that would make you light up, your mouth drop open and your eyes sparkle.

Further back than he’s willing to count, he remembered a fellow contractor showing him gifts he made for his daughters each year. Beautiful wooden snowflakes, carved in geometric shapes that would reveal tessellations and patterns when glued together.

The idea seemed simple enough, but it had been a long time since his hands had done anything delicate. The pattern was easy to make, but as he dragged the coping saw along the curves and points his hand would cramp, or the blade would zig when he wanted it to zag. He’d get up and walk around the shop to shake out the frustration, telling himself it’s only four more pieces…for this ornament.

When he feels like giving up and tossing the whole project in the trash, he thinks of the feeling he’ll get when you hang them on the branches, the way you might touch his arm or look into his eyes when you thank him.

And then he thinks that forget the mistletoe, he’ll kiss you whenever and wherever you’ll let him.

On the fourth day of hiding in the woodshop Ellie bursts in, halfway through a sentence before she even gets in the door.

“...and I haven’t gotten her anything and I know she’ll get me something so like, what should I…” Her entrance startles him, yanking a rag over a freshly glued ornament.

Too slow, old man, he thinks as her eyes snap to his attempt at deception.

“What’cha got there, Joel?” she asks, sly smile matching her embellished cadence.

“Just workin’ on things, what were you talking about?” he deflects, leaning on one elbow to hide the mess behind his shoulder. Ellie nods, understanding stark on her face as she ambles up.

“Oh sure, since when have you ever cared what I’m talking about?”

Joel can’t stop the hurt look dashing across his face, leaning forward. “I care…”

Tricked! Ellie’s hands dart under his arm and yank the cloth away, exposing the half-assembled ornaments and lengths of twine.

“You’re so fucking easy…” she starts to say, but the words stop when she sees the mess underneath.

“What are those?” she asks, and for a moment Joel wants to snark something back at her - none of your goddamn business or don’t make fun of me - but then he realizes she probably doesn’t have any idea what they are. What would she have seen adorning a tree? Maybe dried fruit, popcorn, little trinkets that people saved hoping one day they could have Christmas again?

So he clears his throat and makes himself vulnerable. To a teenager. Easily one of the scariest things on this earth, cordyceps included.

“They’re for the tree lighting. Had a buddy who used to make ‘em, and I thought it’d be a nice gift for…to the schoolhouse. For being so helpful and all that.” He can feel his ears reddening but Ellie hasn’t taken her eyes off the snowflakes. She traces one of the finished ones, pointer finger running along the edge he dulled with an ancient rust-filled rasp. “You hang them on the tree.”

Ellie’s quiet for a moment, inspecting and nudging the pieces around, before she finally speaks.

“They’re cool. I didn’t know contractors could make pretty things too.”

Joel snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you know I’m a man of multitudes.”

She snorts, the tension breaking, as Joel moves pieces around to show how they fit together to form the abstract snowflake shape. As he’s explaining the process she’s shockingly quiet, but everything is open - eyes, ears, half-parted mouth. If he’d known this was something they shared he would have built things with her ages ago.

“Is one of these mine? The one I can bring?”

Joel mulls for a moment, tapping fingers on the workbench, before he hauls himself up to stand.

“Nah, I’ve got something better for you.”

It takes a few minutes of searching for a suitable wood piece not being used for something important. Then a few more to saw off a round, sweat beading on the edge of his hairline and biceps tensing. Ellie’s eyes widen when he hands her the wood circle, ushering her back to the workbench.

“I think somethin’ more personal would be good to bring. How about you write your name on it?”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, playfully mistrusting.

“Just my name?”

“You’ll see.”

As she writes and erases about six times, Joel hunts through the workshop for the little woodburning kit he spied weeks ago. It’s janky, but it doesn’t electrocute him when he plugs it in. He waves Ellie over and takes the wood, admiring her no-nonsense script.

“They ever teach you woodburning at school?” Ellie shakes her head, and Joel’s smile turns lopsided. “Then you’re gonna love this.”

Using the hot metal tip of the fat pencil-like tool, he meticulously traces her lettering, burning it permanently into the wood.

“Holy shit, that’s so cool!” she exclaims, getting close enough that he has to shoo her back so she doesn’t get wisps of woodsmoke right up her nose. He lets her finish the last E, warning her to go slow so the line doesn’t chatter. It’s not perfect, but she’s so excited he can’t find fault.

“Now for a little holiday decoration,” he mumbles, and with stiff joints and too-big hands he burns in a border of holly leaves and berries, even dotting the I in her name with one.

“All finished,” he says, and before he can even blow on the final product it’s in her hands, tracing the lines and practically thrumming with excitement.

“Can I keep it?” she asks, spinning it in her palm.

“Just until this weekend, but I can show you how to make…” His sentence trails off as she’s already heading for the door.

“Awesome, thanks Joel!” she calls over her shoulder. He chuckles to himself, ambling back to his own little project. Ellie turns in the doorway, silhouetted by the sun dipping low.

“She’ll love those too,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows and disappearing before he can retort. Sighing, he turns back to the last few pieces he needs to assemble.

He hopes she does.

Joel finishes the ornaments just in time for the tree decorating, timed perfectly with Jackson’s town square lighting. Joel saw Tommy drag the tree into your schoolhouse, conversing with you and Maria as he brushed stray needles from your front porch. The way you smiled when someone did kind things for you warmed Joel even from afar.

“Planning on helping out with the festivities tonight?” Tommy asked as the day wound down, putting boxes on the bar as Joel enjoyed a whiskey.

“Ellie wants to go to the tree decoratin’, figured I’d make myself useful.”

Tommy’s half smile hovers in his periphery. He tries to ignore it.

“You got something to hang on that nice teacher’s tree?” Joel rolls his eyes and throws back the drink. He’s not going to sit by and tolerate romance advice from his baby brother. “C’mon, you know she’s into you, right? Looks at you like you hung the moon.” Tommy leans on the bar, turning something small between his fingers. “See you looking at her like that too. Practically Hallmark shit by now.”

“See ya, Tommy,” Joel sighs, getting up from his chair while rolling his eyes.

“Well, at least you can bring this too,” he says, and holds out what he’s been fiddling with.

Joel looks down, and his heart stops.

“...Where did you…”

Tommy’s face softens, placing the item between them on the bar.

“Went home before I ended up in Jackson. Not a lot left there, but I found the Christmas box in the basement. It was one of the few things I could carry with me.” Tommy’s face fights an emotion welling up, forcing a smile even as his eyes shine. “Thought she could be part of a new tradition too.”

A small wooden ornament fashioned to look like a Christmas ball, the name “Sarah” painted in the center and surrounded by red and green patterns. She brought it home from school and it had a prominent place on their tree, even as she got older and complained about how ugly it was.

Joel’s throat is so tight his breath whistles out, chest pounding and eyes stinging, but he picks up the ornament and cradles it in his work-worn hands. Then, a lightness eases his breathing, and a soft smile plays across his face. He clears his throat preemptively, pocketing the treasure.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll put it next to Ellie’s. Thank…thank you,” he stumbles, and the brothers share a moment of memory.

“And you know, everyone’s gonna be out looking at the lights tonight in case you need some privacy,” Tommy suggests, breaking the tension with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“Bye, Tommy,” Joel calls over his shoulder, Tommy’s chuckle ushering him out.

You must have done this many times before, because when Joel and Ellie walk into the schoolhouse it’s like something off a holiday card. The school supplies are tucked away in favor of soft seating areas. The tree Tommy brought in is tucked in a corner, lights already wound around the thick boughs. Something apple and spiced wafts through the air, and the chatter of children and adults alike is at the comfortable level that it blankets everything in a festive glow.

Ellie’s face is glowing too, taking in the drastic shift in decor. She hangs back a little, eyes roaming and waving to friends but shyly tucked behind Joel’s elbow. Her hand is in her pocket, and Joel would put money on her ornament being in the palm of her hand. Joel’s not much better, Sarah’s in his own and a paper packet tucked under his arm.

Before either of them can feel too out of place, you weave through the growing crowd with a wave.

“I’m so glad you could come!” you call out, squeezing Joel’s arm and beaming down at Ellie. She shifts on her feet, a small smile appearing at a familiar face.

“This is wild, is like the whole town here?” she asks, and you shrug with your hands on your hips. Some of your hair is out of place, and perspiration clings to your throat. Joel swallows, eyes darting away.

“Well I did say I had a special surprise for tonight, and you inspired it!” you say, motioning to a series of little dioramas tucked into an empty bookshelf. Ellie weaves around Joel to get a closer look as you point out one of the shelves.

“You asked me about Christmas and I didn’t know what to tell you because I don’t know all that much about how it came to be, or the traditions around it. But then I realized we’re all building a new world together, and the holidays are what we bring with us.” You slide a piece of paper out and hand it to Ellie, and she reads it with a growing smile. Joel leans over to catch a glimpse at your prim handwriting.

Christmas was very traditional in my house. Santa was supposed to come by and bring us presents for being good girls and boys. We would write letters to him about things we wanted, and our parents were supposed to deliver them to him. On Christmas Eve we baked cookies and left them out for Santa because he had a lot of houses to deliver to and needed snacks. I left out carrots for the reindeer too, because they were doing all the work. And then on Christmas morning dad made pancakes and we weren’t allowed to open anything until mom was up. I believed in Santa until I was about 12, when I asked how he could get into houses without chimneys. My parents told me that Santa was an idea, not a real person, and the spirit of the season was to show people you appreciate them and give back to the community around you. I was more worried that I would get less presents if Santa wasn’t giving them to me anymore.

“I gathered up all these stories from everyone in Jackson, of all faiths and beliefs, and you can read through them and see how everyone celebrates.” You lean down now, speaking quieter. “There’s no right way, and no one person celebrates the same as everyone else. The one thing that does stay the same is that it’s a time to show love to the people around you.”

Joel’s eyes roam the shelves, spotting a Hanukkah-themed scene and something with bright colors he doesn’t recognize. Pages of script torn from your notepad tuck behind Santa figurines and menorahs and little wooden shoes. Ellie picks up another slip of paper.

“Wait, there are elves?”

You shrug, straightening up and catching Joel’s eye. He gives a lopsided smile as you’re pulled away by someone else entering, a twinkling light in the night surrounding Jackson.

A time to show love to the people around you? Maybe he can finally pluck up the courage to do that.

“Okay, everyone with an ornament please come up to the tree! Not too many at one time!” you call out, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat. He pulls the packet from under his arm, hoping that maybe a bunch of kids would rush to the front, but everyone is reluctant to be the first. You stand by the tree, a shimmer of trepidation on your face, and Joel takes the first step.

“Brought these for…for the tree,” he says, handing the rough package to her. He should have put a bow on it, but he already wrestled with the packaging too long, he didn’t think he had the nerve to make it look any more like a gift. All eyes are on you as you unfold the wrapping, eyes darting up to Joel like he’s playing a trick, but when six delicate snowflakes are revealed a murmur of chatter fills the room. Your eyebrows lift, eyes lighting up and he wishes he’d given it to you alone. He wants your appreciation and surprise and happiness all for himself, even as the whispers, “oh wows,” and “good job, Joels,” waft to his ears.

“Joel, these are amazing,�� you breathe, lifting one of the snowflakes out to dangle on your fingers. A smattering of applause he doesn’t deserve deepens his blush, but he takes the praises as graciously as possible. “I’m…thank you so much. I’m going to put them on, please everyone! Bring your ornaments up!” The snap into something much cheerier and brighter flutters Joel’s heart, catching a brief shine in your eye as you busy yourself adding his ornaments to the tree.

Could he go to you in the hubbub of people now approaching, lay a hand on your shoulder and envelope you in his arms? The ache to do so is close to a real animal in his chest begging to be touched. Instead he hangs back as kids hang dried apples and garland, painted baubles and all varieties of crafts. Wooden birds with real plumage, tiny knitted mittens, worn pictures encased in resin. His eyes draw to Ellie, sidling up next to you to hang her name ornament. You help her pick a spot, and Joel can see how you praise the design, and add some reassuring words. Standing back from the tree Ellie leans against you, and you wrap an arm around her shoulders.

The world slows around them, frozen in time under Joel’s watchful eye. He blinks, capturing a mental photo of this moment. He’ll look back on it often, the way Ellie both looks so much like a child but also so grown. How you give her kindness and support in as quiet of a way as she’ll accept, rewarded with her ease. And the feeling in his own chest, expanding and swelling like his heart could never fit his body again.

“Look outside!” calls one of the younger children, and the crush of people move from the tree to the windows at the front of the schoolhouse. Craning his neck, Joel catches the lights strung around town starting to click on, brilliant bubbles of amber light dissipating the darkness. A murmur kicks up, and the tree sparkles to life with colorful pops illuminating every memory adorning its branches. There’s cheering and clapping again, this time well deserved, and Ellie’s face brightens as her name sways gently with all of the others.

“There’s more!” someone cheers, and the front door opens to guide the group out and onto the frigid streets. Ellie’s head whips around, eyes pleading, and Joel can only nod with feigned annoyance as she rushes out.

“Put on your hat…” he calls after her, but if she hears she gives no indication. In a moment the schoolhouse is empty of all but you and him. Joel glimpses more lights leading the people of Jackson through the town center, noise dulling to a comforting hum.

You’re still in front of the tree, admiring the final product. Joel takes a deep breath and slowly approaches, standing beside you in comfortable silence. You take in a big breath of your own and blow it out, satisfaction painting your features.

“Every year it seems like it’ll never get done, and yet it always comes together,” you say, bumping shoulders with Joel. He snorts and smiles, taking in all of the chaotic beauty of the decorations.

“Meant a lot to Ellie that you did all this,” he says, tossing his head back at the written history you compiled. You cock your head at him thoughtfully.

“It got me thinking, you know. What’s important to everyone, now that we’re here after everything?” Your eyes search the tree, Joel’s following. “For me, it was my dad. We called him Father Christmas. Loved the holidays, was excited for them every year.” Your fingers find a red plastic boot nestled in the boughs. “When we got to Jackson he was so excited to be around people again, to feel that community. He brought Christmas back for lots of people.” A watery sigh signals Joel to lean closer, fitting his arm snugly around your waist. It’s never felt more right to hold someone. “The years since he’s passed have been hard to keep this all up, but it’s also the closest I feel to him.”

Joel reaches into his pocket, Sarah’s ornament in the palm of his hand. Ellie’s has a perfect spot next to it, and he tucks them together amongst the lights. Fresh spruce tickles his nostrils as he arranges them just so.

“My daughter,” Joel says, and it may be the first time he’s offered this part of himself up willingly. “Lost her on the day it all went to hell. She loved the holidays too, always wanted to see real snow. You know, like something out of a Norman Rockwell.” The rest of the words he wants to say stick in his throat, but it’s enough. You turn to him, sliding a hand up his arm to squeeze it gently. A knowing smile curves your lips, tempting as hot cocoa after a cold day.

“Thank you, Joel. For the ornaments, for being here. For everything.”

His body steps into yours, pulling you close. Your eyes widen briefly, then your expression becomes hopeful.

“Thought maybe I was being obvious, around all the time looking for a reason to be where you are,” Joel muses, finally bold enough to cup your cheek. Leaning into it, you fit your body into his.

“Maybe I thought it was too good to be true,” you say, a tiny brush of his thumb over your lips startling a breath out.

“Pretty sure it’s me who’s been feelin’ that way, darlin’,” Joel teases, but the yearning in your eyes tells him he’s got to say it now. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for…so goddamn long.”

Then your hand winds into his nape, and your lips meet.

You’re as soft as he hoped, yielding to his firmer press but bold when he parts his lips and your tongue begs entrance. A choked moan dies in his throat as cinnamon and apple dances on his palate, cradling your head so he can deepen the kiss. The grip on his hair tightens, your other hand fisted in his flannel. He wraps around you, protector, devotee, your body and soul safe with him.

Your lips part regretfully, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath. Beating him to composure, you tilt your chin to press a kiss to a spot on his jaw where his beard is a little thin.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you here for so long,” you repeat, breathy giggles rippling through you both. Joel dips in to claim your lips again, softer, slower. Your arms wind around his neck, and if he wasn’t keenly aware that at any moment someone could wander back in he would have laid you out to explore with his lips and teeth and tongue. His calmer head prevailed.

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t ask you for a single other thing, Christmas or not, if you’d say you’ll be mine,” he asks, heart on the line as he hopes you feel the magic of this moment just as much. Your eyes crinkle, fingers stroking through his hair.

“Joel Miller, nothing would make me happier,” you answer, earning another sweetly spicy kiss. When you part again, you say, “Well, except…”

Joel’s heart hammers, eyebrows knitting up in concern.

“...I could use help putting the star on my tree tonight. The one in my bedroom?”

A mischievous smile darts onto Joel’s face, playfully squeezing your ass.

“And how tall is this tree? Should I bring my ladder?”

You tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe two, three feet?”

Joel nods with understanding.

“Of course, we should take care of that immediately.”

“Immediately.”

Hand in hand, you exit the schoolhouse, leaving it unlocked in case anyone wants to come bask in the holiday cheer later in the evening. Looking down the main street, Jackson is lit like a beacon of hope. Children toss snowballs at each other while parents watch on and laugh. Ellie is talking to a girl her age, shyly extending a paper-wrapped gift. A beautiful, kind woman is holding his hand and if his back were better he’d throw her over his shoulder in his haste to get her alone.

And in the darkest of times, when the days are short and cold and hope runs thin, there is still so much love to share.

END

A/N: the ornaments Joel makes were inspired by a gift I got a few years back. These handmade ornaments are some of my favorites every year!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #prolix fics

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Palomino Masterlist

COMPLETE | Explicit 🔞 NO minors allowed

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Note: You guys voted for Palomino to be the next WIP after Consent, and who am I to refuse? But honestly, thank you for voting for Jack, because I've been dying to write this story. If you'd like to be tagged, please comment, reblog or sign up at my taglist.

Part 1: Palomino

Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Part 2: Buckskin

It's an eventful first day on the trail, to say the least.

Part 3: Dapple Grey

Tinder is a dangerous game. So is Never Have I Ever.

Part 4: Strawberry Roan

Jack pulls out all the stops for your birthday. All of them.

Part 5: Appaloosa

You and Jack play house for a day.

Part 6: Mustang

On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Part 7: Fleabitten

You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Part 8: Silver Pony

And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Part 9: Warmblood

The hardest goodbye you’ll ever say.

Oneshots & drabbles

Deleted scenes from the series that I didn't have the word count for.

Bernaise: You watch Jack cook. Deleted scene from Part 4 - Strawberry Roan.

If Only: Jack smiles and brushes a thumb across your cheek. If only you knew.

Peeks into Jack and Darlin's life after the end of the series.

Pressing: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Real: You call Jack after running into your ex at a wedding.

Cowgirl Aesthetics: 'This dress won't last ten minutes in a real horse yard and you know it, darlin''.'

Headcanons

Miscellaneous headcanons - some requested, some no one asked for.

Visuals

Mostly made/commissioned for A Palomino Farewell.

Special edition chapter banners

Horses of Palomino

Palominogram: About last night

Palominogram: The cellar

Commissioned art

Belt buckle inspiration

Moodboard: Buckskin

Moodboard: Palomino

Horse girl representation

Recipes

Mama Daniels' express chili: featured in Fleabitten

Poppy's chocolate & rum cupcakes: featured in Strawberry Roan

Bonus content

Art and misc. generously gifted by my sweetest friends ❤️

A Palomino Farewell

Palomino playlist

A birthday message from cowboy Jack and Cowboy yearning by the most talented @guiltypleasure-art

Palomino edit by the loveliest Heidi @wildemaven

Moodboard by the sweetest Keira @k-ra

Playlist by sweetest Sil @psychedelic-ink for A Palomino Farewell

Palomino-inspired cocktail recipe by darlin' Skye @iamskyereads

I can't believe that Palomino now has its own cocktail!!! I'm so honoured that Skye created and shared this recipe with us. All the elements are perfect, from the Campfire whiskey (Darlin's favourite time of the day - snuggling with Jack by the fire), apple (If Only reference) and Ginger (who convinced Darlin' not to cancel the trip). I cannot wait to try this cocktail myself, thank you so so much my love ❤️

More notes: This is a very personal story to me as I grew up loving and riding horses. I've been lucky enough to go on several horseriding holidays, and I'm writing directly from experience - except the hot cowboy part, sadly. Even if you don't ride, I hope you enjoy this story, and I will be the happiest writer if I impart to you even a fraction of the joy of exploring the great outdoors from the back of a steady (or speedy) steed.

{ Inspo }

{ Main Masterlist | Taglist }

#kingsman the golden circle #jack daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #jack daniels AU

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dinodontwait · 3 months

Text

Whispers in the Rain

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre: bestfriend's brother au, romance, friends to lovers

Summary: Y/n and Seungcheol, brought together by a rainy day and shared laughter, navigate the unexpected blossoming of their connection. As Y/n confesses her feelings, the story explores moments of consent, vulnerability, and the joy found in unexpected surprises.

Word Count: 1.4k

The sound of rain tapping against the window provided a comforting backdrop as I sat on Haneul's couch, engrossed in a book. Haneul, my best friend, was out running errands, leaving me alone in her cozy apartment. Little did I know that this rainy afternoon would be the beginning of something unexpected.

Seungcheol, Haneul's older brother, entered the apartment with a warm smile. Raindrops clung to his hair, and he looked tired yet strangely charming. "Hey there, Y/n. Haneul still out?"

I smiled back, feeling a subtle flutter in my chest. "Yeah, she'll be back soon. How was your day, Cheol?"

Seungcheol settled into the armchair across from me, and his presence brought a sense of ease. "Long day at work, as usual. But seeing you here makes it better."

As the rain continued to pour outside, we engaged in casual conversation, the unspoken tension lingering between us like a silent agreement. I closed my book, and we found ourselves laughing and sharing stories. Seungcheol's exhaustion seemed to dissipate in the warmth of our connection.

Haneul's abrupt return broke the spell. She entered the apartment, soaked from head to toe, complaining about forgetting her umbrella. Seungcheol chuckled and offered her a towel, their sibling banter filling the room. I couldn't help but observe their closeness, a twinge of longing growing within me.

We decided to cook together, the three of us transforming the kitchen into a haven of laughter and shared moments. Seungcheol and I effortlessly fell into a rhythm, our movements synchronized as if we had been doing this forever. The aroma of our efforts filled the air, and the evening unfolded into a tapestry of shared dreams and aspirations.

As night fell and the rain persisted, Seungcheol offered to drive me home. I accepted, and the car ride became a quiet symphony of unspoken feelings. Raindrops danced on the car roof as we shared glances, the air thick with anticipation.

When Seungcheol skillfully parked the car in front of my apartment, he reached over to grab an extra umbrella. The rain still drizzled, and the soft pitter-patter of drops on the roof created a serene ambiance. With a gentlemanly gesture, Seungcheol stepped out of the car and swiftly opened the door for me.

I hesitated for a moment, appreciating the chivalrous act. "Thanks for the ride, Cheol. And for the wonderful evening."

Seungcheol's smile held a subtle warmth as he shielded us both under the umbrella. "Anytime, Y/n. I enjoy our time together."

As I ascended the stairs to my apartment, I couldn't shake the lingering feeling of unspoken connection with Seungcheol. The rain continued its gentle serenade, adding a sense of intimacy to the moment. Before I could second-guess myself, I turned back and descended the stairs.

"Seungcheol!" I called out, catching him just before he could get back into his car. He turned, his expression curious yet hopeful.

"Yeah?" he replied, a questioning look in his eyes.

A nervous smile played on my lips as I took a deep breath. "Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee? It's the least I can do for the ride and the wonderful evening."

Seungcheol's eyes sparkled with surprise, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'd love to, Y/n."

The short walk up to my apartment felt both longer and shorter than usual. The raindrops had slowed, but the air was charged with anticipation. I fumbled with my keys, finally unlocking the door and inviting Seungcheol inside.

The cozy warmth of my apartment enveloped us as I prepared the coffee. Seungcheol sat on the couch, his gaze wandering around the room. The silence was comfortable, the unspoken connection between us growing more palpable.

I handed him a cup of coffee, taking a seat beside him. We sipped in silence for a moment, the rain creating a gentle soundtrack in the background. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, and I couldn't help but feel the need to break the silence.

"So," I began, a hint of a smile playing on my lips, "how did we end up here? Sharing coffee in my apartment after a rainy day."

Seungcheol chuckled, his eyes meeting mine. "I guess life has a way of surprising us. But I'm not complaining. This has been a good surprise."

Encouraged by his response, I opened up a bit more about my feelings. "Seungcheol," I began, my voice a bit shaky, "there's something I need to tell you. Something I've been feeling for a while now." I met his eyes, finding a mix of curiosity and warmth.

He nodded, his expression encouraging. "You can tell me anything, Y/n."

I took a moment, gathering my thoughts. "Every time we spend time together, something in me... it's like there's this unspoken connection, and it's been growing stronger. I never expected it, but I can't ignore it anymore. I think I have feelings for you, Seungcheol."

His eyes widened with surprise, a moment of shock passing across his face. Before he could respond, I quickly added, "But, you don't have to feel the same way. I just needed to be honest with you, and I don't want things to be awkward between us. It's okay if you don't—"

Seungcheol gently placed a finger on my lips, silencing my rambling words. His eyes held a mix of amusement and warmth. "You talk too much when you're nervous, Y/n."

I blushed, realizing I needed to rein in my anxious chatter. Before I could say anything more, Seungcheol leaned in, our faces inches apart and I instinctively closed my eyes. However, just before our lips met, Seungcheol paused, his warm breath lingering on my skin.

His voice, a gentle whisper, reached my ears, "Y/n, is it okay if I kiss you?"

My eyes fluttered open in surprise, meeting his gaze. The sincerity in his eyes and the respect he showed in asking for consent made my heart skip a beat. A shy smile formed on my lips, and I could feel the warmth of a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"Yes," I whispered, the single word carrying all the anticipation and excitement of that moment. He wasted no time to capture my lips in a soft, unexpected kiss. Time seemed to stand still as the world outside the window blurred into insignificance.

When he pulled away, a playful glint danced in Seungcheol's eyes. "Let's go on a date!"

My heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Um, yeah, about that... We should probably talk to Haneul first, don't you think?"

Seungcheol chuckled, understanding the practicality of the situation. "Right. We wouldn't want to blindside her with this. Let's talk to Haneul together, and then we can plan our date. Deal?"

"Deal," I agreed, the warmth of the moment lingering in the air. Just as I thought the moment couldn't get any more enchanting, Seungcheol leaned in for another kiss, sealing our unspoken promises in the tender embrace of the rain-kissed night.

As Seungcheol and I lingered in the soft aftermath of the kiss, the rain outside continued its gentle serenade. The unspoken echoes of connection had found their voice in the quiet whispers of our hearts, a sweet melody blending seamlessly with the rhythmic cadence of the rain.

BONUS:

A few days later, Seungcheol and I found ourselves nervously knocking on Haneul's apartment door. The anticipation of revealing our budding connection to her was palpable.

Haneul opened the door, her eyes narrowing playfully. "What are you two doing here together?"

Seungcheol and I exchanged a quick glance before sharing a sheepish smile. "Well, we have something to tell you," I began, my voice carrying a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Haneul arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Spill it."

Taking a deep breath, Seungcheol spoke, "Y/n and I have been spending more time together, and, well... we realized there's something more than just friendship between us."

Haneul's eyes widened with surprise, and then a delighted smile spread across her face. "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

I nodded, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. "Yes, Haneul. Seungcheol and I... we're giving this a shot. We wanted to be honest with you."

Instead of the expected teasing, Haneul embraced us both. "Finally! I've been waiting for this to happen. You two are perfect for each other."

Relief washed over us as we all shared a laugh, the tension dissipating. Haneul looked between us with a mischievous grin. "So, when's the first official date?"

Seungcheol squeezed my hand, and I couldn't help but smile. "Actually, we were hoping you'd join us for dinner to celebrate."

Haneul's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Count me in! Let's make it a night to remember."

#seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #svt fic #svt fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt series

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